Summary: Bob tries a new way of folding Sentry and the Void into his psyche, and it involves recreating the vibes of your smutty books.
Bob is a cinnamon roll, but Sentry likes it spicy. If you only like Bob soft and sweet THIS IS NOT FOR YOU.
Rating: 18+ MDNI
WC: 11.1k (complete)
Suggested listening: Off the Ground (Feat. MRYN)
CW: Porn with plot, no use of y/n, mutual pining, verbal consent, Bob is down bad, Sentry is a dom, reader is femme coded but not described, reader is also a thunderbolt/superhero (of vague power and origin, you decide!), banter, discussion of sexual harassment, Yelena is the greatest wingperson of all time, mild themes of violence, Bob is jealous, power dynamics, power play, dom/sub dynamics, p in v sex, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, creative sexual use of super powers, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks), cream pie, fluff.
Sick af dividers by @lobster-graphics
“She likes you, you know. Everyone thinks she likes you.”
It should’ve made him feel better. It should’ve made him happy. Bob closed the book he had been pretending to read. Clearly, he wasn’t fooling anybody, and especially not Yelena. He was trying not to pretend so much lately, but old habits…
“I don’t know,” Bob muttered, shrugging. Across the common room from them, you sat on the bar top swinging your legs, hands flying as you relayed the details of yet another terrible date while Ava nodded along, absorbing, chiming in with the occasional disgusted grunt, laughing where appropriate. Bob shoved a piece of hair behind his ear and went back to pretending—pretending that he didn’t notice things about you, pretending that he didn’t care. Yelena, perched on the right arm of his overstuffed reading chair, shifted as if she might relent and leave him alone. He should’ve let her. Instead, he blurted out, “She goes on dates.”
Yelena snorted softly. Like him, she had opted for sweats and sneaks on a rare day off. Well, all of Bob’s days were off, technically; he was on the bench until he learned how to integrate. That was the word everyone kept using. Integrate. His personality was fragmented. He wasn’t much use to anyone, least of all a superhero team, until he learned to integrate. It would be easier to try if everyone stopped treating him like a puppy with a busted paw.
“Dates shmates,” Yelena said, tossing a glance over her shoulder at the two women gossiping by the bar. “She’s just waiting for you to work up the courage.”
Bob gave her a worried smile. “It’s um, I think maybe it’s better for her if I don’t.”
“I thought we were trying optimism.”
“Like I want to hear about crypto, of all fucking things…” you were saying, to a belabored groan from Ava. “…ruined my chicken parm.”
“Save her, Bob. Save her from the finance bros.” Yelena patted his shoulder, hopping down from the arm of his chair. “They are a menace and a scourge.” She tilted her head to the side, smirking as she flicked her head toward you and Ava. “Doesn’t it sound like she needs…a hero? A super hero?”
Yelena kept trying to walk away, but Bob kept saying too much. He flinched as his jealous mind tattled on him again. “Yeah? Maybe Walker can ask her out.”
“John?” Her brows tugged down along with the rest of her. She knelt beside the chair, folding her arms across the spot she had just been sitting on. Bob opened his book, a reflex, studiously avoiding her more pointed look. “Why do you sound bitter? What do you know about her that I don’t?”
Bob set his jaw, which in his mind projected a supremely tough and firm expression. It did nothing to rebuff Yelena. She went on staring, skipping a hand up the sleeve of his hoodie before poking his shoulder. He winced away from the prod. “Please don’t do that, you’re very strong.”
“You’re the Sentry.”
Bob shook his head. “Just…we should drop this.” His eyes, unbidden, tracked from the page he wasn’t reading, over Yelena’s head, to you. What did he know that Yelena didn’t? Where to start?
When you joined the team, you had gone to shake everyone’s hand without a second thought. Bob had been too distracted by your eyes, your warm smile, your laugh, to stop you before it was too late. Your hand folded into his, a perfect fit, and then you were somewhere else, a room he didn’t recognize, a memory dredged from the darkest shadow of your mind. He had witnessed your deepest shame, a thing he had no right to, a thing he wished desperately to forget.
Or maybe not. He didn’t know. He didn’t like the idea of forgetting any aspect of you, even the difficult pieces. When the vision faded, you stared at him with your lips parted, a muscle twitching in your jaw. Tears filmed your eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he had muttered, looking down at his shoes. “That…sometimes I can’t control that.”
And he would’ve forgiven you if you never warmed to him after that, but you did.
Yelena and Ava were so overjoyed to have another woman on the team that they took you in as a third sister; he was sure they must have filled you in on his whole sordid backstory. The drugs. The wandering. The lab in Malaysia. The vault. The Void. Even more ticks in the What The Fuck column, but you didn’t shun him. Sometimes, when he did the dishes, you just came and stood beside him and waited to help, taking the wet glasses from him and drying them. You didn’t always talk in those times, but the silence was fine, companionable. You calmed him down. He knew your darkness, and it hadn’t frightened him away or turned him into a judgy prick, and he got the sense that was a relief.
You left books out for him, ones you thought he would like, a hobby crumb trail to gauge his taste. You offered to take the pickles off his burger when he didn’t want them. When Walker condescendingly called him “House Husband” after catching him doing chores, you laid into John for it. “Does that mean you’re going to start pulling your weight around here? Pick up your shit?” you had shouted, and Walker’s face turned a hilariously patriotic shade of red. “No? Didn’t think so…”
On and on.
“Bob? Earth to Bob?” Yelena snapped in front of his face, then searched it.
“We shouldn’t…” Bob scrambled for an excuse she would accept so everyone could move on with their lives. Or Bob would try to move on, at least. Someone should move on because that’s what healthy people were meant to do. “Shouldn’t fraternize with teammates."
"Fraternize? Who said anything about fraternize?” Yelena scoffed, then laughed, then scoffed again, rolling her eyes. She wiped a nonexistent booger off her nose and lowered her voice to a naughty whisper. “I’m talking about smooching and cuddling and fu—”
“That’s fraternizing.” Bob shrank down into the chair, trying to disappear. She was never going to relent, ordinarily a fantastic quality for a superhero to possess but in this specific case highly irritating. “Look, if I tell you the real reason will you let it go?”
Yelena hummed. “Mm, that depends on the reason. Is it a dumb reason?”
“I’m not her type.” Bob shut his eyes and said it fast, definitively, so he didn’t have to hold the words in his mouth for too long. If he did, he knew they would burn. Across the room, you laughed, and it was like an arrow lodging in his heart. He peeled one eye open at the sound, expression softening.
“Oooh you are down bad bad, I see.” Yelena clucked her tongue, shifted her legs to shake the ants out of them as she continued kneeling beside the chair. “And bullshit, Bob. Bullshit. She tries not to stare at you as much as you try not to stare at her.”
“How can you even tell something like that?”
“It takes a yearner to know one.” Yelena heaved a long-suffering, dreamy sigh, then leaned forward slightly and slapped Bob on the knee. “Why wouldn’t you be her type? You have the beautiful, wounded eyes of a basset hound and the floppy hair of a 90s heartthrob. That is a lethal combination for many.”
Bob quirked his lips to one side, temporarily less interested in vanishing off the face of the planet. “You think my eyes are beautiful?”
“They are beautiful, Bob. I know it, you know it.” She frowned, narrowing her eyes. “I thought self-image work was part of you integration therapy.”
“It is,” he said. “This has nothing to do with that.”
You and Ava had finished your complete evisceration of Crypto Guy and, after a job well done, had wandered off together toward the elevator discussing dinner options. Now that you were gone, Bob felt a little easier about having this discussion right out in the open. God forbid Walker waltz in and overhear something with this super soldier hearing.
Yelena popped up, standing over him, hip cocked, arms folding across her half-zipped hoodie. “She’s gone. Out with it.” Her eyes somehow narrowed further. “You know something.”
“Listen, I’m not proud of it…” Bob cleared his throat, ran one hand through his hair, then both, with greater agitation. “I just…she likes to read, right? She left her Kindle out on the coffee table last week and I thought, hey, her birthday is soon, I can figure out what book to get her and like a total dumb ass I snooped.”
“You snooped.” Yelena repeated it, dry. “Does this story get more interesting? Because—”
“She has all these books about…” He took a deep, centering breath. “Sex.”
“Sex books!? Bob.” Fluttering her hand over her heart, she pretended to faint and swoon. “Oh my God. A grown woman has sex books? Like about sex? Penis vagina sex? How will your pure baby heart ever recover from the shock? Are you okay? I’m glad you’re already sitting down, because--”
“Stop. Forget it.” Bob shook his head, hugged his book to his chest, and stood, bypassing his interrogator as he stormed toward the kitchen and bar. Of course, she followed. Of course, the heckling didn’t stop. She always meant well, but sometimes it was just too much. Nimble and a thousand times more athletic than Just Bob, she beat him to the refrigerator, placing herself between it and him.
“It’s not a problem, okay? It isn’t that it’s sex. Sex is fine. Sex is great.” Bob couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, he sounded like a guidance counselor. But the lines about these things had always been blurry at best. The team gave each other shit like siblings and also like siblings, protected each other fiercely from the criticisms and cruelties of the outside world where normies, like, just didn’t get their whole thing, man, and if there were explicit rules against inter-Avenger romances, he hadn’t seen it in the paperwork, but if something went wrong, if something got messy…
“Sex is fine. Sex is great?” Yelena rolled her shoulders, pursing her lips as she snorted at him. “Sex is cool, maybe? Is it wow neato?”
Bob rocked up onto his toes, trying to remember the box breathing exercises his integration therapist had taught him before she accused him of being a virgin. What do you think is holding you back? the therapist had asked, bouncing the butt of a pen against his chin while he appraised Bob over a pair of thick turtle shell glasses. He didn’t know that such a therapist even existed, but Valentina had insisted it was totally a real thing, and whatever his reservations might be, the meetings were not optional. This is not a humane society, were her words, and you are not a stray kitten.
There were worksheets, homework. Constant, constant questions…
Are you afraid of what will happen if Sentry or the Void become dominant?
Bob flexed his white-knuckled fingers around the book he was clutching like a life preserver. He closed his eyes because he wasn’t sure he could explain it if he had to see her reaction. “The guys in her books are intense. They're tough and they yell constantly. They…they boss the women around. They’re fucking jerks, honestly, and I don’t want to be a jerk.”
The cackle he expected from her never landed. Yelena lowered her arms, then crossed the distance between them and gently touched his elbows. “Bob. Robert. It’s just a fantasy. She doesn’t actually want a jerk, she wants you.”
He shook his head. “No, no, they were all like that.”
“You read them all?”
“No. No. I skimmed. Enough to recognize a pattern. Look, I don’t know how to be like that,” he said quietly, deflating. “Even if it is just a fantasy, I couldn’t give that to her, I’m…” He sorted through all the unkind descriptions that had been hurled at him in his life, the ones he had internalized, the ones that stung, and the ones he could shrug off. “Afraid.”
“My sweet Bob. My darling Bob. My tiny baby sweet boy Bob…” Yelena patted his elbows, sticking out her lower lip.
Bob twisted away from her. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”
He was so fucking tired of everyone patronizing him. Yes, he had problems. Yes, it was taking quite some time for him to figure out his fragmented identities, and yes, he was kind of a dead weight in the meantime. Couldn’t they see that he was fucked up about it? Couldn’t they see him trying?
Are you afraid of what will happen if Sentry or the Void become dominant?
He tossed his book on the bar top and reached over Yelena’s shoulder for the refrigerator door, promising himself a crisp Dr. Pepper could fix this, pulling the panel open with enough force to rip it halfway off its hinges. Yelena leapt back, silent. Bob stared at where his hand was wrapped around the cylindrical handle. A jar of Dijon mustard fell off the lowest shelf and rolled across the shiny floor until Yelena stopped it with a tap of her foot.
“That’s new,” she said, eyes widening.
“I, um…” Bob tried to put the door back, but it hung loose and to the side, visibly busted. “I’m sure we can fix that.”
“Was that Sentry?” she asked lightly.
“I don’t know.” Bob hunched, keeping his eyes turned away from her. “Maybe.”
Suddenly, he didn’t have a choice about looking at her. Yelena soccer scooped the mustard jar onto the top of her foot and flicked it up into her hand, tossing it in the air and catching it as she came toward him, chewing her cheek in thought. She took him by the arm, swinging until they were face to face. “This is a good thing, Bob.”
“It…is? Because I think Valentina is going to be pretty pissed, and—”
She felt along his bicep as if to make sure he hadn’t secretly gotten jacked while they weren’t looking, but she didn’t seem to detect any major changes. “I met Sentry—”
Bob groaned, trying to veer away. “God, don’t remind me, I—”
“And he was kind of a fucking asshole.” She smiled, though, squeezing his arm playfully. “But he could be our kind of asshole. Her kind of asshole.”
Bob froze in her grasp, catching up to her meaning. His mouth fell open as his eyes shifted side to side. “I don’t know about this, Lena. I don’t know if I can control him if he comes out, and if I did something, hurt her, God, if I hurt her, I would never forgive myself.”
“Which is why you won’t.” She said it so simply. Honestly? It was kind of refreshing, and certainly more direct than the constant loops he went in with the integration therapist. “You are Bob and Bob is Sentry and Sentry is Void and Void is Bob, and so on, yes? If you want to keep her safe, they will keep her safe.” She poked him hard in the chest, and Bob jerked backward. “The heart of one man, but the, uh, diverse skillset of three. So maybe Sentry would…be a bit more flexible when it comes to playing the jerk. Just for her.” Yelena waggled her eyebrows and winked. “Just in the bedroom.”
“I thought you hated this stuff.”
You watched Yelena tear through your bookshelf with the zeal of a sheltered Mormon teen, fingers like claws as she dumped romance novel after romance novel into the growing pile at her feet. She was certainly organizing her night around a theme. You glanced at the titles with a knot tightening in your stomach. The Storm and the Stallion. The Sellsword’s Bride. Mounted by the Warlord.
“I’m broadening my horizons,” Yelena said flatly. She picked up Mounted by the Warlord and gestured toward you with it, eyes dark and dubious as she considered you and then the book. “How’s this one? Intellectually stimulating?”
“Is this a cry for help?” You joined her by the bookshelf. Previously, you had been observing her 180-degree personality shift from the safe harbor of your bedside table and the multicolor reading lamp there. Walker said those were for insomniatic autistic kids, but you had shot him such a poisonously withering look that he had stumbled on to say there was nothing wrong with that and maybe he should get one and oh look the Yankees game was on…
You studied Yelena, growing more suspicious by the second.
“Don’t worry about me, worry about you.” She put the novel back down on top of the stack, and pivoted, puffing the hair out of her eyes.
“Me? What did I do?” you asked, mirroring her defensive posture. “Did Bucky say something about bugs in the Britta filter because if so, I had nothing to do with that…”
“What bugs?”
“It’s not important.” You wiped impatiently at your eyes. Valentina had volunteered you for a charity fundraiser the following evening, and you had hoped to take all of the hours between now and then to prepare, decompress, practice your calming mantras before wading into a sea of politicians and paparazzi. You did not expect the Oprah’s Book Club treatment from someone who thought Pedro Páramo was a taco joint. “Can we skip to the part where you lovingly berate me?”
“Sure. Fine by me.” Yelena dusted off her hands as if touching all of your smutty books had left a physical residue. She squared up to you, placing her palms on your shoulders, giving her best frustrated big sister sigh. “Why are you wasting your precious time with finance bros when our dear beloved Bob is right there? I know you are not stupid, so what’s the problem?”
You opened and closed your mouth a few times, wondering if a stiff headbutt would be enough to knock her out. Anything to escape this conversation.
“There is no reason to torture yourself with Wallstreet coke heads, my love, Bob is single and ready to awkwardly mingle, and we would all cheer you on. Even Walker, which is saying something.”
“Please stop talking.” You covered your face with both hands, forcing out a groan through the crack between your palms.
Bob. Oh God, Bob. You had just survived twelve rounds of merciless interviews, a background check that would make even Steve Rogers sweat, and a compulsory media training camp that made you self-conscious about everything from your teeth (showing too much, too little) to your ankles (showing too much, too little) and—exhausted, terrified—Bob’s guileless smile had felt too good, too kind, to be true. It was, of course, because thirty seconds later he touched you and you were blasted back to the most traumatizing day of your life, but somehow you had known he didn’t mean to do it. He fell all over himself apologizing. He found you, hours later, and offered to order you a pizza or shawarma, or whatever, and that shame room thing didn’t always happen, and he mostly had it under control…
When you came home from your first mission, high as balls on adrenaline and public adoration but sporting several new battle scars, you found that he had cleaned off a corner of the main bookshelf in the common room. A place for your stuff. There was a crooked cardboard placard there, handmade, with your name scribbled on it.
In the storm of egos and anti-social behaviors that were the team, he was an oasis.
Yelena did not stop talking.
“—if it’s about the pot head sweaters, I know, I hate them, too, but we could just take him shopping, it will take like ten minutes and then you two can finally--”
“It’s not about the fucking sweaters.” The walls shook from the unnatural clang of your voice. Yelena froze, gently plucking her hands from your shoulders and holding them up in mock surrender. You heaved for air, getting control of yourself, of your power. “He’s sweet. He’s gentle. I’m not that.”
Yelena nodded along, but you could tell she was coming to unrelated conclusions in her head.
The admission toppled out of you before you could stop it. “I’d ruin him.”
“You can’t ruin Bob,” she stated. “You weren’t there; you didn’t see it--he almost destroyed Manhattan through the sheer, terrible power of self-loathing. Bob is as ruined as he’s going to get, and we all suffered for it, but he’s trying to be something else now.”
“That’s the problem,” you said, curling your hands into fists. “You’ve met those other parts of him. I haven’t.”
“I’m working on it. But trust me, you really don’t want to meet the V-Man--”
You squinted, shifting closer to her. The hair on the back of your neck stood on end. “What does that mean?”
“He’s working on it, I mean, of course,” she hurried to correct. “With his state-sponsored therapist.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Just…don’t write him off, okay?” Yelena asked, doing that puppy dog, pouty pleading thing that was annoyingly effective. She bent down and scooped up her stack of books. You had assumed she would forget them, that it was just a pretense to get you alone for this conversation. You tracked the novels in her arms as she shuffled toward the door. “Promise me you won’t write him off.”
Never. Never.
“No promises,” you said, and went to bed.
Sometimes Bob liked to take his book to Carlo’s and sit at the bar, eat a slice or two, and just watch the world go by. HQ was nice, of course, and they were gradually making it feel more lived in, but sometimes there was still a soulless, corporate quality to it that was a real god damn bummer. Carlo’s was real. The bathrooms smelled like the stuff they used to clean high schools, the coasters were mismatched, the pepperoni cups on the pies were always wrinkly and spicy, and they still had the red, bumpy plastic cups that somehow made the water taste good but also thrifted. The Rat Pack and only the Rat Pack crooned in mellow swells from the juke box, because Carlo’s grandson and the current owner would kick out anyone who tried to switch up the vibe.
The elderly Italian lady who bartended made sure there was a spot at the bar for Bob. She called him “sweetie” and refilled his sodas before he was even halfway done. It was a hidden gem, something he kept just for himself, which was why he was more than a bit surprised to see Yelena there on a Friday evening. This was usually the time when she and Ava took over the common room for their horror movie nights, but here she was, frolicking toward him with a book bag slung over one shoulder and enough mischief in her eyes to sound the early warning system in his head.
“This place is cute,” she said, settling in beside him.
Bob wedged a bookmark between two pages to hold his spot, watching as Yelena took the pizza crusts left on his plate and wolfed them down without asking. He didn’t want them, but still.
“How did you--”
“We have trackers, Bob. We all wear them?”
“Oh. Right.”
“I have something for you,” she said, heaving the bag onto her lap with a grunt. Just from the way it dented her thighs, Bob could tell it was heavy. “Start with this one.” Yelena reached into the bag and pulled out a worn, tattered paperback, shoving it toward him.
Bob looked around to make sure the elderly bartender didn’t see him holding a tattered copy of Mounted by the Warlord.
“It’s hers,” Yelena said before he could ask, then, pointing a finger at him, added teasingly, “do not sniff it.”
“Jesus, I wasn’t going to…”
“Phase One of the plan is go—read these and do some visualization exercises. Probably don’t tell your therapist about Phase One.”
Bob flipped the book over on his lap, afraid just touching it would put a scarlet letter on his forehead for the rest of time. “Okay, I won’t tell him because I never agreed to a plan or any phases--”
“Bob, please just try.” Yelena swiveled to face him on her stool, chin working side to side as she sized him up. “You never said you didn’t like her, by the way. You just gave me a bunch of excuses for why you hadn’t done anything about it.”
He fell quiet, spinning his cup in place and watching the pool from the condensation spread. “I wouldn’t be good for her. I’m not even one whole guy, I’m just…pieces.” Simply for something to do, something to keep his mind occupied, he flipped to a random page in the book. He squinted down at it.
The warlord loomed over her, and she was helpless before his power. “You are mine to take. I have no patience for your modesty, girl. Remove your tunic and spread yourself, show me all that is mine by rights to claim.”
Bob flopped the book toward her, pointing. “I can’t be this guy.”
Yelena quickly read the passage in question, clearing her throat. She didn’t even blush. “No, but Sentry?”
“I don’t think Sentry, Earth’s mightiest protector, should be this guy.”
Bob slammed the novel shut and tried to push it into her hands, but she dodged, grabbing him by the wrists until he had no choice but to relent and keep it.
“You keep sidestepping the pretend part,” Yelena pointed out, lifting a brow. “It’s okay to try different things, play dress up, put on different hats--unless you’re Walker, in which case hats are to be avoided at all costs.”
At that, Bob allowed a grim smile.
“Keep the book for now,” she said, leaving the bag behind on the stool that she slid down off of. He would, and further, he knew he would cave and read it. Probably that night. Probably in one sitting. God damnit. “I worked really hard to get that. I thought she was going to stomp me into paste when I asked to borrow them all.”
Bob fidgeted, fixed his hair. His temperature flamed just at the thought of you. He ran his fingers through the condensation pool to try and cool down. “Did she…” He glanced to the side. “Did she say anything…”
“Just that she’d like to meet all of you, Bob.” Yelena leaned in and tapped his knee before turning to go. “All of you. Me personally? I think you should let her. I think you won’t get anywhere unless you push yourself a little.”
Bob paid his tab, hooked the book bag over his shoulder, and drifted through the night to the subway. Maybe it was okay to try a different kind of homework, one that wasn’t worksheets and self-affirmations that filled him with thoughts and questions but not much else.
Bob stared out the window as the train ca-shookt ca-shookt over the tracks; two girls in their clubbing clothes whispered behind their hands across the aisle from him. The car shook, jostling the overfull bag on his lap. A novel fell out from the commotion, hitting his foot. Bob leaned down, making sure his hand covered the title as he jammed Mounted by the Warlord back in with its mates. Jesus. He shook his head, feeling ridiculous, his gaze unfocusing as he watched the dim lights in the tunnel flash by. It had a lulling effect, turning off the constant stream of checks and admonishments that dominated his mental landscape. And for a moment, his mind was empty, a smooth blank, before an image flashed before his eyes—an image of you on his bed, half-cloaked in shifting silver as rain pelted the window, his shadow falling across you, your eyes filled with excitement that verged on fear; all the power of the world was in his hands, and you knew it, and you liked it, and as he stepped closer, a voice came out of him that was cold and confident and demanding…
You are mine to take.
“Fuck.” Bob blinked, squeezing his temples, shaking himself out of that place. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the subway window, and not even the streaks and grime could conceal the faint glint of gold in his dark, dark eyes.
Saturday night. You had survived the charity event by the skin of your teeth, somehow with your patience and dignity intact, and you had every intention of rewarding yourself with a casual night that could go anywhere. No high heels. No high slits. No high expectations.
It was kind of a shame though, you thought, elbowing your way into your favorite bar, that no one else on the team had been there to see you all glammed up. Even Valentina had found a compliment for you, and a vast majority of your responsibilities for the evening became keeping important politicians from saying something deeply uncomfortable in front of their spouses. Nobody had prepared you for how weirdly touchy-feely people got with superheroes, like they were suddenly all drunk dads at Disney trying to feel up Princess Jasmine.
We’re not real to them. Does a symbol know it’s being sexually harassed?
A question for the next interminable banquet. It would’ve been nice to show everyone your dress, your makeup, your bag, but it would’ve been better if someone had come with to help fend off the creeps. Or at least make fun of them with you. You had ideas, of course, for ideal candidates. Candidate. Maybe next time you would beg Valentina to let Bob come along. How bad could it get? He needed the media practice, and he would look nice in a tux. James Bond if James Bond mostly rescued kittens. Seemed like the gentlest possible way of easing him into the job. Eat a few canapes, rub a few elbows, try not to combust when the mayor eye fucks you in front of his wife…
Speaking of sexual harassment, that would basically just be you taking a circuitous route to landing a date with Bob. A date he couldn’t refuse. Holy shit. Maybe not, maybe you’d just wait for him to make a move, which, at this rate, meant sometime during your retirement years.
You went to the bar and got in line. It was a black and white tiled floor, mostly pool, mostly beer and wings type of place. Unpretentious. Easy to blend in with a t-shirt, jeans, and ball cap if you were feeling extra solitary. You weren’t noticeable or beloved enough yet to draw a crowd even if someone did recognize you. Your accolades weren’t filling up the front page, and nobody was going to buy you a round for surviving the Perv Purge at the charity ball.
You breathed easier here. Your shoulders went down. The staff knew you, liked you, and always made friendly conversation when it was your turn to grab a beverage. Long, emerald lights glowed above the cash register. A few pool tables in the back provided pleasant click-clack percussion under the bluesy music. No juke box, thank God. You found your way to a circular table, high top, and perched there with your drink. The bar started to fill up, and you idly took out your phone, uploading a few choice pictures from the night before—the ones that made your legs look great, the one where the photographer had caught you in profile and the chandeliers made your silhouette glow. Almost as soon as they were live, you noticed a profile liking all of them back-to-back.
justyouraveragebob and two others liked your photo.
His instagram handle always made your heart squish. There was nothing average about him.
A shadow spread across your hands and your phone. You really, really didn’t want to be bothered, especially when Bob was somewhere shamelessly liking all of your hot pics, which was about as direct as he got with his flirting, but whoever it was, they didn’t budge. You sighed, not glancing up from your phone.
“Table for one, I’m afraid.”
“Come on, we’re not strangers.”
Your eyes raked up the screen to the man standing across from you. Just as quickly as your heart had somersaulted for Bob, it sank like a stone at the sight of Gilbert. Yes, Gilbert. No, you hadn’t known that was his name when someone from your last crew set you up on a blind date. It seemed crazy that he would turn up here. Gilbert wore seven-hundred-and-twenty-dollar Dior cufflinks. Gilbert had shoes made out of crocodiles. Gilbert had shot an honest to god lion on safari once. Gilbert had lunch at Eleven Madison Park on a bi-weekly basis, which he would absolutely make sure you knew within moments of making his acquaintance. The corpse of your last date wasn’t even cold, and here he was, that annoying fucking TikTok song come to life—trust fund, 6’5”, blue eyes. Although you were fairly certain he was maybe 6’3” on a good day; his crocodile shoes had lifts.
“What are you doing here?” you asked, placing your phone face down on the table, as if Bob could see what you were doing and you wanted to shield his eyes. “I don’t think there’s fennel pollen within six blocks of this place.”
Gilbert smirked, a default facial expression for him. Maybe you were being unkind. He had paid for the meal, held the door, said nice things about your outfit, and asked three standard questions about your life. You didn’t know if he would be a generous lover but maybe a tolerable one.
“My firm had a trivia night thing,” he said, answering your initial question. He had blonde, feathered hair that ruffled itself attractively when he moved. And he had tried to dress like a normal person, a light gray tee under a bomber jacket and jeans. “Just a few doors down,” he went on, pointing to the wall with his beer in hand. “Thought I would scope out the local attractions.”
At that, his eyes lingered on you.
“No fennel pollen required,” he added, with a wink and a laugh at himself. Another man bumped into him from behind, almost but not quite spilling his beer. Gilbert sneered, shoving the man back with a muttered, “Asshole.”
“Well, great,” you said, in a tone that you hoped communicated your total lack of interest. “It was nice bumping into you.”
He leaned in to shout above the music, which wasn’t even really that loud. “We could go somewhere else,” he said, keeping his face close to yours. “I can get us into Clemente no problem.
You smiled, tight. I’m one of the fucking Avengers; even with a z, I think I could get a table. “I’m good, thanks.”
Gilbert either hadn’t heard you or had decided not to care, barging on. “Their beverage program is second to none, the Real Talk will knock your socks off, we—”
“I said I’m good.”
He put down his beer, which was never a good sign, and moved around the table in a half-circle toward you. There was a slack, weird quality to his expression, like he was suddenly wearing a mask of his own face. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his left hand start to move toward your hip under the table. Contact never came; Gilbert froze as a third person arrived, leaning onto the table like he belonged there.
Because he does.
“Hey, baby.” The first thing you noticed was that Bob had done his hair. Not a lot, just enough. He had ditched the Grateful Dead sweater for a simple, clean button down tucked into jeans that fit. Your eyes met under the red glow of the hanging BUDLIGHT-themed stained-glass lamp, and the insistent pressure of his eyes said: Trust me. Go with it.
“Hey,” you breathed, all of you bending toward him with relief. “You made it.”
Bob grinned, eyes only for you. “Sorry I’m late. Impromptu dance thing on the subway. I think maybe they were a cult? Not super clear. They should really work on their messaging.”
You snorted down into your drink. “Sounds like it.”
He moved in the opposite direction as Gilbert, melding against your left side like he was made to fit there. Your skin started buzzing from the ease of it, and from the flabbergasted expression on Gilbert’s stupid face.
“Who’s this?” Gilbert asked, allowing you a few inches of space as he sidled back toward his beer.
“This is Bo—”
“Robert,” he said, still with that cool, calculated smile, million-yard stare, but only when turned against Gilbert. He raked his gaze up and down the other man as if he had been forced at gunpoint to give him an ounce of attention. “And you are?”
“Gilbert.”
And because you knew Bob and Yelena were horrible eavesdroppers, you added softly, almost to Bob’s shoulder, “He’s in finance. Crypto.”
“It’s the future,” said Gilbert, certain.
“Oh.” Bob’s eyebrows went up with a flicker of a laugh. “Ha. Right. Makes sense.” He tapped the side of his nose as if to say, the cocaine guy?
“Excuse me?” Gilbert had started getting heated the moment Bob arrived, but now he looked like he might shoot through the ceiling like a rocket. “Did you just—”
“What are you drinking tonight?” Bob asked, simultaneously cutting Gilbert off from the rest of his sentence and the conversation at large. The world shrank down around you. You were in Bob’s warm embrace, his hand like a quietly pulsing star against your spine. He kept himself angled toward you, protectively, a preemptive shield. “Can I get you a refill?”
“I’m fine for now,” you said, showing him that you still had half of your drink left. Bob took that in stride, rubbing your back with a soft hum. “Gilbert was just telling me about the beverage program at Clemente Bar.”
Bob nodded once, as if any of those words made sense to him. “Beverage program,” he repeated, enjoying himself.
Gilbert chugged a few fortifying gulps of his beer, rightly sensing that the night was not going his way. “The chef there is—”
“Not relevant,” Bob said flatly. “Because she’s not going with you.” His tone brightened, almost cheerful, and for a moment, he was sweet, boyish Bob again. “But you have fun, Dilbert.”
“It’s Gilbert, freak.”
Bob waited for a beat, maybe giving Gilbert time to walk that back.
“Freak, is it?” Frost settled across Bob’s features. The lights above the pool table flickered. Just once. He didn’t move, or blink, and the small smile that tugged at his lips did not indicate pleasure, but rather the beginnings of an impatience that could expand into worse. Bob inclined his head slightly toward the other man; the music fizzled, going to static. You saw the glimmer of gold circling his irises as the air between you deadened. The beer bottle in Gilbert’s grasp shivered, popped, exploded so quickly into hot vapor that the glass didn’t have time to break. The sudden rush of heat sent Gilbert reeling back a step as he shook out his singed hands.
A cloud of steam rose between them and lingered, sizzling.
“Had enough?” Bob asked, lowering his voice to a glacial whisper.
“Psycho shit,” you heard the other man mumble before he dodged swiftly toward the exit, running.
When Gilbert was gone, you snort-laughed, leaning into Bob, expecting to glance up and see him smirking back at you. But Bob wasn’t present. The gold diminished in his eyes, but the specter of it never completely went away. A shiver caught you off guard. He noticed, and folded you more firmly against his side, the heat rolling off of his body and through his shirt was incredible. Your whole life had been about strangeness, power, but what you felt now radiating off of Bob—Robert—was hard to comprehend.
The power of a million exploding suns, that was how Yelena had put it. The pitch. The tagline. It sounded like an insane exaggeration at the time, but now…
His voice, rough, baritone, settled over you like a tight hug. “Did I frighten you?”
You stared up into his face. So. This wasn’t quite Bob and it wasn’t quite Sentry. Integration.
“No,” you said truthfully. Relief softened the cold blankness in his eyes. He didn’t seem interested in letting you go and you were not interested in moving back.
“I’m…trying something,” he said.
Earnest. Nervous. Your heart ached.
“How does it feel?” you asked, slowly pushing your half-finished drink toward him. He took a single, grateful gulp, but that was enough to empty the glass.
“Okay, I think, I’m still figuring things out.” Like he was test-driving a car. Like he was encased in a robotic suit. But you could hear Bob in there, nestled in alongside this other guy. “I’m gonna be honest, when the beverage program thing came up, I thought about making his head explode.”
“You and me both.” You hid your face in his shoulder, both of you shaking with laughter.
His hand tented on your back, less encompassing, less there.
You tensed, as if afraid to lose that point of contact.
“Is this alright with you?” he asked, flattening his palm again, touching more of you.
“Yes,” you said. You couldn’t help it. “I know this has to be scary for you, letting different parts of you take up more space. If you need to just be Bob—”
“No,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut for just a second. “No, I can’t…I have to live with my anger, I have to make friends with it. He can be an asshole but he’s not always wrong. I’m Bob, I’m him, I’m all of this.” He shook his head, eyes narrowed. “I’m not pretending. When I saw him bothering you, I wanted it to stop. That’s all I had to do, focus on the truth of the thing, and suddenly I could just do it. Be him. Be…me.”
You didn’t want to ruin the vibe with tears. You pressed your lips together, catching yourself. “I’m really fucking proud of you. Even just for trying.” He looked down at you, and you gazed up at him, not knowing exactly what had changed between you, only that something had. You could stay swimming in his eyes forever, you thought, float in the darkness, bask in the gold. “And maybe it was a tiny bit fun?”
“So fun, oh my God,” he agreed, snorting in a quintessentially Bob way. He rubbed your back again, leaning in, brushing a kiss across your forehead that made your skin ignite. Oh no. Yelena was never going to put away her shit-eating grin when she found out. “And is that alright with you?” he asked, doing it again when you nodded.
You pressed into his side, one hand fisting in the fabric of his shirt over his chest. “Can we get out of here?”
“Anywhere but Clemente Bar,” he teased, his nose in your hair.
You slid your hand into his—easy, comfortable—and he tugged you toward the door. “Who are we kidding?” you laughed. “We’re Avengerz with a Z, we’d never get a table.”
Bob couldn’t hear the decision itself, but he detected everything that surrounded it—the rasp of desperate breath; the jangle of a zipper; the sound of flop sweat hitting the pavement; the cock of the hammer; the implosion within the barrel; the singing of the bullet as it kissed the night air.
And his decision and his movement happened instantaneously, even before the projectile zipped toward you. Way before death was a sure thing. In a blink, he was at your side, then behind you, hand outstretched, not catching the bullet but stopping it in mid-air before it could slam into your shoulder. It flared into a burning red eye, melting.
“Shit, shit, shit…” Gilbert, fucking Gilbert, crouched in the alley outside the bar, fumbling with his revolver before deciding to cut his losses and run. All of these finance guys were getting into meth, he thought, so he shouldn’t have been surprised. And maybe he wasn’t; no, not surprised, just transmuting. Integrating. The gun turned to molten slag in the jerk-off’s hand, cold and metal again by the time it thunked to the pavement. Vaguely, Bob heard you calling his name, but he was already rounding on Gilbert, following him into the darkness.
“I don’t know what the fuck is going on, what the fuck you are—” Gilbert broke into a frantic run, screaming over his shoulder. It was no effort to follow. It was a child’s game.
“Good observation,” Bob said, appearing in Gilbert’s path. “I’m still learning what I am, too. Maybe we should find out together.”
His hand closed around Gilbert’s neck, threatening, the flesh and the pulse and the blood of meager interest to a god. The facts of Gilbert were so sad, sad enough to make him wonder if the man ought to exist at all. That was the Void talking, because where Sentry went, Void followed. But then he saw you jogging down the alley toward them with a question in your eyes that Bob must answer.
Are you afraid of what will happen if Sentry or the Void become dominant?
You looked so alive, so beautiful, and Gilbert monstrously defaced by his own choices; the contrast fascinated him. Like a universe blinking out, heat death, he felt the impulse to destroy Gilbert vanish. A human man screamed inside him to remember—remember his own pain and how he had tried to numb it. And sympathy declared itself like a fourth voice; gradually, his grip eased on Gilbert’s neck.
“Go back inside,” he told you calmly. “I’ll be right back.”
“Bob—”
His eyes were bright hot in the darkness. “Trust me.”
There was no need for the subway; Bob flew you home.
You almost wished someone had been there to see it. Walker, preferably, so he could finally quit whining about fueling up the jet as if the gas came from his pocket personally. Or Alexei, who seemed fixated on the idea of one day riding Bob into the sky. Instead, the tower was quiet. You clung to Bob’s neck, forearms looped around him, legs kicked up into his grasp. It was, you thought, the most superhero thing that had ever happened to you. And as he set you down gently, allowing but not forcing you to glide fully down his front until your feet touched solid ground, you wondered if it would be too embarrassing to swoon.
Along the way, Bob had promised you that no real harm had come to Gilbert, that he had handed him over to the nearest precinct and waited until Gilbert confessed to his attempted murder. On an Avenger, no less.
“That was big of you,” you said, meaning it. Bob was still figuring out how to control this side of him—it was a miracle he had wrangled his impulses before doing something extreme. You watched his ears turn pink from the compliment as you walked back inside, where it was warm and smelled faintly of burned popcorn. “Your first night as the new you and no extrajudicial killings. That’s major.”
Bob shook his head, sticking his hands into his pockets. Now it came down to it—you stood chest to chest in the common room, both of your rooms in walking distance. But Bob kept his eyes on you. “You’re making fun.”
“I’m not,” you said, crossing your heart to show him. “I would tell you what happened the first time I felt my powers manifest…” Your voice dropped, no longer teasing, no longer giddy. “But you already know.”
The moonlight through the tall windows turned slivers of his hair silver. He touched your cheek, cupping your face. You held your breath, worried, briefly, that you would slide back into those ugly memories just from skin-to-skin contact. But you stayed where you were—in your new home, with your new….
“You were just a kid,” he told you, gentle. His eyes shined with all of the kindness and all of the grace that he rarely showed himself.
“I tell myself that all the time. Somehow, it never sticks.”
Bob tilted his head to the side and down, studying you. “What if I told you.”
You kept waiting for it to sound like a question. His eyes burrowed into you, deadly serious. “You just did, Bob.”
He shook his head, inching closer, not crowding, showing you how solid and real and overpowering his presence could become. Through his fingers, carefully channeled, you felt a growing, odd heat. “What if I told you over and over again,” he said, gold liminal in his gaze. It came and went, but you could sense Sentry just on the other side of his brittle restraint. “You don’t have to prove anything to me. I’ve already seen your darkness.” He brought his lips down carefully, his eyes locked to yours, monitoring, checking. His breath ghosted across your mouth, and you let him in.
“What about yours?” you asked, kissing his chin.
His composure cracked, just for a millisecond. His eyes changed rapidly, colors shifting, moods flying by, like someone clicking through slides, dark blue to black to gold to a gradient of all three. He shivered, closed his eyes, and kissed you. Both of his hands bracketed your face, thumbs just outside your lips. A rush of air. A feeling like falling. His lips slid against yours, hungry, seeking more. By the time you pulled back slightly for air, you realized you were no longer in the common room together but his quarters, both of you levitating inches off the ground.
“How did you do that?” you asked, grabbing his neck before you could fall. But he had you, and his smile was mild, amused, as he lightly set you both down.
“Does it matter?”
His eyes flared gold; the door shut behind him.
“No,” you whispered, mouth suddenly dry. “No, I guess not.”
Bob let go of you, hands at his sides, eyes falling to his feet. “I ruined it, I—”
“You didn’t ruin anything.” You hugged him, arms around his waist, and just as readily his hands found their way back to you, settling on your hips. “This is new for both of us.”
“Can I kiss you again?” he asked.
You leaned up and pressed your lips to his in answer. His heart hammered against your chest. A quiet, greedy sound rasped out of the back of his throat. The room was cold and dark, and his heat called to you. Your fingers crawled from his back to his shoulders to his hair, threading into the thick golden-brown waves that he had tamed that night just for you. Breaking the kiss, you thumbed a few loose strands of hair behind his ears, stroking his temples. “You can stop asking, Bob.”
He took you by the wrists, jaw tightening. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. You told me to trust you—I did.”
His eyes went up and down your body once, then burned into yours again. “How attached are you to these clothes?”
You smirked, curious. “Not very, I—”
A feeling like you had just stepped in front of a bonfire roared across your skin. Light shimmered up from your arms and torso, and then your t-shirt and jeans were dust scattering to the floor, disintegrated. Not a single hair on you had been so much as toasted. Bob touched your cheek again, his eyes difficult to read.
“Better,” he said.
It was juvenile, maybe, but that show of power thrilled you. There was steel behind his touch, hunger gathering in his gaze. He looked you up and down again, taking his time, absorbing the shudder that ripped through you as he drank in your body, his thumb jerking on your cheek when his gaze reached your breasts. They were caged in sheer fabric, the chill in the room and his heat drawing out your nipples, hardening them, every part of you desperate for more, for his touch.
You undid the top button on his shirt clumsily; you tried to move quickly but your fingers had stopped working, and it only got worse when he laughed softly at your distress. Bob took over, nodding toward the bed just behind you.
“Get on the bed,” he said. There was the slightest tremor in his voice, but by the time he spoke again, it was gone. “Show me what’s mine.”
Your eyes widened. Not in a hundred years had you considered those words would leave Bob’s mouth. You moved before he could register your hesitation. Not hesitation, just…wow. You remembered the feeling of your own clothes burning off of your body, something he had accomplished with a single thought. As you turned and crawled onto his bed, knees and palms sinking into the soft, dark blue flannel, you noticed a stack of books near the bedside table. You would’ve recognized them anywhere, even in the dark—they were yours.
A tide of conflicting emotions rose in your chest. It was incredibly sweet that he had made a close study of your desires. On the other hand, if this wasn’t him… You flipped onto your back, head at his pillows, to say as much, but the concerns died in your throat. You didn’t know who was standing there—Bob, Robert, Sentry, the Void—but the sight of him took your breath away. He stood at the foot of the bed, stripped down to his black boxer briefs, every perfect muscle visible in the gray slats of gloom allowed in by the half-tipped blinds. Maybe it was the perma pajama pants, but you had never noticed how unbelievably thick his legs were. Thighs. The word pulsed like a neon sign behind your eyes.
“What did I say?” he asked, in a voice of quiet command. Not angry, perhaps somewhat disappointed.
“S-Sorry.” The apology spilled out of you. Holy shit. It was one thing to read about a towering figure in the bedroom ready to control, ready to take, but experiencing it with a guy who could explode a gun with his mind was altogether different. It felt like you could levitate again, this time all on your own.
“Don’t apologize,” he said, his eyes rotating through that odd catalog of colors again as he tilted his head to the side. “Just do as I ask.”
Sir, yes, sir.
You tried to relax, but there was no hiding the shaking in your legs as you laid back against the pillows and rested your hands across your midsection, subtly opening your thighs as you stretched out. His eyes burned like stoked coals in the darkness, sharp lights in an anti-halo of shadow. A heartbeat later, he was on the bed, over you, his weight sinking the mattress at your sides.
“Jesus,” you whispered, jolting your head up to meet his eyes.
“Good?” he asked. Bob, you thought, he was in there.
You nodded, licking your lips.
Just as quickly as he had come, Bob receded again. His lips descended to your throat, searing across the delicate architecture there, down to your collarbone, across, learning, memorizing. “Maybe I need an outlet,” he said. “What am I? A god? A man? A monster?” His hips lowered until you were forced to twitch your thighs further apart to accommodate him. “Out there,” he went on, still dropping kisses across your neck, “I have to be so careful. But in here?”
His voice trailed away. You slid your hands across his back, molding your fingers around the hard juts of his shoulder blades. He made a pained sound against your throat, dragging his nose from your neck to your shoulder. His teeth closed around the ridge there, biting until you gasped and arched against him. “You,” he said, releasing the hold of his teeth, but blinking up at the ceiling, you knew there would be a mark there in the morning. “You. My outlet. For the god,” he whispered fiercely. “And the monster.”
Bob craned back, looking down at you. Checking. You wondered if the blend of them was becoming more seamless. He was waiting for you to fend him off, disagree, but instead you touched your forehead to his chin. Permission. He allowed himself one weak, ragged breath.
“Show me,” he said. “Show me that you’re mine.”
You took his right hand, sliding it from the mattress by your shoulder to your side, over your left breast and your heart, then down, guiding his palm over your stomach, beneath the waistband of your panties, and toward the soaking wet heat he had generated between your legs. His middle finger curled automatically into you. The power in the building surged, a transformer down the block splitting the silence with a thunderous boom. The sound startled you, your hips driving you against him, forcing him further inside. All of the lights went on in the room, twinkling in a sequence before turning themselves off again.
Both of you were holding your breath.
“What happens when you cum?” you whispered.
Bob supported himself on his left elbow, shook his head. “That’s never happened before.” He tossed his head again, eyes stuttering shut as if in disbelief. A second finger joined the first, shocking your hips up again. “Is this for me?” he asked.
“Yes.” You tightened your grip on his wrist as he twisted his fingers, pumping, searching, stretching.
“You’re so fucking wet.” Golden eyes found you in the dark, brightening, your bra and panties sizzling off of your skin until you were completely bare beneath him. He claimed your mouth with a brutal kiss, forcing your chin upward, then down, his tongue driving into you at the same rate as his fingers, setting a steady rhythm. “Let go of my wrist,” he said, breaking the kiss. His chest rose and fell, expanding like bellows. “Put your hands above your head. Don’t move them unless I tell you to.”
You did as he instructed, bracing your fingertips against the headboard.
“Good,” he said. He pulled his fingers out of you with a sound that made your ears burn. Wet wasn’t the word for it. The word hadn’t been invented yet. You whimpered at his absence. “Don’t worry,” he told you, reaching down to free his cock from his shorts. His voice seemed to fill the room, infiltrate you from every direction. “Beg for it. Beg for it from your god.”
He drove home the command with a glimmer building in his eyes. He wasn’t even touching you anymore, but you felt a whisper of pressure around your clit, circling, teasing. You shivered and clamped down on nothing, whispering his name. He waited, patient, never increasing the speed of that sensation, making it spread, flickers of energy circling your breasts, skipping up and across your nipples until it felt like they were being lightly, teasingly electrified. You felt it in your teeth. Helpless, you flexed the hands wedged above your head, desperate for relief. Your back bent toward him, but Bob remained still, letting you torture yourself until the words clawed their way out of your throat.
“Please, Robert,” you whispered, fighting the waves of pleasure contorting your spine. “Please, I need you. Please, Jesus, it’s too much.”
The touching without touching had been bad, but when he made it stop, that was worse. You slithered back down to the mattress, breathing hard, gasping as he crawled over you, urging your thighs wider before pressing his lips to your ear. His hot, swollen dick pulsed against your thigh, brushing at such tantalizing range you heard yourself whine like a frantic animal. “I’m going to fuck you now, and if it destroys the power grid then so be it.”
He scooped you against him, one arm braced under your lower back, his other hand guiding his cock to your entrance. There was so little resistance it made you both exhale; no more waiting. Stretch but not resistance, your body was ready for him, soaked and pliant. Bob rewarded you with a biting tug on your earlobe, his breath shuddering against your neck as he fit himself inside you to the hilt and groaned. You smiled at the thought of making a fucking god moan like that.
“You’re mine,” he whispered, ragged. “You’re beautiful. You look so beautiful when I fuck you.”
He worked his hips back and forth, giving you a preview of just how much delicious friction that could produce. A string of lights stapled around the border of his ceiling sparkled on, warming the space above his head. Your thighs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his sides, technically not against the established rules, and seemingly to his taste. He hummed with approval, slapping both of his palms against your upper thighs as he knelt, shifting his weight, pushing into you on a long, devastating stroke.
“Fuck.” Your head fell back, air blasting out of your lungs.
“You seemed to like this before,” he said, laughing against your throat. “Let’s try it again.” Those cruel, teasing flickers of hot energy coiled around you again, tracing maddening circles around your clit, your peaked nipples, the ends of your toes. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Even if those lights hadn’t turned on you would be seeing stars. “Is this what you wanted?” he asked, wry. “To give up control? Give yourself to me? Because now that I have you, I could do anything. Anything.”
The energy was everywhere now, coursing through you, pinging through every cell, mapping every corner of your body. You felt him in your throat, behind your knees, along the inner coils of your ears, zapping your tongue. You arched and cried out for him and then fell silent, dumb, just letting the insane, raw beauty of his power tingle in your blood. Bob fucked into you harder, sweating, his hair damp as it clung to your shoulder. Down the street, another transformer erupted, a dog barked. The air around you sizzled. He angled your hips slightly, finding a new depth, holding his own orgasm at bay long enough to leave you panting, dazed, fucked into a place where your mind had gone blank. There was just him. Just his eerie energy moving through you. He could do anything. Anything.
“Please,” you murmured, wishing you could hold him, touch him, rake your nails down his back in pent up gratitude. “Please I’m so close.”
“That’s good,” he said, shoving his forehead against your jaw. Finally, he sounded as wrecked as you did. He was coming undone, close, close, driving, swelling… “Let go. Show me.”
The little gusts of heat he had been controlling coalesced around your sex, concentrated on your clit, spiraling inward, faster, faster, until the glittering, live wire mesh that had been tightening around your body snapped shut, heat rocketing through your core, burning a clean line from your abdomen to your eyeballs. You couldn’t keep your hands away from him any longer. You clung to his shoulders, sobbing out the shocks that had nowhere to go but out.
It sent him over the edge.
Bob ground you into the mattress, holding himself deep, whispering something you couldn't make out as he jerked and bucked and filled you until it felt like you might burst. Jesus, every part of him was powerful—you had never felt someone cum like that, distinct enough to push another little climax through you.
His chest worked against yours, his breathing evening out after a prolonged, sweaty moment of total entangled bliss. He let you go gently, setting your legs down as if they might break, but he didn’t climb off of you. Lowering himself with utmost care, he nestled against your body, face in your neck and arms around your middle. The string lights were still glowing faintly, like you were just two horny losers in a college dorm. As you came back to yourself and opened your eyes, every single object in his room except the bed was floating.
“Now we know what happens,” you said softly, carding your fingers through his hair. Just from the weight of him, from the sweet way he kissed your throat and held you like his life depended on it, you could tell Bob was back in control. He turned his head, looking around at the desk, the lamp, the laundry basket, the sneakers, all suspended as if you were in outer space. Coughing, perhaps with embarrassment, Bob gradually let the objects float back down. His hands tightened on you in concentration.
“Do…do you think everyone heard us?” he asked, hiding his face against your skin again.
“Probably.” You laughed, relaxing against the pillows as he finally rolled to the side, freeing himself from you with a groan as he crumpled to your right. “I don’t mind,” you said, reaching for him. “It’s okay if they know I’m yours.”
Bob blinked at you, a shy, boyish smile pulling his lips to one side. “I’m yours, too. You know that, right? I…said a lot of stuff at you just now. I hope it was okay.”
“It was more than okay,” you assured him. “Like you said. An outlet.”
“This is gonna blow the tits off my integration therapist,” he muttered, covering his face with both hands. “I’ll maybe gloss over some parts. Like where stuff exploded. And the burning your clothes off with my mind thing.” He shrugged and flopped onto his side, gazing at you adoringly from his pillow. “I’ll, um, I'll buy you new jeans.”
You snuggled closer, fitting your face against his chest. He pulled you in, sighing. It seemed right, the way you fit together.
You leaned up for one more kiss. “Fine, but only if you promise to burn them off again.”
A little zap of energy coasted up and down your back. “Deal.”
"Nothing’s gonna hurt you baby. As long as you’re with me you’ll be just fine. Nothing’s gonna hurt you baby. Nothing’s gonna take you from my side."
Warning!: Fluff, angst, Bob is pretty self-loathing, comfort, hand holding
Summary: After the events with the Void, everyone treats Bob like he’s a ticking time bomb. Well, everyone except for you.
Pairing: Robert “Bob” Reynolds x avengers!reader
Words: 1.6k
Quick Notes: I miss all the Bob content from the Thunderbolts era. It was prime Lewis content. Hopefully there’s more merch and moments with Doomsday coming up. For now, here’s a little drabble for our man. (He’s also not idealized/infantilized)
After the events of the Void, the team has been treating Bob as if he’d break at any moment and plummet New York into darkness again. They’re not treating him cruelly, but rather carefully. Too careful. Whenever Bob enters a loud room, conversations and voices turn hush. Briefings involve him even though he’s never allowed on the missions. And there’s always someone checking on him, asking if he’s okay or feeling negatively. The team insists it’s for his and everyone’s safety. But Bob isn’t stupid.
You notice that Bob notices, but you refuse to treat him any differently. For example, when he enters the kitchen and you’re talking to Yelena, she quiets down her voice or fades away from the conversation altogether. You look at her for a moment and she looks back. As Bob grabs a water, you speak up to your normal volume, “What about you Bob? What’s your favorite movie?”
Bob is startled by your direct question. He looks around before pointing to himself, “Me?”
You smile gently at him, “Well, I don’t think there’s any other Bob around.”
“Oh, yeah, right,” he says as he eyes you. “Um, I’m not sure.”
“That’s okay. There’s a lot of great movies out there. I was just telling Yelena that-” And you’d continue your previous conversation as normal with Bob.
Another example is when Bob takes space in the common area. Bob usually sits alone on the couch, not watching whatever is playing in front of him. Eventually, you plopped yourself next to him on the couch, sitting close by but still leaving enough space for his comfort. Your eyes are on the TV as you lean closer to Bob, “Whatcha watching?”
Bob stares at you, “That’s your opening line?”
You look at Bob, “What am I supposed to say?”
“Maybe ‘Hello terrifying cosmic entity? Gonna destroy the city today?’”
You stared at Bob for a moment before shrugging. “I already know your name. And you’re really not scary. I mean, you bake sugar cookies,” you giggled slightly, turning your attention back to the TV. Bob turned his own attention forward, settling in more comfortably next to you.
Over time, Bob notices the little things you do. You save him a seat next to you at dinner. You ask to taste test his cookies. You message him stupid memes that make him laugh silently to himself. You drag him to movie nights, either with the team or just the two of you together.
Moments with you slowly became the highlights of Bob’s days. You almost made him feel normal.
—
But Bob still had his doubts, overthinking your intentions. It didn’t help whenever he heard the team talking to you privately.
He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but he couldn’t help but to listen as he passed by your room. Your door was slightly ajar when he heard Bucky’s voice say his own name.
“We’re just trying to be careful, you know? We don’t know when the next time Bob’ll snap or what makes him tick off. New York doesn't need another…situation.”
Bob paused, leaning against the wall. His ears perked up as you spoke, “And that’s fair, but it doesn’t excuse you guys treating him like a child. He’s a grown man with thoughts and feelings.”
“A bad day can lead to hundreds of hurt people.”
“Then don’t ice him out. Be a friend. Someone he can come to if he does have a rough time. What if Steve and the others had done that versus welcoming you after your whole winter soldier thing?”
“Well…they kind of did.”
“You know what I mean.”
Bucky sighed heavily, “I just think you really shouldn’t spend so much alone time with him. You never know what he’s capable of.”
You tried defending him, but all Bob could hear were Bucky’s words. He was right. You shouldn’t be around him. He’s dangerous. You deserve to be safe.
Eventually, Bob slowly begins to pull away. He starts to miss movie nights, skips meals, and avoids the common areas as best as he could. He starts avoiding you.
—
Like Bob, you’re not an idiot. You notice whenever you get near him, Bob bolts away out of any area or conversation before you could say anything. It bothered you, but it quickly turned into feeling more hurt. You didn’t know if you did something wrong or if Bob had lost interest in you all together. You didn’t have answers, but you were determined to find out. You searched his usual spaces; the common area, the little nook in the debrief room, his room, anywhere. Eventually, you thought about the rooftop. Bob mentioned he went there if he needed air when the room got small. And right now, the tower was beginning to make you feel small.
You made your way up the stairs, taking careful steps and trying to not let your own emotions get the best of you. Once you made your way outside, you glanced around. After a moment, you found a familiar head of curly brown hair at the edge of the building. You made your way and found Bob sitting at the ledge, looking over the city. The world around quietly bustled in the background as the sun began to set. Without saying a word, you took a seat next to Bob, dangling your feet over the edge. Neither of you looked at each other. Your eyes stayed forward, feeling one another’s presence. The air settled.
Bob was the first one to speak, “You know what the worst part is of all of this?” Bob asked while gesturing his hand in a circle.
You tilted your head, “What?”
“Nobody trusts me.”
You don’t deny it. Bob doesn’t deny it. You both know it’s true. “They’re just scared right now.”
“Same thing,” Bob states. His eyes drift over to you, building up the courage to ask the question that’s been haunting him. “But why aren’t you?” There’s a brief pause before he continues, “You should be.”
“Bob-”
“I’m serious. You saw what happened not even two months ago.”
“I did-”
“What if it happens again?” His eyes search your face.
You looked down for a moment, debating your words before turning your eyes to him. “I am scared.”
Bob froze at your words, “What?”
“I know what happened Bob. I was there. I know what you can be capable of, but I’m not staying because I think you’re perfectly safe.” You turn your body towards him fully, your hand laying gently on his. “I’m here because I think you’re worth staying for.”
Bob stared into your eyes as you held his gaze. For a moment, his mouth opens to argue but quickly shuts. He wanted to list every reason why you should leave him, why he wasn’t worth the risk. But for the first time, he couldn't think of any excuses. No words came out. Just silence. Your hand stayed over his, warm and steady. Certain.
The wind shifted around the city, carrying a warm air. Neither of you moved for a moment.
Bob exhaled shakily, “I heard you talking with Bucky.”
Confusion sets across your face, “When?”
“A few days ago. I was walking past your room when I heard my name and stood outside your room,” he confesses as his gaze drops down, looking at your joined hands.
You quickly realized what he was talking about. “Bob…”
“He wasn’t wrong, you know,” his voice is quieter, more timid. “They’re all just being careful around me. Watching. Waiting for the moment I inevitably mess up.” His fingers slightly twitch under yours. “I thought maybe staying away from you would be the easier thing to do. Safer.”
Your brows creased together, “Easier for who?”
Bob didn’t answer right away as if he didn’t trust what he was allowed to feel yet. He let out a humorless laugh, “For you.”
You weren’t angry at Bob. You understood him, but you wanted him to understand you. “Do you know how many places I looked for you?”
Bob’s eyes raised back up to you, watching your face scrunch. “What?”
“The answer is everywhere. I looked all around the tower for you,” your voice softened as you spoke to him. “The common room, kitchen, your room, even the little nook you sit during meetings where you think nobody notices you.” A ghost of a smile flashes over his face, but not enough to stay plastered on his lips. “I was worried, Bob.”
Your words landed heavy on Bob’s chest. He swallowed the lump in his throat, looking away to the city for a moment, “Most of the team leave whenever I show up somewhere.”
You didn’t hesitate, “Well, good thing I’m not most of the team.”
The rooftop went still. The atmosphere settled between the two of you, thicker yet warmer. Bob’s eyes fell onto your hand again but this time, he shifted beneath you. He tested you. His hand flipped up, touching yours as his fingers slid between yours. Bob was hesitant at first, but held you firmly when you didn’t make an effort to move away from him. He expected you to. You didn’t.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The city below kept moving as the sun set below the horizon. It was loud and full. Up here with you, the rooftop was quiet but charged. The sun set the two of you in a golden light.
Bob wanted to argue; his body screamed to push you away. But he can’t. Couldn’t. Because for once, someone stayed anyway. He looked like he still didn’t believe he deserved this, but for the first time in weeks, Bob wasn’t thinking about becoming Sentry or the Void. He was just being, sitting beside someone who hadn’t left or moved.
dex is such a freak that he makes you share a straw for your milkshakes because he thinks of it as indirect kissing :( suggestive, mdni. pre relationship dex.
he’ll swat your hand away when you go to put a second straw in, or he’ll take your straw out. or, he’ll just grab your face in his big calloused hand to keep you still for him, making your lips pucker, and shove his straw in your mouth after he’s taken a good sip.
“see? there, not so hard.” it’s almost crooned condescendingly before he gives your cheek a final squeeze.
leaving him to just stare at your lips as they finally wrap around where his mouth just was, ignoring the way you glare at him. because all he could think about was that your saliva was mixing with his.
your saliva was touching his. your saliva was touching his. your mouth your mouth your mouth. he swallows his own saliva that’s pooled in his mouth at the thought.
ur still in college and he spoils you as much as he can — buying u gifts, taking you places, going on shopping sprees and picking u up at the end of the day when he could.
you’d totally drop by the courthouse to give him lunch. coworkers giving him sideyes as you practically cling to his side and talk about eachothers days ^_^ basically making out in the corners of hallways and in his office because ur just tryna make up for lost time !!!
sitting in his office with him, perched on his lap while the people nearby can just see it all due to the glass walls. ur either having arms wrapped around his neck, hands playing with his tie or running ur hands over his body and complimenting how good he looks. :3
him being all grabby with you in public, pinching and smacking ur ass as u two walk together. hands on ur hips, back or shoulder as he keeps you close to his side — letting you cling to him as much as you want! just wanting the whole world to know you two are together.
u leave marks lipstick stains on him and his clothes, basically marking ur territory >_<
constantly teasing him for being older. "hey. u knew him didn’t you?" and ur pointing at a photo of a literal dinosaur. plus sending him random images u find online and soon hes too, quoting random ass phrases to his close colleagues.
he teases you when u can’t keep up during sex. "you alright there, baby?" "still think i’m an old man?" "s’okay baby, daddy’s here."
thinkin about stepdad dex in prison (maybe he killed one too many boys in his stepdaughter’s class idk) with her visiting him
WAITTT UR MIND THIS IS SO GOOD
you guys even have scheduled phone calls and he calls you everyday to talk to his little girl </3
like he has photos of you on his wall, looking at the printed picture is the only thing that keeps him sane. and thankfully they put him in his own cell so he doesn’t kill his cellmate for even sparing a glance at his precious girl. + the little letters you send him with your perfume sprayed in it, a little something to get him going.
you visit him twice a week on loop, a schedule that is organized, absolute enough that dex can tolerate some time away from you. you never miss a day of your visit!! showing up in a pretty outfit that you know dad will like, all short and tight in the right places, sitting across from him and the screen.
you are all smiles when you see dex, he is sitting on the chair with his legs spread out, hands cuffed to the table in his orange jumpsuit. he looks grim until he sees you, immediately your stepdad is grinning and picking up the phone.
“hi daddy!”, you would squeal when you pick up the phone—putting your manicured hand up on the glass as if to still feel him, dex puts his hand right on yours in his side of the glass.
“there’s my pretty girl, hi sweetheart.” he coos in that deep voice, you guys talk for as long as you can and you are telling him about all the stuff you’ve been up to while he’s away. you tell him all about school and how you’re doing so good (the one you had to transfer to because he killed the ex boyfriend that coincidentally attended the last university as you, and the boy in one of your classes that he beat to a pulp for sending a flirty text to you in instagram), telling him that you got the money that he sends you every week and all that.. then you ask him how he’s been in prison and he makes it sound like it’s all sunshine and rainbows to protect you </3
it hurt him to see you so scared the night they took him away, you could barley breath from how hard you were crying and it hurt dex so much! taking him away from his little girl like that ugh
he literally got himself in more trouble and more time because he chose to fight the officers and almost kill one of them while they put him in the cop car. he almost crashed out when he had court and heard the amount of time they wanted him to serve. especially since you were in the crowd and bawled the moment you heard it..
…
and when it’s the end of the visit— you always start tearing up cos you know you won’t see him until a couple of days, your lip trembling as you start saying how much you love him and you’ll see him later. dex tells you to be quit it and be good, “it’s okay, you’ll see daddy in a couple of days alright? be good and show dad how much you miss him huh?”
still sniffling as you giggle a little, you prop your legs open and try to shake you hips forward so dex could see, always leaving him with a little show. and in the tiny skirt you have on its not hard for him to see the cute panties you put on for him, all lacy and cute, ones he used to pull off your legs back at home..
he can see the patch of wetness on the fabric, his dick already getting stuff from the sight of his girls cunt all needy like that!! you have to go so you can only slide your panties to the side for a moment and let your stepdad see your glistening little clit behind the glass, looking to the side nervously as dex takes in the sight.
the guard comes to escort you out because visiting hours are over and you quickly flip your skirt down, getting up and blowing a kiss to dex—“i love you so much daddy, ill see you next week!” and dex overbearingly gets up with a bulge in his pants, scrunching his nose up to coo a kiss at you. “dad loves you too sweetheart.”
How do you think stepdad!dex would react of you didn't pass the pussy inspection? Finds out his sweet little girl has been acting naughty with someone else? maybe she got a secret bf her age that she didn't want him to find out about
omgg the way he would crash out silently 😵💫 he wouldn’t let you know you didn’t pass immediately, he lets you figure out that you upset him and misbehaved..
like before you had told dex you were gonna hang out with some friends, dressed up a little to prettily to only be hanging out with your friends..
he even had to pull up your babydoll top because your tits we’re out just a little to much for his liking, he let you leave with a little smack to your ass and a kiss, telling you not to stay out late. and your stepdad let you leave the house with the impression that he would be waiting back at home for you—when he really followed his little girl the whole day.
dex trailed behind you all day while you walked cluelessly with a boy. dex had seen the guy dm you on insta when he went through your phone but ignored it, it was harmless and he trusted you.
but now he knows he shouldn’t have!!
you just wanted to have a little fun, and you barely even went all the way, only a few sloppy kisses and some dry humping with the guy before you got turned off and left.
you came back into the house around 8 pm which was just before the curfew dex set for you, tip toeing your way up the stairs. by the time you get to your room and open the door you can see your step dad sitting there calmly and you know you’re cooked <\3
he motioned for you to come sit and you made your way over there with little steps and your head bowed to the ground.
you told dex about your “hang out”, replacing the things you did with the boy with your friends instead—like going to the cafe with and having a little get together at their house. you were lying through your teeth and it was hard for dex to not teach you a lesson then and there. by the end of your lie, you were avoiding his gaze because you knew what was coming :(
“im glad you had fun sweetheart. just gonna touch you a bit before you go to bed alright? it’ll be quick i know you’re a good girl.” dex smiles behind you, you breath out a little “mhm..” as you lay your back on his chest, spreading your legs for him like usual. with each movement you knew dex was going to find out how extra wet you are today, cunt slick with arousal and you both knew why. your step dad flipped your skirt upwards on your tummy and tapped your hips so you could lift them up lightly to take of your damp panties, you heard a low whistle you as soon as they glided off you. “jesus baby..”
they were heavier than usual with a big patch of wetness in the middle which was already plausible evidence, but dex wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt since you were in for a heavy punishment anyway. you’re whimpering as dex ghosts his finger over your pussy, he’s kissing the back of your head and cooing, “aw s’alright princess I promise. it’ll be alright soon. just tell dad what happened to make you so wet hm?”
you really don’t want to. you’re shaking your head with a frown as dex finally touches your wet cunt, messy and hot to the touch. “di-didnt do anything daddy.. i dunno why s’wet please-“ you plead, squirming around while dex plays with your sloppy hole, prodding his fingers in your slit then taking it out to spread your drippings on your little bud. “you know better than to lie to me sweetheart.. is it that little boy that’s teaching you to lie to your dad like that? am I gonna have to talk to him?” and your eyes widen with fear immediately, you didn’t know that he knew about the boy and now you were really in for it..
next thing you knew you were stripped of all your clothes, your ass sore from how much he slapped and spanked it. it was sure to bruise tomorrow :(
your stepdad was fucking you in the harshest pace now, forcing your back into a painful arch as he bunched your hair in his fist. not a thought was in your brain from how deep dex was thrusting into you, you could feel every vein and inch in your achey pussy and there were no signs of him stopping. “raised you better than that baby.. tell me, are you gonna keep seeing that boy?” dex barked with a particularly deep rock of his hip, you could only respond with a whiney “mm”, your eyes probably rolled to the back of your head at this point.
dex chuckled before delivering a smack to your ass, “use your words.”, and you were babbling now to find them, lips all messy with drool. “wo-won’t see’hm again dad promise! m’sorry Im really s-sorry!” is what you cried out, feeling yourself cumming for the third time now and it hurt a bit. dex slowed his hips down a bit after hearing how genuine you sounded, the ripples of your ass lessoning. “I know sweetie i know, such a big girl telling me the truth.” dex huffs, grinding his hips into you slowly in a way that feels so good. you could hear the squelches of your mixed cum pooled between your legs, it’s all sticky and messy whenever dex moved :((
you whine out a “please don’t be mad daddy! I didn’t do anything with him p-promise..” again and again until you are a puddle of tears, chest heaving up and down in hopes that dex will believe you. your stepdad dad releases his hold on your hair and scoops you into his lap, immediately you curl into him and start sniffling in his shoulder about how sorry you are.. “there you go my sweet girl let it all out, i know you’re sorry. did so well for daddy, think you learned your lesson real well huh?”
you nod shyly, still hidden in the crevis of his shoulder as dex rocks you back and forth slightly, just until you stopped crying. “just needed dad to remind you who owns this pretty pussy yeah?” and you come up from his shoulder to whisper a needy, “yeah, needed daddy to remind me..”, kissing his lips softly while dex smoothes his hands over your throbbing ass with a smile.
There's something so sexy about the way Dex acts with you, so gently dominant. Like he knows he's always in control. And the way he teases you.
He's always pointing at you or gesturing while giving an order, like you're a little dog. But he does it in such a playful way that you can't get mad at him. Because for him, it's all just a bit of fun. Because he knows that if he asks with that sly smile you love so much, you won't be able to refuse.
Dex will pat a part of his body when he wants you to come closer or sit down. "Come here," he says, gently patting his thigh, and you obey and sit on his lap (if you don't, he pulls you closer by the waist). Sometimes he doesn't even need to speak. He nods, indicating a spot, and knows you'll follow, or he gently taps the mattress, looking intently at you, waiting for you to snuggle up to him.
Yeah, that little shit knows that even if you pretend to be mad at him, you're not really. And he knows how to make that frown disappear. You always go back to him. He knows you so well.
And when he pats a part of your body? Oh boy, that's a whole other story. Does he want you to stand up from somewhere or sit down somewhere else? He gives you a gentle pat, patting the side of your buttock. Is he dressing (or undressing) you and needs you to lift your hips for a few seconds? Dex is patting your thigh, saying, "Up." That's right, he always has an excuse to touch your body and pat your ribs near your bust or your back lengthwise and widthwise, like when you're sitting on his lap with your forehead resting on his shoulder, exhausted. He'll hold you and pat your lower back. "Just a little longer, hang on a little longer for me, yeah?"
And sometimes, just sometimes, when he's feeling more playful, he uses his massive testosterone to carry you wherever he wants. Although it only happens when you're being stubborn. And it's almost always him reaching over you, bending down, grabbing your waist, and pulling you down onto his shoulder, your fists pounding his back, begging him to put you down. He lets out a low laugh and gives you a gentle (always gentle) spank.
Dex rarely misses anything. He notices everything, every detail about you. If you're cold, hungry, angry, etc. And lately, he's noticed you've been acting a little odd.
He's seen you several times in a row sitting and reading on the sofa, which in itself wasn't unusual since he knew you liked to read. What was unusual was how you did it.
-Book held high, covering your face.
-Knees drawn up to your chest, a defensive position.
-Head bowed, trying to hide or go unnoticed.
And the most interesting thing of all
-Blushing cheeks.
It was strange. It was like watching diluted ink creep beneath your skin. A soft pink that spread first down your neck, then up your cheeks, finally reaching the tips of your ears, where it turned a deeper red. And not only that, Dex also noticed your breathing quickening slightly. First, you inhaled deeply through your nose until you seemed to need more air, then you gently parted your lips, breathing through your mouth.
And when he wanted to know what you were reading, noticing out of the corner of your eye that he was getting closer, you'd quickly close the book and hide it under a cushion near you or under your bottom, sitting on it. And you'd look at him with a smile as if nothing had happened. But he could tell it was forced and how nervous you were about almost being caught.
So, when you weren't looking, he went to your bookshelf and started investigating which book had you so nervous and why. It wasn't hard to find. It was marked with a bookmark and still smelled of your perfume, as he confirmed after inhaling the book's cover. And when he looked at the front, he didn't see anything unusual, except, well, for the title. Was it... suggestive? Dex consulted the synopsis on the back of the book and... wow.
Well, well, well. So this is what you liked to read? Erotic books. A smug grin spread across Dex's face. A crooked, mocking one. He chuckled softly and tapped the book against his hand twice slowly and deliberately. He already had a plan.
Another day, again, you were on the sofa again, reading one of your suggestive books. Dex was in the kitchen, drinking from a glass of water, watching you. Your back was to him, yet he noticed you shifting uncomfortably on the cushion, gripping the pages of the book more tightly than you should, or squeezing your legs together. He smiled to himself. You looked like a pubescent teenager.
Without warning, he silently slipped out of the kitchen and stood beside the sofa, behind you. When you sensed his presence, you raised your head to look at him and let out a startled squeak like a mouse, pressing the book to your chest so he couldn't see what you were reading. There he was, smiling a bit mischievously, his head hovering upside down above you, his hands resting on the back of the sofa on either side of you, arms outstretched.
"Geez! Dex! You scared me.." you murmur giggling nervously
He narrowed his eyes slightly, still smiling, "Whatcha reading?"
You unconsciously cover the book's cover with both hands, palms open and fingers outstretched. Poor thing, you don't know he already knows your little secret.
"N-nothing! It's... uh, romance. Kind of boring..." you stammer without taking your eyes off him.
'Romance', yeah sure.
"Mmh," he hums with a soft, low grunt. Then, without saying anything, he walks around the sofa and sits next to you. You look at him, confused and scared, as you press the book closer to you.
"I didn't know you liked those kinds of books..." he remarks, draping an arm over the back of the chair and over your shoulders. Without explicitly saying so, he implies that he knows which book it really is. You stare at him, wide-eyed, wondering if he's figured you out or not.
"Yeah, well... I read a bit of everything, you know," you say quickly, wanting to change the subject.
Oh I can tell. He looks at you again with a small, crooked smile and nods. Then, before you can say anything, he gently extends his hand toward the book. "May I see it?" he asks casually.
Your breath catches in your throat and you turn red. "No!" you say abruptly, then clear your throat awkwardly. "Sorry, uhm, I mean, I-I didn't think you liked this genre..."
"I'll like everything you like," he said, shrugging, and without waiting for another answer, he slipped a finger inside the book and pulled it away from your hands and chest. Dex turned it over in his hands, pretending to admire the cover and spine as if he were seeing it for the first time. You covered your face with both hands, expecting some joke or sarcastic comment. But nothing of the sort happened. Instead, he said
"Would you read it to me?" he asks as he hands the book back to you.
You grab the book, confused, and look at it skeptically. "And since when do you want me to read you something like this...?"
He chuckles softly, "From now on," then places his hands on your hips and pulls you onto his lap, your back pressed against his chest. You gasp in surprise and turn your head to look at him, frowning. He takes the opportunity to rest his chin on your shoulder.
"Go on, read" he order politely
You want to protest, but he's looking at you with such intensity that you can't refuse. Reluctantly, you begin reading aloud from where you left off. Dex's hands are still resting on your waist, sliding down a little toward your hips, tracing circles with his thumbs on your skin through the fabric of your clothes.
"The prince showed his affection through kisses that left a wet trail on the path of the commoner towards her throat-"
Suddenly your voice catches in your throat as you notice Dex's hand sliding down your stomach and into your lower abdomen. His fingers are now brushing against the waistband of your pants in the front.
"Dex...? W-what are you doing?" you stammer, swallowing loudly.
"Keep reading" He said simply, giving you a quick kiss on the shoulder that sent shivers down your spine
You swallow again and sigh. You try to refocus on your reading.
"The lady closed her eyes as her beloved proceeded to unbutton the front of her low-cut dress. Then his lips began to cover the skin of h-her br..easts.."
With your face red, your voice trembled again and you broke off when Dex's fingers slipped under your underwear, barely passing the elastic over your mons pubis.
"D-Dex.." you warned him
"Read a little more. I want to hear you," he replied without flinching.
Damned bastard. Cursing and muttering under your breath, you gripped the book a little tighter and read nervously.
"The bl-blond-haired man skillfully lifted the commoner's dress while- ah!"
You gasped and instinctively arched your back, unable to finish your sentence, as Dex's middle finger slowly slid between your folds. The worst part was that it stayed there, motionless.
"Mmh, and? While what?" he murmured near your neck
You closed your eyes tightly, stifling a moan that threatened to escape your lips. You opened your mouth and gasped, taking another breath.
"Ah! Uh, I.." Your mind started racing and you couldn't think straight. He kissed your shoulder again to give you courage. You managed to open your eyes and continued reading in a trembling voice "Whi- while ngh the prince's kisses continued to p-pamper her chest. The man only ssstopped to bend down and—and shit!"
You cursed panting as Dex began to move his fingers, sliding them up and down and applying a little pressure. You gritted your teeth, growling in frustration, while with one hand you gripped the cushion beside you, digging your nails in, your back arching again.
"Damn it, Dex! It'sss n-not fair! Oh~" you said in a restrained voice, and then you let out your first moan, unable to hold it back any longer.
"Not fair? What's not fair is that you've been hiding this from me, sweetheart." He said, and to tease you, he moved his finger higher to massage your clitoris, eliciting a louder moan from you.
"Now read." he said in a firm voice
With your mouth open in an O you gasped and breathed a little more heavily "I-I c-can't!" you whined
"Yes, you can. Do it," he ordered, continuing to caress your clitoris in circles, spreading your moisture.
Your breathing became more rapid, your chest rising and falling. With trembling movements, you managed to grasp the book again and clumsily, anxiously opened it to the same page. You parted your lips slightly, panting.
"T-the... blond man'ss head.. ah! disappearedbeneaththe... commoner's skkkirt.. fuck!. S-s-soon the... library.... was filled...with.. ah!.. ah!... echoes of euphoria, and- and the woman's chest roseandfell... omg Dex!!, oh!"
You were reading breathlessly, gasping with each sentence as if you'd run a marathon, and the air was coming out through your mouth, which was starting to make you slightly dizzy. Just then, Dex had inserted his index and middle fingers inside you in a hook shape, making a 'come here' gesture, his fingertips brushing against your walls near your entrance. He did it with precise slowness, taking his time to watch you crumble.
"Yyess, yes right there!" You groaned breathlessly.
You tossed the book aside and closed your eyes, raising your eyebrows as your hips chased the friction, moving back and forth. He saw you throw the book and a smirk appeared on his face.
"But what about reading?" He teased you
"Oh fuck that!" You shrieked an octave higher
He chuckled and began pumping his fingers deeper, hitting the right spot. Your eyelids fluttered, and you rolled your eyes back as your back pressed closer to his chest. Your hand flew to the nape of his neck, tugging at his short hair. High-pitched whimpers escaped your lips, and your hips began to sway more insistently as your face contorted with pleasure. Wet, sloshing sounds filled the room. Just seeing you like this, Dex felt the heat rush to his cheeks and his pants tighten. He began to feel your walls throb and tighten around his fingers, your thighs tensing and trembling slightly.
"You want to come, don't you? Yeah, you do," he gasped breathlessly in your ear, his hot breath tickling you. "Then do it. I got you."
While his two fingers continued pumping, his thumb rubbed your clitoris up and down, dragging the calloused pad of his finger along. You opened your mouth a little wider, letting out a soft moan as you pushed your hips down further, chasing your orgasm. And with short 'Ah!, ah!, ah!' sounds that grew higher and higher as you came closer, you finally came on his fingers, screaming his name.
When you collapsed limply against him, Dex withdrew his fingers from inside you and wrapped his arms around your waist as you rested the back of your head on his shoulder, breathing heavily. He waited for your breathing to stabilize, and when it did, he gently stroked the side of your hair with his clean hand and placed a slow, brief kiss on your neck that sent shivers down your spine.
"Next time," he whispered huskily, "tell me about your fantasies."
warning: MDNI 18+!!, (?semi-) public sex, breeding, rough sex?, chasing, choking, unprotected sex, stalking, face holding, dacryphilia, daddy kink
A/N: listening to dollhouse while writing this btw 🎀
The idea had started as a joke. One careless comment while the two of you walked through the forest trails, hands intertwined.
“You know,” you start. “if you ever decided to become a serial killer, you’d be terrifying one.”
Dex glanced at you from the corner of his eye.
“Why?”
“Because you’re weirdly good at sneaking up on people. But I think I would be able to run away from you.”
“Really? Want me to prove otherwise?” His expression didn’t change. The challenge in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. You laughed anyway.
“Sure.” You say laughing but you obviously don’t mean it seriously. But apparently it was serious enough for Dex.
That was your first mistake. Dex stopped walking next to you, leaving your hand. You took another few steps before realizing he wasn’t beside you anymore.
Turning around, you found the trail empty. Dex no longer to be found, no movement no nothing.
A knot formed in your stomach.
“Dex?” You call out for him but he doesn’t answer. The forest suddenly felt much larger than it had a minute ago.
“Ha Ha. Very funny.” You rolled your eyes but still nothing.
Then, somewhere off to your right, a branch snapped. You spin toward the sound but there was no one. The undergrowth swayed slightly before becoming still again. Your pulse now kicking up.
“Dex? Come on, stop. You proved your point.”
A shadow moved between two trees ahead. Gone before you could focus on it. You started walking a little faster. Every instinct told you he was nearby. He is somewhere watching you and waiting.
You can’t see him, but somehow that made it worse. Because Dex isn’t the kind of person who rushed things. He observes, calculates and then makes a move. He probably enjoys how lost and slightly scared you look.
The forest seems full of him. Every rustle of leaves made your head turn. Every shifting shadow looked like a figure standing just out of sight.
Then you caught a glimpse of him, far off to your left. Motionless between the trees. His dark jacket blends into the shadows but his eyes are fixed on you. He is watching you.
The moment you looked directly at him, he stepped behind a tree and vanished.
“Hell no.” You immediately broke into a run. Panic escapes and you could swear you felt your adrenal glands release adrenaline into your bloodstream, triggering the fight-or-flight response.
The trail started to blur beneath your feet as you sprinted through the woods. For several seconds there was nothing behind you.
No footsteps. No sound. Nothing.
And maybe this should scare you because Dex is still not chasing you. He is letting you think you have a chance to escape him. He wants you to think that you can actually out-smart him.
But then you hear it, the unmistakable sound of someone moving fast through the tree.
You risk a glance over your shoulder and this was a big mistake. Because now you see him. And he doesn’t look like he’s struggling to keep up with you. Just gaining on you with terrifying ease. His focus only on you. The sight alone makes your heart beat even faster than before and you’re suddenly able to run faster than before.
Every obstacle, every root and fallen branch, seems invisible to him. He moves like he’d already predicted exactly where you were going.
“Dex!” The grin on his face is an answer enough.
You push yourself harder. The distance between you barely changed. Instead, the distance started shrinking.
You feel his presence before he touched you. In a rush of a moment, you feel his strong arms warp around your waist. You let out a yelp as he tackles you both into a patch of leaves. The impact knocks the breath from your lungs.
Before you could recover, Dex had already pinned you beneath him. His breathing steady despite the chase. You, on the other hand, were taking deep breaths.
“You really think you could run from me?” The corner of his mouth twitches upward.
You stared up at him, still trying to catch your breath. “You’re insane.”
“You ran.” A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Because you were stalking me through the woods like a psychopath.”
“I wasn’t stalking you baby. I was just observing you.” Dex replies while holding deep eye contact with you and you see how his eyes are filled with lust. His eyes undressing you and his mind creating unholy scenarios about you. His gaze flicked around the forest as if he was only just noticing.
Leaves clung to both of you. Your hair was a mess. There was probably dirt on your face and somehow he still looked completely focused on you. As if nothing else existed.
The energy from the chase had faded into something more intimate. Something that made your pulse race for entirely different reasons.
His gaze dropped to your lips and you’re trying so hard to stay focused. You’re trying do hard to push the naughty thoughts away because you’re still in the forest. Anyone could walk by and see you. But, fuck, you also need him so bad right now, you can’t wait until you’re back home.
“Dex.” you whispered. He didn’t answer.
Instead, he leans closer. Slow enough that you could stop him if you wanted. Slow enough that the anticipation becomes almost unbearable.
His lips finally meet yours, it was gentle at first. But that doesn’t last long. Gentle never lasts that long with Dex.
The kiss turns into something passionate and intense, both of you trying to assert dominance. But you know damn well you won’t succeed. It’s impossible.
You smiled against the kiss, feeling him pause in brief confusion before he kissed you again. His hand slides up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing against your cheek.
You open your mouth for him to enter push his tongue inside and make contact with your tongue. The kiss now turns into something messy, it sends heat traveling down your body.
Dex breaks away from the kiss and the only thing that still connects your lips with his is the saliva string between you.
His hungry eyes are still focused on you and his hands move towards your jeans. He unbuttons them slowly, ripping them off of you now along with your panties. He removes his jeans low enough only for his hard cock to spring free and slap against his lower stomach, pre cum already leaking from his tip.
Dex starts playing with your clit but he doesn’t give you the satisfaction of pushing his fingers inside you. “Cmon baby. Already this wet for me, think you can do more than that hm?”
His fingers now picking up the speed as he rubs his two fingers against your clit. Your back aching now and you feel your needy pussy pulsing underneath you. You close your eyes at the feeling but that only causes Dex to harshly grab your face with the same fingers he used to rub your clit.
“Don’t you even dare to look away.” Dex warns you before pushing your face away. You do as he says and now watch him spread your legs wide open until he found the perfect position. Now, he’s standing just between your legs, pussy in the open for him and begging to feel his big veiny cock.
“It will only hurt for a second, take a deep breath baby.”
You do as he says and take a deep breath. In the meantime you feel his cock slowly entering your needy cunt, spreading your walls around him. You don’t dare to close your eyes.
He starts moving now, sending deep thrusts inside your wet pussy, hips grinding into you.
Eventually, you feel him picking up the speed. His thrusts become faster and rougher each time. You feel with each time he’s gliding into you how his tip is sweetly abusing your cervix.
Each time he catches you almost closing your eyes he would grab your face and force you to look at him roughly fucking you.
“Look at yourself. You’re doing so good baby.”
“Dex hmph-” You moan his name.
His veiny hands now release your face and instead finds their way around your throat. The view alone made his cock twitch inside you.
He pounds his hips into you. You let out a whine, digging you teeth into your lower lips.
“Such a pretty mess. Hmph- Taking my cock like a good fucking girl. Let me hear you baby.”
“Daddy-” You softly moan which causes Dex to laugh and shake his head. How do you plan on looking at your father’s face after calling Dex daddy on multiple occasion.
“Yeah? Does hmph Daddy’s cock make you struggle mh?”
And as if it wasn’t already overstimulating you, you feel his other free hand move down your body, fingers now simultaneously rubbing against your clit while he is still fucking you roughly. The feeling too overwhelming for you and you feel tears building in your eyes and a sob escapes from you.
“Awww why are you crying?” Dex mocks you with a smirk on his ridiculous handsome face. “Such a mess for me. Such a mess for Daddy.”
As hot tears fall down your eyes, you can feel Dex’s cock twitch inside you at the sight of you crying because of him. It turns him on seeing you with your mouth hang open, you being a crying mess, skin mapped with goosebumps and looking disheveled.
You start clenching around him now, squeezing around his cock which makes it a little harder for him to thrust. Dex whimpers at the feeling.
It starts getting harder for you once you feel yourself holding onto the edge. The urge to cum getting harder to ignore now.
“Please, I need to-” Dex cuts you off before you can finish your sentence.
“I know I know. Think you can hold it in a little longer? I’m almost there.”
“Please, Please Please Daddy let me-.”
“I said hold it in a little longer.” He warns you immediately, voice dangerously low. You cry quietly and shut up, not wanting to anger him again.
After a while, you feel his thrusts become sloppy and his cock starts twitching inside you again. A desperate, pulling ache now forming inside him and the feeling to shoot his hot cum inside your pussy grows louder.
“I’m gonna cum inside you yeah? Fill you up real good.”
It doesn’t take him long until he quivers with the release, painting your walls white with his warm cum. A few seconds later you feel the shockwaves of pleasure wash over you and you cum hard enough to force Dex slightly out of you.
He smiles to himself and pulls out of you, letting himself fall next to you. Both of you taking heavy breaths now.
The warm mixed cum slowly escaping from your pussy catches your attention and the feeling makes you feel a little dizzy.
Dex slowly lifts himself up before kissing your tears stained face, distracting you a little before he pushed the mixture of your releases up inside your pussy again with his two fingers. You gasp at the contact.
“Learned your lesson, baby? You can’t escape from me.”
@poindextersgirlforever @joolapopola @weallhaveadestiny @pearlvirag @angelz-twinstars @mskingbeann Finally finished writing this thanks to you guys xx 🫶🏻
Hear me out, paintball with shane but you are in a deer costume and you’re the live target. Running through the woods, giggling as Shane forces himself to slow down so the game lasts longer. The game coms to a stop when you feel a wet red thud on your chest, the paint trickling down. Thats when Shane rakes the initiative to laugh, giving you a big wet kiss before taking you against a tree.
20 something stalker!reader stalking 40 something bullseye. he uses the opportunity to "fuck some sense into you" whenever he gets his hands on you as if he's not just as obsessive and stalkerish. he wants you to know who's really in control.
he lets you believe you're trailing him but he's really just leading you down a dark alley. he ducks behind some rubble, holding his breath in anticipation as you draw nearer. he'll suddenly grab you by the waist and slap a hand over your mouth, spinning you and pressing your front against the rough brick wall.
of course this is exactly where you want to be, so you're immediately whining into his gloved hand and pressing yourself against him, pawing at him. he'll growl a sharp "be good," in your ear while one big hand pins your hands above your head and the other is tugging your bottoms down, and then his.
you feel his gloved hand between your legs. he'll spread your legs and reposition you so his dick slides into your already soaked cunt. he starts slow, thrusting in and out while rubbing sweet circles on your clit.
dex loves working you up, picking up the pace and listening to your pretty voice moan and whine and feel your hands flex in his big one.
he'll pound into you, the filthy sounds echoing in the empty alleyway. dex will get you so close, impossibly close, before he's pulling out and ripping his hand from your clit, jacking himself off until he's cumming on your pretty cunt and ass. he shows no inclination that he's going to listen to your begging and pleading, pulling your bottoms back up before he's stepping back and letting you slump against the rough wall.
read a post , loved it, my feed refreshed cause my face fell on my phone before i could like&reblog and now im depresssd….
but basically they were talking about dex not being able to stop hitting your g-spot and i can just imagine round 2 or three of him just being inside you, (if we're counting foreplay it'd be round 6)
dex would have to be on top, your legs hooked over either arm, him on his knees in front of you, pulling until your ass sat flush on his lap and his tip rubbed so deep inside you, there was no choice in the long, breathy whine you let out, pushing hot air directly into dex' open mouth hovering above yours, waiting for you to finish making those noises for him so he can keep mapping the inside of your mouth with his tongue
his hips would go from stationary to snapping fast and brutally at the drop of a dime. the instant your fingers slip down his nape to scratch along his shoulder and biceps. your non-verbal sign for him to keep going.
and i would imagine this is probably one of your first times having sex, at the very least with dex on top. which is why its such a surprise at the second roll of dex' hard cock (making you slicker with his pre cum) he's already abusing that spongey spot inside that has your breaths turning into gasps.
and he just. won't. stop.
an orgasm tears through you before you knew it. whether it be from the sight of dex' abs flexing with each thrust, the thin slayer of sweat making him fucking glow and your bodies cling to one another, or the adorable sounds he breathes into your ear through clenched teeth because he's trying so hard not to cum but—jesus christ you're squeezing him so tight, your nails are sinking into his skin, drawing tiny droplets of blood and he's just started.
you would tease him, laugh in his face if you were feeling mean enough, for even thinking of cumming so soon. but gods, dex can't resist the tight, warm wet hold you have on his dick. can't resist the praise you spew through your pouting moans. you're trying to stop him but urging him on at the same time.
dex' cock sits so hot inside you, hammering torturously like you were just another job for him to complete
but when you finish, he's not.
no where near it
because the only times dex has ever made you cum as fast as you make him finish, was that time you rode his face, glanced back and saw he was jerking himself off in time with you bringing yourself up and down on his tongue. or maybe he's just too distracted in everything, the rush of your arousal completely soaking his pubic hair, making everything just that much slicker, you clamping down on his so tight on his next pull of his strong hips, dex slips out and nearly cries.
oh, and when he messily pushes back in (on the first try mind you) he's going like a rabbit got ahold of a jackhammer with unlimited battery life. barely pulling out half an inch before jerking back into you, if only to make sure he doesn't slip again.
he's licking the sweat from your skin as you whine and stutter because its too much so quickly, you just came and now your head is starting to spin a little because of the heat radiating from the two of you. dex panting into your cheek whenever he doesn't have your skin pulled between his teeth.
you don't even realize it at first until one of dex' hands completely engulfs your smaller hand where it was clawing deep above his hip bone. your hips were jerking, lifting, flinching away but going absolutely nowhere due to the sheer weight of this massive man keeping you smothered under him
it hurt so fucking good. you needed him to stop, which you babble to him through tearful gasps as waves upon waves of icy hot pleasure continuously tear through your trembling body.
oh and poor dex, who would think he'd done something wrong and immediately comply only to flinch at your whiny scream, and fists banging on his shoulders asking him "why'd you stop!" as you slip a leg around his waist to egg him on
it would happen a couple more times, dex hitting your spot repeatedly, your pleasure so intense and unyielding you just have to slur out "stop stop stop stop stop stop" against the shell of his ear just for you to turn around a demand him to keep going once he listened.
to where, after the third or so time, dex just stops listening. he needs to make you cum, how can he possibly do that if you keep stopping him? if he had any thoughts in his head, dex would have assumed this was another cruel form of edging, he doesn't understand yet what the softer part of your walls he's hitting is. he just knows he's doing it.
so, the next time your half ass string of pleads hit his ears, dex does what you do the off chance you want to shut him up. and that's stuffing his pointer and middle finger in your mouth.
gods, does he mentally kick himself for not doing this earlier. he loved the sensation of your fingers in his mouth, especially if they're coated in your arousal (or his) spreading it all round his tongue. but your tongue dragging on the pads of his fingers, the wet pull of your lips sucking his fingers in further.
the same fingers fucking soaked in blood both metaphorically and every tuesday? tracing your teeth, pushing against the sharper parts until he's certain he's about to break skin, feeling your moans vibrate up his entire arm...
if your orgasm didn't suddenly trigger his own, dex 1000% would have cum the moment his middle finger ran along the back of your tongue.
you guys i was just watching how to get away with murder for the first time (ilysm viola davis you're my #1) and goddamn if wilson bethal is not fine as fuck in it. i didn't even know he was in the show and it was the most pleasurable surprise i've ever gotten from a tv show. like it was literal heart eyes and swooning whenever he appeared on my screen even when half those appearances were the same photo from some newspaper article for more than half the season
i have been thinking about watching hart of dixie just cause people have been saying thats his hottest role but i don't think i can stand the main actress?? ik i don't like her irl but is it worth it to watch? is her character at least a little likeable?
keep in mind i do not like romantic dramas i get second hand embarrassment so quick and easy i don't even like watching people kiss
dex relentlessly pounding into you, one of your legs wrapped around his hip and the other stretched over his shoulder. he's intently watching you come apart underneath him, savoring your endless panting and moaning. you're watching him just as carefully as you let him devour every piece of you.
bringing your soft hand to rest against his cheek, tracing his scar with your thumb. his brows furrow and his pace falters. for just a second, you see something different glint in his eyes before he's roughly flipping you over and pushing your face into the mattress.
his hot, sweaty body crowds you as he brings his face down to yours. growling lowly, "looking at me like that is dangerous, darling," as he fucks you deeper, harder.
dex cant ever be normal about you sending him voice messages, the first time you did it, it was something as simple as "hiii! are we still meeting up later?" he played it probably 15 consecutive times before he texted back his typical one word reply "yes." and days after hes still listening to it, uses the sound of your voice to fall asleep, listens to it while he eats or takes his walks or when he needs to wind down, he never figures out how to tell you how much he likes them, dex is far too embarrassed to ask you for more too, what if you laughed in his face or something?
he's heard you uttering the question in the recording probably like a billion times by the time you finally send him a brand new audio message, he presses play in a desperate haste, dex gasps at the sound of your voice saying something as innocent as "can't text right now, ill message you as soon as i get home okay?", hes elated to have brand new content to replay over and over again, hes probably gonna jerk off to it too
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