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vyxenisl0st · 5 days ago

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The Dark Side

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

Summary: Bob is having a really bad depressive episode, and you have been unanimously voted to go and provide him with the comfort that he needs to pull him out.

Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kind of like…Oddly Fluffy but not much? Bob is going through it, Mentions of a Depressive Episode (in which Bob kind of destroys his room), Mentions of Blood/Bruises (descriptions are given of the injuries…Caused by the destroying of his room), Reader has the ability of Power Negation (rendering them unable to be Voided or sent into a shame room) and Telekinesis, Reader and Bob are very close, The Void is…In a large portion of this, like a huge portion of this…I need to write more Void tbh lol….Hinting at a part 2 possibly? I don’t know yet tho

Author’s Note: Someone requested Bob being the little spoon, and I truly loved the idea, so I took it and expanded it as much as possible to give it some…Bite. Hope y’all enjoy :) (also I’ve been literally waiting to use this song for something…And it’s so fitting)

Word Count: 7,652

The compound kitchen was too quiet for this many people. The silence thrummed with something unsaid, stretched thin and humming like a wire pulled too tight.

Ava sat cross-legged on the counter, shoulders hunched, chewing at the fraying edge of her gloved thumb. Every few seconds came the faint, squelching sound of wet leather between her teeth, rhythmic and uneasy. She didn’t seem to notice the sound–or maybe she did, and just didn’t care anymore. Her eyes were trained on the far wall where a few frying pans hung, staring at the one that was crooked and on the brink of falling.

Walker leaned against the fridge like a fixture, arms crossed so tight it made his biceps strain against the sleeves of his t-shirt. His jaw twitched once. His expression–stone-cold and unreadable–was that same military-grade stillness he defaulted to in times like this. Moments where concern might as well be weakness. Where admitting you were worried meant that something had already gone wrong.

Across the table, Yelena was perched in a chair like she’d rather be standing–back stiff, boot planted against the rung of the seat, fingers drumming out a frantic little pattern against the metal tabletop. It wasn’t idle. It was tight, and sharp. Like she was trying to match the tempo of her heartbeat and couldn’t quite keep up because it just kept changing.

Bucky stood with his weight braced against the sink, one hand wrapped around a chipped Thunderbolts mug–faded red and gray–but he hadn’t taken a sip in the last twenty minutes. Steam had long since stopped curling from the lip. His knuckles were white where they gripped the handle, and every so often, his thumb would twitch like he might lift it to his lips, but he never did.

Alexei was in the chair beside you, the wood creaking with every restless shift of his weight. Normally the loudest in any room, he was unusually subdued now. His thick forearms were folded across his stomach, and his eyes–usually wild and reactive–were narrowed, watching Walker with something unreadable. His fingers tapped once against the edge of his knee, then stopped.

And you…You sat stillest of all.

Watching, listening and waiting. Because you already knew what this emergency team meeting was about. Knew it the second you got the text. The second you stepped into this room and counted the people present. There was only one person missing–and it wasn’t like him to be absent for anything.

”We need to talk about Bob.” Yelena muttered, breaking the silence. Her voice was low, but firm. There was a collective exhale of something heavy settling into the room, like everyone had been holding the thought behind their teeth and didn’t want to be the one to name it.

“He hasn’t come out in two days,” Bucky added, voice hoarse from not talking in a while, “Knocked last night…No answer. Door was locked too.”

“I phased through the wall this morning,” Ava said, voice clipped, jaw tense “Couldn’t even be in there for more than a few seconds. Got thrown into the door…Had to get the hell out pretty quickly.” Walker glanced over at Ava.

”Yeah, cause The Void’s in there, it’s not Bob.” He mumbled grimly. You felt the words before you heard them. That faint pressure behind your sternum. Like something whispering from the edge of a black hole. Bucky’s gaze found the floor.

”Last time it was like this, he didn’t eat for a week, he didn’t sleep, he just sat on the floor staring at the wall until we talked him out of it…This time I heard him breaking things in his room…I truly don’t think speaking to him is going to work this time.” He stated, shifting from one foot to the other.

”So we send someone in.” Alexei suggested, his gruff voice cutting through the tension in the room.

“And what?” Walker scoffed, pushing off the fridge just enough to gesture with one hand “Get them sent to a shame room? I’m not going through that again.” The words hung in the air. Heavy and acidic.

And then the silence came again–heavier than before, only this time there was this sort of feeling like everyone was waiting for something.

That’s when you felt it.

Eyes. Not all at once. Not direct. Just quick, darting glances. One after another. Like everyone had the same thought, but no one wanted to say it out loud. Not until–

“Y/N…” Yelena’s voice was quiet and measured, like she was testing the water of a pool, “Would you be willing to try?” You looked over at her slowly. Her brows were pinched, mouth set, but her gaze didn’t flinch. Not from you, and certainly not from what she was asking. Before you could answer, Walker jumped in.

”Nothing happened to you when he Voided New York, right?” Your lashes fluttered a bit, and you could feel your face heat up. Your fingers twitched where they rested against your thigh, and slowly your gaze dropped to your hands–open, resting palm-up.

“Well…No,” You replied softly, “But I don’t think it would be the best idea to send me in.” Walker opened his mouth, but you lifted your chin and cut him off, voice firmer now, “I think I make The Void angrier…Because he can’t…Y’know–“

”Go through every bad memory you have, and make you relive every single one like it just happened?” Bucky interrupted gently, now taking a loud sip from his mug. You turned your head toward him, and his eyes met yours. Steady and understanding of your point.

”Yeah…Pretty much.” You murmured. Another beat of silence passed.

Then Walker let out a short, incredulous laugh, “Then why the hell do we even have you on this team if you don’t want to use your powers for something as small as this?” Your eyes snapped back to him, eyebrows lifting as your expression flattened into something cool and sharp.

”Last time I checked, Walker,” You started, “I saved your ass from a bunch of mutants in Slovenia.” He opened his mouth to say something, but you went on, “Remember that? The underground lab. The one where they lured you in with fake hostages? The one where Bucky’s arm got fried while you were too busy playing Captain Knockoff to notice the tripwire?” Walker blinked at you, his gaze dropping to the ground.

”And if I wasn’t there to dampen and take away their powers, you’d still be in that goddamn hole,” You stated, voice deceptively calm now, “So–kindly?” You leaned forward in your seat, resting your elbows on your knees, “Sit on it…And rotate.” Bucky let out a sigh, stepping in before Walker could say anything back in retaliation.

”You’re the only one who can technically get close to him without setting him off…I mean, yeah, it pisses him off. But you nullify him, Y/N…He backs off when you’re around…It also has a lot to do with the fact you’re close with Bob too.”

Bucky was right.

If it wasn’t for the fact that you were already close with Bob–closer than most, maybe too close–this would be impossible. And it wasn’t just proximity or shared downtime or familiarity on missions. It was that quiet, tangled closeness. The kind that took root when two people didn’t have to speak to understand each other. When silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but necessary.

Still, that didn’t make any of this easier.

Because even with that closeness…The Void knew who you were. What you were. And it hated you for it.

You’d only interacted with it directly a handful of times. Each one branded into your memory like scars you didn’t wear on the outside.

Once during a medbay blackout–Bob had been unconscious and bleeding, a psychic wound ripping through the space around him, and you’d been the only one able to get close enough to touch him. The Void had flickered into the room with a voice like cold static, dripping something ancient and endless against your bones. It didn’t yell. It didn’t threaten.

It whispered, and challenged.

“You take him from me.”

“He’s safer without you.”

“I could make you feel every moment of your worst night in under a second–want to try?”

Another time, on a rooftop in London, when Bob had collapsed mid-mission, shaking, breathless, clutching his skull with both hands like he was trying to hold himself inside it, The Void had poured through his cracks and stared at you through his eyes. You had been taken off guard, and in the split second that you weren’t aware he had made you see your mother, the way she grabbed you by your hair and slammed you against a mirror–which was how you got the scar above your eyebrow.

You didn’t even flinch, and that made The Void angrier with you.

You bit the inside of your lip, eyes flicking over the room again. Every face trained on you now. Some guarded, some silently pleading, but all of them were waiting.

Your voice came out smaller than you meant it to.

“…Fine. I’ll do it.”

A breath seemed to pass through the team like a wave, though no one dared say thank you. They knew better than to treat this like a favor. This wasn’t a volunteer mission. This was a gamble.

“But don’t hover around the door,” You added quickly, pressing your palms to your thighs as you stood, “I don’t need backup. It’ll just make things worse.”

They all nodded.

Bucky was the first to step back, giving you space. He dipped his chin once in acknowledgment, slow and solemn. Yelena gave you a tight nod, eyes shadowed with concern, but she didn’t argue. Ava dropped her hand from her mouth, the glove damp with spit, and looked at you like she wanted to say something–but didn’t.

Walker crossed his arms again and stayed quiet, which, for him, might’ve been the most meaningful gesture of all.

Alexei stood as well, hand coming to rest lightly on your shoulder as you moved past. His grip was steady. Warm. Protective in the way only he could be–loud without words.

You didn’t say anything else as you left the kitchen. Didn’t look back.

The hallway to Bob’s quarters felt longer than usual. The lights overhead buzzed faintly, the soft hum of the compound’s systems running like a heartbeat in the background. You could feel it–low and dull–the way his presence saturated the air even through the door. That pressure in the back of your head. The coil of unease in your ribs.

You paused outside the room.

No sound from within. No breathing. No shuffling. No glass breaking. Just…Stillness. Heavy and full, like a vacuum waiting to collapse in on itself.

You raised your fist slowly and knocked twice.

“Void…I’m coming in.”You announced, already knowing he probably sensed you from miles away. The lock clicked under the pressure of your mind–an old security latch giving a reluctant little snick as your telekinesis pried it loose with practiced ease. The door creaked open, just wide enough for you to slip inside.

And the second it sealed shut behind you, the weight of the room hit.

Not just silence.

Suffocation.

The darkness was thick–almost physical. It pooled in the corners like oil and clung to the walls, layered and unmoving. The blackout curtains were to blame for that–drawn tight, suffocating what little natural light might’ve softened the edges of the space.

But even the shadows weren’t still. They writhed.

You took a single step forward, and the crunch under your boot broke the silence.

Glass…There was so much glass.

Not just from a shattered mirror, but from everything else in the room–fragments of picture frames, broken mugs, shattered bulbs. Jagged teeth scattered across the floor like a warning. In the far corner, an old desk chair laid toppled on its side, two of its legs snapped clean through, the splinters of plastic jutting upward like a broken rib cage.

The dresser was no longer a dresser.

It was a carcass. Wood panels torn from their seams, drawers ripped apart like kindling. One drawer had clearly been thrown–there were impact marks on the opposite wall where the corner had struck and left a dent, now trailing with paint dust and something darker–blood or ink or both. The walls were pockmarked with fist-sized impressions. You counted at least six from where you stood, each one blooming out in spiderweb cracks.

The air smelled like sweat, iron, static, and something metallic. Burned electronics…The scent of a mind unraveling, and overtaken by something empty.

Though, through all the destruction, the bed–miraculously–remained intact.

Sort of.

The sheets were rumpled, tangled half way down the frame, one corner half-ripped from the mattress, but the structure itself held. Just barely. The headboard was dented. The mattress had dark stains near the middle, but you didn’t want to guess what they were.

But none of that truly drew your eyes…It was him…

The Void.

Curled like a gravitational wound at the center of the chaos. A black mass draped across the unmade bed in something that only resembled the fetal position. Shoulders hunched, limbs drawn in too tightly, like he was trying to curl into the concept of himself and erase what was left. The shadows rolled off his back in slow, deliberate tendrils–molasses-thick and ink-dark. They rose and fell in undulating pulses, brushing against the sheets, licking the edge of the mattress, curling through the air like they were tasting it. He was still, but not inert, like a storm brewing, but just beyond the horizon.

You took one careful breath and moved forward.

Crossing the room meant stepping around the wreckage–splintered furniture, broken glass, ceramics, and fractured memories from the Polaroids that were scattered on the floor from the broken frames. You moved with practiced precision, keeping your steps slow, measured, and balanced. No sudden movements, no sharp noises apart from the cracking and shattering beneath your feet, just you and your presence.

When you reached the far wall, you hesitated–just for a second–then reached for the curtain. Your fingers trembled slightly as it came into contact with the thick, light proof fabric.

You took a breath, and yanked it open.

Sunlight poured into the room like a floodgate breaking.

Warm and red and golden–the last gasp of a sunset bleeding across the compound horizon. It didn’t banish the dark, but it carved a space in it. Lit the motes of dust hanging heavy in the air. Made the wreckage shimmer like a battlefield caught in the golden hour.

And it lit him.

The Void didn’t move. Not fully. But you could feel the shift. The twitch of air. The smallest ripple in the fabric of the room.

When you turned back to him–

There he was.

The Void looked…Almost beautiful in the sunlight.

Not in the way people meant when they talked about beauty. This wasn’t gentle or graceful or soft. It wasn’t something that asked to be appreciated. It was arresting. Unnatural. Terrifying, yes–but stunning in a way that made your breath catch like it had stumbled into your throat and forgotten how to move.

The golden light cut a jagged angle across the wreckage–strewn room, carving past broken drawers and shattered glass and plastic, but it slowed when it hit him.

Not physically, but perceptibly. Like the light hesitated.

The Void’s form didn’t cast a shadow–he was the shadow. A humanoid silhouette, pitch-black and impossibly dark, draped in endless, shifting tendrils that shimmered faintly in the warm light. He wasn’t see-through, not exactly, but he wasn’t solid either. Looking at him felt like peering into the night sky from the bottom of the ocean–inky, infinite, and so far removed from the natural world that your eyes didn’t quite know where to land.

He looked like a silhouette made of star-drenched tar. The only consistent shape was his outline–vaguely human, impossibly still–and the shock of those eyes.

Pale white. Pupils like burning pinholes through reality itself.

And then there were the freckles. Not normal ones. They weren’t skin-deep or superficial, but scattered like constellations across his chest and shoulders and face, splattered in soft gradients of faint violet and ghost-light blue and shocking white. They moved. Barely. Like they weren’t actually part of him, but windows into something else. Into somewhere that didn’t obey the same laws of existence.

Like someone had cracked open the body of the universe and poured it into him until he took its shape.

You took another step closer, your boots crunching on a piece of ceramic that used to be a mug, and that’s when his head turned slightly–just enough for you to meet one pale, gleaming eye.

And then–he growled. Low and guttural. Less vocal, and more…Animalistic.

”…God.” The word rumbled through the air like it had teeth, “Not you.” You blinked, and then smiled. Not unkindly. Not smugly, either. Just…Knowingly.

You shifted your weight onto one leg, arms loosely crossed, letting your gaze roam over him again now that you were closer. It was always a strange thing, seeing him like this–in daylight. You’d only ever caught glimpses. In dreams. In flickers. In the strange reflections that warped when Bob was between states. But never like this. Never with the sunset warm on your face, and him laid out in the middle of it like a void-stained wound stitched into golden light.

It made him look unreal. Like something painted across the world and only half-belonging.

“I figured you knew I was coming,” You said lightly, voice quiet but firm as you took another careful step forward, your knees almost hitting the mattress. “I’m sure of it, actually…You’re all knowing are you not?” He didn’t respond. But he moved–barely. A twitch in his shoulder. A curl of fingers you hadn’t noticed pressed into the sheets. And then slowly, with the kind of irritated dramatism only a god-tier being could muster, he turned over.

Away from you.

It was such a petty, human gesture that you nearly laughed. He curled onto his other side like a sullen teenager pretending to be asleep, the tendrils of shadow snapping faintly around his limbs–like he was swatting the sunlight away.

You sat down on the edge of the bed slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements, careful to keep your voice soft as you spoke again, “I’m not here to fight with you.” A pause. The air shifted again. Like the room was breathing for him.

“I’m just here for him,” You murmured. “You know that.”

No answer.

Just the shadows tightening around his form like a second skin. Flicking sharp toward the light, then recoiling. The silence didn’t just settle this time–it spread. Like a sickness. Like smoke crawling into your lungs, seeping under your skin, and clinging to the corners of your thoughts.

You stared at the pillow beneath his head, your brow slowly pulling into a tight line.

There–just beneath the crook of where his temple met the white cotton–were stains.

Tiny, deep red drops.

Not smeared, or splattered, but fallen and sunken into the fabric.

”…Are you bleeding?” You asked softly, the question curling through the air like the edge of a breeze that didn’t quite reach him. The Void paused for a moment.

And then–he laughed.

Short and dry. Low and splintered. It didn’t echo. It shook. Like the walls of the room didn’t want to carry the sound and were trying to drop it before it could reach too far.

“I do not bleed,” He said, the words scraping over the back of your mind like cold metal dragging across bone, “The shell does.” Your jaw flexed slightly, and your frown deepened.

“…Did he do all of this?” You asked, “The mess I mean…Or was it you?” At first, he didn’t say anything. There was not even the twitch of a shadow.

Then he curled in tighter into himself, the shadows drawing closer like blankets that didn’t warm.

”Mix of both,” He admitted, reluctantly, “I don’t understand why it matters to you.” You let the breath leave your nose in a quiet sigh and dropped your gaze.

“Well…” You murmured, reaching for the zipper of your hoodie, “First, we’re going to have to replace all of this stuff.” The hoodie came off in one fluid motion. You tossed it gently to the side of the bed and leaned forward to untie your boots, voice dropping just a little more casual as you added, “And second… I’d rather be ready when he comes back.” The last boot hit the floor with a soft thud. You stretched your socked toes slightly before curling them back under you and shifting onto the bed more fully, tucking one leg beneath you.

“Because I know I’ll have to bandage his hands now.” The Void shifted again. His back hunched tighter, shadows rippling sharp across his shoulders like hackles rising on an animal trying not to snarl.

“…He’s not coming back,” He replied, so quietly you almost missed it, “He’s in too deep.” You didn’t respond right away, you just tilted your head a bit, and let your eyes linger on the slope of his back, the way the light carved out the glinting star-patterns along his skin. You didn’t let your face harden. Didn’t scoff. Didn’t rush him. You just raised your brow slightly.

“Mm,” You hummed. “We’ll see about that.”

And then–slowly–you reached forward.

The tendrils noticed first. They snapped back from your approach like struck nerves. Sizzling faintly at the edges of your reach, shadows spiraling defensively around his form, curling between your hand and his body like they could block what was coming.

They knew what your touch would do.

But you didn’t stop.

You let your fingers slip through the whorls of shadow like they were ink in water–watching them coil and twitch as they tried, and failed, to recoil fast enough.

And then your palm met his shoulder.

Cold.

So cold your breath caught in your throat. Like placing your hand against dry ice, it was so cold it was…Hot in a way.

He flinched. Hard. The entire bed jostled with the sudden jerk of his muscles pulling tight.

“Ah–!”

The hiss tore out of him unbidden, guttural and strangled like it hurt. Because it did.

You could feel it the moment your skin met his–how the shadows shrank. How the hum of wrongness faltered in the walls. How the pressure around the room thinned slightly. You were draining him. Nullifying the divine static that clung to him like rot.

His body didn’t lurch away immediately, but his breath did. A sharp inhale. Like the pain was new. Like it surprised even him.

“…Don’t,” He rasped. “Don’t touch me.”

But you didn’t pull back.

Your hand pressed firmer to his shoulder.

The shadows hissed.

He jerked again, more violently this time, trying to pull himself away–but you didn’t let him. You didn’t even move. The only shift was in the air–your focus hardening, your mind expanding like a net, invisible but unshakable.

Telekinesis wasn’t always force. It wasn’t about slamming someone across a room or crushing metal with your thoughts.

Sometimes, it was about stillness. Weight. The kind of pressure that settled over bone and muscle like gravity, inescapable and patient.

And so when he tried to move again, the Void grunted–sharp, frustrated, restrained. The bedframe creaked beneath him with the effort of a god trying to disobey the very laws of physics you wove around him.

“I will kill you.” The words were low. Ragged. Meant to shake you.

But you…laughed.

Not loud. Not mocking. Just…Soft. A breathy, disbelieving thing that came from the hollow of your throat and made your shoulders twitch with the absurdity of it.

“If that’s what you truly wanted…” You murmured, your voice a ghost just above his ear as you leaned in close, “You would’ve done it already.”

There was a pause.

Heavy. Stagnant. Tense.

He tried again. You could feel it–his form straining against your hold, his shadows cracking through the air like whips, like rage incarnate, but they couldn’t touch you. Not really. Not with your powers blanketing the space between.

He growled. Animalistic. Teeth grinding, tendrils snapping.

You didn’t flinch.

You just moved.

Slowly, quietly, you climbed onto the bed fully. The mattress dipped beneath your weight, groaning with the shift, and he hissed again–but not from pain this time. From confusion.

And then…You laid behind him.

You felt it instantly. The temperature drop was jarring, biting into your skin through your shirt. It hit your chest first, then your bare arms as you wrapped them carefully around him, curling your body along the edge of his.

You let your arm drape over his side, your palm hovering at first, before pressing flat against his chest.

Gods shouldn’t feel like this.

Shouldn’t tremble. Shouldn’t shiver.

But he did.

His body didn’t accept the comfort–it reacted to it, violently at first. The moment your skin touched his chest, his muscles tensed, his breath caught, and then came the sound.

A broken, pained little gasp.

It wasn’t quite a growl. It wasn’t even a scream.

It was…A whimper.

Low. Raw. And filled with something deeper than pain.

The tendrils thrashed. A few brushed past your cheek, stinging cold, like frostbite in motion. One grazed your lips. Another flicked across your jaw, searching, tasting, confused.

But they didn’t strike.

They didn’t push you away.

In fact, slowly…They began to shift.

Curling, and looping, almost in a tender way. A hesitant winding around your arm. A slow crawl against your thigh. Brushing, nudging, and then stilling. Like they were learning you again. Like they remembered your signature and didn’t quite know what to do with it anymore.

“Just…” Your voice trembled slightly with the cold, but you didn’t stop, “Calm down, Void…Let him come back.” Your breath fogged against the back of his neck, warm in contrast to the chill that radiated off him like a dying sun.

He shuddered. Twitched. His hand moved to grab your wrist, but didn’t squeeze–just held it. Like an anchor. Or a warning.

Then he pushed against your arm once–sharp, desperate, useless.

And then…He sagged, letting out a frustrated, inhuman sound that didn’t belong in a throat. Something halfway between a hiss and a wounded sob. You felt it in his chest more than you heard it. A tremor under your palm. A ripple in your own ribs from how tightly you were pressed to him.

The tendrils wrapped tighter, and your cheek pressed gently to the back of his shoulder.

There was a long moment where neither of you moved.

Not a breath stirred the air between your bodies. Not a word passed your lips.

Your cheek stayed pressed to the curve of his shoulder, eyes half-lidded, lashes brushing the cool shadowed skin. You let your senses drift, quietly reaching–searching–for something deeper. Something alive. You tried to listen again. Tried to find it. That faint rhythm. That human thread. That flicker of Bob.

But there was nothing.

No beat. No pulse.

Just silence.

Like pressing your ear against something ancient and hollow. Something that had forgotten it was ever meant to hold life.

And still…You stayed.

Your arm slowly shifted under the pillow, tucking more securely around the Void’s form, locking him in tighter, folding yourself to him like an anchor trying to hold a black hole still.

He grunted–louder this time–when your hand slipped across his chest again. The heatless cold biting up your wrist, down to the marrow, but you didn’t let go.

“You are hurting me.”

His voice was fractured now.

Still sharp. Still foreign. But softer around the edges. Like something was fraying. Like he wasn’t used to stating pain—only inflicting it.

You shook your head gently, your breath warm against the shell of his neck.

“You’re not used to this,” You murmured, voice steady despite the chill leeching into your skin. “But this is the only way I can get Bob back.”

Your fingers flexed slightly, your grip never relenting.

“You’re not going to go away on your own,” You added, more softly now, “I know you well enough…”

The second the words left your mouth, he moved.

Fast.

The Void jerked against you, his shadows spiking like claws as he tried to break free from your arms with all the force of a universe unraveling. Your powers flared instinctively–holding him, grounding him, caging him without violence.

And then he snapped–

“You don’t know me at all,” He hissed. “You have no fucking idea who I am.” The room trembled. The broken glass shivered on the floor. One of the remaining lightbulbs overhead gave a sick little buzz and blinked out.

But you…

You didn’t flinch.

You didn’t let go.

And you didn’t raise your voice.

Your reply was almost gentle.

“I know the person you live inside,” you said. “I know him.”

You let your forehead rest against the top of his spine, your hand smoothing softly over the cold, trembling surface of his chest.

“And you may not believe it,” You continued, “But you’re a piece of him. Whether you hate it or not.”

He stilled–but not with calmness–with a kind of rigid tension. The kind that only came before collapse.

You pressed on.

“And he…” You said slowly, voice like a thread stitching through the dark, “He likes being touched. And held. And wanted.”

A beat.

“Deep down inside that hollowness, I think you do too.”

The shadows tightened around your arms–an instinct. A warning. But they didn’t pull you away.

“That’s my little key to get into your head,” You whispered, “And bring him back.”

And with that, you pulled him even closer.

You melted into him–your arm cinched tighter under his ribs, your hand splayed flat against the void of his chest, fingers brushing those starlit freckles like they might ignite under the contact. Your thighs curved around the bend of his body. Your breath warmed the space between his neck and shoulder.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t hiss.

Didn’t growl.

But you felt the change.

His grip tightened on your wrist. Not to crush. Not to command. But to hold. Like he was waiting. Waiting for you to falter. Waiting for your guard to drop. Waiting for you to flinch–so he could shove you away and snap the thread.

But you didn’t.

You just held on.

“You’re not going to scare me off,” You breathed. “So go ahead. Try.”

Your voice was calm. Unshaking. Your hand moved without thinking now.

Slow, gentle circles against his chest. Fingers brushing the raised curve of a freckle, then flattening again. Just enough pressure to remind him you were there. Just enough heat to keep the ice from creeping back in too fast. Your thumb traced the faint starlit constellation scattered near his collarbone, following one mark to the next as if mapping a sky only you could read.

You didn’t know how long it took. Time didn’t work right in rooms like this–where the air tasted like static and silence stretched so long it warped.

But eventually…

The rigidness began to leave him.

Not in one dramatic exhale.

Not with a sigh or a shudder.

Just a slow, quiet shift. One vertebrae at a time. One tendon unwinding. His shadows still clung to your wrist and thighs like anchors, but their hold was less…tense. Less venom. More hesitation.

And then–you felt it.

A small, deliberate movement.

His head tilted down. Chin dropped ever so slightly toward his chest, toward your hand. Not fast enough to be startled. Not deep enough to retreat. Just…searching. Studying. Like he was looking at something he hadn’t dared examine until now.

And then–

“…You have a lot of beauty marks on your hands.”

His voice was quieter now. Duller at the edges. Like something inside him had collapsed just enough to let the words out.

“Bob looks at them a lot.”

The admission settled in the air between you like a stone into water–gentle, but heavy with weight.

You stilled for just a breath. Then resumed your tracing, softer this time, almost like you didn’t want to scare the moment away.

“He pretends he’s not,” The Void added. “But he memorized them.”

A pause. “One by one.”

Your throat tightened. Just a little. But you didn’t speak. You waited.

He inhaled once, shallow.

“…Folklore says they represent where your soulmate from a past life used to kiss you.” Your brows furrowed, caught somewhere between surprise and something warmer, softer.

You tilted your head just a little against his shoulder, trying not to let him hear the quiet thrum picking up in your chest.

A moment passed.

And then you said, teasingly–light but careful–

“Seems like a lot of soulmates have kissed you everywhere…” You nudged gently at his side with your fingers. “You’ve got marks all over your body.”

There was a pause.

Then–

A sound.

It wasn’t a laugh. It wasn’t a scoff either.

It was something between.

A sound from deep in his chest. Soft, strange. Like a hum unraveling. Like a thread pulled from a black tapestry and found to be made of silk. Not hostile. Not mocking. Just…Thoughtful.

“…It is not the same,” He murmured.

And the way he said it–

It wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t flippant. It was almost longing. Like he knew, with unsettling clarity, the difference between touch and intimacy. Between worship and warmth. You didn’t move your hand from his chest. Just kept brushing your thumb in slow arcs across the curve of one freckle, and then another, as your brow furrowed gently.

“How is it not the same?” You asked, feeling The Void shift beside you–not violently, but with something sharp in the tension of his shoulders, like the question had scraped a nerve. His chin dipped again, the shadows curling tighter along your spine.

“It’s just…” He muttered, clipped now, almost irritated, “…How it looks.” He rolled slightly, enough for the tendrils across his chest to shimmer faintly in the dying sunlight. The freckles pulsed there still–pale, slow-burning starlight in a galaxy of ink.

“You may interpret it as marks,” He added flatly, “But it is just…How it is. There’s nothing more to it.” His voice was distant again. Slipping back into that cold echo, like he was digging himself into a trench of denial. You hummed softly in response. Not convinced. Not arguing. Just…Thinking.

And then, after a beat–

“You’ve never felt love, or anything like that, hmm?” He stiffened entirely. Like you’d cracked a fault line that ran straight through him and threatened to split his chest open.

He didn’t reply.

So you continued–gently, but with a note of something more pointed.

”You just…Live behind Bob’s eyes, and whatever he goes through–whatever he feels–you get the little bites of it…Correct?” It was a truth you didn’t say to hurt him. But it landed that way anyway.

He groaned. Not out of pain. Not purely out of rage either. It was resentment. Pure and concentrated. Heavy in his chest and thick in his voice as he snapped–

“Listen…”

The tendrils twitched against your arms. Coiled with warning.

“I am already stuck in this position because you’re a succubus leech who drains me every time you breathe near me–” He spat, the words acidic and cutting, “I am not going to speak about what I experience through Bob. This is not a therapy session.” You bit the inside of your cheek, just barely, and sat with the sting of it. Let it pass.

“…Okay,” You said quietly, “Touchy subject. Sorry.”

Your voice didn’t waver. But it softened. Like you knew it was a wound. And not one you could cauterize tonight.

A pause fell over you both. He turned his face just slightly, half-hidden in the bend of his elbow, and the tension around him seemed to slow–not dissipate, not ease, but slow. A stalling breath caught in molasses.

And then, without even thinking about your next actions, you pressed your lips gently to his shoulder.

It was a soft kiss. Barely there. Just a whisper of heat against a body that didn’t carry it.

But the reaction was immediate.

The Void flinched–hard. But not away.

And just below where your lips touched his skin, you saw it.

A flicker.

A little fractal of a star.

Tiny. No bigger than your thumbnail. A fractured pinpoint of white-gold, like a nova caught mid-bloom. It shimmered once, flaring faint violet at the edges–like a nerve exposed. It appeared beneath the skin of shadow like light behind thin glass, and then…Stayed. Not fading. Not shrinking. Just there.

And the second your heart clenched–sharp and aching at the sight–he snapped.

“Don’t do that again.”

The voice was low. Cold, but not cruel. He sounded afraid.

You blinked. Sat up slightly behind him. Your hand still rested against his chest, but your expression shifted–watching the star pulsing softly.

”I knew you brought up that folklore stuff for a reason,” You murmured.

The Void twitched beneath your weight–tension returning, but not fury. Something more volatile in its vulnerability. He shifted, trying to roll, but the weight of your powers kept him still, your body pressed too closely against his for him to twist away.

“Jesus Christ,” he snapped, frustrated. “What are you? A rock? A boulder? I—I can’t even move.”

“Exactly,” you said lightly, settling your cheek back against his shoulder. “You’re trying to avoid the conversation… Maybe you should let Bob come back to handle this one.”

He growled low in his throat, shadows snapping once in protest, but nothing struck you.

“I’m not that easily swayed by a thing like you,” he bit out.

But there was hesitation in it now. Thinning resistance. A fracture in the spine of his anger.

You smiled against his skin.

And then—you started kissing him again.

Slow. Gentle. One after the other.

You placed a kiss at the dip of his spine.

Then at the base of his neck.

Then to the spot just beneath his jaw, where the darkness shimmered like ink floating over glass.

And each kiss—every single one—left another starlight bloom.

A pinpoint of white-gold.

A soft violet pulse.

A celestial wound that didn’t bleed—but glowed.

Tiny galaxies emerging under your mouth like his body had forgotten how to hide them.

“Are Bob and I soulmates?” you whispered against his skin, voice just playful enough to burn, “Is that what this is?”

Another kiss. Another nova. Another whimper. Not a growl this time.

He jerked again, but this time–not away.

Something loosened, and you felt it. The tension in the shadows began to stutter.

Their rhythm breaking.

Tendrils untangling.

The air around you shifted–less cold now. Less heavy. And then—you saw it.

Just a glimpse.

A slip.

A patch of pale, trembling skin where darkness used to writhe. Just beneath your hand, on the far side of his ribs, the black slid back like melting paint, retreating under your touch.

His breath hitched.

And then–suddenly–the shadows collapsed inward.

Like a tidal wave rushing in reverse.

Like the vacuum of space had just exhaled all at once.

They peeled off him in layers, the tendrils shriveling and snapping back like overstretched nerves, retreating into the floor, the walls, the bedframe. A vortex of absence pulling itself away from something it could no longer cling to.

And all that was left–was Bob.

He gasped like a man drowned. Choking on the air like it burned.

His whole body trembled–bare skin exposed now, sweat-slicked and shaking, his spine curved, arms drawn in like he was trying to hold himself together.

His fingers twisted into the sheets like he didn’t know where he was.

His eyes were wide. Unfocused.

And then–

They found you.

And the second they met yours, that glimmer of bright, beautiful blue–

You exhaled. All the weight in your chest collapsing inward with a relief so fierce it stung.

“Bob,” You breathed.

He didn’t answer.

His jaw clenched, shaking.

Tears stung the corners of his eyes–not falling yet, but close. His breath was coming too fast, too sharp.

You moved instantly.

Your hand came to his head–gently, reverently–fingers sliding into his sweaty hair, dragging softly over his scalp in long, grounding motions.

He flinched at first–then leaned into it, seeking the comfort that you had given him countless times before from outside of this context. You pulled him back toward you, tucking his head beneath your chin as your arms curled tighter around his chest.

“It’s okay,” You whispered, voice warm, threading through the cold air like gold wire. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.” His fingers clutched at your forearm with sudden, desperate strength.

A choked, broken sob tore out of him as his grip tightened like a vice—raw, panicked, trembling. He clung to you like the room might dissolve if he let go, like you might dissolve. And when you glanced down to where his hand gripped your arm, your breath caught in your throat.

“…Oh my god…Bob.”

His hands were ruined.

The skin across his knuckles was torn open–bloody and cracked like old leather stretched too far. Scabbed-over lacerations split in jagged lines across every joint, with dried blood crusted thick beneath his fingernails and ground into the creases of his palm. The bruising was almost violent in color–black and violet pooled beneath the skin in wide, uneven patches that traveled from the backs of his hands to the delicate tendons along the inside of his wrists.

His palms were the worst.

Torn in places. Split where skin had given out from striking too many hard surfaces–glass, wood, stone. Splinters embedded in the meat of his thumbs. Swollen pads bruised from impact after impact, the raw friction of knuckles dragging across floors and punching through walls. There was a fine tremor in every finger, shaking so subtly it made your chest ache.

You reached for him instinctively, your other hand hovering just under his wrist–

“Let me ge–”

But he cut you off.

“Pl–Please,” He gasped, voice wrecked with sobs, “Don’t–don’t leave me. I…I don’t wa–want to be alone.”

His fingers curled harder around your arm, pulling you in tighter, frantic and shaking. Your heart cracked clean in two.

You softened instantly, forehead resting against the back of his head.

“I can’t just leave your hands like this…” You whispered, barely able to get the words out through the thick knot forming in your throat.

But he whimpered again, voice splintering apart at the seams.

“Ye–Yes you can…I d-do—don’t want to be alone…”

The words hit like a blow.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Just honest in the way only raw fear could be. His body was folded in on itself, back pressed to your chest, and you felt every tremble he couldn’t suppress. Every twitch of pain. Every fractured breath.

You closed your eyes and exhaled slowly, letting your brow knit tight, letting the helplessness crest over you–but only for a second.

Then–gently–you shifted back into place behind him.

Your arm curled across his torso once more, anchoring him against you, your legs folding in tighter like you could protect him from the air itself. You kissed the crown of his head–once, then again, softer this time–your lips trembling against the tangled mess of his damp curls.

Your voice came quieter now, steadier, like you were afraid speaking too loud might break him again.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His hand still clung to your arm, shaking, but you moved carefully–slowly–lifting one of his bruised fists with tender fingers. You brought it to your mouth, just above the worst of the dried blood, and kissed it.

One knuckle.

Then the next.

Then lower–across the cracked bend of his thumb.

Another kiss.

And another.

You didn’t flinch at the blood. You didn’t pull back at the bruises. You kissed through them like they were sacred. Like they were his and that made them worth kissing.

“I’m sorry,” He choked suddenly, the words tumbling out in gasps. “I–I’m sorry for the r-room, for everything–god, I ruined everything, I just–I–”

“Hey,” You whispered, cutting him off softly. You kissed his hand again. “It’s fine. Everyone will help you replace everything. You’re safe. You’re okay. Just breathe with me, alright?”

He hiccuped a sob, still trembling, still cradled in your arms.

“Just breathe,” You repeated, your voice like silk threading through the ache in his lungs.

And slowly–painfully–he tried.

You pressed your cheek to the side of his head and spoke quietly against his hair.

“In through your nose…”

You inhaled with him.

“Good. Now out through your mouth.”

You exhaled slow and steady.

Again.

“In…”

He followed, ragged but trying.

“…And out.”

You felt his shoulders shake–but this time, they weren’t recoiling. They were easing. Piece by broken piece.

“You’re okay, Bob,” You whispered. “Just keep breathing with me. I’ve got you.”

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vyxenisl0st · 5 days ago

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Daddys homeee

50 pulls and another 5 star Rafayel memory later

#lads #lads rafayel #lads caleb #lads mc #lads xavier #lads zayne #love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace sylus #rafayel love and deepspace

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vyxenisl0st · 9 days ago

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vyxenisl0st · 14 days ago

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you gonna let me be good to you?

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: your little slip up forces you and frank to come to terms with your feelings for one another.

warnings: cursing, fluffy frank, mentions of blood (its frank babes), explicit sexual content (minors dni)

word count: 9.7k

a/n: this one goes out to all my frankie lovers <3 I promised this a long time ago and i've literally been working on it for weeks but it didn't feel ~right~ until now. i'm a slut for soft frank, and frank in general, so here's 22 pages of just that. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

Frank Castle was not a man who was easily taken by surprise. He was used to having the upper hand, normally several steps ahead of everyone else, but even in a tight unexpected situation he was able to come out on top. There were very few things left in this world that shocked him anymore. After his time in the marines, and the reputation that preceded him as The Punisher, he had seen and done things most people couldn’t fathom in their wildest imaginations.

Yet, here he was, staring down at his phone absolutely and completely dumbfounded. As much as he knew he should, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the picture displayed on the screen. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. The longer he stared at it, the more he felt his jeans becoming increasingly too tight. His eyes anxiously flickered between the photo, and the door he knew you were just on the other side of. For the first time in a long time, Frank didn’t know what to do. He was completely in shock..because you had just accidentally sent him a photo of yourself in lingerie.

Frank had stopped by your office and asked if you could send him some photos of a few documents that you had found at the library that contained confidential information related to a “case” he was working on. You opted to take photos instead of printing the documents, not wanting it to be tracked back to you or him. Frank had met you through Karen, you were her best friend, and you graciously helped him out from time to time.

He shouldn’t be thinking about you like this. He shouldn’t be staring. He should delete the photo and lie through his teeth saying he never got anything. He didn’t want you to be embarrassed. You two were friends, in a way he supposed. As much as anyone could really be Frank Castle’s friend. As soon as the door to your office swung open, Frank whipped his head up in the direction of your voice.

“Hey, did you get the photos? Sorry, I have terrible signal in here. I wanted to make sure you got them before you took off.”

Frank felt frozen. There was no doubt a light shade of pink coated the tops of his cheeks, which he knew he could easily blame on the heat in the building. But if he didn’t get the hell out of there fast, there would be little to no ignoring the effect the photo had on him. He could already feel all the blood in his body rushing straight downwards. Frank cleared his throat awkwardly, looking anywhere but at you, turning his phone over in his hands timidly.

“I uh..think you sent me the wrong thing.”

The furrow of confusion in your brows and the adorable pout that formed on your lips made his cock twitch in his jeans. He let his mind wander for a moment as he thought about how pretty those full lips of yours would look wrapped around the head of his cock. He couldn’t stop his eyes from traveling down your body, now that he knew what was hiding underneath. He paid extra attention to how the fabric of your pencil skirt clung to your curvy hips, and the little taste of cleavage he caught from your blouse that dived into a v-shape just above the swell of your breasts. Fuck. Stop it.

“I didn’t send you the photos of documents?”

“No..you uh..sent me somethin’ else. Somethin’ that uh..wasn’t..meant for me.”

Frank should’ve stopped you from checking your phone to see just what he was talking about. He should’ve brushed it off, told you not to worry and to just send the photos when you had a minute, and gotten the hell out of there. But another part of him was curious about your reaction to your mishap. As you unlocked your phone to check your previous messages with Frank, a sharp gasp suddenly left your lips and your hand flew up to cover your mouth. Your doe eyes were blown wide open as you stared down at Frank in panic.

“Oh my god, Frank..I-I’m so sorry. Oh my god, I can’t believe I sent you that. I..I’m so..I’m so sorry.”

“S’alright. Honest mistake. I just uh..knew it wasn't for me. Thought you should..be aware, I guess.”

He had to look away. He couldn’t handle the sight of you biting your lip, even if it was innocent. All it did was fuel the sinful thoughts berating around in his head. Sure, he’d always thought you were pretty, even from the moment you two first met. But he never thought more of it. He never thought about you like that until now. Now that he had seen what your body looked like covered in thin black lace. You weren’t exactly naked in the photo, but it damn sure left nothing to the imagination. It awoke something within Frank he was having difficulty taming.

“It..it wasn’t for anyone really.”

You weren’t sure why you said that. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. You knew why. You wanted him to know those photos weren’t for anyone in particular. That no other man had seen that. Frank’s head cocked to the side at your confession, eager for you to continue but staying quiet.

“I..um..that was for Karen.”

If Frank’s cock wasn’t throbbing before, it definitely was now. His eyes widened in surprise, and you must have been able to read his thoughts at that very moment, because you rolled your eyes playfully and giggled as your full lips split into a playful grin.

“Not..not like that, Castle. We just..got drunk one night and somehow got on the topic of lingerie and..I told her I’d never owned any before and..um..wanted to know what it felt like..to wear it. So, she talked me into buying some. We actually bought the same set, hers is pink. But we didn’t remember any of that. So when it came in, Karen sent me a picture of hers and asked how mine looked so I um..sent her one back.”

Frank was thanking any God that was listening that he had brought a backpack today, and that it was currently conveniently placed over his prominent bulge. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was about what you had just said that was driving him absolutely mad. He couldn’t pinpoint if it was the fact that you had taken a photo like that to send to Karen, or the fact that he was the only person besides Karen that had ever seen that photo. That he was the only man that had seen you all dressed up like that. A sudden wave of possessiveness washed over him, and he knew he had to snap out of it. The room felt like it was shrinking and he could feel sweat starting to form along his hairline. He had to get the fuck out of that office. Away from you.

“Oh..well..uh..again, no worries. It..looks nice. Just uh, send me the photos when ya get a minute? Gotta..go meet a guy. Thanks again.”

Frank was on his feet in a flash and bolting out the door without another word, leaving you there stunned by his reply. His boots thudded heavily against the steps with every furious step he took, swearing at himself along the way.

“Fuckin’ idiot. ‘Looks nice’? Seriously? That’s the best you could fuckin’ come up with? You dumb motherfucker.”

Frank paused at the bottom of the steps, waging an internal moral war within himself. Part of him wanted to turn around, march right back up to your office, tell you what he really thought about the picture, then bend you over your desk and fuck you six ways from Sunday. But he knew better. He couldn’t get involved with you. He couldn’t get involved with anyone.

»»———　　———««

It had been two weeks since you had heard from Frank. That wasn’t totally unusual. Frank was known to disappear for weeks, even months at a time, then would show back up when he needed something. You had met him several months ago through Karen. You had drunkenly confessed your crush on the big, bad Punisher to her. You knew she had a weird, complicated friendship with Frank. Karen was your best friend, and you two shared a lot of familiar trauma and a complicated moral compass. You both felt like you could understand Frank’s motives, subtly justifying his actions to no one but each other. That was why she knew she could trust you with him.

Seven months ago, Frank had showed up at your door at one-thirty in the morning, completely covered in blood. To say you were surprised was an understatement. Your shock must have been clearly written all over your features when you answered the door to find none other than Frank Castle leaning against the doorway, face covered in fresh bruises and gashes that were dripping with molasses of deep crimson. After what felt like an eternity of silence, he grunted and nodded his head towards you.

“Karen said you were a friend. Knew your way ‘round a first aid kit.”

All the pieces started to slowly come together in your head. Karen was out of town for a conference with the Bulletin. Frank must have come looking for her, and she had most likely redirected him to you in her absence, knowing that you would help him. Frank looked somewhat..nervous? His dark eyes trailed over you with uncertainty, clearly still unsure how trustworthy you were. He must have either been desperate or in a lot of pain to bite the bullet and follow Karen’s instructions to find you. Blinking away your stunned expression, you willed your foggy brain to clear up as you swung your door open wider and held your trembling hand out towards him.

“Oh..yeah, sorry. I..I wasn’t expecting anyone. Um..come in. What uh..what do you need?”

That was the first time you had patched up Frank. Your hands shook slightly with trepidation, due to the fact that Frank was hurt badly and you didn’t want to make it worse, but also due to the fact that you were face to face with the Frank Castle for the first time. Pictures didn’t do him justice. He didn’t make small talk, not that you really expected him to. He sat there silently, grunting every now and then as you stitched him back together and cleaned his various wounds, all the while watching you with complete scrutiny. When he finally passed out from either blood loss or exhaustion, you stayed up all night curled up in the chair across from the small couch his body had completely overtaken. If you hadn’t been so stressed, you might have laughed at the sight of his large body dangling off your tiny couch.

You checked his breathing every twenty minutes, only stopping after two hours when his large hand darted out to grab onto your wrist carefully. His touch was rough and warm, a juxtaposition you welcomed eagerly. Your eyes widened slightly at just how large his hand was compared to your own, completely covering your fingertips up to the beginning of your forearm. Your breath hitched in your throat as he opened his eyes to look up at you, the moonlight filtering through your curtains illuminating a sliver of his hardened features. An achingly beautiful mosaic of purples and blues were scattered over his face where bruises had begun to bloom like the first day of spring. There was a tiny glint of reverence in his obsidian eyes that nearly knocked the breath out of you.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re hurt, and I really don’t want you to die in my living room.”

“You doubtin’ your own work, doc?”

“I..I’m not a doctor, Frank. Nor any version of a licensed medical professional. I’m an editor for fucks sake. I read manuscripts for a living. I just happen to know my way around a first aid kit because I have three fearless and extremely reckless younger brothers.”

That was the first time, and one of the only times, you ever saw Frank Castle smile. The corners of his mouth curved upwards into the ghost of a miniscule grin. You wanted it to last forever. But as most things with Frank, it was fleeting, and as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished. His large hand gently squeezed at your wrist before letting go. You hated how quickly you already missed the brief contact.

“I ain’t gonna die. Trust me, I’ve had worse. Get some sleep.”

“Frank-”

“Karen trusts you. So do I.”

»»———　　———««

And that was typically how it went over the next few months. If Karen was out of town or busy with a deadline, Frank came to you. Sometimes, he came straight to you anyway, grumbling some excuse about Karen being wrapped up in something. It made your heart swell with pride that you had won Frank’s trust, and that sometimes he came to you just because he wanted to. That he considered you two something along the lines of friends. There were moments that made you question if there was room for more than that. Frank always guided you to the opposite side of the sidewalk when you were out, taking the spot closest to the street himself. Sometimes he placed his large hand carefully on your lower back to usher you in the correct direction if you weren’t paying enough attention to where you were walking, the gentle act sending your brain into a frenzy. He even memorized your coffee order, although he would always insult it and scoff before giving it to you. “You ever try gettin’ any actual coffee with all that sweet shit?” You had tried several times to work up the courage to flirt with him in a way that was light enough it could be played off as banter, but you were never brave enough.

You supposed you could chalk all those little moments up to him just being a gentleman, and anything else you had derived had been a figment of your own imagination. Frank was a stoic, broody, incredibly intimidating man. He was never mean to you, of course. He had never been anything but gentle with you. Still, you were afraid. You could never gauge what he was feeling unless it was anger. He was extremely difficult to read, and he didn’t talk more than he had to. Frank was also a very complicated man, still very clearly in mourning of what he had lost. It felt wrong to invade on that.

You thought you would eventually get used to the sight of him shirtless, or only in boxers. But unfortunately for you, that day never came. As a matter of fact, every time you saw him begin to shred his torn and bloodied clothes, it only made the ache between your thighs that much more unbearable. He was absolutely captivating. Every inch of muscle was defined perfectly, from his broad shoulders down to the delicious v lines that disappeared beneath the waistband of his briefs. Frank’s arms were bigger than your head, and his hands..God you loved his hands. You wanted to know what they felt like wrapped around your throat, digging into your hips, palming at your chest. You didn’t turn your eyes away from the scars that were scattered across his skin, but they did send fresh cracks throughout your heart every time they were on display. You wanted to trace your fingertips over them, and gently kiss every single one of them away. You knew the scars that covered his skin were nothing compared to the ones you couldn’t see.

There was one night you thought you had finally been caught. Your hands were shaking, not because you were nervous or because the gash on Frank’s hip was really bad, but because he was so close to you, closer than he had ever been. You were on your knees right beside him while he laid back on the couch, arm propped up behind his head showcasing his bulging bicep. Your palm was flat against his lower abdomen, right above the waistband of his briefs, as your other carefully stitched his torn flesh back together.

His dick was essentially staring you in the face beneath the thin fabric and it made it hard to focus. Everytime you moved in closer to Frank, your heart pounded so hard against your ribcage you were certain he could hear it in the silence. Feeling the warmth radiating from the proximity to his skin, skimming the taut muscle under your fingertips, smelling the scent of his musky cologne that filled your small apartment for days even after he left, it drove you wild. Frank chuckled deeply as he placed his large hand completely over yours, tearing your unfiltered attention back to his face.

“You keep shakin’ like that, you’re gonna stab me. I’ve had my fill of bein’ stabbed for one evenin’.”

“I..Sorry.”

“S’alright. I just need ya to relax for me, can ya do that?”

Your mouth went dry at his words. You knew he hadn’t meant for them to sound so suggestive, but it stirred something deep within you. You would do fucking anything that man asked. Letting out a deep breath, you pushed your selfish thoughts to the back of your mind and licked your lips, nodding your head slowly.

“Yeah..yeah, I-I’m sorry. This one’s just..it’s pretty bad, Frank.”

“I’ll live. Take your time, darlin’.”

Oh. That was new. The tone of Frank’s voice was so soft and gentle in comparison to the usual gruffness of it that it made you almost wanna cry. You had never heard him talk to anyone that way, not even Karen. Frank was never aggressive or demanding with you, but he usually wasn’t so soft spoken either. He had certainly never called you anything other than your name before. Frank’s voice was another thing you loved. It was so rough and coarse, the deep bass of it traveled straight to your core every time he spoke.

“Ya’know, we were trained to do this shit. Never know when you gotta piece someone back together while shit’s explodin’ around ya. We were trained for months, ya’know?. I tell ya, first time I ever had to stitch one of my guys up, I was scared shitless. It’s easy to prepare to do somethin’, but ya never actually know what it’s gonna be like ‘til you do.”

That was one of the few times Frank had ever opened up about his past to you, clueing you in to the Frank that might still be there under all the jagged layers of pain and trauma. It made you smile, that he felt comfortable enough to share that with you, like you had won over another small piece of him. A tiny victory.

“It’s really hard for me to imagine you being scared.”

“I’m still human. Sure, I get scared sometimes. Not as much these days, ya’know. Not as much to lose.”

»»———　　———««

Unbeknownst to you, Frank had spent every single night of the past two weeks with one hand wrapped viciously around his cock and the other death gripped onto his phone with your risque picture on display. He knew it was wrong. He knew he should feel bad about it. Frank really did try to get that picture out of his head. He took cold shower after cold shower, cleaned every single gun in his collection twice, and even tried to take his frustrations out on the unlucky fucks that dared to get in his way. But it was no use. The swell of his cock refused to go down until he paid it some attention. It was relentless and Frank was desperate.

It was supposed to just happen once. Frank was supposed to get it out of his system, delete the picture, and move on. But every night he found a reason not to get rid of it. Every night, he had an excuse. He felt like a raging, horny teenager all over again, fucking his hand into the mattress of the motel bed every night to the sight of you in the barely there black lace, imagining what you would feel like wrapped around him. Frank hadn’t touched himself in weeks, had been too busy and focused to cater to his own needs. But wild imaginations of you had him feeling like he was going to fucking explode if he couldn’t give himself some relief. Throughout the day he was ansty, even more irritable than usual, hardly able to fucking sit still as he thought about what was waiting for him once he got back to his room.

It wasn’t just the picture that preoccupied his mind. Frank felt like he was fucking consumed with you. He found himself thinking about you constantly, wondering how your day at work was, if you were safe, what book you had your nose in this week, what latest bakery treat you were trying your hand at. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, you had grown on him immensely. He made excuses for himself when he would opt to visit you instead of Karen. He tricked himself into believing that Karen was busy instead of facing the truth that he just wanted to see you. Just wanted to hear your laugh when he said something you thought was funny. Just wanted to borrow another book from your collection to get a glimpse into your mind. Just wanted to pretend to be a burden when you offered to let him stay for dinner because it was the only fucking sense of normalcy he had these days. Just wanted to feel your soft touch on his skin as you carefully mended all of the parts of him that were torn and broken, even the parts you couldn’t see.

That picture shed a light on something that Frank had been desperately trying to ignore since the moment he met you and experienced your undeserved kindness. A feeling Frank swore he would never, and could never, encounter again. Part of him felt guilty. How could he be infatuated with another woman when he was still waist deep in revenge for the one he lost? The other part of him could no longer deny how badly he wanted you. That curtain had been pulled back, a glaring spotlight on everything Frank had tried to hide from these past few months. There was no more pretending.

Frank had a choice to make. It was either give in, or let you go. For good. His struggles with his feelings for you were beginning to get in the way of his work and if he wasn’t careful, he was gonna make a mistake in a big way. He had to make a choice, and fast, consequences be damned.

»»———　　———««

You had just finished getting out of a steamy shower, humming softly to yourself as you rubbed your favorite velvet amber and patchouli scented lotion all over your damp skin. After letting your hair down from the messy knot on top of your head, you put on a pair of silky sleep shorts and a tank top, slipping a pair of fuzzy socks onto your feet. You continued to hum as you padded through the open living room to the kitchen that was connected, not even noticing the dark figure sitting in the corner that was silently observing you. As you reached for a wine glass from the cabinet, a deep voice cut through the quiet and burst your blissful ignorance.

“You really need a security system.”

You jumped with a squeal at the sound of the voice, instantly whipping around to face the dark figure with widened eyes. You had a few candles burning on the coffee table that cast an ambient golden glow over your apartment. You had planned a relaxing evening for yourself and decided not to run up your electricity bill when you had so many candles that you had been excited to burn. Your heart beat frantically in your chest as you squinted your eyes, trying to make out the silhouette in the corner.

“S’just me, darlin’. Don’t freak out.”

“Frank?”

“Didn’t even reach for a knife or nothin’. Thought I taught you better than that.”

A deep, breathy sigh of relief sounded from you as Frank slowly stood and took a few steps forward into the dim light, his large frame finally coming into view. You rubbed your palms over your face slowly, feeling your nerves start to settle now that there was not in fact an intruder in your apartment.

“Jesus, Frank. You nearly sent me into cardiac arrest. Why didn’t you make any noise when you came in?”

Frank stared at you silently, an unreadable expression plastered over his face. For a moment, he heavily regrets not alerting you that he was here while you were in the shower. Maybe you wouldn’t be wearing those tiny little shorts and a tank top with no bra. He grinds his teeth as he takes in your appearance. He can still see little droplets of water gliding down your collarbones, soaking into the fabric of your tank top. Your hair cascaded over your shoulders in loose waves, and your cheeks were still twinged pink from the heat of the shower. He can smell the scent of your lotion over all the burning candles, and it made his fingers twitch at his sides.

“Sorry. Tried to holler, but don’t think ya heard me over the shower.”

That was a lie. He had knocked though, and then began to panic when you didn’t answer. It was late on a Saturday, so he knew you weren’t at work. The thought briefly crossed his mind that you could be on a date, but he furiously pushed that to the back of his mind as he fished for his spare key to your place and shoved the door open. His right hand flew to the gun tucked into the belt of his jeans, ready to shoot at whoever as his eyes darted rapidly around your apartment. He only stilled when he heard the sound of running water and the melodic tune of your voice as you sang some fucking pop song he didn’t recognize.

Frank had quietly shut the door, securing both locks into place before taking a seat in the chair in the corner of the room. He closed his eyes and relaxed back against the chair as he listened to you sing in the shower. It was a complete invasion of privacy, but definitely not the worst one he had committed when it came to you. Frank thought you sounded like an angel. He wanted to hear you sing more. Maybe he’d play guitar for you, if you’d sing along. Your voice caused a wave of calm to wash over him that he hadn’t felt in weeks. Although, it was short lived when he heard the water cut off and quickly had to come up with an excuse as to why he was sitting in the dark waiting for you.

You hadn’t noticed the way Frank was looking at you since your eyes were too busy scanning over his entire body for injuries. You tilted your head to the side, brows knit together quizzically as you made your way over to stand in front of him. Normally when Frank showed up like this, he was bloody, and there were wounds to be cleaned or stitched. But you didn’t see anything. No cuts. No scrapes. No bruises. No gashes or bullet holes from what you could tell. Not a single piece of his hair was even out of place. You dipped your head back to stare up at Frank in bemusement.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? I..I don’t see any holes.”

You smiled at your own little stupid joke, but it quickly faltered when you took in the look on his face. Frank had begun to give in a little to your lame attempts to make him laugh, granting you mercy and offering the faintest of smiles or chuckles in response. But he wasn’t smiling, or laughing. His strong jaw was set in a hard line, and his expression was stony. There was something in his eyes though..something unfamiliar you had never seen before.

“I’m fine.”

Both of you stared at one another silently for what felt like hours. You began to feel uneasiness seep into your bones, feeling suddenly even smaller under his harsh gaze. Frank was huge, physically and height-wise. He always towered a good foot over you, which never made you feel unsettled until right now. He looked almost..mad? In that moment, you felt for everyone that had ever been on the receiving end of this menacing look. They didn’t have the luxury of knowing Frank Castle wouldn’t hurt them. Not like you did. Swallowing thickly, you took a shaky breath and spoke softly.

“So..if you don’t need patching up..what do you need, Frank?”

“To confess.”

Frank’s voice had dipped an impossible octave deeper and it caused you to shiver along with sending a flood of wetness between your thighs. You tried not to focus so much on his voice and instead on his words, feeling even more perplexed as they settled in your ears. You tilted your head slightly to the side as you stared up at him curiously.

“I..I’m not sure I’m the best person for the job. I’m not religious, Frank. You know that.”

“Yeah, but you’re the closest thing to an angel I’ve ever seen. Besides, it ain’t that kinda confession.”

Your heart thudded loudly in your ears and you felt warmth creeping onto your face, settling into a deep rosy tint that covered the expanse of your cheekbones. Your lips parted in surprise at his words. Frank had never said anything to you like that before. You had no idea where this was coming from, but you desperately wanted to find out.

“Oh..well..I’m not a cop either.”

“I know that, smartass.”

There was an edge to Frank’s voice that submissed you into silence. He wasn’t in the mood for games or playful banter. This was uncharted territory for you. Frank hadn’t been so impassive since the first night you met him, but he had also never spoken in such a harsh tone to you. It caused you to take a step back, and some kind of recognition flashed in Frank’s eyes about his slip. He wasn’t angry with you. He was angry with himself. He dipped his head for a moment, letting out a deep sigh through his nose before meeting your gaze again with a slightly softer expression.

“I need to confess somethin’ to you, personally.”

You didn’t know whether to speak or not, so you kept quiet, staring up into his dark ebony eyes and trying to find something, anything you could use to decipher his cryptic words. But he gave nothing away. Frank had an excellent poker face. There was nothing there but the emotion that was burning brightly in his stare that you still couldn’t identify. Frank squared his shoulders, bracing himself for whatever reaction you were about to have. It was now or never.

“I didn’t delete it.”

You blinked a few times as you tried to process his words, racking your brain for anything that would make them make sense. Confusion settled onto your features as you waited for Frank to continue, but he didn’t. He just stared at you in anticipation.

“What?”

“The picture. I didn’t delete it.”

It felt like your brain was swiveling back and forth as you tried to keep up. You had been so busy with work the past few weeks, and worrying about Frank, that you had almost forgotten about the photo you had accidentally sent him. Once that lightbulb went off in your head, your eyes widened slightly, lips parting to form an “o” shape, but you still didn’t speak. You had no idea what to say. You were still trying to process what he just said. Why did he say that? What did he mean?

“Oh.”

Frank’s hard stare shifted from your eyes to your full lips, trying to get a reading on what was going through your head. You typically wore all of your emotions, and normally that always helped clue him in to what you were feeling, but right now he couldn’t fucking tell. He could see the scarlet coating your cheeks, but he wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment, anger or..something else. But that one simple word you uttered had completely taken him by surprise. His dark brows furrowed as they knit in the middle of his forehead, staring down at you in bewilderment.

“That’s it?”

“I..don’t really know what to say.”

“You ain’t mad?”

“Why?”

Frank cocked his head to the side as he stared down at you. He had prepared himself for a million different reactions from you. He had rehearsed an apology speech, was gonna let you use him as your own personal punching bag, nearly wore a goddamn bulletproof vest just in case. But this..was not in the realm of his expectations.

“What do you mean ‘why’?”

“Why did you keep it?”

Frank paused for a moment. Maybe there was a chance to salvage this. He could lie. He could say he just forgot about it, realized his mistake, and wanted to apologize. But you didn’t look mad that he kept it. You looked..intrigued. You weren’t yelling at him, calling him a pervert and tossing him out of your apartment, so he decided to press his luck and take it a step further. Fuck it.

“Because I thought you looked fucking beautiful in it.”

Frank’s words nearly knocked the breath right out of your lungs. You were having a hard time processing them, even as they echoed loudly in your ears over and over again. That fire that was burning in his predatory gaze was now roaring loudly, setting you ablaze along with it once realization set in. It wasn’t anger swirling around in Frank’s eyes, it was lust.

You had to be dreaming. This had to be a dream. There was no way Frank Castle himself was here, standing in front of you, telling you he thought you were beautiful. Your brain wouldn’t accept it. This had to be some sick, twisted trick your mind was playing on you. Warmth spread between your thighs like wildfire at his admission, the wetness already there doing nothing to put it out. Frank’s stare was unwavering. He wouldn’t tear his eyes away from you. As if he could sense your apprehension, he took a bold step forward and hooked his index finger under your chin, tilting your head back so that you had to look up at him.

“C’mon, darlin. Talk to me. Tell me what’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours. ”

“I..I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?”

“You think I’m pretty.”

Frank chuckled lightly, brushing the calloused pad of his thumb experimentally over your cheekbone in a soothing manner.

“No, I said I think you’re beautiful.”

“Why?”

“The hell you mean ‘why’?”

You couldn’t think of an answer. You couldn’t focus on anything but the feeling of Frank lightly dragging his thumb slowly along the edge of your bottom lip, his gaze dropping just for a moment to linger on your mouth. Your eyes fluttered closed at the contact, reveling in the sensation of his touch on you for once.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

Your eyes instantly flew open at his gruff words, and a tiny smirk curled onto the corner of his mouth at your obedience. Cupping your cheek gently, he took a slight step forward to close the gap between you, placing his other hand gingerly on your lower back. He pulled you in languidly until you were flush against him, scanning your face for any sign of discomfort, but he didn’t find any. You melted into his touch, leaning your face into his rough palm like you had dreamed of so many nights before. You weren’t pulling away. You weren’t telling him to leave. You weren’t angry. You wanted this too.

“Atta girl. You been so damn good to me these past few months, sweetheart. You gonna let me be good to you?”

You sighed softly at his words, nodding your head eagerly as your hands flew up to grip tightly onto the collar of his black denim jacket. As you stood up on your tiptoes to capture his lips, both of his large hands grasped onto your waist to keep you in place as he stared down into your eyes with a shake of his head.

“I need words, sweet girl. C’mon, needa hear it. Tell me you want this too.”

“I want it, Frank. Please..please.”

That was all the affirmation Frank needed to crash his lips onto yours like violent waves in a perilous storm. The kiss was hungry and desperate, and you found yourself getting lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. He was everywhere but you felt like you couldn’t be close enough. You fervently shoved the worn denim down his shoulders, letting it fall carelessly onto the floor beneath as your fingers attempted to work on the buttons on his shirt. Frank chuckled against your mouth as he broke the kiss, grabbing both of your wrists in one of his large hands.

“Easy baby, we got all night.”

“But-”

“Shh. Let me take care of you for once, yeah?”

Before you could register what was happening, Frank had wrapped his strong arms around your waist and lifted you as if you weighed nothing, crossing the small space of your apartment in short strides towards your bedroom. You half expected him to toss you down onto the mattress, and were pleasantly surprised when he carefully sat you down on the edge of your bed. You dipped your head back to stare up at him in wonder.

Anticipation buzzed throughout your veins and you felt your breath hitch in your throat when Frank slowly kneeled down in front of you to be eye level with you. His large hands came down to rest on your bare thighs, squeezing gently to get your attention.

“The second I do somethin’ you don’t like, you let me know. At any point you change your mind, or wanna stop, tell me. I won’t be mad. Understand?”

Nodding your head fervently, you surged forward and grasped Frank’s face in your hands, hungrily chasing the taste of his lips. He chuckled against your mouth, tearing himself away which caused you to whine softly as he gently grabbed your wrists.

“C’mon, honey. What’d I tell ya? Need your words. Tell me you understand.”

“I understand Frank just..please..kiss me.”

You didn’t care how needy and desperate you sounded. Months and months of built up frustration were making you more impatient than usual. You had been dreaming about this for so long, and it was finally happening. You found yourself momentarily suspended in belief that Frank actually thought there was anything he could do that you wouldn’t absolutely love.

“Yes ma’am.”

Frank settled on his knees in between your thighs, grabbing onto the back of your head as his other hand found its home on your waist. Your lips were incredibly soft and tasted of that pink grapefruit chapstick that you were always wearing. As he swiped his tongue along your bottom lip, you meekly whined, and the sound went straight to his cock. Frank was caught in tandem between wanting to take his time and worship every inch of you and wanting to be selfish and finally bury himself to the hilt inside of you.

This time when your timid fingers went to work on the buttons of his shirt, he didn’t stop you. He decided to let you set the pace, and would only go as far as you wanted. He tore his hands away from you only for a brief moment as you pushed the shirt over his broad shoulders, instantly returning his touch to every spare expanse of your skin he could find to ground himself to reality. You were here, and you wanted him.

Your fingertips brushed against every curve of muscle, every raised and indented scar like you had done so many times before, but this time with renewed vigor. Frank’s skin was always so warm and you savored every ember of his heat. His fingertips cautiously slipped under the hem of your tank top, dancing over the exposed skin of your hips as he brought his lips near your ear.

“Can I take this off, honey?”

“Yes.”

You were surprised at how quickly you were able to answer. Lifting your arms above your head, you let Frank tug the soft fabric upwards, letting out a soft hiss when the chill in the room nipped at your exposed chest. Frank’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of you nearly naked before him, a low groan emitting in the back of his throat. He didn’t hesitate to lean in and latch his mouth around one of your peaked nipples causing a soft moan to tumble from your lips. The warmth of his mouth contrasted so sharply with your cold bedroom that it had your head spinning. You arched your back to grant your chest fully to Frank, becoming a whimpering mess as his large hand fondled your breast and played with your other nipple. You gripped onto the back of his neck, growing wetter by the second from his delectable assault on your chest.

“Frank..please..”

“What is it baby? What do ya need, hm? Tell me what ya need, I’ll give you anything. Anything you fuckin’ want.”

“Please touch me.”

You should be embarrassed at how breathy you sounded, already so worked up from so little. But that was just the effect Frank had on you, and he fucking loved it. He loved how responsive you were to his touch, and his words. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your little shorts and panties, giving the elastic on both a faint tug.

“Gotta take these off. Gonna let me do that, hm?”

“Please.”

Frank thought he was gonna cum in his pants just from the way you were already begging for him. He had barely even touched you yet, and his excitement only grew for how you would react when he finally did. In a flash, you were completely bare before him, and Frank thought you were the most beautiful fucking thing he had ever seen. Leaning in closer, his broad shoulders spread your thighs further apart to give him a better view of your glistening cunt, and he was fucking done for.

“Fuck sweetheart. You been like this the whole fuckin’ time?”

You shuddered at the ravenous look in Frank’s eyes as he zeroed in on your soaked pussy. The wetness that had accumulated since his confession had grown unbearable, and you just needed him to do something. Anything.

“Everytime you’re around.”

Frank’s eyes darkened considerably as they flickered up towards your face, a wicked glint dancing around in his irises.

“That right?”

Capturing your bottom lip between your teeth, you nodded your head quickly, feeling heat spreading even further throughout your thighs.

“My poor girl. That’s just fuckin’ mean of me, ain’t it? You take such good care of me, and I leave you like this. Fuckin’ cruel of me. You gonna let me take care of you now?”

Frank's large hands slowly inched up your thighs, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the tops of them. He stared you down intently as he braced his palms on your inner thighs, spreading you open completely for him. Raising his hand up slowly, he hovered his thumb over your clit as he waited for your answer.

“Please, Frank.”

“Atta girl.”

The contact of his rough thumb pressing against your clit had you jolting upwards, a surprised gasp leaving your mouth without warning. Frank gripped onto your hip to keep you steady, using his index finger to collect some of your slick before starting to rub slow, purposeful circles around your clit. You moaned at the relief you felt when he touched you, grabbing onto one of his shoulders to tug him in closer. Frank fucking loved the way you sounded, and he wanted more of it. He slowly increased his speed, applying more pressure here and there before slowly slipping his index finger inside of you. He took a moment to gather himself at how tight you felt around just his finger, his cock twitching in his jeans at the thought of how easily he could ruin you for any other man.

“There we go, that’s my good girl. Go on, move those hips. Just like that baby. C’mon sweetheart, take what you need.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your hips against Frank’s hand, watching the way his arm flexed everytime he pushed his finger back inside your greedy pussy. He followed your movements like the tide chasing the moon, pushing back wherever you pulled. A louder moan rang throughout your otherwise silent apartment when he added a second finger, curling them both upon exit in a beckoning manner that had your eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head. He hadn’t even fucked you, and you were ruined. You would never be able to touch yourself again. You would never be as good as Frank. No one would.

“Doin’ so fuckin’ well for me, baby. Knew you would. Look so beautiful like this. Gonna let me taste you, hm? Bet you taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

Frank didn’t bother to wait for you to answer this time. The alluring noises you made were enough for him to pull you further to the edge of the bed by your hips, diving in to devour you completely. A silent cry hung in your throat when he wrapped his lips around your swollen clit and began to suckle, all the while still driving his thick fingers inside you at unexplored depths. You were hanging on the edge by a thread, trying your hardest to will away your orgasm so he would keep his head between your thighs forever. Your fingers weaved through his dark tresses, loving how good he looked with his hair slightly grown out, but loving even more that you had something to pull on.

Frank hummed at your taste. He fucking growled against your pussy and the vibrations had your thighs shaking around his head. You tried to give him a warning, but there was no time. You couldn’t find your voice. The second he started flicking his tongue over your sensitive nub at an inhuman pace while curling his fingers against that spongy spot inside you, you were coming apart and Frank was there to collect every drop. Your inner thighs burned from the abrasiveness of his stubble, but you welcomed it eagerly. If anything, it was at least one reminder that tonight had been real.

Frank didn’t stop his assault on your clit as you rode out your high on his fingers, continuing to lap up everything that you had to offer. You whimpered due to the sensitivity from your commanding orgasm, trying to push at Frank’s broad shoulders to get him to budge, but the stubborn fucker wouldn’t move. You could feel him grinning against your core, hear him chuckling softly at your whines and pleas. He was enjoying this.

“God Frank, please. Please..I need a minute.”

Reluctantly, Frank leaned back and licked the rest of your release from his lips. You stared down at him breathlessly, wanting to commit every single detail of the sight before you to memory. His mouth and chin were still gleaming with your release, dark eyes wild and blown out, hair disheveled from your incessant tugging, and broad chest rising and falling quickly as he attempted to catch his breath. But the thing that stole the breath right out of your lungs was that Frank was smiling. Not a crooked one that took up the corner of his mouth, not his usual cocky smirk. A full on, mouth split wide open, all teeth on display, eyes crinkling at the corners, smile. If you hadn’t been so dazed out in bliss, you might have cried at the sight of it.

“You alright?”

“You’re smiling.”

“Hell yeah I’m smilin’. Just made my pretty girl come, and she tastes like fuckin’ heaven. What’s not to smile about?”

A blush crept on your cheeks at his words, causing you to mirror the grin that had taken over his mouth.

“I’ve never seen you smile like that before.”

Frank raised up off his knees, leaning over the bed and placing both of his large hands on either side of your head as he looked down at you so tenderly, it made your stomach flip and nervousness settle in your ribcage. The look in his eyes felt so..intimate.

“Ain’t had a reason to. Until you.”

Grabbing onto the back of Frank’s neck, you pulled him down to mold your lips together in a passionate kiss. You wanted him to feel everything. You wanted more. This kiss was different from the ones before. It was more patient and evocative, a silent understanding between you and Frank. Your fingertips trailed down the expanse of his chest until you reached the buckle of his belt, pulling the leather from the confinements and popping open the button of his jeans. His lips migrated along your jaw and down your neck, sucking softly at the juncture just above your collarbone.

His large hand wrapped around your throat, not tightly, but just to keep you close. His teeth skimmed along your neck as you tugged down his zipper, pushing his jeans and briefs down his hips to set him free. Frank let out a grateful groan when his cock slapped against his stomach, pulling back just for a moment to shred the layers of fabric completely. You clenched around nothing at the sight of him naked above you. God, he was beautiful. You greedily accepted his kiss once again when he settled his hips between yours, reaching between your bodies to carefully wrap your hand around his base, eliciting a delicious moan from his throat.

Frank was hard, and looked painfully so. You smoothed your thumb over the leaking tip of his cock, causing his hips to jerk forward slightly. He was incredibly thick and long, feeling unbelievably heavy in your small hand.

“Shit. Feels even better than I imagined.”

Your eyes darted up to meet Frank’s at his quiet confession, searching the midnight pools intently as a tiny smirk tugged at your lips.

“Frank Castle. You’ve thought about me touching you like this?”

There wasn’t even a shred of shame in Frank’s eyes as he stared down at you with a wolfish grin, leaning in to brush his nose along yours as you continued to stroke him slowly.

“Might’ve left out the part where I’ve been gettin’ off to that picture you sent me every night the past couple weeks.”

Your mouth dropped open and your eyes went wide, a hearty laugh rumbling deep within Frank’s chest.

“And you’re just telling me this now?”

“I thought you’d be mad.”

“Do I look mad?”

“No, and I’m so fuckin’ glad you’re not. Thought I was gonna have to say goodbye to you tonight.”

Frank carefully pried your hand off of him and replaced it with his own, rubbing the head of his cock between your slick folds and teasing your clit every time he did so. Your brows furrowed at his words, but the second you felt the weight of him rubbing against your still sensitive clit, you gasped sharply. Gripping onto his bicep, you struggled through the pleasure to keep your eyes open. You weren’t letting those words go so easily.

“Why would you say that Frank?”

Frank hated that he could hear the hurt that laced your question, leaning in to press his forehead against yours as he sighed deeply. His hips moved at a tedious pace to keep you both placated, but not enough to satisfy what either of you really wanted.

“Thought you’d be mad, never wanna see me again. Thought..fuck, that I couldn’t have you. Shouldn’t have you. You’re too good to me, sweetheart. Too good for me. Didn’t think I deserved somethin’ so..fuck, so good.”

Frank’s face was twisted up in a concoction of hedonism and self deprecation. You knew what he thought of himself. You knew you would never be able to get him to see what you saw in him. But that didn’t mean that you were going to stop trying. You lifted your hands to cradle his face, parted lips stretching into the best smile you could offer when he was dragging his cock lazily through your folds.

“You didn’t think to ask me what I wanted?”

At that, you lifted your hips slightly, signaling that you were ready for more. That you wanted more. Frank took the hint and slipped the head of his cock into your entrance, watching the way your eyes lulled shut at the feeling. It took every ounce of will power he had not to dive inside your body. He took his time, moving inch by inch, allowing you to adjust to his size. It felt like you were fucking suffocating him, and for a minute he was genuinely worried he wouldn’t be able to last. Once he had finally bottomed out, he dropped his head into the crook of your neck and let a strangled moan escape. You dug your fingertips into his shoulders as he stretched your walls to their limits, sucking in a breath at the burning trail he created.

Frank pulled your legs up to wrap around his hips, snaking one of his arms beneath you and around your waist to keep your chest flush to his. He was fucking terrified that at any moment you would disappear. Frank remained as patient as possible, awaiting with bated breath for you to tell him he could move. He couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted something so fucking badly.

Turning your head slightly, you pressed the gentlest kiss to the skin beneath his ear. Frank lifted his head slightly so he could get a good look at you, feeling his heart race at the sight of you beneath him.

“I want you, Frank. All of you. If you want me too, then have me. Please.”

Frank stared down at you in disbelief, trying to figure out what the fuck he had done so right that had led him to this moment right here, with you. But who was he to say no to you? Without another word, he retracted his hips slightly just to bring them flush with yours again. He marveled at the sight of you under him, kiss-bitten lips red and swollen and parted, his name falling in breathy pants and moans from them over and over every time he reached that peak inside you. He could fucking die like this.

“Feel too fuckin’ good sweetheart, not gonna make it much longer. Need ya to let go with me. Can you do that for me, sweet girl? Hm?”

You weren’t sure if you nodded or even spoke. You weren’t sure if you gave any indication at all to Frank that you were coherent and understood what he asked.

“Look at me, baby. Wanna see those pretty eyes when you fall apart.”

The second his fingers found your clit, you were seeing stars. This orgasm was so much fucking stronger than the last one, it suckerpunched every bit of oxygen out of you and you found yourself struggling to breathe. Violent tremors shook throughout your body and you fought so hard to keep your eyes open just long enough to watch Frank fall apart just as hard above you. Your legs tightened around his waist and you gripped onto the back of his neck, holding on as much as he could as his hips stuttered against yours roughly when he finally spilled into you. The loud moan that ripped through his chest was like music to your ears and it nearly sent you over the edge again.

The room felt like a sauna, sweltering and sticky with Frank’s body heat and the combination of your releases hanging heavily in the air. Frank’s panting breaths and your desperate whimpers were the only things your ears could register. Your brain had seemingly shut off and your vision became incredibly fuzzy while you were coming down. You weren’t sure how long that lasted, but the feeling of a calloused finger stroking your cheek seemed to tether you back to reality.

Frank beamed down at you when you slowly opened your eyes, taking in the completely blissful, fucked out look on your face. You nuzzled into his palm, finding your lips maneuvering into a smile of their own accord.

“There’s my girl. Thought I lost you for a second there. Was worried I broke you.”

A symphonious giggle fell from your lips and Frank couldn’t help but grin even wider at the sound. You hummed softly as you looked up at him, shaking your head slowly.

“I don’t break so easily, Castle. Guess you’ll just have to keep trying.”

“That right?”

Lightly gripping onto the chain around his neck, you pulled him down to meet you in a head-spinning kiss. His large hand grabbed your face gently, and you giggled when you felt him nip at your bottom lip.

“That’s right.”

“Well, practice does make perfect.”

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vyxenisl0st · 15 days ago

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Hot, confident girl + weird, shy guy is already gold. But hot, confident girl + weird, shy guy with a deceptively high libido and a dick that leaves her speechless?

18+, minors dni

—————

That’s how Bob had you now.

You never would’ve guessed how insatiable he could be. But here you were, legs trembling, moans spilling out as half-formed words, eyes glazed over with tears, drool glistening at the corner of your mouth. And Bob? He wasn’t stopping anytime soon.

He wasn’t dominant—not in the usual sense. He was a mess himself. His forehead was pressed into the crook of your neck, breath hot against your skin as he murmured breathless apologies and praise between every thrust.

“I’m sorry— you feel so good— I can’t stop— so perfect—��

There was no rhythm. No control. Just a desperate, stuttering need that left you unraveling under him. It was chaotic. Intense. Overwhelming. And it felt unbearably good.

Oh, you thought he was done?

Sure, he was already spent, hips twitching through the last few weak thrusts, breath ragged as he collapsed against you. But even when he was shooting nothing, his body still moved like it didn’t know how to stop. And neither did he.

Because Bob couldn’t leave you like this — ruined, dripping, overstimulated and dazed. What kind of boyfriend would he be if he didn’t take care of you properly?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, already moving down your body, hands trembling as they caressed your thighs. “You were so good… I didn’t mean to make a mess. Let me clean you up. Please…”

The moment his mouth touched you, he let out the softest moan, like he’d been waiting for this all night. His tongue was desperate, frantic, slurping and licking with no rhythm, just raw hunger. He wasn’t trying to be sexy. He was trying to make it right.

“You taste so good,” he whimpered into you. “You’re so perfect. I don’t deserve you. God, I love you—”

It was messy. Loud. Filthy. His mouth moved like he was starving, like worshipping you was the only thing keeping him grounded. Every time you twitched or cried out, he whimpered in response, overwhelmed by how good you still tasted, how soft you were, how you let him do this.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… but I need you to feel good again. Let me do this. Just one more… I promise—”

But you both knew he wouldn’t stop at just one more.

#bob reynolds #bob thunderbolts #bob x reader #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds smut #marvel mcu #mcu fandom #thunderbolts #lewis pullman #lewis pullman x reader #sentry #sentry x reader #the void #the void x reader

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vyxenisl0st · 15 days ago

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vyxenisl0st · 16 days ago

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vyxenisl0st · 24 days ago

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seeing my man with his canonical love interest 💔💔💔💔

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vyxenisl0st · 1 month ago

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can you do bob x reader where he sees us interacting with a child and it makes him want to be a father so bad?

It’s You I’m Thinking Of

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

Summary: Valentina organizes a PR event for the Thunderbolts and during the event Bob realizes that he may want more out of life than just saving the world.

Warnings: Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts because of Bob’s involvement and because some events are mentioned in passing. Fluff, a hint of Angst and an Established Relationship is at the forefront here.

Author's Note: Surprise, it’s double update day…Because I had this in my drafts and forgot to post it…YIKES. I found this to be so fluffy and cute to write! Thank you so much for the request! I loved writing this a lot!

Word Count: 3,805

Valentina had called it a “Visibility Effort,” which–as far as Bob was concerned–was just a polished way of saying: “I need people to stop thinking you guys are monsters, so go smile for the cameras and pretend you guys didn’t almost destroy New York City a year ago.”

The Thunderbolts had only just begun to scrape their way back into the public’s good graces after the Void. If grace could even be applied to a team that, not long ago, had been seen as volatile assets in containment rather than heroes in recovery. But Valentina didn’t care about semantics–she cared about optics. And what better way to scrub down their image than to host a carefully staged, feel-good community day in a public park–complete with banners, press kits, and security briefings disguised as media rundowns.

The day before, you and the rest of the team had been sweating under the sun, assembling the layout from the ground up. Tent poles groaned in the wind, tarps snapped against knuckles, and the oversized bouncy castle–more akin to a pop-up cathedral–took three hours to stabilize. It loomed over the field like a surreal monument to liability.

By sundown, the park had been transformed.

Face-painting booths stretched along the paved path like an art market in miniature, each tent hung with paper lanterns and garlands of plastic ivy. A ring toss area had been set up beside a small prize table, its wares still barcoded and smelling faintly of plastic and lemon cleaner. Further down, a row of food trucks idled along the lot’s edge, the air thick with fried batter and roasted peanuts, preparing for the next day. A banner, bold and hopeful, rippled above the main walkway: THUNDERBOLTS COMMUNITY GIVEBACK DAY!

The park was bustling before noon the next day.

Children darted between booths with faces half-painted and shoes untied. Parents loitered on benches, plastic cups of lemonade in hand, cautiously optimistic about letting their kids near a group of enhanced individuals who, six months ago, were being referred to as national liabilities. Still, smiles came easier than expected. The air smelled like kettle corn, sun-warmed vinyl, and freshly cut grass.

Valentina had positioned her pawns with precision, each member of the team slotted into a role meant to soften their image–familiar, friendly, safe.

Yelena was stationed at the face-painting table. She didn’t argue when she was assigned to it, though she rolled her eyes hard enough that everyone could basically hear it. Now, seated with a paintbrush balanced between her fingers, she looked…Focused. Delicate even. She painted dragons, daisies, and one incredibly accurate depiction of Bucky’s old Winter Soldier face paint layout. She didn’t say much unless spoken to, but the kids flocked to her. Her bluntness came off as hilarious to them. Her gentleness? Earned in silence.

Walker manned the obstacle course–one of the only areas Valentina trusted him not to overcomplicate. With his sleeves rolled up and clipboard tucked under his arm, he barked out encouragements that sounded suspiciously like bootcamp commands. But he was patient. He let kids redo the course as many times as they wanted. And when one boy tripped near the finish line, Walker helped him up without hesitation and whispered something that made the kid’s chest puff with pride.

Ava floated between stations like an unofficial supervisor. She had no designated role, but her presence was felt and it was heavy. She hovered near the cotton candy vendor long enough to be offered a free sample, then spent ten minutes helping a little girl reattach the wheel to her toy stroller. Ava didn’t smile often, but she kept her sunglasses off today. It mattered more than anyone would admit.

Alexei had placed himself right in the center of the park’s open lawn, surrounded by children wielding foam swords. He was absolutely in his element. Towering, loud, enthusiastic. He let them “ambush” him over and over again, dramatically collapsing onto the grass as they tackled him, crying out in mock defeat with every fall. When one kid asked if he was Santa, Alexei laughed so hard he nearly swallowed a whistle. He’d fashioned a red Thunderbolts cap to resemble something almost festive. No one stopped him.

Bucky was at the photo booth. Not because Valentina assigned it to him–but because he asked. Quietly. Just once. And when she raised a brow, he explained:

“Kids like the arm. Makes them feel like they’re meeting a real superhero.”

No one argued with that.

He stood beside the printed backdrop of a Thunderbolts mural, his vibranium arm resting lightly at his side. At first, only a few families came by. Then word got around. By midday, there was a line curling around the booth. Bucky posed with toddlers who clung to his leg, tweens who wanted to see if he could lift them with his arm alone, and teens who just wanted proof they’d stood next to him. He let them. All of them.

And you–you’d been running the craft tent since the gates opened. Low folding tables filled with paper crowns, pipe cleaners, sticker sheets, and markers with their caps long lost to time. You moved between projects with practiced ease, coaxing confidence out of even the shyest children. One girl in a purple tutu had stuck to your side all morning, proudly referring to you as “Miss Thunderbolt” like it was an official title.

Bob on the other hand…Wasn’t assigned a booth.

Valentina had called it a “strategic decision”–which meant don’t scare the kids. She hadn’t said it outright, of course, but Bob understood the subtext. The others had made peace with their reputations, learned how to bend their edges into something palatable. Bob’s problem wasn’t sharpness. It was scale. People didn’t look at him and see a man. They saw The Void. A storm in a body. The thing that turned Manhattan’s sky black almost a year ago. Or they saw him as Golden Boy Sentry, which he rarely presented himself as now because all of that was dormant since the incident, so he was just Bob, and unfortunately nobody was really interested in just Bob.

Except you of course.

You had grown extremely close to him throughout the time he was recovering from the incident. You would stay back from missions just to keep him company, and within those small moments, the two of you grew a bond and became inseparable.

It wasn’t dramatic. There was no big declaration, no kiss in the rain, no sweeping hand grab before battle. It was subtle–gentle, even. A shared quiet. The way you waited for him to speak on his own terms. The way you handed him warm drinks without comment and sat beside him on the floor of his room during the worst days, and just held him or smoothed his hair down. The way you always reached for his hand under the table when Valentina debriefed the team about “public image,” like you were grounding yourself in him, not the other way around.

It started with one date. A walk. A drink from the local coffee shop that you used two straws for. A movie you barely paid attention to because Bob had cried halfway through and apologized for it, and you’d told him, “I’d rather watch you feel something than watch the movie anyway.”

Now it had been nearly a year.

A quiet year. A healing one. A year where Bob–somehow–had begun to believe that maybe he wasn’t made just for disaster. Maybe he was allowed to want softness. Warmth. You.

So he stayed near you now, just like he always did. Even in the middle of this pastel-bright circus of a public relations stunt, even with the buzzing press cameras and the thunder of kids’ shoes over packed grass–he stood a few feet behind your tent. Watching quietly like he always did.

You didn’t need him to be part of the event. You didn’t ask him to engage. You just wanted him to be close and hover around you. And every so often, you’d glance over your shoulder and give him a little smile–soft, unhurried, like a tether that reminded him that he was still on your mind.

That’s what he was doing when it happened.

You were helping a child–maybe four, maybe five–cut out the outline of a star from glitter paper. She was sitting in your lap, legs swinging off the edge of the bench, her small fingers clumsy around the safety scissors. You guided her hands with your own, gentle and patient, your chin tucked down as you murmured something too soft for him to hear. The girl giggled. You smiled. And Bob felt something in his chest fracture.

It bloomed sharp and sudden, like a crack in glass that spiderwebbed behind his ribs before he could stop it. A low, aching pressure that pulsed under his skin and settled into his throat. He couldn’t look away from you. From the way the little girl leaned back against your chest, utterly content, while you helped her snip the edges of her glittery star. Your voice was low, your hand steady on hers, and when she got frustrated, you smiled and told her it was perfect just the way it was.

And the little girl–she believed you.

Bob watched her beam like she’d just won a medal, then twist to throw her arms around your neck. You hugged her back instinctively, without missing a beat, without needing to think about it.

And just like that, Bob saw it.

Not as a fantasy. Not as a warm, fuzzy, distant dream.

He saw you. Sitting in a living room. Soft lamplight across your shoulders. A child curled into your lap with a crayon clutched in one hand and a juice box in the other. Your hair a mess from the day, a blanket half-draped over both of you. And him in the doorway. Holding a book in his hand that he’d forgotten to read, too caught up in the simple, breathtaking fact that this was his life. That somehow, impossibly, he’d made it here.

His throat tightened.

The thought came quietly, like breath fogging glass:

He wanted this.

He wanted you. A child. A family. Not someday, not maybe. Just–yes. He wanted tiny shoes in the hallway. A swing set in a yard. A sleepy voice calling him Dad. He wanted your laughter in a kitchen filled with baby wipes and half-assembled toys. He wanted something that was his and yours and no one else’s.

But right on the heels of that beautiful, terrifying longing came something cold and heavy.

Fear.

He swallowed, hard.

His father’s voice echoed somewhere in the dark part of his memory–low, sharp, filled with the kind of disgust that was harder to forget than fists. He could still hear the way the floor creaked before a bad night. The sting of being told he was nothing. How love only showed up with bruises attached.

Bob’s stomach twisted.

What if I turn into him? He thought.

He didn’t think he would. He knew–rationally–that he wasn’t the same. He didn’t drink. He didn’t shout. He couldn’t even raise his voice without wincing at the echo. He loved gently. He loved softly. But fear didn’t care about facts. It sunk into his lungs anyway.

What if something in him broke? What if the Void came back and he couldn’t stop it? What if one day he opened his eyes and the sky was black again, and the only thing he’d ever loved was looking up at him, afraid?

He could never live with that.

Never.

And yet–

You turned slightly, and caught Bob’s eyes across the grass. You smiled at him–something so simple, so safe–and in that moment, the fear didn’t disappear, but it softened.

Because you weren’t afraid of him.

You’d never been.

Even on the days he didn’t like himself, you liked him. Even when he flinched at his own reflection, you reached for his hand and rested your chin on his shoulder. You didn’t see The Void. You didn’t see the Sentry. You just saw Bob–the man who carried your snacks in his hoodie pocket just in case you got hungry when you went out, who still got bashful when you looked at him for too long, who curled into you at night like you were the only thing that had ever made sense in his life.

Bob’s hand gripped the edge of the canopy pole beside him, just to ground himself.

He wanted to go to you right then and there just to say it. To whisper something clumsy like, “I want to build a life with you. A whole one. With glue-stained paper crowns and messy bedrooms and bedtime songs.”

But he stayed still.

Too scared to break the moment.

Too scared it might not be his to want.

—————————

Later, when the event was winding down, and the sky had shifted to gold and mauve and soft watercolor blues, Bob found you sitting on the grass alone near the now-abandoned craft table, peeling dried glue off your fingers and watching a few leftover kids chase bubbles across the park. He moved towards you slowly, and his looming presence immediately got your attention.

You stopped picking at the glue on your fingers and looked up at him instantly.

”Well, hey stranger.” Bob gave a quiet huff of a laugh at the greeting and smiled down at you, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets, “You gonna sit down or are you going to just stand there and stare?” You joked, patting the patch of open grass beside you. He hesitated for a second before lowering himself beside you, knees folding awkwardly in the grass. You watched him for a moment, then leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek–light, and lingering, your lips warm against the wind-chilled skin just below his eye.

“I haven’t been able to do that all day,” You said softly, almost teasing, but the affection behind it was unmistakable.

Before Bob could even respond, you leaned in and pressed another kiss to the corner of his jaw, then to his temple, and then one right between his brows where they had scrunched up, each kiss softer and slower than the last.

By the time you pulled back, Bob’s cheeks were as red as a rose, and they had become warm, and his smile had curled wide and helpless across his face, because to him your affections were always welcome.

”Y-You’re gonna make me explode,” He mumbled, voice thick with love as he turned to hide his burning face against the shoulder of his hoodie, “This is h-how I die.” He stumbled, looking over at you with those big blue eyes you couldn’t help but stare into every night.

“Death by affection sounds like a dream to me.” You laughed, slipping your hand up to cup his cheek, to turn his face towards yours so he was looking at you directly.

“Y-You know I’m a fragile m-man.” You snorted at his comment.

”I know Sentry is dormant but you’re technically the strongest person on Earth.” You said, giving him a knowing look. “I don’t think you’re fragile.” Bob gave a breathy little laugh, his pupils blown out from how close you were.

”Y-Yeah, well…D-Don’t flatter me too much…You’ll make me f-fall in love with you or s-something.” You raised your brows at him, seeing his cheeks go an even deeper red, “I-I mean–more. Like…More in love with you.” You smiled, so warmly it made his breath catch in his throat, you could hear it.

”Almost a year in,” You whispered, brushing your nose gently against his, “And you still get all flustered with me…I love it.”

And you kissed him–gently, fully, your mouth warm and sure on his. Bob melted. His whole body slackened like your kiss had pulled all the tension right out of him. He groaned quietly and let himself fall back into the grass with a helpless thump, hoodie riding up slightly at the hem, his eyes fluttering closed like he was physically overwhelmed. You laughed lightly and laid down beside him, turning your head so you were looking at him and all his glory, feeling his hand find yours, lacing his fingers between yours instantly.

The sky above you was dimming into deeper blues now, streaked with soft brushstrokes of pink and violet. The hum of the event had finally died out completely. You could still hear the occasional giggle of a child somewhere off in the distance, but for the most part, it felt like you two were the last ones left in the park. Like the whole day had been waiting to exhale.

Bob stared up at the clouds for a moment, before letting out a small sigh.

”C-Can I ask you something…Kind of b-big?” Your eyes studied him for a moment, tracing the way his brows furrowed gently, like he was already halfway to apologizing for whatever he was about to say. Like he was bracing himself to ruin something just by saying it.

“Of course,” You replied, your voice just above a whisper, slowly growing more and more concerned with each moment that passed in silence.

Bob just kept looking up at the sky like the words were written somewhere in the clouds and he just had to find them. His thumb rubbed slow circles against your knuckles.

”Have you ever thought about…Us?” He swallowed, “I mean–not just us, b-but more like…A family.” You raised your eyebrows slowly, turning onto your side so you could face him fully, still holding his hand, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I–I watched you today,” He whispered. “With that little girl in your lap. And it didn’t feel far away…It didn’t feel like someone else’s life. It felt like something I could…Want.”

Your heart gave a soft, aching pull at that.

“I want it,” He admitted, voice trembling. “I want it so bad it scares me. You, a kid–us. A home. Not perfect. Not polished. Just ours. Something warm. Something safe.”

You reached up and gently tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, your fingertips trailing along his temple. He leaned into the touch like it soothed something he couldn’t name.

“I want that too,” You said. “Not tomorrow. Not next week. But one day. When things are a little quieter, when the world doesn’t need us to carry it. I want that with you, Bob.” He nodded, like he was trying to let the hope settle in–but his eyes were still stormy at the edges.

“But what if…” He swallowed. “What if I’m not good at it? What if I…Mess it up l–like I always do? What if I hurt them? What if something in me snaps and I—”

“Hey,” You cut in gently, reaching up to cradle his cheek. “Look at me.”

He did, reluctantly, his blue eyes wide and full of unshed fear, tears filling up in the corners threatening to spill at any moment.

“You’re not like your father at all Bob, you’re not him.” You said, your voice steady and firm.

”Y-You don’t know that,” He whispered, his eyes glancing away at you, making you chase his gaze a bit so he could look at you.

”I do know that…Because I know you. Because I’ve watched you fall asleep holding my hand. Because you carry two different granola bar options in your hoodie pocket in case I want a choice. Because you always refill the toothpaste without me asking. Because when I’m upset, you don’t try to fix it–you just stay with me. Quietly. Constantly.” Bob blinked, his lip trembling ever so slightly.

“You don’t lash out, Bob. You lean in,” You said. “You don’t shut down. You open up, even when it scares you. You feel everything so deeply, and you never make anyone pay for it.” His brow furrowed and he looked down, overwhelmed, like he didn’t know what to do with the weight of that truth.

You brought his hand up to your lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, then whispered into the space between you:

“You already take care of me in a thousand tiny ways. You love gently. That’s why I trust you with my soul.”

He let out a shaky breath, and the hand that held yours tightened just a little more. He nodded faintly, like he was still catching up to the truth you’d handed him–like he wasn’t sure if he deserved it, but he was holding it anyway.

You reached up, your thumb brushing delicately at the corners of his eyes, wiping away the tears that had gathered without pressure or embarrassment. Just care.

“You cry so pretty, you know that?” You whispered, a little playful, attempting to lift the mood just a bit.

Bob let out a short, breathy laugh–surprised and soft. “Th-That’s not a real thing.”

“It is when you do it,” You smiled, leaning closer, your voice light but laced with everything you meant. “You’re beautiful when you feel things.”

He looked at you like you’d just handed him a future and told him it already belonged to him. Like no one had ever said that to him before–and he wasn’t sure he’d ever recover from it.

You leaned in and kissed him, slow and sure, lips pressed to his like you had time. Like you weren’t afraid to show him just how loved he was.

And when you pulled back, your forehead stayed pressed against his, your breath brushing his lips as you whispered:

“You’d be the safest place a little soul could ever grow.”

Bob let out another shaky breath, and this time he smiled–full, unguarded, like something inside him had just settled for the first time.

“Only if it’s with you,” He said quietly.

You nodded, your fingers lacing tighter with his.

“Then we’ll build it,” You whispered. “Slow and messy and ours.”

And beneath a darkening sky painted with stars and leftover laughter, you lay together in the grass, your future unfolding between your palms like something sacred.

Just warm.

Just real.

Just home.

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