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Bob Reynolds X f!reader

NEW MEMBER

Summary: When you joined the Thunderbolts, you didn’t fully know what you were getting yourself into. But over time, you found your place and Bob’s help made all the difference.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, strong language, mentions of childhood trauma and experiments on children, use of Y/N, fictional depiction of superhuman abilities used in sexual contexts, depictions of bodily fluids, seduction, teasing, sexual tension, slowburn, mention of masturbation, handjob, ejaculation in pants, oral sex (f & m receiving), unprotected sex (p i v), aftercare

Word count: 28k+

A/n: Hey guys, so this is my first time doing a word count here and yeah, it's fucking long...sorry, but I really put a lot of effort into it and I hope it's worth it :3 Anyway if you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story! <3

Masterlist

It was a beautiful, sunny summer day. The Thunderbolts had no rescue missions scheduled, no urgent city reports to deal with, and no looming responsibilities weighing on their minds. For once, everything was calm — eerily calm, even. Because of the unbearable heat, the entire team had gathered outside by the pool, refreshing drinks in hand and sunglasses shielding their eyes from the blazing sun.

Ava, Walker, and Alexei were splashing around in the water, laughing and exchanging nonsense stories like carefree teenagers. Ava mostly listened to their banter with a playful smirk, occasionally rolling her eyes and mocking their ridiculous jokes.

Meanwhile, Bucky, Yelena, and Bob were stretched out on sun loungers, soaking up the summer atmosphere in their own ways. Yelena lay back in her swimsuit, absorbing the sun’s rays like a content cat. Bucky stayed under the shade of a large umbrella, his arms folded behind his head, clearly appreciating the rare opportunity to relax without expecting a sudden explosion in the distance. Bob, as usual, had found peace in the shadows, immersed in a book he couldn’t put down.

He read word after word, completely consumed by the story. For Bob, reading wasn’t just a pastime, it was a way to escape. A way to dive into someone else’s world, someone else’s problems, and temporarily abandon the heavy weight of his own. Every page he turned felt like a breath of fresh air. The world in his hands was simpler, more structured, and even in its chaos, made more sense than his real one. It was therapy in ink and paper.

But then, the calm was disrupted. A phone began to ring. Everyone who heard the shrill sound immediately turned their heads toward the source. It was Bucky’s phone.

He let out a heavy sigh and answered the call with a tired voice, as if expecting bad news. Yelena and Bob both turned their heads toward him, their curiosity piqued as they tried to read his expression.

“…Today already? …Fine. Alright, let her in. Yes, we’ll help with the suitcases,” Bucky said with a note of resignation in his voice.

Yelena gave Bob a confused glance, silently asking if he had any idea what was going on. But the blank look on Bob’s face said it all, he was just as clueless.

“Okay, bye,” Bucky ended the call and took another deep breath, glancing over at Yelena with a look that made her sit up slightly.

“She’s here,” he said simply, his tone almost too casual for the weight of his words.

Yelena’s eyes widened in surprise. “Already? That fast?”

Bob blinked. He had absolutely no idea who she was. The confusion burned inside him, but no one seemed eager to offer him an explanation. Yelena and Bucky barely looked at him as they stood up.

“Hey, everyone! Come on, she’s here!” Bucky called toward the rest of the team.

He waved his hand as he walked toward the building, and the others quickly followed, murmuring among themselves in excited whispers. Bob frowned, setting his book aside. With a hesitant step, he followed the others, still entirely in the dark about what was going on. A strange feeling of exclusion gnawed at him. Everyone seemed to know something and he didn’t. It made him feel like a stranger in his own team.

“Uhm… what’s happening?” he finally mustered the courage to ask Ava, his voice uncertain. She turned to him with a raised brow, clearly surprised he hadn’t figured it out already.

“There’s a new member joining the team,” she said simply. Bob’s heart skipped a beat. His breath caught in his throat.

“R-really?” he asked, eyes wide.

Ava nodded, her expression neutral. “You remember the girl who helped us during our last mission?”

Bob stared blankly, desperately trying to recall anyone who might fit that description. There was a faint, blurry memory in his mind, but nothing concrete. No specific face. No name. He shook his head slowly and pursed his lips into a thin line.

Ava let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head, clearly unimpressed. “You’ll see,” she said dismissively before motioning toward the elevator at the end of the hallway.

Everyone had already gathered in front of it, buzzing with quiet anticipation as they waited for the doors to open. Bob reluctantly joined them, his eyes fixed on the elevator, his mind racing.

It didn’t take long before a soft ding echoed through the hallway. The unmistakable sound of the elevator reaching their floor. That tiny sound, usually insignificant, now carried the weight of anticipation and silence. Every quiet whisper faded immediately, swallowed by a sudden, almost unnatural stillness that took over the entire building. It was as if time itself was holding its breath.

Bob felt a rush of nervous energy pulse through him, though he couldn’t explain why. He had no reason to feel this way, no logic behind the chill crawling down his spine or the way his hands instinctively clenched into fists at his sides.

But the unease was there, and it was real. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, heart pounding in his chest like it was trying to break free. His wide eyes stayed locked on the elevator doors, waiting, anticipating, bracing for something… but he didn’t know what.

And then — click. The doors slowly began to slide open, and in that single moment, Bob’s world slowed to a crawl.

You stood there.

A woman he had never seen before in his life. A complete stranger and yet something about you felt undeniably significant. You weren’t just anyone. There was something about you, something magnetic, radiant, otherworldly even. You stood out effortlessly, not because you were trying to, but because you simply were.

Even from where he stood, Bob could pick up on your scent, an intoxicating blend of wild berries, soft chocolate, and fresh roses. It was a combination he would’ve never imagined together, and yet now he couldn’t imagine anything more perfect. It instantly rooted itself in his mind, burned into his senses.

Your hair looked impossibly soft and full, like it had never known a bad day. It moved with the lightest motion, obeying gravity like a dance. Glossy strands caught the light, shimmering as if kissed by starlight. Bob imagined it would feel like running his fingers through freshly brushed lamb’s wool.

And your face… words failed him. No vocabulary he possessed could do it justice. Every feature felt meticulously placed by the hands of a patient artist. Your petite nose, the plush curve of your lips, the natural blush blooming on your cheeks, all of it was impossibly beautiful.

But it was your eyes that truly captivated him. When your gaze flicked toward him, even for just a heartbeat, it felt like the ground had vanished beneath his feet. His breath caught, sweat began to pearl at his temples, and he was forced to glance away. Only for a second, because he needed to look again. He had to. You were too mesmerizing to ignore.

Your body radiated the kind of presence usually reserved for mythological goddesses. Every curve, every contour, spoke of quiet strength and untouchable elegance. You wore simple clothes: black pants, a fitted black top, and a white leather jacket that hugged your frame just right. And yet, you looked like you belonged on the cover of every magazine on Earth.

Then, you smiled.

Just one simple, polite smile and Bob’s knees almost gave out beneath him. It wasn’t a practiced smile, nor was it forced. It was gentle, sincere, and absolutely breathtaking.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

There was a tremble in your tone, not from weakness, but from nerves. After all, you were stepping into a room full of strangers who were all laser-focused on you. The weight of their gazes pressed against you like a spotlight, and yet you handled it with grace.

But when Bob heard your voice — light, feminine, laced with quiet vulnerability — something inside him shifted.

A shiver ran down his spine, followed by an electric wave of something he couldn’t name. In just a matter of seconds, you had awakened feelings in him that no one else ever had.

Everyone greeted you, each of them offering just a single word as a welcome. Bucky was the first to move, stepping forward without hesitation to help you with your luggage. He grabbed your large suitcase like it weighed nothing at all, slung your shoulder bag over his arm as if it were made of feathers, and reached out to take your backpack too. But before he could, Alexei beat him to it, sweeping it up with one hand while saying something in a thick Russian accent you could barely make out.

You gave them both a warm, thankful smile and murmured your appreciation. But despite the helpful gestures, you stood there, unsure of what to do next. Should you go talk to the others still lingering near the elevator, the ones who were all staring at you so intently you couldn’t tell whether their looks were curious or judgmental? Or should you follow the two strong men who had just swept away your bags like seasoned porters?

For a moment, you stayed rooted to the spot, and luckily, it turned out to be the right choice. Because the rest of them wasted no time and started interacting with you directly.

“Yelena,” said a woman in a cool, steady voice, extending her hand. Her thick Russian accent added weight to her otherwise short introduction. Her expression was serious, but you could tell she was trying to be approachable. Trying not to intimidate you right off the bat.

“Y/N,” you replied with a warm smile, shaking her hand gently. Your touch was soft, but Yelena’s grip was so strong. She shook your hand so firmly that for a second you thought she might crush your bones, her strength masked by her sleek frame.

From the corner of the room, Bob stood completely still, his eyes fixed on you like you were the only thing that existed. The rest of the world around him had dulled — voices muffled, background movement blurred — until he heard your voice and your name.

It hit him like a lightning bolt, carved itself deep into his brain like it had always been there, like it had always belonged there. He instantly knew instantly that this name will haunt his dreams, follow him into sleep, and echo in the quietest moments of his day. He was paralyzed. Not just in body, but in face, in thought. His expression blanked out, frozen.

Ava, waiting for her turn to introduce herself, glanced over her shoulder at Bob and frowned in confusion. She didn’t say anything, no one really did anymore because everyone knew Bob was a bit odd. This was just Bob being Bob.

“John Walker,” announced a voice that practically oozed arrogance. The man behind it offered his name like it was a title, his presence so inflated you could feel the ego from across the room. He wasn’t unattractive by any means, but you could tell right away, liking this man was going to take time. Patience. Probably a lot of both.

Still, you smiled, even if it was a little hesitant this time, and extended your hand. No point in starting conflicts on day one.

Then came Ava. Like the others, she radiated authority. You could feel the quiet weight of her presence, yet her smile didn’t feel fake. Either she had mastered the art of faking warmth, or it was genuine. And it was up to you to decide which version you wanted to believe.

You shook her hand, and then your gaze drifted toward the only person left, one man who had stayed in the background the entire time. He hadn’t rushed to meet you, hadn’t even moved much. You couldn’t read his face or his body. He was a blank page in a room full of bold headlines.

All eyes shifted to him. It took a second for him to notice, eight pairs of eyes locked on him like spotlights. He snapped out of his trance, blinking, shoulders tensing as he realized it was his turn.

“Bob,” he said finally, his voice quiet, the edges of his mouth tugged upward in a painfully awkward smile. He stepped forward and held out a trembling hand. It shook so visibly you almost thought he was afraid of you. Still, you didn’t judge. You took his hand with a smile and a respectful nod, offering him kindness instead of scrutiny.

And the second your skin met his, it was like the entire building ceased to exist. For a heartbeat, it was just the two of you. The moment stretched out, suspended in time. You felt the rapid thrum of his pulse, sensed the nervous rhythm of his breathing, and everything else fell away. Then, Bucky’s voice shattered the silence like glass breaking.

“Your things are in your new room,” he said, jerking his thumb in the direction behind him. You let go of Bob’s hand and nodded, murmuring another polite thank-you.

Before you could take a step, Alexei swooped in with absolutely no warning. In one fluid motion, he wrapped his massive arms around you and pulled you into a bear hug so tight, you swore your ribs were going to snap.

“Hello, little one! We’ve been waiting for you!” he exclaimed, his Russian accent booming and joyful.

You wheezed out a laugh, trying to breathe as he squeezed the life out of you. It was like being hugged by a freight train in a sauna. You flailed a little, silently praying he didn’t crush anything vital. Finally, Yelena stepped in and pried him off you.

“Enough,” she muttered with a roll of her eyes.

You staggered back a step, hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath like you’d just finished a sprint.

“I’m Alexei, the leader of this whole team,” he said proudly, planting his hands on his hips and puffing out his chest like a superhero in a vintage comic.

“Oh please,” John Walker interrupted, thrusting out an arm toward Alexei with visible offense. “We all know I’m the one in charge.”

Alexei scoffed so dramatically it might’ve been choreographed. “You? The boss? Ha! You were barely Captain America. Don’t talk to me about leadership.”

And that was it. The spark that always lit the fire.

Mentioning “Captain America” in the same breath as John Walker was like pressing a big, red, glowing button labeled Do Not Push. He always takes it personally and once the topic came up, a heated argument was practically guaranteed. Everyone else had learned to avoid it. Everyone, except Alexei.

While the two of them launched into a full-on verbal wrestling match, you stood off to the side, trying to steady your breath, watching the chaos unfold. The image was almost too much: two overly muscled men in swim trunks, gesturing wildly and yelling over each other like children fighting over a toy.

Yelena and Bucky tried to separate them, each grabbing one by the shoulder and pulling them in opposite directions. And then, Ava leaned over slightly, standing close beside you.

“This happens sometimes,” she said with a grin.

“Actually… it happens all the time. You’ll get used to it.”

You both laughed under your breath, watching the ridiculous drama unfold like it was part of some reality show.

But Bob wasn’t watching them. Not even a little. His eyes were still glued to you. He couldn’t look away. No matter how hard he tried. He’d glance to the side every now and then, pretending to focus on something else, but his gaze always found its way back to you.

And he hated it. He hated the fact that you had this hold over him, that he couldn’t stop staring. You had enchanted him without even trying.

Once the ongoing power struggle between the two wanna-be leaders had finally been defused and the loud arguing settled, at least for now, Yelena remained between them for a few seconds longer, her arms crossed like a mother ready to intervene again if necessary.

Then Bucky stepped forward. He was the only one who hadn’t introduced himself yet. With calm, quiet assurance, he said his name and extended a hand — his left one, the one made entirely of gleaming titanium.

You paused. Just for a moment. Your eyes lifted to meet his face before even acknowledging the mechanical limb he offered. In that brief look, you saw it clearly, pain. Not the kind worn for attention, but the kind buried deep in the lines around the eyes and the heaviness in the way someone holds their shoulders. This man had been through hell. More than once.

You took his hand gently and gave it a light shake, careful not to squeeze too hard, as if showing him you knew how to treat metal like flesh. You smiled, soft and genuine, and reintroduced yourself, just in case he hadn’t caught your name earlier.

From what you had observed so far, your instincts told you that if anyone here actually held authority, it was either Bucky or Yelena. They didn’t puff up their chests or start loud arguments about leadership, they didn’t need to. Their presence spoke for itself.

“Come on,” Bucky said, nodding toward the hallway behind him. “I’ll show you your room.” You gave the rest of the group one last glance and then followed Bucky down the hall.

As you walked side by side, he immediately began explaining how things worked around here. He wasn’t overly talkative, but what he said was useful, clear. He pointed out the important rooms, the shared spaces, and some of the ground rules without sounding like a control freak. Just someone who knew the place inside out, and wanted you to feel like you belonged.

The second you disappeared from Bob’s field of vision, it was like his lungs filled with air for the first time in minutes.

He exhaled loudly, as if someone had just taken a weight off his chest. His eyes refocused, blinking rapidly, and he tried to slow his breathing and calm himself down. His fingers twitched against his sides. He’d been holding tension in his entire body, and now that you were gone, it was as if his system rebooted.

“Hey,” Yelena’s voice cut through the haze. She bumped his shoulder lightly with her own, just enough to shake him from whatever mental spiral he’d drifted into.

“You good?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Bob looked at her with the expression of a guilty puppy that had just chewed someone’s favorite shoes. He nodded, a bit too quickly.

“You don’t look good,” she added flatly, her tone not unkind, but blunt, as always.

He gave a small, sheepish laugh and looked down, biting his lower lip before licking it nervously. His shoulders hunched forward ever so slightly.

“Didn’t sleep well,” he muttered. “But I’m fine, really.”

But Yelena had known Bob for a while now. She’d seen him on his worst days. She knew exactly how he behaved when he’d had a rough night, and this? This wasn’t it. This was different. There was something more unsettled in him.

Still, she could also tell he didn’t want to talk about it. Not right now. Maybe not ever, so she didn’t push. She gave a slow, suspicious nod and narrowed her eyes at him, but said nothing more on the subject.

“Alright,” she said after a beat, choosing to change the subject. “Come help me with the food.” She turned, already walking toward the kitchen.

Bob blinked again, his brain catching up like a lagging program that had finally started running. He hesitated for a half-second, then followed after her without a word, trailing her footsteps like someone waking from a dream he wasn’t ready to leave.

The following few weeks were nothing short of a personal hell for Bob — a constant, relentless whirlwind of emotions that refused to calm down, and the undeniable cause of it all was you.

With each passing day, he found himself growing more accustomed to your presence, and the rigid tension that used to freeze him every time you entered a room began to slowly, but steadily, thaw. It was subtle at first, just a softer look, a more relaxed gesture, but it was there. And yet, despite that slow shift in comfort, the truth was painful: his feelings for you weren’t fading with time. If anything, they were intensifying, pulling him deeper into something he was completely unprepared for.

He’d hoped it would get easier. That as the novelty wore off, his emotions would settle and things would go back to normal. But that never happened. Instead, he was falling harder. Faster. And he couldn’t stop himself.

He noticed everything about you.

Not in a creepy, overbearing way, but with the same quiet, watchful intensity that defined him. He paid attention to the little things. The way you crinkled your nose when something annoyed you. The kind of food you always gravitated toward at dinner, and the ones you subtly pushed aside. The scent of your perfume as it lingered in the hallway after you passed by. What time you usually got up in the morning. Whether you preferred tea or coffee depending on the day. All of it. Etched in his mind like facts he never meant to memorize, but couldn’t forget even if he tried.

At the same time, you were also adjusting to life with the team. You picked up on social dynamics with ease — who preferred solitude over company, who talked too much and who barely spoke at all. You quickly figured out what made people tick, what to avoid, and how to slide yourself into this group without disrupting its balance, and you did it beautifully.

It didn’t take long before you were seen as one of them. You were included in everything, from the serious tactical meetings to the chaotic game nights that always ended in laughter and shouting. You were never pushed to the side, never treated like an outsider. If anything, it was as though you’d always been there. And you loved it.

You grew attached. Emotionally invested. You cared about each of them in your own way — even Walker.

Sure, your initial instincts about him were spot on; he was loud, arrogant, and more than a little irritating. But over time, and with a surprising amount of patience, you learned to tolerate his outbursts. Eventually, you even found yourself genuinely liking him in that strange, reluctant way that comes from mutual respect. You’d grown fond of them all.

Not long after you arrived, they even set you up with your own private workspace. A small lab, your personal sanctuary, where you could design, build, and refine the kind of technology that had earned you a reputation far beyond this compound’s walls. Being the daughter of a brilliant scientist clearly came with its advantages. But genius-level intellect wasn’t your only strength. You could fight.

You trained hard, pushing yourself more with every session, refusing to settle for anything less than excellence. Your progress was obvious. So obvious that it wasn’t long before you managed to land clean takedowns on Bucky, Yelena, and even Alexei. More than once. And that alone spoke volumes. Those were your powers. Or at least, most of them.

You spent more time with Bucky than with anyone else on the team. Whether it was because you genuinely got along, or simply because he was always the first one to offer help when you needed it, the bond between you two was undeniable. Anytime you had a question, wanted to fix something, or even just needed a second opinion, he was there. Always patient, always kind.

You laughed together often. Joked easily. And despite the fact that Bucky came from an entirely different era, he seemed to understand your humor perfectly. He got you in ways that caught you off guard. Your friendship with him felt natural, real.

Of course, you shared fun moments with everyone. The team was full of personalities, and you genuinely enjoyed their company. But Bucky? He was different. And Bob saw that. All of it. More clearly than he wanted to admit.

Your room was right next to Bob’s — which, depending on the day, felt like either a cruel twist of fate or the only reason he was still sane.

Every time he heard your laughter through the wall, especially when it was Bucky making you laugh, a knot would form deep in his chest. Something tight and burning, something that felt suspiciously like rage, but sharper.

When he walked into the kitchen and saw you leaning against the counter while Bucky stood beside you, smiling like it was the most natural thing in the world, Bob had to clench his fists behind his back just to keep from reacting. His mind begged him to look away. To stay calm and ignore it. But it was like trying to look away from a fire slowly spreading toward your own house.

And every time he passed the gym and spotted you mid-training, he couldn’t help but peek in. Just for a second, just to watch. But the moment he saw Bucky nearby?

His entire body tensed. His eyes would flare with that faint, unnatural yellow. And he’d walk away. Fast. Because if he didn’t, he knew he’d do something reckless, something he couldn’t take back.

Bob had become a silent storm. One that only erupted when he was alone, behind closed doors or under the open sky where no one could see. The shattered light bulbs, the cracked furniture, the splintered chairs, the small craters in the lawn, they weren’t random. They were the aftermath of jealousy. And he didn’t know how to stop it.

He couldn’t understand why it hit so hard. He’d survived so many things, things that would shatter most people, but this? This tiny, invisible pain of watching you laugh with someone else? This was the worse.

He tried to convince himself it was something else. That it wasn’t about you. That he wasn’t jealous. But he knew. He had feelings for you.

Still, there were moments that made it all worth it. The little things.

The ones he replayed every night like sacred memories: when you walked into the kitchen and casually asked him if he wanted to help make coffee. When you leaned in, whispered something silly that made him laugh, and disappeared just as fast. When you caught him watching you during training and smiled, giving him a small wave.

But one of the moments he clung to the most happened one late night.

Your lab heater had broken down. You didn’t want to bother Bucky, who was already asleep. So instead, you came to him. You knocked on Bob’s door, a little unsure, and asked if you could borrow a hoodie. And just like that, his heart stopped.

He didn’t even think, just grabbed one and handed it to you, trying to play it cool while his brain short-circuited. But the best part? You never gave it back.

Maybe you forgot. Maybe you were waiting for him to ask for it, but he never did. He didn’t want to, because every time he saw you wearing his hoodie, it felt like the world made a little more sense. And when you smiled in it? He swore his heart almost caught fire.

As time passed, and Bob found himself falling deeper and deeper for you, you were also getting closer to him too. You didn’t entirely know why, but Bob just had this spark and you know, he was a really good friend.

One late evening, after tossing and turning in bed with no success at falling asleep, you decided to pay him a visit. You were certain he wouldn’t be asleep either, he rarely was. Quietly, you made your way to his room and knocked gently before asking him a simple question: “Do you wanna go for a walk?”

That night, you wore his hoodie. Whether it was intentional or just the first thing you grabbed without thinking, only you truly knew. But Bob noticed. Oh, he noticed. The moment he saw you in his hoodie, hair slightly messy, your voice a soft whisper in the dark hallway, it did something to him. His heart clenched in his chest, and he couldn’t say no, not to you.

The air was cool, the moon casting gentle silver light down the path you walked side by side. The night was silent except for your footsteps and the quiet sounds of the world resting. After a while, your voices joined the night in soft tones, and that’s when you finally opened up.

“Deadlock,” you said suddenly, looking down at your shoes as if the words were too heavy to lift with your eyes. “That’s the name my father gave to my superhero identity.”

Bob glanced sideways at you, listening intently. He didn’t even watch where he was stepping, which had already led him to trip once or twice on a root or uneven patch of dirt, but he didn’t care. He’d gladly fall over a hundred times just to keep hearing the sound of your voice. It was the most grounded he’d felt in days.

“As you know,” you continued, speaking slowly, as if sorting the memories aloud, “he was a genius… a doctor, a scientist. And when the Avengers rose to fame, when the world started idolizing them… he wanted his little girl to be one of them. So… he started experimenting.”

You briefly glanced at him during your explanation, and his eyes never left you, not even for a second. The way he listened, so attentively, so gently, made you feel safe. He could tell by your body language, by the tremble in your tone, that this story wasn’t something you shared easily. It wasn’t just a fact, it was a wound.

“He injected me with all kinds of serums,” you said, your voice cracking only slightly. “God knows where he got them… or what was even in them. All I remember is the pain. Constant, aching pain.”

Bob’s brows furrowed with concern, and he instinctively reached out, but stopped himself, he didn’t want to break the moment. You swallowed back the tears, trying to stay composed. You didn’t want to come off as fragile, not now.

“I’m so sorry,” Bob whispered, his voice barely audible, but it echoed through you like thunder. You shook your head gently and gave him a small smile.

“You don’t have to be,” you said quietly. “It’s over now. And… thanks to the way my cells developed under the influence of all those injections, I became immune. I can regenerate.”

At that, you looked up at him again, and his eyes widened. “Regenerate?”

You nodded slowly. “Any wound I get heals within seconds. I guess… you could say I can’t really die.”

He stared at you as if you had just entrusted him with the most sacred secret in the world. And in a way, you had. To Bob, this wasn’t just another piece of your identity, it was a revelation. It was you, unmasked and unguarded, and he adored you even more for it.

“That’s insane,” he murmured, a breathless awe in his voice.

You laughed softly. “I know. Kinda cool though, right?”

He chuckled too, though his chest still felt heavy from everything you had just shared.

“And… because I was technically a failed experiment, and didn’t gain the ‘right’ powers,” you continued, slower now, “my dad saw me as a disappointment. He believed he’d failed. And eventually, he… he decided he has nothing to live for anymore so...”

The words hit Bob like a punch to the gut. For a second, he stopped breathing. He hadn’t expected that. No one had any idea. You never talked about your father with sadness, never showed any cracks in your smile. And yet here you were, laying bare a trauma that could have broken anyone. Still, you stood tall.

“I—” he started, unsure how to respond, but you gently cut him off.

“You don’t need to say anything,” you whispered, turning to him with tears finally breaking free in your eyes, but still, there was a smile on your face. “It’s okay, Bob.”

He couldn’t help himself. He pulled you into a hug — a firm, warm, protective hug that said everything his words couldn’t. And in that moment, you let yourself fall apart just a little. You needed this. You needed someone to hold you, to not ask questions, to simply be there, and Bob was exactly that.

You cried quietly against his chest, and his arms never loosened. His sweater smelled like him. You felt safe, truly safe, like nothing bad could reach you if he just held you long enough. It was the most comforting thing you’d felt in ages. And even though he remained silent, that hug was loud, it spoke of care, understanding, and something else that neither of you dared to say yet.

After what felt like forever, you pulled away slightly, wiping your tears and laughing softly through your sniffles. “Sorry, your sweater’s gonna be a mess.”

You reached to wipe a smudge of your makeup from the fabric, but he stopped you gently. “Trust me,” he said, voice deep and sincere, “I don’t care.”

Your eyes met, and for the first time, you saw him, not just Bob, the awkward sweetheart who sometimes stumbled over his own thoughts, but someone deeper, steadier.

You saw the way his gaze softened only for you. The way his hands still held your arms carefully, like you might shatter. The way his heart was beating just as fast as yours. Your breath caught in your throat.

You looked at his lips, then back at his eyes. So did he. Your pulses synced in anxious excitement, the air thick with a tension neither of you fully understood, but desperately wanted to.

The distance between you began to close, slowly, inevitably, like gravity pulling two stars together.

And then, footsteps. Someone walked by just a few feet away, and both of you jumped slightly, the spell broken. Embarrassed chuckles escaped your lips as you stepped back from one another, your hearts still racing.

You walked home together like nothing happened. But it did. That night left a mark on Bob. He never forgot how you looked under the moonlight, wrapped in his hoodie, with your secrets finally spoken aloud.

This had happened just a week ago, and since then, something about the way you acted around Bob had shifted. It wasn’t anything dramatic or negative, in fact, it was quite the opposite. You simply started seeking out his company more often.

Whenever he seemed quiet or withdrawn during lunch, you made an effort to bring him into the conversation, always with a lighthearted tone and a genuine smile.

When you passed by his room on your way to grab coffee, you’d gently knock on his door and ask if he wanted a cup too.

You even found an old book in your things, one you had already read long ago, and decided to give it to him, just as a small friendly gesture.

But to Bob, none of these gestures were small. Every little thing you did echoed loudly in his heart. They made him feel seen, like he had finally stepped out from the shadows he’d grown used to hiding in. For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t invisible.

And even though you had interacted plenty before that late-night walk, something about your energy now felt different, more intentional.

It was Monday morning, sometime between breakfast and lunch. Bob was still lying in bed, his eyes fixated on the ceiling as his mind drifted aimlessly, an all-too-familiar ritual before he finally convinced himself to start the day.

But suddenly, a loud, urgent knock on his door pulled him from his thoughts. He barely got out the first syllable of the word “Yeah?” before your voice filled the room, and so did you. You had already flung the door open wide, beaming at him like you’d just won the lottery.

“Wanna train with me?” you asked, your smile stretching from cheek to cheek, your eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. There was so much energy radiating off of you that Bob felt like you were single-handedly lighting up his entire room.

He was still groggy, his limbs felt heavy and barely functioning, but how could he possibly say no to you when you were standing there like that?

“Sure,” he mumbled, his voice low and raspy from sleep.

You let out a joyful squeal and practically bounced in place. “I’ll meet you in the gym!” you chirped before disappearing down the hallway, your footsteps echoing in a rapid rhythm of excitement.

Bob just lay there for a moment, blinking in disbelief. Then, with a quiet chuckle and a shake of his head, he finally dragged himself out of bed.

By the time he got himself somewhat presentable, his workout clothes thrown on, hair messily fixed, he made his way toward the gym. The moment he peeked inside, he spotted you immediately.

You were already stretching, your movements fluid and graceful, like you were flowing with the rhythm of your own calm energy. Bob could feel the warmth of your aura from across the room. His eyes instinctively wandered over your figure as you bent down, and without warning, his thoughts short-circuited at the sight of your beautiful, round, and irresistibly tempting—

“Hey!”

Your voice snapped him out of his daze. He blinked rapidly, his cheeks turning a shade redder as you waved him over with that same inviting grin. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and slowly walked toward you, his heart racing slightly.

“Uh, I should warn you… I’m not exactly great at this,” he admitted, his voice laced with nervousness.

You placed your hands on his shoulders, locking eyes with him in a way that made his breath catch in his throat. “Bob,” you said gently but firmly, “it’s totally fine, okay? We’ll both benefit from this, and besides, I really don’t think you’re that hopeless.” You ended the sentence with a teasing grin and gave his arm a playful pinch.

He laughed softly, a high-pitched, boyish sound escaping him involuntarily, and then mock-glared at you with a smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Come on, start stretching, or you’ll pull something,” you instructed, crossing your arms over your chest as you watched him with an amused expression.

Bob looked around the gym helplessly for a moment before returning his gaze to you. “I don’t know what to do,” he confessed with a sheepish shrug.

You rolled your eyes dramatically, clearly exaggerating for comedic effect. “Maybe you are a lost cause after all,” you joked, and the both of you burst into laughter.

With that, you resumed stretching, and Bob mimicked your movements as best he could, constantly sneaking glances your way. This simple moment felt surprisingly profound.

“Alright, time to get to work,” you announced cheerfully, practically bouncing in place with energy that could’ve powered the entire compound. You had just finished your stretching routine, and without wasting another second, you skipped across the gym floor toward the shelf where the hand wraps were kept. You moved with purpose and excitement, clearly in your element, while Bob trailed behind you—although significantly less enthusiastically.

As soon as he caught sight of you wrapping your hands, something in his demeanor shifted. He slowed down, hesitated, and then instinctively began to back away, holding both of his palms out in front of him like a human stop sign.

“Woah—wait. Nope. No way,” he said, shaking his head as his voice took on a nervous edge.

You turned to face him, eyebrows raised and confusion written all over your face. “What do you mean, ‘no’?” you asked, tilting your head ever so slightly as if trying to decode what he was so worked up about.

“That,” Bob said, pointing directly at the hand wraps you were tightening with swift, practiced movements. “I’m not doing that.”

You blinked, momentarily frozen by his reluctance. But then, without warning, you burst into laughter. It wasn’t mocking, it was light, playful, and a little disbelieving.

“You’re saying… you don’t want to hurt me?” you asked between giggles, your eyes gleaming with amusement.

Bob gave you a helpless look, shrugging as if to say, What else would you expect?

“Come on, Bob. Seriously?” you grinned, tossing him one of the wraps with a lazy flick of your wrist. “Wrap up. You’ll be fine.”

But Bob still looked unconvinced. His hands hovered awkwardly near the fabric, and his entire posture screamed uncertainty. The idea of throwing punches, even just sparring ones, at you clearly made him deeply uncomfortable.

Sensing this, you softened your voice and expression, hoping to put him at ease. “I’ll be totally fine,” you said reassuringly, pausing for effect. “Remember?” You leaned in just a bit closer, lowered your voice into a playful, theatrical whisper, and said, “Regeneration.”

You even wiggled your fingers dramatically, as if the word itself was laced with ancient, mystical power.

Bob couldn’t help it and laughed. It was a genuine, warm sound, and for a moment, you could see the tension begin to ease from his shoulders. He gave you a small nod, still visibly unsure, but clearly willing to trust you.

“Okay,” he murmured, finally starting to wrap his hands. But it was obvious from his every move that he wasn’t doing it for the sake of the training session. He was doing it for you.

Because truth be told, it wasn’t the idea of punching that scared him most, it was the idea of letting you down. He saw how excited you were, how passionate and full of life you became in moments like these, and the thought of turning you down? That was harder to stomach than any potential guilt over a bruised arm or a missed jab.

Besides, if he said no, you’d probably run off and ask Bucky instead, and the mere idea of Bucky stepping into that role, standing across from you in the ring, hearing your laughter and sharing this time with you… it made something tight twist in Bob’s chest.

No. He wasn’t going to let someone else take that place. Not this time. Even if he was terrified. Even if he had no clue what he was doing. He was here, with you. And that had to count for something.

“Alright,” you said with a grin that teetered on the edge of a challenge and a tease, your tone light yet electric with anticipation. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Your eyes locked onto Bob’s through the delicate veil of your lashes, sparkling with mischief and unshakable confidence. With a smooth, practiced motion, you raised your fists in front of your face.

Your stance solid, your body loose and ready, like a spring coiled with intent. You looked entirely in your element, focused and fearless.

Bob, on the other hand, had just finished wrapping his hands and was still trying to figure out whether this was a terrible idea. He stared at you, utterly breathless for a moment, as if frozen between fight and flight.

“Uhhh,” he mumbled awkwardly, swallowing hard as he slowly lifted his hands to mirror your stance, though far less gracefully.

Every part of him screamed hesitation. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to engage with you, God, no. But the thought of hurting you, even accidentally, churned in his chest like a storm. His power wasn’t something he fully understood, not even now, and the idea that he might lose control, just for a second, and actually hurt you? That terrified him more than any fight ever could.

Sure, you had healing abilities. Regeneration. But what if something went wrong? What if this time, your body didn’t bounce back like it usually did? What if there were limits he didn’t know about? Limits you didn’t know about?

He was spiraling deeper into his own thoughts, retreating further from the moment, so much so that he didn’t even notice you stepping forward. Without warning, your fist made gentle contact with his stomach, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to snap him back into reality.

“Agh—” he yelped dramatically, more from shock than pain, as he hunched over slightly and clutched the spot where you’d punched him.

“Come on,” you laughed, bouncing on the balls of your feet with seemingly endless energy, your fists still held high in front of your face. “You’ve gotta stay alert!”

Bob groaned softly, glanced down at the floor, and exhaled heavily, visibly trying to get a grip on his nerves. With a deep breath, he finally shifted back into a basic defensive stance, mirroring you once again, though stiffly, like someone trying to copy a dance they’d only seen once.

“Move a little,” you encouraged, nodding as your eyes scanned his frozen frame. “You’re standing like a statue, you’ll be an easy target if you don’t keep moving.”

He hesitated, then started to sway slightly from side to side, unsure but trying. That alone earned him a flash of approval from you.

“There you go,” you said, voice warmer, kinder. “Don’t be scared. Come at me.”

You beckoned him forward with both hands, your smirk playful yet daring. But Bob only managed a few timid steps in your direction, his body language still shouting hesitation. He didn’t want to hit you, he wasn’t even sure he could, even if he tried.

Your patience was running thin, though, and you made no effort to hide it.

“Alright, fine,” you said with a mischievous scoff, cocking your head with a mockingly sweet smile. “Have it your way… chicken.”

And that was the moment you switched gears completely.

Without waiting for a response, you sprang into action — fast, fluid, and fearless. Your foot whipped out in a sideways strike, catching him cleanly in the thigh and knocking him slightly off balance. Before he could react, you pivoted and kicked into his side, driving the air from his lungs, then followed it up with a quick but controlled jab to his jaw.

He barely had time to register the hits, let alone protect himself. His hands shot up too late, trying to guard too many places at once, completely overwhelmed. His body ached in several spots, but he knew, on a rational level, that none of it was serious. Nothing was broken. You weren’t hitting with full force… yet. But the speed and precision? Those were real and relentless.

You weren’t doing this to hurt him. You were doing this to wake him up.

You needed to provoke him, to break through whatever wall he had built between himself and his potential. You wanted to draw out that spark, that power, that animal within him, whatever it was that he was so desperately trying to hold back.

Your movements became a blur. You ducked and spun and came at him from every angle, keeping him entirely on the defensive. You used everything Bucky had taught you, every trick Yelena had drilled into your reflexes, and more than once, Bob blinked and you were gone, only to reappear behind him with a sharp kick to the back.

He simply couldn’t keep up. And you didn’t let up. Strike after strike, word after word, you pushed him, tested him, challenged him.

“Come on!” you shouted, weaving around him like lightning. “Fight back!” A punch to the ribs.

“Don’t just stand there!” A kick to the side.

“Show me what you’ve got!” Another hit, fast and unexpected. You were careful, always controlled, but it felt real. And it was working.

Bob was reaching his breaking point.

You saw it in his eyes — this chaotic swirl of fear and adrenaline. And for the first time since you stepped into that gym, you could feel that something was changing inside him.

And then, just when you were about to land another punch straight to his jaw, Bob’s arm shot up with surprising speed and blocked the strike with his forearm.

You blinked.

It caught you off guard, not because it hurt, but because he actually stopped you. He finally reacted. But you didn’t let the surprise slow you down, not even for a second.

You were already preparing your next move, your knuckles tightening, your body twisting into motion. You launched another punch without hesitation, and once again, he blocked it. Now this was a fight.

The spark had ignited, the hesitation in his eyes replaced by concentration. And then it happened.

As you were winding up for a third strike, Bob moved faster than you expected and this time, he struck first.

His fist connected with your face, just barely grazing your cheekbone, but with enough force to make your head turn slightly from the impact. To him, it was gentle, hesitant even. But your reaction was immediate.

You stumbled back and raised your hand to your face, cradling the spot he’d hit as if it had hurt more than it really did. Your expression twisted into a mix of shock and pain.

Bob’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“Oh no. No no no no—hey, hey, are you okay?” he rushed forward, his voice shaky, filled with panic and guilt as he reached out to touch your shoulder, to check on you, to make it right.

“I didn’t mean to—I swear, I wasn’t trying to—”

But before he could finish his frantic apology, your fist launched like a missile straight into his stomach, right beneath the ribs.

The thud echoed through the gym as Bob’s body jolted backwards, the wind knocked clean out of him, not by pain, but by sheer surprise. His eyes went wide, and he gasped, almost offended by how easily you’d fooled him.

“Gotcha,” you laughed, your grin wide and wicked as you watched him try to process what just happened.

Bob looked at you like you’d just cheated at chess using witchcraft, but then his lips curled into a smirk and a low chuckle escaped his chest.

“Alright,” he said, rolling his neck with a satisfying crack as he clenched his fists and raised them in front of his face, “you’re so dead now.”

His eyes glinted with playful vengeance, and the moment his body settled into that stance, you knew this was about to get real.

You charged at him again, gathering momentum like a wave before impact, your muscles coiled and your eyes locked on him with laser focus. You leapt, aiming a flying punch straight for his shoulder only to realize, mid-air, that he was no longer there. He teleported.

And the second your feet touched the ground, you felt it, two firm hands shoving you from behind. You stumbled forward and hit the floor, not hard, but with enough of a jolt to make you grunt.

“Oh, so we’re cheating now?” you growled as you picked yourself up from the mat, brushing your knees and shooting him a look that promised revenge.

Bob stood across from you, arms crossed and wearing a grin so smug it practically glowed. “Just making it fun,” he said with a shrug.

And with that, you were off again, sprinting toward him, heart pounding with adrenaline, mouth twisted into a grin of your own. This wasn’t just training anymore. This was a duel.

Your fists, your feet, your every movement were purely human, yet honed to a deadly precision. Bob’s abilities, on the other hand, were something else entirely — unnatural, volatile and unfair. But still, you were keeping pace. Maybe even thriving in the imbalance. That’s what made it exciting. That’s what made it a real test.

The more time passed, the more you began to adapt. You started picking up on Bob’s patterns, the subtle signs that preceded his teleportation or energy spikes. When he disappeared in front of you, your instincts kicked in, you spun around just in time and landed a low punch to his leg before he could surprise you from behind.

He retaliated by creating a clone of himself, suddenly splitting into two versions of Bob standing shoulder-to-shoulder. One real, one fake. It was a trick, an illusion meant to distract, to confuse. But you’d spent enough time with him to know: there was always a twitch in his eyebrow when he was faking it.

So you hit the right one. And you didn’t miss.

This was a fight unlike anything you’d experienced before. It wasn’t just punches and kicks, it was a full-on chess match in motion, a test of your speed, your mind, and your patience. You couldn’t predict his next move, and that made it thrilling. Exhilarating.

You were fighting a man with the power of a god in a one-on-one brawl, and it felt unforgettable.

Bob, despite all his earlier reluctance, was clearly enjoying himself too. Maybe even more than he expected. He was laughing, not at you, but with you. With every block, every dodge, every unexpected hit, there was a glimmer of joy in his eyes.

Sure, part of him liked having the upper hand. His powers gave him an edge, and he wasn’t above enjoying it a little. But what he truly loved was you. This moment with you. The two of you together, sweating and laughing and challenging each other like there was no one else in the world.

This was going to be another one of those memories he’d replay in his mind late at night. A secret highlight reel he’d keep tucked away in the quiet moments, just for himself.

The air inside the gym crackled with energy, your fists flying, his powers flashing, movement and laughter and combat melting into something almost like a dance.

You didn’t know how long you’d been at it, time had dissolved, replaced only by rhythm, motion and breath.

But eventually, you felt that your battery was running low. You were human, after all. And even with adrenaline pumping through your veins, your body couldn't go for so long. You took one deep breath, one final step back. And then you decided, that it was finally time to finish this and take Bob down.

Just when Bob was finally back on his feet, his attention momentarily diverted, his stance wide and unguarded, you spotted the perfect opening.

Without hesitation, you crouched low, sweeping your leg with a swift, precise motion beneath his, knocking him completely off balance. His body hit the floor with a thud, and before he could even think about recovering, you pounced. Straddling him in one fluid move, you pinned him down, grinning triumphantly as your palms landed on his chest.

“Gotcha!” you declared with playful pride, breathless but buzzing with adrenaline. But Bob only smirked up at you, something mischievous glinting behind his heavy-lidded eyes. Before you could react, he vanished and reappeared behind your back. You spun around on instinct, but he was already in the air, tackling you from behind and sending you to the ground with a gentle thud. In the next second, the roles were reversed, he was the one pinning you now.

“Not so fast,” he teased, his voice low and teasing, a cocky half-smile on his lips.

You couldn’t help but laugh again, even as your mind raced for a counterattack. Wrapping your legs firmly around his waist, you used all your strength and momentum to flip him back over, reclaiming the upper position. Your thighs gripped his sides tightly, your hands pressing him into the mat.

“No cheating, coward,” you whispered in a daring, sultry tone, leaning in just close enough for him to feel your breath on his lips, for your eyes to dominate his field of view.

Bob chuckled under you, short of breath and flushed from the intensity of the sparring match.

The room felt like it was shrinking around you. The sound of your laughter and panting breaths echoed softly against the gym walls, but neither of you were laughing anymore. Slowly, the reality of the moment settled in.

You sat firmly on top of him, your thighs snugly wrapped around his waist, your body slightly leaning forward, locking him beneath you. His chest rose and fell with rapid, shallow breaths, and you could feel every twitch of muscle under your palms as they rested against his collarbones. Your knees pressed into the mat on either side of him, securing your balance, but the real weight wasn’t in your position. It was in the way your bodies were aligned.

Your breathing slowed, but grew deeper. So did his. Your hearts thundered beneath your ribs, not from the fight, but from the heat that was suddenly, undeniably there. You shifted, barely. Just the faintest roll of your hips but Bob reacted instantly.

His hands clamped down on your calves, firm and sudden, as if his body acted before his mind could catch up. A shaky breath escaped his lips, and his eyes squeezed shut. Not in pain, but in pleasure.

You weren’t naive. Not even close. Especially not in moments like this. His reaction told you everything you needed to know.

The warmth pooling between your thighs. The pulse pounding so fast it echoed in your ears. The way your skin prickled, not from exhaustion, but from this.

Bob slowly opened his eyes again. His gaze was hungry, but vulnerable, drawn to yours like gravity. His brows pinched slightly together, his expression strained, like he was fighting an internal battle. His lips parted, pulling in shallow, shaky breaths, and in that moment, with his flushed cheeks and that desperate look in his eyes, he looked so painfully, devastatingly attractive that you nearly forgot how to breathe.

You felt it in every fiber of your being, that you had to do this. That it was right. Like something inevitable had been slowly pulling you toward this moment since the second your bodies first collided in this sparring match. That magnetic pull was impossible to ignore now, and desire itself whispered in your ear, urging you to move faster.

So you did.

Slowly you began to lean down toward Bob’s face, every breath caught in your throat, every inch you moved steeped in delicious anticipation. Your eyes were locked on his lips, completely focused, completely gone.

You felt him tighten his grip on your legs just slightly, a gentle squeeze, and you knew it wasn’t out of fear or hesitation. It was need. Want. And the pressure you felt between your thighs — undeniable, firm, and very much him — made your lips curl into a small, teasing smirk.

And still, you leaned lower. Just a bit more. The space between your mouths now barely existed. A sliver, a breath, one single heartbeat from closing the distance.

And then—

“Are you two fucking?”

Yelena’s voice cut through the tension like a blade and somehow, her blunt question made everything feel even more incriminating. You both flinched like you’d been electrocuted, snapping your heads toward the doorway.

There she was, casually leaning against the doorframe, one eyebrow arched sky-high.

“N–no! No no no no–” You scrambled off of Bob like the mat had suddenly caught fire, your hands fumbling to fix your shirt as he awkwardly shot up to his feet. Both of you were flushed, breathless, and visibly guilty as hell. Your cheeks were burning red, and so were his.

“We were just training,” you blurted out, forcing a shaky smile as if you could somehow charm your way out of this painfully compromising situation.

“Training for what? Sex?” she asked with the same deadpan curiosity someone might use when asking about the weather. You immediately stiffened again, your eyes snapping shut and your lips pressing into a tight line as secondhand embarrassment practically oozed from your pores.

You inhaled sharply, desperately trying to gather what was left of your dignity. “No. Combat training,” you clarified with exaggerated emphasis, each word laced with the kind of awkward defensiveness that only made it worse.

Bob, poor thing, looked even more wrecked than you. He was subtly shifting on his feet, trying to hide the lingering situation in his pants that you caused. His hands hovered uselessly around his hips, like he didn’t know where to put them without making it worse. He didn’t speak, couldn’t speak, and from the look on his face, he was strongly considering teleporting out of existence altogether.

“A combat session in bed, then?” Yelena was enjoying every second of your suffering. Her tone still maddeningly neutral but her eyes gleaming with mischief.

You gave up. With a dramatic sigh and a full-on glare, you just stared at her like she was the last thing you had the patience for today.

“Okay, okay, I’m done, I’m done,” Yelena laughed, lifting her hands in surrender. “I just came to tell you lunch is ready. But take your time,” she added with a wink before sauntering away, leaving you and Bob frozen in place, still reeling, still blushing, and absolutely unable to look each other in the eye.

The moments after were painfully awkward. Neither of you said a single word. The tension still clung to your skin like the sweat from your training, heavy and impossible to ignore.

Step by step, you silently made your way to the bench, where you both began to slowly unwrap the hand wraps from your knuckles, the fabric sticking ever so slightly to your still-warm skin.

Every now and then, one of you would clear your throat, uncertain noises that only made the silence more deafening.

Bob didn’t dare look at you. He was trying desperately to appear calm, casual even, but his body was betraying him in the most humiliating way.

His jaw was tight, his hands a little shaky, and despite every effort to will it away, the growing ache in his pants was impossible to ignore. The hardness pressed uncomfortably against the fabric of his sweats, and he was this close to losing it, not because of the pain, but because of the thought that maybe, just maybe, you noticed. He couldn’t risk it.

With a fleeting smile, he offered you one last glance, one that barely lasted a second, and then turned sharply toward the exit, his movements a little too quick, almost frantic. He needed to get out of there. Now.

Every step toward the hallway felt like a countdown, and he prayed silently to any god that might be listening that you didn’t see just how obvious his situation had become.

“Bob!”

He froze. Half-turned back toward you, carefully keeping his hips angled away, shielding his current… issue.

His eyes met yours, and without even trying, the corners of his mouth lifted into that familiar, boyish smile. It always happened when you spoke to him. Like a reflex.

“Thank you,” you said softly, and the sincerity in your voice made something flutter in his chest. “That was… a good training.”

You smiled, and he saw the dimples appear on your cheeks. There was something else hiding behind your eyes. A quiet melancholy, like you weren’t quite ready for the moment to end either. But he understood.

He gave you a subtle nod, the smile on his face deepening just slightly, before he finally turned away and left the gym, headed straight to his room and nowhere else.

Because if he didn’t get some privacy soon, he was going to completely lose his mind.

He hated that he had to leave you like that. Just walk out like some awkward coward running from the scene of his own downfall. But his body gave him no other choice. It refused to calm down, refused to cooperate. He already felt humiliated enough, and the last thing he needed was to embarrass himself even further in front of you.

Because despite everything that just happened, despite the tension, the looks, the closeness, the fact that your lips had nearly met for a second time, you still hadn’t kissed. You were still just friends. That label clung to him like a curse, no matter how much it stung. And Bob knew he wasn’t allowed to hope for anything more. Hoping would ruin it. Pushing the boundary might destroy everything. And that was the last thing he could ever risk. You meant too much to him.

And God, if you only knew the state he was in right now, what just a few seconds of your body against his had done to him, he was convinced you’d look at him with disgust. You’d never talk to him again. You’d see him as something twisted, something gross, and the thought of that was a pain far worse than any boner-induced agony he was currently enduring.

When he finally reached his room, he shut the door behind him quickly, almost slamming it in his urgency, and locked it without hesitation. The second the lock clicked into place, his entire body slumped back against the wood. His head tilted, his eyes fluttered shut, and he let out a long, heavy exhale. The breath he’d been holding since leaving the gym, maybe even since your thighs had pinned him down. He needed to think.

But his mind wouldn’t quiet. It kept replaying every second, every frame—your body lowering onto his, the firm grip of your thighs around his waist, the heat of your breath mingling with his, your eyes locked on his lips like you were ready to finally close the gap—and God, your hips, the way you moved, even if it was just slightly… it destroyed him.

He squeezed his eyes tighter shut and cursed under his breath. It wasn’t going away. Not the tension, not the pressure, not the ache throbbing between his legs like a physical demand. His pants felt suffocating, and every brush of the fabric only made it worse.

There was no point in resisting it anymore. He needed release. He had to do something about his painfully hard dick

At first, he tried to fight it, tried to suppress the rising heat by closing his eyes and forcing his thoughts elsewhere, anywhere but you.

He thought of his grandmother’s frown, of wrinkled pickles in an open jar, of the sour stench of rotting meat… but none of it worked. Not for more than a few seconds. You were there, still, glowing stubbornly in the corners of his mind, impossible to push out. And no matter how many revolting images he conjured, nothing was strong enough to chase away the ache pulsing between his legs, nor the vivid way your silhouette lingered behind his eyes.

He had no time. Lunch was already being served, and any minute now you’d pass his room, ready to go shower, your skin probably still damp, your voice humming some tune as you dug through your clothes. He couldn’t risk being caught, he had to be fast, careful, silent… but he had to do something.

His hands moved quickly, grabbing a few tissues and tossing them to the side of his bed. He lay back against the mattress, exhaling shakily, and pushed his sweatpants down along with his boxers, just far enough to free the part of him that throbbed with restless need.

The air in the room suddenly felt colder against his skin, and yet his body was burning, flushed with anticipation. His hand found its place instinctively, fingers curling around the base, and he started moving. Slowly at first, as if testing the water, letting the rhythm build on its own.

He tried to keep his focus on the movement — up, down, a slow glide that teased more than it satisfied, but your image kept pushing its way forward, uninvited and yet entirely welcomed. Your face, your voice, the way you looked at him. You weren’t there, and yet you were — in every nerve, in every heartbeat, in every breath he tried to steady. The friction of his palm, the way his body answered it with twitching muscle and silent trembles, wasn’t enough on its own. He needed you to be part of it, even if only in his mind.

The strokes became faster, firmer, no longer shy but desperate, he didn’t even realize how his hips had started to move up to meet his hand, chasing the pressure, greedy for release.

His toes curled. His jaw clenched. The tension built so quickly that he barely had time to brace himself. He bit down on his lower lip, trying to stay silent, but a soft moan escaped anyway, muffled and raw. His eyes squeezed shut. Everything else in the world vanished. Only you remained.

With one final, desperate thrust of his hand, his body arched slightly off the bed, and he came, quickly grabbing some tissues to cover his tip and not make a mess. His breath caught in his throat as his muscles tightened, then gave in. His lips parted, and in the quiet of his room, trembling and gasping for air, he whispered your name.

“And here he is,” Alexei announced with a mouth full of meat, pointing directly at Bob, who had just walked in, freshly changed, looking as relaxed as he could possibly fake in that moment. He offered the table a half-hearted, awkward smile before sliding into the only empty seat, one that just so happened to be directly across from you. Coincidence? Bob seriously doubted it.

Had the others left that specific chair empty on purpose, creating the perfect opportunity for him to sit opposite the very girl he’d just jerk off to? Or had you orchestrated it? Quietly insisting, subtly guiding where everyone sat so he’d have no choice but to meet your eyes over lunch like nothing happened? The thought made his stomach twist and tighten even more than it already was.

“You good, Bob?” Walker’s voice broke through the background noise of silverware and casual chatter. Every head, including yours, immediately turned toward him, curious, expectant.

The sudden spotlight hit Bob like a truck. His pulse jumped in his throat and for a second, he forgot how to breathe. His body tensed, his thoughts scattered into a thousand fragmented worries. He had zoned out so hard he hadn’t even realized someone was speaking to him.

With a small, startled twitch of his head, Bob blinked himself back into the present and forced a quick, polite nod, his smile as empty as it was automatic. “Yeah—yeah, all good,” he mumbled, voice a little higher than he intended.

Most of the table accepted that answer without much interest and returned to their food, forks clinking and knives scraping as the tension around him briefly loosened. But not everyone was so easily convinced.

Yelena didn’t move. Her eyes were locked on him with sharp, quiet precision, suspicion practically radiating from her posture. She studied him with unsettling focus, like she already knew. When he finally noticed her gaze, his shoulders tightened, and his eyes darted away instantly as he picked up his fork and focused intently on the food in front of him. He hoped she’d look away. She didn’t.

For a while, the only sounds that filled the kitchen were the rhythmic clinking of silverware against ceramic plates, the occasional wet chewing noise and a few scattered words exchanged between Walker and Ava in casual conversation. The air felt somewhat still, like everyone was trying not to acknowledge the strange tension hanging there like an invisible curtain, too fresh and fragile to touch.

Then, with deliberate volume that sliced clean through the hum of background noise, Yelena’s voice broke the silence like a match struck in a dark room.

“It’s your turn today.”

The sentence came out sharp, intentional, and loud enough to draw every head at the table toward her. She didn’t look up immediately, choosing instead to maintain her composure and keep her gaze fixed on her plate, her tone leaving just enough ambiguity to spark curiosity. The pause she left in the air was clearly planned, like she wanted to keep them all guessing for just a moment longer.

Finally, with her fork already mid-air, she casually glanced around the table, making eye contact with each person, one by one, like she was looking for something or someone. Her gaze landed on Bob and stayed there.

“Dishes,” she clarified with a smirk that bordered on smug, her eyes still trained on him. “It’s your turn, Bob.”

A collective wave of release swept through the room. Some people chuckled softly, others let out subtle sighs of relief, as if they’d all been expecting something worse, or waiting for a bomb that never dropped.

Bob, however, didn’t react right away. For a second, he just sat there, frozen mid-bite, like his brain needed an extra moment to reboot. Then, wordlessly, he gave a short nod and returned to his food, his expression unreadable, but his hand slightly trembling around the fork.

He was used to attention in battle, not at the dinner table. Especially not this kind of attention.

You had been staring at him for a moment, your gaze fixed and unreadable. Then, you licked your lips and swallowed the bite of food still in your mouth, your voice calm but deliberate as you spoke.

“I don’t mind taking it tonight.”

The clinking of cutlery instantly stopped. Every single head at the table turned toward you in unison, as if a switch had been flipped. Even Bob froze mid-chew, his eyes locking onto yours with a flicker of confusion.

“You don’t have to,” he said, voice low and cautious.

“I mean, I could at least help,” you offered again, clearly trying to work your way into that dishwashing duty like it meant more than just plates and forks. Your tone was casual, but your persistence gave you away.

The air around the table turned still again, every gaze glued to the two of you, every ear quietly tuned in like they were eavesdropping on something more intimate than anyone dared admit.

“I actually enjoy washing dishes,” Bob replied, a nervous edge to his voice that didn’t go unnoticed.

“Which is why I could help, no big deal—” you countered softly, keeping your tone light, but you weren’t backing down either.

“It’s fine, really. I don’t mind—”

Before Bob could finish, a sudden, violent bang erupted across the table, making everyone jump. It wasn’t the dull slap of skin against wood — it rang louder, sharper, with the unmistakable clang of metal. And in that exact second, everyone knew who it was without needing to look. Instinctively, all heads, including yours and Bob’s, snapped toward the source.

“I’ll do the damn dishes, alright?!”

Bucky’s voice growled through the tense silence, laced with mock cheerfulness that fooled no one. His metal fist was still clenched on the tabletop, and though he gave a crooked smile, his jaw was tight, and his eyes were darker than usual. The kind of dark that made you sit still and shut up.

With a low, bitter huff, he returned to his food and began chewing again like nothing had happened. For a moment, nobody dared move or speak. The only sounds were the rhythmic clicking of silverware on plates and Bucky’s teeth grinding through each bite.

Eventually, slowly, everyone resumed eating, one by one, cautiously rejoining the meal as if they were stepping back onto thin ice.

“Well damn,” Alexei muttered through a mouthful, his Russian dad-accent still thick as ever. “Didn’t think dishes would start a war.” He let out a nervous chuckle, probably hoping to lighten the mood, but the tension in the room was far from broken.

As Bob sat there eating, he realized something. He had never seen Bucky look that angry before. Not even that one time when Alexei and Walker had been tossing Bucky’s metal arm back and forth like some twisted game of catch, with Bucky in the middle trying desperately to grab it back. This was different. The sharpness in Bucky’s expression wasn’t just irritation or frustration, it was personal. It almost looked like jealousy.

The thought slid into Bob’s mind with a strange, intoxicating weight. Could it be possible that, for once, the tables had turned? That he was the one in the lead now, the one closer to winning you over, while Bucky was left to watch from the sidelines, unable to stand it? Bob couldn’t help the slow, dangerous satisfaction curling in his chest. The idea sank deep, and with it came a swelling sense of pride.

He straightened his posture, as if to make himself appear taller, more confident, his shoulders rolling back in a subtle display of victory. The corners of his mouth lifted into a sly, almost taunting smile, the kind of expression that was less about joy and more about knowing you held the upper hand. Without breaking that quiet smirk, he speared another bite of food and brought it to his lips, chewing slowly.

You noticed it, but the meaning you attached to it was entirely different. You’d seen that look on Bob before. It was the same look he wore whenever he successfully managed to rile up Walker. Bob’s favorite pastime, his number-one ragebait target. Every time Walker snapped, every time Bob hit the perfect nerve, this was the face that followed. The slight glint in the eye, the self-satisfied curl of the lips, the barely-there lift of his chin.

Could it be that he was doing the same thing now with Bucky? That this was just another one of his games, another test to see how far he could push someone before they broke?

Before you could dwell on it too long, you became suddenly aware of a presence leaning in close from your side. Ava’s shoulder brushed against yours as she tilted her head toward you, her voice dropping into a whisper that was practically dripping with mischief.

“Are you going to keep staring at him,” she murmured, “or are you finally going to kiss him?”

Your reaction was instant. Without looking away from the table, you pressed your heel down onto Ava’s foot under the table, sharp enough to make her flinch. She let out a quick, quiet hiss of pain, but it wasn’t loud enough to draw anyone else’s attention. Her smirk didn’t fade, though. If anything, it deepened.

The days that followed were different. But in the best possible way.

It was as if something had shifted on that fateful day. Suddenly, Bucky was no longer the one you went to for every little thing. Now, it was Bob.

Every morning, without fail, you would find him and ask if he wanted to train with you. And not once did he turn you down. During breakfast, if someone else hadn’t already taken over the kitchen, you would automatically ask him what he wanted and prepare it, just for him. Whenever the power went out in your workspace, it was Bob you called for help, or sometimes simply to hold a flashlight so you could keep going.

And Bob loved it. Every second of it. Every small interaction, every excuse to stand beside you, to watch you work, to catch a glimpse of your smile, it was all something he treasured more than he could admit.

For the first time, he felt like he had stepped into the space that used to belong to Bucky, and he was closer to you than ever before. Yet, along with that happiness, there was a faint trace of guilt tugging at him. You were doing so many little things for him, things that showed care in ways he wasn’t sure he deserved, and he barely felt like he was giving anything back.

That’s why he made up his mind. He would repay you, even if only with a small gift. Something to show you that he noticed, that he appreciated every single thing you did.

He had bought you a plush polar bear.

Yes, maybe it was a silly thing and in no way enough to repay everything you’d done for him or the way you made him feel, but he couldn’t get the idea out of his head.

Once, in passing, you had told him about how, when you were little, you used to carry a plush polar bear everywhere you went. It had been your guardian angel, your constant companion, until you lost it.

You had half-jokingly blamed your father, saying he probably threw it away so you’d focus entirely on your experiments. But even through the humor, Bob had heard the faint thread of sadness in your voice, and it had stuck with him. He had thought about it more than he’d like to admit. And the more he thought about it, the more it bothered him that you had lost something that clearly meant so much to you.

So, he decided to do something about it. No, this bear wouldn’t be the same one you had as a child, and he knew it could never carry the same memories, but maybe it could still mean something. A small gesture to show you that he listened, that he remembered, that he cared.

Still, there was a flicker of doubt gnawing at him. What if you took it the wrong way? What if it made you angry? What if it made you cry? That was the last thing he wanted to see. The thought alone was enough to make his chest tighten.

So, for now, he kept the polar bear hidden safely beneath his bed, waiting for the right moment. He wanted to give it to you when it felt natural, when it wouldn’t just be a gift, but a moment, a memory you could both hold onto.

This afternoon, you, Yelena, and Bob were sitting in the living room, the soft glow of the television flickering across your faces. You had claimed one of the two armchairs, Yelena had occupied the other, leaving Bob on the couch by himself. Not that he minded. If anything, he was perfectly content just being in the same room, watching something alongside you.

The three of you were caught up in some TV show, the kind where the characters made decisions so painfully bad it was almost comical. Bob found himself quietly laughing every single time you threw your hands in the air, your voice rising in frustration as you called the characters idiots, shaking your head like you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. Yelena reacted too, though in her case, her sharp comments were laced with the kind of bluntness and cold undertone that came from her Russian temperament, making them just a little bit intimidating.

Then, a deep voice broke through the moment. “Hey.”

All three of you turned your heads toward the sound. It was Bucky. He stood there, his expression shadowed with something… almost sad, as if he’d been wrestling with his thoughts for a long while before finally speaking.

“Can I talk to you? Alone?” His eyes locked on yours, the weight of the request hanging heavy in the air.

For a moment, you froze. Then you gave a quick, silent nod, pushing yourself up from the armchair. You didn’t look at Yelena or Bob, but Bob was looking at you. He was watching the whole time. Watching as you disappeared with Bucky around the corner, until you were completely out of sight.

The instant you were gone, something in him snapped. A hot surge of anger flared in his chest, his stomach twisting so hard it made him feel almost sick. His hands curled into fists so tight that the knuckles turned white. He forced himself to look back at the television, but it was impossible to focus. Every now and then, that strange, faint yellow glow flickered in his eyes, a dangerous hint of what he was feeling.

No. He needed to calm down. He couldn’t lose control over this. Bucky just wanted to talk to you, nothing more. It wasn’t a big deal. That’s what he told himself. Again and again. But the truth was, the more he tried to convince himself it was fine, the more it burned. The jealousy wasn’t fading, it was eating him alive, second by second.

Later that day, Bob was lying flat on his bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if the cracks in the plaster might hold the answers he couldn’t find anywhere else. He was thinking about just throwing himself out the window. Not because it would hurt him, but because maybe the shock of it would snap him out of this suffocating spiral.

Then he heard it again. Your laugh.

Not the laugh that bubbled up because of something Bob said, not the laugh that belonged to some shared inside joke between the two of you, no. This one was for someone else. For Bucky fucking Barnes.

The sound made Bob’s stomach twist with a cruel déjà vu, like he was watching history repeat itself in the most painful way. Had he done something wrong again? Or was there some unwritten law of the universe that you would always, somehow, choose Bucky over him?

He tried to ignore it. He really did. But he didn’t own earplugs, and even if he had, he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to block you out completely. Because no matter how much it tore at his nerves to know you were laughing with that man and not with Bob, your laugh was still beautiful. And a part of him couldn’t help but drink it in.

After a while, the laughter faded into silence. Peaceful, but heavy. And then — a knock at his door.

“Yes?” he called out, his voice flat.

The door creaked open, and there you were, smiling at him with that wide, radiant grin that could melt steel.

“Heyyy,” you said in that light, almost sing-song tone you used when you wanted to brighten the mood.

“So, um—do you wanna come cycling with me and Bucky?”

The moment Bob heard and Bucky, the faint spark of warmth your smile had lit in him died instantly. The look he’d been giving you a heartbeat ago vanished without a trace. He let his head fall back onto the pillow and didn’t even meet your eyes.

“No.”

His tone was sharp. Final.

“Really? I think it would be fun—” you started, hopeful.

“I don’t want to.” His voice cut like a blade. Short. Mechanical.

The way he spoke made your chest sink. You didn’t know him like this. You’d never heard him talk to you this way, not even the time you’d accidentally broken his favorite mug. Had you done something to upset him? You’d been nothing but kind to him all day…

“Alright… but if you change your mind, you can just call me,” you murmured softly, the brightness in your voice gone. You closed the door slowly, the hinges squeaking as if they too felt the weight of the moment.

Bob heard the faint click of the latch and for a brief second, guilt brushed against his thoughts. He knew you were sad. He knew he’d hurt you. But the anger in him was boiling over, drowning out anything else. His blood felt hot under his skin, his nerves taut and ready to snap. He wasn’t just furious at Bucky, he was furious at you.

Why would you even want to go cycling with him? Why hadn’t you asked Bob first, like you always did? What the hell had Bucky said to you to make you look at him that way? Or Had Bucky kissed you?

The image burned in his mind so vividly it made him shut his eyes tight. He forced himself to take slow, measured breaths, each one like a desperate attempt to stop himself from spiraling into something he couldn’t pull back from. He knew this was a dangerous place for him to be. He knew what happened when he crossed that line. And if he didn’t calm down now, he would do something terrible.

You’d been gone all day.

Every time Bob wandered into the kitchen, whether for a drink or a quick snack, he’d secretly hoped he would find you there, that you’d be back, maybe leaning against the counter or smiling at him from across the room. But there was no sign of you. Not a sound, not a single trace.

So he spent the entire day locked up in his room with nothing but his own thoughts for company, which, in hindsight, was a terrible idea. At first, he tried to read, books had always been his escape, the one thing that could quiet his mind. But today, no matter what story he opened, you were there. Every time.

You slipped into the narrative without permission, sometimes as the main heroine, sometimes as the author, sometimes as some random passerby whispering a single line of dialogue. It didn’t matter. His brain kept placing you in every corner of every world until even his last refuge felt poisoned.

He needed to get it out. All of it, the anger, the jealousy, the gnawing ache in his chest. So he headed for the gym, determined to wear himself down physically until his thoughts went quiet.

The second he stepped inside, the memories hit him like a vicious punch to the head. He shook them off, jaw tight, and focused on the task at hand. He wrapped the tape around his fists slowly, methodically, as if dragging out the preparation might delay the inevitable storm brewing inside him.

At first, his hits against the heavy bag were light, hesitant even, like he was almost afraid to touch it. But the more his mind replayed the day, the absence of you, the sound of your laugh with him, the sight of Bucky in his head where he should have been, the faster and harder the blows came.

His breathing turned rough, ragged. Sweat poured from him, flinging off with each brutal swing. The bag wasn’t a bag anymore. It was Bucky. It was the smug tilt of his head, the way you looked at him. It was the theft of something Bob thought was his. Every strike was personal. Every strike was war.

By the end, his vision was blurring from rage, his muscles screaming, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. And then, one final punch, sharper and harder than the rest, sent the heavy bag flying across the room, the chain ripping free with a violent clang.

Bob staggered back, chest heaving, and dropped onto the bench, elbows resting on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. His knuckles ached, his arms trembled from the force he’d poured into every strike. It helped. It did help, for about three seconds. But then, like a cruel joke, you were right back in his head. With a desperate exhale, he realized that he wouldn't get rid of you so easily.

Bob was losing all sense of time, and at the same time, it felt like he was trapped in his own personal hell. Every minute dragged unbearably slowly, stretching into what felt like hours, and yet he could find nothing to occupy himself with, nothing that could truly distract his mind, because no matter what he did, you were there, in his thoughts, alongside that unbearable image of you with Bucky, somewhere outside, sitting on a bench, pressed close together and kissing as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

He had no idea how to handle the restless, gnawing frustration building inside him. For a while, he paced back and forth across the room, his hands twitching and his teeth worrying at his fingernails until they were ragged, before he made a half-hearted attempt to lose himself in some PlayStation games. Even that didn’t last; his mind kept wandering back to the same infuriating scene.

Out of desperation, he went to the kitchen, thinking that maybe cooking would help him feel grounded, but Yelena was there, and she didn’t just reject his offer to help, she practically threw him out, not even softening the blow despite his attempt to be useful.

With that option gone, he thought about taking a walk, letting the fresh air clear his head, but deep down he knew that stepping outside would only make those thoughts louder and more vivid, and if fate decided to play a cruel trick on him, if he were to stumble upon you and Bucky in some painfully intimate moment, he couldn’t predict what he might do, not only to the two of you but to anyone nearby, maybe even to the entire city.

In his current state, he was sprawled across the bed, limbs heavy and unmoving, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if it could offer him some kind of answer.

The headphones over his ears were blasting music at the highest possible volume, not for enjoyment, but as a desperate attempt to drown out the relentless noise of his own thoughts. Radiohead had always been his favorite band, their melancholic melodies a constant companion through countless sleepless nights, and by now he had probably listened to every single song they had ever made, more times than he could count.

But tonight, even they couldn’t soothe him. He was completely drained — mentally, emotionally — an empty shell barely tethered to the present moment.

A dull ache of regret throbbed inside him as he thought about the cruel words he had thrown at you earlier, the way his temper had lashed out.

For a fleeting moment, he wished he could take it back. But just as quickly, that regret curdled into anger again the second his mind conjured the image of you outside with Bucky, the two of you together under the night sky, perhaps laughing, perhaps touching.

Then came the wave of self-reassurance—maybe he was wrong, maybe things weren’t what they seemed—but it didn’t last. His thoughts cruelly dragged him back to the memory of you in the room with Bucky earlier, laughing at something he had said, your smile brighter than you ever offered Bob himself.

His mind was a battlefield where doubt, jealousy, guilt, and longing clashed violently, and he had no power to control it, much less stop it. He was half-surprised he hadn’t started foaming at the mouth from how far gone he felt.

Then, suddenly, his heightened senses caught something. A faint sound from the hallway. Instinct took over, and he shot upright in an instant, tearing the headphones from his ears.

You were here. Finally, you were home. For a heartbeat, relief washed over him like a cool tide, until another set of footsteps echoed alongside yours. Bucky. Of course. He had come back with you, naturally.

A mix of conflicting emotions churned violently inside him; on one hand, he was grateful you were safe, that you were back where he could see you, but on the other, the jealousy flared hot and bitter in his chest, impossible to suppress.

Whether he admitted it or not, he was jealous with the ferocity of a possessive lover, one who couldn’t stand the thought of sharing you with anyone else.

As your footsteps passed by his door, a shiver ran down his spine and goosebumps prickled along his skin, the sound of you so close making him feel as if his soul had been abruptly thrust back into his body, giving him purpose again, something to fight for, something to live for.

Even though it was late and, realistically, the only thing left to do was sleep, he knew with absolute certainty that sleep was impossible tonight. His mind wouldn’t allow it.

A few minutes had passed since your arrival, and Bob was seated at his desk, his pen scratching quietly against the paper as he jotted down a series of training routines.

Who would have thought he’d ever take a genuine interest in something so methodical? Certainly not him, and it wouldn’t have happened at all if it weren’t for you.

You were the reason he wanted to get better, to push himself, to actually organize his efforts instead of relying on pure brute force. Even though, with his abilities, he could get away with throwing blind punches, he was beginning to realize that discipline had its own kind of power.

He had just begun writing another bullet point when he heard a soft knock at the door, so delicate it barely existed in the air. It was so faint he didn’t even flinch, didn’t lift his pen from the page, because there was only one person on the entire team who knocked like that.

You.

He drew in a deep, uneven breath, his chest rising with the tremor of it, and turned his gaze toward the door before granting you silent permission to enter. He tried to steady his face into something neutral, but there was nothing in the world that could have prepared him for the way you appeared in his doorway.

Your hair was swept into a messy bun, loose strands framing your face in a way that looked entirely unintentional yet devastatingly beautiful. Your makeup was slightly smudged, as if the day had worn you down, giving your features a softer, more vulnerable edge. But all of that paled next to the fact that you were wrapped in nothing but a white towel. A towel that didn’t even reach your knees. Just. A. White. Towel.

You opened the door slowly, hesitantly, yet didn’t cross the threshold, as though some lingering uncertainty from your last interaction kept you from stepping too far into his space.

Bob’s mind promptly shattered into chaos. His eyes froze on you, on the bare skin, on the droplets of water still clinging to your collarbone, before he forced himself to turn his head slightly away, only to betray himself by glancing back for one more look, and then turning away again.

Was this deliberate? Did you come here only to provoke him? If so, it was working too damn well, because every drop of blood in his body seemed to be rushing south, leaving his brain dizzy and his breath short.

“Hi… I’m not disturbing you, am I?” you asked, your voice cautious yet warm, carrying that gentle lilt you always had when speaking to him. He only shook his head, wordless, his throat suddenly too tight to form a sound. You fidgeted with your fingers for a moment, as if gathering the courage for your next words.

“I wanted to ask… if I could use your shower,” you said at last, the faintest pause following as your eyes searched his face for a reaction. His eyebrow twitched, his chest expanding with an inhale, but before he could form a response, you rushed to explain.

“The hot water’s not working in my room, and I didn’t want to bother anyone else at this hour… please.”

Bob looked at you, but not in the way every muscle in his body was urging him to. He didn’t let his gaze linger on your legs or the way the towel hugged your curves, though the temptation clawed at him like fire under his skin. Instead, he met your eyes, those impossibly innocent, shining eyes that seemed to see right through him, and in that moment, any possibility of refusing you vanished. He couldn’t say no. He wouldn’t.

“Of course,” he said with a short nod, his voice kept deliberately neutral even as his cheeks betrayed him with the faintest flush. He gestured toward the bathroom with a quick motion of his hand.

You exhaled in relief, a small, grateful smile blooming across your lips, and you thanked him, not once, but several times, before quietly closing the door behind you and darting toward his bathroom on tiptoe.

Bob tried to focus on the training plan in front of him, his pen scratching faintly as he attempted to put his thoughts into some kind of orderly sequence, but his own mind was turning against him, playing tricks he had no defense against.

The moment the sound of the shower reached his ears, that soft rush of water bursting to life behind the closed bathroom door, an image bloomed in his head without warning, vivid and merciless.

He saw you there, in his shower, the steam curling around your body like a veil, droplets of hot water trailing down the delicate lines of your face before sliding slowly along the curve of your neck. They would linger there for a moment, catching in the hollow at the base of your throat, before slipping further, over the soft swell of your breasts, gliding across your stomach, trickling lower, down to your hips, your lower abdomen, and then—

He shifted abruptly in his chair, clearing his throat in a harsh, deliberate sound as if that could physically shove the thought away. He couldn’t think about that. Not when you were right there, barely a few feet away, separated only by a thin wall and a locked door. But his body clearly disagreed.

The insistent, twitching hardness pressing against the fabric of his boxers had no intention of obeying reason.

By the time he reached the halfway point on the page, he mortifyingly realized that several of the words he’d written had been unconsciously replaced with parts of your body he didn’t dare speak aloud.

His grip tightened on the pen, but it was no use. With a frustrated huff, he tore the paper cleanly in two, the sound sharp in the quiet room, and shoved the shredded pieces into the trash.

He drew a deep breath, willing himself to reset, pulling a fresh sheet of paper toward him as though the act alone might wipe his mind clean. He poised the pen above it, ready to start over, but the pen never touched the page.

His erection throbbed with such unrelenting insistence that it was impossible to think about anything else.

He tried flexing his hand, tightening the muscles in his arm, even giving his wrist a small shake as if physical movement could somehow shake the thoughts out of his head. But it was pointless. The moment the tip of the pen grazed the paper, his hand froze, the connection between thought and action severed entirely.

With a muttered curse under his breath, he tossed the pen onto the desk with a clatter, pushing back his chair in one abrupt motion. His fingers raked through his hair in frustration, gripping at the strands for a moment before letting them fall. He felt caged in his own skin, torn between the urge to pace the room and the dangerous temptation to picture what was happening in his bathroom right now.

Was it a curse, or was it a kind of twisted blessing, that you were the reason behind all of this? The reason his emotions kept spiraling so far out of control, the reason his body was keep betraying him? He couldn’t decide if this was some cruel punishment, or the only thing that made him feel alive.

He tried to think about other things, to focus on literally anything that wasn’t you, but the second the steady hiss of the shower came to a stop, reality crashed back over him. In just a moment, you would walk out of that bathroom, and right now he was standing there with a hard, unignorable erection straining against his sweatpants like a tent big enough for five people.

He turned sharply toward the window, his back to the bathroom door, folding his arms across his chest in an attempt to look casual, as if deep in thought while staring out into the night. It was a flimsy act, but it was the best he could do with the seconds ticking down to your return.

And then you emerged. Slowly, cautiously, as if unsure whether stepping back into his space was a good idea. The warm steam from the bathroom still clung to your skin, your hair damp where a few strands had escaped. The faint scent of your shampoo drifted through the air, threading its way toward him like a whisper he wasn’t supposed to hear.

You spotted him immediately, standing at the window, arms locked over his chest, his posture tense, his gaze fixed somewhere far away. He didn’t turn when you entered his peripheral vision, didn’t even flicker an acknowledgment in your direction, and so you assumed he was too lost in thought to engage. Deciding not to intrude further, you started toward the door.

“Thanks again, I really needed that,” you said softly, your voice carrying that breathy little laugh at the end, the kind that always seemed to sneak past his defenses. You were smiling faintly as you walked toward the exit, bare feet silent against the floor.

He didn’t answer, at least, not with words. Instead, he gave a low, almost noncommittal murmur, deep in his throat, the kind of sound that wasn’t quite dismissive but carried no real engagement either.

Your hand closed around the door handle, the plan simple in your mind — leave, retreat to your room, wrap yourself in a blanket, and let the weight of the day fade away. But as the cool metal pressed into your palm, something in you faltered. At the very last second, you hesitated, your fingers pausing against the handle, your mind shifting gears entirely.

“Bob, is something wrong?” Your tone had lost the soft, gentle edge it carried before. Now it was sharp, direct, and serious, slicing through the thick air between you. Bob recognized the shift immediately and he turned toward you slightly, catching you in his peripheral vision before his gaze reluctantly followed. God, you were even more breathtaking than you had been just minutes ago.

The makeup you’d worn earlier was gone, but it made no difference, you were equally stunning without it, maybe even more so. The faint warmth from your shower seemed to radiate off you in invisible waves that reached him even from across the room. Your cheeks held a delicate flush, your lips the exact shade of strawberry jam, soft and impossibly inviting, and again, you stood there wrapped in nothing but that short white towel.

For a fraction of a second, something in his brain short-circuited, his focus slipping entirely to the sight of you, before the memory of your question crashed back over him, along with the unmistakable seriousness in your expression.

“No,” he replied, half firm, half shy, and then quickly turned back toward the window, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a loud swallow.

That answer didn’t come close to satisfying you.

“Really? Because I got a feeling you're mad.” You took a step toward him, slow but deliberate. He only shook his head, his voice clipped.

“I’m not.” His unusually short, almost dismissive response told you everything you needed to know, it wasn’t enough, and you knew in that moment that you're not leaving this room until you got an actual explanation, until you knew what the hell was going on.

“Bob, did I do something? Or what the hell is your problem?” Your voice rose, just slightly, the frustration starting to break through your restraint. You were tired of the half-answers, tired of walking on eggshells. You wanted to know, now.

That was the breaving point for him.

“Bucky is my problem, alright?!” He spun to face you fully this time, hands raised in open exasperation. The words came out sharp and fast, a burst of emotion that had clearly been sitting too close to the surface for too long.

You were surprised, yes, but you didn’t let it show beyond the slight lift of your brows. The frown etched into your features didn’t budge.

“Then why are you angry at me?” Your tone had softened again, but the seriousness in it remained unshaken.

Bob let out a long, heavy breath, as if the answer were so obvious it pained him to even voice it. His head dropped into his hands for a moment, fingers pressing against his temples before he spoke.

“Because he’s taking you from me. From the very beginning, he—” His hand shot toward the door in a sharp, frustrated gesture, the motion alone naming Bucky without the need for words. Then he exhaled again, the fight in his tone dipping into something more weary, almost defeated. He didn’t want to say too much, didn’t want to slip and reveal more than he should.

You said nothing, your expression calm but attentive, listening in complete silence.

“When I finally managed to take his place, to be close to you in a way he never was, I was happy. Truly happy,” Bob said, his voice dropping to a low, almost uncertain timbre. “But now he’s taking you from me again, and I just… I don’t want that…”

You stepped closer to him, closing some of the distance, and in that moment Bob couldn’t have cared less if you noticed the very obvious hardness pressing against the front of his sweatpants. This was no longer about embarrassment or modesty.

Your frown, which had been sharp and unyielding moments ago, began to soften, the tightness around your eyes easing as sympathy and compassion took its place.

“Bob, I’ve never had anything with Bucky. Never,” you said, your voice steady, carrying the weight of truth. You were now only a single step away from him, close enough that he could feel the faint warmth radiating from your skin.

“Today, he wanted to talk to me because he wanted to apologize, for how he lashed out at us during that lunch,” you continued. Bob’s eyes lifted to meet yours, his brows drawing upward slightly, his lips parting just enough to show he was listening, hanging onto every word.

“We went biking together because he wanted to admit that he likes Yelena, and he was asking me for advice.” At that, something in Bob’s chest loosened. He didn’t show it outwardly, not yet, but inside, there was a small but undeniable sense of relief unraveling some of the tight, bitter knots he’d been carrying all day.

But you weren’t finished.

“Bucky has always been like a brother to me, Bob. From the very beginning, he was the first one who welcomed me here, the first who took the time to show me around. That’s why I went to him with every little thing, because I was too shy to go to anyone else.”

That was the moment the shame settled in for him. The realization hit hard, landing in the pit of his stomach with a weight that made him feel almost sick. He had twisted everything in his mind, built a false story out of his own jealousy and obsessive overthinking, turning you into some kind of villain when in reality, you’d been innocent the entire time.

“I… I didn’t know that,” he murmured, swallowing hard before lowering his gaze to the floor, unable to meet your eyes. His voice had lost all of its edge, replaced with guilt and something quieter, almost self-loathing.

He felt disgusted with himself, not just for the way he’d treated you today, but for the endless months he’d spent resenting Bucky for absolutely nothing. Every harsh thought, every suspicion, every silent grudge, he wished he could tear them out of the past and erase them completely.

“Do you know why I tried to take every single opportunity to be by your side?” Your voice was steady but low, laced with something dangerous. His heartbeat was pounding faster with every second, and yours matched it in rhythm, the air between you thickening until it felt almost heavy.

His eyes locked onto yours with an almost desperate hunger, as if he were trying to find some kind of salvation deep inside them, some glimmer of light that would tell him this wasn’t all in his head.

You took another slow, deliberate step toward him, until there was barely an inch of space left between your bodies. His arousal was no longer just visible, it was so close it nearly brushed against you, a silent confession of everything he was feeling but hadn’t dared to say. The connection between your eyes didn’t falter; if anything, it burned hotter.

“Do you know why I wanted to kiss you more than once?” you asked, your words spilling out like a secret you’d been holding for far too long. Bob’s eyes widened just slightly, the realization crashing over him. Of course he remembered those moments, the near-kisses, the pauses where your lips had hovered close enough that he could feel your breath. but he had never expected you to say it out loud, to admit it so shamelessly.

Now you closed the final sliver of space, pressing forward until his hardness was against you, the contact sending a sharp, involuntary hiss past his lips. He knew you were doing it on purpose, every shift of your body, every calculated move, and the knowledge alone made his restraint start to unravel.

“Do you know why I never gave you back your hoodie?” you murmured, and before he could answer, you rose up onto your toes, your lips brushing dangerously close to his ear. Your breath was warm against his skin, your tone teasing but laced with undeniable intent as you whispered, slow enough for every word to sink deep.

“Because every night I wore it… I was fucking myself, imagining it was your fingers.”

The sentence hit him like a spark to gasoline. He hadn’t expected that. Not the words, not the bluntness, not the vivid image that burned into his mind so instantly it made his pulse stutter. That was it, the last fragile thread of self-control snapped clean.

With a low, guttural sound, Bob’s hand came up to frame your face, his grip firm but reverent, and in the next heartbeat he crashed his mouth against yours in a kiss that was as much a confession as it was a surrender.

The moment his lips crashed against yours, it was as if the world outside of that room simply ceased to exist. There was no sound, no time, no oxygen, just the burning heat where your mouths met, and the way his kiss carried the weight of months of longing, frustration, and restraint finally breaking. His lips moved with a hunger that was almost desperate, yet there was still a tenderness there, a care in the way he held you, as though he was terrified of losing you if he kissed you too hard, yet equally terrified of stopping.

For Bob, it was dizzying. He had imagined this countless times — lying awake at night, wondering how your lips would feel against his, if they’d be as soft as they looked, if you’d let out the same quiet gasp he always fantasized about when he pictured your mouth opening beneath his. And now it was real, so much better, so much more intoxicating than anything his imagination had dared to create.

Your taste was warm and sweet, and it made him greedy, each movement of his lips demanding more, as though he could drink you in until there was nothing left between you but heat.

You could feel the tremor in his hands as they slid from your jaw down the curve of your neck, one of them coming to rest protectively at the back of your head when he began to push you backward.

He was moving quickly, almost impatiently, but still thinking about you, making sure that when your back reached the wall, you wouldn’t feel the sharp impact, that you’d be safe even in the middle of something so reckless. That small act, that thoughtfulness in the midst of his own overwhelming desire, sent a rush of warmth through you so strong it made your knees feel weak.

When your back finally touched the wall, his body followed instantly, closing the space until his chest pressed against yours and you could feel the fast, uneven rhythm of his heart against your own. The heat of him surrounded you, the scent of his skin and the faint trace of his cologne making your head spin in the most delicious way.

Bob was coming apart. The months of watching you, of wanting you so badly it ached, of swallowing down the urge to just take that one step toward you, every single second of it came crashing into this kiss. You were his now, in this moment, and that thought alone made him deepen the kiss, tilting his head slightly so his mouth could claim yours more fully. His thumb brushed against your cheek as his lips parted, inviting you to meet him in the middle, to let the kiss grow hotter, deeper, needier.

And you were melting into him. Every ounce of tension you’d been carrying unraveled under the heat of his mouth, every nerve in your body alive with the feeling of him pressed so tightly against you. You could taste the mix of his breath and yours, feel the way his body seemed to fit against yours like you’d been made for this, and every slow drag of his lips against yours sent another shiver down your spine.

Your fingers moved first, reaching for the hem of his shirt with a slow, deliberate motion that made Bob’s breath hitch in anticipation. The second your fingertips brushed the warm skin just beneath the fabric, he didn’t hesitate, grabbing the collar and pulling the shirt over his head in one swift, fluid movement.

You couldn’t help it, your eyes instantly swept over the sight revealed before you, and your hand moved instinctively, tracing the defined lines of his chest and the hard planes of muscle beneath your trembling fingers.

Your touch was almost reverent, like you were both shocked and thrilled at the same time. Breathless, aroused beyond reason, you let out a low, uneven exhale.

“And this… this is what you’ve been hiding from me?” you asked, your voice carrying a mix of disbelief and a faint, playful sting of offense.

Bob only laughed under his breath, the sound low and warm, and then his lips were on yours again before you could say anything more, his mouth moving with that same relentless hunger as before, each kiss deep and consuming, leaving you lightheaded.

With every shift of your bodies, the towel wrapped around you loosened just a little more, the knot slowly giving way under the pull of your movements. You knew it was only a matter of moments before it would fall, and the thought didn’t bother you, in truth, you welcomed it. Bob, if anything, welcomed it even more.

Before that happened, your hands slipped lower, finding the waistband of his pants. Without breaking the kiss, you helped him push them down, the fabric pooling at his ankles until he stepped out of them, now left in nothing but his boxers.

You didn’t have the chance to look down and take in what you knew was there, because in that instant, his lips claimed yours again, more fiercely than before, as though he couldn’t get enough of you no matter how close you were.

And then it happened, the faint, almost innocent sound of soft fabric hitting the floor. A rush of cool air enveloped your now completely bare skin, and in the blink of an eye, you stood entirely naked in front of him. Bob felt it instantly; of course he did. But he didn’t let his hands roam, not yet. They remained cradling your face, thumbs brushing over your skin with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the heat radiating between you.

You finally broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to draw in a shaky breath. You wanted him to look at you, to truly see you, but when your eyes met his, you noticed his were still closed, his jaw tight, as though he was holding himself together by sheer force of will.

“Bob?” you murmured.

“Mhm?” His voice was low, barely holding steady.

“Open your eyes,” you coaxed.

He gritted his teeth, shaking his head slightly. “I can’t.”

“You can,” you whispered, your voice taking on a pleading note that you knew would unravel him. “Come on… look at me.”

He let out a sound that was almost a groan, and you saw it, the subtle twitch in the fabric of his boxers, the involuntary reaction your words alone caused. He tried to fight it, to resist you.

“I can’t, because… the moment I see you like this, I—” His breath caught, and he looked like he was physically restraining himself from finishing the thought. “I won’t be able to hold back.”

The raw confession hit you like a wave, not just with lust but with a kind of aching tenderness. He wanted you so much it was almost painful, and he was fighting every instinct to take you right there, just because he didn’t want to come too soon. That restraint, that deep ache he carried, almost made you pity him.

You stepped closer, close enough for him to feel your breath ghost over his lips, your smile forming slowly even though he couldn’t yet see it. “It's okay, Bob,” you murmured, your tone soft and coaxing. “Don’t hold back… just enjoy it.”

Something in your voice broke through his resistance. His eyes opened slowly at first, his gaze locking on your face for a heartbeat before it inevitably began to travel downward. And when it did, it wasn’t rushed, it was reverent, deliberate, almost like he was memorizing every curve, every smooth line of your body.

You were stunning. Perfect in a way that made his chest ache. Every inch of you called to him, from the elegant slope of your shoulders to the soft glow of your skin, the symmetry of your curves, the way the light caught the subtle sheen of your flesh. His breath deepened, his jaw tightening, and he felt the warm pulse of arousal spill out in a slow leak, his tip dampening the fabric of his boxers.

Even then, every muscle in his body was taut, his self-control a fragile thread ready to snap, because now that he had finally seen you like this, he knew he wouldn’t last much longer.

,,Jesus Christ-“ Bob’s lips found yours again, this time with a fierce, almost desperate hunger, the kind of kiss that made your head spin and stole every breath you tried to take. His hands slid lower, finding the underside of your thighs, fingers curling into your soft skin as he lifted you with an effortless strength that made your heart pound.

The sudden change in position brought you flush against him, and you felt the hard, throbbing length of his erection pressing dangerously close to the slick, pulsing heat between your legs. The contact was so intense, so perfectly aligned, that a sharp, needy gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it.

Bob’s grip tightened just slightly, firm, but still careful, as he shifted you in his arms. In a fluid movement, he turned and guided you both toward the bed. His steps were controlled, his movements deliberate, yet you could feel the restless tension in his body, the way every muscle seemed coiled and ready to explode.

When he finally lowered you onto the mattress, he did so with a surprising tenderness, easing you down as though you were something fragile and precious, even though his eyes told you he wanted to devour you whole.

He followed you down immediately, his body hovering over yours, his breath mixing with yours in a haze of heat. When he finally broke the kiss, you found yourself staring into his gaze, and what you saw there made your stomach tighten.

That familiar, piercing blue of his irises now glimmered with streaks of molten gold, the colors swirling together like liquid fire. It was the look of a man slowly giving himself over, surrendering to instinct, to want, to you. He was still holding back, but less now, the restraint slipping away piece by piece.

Without breaking eye contact, Bob lowered his head again, but this time his lips didn’t return to yours. Instead, they began a slow, deliberate path down your body, brushing against your jaw, then trailing over the sensitive skin of your neck. Each kiss was lingering, calculated, leaving a faint heat in its wake. You could feel the weight of his body pressing gently into yours, his hands sliding along your sides as if mapping you out, memorizing every curve.

His mouth moved lower still, over the hollow of your throat, past the delicate line of your collarbone, down to the swell of your chest. He didn’t rush, each kiss, each soft scrape of his teeth, felt like it was designed to unravel you one shiver at a time. His breath was warm, his lips worshipful, yet there was a simmering intensity beneath it all, the promise of something far less gentle waiting just beneath the surface.

You felt his hands shift, steadying himself as his lips kept traveling downward, brushing over your ribs, your stomach, each touch dragging you deeper into the haze of desire. The anticipation built with every inch he descended, until you knew exactly where he was headed. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, your breath coming faster, your fingers curling into the sheets in a desperate attempt to ground yourself.

Your gaze stayed locked on him, on the way his head moved lower and lower along your body — slow, deliberate, yet with a certainty that made your pulse race. His lips ghosted over your bare, trembling skin, each touch sending a shiver through you, your body shaking with sheer anticipation. Warmth pooled between your legs, your need already spilling over, and you could feel yourself clenching around nothing but air. The soft, involuntary whimpers slipping from your lips told him everything. Told him that you needed him, and he was more than willing to give himself to you. To give you everything you were aching for.

His eyes never left yours, even as his warm breath fanned over your most sensitive skin, now that he had settled between your thighs. For a moment, he simply took you in, drinking in the sight of your desperate expression, the way your pupils had blown wide, your lips parted and trembling with anticipation, your thighs quivering from the strain of waiting. The faintest smile tugged at his lips as the realization of the power he held washed over him. And then, mercifully, he decided to end your torment.

He shifted lower, sliding his arms beneath your thighs until your legs rested over his shoulders, giving him the perfect angle. With one last smoldering glance up at you, his dark blue eyes catching the light with a golden glint, he finally dipped forward between your legs. The moment his mouth made contact, your back arched instinctively, hips pressing toward his face as if your body was begging for more all on its own.

At first, he simply drew you in with gentle suction, letting his nose brush against your aching center in slow, teasing passes. The sensation sent chills racing down your spine, your breath catching. Your fingers tangled in his soft, messy curls almost immediately, tugging gently whenever he found a spot that made your breath hitch. Bob noticed everything, every tiny twitch of your muscles, every tremor, every sharp inhale or shaky exhale. He absorbed it all, mentally noting what made you melt and what made you shudder.

But truthfully, he didn’t need any guide or plan. This was instinct. This was him giving himself to you without hesitation, reading your body like it was second nature.

Soon, his tongue joined the dance, sliding slowly along your folds, tasting you for the first time. Your breath caught sharply at the contact, and he immediately knew you liked it. A pleased sound rumbled low in his throat, the vibration shooting straight through you and making your thighs try to close around his head. Did he mind? Absolutely not. If anything, he pressed in harder, savoring every second, as if the very act of tasting you was a privilege he wasn’t going to waste.

A low, breathy whimper slipped from your lips before you could stop it, the sound raw and unguarded. You felt him smile against you, the curve of his mouth pressing into your skin, and it made your pulse quicken. Bob had dreamed of this for longer than he’d ever admit — nights where he’d imagined the taste of you, the sounds you’d make, the way you’d tremble beneath him. And now, finally, you were here, and he swore he would take his time, memorizing every inch of you.

Your breath hitched, and your fingers tightened in his hair. “Bob—” you whispered, voice breaking, and the sound made him groan, a low, desperate noise that vibrated through you.

The sensation was almost too much, his lips sealing around you, his tongue stroking with a rhythm that felt like he was trying to etch himself into your very soul. You whimpered again, the sound higher this time, almost pleading. Your mind was a blur of sensation and want; all you could think was don’t stop, please don’t stop.

He could feel the way your body responded, every tremor, every subtle shift of your hips pushing closer to him.

His hands slid up your sides, thumbs stroking over your skin as he pulled you closer, burying himself between your thighs like a man starved. When you gasped sharply, he knew he’d found a spot that unraveled you, and he focused there, tongue moving faster, hungrier.

You couldn’t hold back the sounds spilling from your lips — breathy, broken whimpers mixed with his muffled groans, the room filling with the raw, unfiltered symphony of want. Every flick of his tongue sent sparks shooting through you, and every hum from him only pushed you higher.

Bob was tightening his grip just slightly, urging you closer, deeper. And you were so close, your body taut with anticipation, your voice trembling as you tried to form his name again.

You could feel every nerve in your body tightening, every breath shorter than the last. His tongue moved with relentless devotion, each stroke perfectly in tune with your desperate rhythm. Your fingers tangled in his hair as if he were the only thing keeping you anchored to reality, your hips pressing closer to his mouth, chasing that inevitable edge.

Bob could feel the way your thighs trembled around his head, hear the broken whimpers spilling from your lips. His own breathing quickening even as his mouth stayed steady, determined. His boxers were painfully tight, his arousal straining against the fabric, but he didn’t care. This was for you, though the sound of your voice and the taste of you were quickly dragging him toward the edge himself.

“Bob—oh, God—Bob—” Your voice cracked, your body arching sharply as the wave built. And then, as the pleasure burst through you, something strange happened. Your vision flickered, and with it, your entire body shimmered out of sight for a heartbeat, as though you’d been erased from the air itself.

Bob’s eyes widened, just for a second, feeling your weight still there against him but seeing nothing. The realization barely had time to register before you reappeared in a stutter of light, your cry breaking through the moment, loud and unrestrained.

He groaned against you, the vibration deep and hungry, and you swore you felt the pleasure double in intensity. Heat tore through you in blinding waves, your body shaking as the release took over, and still, he didn’t stop.

The sight, well, the partial sight, of you unraveling like that, flickering in and out as if the force of your climax was bending reality, pushed Bob past his own breaking point. His grip on your hips tightened, his body shuddering as a sharp groan ripped from his throat, his release spilling hot into his boxers.

Neither of you moved for a moment, your legs trembling over his shoulders, his lips still pressed to you, both breathing hard. Bob’s mind was racing, but in the haze of euphoria, he brushed it off as nothing more than the overwhelming, impossible beauty of what had just happened.

He let his lips press one final, tender kiss against you before lowering your legs gently, his hands stroking your thighs as if grounding you back to earth. “You have no idea… how long I’ve wanted that,” he admitted, voice low and raw.

You smiled faintly, still catching your breath, and whispered back, “I think I do.”

You both let out a soft, breathless laugh together. Bob knelt on the bed in front of you, breathing hard in sync with you, his hands resting gently on your bent knees, thumbs brushing slow circles over your skin. Your chest rose and fell rapidly. But then, your sharp eyes caught something you couldn’t ignore.

Bob’s boxers… damp, clinging.

Your brows knitted with concern, your expression softening into something almost sad. “Oh, Bob…” you murmured, your gaze fixed on the wet patch. He followed your eyes down, confusion flickering across his face, until he realized what you’d noticed. His eyes widened, a flush creeping rapidly up his neck to his ears as he instinctively shifted, trying to cover himself.

“I-it’s fine,” he whispered in a low, embarrassed tone, clearing his throat and glancing away, his cheeks already as red as fire.

But for you, it didn’t feel fine. You felt a pang in your chest. “Oh Bob… you should have told me,” you said softly, propping yourself up on your elbows, your tone suddenly more serious.

He shook his head quickly, still flushed. “It’s nothing. I wanted to focus on you.”

“And what about you?” you pressed gently, tilting your head. “Don’t you want to… loosen up?”

He gave a small, shy smile and met your eyes. “I already did.”

You let out a playful scoff, shaking your head at his proud little answer, then let your lips curl into a sly smirk. “What if I focus on you now, hm?”

Bob froze, his eyes going wide, the flustered, deer-in-the-headlights expression that always made your heart skip. “W-what do you mean?” he stammered, though the truth was, he knew exactly what you meant. He didn’t need any more stimulation for the outline in his damp boxers to start pressing insistently against the fabric again.

You shifted forward, bracing your weight on your hands until you were closer to him. “Like this,” you whispered, reaching up to grab the back of his neck and pulling him into a kiss.

He let out a low whimper against your mouth before leaning down over you, following your gentle pull until your back met the mattress again. Bob didn’t hesitate—his lips moved with the urgency of a starving wolf, but the tenderness of someone who’d been craving you for far too long.

As you kissed, one of your hands began to wander slowly down his body, tracing along his torso until it reached the waistband of his boxers. The moment your fingertips slipped beneath the elastic, Bob’s breath hitched and he shivered, his hips jerking almost imperceptibly.

“Is this okay?” you murmured against his lips, your tone low, almost teasing.

He nodded instantly, the look in his eyes telling you it was more than okay. You smiled faintly, glancing at your hand before you carefully eased his boxers down. He helped you quickly, clearly too eager to bother with modesty. The sight made you pause for a second, he was so freaking big. Bob was full of surprises.

Your lips curled upward, your eyes locked on your hand as it wrapped gently around the base of him. He let out a low, involuntary groan, his hips instinctively tilting toward your touch.

Slowly, you began to move your hand, light, barely-there strokes, keeping a steady rhythm that had him already on the brink. His breathing deepened, turning uneven, and his gaze on you grew almost glassy with pleasure. You could feel that Bob was completely undone, entirely in your hands.

Your hand moved in slow, deliberate strokes, the heat radiating from him pulsing against your palm. Bob’s head tilted back slightly, his lips parting as a quiet, almost pitiful whimper escaped. The sound was raw, like he’d been holding it back for far too long, and it made your chest tighten in the most dangerous way.

“Ah—” His breath stuttered, hips shifting just barely into your touch as though his body couldn’t help but chase more. His fingers dug lightly into the mattress, the tremor in his grip betraying how quickly you were undoing him.

You watched his face, the way his brows drew together, the way his mouth hung open in quiet desperation. Every time your thumb brushed over his tip, he let out another soft moan, sometimes a breathy whimper, sometimes a needy little gasp, and you found yourself wanting to hear all of them.

“Y-you—” he tried, but another shaky groan cut him off as your rhythm deepened slightly. You leaned in, letting your voice drop to a whisper. “You sound so beautiful when you fall apart for me…

The blush on his cheeks deepened, and his eyes flickered up to yours with something between shyness and hunger. That was all it took for you to slide your legs around his hips, the movement swift and intentional. His eyes widened in surprise as you shifted, twisting your bodies until his back met the mattress and you were straddling him.

“W-wait—” The protest wasn’t real, and you both knew it. His hands instinctively found your waist, holding on as you slid down his body, trailing kisses over his chest and stomach.

When you reached his hips, you glanced up at him. His chest was rising fast, his lips parted, the faintest tremble in his chin as though just the anticipation alone was undoing him. “I… I can’t—” he whispered, voice breaking into another whimper when you wrapped your fingers around him again.

“You can,” you said softly, lowering your mouth to brush a kiss against him. He let out a sharp gasp, his hips twitching upward, and his hand flew to tangle in your hair.

The first long lick up his length had his head falling back against the pillow, a low, helpless moan spilling from his throat. “Oh—God—”

You took your time, teasing him with slow passes of your tongue before finally letting your lips close around him, sinking down until the heat of your mouth surrounded him completely. His breath hitched, a broken sound escaping—a mix between a whimper and a desperate plea.

Your pace was unhurried at first, savoring the way he fell apart under you, his thighs trembling slightly, fingers tightening in your hair as if to keep you there. You hummed lightly, and the vibration drew a sharp cry from him, his hips jerking involuntarily.

“Ohh—please—” he breathed, the word barely audible but soaked in need. Your lips moved over him in a steady, intoxicating rhythm, your tongue swirling in just the right places, and Bob was unraveling fast. His breathing grew louder, uneven, with soft, high-pitched whimpers slipping between low groans. His hand in your hair tightened, not in control, but in surrender.

You felt it before you saw it, the air around you seemed to hum faintly, a subtle shift that made the hairs on your arms rise. A flicker of light caught your eye from the corner of the room, but you didn’t slow. The ceiling bulb blinked once, twice… and then the lamp on the nightstand gave a faint crackle.

Bob’s chest was rising fast now, his head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut as if holding something in. “Ah—nghh—” he whimpered, voice tight with strain. “I—I’m close… I’m gonna—”

You pulled back just enough to murmur against him, your voice low and sure, “It’s okay. I want you to”

That broke him. The lights in the room began to flicker erratically, shadows dancing along the walls. A book on the desk shifted, lifting just an inch off the surface before dropping back down with a soft thud. You felt a jolt of surprise but instead of stopping, you sank down on him again, deeper this time, taking him to the back of your throat.

“God—oh, God—” His voice cracked, and then his hips jerked upward in one desperate thrust as his release hit. The first hot pulse filled your mouth, followed by another, and another, his entire body trembling beneath you. The lights flashed once more, then steadied, leaving the air charged and humming in the aftermath.

You swallowed without breaking eye contact, letting the warmth slide down your throat before pulling back slowly. A thin trace of him lingered at the corner of your lips, and you caught it with the tip of your tongue, savoring the taste before licking it away with deliberate slowness.

Bob was sprawled against the mattress, chest heaving, eyes still hazy with disbelief and bliss. His cheeks were flushed deep crimson, his hair tousled from your grip, and his lips parted as though he still couldn’t form words.

You wiped the back of your hand across your mouth, your gaze never leaving his, and let a small, knowing smile curl your lips. “Delicious,” you murmured, your voice dripping with seduction.

He let out one last shaky whimper, covering his eyes with his forearm as if he couldn’t handle looking at you right then. But the way his chest rose and fell, the faintest upward twitch of his lips, told you he was enjoying it as much as you did.

The room was quiet now, save for the soft rhythm of Bob’s breathing and the faint hum that still seemed to linger in the air after what had just happened. Bob lay sprawled in front of you, one arm draped over his forehead, the other resting loosely at his side. His chest rose and fell in slow, deep breaths, his body clearly still recovering from the storm you’d just pulled him through.

You stayed close, letting your own pulse settle, the heat still coiling lazily in your stomach. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. It was the kind of silence that didn’t need filling, thick with satisfaction, the echo of your moans still hanging somewhere in the air.

Eventually, Bob shifted his head just enough to look at you. His eyes were still hazy, but there was a spark there, like he was trying to figure out if you were real, or if he’d just dreamed the entire thing.

You met his gaze with a slow, knowing smile, one corner of your mouth curling upward. Without breaking eye contact, you began to move, crawling toward him until your body was over his, knees straddling his hips. You lowered yourself enough that your face hovered inches from his, your lips brushing the faintest ghost of a touch over his as you whispered,

“Do you think…”

Your hips shifted in a small, teasing roll, pressing down against the obvious hardness beginning to stir beneath you. The moment you felt it, and the way his breath caught, you knew you had him.

Bob’s eyes widened just slightly, his lips parting in a silent oh. And then his brows furrowed in surprise when the warmth between your thighs spread against him, slick and undeniable.

“…you could handle one more round?” you finished, your voice low and wicked as you moved your hips again, just enough to make him groan under his breath.

His eyes fluttered shut, jaw tightening as though he was physically holding himself back. “Y-you’re…” he started, but the sentence fell apart when you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

“Do you feel how wet I am?” you murmured, your breath warm against his skin. “That’s all because of you.”

He let out a sound between a gasp and a broken whimper, his hand instinctively gripping your hip. That was it, the moment you felt him give in completely, the restraint snapping like a frayed thread. When his eyes opened again, the golden glint in them told you that Bob was more than ready for another round.

His hands snapped to your waist in one swift, possessive motion, pulling you down until your chests collided. His mouth claimed yours in a kiss that was nothing like the tentative ones from before, this was messy, hungry, and just shy of aggressive. His lips moved against yours like he’d been starving for you, like he couldn’t get enough no matter how close you were.

You barely had time to gasp before his tongue brushed against yours, deepening the kiss until your head spun. His fingers dug into your hips, guiding you forward, pressing you firmly against the solid heat straining between you. The friction alone made you shudder, a soft whimper escaping into his mouth.

He broke the kiss just long enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide, a golden shimmer flickering at the edges, and then he was helping you move. One hand cupped the back of your thigh, the other steadying your waist as he shifted beneath you, lining himself up.

The moment the head of him pressed against your slick entrance, your breath caught in your throat. He was so warm, so solid, that your body reacted before your mind could process it, muscles clenching in anticipation, your thighs tightening slightly around his hips.

Bob’s gaze was locked on yours, his chest rising and falling faster as he gave your waist a small, encouraging squeeze. Slowly you began to lower yourself onto him, your body parting to take him in. The first inch made you gasp; the second had your nails digging lightly into his shoulders.

Every bit of him slid deeper, stretching you in a way that made heat bloom low in your stomach. The wet glide was effortless yet maddening, your arousal coating him so well it felt like he was made to fit you.

When you finally sank all the way down, your hips meeting his, you both let out the same shaky, breathless sound, half moan, half whimper. Bob’s head fell back, his fingers tightening on your thighs as if grounding himself.

You could feel the deep, full weight of him inside you, the way he filled every space, the way your body molded around him like it had been waiting for this exact moment. The connection was almost too much to bear, so intimate that your pulse synced with his.

A slow, involuntary roll of your hips drew a deep groan from him, his eyes snapping back to yours, golden light flickering faintly in his pupils. “Move again,” he murmured, almost begging.

You listened to Bob and started moving. Slow at first, testing the way his length slid in and out of you, how the stretch sent shivers crawling up your spine. Each rise pulled a whimper from your lips, each fall drew a low, guttural moan from Bob that vibrated through your chest.

Your hands braced against his stomach, feeling the tight flex of his abs as he exhaled sharply every time you sank back down. The friction was intoxicating, your slick heat clinging to him on the way up, then welcoming him back in with a wet, needy sound that made Bob’s jaw tighten.

“God… you feel so good,” he breathed, his voice cracking halfway between awe and desperation. His hands roamed from your hips to your waist, then up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts before returning to grip your hips like he needed to anchor himself.

You tilted your hips forward, grinding at the bottom of each descent so he could feel the throb of your arousal around him, and his eyes rolled back for a moment, a broken whimper spilling from his throat. “Keep going please,” he pleaded, his tone shaky and needy.

Your own breathing was rapid, the heat coiling tighter with each movement. Every time you pushed down, the tip of him nudged that perfect spot inside you, sending sparks through your vision. You could feel your walls fluttering around him, your body trying to pull him even deeper.

Bob lay beneath you, golden light flickering faintly in his irises, chest heaving as his hips began to meet yours on every thrust. The added force made you gasp, your moans growing louder, more desperate. “Bob—” you choked out, your voice trembling, and the way his name left your lips made him groan like he was on the edge already.

His hands slid up your back, pulling you down toward him so he could kiss you — messy, breathless, hungry — while you kept moving on him, your bodies moving together in a rhythm that felt primal, inevitable, and utterly consuming.

Your pace quickened until the entire bed began to creak and thud rhythmically against the wall, each impact sending a shiver down your spine. The air was thick with your mingled moans and the wet, obscene sounds of your bodies meeting over and over. Bob’s breathing had turned ragged, every exhale broken by the kind of needy whimper you’d only ever dreamed of hearing from him.

“Holy—” he groaned, voice strained, and then he moved. In one smooth, desperate motion, he sat up, strong arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer, until you were flush against his chest. His embrace was protective, crushing, like he wanted to keep you there forever.

You gasped as the new angle drove him even deeper, the stretch making your nails dig into his shoulders. “Bob—oh my God—” you whimpered, your head falling back as he began to thrust up into you from below. His hips snapped forward with controlled power, each movement hitting that devastating spot inside you.

He buried his face against your chest, his breath hot against your skin, his groans muffled by the curve of your breasts. “I can’t—God, you feel so perfect—” he mumbled into your skin, voice shaking with the effort to hold himself together.

Your legs clung to his sides, your entire body trembling from the relentless pace. You could feel yourself spiraling toward the edge, but the way he held you made it impossible to stop. His hands gripped you with such intensity that you knew he was just as close, his hips working in sync with yours until you were both lost in a blur of movement, heat, and sound.

Your pace with him was frantic now, both of you clinging to each other like you’d break apart if you let go. His breathing grew harsher, each thrust shorter and sharper as he chased the edge. You could feel the way his muscles tensed beneath you, the shudder rolling through his frame.

“Fuck I’m—” His warning was cut off by a strangled moan as he came, hard, his release triggering a rush of power that rippled out from him. Objects around the room trembled, then lifted from the floor, pillows, books, even the lamp, suspended in the air for a heartbeat before crashing back down in a chaotic rain. The lights overhead flickered wildly, bathing you in strobing flashes of gold and shadow.

But then, mid-thrust, Bob’s eyes widened. His gaze fixed on you, stunned, as your body shimmered and then vanished. Completely.

You didn’t notice, lost in the overwhelming rush tearing through you, hips still moving in desperate pursuit of your own release. To you, nothing had changed, except for the way Bob suddenly held you tighter, almost like he was afraid to let you go.

He didn’t say a word. Not about how he could now only see the shape of the bedsheets moving, the faint shimmer in the air where you should have been. He just kept guiding you, his hands gripping your hips firmly, his face buried in the space where your chest used to be, letting your sounds and movements tell him exactly where you were.

You cried out, loud, needy, completely undone, and the orgasm ripped through you, your invisible body trembling violently in his arms. You stayed like that for a moment, lost in the aftershocks, before slowly fading back into view, skin flushed and glowing, hair damp with sweat.

Bob just stared at you, chest heaving, that shock still lingering in his eyes, but still, he said nothing. Only his thumb brushed across your hip in slow, grounding strokes, like he wasn’t ready to let you slip away.

The aftershocks still pulsed through your body, little tremors in your muscles as you tried to catch your breath. Your skin prickled, a strange tingling running up your arms and neck, then you noticed the faint shimmer dancing over you again.

This time, it wasn’t total invisibility, more like you were blinking in and out, fragments of your form phasing away before returning in a flicker.

When you finally came fully back into view, you were met with Bob’s wide, startled eyes. His chest was rising and falling fast, but it wasn’t just from the exertion, he looked like he’d just seen a ghost.

“What?” you asked, confused, brushing your damp hair back from your face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Bob swallowed, still staring, and then his voice came low and a little shaky. “You… disappeared. Like—actually disappeared. I was holding you and you weren’t there, but I could still feel you.”

You blinked at him, caught between disbelief and laughter. “What? No, that’s—” You stopped, thinking of the tingling, the way his hands felt on you even when you hadn’t been able to see yourself. Slowly, a grin spread across your face. “Oh my god… so the experiments did work after all.”

Bob let out a breathy laugh, still looking a little dazed, and leaned forward to press a soft, grounding kiss to your lips. Then another. And another. And then his kisses turned playful, quick, relentless little pecks scattered across your cheeks, jaw, neck, until you were squirming and laughing from the ticklish assault.

“Bob!—stop—” you giggled, shoving at his chest lightly, but he only smirked before finally letting you go.

With a deep, satisfied sigh, you slowly shifted off of him, your legs shaky. Bob’s hands came to your hips instantly, steadying you, guiding you as if you were something fragile. The moment you separated, you both glanced down and it was a mess.

Slick glistening on both of you, trailing over the inside of your thighs and streaking the rumpled sheets beneath. Even the mattress had its share of evidence.

Bob’s grin turned warm, a little shy, but entirely unashamed. “Guess we, uh… made an impact,” he murmured, and the way he said it made your cheeks heat all over again.

You let yourself collapse onto the mattress beside him, your body still humming from everything that had just happened. Bob, breathing hard but clearly still riding the adrenaline, reached over the edge of the bed with the kind of determination only a superhero could muster in such a state. His hand found a box of tissues, and he tugged one free.

He wiped himself first, quick but thorough, and then gave a half-hearted swipe at the worst of the mess on the mattress, though by the way his attention lingered on you instead, it was obvious the state of the bed was the least of his concerns.

Then, holding another tissue out toward you, he hesitated for just a second. “Only if you want,” he murmured, voice low and still a little rough from earlier. “I mean… I don’t wanna intrude.”

You couldn’t help but smile, touched by the gesture. After everything, he was still trying to be respectful, like he hadn’t just seen and felt more of you than anyone else ever had. You took it from his hand with a soft “Thank you,” and cleaned yourself up as best you could.

“Wanna shower?” he asked after a moment, still catching his breath, his hair damp with sweat, eyes hazy yet alert.

“Maybe later,” you murmured, exhaustion settling into your limbs like warm sand. Your eyelids felt heavy, too heavy to keep open for long.

Bob exhaled slowly, the corner of his mouth tugging into the faintest smile as he took in your flushed cheeks and spent form. For him, this kind of thing wasn’t nearly as taxing — superhuman stamina had its perks — but he knew what it had taken out of you.

When he shifted, settling deeper into the bed, you moved instinctively. Without a word, you curled into him, your cheek finding the solid warmth of his bare, sweat-slick chest. The steady thump of his heartbeat was a lullaby in itself.

Bob’s arms closed around you immediately, protective and unyielding, as if keeping you close was the only thing that mattered in the world. His chin rested lightly against the crown of your head, and his whole body seemed to relax.

In his stomach, the butterflies didn’t just flutter, they strummed away like they were playing a love song just for him.

Bob’s fingers traced slow, lazy patterns along your back, and for a moment, you just basked in the warmth of his hold. But then, with your cheek still resting against his chest, you broke the comfortable silence.

“There’s… something I should tell you,” you murmured, your voice soft but deliberate. His chest rose and fell under your ear as he hummed in curiosity.

“You already know about my regeneration,” you continued, “and now, apparently, the invisibility thing… but I also have enhanced senses.”

Bob tilted his head slightly, looking down at you. “Enhanced how?”

You smiled faintly, watching your fingers play absently over the skin of his abdomen. “I can turn them on and off when I want. Sight, hearing, smell… but the one I use the most?” You glanced up, meeting his eyes with a spark of mischief. “I can feel other people’s heart rate. Their pulse. I can tell when it changes.”

His brows drew together, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. “Wait… you mean—”

“Yeah.” You grinned now, clearly enjoying the moment. “I know exactly when someone’s getting… excited.”

Bob froze, the tips of his ears instantly going red. “So… you’ve known… every time… I—”

“Mhm.” You gave a playful little nod, your eyes never leaving his.

He immediately looked away, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to hide his embarrassment. “God, that’s—” he muttered, voice low and flustered, “that’s so embarrassing.”

You propped yourself up on one elbow, leaning closer so he couldn’t avoid your gaze. “Hey,” you said softly, your tone full of reassurance. “I never thought it was weird. Honestly… I kind of thought it was hot.”

His eyes flicked back to yours at that, still tinged with surprise. You leaned in and pressed a light, sweet kiss to his lips, a gentle seal on your words. His shoulders seemed to relax just a little under your touch, though the blush stubbornly stayed.

Your gentle kisses along his jawline and the corners of his mouth seemed to melt away whatever shyness or awkwardness still lingered between you. You felt his body ease under your touch, his breathing growing slower, though his eyes still held a certain spark, like he was carrying a secret he was almost too nervous to share.

You nestled against him again, your head resting over the slow, steady thump of his heartbeat, and the comforting heat of his skin seeped into you.

For a few minutes, there was only the quiet rhythm of your breaths blending together. But then, you felt him shift slightly, his arm tightening around you as if drawing courage from the contact.

“I… actually have something for you,” he began, his voice hesitant but warm. There was a strange mixture in his tone, both nerves and a kind of excitement, like he’d been waiting for the right moment.

You tilted your head to look at him, your lips curling into a curious smile. “Yeah? What is it?”

His own smile turned faint and shy, and you could see the little flicker of apprehension in his eyes. “You have to close your eyes first,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was trying to keep from grinning too much.

You arched a brow, playfully suspicious, but obeyed. Slowly, you sat up, your hands resting lightly on your lap, and felt the mattress dip as he moved. There was the soft rustle of him leaning forward, his hand disappearing beneath the bed. His breathing quickened ever so slightly, not from physical strain, but from the growing weight of the moment.

When he finally found what he was searching for, his fingers curled around it protectively, and you heard a small, almost inaudible exhale, as though he were steadying himself.

“I, uh… didn’t really plan a speech for this,” he admitted with a quiet laugh that held more tension than humor. “But… I just wanted to give you something. For the way you’ve been with me these past few days. You’ve been… everything. And you mentioned this once, and I hope it doesn't sound stupid, but I was hoping it would be a nice gift.” His voice softened on the last part, almost vulnerable in a way you rarely heard from him.

There was a pause, and then, almost like he was afraid to drag it out any longer, he said, “Alright… you can open your eyes now.”

You did.

And the first thing you saw was the soft white fur of a small polar bear plush cradled in his large hands, its tiny black eyes looking up at you with the same gentle affection you so often saw in his.

Something inside you cracked open. Without thinking, you moved forward and wrapped your arms around Bob so tightly that your cheek pressed against his neck. “Thank you so much,” you whispered, your voice low but brimming with emotion.

He hugged you back just as firmly, his chin resting lightly atop your head. The moment stretched, quiet and unhurried, as though the world outside had faded away. He didn’t need to say anything, he could feel what it meant to you in the way you held onto him.

But then, when you looked up at him, he noticed the faint shimmer in your eyes wasn’t just from the lightning in the room. Slivers of tears were forming, catching the light.

Immediately, panic flickered across his face. “Wait—did you… I mean… I hope you didn’t take it the wrong way. I wasn’t trying to—”

You pulled back just enough to fully meet his gaze, your hands still resting against his chest. Slowly, you shook your head and looked down at the little polar bear now sitting in your lap. You ran your fingertips gently over its soft head.

“These are tears of happiness,” you said softly, your lips trembling just enough to betray how deeply you meant it. “Bob… nobody has ever done something like this for me. Nobody.”

For a moment, his expression softened so much it almost hurt to look at him. There was warmth radiating from his chest, a quiet pride mixed with something far deeper, an unspoken vow he couldn’t quite put into words. And in that moment, he knew he’d done it.

He’d given you something that had touched you in a way nothing else could.

The morning light slipped through the blinds in warm, golden bands, brushing softly across your skin as you stirred awake. There was a delicious, almost heavy sense of calm between you and Bob, no rush, no noise, just the quiet, shared afterglow of a night that neither of you would be forgetting anytime soon.

His arm was draped lazily over your waist, and you could feel the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing against your back. When you turned slightly, you found his eyes already open, watching you with that rare, unguarded tenderness that made your chest tighten in the best possible way.

What followed was an unspoken agreement. A lazy smile. A subtle glance. And then, without a word, the two of you slipped out of bed and made your way to the shower. The hot water cascaded over you both, steam curling in the air like a cocoon around your bodies.

What had started as simply washing off the night’s mess soon became something more, small, teasing touches, lingering glances, his fingers brushing over your skin as though he couldn’t help himself. The closeness was intoxicating, and it left you both laughing softly under the spray, the kind of laughter that carried that familiar, electric tension beneath it.

Eventually, you dried off, dressing in fresh clothes. But there was no way you could walk into the kitchen together without drawing attention. You both knew it. So, after a quick exchange of smirks, Bob left first, disappearing down the hallway, leaving you behind to count a deliberate number of minutes before making your own entrance.

By the time you stepped into the kitchen, the rest of the team was already gathered around the table, the soft clink of cutlery and low murmur of voices filling the air. You moved with casual ease. The trick was to act normal, to hide the afterglow still lingering on your skin, the faint ache in your legs, the memory of his hands. You slid into a seat, offering a polite smile as you reached for a piece of toast.

But the moment you caught sight of Bob across the table, it was almost impossible not to let the corners of your lips curl just a little higher. You focused on your plate, willing yourself not to stare, though you could feel his presence like a magnetic pull.

And you were well aware that your subtle, satisfied smile was probably not as subtle as you’d hoped. Judging by the quick glances being exchanged between a few of the others, you suspected more than one person had already guessed you’d slept like a queen.

The meal carried on in easy conversation until there was a lull, a comfortable silence where the only sounds were the clinking of cups and the occasional scrape of cutlery. That was when you decided to speak.

“So,” you began casually, taking a sip of juice, “I found out something new about myself last night.”

That earned you a few curious looks, though no one interrupted, waiting for you to elaborate.

“I can turn invisible.”

The words hung in the air for a beat before the table reacted. A murmur of surprise spread instantly, chairs creaking as people leaned in just slightly, eyes fixed on you.

“How did you figure that out?” Yelena asked, her brows raised in genuine intrigue.

You opened your mouth to answer, when Bob, mid-bite, started choking.

It was sudden and unmistakable, a muffled cough as his eyes went wide and his fork clattered lightly against his plate. He quickly covered his mouth, trying to disguise it as nothing, but the faint flush creeping up his neck and the way he avoided your gaze told a very different story.

Every head at the table turned toward Bob at once, their attention drawn by his sudden coughing fit. The poor man looked like a deer caught in headlights, still trying to mask the fact that he had nearly inhaled his breakfast. You could feel the tension spike, and instinctively, you stepped in before anyone could press too hard.

“It’s not really a big deal,” you said with a small, dismissive shrug, forcing your voice to sound casual while carefully avoiding Bob’s gaze. “I mean… it’s not like I have full control over it yet. It just… sort of happened. I’ll have to learn how to manage it before it’s actually useful.”

There was a short pause as your words sank in, then the tension broke into a wave of amused, approving comments. Ava chuckled and said, “Well, look at that—you might actually be useful after all.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, letting the teasing wash over you without protest. It was easier than trying to explain the very specific circumstances under which your new ability had first appeared.

But while most of the table was reacting with good-natured ribbing, your eyes flicked to Yelena. She hadn’t said a word. She simply leaned back in her chair, arms folded, her sharp gaze fixed on you with an almost knowing expression. Her lips curled ever so slightly, not in judgment, but in that quiet, dangerous amusement of someone who had already put the puzzle together. She didn’t speak, didn’t call you out. For now.

You held her gaze for a moment, then looked away, feeling the faintest heat rise in your cheeks. The conversation moved on, and you joined in where you could, but a small part of you remained hyper-aware of Bob across the table and Yelena’s silent watchfulness.

Whatever game she was playing, you had the sinking feeling she was saving her comments for later, when you least expected it.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!

I hope you guys enjoyed it! If you have any suggestions, don’t hesitate to let me know! I’d also be super happy for any feedback; whether it’s a reblog, comment, like, or even a follow.

HAVE A LOVELY DAY!

BYEEE🌸🐻‍❄️👛🥥

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