im 20, im a cuban american, i use any pronouns, and i like to write for toxic men who are a lot older than me (and the occasional woman)
my request box is currently open!!! some of my current interests include spiderman, the last of us, deltarune/undertale, omori, atla/tlok, succession, fullmetal alchemist brotherhood, demon slayer, and one piece (i dont write for all of them though like for example, ill write about one piece but im not gonna write about deltarune or omori lol)
MASTERLIST
(its short ik)
my ao3 account (theres not much there rn)
bob reynolds/sentry:
going over easy (x reader, one shot, longer, some +18)
jayce talis:
prostitute!fem!reader imagine (x reader, imagine, fluff, mentions of sex)
miguel o'hara:
to leave the warmest bed i've ever known (x reader, series, complete, +18 in the last chapter)
a spider in the snow (x reader, one shot, +18)
bite the hand (x oc, series, incomplete)
the scent of you (x reader, one shot, +18)
roronoa zoro:
what's in a name (x reader, one shot, +18)
vinsmoke sanji:
only until midnight (x reader, one shot, some +18)
wade wilson/deadpool:
a line drawn in red (x reader, longer one shot, +18)
summary: youre exhausted, beaten bloody, covered in filth, and quickly losing morale. you've made it surprisingly far into the culling games, but you knew your time was drawing near, and are starting to give up. but maybe all you need is a quick change of pace....
aka before itadori pulls up, you find higuruma in that fuckass bathtub and think "what the hell, why not"....a lot.
warnings/info: mdni 18+ nsfw, sex with a stranger, a single use of y/n im so sorry, bathtub/water stuff (duh), service top!higuruma, oral sex (fem receiving), handjob (masc receiving), a sliver of cum eating, reader's got some passively suicidal ideations (death match will do that to ya), you two are horny as HELL, but the ending is very sweet and cheesy trust, mentions of violence, no beta we die like nanami
word count: 4.1k
note: i literally rushed to hard to get this out in time for the new episode so this was NAAAAAAWT beta read at all omg im shocked i even finished, but anyways hey baes welcome back, dada's finally coming home and i know theres gonna be 10,000 new anime only fans for him cause duh look at him so i decided i'd help just in time MWAH enjoy the ride!!!
Air rushed back into your lungs faster than your body was expecting. A ferocious cough attack was the first thing you experienced when you woke up.
Your eyes finally started to adjust to the setting around you as the coughing wore down: the debris filled lobby of an old theater. Shattered glass surrounded you on the floor, their source from the...giant hole in the ceiling? Ah, now the memories were coming back.
It was day "I can't believe I'm still alive" of the Culling Game, and you were pretty close to throwing in the towel. You were sectioned into the Tokyo No.1 Colony, and every time you found a slight moment of peace, someone always had to show up and try to kill you.
You can't remember the last time you ate, much less when you last found running water for a shower (the river would have to do for now). God, survival was exhausting.
Last thing you remembered was being chased out of a gas station by two other players, running across the building rooftops, and eventually blacking out. The fall through the roof only knocked you out it seems. Bummer.
That weight churns in your chest as you let out a nasty groan, pushing your body over to try and stand. You inspect your body for any injuries. A few small cuts littered around your body from the ceiling fall, and a bruise growing more tender by the second along your left ribcage. Hey, at least your head wasn't bleeding!
There was a shaky start, but you eventually managed to get to your feet. Exploring the rest of the lobby, it looked just as abandoned as you suspected. Shattered glass doors, more wood and debris on the floor, and much to your disappointment, a completely cleared out concession stand. Some chips would've sounded real nice right now. Though, who knows how stale they would've been by now.
After scoping the place out, you finally made it over to the doors to the audience. Closed this whole time, you paused before reaching for the handle. The sudden realization that what's behind these doors could be even worse than what's outside hit you hard and fast. You were tempted to just stay the night in the lobby. You probably would've if the doors weren't shattered, now with zero protection from the outside.
The reality of your situation began to sink in as you let your thoughts circle. This time last month, you were stressing over some stupid work meeting. Now, you had to deliberate whether it was safe or not to walk through a damn door.
Eventually, you decided that was your best bet. Not because the fear of danger was gone, but more because.....did it even matter anymore?
With swift, but careful motions, you managed to make it into the audience, hopefully, unnoticed. The layout of the house was similar to the lobby, but much less damaged. Seems not many made it past that entrance. You made sure to keep note of that.
It was a cheaper theater than you'd usually go to, probably an explanation for how easily you fell through the roof. The seats were old, the cushions fully tattered on some of them, and you weren't even sure if the stage lights would work if turned on.
But luckily, the booth and stage were cleared, and that's all that mattered right now. For the first time in days, you were alone, and this was a more than sufficient rest area for now.
The urge to just plop down and rest in one of the hundreds of seats was strong, and you were more than willing to listen. You stretched yourself out on three seats on house left by the edge of the row. A quick nap for strength, but also a quick exit route if need be.
The second your head hit the cushion, you passed out.
~
The cushions underneath you let out a wretched shriek as your body stirred awake. You're not sure how much time has passed once you wake up, the bright lights on stage creeping into the house, skewing your ability to tell.
......
Wait.
Not even a second after the realization hits you, a sound much more terrifying than squeaky seats comes from the stage.
"For future reference..."
A voice.
"...I would suggest examining your next hideout deeper than you have today."
Your head shot up off the seat and whipped to find the theater in a different set up from when you went to sleep.
The, apparently, working stage lights illuminated the rest of the theater, even to back of house. But their focus was mainly towards the stage, now set with a confusing sight.
A filled bathtub, and a fully clothed man sitting in the water. You would've gone to activate your new "cursed technique" by now, if it wasn't for his incredibly relaxed position.
"Most opponents would've taken full advantage of finding a sleeping target," he continued, slouching himself further into the water.
You wondered if your brain was playing tricks on you right now, the man's sudden appearance still stalling your thoughts.
"Most opponents don't seem to play very fairly," you managed to get out. The man let out a deep chuckle, turning his head fully up to the ceiling. "You'd be very right about that one," he sighed out, tracing the edge of the tub with his fingers.
"You seem to be doing better than most then," you added. He turned his head back to try and look at you out from the stage. Despite the distance, you could see the now stern, and slightly off-putting look on his face. "I wouldn't depend on that, sweetheart."
A deep feeling rumbles beneath your chest at his words...you're not quite sure what that is yet.
You try your best to ignore his slight threat, and just manage getting out of the seat row, brain still lagging out of the grogginess of slumber. Your body stuttered up out of your chair, the bruise on your ribs becoming incredibly apparent again when you bend the wrong way. Great, something new to worry about now.
The man must've noticed your struggle, as his voice begins again. "C'mere, let me see," the words tiredly slip from his lips.
Another decision, the thousandth of the day it seemed. It was hard to think straight about this one however, when you weren't entirely sure if you were still asleep or not. The call to walk onto that stage with him was a strong one though. Yet again, you found yourself thinking....why not?
Your instinct sighed as your body stumbled down the aisle, and eventually up to the stage stairs. You could see him much clearer now.
His heavy lidded eyes traced your body as you made your up way to him, standing next to his face now. His face was slightly damp, a water droplet making its way down his perfectly hooked nose, and his jet black hair was slicked to the back of his head.
You could also tell what he was wearing now, ruining a perfectly good suit in this tub. It wasn't buttoned up to the top though, shirt and tie loose enough to see the top of his chest. Relaxed. You might've been nervous of him, but he obviously did not feel the same.
He motions to your ribcage, and you lift up your shirt slightly to give him a good look at the bruise. His hand seems to automatically go to feel, before he remembers to get permission first. Fingers gently trace the tinted skin, and he can't pretend to not see the goosebumps they leave behind.
He drops his hand and closes his eyes again. "The water's still warm, it'll help your muscles at least," he murmurs. Rendered partially speechless at the moment, you simply huffed air out of your nose. "I don't have any other clothes...and would rather not walk around soaked."
Water gently hit the edges of the tub as the man adjusted himself up, draping his arms to the outside. "I just stripped to my boxers during my first soak," he bluntly says, almost like it's a suggestion. His eyes open now, finding their way to yours as he speaks again. "I can close my eyes if you want...I don't need to look."
God, you couldn't believe this. Every single nerve in your body was screaming at you. This has the potential to go terribly, and somehow, leaving this interaction embarrassed seems even worse than getting killed by this mystery man.
But the ever growing knot, deep in that pit of your stomach, pulled your arms into motion, as you almost subconsciously went to take off your shirt. Almost.
In times of low morale, sometimes the best thing you can do is just give into desire. At least while you still have the time.
Stripped down to bra and underwear, your sudden trance wore off, and you became exceedingly aware of your state. Luckily, the man had seemed to close his eyes again in the middle of your changing.
You wandered to the opposite side of the tub, where he pulls his legs back into a crossed position. More room, a sweet gesture. You tested your finger in the water. The reflexive pull away hit you fast. Almost magically so, the water was scorching. You tried not to think too hard about the logic. It just made your brain hurt more.
After a deep breath in, you winced as your toes dipped into the tub. You usually prefer hot baths to a cold plunge, but this was ridiculous. Pushing through the pain, you managed to get both your legs in.
"Taking you awfully long to get in," you heard the man speak again, eyes shockingly still shut. "Yeah, well, not everyone likes being cooked alive," you retorted, a huff of air coming from him in response. You steadied your arms on the sides of the tub as you began to slowly lower yourself in.
Unfortunately, you couldn't manage to suppress the upcoming groan as the bath water hit your cuts and bruises. You could've sworn you heard the man's breath hitch as well.
After two more embarrassing whimpers at the pain, you finally managed to sink into the tub. Surprisingly, once your body adjusted to the heat, it was actually relaxing. Feeling the weight of the past week wash off your bones, the grime under your skin shed away. You had to fight to keep your eyes open, certain you would fall back asleep if not. Wow, now you wish you carried some soap on you.
After a few moments of blissful silence, you remember the man sitting opposite of you. You look over.
His legs are still crossed into his lap, and his head is tilting back behind the tub edge. Almost like he doesn't trust his eyes to stay closed on their own. From how it looked from your view, your body image seemed to be obscured enough. "You don't have to keep doing that," you quietly speak, voice a little strained. The man simply hums in response, like he wants to hear exact words from you.
"I don't mind if you look." You hoped he didn't want you to get more direct than that.
Luckily, his head stretches back over in front of him, eyes opening. He takes a quick look at your body underwater, and turns back to your face. "You never told me your name," his voice slightly trailed off. It seemed to do that on most of his sentences. "I thought that would've been bad form. The less my opponent knows the better, right?" you smirked. You could see him doing the same. "Touché."
You answer, and motion for his. Hiromi Higuruma answers back. The silence returns.
Naturally, both of your legs have begun to loosen from their crossed state, almost touching at this point. You see the way Higuruma's pant leg moves in the still water. A question sparks.
"So...can I ask about the tub?"
A chuckle rumbles in his chest, almost like he was waiting for you to ask. "I'm trying new things..." You hummed. "I guess being drafted in a death match will do that."
He pauses. "I'm not sure it started with this," he mumbles to himself, you can barely hear. Well, regardless if he went crazy today or three weeks ago, you had to admit the company was nice. Especially when it was as handsome as this.
Whether you wanted to admit it or not, that knot in your stomach had only continued to grow through your conversations with Higuruma.
"I'm assuming you don't do this with everyone who passes through here," you started. "This whole...." "Deal?" He finishes the sentence for you. You nod gently. "You'd be right about that."
Hm.
"Why the change of heart now?"
A groan slips out of his mouth, like now he has to address some elephant in the room. "Can I be blunt?" You nod. It takes a second. The water in the tub starts sloshing again.
Higuruma, using his arms for leverage, has lifted himself up across the tub. The heat of the water causes a flush big enough to cover the new heat you feel, as he rests himself over your body and about a few inches from your face.
"I've been terribly lonely recently, y/n."
Your breaths have weight now, and you're getting goosebumps where his finger is gently tracing your arm. Now this was a predicament.
Well, not with your mentality at the moment. To you, this was an opportunity.
You try to hid the volume of your gulp, but from the puff of air out of his nose is enough signal he heard. "Correct me if I'm wrong...but something tells me you've been too...."
He was right about that one. Your eyes stray from Higuruma's, scanning down his body to his lower half, his bulge growing up against tailored slacks. Your eyes go back up, and he hasn't stopped looking into yours. Not once.
"Now...I've been..." his breath was hitching slightly, his sentences took even longer to come out now. "...behaving very well...in our time together," the liquid velvet drips from his tongue, putting you into a trance. Now, his eyes stray: to your lips. He sucks down on his own bottom one. A shiver goes down your back, despite the temperature of the water.
A bead of sweat drips from his temple, and his breathing shakes now. "But, I'd rather not wait longer than I have to." His eyes move back up, heavy lidded, a new hunger glinting in his caramel iris. Your mouth laid slightly agape, and you had been very obviously staring at his lips for the past 30 seconds.
The two of you sat in the near agonizing tension. An endurance test. Who would break first?
You spoke.
"I...have been in so much pain all day," you sigh out, remembering your current condition mid-silence. Your eyes drooped with a disappointment. Damn it, and this probably would've been your last chance to have sex, since you'd probably die within the next week anyways. "I don't think I can...move much." Just unfair.
Life's judicial system was pretty fucked. But lucky for you, you had an excellent defense attorney.
Higuruma's lips curl up, not seeming too worried over your words at all. "Trust me, I've noticed. You....won't have to do much...don't worry." At this point, your lips were starting to magnetize, as your faces slowly grew closer together.
Until he takes a detour, going instead to your left ear. You sigh at the edge, and dip your chin into the crook of his neck instead, and hands moving to wrap around his waist. "Let me take care of you," his whispers tickle into your ear and down to the knot in your stomach. "Oh, yes...." you almost moan into his ear. He nibbles his teeth into your earlobe in response.
A groan slithers out of your mouth and into his ear.
He's broken first. As usual.
The wind of his head whipping back around crashes into your lips along with his own. He's passionate, deep, and absolutely needy. He really was starving after all.
His lips move with rhythm, like he's done this hundred over. He moves his hands off of the rim of the tub and to your back, pulling you even further into the kiss. He's already slipped his tongue inside your mouth too. He really was holding back earlier, huh...
Your hands find their way into his slightly damp hair, gripping onto follicles for support. You're getting ahead of yourself, hips already starting to buck into his. So much for not able to move. Higuruma notices, and you feel his smirk on your lips. He separates for a moment, giving you a chance to breathe and him to talk.
"What do you want from me first?" he breathes into you. Your eyes lock onto his nose. He has a little bump near the bridge.
"I want to sit on your face," you bluntly say.
"I can arrange that."
His lips are back on yours before you can register his words. His slightly calloused hands wrap around your hips, patting on them to signal you to wrap your legs around him.
Once you're secured, he lifts the both of you out of the bathtub. The temperature contrasts in the air tenses you a bit. His lips massage that out of you quick though.
He stumbles into the theater's green room, and sits you down on one of two couches, while the two of you fumble the rest of your wet clothes off. He's more cut than you expected. Not entirely finished with the transformation his cursed energy is putting him through, but he's more toned than most. Keeps good care of himself. Or at least wants to.
He controls you like putty, easily slipping to lay down underneath you on the couch. Hands find their way back to your hips, and Higuruma gently move you to the top of his chest.
Sweet slick is already dripping from your cunt in anticipation, only made worse with the feeling of his breath close by.
He mumbles something to himself that you can't manage to make out. Doesn't matter much though, as now he's moving you even closer to his mouth. His eyes look up through the lids to yours, and you give him a quick nod.
You're pushed up a little further, and take a deep breath in before lowering yourself down onto his face. He gets to work immediately, and his tongue swipes between your folds. A deep exhale releases from you, as your hands shoot to the couch cushions for leverage.
Already with a rhythm, Higuruma's tongue maneuvers around your folds and bud, fueled by the sweet moans you were already letting out. Then, he angles his head.
And the bump on his nose catches onto your clit.
"F-Fuck Hiromi~" you buck into his face. He groans deeply at the mention of his name, and it vibrates into your cunt. You've now started rolling your hips into his face, grinding your clit onto his nose's curves.
He's found a way to slide his tongue into your pussy now, lapping at it repeatedly and just drinking in your juice. His calloused hands trail up your back, and you shudder further into him.
The throb of your clit started reverberating into your veins, aching. The knot in your stomach was only growing at this point, further pleasure awaiting you. Your posture slacks now, fully set on suffocating Higuruma between your legs now.
And he couldn't have wished for anything more.
It's faint, but you can hear each time he groans into you. Your hands move behind you now, putting pressure onto his hips. Until, you turn around.
An aching bulge throbs against his cotton boxers, already ruined with his precum. Already sensing you'd be too tired to do anything else after this, you decided to return the favor. One of your hands slithers beneath the elastic band, and gently traces his man.
One pro of being on top of Higuruma right now was feeling each time he shuddered. A massive one releases from him at your touch, and you hear him moan your name into your cunt. "Oh, you like that....don't you." Your voice is like honey to his ears. His nod has double purpose, shoving his nose further against your clit.
As your pressure keeps building, you attempt to pull Higuruma's cock out of his boxers. It nearly springs out at you, leaking and upright. With your pretty fingers, you take the length and begin fisting at it.
This only speeds up Higuruma's pace. The two of you work together at this point, in tandem. If you speed up, so does he. If he wants to take a break to breathe, so do you. Despite only knowing each other for about 20 minutes at this point, you were very good at reading each other.
You were reaching some sort of edge, and whatever lead you had gained on Higuruma had closed, as he seems to match your status right now. Your fingers fondle over his tip in a way that absolutely melts him. Pure bliss circulates through your body right now.
"Oh~....god, I think I'm dreaming," you moan as you lean down to kiss into the top of his head. Something about this gets him to speed up even more. You're sweating, hips bucking, and your hand only moves more feverishly along his dick now. So much for barely being able to move.
The air of the green room is hot with breath and slick now. A lustful fog consumes your brain as you feel the first layers of your knot begin to snap. "H-Hiromi, I'm, ngh! Ah.......I'm getting c-close~"
Rapid breathing and bouncing from Higuruma's chest isn't enough of a warning for what happens next, as his cock gives one last twitch before white cum drips from his tip into your hand. One final groan into your pussy was the last thing you needed. Your turn.
As the tip of his nose dips fully into your folds, you fall apart on his face. A guttural moan rips from your throat as your orgasm slams into your nerves, heart racing. Before it's over, you take your cum soaked hand, and lick your fingers and swirl the salt along your tongue. The last perfect piece of your high. The knot has finally been untied.
The two of you, reduced to sweaty, heaving messes, sit in the post-orgasm silence for a moment. You were right earlier, your tiredness returned fast after just one round.
Higuruma lifted you up gently by the hips, as he allowed himself to bring his body back up sitting. He curls into the corner of the couch, with you still snug in his lap.
One of his hands is snug right on your hip, holding you close. Secure.
The other is scratching circles into your scalp. Soothing, and lingering.
You smile against the crook of his neck, pressing in gentle kisses.
"You said earlier....that this felt like a dream," he starts. You bring your head around to look at him, and nod. "I think that's the sweetest thing I've ever heard," he says, with all the honesty this lawyer can muster. A light pink stains your cheeks, slightly embarrassed and self aware now.
"It does a bit though...," you sigh. His eyebrows furrow. "I've intruded on your shelter for long enough now, you probably want me back on the streets by morning if I'm lucky-." His lips smash into yours before you finish. You open your eyes for a moment into the kiss. His eyes are clenched shut, almost frustratedly so.
When he pulls back, he sees the slight shock on your face. Okay, maybe that was overkill, but he had a point to prove.
"Did you hear anything I said earlier? Or were you too horny or something?" he questions, almost completely serious. He swallows back whatever true words he wants to say. He'll be a little less blunt with it for now. "I want someone here with me." No, that wasn't working. He tries again.
"I would.....like you here with me...that is if you have no where else to go," he says as if there could possibly be a better option than this. "I'll take care of you...I'll protect you...you just have to stay with me," he asks of you.
There's zero debate, and your answer is sealed with a soft locking of lips, as you drift asleep together on the couch minutes later. For once, these past days, you're not afraid of what you'll wake up to.
mdni 18+ noisy!choso seems to find a good hiding spot in your neck ☆
1.5k words, afab reader (i tried to keep it as gn as possible)
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the way choso fucks is different from other guys you've been with. guess that makes sense, considering he's a 150 year old cursed...spirit...hybrid...thing...to be honest, you're not really sure what he is. not that it matters right now anyways.
choso fucks you like he's your boyfriend, even if he's not: low, slow, and intimate, soaking up each second he gets with you. he always prioritizes you when you're together, going unfinished many times himself if you don't manage to catch it. he had lots of little quirks too. the one you happened to notice the most was one he was doing at the current moment.
choso isn't too much bigger than you are, but when the two of you fuck, he consumes any unoccupied space. in fact, he's currently slithering another one of his legs to interlock with yours, giving himself more room to slowly thurst his cock inside you. you take it about as well as you can, nails digging deep into his back as you moan pretty sounds into his ear.
you feel him everywhere right now. you feel that leg's knee push yours up just a tad more. you feel one of his hands lift from your hip as it goes to feel exactly where he's pushing into on your stomach. the other one is taking a handful of your cheek and shoving the side of your face closer into his. you wanted to see him, panting, kiss swollen lips, messy hair and all. unfortunately, he's had his head burrowed into the crook of your neck for the past ten minutes now.
that was another little "choso habit" you've learned in the past two months. he spends, what feels like, hours burying his face into that little sweet spot on your neck, powered by a feral hunger to just melt into you. he would happily spend the rest of his immortal existence in this exact position: tongue feverishly lapping and sucking at your neck, breathing into your skin.
but it was so much. his body heat is sticking to you, waves of pleasure are smashing into your nerves, his weight is starting to sink into you now too, and that spot on your neck has grown awfully raw by now. almost like he can read your mind, choso's front teeth give you a slight nibble there. what surprises you even more is the rumble you feel into your neck. it gets you to pause for a second, which gets choso looking back at you in an instant.
"what's wrong?" he panted out, still breathing out centimeters away from your face.
god, this was a view you could get used to. the absolutely love-drunk look in his eyes was enough alone. his cheeks glowed a flushed, but heavenly pink, while strands of his messy, layered hair dripped with sweat. what a blessing it was to be with someone so beautiful, they make you lose your train of thought
"just....needed a second to catch my breath," you decided to say instead. he lets out a little exhale, and flops his head back down on the pillow, letting himself just enjoy the feeling of being inside you. a few seconds of blissful silence go by, but its not long before choso find himself magnetized to your neck again and starts to roll his hips.
before he can get going again, you manage to slow him down. "woah woah!..." you jolted a bit, startling him as well. "....easy big guy." he frowned at you, eyes drooping with confusion. you couldn't help but giggle at him just a little. "you got separation anxiety or something?" you teased. "well its hard to fight it when you're so irresistible," he flirts. his distractions always worked, as you could feel yourself melt when he starts kissing over the hickeys he's given you.
luckily, your willpower was strong enough for you to bounce back quick. you giggled, gently pressed a kiss into his cheek, and lifted his face from your neck and turned him to look at you. his little annoyed pout was almost enough to weaken you entirely.
"sweetie, why are you hiding from me?" damn, he was even getting you to talk like he was your boyfriend.
a confident question, but you could tell you were right from the way his face tensed up like he just got caught. his reactions were minuscule, but you could always find a way to pick up on him. "hiding?" he tried to play dumb. you adjusted yourself under him a bit, both of you wincing slightly once you remember he's still inside. "i want to see you," your thumb instinctively traced into his soft cheek. "you're seeing me right now," he tried to argue. you sighed and raised an eyebrow at him. "choso," you said, a little more stern this time.
all he could do was sigh, as he dropped his head down into the pillow under you and relaxed his body onto you. you giggled to yourself a bit. the idea of an ancient cursed spirit acting like such a child over you was amusing. feeling just ever so slightly guilty, you wrapped your arms around him, gently scratching your nails into his hair and the small of his back. as if your mind was deceiving you, you swore you could hear a quiet groan come out of choso as he continued to relax, his arms now wrapping around you to pull you in.
the two of you sat in embrace for a while, just soaking each other in. you liked choso a lot. you knew he didn't start out great, but the choso you had with you now was not the man you heard about. the choso whose sweet hums of peace sang into your ear, and the choso who was now beginning to adjust himself on top of you.
he brought his head up to face you, searching for something in your eyes. he looked like there was something he wanted to say, but whatever it was had morphed into an urge to kiss you. he listened, dipping his plump lips down to lock with yours. simultaneously, you could feel some pressure down lower, as choso's cock began to harden up again.
instinctively, choso began to roll his hips slowly, like always. a quiet, but deep groan slipped out of your mouth as your tender cunt reacted to choso's new movements. your attention was really caught when you hear choso whimper a quiet "f-fuck," before he slips his tongue into your mouth.
once choso's pace began to speed up, you two separated from each others lips. but choso hadn't gone back to his little hiding spot. no, choso had his forehead pressing deep into yours, breathing inches away from you. that is, until he would find a good momentum. you had come to realize why choso was so adamant about keeping his face hidden away. choso is loud. as fuck.
he audibly winces if something hurts, he groans when hes dragging out a thrust. he moans in tandem with you when he gets right into your g-spot and whimpers when you bite his earlobe in response. choso felt alive when his blood was rushing, pumping through his veins: active. whether that was training to perfect his technique, or having sex.
especially if the person he was with was also active. feeling the connection between himself and his partner sent even more blood rushing into his cock.
able to be expressive now, choso was much more talkative too. "you're so good for m-me...n-ngh," he whimpers into your ear, griping his hands tight on your hips. you let him work his magic into you, embracing the bliss as his balls smacked against your under-leg. he lowered himself more into you, making sure he was inside you as much as possible. "taking me...so well...thank you my darling-g," he moans, pressing his body into yours.
you could tell the both of you were getting close now, both your loud mouths being enough signal for your neighbors to buckle up. choso seemed to find a perfect pace for him, because he picked up dramatically, slamming into you at this point, while he winces and whimpers at the sensitivity. you could feel your own heat growing now, wrapping your arms around choso for support while you begin to buck your hips.
"cho- ngh! c-choso i-i'm gonna-!" his hips bucked now too at the accidental nickname. "i-i know..me too sweetie...l-lets go...together." the cheesiness would make you puke at any other time, but choso made anything feel genuine.
and finally, the wave hits you first. a guttural moan rips from your throat, as utter pleasure shoots up through your nerves. choso is of course brought completely down by this, following right after. he moans as his cum shoots into you, and his lips crash down back into yours, as you absorb his sounds.
he shudders as he finishes, and you feel his cum leaking out of your pussy. choso can't help but let out a chuckle. "oh, what is it?" you pushed at his pec. "you sure that didn't....turn you off or anything?"
all you could do was laugh, dumbfounded. for such an ancient being, he sure didn't pick up cues well. "choso, i dont think there's a single thing you could do that would turn me off."
Is it just me who cringes when ppl infantilize bob too much? like he is 100% a grown man still. mentally challenged and a previous addict? yes. but nonetheless an adult 😭
(ps. stop making him stutter w every word he says)
⟢ synopsis. request: reuniting with ex!joaquín after his near death experience, but you’re the nurse assigned to his care after he gets out of surgery. you broke up a couple years ago because of your very demanding careers, and you don’t see him until you realize they put YOU on babysitting duty to nurse him back to health, yikes!
⟢ contains. spoilers for brave new world! joaquín torres x nurse!reader, so much angst you’re gonna want to block me!! mentions of death, blood, gore, possible inaccurate medical procedures (i am not a nurse idk how that works), open ending but it's honestly realistic and cute.
⟢ word count. 13.7k+
⟢ author’s note. i learned medical terms for this
You like to think that every decision you’ve made has shaped you into the best version of yourself.
A better student, a better nurse, a better person. You’ve spent years honing your skills, pushing yourself past limits, ensuring that when it matters most, you’ll be capable—prepared. You might not have superpowers, enhanced genes, or combat training, but you have your mind, your steady hands, your patience. That’s what makes a difference in the field you’ve chosen. That’s what saves lives.
And it’s paid off. You don’t work at just any hospital—you work at this one. A private facility that caters to soldiers, government agents, and the kind of people who make headlines when things go wrong. The kind of people who disappear into classified reports. The kind of people you don’t expect to see lying unconscious under your care.
But you love your job. You love the structure of it, the control. You love the fact that, in a world constantly spinning off its axis, you can still do something that makes sense. You have your patients, your colleagues, your friends, your family. You still go out when you can, still make time to shop, and still remember to water your plants. Life is steady. Good.
And yet—
There’s something missing.
It creeps in during the quiet moments, when the hospital halls are still, and the steady beep of a heart monitor is the only thing filling the silence. It lingers in the space between breaths, in the pause before you check a chart, in the phantom weight of something you can’t quite name. A presence that once was, or maybe never was, but should have been.
You have everything you’ve ever worked for. So why does it still feel like something’s missing?
You don’t let yourself dwell on it. It’s ridiculous. You have your health. You have your life.
And you know better than anyone how fragile both of those things can be.
You remind yourself of how lucky you are because you’ve seen the alternative too many times. Lives wrecked and ruined by things far beyond anyone’s control. You’ve watched the light fade from seven pairs of eyes. Seven people who didn’t make it. Seven moments that carved themselves into your memory, no matter how hard you try to forget.
You haven’t even been working for three years.
And yet—
You’d hate to see the day when someone you love is one of them.
The thought grips you too tightly, too suddenly, and you only realize you’ve been staring at your hands under the running faucet when the sound of your name cuts through the fog.
“Look what I made!”
You blink, water still rushing over your fingertips, skin already pruning. A slow exhale leaves you as you reach for the faucet, shutting off the tap. The chill lingers on your skin even as you tear a paper towel from the dispenser, crumpling in your damp grip as you turn.
Maria is sitting up in bed, dark eyes bright with excitement as she holds out a carefully folded piece of olive-green paper.
She beams at you, her small fingers cradling the delicate shape with a reverence that makes your heartache. It takes a second for recognition to click. An origami bird.
“What’s this?” you coo, stepping closer.
Maria is a few weeks shy of nine. She should be at home planning her birthday party, picking out a cake, laughing with friends. Instead, she’s here. Confined to this sterile room, surrounded by too-white walls and the soft beeping of machines monitoring the inexplicable changes in her body. She isn’t dying. But she isn’t getting better, either.
Exposure to some strange quantum disturbance in San Francisco had led to her transfer here, to Washington, under your care. Away from reporters, away from speculation, away from anyone who might pry too closely while the government tries to figure out what happened to her.
“It’s a bird. Like the one on TV.” She explains, her tiny fingers carefully adjusting the wings.
You glance at the television, expecting to see another nature documentary—the kind she’s grown fond of in the past few weeks. But when your eyes land on the screen, you freeze.
A news channel. A live interview. Captain America and the Falcon, still in their gear, standing at an Air Force base. The headline scrolling across the bottom of the screen is a blur. Something about a mission. About another near disaster averted.
Falcon stands just behind Captain America, posture sharp, hands clasped loosely in front of him, expression serious but composed. His suit still bears the scuffs of combat, a faint tear along the armoured plating at his ribs. You wonder if it hurts. If he’s bleeding. If he even let anyone check.
A small huff leaves your lips before you can stop it.
You can’t remember the last time you saw him. Now, here he is again, on a screen in a hospital room, larger than life.
“You like superheroes, Maria?” You force a lighter tone, turning back to her, moving to check her monitors. It’s unnecessary—you already did this when you came in—but it gives your hands something to do.
“You like superheroes, Maria?” you ask, forcing a lighter tone as you move to check her monitors. It’s unnecessary—you already did this when you came in—but it gives your hands something to do.
“I love superheroes,” she exclaims, voice full of unshakable certainty.
“Yeah?”
“Yes!”
She watches you closely, studying your face with a look that’s far too perceptive for someone her age. Then, after a beat—
“Who’s your favourite Avenger?”
You pretend to think about it. “Hmmm... I don’t know. Maybe... Hawkeye?”
Maria immediately groans, rolling her eyes so hard it nearly makes you laugh. “That’s so boring!” She throws her arms up in exasperation, nearly tugging her IV loose in the process.
“Hey, hey—“ you reach out, gently taking her hands, steadying her before she can do any real damage. “You’re really gonna judge me for that?”
“So boring,” she insists, her signature sass making an appearance. “My mom likes Thor because he has big muscles.”
You snort. “Wow. Okay. And what about you?”
Maria’s expression turns mischievous, blushing slightly as she glances back at the screen.
“The Falcon.”
The words land like a punch to the ribs.
You swallow hard, but the lump in your throat stays put. You should have seen it coming, the way she lit up at the sight of him on TV, but it still catches you off guard.
Because for Maria, it’s admiration.
For you, it’s something else entirely.
“He’s so cool,” you manage, your voice lighter than you feel. “I don’t think he’s an Avenger, though.”
Unless he is and you have missed that entire chapter of his life. A lot had happened in the last few years—you wouldn’t put it past him to just forget to mention something like that. Not that either of you were on speaking terms anyway.
Maria grins, a small, mischievous thing, and before you can move, she takes your hand in hers and presses something into your palm.
“Here.”
You glance down.
The bird.
You blink at the delicate folds of olive-green paper, the slight tilt of its wings. It’s small, fits perfectly in your hand, but somehow, it feels heavier than it should.
“You have it.”
You open your mouth—to tell her she should keep it, that it’s hers—but the words never leave your throat. The sincerity in her gaze keeps you quiet, so instead, you close your fingers carefully around the paper bird, holding it like something fragile.
“Thank you, Maria,” you say softly.
You still have the bird.
It sits on your nightstand even now, weeks later, its delicate folds untouched, a reminder of that small moment. Of Maria.
You hadn’t thought much about that conversation at the time. Maria’s gift had been sweet, and you had found it endearing—the kind of innocent kindness that children offered so easily.
It wasn’t every day you cared for someone so young in this hospital, and while that was a blessing, it didn’t make it any easier when that child was rolled in on a stretcher.
And it wasn’t until a week later that you remembered Maria’s words.
Not until you watched a familiar face get wheeled into the hospital.
You had heard about it first—on the news, in passing conversations between coworkers. Another mission. Another near-tragedy. Another casualty.
And then you saw it.
The frantic rush of bodies in the emergency bay. The whine of a helicopter’s rotor blades still echoing through the halls, rattling against the glass doors. The sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic burning your nose, mixing with the metallic tang of blood—so much blood, too much of it pooling beneath the stretcher, staining the floor, the sheets, the hands of every ER staff trying to keep him together.
Your coworkers moved fast, their voices sharp and urgent as they swarmed the broken, battered body like bees to a collapsing hive. You barely recognized him at first. His suit—scorched in places, torn in others—hung off him in tatters, the once-pristine armour dented and smeared with something dark.
His skin was pale—too pale.
His lips were slightly parted, chest rising and falling in short, uneven gasps like every breath cost him something.
The blur of medical jargon barely registered in your mind, words overlapping, breaking, reforming into pieces that didn’t quite fit together. But certain ones still made it through the haze, lodging themselves somewhere deep inside you, where they twisted like a knife.
“Heart palpitations—“
“Severe burns—“
“Broken arm—“
“Breath is weak—“
“We’re gonna need a defibrillator—“
“Won’t make it to the OR—“
Your heart stuttered.
You would’ve rather never seen Joaquín Torres again for the rest of your life than see him like this. Like that.
And after that, you were moving on autopilot.
The rest of the day blurred together, slipping through your fingers like sand. You went through the motions, nodding when spoken to, keeping your hands busy, but nothing really stuck. The only thing that did was time—how it crawled, stretched, and bled into itself.
One hour turned to two.
Two turned to four.
Four turned into a sharp, sickening pause.
You were just about to punch out for the night, car keys hanging loosely from your fingers when you heard it.
“His heart gave out. Medically dead for T-minus 30 seconds. Extra hands needed.”
You froze.
The words echoed, hollow and distant like they were being spoken underwater. A strange ringing had started in your ears. You weren’t sure if it was real or just something inside your own head—maybe both.
You had already been hesitant about leaving without checking in on him. You could’ve gone in. You had clearance. But you didn’t.
And now?
Now, you were hearing his heart gave out?
Your mind ran ahead of you, filling in the gaps before you could stop it—could almost hear the faint, dull whine of the machines, the inevitable, lifeless flatline.
The surgeon calling out the time of death.
Your own heart lurched violently in your chest.
Your feet were moving before you even made the decision, carrying you faster than you thought possible. You nearly crashed into the doors of the emergency wing, swiping your card into the OR viewing room, stumbling into the dimly lit space. Your breath came short, choppy, your pulse hammering in your ears.
Your eyes locked onto the glass.
And then—
“Clear!”
Joaquín’s body jerked violently, his back arching off the table before collapsing again.
From where you stood, you couldn’t see or hear the monitor. Couldn’t tell if there was a beat or if it was still that awful, empty silence.
“Clear!”
His body seized again, limbs convulsing before falling limp.
You flinched, a breath hitching painfully somewhere inside you.
The panic clawing up your ribs only loosened when you saw the doctors start to relax, their frantic movements easing back into precision. You watched, rooted to the spot, as they worked—saw the ventilator strapped tightly around Joaquín’s face, the way they were cutting into him, the deep burns covering his side.
But it didn’t feel like him.
He looked dead.
He looked so, so dead.
Your fingers dug into the ledge of the viewing window, knuckles white.
And suddenly you can remember the last time you saw him. A memory that grabs you like a vice.
He was so alive, and he was crying.
His eyes were red and bloodshot, but he wasn’t making a sound. Just staring at you, jaw clenched so tight you swore you could hear his teeth grind. His hands—warm, steady even in their trembling—gripped yours, his touch so familiar, so safe. His fingers curled around your palms like he could keep you here just by holding on tight enough. Like if he let go, he knew he would never get to touch you again.
His skin burned beneath your fingertips.
Like home.
But the warmth of him, the heat of his touch, it didn’t reach his eyes. And you knew—God, you knew—this was the last time.
The ring that sat on your finger was like a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding.
You hadn’t even noticed the way your breath had started to shake, the way your shoulders had drawn in like you could shield yourself from what was coming. The weight of his forehead pressing against yours was the only thing keeping you grounded, the rise and fall of his chest meeting yours in a rhythm that was almost enough to trick you into believing, for just a second, that nothing had to change.
And then he pulled away.
It was slow like he was giving you time to stop him. Like he wanted you to stop him.
But neither of you moved.
His fingers ghosted over your left hand, tracing over the ring like he was committing the shape of it to memory. You swore his breath hitched when he touched it, but he didn’t hesitate. Not when he curled his fingers around the band. Not when he gave the gentlest, barely-there tug.
The metal slipped from your skin.
The absence was instant. A phantom weight. A missing limb.
Your breath stilled.
He turned it over in his palm once, twice, before slipping it into his pocket, the movement almost absentminded. Like he wasn’t crumbling apart inside. Like he wasn’t shattering this thing between you both with his own two hands.
And then you kissed him. And he kissed you back.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t hesitant. It was desperate. A broken thing—raw, aching, more plea than passion. His lips pressed to yours with the kind of hunger that tasted like regret, like grief, like goodbye. There was no hesitation when his fingers slid up to cradle your jaw, no distance between your bodies when he pulled you in, chests flush, like he was trying to fuse himself to you, trying to rewrite the ending of this moment with the press of his lips alone.
You tasted the salt of tears.
Yours or his, you couldn’t tell.
You felt his hands tremble when they skimmed over your skin. It hurt—fuck, it hurt—the way you knew neither of you wanted to pull away, but you would. You had to.
But you stayed. For a minute. For a breath. Lips lingering, foreheads pressed together, hands gripping tighter even as the seconds slipped away from you both.
He was the first to move.
The absence of his lips was instant—a cold, hollow thing. But he didn’t pull away entirely, not yet. His nose brushed against yours, his fingers curled at the back of your neck, like if he could just stay here for another second, one more second, maybe none of this had to be real.
Then, finally, painfully, he let go.
That kiss was one that lingered, burned, long after he was gone.
He was alive then. And so were you.
But when the door shut, a part of you had died.
And watching his body, motionless on that operating table, you thought maybe a part of him had, too.
It was hard to grieve someone who had never died.
You don’t realize how long you’ve been standing there, staring through the glass, until someone says your name.
Your body jolts, and when you spin around, you're surprised to find Sam Wilson standing a few feet away. His voice had been steady, but his eyes—God, his eyes—heavy with something unspoken, something worn. You wonder how long he’s been there. You think it must’ve been a while, judging by the exhaustion shadowing his face. The bags under his eyes aren’t just from one night of lost sleep.
You’ve met him plenty of times before—hell, you’ve had dinner with the guy on multiple occasions—but something about seeing him now, here, leaves you speechless. Maybe it’s because he’s not just Sam. He’s Captain America, the man Joaquín idolized. And he looks... helpless.
You feel your entire body tense. “Sir—“ Your voice cracks at the word, and you hate it.
Sam exhales, long and slow. “I was gonna call. I mean, I don’t know if you know this, but you’re still the kid’s emergency contact.” He rubs a hand over his face. “I just... I didn’t know what terms you guys were on. I know the breakup was pretty bad and...” He trails off, looking at you like he’s bracing for impact. “I didn’t know if you’d show up.”
“I…” You swallow thickly. You should say something. Anything. But you don’t know how to find the words.
“Were you working?”
You glance down at your scrubs as if you need to confirm it. “Yeah... I just... I heard about his heart, um... how long was he...?”
Sam hesitates. He doesn’t want to say it. But he does. “Two minutes.”
You suck in a breath, sharp and cold, and instinctively look back through the glass. Joaquín is still now, the chaos momentarily subdued. He’s always been restless, always in motion, a man who never seemed to sit still to save his life. And now he’s just... lying there. You feel nauseous.
You don’t know what to say. You think Sam doesn’t either.
“I’m sorry, kid.” His voice is hoarse. “I’m sorry. For Joaquín. I never meant for this to happen. I’m always telling him to be more careful, but you know how he is—”
Do you?
You don’t know how much someone can change in the time you and Joaquín have been apart. You think you still know him. You remember how he used to be—stubborn, hard-headed. Kind, too. Always quick with a response, always teasing. Always warm.
You don’t think you’re remembering him the way Sam asks you to.
“Um... sorry.” You blink, realizing how long you’ve been zoning out. You should say something more. Something meaningful. But your throat is tight, and your hands shake at your sides. Sam looks just as lost as you feel.
“Fuck, sorry,” you mutter, rubbing at your face. “Are you okay?”
Sam blinks. He looks genuinely surprised by the question. “Am I—? Are you okay?”
You nod too fast, stuffing your hands into your back pockets. The heart monitor beeps steadily in the background, grounding you in the moment. “Yeah, I just… You were out there too. Did you get hit? I can check for a concussion.”
Sam says your name, and the way he says it—soft, sad—makes your lip quiver. When he steps forward, you don’t resist. You meet him in the middle, letting him wrap his arms around you, his warmth solid and steady. You tuck your face into his chest, only realizing you’ve been crying when you see the darkened patches on his shirt. He smells like coffee, and—funnily enough—a little bit like Joaquín.
“I’m sorry, kid.” His voice is tight, thick. Like he’s been holding back his own grief for too long.
You hum under his hold. “It’s not your fault,” you say because you think it’s what he needs to hear. You don’t know what happened out there, don’t know who made what call, but Sam relaxes just a fraction at your words. You hug him back.
The hours bleed together after that. You sit with Sam in the waiting area, watching the surgery unfold from a distance. Neither of you leave for long—only to grab coffee, maybe splash cold water on your face—but you don’t sleep. Sam doesn’t either, even when you suggest it. He stays rooted to his chair, jaw clenched, watching the clock.
He doesn’t move until the surgery is almost finished, until the surgeon is finally stitching up Joaquín.
And even then, he stays put.
So do you.
It’s nice, in a way, sitting in this heavy, aching silence. You don’t know what you would’ve done if Sam wasn’t here. You don’t know what he would’ve done if you weren’t.
Sam seems to relax even more when a friend of his shows up—Bucky. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him in person before, but you recognize the way Sam’s shoulders loosen just slightly like something fragile inside him can take a break. Bucky nods at you, then at Sam, and without a word, he takes a seat next to him.
You don’t say anything either.
Because you don’t need to.
For the first time in hours, Sam exhales like he’s not carrying the world on his shoulders.
You leave only when he urges you to, though it takes less than a minute after Joaquín is sent out for recovery.
You barely remember the drive home. The world outside the hospital blurs past in streaks of streetlights and empty roads, your hands gripping the wheel just a little too tightly. Every red light feels longer than it should, every breath harder to take. By the time you step inside your apartment, exhaustion settles in your bones, but sleep never truly comes. You close your eyes and see glimpses of him—Joaquín on the operating table, still and silent in a way he never should be.
You wake up before the sun rises, restless, your body aching with the kind of fatigue that sleep can’t fix.
By the time you return to the hospital, it’s at a strange hour—too early for the day shift, too late for the night crew. The hospital is caught in that eerie in-between where the halls are too quiet, where the few people still moving about do so in hushed voices. The fluorescent lights overhead hum, stark and artificial against the pale blue of the walls.
You’re running on espresso shots and the growing pit in your stomach, a weight that presses heavier with every step.
Joaquín is here. You know that. You have known that for almost twenty-four hours now.
But the thought still makes your hands cold. It was easier when you didn’t know what State he was in, or what he was doing—if he was even in the country.
You don’t let yourself think too much about it. You go through the motions, moving from patient to patient, checking vitals, signing off charts, trying to push through the fog in your mind. It almost works—almost—until you step out of Maria’s room and spot Amanda, the Chief Nursing Officer, walking toward you.
She smiles, clipboard tucked under her arm, but there’s something in the way she looks at you. Something unreadable.
You can already feel the dread start to wrap itself around your ribs.
“Hey, how’s it going?” she asks, falling into step beside you.
“Good,” you reply automatically. “What’s up?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she takes your tablet, her fingers brushing against yours for just a second too long. You furrow your brows, taking it from her, but your stomach twists at the hesitance in her gaze.
“There’s been a bit of a change,” she finally says. “Kit’s taking over Nicholas now.”
That makes you pause.
You've been taking care of Nicholas for a little over a month, an older man who came back from the blip different, well… different was a nice way to put it.
“Oh?”
Amanda nods, opening a new file on your screen before watching you closely. “Here,” she says, passing you the updated patient file. “Your new assignment.”
You take the tablet, adjusting your grip as you glance down at the screen—only to feel the air sucked from your lungs.
Captain Joaquín Torres.
The name alone makes your heart lurch, when did he become a captain? But then your eyes drop to the image beneath it.
You freeze.
Joaquín, unconscious. His skin is bruised, his face pale under the harsh lighting of the hospital room. The ventilator is taped to his mouth, bandages covering his side where the burns must be. He looks… wrong.
Your stomach turns.
“Um.” You barely recognize your own voice. “I don’t think I can take this one.”
Amanda’s brows knit together. “Why not?”
“It’s…” You swallow, suddenly hyperaware of how dry your throat feels. “It’s a personal case.”
“I know.”
That makes you look up, and when you do, Amanda is already watching you with that same careful expression—understanding, but unwavering. “That’s why I’m assigning it to you,” she says, soft but firm.
You stare at her, trying to process the words.
“Familiar faces help in recovery,” Amanda says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Waking up to someone he knows might do him some good.”
Your grip tightens around the tablet, fingers pressing into the smooth surface as your pulse pounds in your ears.
“Not everyone gets shot out of the sky by the military and lives to tell the tale.”
She’s right. You know she’s right.
But Joaquín isn’t just anyone.
And it’s been a long time since you’ve been a familiar face.
Would he even want to wake up to you?
You don’t ask that. You don’t let yourself. Instead, you swallow around the knot in your throat and force a nod. “Okay.”
Amanda watches you for a moment, searching your face like she can see everything you’re trying to hide. Then, she squeezes your shoulder, her touch warm and grounding. “You got this.”
You wish you believed her.
You suck in your pride as Amanda walks away and your fingers tighten around the tablet as you glance down at Joaquín’s medical file, his name printed in bold letters at the top. You already know his blood type, his medical history, his baseline vitals—things you shouldn’t still remember but do anyway. It feels strange seeing them laid out so clinically like he’s just another patient.
Your thumb swipes down the screen, scanning through his injuries. Severe burns on the left side of his torso. A broken radius and a fractured humerus on his right arm. The notes estimate he’ll be unconscious for a few more days, maybe a week at most. The doctors don’t think it’ll be a long coma.
He might wake up anytime.
Your stomach twists.
The live security feed on the tablet shows a grainy, black-and-white image of him, still and silent in the hospital bed, wrapped in layers of bandages and hooked up to machines that beep in steady intervals. The sight of him like this, unmoving, is almost more unsettling than the injuries themselves.
The elevator ride to his floor feels endless, but when the doors finally slide open, the hallway ahead stretches on like something out of a dream—too long, too empty, too quiet. The soft hum of fluorescent lights overhead fills the silence, and your shoes barely make a sound against the polished tile.
You’ve never hesitated like this before. No patient has ever made your heart pound this hard before you’ve even stepped into their room.
You stop in front of the door, your ID card clutched tight between your fingers.
He is hurt, you remind yourself. A wounded soldier. He needs care. That’s all this is. Just do your job.
Your hand trembles slightly as you swipe your card for clearance, and for a second, your eyes flicker down—out of habit, maybe—toward your left hand. The ring is gone. Has been for a long time.
You press your lips together and push the door open.
The room smells like antiseptic and fresh flowers.
Your eyes find him instantly.
He’s barely recognizable beneath the layers of medical care—IV lines, gauze, the rigid brace securing his arm. But it’s still him. His curls have grown out, the longer strands curling over his forehead, though the sides are still neatly trimmed. His face is slack with unconsciousness, lips parted slightly as he breathes in slow, measured rhythms.
There’s already a small collection of bouquets on the bedside table, a mix of bright yellows and deep reds—he always liked bold colours. You know more will come, especially once his mother finds out what happened. You pity whoever has to make that phone call.
Your pulse is loud in your ears as you move toward the sink, washing your hands on autopilot before slipping on a pair of gloves. The scent of hospital soap clings to your skin even beneath the latex.
You set the tablet down and step to his bedside, the weight in your chest settling heavier now that you’re standing this close. You can see the damage now. The discoloration where the burns peak through the bandages, the bruises blooming beneath his skin. His arm rests stiffly in its brace, fingers curled loosely at his side.
You hesitate before touching him.
Then, with careful hands, you reach for the hem of his hospital gown, lifting it just enough to expose the bandages on his torso. The dressings are damp, already beginning to seep through.
Too gentle.
You’re taking too long, moving too carefully. This should be routine—cleaning, reapplying, monitoring for infection. But your hands linger a second too long over his skin, your fingers ghosting over the edge of a bandage before you force yourself to focus.
You work in silence, methodical but deliberate, peeling away the old dressings and replacing them with fresh ones. His chest rises and falls steadily beneath your hands, the only sign of life in his otherwise motionless body.
When you finish, you pull the blanket up to his chest, tucking it carefully around him.
You don’t leave right away.
You should. You have other patients to see, and other rounds to make. But you linger for a moment longer, just watching him.
Being here—being this close—feels like stepping into something half-forgotten. Something you’re not sure you’re ready to remember.
With a quiet exhale, you turn away, stripping off your gloves and tossing them in the bin before grabbing the tablet again.
This is just a job.
And you have work to do.
The next few days slip into a pattern—one you follow carefully, almost methodically, because routine is easier than thinking too much.
Joaquín remains unconscious, but his condition improves. You can see it in the subtle things: the way his breathing becomes steadier, how his colour starts to return beneath the bruising, how the tension in his features eases little by little. His body is still healing, but it’s doing what it’s supposed to—recovering, piece by piece.
Somewhere along the way, his mother and grandmother are flown in.
You make sure you’re nowhere near the hospital that day. You tell yourself it’s because you need the rest, that you’ve been pulling extra shifts, that you could use the break. But you know the truth.
You aren’t ready to face them.
You can barely bring yourself to stand in the same room as Joaquín, let alone look his mother in the eye. She always had a way of seeing right through you, of reading between the lines of what you said and what you didn’t. You don’t want to know what she’d find if she looked too closely now.
So you take a sick day. You ignore the tight feeling in your chest when you imagine them sitting at his bedside, his mother smoothing down his curls, his grandmother murmuring quiet prayers over him. You wonder if she blames you. If she thinks you should’ve been there when it happened. If she wonders why you’re here now, after all this time.
But you don’t ask. You don’t want the answer.
The next morning, when you step back into Joaquín’s room, there are more flowers.
The table beside his bed is overflowing now—bouquets of sunflowers, carnations, lilies, roses in every colour. Some are from coworkers, others from people you don’t recognize. A small card tucked between them catches your eye. You don’t pick it up, but you already know who it’s from.
His mother’s handwriting is easy to recognize.
A fresh wave of guilt washes over you, but you push it aside. You busy yourself with checking his IV, adjusting his blankets, making sure everything is in order. The steady beep of the heart monitor is the only sound in the room, save for the occasional rustling of flower petals when a breeze drifts through the open window.
Sam visits often.
He comes at random hours, able to bypass the strict visiting times the hospital has set up, sometimes lingering for only twenty minutes, sometimes staying for hours at a time. You catch glimpses of him in the security feed before you even enter the room—his tall frame slouched in the chair beside Joaquín’s bed, one ankle resting on his knee as he flips through a book.
He plays music sometimes, a quiet hum of familiar songs drifting through the room. You recognize the playlist—the same one Joaquín used to blast while working late, the one he’d force you to listen to whenever he got too excited about a new artist. It’s a mix of genres, the kind that shouldn’t work together but somehow do.
You pretend you don’t notice the way Sam watches you when you walk in, his eyes lingering like he’s waiting for you to say something. But he never pushes. He just nods, sometimes offering a small update about Joaquín’s family or a passing comment about work before settling back into his chair.
Neither of you talk about the fact that Joaquín still hasn’t woken up.
Instead, you go through the motions.
His burns are healing faster than you expected. The bandages come off, revealing raw, pink skin that will take time to fade. His arm is no longer suspended from the ceiling, the rigid brace replaced with a looser sling. His body is catching up with itself, putting itself back together the way it always does.
You try to keep the windows open as the sun sets later and the spring weather gets warmer, letting the sun come into the room. You hope it might bring back that golden tan to his skin.
The air in his room changes as the days go by. The tension shifts—subtle, but there.
The sun sets later now, casting golden light through the blinds in the evenings. You start leaving the windows cracked open, letting the spring breeze filter in, replacing the sterile scent of antiseptic with something softer.
It makes the room feel less like a hospital and more like something else. Something warmer.
But warmth can be deceptive.
Because the closer he gets to waking up, the more real this all becomes.
And you still don’t know what’s going to happen when he finally opens his eyes.
One day, while cleaning his burns, you notice something—something small, but enough to make your breath hitch.
The heart monitor.
The steady rhythm you’ve grown so used to suddenly shifts—just a faint change, barely noticeable, but it’s there. You freeze, your gloved hands hovering over his burned skin, waiting to see if it happens again. The beeping stabilizes after a moment, falling back into its familiar, constant pattern.
You swallow hard, exhaling slowly through your nose.
Maybe it was nothing. A fluke. You’ve seen it happen before—small involuntary fluctuations that don’t mean anything. You force yourself to shake it off, to keep going.
But the moment your hands brush against his skin again, the heart monitor spikes.
This time, you see it. The sudden jump, the erratic beep, the undeniable reaction.
You pull back immediately, like you’ve been singed. Your heart lurches, panic flashing through you because—did you hurt him?
Your pulse pounds in your ears as you scan his face, searching for any sign of pain. His expression doesn’t change. His eyes remain closed, his body still. But the numbers on the monitor flicker with every beat of his heart, betraying what his body won’t show.
And then it hits you.
He feels it.
He’s not just lying there, unaware of the world around him. His body is reacting. It means he’s drifting, slipping from unconsciousness, slowly clawing his way back to waking.
Your chest tightens.
This is what you’ve been waiting for. What you should want.
You should be relieved.
But you’re not.
Because for all the times you’ve wished he’d open his eyes, you never stopped to think about what it would mean when he finally did.
What if the first thing he sees is you?
What if he looks at you and all you find in his face is resentment?
What if he asks why you’re here? Why you even bothered?
Your breath catches in your throat, torn between anticipation and fear. Your fingers curl into your palms, gloves crinkling under the pressure. You wait, holding yourself still, eyes locked on his face, waiting for the inevitable flutter of his eyelids, the slow, unfocused squint as he adjusts to the light.
But it never comes.
His breathing stays even, his lashes unmoving, his expression unchanging. His body is stirring, but his mind isn’t ready yet.
Your hands feel cold.
You force yourself to take a step back, creating distance—just in case. You reach for the tablet to record the change in his vitals, trying to make sense of what just happened, of what almost happened.
You practically jump out of your skin when a voice cuts through the hallway, sharp and frantic.
“¡Mija!”
Before you even see her, you feel her—Esperanza’s presence sweeping toward you like a storm, her heels clicking against the tile. The next thing you know, you’re wrapped in her arms, your face pressed against the soft fabric of her floral blouse, caught in a hug so tight it knocks the breath out of you.
“Mi amor, ¿cómo andas?” she asks, her voice thick with worry and affection.
You barely have a chance to respond, still stunned by the unexpected embrace. She smells the same—warm vanilla and roses, a scent so deeply tied to holiday dinners that it nearly knocks you off balance.
When she finally pulls back, she doesn’t let you go completely. Her hands clasp yours, fingers curling over your knuckles like she’s afraid to let you slip away again.
“Esperanza,” you manage, breathless.
Her eyes shine with unshed tears, her lips pulling into a grin so familiar it makes your chest ache.
“What are you doing here? Visitors can’t be here for another hour,” you point out, grasping for something—anything—to ground yourself.
She waves a dismissive hand, scoffing like the very idea is ridiculous. “Ay, enough with that,” she chides. “When has that ever stopped me?”
And then she stops. Really looks at you.
Her expression softens, and suddenly, you're under a gaze so warm it makes your throat tighten.
“Wow, look at you, my dear. Hermosa,” she murmurs, shaking her head like she can’t believe it’s really you standing in front of her.
You let out a small, breathy laugh, flustered. “I look like a mess,” you correct, glancing down at yourself. You’re in scrubs, nearing the end of a long shift, and you know you must look exhausted. Especially after dealing with Maria throwing up glowing vomit all over you earlier today. There’s no way you look anything close to hermosa.
But Esperanza just smiles knowingly, squeezing your hands once before tugging you toward the chairs lining the hallway. She sits down, keeping her grip on you like she’s afraid you might disappear through her fingers if she lets go.
You follow, hesitating only slightly before settling into the seat beside her.
"It’s been so long," she says, her brows furrowing with something between disappointment and relief. "You haven’t called in months. I thought you were sick! Do you hate me?"
"I could never hate you," you say quickly, shaking your head, a little horrified she would ever think that.
And then she smacks your arm.
"Then why haven’t you answered my calls?" she scolds, her voice laced with exasperation. "Your mother tells me you moved away and what? I don’t hear a word from you?"
You blink. Your mind stutters at the revelation.
"Wait—" you pause, trying to piece it together. "My mom… and you? You’ve been talking?"
Esperanza gives you a look, like it should be obvious. "Of course," she huffs. "What, you thought just because you and Quino broke up, I was going to stop talking to my comadre?" She rolls her eyes like the very idea is ridiculous. "Por favor."
Your mouth goes dry.
Your mother and Joaquin’s mother—keeping in touch this entire time. Behind your back. Talking about you, probably about him, too.
Your stomach churns, and suddenly, there’s something heavy pressing against your ribs.
You open your mouth, but she’s already shaking her head.
"Oh, lo sé," she sighs, exasperated. "The dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. If it were up to me, you two would’ve been married by now. Given me a grandchild, too."
Your laugh comes out a little too flustered, a little too forced. You glance around the hallway, avoiding her gaze, trying to ignore the way your heart wrings at the thought.
"Yeah," you mutter because you don’t know what else to say.
Esperanza exhales, her posture softening. She lets go of one of your hands just to reach up and brush your hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear with the same gentle touch Joaquín used to.
The same way he always did when you were talking too much, or overthinking, or when he just wanted an excuse to touch you.
You let out a long, quiet sigh, blinking hard against the sudden sting in your eyes.
It’s too much.
Too much familiarity, too much of your old life creeping back in all at once. You don’t think you’ve gotten enough sleep to process any of it properly.
"Mija," she murmurs, her voice softer now, more careful. "I don’t care whether you and Quino are together or not. I loved having you around. I still want to have our little chats. You are like one of my own. And when he told me you broke up, I just…" she shakes her head, pressing her lips together like she doesn’t want to say it. "I hate that it took him getting hurt for us to talk again."
"Esperanza…" you start, but she just shakes her head again.
"I know, I know. Perdóname," she says, waving it off as she stands up. She smooths down the front of her dress and sighs. "It’s so good to see you again, mi amor. You keep taking good care of my son. I’ll be in the city for another week, so please—call me. Maybe we can get coffee."
Before you can respond, she scans her visitor’s pass on the key panel and walks into Joaquín’s room, disappearing behind the door without another word.
But she leaves the question hanging in the air, thick with nostalgia and something painfully close to longing.
And she leaves the scent of rosy perfume lingering in her wake.
You stare at the closed door, your heart thudding unevenly in your chest.
You should go. You need to go—your tablet is already beeping, pulling you back to reality, reminding you that there are other patients who need you, that there’s a crisis waiting for you three flights down.
Still, you hesitate for just a second longer, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat before finally turning away.
There’s no time to process this right now.
But you have a feeling that, no matter how hard you try, you won’t be able to shake this conversation anytime soon.
Maria’s hand grips the IV pole tightly, her small fingers curling around the metal as she rolls it beside her, careful not to let the wheels catch on the tile. The fluorescent hospital lights cast a soft glow over her—too pale against her skin, too sterile—but despite it all, she beams.
You’ve never seen someone so excited just to walk.
But today is special. It’s her birthday.
She didn’t ask for much—just this. A chance to stretch her legs, to be somewhere other than her hospital room. Her parents had begged you to keep her busy while they decorated, slipping streamers and balloons inside the room like they could somehow make up for lost time.
Maria hadn’t argued. She had just grinned up at you when you asked if she wanted to go outside.
Now, she’s practically glowing, her feet sinking into the grass as you lead her through the small hospital garden.
She tips her head back, eyes fluttering closed as the breeze ruffles her hospital gown, lifting strands of hair from her shoulders. Pink cherry blossoms sway on the branches above, petals drifting onto the ground like delicate confetti.
"Did you know cherry blossoms only bloom for a few weeks?" you tell her.
Maria gasps. "Really?"
"Yep. It’s called hanami in Japan. People go outside just to watch them bloom."
Her eyes widen in pure delight. "That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard. They should be watched. They’re so pretty."
You smile. "Yeah, they are."
For a moment, she just stands there, soaking it in. And you let her.
It’s one of those rare times when she doesn’t look like a patient. No tubes, no machines, no sterile smell of antiseptic—just a kid. A kid enjoying the sun, the air, the simple beauty of something fleeting.
She sighs, finally pulling herself away. "Okay. I’m ready to go back in."
"Are you sure?"
She nods. "Yeah. I don’t wanna get in trouble for being outside too long. It’s my birthday, but I think Nurse Kate would still yell at me."
"Yeah, probably," you say with a chuckle.
The hospital halls are quieter than usual, the usual hum of voices and distant beeping fading into soft background noise. Maria walks beside you, still clinging to her IV pole but with a bit more confidence in her steps.
She doesn’t drag her feet anymore. That’s new.
Her body is stronger than it was weeks ago—no more trembling hands, no more laboured breathing after short walks. It’s a victory, even if it’s small.
Maria suddenly gasps, gripping your arm and her feet skid against the floor. You barely have time to react before she jerks to a halt, her entire body going rigid, eyes locked on something ahead.
Her mouth falls open.
"The Falcon?!"
Your stomach drops.
"Maria—"
"The Falcon is here?!"
Before you can stop her, she takes off, darting toward the digital display outside one of the hospital rooms. The screen flickers with patient information, vitals, and medication logs—
Torres, Joaquín
Maria’s hands slap over her mouth. "Oh my God."
"Maria," you warn, but she’s already clambering onto one of the chairs lined against the wall, pressing her face to the glass window beside the door.
"Oh my God! It's him! It's really him!" She whirls around, panic-stricken. "Is he dead?"
You lurch forward. "What? No." Your hands instinctively find her waist, steadying her before she tips over. "He’s just sleeping."
"Can I go say hi?"
"No."
"It’s my birthday."
"Maria—"
"Please!"
You close your eyes, inhaling slowly.
This was not in your job description.
You glance at the window, frowning. You weren't supposed to let anyone into a patient’s room unless they were authorized. Especially not another patient. There were rules. Strict ones. The last thing you needed was for someone to get sick, for someone to get hurt, for someone to wake Joaquín up before he was ready—
But then you look at Maria.
She’s practically vibrating with excitement, hands clasped tightly like she’s holding back from bouncing on her toes—the youngest patient in the entire building. Wide-eyed and full of wonder, she’s looking at Joaquín because he’s a real-life superhero, someone she’s only ever seen in headlines and shaky phone recordings.
And Joaquín… Joaquín loves kids.
He always has.
You’ve seen it firsthand—the way he kneels when he talks to them, the way his face lights up whenever he makes one laugh, the way he always offers high-fives like it’s second nature. Even now, even unconscious, the thought of him being the reason behind Maria’s uncontainable joy tugs at something deep in your chest.
It feels like something he would want.
And maybe… maybe this is okay. Maybe this is good—a reminder that people out there care about him, even the ones who have never met him.
Still, you hesitate.
You’re comfortable taking care of him now.
Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.
No more denial. No more excuses. No more pretending that seeing him like this—unmoving, caught somewhere between here and wherever his mind has drifted—doesn’t scare the hell out of you. You’ve accepted that you miss him, that you still... care for him, even after everything. But stepping into that room again—with Maria, of all people—feels like a step toward something you’re not sure you’re ready to face.
Because Joaquín is here. So close. Close enough to reach out and touch, to whisper his name and wait for that slow, teasing smile to appear—the one he always gave you when you were being too serious. Close enough that you should feel relieved.
But he’s also impossibly far.
No teasing smiles. No dumb jokes. No knowing looks from across the room. Not even anger of having you near. Just silence. Just the faint rise and fall of his chest, the machines working to keep him stable.
For days, you’ve watched him. Sat beside him. Checked his vitals. Changed his bandages. Waited.
But then Maria looks up at you, eyes round and pleading.
"Okay," you exhale, already regretting it. "But you have to be really quiet so he doesn’t wake up, okay?"
She nods, lowering her voice, "Okay."
Maria is practically bouncing with excitement as you swipe your keycard and push open the door. Sunlight spills in through the half-drawn blinds, cutting warm streaks across the floor, across Joaquín’s blankets, across his still form. The midday hum of the hospital filters in from the hallway, muffled but present. The steady beeping of the monitors tracks his heart rate, a slow, even rhythm, while the IV beside him feeds a clear solution into his veins.
Maria tiptoes inside like she’s afraid of disturbing something sacred.
You don’t blame her.
Because up close, he looks even more unreachable. The bruises along his temple have faded from deep purple to a softer yellow-red, but the cuts on his face are healing. His lips are chapped. His hair is messy against the pillow, a sharp contrast to how put-together you remember him.
You move—more out of instinct than anything—because lingering in the doorway makes it worse. The small cart beside his bed is stocked with fresh bandages, antiseptic, gauze—everything you’ve used to help keep his wounds clean these past few weeks. Without thinking, you pick up his chart because you've forgotten your tablet, scanning the latest notes, his most recent vitals. Stable. No new concerns. No change.
Maria whispers something, but you don’t catch it.
You blink, glancing at her. "What?"
She’s staring at Joaquín, her small hands gripping the edge of his blanket like she’s afraid to touch him, but wants to.
“He’s even prettier up close,” she breathes.
Despite yourself, you smile. "Yeah? You think so?"
She nods seriously.
There’s something achingly familiar about the way she looks at him—like she’s trying to memorize him, like she’s afraid he might disappear if she blinks.
You know that feeling.
Because you’ve caught yourself staring at him the exact same way.
Like if you look long enough, you might commit him to memory all over again. Like you can make up for the lost time, for the time that has slipped through your fingers. You study him—not just the broad strokes of him, not just the familiarity of his face, but every little thing you’d forgotten during your time apart, the things that had slipped from your mind.
There is a faint stubble that’s started to grow along his jaw. And now you notice little moles dotting his skin, scattered in ways you don’t recognize from your memories or dreams of him—they were always focused on the bigger picture, the way he smiled, the way he laughed, the way he loved you.
Now, it’s the details that root you to the present.
The soft rise and fall of his chest beneath the hospital blanket. The steady hum of the monitors. The warmth of his skin when you reach out, pressing two fingers to his wrist, feeling the familiar, comforting rhythm of his pulse beneath your touch.
You check his vitals—his heart rate is stable, his oxygen levels are good, and his IV fluids are running properly.
Maria exhales softly, still watching him, her voice quiet as a breath.
"I think he’s gonna be okay."
You let out a slow, measured breath, your thumb grazing over the back of Joaquín’s hand—just for a second, just enough to feel the warmth of him.
"Yeah," you whisper. "Me too."
It’s enough. For now.
Your fingers slip away from his, the warmth vanishing almost instantly, and you start to usher Maria back toward the door. But as you move, something shifts—so small, so quick, you almost think you imagined it.
Joaquín’s fingers twitch at his side, just as yours leave his.
Your heart stutters.
A rush of warmth blooms in your chest, something fragile and desperate, something that wants to hope, to believe that it means something. That he felt it.
Swallowing, you make a quick note on his chart, recording the small movement even though it could be nothing.
Even though it could be everything.
You exhale, trying to ground yourself, trying to shake off the way your heart is pounding now, loud and heavy in your ears. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until Maria tugs at your sleeve, glancing up at you, her own expression somewhere between curiosity and uncertainty.
You force yourself to move. To turn away. To guide her toward the door, because whatever flicker of hope just sparked inside you is too fragile to hold.
But then—
A sound.
Low. Faint. Hoarse from weeks of silence.
Your name.
Spoken.
Maria gasps softly.
And you—you freeze.
The breath leaves your lungs in a sharp, startled exhale, and your fingers go rigid against the door handle. A slow, involuntary shiver runs down your spine, your pulse hammering against your ribs.
Did you imagine it?
You must have.
But then you feel it—Maria’s small fingers wrapping tightly around your hand, clutching at you with quiet urgency.
Because she heard it too.
Your name. A whisper, raw and barely there, but there.
And it came from him.
Joaquín.
The hospital room feels smaller now, charged with something delicate and terrifying all at once. The air thickens, pressing against your chest as you slowly—slowly—turn around, terrified that if you look, it’ll be gone.
That it was just a trick of your desperate mind.
But it’s not.
Because Joaquín’s fingers twitch again.
His brow furrows, lips parting slightly, throat working as he struggles to form a sound, his voice raw and unfamiliar after so many days of silence.
Maria gasps, gripping your sleeve, her excitement barely contained, but you don’t register it.
Because Joaquín’s eyes are fluttering open.
For a moment, he stares blankly at the ceiling, his chest rising in a shallow, uneven breath. His body remains rigid, like his muscles haven’t caught up with the fact that he’s conscious. There’s no immediate recognition in his gaze—just a hazy sort of confusion, as if he’s somewhere else entirely.
Then, he moves.
His fingers twitch against the sheets, then curl. His breath hitches. The faint beeping of the heart monitor quickens. His body tenses, his shoulders pulling in as if bracing for impact.
His gaze shifts—and lands on you.
The second your face comes into focus, his entire body jerks.
A sharp, ragged inhale drags through his chest. His pupils constrict. His hand flinches at his side, like he wants to reach for something—like he’s searching for something solid.
His breathing changes. It’s not just uneven anymore—it’s too fast, too shallow. The rise and fall of his chest is quick, erratic, his ribs barely expanding with each breath.
Then, a whisper, barely a breath—words spilling from his lips before he even realizes he’s speaking.
"Me morí."
The words repeat, over and over, almost like a prayer.
"Me morí. Me morí. Me morí."
His voice trembles. His fingers fist the blanket. Tears well in his eyes and slip down his temples, silent, unchecked.
Your heart lurches.
You move instinctively, stepping closer, hands steady even as your pulse pounds in your ears.
"Hey, hey," you soothe, voice low and careful, placing a gentle hand on his good shoulder. "It’s okay. You’re safe."
Joaquín flinches at the touch, his muscles twitching beneath your fingers. His head turns slightly, his gaze darting, frantic, searching—taking in the room, the medical equipment, the IV in his arm. You can tell his body wants to move, to fight, to run, military instincts kicking in. But he’s still weak, his limbs heavy, uncooperative.
His pulse pounds beneath your fingertips. Too fast. His whole body is reacting before his mind can catch up.
"Joaquín." You keep your voice steady, careful, like speaking too loudly might shatter him completely. "Can you hear me?"
His gaze snaps back to you.
Something flickers in his expression. Recognition.
His chest is still rising and falling too quickly, his hands still tremble against the sheets, but his shoulders drop just barely. Some of the tension bleeds away.
His lips part, but no sound comes out at first. His throat works through the effort.
Then, at last, a hoarse, broken whisper.
"Hi."
Your breath catches.
Your fingers twitch against his shoulder, the warmth of his skin grounding you as much as you hope you’re grounding him. You press your palm there just a little longer, just to reassure yourself he’s real, that he’s awake.
"Hi," you whisper back.
His lashes flutter as he blinks at you, slow and deliberate, his eyes still wet with tears. Still searching. His gaze drifts over your face like he’s trying to map every detail back into his memory.
Like he’s afraid you might disappear.
"Hi," he says again, quieter this time.
Your chest tightens, a lump forming in your throat.
"Hi, Joaquín."
A slow, trembling exhale leaves his lips. His body sags into the pillow, exhaustion catching up to him all at once. His fingers unclench from the blanket, the tension in his muscles fading—but not entirely.
Because when you start to let go, when your fingers begin to lift from his shoulder, he twitches beneath your touch.
The hesitation is so subtle that you almost miss it—almost.
A flicker of something crosses his face, something unspoken, something aching. You worry he's hurting.
It reminds you of another time, a different moment in a different place. Years ago, Joaquín slouched in the passenger seat of your car, showing you his newly earned stitches after getting beat up by a Flag-Smasher, laughing through the pain while you frowned.
"You gotta stop scaring me like this."
"I’m trying, I swear."
You remember the way his eyes had softened in the dim streetlight, the way he had looked at you then. The way he kissed you to take your mind off of his pain—how neither of you had wanted to let go.
And now—now, as your fingers hover over his shoulder, as he doesn’t look away—it feels exactly the same.
Only this time he can't kiss you.
Only this time you can't wipe his tears away.
You force yourself to pull back, to let your fingers drift away, even as your hand aches to stay.
Joaquín swallows hard, blinking sluggishly as his gaze flickers to the IV in his arm, the monitors beside him, then back to you. His lips press together briefly as if he’s gathering himself before a rough, scratchy mutter escapes him.
"Ah, shit. I screwed up so bad."
The sound of his voice—dry, raspy, but carrying the faintest hint of that familiar humour—makes something in your chest crack wide open.
A breathy, wet laugh slips from your lips before you can stop it, and you quickly swipe at your eyes, shaking your head.
"I'm... I'm gonna go call a doctor, alright?"
Joaquín doesn’t say anything. He just watches you.
There’s something in his gaze—something unreadable, something too much. It makes your pulse stutter, makes your breath feel too shallow in your lungs.
You don’t give yourself time to process it.
Instead, you turn, pressing the call button for the doctor. "Come, Maria," you say, voice quieter than before.
Maria, who's gone strangely silent since Joaquín woke up, rushes to your side without hesitation. But she does nearly break her neck to keep looking back at him until you pull the door shut, sealing that moment away.
You exhale, resting your back against the wall for half a second longer than necessary before forcing yourself to move.
The doctor arrives quickly. You straighten up, rattling off Joaquín’s vitals, every detail you can remember—his initial reaction, his moment of panic, his response to stimuli, everything. The words come automatically, like muscle memory, like routine. You focus on that, on the familiar rhythm of procedure, handing off the responsibility to the doctor so she can begin running tests, checking his neurological responses, assessing how much damage—if any—his body has endured after so many days in forced stillness.
The weight of your exhaustion presses heavier against your shoulders as you upload his files to the system, sending them over before turning your attention back to Maria.
"You did good, Maria," you tell her softly as you lead her back to her room.
She just nods, but there’s something distant in her expression now.
You get it.
She’s just witnessed the moment. The one where everything changes.
It’s the moment where the panic stops being panic and turns into something else—something messier, something heavier.
It’s the moment where the question “what if he never wakes up?” turns into something just as terrifying:
“He’s awake. Now what?”
Her parents are waiting when you bring her back, and you don’t stay. You let them have that moment for her birthday, closing the door gently behind you before turning back into the hallway.
And then you’re alone.
For the first time in hours, in days, you’re alone with nothing to distract you.
Your hands are shaking. You hadn’t even noticed at first, but now you can’t not notice—the tremor in your fingers, the way your pulse hammers too fast against your ribs, the way your body suddenly doesn’t know what to do with itself now that you’re not running on pure adrenaline.
You sink into one of the chairs outside Joaquín’s room, bracing your elbows on your knees. The motion feels stiff, foreign—like your body isn’t quite yours anymore.
Your eyes sting.
Joaquín is awake. He’s awake.
He spoke. He looked at you. He recognized you. He remembered you.
You should feel relief. You should feel something good.
And yet.
It’s like coming up for air after being stuck underwater too long—except just as you’re about to take a full breath, it’s ripped away again.
Because now that he’s awake… he can speak to you.
He can react to what you say, to what you do.
Maybe he’ll ask for a different nurse. Maybe he’ll ask to be transferred to another hospital back in Miami or something. Maybe, when his voice isn’t so raw and broken, he’ll tell you exactly what he thinks about the fact that you were the one sitting by his bedside all this time.
And God, you don’t know if you can handle that.
You drag your hands down your face, pushing out a breath. You don’t have time for this.
The sound of hurried footsteps in the hallway reminds you that Sam—or Joaquín’s mother—is bound to show up any minute now. The news will spread fast, and soon, his room will be filled with people who have been waiting for this moment, praying for this moment.
Shit.
You squeeze your eyes shut for a second before forcing yourself up. You should be in the room right now with the doctor, checking over Joaquín’s vitals, taking actual notes instead of spiraling in the hallway. Get your shit together and do your job.
Your movements feel sluggish as you reach for your tablet, swiping your ID card at the door. The scanner beeps, and for a split second, you hesitate—your fingers still lingering on the door handle, your chest tight.
Then you force yourself to step inside.
The room is brighter now, bathed in soft afternoon light filtering through the window. Dust motes drift lazily in the warm glow, a stark contrast to the sterile white walls and the quiet hum of machines. The steady rhythm of the heart monitor is too steady, too real.
The doctor is already mid-assessment, having raised Joaquín’s bed into a slightly upright position as she runs through a neurological check-up.
Joaquín is watching you.
His dark eyes flicker to you the second you enter, and you feel it in your chest, hot and unrelenting.
You swallow hard, gripping your tablet like it’s a lifeline, and take your place near the doctor, prepared to focus on numbers and stats and anything else except the weight of that stare.
You wonder if you’ll get kicked out for distracting him.
"Oh, great, you’re back," the doctor says, breaking through the static in your brain. "Do you mind grabbing some water for Captain Torres? I’m just about done here. Everything looks good and healthy. He’s recovering well."
You nod, already moving before your thoughts can catch up. Autopilot. It’s the only thing keeping you grounded at this point.
Still, you feel it.
The way Joaquín’s gaze follows every single one of your movements, tracking you like you might disappear if he looks away.
You crouch, retrieving a bottle from the mini fridge, fingers twisting at the cap before stepping back toward the bed. That’s when it hits you—he can’t take it. His muscles are still sluggish, his coordination not quite there yet.
You pour some into a paper cup instead, stepping closer when the doctor gives a nod of approval. Joaquín doesn’t say anything.
The tremor in your hands is almost imperceptible, but you feel it when you lift the cup to his lips. The moment your fingers brush his skin, a muscle in his jaw tenses.
His heart monitor beside the bed jumps.
Your eyes snap to the screen, but the doctor catches it first.
"Interesting," she hums, her tone just teasing enough to send heat creeping up your neck. But she lets it go.
"So, Joaquín," she continues, "We’re gonna have to do some blood work tomorrow, just to make sure everything is alright internally. We’ll up your dose of painkillers now that you’re awake."
"Awesome," he mutters, voice scratchy but laced with dry sarcasm.
She smiles. "They’ll make you a little drowsy, which is normal, but we’ll need you to try and stay awake until sunset. Just to make sure you’re not slipping in and out of consciousness. But I doubt it."
Then she turns to you.
"I’ll let Amanda know he’s awake. But you did a good job—woke up sooner than we expected."
You blink, caught off guard by the compliment.
"Thanks."
"I’ll come back later for a check-up."
And then she leaves.
The door clicks shut, and there is a silence that follows.
You stand there, hands gripping the tablet against your chest, unsure of what to do. Well, you know what to do—your duty is clear. You should be checking his vitals, updating his chart, making sure he’s comfortable.
But that’s not what’s stopping you.
It’s him.
Awake. Looking at you.
Joaquín Torres, alive and conscious and blinking at you like he’s still trying to convince himself this isn’t just another fever dream.
His voice comes quiet, hoarse, a low grumble you barely hear over the rhythmic beeping of his heart monitor.
"You took care of me?"
Your breath catches.
It’s a simple question, but it knocks something loose in your chest. Because it’s him asking. Because he’s here to ask it.
You swallow, shifting on your feet. Your gaze flickers over him—not just the wounds, but all of him. The way the sunlight filters in through the window, warming the stark white of the sheets, reflecting in the deep brown of his eyes. He looks more alive now, and maybe it’s the light or the steady rise and fall of his chest, but for the first time in weeks, you allow yourself to believe it.
He’s here.
Breathing. Talking. Alive.
And yet—his dead face still haunts you.
The memory lingers in the corners of your mind, just out of reach but never truly gone. His stillness, the unnatural slack of his features, the too-loud silence of a body that had once been so full of energy, of life. The image is burned into your brain, playing over and over again like a cruel loop. The moment you thought you lost him.
The tears in his mother’s face.
The look of dread on Sam.
The guilt.
"Uh, yeah. I did."
Your voice is barely above a whisper.
Joaquín exhales, long and slow, as if processing your words. Then, he tries to smile.
It’s small, faint and unsteady like he isn’t quite sure how to do it yet. The corners of his lips curve, but there’s a hesitation in the movement, like his face isn’t used to the motion after so long.
Still, he tries.
And when his eyes meet yours again, your stomach twists, sinking deep like an anchor dropping into dark water.
"I… I know it’s just your job, but—" His voice falters, but his gaze doesn’t. "Thank you."
Right. Your job.
The words settle into your chest like a weight—familiar, suffocating.
Because you remember the last time he said that to you.
Your last fight.
Well—it wasn’t really a fight, was it?
Not the kind with screaming and shattered glass, not the kind where anger built up and spilled over, reckless and sharp. It was quieter than that. Heavier. Because in the end, it wasn’t about anger.
It was about exhaustion. About wanting so badly to hold on to each other but realizing, little by little, that neither of you had hands free to do it.
You had barely been sleeping.
Between overnight shifts at the hospital, classes, training, and trying to be the best nurse you could be, your time wasn’t your own. It belonged to the people who needed you—the patients, the emergencies, the long nights where your body ached and your mind ran on fumes.
And Joaquín?
He had thrown himself into working with Sam, into proving himself, into becoming something bigger. His missions got longer. The risks got greater. He was gone more often than he was home, and when he was home, he was bruised, exhausted, a shadow of himself trying to piece together the scraps of a normal life between deployments.
You tried to make it work. God, you tried.
You spent so much time missing each other—passing like ships in the night, phone calls that never lasted long enough, conversations cut short by a code blue or a mission call.
At first, you thought it was temporary. That one day, things would slow down. That eventually, you’d find a rhythm that let you breathe with each other again.
But that day never came.
Instead, the gaps between you grew wider.
The distance stretched, and stretched, and stretched—until one night, you were sitting across from each other, and you both knew.
"I can't do this anymore, Joaquín."
You had whispered it.
Not because you didn’t mean it, but because saying it any louder might have broken you.
He had looked at you, like he was waiting for you to take it back.
Like if he just held on long enough, you’d change your mind.
"I know... You know, I love you," he had said, low, firm, desperate.
And that had been the worst part.
Because love wasn’t the problem.
It had never been the problem.
It was everything else.
Your job. His job.
The nights spent apart, the exhaustion, the never-ending fear of opening your front door to a folded American Flag. You couldn’t stand watching him bleed.
And he couldn’t stand knowing that one day, you might not be there to stitch him back up. That was the last time he said it. "But it’s my job."
Like that was supposed to make it better.
But now, you’re standing in his hospital room, staring at proof that it never got better. Because you had left to protect yourself from seeing him hurt. And now you had seen him dead.
"Of course," you manage to say, wincing when you hear your voice break.
Joaquín hums softly, but his eyes don’t leave you. He’s looking for something in your face—like he’s searching through memories neither of you have spoken aloud in years.
But then, his gaze flickers away. Over to the table. To the mess of flowers stacked in unsteady vases, their petals bright in the afternoon sunlight. The kind of display that only happens when someone is lucky enough to wake up.
His brow creases. "How bad was it?"
You swallow, feeling something sharp lodge itself in your throat. "You were shot out of the sky by a missile."
His lips part. "Right."
"It was pretty fucking bad."
A beat.
"Right."
You don’t know what you were expecting. Some kind of reaction, some flicker of acknowledgment for the hell he’s put you through. But instead, he just takes it—like it’s another report, another piece of intel.
You hesitate, something bubbling up inside you. You can’t tell if it’s anger or sorrow. "You died."
The words hit the air, heavier than you expected.
Joaquín blinks, his breath hitching almost imperceptibly. His fingers twitch against the blanket.
"I died?"
You nod, biting your cheek so hard you taste iron.
"Yeah," you force out. Your throat tightens. Don’t cry. Not in front of him. Not again. "Two minutes."
He’s staring at you now. Eyes wide. Disbelief creeps into the edges of his expression, but not enough—not enough for someone who actually understands what that means.
What it means to you.
"Oh."
You scoff. "Yeah. Oh."
Your laugh is brittle. Sharp around the edges. Because what else is there to say? Joaquín dies for two minutes, and you’ve spent days living inside them.
He exhales, dragging a hand down his face.
"God," he mutters. "Sam’s gonna be so mad at me."
You don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Because this wasn’t how you imagined seeing him again.
In your head, there were a million other ways this could have gone—maybe you’d run into each other in the future when you were older. When things had settled. When you’d moved on.
Maybe you’d both be married to other people.
The thought makes you sick. But this? This is so much worse.
"Do you, um, do you need anything else? Are you hungry?"
"No."
You nod, but you don’t believe him. Patients are usually peckish when they wake up—a sign of life returning to their bodies, a reassurance that things are moving forward. And while he’s not allowed solid foods for another twenty-four hours, you could bring him a smoothie, something light.
But if he really wants something, he can call you.
You tell yourself that as you turn toward the door.
"Can you stay?"
You linger because you didn’t expect it.
Because you kind of hoped he would ask.
Because he didn’t ask you to stay last time.
Your fingers twitch at your sides, gripping your tablet a little tighter, as if the tension in your body could be contained in that single movement.
"Yeah," you say softly. "I can stay."
You turn back to him, and Joaquín is already looking at you.
His eyes are pleading.
It takes everything in you not to break right there. To not spill over.
You force yourself to move, careful, measured steps toward the chair beside his bed. It feels like you’re wading through something thick, something unseen, like grief or memory or all the what-ifs you’ve tried to bury.
You sink into the chair slowly.
A strand of hair falls into Joaquín’s face as he leans back against the pillows, the bruising on his cheekbone catching the light just enough for you to hate it.
Your fingers twitch again. The urge to brush it back is unbearable. But you don't.
He exhales.
"When was the last time you slept?" he asks suddenly.
You blink, caught off guard.
"Last night." you answer, almost automatically.
"Did you sleep well?"
"Not really."
A beat.
"Nightmares?"
"Something like that."
"Something on your mind?"
"Lots on my mind."
The words slip out easily, like an old habit. No walls. No defences. It’s like no time has passed at all, like the space between you hasn’t been filled with anger, regret, and time apart. Just raw, open honesty in the quiet of the room.
The weight that’s been crushing you for days feels a little lighter in the space between his questions and your answers. You exhale, and only then do you realize you’re holding back tears.
You wipe at your face absently, surprised to find wetness there. You hadn’t even known you were crying.
Joaquín shifts in the bed, his gaze sharpening. There’s concern in his eyes, guilt, and maybe something else—something deeper. He looks away, clearing his throat, as if trying to fight it.
"I hope it's not me you're worried about,"
"I'm always worried about you."
You glance away from him, pretending it’s nothing, but the words hang between you both, too heavy to ignore.
His breath catches, something in him faltering, and then you catch the slight, almost imperceptible way his fingers curl into the sheets. His ears are pink, the flush spreading down his neck. He’s always been terrible at hiding how he feels, and you’re helpless against it. You always have been.
You can’t look at him. You don’t want to admit how much you’ve missed him. How much you’ve been carrying around since the breakup. How much he’s haunted every quiet moment since you walked away.
"Joaquín," you start, tugging at the ring finger on your left hand, the absence of his name there like a wound you forgot was still open. "When they brought you in here—"
"I miss you."
Your chest tightens. "Joaquín—"
"It's true, I do." His voice is quiet, almost vulnerable. "I’ve been looking for an excuse to talk to you again, and I just…" His gaze drifts from yours, like he’s struggling to put it all together. "I couldn't get it out."
You swallow hard, feeling that familiar ache well up in you. “I miss you too. It’s been... it’s been really hard.”
"Yeah." He nods slowly, his voice softer now. "It has. But, you know, I’m the Falcon now. Can you believe that?" He chuckles, but it’s almost nervous, as if he’s trying to lighten the mood, trying to make you smile. "I work with Captain America. I’ve got big shoes to fill. I’ve got to show up, but this... this is all I’ve ever wanted, since I was a kid. I’ve got it now. But... there’s something missing."
You look at him, really look at him, seeing the difference in his eyes now—less brash, more tired but still so much the same. "Yeah. Yeah, I feel it too. It’s like a nagging feeling, right? No matter what we do, it’s there."
"Make me feel guilty." His lips curve into a faint smile, but it’s tired.
"Like I wanna vomit," you reply dryly, the familiar banter slipping back into place before you can stop it.
Joaquín’s eyes soften as he lets out a breath, and there’s an edge of regret in the way he says, “I’m sorry I left.”
Your heart aches at the words, and you feel the old wounds crack open. "I’m sorry I made you leave." You’re not sure whether you’re trying to make him feel better or punish him with your own guilt. Either way, it burns.
“No,” he says quickly, “It doesn’t work that way.”
"But it does," you insist, your voice soft but firm.
He presses his lips together, brow furrowed, as if trying to work through what you’ve just said. "I should’ve fought harder," he murmurs, voice cracking just slightly.
"Joaquín... c’mon. Let’s talk about this later, okay? You just woke up from a coma. I can’t be putting this much stress on your mind."
"But I wanna talk about it," he presses, desperate.
“I know, I do too,” you admit,
“Then let’s talk about it,” he says, leaning forward just a little.
"Rest first." You place a hand on his shoulder gently, urging him to lay back. “You’ve been through a lot. I can’t let you burn yourself out again.”
“I’ve been resting. Had the best nurse in the world take care of me,” he teases, trying to distract you with a smile.
You feel the tug in your chest at his words. "And I will still take care of you. But you need rest. We can talk about it tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
"Yes, tomorrow," you confirm, trying to smile, to soothe the tension you’ve both built up.
"Will you still be here?"
You glance down at him, a familiar warmth flooding your chest at the sight of him so vulnerable, so human. "I’m not going anywhere. Will you still be here?"
His smile softens, a quiet promise in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”
pairing: bob reynolds x powered!thunderbolts!fem!reader
summary: two of the same. after breaking through inital barriers, you and the sentry appear to be inseperable, a pull almost forcing you two to each other. the strength of that pull has been getting pretty testy recently, and the two of you begin to wonder who you are to the other.
warnings/info: nsfw and mdni warning by the end of the fic, ill section off that part if you just wanna read the cutey parts, veryyyyyyy soft sex, no use of y/n, this bob is gonna be a little different from how i see him in a lot of other fics so disclaimer about that ig, but dw he's still very soft and sweet, oral sex and fingering (f!receiving), self depreciation on readers side, lots of my headcanons are gonna shine through here, reader is powered as well (yes that is gonna play into this lol) and is less of a blank slate than usual (aka shes kinda side rip), a scene in the void so we can know reader a little more and just for plot purposes lol, bob's powers are gonna be limited to whatever we saw showcased in thunderbolts so please dont get picky if somethings comic inaccurate thanks, its bob so ofc theres a little bit of angst too but dw this is very fluffy as well we love being well rounded lol
word count: 13.3k
notes: so guess who's obsessed with thunderbolts now.....and guess what half of the reasoning is.....if your guess was a man YOUD BE RIGHT!!!! i had to write for him ofc, i put a steve harrington fic on pause for this i had to jump on it lol. one thing i will say about bob fics that annoy me is that ofc everyone turns bob into a cutesy pootsy uwu boy which, hate me or whatever, he is NOTTTTT to me, that man was so sassy and sarcastic in the vault (to walker especially lol) so i wanted that to come out a little more here while still being his naturally sweet and soft self. i go a little bit into 2016 mcu fandom mode on some of the early character descriptions and relationships BUT CAN YOU BLAME A GIRL CAUSE IT FEELS SO GOOD TO BE BACK, I JUST HAD TO </3. i also didnt proofread this cause yet again its like 1am when im posting this and im so tired so if you catch anything uhhhh my bad lol. anyways this is standard to most of my other fics, so have fun lol enjoy!!!
dividers by: @cafekitsune
You always overcooked your eggs. It was part of your routine at this point in your life. As a kid, your irrationally large fear of getting salmonella caused you to force your mom to always burn your eggs, chicken, and other foods of the sorts. It didn't even taste bad to you. It was all you had ever known. Uncomfortable, but natural. You scooped the rubbery eggs out of the pan and onto your plate while you attempted to squirt whatever ketchup you could out of the bottle. Taking your lunch, you leaned on the kitchen island and stared out of the sweeping windows of The Watchtower.
Valentina finding you was complicated. On one hand, you were out of the hell hole of a compound you called a home. However though, her manipulation paired with constant missions and training proved to be its own task entirely. And still with all that, your mind had a knack for traveling back to that dark, damp room. Like a looming threat over your head that if you ever messed up, that's where you would return.
That fear pushed you for the past few years. You worked till your bones cracked fixing up Valentina's messes. It was monotonous, but you had convinced yourself to be grateful for the opportunity to become something more with what you had. You had a special gift after all. Thrusted onto you, sure, but Valentina said that it meant you were worth something now. A living shield and sword. Each time you got hit, your body was able to process the kinetic energy into physical blasts. Meaning dodging an attack was actually bad form on your part. So you got hit. A lot. Most days you'd stumble back to your apartment, knocked in the head so silly you didn't know what was up or down.
But it was good work. Kept you busy. That was until Valentina attempted to have you assassinated, trying to tie up all her loose ends. That's all you were to her at the end of the day. A fly on the way she had to clean up before her guests arrived. Turns out though, she had lots of other flies on the walls, who would in fact turn their forces against her, becoming the world's New Avengers in the process.
One of Yelena's first personal tasks on the job was to find any other lost associates of Valentina. Lucky for you, you fell right into that category. After proving yourself physically capable and trustworthy to her and the rest of the team, you eventually joined as an official member. Your rise to glory had been long and tough, but man was the view from the top nice.
As you grew closer with each of the teammates, you noticed each of their little knick-knacks. Yelena was very easy to let you in, almost like she was begging to share herself with someone else. She must've gotten it from her father, Alexei. He didn't take anything more than four hours to warm up to you. The other three went at a much slower pace, Ava and you eventually bonding over your mutual teasing for Walker, who you made sure knew it was all in good fun. Bucky was last, but it seemed thats how he was with most people. You let him take his time, which seemed to work well in the end. All of them had made their way.
Well. Almost.
Bob was kind of a weird guy. He was kind of an Avenger? But not really? If anything, he was more of their dog that would show up to public appearances with you and the team, but never missions. He spent most of his time lounging around or cleaning up the Watchtower, or in sessions with his therapist. He was always looming around, but kept a specific distance. Mainly physical. Whenever you'd seem to be about to brush by him, he'd scatter away, like a cat who got spooked. You had talked to Yelena about it before, but she said to just give him his time. That this was probably natural after his "incident" a few months back.
You weren't in New York for it, but it of course was on the news everywhere. How a sea of black ink had devoured the city and all of its civilians in their own personalized trauma nightmare. Something you were secretly grateful to have missed. You knew exactly what you'd see if you were in there.
In the recent time of your arrival, you had managed to find and take up your role in your little group. Their own little weird mage, banned from making food for anyone but yourself. No one else liked your burnt food, big shocker.
As you wrapped up with said burnt lunch, you took your plate and utensils to the sink, as a pair of bare feet patted into the room. "Good morning sleepyhead," you called out, knowing who they belonged to already. "Morning's a bit of a stretch, it's like what, 1:30 already?" Bob replied, mid yawn. "I told you guys to start forcing me up earlier," he complained. "Yeah yeah, but Yelena says it's good for you. Your body needs its rest after the serum treatment," you retorted. "Doesn't..." he paused mid sentence to check his sleep tracker on his watch. "....14 hours seem like a little much?" "Hey, your body's gonna take what it needs," you said, finally turning around to face him. He was wearing his usual lounge outfit, a gigantic, comically oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. His body had grown incredibly sensitive to touch after the serum, so the less fabric tightening down on him, the better.
Bob gave a half smile to your comment and attempted to wipe the drowsiness off his face. "You can leave that for me, it's fine," Bob commented, as you took the dish soap and drizzled it over your dirty plate and pan. "I don't mind, I'm already here anyways," you insisted, turning on the tap. Bob sighed and shrugged his shoulders backwards in an attempt to wake his body up. "Alright, but I'm taking charge on the stovetop," he insisted, walking over to your area.
Something must've been in the air today, because this was the most Bob had talked to you in a while, and this was definitely the closest he had stood near you ever before. His presence was a sweet one, as he himself was a sweet guy. You had seen it in the way he acted with everyone else. You knew it probably had to deal with the fact that you were the newcomer, a different face than what he was used to, but you wanted to badly to have something that close with him too. A deep, lingering jealousy had proved to be a close friend of yours when you would see how he would act with John or Yelena compared to how he would act with you.
Hopefully, this was a step in the right direction.
"You know where the others went?" Bob almost immediately asked.
Or maybe not.
"Downstairs in a meeting with Valentina. I got a pass to skip on this one." In the last meeting you had been to, Bucky had to hold you down before you had the chance to blast her smug smirk off her face.
Bob made a hum in acknowledgment. "Can I ask you something?" He nodded, which you caught out of the corner of your eye. "How do you feel about....her?" Bob paused for a moment.
When Yelena had told you Valentina was at majority blame for The Void Incident, you had no doubt in believing it. You didn't know how the others were so okay with it, but Ms. de Fontaine being your boss still unsettled you. You didn't like the idea that she was still overseeing all of your actions and controlling how you were supposed to be acting towards the public. Especially after the shit she's pulled. Once Yelena explained the situation, about the blackmail shock collar the team had on her if she ever took anything too far, you felt a little more at ease about it. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't shake off the paranoia about being in this situation with her.
"Fine," Bob responded. You placed the plate down in the sink and turned to face him finally. "That's all you're gonna give me? Fine?" He gave a deep, annoyed sigh. "Well what do you want me to say? That I don't like her? That I don't trust her? That she's the reason I'm like this now and when it didn't go the way she planned, she killed me? Hmm?" You froze a little bit. You hadn't seen this side of him before. The team said it came out a little bit when he would go "Sentry-Mode" (a name made on Alexei's part). You sighed and went back to washing your dish. Bob rubbed his face again. "Sorry, I just thought it was pointless to state the obvious." You smirked a little bit. "Well that's one thing right. Just trying to fill the air I guess." "I know....sorry, that was mean." There's the Bob you know. Always apologizing. "You're good."
The air was stuffy with a tension for the next few minutes while you cleaned the kitchen. Up until a wet glass plate slipped out of your hands and crashed onto the floor, shattering into a billion little pieces. Bob flinched at the sound, on the other side of the island wiping down the counter. You froze and chuckled to yourself a bit. "Woah, you okay?" he asked, concerned. "Yeah, yeah, just a bit of a ditz today," you said, wiping your hand across your face. "You're good, just stay where you are for a sec, I don't want you to get any in your feet," Bob warned, going into first responder mode as he assessed the situation. "I wanna try this out for a second," he insisted.
You watched closely and stilly, as Bob took a deep breath in, closed his eyes, and put his hands out. Suddenly, the glass shards around your feet jittered and lifted into the air slowly, as Bob opened his eyes and guided them to the trash can. Once he was done, he released his breath and dropped his hands. "Well look at mister big shot powers over here!" you cheered. "Bucky let you start practicing again recently?" "Yeah, a little bit here and there just so I don't go overboard again," he blushed a light pink. "Keep it up," you smiled at him.
Before you took another step, you looked down at the ground and noticed a particularly large piece of glass. "Oops, looks like you missed one hot-rod." "Shit, sorry, let me try one more time," he said closing his eyes again. "No no, don't worry, it's fine, I'll just pick this one up," you insisted, reaching down to pick it up. "No, wait, you'll cut yourself!" Bob shouted, almost running over to reach you. "Bob, it's fine I pro-."
As Bob's hand grabbed onto your wrist, you felt a spike of shivers roll down your arm. The first time he had made contact with you, and his hands were so soft....
You couldn't focus on it for long though, looking up and seeing a face of pure horror on Bob's face. You looked at him confused. You were quick to join him though as streams of black slithered across the floor and over your eyes. The last thing you remember was Bob's hand ripping off your wrist, desperately called out your name as the shadows took his place.
~~~~~
Your eyes peeled open, as you tried to assess your surroundings after the chaos. It was eerily quiet, a leaky faucet dripping as the only sound. The room was dark, damp, and cold. Concrete floors and walls, a chamber pot in the corner, and a cot with a wrinkled, thin blanket shoved against the wall. After your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you saw her. The lone decoration of the room. A poster of 1961's Breakfast at Tiffany's, Audrey Hepburn's face faded and discolored with time. The more you stared, the more you recognized this room. You knew where you were. And worst of all, you knew exactly what day this was.
With almost perfect timing, the metal door slide open with angry force. Three armored men burst into the room, as you heard something shuffle itself across the floor. You didn't even notice her at first.
A girl, shoved up into the corner of the wall, head hanging over the chamber pot as she wiped the bile off her mouth. Your memory was fuzzy, but she couldn't have been older than 17 at the time. With short, flat, oily, botched up hair. Wires were bursting out of her neck and down her back, connecting her to a running machine in the wall for vitals.
You. An older one.
The most notable feature was her frame. You would expect someone in this situation to look malnourished, seconds away from death. On the contrary, uncanny muscles were bulging out of her arms and upper back, like they were clawing to be let out. A product of the treatment, like a sumo wrestler on steroids.
The men rushed over to that version of you, ripping the wires out of her neck and latching on a power damper collar in their place. That collar itself was an omen. Can't torture the girl who can absorb the pain and shoot it back out. You'd just be throwing fuel onto the fire.
They forced younger you up to your feet as their superior walked into your room. You could feel your heart stop in your chest as you searched in desperation for a way out. You called out for Bob, Yelena, anyone at all. Almost like your mind was in tune with your decisions, the metal door slammed shut just before you could run out. You leaned your head on the door, not bearing to look, barely standing to listen.
Your old superior examined younger you and the rest of the room, the poster in particular. He smiled sadistically at it. "A real stunner she was, eh?" You scoffed at his words while younger you darted her eyes away. In one swift movement, he ripped the poster down to reveal a makeshift hole halfway into the wall. Your escape route. Taking a deep breath, you finally turned around to face the incoming carnage.
"You think you're smart huh?" the man asked her. Younger you tilted her head up, looking him straight in the eyes, too worn down to care what would happen to her. He smirked. Her silence was enough of an answer. He snapped at his employees, one of them slamming the butt of his gun into her temple in response. You couldn't help but flinch.
The superior slide open the metal door again, as his pawns dragged her unconscious body out the door, while you closely followed. The harsh hospital lights left a sting to your eyes as you traveled through your mind's endless hallways. Finally, you reached the chamber. The door slide open to reveal a dentist chair and an array of instruments littered throughout the room.
The men placed her down into the chair, one of them injecting a serum into her arm to wake her up. Younger you shot awake, pulled down by different leather restraints. Bile filled your mouth as you were reduced to being so helpless to just watch. A doctor followed into the room soon after the six of you, his face burned into your mind.
He took two long prongs, pinching them onto the skin of her elbow, and turned on a machine to send out electrical shocks. After a signal from the commander, he sent out the first wave. You couldn't help but turn your head away, holding back your own tears as phantom pains of remembrance ripped through your skin.
The worst part of all of this was how younger you barely struggled at all, only letting out blood curdling screams of pain. She had accepted her fate hours ago, knowing this was inevitable. Why fight it. It would only make it worse. It made you sick to your stomach. How much she had given up at this point.
A pause in the shocks. You turned your head back to see the commander walking up to the girl, sticking his face down to her's. "You knew this was going to happen?" The girl nodded her head slowly, with the energy she had left. He scoffed. "Then you're dumber than I thought." He stepped back again and signaled for the second wave.
Not baring to take it again, you went against your own judgement and rushed between the men, ripping the prongs off of the girl's body. You met her eyes for a split second.
Behind the numbness, you could see her fear. Roaring underneath the surface.
Before you could sense the rest, you felt a slam into your own temple, knocking you down to the floor. You looked up to see all the men looking at you now, the first time they had done so. The commander pushed past them, staring you down. He crouched down to your level, pushing a stray hair back behind your ear as you shuddered. "Still the same dumb girl I see," he smirked.
In a split second, he grabbed your arm, attaching one of the prongs to it, as the still working machine sent hundreds of volts into your arm in a split second, slicing through your nerves.
~~~~
Before you had time to react to the pain, your body in the real world roared back to life, as you screamed and coughed to catch your breath. You found yourself sitting down in the middle of the kitchen as your hands scrambled all over the ground as you hyperventilated, trying to ground yourself. "Woah, woah, woah, easy, I got you, you're safe now!" You looked up and finally noticed Yelena sitting on the ground in front of you. She had both hands placed on your shoulders, looking deep into your eyes to help you center yourself. You frantically looked around the room, finding the other team members close by, staring at you. Eventually, you found Bob, walking out of the room with Bucky close on his tail. You wanted to talk to him, knowing he was probably upset too, but you had bigger things on your mind.
"I.....I..." You couldn't get the words out. Before you could try again, Yelena softly pulled you into a hug, that you returned very quickly. "You're good now, okay?" she asked. You nodded gently into her shoulder. With more deep breaths and a few tears, you eventually were brought back down. You pulled out of the hug, and began to stand on your feet.
"Yelena, I told you I needed the team up to the helicopter deck in five minutes, do you guys take pleasure in disobeying me or wha-." Valentina bursted out of the elevator, rambling on about what they were probably discussing in the meeting. She only paused after noticing the obvious tension in the room. She looked at you, hunched over and mascara running down your face. "Well what happened to you this time?"
~~~~~~~
The ambient blue glow of the tv washed over your face, as your eyes glazed over the screen. In the few hours since the incident, the team decided it was best for you to sit out on this mission. So you had cooped yourself up in your room, trying anything to distract your mind from going back to that place. Every now and again, you'd hear light pacing footsteps in the hallway outside your door.
You hadn't spoken to Bob since you went under. He hadn't made any attempts to apologize yet. Yelena said it would probably take some time and she would talk to him as soon as she got back. You didn't want to wait until then to make things right, but knowing how fragile both of you were at the moment, you didn't want to accidentally make anything worse.
When the footsteps finally stopped, you sat up a little bit in your bed. Three soft knocks followed. You paused. "Come in." It wasn't him.
Ava gave you a soft "Hi" before stepping inside and closing the door behind her. "How was the mission?" you asked her. She shrugged her shoulders. "More of the same really, you didn't miss much." She gave a little hop onto your bed, laying down on her stomach next to you. "How you feeling?" You gave a little sigh to her. "A little better. I just think I need time." She nodded at your response, and gently held your hand. "You need me, you know where to find me, okay?" You smiled and nodded at her kind gesture. Ava put up a front with the rest of the time, teasing many of the others and acting nonchalant. But something else came out in her around you. That little girl, normally shoved under years of pain and killing.
"Can I ask you something?" you asked her. "Of course." You took a deep breath in and looked her in the eye. "Back when....he took over New York, what did you see?" Ava took a minute to think to herself. "Well, I went through three different rooms to find Bob and Yelena at the center." You adjusted yourself to a more comfortable, open position, trying to create a more welcoming energy in the room as Ava got vulnerable with you. "First room was with my parents and how I got....this way." She took off one of her gloves from her suit, showing her hand phasing between multiple quantum planes at once. A painful experience, she described it as. "Second room was one of my first missions with S.H.I.E.L.D., I had to take out an unarmed doctor."
She twiddled with her fingers, looking down as she picked at the nails. "Last one was a fight I had with an old friend.....he was trying to protect me from....myself I guess....said a lot of things I regret." You frowned down at her, placing a hand on her back to rub it in condolences. "That Bill guy you were talking about earlier, right?" She nodded. "But anyways, I've learned not to dwell on it anymore. My life is different now." She looked up at you. "All of ours are now." You nodded in acknowledgment.
"We're never gonna let those bastards get you again. Can you trust me on that?" She held your face between her hands. You nodded. She looked at you deeper. "I can. All of you," you verbalized. She sat up and pulled you in tightly for a hug. Ava was your best friend. You could trust her more than anyone else here on that.
As she pulled away, she cleared her throat. "Can I ask you a question now?" You nodded. "Do you blame Bob for what happened?"
You took a second.
"No." Ava raised an eyebrow at you. "I really don't." "Okay good, just making sure." You smiled at her. "Is Yelena talking to him?" "She's gonna try to at least," Ava sighed. "He's gonna be like this for a while. Scampery, avoidant. We've learned it's best to let him work through it." You nodded. "But he's gonna be okay, right?" Ava looked up at you, slight confusion in her eyebrows. "Yeah....." You nodded. "Okay....good."
Ava sat in silence for a little bit. "You care more about him being okay than you being okay?" You looked at her, clogs turning in your mind. "When you put it like that, I guess." She looked even more confused now. "Why?"
.....
"I don't know."
~~~~~~~
The next few days were spent with you trying to answer that question for yourself. You and Bob's relationship before this was never a super close one. You always naturally kept a distance from each other. It didn't make much of a difference if things went back to normal from this or not. So why did it matter? Why did it matter if he started talking to you again? Because man did you want him to again. And badly too.
It was like he was playing a prank on you at this point. Every time you would enter a room he was in too, he would find some excuse to leave, leaving you with a sour taste in your mouth. You knew the other team members noticed it too, because you would see one of them usually follow out of the room with him to confront him. You didn't want him to take the blame for this. You knew he was just taking this healing stage at his own pace. But man did you just wish his pace would go a little faster.
At least he wouldn't go on missions with you guys, then you'd really be screwed.
You tended to forget a very important fact because of that.
"Val needs you all downstairs in an hour, there's that press conference about the rebranding today." You could hear Mel talking to the group from your cracked bedroom door. You had been snooping in there, since Bob was in the control room outside with everyone else. "Bob, she wants you there too this time, says the more members there in support, the better."
Shit.
You could hear his whiny groan from your room. "Do I have to?" "Unless you wanna tell Val yourself." That must've been a huge wake up call for him, cause you could hear him rush your way to his room to get ready. He made split second eye contact with you before closing the door. Your heart almost broke with the swiftness his eyes darted away.
You closed your door and started getting ready yourself before you had to take orders from anyone. Most press meetings required a more casual, business attire. Ones like this however, required full glam, full hair, and full costume. You were particularly fast at the getting ready process, especially since you didn't have a thousand gun holsters you had to fasted on, unlike your other team members.
Your costume was also fairly simple. With the nature of your powers, your previous suits had a knack for getting the sleeves torn off, so you decided to replace that design with a simple, black, mock neck bodysuit. Your pants were standard black cargo pants, multiple pockets in case you needed any physical weapons on you in an emergency. They were tied off with a pair of heavy duty combat boots.
For press conferences, Valentina usually requested you to go the most glam with hair and makeup out of the group, since the other two girls were slightly opposed to it. So once that was finally done, you walked out of your room into the control deck, ready to go.
You usually sat there for a good amount of time by yourself, until one of the guys would join you. But this time, Yelena was the first one out after you, albeit half dressed, in the middle of doing her eyeliner, and a makeup bag in her hand.
She looked at you, slightly distressed. "What's up?" you asked. She clenched her teeth. "You're gonna say no, I know it." "Can you just ask me?" She took in a deep sigh. "Can you help Bob with his hair and makeup?" It took every bone in your body not to burst out laughing at her request.
For Valentina and the press, everyone in the tower had to be dressed up. Including the guys. Not too much, but some to cover up most of their "tough guy" looks. Almost like a stage makeup of sorts. The stylists you guys had were always wrangled up with Alexei and Walker, always opposed to the idea and needing extra support, so Yelena would take care of Bob's and Bucky would handle his own.
"I'm already running behind and Val wants Barnes and I down early to practice responses." You looked at her, baffled. "And Ava can't do it?" Yelena raised her eyebrows at you. "It's a miracle Ava can do her own." True, unfortunately. "Yelena, you're kidding me right?" She walked closer to the couch you were sitting at. "He's a grown man, can't he do it himself?" "Yes, but unfortunately he's also a very slow learner too." You shook your head to yourself. "Have you even been in the tower for the past week, he won't even look at me right now," you whispered. She sighed to herself. "I know I know, and this would be a one time thing I promise, I just really need the help right now."
You leaned back into the couch and washed your hands over your face. "And not to be an instigator, but I think it would help you two also." You snorted at her sentence, taking your hands off your eyes to see how serious her face was. You took a deep breath and thought it over for a second or two. "Fine," you gave her, deadpanned. "But you owe me so much right now." Yelena let out a sigh of relief. "I really do, thank you." She dropped the makeup bag, presumably filled with the tools you'd need, in your lap, and bolted towards her room.
~~~~~
The door to the room loomed over your head, seemingly getting taller with every passing second you stood in front of it. Biting the bullet, you finally gave four slight knocks on his door, the same knock Yelena used for all of you. Yes, it was a bit of a trick, but you knew he wouldn't have let you in otherwise. You heard a soft, kind "Come in" from the other side of the door that made your heart warm up ever so slightly. You took a deep breath, and slowly opened the door. Your heart froze up again when you saw the way his smile dropped when you walked in. He was dressed in his usual attire for conferences, a pressed, slightly too big for him, tuxedo with dress shoes. But of course, his hair was in its natural, shaggy mess and you could spot any upcoming pimples from a mile away. Your job for the afternoon.
"What ar-" "Before you kick me out can I explain!" you jumped in before he could interject. He waited a second before nodding. "Yelena had to go downstairs early and doesn't have the time to get you ready, and before you ask, yes everyone else is too busy, and yes, I am your last resort."
His eyes darted away from you and to the ground, the most of an invitation over as you were gonna get. You took a seat on his partially made bed, observing the rest of his room. It took you a second to remember that you've never been in here before. It was a lot cleaner than you expected it to be. Then again, he spent almost all of his time in the tower, so he had a lot more time to clean than the rest of you did.
There were scattered band posters on the dark blue walls of the room, and a few collected rocks lying on his T.V. stand. You opened up the bag and took out his hair gel first. Val liked his long, overgrown hair to be slicked back for press events. You squirted some of the gel on your hands and lathered it deep into them.
When you went for his hair though, he moved his head slightly back away from you. You immediately put your hands down in response. "Okay, let's get this straight now," you snapped. "I get you're mad at me for whatever reason, but I'm not gonna take this from you right now, especially when I'm trying to help you. So either grow the fuck up, or you can do it yourself, okay?" His eyes widened a little bit. You were never the mean type towards anyone on the team, but when your limits were tested like this, you had no choice but to respond.
Putting back any feelings he had, he straightened up and leaned closer into you. "Thank you," you responded. "I'll be quick, I promise. Out of your bubble in no time." Your hands tangled into his hair, pushing the light brown strands back in straight lines. Before it would get tangled in by the gel, you could feel how soft his hair was. Even if it was overgrown, you could tell he took pride in it.
As you pushed his hair back into a makeshift mullet, making sure the gel wasn't ruining his curls at the bottom, you noticed something. Just out of your peripherals, you could see his eyes, darting every which way. They couldn't stay still for more than a second. Sometimes they would be at your shoulders, at your legs, your hair. Most of the time though, they were trying to find where you weren't. But each time, they would land magnetically back to you.
You couldn't help but let out a little laugh to yourself, a little breath out of your nose. "What?" Bob reflexively asked. You smiled and shook your head. "I really don't get you, man." His brows furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?" Finally finished with his hair, you untangled your hands and brought them back to you, his eyes following them. "Bob, you're scared shitless of me."
A glow of pink wiped over his cheeks. "N-no I'm not." You laughed right in his face, as you went into the makeup bag and pulled out primer, foundation, and concealer. You squeezed lines of primer from the bottle onto his face. Before you could use your hands to rub it in though, he quickly grabbed your wrist again. Same way as before. You froze for a second before you realized, nothing was happening. You weren't going back in. You realized why when you looked at Bob's face, focused now more than you had ever seen before.
Your face and demeanor softened. "Bob." His face turned to yours, fear glazing over his eyes, trying desperately to keep the void from taking you again. You took his calloused fingers in your hands, peeling them away from your wrist and holding it with your own. You looked into his deep blue eyes, almost lost in them.
"I'm not scared of you."
His breath shook at your words, and you could've sworn you saw his eyes slightly water up. "I never have been. And I don't plan on changing that." The tension in his body melted away at those magic words. His lips pursed inwards as he looked down at your hands intertwined. "Can you trust me on that?" He gave a slight nod to you. You took his chin to your hand and pulled it up to look at you. His eyes were fully watery now. "Can you?" It took him a second.
".....I can."
You smiled at him.
"Thank you," he whispered. You closed your eyes and nodded to him. "You're welcome." The two of you sat for a moment like this, hands tangled in each other and observing each other's faces. You noticed how large his hands were. You never really considered your hands as small either, so the fact they were still much bigger than yours surprised you. They were restless as well, constantly moving between your own fingers, like they were getting a feel for how yours were. This was the most you had ever seen him before, in more ways than one.
Eventually, you let his hand go and cleared your throat. "Let's get you ready now, I'd rather avoid an earful from Val after the conference." Bob nodded and sat up straight again, as you rubbed the primer into his face with your thumbs. His slightly stubbled chin tickled the pads of your fingers in an almost hypnotic notion. Before you even knew it, your hands were staying caressing his face. Bob didn't seem to mind it, his eyes slowly closing, and even leaning his face into your touch further.
The two of you immediately snapped out of it at the sound of Bob's door slamming open. Mel stood at the door, panting, hand leaning against the frame for support. "What the hell is taking so long?" she asked frantically. "Uhhhhhh." The lack of an answer you two could come up with only angered her more. She rolled her eyes and pointed to you. "Get downstairs, I'll finish up with him." You looked back to Bob, smiled, gave his cheek a quick pat as you stood up and walked out the door.
Before Mel closed the door behind you, you caught Bob's eyes, hypnotically following you. As if he was searching for you. For more.
~~~~~~
Something shifted between the two of you after that day. No more avoidance. You found Bob coming to you for anything now. Whether he was having one of his bad days, needed help cleaning something up, or even if he just wanted to watch a movie with someone. Equally, you found yourself going to him for almost anything. Almost.
The main difference between the two of you was Bob had told you everything about him. You knew him like a book. Every page studied and memorized. But when he would ask you something about your past, you always managed to slither out of the question. You didn't mean to be so secretive around him. It was more of a reflex at this point. You'd done it with everyone. He was included in that group.
You could tell it hurt him though. Knowing there was some part of you that either didn't trust him enough to know, or maybe just didn't want him to know at all. Hopefully with time you'd be able to open up, not just to him, to everyone. But that's all the two of you could do for now. Hope.
A sign of that coming close had finally appeared, a new impulse crossing your mind. Dating.
For obvious reasons, relationships had never been a top priority for you. But as things were slowing down in your life, you began to feel left out of the "dating in NYC" craze. Without much experience under your belt, you decided to go through the dating app route. That proved to be more challenging than you thought. "I don't think men on here have ever had a conversation with a woman before," you'd complain to Bob or Ava constantly, usually followed by a large eye roll from them.
Lightning seemed to have struck though. On your way home from grocery shopping, you managed to bump into a guy at your bus stop. It was something straight out of a movie, the way the wind knocked of your cap and he had managed to catch it for you. The two of you spent the entire bus ride talking, and he eventually asked you for your number once you reached your stop. Tonight was date night. He had planned a special dinner in the city, and the two of you would go dancing after.
"Are you sure this guy's not like some stalker or something? You are a superhero after all, there's weird fans all over the city," Ava protested. Her and Bob were sitting in your room as you got ready. She sat on your light yellow beanbag on the floor, tossing a crumpled up paper with the address to the restaurant on it into the air. Bob was laying down on your bed, extra quiet today for some reason, staring up at the ceiling.
"He's not, I promise, Bob saw him too, he can vouch for me," you waved her off, looking in your mirror trying to do your makeup. You could see Ava look to Bob behind you through the mirror. She raised her eyebrow at him, which he just shrugged off. "I'd just prefer you not get kidnapped tonight, so try to avoid that if you can," she turned back to you. "Ava, if he's a normal citizen, I'll have zero problems defending myself, if anything happens," you defended. You sprayed some setting spray onto your face, and got up to change into your outfit.
Your bedroom had an attached bathroom, so you went in there to change. Once you closed the door, you took off your current sweats and baggy turtleneck sweater and slipped on your outfit. Your date asked you to go a little more formal than normal first date, so you specially picked out your outfit from your closet: a black boat-neckline midi dress, with a little thigh slit for less formal environments. It was gifted to you a few years back, but you hadn't worn it since. There was one glaring issue you noticed.
Throughout your time in the lab, you had obviously developed some scars. You didn't mind most of them, being electrocution scars, which made for some pretty cool war stories. Photoshoot photographers were particular fans of those. Some scars, however, weren't exactly your favorites. The specific one being a thick, prominent scar, starting at your right collarbone and trailing up to the back of your neck. It was fairly recent, compared to the rest of your scars, so the fading process was far from beginning. It was part of the reason you stuck to turtleneck fashion so much. But with this dress here, it was finally out in the open, something you weren't so sure you were comfortable with.
After convincing yourself though, you were willing to bite the bullet if it meant looking all dolled up for once. After a final examination in the bathroom mirror, you took a step out the door to show off to your friends. Both of them seemed to jump back to the positions they were in before you walked into the bathroom, almost like they were gossiping girls before. But once they noticed you, the air in the room stopped.
Ava was the first one to give out a little supportive holler when you stepped out, getting a little giggle from you. "What are you waiting for, give us a twirl!" she shouted. Obliging, you gave a little curtsey and spin. Turning to Bob, you could see a little smile curling up from this mouth. "So, what do you think?" you asked him, hoping for some words out of him today. "You look beautiful. Really really beautiful." There was a slight tint of melancholy in his words. You believed what he said, that was sincere. But his smile was actively lying to you.
His eyes spoke the truth though. You watched him as his eyes traced the way your dress hugged your body, highlighting all the beautiful parts of you, leaving little to the imagination. You saw his eyes stop at your collarbone, and his smile faded away. Just before you could see his mouth open to ask about it, you jumped right in. "Well, I better get going, I don't wanna miss my train," you frantically said, grabbing your kitten heels and strapping them on.
Ava and Bob followed you out of your room and towards the elevator out of the tower. Ava gave you a tight hug, whispering a little "Text me if you think he's a killer," before letting go. Bob's body seemed to stutter a little bit before giving you a hug. He had been more in control of the void spreading through his touch, but he was still cautious over it. His hugs always felt like home. The way he would squeeze you just the right amount and how well your chin fit into the crook of his neck. His hand sat comfortably just above your hips, with always his pinky finger straying a bit lower and tracing your upper thigh. When he let go he stayed close to you for a second, his eyes just slightly lower than where yours were. "Be safe, okay?' he asked with full sincerity. You nodded and let go just before getting into the elevator. "I will."
~~~~~~~
You rested your back against the elevator, back at the tower and up to your room after the long night. You checked your phone for a time. 2:24 am. Hopefully everyone else would be asleep when you got back.
The date wasn't bad. Not at all. In fact, it was one of the better ones you could remember going on. Dinner was nice and you went down to this jazz bar for some dancing. He walked you back to the tower and the two of you even shared a quick kiss.
So why did you feel so....weird? The circumstances were perfect for a second date. You like the guy, you really did. But something about him kept you from getting truly comfortable with him that night. The little things. The way he insisted to the waiter on splitting the bill, the way you had to stop every taxi for the two of you, the way he'd cut off your sentences. The way he couldn't stop looking at the scar poisoning your neck. That one really got you.
Maybe it was just your anxiety highlighting it, but it seemed every time his eyes would trail away from yours, they would land right on that scar. Like he was trying to subconsciously let you know it was there. As if you didn't have to take the work to try and cover it up every day of your life. That irked you most of all. You felt awful about it, it wasn't his fault it was there. But no matter how hard you tried, whenever you thought about going on a second date with him, you couldn't erase the look in his eyes out of your mind.
As you examined it in the mirror in the elevator, the doors slid open to an empty living room and kitchen floor. You wiped the tiredness off of your face and turned on a dim overhead lamp, setting your purse on the kitchen island to grab a quick water bottle. Your ears perked up when you heard some stirring from the couch area. Following the noise arose a head of shaggy brown hair. Your face softened and smile lifted when you saw his head turn around to find you. "Hi," you whispered just loud enough for him to hear. Bob replied with a sleepy "Hey," eyes still lowered.
"Whatcha doing out here, shouldn't you be in bed?" you asked, walking over to the couch. "Couldn't sleep...came out here to city watch and try to get sleepy." Your head turned to the massive windows overlooking the night city, still so alive. Bob let out a small yawn and reached his arm over to where you were standing. You took his hand, allowing him to guide you over to sit next to him on the couch. His position was slouched and comfortable, still half asleep. He rested his head into your shoulder, sending a little nervous shiver into you. "How was it?" he asked, eyes closing. You sighed. "Good." He chuckled under his breath. "What's that for?" you asked, pointing your eyes down to him. "Someone who went on a good date wouldn't just say it was 'good'," he slyly slurred out. Maybe this is why you never see Bob right after he wakes up. This Bob was kind of an asshole.
"What, can I not go on a date that's just 'good'?" you asked, getting slightly mad with him. "Someone as special as you shouldn't have to lower herself to going on dates that are just 'good'." The words trailed off in volume on the way out, almost like he didn't even know they came out in the first place. But you managed to catch them. And they sent butterflies down into your stomach, a pink glow to your cheeks, and a stupid grin to your mouth.
You looked down at him, resting on your shoulder. His body leaned perfectly into yours, filling all the empty space with his own. His delicate hands rested in his lap while his eyelashes tickled the upper parts of his cheek. And his hair, his beautiful hair, curled perfectly at the ends, grazing against the back of your neck with the air of The Watchtower. You could fall asleep with him here for days, in perfect, complete serenity.
"So why was it just 'good'?" he finally asked after what seemed like minutes of silence. You thought to yourself. "Cause I'm not gonna go on a second date." He lifted his head off of your shoulder and looked at him, with a slight concern on his droopy face. "Did something happen?" "No no no, I promise," you quickly shut down the idea. "It's just....." He sat more at attention, rubbing his eyes to try and wake up more. You both turned to look at each other, the sides of your faces resting on the couch cushions. "He was fine, great even....I just...." You tried to find the words to describe what you were feeling. "C'mon honey, talk to me," Bob slipped out, in a deep, sleepy voice that sent waves through you.
"I can't see him being able to deal with me," you finally spoke. "What makes you think that?" You sighed. You sat up a little bit and pulled your hair back behind your neck and lifted up your chin. "You saw this earlier right?" Bob gave a soft hum and a nod in response. "I got this a while back, back when I was still in the labs you saw in my nightmare." His eyes focused in on the scar, trying to make it out with the little light in the room. "I wanted to ask earlier, but I didn't wanna upset you," he spoke. "I know you don't like talking about it." You smiled a little at his ability to know you so well.
"Well, on one of the missions I was sent on back there, I got injured real bad. Broke my clavicle and they could only fix it through surgery. But I wouldn't necessarily call their doctors 'top of the line', so the cleanup was messy." You brushed your hair back onto the scar to cover it up. "One of the many souvenirs they gave me," you attempted to joke. Bob smiled a little bit at it, but was still focused on your skin. "Anyways, I don't like looking at it much, it's one of my uglier scars, and when other people catch it, I can't help but worry about what they're thinking."
"What d'you think he was thinking about?" Bob asked, slouching his head back into the couch to secretly admire you. You slouched back too. "About how much of a piece of work I'm gonna be," you chuckled out, even if the thought made you wanna cry. You could see that same sadness in Bob's eyes as they trailed up to your eyes. You sighed and looked away from him to the window outside. "This is why I don't date," you joked, wiping your face.
"Hey." You looked back at him. "Can I do something I'm gonna regret once I'm more awake?" You raised an eyebrow at the suspicious statement. "Okay." He sat a little closer to you, bringing up a hand to your hair, looking to you for approval. You gave him a soft hum as he pulled the hair behind your neck again, and softly traced his thumb over the scar, leaving goosebumps in its trail.
As gently as he could, he brought his face closer and pressed his lips softly onto your clavicle. Your breath hitched, causing him to bring his face back again. His eyes bore into yours, ready to give an apology if you requested. But your hand encouraged his actions, tangling into the back of his hair and pushing his lips back in.
Bob's lips danced over your scar, as your breath got heavier and hands tugged on his roots in approval. His hands found their way to your hips, caressing you in all the right spots. You fought to keep in any sounds your mouth wanted to let out from his touch. But right as you could feel yourself getting to the good part, Bob placed his final kiss, releasing you as well. You rested your head back as Bob stood up from the couch, lending a hand out to you. "It's late, we can talk more tomorrow, but you need your rest for now." Bob almost seemed to snap out of whatever lustful spell was just over him. Or maybe you took what just happened the wrong way. You tried to process it in your head as you took his hand and stood up with him.
Hand in hand, he led you to your room. As he opened the door and let you inside, he leaned over you on the door frame with one more message: "If a man looks at you and his first thought is of is how much work you'll be, he's no man at all."
~~~~~~~~
His words stuck in your heart for the next few days as the two of you tried to pretend that nothing happened. Drowsy Bob was right, Awake Bob apologized to you profusely the next morning, claiming he had no idea what came over him that night. "....I didn't mind it," you confessed after his apology. Made him blush faster than you thought was humanly possible. After a long, embarrassingly awkward conversation, the two of you decided on an agreement.
Whenever you were feeling bad about yourself, physically specifically, you could go to his room and he'd help you....feel better. You weren't fuck buddies, that was for sure. You just happened to be friends who'd kiss each other's bodies multiple times a week. And it made you absolutely insane.
You couldn't even go to Ava about this, since you and Bob agreed it was best if this was a secretive thing. Truth is, this whole ordeal was making you obsessed with the guy. You couldn't get him out of your head. Him being your roommate only made things worse. You couldn't escape from him. You'd never wanted someone this much before, it was driving you mad.
All the problems in relationships you felt before seemed to disappear with him. Since that night, you found yourself opening up more and more to him. You knew each chapter of each other's lives. And that made you really fucking happy. Having someone you could trust with yourself utterly, wholly, and completely.
The late nights where he'd do nothing but kiss and hold you, like he knew the magic of his touch. But you were greedy. You needed more of him, but all the uncertainty just got in the way.
You knew this wasn't just a thing "friends" did. But not knowing the exact details of how he felt for you kept you from asking for more. What if this was something friends did in his mind? What if the only thing he felt for you was based in lust? You'd rather not have that potentially friendship ruining conversation, so you decided to take the "suffer in silence" route instead.
That wasn't your biggest worry at the moment though. No, that spot in your mind was currently being overshadowed by the bullet wound in your side. You weren't gonna die, your powers would take care of that step for you, but it still hurt like a bullet wound. You'd spent a couple hours on the medbay floor of The Watchtower getting patched up, now on your way up to join the rest of the team.
The minute the elevator doors opened, you were greeted by a giant hug from Alexei, shouting Russian expressions of joy. As endearing as it was, you had to have the rest of the team peel him off of you, as he was two seconds away from opening up your stitches. Once you caught your breath, you greeted the rest of the team, all glad for your recovery. Your smile dropped a little, after scanning the members in the room. "Where's Bob?" you asked. "His therapist wanted to extend his session a little bit today," Bucky answered. You nodded a little to yourself. "You know when he'll be back?" you asked, trying not to sound too needy. "Soon enough," Yelena giggled.
....
"Does he know about..." you gestured to your bandages, slightly pink from any leftover blood. In almost miracle timing, Bob stepped out of the elevator and into your conversation. "Hey, what's-," he started, before looking at you clutching your side. His eyes widened with fear. "Oh my god what happened?!" he shouted, rushing over to you. "It's fine, I'm fine, I just didn't dodge very well today and someone caught me off guard." In combat, you usually tried to avoid the gunslingers and sword masters for hand-to-hand instead. You got more energy from absorbing bullet wounds and cuts, but on a pain scale, you'd rather deal with working up multiple punches to the nose.
As Bob questioned your pain scale, it almost seemed as if the other teammates were slowly leaving the room one by one, until only you two were left in it. The two of you naturally made your way to the couch and talked about your days for what seemed like hours. You went over battle strategies, he debriefed about his appointment. Eventually, noticing the sun going down, you started to become aware of all the dirt and blood still sticking to your body. "Um, can I use your tub? I need to get the day off me before I start peeling my skin off," you joked, standing up off of the couch. "Sure, whatever you need," he insisted, getting up with you. The only teammates with bathtubs instead of showers in their rooms were Bob and Bucky, and in all honesty, you just wanted to be near Bob's presence right now.
The mixture of dried blood, sweat, and dirt stuck your suit straight onto your skin as you made a painful attempt to peel it off. You dropped the clothes to the floor, and examined the damage in your mirror, unraveling all your littered bandages. Your stitches seemed to be doing okay, but the rest of the little cuts and bruises on you made themselves apparent. Your powers were useful in the moment, but damn did the aftercare suck.
Wrapping a towel around yourself, you walked over to Bob's room, leaving a soft knock on the door. A freshly bathed Bob opened up the door, now in his own baggy pajamas, his curls still wet and dripping. "I just wanted a to take a quick soak before you got in, I got a new round of hot water running for you." You gave him a little smile and stepped inside; he closed the door behind you. "Thanks." You walked into the steaming bathroom, tub filled to the brim with hot water like he said. Bob's bathroom was a cozy, dimly lit room that smelled just like him; eucalyptus and peppermint oil, incense cones, and a touch of his cologne. It calmed you down almost immediately, and enough for you to ask your question.
"Can you...uh...help me while I'm in there?" you nervously asked. He raised his eyebrow a little bit at the question. "I-It just hurts to turn a little and I need to reach some spots on my back." He looked you over while he deliberated. "I don't wanna sound rude or anything but...you sure you're okay with me....seeing you?" he whispered that last little part. "I'm wearing a bathing suit under here, I don't mind you seeing that at least," you replied, anticipating his concern. "Oh....okay, yeah sure," he replied, scratching the back of his head.
You dropped your towel and placed it hanging over the sink. The black bikini you were wearing covered enough of you, but still allowed all your injuries to be visible. That first step into the tub was heavenly, the heat rolling down off your spine with a slight, but welcome tinge of pain. You closed your eyes and melted down into the water, Bob smiling at your relaxation. "God, I needed this," you breathed out. Bob walked up closer to you, sitting on the edge of the tub.
You sat there for a minute, body absorbing the heat and releasing the built up tension in your muscles from the day. Once you finally opened your eyes, you found Bob's eyes grazing over your body. "What is it?" you asked. A stupid grin found its way to his face, as he readjusted himself to begin helping you. "Nothing, don't worry."
Bob took a nearby loofa and his body wash, about to squeeze some onto it before you put your hand out. "This is gonna sound weird....can you use your hands?" You didn't bother giving an explanation, it wouldn't change the implications of that request. Bob gave a little nod. "Wait just, give me a sec." He quickly got up out of the room, closing the door behind him. You sat there within your own thoughts. Fuck, was that too much? you thought to yourself, praying you didn't scare him off.
After a few anxious minutes, Bob opened up the door, leaving you with a sight that made your heart stop.
He had traded in his pajamas for a pair of swim shorts. You had to fight to keep your jaw from going slack at the sight of him without a shirt on. He wasn't kidding, that serum really did do a lot of work.
First of all, you had seen his arm muscles before, frequently on display whenever he would wear a short sleeve shirt. But paired with his perfectly plumped chest, carved abs, and toned thighs, it was enough to kill a horse. Worst of all however, was his swim boxers, with a very flawed detail: they were about two sizes too small, and you couldn't tell if Bob was aware or not, but you could see it. It was bigger than you thought. You would need a tranquilizer to hide the blush on your face right now.
"I figured it'd be easier to just get in and help, and this is my only pair of trunks.....is it too much?" So he didn't know, huh. You swallowed back any urges you had and sat up a little bit more in the tub. "No, you're fine," you said, pushing your body back to make room for him in the small tub. He shuffled up and gently placed his legs in one by one, sinking in in front of you.
Bob took the body wash again, pouring some and lathering it between his hands. He motioned you to turn around so he could get your back area. Your back showed him about five scattered cuts and scratches and two large bruises by your lats. You could hear his breath shake a bit as he got closer to you. Naturally, you straightened out your back for him to work with a better canvas.
A sigh instinctively came out of your mouth when his hands came down on you, lathering the soap over your skin. His hands worked into you like putty, spreading the bubbles out evenly onto you. The callouses scratched onto your skin, and you felt a deep heat brewing into your chest. It only grew stronger when his fingers started digging into your muscles. Pain oozed out and away as his thumbs worked out the knots in your upper back. You had to bring a hand up to your mouth to keep a pleasurably moan from slipping out.
The deeper his fingers got into you, the more your body began to twitch, itching for more. The water sloshed around a little when you began to move back into him. And thats when you felt it. Your breath hitched when you caught it. He was achingly big, and you could tell by the throbbing you felt on your lower back. He must've noticed you felt it, since his fingers stopped moving. The two of you sat there for a minute in a hot tension.
Eventually, he picked up a cup sitting outside of the tub, filled it with the bathwater, and poured the soap off of your back. Putting it down, he inched slightly closer to you, his hands finding their way again back to your hips like so many times before. "Tell me where it hurts," he whispered into your ear. You tried to shake out your shivers and be honest with him, your mind needing him in one place but your body wanting him everywhere.
You took the safe route. You needed to keep control of yourself. As long as you could at least.
You pointed to a spot along your spine where one of the bruises lay. "Bend forward a little bit," he spoke, in that low, sultry voice again, almost commanding you. You listened. You moved. But unfortunately, you couldn't keep the moan inside you anymore when his lips grazed and kissed over the bruise. You could keep it quiet enough for him to, hopefully, not hear it however.
Your body adjusted and moved to fit him as his lips trailed up your spine, and eventually to the nape of your neck. He sucked on the tender skin, desperation in its trail. Before he could get too carried away though, he pulled himself off of you. His hot breath stuck to your back, as he took a moment to splash some of the steaming water onto his face. After clearing his throat, he asked you to turn back around and face him, which you did of course.
Finding his face, you could finally see the display of his emotions. The main one: a drunken look in his eyes to desperately hide a growing lust. You could tell. It was the same look in yours. Trying to continue with the bath, Bob took some more body was and drizzled it out onto your arms and upper chest. Sure, you could reach those parts of yourself fine, but what's wrong with letting a man take care of you every once in a while. And if this was how he was gonna do it, you'd be glad to give in.
He massaged the soap into your skin again, relaxing your tense arm muscles, a little gentler around your chest and collarbone area. He pressed a deep kiss into your clavicle scar, a tick for him at this point. His eyes stayed down on you, examining the way your skin fit onto your body. You brought your hand to meet his, currently pressing gentle circles onto your tricep. His eyes found a nice spot, staring at your lips, with you back at his. Trembles started to infect his hands and you could even see a slight quiver stain his lip.
"Does it hurt...anywhere here?" he gasped out. Taking the opportunity, you slowly brought your finger up to the tiniest cut you had on your chin. Smiling, he went in, almost taking your entire chin into his mouth. Your hands wrapped around his neck as his mouth moved to press sloppy kisses into your jawline. But that's all where he stayed. And you needed more than that.
Enough with the teasing, you let go of his neck and took his face in your hands, pulling his mouth away from you. He looked at you, beautiful, deep blue puppy eyes mixed with questioning and fear. "Do you remember what I told you Bob? When I was helping you get ready for the conference?" The fear left his eyes, as he realized what you were playing with here. "Remind me...." You smirked at his words. "When are you ever gonna stop being afraid of me?" you asked, eyes glued to his lips. He dropped his head and let out a defeated laugh. "It's never been you that I'm scared of....it's always been myself," he said, lifting his head back up and closer to yours. "And why's that?" The corner of his mouth lifted up as his hand went to cup your jaw, caressing it with his thumb. "Because I have to keep myself from tearing off my clothes and taking you in the living room each time you walk through that elevator."
Before you could respond to what he said, your body started moving on its own, slamming your lips into his, sloshing water everywhere. The kiss you shared was needy, hungry, and slow. Different from the ones he left littered over your body in the past. What surprised you the most about it was what fueled it. This was not a lustful kiss, which is what you had expected from him. This kiss was filled with a pure, tender, and firing love the two of you have silently shared for each other for the past few months.
His hands wrapped around your waist, hugging you closer into him and onto his laugh, where his raging erection made itself more apparent by the second. "You need me that bad, huh?" you teased, breaking away from the makeout and grinding your clothed cunt against it. Bob nodded profusely, leaning back into you to chase your lips, which you pulled back from. You bit your lip and smiled, wooed by his desperation for you. "Someone's excited, huh?" you joked. "Well, I'd rather not get waterlogged here, so how about we dry off, get these swimsuits off, and...." you leaned close to his ear. "...you can take me on your bed any way you want, how's that sound loverboy?" you bit down onto his earlobe
Bob let out a whispered moan and dropped his head into your shoulder, pressing soft kissed into it. "Yes, please," he replied. Before getting up though, he pulled you into a close hug, which you returned gladly. Bob may have a secret, shameful side you didn't know about, but at the end of the day, you couldn't take the lover out of him.
The two of you stepped out of the bathtub, drained the water, and took your towels to dry yourselves off. Once you were dried, you opened the bathroom door, releasing the steamy air into the rest of Bob room. The cold tinged both your skin, as you walked hand in hand to his bed. You were first to undress, slipping off your bikini bottoms and untying your top off. Bob could've sworn his life flashed before his eyes at that moment, as he admired your beautiful body. He quickly kicked off his trunks, allowing his cock to finally spring out to life. He playfully ran up and tackled you onto his bed, kissing into you neck as you let out playful giggles.
His mouth eventually found its way up to yours, as the two of you slipped each other's tongues into your mouths. His hands gently swept you underneath him on the bed, still careful with your injury. "I-fuck, I wanna taste you," he gasped out while you sucked marks onto his neck. "Do it," you whispered into his neck, giving it a little nibble.
He giggled to himself, as his mouth traced kissed down your neck, sternum, and stomach, all the way down to your hips. You lifted your head to look down at him. He smiled up at you as his hands grabbed into your thighs, bending your legs up. His thumb grazed along your leaking folds, already sending shivers into you. "You're so....beautiful," you could hear him whisper just before leaving his first of many soft kisses on your slit. His tongue slowly worked itself over your clit, as one of your hands found its way down into the roots of his hair.
For leverage, you pulled slight tugs onto his hair, which drove Bob bananas. Each pull only drove him further into your pussy, absorbing his own whines and moans. His tongue worked over each of your lips, memorizing the way it made his taste buds react. You tasted so good, he could sit here eating you for hours. Looking down at the sight underneath you only pushed you closer to the edge. His messy, slightly damp curls intertwined with your fingers, as he sloppily ate your pussy, juice dripping down the sides of his mouth. Game changer moment was when he brought in his digits, curling his pointer and middle finger into your swollen cunt.
An exaggerated moan of his name left your mouth, as your hips buckled into his hand, begging for more. "C'mon, you're doing so good for me baby, keep it up," he spoke into your inner thigh, leaving a little love bite in there that left you biting your tongue. As his fingers worked inside you, you wriggled over the sheets, trying to chase an oncoming high. "You're so perfect sweetheart, so perfect for me," he continuously praised.
The twitch in your lower stomach grew more powerful with the seconds, as fingers continued to hit your walls perfect, his teeth grazed your clit, and hot breath washed over you. "Bob, I-I," you started to moan out. "Do it for me baby, come for me here."
As the high washed over your body, a final moan rushed out, paired with another hip buckle and legs a twitching mess as Bob kissed into your pussy. Your juice coated all over his fingers, which added more growth to his member, if that was even possible right now. His fingers slid perfectly out of your aching pussy and into his own mouth, as he got a better taste for you. A smile curled its way onto his mouth as he sat back on his knees, watching you come down from your high.
Bob couldn't help but crawl back up to you. He had to watch this moment with his own eyes. Your heavy breaths hit his face as he leaned on his elbows to perfectly lay over him. Your cheeks glowed a heavy pink as you came down from your orgasm. "Was that good?" he asks. You couldn't help but let out at laugh at the question. Good? Did he see what happened just now? "You're adorable," you validated, love-drunk eyes gazing into his own.
He let a breath out of his nose, and dropped his whole body weight down onto you. You cried out in a fake pain and your body absorbed his heat into you. "Get off, you're killing me!" you joked. He shook his head vigorously. "No, you gotta do it yourself," he played back. You giggled and used whatever strength you had left over to try and push him off. To no avail of course. "Alright, you gotta help just a little, you're pure muscle sweetie." Bob sighed and lifted his body off of you just enough for you to roll him to the other side of the bed.
Before he could move again, you jumped on top of him, placing your own dead weight on top of him now. "You see, I'd play along now, but I'm scared I'd toss you off the bed," he said. True, best not to play games like this with someone who has super strength. "Ugh, no fair," you complained, dropping your head into his neck. You heard his awkwardly adorable laugh, making your heart soar, as he scratched the back of your head.
"C'mere, let me see you," he asked gently. You lifted your head up, a fake frown plastered on your face. The act didn't last long though when you saw his face.
The way he looked at you right now was the way girls had dreamed about since they were kids. His eyes softened with pure adoration for you, with his mouth curled into the dumbest grin. He spoke your name in a question. "Yeah?" He brought his hand up to cup your jaw, which you nuzzled your cheek into as his thumb traced over your lips. "I....I think..." he trailed off. "What is it?" His smile turned slightly more serious. "I think I love you." He paused. "I know I do."
If it weren't for his body heat grounding you into the moment, you would've sworn you were dreaming right now. Everything you've ever wanted was right here. It was all in him. It was him.
"I know I love you too."
The giddy look on his face could set you free, as both his hands grabbed your cheeks to pull you into his kiss stained lips. The two of you continued to kiss and roll all over the bed, as you prepared to continue the rest of your love filled night.
~~~~~~
Sun rays streamed through the breaks in the blinds of Bob's room. Your eyes attempted to adjust to the brightness as you awoke. Wrapped up in his sheets, blooming with his scent, you began to remember the dreamlike events of the night before. You turned to the other side of the bed, and there he was.
Like a painting, Bob laid next to you, still off in his hopefully pleasant dreams. Loose strand of hair fell in front of his sleeping face, his mouth slightly agape to breathe, still swollen lips. In fact, all of your souvenirs from the night before laid over him: scattered hickeys along his neck and shoulders, and nail scratches peeking over from his upper back. It was perfect. He was perfect.
His breath readjusted as he began to stir a bit, and finally, his lashes fluttered open to see you. A childlike smile painted your face as you saw his sleepy eyes adjust to you. "Good morning sleepyhead," you pressed into the tip of his nose as you kissed it. He smiled an eyes closed one to you. "Morning honey." You had found out last night how much of a pet-name user Bob was. You didn't mind at all. It only helped seal the "it feels like i'm in a movie" idea for you. "How'd you sleep," he asked with his eyes still closed. "Good, great even," you hummed. "And you?" His eyes opened and he leaned in closer to you to kiss you silly. "Best in years, honest truth."
After some morning talk, Bob got up to go to the kitchen, leaving you with some extra minutes for sleep. When he returned, it was with a plate of breakfast on a tray just for the two of you. It took a miracle for you not to jump over the bed and onto him then and there. The plate for you included all your favorites: blueberry Eggos, orange slices, and eggs. These weren't your usual eggs though. "I know you like them burnt, but by the time I remembered, I had taken them out of the pan and these were the last two," he apologized.
You inspected the eggs with your fork. It scared you a little, but you'd rather risk a stomach ache than hurt Bob's feelings right now. And plus, it was time to finally grow up. Taking them onto your fork, you took a deep breath, and put them in your mouth.
Chew, chew, chew. Swallow.
God, these were so much better than rubbery, burnt eggs. "These are so fucking good Bob, oh my god," you salivated. He smiled that dumb grin and climbed into bed next to you, as the two of you continued the rest of your morning together. It was nice to know you didn't have to burn your eggs anymore. The other side was better than you could've imagined.
a.n: AND THATS IT i hope you liked it lol. this is by FARRRRR the longest fic i've ever written and it took like a week and a half to write rip so i hope you all enjoyed it. please leave a note or interact if you did, i'd really appreciate it. alright thank you so much again, catch you on the next one BYEEEEEE
you see this is why i need to start posting more fics when a piece of media is trending or new cause wdym this became my third most popular fic within FOUR DAYS😭💔
pairing: bob reynolds x powered!thunderbolts!fem!reader
summary: two of the same. after breaking through inital barriers, you and the sentry appear to be inseperable, a pull almost forcing you two to each other. the strength of that pull has been getting pretty testy recently, and the two of you begin to wonder who you are to the other.
warnings/info: nsfw and mdni warning by the end of the fic, ill section off that part if you just wanna read the cutey parts, veryyyyyyy soft sex, no use of y/n, this bob is gonna be a little different from how i see him in a lot of other fics so disclaimer about that ig, but dw he's still very soft and sweet, oral sex and fingering (f!receiving), self depreciation on readers side, lots of my headcanons are gonna shine through here, reader is powered as well (yes that is gonna play into this lol) and is less of a blank slate than usual (aka shes kinda side rip), a scene in the void so we can know reader a little more and just for plot purposes lol, bob's powers are gonna be limited to whatever we saw showcased in thunderbolts so please dont get picky if somethings comic inaccurate thanks, its bob so ofc theres a little bit of angst too but dw this is very fluffy as well we love being well rounded lol
word count: 13.3k
notes: so guess who's obsessed with thunderbolts now.....and guess what half of the reasoning is.....if your guess was a man YOUD BE RIGHT!!!! i had to write for him ofc, i put a steve harrington fic on pause for this i had to jump on it lol. one thing i will say about bob fics that annoy me is that ofc everyone turns bob into a cutesy pootsy uwu boy which, hate me or whatever, he is NOTTTTT to me, that man was so sassy and sarcastic in the vault (to walker especially lol) so i wanted that to come out a little more here while still being his naturally sweet and soft self. i go a little bit into 2016 mcu fandom mode on some of the early character descriptions and relationships BUT CAN YOU BLAME A GIRL CAUSE IT FEELS SO GOOD TO BE BACK, I JUST HAD TO </3. i also didnt proofread this cause yet again its like 1am when im posting this and im so tired so if you catch anything uhhhh my bad lol. anyways this is standard to most of my other fics, so have fun lol enjoy!!!
dividers by: @cafekitsune
You always overcooked your eggs. It was part of your routine at this point in your life. As a kid, your irrationally large fear of getting salmonella caused you to force your mom to always burn your eggs, chicken, and other foods of the sorts. It didn't even taste bad to you. It was all you had ever known. Uncomfortable, but natural. You scooped the rubbery eggs out of the pan and onto your plate while you attempted to squirt whatever ketchup you could out of the bottle. Taking your lunch, you leaned on the kitchen island and stared out of the sweeping windows of The Watchtower.
Valentina finding you was complicated. On one hand, you were out of the hell hole of a compound you called a home. However though, her manipulation paired with constant missions and training proved to be its own task entirely. And still with all that, your mind had a knack for traveling back to that dark, damp room. Like a looming threat over your head that if you ever messed up, that's where you would return.
That fear pushed you for the past few years. You worked till your bones cracked fixing up Valentina's messes. It was monotonous, but you had convinced yourself to be grateful for the opportunity to become something more with what you had. You had a special gift after all. Thrusted onto you, sure, but Valentina said that it meant you were worth something now. A living shield and sword. Each time you got hit, your body was able to process the kinetic energy into physical blasts. Meaning dodging an attack was actually bad form on your part. So you got hit. A lot. Most days you'd stumble back to your apartment, knocked in the head so silly you didn't know what was up or down.
But it was good work. Kept you busy. That was until Valentina attempted to have you assassinated, trying to tie up all her loose ends. That's all you were to her at the end of the day. A fly on the way she had to clean up before her guests arrived. Turns out though, she had lots of other flies on the walls, who would in fact turn their forces against her, becoming the world's New Avengers in the process.
One of Yelena's first personal tasks on the job was to find any other lost associates of Valentina. Lucky for you, you fell right into that category. After proving yourself physically capable and trustworthy to her and the rest of the team, you eventually joined as an official member. Your rise to glory had been long and tough, but man was the view from the top nice.
As you grew closer with each of the teammates, you noticed each of their little knick-knacks. Yelena was very easy to let you in, almost like she was begging to share herself with someone else. She must've gotten it from her father, Alexei. He didn't take anything more than four hours to warm up to you. The other three went at a much slower pace, Ava and you eventually bonding over your mutual teasing for Walker, who you made sure knew it was all in good fun. Bucky was last, but it seemed thats how he was with most people. You let him take his time, which seemed to work well in the end. All of them had made their way.
Well. Almost.
Bob was kind of a weird guy. He was kind of an Avenger? But not really? If anything, he was more of their dog that would show up to public appearances with you and the team, but never missions. He spent most of his time lounging around or cleaning up the Watchtower, or in sessions with his therapist. He was always looming around, but kept a specific distance. Mainly physical. Whenever you'd seem to be about to brush by him, he'd scatter away, like a cat who got spooked. You had talked to Yelena about it before, but she said to just give him his time. That this was probably natural after his "incident" a few months back.
You weren't in New York for it, but it of course was on the news everywhere. How a sea of black ink had devoured the city and all of its civilians in their own personalized trauma nightmare. Something you were secretly grateful to have missed. You knew exactly what you'd see if you were in there.
In the recent time of your arrival, you had managed to find and take up your role in your little group. Their own little weird mage, banned from making food for anyone but yourself. No one else liked your burnt food, big shocker.
As you wrapped up with said burnt lunch, you took your plate and utensils to the sink, as a pair of bare feet patted into the room. "Good morning sleepyhead," you called out, knowing who they belonged to already. "Morning's a bit of a stretch, it's like what, 1:30 already?" Bob replied, mid yawn. "I told you guys to start forcing me up earlier," he complained. "Yeah yeah, but Yelena says it's good for you. Your body needs its rest after the serum treatment," you retorted. "Doesn't..." he paused mid sentence to check his sleep tracker on his watch. "....14 hours seem like a little much?" "Hey, your body's gonna take what it needs," you said, finally turning around to face him. He was wearing his usual lounge outfit, a gigantic, comically oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. His body had grown incredibly sensitive to touch after the serum, so the less fabric tightening down on him, the better.
Bob gave a half smile to your comment and attempted to wipe the drowsiness off his face. "You can leave that for me, it's fine," Bob commented, as you took the dish soap and drizzled it over your dirty plate and pan. "I don't mind, I'm already here anyways," you insisted, turning on the tap. Bob sighed and shrugged his shoulders backwards in an attempt to wake his body up. "Alright, but I'm taking charge on the stovetop," he insisted, walking over to your area.
Something must've been in the air today, because this was the most Bob had talked to you in a while, and this was definitely the closest he had stood near you ever before. His presence was a sweet one, as he himself was a sweet guy. You had seen it in the way he acted with everyone else. You knew it probably had to deal with the fact that you were the newcomer, a different face than what he was used to, but you wanted to badly to have something that close with him too. A deep, lingering jealousy had proved to be a close friend of yours when you would see how he would act with John or Yelena compared to how he would act with you.
Hopefully, this was a step in the right direction.
"You know where the others went?" Bob almost immediately asked.
Or maybe not.
"Downstairs in a meeting with Valentina. I got a pass to skip on this one." In the last meeting you had been to, Bucky had to hold you down before you had the chance to blast her smug smirk off her face.
Bob made a hum in acknowledgment. "Can I ask you something?" He nodded, which you caught out of the corner of your eye. "How do you feel about....her?" Bob paused for a moment.
When Yelena had told you Valentina was at majority blame for The Void Incident, you had no doubt in believing it. You didn't know how the others were so okay with it, but Ms. de Fontaine being your boss still unsettled you. You didn't like the idea that she was still overseeing all of your actions and controlling how you were supposed to be acting towards the public. Especially after the shit she's pulled. Once Yelena explained the situation, about the blackmail shock collar the team had on her if she ever took anything too far, you felt a little more at ease about it. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't shake off the paranoia about being in this situation with her.
"Fine," Bob responded. You placed the plate down in the sink and turned to face him finally. "That's all you're gonna give me? Fine?" He gave a deep, annoyed sigh. "Well what do you want me to say? That I don't like her? That I don't trust her? That she's the reason I'm like this now and when it didn't go the way she planned, she killed me? Hmm?" You froze a little bit. You hadn't seen this side of him before. The team said it came out a little bit when he would go "Sentry-Mode" (a name made on Alexei's part). You sighed and went back to washing your dish. Bob rubbed his face again. "Sorry, I just thought it was pointless to state the obvious." You smirked a little bit. "Well that's one thing right. Just trying to fill the air I guess." "I know....sorry, that was mean." There's the Bob you know. Always apologizing. "You're good."
The air was stuffy with a tension for the next few minutes while you cleaned the kitchen. Up until a wet glass plate slipped out of your hands and crashed onto the floor, shattering into a billion little pieces. Bob flinched at the sound, on the other side of the island wiping down the counter. You froze and chuckled to yourself a bit. "Woah, you okay?" he asked, concerned. "Yeah, yeah, just a bit of a ditz today," you said, wiping your hand across your face. "You're good, just stay where you are for a sec, I don't want you to get any in your feet," Bob warned, going into first responder mode as he assessed the situation. "I wanna try this out for a second," he insisted.
You watched closely and stilly, as Bob took a deep breath in, closed his eyes, and put his hands out. Suddenly, the glass shards around your feet jittered and lifted into the air slowly, as Bob opened his eyes and guided them to the trash can. Once he was done, he released his breath and dropped his hands. "Well look at mister big shot powers over here!" you cheered. "Bucky let you start practicing again recently?" "Yeah, a little bit here and there just so I don't go overboard again," he blushed a light pink. "Keep it up," you smiled at him.
Before you took another step, you looked down at the ground and noticed a particularly large piece of glass. "Oops, looks like you missed one hot-rod." "Shit, sorry, let me try one more time," he said closing his eyes again. "No no, don't worry, it's fine, I'll just pick this one up," you insisted, reaching down to pick it up. "No, wait, you'll cut yourself!" Bob shouted, almost running over to reach you. "Bob, it's fine I pro-."
As Bob's hand grabbed onto your wrist, you felt a spike of shivers roll down your arm. The first time he had made contact with you, and his hands were so soft....
You couldn't focus on it for long though, looking up and seeing a face of pure horror on Bob's face. You looked at him confused. You were quick to join him though as streams of black slithered across the floor and over your eyes. The last thing you remember was Bob's hand ripping off your wrist, desperately called out your name as the shadows took his place.
~~~~~
Your eyes peeled open, as you tried to assess your surroundings after the chaos. It was eerily quiet, a leaky faucet dripping as the only sound. The room was dark, damp, and cold. Concrete floors and walls, a chamber pot in the corner, and a cot with a wrinkled, thin blanket shoved against the wall. After your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you saw her. The lone decoration of the room. A poster of 1961's Breakfast at Tiffany's, Audrey Hepburn's face faded and discolored with time. The more you stared, the more you recognized this room. You knew where you were. And worst of all, you knew exactly what day this was.
With almost perfect timing, the metal door slide open with angry force. Three armored men burst into the room, as you heard something shuffle itself across the floor. You didn't even notice her at first.
A girl, shoved up into the corner of the wall, head hanging over the chamber pot as she wiped the bile off her mouth. Your memory was fuzzy, but she couldn't have been older than 17 at the time. With short, flat, oily, botched up hair. Wires were bursting out of her neck and down her back, connecting her to a running machine in the wall for vitals.
You. An older one.
The most notable feature was her frame. You would expect someone in this situation to look malnourished, seconds away from death. On the contrary, uncanny muscles were bulging out of her arms and upper back, like they were clawing to be let out. A product of the treatment, like a sumo wrestler on steroids.
The men rushed over to that version of you, ripping the wires out of her neck and latching on a power damper collar in their place. That collar itself was an omen. Can't torture the girl who can absorb the pain and shoot it back out. You'd just be throwing fuel onto the fire.
They forced younger you up to your feet as their superior walked into your room. You could feel your heart stop in your chest as you searched in desperation for a way out. You called out for Bob, Yelena, anyone at all. Almost like your mind was in tune with your decisions, the metal door slammed shut just before you could run out. You leaned your head on the door, not bearing to look, barely standing to listen.
Your old superior examined younger you and the rest of the room, the poster in particular. He smiled sadistically at it. "A real stunner she was, eh?" You scoffed at his words while younger you darted her eyes away. In one swift movement, he ripped the poster down to reveal a makeshift hole halfway into the wall. Your escape route. Taking a deep breath, you finally turned around to face the incoming carnage.
"You think you're smart huh?" the man asked her. Younger you tilted her head up, looking him straight in the eyes, too worn down to care what would happen to her. He smirked. Her silence was enough of an answer. He snapped at his employees, one of them slamming the butt of his gun into her temple in response. You couldn't help but flinch.
The superior slide open the metal door again, as his pawns dragged her unconscious body out the door, while you closely followed. The harsh hospital lights left a sting to your eyes as you traveled through your mind's endless hallways. Finally, you reached the chamber. The door slide open to reveal a dentist chair and an array of instruments littered throughout the room.
The men placed her down into the chair, one of them injecting a serum into her arm to wake her up. Younger you shot awake, pulled down by different leather restraints. Bile filled your mouth as you were reduced to being so helpless to just watch. A doctor followed into the room soon after the six of you, his face burned into your mind.
He took two long prongs, pinching them onto the skin of her elbow, and turned on a machine to send out electrical shocks. After a signal from the commander, he sent out the first wave. You couldn't help but turn your head away, holding back your own tears as phantom pains of remembrance ripped through your skin.
The worst part of all of this was how younger you barely struggled at all, only letting out blood curdling screams of pain. She had accepted her fate hours ago, knowing this was inevitable. Why fight it. It would only make it worse. It made you sick to your stomach. How much she had given up at this point.
A pause in the shocks. You turned your head back to see the commander walking up to the girl, sticking his face down to her's. "You knew this was going to happen?" The girl nodded her head slowly, with the energy she had left. He scoffed. "Then you're dumber than I thought." He stepped back again and signaled for the second wave.
Not baring to take it again, you went against your own judgement and rushed between the men, ripping the prongs off of the girl's body. You met her eyes for a split second.
Behind the numbness, you could see her fear. Roaring underneath the surface.
Before you could sense the rest, you felt a slam into your own temple, knocking you down to the floor. You looked up to see all the men looking at you now, the first time they had done so. The commander pushed past them, staring you down. He crouched down to your level, pushing a stray hair back behind your ear as you shuddered. "Still the same dumb girl I see," he smirked.
In a split second, he grabbed your arm, attaching one of the prongs to it, as the still working machine sent hundreds of volts into your arm in a split second, slicing through your nerves.
~~~~
Before you had time to react to the pain, your body in the real world roared back to life, as you screamed and coughed to catch your breath. You found yourself sitting down in the middle of the kitchen as your hands scrambled all over the ground as you hyperventilated, trying to ground yourself. "Woah, woah, woah, easy, I got you, you're safe now!" You looked up and finally noticed Yelena sitting on the ground in front of you. She had both hands placed on your shoulders, looking deep into your eyes to help you center yourself. You frantically looked around the room, finding the other team members close by, staring at you. Eventually, you found Bob, walking out of the room with Bucky close on his tail. You wanted to talk to him, knowing he was probably upset too, but you had bigger things on your mind.
"I.....I..." You couldn't get the words out. Before you could try again, Yelena softly pulled you into a hug, that you returned very quickly. "You're good now, okay?" she asked. You nodded gently into her shoulder. With more deep breaths and a few tears, you eventually were brought back down. You pulled out of the hug, and began to stand on your feet.
"Yelena, I told you I needed the team up to the helicopter deck in five minutes, do you guys take pleasure in disobeying me or wha-." Valentina bursted out of the elevator, rambling on about what they were probably discussing in the meeting. She only paused after noticing the obvious tension in the room. She looked at you, hunched over and mascara running down your face. "Well what happened to you this time?"
~~~~~~~
The ambient blue glow of the tv washed over your face, as your eyes glazed over the screen. In the few hours since the incident, the team decided it was best for you to sit out on this mission. So you had cooped yourself up in your room, trying anything to distract your mind from going back to that place. Every now and again, you'd hear light pacing footsteps in the hallway outside your door.
You hadn't spoken to Bob since you went under. He hadn't made any attempts to apologize yet. Yelena said it would probably take some time and she would talk to him as soon as she got back. You didn't want to wait until then to make things right, but knowing how fragile both of you were at the moment, you didn't want to accidentally make anything worse.
When the footsteps finally stopped, you sat up a little bit in your bed. Three soft knocks followed. You paused. "Come in." It wasn't him.
Ava gave you a soft "Hi" before stepping inside and closing the door behind her. "How was the mission?" you asked her. She shrugged her shoulders. "More of the same really, you didn't miss much." She gave a little hop onto your bed, laying down on her stomach next to you. "How you feeling?" You gave a little sigh to her. "A little better. I just think I need time." She nodded at your response, and gently held your hand. "You need me, you know where to find me, okay?" You smiled and nodded at her kind gesture. Ava put up a front with the rest of the time, teasing many of the others and acting nonchalant. But something else came out in her around you. That little girl, normally shoved under years of pain and killing.
"Can I ask you something?" you asked her. "Of course." You took a deep breath in and looked her in the eye. "Back when....he took over New York, what did you see?" Ava took a minute to think to herself. "Well, I went through three different rooms to find Bob and Yelena at the center." You adjusted yourself to a more comfortable, open position, trying to create a more welcoming energy in the room as Ava got vulnerable with you. "First room was with my parents and how I got....this way." She took off one of her gloves from her suit, showing her hand phasing between multiple quantum planes at once. A painful experience, she described it as. "Second room was one of my first missions with S.H.I.E.L.D., I had to take out an unarmed doctor."
She twiddled with her fingers, looking down as she picked at the nails. "Last one was a fight I had with an old friend.....he was trying to protect me from....myself I guess....said a lot of things I regret." You frowned down at her, placing a hand on her back to rub it in condolences. "That Bill guy you were talking about earlier, right?" She nodded. "But anyways, I've learned not to dwell on it anymore. My life is different now." She looked up at you. "All of ours are now." You nodded in acknowledgment.
"We're never gonna let those bastards get you again. Can you trust me on that?" She held your face between her hands. You nodded. She looked at you deeper. "I can. All of you," you verbalized. She sat up and pulled you in tightly for a hug. Ava was your best friend. You could trust her more than anyone else here on that.
As she pulled away, she cleared her throat. "Can I ask you a question now?" You nodded. "Do you blame Bob for what happened?"
You took a second.
"No." Ava raised an eyebrow at you. "I really don't." "Okay good, just making sure." You smiled at her. "Is Yelena talking to him?" "She's gonna try to at least," Ava sighed. "He's gonna be like this for a while. Scampery, avoidant. We've learned it's best to let him work through it." You nodded. "But he's gonna be okay, right?" Ava looked up at you, slight confusion in her eyebrows. "Yeah....." You nodded. "Okay....good."
Ava sat in silence for a little bit. "You care more about him being okay than you being okay?" You looked at her, clogs turning in your mind. "When you put it like that, I guess." She looked even more confused now. "Why?"
.....
"I don't know."
~~~~~~~
The next few days were spent with you trying to answer that question for yourself. You and Bob's relationship before this was never a super close one. You always naturally kept a distance from each other. It didn't make much of a difference if things went back to normal from this or not. So why did it matter? Why did it matter if he started talking to you again? Because man did you want him to again. And badly too.
It was like he was playing a prank on you at this point. Every time you would enter a room he was in too, he would find some excuse to leave, leaving you with a sour taste in your mouth. You knew the other team members noticed it too, because you would see one of them usually follow out of the room with him to confront him. You didn't want him to take the blame for this. You knew he was just taking this healing stage at his own pace. But man did you just wish his pace would go a little faster.
At least he wouldn't go on missions with you guys, then you'd really be screwed.
You tended to forget a very important fact because of that.
"Val needs you all downstairs in an hour, there's that press conference about the rebranding today." You could hear Mel talking to the group from your cracked bedroom door. You had been snooping in there, since Bob was in the control room outside with everyone else. "Bob, she wants you there too this time, says the more members there in support, the better."
Shit.
You could hear his whiny groan from your room. "Do I have to?" "Unless you wanna tell Val yourself." That must've been a huge wake up call for him, cause you could hear him rush your way to his room to get ready. He made split second eye contact with you before closing the door. Your heart almost broke with the swiftness his eyes darted away.
You closed your door and started getting ready yourself before you had to take orders from anyone. Most press meetings required a more casual, business attire. Ones like this however, required full glam, full hair, and full costume. You were particularly fast at the getting ready process, especially since you didn't have a thousand gun holsters you had to fasted on, unlike your other team members.
Your costume was also fairly simple. With the nature of your powers, your previous suits had a knack for getting the sleeves torn off, so you decided to replace that design with a simple, black, mock neck bodysuit. Your pants were standard black cargo pants, multiple pockets in case you needed any physical weapons on you in an emergency. They were tied off with a pair of heavy duty combat boots.
For press conferences, Valentina usually requested you to go the most glam with hair and makeup out of the group, since the other two girls were slightly opposed to it. So once that was finally done, you walked out of your room into the control deck, ready to go.
You usually sat there for a good amount of time by yourself, until one of the guys would join you. But this time, Yelena was the first one out after you, albeit half dressed, in the middle of doing her eyeliner, and a makeup bag in her hand.
She looked at you, slightly distressed. "What's up?" you asked. She clenched her teeth. "You're gonna say no, I know it." "Can you just ask me?" She took in a deep sigh. "Can you help Bob with his hair and makeup?" It took every bone in your body not to burst out laughing at her request.
For Valentina and the press, everyone in the tower had to be dressed up. Including the guys. Not too much, but some to cover up most of their "tough guy" looks. Almost like a stage makeup of sorts. The stylists you guys had were always wrangled up with Alexei and Walker, always opposed to the idea and needing extra support, so Yelena would take care of Bob's and Bucky would handle his own.
"I'm already running behind and Val wants Barnes and I down early to practice responses." You looked at her, baffled. "And Ava can't do it?" Yelena raised her eyebrows at you. "It's a miracle Ava can do her own." True, unfortunately. "Yelena, you're kidding me right?" She walked closer to the couch you were sitting at. "He's a grown man, can't he do it himself?" "Yes, but unfortunately he's also a very slow learner too." You shook your head to yourself. "Have you even been in the tower for the past week, he won't even look at me right now," you whispered. She sighed to herself. "I know I know, and this would be a one time thing I promise, I just really need the help right now."
You leaned back into the couch and washed your hands over your face. "And not to be an instigator, but I think it would help you two also." You snorted at her sentence, taking your hands off your eyes to see how serious her face was. You took a deep breath and thought it over for a second or two. "Fine," you gave her, deadpanned. "But you owe me so much right now." Yelena let out a sigh of relief. "I really do, thank you." She dropped the makeup bag, presumably filled with the tools you'd need, in your lap, and bolted towards her room.
~~~~~
The door to the room loomed over your head, seemingly getting taller with every passing second you stood in front of it. Biting the bullet, you finally gave four slight knocks on his door, the same knock Yelena used for all of you. Yes, it was a bit of a trick, but you knew he wouldn't have let you in otherwise. You heard a soft, kind "Come in" from the other side of the door that made your heart warm up ever so slightly. You took a deep breath, and slowly opened the door. Your heart froze up again when you saw the way his smile dropped when you walked in. He was dressed in his usual attire for conferences, a pressed, slightly too big for him, tuxedo with dress shoes. But of course, his hair was in its natural, shaggy mess and you could spot any upcoming pimples from a mile away. Your job for the afternoon.
"What ar-" "Before you kick me out can I explain!" you jumped in before he could interject. He waited a second before nodding. "Yelena had to go downstairs early and doesn't have the time to get you ready, and before you ask, yes everyone else is too busy, and yes, I am your last resort."
His eyes darted away from you and to the ground, the most of an invitation over as you were gonna get. You took a seat on his partially made bed, observing the rest of his room. It took you a second to remember that you've never been in here before. It was a lot cleaner than you expected it to be. Then again, he spent almost all of his time in the tower, so he had a lot more time to clean than the rest of you did.
There were scattered band posters on the dark blue walls of the room, and a few collected rocks lying on his T.V. stand. You opened up the bag and took out his hair gel first. Val liked his long, overgrown hair to be slicked back for press events. You squirted some of the gel on your hands and lathered it deep into them.
When you went for his hair though, he moved his head slightly back away from you. You immediately put your hands down in response. "Okay, let's get this straight now," you snapped. "I get you're mad at me for whatever reason, but I'm not gonna take this from you right now, especially when I'm trying to help you. So either grow the fuck up, or you can do it yourself, okay?" His eyes widened a little bit. You were never the mean type towards anyone on the team, but when your limits were tested like this, you had no choice but to respond.
Putting back any feelings he had, he straightened up and leaned closer into you. "Thank you," you responded. "I'll be quick, I promise. Out of your bubble in no time." Your hands tangled into his hair, pushing the light brown strands back in straight lines. Before it would get tangled in by the gel, you could feel how soft his hair was. Even if it was overgrown, you could tell he took pride in it.
As you pushed his hair back into a makeshift mullet, making sure the gel wasn't ruining his curls at the bottom, you noticed something. Just out of your peripherals, you could see his eyes, darting every which way. They couldn't stay still for more than a second. Sometimes they would be at your shoulders, at your legs, your hair. Most of the time though, they were trying to find where you weren't. But each time, they would land magnetically back to you.
You couldn't help but let out a little laugh to yourself, a little breath out of your nose. "What?" Bob reflexively asked. You smiled and shook your head. "I really don't get you, man." His brows furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?" Finally finished with his hair, you untangled your hands and brought them back to you, his eyes following them. "Bob, you're scared shitless of me."
A glow of pink wiped over his cheeks. "N-no I'm not." You laughed right in his face, as you went into the makeup bag and pulled out primer, foundation, and concealer. You squeezed lines of primer from the bottle onto his face. Before you could use your hands to rub it in though, he quickly grabbed your wrist again. Same way as before. You froze for a second before you realized, nothing was happening. You weren't going back in. You realized why when you looked at Bob's face, focused now more than you had ever seen before.
Your face and demeanor softened. "Bob." His face turned to yours, fear glazing over his eyes, trying desperately to keep the void from taking you again. You took his calloused fingers in your hands, peeling them away from your wrist and holding it with your own. You looked into his deep blue eyes, almost lost in them.
"I'm not scared of you."
His breath shook at your words, and you could've sworn you saw his eyes slightly water up. "I never have been. And I don't plan on changing that." The tension in his body melted away at those magic words. His lips pursed inwards as he looked down at your hands intertwined. "Can you trust me on that?" He gave a slight nod to you. You took his chin to your hand and pulled it up to look at you. His eyes were fully watery now. "Can you?" It took him a second.
".....I can."
You smiled at him.
"Thank you," he whispered. You closed your eyes and nodded to him. "You're welcome." The two of you sat for a moment like this, hands tangled in each other and observing each other's faces. You noticed how large his hands were. You never really considered your hands as small either, so the fact they were still much bigger than yours surprised you. They were restless as well, constantly moving between your own fingers, like they were getting a feel for how yours were. This was the most you had ever seen him before, in more ways than one.
Eventually, you let his hand go and cleared your throat. "Let's get you ready now, I'd rather avoid an earful from Val after the conference." Bob nodded and sat up straight again, as you rubbed the primer into his face with your thumbs. His slightly stubbled chin tickled the pads of your fingers in an almost hypnotic notion. Before you even knew it, your hands were staying caressing his face. Bob didn't seem to mind it, his eyes slowly closing, and even leaning his face into your touch further.
The two of you immediately snapped out of it at the sound of Bob's door slamming open. Mel stood at the door, panting, hand leaning against the frame for support. "What the hell is taking so long?" she asked frantically. "Uhhhhhh." The lack of an answer you two could come up with only angered her more. She rolled her eyes and pointed to you. "Get downstairs, I'll finish up with him." You looked back to Bob, smiled, gave his cheek a quick pat as you stood up and walked out the door.
Before Mel closed the door behind you, you caught Bob's eyes, hypnotically following you. As if he was searching for you. For more.
~~~~~~
Something shifted between the two of you after that day. No more avoidance. You found Bob coming to you for anything now. Whether he was having one of his bad days, needed help cleaning something up, or even if he just wanted to watch a movie with someone. Equally, you found yourself going to him for almost anything. Almost.
The main difference between the two of you was Bob had told you everything about him. You knew him like a book. Every page studied and memorized. But when he would ask you something about your past, you always managed to slither out of the question. You didn't mean to be so secretive around him. It was more of a reflex at this point. You'd done it with everyone. He was included in that group.
You could tell it hurt him though. Knowing there was some part of you that either didn't trust him enough to know, or maybe just didn't want him to know at all. Hopefully with time you'd be able to open up, not just to him, to everyone. But that's all the two of you could do for now. Hope.
A sign of that coming close had finally appeared, a new impulse crossing your mind. Dating.
For obvious reasons, relationships had never been a top priority for you. But as things were slowing down in your life, you began to feel left out of the "dating in NYC" craze. Without much experience under your belt, you decided to go through the dating app route. That proved to be more challenging than you thought. "I don't think men on here have ever had a conversation with a woman before," you'd complain to Bob or Ava constantly, usually followed by a large eye roll from them.
Lightning seemed to have struck though. On your way home from grocery shopping, you managed to bump into a guy at your bus stop. It was something straight out of a movie, the way the wind knocked of your cap and he had managed to catch it for you. The two of you spent the entire bus ride talking, and he eventually asked you for your number once you reached your stop. Tonight was date night. He had planned a special dinner in the city, and the two of you would go dancing after.
"Are you sure this guy's not like some stalker or something? You are a superhero after all, there's weird fans all over the city," Ava protested. Her and Bob were sitting in your room as you got ready. She sat on your light yellow beanbag on the floor, tossing a crumpled up paper with the address to the restaurant on it into the air. Bob was laying down on your bed, extra quiet today for some reason, staring up at the ceiling.
"He's not, I promise, Bob saw him too, he can vouch for me," you waved her off, looking in your mirror trying to do your makeup. You could see Ava look to Bob behind you through the mirror. She raised her eyebrow at him, which he just shrugged off. "I'd just prefer you not get kidnapped tonight, so try to avoid that if you can," she turned back to you. "Ava, if he's a normal citizen, I'll have zero problems defending myself, if anything happens," you defended. You sprayed some setting spray onto your face, and got up to change into your outfit.
Your bedroom had an attached bathroom, so you went in there to change. Once you closed the door, you took off your current sweats and baggy turtleneck sweater and slipped on your outfit. Your date asked you to go a little more formal than normal first date, so you specially picked out your outfit from your closet: a black boat-neckline midi dress, with a little thigh slit for less formal environments. It was gifted to you a few years back, but you hadn't worn it since. There was one glaring issue you noticed.
Throughout your time in the lab, you had obviously developed some scars. You didn't mind most of them, being electrocution scars, which made for some pretty cool war stories. Photoshoot photographers were particular fans of those. Some scars, however, weren't exactly your favorites. The specific one being a thick, prominent scar, starting at your right collarbone and trailing up to the back of your neck. It was fairly recent, compared to the rest of your scars, so the fading process was far from beginning. It was part of the reason you stuck to turtleneck fashion so much. But with this dress here, it was finally out in the open, something you weren't so sure you were comfortable with.
After convincing yourself though, you were willing to bite the bullet if it meant looking all dolled up for once. After a final examination in the bathroom mirror, you took a step out the door to show off to your friends. Both of them seemed to jump back to the positions they were in before you walked into the bathroom, almost like they were gossiping girls before. But once they noticed you, the air in the room stopped.
Ava was the first one to give out a little supportive holler when you stepped out, getting a little giggle from you. "What are you waiting for, give us a twirl!" she shouted. Obliging, you gave a little curtsey and spin. Turning to Bob, you could see a little smile curling up from this mouth. "So, what do you think?" you asked him, hoping for some words out of him today. "You look beautiful. Really really beautiful." There was a slight tint of melancholy in his words. You believed what he said, that was sincere. But his smile was actively lying to you.
His eyes spoke the truth though. You watched him as his eyes traced the way your dress hugged your body, highlighting all the beautiful parts of you, leaving little to the imagination. You saw his eyes stop at your collarbone, and his smile faded away. Just before you could see his mouth open to ask about it, you jumped right in. "Well, I better get going, I don't wanna miss my train," you frantically said, grabbing your kitten heels and strapping them on.
Ava and Bob followed you out of your room and towards the elevator out of the tower. Ava gave you a tight hug, whispering a little "Text me if you think he's a killer," before letting go. Bob's body seemed to stutter a little bit before giving you a hug. He had been more in control of the void spreading through his touch, but he was still cautious over it. His hugs always felt like home. The way he would squeeze you just the right amount and how well your chin fit into the crook of his neck. His hand sat comfortably just above your hips, with always his pinky finger straying a bit lower and tracing your upper thigh. When he let go he stayed close to you for a second, his eyes just slightly lower than where yours were. "Be safe, okay?' he asked with full sincerity. You nodded and let go just before getting into the elevator. "I will."
~~~~~~~
You rested your back against the elevator, back at the tower and up to your room after the long night. You checked your phone for a time. 2:24 am. Hopefully everyone else would be asleep when you got back.
The date wasn't bad. Not at all. In fact, it was one of the better ones you could remember going on. Dinner was nice and you went down to this jazz bar for some dancing. He walked you back to the tower and the two of you even shared a quick kiss.
So why did you feel so....weird? The circumstances were perfect for a second date. You like the guy, you really did. But something about him kept you from getting truly comfortable with him that night. The little things. The way he insisted to the waiter on splitting the bill, the way you had to stop every taxi for the two of you, the way he'd cut off your sentences. The way he couldn't stop looking at the scar poisoning your neck. That one really got you.
Maybe it was just your anxiety highlighting it, but it seemed every time his eyes would trail away from yours, they would land right on that scar. Like he was trying to subconsciously let you know it was there. As if you didn't have to take the work to try and cover it up every day of your life. That irked you most of all. You felt awful about it, it wasn't his fault it was there. But no matter how hard you tried, whenever you thought about going on a second date with him, you couldn't erase the look in his eyes out of your mind.
As you examined it in the mirror in the elevator, the doors slid open to an empty living room and kitchen floor. You wiped the tiredness off of your face and turned on a dim overhead lamp, setting your purse on the kitchen island to grab a quick water bottle. Your ears perked up when you heard some stirring from the couch area. Following the noise arose a head of shaggy brown hair. Your face softened and smile lifted when you saw his head turn around to find you. "Hi," you whispered just loud enough for him to hear. Bob replied with a sleepy "Hey," eyes still lowered.
"Whatcha doing out here, shouldn't you be in bed?" you asked, walking over to the couch. "Couldn't sleep...came out here to city watch and try to get sleepy." Your head turned to the massive windows overlooking the night city, still so alive. Bob let out a small yawn and reached his arm over to where you were standing. You took his hand, allowing him to guide you over to sit next to him on the couch. His position was slouched and comfortable, still half asleep. He rested his head into your shoulder, sending a little nervous shiver into you. "How was it?" he asked, eyes closing. You sighed. "Good." He chuckled under his breath. "What's that for?" you asked, pointing your eyes down to him. "Someone who went on a good date wouldn't just say it was 'good'," he slyly slurred out. Maybe this is why you never see Bob right after he wakes up. This Bob was kind of an asshole.
"What, can I not go on a date that's just 'good'?" you asked, getting slightly mad with him. "Someone as special as you shouldn't have to lower herself to going on dates that are just 'good'." The words trailed off in volume on the way out, almost like he didn't even know they came out in the first place. But you managed to catch them. And they sent butterflies down into your stomach, a pink glow to your cheeks, and a stupid grin to your mouth.
You looked down at him, resting on your shoulder. His body leaned perfectly into yours, filling all the empty space with his own. His delicate hands rested in his lap while his eyelashes tickled the upper parts of his cheek. And his hair, his beautiful hair, curled perfectly at the ends, grazing against the back of your neck with the air of The Watchtower. You could fall asleep with him here for days, in perfect, complete serenity.
"So why was it just 'good'?" he finally asked after what seemed like minutes of silence. You thought to yourself. "Cause I'm not gonna go on a second date." He lifted his head off of your shoulder and looked at him, with a slight concern on his droopy face. "Did something happen?" "No no no, I promise," you quickly shut down the idea. "It's just....." He sat more at attention, rubbing his eyes to try and wake up more. You both turned to look at each other, the sides of your faces resting on the couch cushions. "He was fine, great even....I just...." You tried to find the words to describe what you were feeling. "C'mon honey, talk to me," Bob slipped out, in a deep, sleepy voice that sent waves through you.
"I can't see him being able to deal with me," you finally spoke. "What makes you think that?" You sighed. You sat up a little bit and pulled your hair back behind your neck and lifted up your chin. "You saw this earlier right?" Bob gave a soft hum and a nod in response. "I got this a while back, back when I was still in the labs you saw in my nightmare." His eyes focused in on the scar, trying to make it out with the little light in the room. "I wanted to ask earlier, but I didn't wanna upset you," he spoke. "I know you don't like talking about it." You smiled a little at his ability to know you so well.
"Well, on one of the missions I was sent on back there, I got injured real bad. Broke my clavicle and they could only fix it through surgery. But I wouldn't necessarily call their doctors 'top of the line', so the cleanup was messy." You brushed your hair back onto the scar to cover it up. "One of the many souvenirs they gave me," you attempted to joke. Bob smiled a little bit at it, but was still focused on your skin. "Anyways, I don't like looking at it much, it's one of my uglier scars, and when other people catch it, I can't help but worry about what they're thinking."
"What d'you think he was thinking about?" Bob asked, slouching his head back into the couch to secretly admire you. You slouched back too. "About how much of a piece of work I'm gonna be," you chuckled out, even if the thought made you wanna cry. You could see that same sadness in Bob's eyes as they trailed up to your eyes. You sighed and looked away from him to the window outside. "This is why I don't date," you joked, wiping your face.
"Hey." You looked back at him. "Can I do something I'm gonna regret once I'm more awake?" You raised an eyebrow at the suspicious statement. "Okay." He sat a little closer to you, bringing up a hand to your hair, looking to you for approval. You gave him a soft hum as he pulled the hair behind your neck again, and softly traced his thumb over the scar, leaving goosebumps in its trail.
As gently as he could, he brought his face closer and pressed his lips softly onto your clavicle. Your breath hitched, causing him to bring his face back again. His eyes bore into yours, ready to give an apology if you requested. But your hand encouraged his actions, tangling into the back of his hair and pushing his lips back in.
Bob's lips danced over your scar, as your breath got heavier and hands tugged on his roots in approval. His hands found their way to your hips, caressing you in all the right spots. You fought to keep in any sounds your mouth wanted to let out from his touch. But right as you could feel yourself getting to the good part, Bob placed his final kiss, releasing you as well. You rested your head back as Bob stood up from the couch, lending a hand out to you. "It's late, we can talk more tomorrow, but you need your rest for now." Bob almost seemed to snap out of whatever lustful spell was just over him. Or maybe you took what just happened the wrong way. You tried to process it in your head as you took his hand and stood up with him.
Hand in hand, he led you to your room. As he opened the door and let you inside, he leaned over you on the door frame with one more message: "If a man looks at you and his first thought is of is how much work you'll be, he's no man at all."
~~~~~~~~
His words stuck in your heart for the next few days as the two of you tried to pretend that nothing happened. Drowsy Bob was right, Awake Bob apologized to you profusely the next morning, claiming he had no idea what came over him that night. "....I didn't mind it," you confessed after his apology. Made him blush faster than you thought was humanly possible. After a long, embarrassingly awkward conversation, the two of you decided on an agreement.
Whenever you were feeling bad about yourself, physically specifically, you could go to his room and he'd help you....feel better. You weren't fuck buddies, that was for sure. You just happened to be friends who'd kiss each other's bodies multiple times a week. And it made you absolutely insane.
You couldn't even go to Ava about this, since you and Bob agreed it was best if this was a secretive thing. Truth is, this whole ordeal was making you obsessed with the guy. You couldn't get him out of your head. Him being your roommate only made things worse. You couldn't escape from him. You'd never wanted someone this much before, it was driving you mad.
All the problems in relationships you felt before seemed to disappear with him. Since that night, you found yourself opening up more and more to him. You knew each chapter of each other's lives. And that made you really fucking happy. Having someone you could trust with yourself utterly, wholly, and completely.
The late nights where he'd do nothing but kiss and hold you, like he knew the magic of his touch. But you were greedy. You needed more of him, but all the uncertainty just got in the way.
You knew this wasn't just a thing "friends" did. But not knowing the exact details of how he felt for you kept you from asking for more. What if this was something friends did in his mind? What if the only thing he felt for you was based in lust? You'd rather not have that potentially friendship ruining conversation, so you decided to take the "suffer in silence" route instead.
That wasn't your biggest worry at the moment though. No, that spot in your mind was currently being overshadowed by the bullet wound in your side. You weren't gonna die, your powers would take care of that step for you, but it still hurt like a bullet wound. You'd spent a couple hours on the medbay floor of The Watchtower getting patched up, now on your way up to join the rest of the team.
The minute the elevator doors opened, you were greeted by a giant hug from Alexei, shouting Russian expressions of joy. As endearing as it was, you had to have the rest of the team peel him off of you, as he was two seconds away from opening up your stitches. Once you caught your breath, you greeted the rest of the team, all glad for your recovery. Your smile dropped a little, after scanning the members in the room. "Where's Bob?" you asked. "His therapist wanted to extend his session a little bit today," Bucky answered. You nodded a little to yourself. "You know when he'll be back?" you asked, trying not to sound too needy. "Soon enough," Yelena giggled.
....
"Does he know about..." you gestured to your bandages, slightly pink from any leftover blood. In almost miracle timing, Bob stepped out of the elevator and into your conversation. "Hey, what's-," he started, before looking at you clutching your side. His eyes widened with fear. "Oh my god what happened?!" he shouted, rushing over to you. "It's fine, I'm fine, I just didn't dodge very well today and someone caught me off guard." In combat, you usually tried to avoid the gunslingers and sword masters for hand-to-hand instead. You got more energy from absorbing bullet wounds and cuts, but on a pain scale, you'd rather deal with working up multiple punches to the nose.
As Bob questioned your pain scale, it almost seemed as if the other teammates were slowly leaving the room one by one, until only you two were left in it. The two of you naturally made your way to the couch and talked about your days for what seemed like hours. You went over battle strategies, he debriefed about his appointment. Eventually, noticing the sun going down, you started to become aware of all the dirt and blood still sticking to your body. "Um, can I use your tub? I need to get the day off me before I start peeling my skin off," you joked, standing up off of the couch. "Sure, whatever you need," he insisted, getting up with you. The only teammates with bathtubs instead of showers in their rooms were Bob and Bucky, and in all honesty, you just wanted to be near Bob's presence right now.
The mixture of dried blood, sweat, and dirt stuck your suit straight onto your skin as you made a painful attempt to peel it off. You dropped the clothes to the floor, and examined the damage in your mirror, unraveling all your littered bandages. Your stitches seemed to be doing okay, but the rest of the little cuts and bruises on you made themselves apparent. Your powers were useful in the moment, but damn did the aftercare suck.
Wrapping a towel around yourself, you walked over to Bob's room, leaving a soft knock on the door. A freshly bathed Bob opened up the door, now in his own baggy pajamas, his curls still wet and dripping. "I just wanted a to take a quick soak before you got in, I got a new round of hot water running for you." You gave him a little smile and stepped inside; he closed the door behind you. "Thanks." You walked into the steaming bathroom, tub filled to the brim with hot water like he said. Bob's bathroom was a cozy, dimly lit room that smelled just like him; eucalyptus and peppermint oil, incense cones, and a touch of his cologne. It calmed you down almost immediately, and enough for you to ask your question.
"Can you...uh...help me while I'm in there?" you nervously asked. He raised his eyebrow a little bit at the question. "I-It just hurts to turn a little and I need to reach some spots on my back." He looked you over while he deliberated. "I don't wanna sound rude or anything but...you sure you're okay with me....seeing you?" he whispered that last little part. "I'm wearing a bathing suit under here, I don't mind you seeing that at least," you replied, anticipating his concern. "Oh....okay, yeah sure," he replied, scratching the back of his head.
You dropped your towel and placed it hanging over the sink. The black bikini you were wearing covered enough of you, but still allowed all your injuries to be visible. That first step into the tub was heavenly, the heat rolling down off your spine with a slight, but welcome tinge of pain. You closed your eyes and melted down into the water, Bob smiling at your relaxation. "God, I needed this," you breathed out. Bob walked up closer to you, sitting on the edge of the tub.
You sat there for a minute, body absorbing the heat and releasing the built up tension in your muscles from the day. Once you finally opened your eyes, you found Bob's eyes grazing over your body. "What is it?" you asked. A stupid grin found its way to his face, as he readjusted himself to begin helping you. "Nothing, don't worry."
Bob took a nearby loofa and his body wash, about to squeeze some onto it before you put your hand out. "This is gonna sound weird....can you use your hands?" You didn't bother giving an explanation, it wouldn't change the implications of that request. Bob gave a little nod. "Wait just, give me a sec." He quickly got up out of the room, closing the door behind him. You sat there within your own thoughts. Fuck, was that too much? you thought to yourself, praying you didn't scare him off.
After a few anxious minutes, Bob opened up the door, leaving you with a sight that made your heart stop.
He had traded in his pajamas for a pair of swim shorts. You had to fight to keep your jaw from going slack at the sight of him without a shirt on. He wasn't kidding, that serum really did do a lot of work.
First of all, you had seen his arm muscles before, frequently on display whenever he would wear a short sleeve shirt. But paired with his perfectly plumped chest, carved abs, and toned thighs, it was enough to kill a horse. Worst of all however, was his swim boxers, with a very flawed detail: they were about two sizes too small, and you couldn't tell if Bob was aware or not, but you could see it. It was bigger than you thought. You would need a tranquilizer to hide the blush on your face right now.
"I figured it'd be easier to just get in and help, and this is my only pair of trunks.....is it too much?" So he didn't know, huh. You swallowed back any urges you had and sat up a little bit more in the tub. "No, you're fine," you said, pushing your body back to make room for him in the small tub. He shuffled up and gently placed his legs in one by one, sinking in in front of you.
Bob took the body wash again, pouring some and lathering it between his hands. He motioned you to turn around so he could get your back area. Your back showed him about five scattered cuts and scratches and two large bruises by your lats. You could hear his breath shake a bit as he got closer to you. Naturally, you straightened out your back for him to work with a better canvas.
A sigh instinctively came out of your mouth when his hands came down on you, lathering the soap over your skin. His hands worked into you like putty, spreading the bubbles out evenly onto you. The callouses scratched onto your skin, and you felt a deep heat brewing into your chest. It only grew stronger when his fingers started digging into your muscles. Pain oozed out and away as his thumbs worked out the knots in your upper back. You had to bring a hand up to your mouth to keep a pleasurably moan from slipping out.
The deeper his fingers got into you, the more your body began to twitch, itching for more. The water sloshed around a little when you began to move back into him. And thats when you felt it. Your breath hitched when you caught it. He was achingly big, and you could tell by the throbbing you felt on your lower back. He must've noticed you felt it, since his fingers stopped moving. The two of you sat there for a minute in a hot tension.
Eventually, he picked up a cup sitting outside of the tub, filled it with the bathwater, and poured the soap off of your back. Putting it down, he inched slightly closer to you, his hands finding their way again back to your hips like so many times before. "Tell me where it hurts," he whispered into your ear. You tried to shake out your shivers and be honest with him, your mind needing him in one place but your body wanting him everywhere.
You took the safe route. You needed to keep control of yourself. As long as you could at least.
You pointed to a spot along your spine where one of the bruises lay. "Bend forward a little bit," he spoke, in that low, sultry voice again, almost commanding you. You listened. You moved. But unfortunately, you couldn't keep the moan inside you anymore when his lips grazed and kissed over the bruise. You could keep it quiet enough for him to, hopefully, not hear it however.
Your body adjusted and moved to fit him as his lips trailed up your spine, and eventually to the nape of your neck. He sucked on the tender skin, desperation in its trail. Before he could get too carried away though, he pulled himself off of you. His hot breath stuck to your back, as he took a moment to splash some of the steaming water onto his face. After clearing his throat, he asked you to turn back around and face him, which you did of course.
Finding his face, you could finally see the display of his emotions. The main one: a drunken look in his eyes to desperately hide a growing lust. You could tell. It was the same look in yours. Trying to continue with the bath, Bob took some more body was and drizzled it out onto your arms and upper chest. Sure, you could reach those parts of yourself fine, but what's wrong with letting a man take care of you every once in a while. And if this was how he was gonna do it, you'd be glad to give in.
He massaged the soap into your skin again, relaxing your tense arm muscles, a little gentler around your chest and collarbone area. He pressed a deep kiss into your clavicle scar, a tick for him at this point. His eyes stayed down on you, examining the way your skin fit onto your body. You brought your hand to meet his, currently pressing gentle circles onto your tricep. His eyes found a nice spot, staring at your lips, with you back at his. Trembles started to infect his hands and you could even see a slight quiver stain his lip.
"Does it hurt...anywhere here?" he gasped out. Taking the opportunity, you slowly brought your finger up to the tiniest cut you had on your chin. Smiling, he went in, almost taking your entire chin into his mouth. Your hands wrapped around his neck as his mouth moved to press sloppy kisses into your jawline. But that's all where he stayed. And you needed more than that.
Enough with the teasing, you let go of his neck and took his face in your hands, pulling his mouth away from you. He looked at you, beautiful, deep blue puppy eyes mixed with questioning and fear. "Do you remember what I told you Bob? When I was helping you get ready for the conference?" The fear left his eyes, as he realized what you were playing with here. "Remind me...." You smirked at his words. "When are you ever gonna stop being afraid of me?" you asked, eyes glued to his lips. He dropped his head and let out a defeated laugh. "It's never been you that I'm scared of....it's always been myself," he said, lifting his head back up and closer to yours. "And why's that?" The corner of his mouth lifted up as his hand went to cup your jaw, caressing it with his thumb. "Because I have to keep myself from tearing off my clothes and taking you in the living room each time you walk through that elevator."
Before you could respond to what he said, your body started moving on its own, slamming your lips into his, sloshing water everywhere. The kiss you shared was needy, hungry, and slow. Different from the ones he left littered over your body in the past. What surprised you the most about it was what fueled it. This was not a lustful kiss, which is what you had expected from him. This kiss was filled with a pure, tender, and firing love the two of you have silently shared for each other for the past few months.
His hands wrapped around your waist, hugging you closer into him and onto his laugh, where his raging erection made itself more apparent by the second. "You need me that bad, huh?" you teased, breaking away from the makeout and grinding your clothed cunt against it. Bob nodded profusely, leaning back into you to chase your lips, which you pulled back from. You bit your lip and smiled, wooed by his desperation for you. "Someone's excited, huh?" you joked. "Well, I'd rather not get waterlogged here, so how about we dry off, get these swimsuits off, and...." you leaned close to his ear. "...you can take me on your bed any way you want, how's that sound loverboy?" you bit down onto his earlobe
Bob let out a whispered moan and dropped his head into your shoulder, pressing soft kissed into it. "Yes, please," he replied. Before getting up though, he pulled you into a close hug, which you returned gladly. Bob may have a secret, shameful side you didn't know about, but at the end of the day, you couldn't take the lover out of him.
The two of you stepped out of the bathtub, drained the water, and took your towels to dry yourselves off. Once you were dried, you opened the bathroom door, releasing the steamy air into the rest of Bob room. The cold tinged both your skin, as you walked hand in hand to his bed. You were first to undress, slipping off your bikini bottoms and untying your top off. Bob could've sworn his life flashed before his eyes at that moment, as he admired your beautiful body. He quickly kicked off his trunks, allowing his cock to finally spring out to life. He playfully ran up and tackled you onto his bed, kissing into you neck as you let out playful giggles.
His mouth eventually found its way up to yours, as the two of you slipped each other's tongues into your mouths. His hands gently swept you underneath him on the bed, still careful with your injury. "I-fuck, I wanna taste you," he gasped out while you sucked marks onto his neck. "Do it," you whispered into his neck, giving it a little nibble.
He giggled to himself, as his mouth traced kissed down your neck, sternum, and stomach, all the way down to your hips. You lifted your head to look down at him. He smiled up at you as his hands grabbed into your thighs, bending your legs up. His thumb grazed along your leaking folds, already sending shivers into you. "You're so....beautiful," you could hear him whisper just before leaving his first of many soft kisses on your slit. His tongue slowly worked itself over your clit, as one of your hands found its way down into the roots of his hair.
For leverage, you pulled slight tugs onto his hair, which drove Bob bananas. Each pull only drove him further into your pussy, absorbing his own whines and moans. His tongue worked over each of your lips, memorizing the way it made his taste buds react. You tasted so good, he could sit here eating you for hours. Looking down at the sight underneath you only pushed you closer to the edge. His messy, slightly damp curls intertwined with your fingers, as he sloppily ate your pussy, juice dripping down the sides of his mouth. Game changer moment was when he brought in his digits, curling his pointer and middle finger into your swollen cunt.
An exaggerated moan of his name left your mouth, as your hips buckled into his hand, begging for more. "C'mon, you're doing so good for me baby, keep it up," he spoke into your inner thigh, leaving a little love bite in there that left you biting your tongue. As his fingers worked inside you, you wriggled over the sheets, trying to chase an oncoming high. "You're so perfect sweetheart, so perfect for me," he continuously praised.
The twitch in your lower stomach grew more powerful with the seconds, as fingers continued to hit your walls perfect, his teeth grazed your clit, and hot breath washed over you. "Bob, I-I," you started to moan out. "Do it for me baby, come for me here."
As the high washed over your body, a final moan rushed out, paired with another hip buckle and legs a twitching mess as Bob kissed into your pussy. Your juice coated all over his fingers, which added more growth to his member, if that was even possible right now. His fingers slid perfectly out of your aching pussy and into his own mouth, as he got a better taste for you. A smile curled its way onto his mouth as he sat back on his knees, watching you come down from your high.
Bob couldn't help but crawl back up to you. He had to watch this moment with his own eyes. Your heavy breaths hit his face as he leaned on his elbows to perfectly lay over him. Your cheeks glowed a heavy pink as you came down from your orgasm. "Was that good?" he asks. You couldn't help but let out at laugh at the question. Good? Did he see what happened just now? "You're adorable," you validated, love-drunk eyes gazing into his own.
He let a breath out of his nose, and dropped his whole body weight down onto you. You cried out in a fake pain and your body absorbed his heat into you. "Get off, you're killing me!" you joked. He shook his head vigorously. "No, you gotta do it yourself," he played back. You giggled and used whatever strength you had left over to try and push him off. To no avail of course. "Alright, you gotta help just a little, you're pure muscle sweetie." Bob sighed and lifted his body off of you just enough for you to roll him to the other side of the bed.
Before he could move again, you jumped on top of him, placing your own dead weight on top of him now. "You see, I'd play along now, but I'm scared I'd toss you off the bed," he said. True, best not to play games like this with someone who has super strength. "Ugh, no fair," you complained, dropping your head into his neck. You heard his awkwardly adorable laugh, making your heart soar, as he scratched the back of your head.
"C'mere, let me see you," he asked gently. You lifted your head up, a fake frown plastered on your face. The act didn't last long though when you saw his face.
The way he looked at you right now was the way girls had dreamed about since they were kids. His eyes softened with pure adoration for you, with his mouth curled into the dumbest grin. He spoke your name in a question. "Yeah?" He brought his hand up to cup your jaw, which you nuzzled your cheek into as his thumb traced over your lips. "I....I think..." he trailed off. "What is it?" His smile turned slightly more serious. "I think I love you." He paused. "I know I do."
If it weren't for his body heat grounding you into the moment, you would've sworn you were dreaming right now. Everything you've ever wanted was right here. It was all in him. It was him.
"I know I love you too."
The giddy look on his face could set you free, as both his hands grabbed your cheeks to pull you into his kiss stained lips. The two of you continued to kiss and roll all over the bed, as you prepared to continue the rest of your love filled night.
~~~~~~
Sun rays streamed through the breaks in the blinds of Bob's room. Your eyes attempted to adjust to the brightness as you awoke. Wrapped up in his sheets, blooming with his scent, you began to remember the dreamlike events of the night before. You turned to the other side of the bed, and there he was.
Like a painting, Bob laid next to you, still off in his hopefully pleasant dreams. Loose strand of hair fell in front of his sleeping face, his mouth slightly agape to breathe, still swollen lips. In fact, all of your souvenirs from the night before laid over him: scattered hickeys along his neck and shoulders, and nail scratches peeking over from his upper back. It was perfect. He was perfect.
His breath readjusted as he began to stir a bit, and finally, his lashes fluttered open to see you. A childlike smile painted your face as you saw his sleepy eyes adjust to you. "Good morning sleepyhead," you pressed into the tip of his nose as you kissed it. He smiled an eyes closed one to you. "Morning honey." You had found out last night how much of a pet-name user Bob was. You didn't mind at all. It only helped seal the "it feels like i'm in a movie" idea for you. "How'd you sleep," he asked with his eyes still closed. "Good, great even," you hummed. "And you?" His eyes opened and he leaned in closer to you to kiss you silly. "Best in years, honest truth."
After some morning talk, Bob got up to go to the kitchen, leaving you with some extra minutes for sleep. When he returned, it was with a plate of breakfast on a tray just for the two of you. It took a miracle for you not to jump over the bed and onto him then and there. The plate for you included all your favorites: blueberry Eggos, orange slices, and eggs. These weren't your usual eggs though. "I know you like them burnt, but by the time I remembered, I had taken them out of the pan and these were the last two," he apologized.
You inspected the eggs with your fork. It scared you a little, but you'd rather risk a stomach ache than hurt Bob's feelings right now. And plus, it was time to finally grow up. Taking them onto your fork, you took a deep breath, and put them in your mouth.
Chew, chew, chew. Swallow.
God, these were so much better than rubbery, burnt eggs. "These are so fucking good Bob, oh my god," you salivated. He smiled that dumb grin and climbed into bed next to you, as the two of you continued the rest of your morning together. It was nice to know you didn't have to burn your eggs anymore. The other side was better than you could've imagined.
a.n: AND THATS IT i hope you liked it lol. this is by FARRRRR the longest fic i've ever written and it took like a week and a half to write rip so i hope you all enjoyed it. please leave a note or interact if you did, i'd really appreciate it. alright thank you so much again, catch you on the next one BYEEEEEE
