marvel au
tb*!bucky x fem!reader
a simple game of hide and seek for bragging rights turns heated when you and bucky cram into the same hiding spot.
Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, v fingering, sexual tension, gags/underwear gags, forced proximity, soft dom!bucky (at times), kissing, angst, grumpy!bucky, smug!bucky, there's some plot if you squint, flashback/memories, thunderbolts* au, no use of y/n, gif does not represent readers physical looks, lmk if i've missed anything
Word Count: 4.6k
A/N: hello! i've been on break awhile but this idea has been haunting me for months. still busy with uni, rip but i'll be on break again soon. thank you all for your kindness and patience! sorry for any typos - not proof read.
main masterlist
In all the months you’d worn the patchwork title of Avenger, or Thunderbolt—whichever shiny new label Alexei was spewing that week—you could only recall one moment where Bucky Barnes had truly seen you.
Most of the time, you were convinced you existed somewhere in his periphery. A stray Val had deposited on his doorstep, and he hadn’t yet figured out the return policy. An obligation disguised as a teammate.
That was the problem with Bucky: he was a reluctant leader. One who wore the mantle like an ill-fitted coat. Some days, you wondered if he carried it like a punishment. Like you were his punishment. He scowled through the endless missions, debriefs and press conferences, shouldering the team’s chaos as though it were his personal penance. And whenever his gaze happened upon you, it lingered—not warmly, not cruelly—but just long enough to remind you that Bucky Barnes had no fucking clue what to make of you.
It might have been easier to stomach if you didn’t catch yourself enjoying that scowl, or the way his eyes stripped you bare before dismissing you entirely.
You had been a late addition to the lineup, shoved into the mix courtesy of Val after she remembered you were another loose thread she hadn’t clipped yet. The others hadn’t exactly welcomed you with open arms—with the exception of Alexei, who would talk to a brick wall if it listened—no, the rest of them had eyed you like you were a trap waiting to be sprung. Cautious. That was the word. Cautious that Val had planted you as a spy, a saboteur, a fuse already lit and burning, placed directly into their laps.
And you, if you were honest with yourself, hadn’t exactly helped their suspicions.
You were awkward, brash in ways that rarely landed. Your humour had a habit of falling flat, your sarcam subtle enough to be mistaken for sincerity. It took weeks before the ragtag crew stopped stiffening every time you opened your mouth, bracing for a punchline to turn into a knife.
You had always made people nervous. Not just because of your ineptitude at social interaction, but because of something much deeper—a fundamental unease sewn into the fabric of who you were. Their worries about you being a spy weren’t entirely unfounded when your greatest power was the one thing that guaranteed distrust: invisibility. The ability to vanish at will. To linger unseen. Unsurprisingly, it made people jumpy, especially a messy group of reluctant heroes with more skeletons in their closet than the natural history museum. And whether you were present or not, your teammates always seemed half-convinced you were right there in the room with them, hidden in plain sight, listening to secrets that were never meant for you.
But over time, suspicion had given way to camaraderie. The wary glances, the stiff silences, the subtle double-checks that you were actually gone when you vanished… those had softened into something resembling friendship. Bob shared in your awkward humour, Yelena tolerated your vanishing act with an eyeroll. Even John had relaxed enough to grumble in your general direction without scepticism lacing every word.
But Bucky? He seemed inexplicably drawn to you, whether he was conscious of it or not. If it wasn’t the staring, it was a lingering—an ever-present awareness of where you were. At first, you’d told yourself it was distrust, his refusal to let you slip too far from sight in case you were truly up to something. But as the edges of that apprehension dulled with time, you were left with a more unsettling question: did he still see you as he had on day one, untouched by everything that had passed between you? Or was it something else entirely that kept him close?
And now—thanks to your own mouth and self-imposed hubris—you were shoulder-to-shoulder with the man himself
It had started innocently enough. Team bonding. Some backhanded comment from Alexei about the lack of wholesome group activities (though, Alexei’s idea of wholesome was sparring until blood was drawn). From there, the conversation had spiralled into a half-serious list of corporate-retreat level nonsense: trust falls, blindfolded obstacle courses, and Alcoholics Anonymous-level sharing circles.
Then, inevitably—as was a recurring pattern with the group—the conversation turned competitive. One misplaced claim from Yelena, stating she’d wipe the floor with everyone in a game of hide-and-seek, turned the sarcastic mumblings and cackling into chaos. Ava had scoffed and remarked she wouldn’t stand a chance. And you, naturally, couldn’t resist chiming in. ‘Hello? Invisibility? This isn’t even a contest!’
That was all it took. The discussion devolved into a full-blown shouting match, arguments about rules and loopholes. Until Bucky, exasperated and weary, muttered: ‘Why don’t you just play the damn game instead of arguing?’
You’d seen the regret in his face the second he said it, jaw tightening as Alexei leapt up, already claiming seeker.
And now you were stuffed into a wardrobe, pressed against the back panel between coats, invisible and smug in the knowledge you’d already won. That was until Bucky found you almost immediately. No hesitation, no circling the room for show. He just swung open the door like he’d known all along, stepping inside and shutting the world away without a word.
“You can’t hide in here with me—” You hissed, powers flickering out as you reappeared.
He shifted in place, his broad frame swallowing the narrow space, arm brushing yours as he settled in beside you. You held your breath, staring anywhere but at him, determined not to acknowledge how hot the air suddenly felt, or betray the way your body registered every inch of him.
“Thought you said you were gonna win this thing?” His voice was low, close enough that you felt it against your ear. “Figured I might as well join you in victory.”
“You’re a leech.” You huffed, though it came out thinner than intended. “How’d you even find me anyway? You could’ve at least pretended to struggle before waltzing in—”
His reply was almost a smirk, gone before it fully formed. “I knew exactly where you’d go.”
That snapped your head toward him before you could stop it, temple brushing the cool wood. His face was far closer than you’d anticipated, close enough that you caught the sharp lines of his jaw in the dimness, the steady weight of his gaze pinning you where you stood. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you whispered.
His gaze flicked down, raking over you in a way that felt deliberate. Your pulse stuttered, traitorous.
“Means,” he said finally, voice low, the corner of his mouth twitching again, “you’re not half as unpredictable as you think you are.”
You scoffed weakly, trying to mask the thrum in your chest. Because the truth was—however ridiculous as it seemed—you had been in this exact position before. And the more you thought about it, the less you believed he’d simply stumbled upon this spot. No, Bucky Barnes wasn’t a man who relied on accidents. He’d chosen this spot, chosen to shut himself in the dark with you, close enough to feel your every breath. Not for some cheap, shared victory… but for the very same reason you had.
—
Two months ago, Val had organised one of her endless galas for the sponsors of the New Avengers. In theory, it was a celebration of progress. In practice, it was a parade of donors, minor politicians and people who thought they were charming because they owned half of Manhattan. You and the rest of the team tried your best not to get too sucked into Val’s charades, but unfortunately, the Avengers Tower did need to get its funding from somewhere.
The tower hummed like a hive beyond the walls, champagne glasses clinking, rich laughter and polite conversation stretched thin.
You’d lasted all of twenty minutes, maybe less. Your fake smile had started to ache into something closer to a grimace by the time you slipped down a side corridor, ducking into one of the storage rooms the team used for overflow gear.
The room smelt faintly stale, with a vague scent of dust and polish. Boxes were stacked high and crooked to the ceiling on one side, while others were scattered across the room in various stages of unpacking. You perched on one, a wooden crate stamped with something that looked suspiciously like a Stark logo. The expensive silk of your dress pooled around your thighs, the slit up the side suddenly feeling extra reckless in the cool air. You bent over one leg, frowning at the bent buckle on the strap. The clasp refused to catch, no matter how carefully you coaxed it.
With a sigh, you fiddled and twisted the stubborn metal. It was nearly impossible to get a proper grip on the bloody thing with the perfectly manicured nails Val had insisted you had to match your outfit. You had laughed when the others had told you about Bob’s blonde moment under Val’s influence, but now you could only feel sympathy as you had fallen victim to her controlling ‘artistic vision’—
You jerked upright, nearly sliding off the crate as the door creaked open.
Bucky Barnes filled the doorway—broad shoulders haloed by the dim hall light, black suit cut sharp against the rugged line of him. For a heartbeat, he scanned the room on instinct, quick and assessing, until his eyes found you. Surprise flickered there, gone almost before you could be sure, replaced by the cool, unreadable calm you’d come to expect.
If you were the kind of person who bruised easily, you might have taken offence. From the day you’d joined the team he’d been courteous but distant, all clipped nods and careful silences. You’d long decided not to take it personally—Bucky distrusted everyone at first—but it didn’t stop the occasional sting.
“Jesus,” you muttered, pressing a hand to the deep V of your neckline where your heart still thumped. “Thought Val had sent someone to drag me back.”
One corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile but something dangerously close. “If Val were going to send anyone, it wouldn’t be me.”
A beat passed and you anxiously watched him.
“Relax. I’m hiding too.”
You blinked, caught off guard by the admission. Your head dipped as you glanced down at how you were sitting, and tried to subtly pull some of your skirt back over your thighs where the fabric had ridden up. “Bucky Barnes, party fugitive… didn’t expect that.”
His gaze lingered on you a beat too long before he stepped inside and let the door click shut behind him. “More common than you’d think.” He admitted it as if it were a guilty confession. He leaned a shoulder against a tower of boxes, watching you with that steady, unreadable look that always felt like it saw more than it should.
You chuckled, feeling yourself burn up under his gaze as you eased back onto your perch. “Guess that makes two of us.”
An awkward silence washed over both of you, filled only by the muffled party noise. You searched your memory for another time the two of you had been alone like this and came up empty. The thought sent a flicker of heat to your cheek, and you ducked your head again, pretending to fuss with the stubborn buckle.
“Something wrong with it?” His voice was closer now.
You jumped when you looked up—he’d crossed the room without a sound.
“The buckle….the buckles bent.” You stuttered, clearing your throat as you gave your foot a pathetic little wiggle. “Cheap metal. Or maybe I’m just cursed.”
“Let me see.”
Before you could protest, he lowered himself onto the boxes beside you. The cardboard dipped under his weight, bringing his shoulder almost flush with yours. His scent—cologne and faint leather filling your senses.
“Foot,” he instructed quietly, extending a hand. The vibranium plates caught the light in muted golds and blues.
You swallowed hard, mouth opening and closing as you fought for an excuse or reason not to, but came up empty. Heat crawled up your neck as you placed your leg across his lap. His cool fingers slid beneath your calf, steadying your leg, while the warm flesh of his other hand bracketed your shin. You felt every point of contact, his calloused palm against bare skin, the faint vibration of hidden mechanics within the vibranum as he thumbed the bent clasp back into place. It made you jump, just enough for his grip to tighten.
“Hold still,” he murmured, and you followed his command, lungs empty.
The room shrank to the sound of his breathing and the slow, deliberate press of his thumb. The buckle yielded with a clean snap.
“Good as new,” he hummed, but didn’t move his hand.
The metal plates cupped your ankle, thumb tracing the curve of your shin as though testing the smoothness of the skin. Slowly, almost lazily, his fingers slid higher, brushing the edge of your knee. A shiver climbed your spine, betraying you before you could hide it. For a breath, you could’ve sworn the air between you tightened.
Your pulse thundered.
He looked up, eyes darker now, mouth parting as if to speak—
“Where the hell are they?” Val’s voice rang down the hallway, the unmistakable click of her heels following suit. “Honestly, where do they disappear to every time I need them?”
You both jolted upright.
“Shit,” you hissed, and without thinking, gripped his wrist. There were little to no hiding spots in the room, not with it being practically bare except for the stacks of boxes and crates. Your only hiding spot loomed to your left, a tall, free-standing cedar wardrobe. Before either of you could process your actions, you yanked the door open and dragged Bucky in after you.
He didn’t protest as you both crammed inside, bodies pressed from shoulder to knee, the dusty scent of old clothes wrapping tight around you as you shoved the door shut just before the hallway light spilt in.
A soft, involuntary giggle escaped you, quickly swallowed by his palm as he clamped a gentle hand over your mouth. His other arm braced against the wall beside your head, caging you in.
Val’s footsteps paused outside. The door handle rattled once. You held your breath, Bucky’s palm firm and cool against your lips, his chest rising steady against your back. After a tense beat, the handle released, and Val’s voice retreated down the hall in a huff.
“Unbelievable.”
The silence left behind was electric.
Bucky slowly lowered his hand, the faintest brush of his fingers grazing your jaw. Neither of you moved, the heat of his body pressing through the thin fabric of your dress. A quiet laugh trembled out of you, shaky and breathless. He answered with a low rumble of amusement, though his eyes never left yours.
When you finally dared to process your position, you truly realised how close he was—nose inches from yours, his breath a slow heat on your cheek. The laugh died in your throat. Neither of you moved.
Then, abruptly, he straightened, the spell breaking with a sharp inhale. He nudged the door open and slipped out first, his usual composure returning, though a faint pink hue brushed the tips of his ears.
“See you back out there,” he murmured, voice a touch rougher than before.
—
The wardrobe seemed to shrink with every breath. Cedar walls pressed closer, coats brushing your arms like restless hands. You shifted, just a tiny adjustment to ease the cramp in your knee, trying to find space that wasn’t there. Every movement dragged you nearer to him, chest to shoulder, thigh to thigh, until there was no mistaking the heat bleeding off his body.
“Not half as unpredictable, huh?” you whispered, partly to break the silence, partly to smother the pulse hammering at your throat.
Bucky tilted his head toward you, the faintest shadow of a grin touching his mouth. Even in the dark you felt the weight of his gaze. “You prove me right more often than you’d think.”
“Huh, You really think you’ve got me all figured out?” You challenged.
“Maybe.” His voice was rough, like gravel rolling over steel. Too low for anyone outside the wardrobe to hear, too close for you to pretend like it didn’t curl down your spine.
Your laugh came out softer than you meant, threaded with nerves. “Pretty cocky for someone hiding in my spot.”
You heard him suck his teeth with a small chuckle.
“Cocky,” he echoed. “Or maybe I’m just observant.”
You tried to summon a quip sharp enough to sever the tension, but the words fizzled as his arm shifted—casual, maybe—but the brush of his knuckles against your wrist felt anything but. Just a touch, the barest drag of skin on skin, yet it sent heat flooding through you.
You didn’t move away.
It was ridiculous, standing there in the dark, pretending not to notice the way your heartbeat had gone feral. You wondered, fleetingly, if he could hear it, if the silence were loud enough to betray you. And maybe he did, because as you leant back instinctively, spine pressing against the back panel, he followed that inch without hesitation.
Your throat went dry.
Your silence must’ve given you away. His gaze dropped, snagging briefly on your mouth before snapping back up as if he hadn’t meant to look.
And then—god help you—his knuckles brushed your wrist again. Not an accident this time. Slow, deliberate. The feeling of it rolled through you and made your breath stutter.
“Bucky—”
It came out as a warning, but it didn’t sound like one.
“Yeah?” His whisper rasped, smoke and frayed restraint.
The wardrobe might as well have been collapsing. Everything was pressing in until the only air left was the kind you had to steal from each other.
And you did.
One breath, you were staring at him like the ground had vanished beneath you. The next, his mouth was on yours—hard, desperate, all the months of denial funnelled into a single, breathless crash. His hand caught the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your ribs ached against his chest. There was nothing cautious in it, nothing restrained. Just the dizzying reality that you had finally crossed the line you’d been circling for too damn long.
The wardrobe shuddered as his mouth slanted over yours with a force that made your head knock the wall, coats swaying like startled witnesses. Your gasp broke against his lips just long enough for his tongue to sweep against yours. White-hot ricocheted through you, the cool of vibranium splayed low at your hip, dragging you forward until there was no space left.
“Fuck—” you breathed, the word melting between sloppy kisses.
He groaned, low and guttural. It vibrated straight down your spine, and he deepened the kiss like he’d been starving for it. Stubble scraped your jaw and chin. Your hands, useless until now, finally found him. You clutched at the soft cotton of his shirt, fingers skimming down to the taut muscle beneath. He exhaled sharply at the contact, his whole body tightening, as if restraint hung by a single thread.
The wardrobe creaked, a hinge whining in protest.
Neither of you cared.
He broke from your mouth only to trail along your jaw, down the column of your throat, teeth grazing just enough to draw a gasp that melted into a whimper as his tongue soothed the spot.
“Bucky,” you repeated, half warning, half plea. You clutched his shoulders now, nails catching the fabric. You didn’t even know what you were begging for—more? Mercy? Or just for him not to stop?
His grip tightened, holding you still. His voice came coarse against your skin, ragged with want. “You drive me fuckin’ insane.”
His words rattled through you, and before you could answer, his mouth was on yours again. Your mutual moans were swallowed in the heat, like he wanted to prove it. Claiming, tasting, and you gave back just as fiercely, matching the rhythm.
His hand had crept beneath the hem of your shirt now, calloused fingers splaying against bare skin, the cold edge of his metal thumb skimming the curve of your ribs. You broke the kiss just long enough to catch your breath, panting into the dark, head spinning.
“I thought—” you whispered, swallowing against the rasp in your throat, “—you didn’t like me.”
He laughed under his breath in disbelief. His nose brushed yours as he leaned back in, lips grazing your jaw. “You think I’d kiss you like this if I didn’t like you?”
Your stomach flipped, heat coiling low.
“Bucky—” you hissed again, half warning, half plea.
He lifted his head, eyes catching what little light filtered through, pupils blown wide. His lips were swollen and glossy, breathing uneven.
“You’re trouble,” he murmured, the words brushing your lips. “And I can’t stay the hell away from you.”
His hand slid higher, up your side, thumb grazing the curve beneath your bra, waiting to see if you’d stop him.
You didn’t.
Your head tilted back against the wood as his other hand slid lower and lower down your stomach. You knew where it was going before you even felt the metal press between your thighs, and your body betrayed you, arching up into the touch.
“Shit—Bucky—” you gasped, the words dissolving into a moan as his fingers slipped under your skirt and pushed your underwear to the side.
“Shhh,” he cooed, mouth hot against your ear. “You’ll get us caught.”
The sound you made next was nothing like quiet as his fingers slipped beyond the thin lace, finding wet heat. Thick digits swept through your folds, a bolt of pleasure shooting through you as he grazed your clit. He swallowed your needy noise with another kiss, teeth clashing against yours as he pushed two fingers inside, stretching you. Your legs trembled, knees knocking the coats around you. You clawed at his shirt, finding only muscle to hold onto.
“You’re so wet already,” he growled, voice low like it angered him to admit it. “So noisy too, I thought you wanted to win this game?”
You tried to answer, but the sound snagged in your throat as a strangled whimper. Panic and want tangled so tightly in your chest your couldn’t tell them apart. Bucky’s hand slid away only long enough to catch the band of your underwear and drag it down the smooth line of your thighs.
You wordlessly obliged, a hand gripping his shoulder as both of you awkwardly manoeuvred in the tight space.
The wardrobe was too small for anything graceful. You hip knocked his ribs as you braced against him. He bent lower, fingers tracing down the back of your legs as the fabric resisted, snagging at your knees. You bit back a breathless laugh, part nerves, part thrill.
“Hold still,” he murmured, voice vibrating against your skin. His hand steadied your calf, palm hot where it curved beneath your knee. The other worked the delicate fabric over the arch of your food and the heel of your shoe.
By the time the thin scrap of lace slid free, your chest was rising too fast. You pressed harder against the wooden panel, bare and dripping beneath your skirt.
“Open.” he ordered.
You drew in a startled breath, eyes wide, and parted your lips before you could think better of it. With a smirk, he pressed the balled scrap of fabric into your mouth as a makeshift gag, his knuckles grazing your cheek in the process. The taste of yourself hit your tongue, shame, excitement and heat roaring in your stomach. Your body clenched around nothing, desperately craving the return of his touch.
“Better,” he murmured, smug. His hand returned with deliberate precision, tracing slow, deliberate patterns along the inside of your thigh. You whimpered as his fingers slid back inside you with little warning. With better access now, he was merciless, curling deep. His palm ground against your clit, sending shocks through you with every pump.
You writhed against the wood, muffled sounds spilling around the balled-up fabric. Your fingers clutched at his back, sliding under the hem of his shirt until felt the hard plane of muscle beneath. His breath caught as you raked your nails down his back. His mouth latched onto your throat, sucking and biting hard enough to leave bruises in his wake.
Your hips bucked into his palm, shameless now, chasing every rough curl of his fingers. Your cries were muffled, teeth sinking into the soaked fabric between your lips, eyes squeezed shut as the coil of pleasure built in your gut. Every nerve ending was on fire, the wardrobe filled with the sounds of your muffled whimpers. His fingers moved impossibly fast, curling and pressing with an intensity that had you seeing stars.
“Bucky—please…” you gasped, choked by the fabric, every word a tremor.
His breathing was ragged, chest pressing your back into the panel wall, jaw tight as he drove you higher, teasing, coaxing, refusing to let you slip into oblivion too soon. Your hips jerked, grinding against him, desperate for more, begging for release.
His voice was hoarse against your ear, and every word he muttered, every shift of his body pushed you higher. “God, you’re so close, aren’t you?”
You back arched instinctively. Tears prickled the corners of your eyes as your nails scraped along his shoulder blades, your legs trembling and barely keeping you upright.
You were teetering on the edge, pleasure coiling in your stomach, eyes rolling back as your body surrendered. A whine escaped your throat, soft and pleading, and Bucky caught it, groaning low, one hand pressed against your hip to steady you.
“I—I can’t—” you gasped, hips jolting, “so close—oh, fuck—”
And then—just as the pressure inside you was about to break, walls clenching hard around his digits—a sound spilt the air.
The storage room door had creaked open—
Panic ripped through you, and with an involuntary whimper, instinct took over. You vanished in a shimmer of displaced air, leaving only the faint disturbance of your breathless desperation.
Bucky’s head snapped towards the wardrobe door, eye flashing with irritation and amusement, but he didn’t falter. He had to act fast. His hand withdrew in a slow, reluctant drag before you could finish, your juices left smeared across your inner thighs. Your body spasmed against nothing, the climax slipping from you as you gasped out a ragged, frustrated whine.
The choked noise slipped past the fabric in your mouth before you could stop it.
“Quiet,” Bucky hissed under his breath, brows furrowed. His eyes cut toward where he knew you still hovered invisible against the wardrobe wall.
The door swung open wide with a cheerful slam.
“Ah, Bucky! Found you!” Alexei declared, grinning, completely unaware of the scene unfolding before him.
Light spilt into the cramped wardrobe. Bucky leaned casually into it, shoulder filling the frame, a picture of nonchalance that did nothing to hide the faint flush at his throat.
“You’re good at this, Alexei,” he said smoothly—too smooth. The faint curl of sarcasm in his voice was almost imperceptible.
Alexei beamed, oblivious.
“I know! I tell them all and they don’t believe me, I say ‘I am best seeker. Lena should know, we would play game when she was small!’” His voice faded as he turned back towards the hall. “Come, I need help to find others.”
Bucky let the wardrobe door swing shut with deliberate ease, unfazed, leaving you in the dark. Even as you heard his footsteps fade, the storage room’s door clicking shut, you knew, deep down, that this game was far from over.
---
if you enjoyed please let me know! drop a comment below, reblog or send me something through my inbox! thank you for reading my work :) if you want to stay up to date with any series updates or new one-shots being posted, follow my sideblog @artficlly-updates and turn on notifications.
summary : He came in on Thursdays. Always looking for new books to read. Always smiled like he didn’t quite belong anywhere. Then, you asked him to pretend to be your boyfriend for one night. And he said yes.
Then you found out he’s the Sentry —
and suddenly, pretending doesn’t feel so simple anymore.
pairing : robert 'bob' reynolds x reader / sentry x reader
content : basically just fluff, fakedating!au, fakeboyfriend!au
warnings : none
word count : 7k
Thursday, 10:43 am.
You glance up, and there he is.
You’ve seen him before. Always on Thursdays, always around the same time. Always with that same energy — like he doesn’t quite belong to this world, or maybe just doesn’t expect to be noticed in it.
He has messy hair, a too-worn jacket, and the kind of posture that says please don’t ask me anything, but I’m also not in a hurry to leave.
Today, for the first time, he meets your eyes.
You smile. “Back again. That’s three Thursdays in a row.”
He blinks, like he’s surprised you’ve been keeping count.
“…I like it here,” he says, voice quiet but not shy. Just gentle.
“Most people say that when they’re avoiding something,” you joke lightly, leaning your elbows on the counter. “Bad day?”
He shrugs. “It’s a day.”
Fair.
He heads toward the fantasy section, the same corner he always drifts to. You try not to stare — you really do — but it’s hard not to watch the way he slows down at the shelves like they’re familiar terrain.
After a few minutes, he returns with two paperbacks — both epic fantasy, both with weathered covers and dramatic titles like The Hollow Crown and Ash and Sovereign.
You ring them up, sneaking a glance. “You like the ones where the world almost ends?”
He gives a faint smile. “Sometimes I like when it doesn’t.”
You pause, curious. “You a writer?”
He shakes his head. “No. Just… a fan.”
“I get it,” you say, handing him the bag. “Books are a safer way to live dangerously.”
He smiles at that. A little more real.
Then, on impulse, you ask, “So, what do you do?”
He hesitates just a second longer than most people would.
“…Sometimes I help save the world,” he says, deadpan.
You blink. And then you laugh, because there’s something about the way he says it — so dry and sincere — that it’s obviously a joke. Or at least… you think it is.
“Wow,” you grin. “That’s bold. You a firefighter or a Marvel cosplayer?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Something like that.”
You hand him his receipt, eyes narrowing playfully. “Well, mysterious world-saver, if you ever want book recommendations, let me know. We’ve got a great section for heroes with identity crises.”
He nods, turning toward the door. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He’s almost gone when he pauses and looks back.
“What’s your name?” he asks you, and you tell him.
He nods once. “I’m Bob.”
Then he’s gone.
The bell chimes again — sharper this time. Final.
You stand there for a moment, watching the door swing closed behind him. Then you shake your head and go back to restocking the display.
Still, for some reason, you keep thinking about him.
Bob.
⋆˙⟡
Your phone lights up with the most dangerous contact in your list: Mom.
You stare at it for a second, debating whether to let it go to voicemail.
Then you sigh, hit accept, and brace yourself.
“Hi, sweetheart!” your mom’s voice practically sings as you answer. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten how to use a phone.”
You smile, mouth full of lukewarm noodles. “Hi, Mom. You called me yesterday.”
“I know, I just missed you. So sue me.”
There’s a beat where you brace yourself. And sure enough—
“So, listen,” she continues, far too casually. “Next Saturday we’re doing dinner at our place. Just the usual — your aunts, cousins, possibly Grandma if we can coax her out of her crosswords. Nothing formal, but, you know, nice.”
“Mmhmm.” You sip your drink, waiting.
“We were thinking 6 o’clock. And of course we’ll do something vegetarian for you—oh, and listen, your cousin Chelsea is bringing that new boyfriend. Super cute. Works in finance. Wears suits on weekends. Can you imagine?”
There it is.
“Anyway,” she adds, far too lightly, “I just thought I’d ask — are you seeing anyone these days? Anyone worth bringing?”
You snort. “Bringing where? Into the lion’s den of a family dinner?”
“Oh come on,” she laughs. “We’re not that bad.”
You give her a look she can’t see. “Last time Aunt Diane tried to set me up with her neighbor’s chiropractor, and Uncle Marty asked if I’d frozen my eggs.”
“She meant well. He didn’t, but—still.”
You roll your eyes. “No, Mom. I’m not bringing anyone.”
“You’re not?” Her voice dips into gentle disappointment. “Not even just as a friend? You have such a sweet personality. I feel like people must just gravitate to you.”
You hum noncommittally, casually glancing toward your bookshelf. Your eyes drift to the spot where you keep returns and holds — including two fantasy books still waiting for a certain quiet customer to pick up.
You think of Bob, his soft smile, the way he said “Sometimes I help save the world” like it wasn’t even strange.
But you say nothing.
“Anyway,” your mom chirps on. “No pressure. Just… you know. You’re not getting any less amazing with time.”
“That’s not how time works, Mom.”
“Semantics. Just let me know, okay? We’ll keep a seat open. Just in case.”
You sigh and mutter, “Okay.”
She’s already launching into a story about a raccoon in the neighbor’s shed by the time you close your eyes and groan into your throw pillow.
You definitely don’t have a date.
You definitely don’t need one.
…But your brain is already wondering what Bob looks like when he’s not rain-damp and bookstore quiet.
⋆˙⟡
Tuesday, 11:07 am.
The bell over the door rings, and — like clockwork — you glance up.
There he is.
Bob.
Same as always, but also… not. His jacket’s still weathered, but he looks a little more put-together today. Hair slightly neater. Like maybe he didn’t get caught in a wind tunnel on the way over. Less cryptid, more mysterious traveler passing through town.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Just gives a quick scan of the room before heading straight for the back... for the fantasy section. His usual.
You try not to smile.
Try.
“Tuesday this time?” you call out from behind the counter, tone light. “Switching it up?”
Bob glances over, mouth tugging up slightly. “Had some time.”
You nod, watching as his hand drifts over the table display near the entrance — new paperbacks, some with gold foil titles and overdramatic taglines. He doesn’t stop there long. Just a brush of his fingers across the covers before moving on.
“You sure it’s not just the emotionally damaged swordsmen calling to you again?” you add, moving toward a nearby shelf with a stack of returns.
He raises a brow, pausing in front of a familiar book. “Maybe I like consistency.”
“Bold choice in this economy.”
That gets you a huff of amusement, soft and unexpected.
He picks up The Lantern War — you know the one. Mid-trilogy. Sad prince. Betrayals. You’ve read it twice and cried both times. He opens it, flipping through the first few pages with surprising care, like he’s searching for something he might have missed the last time he held it.
You lean against a nearby shelf, casually.
“You know,” you begin, tone half-teasing, “you don’t talk much, but you’ve got this whole mysterious loner with a tragic past thing going on.”
Bob looks up — startled, but not annoyed. Just a little caught off guard.
“People pay for that kind of vibe on dating apps,” you add quickly, before you lose your nerve.
He blinks.
You wince. “Sorry. That was weird. I’ve just… been talking to my mom too much lately. She’s on this campaign to get me to bring someone to a family dinner and now I think I’m starting to project ‘potential boyfriend material’ onto every semi-normal customer.”
Bob doesn’t laugh, exactly — but something close. A breath. A smile. Small and real.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says, gently placing the book under his arm.
You nod. “It was meant to be one.”
The air shifts then. Not awkward — not yet — but quieter. You both stand there for a beat too long, not speaking. The store is still around you: soft music playing low, dust motes catching in the light near the windows, the occasional creak of the building settling. Cozy, lived-in quiet.
You watch him for a second longer than you should.
He always lingers when he’s here. Not like he’s killing time. Like he’s… catching his breath.
You don’t say it — not aloud, not now. But something clicks. The beginnings of an idea. Stupid, insane, utterly desperate.
Still.
As he approaches the counter, you glance at him sideways.
He wouldn’t. That’s insane. Would he?
He pays in cash, always cash, and nods politely.
“Thanks,” he says.
“See you Thursday?” you ask, voice light, playful.
He pauses, then shrugs. “Maybe.”
You watch him step back out into the sunlight, his silhouette framed by the door before it swings closed behind him. The bell chimes again. He disappears down the street, a figure in motion.
And you’re still watching the door when the next customer steps up and gently clears their throat.
Right. Work.
You turn back to the register, hands moving automatically — scanning books, making small talk — but your brain’s somewhere else.
⋆˙⟡
“Hi, honey!” she sings the second you answer. “Don’t panic — this is not a ‘guilt you into bringing a boyfriend’ call.”
You snort. “You literally said the word ‘boyfriend’ in the first sentence.”
“Okay, technically,” she says, unfazed, “but I’m just calling about the family dinner this Saturday.”
You sigh and lean against the counter. “I know, I know. 6 p.m., casserole, deeply invasive questions from Aunt Diane—”
“Oh, speaking of Aunt Diane,” she says sweetly, which should’ve been your warning, “she knows this great guy from her pickleball league—works in insurance, divorced once, only a little bitter. She wants to bring him to dinner for you to meet.
Your stomach sinks.
You stare at your fridge like it might offer an escape hatch.
“I—Mom, no.”
“Well, honey,” she says, trying for innocent, “you haven’t said you’re bringing anyone. And if you’re still single—”
“I’m not.”
Silence.
Your heart drops into your socks. You scramble.
“I mean. I am. Seeing someone. Kind of. It’s been, like, a month.”
A pause. Too long.
“You are?” she says slowly.
You wince. “Yeah. I didn’t want to bring him because, you know, the whole interrogation-by-relatives thing. I didn’t want to scare him off. He’s… kind of shy.”
Your mom gasps like you just told her she’s finally getting a grandchild.
“Oh my god, why didn’t you tell me sooner?! What’s he like? Is he nice? Where did you meet? Does he like dogs?”
“Mom, calm down,” you say quickly, pacing now. “He’s just… quiet. And really kind. And, you know. Nice.”
You mentally kick yourself.
“Well, now you have to bring him,” she insists. “If he’s already survived a month with you, he’s clearly got staying power.”
You laugh sharply. “Gee, thanks.”
She chuckles. “I’m just saying — you never bring anyone. This is a big deal.”
You force a smile into your voice. “Let me talk to him first, okay? I’ll see if he’s up for it.”
“Promise me you’ll try.”
“…Promise.”
You hang up, staring at your reflection in the microwave door.
Mouth open. Brain screaming.
You just fake-dated someone in a conversation.
Now all you have to do is actually find someone to play the boyfriend you’ve apparently been dating for a month.
You think of Bob. The quiet guy who reads about broken heroes and once joked about saving the world.
And for some godforsaken reason…
…you think he might actually say yes.
⋆˙⟡
Thursday, 12:45 pm
It’s raining again.
Of course it is.
A slow, steady drizzle beads against the front windows, softening the city outside into watercolor shapes. Inside, the shop smells like paper and cedar polish, with a hint of peppermint from the tin you cracked open after lunch. A jazz cover of something vaguely familiar plays from the old speakers near the register, barely audible over the patter of rain and your quiet muttering.
“Two days late on the shipment, again, and if they swap my fantasy order with true crime one more time—” you grumble under your breath, balancing a stack of returns against your hip as you shuffle toward the front display. “Who even wants twelve copies of Stabbing for Dummies?”
You sigh, crouch to fit the bottom shelf, and toss a glance at the fogged-up door.
“I swear, if one more teenager asks where we keep the smut, I’m moving to the mountains. I’ll sell rocks. I’ll become a rock girl.”
The bell above the door chimes.
Right on cue.
You straighten just a little too fast and nearly drop a paperback. “Welcome in,” you call absently, trying to sound composed — but you already know.
It’s him.
You don’t need to look.
Still, you do — and there he is.
Bob stands just inside the doorway, rain misted in his hair, the shoulders of his dark green hoodie slightly damp beneath a black denim jacket. His jeans are worn in the knees. The laces of his boots are uneven. He looks like he walked through the rain on purpose, like the storm outside didn’t even try to stop him.
There’s a quietness to him that doesn’t feel awkward anymore. Just familiar.
“Back to your usual Thursday shift?” you ask, setting a book down and turning toward him fully now.
He gives a one-shoulder shrug. “It felt wrong not to.”
There’s something steadier about him today. He still carries that bone-deep kind of tired — like his body’s been holding something heavy for too long — but his gaze doesn’t flick away as fast when your eyes meet. He lets the quiet settle for a beat before moving deeper into the store.
You catch yourself smoothing your shirt before following him.
“Let me guess,” you say as he veers toward the back. “Fantasy section?”
“Always.”
You trail a few paces behind, grabbing a book that’s been reshelved in the wrong genre. There’s no one else in the store right now. Just the two of you, and the occasional whisper of rain against the windows.
He stops in front of a display and picks up The Sword Beneath the Throne. Studies the cover like it holds some secret he hasn’t cracked yet.
You rest your elbow against a shelf. “That one’s going to wreck you emotionally,” you warn, teasing. “But, you know. In a noble sacrifice kind of way.”
Bob glances over. “Good to know.”
You hesitate — just for a second. Then you inhale, let the moment linger, and say: “Hey… can I ask you something kind of weird?”
His eyes shift to yours — cautious, but open.
“Sure.”
You clear your throat, suddenly aware of every sound in the store. “So… hypothetically,” you begin, with what you hope is a breezy tone, “if someone were being — let’s say — aggressively pressured by their entire family to bring a boyfriend to a dinner—like, a big one—”
“Okay,” he says slowly, still holding the book.
“And they may or may not have panicked and told said family they’d already been dating someone for a month… someone who does not, technically, exist—”
Bob’s brow arches slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“Go on."
“Would it be completely unhinged to ask you to maybe… pretend to be that person? Just for a night. Three hours max. There’s pie.”
Silence.
Bob doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t recoil.
He just watches you.
And you, of course, rush in to fill the quiet.
“I know it’s weird. And probably creepy. And I swear I’m not dangerous. You don’t even really know me. But you’re the only person I know who could pull off being quiet and normal enough to not scare my mom or make my aunts think I’m secretly dating a war criminal.”
His expression shifts — thoughtful now, not unreadable. Still holding the book, but not looking at it anymore.
“And if it helps,” you add quickly, “I already told them you’re shy. So you wouldn’t even have to say much. Just… look human. Maybe compliment the stuffing. Smile once. Pretend I’m charming.”
He tilts his head slightly.
“You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend?”
“Just for a night,” you say. “No pressure. No long con. Just mashed potatoes and survival.”
“…Because your mom threatened you with a pickleball player.”
You blink. “Wait. How do you—?”
“You talk while you shelve books,” he says simply, mouth quirking. “I pick things up.”
You gape at him for a beat. Then snort.
And then laugh. A real one. It escapes before you can stop it — bright and ridiculous and yours.
Bob… smiles.
It’s small. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it thing. But it’s there.
“So?” you say, biting your lip. “Would you consider it? I can’t offer much. Just pie. And probably embarrassing levels of gratitude.”
He sets the book down.
Looks at you.
A long moment passes.
“Okay,” he says.
You blink. “Wait — really?”
He nods, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Why not.”
“You didn’t even ask what kind of pie.”
“I trust your judgment.”
You squint at him. “You’re either the nicest person alive, or wildly unhinged yourself.”
Bob shrugs. “Can’t it be both?”
Something in your chest tightens — in a good way.
“Dinner’s Saturday,” you say softly. “At my parents’. Here's... the address?” you added as you handed him a yellow post-it note with your parent's address in red ink, which was actually written not even ten minutes before.
You wrote it thinking that there's an 80% chance he'll accept it.
And he actually did.
He nods. “Should I wear something nice?”
“Honestly,” you say, “if you show up looking like less of a cryptid than usual, my family will be thrilled.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
He turns to leave, hood pulled up lazily as he disappears into the rainy street — a figure blurred by drizzle and glass.
And you?
You stand behind the counter, staring after him.
Your hands are a little shaky. Not from nerves.
From relief. And something else.
Excitement, maybe.
Because somehow, against all logic and odds —
Bob said yes.
⋆˙⟡
Saturday, 5:49 pm
“Not too much sugar,” your mom says over your shoulder, peeking into the mixing bowl as if she doesn’t trust you with a spoon.
You hold the measuring cup up dramatically. “Mom, you’ve raised me. If I die of poor pie proportions, it’s on you.”
She snorts and hands you the nutmeg. “Don’t tempt me.”
You smile, despite yourself. The kitchen is warm in that nostalgic way — cluttered, golden light filtering in through the curtains, something soft playing from the old speaker by the fridge. You’re elbow-deep in pie filling, sleeves rolled up, and trying not to think about how insane this all is.
You’ve told everyone you’ve been dating someone for a month.
That he’s meeting your family.
That he’s sweet and shy and real.
And in about fifteen minutes, Bob — your fake boyfriend — will be at the door.
You’re 85% sure he’ll show up. Maybe 90.
…Okay, 75.
“Do you need help with the crust?” your mom asks, and for once, she sounds like she’s trying not to pry.
You glance at her. She’s avoiding eye contact. She definitely wants to pry.
“Nope,” you say, pressing the dough into the pan. “Unless this is a metaphor for my love life, in which case, yeah, I could use a full support team.”
She hums noncommittally and starts slicing apples, her back to you.
“So,” she says, “you never told me how you met him.”
You hesitate. “The guy I’m—bringing tonight?”
She nods. “Mhm.”
You stall by rinsing your hands.
“It’s kind of a quiet story,” you say carefully. “We kept running into each other. Same place, same time. It just… kind of happened.”
“Hm.” She tosses apple slices into the bowl. “And you like him?”
You look down at the dough beneath your fingers. Think about his awkward smile. The way he listens like it costs him something. The warmth in his voice when he said, “Thanks for inviting me.”
You nod. “I think I do.”
Your mom looks over, something soft in her face now.
“Well,” she says gently, “I can’t wait to meet him.”
You smile and slide the pie into the oven just as the doorbell rings.
Your heart stops.
Your mom turns toward the sound.
You wipe your hands on a towel and take a breath.
“Okay,” you mutter to yourself, “moment of truth.”
You walk to the door.
And open it...
You expected nerves.
You did not expect him to look like this.
Bob stands on your porch like he walked out of a cologne ad and got lost on the way to GQ. His dark button-up is rolled at the sleeves, fitted just enough to draw attention to muscles he normally hides under worn hoodies. His hair—usually floppy and rain-wrecked—is now styled neatly back, just messy enough to look effortless.
You blink. “H-hi.”
He smiles—bashful, but sure of himself. “Hi.”
Before you can gather your thoughts or your dignity, he leans in and kisses you on the cheek. It’s warm, brief, but confident. His hand grazes your waist like muscle memory.
“I hope I’m not too early,” he murmurs.
“No—uh—no, perfect. You’re perfect. I mean, the timing. The timing is perfect.”
You step back to let him in, praying no one heard that.
As he crosses the threshold, he glances around, eyes scanning photos on the walls, shelves stacked with family memories. You take his coat. His scent lingers — fresh and faintly minty.
“My mom’s in the kitchen. Brace yourself.”
He chuckles. “Noted.”
You walk him into the war zone of casserole dishes and cousin chaos.
Your mom spots you both from the dining room and gasps like she’s just been cast on a reality show. “There he is! You must be Bob!”
Bob blinks for a moment, surprised she already knows his name. You shoot her a look that says Mom, please, I am begging.
He recovers quickly. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And polite!” she says, delighted, patting his arm like she’s already ordering him to call her ‘Mom’ by dessert.
Dinner unfolds in a blur. Plates are passed, stories fly around the table like darts, and somehow Bob navigates it like a pro. He even laughs at your uncle’s tired jokes. When your grandma comments on his posture, he adjusts with a quiet “Yes, ma’am” that makes her beam.
At one point, your youngest cousin, Milo, squints at him from across the table.
“You look really familiar,” Milo says, tilting his head.
You freeze mid-chew. Bob’s fork pauses halfway to his mouth.
You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding.
And about halfway through dessert, something happens.
The TV is on behind your mom’s head, low volume. Just the news playing — no one’s really watching. Your dad’s closest to it, half turned in his chair, focused on his pie.
You’re listening to your aunt ramble about her new garden mulch when the news anchor’s voice shifts tone.
“—dramatic footage of the Thunderbolts’ mission this past Wednesday—”
Your brain barely registers it.
You glance at the screen.
Explosions. Screaming. Concrete cracking like bones.
A familiar flash of red and black—John Walker. Then Ghost phasing through debris.
It’s not grainy enough to deny. The face is clear. The posture. The jawline.
You choke on your pie. Eyes widening.
Bob.
You snap your gaze toward him.
He doesn’t move, but his fork slowly lowers.
Your eyes dart to your dad. He’s starting to turn toward the screen.
Before he can react—click.
The TV cuts off.
Silence.
Your dad frowns. “Did the TV break again?”
Bob shrugs, wiping his mouth with his napkin.
Your relatives resume their conversations without a second thought. Bread is passed. Laughter resumes. No one’s the wiser.
Except for you.
And Milo, who is now staring at Bob with slack-jawed awe.
You place your fork down slowly. Your pulse is in your throat.
Bob meets your gaze across the table. Calm. Cautious.
You clear your throat.
“Hey,” you say sweetly, plastering on a smile. “Can you excuse us for a second? I just need to talk to my boyfriend for a minute.”
He rises without protest.
You grab his arm, steer him down the hallway... past photos of you in braces, past the coat rack, past everything normal, and into the dim, quiet hallway near the laundry room.
Then you turn, look up at him, and whisper—
“What the hell, Bob?”
You shut the door behind you.
Bob leans casually against the wall — too casually — like he isn’t literally the man you just saw hovering over a burning building on national television.
You cross your arms. “Okay. Start talking.”
He looks down at his hands, fingers laced. There’s a strange stillness to him, like he’s waiting for a storm he knows is coming.
“I didn’t lie,” he says quietly.
You stare. “Bob. I watched you on the news. You turned off my parents’ TV. With your mind.”
“I said I help people,” he replies, looking up at you now. Calm. Earnest. “Sometimes I help save the world.”
You gape. “I thought you meant you were a firefighter. Or a teacher! Or like, I don’t know, a really good therapist!”
He huffs a soft laugh. “Sorry. That probably would’ve been easier.”
“You’re—” You lower your voice, leaning in. “You’re The Sentry. You’re an actual Avenger. Or—Thunderbolt. Or—whatever the hell team you’re on.”
“Technically, I’m sort of on loan.”
You give him a look. “That's not the point.”
He’s quiet again. But not defensive. Not evasive. Just… waiting. Letting you process.
And you are processing.
All the little things you overlooked:
The quiet strength in how he moved.
The weird evasiveness.
The stormy energy he sometimes carried like he was trying to keep it bottled.
You exhale, the adrenaline finally catching up.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask, softer now.
“I didn’t want you to treat me differently,” he says. “I liked the bookstore. I liked that you didn’t know. You talked to me like I was just… Bob.”
You blink. “Is that your real name?”
“Yes.”
“And you really read fantasy novels?”
He actually smiles. “Especially the sad ones.”
You hesitate. Your heart is still pounding, but your voice softens even more.
“You came to dinner,” you murmur. “You sat through my uncle’s knee replacement story. You complimented my grandma’s brooch.”
He lifts a shoulder. “Wasn’t hard. I meant it.”
You stare at him.
The man who eats lemon muffins on Thursdays.
The man who shyly kissed your cheek.
The man who casually shut off a television with his brain.
You rub a hand over your face. “I dragged The Sentry into a fake dating scheme because my mom thinks I’m undateable.”
His voice is gentle. “You didn’t drag me. I said yes.”
You glance up at him. “Why?”
His gaze softens. “Because you asked.”
You swallow.
He takes a step closer. His voice lowers, almost shy again. “If you want to call this off now, I’ll understand. I’ll tell them we broke up before dessert. I can cry if it helps.”
You laugh — a short, startled sound — but it breaks some of the tension.
You look up at him. “You’d really do that?”
“I’m a very convincing fake ex.”
You’re quiet for a moment. He’s still standing there — not defensive, not cocky — just Bob. The same Bob who buys fantasy novels and waits for you to recommend the good ones.
The same Bob who just blew your entire reality to pieces.
And yet…
You find yourself saying, “Let’s just get through dessert.”
His brows raise slightly. “You sure?”
You nod. “We can panic later.”
He smiles. A real one. Small. Grateful.
“Okay,” he says. “Back to the pie.”
You nod, open the hallway door, and walk back toward the dining room together — fake-dating The Sentry, one awkward spoonful of whipped cream at a time.
You return to the dining room with Bob beside you, and despite the mini-crisis that just played out in the hallway, somehow… everything continues like nothing happened.
The pie’s been sliced. Plates passed around. The table is filled with the comforting hum of your family talking over each other, laughing, sneaking bites of dessert before their coffee cools.
Bob slips into his seat beside you, and when your mom asks if he wants whipped cream, he nods and says, “Yes, ma’am,” with a small smile.
She beams.
You stare at him for a second longer than you should.
He’s calm. Almost too calm. Like he’s pretending to be human in a sitcom, and somehow nailing the part.
Milo won’t stop glancing over, like he’s replaying the Thunderbolts footage in his head. But thankfully, he keeps his mouth shut.
You press your knee against Bob’s under the table.
He glances at you.
You mouth: Thank you.
He just nods.
⋆˙⟡
When the dishes are finally cleared and your aunts start hunting for their coats, you help your mom carry plates to the kitchen. She’s humming. Actually humming.
You try not to let guilt claw at your chest.
After a few minutes, coats are zipped, goodbyes are exchanged, and your mom pats Bob’s arm like he’s already part of the family. Your dad claps him on the back and says, “You handled the chaos pretty well, son. That’s promising.”
You’re still not sure whether that’s a compliment or a threat.
Finally, it’s just the two of you at the door.
You walk Bob out onto the porch. The sky’s dark, but the porch light gives his face a warm glow. You wrap your arms around yourself, partly from the cool air, partly because you don’t know what to do with them anymore.
“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, leaning against the railing. “I dragged you into that mess because I panicked and lied to my mom and I never expected you to actually say yes or look like that or—”
Bob steps forward and kisses you.
Soft. Sure. Warm.
It happens in the span of a heartbeat — his hand resting gently on your cheek, the kiss itself lingering just long enough to make you forget where you are.
When he pulls back, he whispers, “Sorry.”
You blink, stunned.
He jerks his thumb toward the window beside the front door.
You turn.
Your mom is standing there, mostly hidden behind the curtain — watching. Her expression is somewhere between victorious and smug.
You groan. “Oh my god.”
Bob chuckles. “She’s committed. I respect it.”
You shake your head, trying not to smile. “That was mean.”
“That was method acting,” he teases.
You hesitate, then reach out and fix the collar of his jacket. “You really didn’t have to do all this.”
“I wanted to,” he says. “I meant what I said — I liked being asked.”
A beat.
“I still do.”
The air between you shifts — warmer now, quiet but honest.
You nod once, not sure what to say. Not sure what this is becoming.
He opens the gate and starts to walk down the path. Just before he disappears into the dark, he turns back.
“I’ll see you Tuesday?”
You smile. “Tuesday.”
And then he’s gone.
You close the door gently, heart fluttering like it’s trying to tell you something. You lean against the wood for a second, exhale, and whisper to no one:
“…Oh no.”
⋆˙⟡
Sunday, 7:36 am
It starts like any other day.
You stop at your usual corner café, order your iced coffee (half sweet, extra ice, just the way you like it), and wrap your hands around the plastic cup like it might ground you.
For a moment, the world feels normal.
You walk the next block with your earbuds in, the playlist soothing, the city humming gently around you. It isn’t until you pass the magazine stand by the subway entrance that something feels… off.
Your eyes drift lazily over the covers as you walk by.
And then you see it.
Front and center. Bold red font. A full-page photo.
“WHO IS THE SENTRY’S MYSTERY GIRLFRIEND?” (Shocking New Romance Revealed — Civilian Involved?)
You stop mid-step. Your breath catches.
Your own face stares back at you from under a blur of porch lights and lipstick smudged from a very real, very public kiss.
You nearly drop your coffee right there.
But it only gets worse.
Because as you turn the corner toward the bookstore — just a normal Tuesday morning — you don’t see the usual handful of early customers waiting for the shop to open.
You see a crowd.
No — not a crowd. A swarm.
Microphones. Cameras. People standing on tiptoes, phones raised high, shouting questions at… nothing, because the store isn’t even open yet.
Your stomach drops.
Your name gets shouted from somewhere in the noise.
And then, mercifully — your brain does the one logical thing.
It panics.
You spin around. Your foot hits the curb. Your coffee slips from your hand, hits the sidewalk, and explodes in a cold, sticky splash.
“Hey—hey! That’s her!” someone yells behind you.
You don’t look back.
You duck into the narrow alley between the bookstore and the laundromat, heart hammering, air slicing sharp into your lungs.
Your mind is racing with every terrible headline, every awkward question your mom is probably getting right now, and how very not normal your life has become.
And then—
“Hiii.”
You scream.
A figure drops from the fire escape like it’s nothing, landing in front of you with the elegance of a spy movie villain and the expression of someone who just finished a cinnamon roll.
Blonde. Tactical jacket. Combat boots. Sunglasses perched on her head like she accessorized mid-mission.
She smiles. “So. You’re the girlfriend?”
You stumble back a step, heart in your throat. “I—I’m—who are you?!”
“Yelena,” she says cheerfully, offering a hand like this is a brunch date. “Bob’s teammate. Sometimes assassin. Don’t worry, I’m nice-ish.”
You don’t take her hand. You just stare.
“I was sent to retrieve you,” she continues, already walking past you like she owns the alley. “Big mess. PR nightmare. Possibly global. Thought you might need help.”
“I—I’m fine,” you lie, inching toward the wall.
Yelena glances down at your coffee-covered shoes. “You’re not fine.”
You exhale shakily. “How is this real?”
She grins. “You kissed The Sentry on your porch. Now you’re in a tabloid warzone. Welcome to superhero dating.”
You press your palms to your face.
Behind you, the voices are getting louder.
Yelena tilts her head toward the street. “Wanna escape this circus?”
“…Yes.”
“Come on.” She tosses you a hoodie from her bag — black, oversized. “Put this on. You’re going to Thunderbolts HQ.”
“What?”
“Bob’s waiting,” she adds casually, “and he looks very stressed. It’s adorable.”
Your heart thumps harder.
You pull the hoodie over your head, the scent of leather and something faintly metallic catching in your nose. Yelena nods approvingly, then leads you toward a black SUV idling around the corner — quiet, sleek, and somehow completely unnoticed by the mob.
As you duck into the backseat, she climbs in beside you and shuts the door.
She tosses a protein bar in your lap.
“You’re going to need energy,” she says. “They’re gonna love you.”
The SUV pulls away.
The shouting fades behind you.
And your life? Well. It’s never going to be quiet again.
The SUV glides through a checkpoint, into an underground tunnel, then up a ramp. You think you see a guard tower disguised as a billboard. Or maybe you’re hallucinating. That’s possible too.
Yelena’s sitting casually beside you, texting someone, while you clutch your protein bar like it might shield you from public scrutiny and government agencies.
Finally, the vehicle stops. The door swings open.
Yelena hops out and waves you after her. “Don’t look nervous.”
“I am nervous.”
“Then pretend you’re not. That’s what we all do.”
You step out into a huge glass and steel atrium. Sleek floors. Tall ceilings. Giant screen with the Thunderbolts logo rotating in slow, dramatic fashion. Men in suits, agents in gear, someone zipping by on rollerblades like this is normal.
You? You’re in someone else’s hoodie, dried coffee on your pants, and your brain’s still processing “Bob is the Sentry.”
Yelena leads you through a corridor like she’s returning a library book. “Try not to look directly at Valentina unless you want to end up as the face of the team’s diversity initiative.”
“…What?”
“Just smile and nod.”
Yelena leads you down a bright hallway, past glass walls and security doors, through what feels like the inside of a top-secret airport crossed with an IKEA showroom. You’re still in someone else’s hoodie, your coffee’s long gone, and you haven’t quite recovered from the kiss-seen-round-the-world.
She swings open a door, and inside it’s surprisingly normal — couches, a kitchen, the sound of a blender whirring. A few Thunderbolts glance up.
Ghost gives you a quiet nod from her seat at the counter.
John Walker grins, already sharpening a teasing remark.
Bob stands awkwardly by the sink, like he just got caught sneaking a cookie.
“Well, damn,” Walker says, leaning against the counter. “I thought Bob was making you up. Or buying girlfriend stock photos online.”
“John,” Bob says flatly.
“I’m just saying, we’re happy for you, man. It’s cute. Weird, but cute.”
Ghost sips her tea. “He’s been checking his phone like a teenage girl since Saturday.”
Bob looks like he wants to phase through the wall. You try not to laugh — and fail. A little.
Then the doors behind you slide open, and Valentina Allegra de Fontaine enters like the final boss in heels.
She smiles, perfectly calm. “Glad you made it. Cute outfit. Hope you like government buildings.”
You blink. “Uh… thanks?”
Val flips open a sleek tablet and doesn’t look up. “So here’s the deal. We can’t exactly walk this story back without making it worse. You’re already part of the narrative. The kiss happened. The porch photos are out. Bob looked… well, shockingly competent.”
Bob mumbles, “Thanks?”
Val finally meets your eyes. “So. Option one: go home, brave the cameras, and let Reddit guess your social security number. Or option two: we give you a place to stay. Quiet. Safe. With a door that locks and, if you ask nicely, a reading lamp.”
You glance at Bob. “Would I… be staying with him?”
Bob visibly stiffens.
Val shrugs. “You’d have your own space. This isn’t The Bachelor. We’re not trying to force anything.”
Bob relaxes.
You think about it for a long moment. The tabloids. The porch. The look on his face when he saw you today.
“…Okay,” you say. “But I want a real lock. And maybe snacks.”
“Done,” Val says, already walking away. “Yelena, get her something from the vending machine. And no shrimp chips.”
Once the others drift off, you find yourself alone with Bob again — sort of. You’re standing near the couches, and he’s holding a mug like it’s a prop he forgot how to use.
You glance at him. “So.”
He looks up. “So.”
“You, uh… handled that well.”
“I was sweating the entire time.”
You smile. “Didn’t show.”
There’s a pause. The good kind.
“I’m sorry you got pulled into this,” he says.
“I’m not,” you admit, then quickly add, “I mean—not the whole national-news part. That sucked. But, you know. The bookstore. The pie. That stuff.”
He looks at you like you just handed him a book he didn’t know he needed.
He fidgets. “For the record, I didn’t just kiss you because your mom was watching," he says. You tilted your head.
Then, again, he softly says: “Do you think… once this blows over… maybe we could try the real thing?”
You consider it, heart full but calm.
“…We’ll see,” you say.
He grins.
So do you.
A/N: i have SO MANY prompts/scenes in my head for bob that i had to list it down on my notes (this is one of them). PS i wrote this when i was suffering from a writers block in the middle of writing the second part of Psyche. PSS i cant stop writing about bob (not that i want to) it's making me crazy
let's talk about drummer!bob au, because i'm loosing my mind over new lewis content--- you met him when you were in high school, but that was years ago; he was always a loner and only his band mattered, his grades weren't great but good enough for him to surprisingly continue his education and now bob is in his 20s and doing everything he can to pursue his dream — being a musician; oh damn, he's way hotter than he was in high school and now he's studying music??? more social than he used to be, like a completely different person — he also knows that he's good looking now and he uses his charm every day 😮💨 ugh just ask me out already (i also want to bite his arm, but maybe not on a first date)
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader ! The New Avengers x Reader
Summary: After your first mission you tell Bucky to blowout his hair with your Dyson - The rest of The Avengers are shocked he doesn't oppose.
Author's Note: This is my first fic, i'm sorry if it's a bit weird, english is not my first languange and i'm kind of nervous of writing here 🙈 Enjoy the fic!!
-
Mission complete.
If you could call “barely surviving a shootout, a crumbling building, and Walker setting off the wrong grenade” a mission success. Still, somehow, no one was dead. That was a win for the New Avengers.
Back at HQ, the vibe was what you’d expect from a barely-functional team of chaos gremlins.
Ava and John were already at it again, arguing over tactical choices like they hadn’t just spent the last six hours screaming into comms.
“I’m telling you,” John said, arms waving, “you rushed the flank too early!”
Ava raised her eyebrows and bit out, “I rushed the flank because you set off the charge early, you toddler in a bulletproof vest!”
“Idiots,” Yelena muttered, flopping on the worn-out couch and covering her eyes with her arm, “please shut up. Some of us are trying to disassociate in peace.”
Bob sat nearby, legs crossed, calmly reading a thick novel. He was somehow the calmest man in the building — maybe in the world. “Let them bicker,” he murmured, not looking up. “It’s almost rhythmic now. Like jazz.”
You snorted from your corner. Bucky was standing silently nearby, arms crossed, leaning against the far wall like he didn’t want to admit he was tired. His dark hair was tousled, sticking out from where it had been flattened by his mask and ruffled by wind and debris. He looked… adorable.
But he also looked like he’d walked through a wind tunnel.
You bit your lip to stop yourself from smiling and walked over, Dyson Supersonic in hand.
“Okay, soldier,” you said, pointing to the stool near the table. “Sit.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Your hair,” you said. “It looks like a bird tried to nest in it. I’m fixing it.”
“You’re gonna use… that thing?” he said warily, eyeing the Dyson like it might explode.
You grinned. “Relax. You’ve fought alien warlords. You can survive a blow dryer.”
A snort escaped him. And then — miraculously — he sat. You plugged the Dyson in, brushed your fingers through his damp hair, and got to work.
—
About five minutes in, Bob looked up from his book and said, “He’s letting her do his hair. It’s happening.”
Yelena didn’t even open her eyes. “What’s happening?”
“The slow-burn,” Bob replied, turning the page. “They’re finally getting there.”
Alexei popped his head in from the kitchen. “What are we betting? I say they kiss before next mission.”
“No way,” Ava said, arms crossed. “Barnes is emotionally repressed and Y/N’s too polite.”
John laughed. “$10 says it happens by the end of the week.”
“$20,” Bob added, “if they don’t even notice they’re basically dating already.”
You ignored them all. Mostly. Your fingers were threading through Bucky’s hair, drying and smoothing it as you guided the Dyson gently. He looked… relaxed. Kind of. Except when his metal hand kept twitching every time you got a little too close to his ear.
“You okay?” you asked softly.
He grunted, “Yeah. Just… not used to people touching me like this.”
“Like how?”
“Like they care.”
You looked at him, your hand still in his hair. “I care, Buck.”
His eyes met yours then — and you swore your heart skipped.
From the couch, Yelena groaned loudly. “Oh my god, would you two just kiss already?!”
You flushed. Bucky cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “I feel like a stray puppy right now.”
“Yeah, well,” you smirked, “you’re a cute one.”
—
Later that night, the HQ was quieter. Ava and John had gone off somewhere to probably yell at each other in private. Yelena was asleep on the couch, Bob was still reading, and Alexei was snoring in the recliner.
You were in the bathroom with Bucky, showing him how to use the Dyson properly. He watched you with that same intense stare he always had — like he was memorizing everything.
“Okay, see the cool shot button?” you explained. “Locks the style in place.”
He pressed it. A little too hard. The blast of cold air surprised him and he jumped slightly.
You giggled. “Scary, huh?”
“Not scared,” he grumbled. “Just… surprised.”
“Mmhm.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then: “Thanks for doing this.”
You smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Anytime.”
His hand caught yours as you went to pull away — metal fingers warm from the dryer, his grip gentle but steady.
“You know,” he said, eyes locked on yours, “I don’t let just anyone near my hair.”
Your breath hitched. “Good thing I’m not just anyone, then.”
There was a beat.
You both leaned in slightly—
And from the hallway: “If you’re not kissing, then at least make popcorn!” Alexei yelled. “Some of us are invested in the subplot!”
You and Bucky broke apart, laughing quietly.
“Stray puppy, huh?” you teased.
He rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile on his lips.
“Only if you’re the one taking me home.”
-
kinda nervous to post this haha, i tried my best okay? but i think i made justice to the whole new team with unstable people trying to live togethere
Pairing: Drug dealers Wintersentry x Drug dealer Female Reader x Officer John Walker (It's basically everyone with everyone)
Wordcount: 14K
This is basically Porn with Plot. The Title counts as the warning. No use of Y/N.
Summary: You, Bob and Bucky are the drug dealers of the town and already in an established relationship, events happen and Officer John becomes part of the group. Also, Bob is a drug addict (suprise), John has a death wish, Bucky has anger issues and the reader smokes weed (and a cigarette once).
Second Part Out Now Right ->Here<-
Shoutout to @uzmacchiato for the divider!
Note: The concept and the pictures seem familiar to you? Maybe it was your post which I can't find anymore, that inspired me. Please let me know, so I can link you properly!
The streets are empty. Fog sat thick over the town, ice crystals forming on every window.
Everyone in town was tugged into their blankets, sleeping safe and sound. Except for one man. Officer John Walker. Twenty-Six, 6’3 and done with his life. Just about a year ago he had it all.
Youngest ever Chief of Police, honored by the mayor. Friends coming over every weekend, a loving wife.
They stripped him off of all his ranks and title, thankfully he wasn't suspended completely but instead doomed to patrol in this hell of a town until he retires or dies, whatever comes first.
He was over it, over her. Olivia is a good woman, she will find someone who deserves her. That's what he tells himself every night.
His two way radio started to vibrate and a distant rustled voice began to talk, breaking him out of his thinking.
~Three calls from three different households. Loud arguing, suspicion of domestic abuse. McCarty Road, No. 4. Over.~
John forces the last bite of his burger down his throat and discharges the wrapping paper on the passenger seat.
He brings the device near his mouth and puts his foot on the gas pedal.
"Officer Walker, on it. Over."
Domestic Abuse Cases were always a dangerous dance between accusations and reading subtle cues but right now John was thankful for something to do.
The house was most likely dark, only a small light came through the windows facing the road.
He closes the door to his car quietly the same counts for his footsteps he doesn't want to announce himself. Before he knocks he holds his ear to the door but there were no noises that would indicate any type of a fight.
He then firmly knocks three times.
"This is Officer Walker speaking, I am here because of some noise complaints from the neighbours. If someone is inside this house I suggest they open the door."
He hears some shuffling and hectic whispers but he can not make out the words spoken. When the door opens it's not exactly what he expects.
"Hello Officer, what is the reason for your honorable visit, this late at night?"
A tall, slim man stands in front of him. His hair a little slicked back but still loose and the ends and under his blue eyes sat and even bluer bruise. It looked fresh.
"Well, as I already said. There were some complaints about the noise."
The man seemed a little confused but then nodded.
"Yeah, sorry about that Officer, it will not happen again."
The man just wants to slam the door in John's face, he didn't let it happen and put a foot between the door and the frame. He now was a little closer to the man than prior.
"Sir, I insist. Is there someone else in this house?"
"Sir? Call me Bob man, bet we're nearly the same age. I live here with two friends, ones out of town."
"And the other?"
Bob calls out your name gesturing with his head to come to the door. You sat the ice pack down into the kitchen sink drying your hands on your jeans.
When you make eye contact with the Officer you can see that he has a hard time not letting his eyes scan over you.
You press out a soft smile waiting for him to speak. It takes a second to long which amuses Bob.
"Ma’am I am sorry to bother you this late at night but the neighbours complained about the noise. I must ask you to keep the noise level down."
You give him your most innocent look.
"Of course Officer, my friend and I just got into a heated argument because of some stupid boardgame."
Bob and you both laugh; it nearly sounds real.
John lets his gaze flicker to the bruise under Bob's eye again. Right now John had nothing, the only thing he could do was to offer his help and rethreat.
"Well thanks Ma’am would you leave the two of us alone again for a second, I will be gone then."
You just smile and leave.
John discreetly hands a small card over to Bob.
"Take care Bob, see ya around." John then leaves, taking his communication device to his mouth again.
"McCarty Road clear, over."
Left stood a completely confused Bob, who read the card Officer Walker just gave him.
-Does your partner or a member of your family make you feel uncomfortable or is hurting you? Call this number for help.-
Bob closes the door and starts to laugh immediately. He holds the card up in the air in your direction.
"He thinks you're abusing me." with the words spoken his laughing got more intense. You on the other hand were in shock, even though Bob was stupid sometimes you would never hurt him. (Except from the times he wants you to.)
You angrily pull the card from Bob's hand.
"Stop laughing Bob, that's not funny. Now I already lost my shot with him."
Bob made himself comfortable on the couch.
"Nah if I hadnt been there he would have fucked you on the porch."
"Yeah? What about the slut who opened the door with a shirt so tight the line of your abs showing? Also, who wears a T-shirt in the middle of January?" While talking you made your way over to him, while he looked down at his shirt.
"I am impressed though, you distracted him well enough that he didn't even saw the stain of powder on your shirt." You were now straddling his lap.
"Bucky will kill us when he finds out that the police were here." He groans and places a firm kiss on the side of your neck.
"He is an Officer who works alone, I don't think we have to worry." You moan out, your eyes meeting with Bobs who lets his tongue flicker over his lip.
"Dont tell me we both have the same idea." He is back at your neck, his hands finding their way under your shirt.
"Buck’s gone for another two weeks. I think we should have some fun." His fingers move in soft circles around your nipples.
"You really think two weeks is enough?" Bob has his head now buried in your chest giving you the cutest face you've ever seen when he looks up at you.
"I think we can break him in four days." You both fall into devilish laughter.
He pulls your shirt over your head, tossing it on the ground. His mouth now on one nipple while his hand worked the other.
"Oh fuck Bob, if you do that any longer I am going to come already."
"Dont worry Babe, probably not getting it up today so your good." You cup his face in your hands forcing him to look at you.
"I told you to cut it down Bob, it got a little out of hand lately."
"I know. I’m trying." He sounded remorseful and you knew he was but right now his sole mission was to make you feel good.
And with a dedicated tug on your sensitive bud he sent you right over the edge, the high shaking through you like thunder. Your panties and partly your pants soaked.
After catching your breath he picks you up and carries you up to the warmth of your bedroom.
Out in the cold, sat John Walker behind the drivers wheel, not able to start the car. His mind was completely overwhelmed. Not ever since he was in police school had he ever had such inappropriate thoughts.
Maybe because he was always bound to Olivia. But now he was alone, with nobody to restrain his mind or take the edge off.
Bob looked really good in this tight white shirt even though his skinniness seemed borderline unhealthy.
You on the other hand with your gentle smile and chaste eyes… You stepped into his sight and something in him moved, maybe it was all his blood rushing right between his legs.
This was not normal. He somehow managed to drive away, when his shift ended he drove home 5mph over constantly over the speedlimit. He made his way right into the shower, the warm water relaxing his muscles but not his mind.
He still wondered if Bob got that blue eye from you. But that would be absurd right? You seemed so soft and sweet. His mind wanders back to Bob, his midnight blue eyes. Then it wanders down further to Bob's tiny waist and the outline of his Abs he could see through that tight fucking shirt and unconsciously John's hand wanders to his cock.
It started almost innocent. Slow gentle strokes to the thoughts of Bob's form. Fast these innocent pictures turn to fantasies and his strokes go faster too. He imagines all the ways Bob could look like without his clothes on, sprawled underneath him. He then thinks about you the same way and he comes, unnaturally fast and, hard. His hand steadying himself on the wall. His cum sprouted in white ropes, mixing with the water from the showerhead washing down the drain.
When he finally lays down in his bed, the sleep creeps over him in an instant but so do the nightmares.
His alarm rings at 7 pm sharp. His shift starts at 9, so he goes over his usual routine. Washing his face, brushing teeth, drinking his first coffee, followed by a second. By the end of the second coffee he started to remember who he actually was and what happened on his shift yesterday.
He then realized something he didn't yesterday. Bob had a white stain on his shirt. It was obviously hard to see but it was there. His pupils were so dilated that he nearly couldn't see the blue around them. Who wears a T-shirt in the middle of January?John was so caught up in his thoughts that he forgot the time.
He clocked in, 8 minutes late to work. Now came the worst part of his day. The walk from the front door all the way down to the sheriff's office, to hand in his report of last night.
They all thought they were subtle about it. Only stealing glances at him while pretending to be caught up in work. Some were pitiful, some were hateful but it all boils down to one fact. The shining star of the town who burned himself.
The sheriff on the other hand didn't care at all, he never looked at John probably because John was just not worth it.
"Report, Walker." John moved from one foot to the other. It was his first time ever to forget to write the report.
"Sir, I forgot." He wouldn't even try to sugar coat it. The Sheriff lets out a huff.
"Anything out of the ordinary last night?"
"One call. Suspicion of domestic abuse. I left the card with the help hotline." It's way too silent to John's liking, he hears the blood in his ears rush.
"You’re good Walker, head off."
And John did. He left the department faster than he entered it.
He comes to a stop with his car at his usual spot. And then he waited and waited. Nothing happened and since he was bored out of his mind he decided to pay the McCarty Road a visit.
To his surprise the light on No. 4th was partly on. He shouldn't go back, he left the card, that was all he could do. He even never believed for a second that you gave Bob that bruise anyway.
Maybe the excuse was good enough. While John struggled with his thoughts you and Bob were at the verge of starting another fight.
"Bob, that is not fair you opened the door last time."
"Well yes but I wasn't prepared and also he is probably here to check in on me not you."
You two preyed at the window nearly the whole night, waiting for John to come back and he didn't disappoint.
While Bob threw you a look of triumph, you came up with a better idea.
He was just checking in on Bob. That's what John told himself while walking from his car to the front door. He could have sworn that the door opened before he knocked.
"Officer Walker, what honors me your presence this late at night?" You pitched your voice a little higher than needed. John is completely taken by you. The clothes you're wearing are sitting just right everywhere on your body. The perfume you wore, a pleasant smell in his nose.
"I just wanted to see if everything’s alright. I mean you and Bob living alone here, plenty of room for problems."
That's not what John wanted to say, and the frown on your face made him regret his words instantly.
"Sorry, that's not- that's not what I… Just if you guys need help with anything maybe I can-."
John Walker took the bait. There was no chance now that you would let him off the hook.
"Actually Officer, we could use your help. Our heating system does not work properly. It makes strange noises and the highest it can go is to a 69 degrees."
The honest confession took John by surprise. He now waited for you to invite him inside and with a step to the side you do.
You close the door, your eyes never leaving his figure.
"Look who’s here to help Bob!" You shout over Officer Walker's head. Pointing at him. Bob stood on a small stool pretending to try repairing the heater himself, that he took his shirt off completely wasn't part of the plan.
You just rolled your eyes at him and let the scene unfold in front of you.
Officer Walker had a little bit of red on his face since he took Bob's appearance in. When Bob made his way over to him to shake his hand he even flinched for a matter of seconds.
Poor man, you thought to yourself.
"Thanks for helping, man, I've been trying to get this thing to work since midday."
John doesn't respond, he just takes the tools out of Bob's hand and goes straight to work.
Safe to say Bob and you had the time of your lives. Officer Walker was determined to get the heater fixed. His movements were precise, his focus only on the problem in front of him even letting out a few frustrated groans from time to time.
You were surprised, even though he looked a little untrained for a Police Officer you could see his biceps flexing a little.
Bob on the other hand was fixated on the Officer's lower half trying to find out what he hides beneath his work pants.
John really hoped he would not be able to fix the heater. It would be a great excuse to come back. He then sees a broken cord. At first he thought an animal had bitten it in half but it was too clear, it was cut through with something sharp.
Before he can think about it too long Bob starts to talk. Pulling everyone out of their thoughts.
"Officer, can I offer you something, a beer?"
John looks over to the two of you.
"No thank you I don't drink when on patrol." He fixes his gaze right back on the heater.
Bob gets himself and you a beer from the fridge. After a few sips it's your turn.
"And Officer, where is your partner? Isn't it common to patrol in pairs. I mean isn't it dangerous to be out all alone?"
He smiles to himself because you were right. It's unusual for an Officer to patrol alone. Now he had to decide whether to tell the truth or not.
"Well, I prefer to work alone and the other Officers prefer to not work with me."
You and Bob just nod at his answer. You didn't had to dig any deeper, you already knew. Nobody wanted to work with a man who was stripped of all his titles, fallen from everyone's grace.
Poor man. You thought to yourself again.
But Bob just got started. He wanted to see how far they could drag him.
"At least a family waiting for you back home, Officer?" You gave Bob a kick in the back of his knee. You didn't want to scare John Walker off.
He let's out a deep breath.
"No actually I don't but it's fine." You and Bob were sure you two never met someone this honest. The sad truth was John Walker had nothing to lose.
That was the reason he ignored to cutted cord.
"I think you guys have to make it till tomorrow. Can’t fix it with those tools."
And of course you two pretended to believe it.
You escort him back to the front door.
"We expect you back tomorrow at the same time." You bat your eyes at him, your hand holding his biceps for a second.
"Yes Ma’am." Is all he manages to breathe out he then leaves on his heel. This time he drives off instantly because you were still watching him.
When he is out of sight, you're back indoors.
"Ma’am. How old those he think I am?"
"Maybe he gets off of it."
"As long as I get to call him Sir in exchange, that's fine."
Bob shakes his head and gives you a slap on the ass then grabs it and pulls you into a kiss.
"Stop Bob, it was a long day for me. I am going to bed, without you."
"Oh come on, you can stay awake a little longer." He places his hand on your hips and pushes you against the wall. You laugh into his mouth, pushing him away.
"I am not. I need my sleep to keep up with you, little maniac." Bob just rolls his eyes and you head off to your room.
He makes his way over to the heater fixing the cable he just cut an hour prior.
With the adrenaline rushing through his veins John didn't even think about sleeping. He finished his report which took him only a few minutes since nothing happened, at least nothing he should write down. He also catched up on the report he forgot.
At 10 am he still wasn't asleep so he decided to head to the grocery store. He was basically out of everything.
When he comes back out of the store, putting away the bags into his car he sees you. You're standing a little hidden, nearly behind the store. Then a man approaches you. No greeting, you're just gesturing for him to follow you. Then you and the man are out of sight and John waits. When the man came back the smile he had on his face was unnaturally wide.
You hold onto a cigarette and make your way over to a parked car in which Bob sat behind the wheel.
John shook the thoughts away as best as he could but the questions still infiltrated his head. From what he saw it looked like Bob pimps you out. No, he wouldn't do that and you would never let that happen right? It didn't work in favour that Bob ruffled through your hair and then gave you a kiss on the cheek.
With his mind racing he got a good two hours of restless sleep. He nearly forgot to pack up the tools for later.
Every time he pulled into this street his blood started to rush a little faster than usual. When he got out of the car the door already opened and John stepped inside without another invitation.
You were still in your room. Bob was the one who opened the door. John closed it behind him and noticed your absences. Then Bob, who stood right in front of the heating system.
"Sorry man, I just got it fixed." John could feel that the air was already warming up. Now he was a little sad, there was no reason for him to be here anymore.
"Well then I will go back to my car since you no longer need me."
"Who said we don't?" The question hung over the both men, till you came downstairs.
"Officer Walker! It's such a pleasure to see you."
He tugged at the collar of his shirt.
"Since the heater is already fixed I was just about to leave."
You pouted at him with the biggest eyes you could pull.
"You rather spend the night outside in the cold sitting in this worn out car and listening to bad music on the radio than to spend it with us, inside where it's warm?"
The way you phrased it was brutal, but it was the truth. Who in their right minds would choose the first option?
So a few seconds later he sits on the couch. His legs pressed together his shoulders tense. Bob sat a few inches away from him. He and you stole glances from each other while you made your way right behind the couch.
Your hands come to John Walker's shoulders, pulling him back with a little force.
"Officer, you're quite tense up here, let me help you out." And the way you said it, so innocent and sweet, made sure that he wouldn't protest.
Your fingers worked magic, you seemed to hit all the right spots, his eyes rolling back into his head. Bob soaked in the show while some barriers broke inside John and he doesn't shy away from a certain question.
"I saw the two of you early near the grocery store, what were you guys doing?"
You look over to Bob in panic but he was as chill as ever.
"What do you think we were doing?"
"Honestly, from my perspective it looked like you were pimping her out."
Bob and you laughed first and John chimed in. You were relieved, this was far more away from the truth than he could imagine.
"Well in any of these scenarios I would be the one to pimp out Bob, I have dignity, Bob is the one without a gag-reflex."
"Hey dont phrase it that way, you put me in a bad light." Officer Walker started to tense again, so you intensified the massage a little.
"Seems like the massage is not working properly. He looks tense again." Bob raises his eyebrows at you. Now it was all or nothing, and poor John couldn't do anything about it.
Bob shifted a little closer and started to whisper right into his ear. His hand was already flying to John's thigh.
"Officer, let me help you relax." John swallowed hard but before he could do anything you placed a hand under his chin and forced him to look at you while Bob made his way between his legs.
"Let Bob do what he can do best, trust me your pretty head will be empty in no time." John should have definitely done something. He should have stood up, left this house and never come back. But how could he when you looked down at him with those soft eyes and Bob's delicate fingers working their way.
Careful Bob opens the belt and pushes down the pants and the tight boxers. The sight which then unfolds in front of him makes his mouth water. Bob looks up at you and you give him a sign to start.
Well when the neighbors called the police because of your fight with Bob the other day they would definitely call the Police again because of the sounds Officer Walker let out of his mouth.
You thought Bob was loud but Officer Walker took it to another level. While Bob worked his mouth on his dick your hands roamed over his chest and every so often you had to place your hand over his mouth.
"Damn, he is so responsive." Bob spoke, also to get a good breath of air. He had drool on the lower half of his face and on his shirt. His eyes were teary, it was quite the view.
You spoke directly to Bob holding the Officer's head in place with your hand over his mouth.
"Right? I think if you don't let him come now he’s going to explode any second." The look you and Bob exchanged speaks for itself and Bob goes straight back to work.
John started to squirm, the whole situation was overwhelming for him. Still you didn't loosen up your hold on him. Bob pins him down by the hips and with one final push all the way down the Officer's cock he comes down Bob's throat.
Bob leaves his cock instantly, he manages to keep some of the cum in his mouth. He pulls you into a kiss and you swallow, greedy for a taste. It was a miracle that John didn't black out by this view.
Bob goes back into his place between the Officer's legs, fiddling with the pants.
"Come on John, let's put you back together, what would your co-workers think, when you clock out, looking like a mess?"
"How- How do you know my name?"
You and Bob were lucky that right in that moment a call came in for John. He put himself together and left without another word spoken.
When the door closed behind him you gave Bob a hard smack on the back of his head.
"Idiot."
"Yeah, I know." He sounded like a hurt puppy.
Bob really felt bad letting the name slip and started crying heavily. You pull him into your arms, slowly stroking his back to comfort him.
"Dont worry Bob, he will come back."
After John paid the call a visit, it was not an intruder only the neighbours cat, he made his way back to his apartment. He still couldn't wrap his mind around how you both found out his name. He didn't have any online presence. He doesn't know what kind of game you guys were playing but he sure was going to fire back.
He pulled out his work laptop and typed Bob's full name in the data-bank but there was nothing. He typed in your name next, also nothing, also no social media presence as if you two don't exist.
He didn't wait for his next shift, he wanted answers, now.
"Officer Walker what are you–"
"Stop the bullshit, I am off duty.”"
You take a step back and let him come in. He had his hands on his hips, his forehead curled.
"Where’s Bob?"
"Oh he is…Somewhere else."
He loses his patience. He pushes you right against the wall, his hand on your throat.
"You will give me an answer to every question I have, no lying." You just started to laugh.
"You know it's pretty rude to come into my own house, overpower me and then make amends."
You give him a dedicated kick into his stomach and he tumbles back. It took him by surprise, you were stronger than you looked. Problem was, his technique was better so after a few minutes of fighting he had your arms tied behind your back and sat you down on a chair.
"You know what this would look like when someone comes in?"
"As I said, I am off duty. Nobody is coming sweetheart." The nickname made this whole situation inappropriately hot.
He leans closer to you, then shys away after realising what is happening in his own body, the bulge already forming inside his jeans.
Your eyes wander down between his legs.
"You know, you’re just a freak like us."
The statement makes his face turn red in anger, he pulls your head back by your hair.
"How do you guys found out my name?"
You smirk at him, to make his blood boil even more.
"I overheard two other Police Officers talking about you, John Walker. One called you a disgrace, the other a fallen hero. Now, which one is right?"
He tugs at your hair even more.
"Stop that. Stop the lying."
You roll your eyes at his dramatic behaviour.
"You know if you pay the right person online, you can find out everything right?"
Now he just looks at you in disbelief.
"Why–why would you do that?" You just shrugged. The honest reason was that it was a test. You and Bob wanted to know if John told the truth. So far he never lied, not even once.
"Okay, next question. Why is there no data about you and Bob? No birthdate, no relatives, nothing. Why?"
Now that was a problem. You tried to overplay it with fake confidence.
"Aw, I feel honored. You looked us up in your silly little data-bank at the police department, yes?"
"Jonathan F. Walker, maybe you shouldn't worry so much about the past and rather focus on what is happening to you in the present." Your use of his full name caught him off guard.
You use the silence to discreetly spread your legs. Good thing that you choose to only wear a long shirt around the house and no pants.
"Come on Sir. This world has abandoned you. It chewed you up and spit you out at the tender age of twenty-six. When was the last time you did something just for yourself John? When was the last time you were selfish?"
And there he was. You could see the exact moment where he thought -fuck it-. He dropped to his knees, pulled your underwear to the side and worked his tongue right over your clit.
You moaned out, taken a little by surprise. The stubbles on his chin against your sensitive skin, the coarse skin of his hands on your thighs. You could have come right on the spot.
"Please Sir, not so fast, I wanna enjoy this a little longer." Your voice is laced with faux seriousness.
He raises his head up a little.
"Yes Ma’am"
You really wanted to bury your hands in his hair but you were still tied, so you just gave in. Savouring every second. His fingertips dig into your tight leaving marks, but you don’t care. He drags one nail all the way down to your knee, the pain makes you jolt in pleasure.
"Sure you like that." He murmurs into your pussy.
"Yes Sir." Was all you could breath out feeling your climax crawling closer by the second. He pulls you closer to him, his crooked nose disappearing in your folds.
It's the sight that sends you right over the edge, while you do so he covers your mouth with his hand.
Then this fucking bastard winks at you. "The neighbours." His free hand moves to hus belt but before the scene can go any further a loud click echoed through the house.
Neither of you heard Bob coming in. Now he stood right behind John, the shotgun pointed at his head.
"Hands up. Move away from her, slow." Bob was suspicious of the scene. You normally didn't like being tied up.
John does as he is told. Bob keeps his shotgun pointed at him while walking over to you. You turn your back to Bob, he unties you with one hand and hands you the rope.
"Why don't you return the favour to our Officer?"
Well John's fighting technique was better than yours but your rope game was stronger. Experience is everything.
Now he sat on the chair you sat in earlier. While the two of you argue in another room.
"He came here because he wanted answers. He couldn't find us in the police data-bank. And he wanted to know how we found out his first name."
"And what did you tell him?"
"The truth Bob, nothing more nothing less. And still, he didn't leave."
"Bucky will kill us." Bob groaned out in frustration, not because he was actually scared.
"I know but maybe we could all come out of this with mutual benefits. He is lonely Bob and just imagined having a Police Officer in our team. The opportunities!"
"You’re right, still, Bucky will kill us."
"Lets show him a little at first. Let's see how he reacts. When you pointed your shotgun at him he didn't even flinch Bob."
The look he gave you both when you made it back in his sight was heartbreaking. He fully embraced what would come next, it nearly looked like he was at peace about it.
Bob leans over to you again, whispering.
"Damn your right. This man is done with his life."
Bob holds the shotgun right to John's chest, he doesn't move one inch.
"Youre lucky that you're so pretty man. We're going to show you something then you decide how this little situation goes."
Bob leaves the room again. John pulls his head in your direction.
"So you guys also figured out why I am only an Officer by twentysix?"
You nod and John huffs in response.
"But as you see John, we don't care. We all went through stuff we rather not talk about."
Bob comes back and throws a huge, black container at John's feet and you open it. Thousands of small plastic bags filled with white powder were tucked in the box.
John just looks up in disbelief and a somewhat painful expression.
"Cocain? Really? Couldn't it have been weed or adderal? Do you guys know how fucking unhealthy, no... dangerous this stuff is?"
Bob raises an eyebrow at him.
"Says the man who eats burgers like he breathes air."
"I don't want to have anything to do with this."
Bob's hands tensed around his gun. It is you who talks next.
"Well, we don't want you involved either. We just want you to keep your mouth shut."
All of a sudden John rises from his chair and reaches out for your hand for a handshake while looking at Bob, a stupid smile on his lips.
"Deal."
The next time John came over he needed a few moments to adjust. Sure he had some experiences with alcohol and weed when he was a little younger but looking at Bob while he took a full line was something else. And to be honest it turned him on more than it should.
"You should try it too."
"Bob no, stop." You shout out from another room.
"She just doesn't like it because the last time she took it she had the biggest nose bleed of her life." Bob whispers over to John, you can still hear him.
"We had to go to the hospital! Also that time I really gave you a black eye."
"And I liked it!"
"Yeah because your a sick-fuck Bob."
Bob winks at John who clings onto his bottle of beer. He pulls his head in Bob's direction.
"So you like getting hurt?"
Bob just laughs and climbs into John's lap.
"Maybe Sir, you know I never got much love back home."
"Well let's change that." The next thing you hear were sloppy wet kisses.
You made your way over to the living room where John and Bob were in full action but your target was the kitchen counter.
Out of one of the drawers you pull a slim plastic vial with your last pre-rolled joint.
You put it between your lips and wander over to the couch. After you lit it up John recognized the smell immediately and pulled away from Bob's mouth.
"You smoke?"
You shrug at the question.
"Told you everyone of us has their own shit going on. Want a hit?" You hold the joint in his direction.
"I can’t if someone finds out about all of this I am losing my job." Bob laughs at that.
"Sweet, you really think losing your job is the worst possible outcome?" Now that Bob mentioned it he realized how stupid this thought was, John would end up in jail or worse. It scared John how little he cared about that.
Bob pulled him into another kiss. You sat there watching, your heart filling with joy while the weed is makes its way into your system.
"Don’t have to worry about the smell. This my last one, since your friends busted my dealer a few weeks ago I couldn't find a replacement. This town is just too damn small." John hummed in agreement.
You watch Bob leaving the living room and at some point you take the chance and crawl into John's lap. Your hands roaming over his face. He was completely flushed from the kissing with Bob.
"You're both quite a handful." He says while closing his arms around your hips without hesitation.
"Normaly Bucky takes care of us. Especially of Bob. You will see when he is back, he will love you."
Without realizing it your hips started to move. You could taste a little bit of Bob on John's lips.
"Hey, today is my turn."
You turn your head around and roll your eyes at Bob.
"Yeah Yeah stop the whining and calm down. It's not my problem that he prefers me."
John just wanted to say something in his defense but Bob was already back at him, pulling up John's sweater. Bob bit and tug at every inch of skin he could get his teeth on. Leaving dark purple bruises and deep red scratches and John seemingly got off of it.
You giggled, that was actually what you had intended. Bob always got quite possessive. You wanted to see what John would do about it. Well, John definitely enjoyed the assault Bob did to his skin.
You watch the spectacle a little longer then you decide to call it a night. You didn't want to go between Bob and John today. Bob was just about to mark his territory and you wouldn't fight him about it, at least not today.
"I’m heading off guys, have fun."
But John grabbed you by the wrist. "Stay here, please?" Bob started to pout already.
"Trust me John I can make you feel real good." Bob licked all the way from John's waistline up to his chin, but John was determined. He grabs Bob's face forcing him to look him in the eyes.
"I know you will make me feel good but I still want to eat her and you will not complain, understood?" Bob whines and nods.
Oh John and Bucky will go along just perfect. Was your last thought before John pushed Bob slightly away and turned to you.
He gets rid of your pants and panties and lays down flat on the couch.
"You sit down on my face. And you Bob do what you did the last time." Now there was heat in yours and Bob's cheeks. You basically spoke in unison.
"Yes Sir."
John's tongue was magic to say the least. He just knows when to apply pressure, when to go soft and this view? Breathtaking. His face between you tights, he looked like he was in heaven and maybe he was. Then he decided to test the waters and slowly pushed a finger inside of you. A deep moan dragged through you, your upper body falling forward.
Bob on the other hand had a hard time concentrating. Your and John moans and your ass bouncing from John eating your pussy were quite the distraction.
John's hand manages to find Bob's face. He pushed you up a little so he could speak.
"Come on, Bob, focus, you can do it." And with that John pushed Bob's head down and started thrusting into him. Now it was Bob's gags which shamelessly filled the room.
It was too much for you and without further warning you came all over John's face. And when he came inside Bob's throat John's moans were swallowed by your pussy.
You then decide for yourself to get up from your position. The both of them were catching their breaths while you made your way over to the bookshelf. Your legs felt heavy but you managed and the next thing everyone hears is a loud click and a bright flashlight.
John's eyes widened in panic.
"Relax man, it's an analog camera, she's been obsessed with it since she bought it at a flea market last year." Bob's voice was hoarse which made you giggle.
"And it was only 10 bucks." You hold the camera high in the air like a prize. John just smiles and shakes his head.
John then pulls Bob into his arms and you take another picture. John takes Bob's face into his hand, his thump stroking over the faded bruise under Bob's eye.
"Might now tell me what happend?"
You were in the middle of putting your clothes back on and froze while Bob started to laugh. You never found this situation funny to begin with.
"Well, it was actually her fault."
You shoot Bob a piercing look, then you suck in a deep breath.
"I was alone around here and spilled my tea and was too lazy to wipe it off right away, then i forgot and–"
"And I came home through the backdoor, didn't see the puddle, slipped and bumped face first into the kitchen island–"
"And I was freaking out, urging Bob to drive to the hospital but he didn’t want to and then we started arguing–"
"Which then must have led to the neighbors calling the police."
Bob had a smug smile on his face while you hid yours in your hands out of guilt and embarrassment.
"That is the most cliche story I ever heard."
Since you were still too embarrassed to speak, Bob continued.
"That’s why we didn't tell you, would you have believed that?"
John just shakes his head from left to right and chimes in with Bob’s laughter.
"When the two of you are finished with making me feel completely stupid, are you guys coming to bed?"
"I think I will keep John occupied a little longer." Before John can say anything Bob's lips are on his. You wave them off and head to your room.
When John got back to the police station for his next shift he didn't go straight for the exit when he left the sheriff's office. His target was the evidence room. He covered himself in a shit ton of deodorant beforehand so nobody would smell the bags who sat in a box in the far back of the shelf labeled with the date of confiscation, when he put them into the inner pockets of his jacket.
When he got back, you and Bob sat in front of the tv. Not paying it too much attention. Bob was half asleep and you were lost in your thoughts.
You put a finger over your lips, sighing for John to stay quiet. He sits down to your right handing you some plastic bags, your eyes widened in surprise.
"John, how? Where?"
"Doesn't matter, hope it's enough? I can get you more if you want."
"Enough? John, this will last me for weeks!" You give him a big hug, pressing as hard as you can and he just smiles at you. You get straight to work.
The next few days nothing out of the ordinary happened. John slept most of the time at the house instead of driving all the way back to his apartment. Then on Friday he received a call over his private phone in the middle of the day.
It was an emergency and every Officer available had to come. He pressed a thick kiss on your forehead and one on Bob's cheek and then he was gone. You wouldn't see him for the next two days.
When John arrived at the department everyone was hectic. Over half the Officers were talking on the phone. John was pulled to the side by the sheriff himself and got a short brief.
A young girl, Jessica Randal, 15 years old has been found dead behind a dumpster. She was in perfect health but died of a sudden heart attack. The autopsy revealed drugs or rather direct cocaine intake.
John's poker face was perfect in every way. He sat down at his desk which already collected dust and made himself busy. For two days he made calls which led to nothing and was present when people were interrogated. It all leads to nothing.
He was finally sent away to rest, but he didn't go to his apartment, he went home. What he couldn't know was that it was also the day of Bucky coming back.
So when he stormed into the house in his uniform, out of breath wanting to warn you and Bob he couldn't know that Bucky came right out of the basement and stood behind him. And without letting everyone talk, Bucky sent the intruder right to sleep with a precise and hard punch to the back of his head.
Next thing John knew was that he was bound to a chair, again but this time with cuffs instead of rope. His mouth was also gagged while he sat in a dark room only able to hear you fighting with someone who was not Bob.
The door opens and in slips a shaking Bob who warns John before he turns on the lights.
"John I am so sorry we didn't have time to talk to him, he just came back an hour ago." Gentle Bob takes out the piece of clothing from John's mouth who then rings for air, Bob also takes the cuffs off.
"They sound like they are about to kill each other!" John was worried, not about his situation. He was worried about you.
"Dont worry she can handle him. Not gonna lie, we messed up."
While Bob comforted John, you and Bucky gave a scene right out of a drama movie from the early 2000s.
"I have been gone for three weeks and you two set hell loose. What were you even thinking?!?"
"You said we could have fun!"
"I said, have fun but don't get the police involved. And what did you guys do? You got the police involved!"
"Trust me Bucky, he is not like the other cops, just give it time."
"Not like the other Cops? Are you even listening to what you are saying? He is a Cop! We don't need him sniffing around here."
"He doesn't need to sniff around, he already knows."
Okay you shouldn't have said that. Furious, he storms off right to the room where John was chained to the chair.
"Bucky wait, don't hurt him, Please!" Your voice cracked halfway through the sentence.
He ignores you, blind with anger.
When Bob hears the heavy footsteps coming up the stairs he positions himself right before John.
Bucky storms in, his gun loaded.
"Bobby I will only say this once, move."
"Bucky i will not its not his fault that–"
"Your right it's yours how could you both be so fucking stupid?!"
Bucky had his gun now directly pointed at Bob's head. John stood up and shoved Bob to the side now the gun was directly pointed at him and everybody, including you standing in the door frame, froze.
"Let them out of it, Bucky! I came here because I wanted to. If you so desperately want to kill me then do it. I don't care."
John literally takes Bucky's hand and leads the gun even closer to his own head.
The look Bucky sent your way and Bob was bloodchilling, but still he lowers his gun. You just let out a sign of relief but then Bucky raises his first and gives John a punch right on the nose, which knocks him out again.
The next time he opens his eyes Bob hovers over him with a soaked towel, he tries to rub away the blood.
"Hey, sorry he is normally a total sweetheart, he just has to warm up." John just huffs. His hand finds the spot on his face which still leaks a little blood.
"Yeah I see, he is definitely the sweetheart type. Are they still fighting?"
'Yes but she’s about to win. You rather want to stay alone tonight or?" John already pulled Bob next to him.
While they slowly drift off into sleep you and Bucky were still on it.
"Bucky please. I know you're angry right now but try not to worry, Bob and I had everything under control."
"And when exactly were you about to tell me?"
"Well, when the time was right." You dare to step a little closer to him and he doesn't step back.
"Bucky, please. Don't be so harsh. We did everything you told us. No internet, we were careful while delivering, we even ate fruits and vegetables like you told us to."
Bucky rolls his eyes but you know the last part made him melt, at least a little. You go over to the refrigerator and pull out a cold beer for him. Making sure your movements were a little slower than necessery so he could take your figure in fully.
You never saw him drink anything this quick. He places the empty bottle into the sink and closes the distance between you and him.
He picks you up and sits you down on the counter. His mouth is already at your neck, you shriek out at the sudden touch.
“I’m so sorry for screaming at you love, let me apologize.” His hands are already at the hem of your shirt pulling it over your head and tossing it on the ground.
His face goes directly between your boobs. Then his lips find your nipple and he immediately starts to suck.
"Oh god Bucky, we're prep food here."
"I know Love, you're my favorite meal." And that was an understatement. His mouth finds your pussy on instinct. He eats you out like he is starving. After what feels like hours of him working is tongue over and inside you you come with a pitched scream, hoping that you didn't wake up John and Bob.
Your body moves upwards with his right hand he pushes your back onto the counter. You only hear the sound of his zipper pulled down. With one smooth motion he is completely inside you, stretching you out deliciously.
You grip onto the counter for dear life. Your moans a constant switch between high and deep.
"I missed you, I missed you both with my whole heart but fuck, this was a little too much for one day." He pounds into you harder.
"I know Buck, I'm sorry."
"No Love, I am. I overreacted. I should have listened to you and Bob." You can not answer, he basically pushes the air out of your lunges.
After some time his grip on your hips tightens and with one deep trust you come together. Your legs on his shoulders shaking like crazy while you feel his cum making its way into you. He collapses on your chest placing a few soft kisses here and there.
When you catched your breath your whispering filled the room.
"Maybe you should apologize to John next, he didn't do anything wrong."
The next morning John rolled over to his side and reached out but Bob was already gone. He sat up in a sudden adrenaline rush. What time is it? He couldn't find his phone so he stood up and reached for the door.
When he sprinted down the stairs he came to a sudden stop seeing all three of you sat down at the kitchen table.
His hand unconsciously wanders to his nose while looking at Bucky.
"John, take a seat." you told him. When he was sat you continued.
"We talked about yesterday and–" Just then John remembered the reason for his visit yesterday. The reason why he couldn't come over for two days straight.
"Wait before you go on, I have something to tell." Then he talked about everything going on at the station. When he came to an end Bucky let out a grumpy huff.
"We don't sell to kids. We make sure that everyone who buys it uses it themselves."
John's cheeks reddened a bit.
"Well then, you guys got some kind of competition." You, Bob and Bucky exchange a look John couldn't interpret, then silence until Bob moves from his chair.
"John, maybe you shouldn't come here for the next couple of weeks." Your words let Bob and John shudder.
Before John can even think to protest, Bucky makes the statement clear.
"You're not coming here John, understood?"
And John nods, like he doesn't care. Meanwhile his heart starts to hurt. Coming here to You and Bob made him feel like he belonged, that he was needed and maybe even loved.
Now he was expected to retreat, but he would not put up a scene. When he was no longer wanted here, he would respect that.
He doesn't question it. He stood up and gathered his stuff, without looking at anybody. You just sat in your chair watching his every movement. Bob made himself busy in the kitchen and Bucky retreated to the basement.
When he was right at the door Bob stopped him.
"Wait before you leave, I made you lunch for work, later so you don't have to eat cheeseburgers the whole day." He hands John a brown paperback and gives him a thick kiss on the cheek.
"We’ll get back to you, I promise." John presses out a smile at Bob's words. All you manage to get out is a small "See you around." You weren't even sure if he could hear it all the way from the kitchen. And then he is gone.
Bob stood a little longer at the door. All of you are fighting your own battles from now on.
It took Bucky all his strength to not just drive over the house where he assumed the other dealers would be and shoot them down without question.
Bob surprised you instead of diving deeper into his drug addiction he used them less and less which caused some brutal withdrawal symptoms. He was more tense than usual. His gaze drifted away more.
And then there was you. Angry that someone interrupted your kind of peaceful life sure it wasn't perfect by any means but it was everything you needed and now it started to shatter once again.
You all three sat at the kitchen table. Bob was only physically present.
"Bucky, I swear to god, we will not move again. We brought this house to finally settle and calm down."
"You know that we can not control what happens. When the police bust them and our names leave their lips it is over."
"John would take care of it."
"John is not here, do you really want to drag him into all of this ?"
Now Bob shook his head before you can say anything and Bucky takes it as a no.
"Good that we cleaned that up, I will talk with some people. Hold it low, don't do anything stupid."
He gets up and throws his jacket over his shoulder before he leaves, he gives Bob and you a big kiss on the forehead.
When he is gone Bob looks in your direction, a knowing smirk forming on his lips.
"When are we going to do the stupid?"
In his apartment on the other side of town sat on his bed a heart broken John Walker.
He regretted nothing, not meeting you two, not coming back, nothing except one thing. He should have said something, that he wanted to be a part of the group, not just someone who comes over from time to time.
Sure you would kick him out. He was an intruder. For a whole night his mind was racing, what could he do? What could he do to actually help? He should do what he could to best, pretend to be an obedient Officer and gather as much information as possible.
Into his next shift he clocked in on time, he asked if someone else could take the patrol and got to work on his computer. He stayed extra hours. Everyone around him thought that he was eager, eager to crack this case so he could restrain a part of his former glory. Little did they know that he was determined to get his hands first on everything so he could protect the people he loved.
But the problem was: nothing happened for the next three weeks. Sure they interrogated a few school friends of the victim but of course nobody knew something with value.
At some point John had enough. He wanted to know if the three of you knew something he didn't. Hell he wanted to know if you guys were still there or fled in the middle of the night.
Unfortunately for John, Bucky was the only one home.
"John I- we told you not to come back." Bucky tried to hide his anger behind feigned concern.
"You said a few weeks, they are over now, where are Bob and–"
"John leave, right now!"
"Listen, I know you don’t like me, that you dont thrust me, you don’t have a single reason to but I need to know what you know so i can-"
"No John, you don't, you already know too much! I just want-"
"I worry about them too, okay? I don’t want to see any of you in jail or move away!"
It was Bucky who then closed the distance between them, of course. John braced himself for a punch, instead he was met with Bucky raspy lips on his own.
It felt different than with you or Bob. Bucky was rougher in his kissing, his touch, with everything in general. It still felt good, so good that as John leaned into the kiss, the both of them caught up in their doing, didn't hear Bob entering the living room.
Bob was as silent as possible. He wanted to see how this scene would unfold and he didn't want to interrupt any unspoken words. He hid behind the wall which separated the living room from the entrance of the house.
He listens and risks a look from time to time.
He hears that John pushes Bucky against a wall, then he sees how Bucky pulls at John's hair. Both of them moaning deep and desperate just as desperate as Bob who had his hand long in his pants, the other over his mouth to cover his own sounds.
What he doesn't hear is Bucky whispering into John's ear.
"Bob's hiding behind the wall, what do you say?"
"Lets take him upstairs". John whispers in response. Both men smiled like they made a deal with the devil.
John speaks up again, his tone full with mockery. "I knew you're a pervert Bobby but voyeurism? Really?"
Bob eyes shoot wide, his mouth falls open. He can already hear both men making their way over to him. He heads right up to his bedroom Bucky and John right behind him. He makes it into his room and wants to slam the door shut but John is fast enough to place his foot between the door and its frame.
"Come on Bobby, don't get all shy now." John then pushes the door open and Bucky closes it right behind him.
"Sorry Sorry i just didn't want to interrupt anything." While talking his eyes flicker between the two men. His pulse was audible in his ear.
Bucky then takes a few steps forward. His hand gently stroked over Bob's cheek. Bob was shaking like crazy. The gentle touch made it worse. The withdrawal made his mind a little foggy while his body got into a strange mix of freeze and flight mode.
"Everything okay Bob?"
"You guys are not really angry with me, right?"
Bucky just shakes his head and places a soft kiss on Bob's nose.
"Then, everything’s fine, I know my words." With that Bucky basically yanks Bob onto the bed. Tearing down his pants and underwear while Bob just whines under his touch. Just when Bucky's hands reach for the hem of Bob's shirt John interrupts.
"The shirt stays on." Bucky just nods at that and continues with placing soft but dragging kisses everywhere. While Bucky is busy with Bob's upper half John goes straight to work on the lower half.
When he starts to place kisses all over Bob's inner thighs he squirmed so hard Bucky has to hold him down.
Under his breath Bob started to mutter. "I must have died and this is my punishment."
John exchanges a concernd look with Bucky who tries to assure John that everything is alright.
John continues his work on Bob's tights while Bucky preps Bob with endless kisses while whispering in his ear.
"Dont worry Bobby, John over there will make the bad thoughts disappear."
Bob only whines and goes on with his muttering. Bucky grabs into Bob's nightstands and hands John a bottle.
John then uses the lube to cover his fingers in a thick layer, while slowly stretching him out Bob starts to sob. "More, more please."
"You heard that John? I think he is ready."
Bob's eyes were shut the whole time but as John painfully slowly entered Bob with his long and thick cock his eyes shot wide with bliss. Tears forming in the corners of his eyes, Bucky gently patting his cheek.
"Hey pretty boy, breathe for us, yeah?" And Bob does as best as he can. After some time something in Bob breaks and he wants more.
He searches eye contact with Bucky who holds him with incredible tenderness.
"Bucky, please, I want you too."
"John? Turn him around."
With that Bob was on all fours, John behind him, still in his uniform, Bucky in front of him. And finally the bad thoughts were gone, all of his thoughts were gone, he could have stayed like this forever.
"Look at him John, seems like you fucked his brain out."
"You know sometimes I wonder if he even has one or if he just thinks with his dick."
While Bob whines at the mean comment Bucky let out a small laugh.
After sometime all three of them could feel that they would approach their highs. Bucky pulled Bob's hair out of his face to look into his beautiful blue eyes. John tightened his grip on Bob's hips, strong enough for Bob to bruise on the spot.
"Look at you Bobby taking us both so well, want the both of us come inside you too? Make you feel full?"
Bob nods eagerly, which spurs John and Bucky on to take up speed. The feeling of both of them finishing inside Bob sends him over the edge. Bucky's hot cum down his throat, John filling his ass up from behind, his own release spurting all over his bed sheets.
Bob's body goes limp immediately, still trapped between Bucky and John. Bucky pulls out first making his way to the bathroom while John draws his climax a little longer. When Bucky comes back with a hot and wet washcloth John carefully pulls out what makes Bob fall into the bedsheets.
"Don’t worry he is always this messy." Bucky then tries to clean Bob with the washcloth but it was no use, he needed to shower.
"John, why don’t you take him to the shower. I will clean everything else up in the meantime."
John drags Bob to the bathroom and manhandles him into the shower positioning himself right behind Bob. He then grabs the shampoo bottle and cleans every inch of Bob’s body. Since Bob was still sensitive he wasn’t sure if John tried to be sweet or torture hin even more.
After a few minutes John wanted to ask if Bob knew where you were but Bucky came into the bathroom before he could do so.
"I think we have a problem." Bucky holds John's communication device in the air, a distant voice talking.
~New suspect in custody. Female, says her name is Veronica Chandler. Officer Walker to the department for interrogation. Repeat for confirmation. Over.~
That was your codename. As calm as possible he repeats the information, then he turns to Bucky.
"Give me two hours, don’t do anything." He leaves and Bucky turns to Bob.
"I am going to ask this one time Bobby, are you a distraction?"
"Sorry, you know she is convincing. I didn't know that John would pull up though."
Bucky opens his mouth but says nothing. He makes his way down the stairs, Bob hears something shattering on the ground.
Never in his life before had he driven this far over the speed limit. When he arrived you just sat on the bench, cuffed but nobody took notice of you.
No eye contact between the both of you, when John made his way over to the sheriffs office.
"Sir, you called?"
"Yeah, see that missy sitting out there? Harper and Wayne took her up near the supermarket. Luring around."
Good nobody found any drugs on you.
"And what, Sir?"
"She talked to Paul Whiteman, the crackhead of this town. I would bet my pants that she is up to something."
"So she is held here because she talked to another citizen? Sir, I think that is illegal."
"What is it, Walker? Rough times need rough methods."
John decided that it would be best for everyone if he said nothing. The sheriff gestures for him to follow.
"Miss Chandler?"
"Present." You gave a good impression of someone completely innocent. But in all honesty John could feel that the sheriff just needed someone he could blame.
When the three of you made your way into the integration room John was already on edge.
You sat down, John stood back at the door and the sheriff stood behind his side of the table.
"Miss Chandler, there will be no good cop bad cop bullshit i give you exactly one chance to confess you being involved in Jessica Randal death."
Okay that was stupid, nobody in their right mind would confess that easily right? Why the hell was the sheriff doing that?
It made it easier for you to lie, since he didn't leave room for anything else.
"Witth respect Sir, the only reason I am here is because two officers found it suspect that I talked to Paul Whiteman."
The slap with the backside of his hand stung like hell. John was quickly at stopping him before he could land another.
"Sir, I don’t think this is the proper me–"
"Shut it Officer, when I remember correctly you're not in the position to judge right? Leave."
And with that John Walker left the room. He left you alone with this asshole and you couldn't do anything about it. Sure you could have him exposed but that was under your dignity so you keep your head up and embrace whatever would come next.
27 seconds. That's how long it took for John to start his poorly scraped plan. The lights went out, pitch black darkness everywhere. He makes it back into the room where your heart sank into your stomach, the darkness making this whole situation even worse.
Then you hear a mug shattering, next a body falling to the ground. Someone pulling you up by the cuffs on your wrist and the next thing your take in is the cold night air into your lunges.
"Hurry, to the car."
He shoves you into the backseat. And gets himself behind the driver's wheel.
"John what are you doing, which car is this?"
"Just stay down okay? I will tell you later."
The drive was short, maybe ten minutes. You still didn't have a clue where you were heading to.
Then John turns into a driveway and yanks you out of the car and drags you near the woods behind the house. You both lay down and wait for what? You don't know, then you hear sirens and see blue flashlights filling the street.
They stop at the house in front of you. A few moments later some men were dragged out of the house. You blink at John, not knowing what to feel or say.
"Listen I know it's cold but you need to stay here okay? I will pick you up when everything is done. I will hurry, I promise."
How could you not trust his words after everything that just happened. After everything he just did.
You stay back and watch as he smoothly emerges with the scene. At some point everyone's leaving and all you could do was to wait.
Back at the departure sat a horrified sheriff, getting the wound on his head cared for. If it was on John he would punch him into an unconsciousness he wouldn't wake up from.
"Walker, what happened? Where has this missy gone to?"
"Excuse me Sir. What exactly are you talking about?"
"The woman in the interrogation room, where is she?"
"Sir, with all due respect when I got the call from you about a suspicious female I came here as fast as I could but when I arrived there was no woman here."
The sheriff blinks at John in disbelief.
"What has gotten into you, Walker? The woman, she was here!"
Everything happened as John hoped for the sheriff now sprinted towards him, pulling at his collar line a mad man and this time everyone in the departure could see it. Another Officer approached them, his voice low.
"Maybe we could look at the video tapes, from the cameras." And they did, not a trace of you.
The sheriff then fell into a rageful fit. Shouting and screaming at everyone.
John takes the chance and leaves without anyone noticing. He got back into his own car and drew the same route he just did an hour or so prior.
Your teeth are banging heavily, you can't feel your toes anymore. He picks you up and sits you on the passenger seat. The heat in the car is already on max. With one hand he pulls out a small key from the pocket of his shirt. A sigh of relief left you when the cold metallic cuffs fell down to the ground.
When you two arrive back home Bob and Bucky stand outside at the car, putting away some gear they were right at coming for you. When they see John's car and you're next to him they immediately freeze in their action.
You make your way out of the car over to them, your target is the warm house. They both give you a tight hug. Bucky helps you go inside while Bob goes over to John.
"Hey, you're good?"
"Let's just say, everything that needs to be done is done."
Inside, Bucky rolls you into every blanket he can get his hands on, which ends in you looking like an overweight caterpillar.
He then inspects your face and your wrists.
"Those bastards, I’m going to kill them."
"It was just one bastard but I think John took care of it."
Bucky applies some skin healing cream onto your assaulted skin.
"James, I’m sorry that is not what I had in mind. I just wanted to talk to Paul if he knew something and I thought it was John sitting in the police car. I was stupid s-sorry I." Now the adrenaline from the past hours is gone everything's crushing right onto you. No cohesive words coming out of your mouth instead heavy sobs and tears.
Bucky pulls you close, you're burying your face in his chest. Then you feel a warm body from your back and one to the side. At some point you fall into a light sleep and Bucky carries you to your bed where you fall asleep completely.
Downstairs all three of the men needed to take a deep breath. None of them were sure if there was anything left to say. After some comfortable silence it's Bucky who talks first.
"Thank you John." Bucky's eyes were soft, his words grateful and John, the stupid man he is, just started blushing in response.
"How did you found out it was them?"
"Well I talked to Paul Whiteman yesterday, he told me that one of them offered him some, but he could see from afar that the stuff was bad. Whatever that means. He gave me more information, and I tracked them down. I stole one of their cars and led the police right to their house. To make sure they are following the car I made a fake call a few seconds before I took out the light."
They both nod in acknowledgement.
"I think we could all need some sleep." Bob supposes and John and Bucky nod in agreement.
"You guys can go, I will clean up a little and then head to bed too."
John wants to offer help but Bob just takes him upstairs knowing that Bucky needs some time alone to unwind.
After another hour of tidying and cleaning up Bucky would call it a night. He goes upstairs for a short second he thinks about sleeping in his own bed but his fingers quickly find the door handle to your room.
You must be deeply asleep or else John's snoring would have kept you awake. Bob on your other side was so still that it nearly looked like he was dead.
Bucky decides to settle to your right to your waist. And within seconds he was in dreamland too.
The mean part about this was that you felt all of them in the night but you woke up alone. No wonder, it was already 3 pm when you woke up, 4 when you finally found the motivation to leave the bed.
When you came down the stairs you expected to be alone, instead John and Bob cuddled on the couch while Bucky stood in the kitchen. The smell of eggs and bacon hitting your nose.
"Hey sleeping beauty, we just did a round of rock, paper, scissors about who has to wake you. Bob lost."
Everything you had to offer was a big smile.
Bucky guides you to sit at the kitchen table and you eat in silence taking in the scene with gratitude.
After eating, and drinking your favourite drink Bucky and you make your way over to the couch settling in next to Bob and John.
---------------------
You really don’t know what you were thinking. Maybe it was the fact that you couldn't leave the house until John got fully rid of the sheriff. It's been two weeks so far. Let's say spending time alone with Bob was always an experience.
Bob couldn't get over the drugs completely but he managed to tone it down. Which led to your misery, now he wanted to make every time special.
And let's face it, when Bob pulls up his puppyeyes and asks you if he can take the line from your tits you just can’t say no.
Now you were bent over the couch table Bob and you on your knees, him mercilessly thrusting into you. Maybe at this point you all should save up for some new furniture. Then you remember that John sucked Bucky off against the fridge last monday and your guilt was gone.
"Bob I am so proud of you. 6 days is the longest strike you ever had."
"Not gonna lie to you, it feels great. Maybe I can make it to 7 days next."
He feels that you're coming closer and closer with every hit. His hand finds your throat. He holds your body up and takes up pace. Nothing but moans filling the living room.
"Can I come inside you just like John and Bucky, please."
"Yes Bob-Oh god yes!"
His final thrust sends you over the edge, the both of you screaming in unison.
He rests his head on the nape of your neck.
"You know I love you, right?"
A laugh escaped your mouth.
"Yeah I know Bobby, I love you too." You throw your head back at him with a big smirk on your face. "Now, something to calm down?"
When Bucky and John came back the whole first floor smelled like weed and sex.
Bob and you sat on the couch watching cartoons, laughing about literally everything.
"You two are disgusting, you know that?" Bucky was not amused by the state you two and the house were in but you didn’t care.
"Come on old man, loose up a little, next thing, I’m not allowed to pull up the thermostat?"
"Dont say that I’m just four years older than you."
"Not long and you can apply for senior citizenship." You knew his age is a sensitive topic but you were in the mood for a little fun.
Normally Bucky wasn't as mean or rough to you as he was with Bob or John. You were his princess after all but that was almost the only way to get him where you wanted him.
"I’m telling you one last time don’t–"
"Oh my god, is the hearing loss already kicking in?" You soaked in a deep breath and shouted the words in his direction again. "I just told you that not long anymore and you can–"
He was already at you yanking you over his shoulder, the destination, his bedroom.
John and Bob who were just laughing at the teasing now looked at each other.
"There is no way I am going to miss that." Bob breathed out.
John and Bob practically race each other behind Bucky.
He tosses you on his bed so hard you bounce back a little. He stands at the end of the bed clearly not as amused as you. He pulls you back at your ankles so that your ass is on display in front of him.
You still giggle a little seeing that John and Bob positioned themself on Bucky's lounge chair.
It was always a little fight about who would cave in first. Sometimes it was you when the pain became too much. On other occasions it was Bucky, when his feelings overwhelmed him and he couldn't put up with hurting you any longer. Most often than not it ended with him rambling little sorrys into your ear.
Well this time would be interesting. You were completely stoned out while Bucky had no intention of letting your behavior slide this time.
His flat hand on your ass sending a jolt of pleasure through your body even when it started to hurt, each slap landing with precision. After some time when your moans slowly transform into whines John feels the urge to intervene, Bob pulls him back by his collar to stop him from doing so.
"Don’t worry they are both close at caving in, I bet 10 on Bucky."
"10 on her, she looks like she's about to break in two."
They were both right but you started this little situation on purpose and Bucky going all soft on you wasn't the plan to begin with. So you pull up your best show.
"Please stop, I’m sorry I’m sorry." You whine and sob while trying to wriggle out of his grip.
And of course he stops but then he sees the smallest faint of a smile at the corner of your lips.
"Oh Love, you and your stupid games. Don’t think you can get out easily this time."
You swallow, hard. His voice was deeper than usual, his hands found their way back to your ass. Roaming shamelessly with intense pressure.
You throw your head back giving him big pleading eyes. For a sweet second he thinks about giving in then he remembers what happened about two weeks ago.
He then pushes you down with his hand right between your shoulder blades. His mouth lowers dangerously close to your ear.
"I’m not letting you off easy this time. I have not forgotten this studpid stunt you pulled. Bob and I were worried sick, if it wasn't for John you could be god knows where now."
He lowers a little more and gently bites the tip of your ear. You can practically hear him thinking, you start to become nervous, not able anymore to judge Bucky's actions at this point.
He slips a hand under your chin, cupping your face a little.
"Maybe we should let John decide what happens next."
Bucky turns your head so you both look at John who is basically a flushed mess from the show in front of him. The same counted for Bob.
And of course this motherfucker wanted to see you tied up, what else. At least he didn't use the metallic cuffs from his job but instead your own shirt. Well it was actually Bucky's but that didn't matter much at the moment.
You laid flat on the bed. Your hands tied to the bed post. Bob still sat on the chair as if he was waiting for instructions, observing everything.
John and Bucky stood at the end of the bed, admiring their work.
"I’m impressed, she usually doesn't like being tied up but when you do it she seems to enjoy it."
"Seems it, maybe we should leave for an hour or so, then she appreciates it even more."
They both laugh. They are actually laughing while you're tied to this stupid bed with nothing to cover you. You just want to say something but Bob is faster.
"Guy’s stop being so mean. We just had a little session earlier, she may be–"
"Shut up Bob, or you take her place." John’s voice is as stern as ever, which makes Bob nearly melt into the chair.
You see Bucky's hand slowly wandering over to the door handle. Maybe it's the drugs, maybe the fact that you're already kinda worn out but instead of giving them some sassy backlash your voice fell low.
"Please, don’t leave." It sounded like you were already on the verge of tears.
"Congrats John, you got her begging without even touching her."
Next thing you feel is two pairs of hands all over your body, grabbing, pulling, tracing. Their mouths, hovering, sucking, kissing every inch they can find.
At some point one of them freed your hand from the bedpost only for John to slip under you, flipping you around so that you were facing him.
He pulled you into a kiss. His tongue in your mouth is just as effective as on your pussy. It was a good distraction, so Bucky could slowly prepare your ass.
You were so dazed out maybe it's been seconds, minutes or hours you couldn't tell. The next thing you could really feel was that John and Bucky entered you at the same time with a cruel slow pace which made you moan out breathlessly.
You felt warm, they both radiated a heat towards you. Their moans fill your ears. That's when you decided to just let go and soak it all in. Your eyes roll back into your head while both of them pick up speed and before they can even form a rhythm, your first climax rushes over you.
Biting your lip to not give them the satisfaction but it was no use to throw each other a knowing glance.
"Didn't know you could be this desperate." John mocks at you then pulls you down by the face to fully rest on his chest, seeing the tiredness in your eyes.
"Sorry Love, but we just got started." Bucky gives your ass a final slap and rusts relentlessly into you. While John thrust up from under you.
You're drooling all over John's chest, the both man fucking into you as if it was their last day on earth. You could swear by the end of the night Bucky will need to buy a new bed. At some point you only nodded out incohesive words, the fifthly sound of skin clapping on skin filling the room.
All the while John cooes sweet words into your ear.
"You're doing so well for us sweetheart."
"Just a little longer, I promise."
He manages to gently stroke your head, a stark contrast to them pounding into you mercilessly
You could have swore you were at the verge of blacking out when Bucky scratches with one single nail over your back, the action making you jolt. He grabs your hair and pulls you back.
Holding you up by the neck never losing his rhythm.
"You're so good for us baby, but don’t you think we're forgetting someone?"
His glance wanders over to Bob, who looks back at him like a deer caught in the headlights.
"I–I am good, it already looks like a lot."
He really tried to hold himself back, cute. But Bucky knew what to do to make Bob lose his restraint.
Bucky gently forces your mouth open. Fucking his fingers inside, like you're not already a drooling mess. Some of it lands on your tits and Bucky massages it into your skin, Bob was a goner by then.
Now your head was back on John's chest, your mouth full with Bob’s cock. He still held back, his movements weren't as fast as the ones from Bucky and John.
It’s not like you haven't thought about this, you daydreamed about this exact moment nearly every day but you would have never imagined that it would feel so good.
"Look at our girl, she’s doing so well we should reward her." It was Bucky cooing you or was it John? You weren't sure anymore everything started to blur together.
A good couple of seconds later you feel it, their cum practically everywhere. Bucky goes first and buries himself deep inside you, which makes you move forward a little more so you feel John's cock even deeper in your pussy.
Bob took a little longer, John carefully steading your neck a little, so it would be easier to swallow. Good thing it was already Bob’s second round today so it wasn't as much as usual. The moan he let out while coming sounded as if it was painful.
Bucky pulled you up from behind again.
"Open up love, let me see." And without thinking you did, even pulling your tongue out a little.
"Good girl." He places a thick kiss on your neck and you fall forward back onto John's chest.
Bob falls back into the lounge chair. Bucky is the first to pull out, the action making you your back arch and hiss out under your breath.
The next thing you feel is that some gently pads your cheek.
"Hey princess, I know it’s been a long day but you can not go to bed like that." It was John. You didn't even remember him placing you on your side.
Suddenly you become hyper aware of everything. The pain in your wrists and throat, the tenderness between your legs and the stickiness everywhere on your body.
You shoot up from the bed a little too fast, your knees go weak, what ends in you nearly falling to the floor but John catches you. The touch sends your hyper aware nervous system into overdrive and you push him away.
You grab one of the blankets to cover your body and run right to the bathroom. John just stands there too stunned to speak.
"Give her a few minutes, it was quite a lot today." Bob knows what he is talking about, his body completely spent.
You didn't realize that the shower was already running when you came in. Bucky was right at getting himself dry and wrapped the towel around his waist.
"Left it on, should be the right temperature for you. Call for me when you need something." And with that he was gone.
You could have spent the rest of your life under the hot water but after a good 30 minutes you decided that you rather wanted to sleep. You also made to finally start the plans on building a bathtub in the guest bathroom.
When you make your way back into Bucky's room you see Bucky laying on the far left and John with his back pressed against the wall, between them an already sleeping Bob. Another mental note, you all need bigger beds.
You let yourself fall on the bed right between them. Your back pressed to Bucky who puts his arm over your waist and rests his hand on Bob's belly. You hook a leg over Bob's and take one of John's hands in yours.
A low whisper coming right into your ear.
"Just wanted to say, the sheriff, he will be gone next friday."
You bring out a smile at the good news.
When you fall to sleep the only thing you can think about is that this will be it for the rest of your life and you wouldn't want it any other way.
The next morning everyone’s sat at the kitchen table drinking a well deserved hot drink, either tea or coffee. You can basically feel every muscle and bone in your body but it was so worth it. From the shifting and small grunts you see that the three men also have their fair share of aftermath. It is so quiet you nearly drive back to sleep in your chair. It is a very welcomed, peaceful scene until the loud knock on the front door, followed by shouting.
"Officer Harper and Wayne. Open the door, right now!"
john "happy wife, happy life" walker 𐚱 | domestic hcs ⋆ ⁺ (for the mind-𖣠)
because you guys liked the fluff hcs !!
john walker wants to learn your favorite recipes just to surprise you on the harder days — even if he messes them up.
john walker likes dancing with you in the kitchen, slow and lazy, even when there’s no music on.
john walker likes holding your hand during movies, he always needs your touch.
john walker does not say “I love you” out of habit. he says it like a promise. every single time.
john walker wants you to always have a reason to come home happy, and if not, he wants to be the one who makes it better.
john walker likes waking up before you so he can make your coffee and sit on the edge of the bed, watching you slowly wake up from the smell.
john walker does not miss a single anniversary, birthday, or silly made-up holiday you had created just to celebrate something between you two. he treasures it.
john walker who drags in all the groceries at once, no matter how heavy, just for the reward of your laugh and that look you give him when he proudly says, “one trip!"
john walker knows you squint when you’re tired so he dims the lights before you even ask.
john walker knows you hate confrontation but love honesty, so he learns how to be soft and clear at the same time.
