You are the adventurer who went on an epic quest and defeated the evil king, all to gain the sacred amulet and use its one wish to revive your sister. Now everyone expects you to accept her death and use the wish to undo the damage instead. You refuse.
Blood has stopped streaming from the wound bisecting your brow, but it still stings your eyes something fierce. You take your gauntlets off, grimacing as the grime and soot from battle tries to keep the metal welded to your skin. There’d been an explosion during the final fight with the king – no, the tyrant. Explosions, maybe. Your magic’s been erratic lately, the sudden growth of your mana pool far outpacing your control. You wipe your eyes with the back of your cleaner hand.
There’s pressure in your chest you’ve never felt before. You want to laugh. No, you want to scream. Your body is too tired to jump around like you did when you were a little girl, but you find yourself bouncing in place regardless. The thrill of battle and of escaping the castle as it collapsed is thrumming through your veins. You did it. You did it.
You are so happy, so devastatingly happy, that you can feel yourself shutting down. You need—you need rest. Food. Sleep.
Then you can save her. Then you can bring her back.
“Roksala,” Prince Eloyn says. You squint past the last rays of day to see him frowning at you. The ruins of the tyrant’s castle don’t appear to interest him. His eyes narrow. “Are you ignoring me?”
It’s so sad that students are now relying so heavily on AI for writing essays because they’re missing out on the best part of writing an essay which is when you’re a few paragraphs in and you just reach that flow state where your thought process becomes one with the essay and you’re slamming the keys so hard that you’re on the verge of destroying your laptop. I used to get high off of that shit
I used to finish essays reeling like I’d just had a wild fuck session. Sleep deprived, hair askew, a sense of giddy satisfaction. If finishing an essay doesn’t make you feel that way you didn’t do it right
prompts. | Steve Rogers + Boyfriend’s Dad + “You have no idea what you do to a man like me.” + Cheating, requested by Anonymous.
pairing. | dark!boyfriend’s dad!Steve Rogers x fem!reader.
warnings. | NON/DUBCON, mild smut, age gap, cheating (not on the reader), Daddy kink, anal play, dirty talk, coercion, eavesdropping, stalking, use of butt plugs (alluded), pet names, manipulation, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!
author’s note. | this is a part of my Dark Concepts (2023) request form. thank you for taking part in this event! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog. MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY! taglist: @hansensfics.
Dishes clink against each other as you and Steve clear your plates away, more than satisfied with the dinner he made. He invited you over since your boyfriend—his son—is out of town. You gladly accepted his invitation—how could you not? It would be one of the few times your secret affair with the older man could really come alive.
Steve rubs his beard as he downs the rest of the wine, following you to the kitchen as you put the dishes in the sink. You go to wash them, but he places a hand on the small of your back. “Leave it, I’ll take care of them,” your boyfriend’s father mutters in your ear, gently biting the lobe.
You let out a breathy giggle and listen, allowing him to guide you away from the sink. Steve leads you up the stairs and into his bedroom, a place you’ve always had to sneak into until now.
He kisses you the entire time, hands wandering down to your ass. Steve gropes you and gives you a few light spanks, soaking up the moans that you let out.
“Gosh,” the older man groans, pushing you onto his bed. He climbs on top of you until you’re resting your head on his pillows. “You have no idea what you do to a man like me,” Steve growls, pulling away from your mouth.
You smile as you gaze up at him, admiring the flecks of silver in his hair. It’s such a good look on him—you’ve told him numerous times.
“Wanna show me, Daddy?” you teasingly ask, and Steve lightly pinches your thigh. You squeal, and he watches you with affection. “Of course… I wanna do so many things to you, baby,” he tells you, running his hands up and down your body.
You relax in his touch, waiting for his next words.
“But I think I wanna fuck that ass tonight, honey…” Steve groans, and he leans down to kiss you. You twist your head and balk at him, completely shocked. Steve always takes things slow—but this is a huge step you don’t think you’re ready for tonight.
The older man scoffs and rolls his eyes, an almost youthful look on his face when he does that. “What? You told him you’d think about it, but you don’t even want to consider it with me?”
Steve’s words make you gasp—how does he know about your conversation with your boyfriend?
“C’mon, I know you hate the kid. Be my good girl, ‘kay? Let Daddy stretch that ass,” he urges, flipping you onto your stomach. “No– Steve– Wait–” you start, but he shushes you. “I’ll make you feel so good, princess,” he promises, and even though he always does, you don’t care.
Steve begins to hike your skirt up as you kick at him, squirming under his large body to try and escape. But he doesn’t let you.
“Shhh, it’s okay. Daddy’s got ya,” he soothes, lightly spanking you before pulling down your panties.
Steve places his dominant hand on your lower back, pressing you down onto the bed so you don’t move. He reaches for the bedside table and pulls the drawer open. You twist your head and watch as he grabs a bottle of lube and a butt plug.
“See? I told you I’d make it nice for you,” Steve says, waving the objects before you. He throws them next to your body and begins to play with your ass, kneading your cheeks and pulling them apart to admire your untouched puckered hole.
And as much as you were denying him before, you know you’re soaking wet, unable to resist the temptations that Steve uses to lure you in.
Girl pls pls write stripper reader and Spencer where she thinks he would never date her bc she’s a stripper and just a sprinkle of angst with lots of comforting fluff and Spencer reassuring
thank u for requesting! ♡ fem, 1.5k
cw mentioned past domestic/workplace abuse, unhealthy eating habits
Someone broke into my apartment. 9:14AM
Spencer reads the message under the table but forgoes discretion when he registers what it says and who it's from. He excuses himself from the round table, something he isn't even sure he's allowed to do, and hurries out onto the landing.
You answer on the second dial. "Hey, did you see my text?" you ask.
"Are you okay?" He squeezes his phone.
"I'm not sure. I'm fine, but my lock is busted and the door won't stay shut."
"Where are you?"
If you're surprised that he's steamrolling, you don't show it. Spencer leaves work to meet you at the coffee shop you've chosen for refuge, your eyes tired, a small bag of your most important possessions hanging on a slumped shoulder. He hugs you straight away.
"I'm fine," you say into his neck.
He hugs you tighter. "That's good," he says, feeling useless, fingers stroking little paths into your shoulders. He pictured the worst from your text, and seeing you in person is the only true mitigator. You'll talk down bruises and black eyes —you have in the past.
He pulls the story from you as you walk back to his apartment, shoulder to shoulder in the cold street. "It was open when I got home, the door, but I did what you asked me to."
"You didn't go in?" he confirms proudly.
"Not at first."
"You really won't call the police?"
"I texted you."
Spencer takes the strap of your bag from you and throws it over his own. "I'm not that kind of cop. I'm not really a cop at all."
"No, you're a fed, which is worse. The girls at work told me to stay away from you." You wipe under your eyes sluggishly. Sleep clings to you like a shadow trailing behind you, ever-present.
He puts his hand behind your back, worried you'll fall up the steps to his apartment building. "They think I'll what, extort you?"
You shake your head, something sad in the slow side to side. "Girls like me have no business around guys like you."
"You probably get too much business from guys like me."
You laugh, but you both know it's not what you meant. Spencers noticed it more and more lately, nothing so obvious until now, this dead set belief you hold that he's one type of person and you're another. He gets that your work isn't what you wanted for yourself when you were growing up. He knows it isn't easy, even on your 'good' nights. It takes a toll to be seen as you are, nothing left private. But you've always said you liked stripping as much as anyone should like their job. "It's a job," you'd said, having barely known him, tired and hungry, curled up on his couch with nowhere else to go. "Only the luckiest get to really enjoy work. S'why it's called work."
He'd hoped, perhaps in a self-absorbed way, that having more support might make you feel better about yourself; he wanted his friendship to give you some confidence, basically. Before you met Spencer there was no one else you could depend on. It's why you stayed working for a man who broke your wrist until Spencer weaselled his way into your life and made you a bed in his living room for the time it took to get you out. His credentials helped, of course, but you survived it because you're resilient. You're awesome. You've done everything you can with what you have and you don't think it's enough.
You and Spencer take the elevator to his floor, and for the twenty seconds it takes to get there, you let your cheek rest on his shoulder. He's just about to drop his head on top of yours when the doors open, and the slice of quiet you'd both savoured slips like sand between his fingers.
"I can go back and get some of your stuff," he offers, guiding you the short walk to his door. He passes you the key rather than struggle with the lock himself.
Your hand shakes as you push down the handle. "There's nothing worth going back for."
"Don't say that, you have all your clothes there, your couch. You have things. I'll take my car."
"You hate driving."
"I'd hate someone robbing you even more."
"Robbing me again," you correct, holding the door for him.
You didn't have anything worth the trouble, it seems. You keep your savings in a locked box hidden in the bathroom that they couldn't find, and though your apartment is clean and bigger than the one you lived in before Spencer met you, it's mostly empty. You don't have a TV, you're not a collector. They took the radio off of the refrigerator, your microwave oven, and a box of cosmetic jewellery worth chapel change.
"But it's your stuff. You deserve to have stuff." Spencer drops your bag gently and his with less care by the door.
"It's only until the locksmith can come tomorrow," you say with a yawn. "Let the junkies lavish in my stuff for the next twenty hours."
"That's not a problem for you?"
"I don't have the luxury of that being a problem for me, Spence. What am I supposed to do? The locksmith can't come–"
"There are a hundred locksmiths."
"Not that I can afford." You shrug out of your jacket. "Spence, listen to me. It's okay. I can't ask you to do that, anyways. You've done more than enough for me already," you say, sitting on the couch. You perch for a moment like you're trying to be polite until fatigue overtakes you, and you sink into the cushions with a relieved sigh.
Spencer crosses the space between you and kneels by your feet to untie your shoelaces.
"Don't do that," you mumble, hand over your mouth as a second yawn in as many minutes catches you.
"Why not?" He slips your shoes off, letting his hand rest on your ankle. "Wanna watch that weird cooking show–"
"Why aren't you at work?"
He climbs onto the couch next to you, unafraid to sit shoulder to shoulder. "You were having an emergency."
You rub your face with both hand. "I knew I shouldn't have called you. You can't just leave work because of me, Spencer, what if you get in trouble?"
"Someone I care about needed my help, and Hotch understands that." Spencer puts on his big boy pants with a wince. "Do you get that?"
"I don't really… I don't…" You falter. "We're never going to work. You'll never…"
"I'll never what?" he asks insistently, voice lilting up with a little incredulity. He can't help it.
You refuse to answer, turning your face from his.
Spencer knows what you're going to say. He's bad with girls but he's good at recognising human emotion; he sees the same insecurity in himself as he does in you. He knows the feeling.
You're not right, is the thing.
Spencer would kiss you if he thought that would change your mind. But tired as you are, angry with yourself, defeated, he knows it's not a good idea. He takes your hand instead, sewing your fingers together with a deliberate slowness. He brings his other hand to them and strokes the back of your index finger with his thumb, careful not to disrupt your press on nails. He knows they have a tendency to come off with too much pressure, and you're always losing your glue.
"If they really need me to go, they'll call me. But I'm staying here." His thumb moves down to your knuckle. You have little calluses and cuts and bruises everywhere from dancing. He's seen the contusions that line your thighs on a semi permanent basis. "When was the last time you had something to eat?"
"Spencer," you murmur.
"Let me take care of you, please," he says, hand curling around your wrist with extreme gentleness. "You need to eat. You need to sleep. Let me worry about everything else for once, I want to."
You still don't look at him, but you sink down an inch at a time until your cheek is on his shoulder again, like it had been in the elevator. Hesitant, you wrap your arm around his stomach.
"I'm so stupid," you say.
He wonders if that's a placeholder for what you really want to say. You think so little of yourself sometimes, but it's like you've told him before. Not everyone has the luxury of enjoying their job.
"You're amazing." Spencer feels like he's on fire everywhere that your skin touches him. Is he saying the right things? "You are. You're the only person who doesn't see that."
"The only person here, maybe."
"You should always be here, then. With me. That way I can remind you."
You sound more like yourself when you answer, though tiredness lines every word, "Thank you, Spencer. I don't deserve you."
"Yes, you do."
Spencer rubs your hand until you fall asleep, and then he buys you a new toaster oven on his phone, and an industrial security lock. He doesn't know what it'll take to convince you that you deserve him, you deserve better, but he's gonna try.
He presses his cheek to your temple and focuses on the softness of your skin where it touches his.
First story of the year and I'm giving ya'll a double decker one to set off the year right! This story feature intrigue, espionaige, fucking over the rich, and a cozy bookstore featuring a very handsome bugbear.
Female Main Character: Male Monster (both cis)
The letter arrived first thing in the morning, delivered into my hands by someone who whisked away as quickly as they appeared. I had been hunkered down in this small town waiting on this for a while now.
“Geez,” I mumbled over the letter. “Who did they let write this thing?” I squinted over the paper, trying to decipher some of the illegible handwriting. I scoffed, pulling back and rubbing the bridge of my nose. I’d been restless waiting for this thing to come in. I had been placed here for a while now in an attempt to blend in. I posed myself in town, scouting things out, selling trinkets under the guise of charity. I was growing bored with it, not many of the people I had been charged with finding were the type to just go out into the market.
“Dear Caranina,” the letter started off.
“Not my name,” I grumbled. In a bit of spite, I took my own quill and scraped it out, writing ‘Carina’ over it.
“We know you have been waiting long to wehdhjfjfhshj from us. It has taken us quite a while to jshdjhkfjihf and ahdfhrjhuidhh in order to assure your mission runs smoothly.”
You scoffed under your breath. “Were they writing this letter under siege?”
“The festival coming up is the start. While the festival is important there is also a banquet the the aedkfehkjekhkdj family of the ajhdhfkjhdjkd holds every year. It is important that you Caranina-” I scratched that out again, “-must attend the jkfgkjjfeuedhus banquet. This may require you attaining a date from those on the guest list. We have provided to you a guest list, sent to us from another scout in the city.”
“Please let someone else have written that list,” Iyou muttered under myyour breath.
“We have provided it below for you.”
IYou leaned back in Myyour chair and rubbed the bridge of my nose up and down. I took in a deep breathbreat to quelel the frustration bubbling in my gut. “It’s fine. It’s fine, surely I can read one of them.”
“It is imperative you find your way into this party. We will contact you again soon with details of our target, most of which should already be known to you. Warmest regards hdfjjfdkhfeljirorhfdhjjd.”
“Great, I’ll have to tell hdfjjfdkhfeljirorhfdhjjd their hand writing sucks,” I mumbled under my breath.
Below was the supposed list of names, most, if not all of them, were illegible and wonky. I could only make out a few of them. I recognized one, a miracle in its own right. The fellow worked at a bookstore in town. Jasper Synclayr Humbeclaw, a bugbear, and a real smart guy type who seemed to have his fingers in a lot of pies and has done well for himself financially. His intellect could easily be mistaken due to his imposing figure. But I can’t help but think that is why the upper echelon like him so much. An oddity is one thing, an educated oddity is another.
I walked into his bookstore first thing that morning. It was dark outside still, the sun had risen but the clouds had not parted and were growing heavier and thicker by the moment. I could smell the rain that was to come, and I knew if it came, I could extend my visit with Jasper that much longer without it seeming odd.
“I thought I heard the bell.”
I looked up from the book in my hand to see Jasper standing there. Tall, imposing, and dressed very well. His fur was well groomed, his beard trimmed to give the illusion of an extra sharp jawline. Thick brows that gave an air of distinguished intelligence. He certainly looked the part of a bookstore keep.
“Good morning.” He set a thick stack of books down upon the counter. “Are you looking for anything in particular today?”
Just you, I thought to myself. “No, thank you.” I was at least sincere there. “I wanted to look around for a bit. I’ve always walked by the shop but I’ve never been inside.” I smiled politely, at least I didn’t have to fake much. The guild knew what it was doing, sending me in after all.
Jasper nodded, gently taking off his glass. “Yes, I’ve seen you around the last few weeks. You’ve been selling jewelry around town, haven'tahven’t you?”
“Prayer beads and religious charms,” I corrected with a bright smile. “Something to send back to the monastery.” A tiny lie. I was keeping the money.
He nodded, using a small cloth to wipe off his glasses. “What’s the monastery?”
I thought quickly. “Esmeraude Monastery. It’s far, far up north. Very snowy, very cold.” I wasn’t lying when I said it was going to Esmeraude, it’s my last name, and I did live up north as a child.
Jasper placed his glasses back on. “Sounds like a beautiful place,” he chuckled softly. “Well, don’t let me bother you. Books are meant to be perused, so enjoy yourself. Should you need any help, I’ll be around.” He picked up the stack of books and walked out behind the counter, disappearing behind a row of mahogany shelves.
Thunder rumbled outside and I smiled excitedly. The bigger the storm, the more likely I would have to linger inside. Not that I would mind, there were worse placesd to get trapped in than a bookstorebook store.
I wandered around to appear nonchalant at first. I looked through books, easing my way closer to where Jasper was working. I found him close to the back, taking books down from a shelf he was cleaning. Thunder growled low in the distance again, and Jasper turned his head slightly, spotting me.
“Sounds like a storm is coming,” he says.
“Such things do happen when one is busy,” I tutted. “I hope you don’t mind me getting caught here if it does.”
“Not at all. I would hate for a lovely lady such as yourself to get caught in that mess.” He wiped down the top of a book and sets it back upon the shelf.
I was a bit surprised by his comment. It made my cheeks flush ever so slightly. “Thank you.” I inched in even closer. “Would be a shame if the rain continued into the festival though.”
“True,” he sighed. “The people do look forward to it.” He turned a book over in his hands, inspecting the cover as if something was wrong. “Have you ever attended the festival here? It’s quite the event.” He set the book back upon the shelf after his thorough inspection.
“Afraid not. This is my first time here. I am excited to attend and see everything first hand for myself.” I reached for the exact same book as Jasper, causing our hands to collide. I notice how large his are, in comparison to mine. It shouldn’t have been surprising, after all, he stood head and shoulders over me. But his hands, to my surprise, were quite marvelous.
Jasper gently recoiled. “I beg your pardon, Miss.”
“No harm done.” I took the book, opening the pages. “Cara.”
His brow pinched.
“My name. You don’t need to call me Miss,” I chuckled.
He nodded, a slight smile appearing on his lips that curved up past his tusks. “Nice to meet you, Cara.” The way he said my name had a low, deep growl to it. My reaction of excited heartbeats surprised me.
I ducked back down into the book to hide my blush, but perhaps that would help me. “I heard someone say there was a banquet at the festival. I’m sure that's the highlight of the event.”
“Well, for some I’m sure,” he said hesitantly.
I looked up from my book. “What do you mean? Is the town full of horrible cooks?”
His smile returned, brighter and larger. He laughed and shook his head as for the first time he turned to fully face me. “There is a banquet, just for a select few I am afraid.”
“Which select?” I asked knowingly, offering him back the book in my clutches.
He took the book, his fingers brushing against mine again. “From tThe sound of your tone, I take it you can already tell.”
“The big wigs of the town have their own celebration away from the commoners?” I glanced back, seeing that rain hadhas begun splattering against the window.
“Would you want them to mingle?” Jasper said with a laugh.
A slight twinge of resentment came from that remark. Whether he was joking or trying to make some commentary, it came off wrong. “Are you suggesting the two should not? Because you are talking to the wrong person when it comes to such things.”
The hair on the back of his neck bristled, and the way his broad shoulders tensed I could tell I had struck a frightened nerve. “No I-”
“It’s a shame to me that there is such disparity as to create a sense of them and us,” I continued. “That money and class should separate people who are all the same when laid open. What good is wealth when there is suffering of your own kind? It is a shame. A sham really. A lie told to people to make them feel superior, when any number of the supposed wealthy are probably worse and more classless than the supposed brutes and commoners they’re trying to separate themselves from.”
His eyes are glassy, wide and surprised.
I huffed and shook my head. “If you let it, money will take your soul. I fully believe it!”
Jasper hung his head, looking disparaged. “I am sorry, Mis…Cara. I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.”
“You live and work in a part of the town that’s profitable, that’s marked in high regard by these elites. I suppose you wouldn’t know what to mean.”
It was quietquite for a long moment and the storm came in, with howling winds and growling thunder to fill the silence.
“You’re right,” Jasper let out a breathy laugh. “It has been a long time since I looked beyond my own comfortable place. I should know better than to joke.”
I gave him a soft look. “At least you can recognize . Iit.” There was something about him, I’m not sure, but I do think I could like him.“I hope I didn’t frighten you too badly. You looked like a kitten being barked at.”
Jasper smiled. “Hard lessons are my favorite to learn. Sometimes a fellow needs to be reeducated, I should thank you for the fright.”
My heart leapt into a quicker pace, and a genuine grin grew. Oh no. Perhaps I already do like him. “Think nothing of it,” I laughed it off. “In my line of work, it’s a constant thought.”
“I’m sure.” He knelt to get something from the floor then stood back erect. “Do you have any of your wares with you? Perhaps I could sell some here in the shop. I’ll match whatever is sold so you can send double back to your monastery.”
“Oh uh-” Guilt hit me like a sack of bricks. “No. Uhm…it wouldn’t oh-” What do I say to this? Think Cara think!
“Or-” Jasper’s tone went distant and I saw in his golden eyes that he became lost in thought. “I know there is always some sort of argument over the charities my friends give to. They’re always trying to one up each other.”
I held my breath, surely he wasn’t going to suggest what I was thinking. “Friends?” My voice cracked.
Jasper’s glance twitched my way, and his usual expression returned. “Oh sorry. The banquet coming up, there’s always some form of competition about what charity they’re giving too.”
I frowned at him and he shrugged.
“I know. It’s ridiculous. But it’s something they sincerely try to one up each other on. Perhaps you could take advantage of that.”
It wouldn’t be the only thing I’d take advantage of that evening. But wait…what? Did he really suggest it?
“Come with me. I usually don’t have a date for these evenings, so it might be fun.”
I was gobsmackedgodsmacked. How did it turn out to be that easy? I thought I’d have to seduce him first! “You’re serious?” I gawked. “You’re inviting me, just like that?”
Jasper just smiled. “If it helps your monastery.”
My gut was frothing in confusion over how to feel about this. But, I succeeded, I would be going to banquet!
“I wouldn’t want to impose.”
Jasper turned back to the shelf, loading it up with books again. “Don’t think of it that way. You’ll be my guest. I’d be honored to have such a lady as you with me that evening. Besides, I call them friends, but I do find them all quite boring.”
I bit down on my lip. “What makes you think I’m not?”
Jasper chuckled and looked back over his shoulder at me. “I have a sense about these things, Ms. Cara.”
The blush rose up to my cheeks, tingling slightly from his expression alone. I can’t catch feelings for Jasper, not when this mission is against the people he associates with. Bad move, Cara, you know better!
Despite this, I decided it would be smart to gather knowledge from Jasper. After all, if I was going to this banquet, I wanted to know what I was up for. I could gather information about him, send back some of my findings in advance. There were a few of the banquet attendees we were after, so anything and everything was helpful.
I returned to Jasper’s bookstore the next day and the next under the guise of nervousness for the party. He seemed glad to see me each day, inviting me in, chatting with me, I even helped him dust shelves and tend to misplaced books. He shared tea with me, even invited me for dinner one evening.
“I feel I am taking advantage,” I told him. It was the truth. I was starting to grow a gnawing sense of guilt. But this was my mission after all, and it was my fault for growing attached to Jasper.
“Not at all. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a friend over that I enjoyed.” Jasper filled my tea cup then returned to the stove to deal with the food.
I chewed the inside of my cheek for a moment. “You don’t like any of these people you deal with, do you?” I finally asked. “The way you’ve spoken about them recently… I’m sorry if I’ve taken this all wrong, but you don’t sound very fond of them.”
Jasper sighed heavily. “There is some truth to what you say. Most of them I know would rather take me or leave me. Some I don’t have much respect for.” He covered a pot then came to sit back down at the table with me.
“Then why associate with them?”
Jasper scoffed. “You want to know the truth? To keep them coming to the shop so I can get their money.”
I smiled despite myself. “So you’re playing the long con?”
Jasper had been raisingrising his teacup to his lips but he set it back down. “Not a con, exactly. They are getting exactly what they pay for but-” He huffed and took off his glasses. “I know if I don’t associate with them, create some sort of fashion out of the experience, I wouldn’t make ends meet, let alone maintain the life I do have.”
“A grifter then,” I teased. Under the table I felt his foot tap against my leg in a playful kick. It was a move I was not expecting, nor was I prepared for the reaction it would give me.
“We do what we can to survive,” Jasper said in a low, whisper-like murmur. “And I do not wish to go back to my former method of survival.”
This shift in tone bristled the hairs on the back of my neck. “You can’t just say things like that and not expect me to ask for a follow up.” I gave him a soft smile to urge his story forward. “What was survival for you before the bookstore?”
Jasper glanced away, his eyes flickering towards the door to the next room. He stood and waved his hand for me to follow. “I’ll show you.” He took me into a parlor-like room with nice furniture and everything was a varying shade of deep green or gold. On the wall over the stone fireplace was a sword of grand size. The blade glinted gold in the light of the fire, and the handle was wrapped up, covered by thick woven bands.
Now, I am not a strong person at all, by far I’m the weakest of my group physically. The sword on the wall was daunting for me, but I could tell it would give most members of my guild some extreme effort to raise. This was the sword of no mere fighter. No, this sword belonged to another type of creature altogetherall together.
“Your words from when we first met reminded me of what I came from,” Jasper muttered. “I was ashamed to think about what I had turned into.”
I turned my attention to his stony expression. “Don’t say that. We all make changes in life.”
“Yes but, it is a fool who forgets where they come from, Cara.” His voice becomes a low, almost angry growl.
I reached out to him, taking hold of his hand and squeezed it extra hard. He turned to me, looking at me with glassy eyes. He rubbed his large hand over his face, sniffling and trying to regain himself.
“You obviously remember,” I said to coax him.
His hand squeezed mine back. “I am forgetting something at this moment, Cara.”
I furrowed my brow and tilted my head up to him in confusion.“Which is?”
“How to be a gentleman. I almost bent down and kissed you like the ruffian I once was,” he said with a laugh.
My stomach knotted up, not in a bad way, but one of expectancy. “You could ask me.” The words poured from me, I didn’t mean to be so blunt.
Jasper chuckled, smoothed his beard into a point again. “I shouldn’t.”
I shrugged. “Try me.”
Jasper turned to face me, placing his hands first upon my shoulders then moving one up along the side of my neck and onto my cheek. His palm was so big and warm, it was amazing as he touched me. I shivered a bit, excited and conscious of what this could lead to.
“Cara,” he said with a shaky breath, “I am going to kiss you now.”
“I dare you then,” I giggled.
Jasper began to lean down towards me and I was stunned. I close my eyes, accepting his kiss. His tusks were cool against my skin, his fur was soft. I reached for him, touching the sides of his neck then slowly moving my palms over his broad chest.
When he pulled back, both of us were a touch breathless. He moved in to kiss me again, but he gasped and pulled back. I looked up angrily, but he moved off swiftly to the kitchen. “Excuse me, Ms. Cara! But our meal.”
“Oh!” I followed after him. “Right! Dinner.” I laughed as I returned to my seat at the table. I was flustered, fidgeting with my robe as I tried to distract myself from the thoughts blooming in my head. This was bad. I wasn’t supposed to be falling for Jasper. —
It was the night of the banquet, and I was considering turning Jasper down. It didn’t feel right to go. I’d made a mistake by possibly falling for Jasper. Each time I kissed him, the guilt was unbearable. It almost came to a head a few days before the kisses began turning into something much more. His storage room was small, warm, and dimly lit. I’d been helping him find a certain stash of books and we’d gotten smashed together.
His body was close, quite literally on top of mine. He was a mountain of a man, but I felt so safe, so strangely turned on by the moment. The room grew hotter, our bodies were pressed so tightly together you couldn’t fit a page between us. Jasper was hard against my hip and I was growing wet.
Jasper growled low in my ear, sending ripples through my body. He kept rutting himself into me so I could feel the entirety of him. He was thick and I could only imagine what that thing would do to me. His hands pushed up my skirt, touching bare skin, groping my rear. He growled again against my neck as his fingers slipped between my thighs. I touched him, grabbing hold of the shaft and stroking slowly. His voice became more hungry, so desperate. I wanted that voice to come out louder, deeper. I undid his pants, taking that warm, thick cock into my palm.
“Cara,” he snarled.
I nodded, breathing hard as I took both hands to hold him. “Like that?”
He grunted, pushing me into the wall as my fingers wrapped tightly around him, pleasuring him so deeply he began to shiver.
“Big thing like you could devour me, couldn't you? Those teeth…those hands…could rip me apart-” I whimpered.
“Cara-” he moaned again.
“I want you to,” I moaned, leaning up close to his face. I saw his eyes and I suddenly went still, my body was wracked with guilt. But the bell rang at the same moment, so Jasper mistook it for another kind of fear, and we left there.
I paced back and forth in my place, thinking about what I should do. If Jasper found out what I was up to could he forgive me? Would he understand? Or worse, would he hate me?
There was a knock on my door and all blood drained from my face. I approached the door, peering through a crack to try and see who was outside.
“It’s me, Cara,” Jasper announced with joy in his voice.
My mouth flopped open. “I was meeting you!” I fussed.
“I know, but I have a surprise for you.”
My guts churned. No, no, no, not a surprise you big fool! I slowly cracked open the door, peering up at him. “I’m uh…I’m not exactly ready yet, Jasper.”
Jasper had a smile that stretched past his tusks. “That’s fine. I have something for that anyways.”
I let him, silently stepping aside as he came into my room. His eyes darted around before looking back at me, his huge grin not fading. “You’re not nervous about tonight, are you?” He asked.
“A little,” I played into it.
He came to me as I closed the door, taking hold of my hand. “I’ve got you. There’s nothing to worry about. Besides, if I know anything about you Cara, it’s that you could run circles around them effortlessly.”
I smiled weakly and rubbed at my arm. “Thanks, Jasper.”
He squeezed my hand then reached into the pocket of his waistcoat. I was so nervous I hadn’t noticed how sharpley he was dressed. His fur was combed, his beard trimmed, he wore that mix of green and gold that looked so good on him. He was so handsome.
“I got you a present.” He offereda small box to me. “Something special to wear tonight.”
Why did he do this? Why did I have to hurt so badly from a small box? I took it into my hand, opening it up to see the drop earrings inside.
“They’re made from moonstone. I saw them in a shop and they made me think of you.” The moonstones were shaped like water drops, topped with silver and a single red gem in the center. They were beautiful, I loved them instantly.
“You didn’t need to do that,” I murmured.
Jasper came forward, taking one of the earrings in one hand then holding my head with the other. “I know. But the moment I saw them, I wanted to see you wearing them.”
Those words mingled with his touch made me sigh out of pleasure. He slipped the hook into my ear then stepped back and repeated it with the other ear. Jasper took a step back to look, and I saw on his face the same expression from the storage room.
“How do they look?” I murmured.
He nodded, keeping his mouth shut.
“Jasper-” my voice caught in my throat as I walked towards him. I placed my hands upon his chest. He kissed me, sweeping me off my feet. I didn’t fight it. Perhaps if we carried on we would miss the banquet and he would never find out why I was here, why I was with him.
I clung to him, leading him to believe in my desperation. I wanted him to kiss me longer, deeper, I needed him to grow just like that day in the storage room. He pulled away though and gently set me down upon the ground.
“I should let you finish getting ready,” he cleared his throat.
My mouth flopped open and closed. I then shut it tight and nodded. “Yeah. I should-” An idea struck me and I took a few steps back. “I need to change mostly.” I undid my clothing, letting it slip off my shoulders then down around my ankles. His eyes grew wide and his nostrils flared.
I smirked with some smugness as I saw the fire behind his glasses. I touched the earrings then dragged my fingers tip down my body in a slow agonizing way. His eyes lingered the entire time.
He finally jerked, looking away and putting on his airs. “Cara! What are you doing? The banquet!”
“They prefer if you’re fashionably late, don’t they?” I walked towards him, feeling less guilty if I tricked him this way. I slid my hand up his leg, rubbing my palm to his groin. “Please, Jasper?” I whispered.
He growled low, and that sound sent wicked little shivers through my body. I continued to touch him, grinding my palm into him as he began to stiffen. His strong hands gripped onto my bare shoulders and I took off his pants. I felt bad they would get wrinkled, but I needed this now. I could throw myself into passion, to desire, and forget how I’ve used him. I could tell him the truth later, once we missed the banquet and my job was ruined.
I grabbed hold of his cock, leading him over to the bed. I pushed him down upon it and crawled on top of him. He looked so beautiful all made up, and I was going to ruin that too.
“Cara, where did this come from?” Jasper gasped.
I smirked down upon him, rubbing myself against him. “From the moment I saw you.” I gasped breathlessly. “And that other day in the storage room. I’ve not stopped aching for you.”
Jasper grabbed hold of my hips, grinding his teeth the more he felt me. His deep moans echoed through my brain, driving me forward to keep going. It was working, I just hoped I could keep him entertained long enough. I looked down, taking hold of the base of his shaft. I caught his eyes, making him watch as I rubbed his tip against me. He was so thick, could I really take him?
“Easy,” he grunted.
“I’ll do as I please.” I began to lower myself down onto him. I lost my breath for a moment, then I let out a pleasurable cry. Jasper was moaning, wriggling slightly the more I took.
He was deep inside me, and I forgot everything except every touch of him upon me. His great big hands began roaming up my body, his large form was held tight underneath me, and inside me, oh by the gods, he was so deep inside me.
“I’m dizzy, Cara,” he snarled.
“Not too sensitive are you?” I said with a smirk. I circled my hips, taking him and grinding him inside me. I wanted to tease him, but it was backfiring! I’m sure I was feeling it more than he was.
“Not that…just…so long,” he grunted between breaths.
“Then maybe I should have started off with something easier,” I panted. “Maybe I should-” I started to pull away from him, knowing I had to waste my time wisely.
Jasper grabbed a hold of me and I was stunned for a moment by the force. He pushed me down on my stomach, anchoring his large body over top of me. He slid his cock between my cheeks and held his hands upon my wrist.
“Not so fast,” he chuckled with a dark tone.
“Listen to yourself,” I panted. “You almost scared me.”
His cock slipped between my thighs, rutting against me again. “You can’t just give me the sweetest treat in the world and pull it away. Let me savor it a bit longer.”
“I wasn’t.” I lost my voice and all my breath as he pushed back inside me. My smile became goofy upon my lips and I had to moan into the bed.
“Yes.” He released one of my hands in order to grab my hair. “Just give me a few moments. Oh Car-” his voice cracked. “I need to feel you.”
That was fine by me. He could have done anything to me right then and I would have been okay. It had been quite a while for me, and I wanted Jasper all this time. I trembled, squeezing tight around his shaft as he made small, gentle pushes.
“Oh fuck,” his deep voice rattled in my brain. “We’ll be so late. But you’ll be too full to eat anything at the banquet.” His other hand freed my wrist and he rose up taller behind me.
Oh my god! Why did that sound so hot?
He pushed in deeper, pulling out while his hand clapped down hard upon my ass. I cried out against the bed, it was too much, too good. He spanked me again as he pushed back inside and I laughed in a crazy tone.
He smoothed his soft palms over my cheeks, pushing them together then squeezing them. He pulled out again and rolled me over, laying me so I had to look up at him. His eyes glazed over upon seeing me, his mouth hung open slightly as drool collected around the base of his tusk.
I propped myself up on my elbows and the earrings dangled against my neck. “Jasper, I have something I need to tell you.”
He spread my thighs wide open. “I do as well.” He laid his cock against my belly, rubbing himself there.
“I…I can’t go to the banquet.”
Jasper licked his tusk. “I know. Not like this anyways.” He eased himself back inside me and I whined quite loudly.
“No…not like-” My eyes began to roll to the back of my head. “You don’t…oh!”
He pushed my head down into the bed, turning it so my ear was facing up towards him. He licked around the edge, snarling so close to me it was like my skin would vibrate off my bones.
“I need you now. I can’t stop. But I need to go to this banquet.” He bit my neck then my shoulder.
“I do too, but I-” I shivered again and my mind went blank.
“I’m an informant,” he whispered before delivering a mighty blow that rocked me, knocking around any thought I had and squashing it. My body was inflamed, tingling and crackling all over. I lost my breath, my vision for a moment.
Jasper pulled away, leaving me heaving heavily as he went to pour himself some water. He stood by the window, his back turned to me as I rose from the bed.
“Jasper-”
“These people, I need them Cara. Not in the way you think.”
I was afraid to stand up, I’m not even sure how he was. Wait…he didn’t finish! I brushed my hair out of my face. “Who are you an informant for?”
“I’ve never met them, just the fellow I meet with. But back before, back when I had nothing, they gave me the footing to start my business and live the life I wanted. I just had to pay them back. I was afraid of telling you. You work so hard…you’re such a-”
“Stop,” I snapped. I managed to stand and walk to the desk, taking out the letters I had been given about my mission. I looked them over then back at him. “I think I know who it is.”
Jasper’s thick brow furrowed when he saw the handwriting on the letters. “How do you know when you can’t even read the handwriting?”
I dropped the letters back onto the desktop and the two of us looked at one another for a long while.
“You were using me?” He asked quietly.
“At first,” I murmured. “But I couldn’t-” I shook my head and looked away. “I was trying to miss the whole evening by…by fucking you. Which I wanted to do regardless, mind you!” I looked into his eyes, seeing a smile he was trying to hide.
Jasper unbuttoned his waistcoat and took it off with his shirt. He stood naked there at the window, and I was breathless again. “Why did you?”
I couldn’t tell if he was mad. “Because I-” I took a step closer to him. “Because I care. A lot actually.”
Jasper took hold of me and set me upon the windowsill. “We’re working together now,” he whispered, gently pushing aside my hair and burying his face into my neck. “Informant and spy.” he eased himself back inside me and I wrapped my legs around his waist.
The glass was cold against my back, but I could barely tell it was there. I still wasn’t sure if he was angry, but his body and mine melted together and I could sense he was nothing if not elated. I grasped onto him, letting him do as he wished to come. I wanted him to. I needed him too.
At the banquet I was a bit delirious. I gazed off into the distance, but Jasper snapped me back into attention.
“Remember why you’re here,” he whispered.
“Right, donations.” I drank a dark red punch filled with berries and nectar. “I’m still trying to process this.”
He smirked. “What, our lovemaking?”
I hissed at him then looked over the crowd. “No. That’s your the-” I held my breath as some people walked by us. “The you-know-what.”
“You still have to apologize for trying to use me,” he said with a smarmy tone. “But I’ll forgive you.”
I pouted up at him, setting my glass down as a group gathered around us. Jasper was listening, taking in everything while I put on the show and did the work. I managed to make quite a bit of coin off these fools as they tried to one up themselves.
“You should come to my home, I can donate a lot of old knick knacks around the house my wife keeps collecting,” one man blurted out without much thought.
To my chagrin, it was one of the men I needed to get close to. I reached back, taking hold of Jasper’s hand. “I would be honored, sir!”
I got more invites after that, others who continued to try and show off to each other rather than try to perform a good act. As they dissipated when the music began, I took Jasper’s hand and kissed each soft pad on his palm.
Jasper took the bite of food he was eating and set it aside. “What was that for?” He chuckled.
“A small start to our victory.” My expression melted as I looked up at him. “If you still wish to work with me, that is.”
He took my hand as well, kissing it in return. “Partners from here on out. Like it was all meant to be.”
(rejected edit from the pope francis wikipedai page ⬇️)
obligatory "i despise jd vance and all he stands for" disclaimer but "getting attacked by [their] evil aura, disrespect, and ungodly blue eyes" is absolutely how asa feels having to spend time around marena
Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Avengers!Fem!Reader
Summary: You’ve been sick for a few days, so while the rest of the team goes out to do a recon mission, you’re on your own watching over Bob. One morning he comes to your room with a weird request.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Minor Spoilers for Thunderbolts! Fluff, Mentions of low self-esteem/ self-deprecation, Smut
Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (Y’all…You know the drill…Protect yourselves lol), Some hair pulling (very light hair pulling), Reader is being a little bit dominant (if you squint), Bob is being a softie (and it’s hot as shit), Fingering, Squirting, Teasing, Biting, and Some marks are left.
Author's Note: Had this boy lined up and really wanted to post it. Loved the little hint that Bob was not liking the blonde that Sentry had lol so this is definitely something that would probably have happened if he didn’t return back to normal in the movie 😅Also, y’all are awesome and I appreciate you guys for enjoying my little blurbs!❤️ Thank you.
Word Count: 14,094
You were buried under layers of sweat and crumpled tissues when the knock came against your bedroom door.
Three soft taps.
So quiet, they could’ve been the compound settling. It was hesitant–polite almost. It was the kind of knock someone does when they’re not sure if they’re allowed to be asking for anything at all.
You barely stirred in your bed. The flu had you pinned to the mattress like a paper doll, aching and clammy and convinced the walls were breathing in sync with you. Hallucinations had become your new roommates–so when you heard the knock, you assumed it was just one of them, wandering through your mind again.
But then came a fourth tap. Just one. Sharp enough to make your headache throb like it was answering.
”Y/N…It’s Bob…Can I come in?” You winced at the sound of his voice, even though it was always super gentle and timid.
Bob.
Of course it was Bob.
You’d almost forgotten in the haze of your sickness that you were technically on Bob duty. Because apparently being half-dead with the flu made you the least threatening option to keep an eye on the world’s most powerful man while the rest of the team went on recon. Bucky had said it so casually, like the fate of the planet couldn’t possibly unravel while you were tucked under three blankets with a thermometer hanging out of your mouth.
“All you gotta do is check in on him every hour or so,” He’d told you. “Make sure he eats. Make sure he’s not spiraling, and doing something to keep himself occupied. Y’know. Normal people stuff.”
It had been simple, at first. When the worst symptoms you were experiencing was a runny nose and a dull headache, you’d shuffle past Bob every so often with a thumbs up and a mumbled “You good?” While he nodded earnestly over his book, asking you the same thing back.
But once you started coughing so hard you felt like your ribs were breaking, and the chills that you were experiencing gave way to night sweats and dry heaving, keeping tabs on Bob Reynolds fell hard to the bottom of your to-do list–somewhere below “don’t die” and “get a new tissue”.
“…It’s open,” You rasped, your voice raw and thin from all the coughing you had been doing.
The doorknob turned slowly, like he was still asking permission even after you gave it. Then Bob stepped inside with that careful kind of energy that people only reserved for hospital rooms or museums–like one wrong step might unplug or break something important.
He hovered in between the doorway, not coming too close–being mindful that you had told him a few times to keep his distance because you didn’t want him getting sick, even though it was nearly impossible for him to catch anything. His baggy navy sweater hung off him like a weighted blanket, and the sleeves were stretched over his knuckles, worn from the way he would always pick at the fabric. He looked small in it–even though he was quiet muscular underneath all the layers. His posture was slouched, and his shoulders were drawn up like he was nervous about something. On top of all that though, he was wearing his new wardrobe staple–a dark brown beanie that he shoved his bleach-blonde hair under, he never came out of his room without it.
You stared at his figure through half-lidded eyes, watching as he avoided looking directly at you.
”You okay?” You croaked, reaching up to your face to rub the sleep off your face, attempting to sit up to get a better look at him. He glanced over at you, nodding quickly.
”Yeah. Of course…I mean…I’m good, I just…” He trailed off, the sentence losing momentum halfway through as his gaze drifted around the room.
He wasn’t just avoiding your eyes anymore, it was like his attention had been dragged elsewhere–behind you, beside you, and all around you. His brows twitched slightly as he took in your space for the first time, and slowly you connected the dots that Bob had never actually been inside your room before– the first time was always an experience for people who didn’t know you were a secret collector of everything.
His eyes swept over the cluttered desk in the corner that sported wires, pliers, circuit boards and half built gadgets, before going to the large overstuffed bookshelf beside it, which was packed tight with thrifted novels and comic books that were still in their original plastic sleeves. There was a milk crate of vinyls on the floor near your speaker, with the old record player you insisted on fixing instead of replacing, even though you would complain every few days about it.
There was a flicker in his expression–surprise, maybe. Or something quieter, like he’d just stumbled into a part of you that he didn’t expect to find. You saw it in the way his jaw went still and the way his shoulders shifted slightly, like he was dying to ask you questions about everything you had, but he was holding himself back.
”…Bob,” You said hoarsely, trying to draw his attention back to you. He didn’t blink, his eyes were fixated on something in the far corner where your posters were. You reached your hand up over your head, waving slightly, and snapping your fingers, “Earth to Bob. Are you sure everything’s okay?” He shook himself out of his trance, and glanced over at you.
”Sorry…Sorry,” He said quickly, his voice a little higher than usual, as he cleared his throat, “Didn’t mean to, uh…Y’know, snoop or anything. I’ve just never seen your room before, you’ve got a lot of cool stuff.” You raised your eyebrows at him with a small smile on your face.
”You’re lucky I feel like death. Otherwise I’d be giving you the grand tour right now…I also include a quiz at the end.” Bob let out a nervous laugh and looked down, picking at the loose thread on his sleeve.
“I’d definitely fail…So I’m kind of glad…Well I’m not glad you’re sick, I’m just glad I don’t have to do a quiz.” Your lips twitched, amused despite the ache that was still clawing at your skull.
”Very smooth recovery Bob, very smooth.” Bob made a quiet noise–somewhere between a breathy laugh and a groan–keeping his eyes pinned to the floor as his cheeks turned a soft pink. You pushed yourself up a little more than before, elbows trembling from the effort of holding yourself up.
”So…What’s going on? Why’d you knock on my door at…” You paused, glancing over at your alarm clock, “Seven fifty three in the morning?” Bob sighed.
”Well…I need to go to the drug store,” He admitted, his voice sheepish, “And I know Bucky’s not really a fan of me going out alone so…Thought I’d ask my babysitter.” You squinted at him through your blurred vision, feeling the room tilt slightly, as you brought your hand up to your face, pressing gently at your temples.
”Are you getting sick or something?” He immediately shook his head.
”No, no it’s nothing like that. I haven’t really gotten sick since I took the Sentry serum…” You quirked your brow at him.
”So…What’s the reason for the drug store trip then?” Bob shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the floor creaking under him loudly as he did so.
“I um…I need to buy something. For myself.” He responded, dancing around the truth. You stared at him.
”Is it serious?”
”No,” He said quickly, “It’s not like…Health-serious or anything, I’m fine physically, I just…” He paused, clamming up again, not knowing how to explain himself. You narrowed your eyes at him, coughing into your arm, clutching your ribs when a dull ache pulsed through the area.
”You do realize I’m gonna find out anyway if I go with you , right?” Bob sighed and dragged his hand down the side of his face, like he was physically wiping the resistance off of himself, letting his hand drop down to the hem of his sweater.
”Fine…Fine…I need to buy…Hair dye.” He mumbled under his breath. You tilted your head slightly, blinking through the fevered haze that clouded your vision.
”Hair dye?” Bob winced at the way the words left your mouth, even though you didn’t mean for it to sound like you were judging him.
”Mhm…” You stared at him for a second longer than he could handle, as his eyes began to wander again, his hands wringing the fabric of his shirt, wrinkling it.
“You woke me up at seven-fifty-three in the morning…For hair dye?” You asked again, trying to confirm what you were hearing once more, hoping that you weren’t experiencing an odd version of delirium at this point.
”It’s not just–“ He started, then shut his mouth again, biting the inside of his cheek, shaking his head, “I mean…It is…But I just…” The sentence fell apart in his throat, as his cheeks began to heat up. He looked genuinely embarrassed, and you could see himself curling even more into his sweater, “I just don’t like what it looks like anymore.” There was something raw about the way he said it, and you couldn’t help but feel empathy for him, your heart clenching at the way his words cracked in the air.
“The bleach… The whole look,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the floor, “It was for him. For the Sentry. That’s what they said, anyway– they said that it would help. That it would make people see someone new. Something brighter…Like it would somehow separate us…But I still have to live in this body when he’s not around.” Bob continued, his throat swelling with a lump, “I still have to see myself…And the longer I look like him, the harder it is to remember who I am when I’m just…Bob.” You didn’t say anything at first–not because you didn’t want to, but because there was something about the way he was talking about himself that made your chest cave in a little. The words hung in the air like mist, as he bowed his head even lower, keeping his eyes on the floor, not daring to look at you or anything else in the room.
“It’s not stupid.” You could see his hands stop moving at your words, watching his eyes glance up at you hesitantly. You gave him a tired but sincere look, hoping that it was enough for him to understand that what you were saying was coming from a place of care, “Wanting to see yourself again isn’t stupid Bob…It’s just you trying to cling to the one thing you have control of…I get it.” His mouth parted, like he was going to thank you, but no sound came out. He was relieved that someone was finally understanding what he meant, it was like he had been running around talking to walls when he would speak about how he was feeling, but with you in this moment…It was like he felt seen.
”So I’ll help…But I need to see what we’re working with first.” You added, motioning to his head. Bob looked like a deer in the headlights when you said it, caught off guard by your suggestion, but also scared to even follow through with it.
”W-What?” You sighed.
”That hat Bob…Just take it off…I haven’t seen your hair since we moved you in here and you’ve been hiding it like it’s some sort of radioactive test subject.” He felt his heart gallop in his chest a little bit, as the nerves began to build up in him.
”I-I really don’t think that’s necessary,” He stammered, already figuring out a way to retreat out of the conversation, eyeing the hallway that was in the far corner of his vision.
”Bob, you dragged me out of a flu coma to ask me for help…So let me help you…Let me see it.” The gentleness in your voice was always something that got to him. Even on your toughest days you would use that tone with him, and for some reason it was the only thing that truly had him melting like putty in your hands.
You could see the conflict playing out within him, like he was weighing out the risks, until a look of resolve appeared on his face, a small sigh escaping his lips as he gave in to your request.
Bob’s fingers trembled as he slipped them beneath the edge of his beanie, hesitating for a second before slowly tugging it off his head. The static cling made the knit fabric resist him just a little, like even the hat itself didn’t want to let go of the safety it provided him.
The moment it came off, a curtain of hair fell across his face. You blinked through your fevered haze, eyes widening slightly–not in shock, but in recognition. His hair was longer than you remembered–shaggy, uneven, the ends fried from months of bleach. The top was still harshly pale, the yellow-white of it stark under the low morning light, but underneath, near the roots, his real hair was coming back in–soft, and light brown, just like you recalled from the brief glimpses you got of him before it all got changed. But the line where bleach met natural color was harsh and jarring, cutting across his scalp like a bad decision frozen in time.
He looked like someone in between versions of himself, not quite Bob, not quite Sentry–just…Stuck. You studied him for a moment, your body heavy with exhaustion but your chest buzzing with quiet sympathy. There was something so tender about the way he stood there, hair falling into his eyes, his beanie clutched in his hands like a comfort object. He looked younger somehow. Not in age, but in vulnerability–like this was the version of himself that never got the chance to just be soft and carefree.
“It’s not that bad,” You started, the rasp still thick in your throat, “Really. It just needs some love, patience…Maybe a deep condition…And the right shade of brown.” Bob’s head immediately shot up to look at you, like he couldn’t believe what you were saying.
”S-So you’re actually going to help? Y-You didn’t just try to trick me into showing you my hair right?” You shifted yourself down to the edge of your mattress, groaning at the way your bones protested and pulsed with each movement.
”No I didn’t try to trick you… I’m going to help, but first, I’m gonna need you to come here and make sure I don’t fall, because I think my legs are going to wiggle like they’re made of jelly.” For a split second Bob wasn’t sure if you were serious or not about needing actual help, but he moved anyway, shuffling towards you with his socked feet sliding across the floor. He opened his arms hesitantly, elbows bending like he wasn’t sure where they were supposed to go, offering himself up into your space.
”Alright…Whenever you’re ready I g-guess.” He said softly, his voice cracking a bit on the ‘guess’ like he was more nervous about touching or dropping you than you were about falling on your own.
Your hands found his forearms instantly, fingers curling into the soft, worn cotton of his sleeves, watching him brace himself. He looped one arm under yours, while steadying the other against your back as you pushed off the mattress, feeling your knees buckling beneath you like a baby deer on ice.
“Woah–woah, okay.” Bob muttered quickly, tightening his arms around you without a second thought. He adjusted himself accordingly, trying his best to be gentle while still being secure enough to hold you upright. You ended up closer than either of you really expected, with his chest pressed against yours, and your cheek inches away from his shoulder.
Despite everything—the fever baking your skin, the chills clinging to your limbs, and the flu that had knocked you down hard enough to rattle the walls—you still smelled…Good.
Bob noticed it the moment you got within his arms reach.
It wasn’t some kind of artificial, pampered scent. It wasn’t perfume or lotion or anything curated. No, it was just you–fresh soap, soft worn cotton, and that barely-there trace of eucalyptus from the body wash and shampoo combo you swore by. He heard you muttering something about it being the only thing strong enough to trick your sinuses into opening, and Bob had thought it was actually going to work because the sniff you gave him from the bottle made him have a sneezing fit, but he heard your frustrated grunt in the shower when it had not been the case.
”You alright Bob?” You asked, feeling the tension in his body against yours. He let out a short breath, which fanned across the crown of your head. He didn’t say anything right away, he just gave you a quick nod.
”Yeah, yeah I’m okay.” You could feel how careful he was being, feeling his arms flexing around you, not too tight, and not too loose. He was warm, and steady, while trying so hard not to be in the way, even though you requested his help. You couldn’t help but think about how strangely nice it was to be close to him, despite the situation.
You stood like that for another moment longer, your body leaning against his, the rhythm of your fevered breathing matching the rise and fall of his chest. Even through the blocked sinuses you had you could smell his laundry detergent on his sweater–fresh from the dryer, another thing you seemed to like about the moment.
Though you snapped yourself out of your self-induced daze once the floor felt less like a rocking ship beneath your feet. You pulled back just enough to glance up at him.
”You can let go now,” You whispered, startling Bob with the cue. Quickly he stepped back, like he just realized he was touching a hot stove or something, trying not to seem like he had been enjoying the odd moment of closeness. Despite the warmth of his body leaving yours, his hands still hovered around you just in case.
”I’m good,” You reassured, wobbling slightly but managing to keep yourself upright, “Just give me a few minutes to brush my teeth and get my bearings so I don’t scare the public by looking like a corpse.” Bob nodded immediately.
”Yeah, of course, I’ll just…I’ll wait in the hallway. There’s no rush or anything, uh…Just take your time. Seriously, I mean it.” He said, backing away while he clutched his beanie in his hand, “Just call me if you need anything.” He added, slipping out of your room and pulling the door shut behind him.
The moment he was gone, you sat back down on the edge of the bed with a slow, rattling breath. God. Your whole body felt like it had been microwaved–sweaty, sore, and buzzing with leftover adrenaline. You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes for a second, trying to reboot your nervous system. Not just from the fever, but from how close Bob had been. How soft he’d been. How good it had felt to be held with such warmth and gentleness even if it was for a fleeting moment.
You let out a sigh, before getting up again, dragging yourself into the ensuite bathroom you shared with Yelena, flicking on the bright fluorescent light. You let out a hiss, catching your reflection in the mirror. Surprisingly, the damage was minimal, sure your hair was an absolute mess from spending the night tossing and turning, but you looked half-awake at least.
Quickly, you got yourself ready, brushing your teeth, splashing some water on your face, fixing up your hair, and changing into a fresh set of clothes. By the time you were done, only fifteen minutes had passed–your new personal best. You cracked the door to your bedroom open, finding Bob sitting on the floor waiting with his back against the wall and knees drawn up. He looked up quickly when he heard the creak, and gave you a soft smile.
“Let’s get outta here.”
——————
Twenty minutes later, you found yourselves shoulder to shoulder in front of the painfully fluorescent wall of boxed hair dye in your local CVS.
It was still early, so thankfully not a lot of people were in the store. You actually thought that it was just you and Bob who were customers and the rest of the people there were employees and managers. On the overhead speakers there was a faint crackle of old 2000s music groaning throughout the store. The air smelled like plastic and dryer sheets, which was an odd mix for a drugstore of all places.
Bob stood stiffly beside you, his hands jammed into the front pocket of his jacket, eyes wide as he took in the absurd variety of brands and colours in front of him. His mouth was parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t decide on what panic stricken sentence he was going to go with. So you spoke first.
“Well…We know what row we need to look at.” You said, motioning toward the more natural leaning colours–rows of caramel, ash, chestnut, and espresso–pushing the cart gently in that direction as Bob trailed behind you like a nervous shadow. Your eyes scanned over the various boxes and brands, trying to find ones that would do minimum damage to his hair while actually doing the job.
“I didn’t think it was going to be so complicated…” He murmured from behind you, “I just thought there would be straight forward choices…” You looked up from the boxes, seeing the way his jaw was clenched.
”It’s just overwhelming because all the companies who make this stuff create different versions of the same thing. See…” You pointed at one box “This one is ammonia free, and is semi-permanent,” Then pointed to the other one right beside it,”While this one is permanent and has argan oil infused in it so it doesn’t do a lot of damage, but they’re the same colour.” Bob squinted at the wall of labels, then back to the boxes you had motioned to, visibly confused, shaking his head.
“Alright…But what if I just want…Normal dye?” You looked up at him, one brow arching in mild amusement.
”Bob…This is normal dye.” He turned a sharp shade of red, as the heat rose to his cheeks, taking over the paleness.
“W-Well yeah but–but you know what I mean don’t you? It doesn’t have to be so complicated, just have one of every colour.” You let out a small laugh.
”Welcome to the wonderful world of capitalism, Bob. You want brown? Well, first you gotta pick from thirty-seven kinds of brown. Do you want cocoa chestnut or honey almond toast? Because those are apparently different.” Bob took his hand out of his pocket, rubbing the back of his neck.
”Okay…I guess you’re right.” He replied nervously.
”We’ll find your colour, I promise.” You said calmly, continuing to look over the boxes in front of you.
“Should I, uh…Take my hat off? Would that help?” You tilted your head at him, and nodded.
”It would definitely make this a much quicker process…But if it really bothers you, I’m pretty sure I could go off of memory.” Bob shrugged a little, his eyes flicking around the store for a moment.
”I don’t mind, it’s basically just us in here anyway.” You nodded, watching him remove the beanie again, tucking it into the crook of his elbow. He tried to not make a big deal out of it, but you could tell he felt exposed, so you were going to attempt to make things quick.
”Alright,” You said, stepping a little closer to him, grabbing a few boxes from the shelf, “Bend down a bit, I need to get a good look at the roots so I can compare.” He obeyed, ducking his head so you could see the top of his hair properly. In doing so, he stepped closer than you expected—closer than he expected, probably. Your foreheads were nearly aligned, noses maybe a breath apart. He was tall enough that you had to tilt your chin slightly to get the right angle, and Bob found himself frozen there, inches from you, not sure where to look. So, he looked at you.
You smelled like cherry cough drops–sickly sweet and medicinal—and it hit him instantly, like a quiet little exhale in the space between you. He remembered the moment you popped one into your mouth earlier, halfway to CVS, saying it was the only thing keeping your throat from giving out. And now the scent lingered on your breath, mingling with the warmth of your skin and the faint trace of eucalyptus from before. Bob swore his brain short-circuited for a second.
You were focused, eyes narrowing slightly, as you held one box up beside his roots, then another. Your fingers brushed through the longer strands near his crown, gently separating pieces to get a clearer view of where the bleach ended and his real colour began. You were so precise about it, so tender, and Bob didn’t know where to put his hands or how to keep breathing without accidentally inhaling you.
Then you paused, lips turning up as you caught the way his chest rose a little faster, how his fingers curled and uncurled in his sleeves
A soft rattling sound reached your ears then–the kind of nervous, involuntary vibration that sometimes came from him when he was overwhelmed. You smirked slightly, brushing your thumb against his temple on purpose as you pushed a few more strands aside.
“Is the Sentry getting a bit flustered?” You teased, your voice still raspy from the flu but still playful. “Or is that just you rattling like a soda can?”
Bob made a noise–half sigh, half laugh–ducking his head a little more like it would hide the warmth that continued to spread over his skin, all the way down his neck. “It’s definitely just me. He’s, uh…He’s fine.”
“Good,” You hummed, still close, eyes flicking between the swatch and his roots. “Because I don’t think he’d let me manhandle his hair like this.”
“You’re not…Manhandling anything,” He mumbled, trying to cover up the wavering tone. “Feels…Kinda nice, actually.” You paused at that comment, your eyes glancing down to his, seeing little glints of sparkling orange through the sea blue that his irises normally sported. For a second, neither of you said anything. The store had faded by that point and all that was left was the faint scent of cherry and the feel of your fingers still resting lightly in his hair.
“…This is your shade,” You said finally, voice soft, motioning to the box in your hand. He didn’t move at first, it was as if his brain hadn’t caught up to the moment yet, or his ears were ringing so much he didn’t hear what you had said. Then you shifted your weight, easing back slightly, giving him some space as you cleared your throat, dropping the box into the cart with a clunk. He quickly slipped the beanie back on, shoving his hair up into it, sealing away the moment beneath it.
“Now we need to get you one of those conditioning treatments, and after that I’m grabbing some snacks, cause I’m getting hungry.” He looked away from you, nodding.
”Yeah, okay…Conditioner and snack. Got it.” You glanced up at him, seeing the way he was avoiding you eyes again, before turning back to the cart, pushing it down the aisle with him following close behind. You turned into the next section without fanfare–the shampoo and conditioner area–and skimmed over a wide array of labels until your eyes landed on the exact jar you were looking for: the rich brown packaging, the heavy text that scrawled out all the promises of repairing and restoring.
“This one,” You muttered, reaching up for it and dropping it into the cart with a soft thunk, “Will do miracles for the damage, you’re gonna love it, smells like sweet coconuts.” Bob glanced at the package.
”Does it…Sting?” Your eyebrows drew together.
”Bob…It's conditioner, not acid.” He bit his inner lip.
”No, I-I know, I’m just asking cause when they bleached my hair it really really burned…Then my head was super sensitive for like a whole week after, j-just don’t want to go through that again.” You could hear the way his voice tapered off, like he didn’t really want to talk about it, but he just wanted to let you know.
“I promise this will be way less abrasive.” You said, with a small smile tugging at your lips, nudging the cart forward again, “Now let’s get to that snack aisle before my stomach eats itself.” Bob chuckled softly at your words, following you again as you turned into the next section, noticing the sharp fluorescent lights had dimmed just slightly. The sterile smell of the store had completely faded by that point, being replaced with sweet confectionery items; gummy snacks, granola bars, marshmallows, anything you could think of really. You stopped your cart, feeling Bob’s chest bump into your back, as your eyes began to skim over the shelves, squinting at the shimmering bags, the look of contemplation drawing up into your eyebrows.
“So…What’re you craving?” He asked softly, watching your eyes dart around the wide variety, “Sweet? Salty?” You hummed.
”Might buy the whole aisle to be honest…” He laughed under his breath, the sound quieter than the store’s staticky music, but warmer than anything you’d heard in days.
”Seems like your appetite has come back.” You turned to look at him, letting your body sway slightly toward the cart to brace yourself.
”Yeah, I think the fresh air has put me on the road to recovery…Just don’t touch my lower back…It’s a little sweaty.” There was a beat of silence, before you continued “My stomach might also be trying to fool me into a false sense of security and I’ll end up throwing it all up after I eat it.”
“Well that took a turn…” You shrugged, plucking a bag of sweet chili chips, throwing it mindlessly into the cart.
”I like to keep you on your toes Bob.” You replied with a smirk.
—————-
Back at the compound, you retreated into your room to change, making quick work even though you were feeling a faint headache coming back, but it was more manageable than your prior ones.
You swapped out your clothes for a pair of beat-up black compression shorts and an old t-shirt from your days at training camp–frayed at the collar and speckled with faded bleach stains from when you touched up Yelena’s hair. The crooked letters on the shirt were faded but you could make out the words “I SURVIVED CAMP HAMMOND” on the front of it, a great memory of how long it’s been since you were actually training.
You grabbed your dye bowl and one of the brushes from under your bathroom sink, tucking them against you as you headed down the hall. Your bare feet padded softly against the cool flooring of the compound, reaching the bathroom that Bob shared with Bucky, seeing the door was already cracked open. You gave it a slow push with your knuckles, poking your head in.
Bob stood in the middle of the tiled space like he wasn’t sure where he was going to sit, clutching the CVS bag with both hands, wringing it in his grip, the sound crinkling plastic echoing off the walls. He already had taken off the beanie, fully prepared for what was coming.
“Alright,” You announced as you stepped inside, “Your hair hero has arrived.” Bob looked over at you quickly, his shoulders dropping slightly when he laid eyes on you and your outfit. The tension in him bleeding out of him in small waves.
”You brought your own bowl?” He asked, trying to cover up the fact he was staring at your bare legs for longer than he intended.
“Of course I brought my own bowl,” You replied, holding it up slightly before setting it down on the porcelain counter, “What kind of amateur do you think I am?” You asked jokingly, earning a small smile from Bob, motioning for him to hand you the bag.
You unpacked the contents onto the sinks edge–the dye, the conditioner, the gloves, and a couple of CVS coupons that the cashier had stapled to the receipt.
“Okay,” You said, flipping the box of dye around to double-check the instructions even though you were seasoned enough to know what you were doing without them, “Let’s get you situated hm?” Bob hovered behind you awkwardly, watching your hands move with precise, and practiced ease. You pointed at the closed toilet lid.
”Go sit on the makeshift barber chair, hope you like stiff seats.” You joked, watching him go over to where you pointed, sitting down without protest, seeing the way his long frame compressed itself into the small space. He looked over at you with a soft smile, his hands clasping together, as you slid on a pair of gloves.
“Uh…Just wanted to say thank you for doing this, especially with being sick and everything…I didn’t mean to be a bother.” You cracked open the box of dye, flipping the flaps back and pulling out the developer bottle and aluminum tube of colour, the gloves squeaking slightly as you did so. You opened the cap with a satisfying pop and reached for the dye bowl beside you.
”You’re not a bother Bob.,” You said, glancing over at him as you squeezed the thick brown sludge into the bowl, “I don’t mind.” He blushed a bit at the softness in your voice, letting out a sheepish laugh, nodding before taking his eyes off you, his fingers finding the hem of his sweater.
You turned and flipped the small ceiling fan on, letting it whirl to life with a soft click and hum, it was your little attempt to keep the room from smelling like a chemical spill before you started stirring in the developer with the dye.
It was quiet for a moment–peaceful almost. Just the faint humming of the fan and the soft scrape of the plastic bristles rubbing against the inside of the bowl. Bob’s eyes drifted down toward your shirt absentmindedly, reading the faded words that were scrawled over the fabric that was clinging to your frame.
”What’s…Camp Hammond?” He asked quietly, with genuine curiosity in his voice, as he looked down to his hands. You didn’t look over at him immediately–still focused on making sure the mixture reached that perfect pudding-like texture–but your mouth twitched slightly.
”Did you think I was born with the skills of a mercenary?” You asked, glancing over at him with a teasing glint in your eye, “Hate to burst your bubble, but I wasn’t that cool.” Bob felt his cheeks heat up as it spread to his ears and down his neck.
”So what is it? Like…A boot camp or something?” You shrugged, looking down at the bowl again.
”Kind of. It was a training facility for recruits who showed promise in their assigned roles. I was a teenager when I got scouted, actually. They stuck us in bunk beds and we ran drills at five in the morning. Sometimes we were able to go home to see our families but I spent about three years there just learning the ropes and honing my skills.” He leaned forward a bit.
”Was it…Bad?” You paused the stirring for a moment, biting the inside of your cheek when you heard the way he asked.
”No. Not always. It was intense, but not all of it was horrible. I met my first team there actually, so that should tell you something about the experience.” At the mention of your first team, the conversation had faded, because true to Bob’s nature he was observant enough to catch on that you weren’t going to answer any questions about them. He just nodded, and sat still, with worry tucked beneath his lashes. You cleared your throat, breaking the silence.
”Before I forget–you should probably take that sweater off. This stuff is probably going to stain it and there’s a really low chance you’re going to be able to get it out.” You said, motioning with the brush, “Unless you actually want brown splatters all over it.” You added, seeing him look down at himself.
“Oh…Uh…” He said, curling his fingers into the hem of it, hesitating, “I’m not…Wearing anything under it.” You paused.
”You could go find something you don’t mind ruining, I can wait.” Bob shook his head, not looking at you, avoiding your eyes.
”I don’t really have anything…I wear pretty much all of my clothes, and donate the ones I don’t.” You put your hands on your hips, biting the inner side of your cheek.
”Guess we have a dilemma then.” You said jokingly, looking around the bathroom for a towel–a solution of sorts.
”I mean…I could take it off, I just…Just promise me you won’t laugh.” You stopped your movements immediately, looking back at him, raising your eyebrows.
”Okay. I won’t laugh.” You said, feeling your chest tighten. Bob nodded once, his fingers finally tugging up the hem of the sweater. It caught slightly on the undersides of his arms—he had to peel it upward with a bit of a twist—and then suddenly, it was gone, crumpled in his hands and resting in his lap.
You froze.
The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding caught somewhere in your throat, stalling completely as you took him in.
The heat that burned inside your body hit you like a second fever.
He was…Lean. But solid. Not showy or overly built, but undeniably strong. His chest and shoulders were broad in a way that looked natural. There were fine lines of definition that carved down his sternum and stomach, soft traces of light and shadow where his muscles rested. His skin was fair, with scattered freckles that dotted across his collarbones and shoulders like sunspots. A small scar cut just under his left rib–thin and silvery and healed long ago–and there was a faint stretch of color along his ribs, a faded birthmark maybe, or it was the aftermath from the serum he was given. Tying it all together though were the very very small stretch marks that were scattered around the expanse of skin, which made your brows raise a bit in admiration…
And his arms–Jesus Christ, his arms–were gently corded with strength, biceps not flexed but still clearly shaped beneath smooth skin, dusted with barely-there hair in the hollows of his elbows. The veins on his forearms sat just under the surface, pale blue and almost glowing under the harsh light of the bathroom.
He wasn’t perfect. But you didn’t want perfect. This–this was so much better.
The heat rushed up your neck and onto your cheeks so fast it was like your body had short-circuited, and you were suddenly very aware that your own shirt was threadbare and clinging to your frame. You tried to clear your throat quietly, to ground yourself, but the sound came out shakier than you liked. Bob caught it immediately, and his cheeks went a dark hue of pink. Now you were able to see the pale skin of his chest matching the same colour.
You felt nauseous looking at him, but for all the right reasons. How the hell were you supposed to get close to this man now without passing out? And how the hell was he able to hide this so well from you– Or anybody else for that matter?
“Wow…” Was all you could say, and you didn’t even mean for it to come out of your mouth. Bob’s head tilted up at you, noticing the way your eyes were glued to him like he was some sort of museum exhibit. He clutched the sweater in his lap a little tighter, curling in on himself a bit as if he was trying to hide, looking down at himself.
”Yeah I know…” He muttered, tone awkward and clipped, like he was attempting to defuse the silence before it got worse, “I know it’s bad…The serum kinda…I don’t know made me grow a little too quickly, and-.” You raised your hand to stop him.
”Woah woah…Don’t even go there Bob. I wasn’t saying wow in a bad way.” He looked up at you instantly, his eyes glistening in the lighting, the soft blue still shimmering with those little flecks of orange.
”…You weren’t?” He questioned, his lips parting a bit.
”Bob…You’re built like a fucking house.” You said bluntly, the edge in your voice softening from the next wave of nausea that sloshed in your stomach. Bob made a noise like he was suppressing a laugh, his throat closed a bit.
”That’s…A very generous interpretation, but you don’t have to lie to me…” Your expression twisted slightly, not in offense, but in something rawer than that. It was as if his words scratched at a place in you that was already tender.
”Bob, I’ve never lied to you…And I’m certainly not starting now.” Bob’s lashes fluttered like he was processing your words, like no one had ever said something so plainly true to him in a long time. You could see the way he swallowed hard, almost like he was choking back his words, “You look amazing, and I mean it.” That was when you heard it again–the faint rattling sound, you assumed he was shaking something in one of the cabinets, it didn’t really matter at this point though. He drew in a shaky breath to quiet it, his fingers tightening around the bunched-up sweater.
Then you stepped towards him, taking up the space between his knees. You were close enough to feel the warmth coming off his bare chest, to see the smallest cluster of freckles that laid just beneath his collarbone, and to feel his breath against you. Bob tilted his head up, slow and steady, his eyes finding yours immediately, seeing more orange taking over his irises.
“…You’re really not going to laugh at me?” He asked, almost like he truly couldn’t believe it. You sighed, tucking a piece of bleached hair behind his ear.
”Bob, the only thing I’m going to be doing right now is wondering how I’m supposed to function with you sitting in front of me like this…Does that make you feel any better?” Bob let out a soft, startled breath–almost like a laugh or like he didn’t know what to do with the surge of warmth that spread through his chest.
His hands, still knotted around the sweater in his lap, flexed–then unclenched. The tension there began to melt, bit by bit.
“I…” He started, then stopped. His voice caught, his tongue wetting his bottom lip like he was trying to steady himself. His eyes searching your face, shining under the light “I think that makes it so much worse, actually.”
“Worse?” Bob nodded faintly.
“Yeah…Because now I’m trying really hard not to kiss you...” His voice was barely above a whisper when he said it, and all consideration for the flu you had been battling was thrown to the curb.
The rattling came back. Louder this time. Almost a tremor that ran through his chest–not violent, not dangerous, but charged. Like there was a wire humming under his skin that was just barely holding.
And still, somehow, he smiled.
The kind of smile that only showed up when he was trying to hide how badly he wanted something.
You swallowed. Your hand was still in his hair, fingers brushing at the soft edge of his temple. You could feel his warmth, his nerves, the small, careful gravity that existed between his body and yours. You let your gaze drop to his mouth, just for a second, and then back to his eyes.
“Well,” You said, keeping your voice low and playful, in an attempt to mask your heart beating out of your chest “You’re gonna have to wait until after your hair’s done. I’m not making out with someone mid-dye job–this stuff stains.” You added innocently, a smirk drawing up on your lips. You could hear Bob’s breath catching in his throat at the sheer mention of making out.
”Right, right, of course.” He said, trying to cover up the excitement that bloomed in him.
”Now, be a give boy and stay still, so I can work my magic.” You whispered tilting his chin up even more with your gloved hand.
”Y-Yes, ma’am.” He responded breathlessly, without even thinking–so soft, and so automatic that it made your pulse spike. You cleared your throat a bit before dipping the brush into the bowl, letting the creamy dye coat the bristles, then gently you began to cover the stark blonde lengths of his hair in the dark brown colouring. The scent of it—chemical but faintly sweet—mingled with the warm air drifting down from the little ceiling fan, and you tried to keep your breathing steady as you worked. Bob’s hair was softer than you expected, silken even after all the damage. And the way he tilted his head just slightly to give you better access made your chest ache.
He closed his eyes at the first touch, his jaw going slack as you parted the strands with careful fingers, keeping your brush strokes slow and methodical. You could see his throat move as he swallowed, the faintest tremble still present in his frame–but now it was quiet, more soothed than shaken.
You worked in silence for a little while. It wasn’t awkward—just thick with the kind of tension that lingers when two people are trying not to break a moment that’s humming with too much energy. You kept your movements fluid, coating each section with care, your free hand occasionally grazing the side of his neck or the curve of his temple to steady him.
Bob let out a slow, shaky breath.
“…Can I touch you?”
The question barely made it past his lips. His eyes were still shut, but his lashes fluttered like he wasn’t sure if he should open them yet. You paused, brush hovering midair.
“Touch me?” You asked, like you were confirming what he just said. He nodded, just once.
“Not in a weird way I just–I need to…To do something with my hands.”Your lips parted, the heat returning in full force, knowing that he was probably making an excuse to put his hands on you, to feel you, to take you in, but deep down inside, you didn’t mind one bit.
“Yeah,” You said quietly. “You can touch me.”
The second you said it, you felt his hands move. Slow, careful. The sweater slipped from his lap and landed with a soft thump on the tile floor. Then his palms came to rest on the sides of your thighs, just above the hem of your compression shorts.
They were warm. Gentle. And a bit shaky.
Bob exhaled like the contact untied something in him, his fingers curling lightly around your skin as if he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to hold you like that. His thumbs swept slow arcs along the fabric, and then you saw it–his bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyes still closed like he was savoring every inch of sensation, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you beneath his palms.
You could barely focus on the hair in front of you. Your hands just kept moving, but your entire body was tuned to him–how he sighed when your knee brushed his, how he flexed his hands slightly when your knuckles grazed his cheek. How he chased what little touch he was getting from you.
“You okay down there?” You asked, voice low, and tinged with amusement. His eyes finally opened–heavy-lidded, and flushed with emotion, as his fingers stayed firm on your legs.
“Yeah,” He breathed. “Just…I think this is the most relaxed I’ve felt in weeks.” You couldn’t help but smile at the softness of his voice.
“Well, I’m glad I could contribute to that…Even though now you’re going to have to wait thirty minutes for this to set in.” He wet his bottom lip with his tongue, nibbling on the inside of it, as you placed the empty bowl and stained brush onto the counter, taking off your gloves and letting them drop in the garbage all while staying in the space between his knees. You set a timer for yourself on the speaker radio that was near the conditioner.
“…What could we possibly do to make the time go by faster?” He asked shyly, almost like he already knew the answer, but he just wanted you to initiate it, because he was too nervous to do it himself.
You weren’t going to give in that easily though.
“Oh I’m sure we could think of something.” Allowing your voice to be a bit more breathier than before. He blinked up at you, hopeful and unsure all at once, but he still didn’t say anything, he Just kept holding you like he was afraid that any sudden shift he did would scare you off.
You didn’t move much at first–just enough to lean a fraction closer. Just enough to let your shirt brush his bare chest as you planted your palms on the edge of the shelf behind him, caging him in without pressure, while also being mindful of his dye coated hair. Bob inhaled, and you felt the tremble of it, the way his breath shuddered as your faces moved closer.
You dipped in–slow, and teasing–until your lips were just above his. A hair’s breadth away from connecting.
But then you stopped.
Bob was dazed. His lips parted, breath warm in anticipation, waiting for you to do it…But you just stayed there, close enough for him to swallow the air you breathed out into him, and to smell the faint hint of cherry that was still clinging to your lips from the cough drop.
“…Y/N.” He whispered, his voice almost breaking off into a whimper. You tilted your head with a knowing smirk.
“What?” You asked quietly.
“Y-You know what…You’re driving me crazy…” He tried to lean up but you moved back just enough for him to lose the air you were giving him.
“That’s the point.” You replied, brushing the tip of his nose with yours. His fingers tightened a little on your thighs, but he didn’t move you closer, even though he could’ve. He stayed obedient. Soft. The way he was in his everyday life and you smiled down at him, leaning in again to brush your lips across his bottom one, feeling him shiver against you.
Bob let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering half-shut from the close proximity of your mouth. His palms on your thighs shifted upward, sliding under your baggy top so they could rest against the waistband of your compression shorts, his fingers brushing the skin of your hips.
“…You don’t know what you’re doing to me…God…You have no idea.” He said, his voice aching and on the verge of spilling over into begging.
”I think I have a pretty good idea,” You murmured back, trailing your lips across his again, feeling the wetness of his saliva this time before going to the shell of his ear “You’re the one shaking, Bob.” You whispered, your breath hitting against his skin.
”I’m t-trying my best to be good for you…But you’re making this so hard.” The heat between you curled together, tightening in your belly. You drew back just enough so you could look him in the eyes again. “…You can do whatever you want to me…” He whispered, “Just please…Please don’t stop touching me.” Your breath caught at his word, not just because of the desperation that laced them, but because of the truth that hung below them.
It was the kind of truth people usually only say in the dark, or when they were half-asleep or drunk, but Bob was fully sober, wide-eyed, and trembling beneath your hands as if he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. It was like you were pulling a loose thread from a shirt and it was completely unraveling the whole thing. You stared at him for a long moment.
”…The timer is going to go off in about twenty minutes,” You said softly, “And I think we’re both a little overheated, aren’t we?” Bob’s eyebrows knitted together, almost like he was preparing himself for you to stop this from going any further.
”W–What do you–“
”I think we should take a shower together when the timer goes off,” You interrupted, tilting your head to the side, “That okay with you?” There was a beat of stunned silence. Then a choked little nod, as Bob’s fingers gently pressed into your hips on reflex.
“I’ll rinse out your hair, get the dye out…Then maybe–“ Your voice dropped into a whisper, “–I’ll let you kiss me…Think you can manage to wait?” Bob let out a small broken sound–between a laugh and a groan.
”I-I can try,” He whispered, not even sounding convinced by his own voice.
The next fifteen minutes passed in a kind of suspended quiet. You didn’t step away from him entirely–just retreated enough to clean the brush, rinse out the bowl, organize the conditioner and the towel you’d need for later. But the whole time you felt his eyes on you. And every time you glanced over at him out of the corner of your eye, he was still perched on the makeshift barber chair, elbows on his knees, trying not to look like he was counting the seconds.
With five minutes left on the clock, you went over to the shower and reached in, twisting the handle on the built-in panel. The pipes groaned quietly as the water surged out, spraying onto the shower floor. Within seconds steam was curling out from behind the frosted glass enclosure. The room warmed fast, the mirror fogging slightly at the edges, the air heavy with moisture and the faint scent of developer and dye.
The heat from the shower stuck to your skin as you turned your head back to look at him–still seated, trying to play it cool like he wasn’t about to explode from the anticipation. Bob leaned back against the tank, making room for you without hesitation, his knees parting instinctively like muscle memory, like his body already knew what was coming. You crossed the tiled floor with quiet, deliberate steps, the steam from the shower weaving between you both, making the bathroom feel smaller, more intimate–like the air itself was folding in to watch.
You stepped between his knees again, standing tall in front of him, the light of the ceiling fan casting a warm haze on your skin.
Your hands found his shoulders again, fingertips skating lightly along the curve of them.
“Want to undress me?” You asked, your voice like a secret you were offering just to him. No teasing this time–just heat, thick and warm and sweet in your chest. He exhaled like you punched the breath out of him.
”Y-Yeah, o-of course I do.” He said, barely above a whisper. You took his wrists into your hands, and guided him to the hem of your shirt, giving him the signal to do it.
He took his time with it–not from hesitation but from wanting to tease you back just a little. His knuckles brushed against your stomach as he gathered the worn fabric up, pausing briefly just beneath your ribs, looking up at you just to make sure you were still okay with this. You gave him a nod.
He peeled it up off you, slow and careful, taking in the way the shirt slowly revealed everything he wanted to see in short increments. Your ribs, the soft swell of your breasts, your collarbones, your shoulders, all the way up until he was able to take the shirt off entirely. He let it drop to the floor behind you.
Bob’s gaze dropped before he could stop it, letting his eyes roam over you like he was witnessing something holy–like he wouldn’t blink in case you suddenly vanished. His mouth parted for a moment as he audibly gulped. He was silent, his expression flickering between awe and hunger, tangling up in the open and stunned way he drank you in.
He was memorizing every inch of your skin. The gentle rise and fall of your chest, the soft curves and defined edges. Every freckle, birthmark, scar, or stretch of the skin, it was all there in his head, committed like it was a sacred text. You were completely unhidden, and you trustingly offered yourself to him with nothing but openness, and it was breathtaking to him.
“Jesus…” He said quietly, like your body was rewriting something inside him. He reached up and touched the soft skin of your stomach, the tips of his fingers tracing along your navel, before his eyes met yours again, revealing the beautiful haze of blue blurring together with the specks of orange that lived there. You brought your hand up to his face, caressing his cheek carefully, running your thumb just below his eye.
“You’re so beautiful…” You whispered, feeling Bob’s fingers curling beneath the waistband of your shorts.
“And you’re immaculate…” He responded, slowly tugging your shorts down, his eyes never leaving yours as he did it. He just wanted to look at you, to take you in, to hold you close until you didn’t want to be held by him anymore. He wanted you so bad he felt like he was going to explode, and the heat in the washroom wasn’t helping him control that. The shorts dropped around your ankles with a soft flutter, and you stepped out of them slowly, brushing your hand down to his jaw.
“I’ll meet you in the shower,” Your voice was low and soft like a promise. Then you turned, and walked behind the frosted glass, sliding the door shut in one swift movement. Steam swirled around you like a second skin as you stepped fully beneath the stream of water. It hit your scalp first, then your shoulders, pouring down your body in comforting waves. The warmth soaked into your tense muscles and melted along your spine, rinsing away the leftover ache of your fever and the lingering hum of restraint you’d been nursing for the last hour.
From beyond the frosted glass, you saw movement. Bob had gotten up and walked over to the alarm, clicking it off with a single beep–because what was a minute going to do for him. Then you heard the shuffle of bare feet on tile, followed by the soft rustling of clothes dropping. You could see his shadow moving, leaning down then straightening up again, seeing him step out of his sweatpants and his underwear before reaching for the handle.
He slid the door open and stepped into the steam. You could see him squinting at the change in scenery, until his eyes caught yours. Under the dimmed lighting that the shower had you looked ethereal, like a siren calling to him to come closer. You tilted your head at him.
”Remember, we gotta wash your hair out first.” Bob nodded silently, too stunned to speak or protest, and stepped closer to you until he was right against you, letting the water cascade down his body. You reached up without hesitation, brushing your fingers along the slope of his neck as you cupped his jaw gently, feeling the very faint stubble against your fingertips.
”Close your eyes,” You murmured, and he obeyed immediately, trusting you with all of him. You reached for the bottle of shampoo, flipping the cap open with a soft click. The scent was clean, crisp–something like cedar and citrus–and you poured a generous amount into your palm before lathering it between your fingers. He hunched forward slightly to help you because of the height difference, the muscles in his back bunching as he bent, his hands braced loosely on his thighs.
Your fingers found his scalp and began to move, slow and deliberate, massaging through the dye-stiffened strands with practiced ease. His breath hitched at the first touch–soft and barely audible over the rush of water–but he relaxed into you, the tension easing from his shoulders as you worked through his hair, your nails dragging along his scalp gently, sending shivers down his spine despite the warmth of the shower that was smothering him.
He tried to peek down at you through his lashes, but flinched the moment some suds landed on his brow. You caught the twitch of frustration in his mouth and grinned faintly to yourself.
”No peeking,” You teased, your voice low and sultry, “You’ll get soap in your eyes, and that’ll just prolong the process.” You added, with a smirk.
”I-I’m not peeking,” He muttered back, clearly lying.
But while he couldn’t see you, you saw everything.
Your eyes dropped as your fingers moved through his hair, and your gaze caught on the rest of him–completely, gloriously bare under the water’s fall. And it hit you like a weight to the chest.
He was hard. Completely, achingly hard.
It curved upward from between his thighs, thick and flushed and dripping from the spray. Your breath caught in your throat involuntarily. He was…Big. The kind of big that made your pulse thrum deep in your core, the kind that made something flutter behind your ribcage. The kind of big that made you a bit nervous. His thighs were braced, strong and trembling slightly as the water poured down over both of you, and yet he stayed still–eyes closed, waiting, unaware of just how deeply you were watching him.
You swallowed, trying not to stare too long–but your fingers slowed in his hair for just a beat before you lathered more shampoo and brought it back to the roots, working it all through. You focused on your task, rinsing gently, letting the water carry away the suds and the last traces of harsh dye. As the dark rivulets streamed down and swirled at your feet, the natural color beneath began to reveal itself.
The soft brown, the colour that belonged to him, and only him. Not the Sentry.
You smoothed your hands through the damp strands with a smile on your face, and you could feel him relax further at the calmness of your touch.
”There you are,” You whispered, more to yourself than to him, “Back to you…” You could see his brows lift slightly at your words, still not opening his eyes.
”…W-What does it look like?” He asked softly.
”Like it’s all you…It’s perfect Bob…” You responded, seeing his eyes slowly flutter open, the soft blue still burning with those beautiful flecks of orange from the Sentry. When they locked on yours, something in him snapped completely, and he blinked a few times, steadying himself against you.
”…Can I kiss you now?” He whispered, breath catching in his throat.
You nodded.
And the second you did, he surged forward, his hands finding your face like he’d been aching to hold you there for days. His palms were warm and a little shaky, fingers threading gently into the damp strands of your hair as he tilted your head just right. He kissed you like it was the only thing that would quiet the trembling in his chest–deep, and full of the kind of hunger that had nowhere else to go.
His lips parted against yours with a soft sigh, molding to your mouth like he already knew every shape of it. You responded in kind, letting your hands press flat to his chest before sliding up, feeling the slick heat of his skin, the steady thump of his heart beneath your palms. One hand drifted upward to cradle the back of his neck, the other anchoring at his side.
Bob shifted, pulling you flush against him, his hands sliding down to your waist, gripping gently as he tilted his head and deepened the kiss. There was nothing hesitant about it anymore–only quiet desperation, the need to be close, the need to feel you pressed against every inch of him. His thumbs rubbed slow, anchoring circles against your ribs as he kissed you over and over, his breath catching between each one like he couldn’t quite get enough.
You felt your knees wobble when he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, and he steadied you instantly, one hand sliding down to the back of your thigh, coaxing your leg to lift so he could hold you open against him.
You gasped softly into his mouth when he did it–because now you could feel all of him. His length, hot and heavy, brushing between your thighs. But he didn’t push it. He just held you there, breathing hard through his nose as his mouth broke from yours for a second, bumping his forehead with yours.
”I-I have to touch you…Can I p-please touch you?” His words vibrated against your chest, shaky from the kiss he had just pulled away from. Immediately you nodded, drunk off of the way he held you, the way he kissed you so desperately. You were his, and you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you.
He dropped his hand from your thigh, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he guided you back, each step careful, like he was afraid to rush a single second of this. The warm tile met your spine gently, as the steam curled around your shoulders–like it was dying to be part of the moment too. Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, the anticipation tugging at you like a puppet.
Bob’s hand, still curled gently around your hip, gave it one reassuring squeeze before sliding away. The loss of his hand made you let out a desperate sigh, wanting to feel him again. He looked down at you as he brought his fingers up to his lips, his tongue darting out of his mouth to coat the tips of them slowly, not for show, but for purpose. For you. His gaze never dropped from yours as he did it, and when his hand fell again between the both of you, he didn’t hesitate.
His knee eased your thighs apart gently, and then his fingers found your clit. The first contact made your knees buckle slightly, and he caught it, pressing in with his knee to steady you, his free hand braced against the wall beside your head. His touch was gentle at first–soft circles, slow and attentive. You gasped, head tipping back, exposing your throat without thinking.
That was all the invitation Bob needed.
He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the base of your neck, just where your collarbone met your shoulder. The kiss was wet and open-mouthed, like he needed to taste you and the saltiness of your skin. He breathed in like he could anchor himself in your scent. Another kiss, and another, working up the side of your neck as his fingers circled your clit with more confidence now, slick from the water and his spit, moving with practiced pressure.
”So…So soft,” He whispered into your skin, voice shaking, “So goddamn soft…” Your breath caught as his pace shifted. You could feel your body responding–arching into him, a wet heat building between your legs. You whimpered, and that sound nearly undid him. His teeth grazed your neck but didn’t bite, his lips returning to kiss it better as if he could soothe the tremble in your body.
Then his fingers dipped lower, and he felt it immediately.
You were soaked–slick, warm, and pulsing beneath his touch. His breath hitched at the sensation, at the way your body welcomed him without hesitation. And when he eased two fingers inside of you ever so slowly you gasped, arching into his hand like your body had been waiting for that very moment.
“F-fuck,” You breathed, the word slipping out as your nails found purchase in his shoulders. You clawed at him instinctively, dragging across the muscle there, needing something to anchor you while he pushed them in deeper. He didn’t flinch at the scratch–he moaned. A soft, broken sound that came from the back of his throat like he liked the way it felt, like it made him feel wanted in the most primal sense.
His forehead dropped against your shoulder, his mouth kissing along your collarbone with a tenderness that contrasted the stretch of his fingers inside you. He mouthed at the skin there–kissed it, licked it, sucked until it was sensitive and bruised. He pulled back looking at the little love bites, each one tinged with hunger. Bob wasn’t the possessive type but there was this ache in his chest to mark you as his, and even if the water washed it away, he wanted to be sure he left something on your skin.
“Y-You feel so warm…” He said, his voice fraying at the edges. His fingers curled gently inside you, causing your knees to buckle again. Your body shuddered as the pads of his fingers dragged against that spot inside of you that made your entire frame light up. Bob’s hand moved to your hip, keeping you steady as his other hand worked in smooth, slow thrusts, each one more confident than the last. He found a rhythm, watching you, studying every moan and gasp like it was gospel.
And when you whimpered his name, when your body clenched around him so tight he had to grit his teeth, he gave a quiet, shaky laugh–utterly wrecked by how responsive you were.
“You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?” he asked, lips brushing your ear, breath heavy and hot. “I can feel it…God, I can feel you squeezing me…”
You nodded, unable to form a word, your nails biting into his shoulders again as your hips rocked against his hand.
Bob adjusted his angle, changing the pressure, and that’s when you saw stars.
Your head dropped forward, forehead against his collarbone, the air thick with steam and the sharp scent of him—clean, masculine, tinged with desperation. His fingers moved faster, wetter, the slick sounds between your legs obscene and perfect, echoing between the tiles. He was muttering praise now—soft, reverent things that fell from his lips like prayers.
“Just like that, baby—so good for me… You’re doing so good—feels like heaven—fuck, I want to see you fall apart…”
You felt it hit like a wave rolling up your spine.
A tight, burning coil of pleasure twisted inside you and then snapped. You gasped—loud, broken, as the climax ripped through you. You trembled, back arching hard into him as your thighs clenched and a rush of wetness gushed out around his fingers.
Bob stilled for a second in awe.
“…Oh my God,” He breathed, stunned, his eyes wide as he held you through it. You collapsed into him, breath heaving, skin flushed and shining under the steam. He kept his fingers buried inside you, not moving, just holding you close, letting you ride it out as you trembled against his chest.
He looked down between you both, seeing the slick mess on his hand, the way your body had responded so violently to him–and his mouth dropped open slightly. Not because of shock, but because of wonder and awe.
”You…You did so good.” He praised, his voice barely holding together under the weight of what he just experienced with you. His lips brushed your temple first, then your cheek, before finally reaching your mouth.
The kiss wasn’t hungry nor urgent, it was adoration in its purest form. His lips moved like they were tasting something he’d only ever imagined–careful and soft, like he was trying not to overwhelm you. He trembled against you, being crushed from everything unspoken between you. His hand was still between your thighs, cradling you like something precious, and you could feel how hard he was, pressed just barely against you, restrained only by the shivering line of self-control that hadn’t yet broken.
When he finally, carefully, slipped his fingers out of you, you let out the tiniest gasp from the absence–but before he could fully draw away, you grabbed his wrist.
He was still in his movements.
Your eyes met his, holding steady as you lifted his hand–and then you took his soaked fingers into your mouth.
Bob made a sound that almost didn’t make it out of him–a soft, wrecked sigh that died at the back of his throat. His lips parted slightly, eyes darkening as he watched you suck him clean, your mouth warm and wet, tongue dragging along the pads of his fingers slowly, like you were claiming every last drop of yourself from his skin.
He could barely breathe.
You kept eye contact the whole time. It wasn’t a power play–it was intimacy. Connection. And it unraveled him.
Once you were done, you let his fingers slip from your mouth with a soft pop, and he dragged them–slow and reverent–down your chin. Then your throat. The hollow of your chest. His fingertips were wet with saliva, and he trailed it down like he was painting you–smearing it across your sternum, over your ribs, and finally down to your hips.
“Y/N…You’re so…So perfect,” He whispered, in disbelief, shaking his head as his hands ran down your waist, going straight to your thighs, before lifting you effortlessly. You let out a soft breath as your legs bracketed around his hips instinctively, your arms wrapping around his shoulders for balance.
He pressed a gentle kiss to the middle of your chest, and his voice came out barely above the noise of the shower
”Do you want to…Still have sex with me?” You looked down at him, caressing the side of his neck.
”Of course I do,” You responded instantly.
Your lips found his right after–soft and sure. You kissed him with everything you had, as if answering his question with your entire body. His breath caught, his hands clutching at your thighs with a startled need, grounding himself in the reality that you weren’t going to vanish, that you really did want this–want him.
As the kiss deepened, you felt one of his hands slowly slide down your thigh, tickling the skin, but this time there was a purpose in his touch. He shifted beneath you slightly, and then you felt it–the soft brush of his tip against you. Hot. Heavy. And trembling in his grasp.
You broke the kiss for just a breath, resting your forehead against his, your eyes fluttering shut as he lined himself up. His hand shook slightly, like he couldn’t believe this was happening. Like he was terrified of getting it wrong. But he didn’t rush. And neither did you.
“I want you,” You said, your breath warm against his mouth. “All of you.” Bob let out a wrecked whimper from his mouth, before kissing you once more.
Then slowly he began to push in, moving his hips gently.
Your mouth parted in a silent gasp, your eyes flying open as your body stretched to take him. It was so much–thick and deep and slow. He paused when he was just a couple inches in, his forehead still pressed to yours, panting.
“Is that okay?” He asked, voice cracking. “I—I can stop if it’s too much…”
You shook your head immediately, curling your fingers into his shoulders, drawing him closer.
“No. Please don’t stop.”
Bob exhaled a breath that shook all the way down to his spine, then kissed you again–slow, sweet–before sinking deeper inside.
You both moaned at the same time, and your tongues met in between the space your mouths made.
It was like he was imprinting himself into every inch of you. His hands gripped your hips with the kind of gentleness that made your chest ache, guiding your body until he was fully seated inside you, hips pressed flush against yours.
“Oh…God.” He whispered, eyes squeezed shut, trembling as he held still. “You’re so…So perfect… I can’t–God–”
You kissed his jaw, whispering against the sensitive skin just beneath his ear. “You’re okay, Bob. You’re doing so good…”
He began to move–shallow at first, rocking his hips into you in slow, reverent strokes. Each one pulled a quiet gasp from your lips. The water cascaded around you both, steam curling at your shoulders as you clung to him, your body humming in time with his.
He found a slow and steady rhythm, thrusting as deep as possible with each movement of his hips.
He kissed you everywhere he could reach–your cheek, your mouth, your jaw, the slope of your shoulder and his praise was neverending. Whispered fragments between kisses and gasps.
“You’re so beautiful…”
“You feel so good around me…”
“I want to make you feel everything…”
Your hands were tangled in his hair, your body arching to meet every thrust, until your forehead was pressed to his again and your breaths mingled in the tight space between you. Each slow movement of his hips sent sparks crawling up your spine and you rocked against him, chasing every moment, trying to keep it from ending too soon.
Bob looked completely undone in front of you though. His mouth open, cheeks flushed, hands gripping your waist like you were his lifeline.
Then his thrusts started to falter.
You felt it in the way he gasped–sharp and helpless–the way his hold on you tightened and his voice pitched higher.
“I—Y/N, I—oh God, I’m—”
You kissed him, hard, your voice hot against his mouth. “It’s okay. Let go. I’ve got you.”
He came with a broken gasp.
The lights flickered.
Just once–flicker, flicker, black–and then back on again. The overhead bulb buzzed faintly, a hum that matched the pulse of his release as his hips jerked forward, holding deep inside you while his whole body tensed. You could feel the warmth filling you in thick ropes, his body instinctively pushing up into you as if he was trying to keep it from spilling out.
And then he went still.
Completely, and utterly still.
He stayed buried in you, face tucked into the crook of your neck, breath hot and ragged as the water pounded softly over your bodies. You felt the way he trembled, felt the heat of his skin and the wild thud of his heart against yours.
He didn’t move for a long time, he just stayed there, clutching you like you were the one thing that was bringing him down slowly.
And then you felt it–the slow exhale against your neck, the soft tremor that followed. His voice came out low, cracked with embarrassment.
“I-I’m sorry,” he whispered, still breathless. “That was so fast. I didn’t mean to-God, I just couldn’t hold it…”
You pulled back, just enough to see his face, his brows drawn together with worry, his mouth still parted from the weight of what just passed between you. And yet, even flushed and wrecked, he looked beautiful. Lit up from the inside out, like he still couldn’t believe any of this was real.
You shook your head gently and brought your hand up to brush a damp lock of hair off his forehead, tucking it behind his ear with the same tenderness he gave you. “You didn’t finish too fast, Bob.”
He blinked, lips parting like he didn’t believe you.
You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then whispered against his skin, “You were perfect. I loved every second of it…Because it was with you.” His features softened at your word, that shy smile blooming across his lips, one you felt in your ribs. You saw the glow of it before you felt his body move. He kissed you again, this time gentler, slower–like he wanted to say thank you with his whole mouth.
Then, carefully, he pulled out of you. You both shivered a bit at the sensitivity, and you caught the way his brows knit together, like he didn’t want to stop touching you. But your body welcomed the shift, and your legs dropped from his hips as the moment passed, leaving behind only warmth and steam.
He reached for you instinctively, his hands skimming your waist like he was still trying to keep you close, like he couldn’t quite accept that you were separate again. You smiled at him, brushing your fingers along his jaw, watching the way he leaned into the contact, like it was his oxygen.
”You really like touching me, huh?” You teased lightly, watching his cheeks turn a deeper red, the corners of his mouth curling up shyly.
”…Yeah…I really do.” He admitted. You let out a soft laugh, then looked toward the water still streaming from the showerhead behind him.
“As much as I’d love to stay in here and get all wrinkly,” You said, thumb brushing the hollow of his cheek, “If we don’t rinse off soon, the compound’s water bill is gonna bankrupt Valentina.” Bob let out a breathy laugh, head dropping against your shoulder for a second.
“I guess you’re right, but once we get cleaned up…I want to just lay on the couch with you and hold you for a little while…If that’s okay?” You nodded.
”Of course it’s okay.” You replied, guiding him under the steady stream of water. You each took turns, helping the other wash up. He was gentle when he touched your body as if you hadn’t just taken him completely inside you minutes ago, and he ran his hands over the marks he had made on you, smiling proudly at his work. You matched his care, running soapy fingers down his spine, over his shoulders, through the strands of his newly darkened hair, rinsing the last of the evidence down the drain.
And when the water finally cooled, you stepped out first, digging around the towel closet for a spare. Bob followed right after, grabbing the one that he usually used, with steam rolling off his shoulders, making the air thick and warm as he wrapped the towel around his waist, pausing by the foggy mirror, wiping it off with his hand.
You watched from the side, pulling your towel around you gently, as he lifted his gaze slowly–like he wasn’t sure what would be staring back at him. When he caught his own reflection, something shifted in his expression.
A smile. One of relief. Like a weight had been lifted off his chest.
You stepped behind him, and gently kissed his shoulder, looking at the small little scratch marks you had left on him.
He turned toward you slightly, reached out, and pressed a soft, grateful kiss to your lips–barely more than a breath, but brimming with emotion.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
You smiled into him, nose brushing his. “Don’t thank me yet,” You whispered. “I hope you don’t get the flu from all of this.”
He laughed, his eyes shining as he bumped his forehead against yours.
“If I do,” He said, “It’ll be worth every damn minute.”
bucky calls you, his loyal assistant, in the middle of the night, asking for your help. he’s got four assassins with him and they need a place to hide. you’re too in love with him to say no. SPOILER WARNING!! plot spoilers for thunderbolts
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note: disclaimer guys I totally made some stuff up to make the scenario make sense lol hope u can forgive me
thunderbolts!bucky x fem!reader, fluff, kissing, one bed trope kinda, 4k words
You wake to the shrill sound of your phone ringing. At first you think it’s your morning alarm, and wonder why it feels like you’ve only been asleep a few hours. It takes blinking yourself awake to realise it’s still dark out, the street outside your apartment dead quiet. Your phone continues to ring, piercing through the quiet of the night, the screen lit up and flooding the corner of your room in white. You groan. Who on earth is calling you in the middle of the night?
You sit up dizzily and grab for your phone. You stare blankly at the bright white screen, blinking hard until your eyes adjust and you can see the name that pops up.
Bucky Barnes.
You blink at your phone. Your boss? Well, he’s not really your boss, but you are his assistant, and you’re not really sure whether you’re friends or something else entirely, so he might as well be.
You hit the answer button.
“Bucky?” You’ve long passed the stage of calling him Congressman Barnes. Besides, any ounce of professionalism left between the two of you has probably now turned to dust, given the ungodly hour of his call.
“Hey.” He sounds tired, his voice strained. “Hey, I’m so sorry, doll, I know it’s late.”
No kidding. You ignore the fact that he’s called you doll, ‘cos if you think about it too long you’ll be here all night. ”What’s the matter?” You ask. “It’s one in the morning, Bucky.”
“I know, I’m sorry, but it’s urgent. I need your help.”
His words make you sit up straighter. Bucky’s been, for lack of better words, distracted lately. On edge, like he’s been waiting for something to happen. He’s been continuously disappearing at important events, and he keeps taking mysterious calls in hushed tones. You hope this has got nothing to do with the call he got from Valentina’s assistant (Mel, you think her name is) last night. He only told you about it because he’d wanted you to cover for him today while he “took care of something,” in his own, ominous words. He’s been MIA all day and you haven’t heard from him until now.
Somehow, you think this has got everything to do with the call from Mel.
“Are you okay?” You ask on instinct.
“I’m okay, yeah, I’m fine,” he says, brushing you off. “We, uh.. we just need somewhere to hole up for the night.”
Your brain ticks. “Hold on, we?”
You can almost hear him wince on the other end of the line. As if on cue, you pick up some muffled voices in the background. A man’s rough voice followed by a woman’s smoother one — and is that a Russian accent? What has he gotten himself into?
“There's, uh, five of us,” Bucky says, like that makes it any better.
There’s a long beat of silence. You sit in the dark, still half foggy with sleep, waiting for your brain to catch up with what he’s telling you. He … wants to bring strangers to your place? To what, hide? From who? You’re dumbfounded.
“I— what?” Is all you can manage.
There’s another short silence, and then Bucky must realise how ridiculous he sounds, because he starts to backtrack. “I’m sorry,” he says suddenly. “I shouldn’t have called, I’ll just—“
“No, wait,” you interrupt before you can stop yourself. For reasons unbeknownst to you, you find yourself wanting to help. You trust him, and know he’d never do anything to hurt you. Whoever these people are who’re with him must really need your help. And who else can he call, anyway? “It’s alright, I can help. Come over, okay? How far away are you?”
Twenty minutes, as it turns out. You spend the time making your apartment and yourself look somewhat presentable, less for your visitors’ sake than your own, and because it’s Bucky.
Bucky, who’s been to your apartment three times now. Once when he got you flowers for your birthday. Another time when you’d mixed up your laptops, and accidentally come home from the office with his instead of yours in your work bag. (He’d come round to pick it up and you’d cleaned the whole place, even though he only stood in the doorway for five minutes.) And the most recent time, when you’d gotten too drunk at the bar after work, and Bucky had walked you home, deposited you in your bed, and locked the door behind him. You don’t remember most of it, but you do remember feeling so so in love with him it made you feel sick. Or maybe that was the whiskey. You doubt it.
You’re tossing the trash from your takeout dinner in the bin, and trying not to think about how you felt that night, when there’s a knock on the door. Your phone dings on the counter, a text from Bucky.
It’s me.
You laugh to yourself. He can be so accidentally ominous sometimes. You cross the living room to the door and open it.
Five people stand behind it, all in varying states of disarray. Bucky’s at the front, probably the least beat up looking, though his jacket seems to be torn in some places. Two women (girls? They don’t look very much older than you), one with a blunt blonde bob, and one brunette with pretty eyes, both looking a bit worse for wear. One very tall, older man in a red getup that makes him look like Santa Claus - it’s absurd, but somehow you feel even more absurd in your plaid pajama pants. And bringing up the rear is… John Walker?
“Um, hi?” You say to the group at large. When Bucky said we, you didn’t expect John Walker, of all people, to show up. You try not to stare. “What can I do for you?”
The blonde girl opens her mouth, looking amused, but Bucky beats her to it. “Funny,” he says bluntly. Then, softer, “Can we come in?”
You share a look. Bucky has a very intense default gaze, but it seems to soften whenever he looks at you. And right now, he’s looking at you like I’m tired, I need help, just let us in please and I’ll explain.
You step back with little objection. Something about the way he seems to say trust me with just one look — it gets you every time. If he was a serial killer, you’d surely be dead by now.
“Alright,” you say. “Wipe your shoes, please.”
Everyone files into your living room. It’s not a huge space but it’s enough. Walker closes the door behind them. No one sits down.
“Who is this, again?” The brunette girl asks Bucky, breaking the silence. You assume she means you.
“We work together. She’s my assistant,” Bucky explains, throwing you an apologetic, somewhat strained, look. “Y/N.”
“Hello,” you say awkwardly.
They all just stare at you. You know what they’re thinking. Why on earth would Bucky, former winter soldier, avenger, and now congressman, bring them to his assistant’s place in the middle of the night as if it was a safe house? You’re asking yourself the exact same thing.
“Y/N, this is Ava, Yelena, Alexei, and John.” Bucky names them off, pointing them out to you as he does. “They— I mean, we just need a place to stay until morning.”
“Remind me again why we couldn’t just go to yours?” Walker pipes up, addressing Bucky. You hate to agree, but you were just about to ask the same question.
“Valentina’s watching my place,” Bucky explains. “She knows by now that I’ve got you guys with me, she’ll have her people on us in no time if we go to mine.”
This only confuses you further. Valentina is … watching his house? This is not what you signed up for when you applied for a job as an assistant — it seems both you and Bucky are in over your heads. Though maybe you should’ve expected it, Bucky being a former Avenger and all.
The others seem to understand Bucky’s explanation far better than you do, and they all look to you expectantly.
You look at the group of strangers, then at Bucky, then back at the strangers. They’re all standing there rather awkwardly. At their best, they’d probably be the toughest looking group you’ve ever seen, but right now they look dead beat, covered in bruises, dark bags under their eyes, and you suddenly feel very sorry for them.
“I— yeah, okay,” you say. They’re already in your living room, already know where you live, what’s it matter now? “You can stay for the night. Make yourselves at home, guys. There’s water in the fridge and the bathroom is down the hall to the left.”
The brunette — Ava, Bucky called her — gives you a tight smile. “Thanks,” she says, and collapses on your sofa.
The others follow suit, though Walker stays standing with his arms crossed.
Pleasantries over, you grab Bucky’s arm and tug him down the hallway. He follows willingly, though you don’t give him much choice. You end up in your bedroom, where you corner him.
“Bucky, what’s going on?” You whisper harshly. “Who are those people? Why would Valentina be watching your place? And why is John Walker here?”
You’re so busy bombarding him with questions that you don’t notice the way he’s holding his arm, not until you’ve finished speaking. Your eyes drop to his forearm. The fabric of his jacket has been slashed open, and there’s blood all over the sleeve.
“Oh,” you say stupidly, then even more so, “Bucky, you’re bleeding.”
Bucky grimaces. “I know, doll.”
You grab his arm, forgoing politeness, and hold it up to your face.
“It’s looks bad,” you say, forgetting you’re not supposed to care about him as much as you do.
You look up and find your face inches from his, his arm clutched between you. You suddenly feel very hot.
“Let’s, um,” you flounder for a few seconds, flustered not only by everything that’s happened in the last half hour but also his closeness, and the look on his face. “I have a first aid kit in the bathroom, I think. Come on.”
You guide him out of your room and across the hallway into the bathroom. You forget to ask why he’s bought a hoard of what look like trained assassins into your home, and force him to sit on the lip of the bathtub, pushing him down by the shoulders. He scrapes hair out of his face with his metal arm and looks up at you where you’re rummaging through the cupboard above the sink.
“Y/N, I’m—“
“Don’t say you’re fine,” you interrupt. He shuts his mouth and you go on, “Are any of your friends hurt?”
Bucky pulls a face. “They’re not really my friends,” he says. “And no, none of them are hurt, they’re just tired.”
You nod, accepting his answer for the meanwhile, even though it only opens up about a million more questions. A moment later you finally find what you’re looking for, a red and white first aid kit tucked away at the back of the cupboard, collecting dust.
You move to stand in front of Bucky, opening up the kit and setting it on the toilet lid.
“Show me?” You stick your hand out for his wounded arm and he gives it to you with no objection.
You hold his wrist and carefully push his sleeve up over the wound, revealing a harsh cut across the length of his forearm. On closer inspection, it’s not horribly deep, the blood only makes it look that way.
Still, you frown. “How did you manage this?” You ask him.
Bucky looks for a second like he’s reliving whatever happened to cause such an injury. He searches for the words, then, “I sort of flipped a truck?” he says. “Long story.”
Flipped a truck? Whose truck? You raise your eyebrows at him but ultimately decide it's fruitless to keep asking questions, at least until he decides to explain what’s going on.
“Right… I’m gonna clean it, okay?” You drop his arm to pull out a bottle of rubbing alcohol from the first aid kit, unscrewing the lid and dabbing the liquid onto a cotton pad. “It might hurt.”
Bucky looks like he’s trying not to roll his eyes. “I’m tough, doll.”
You clean his wound as best you can. You only sort of know what you’re doing, a half remembered first aid course you took in college sitting at the back of your mind, but Bucky doesn’t protest. Actually, he doesn’t make a sound at all, just watches you with those dark eyes. It makes you nervous, like he’s looking right through you and reading all your inner thoughts. The worst part is, he’s always looking at you like this, like he can read your mind, to the point where you’re pretty sure he knows all your secrets. Like how you’re desperately in love with him and have no idea what to do about it.
You continue your work, quiet. The silence is heavy, a sort of unspoken feeling floating between the two of you like a white hot star. You want to reach out and grab it, see if Bucky will follow, but you keep your mouth shut.
You’re unraveling a roll of bandage to wrap his arm when you finally speak. “So, are you gonna tell me why you brought a bunch of assassins into my home In the dead of the night?” You laugh at your own joke, but the look on Bucky’s face stops you short. “They’re… they’re not assassins, are they?”
Bucky purses his lips. “Well, you’re not very far off…”
He launches into an explanation, finally. First, of what Valentina’s really been up to. Project Sentry — putting a gold ribbon and a promise of a better life on a special super serum, and testing it on the most vulnerable subjects she could find. Then, how she rushed to eliminate all proof of the project, including the four people in your living room (who turn out to actually be trained assassins, though Bucky promises none of them will hurt you), and Bob, one of the test subjects.
Then he tells you about how he tracked Mel’s phone to a site in the middle of nowhere, where he found Yelena, Ava, John and Alexei in a “predicament,” and “saved their asses,” as he puts it. He spares you the details, but it's how he sliced his arm open, and why they’re now retreating to yours to regain their strength before going after Bob. Bob, who’s vulnerable but much stronger than he probably knows, and who Valentina now has in her clutches.
By the time he’s done explaining, you’ve realised how much bigger this is than just you and Bucky. For days this has all been happening without your knowledge and Bucky has been dealing with it all. You’re not annoyed, you get why he didn’t tell you. Still, you wish he’d asked for your help earlier.
“So, you’re going after Bob?” You ask, carefully tucking in the end of the bandage. You spent half of his explanation just staring at him, hardly believing what he was saying, and the other half wrapping his arm, trying to believe what he was saying, no matter how ludicrous it sounded.
Bucky nods. “I guess so. He could be dangerous in Valentina’s hands, you know?”
You nod back. “Yeah, I get it. Won’t it be dangerous, though? Going after him?
You say it before you’ve thought about it. You realise right after that it makes you sound like you care far too much about the man sitting in front of you, who’s really just the guy you file documents for. You don’t owe him anything.
Bucky smiles. “Don’t worry, doll. We’ve got four assassins on our side, five if you count me.”
You frown. “You’re not an assassin.”
You don’t care what he’s done in the past, you can’t see him as anything else but lovely. He’s brave, kind, and so thoughtful it aches.
Still, Bucky shrugs. “Used to be.”
You pack up the first aid kit and put it away. Bucky watches you, his gaze like a burning fire on the back of your head. When you’re done cleaning up, he stands up and crosses the room, meeting you by the sink.
“Thank you,” he says, earnest though his voice is rough from exhaustion. “You make a good nurse.”
For some odd reason, butterflies erupt in your gut at his words. You look up at him. He’s very close now, only a step or two away from being chest to chest. You manage a grin.
“That’s me,” you say, faux casual. “Best nurse and assistant you’ve ever had, huh?”
You might be imagining it, but you’re pretty sure Bucky’s eyes flicker to your lips. He’s distracted as he murmurs, “Uh huh.”
A beat of silence, and then Bucky takes a step closer. Your chest burns. He raises his vibranium arm, and you watch as his silver fingers close around your forearm. You can’t feel it through your sweater, but you can imagine how smooth the metal would feel on your skin.
“Bucky,” you whisper.
“Mm,” he hums back. He’s definitely looking at your lips now, and moving closer by the second. “What, doll?”
You blink rapidly. He’s so close now you can smell him, sweat and dust but underneath that something heady, a bergamot cologne you’ve smelled on him before.
“I— what are you doing?” You whisper, starting to panic.
Bucky looks at you, this intense look of yearning in his eyes, like he’s being pulled towards you and can’t stop, and you almost melt into the bathroom tiles.
“I want to kiss you,” he murmurs, so quiet it’d be impossible to hear him if he weren’t this close. “Can I?”
You sort of guessed as much, but to hear the words coming from his mouth is something else entirely. You find yourself nodding. You don't know why. Well, actually, you know exactly why. You like him a lot, and you’ve imagined this moment a million times over in your head, though in your imaginations he certainly wasn’t bleeding out in your tiny bathroom.
“Okay,” you manage, heartbeat turning frantic.
You see a flash of his smile before he’s pulling you gently forwards by the wrist and then kissing you. It’s chaste, gentle, but you can almost feel him holding back, his grip on your wrist tightening as he moves closer still, almost like he can’t help himself. The pressure of his kissing pushes you backwards a half inch — your back hits the edge of the sink and you don't care, you really don’t, because Bucky is kissing you and his thumb is rubbing a rough circle into your inner forearm, and his lips are so warm they leave yours buzzing.
Too soon, Bucky pulls away.
You blink at him. He’s still agonisingly close to your face, and still looking at you like he wants to eat you. Your heart’s a riot, worse when he reaches up with his freshly bandaged arm and tucks a rogue piece of hair behind your ear.
His hand lingers at your jaw.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. His hand is warm. His fingers are calloused and rough, but he touches you like you’re made of starlight. “Is it okay that I did that?”
You nod. “Yes,” you manage. Even to your own ears, you sound breathless as anything, but you’re so dizzy that there’s no space to be embarrassed about it. “I— yeah.”
Bucky smiles, but it’s not smug. If anything, it’s achingly fond. “I’m sorry I called. I shouldn’t have roped you into this. I just … didn’t have anyone else I could call.”
You shake your head. You won’t say it, but right now you’re infinitely glad he called. Even in the dead of the night. “It’s okay.”
Bucky strokes your jaw with his thumb, slow and intentional. “No one will hurt you while I’m here, okay? And we’ll be out of here before you even wake up, I promise.”
You nod around his hand. It’s hard to digest anything he’s saying while he’s touching you like this, and looking at you like that. You think you get the gist, though.
“Okay,” you say. You desperately want to kiss him again, but you’re much too shy to ask. Before you can work up the guts, he’s moving away.
“I think you should get back to bed,” he tugs his phone from his jacket pocket and checks the time. “It’s past two.”
“Right,” you nod, not wanting to, but you’re too dizzy and too tired to protest.
You and Bucky leave the bathroom together. You follow him still half in a daze, not understanding how he can be so nonchalant when you literally feel lightheaded as a direct result of the kiss. You suppose he’s just better at hiding it, or maybe you’re just very sick in love.
You and Bucky step into the living room to find probably the most absurd scene to ever grace your living space. Yelena and Ava, both knocked out on the couch, Ava’s head on Yelena’s shoulder, drool falling from the blonde’s open mouth. Alexei sprawled out on the floor in front of the TV, snoring like a bear. And Walker sitting at your kitchen table, bent in half with his forehead resting on his crossed arms, fast asleep.
Both you and Bucky seem to realise at the exact same time that there’s nowhere other than a much too small chunk of floor for him to sleep. You turn to each other.
“Do you want to—?” You start.
“I can sleep in the—“ he says at the same time.
You both pause.
“Sleep in the what?” You ask him, incredulous.
Bucky grimaces. “The car?” He at least has the decency to look guilty as he says it.
You roll your eyes. “You’re absurd. Come on, you can sleep in my room.”
It’s ridiculous, you know, but the words leave your mouth before you think about it. The truth is, you’re both dead tired and you’ve got no other option. Besides, you don't see how this night could get any more ludicrous. What’s it matter if Bucky sleeps in your room? He’s just kissed you, hasn’t he?
You start to pull him towards your bedroom, but he stays put.
“Y/N—“
“You said you wouldn’t let any of them hurt me,” you say firmly. “How’re you gonna do that from the car?”
Bucky opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again.
“I… don't know,” he mumbles lamely. Then, at your I told you so look, “Are you sure?”
You resist the urge to roll your eyes. He’s too gentlemanly for his own good. “Yes, I’m sure. Come on.”
You pull him towards your bedroom, much too tired now to be flustered about it. In the dark of your room, Bucky insists on sleeping on the floor. You let him, because he’s stubborn, and because you think if he were to sleep in your bed, no matter the distance you know he’d put between you, you’d be much too consumed with nervous energy to even shut your eyes, let alone sleep.
It’s half past two when you finally crawl back into bed, Bucky lying on a stack of pillows on the floor at the foot of your bed. Though you can't see him, you feel his presence like a weight over your chest.
You settle down on your pillows, already feeling the tug of sleep behind your eyes. Before you can fully succumb, Bucky speaks up.
“Y/N?” He sounds just as tired as you, but you can't ignore the way he says your name like it's something special.
“Yeah?” You hum back.
“Thank you,” he says earnestly. You suppose he’s thanking you for everything from housing a bunch of strangers, to letting him kiss you. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
A pause in which you think about how to respond. Then,
“With a pay raise?” You joke weakly.
Bucky sighs loudly, but the smile in his voice is evident when he murmurs back, “Whatever you want, doll.”
You grin to yourself. Now that’s something you can fall asleep to.
-
thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed 🤍
description: in which you allow the darkness to consume you
pairing: void x f!reader
w/c: 3,865
warnings: 18+ only, unprotected sex, kind of ritualistic, dom/sub themes, light choking, begging, multiple orgasms, squirting, creampie, references to ethel cain's ptolemaea if you squint. i took some creative liberties here. you don't need to have watched thunderbolts to read this!
He was there, in the shadows.
You could feel him. A presence that was akin to the sea tide, ebbing to and fro, swelling and shrinking, but still vast and incredibly powerful.
When had you become aware of his presence? You weren’t entirely sure. All you knew was that you had opened your eyes in the middle of the night—at the witching hour; three o’clock in the morning—and he was there. Lurking. Waiting. Watching.
The bedroom was cold, and the air smelled faintly of smoke. Curling around you. Threatening to lick at your skin and swallow you whole. Although the darkness was oppressive, you weren’t afraid.
You’d been waiting for him.
He knew it, too. Traveling across the room with ease, his feet barely touching the floor, he stood at the end of your bed, towering over you. “What an interesting turn of events,” his voice filled your mind, echoing throughout the room before it settled back into his dark form. “The little human wants me here.”
You jutted your chin out slightly, staring directly at him. You could just barely make out his eyes in the darkness. An eerie glimmer beneath the shroud of shadow. “It took you long enough,” you replied, surprising yourself with your quick, sharp wit. Perhaps he was bringing an edge out of you. Inciting a combative spirit within you.
“Impatient,” he admonished. Watching you for a moment, he tilted his head, almost curiously. “You aren’t afraid.”
“I’ve never been scared of the dark.”
He rounded the corner of the bed, closing in on you like a cat preparing to pounce on its unassuming prey. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking for?” Wasting no time, he cut to the chase. He was completely aware of why you wanted him here tonight. Why you’d been waiting in the dark.
“Yes. I know exactly what I’m asking for.”
In the gloom, his face shifted into what appeared to be a knowing smile. It should have filled you with trepidation. Instead, it sent a ripple of burning want through you.
His hand moved, fingers splayed wide as he let it pass over you. He wasn’t touching you, his shadow was merely hovering. Yet somehow, you felt him. A radiation of raw power and darkness, leaving goosebumps prickling along your skin.
You leaned back against the mattress, legs involuntarily parting. His hand stopped there, and you felt it then. The desire deep within your core intensified, deepening and spreading until you began to squirm.
“Poor little lamb. So lost. So desperate for someone to take care of you.”
You gasped as he sat upon the edge of the bed, inches from you. He was fully touching you now, hand settled between your thighs, the only thing separating your skin from his being the thin cotton sleep shorts you wore.
“Say it.”
The command reverberated through your mind, and you jolted slightly, mouth moving of its own accord. “I want you to take care of me.” There was no room for doubt in your tone. It was confident. Sure.
A chill crept through your body, and you watched in shock as your pajamas began to dissolve in shadow, until they were gone entirely, leaving you bare to him. To the void. “Oh, but that’s the innocent way of saying it. And you’re far from innocent, aren’t you, little one?”
His fingers brushed over your temple, and you gasped sharply as a vision of being filled by him flashed through your mind. “Tell me you want me to own you.”
“I want you to own me.” A chill passed through you, just before his body was pressed against yours, cool to the touch.
“Yes,” he cooed, “give in to it.” His mouth was on yours, and you parted your lips, eager, wanting, welcoming. “Give in to that animal desire in that wicked little mind of yours.”
He was bare, you could feel him. Firm planes of muscle, sharp edges of bone, solid yet light as air, permanent yet ephemeral. His hands parted your thighs, ghosting down soft, sensitive flesh. An overwhelming swell of desire pulsed through the deepest part of you, and you realized he could control it. His hand hovered over you again, where you needed him most, and the arousal grew tenfold.
Your brain seemed to give way to white noise as the warmth of your desire began to travel from the top of your head to the soles of your feet. You knew, then, that he possessed all the power in this moment. A realization passed over you. He could bring you to unfathomable heights of pleasure without even touching you.
But you wanted him to touch you. You wanted him inside you. Consuming you. Swallowing you whole. And he knew that.
When his hands passed over your chest, fingers swirling over hardening nipples, you whimpered, mouth falling open, back arching. That barest hint of stimulation sent an electric current through your body. It was almost as if you could feel his satisfied smirk.
“So responsive.” He turned your face toward his, lips against yours again, tongue sliding into your mouth. Tasting you. Possessing you.
You found yourself reaching for him, hands skittering over his shoulders, legs hooking around his waist. Pulling him closer. You had dreamed about this. Conjured it up in the deepest recesses of your mind, often while your hand was between your thighs, fingers pressed into your slick. The shadow of a man, having his way with you.
“I can see them, you know,” he spoke again. “Your thoughts. Your darkest desires. And I’m in every single one of them.” His fingers came to rest upon your forehead, and your vision was clouded with the very scene that had taken place before you fell asleep.
Fingers buried deep inside your own cunt, writhing against the bed, moaning pathetically, whorishly, into the silence of your bedroom. You’d been imagining him while you did it. But your fingers couldn’t satisfy you. They weren’t long enough. Thick enough. Deep enough.
“Tell me, little one.” The vision faded again, and you returned to the present. “Can you pleasure yourself as well as I can pleasure you?”
You already knew you couldn’t. “I can’t!” you exclaimed.
“No, of course you can’t.” His fingers were there, where yours had been in the vision he’d shown you. Trailing through your sticky wetness, gathering it on his fingertips before he brushed them over your poor, aching clit. “You could never pleasure yourself as well as a god can.”
A mind-bending heat washed over you. You suddenly felt like a live wire, snapping and crackling, sizzling and popping, and he’d barely even touched you. In the shadows, his mouth parted to reveal a toothy, Cheshire cat grin.
You were Alice, seconds away from falling into a dark rabbit hole. And yet, you felt no fear. Only anticipation. If he handed you a bottle labeled ‘Drink Me’, you would gulp it down without hesitation, consequences be damned.
The intensity grew, and you found yourself arching off the bed once again, fingers curling into the sheets for purchase, body taut like the string of a bow. You knew that all it would take was a snap of his fingers, a flick of his hand, and you would fall apart. Knowing he held such raw power made your head spin.
“Oh my god, please!” You cried out, unsure of what you were asking for.
His free hand came to settle around your throat, squeezing only slightly, not using his full and infinite strength. “You learn quickly. That’s right. I am your god, aren’t I, lamb?”
There was that Cheshire smile again before he ducked forward, face against your neck. When you felt his teeth sink into your skin, a broken yelp tore itself from your throat, and you saw stars.
If you were the lamb, he was the wolf that had you caged in his powerful jaw.
Tongue soothing over the sharp bite, he shifted above you, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, while he parted your delicate folds with the other. Then you felt him. Cock hard against you, trailing through your slick, even as you grew wetter still.
“Beg me for it.” Once again, his command filled your head, voice low and almost threatening. As if you would be punished if you did not obey.
You shifted your hips toward him, searching. “Please, please give it to me. I need it so badly, I can hardly stand it. Please!”
He hummed in amusement. “That’s simply not good enough. Remember, I know your darkest desires. The salacious things you plead for in the darkness of this room. Such filth and depravity. It’s the only way you can come. So go on, beg for it the right way.”
Dizzy, burning with need, and slightly embarrassed that he knew every intimate detail, you cried out, “Please, sir. I need your cock so badly. I need it to stretch my little pussy. I want you to ruin me for anyone else. Please!”
“Pathetic,” he growled, but nonetheless, he aligned himself with you, and just as you were about to launch into another round of begging, he thrust forward in one fluid motion, filling you entirely.
Your eyes went wide as saucers, and you couldn’t help the shriek that bubbled up within you. The stretch was so overwhelming, it knocked the breath right out of your lungs. But the strange thing was, it didn’t hurt. If anyone else of this size had thrust into you without careful preparation and added lubricant, you would have cried out in pain.
But this man, this shadow, this void, did not cause you pain. In fact, what you felt was the furthest possible thing from pain imaginable. You saw the moon and stars flash behind your eyes as he joined your bodies together. You became one with the darkness, yet you’d never felt more light.
“I own you now, little one,” he whispered in your ear.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, wanting him impossibly closer. “I’m yours!”
Hands braced against the bed, caging you in, he pulled his hips back before he pushed forward again, relishing in the howl you let out. You were his little plaything to do whatever he pleased with.
He was well aware that he was doing exactly what you’d asked him to; ruin you for anyone else. When he was finished with you, you would crave only him. You would never be sated, even if you fell into the bed of another. They would not fill you the way he did. They would not bring you to the heights of ecstasy that he could.
But that was what you wanted. You had offered yourself to him, reposed in shadow, so willing and pliant.
“I waited for you,” you whispered against his mouth, as you took everything he had to give.
“I know you did. Night after night spent hoping I would come. But I’ve always been there. Watching. Waiting.”
Another deep thrust that resulted in your eyes rolling back in your head, a delicious tremor surging through you.
“I was there, in the dark, when you called out my name. I am here now, as you plead for me still.”
His words floated around you, settling into your skin like ink etched by a tattoo needle.
“I am no good, nor evil, simply I am.” It felt as if he was speaking through you. Penetrating you in every way. “And I have come to take what is mine.”
Take me, please. All of me. I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m yours.
You couldn’t get enough. All you wanted was more, more, more. Hands clawing at his back, hips rolling into his, desperate, searching, needing. You’d taken him to the hilt, and yet you still wanted more. Needed him beneath your skin, ebbing through your bloodstream.
He gripped your hips in his hands, and even in your state of hazy pleasure, you realized how enormous they were, fingers covering the entirety of your hips. And as you looked up at him, you were suddenly aware of how he loomed over you. It felt like staring up, up, up into the vast night sky. Except there were no stars, save for the shine of his eyes as they took in the sight of you trembling beneath him.
Others may have felt fear when looking into the face of darkness. But you simply welcomed it, searching for his mouth, allowing him to slip his tongue past your lips once again.
He hitched your legs higher, pushing them toward your chest, allowing him a deeper range of motion that sent you wailing against his mouth, fingers digging into his back. You couldn’t describe it if you tried. It was all-consuming. A glorious, fiery warmth that bubbled to life within your veins, fizzing and popping like a sparkler on the Fourth of July.
Tears sprang to your eyes, soon spilling down the sides of your face in hot trails. This seemed to please him greatly, as he hummed in delight.
“Oh, look at you, little one. Crying as I have my way with you. What a sight.” He ducked down, his face inches from yours, and proceeded to press his tongue to each cheek, licking your tears away. Mouth parted in shock and awe, you watched him shiver, as if drinking your tears gave him some sort of depraved satisfaction.
You were rendered speechless, unable to form a single coherent word as he quickened his pace, going deeper than you thought possible. It was almost as if your anatomy was changing to accommodate him. But that wasn’t possible, was it?
However, by all accounts and purposes, it shouldn’t have been possible to fall into the throes of pleasure with a man made of shadows, yet that was exactly what was happening.
And it was otherworldly.
The beginnings of a glorious release were beginning to ripple through you. Your muscles tensed. Your heart rate quickened. Heat blossomed through you. You could feel yourself growing impossibly wetter around him, and the audible squelch of that wetness was obscene.
It felt as if the darkness was coming to greet you. You sank further into the bed. Down, down, down, until it felt as if you were floating in outer space, and the only thing keeping you from floating out of orbit was him.
“Let it overtake you,” he lulled, velvety smooth. “Don’t fight it.” A hand pressed against your low abdomen, splaying over the place where he was buried deep within you.
You felt it then. A growing intensity. An all-consuming vibration of atoms. It swelled like an ocean wave, higher and higher, until it threatened to come violently crashing down upon you.
He was controlling your body’s response. Amplifying it. And he could just as easily take it away if he wanted. But he didn’t.
When his voice entered your head again, it was to speak another command. “Come.”
And you were free-falling.
Your body was made of vast galaxies, bursting in air, vision engulfed in a myriad of bright, blinding colors that pulsed through your bloodstream. The darkness seemed to swell around you, growing until it swallowed you in its cold embrace.
His hand was against the side of your face, forehead pressed to yours. “Give it to me.” He seemed so absorb your ecstasy, consuming you, drinking you in.
You writhed beneath him, mouth open in a silent wail as your eyes rolled back. It was an exorcism of pleasure, and you didn’t want it to end. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. I need more, more, more.
Your legs trembled around his hips, muscles twitching of their own accord as you were ravaged by an unspeakable bliss. It seemed to go on for eternity, ebbing and flowing, so intense you felt as if it might drive you utterly mad.
No human being was meant to experience pleasure this otherworldly. It wasn’t possible. And yet, you were experiencing it.
He had you exactly where he wanted you. Splayed out, succumbing to mindless pleasure. In your mind, he had already been given the title of god. You had given yourself to him, but he wanted to hear you say it.
As the intensity finally began to wan, and you stared up at him, eyes wide, he hummed, stroking your cheek in a way that almost seemed…tender.
“Please,” you whimpered, barely able to find your voice, “please, please, tell me I’m yours. That I belong to you.”
His fingers brushed over your parted lips. “It’s already been done.” Then those digits were slipping into your mouth, and you welcomed them, moaning salaciously as your mouth closed around them, tongue swirling.
This seemed to delight him, as a pleased sound rumbled in the back of his throat. “Eager little lamb. It’s amusing to watch how desperate you are. Drooling all over my fingers, begging me to claim you as mine.”
He was still inside you, and he offered a particularly deep, harsh thrust that had you crying out around his fingers, eyes opening wide as saucers as an electric current ripped through you. You realized he wasn’t finished with you yet. What he’d just given you was only the beginning.
Without warning, he pulled back, gripping your hips, forcefully turning you over onto your belly. He arranged you as he saw fit, situating you so that you were face down. Your mind spun as you attempted to register the shift in position, but you didn’t have time to adjust, because seconds later, you felt him again, cock sliding into your poor, aching cunt.
You sobbed against the bed, mouth open. Strong hands held you still as he drove his hips forward at a bruising pace. How was this possible? You should have been in pain. Should have been telling him it was too much. But it wasn’t. In fact, you wanted more.
“Don’t stop!” You wailed, “don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!”
It all seemed to intensify in this position, and you felt like a live wire, raw and thrumming with energy. With each thrust, your brain filled with white noise, tears leaking from your eyes, drool spilling from your mouth.
You could feel the power in each movement he made, thrumming above you like a great storm cloud. And you welcomed it. Begged for it. Let the storm wash over me.
One hand holding your head down, the other dipping between your legs to slide his fingers over your swollen little bundle, he spoke. “Tell me, little one. Who is your god?” He wanted to hear it again.
And oh, how willingly you spoke it into the darkness of your bedroom. “You are!” You wept.
“You’ll never forget it as long as you live. When you sleep at night, you will dream of me. When you find yourself in the dark, you will call my name. And I will come to you. You will crave me always. I am the only one who can satisfy that craving.”
Once again, his voice was inside your head, swirling through the folds of your brain. Yes, you would crave him. Only him.
“Say it.”
“You! Only you!” Fiery heat had begun to gather in your belly again, spreading throughout your body. You could feel yourself dripping around him, your own arousal trailing down your inner thighs.
He angled your hips further, and suddenly, he was brushing against a little gathering of sensitive nerves, and you were screaming into the softness of the mattress as your orgasm ripped through you without warning, evidence of your ecstasy spilling from you, soaking his cock, and the sheets below.
You babbled incoherently, unsure if you were even conscious, or if you had slipped into a permanent state of bliss. Crying, sobbing, wailing. Clawing at the sheets. Trembling uncontrollably, like a leaf enduring hurricane winds.
It was otherworldly. Supernatural. Transcendental.
You left yourself, exiting your body, until you found yourself observing the moment from above. The way you trembled beneath the god of shadows, the one you had given your mind, body, and soul to. The one you would belong to for all eternity.
And you smiled.
As you returned to yourself, pleasure retreating, you felt it then. The way he pulsed within you. And there, in the deepest part of you, he spilled his seed. It filled you to the brim, and you welcomed it.
Claim me. Make me yours. Bind me to you forever.
As your body sank down against the bed, exhausted, legs trembling, he slid out of you, and you whimpered mournfully at the loss of contact. Moments later, you were on your back, as the darkness hovered over you, hand stroking your warm cheek, leaving coolness in its wake.
“Good little lamb,” he cooed. The sound of his voice was like black velvet against your skin, and your eyes began to grow heavy, lashes fluttering. “Morning will come soon. I must leave.” He could not exist in the light.
His lips were against yours again, and he spoke a prayer into your mouth.
“Blessed be this daughter of the shadows, bound to me in darkness eternal.” Then he kissed you deeply, lingering only for the briefest of moments. “Sleep now, little one. Until we meet again.”
With that, you drifted into slumber.
When you woke the next morning, your eyes drifted toward the corner of the room, where he had been the night before. But all you saw was the reading chair you kept there. Shivering slightly, you realized that perhaps you’d been dreaming all along.
“What an insane dream,” you muttered to yourself as you moved to push yourself upright, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Your pajamas were still on your body, as if they’d never disappeared at all. Nothing seemed out of place.
Then you stood, and the moment you did, you gasped, knees almost buckling as you felt it. You lifted one trembling hand, sliding it beneath the waistband of your shorts, between your thighs, dipping your fingers inside yourself. Sticky and wet, it coated your fingertips. When you drew them back, you saw it, glimmering against the digits.
His voice echoed through your mind, repeating what he had said to you the night before. “I was there, in the dark, when you called out my name. And I am here now.”
Though you couldn’t see him, he was always with you. Lurking in the shadows. Waiting for darkness to come, so that he could once again claim you as his own.
That realization sent you backward, legs giving way as you sank down onto the edge of the bed, holding tightly to the sheets so you wouldn’t slide down to the floor. A wave of heady desire washed over you as you recalled what he had done to you the night before.
As the morning sun warmed your bedroom, you found yourself giddy with excitement as you realized that, once the sun hid itself from the sky, he would return to you. And you would allow him to consume you once again.
Synopsis: Bucky is a man from a different time. It shows when you start ‘going steady’ and honestly, you love it. Alternatively; Bucky uses 40’s dating etiquette to woo you, and surprises you with a modern turn of phrase.
cw: it’s set in a vague timeline where it’s just before cabnw but also during fatws so no thunderbolts spoilers! Bucky is a FLIRT, reader is a little shy, anxiety representation, lots of casual getting to know you, going on a date flirting, Bucky’s serious about reader tho!
word count: 4.4k
Bucky Barnes prides himself on being able to court a woman. He really does. He knows all the rules, knows all the things to say, and it doesn’t hurt that he can flirt his way through any conversation.
You and Bucky met at the Smithsonian when Bucky was missing Steve a little too much and popped in just to get a glimpse of his best friend again.
You were by the Isaiah Bradley display, reading through before murmuring under your breath, “Those poor men.”
Bucky hadn’t meant to eavesdrop like that, but there was so much concern in your voice and he had to say something lest you think they all suffered — looking back, maybe he wasn’t the best person to break that news to you.
“We didn’t all suffer so bad.”
You had gasped when you noticed him, hand to your chest. “You’re Bucky Barnes,” you weigh your words before adding, “Steve’s best friend.”
That alone had won him over. You didn’t bring up the Winter Soldier, or that Bucky was as traumatised as super soldiers went. Just that he was Steve’s best friend.
“Yeah,” he nodded, “This your first time at the Smithsonian?”
You shake your head, a little heat flushing up your cheeks. “I come every couple of weeks, to see if they have any new stuff to add to your plaques. It’s kinda messed up what they did to all of you.”
Bucky smiles, shaking his head. It is messed up, he knows that. All the super soldiers besides John Walker know how messed up it was. “We came out alright, made it to the 21st century after all.”
You tilt your head to the side, “I guess that’s true.”
Bucky’s eyes light up. “Made it this far to meet pretty girls too.”
Your cheeks flame and Bucky chuckles, you chat a bit more before he gives you his number.
It takes you two days to text him. You’d been overthinking it, if you should or shouldn’t. In the end, if he ignored you at least you’d have tried.
It turns out Bucky didn’t give you his number just to be polite, because he answered your text immediately.
The first time he had used his courting experience was when he’d made it a point to establish the fact that he wanted to take you out every second Friday of the month.
He had it in his head that the effort had to be shown and then followed through the entire time and after two days, he was determined to show you that he was serious.
‘I’m free every other Friday, if that’s good with you doll.’
You had responded four minutes later after looking at your phone in shock and a little bit of bewilderment, when was the last time a man was so forward but not in a pushy way?
‘It’s perfect as long as work doesn’t bleed into my weekends’
From there Bucky had planned three of the dates meticulously, going over places and ideas in his head until he’d settled on the best three according to himself.
The first date was at a new diner near his apartment, one that Sam said did really good milkshakes and Bucky hadn’t been able to let the idea go.
“It’s nothing too fancy, but Sam said it’s a good spot.”
You’d worn a pretty skirt and blouse, and Bucky had worn a grey henley and jeans.
“You look gorgeous,” Bucky was full of compliments as you’d learn as the afternoon went on. He dished them out easily and most of the time you pretended not to hear him because he had a sort of pleased look on his face every time you stammered to keep the conversation going, and that in itself had in your stomach in knots.
He even brought you a bouquet of red tulips which had sat beside you on the sticky diner table all day.
“Oh they have milkshakes!” You say excitedly when you catch a server walking past.
Bucky’s heart sores. God bless the forties for making that a thing.
“Wanna try one?”
You look up at him, eyes brimming with hopefulness, “Will we do the cheesy sharing from the same cup?”
Bucky leans back in the booth seat, blue eyes boring into you. “And the same straw if you really want to, doll.”
He’s so fucking smooth, because you can’t do anything but nod now that his gaze is fixed on you.
Deciding what milkshake had taken nearly five minutes, back and forth between what was a classic flavor and why strawberry was definitely not good (Bucky was very offended) and then settling on a Shamrock Shake even though St. Patrick’s day had long passed.
Sharing the milkshake sitting across from each other was more intimate than you had expected it to be, (you hadn’t ended up using one straw but just the eye contact was enough to fluster you). Bucky walked you to your car after paying for dinner, very offended that you tried to pay half of the bill, and opened the door for you. When you had gotten in, he leant a little into your space, “Did you have a good time, doll?”
Your heart pounds. You had a great time, Bucky was easy to be around, even with your shyness.
“I did, thank you Bucky. Did you?”
He smiled, “Don’t see how I couldn’t with you as company.” In your sputtering for an answer Bucky’s heart beat a little faster, you were the cutest thing ever.
“Any opposition to a gala for our next date?”
You raise your eyebrows. “I’m not the biggest fan of crowds but I don’t see why it couldn’t be fun. Is it for the new Captain America thing?”
Bucky smiles, “I’ll text you the details. Drive safe, doll.”
The gala was fun even if a little anxiety inducing when you note the number of people there.
Bucky’s good though, he doesn’t give you a moment alone to feel that anxiety or have anyone come up to you to ask you a million questions.
It’s a veteran gala and Bucky didn’t want to go through that alone because he was getting another medal post Thanos; not that he really wanted it.
That night, as you sat beside him at one of the tables, it was hard to ignore the feel of his hand grasping your ankle and stroking it.
His palm is warm against your skin but you can feel the twitch in his fingers.
“We can leave early if you really don’t want to get it, Bucky.”
He turns to you with a smile, his cheeks a little warm when you meet his eyes. “No, I can handle it, doll.”
You tut, shaking your head. “Yeah but you look like you’re gonna pass out waiting for them to call your name.”
He rolls his eyes, “I do not.” He can actually feel the acid churning in his stomach.
In the end, the ‘medal’ is Bucky partially funding a veteran support group in honor of his friend Sam Wilson, who’s the new Captain America, and Steve Rogers. He much prefers that sort of medal.
It was only after Bucky had gotten you home from the gala that you noticed the slip of paper in your clutch.
It had the name of the diner you and Bucky had gone to a week and a half ago, but on the backside of the paper was his semi messy scrawl.
You looked gorgeous tonight. Purple’s definitely your colour, doll. I know it’s only the second date, but you’re all I think about most days. I wanna see you again, but I know tonight was a lot with all those people. Sleep well, doll. Dream of me if you’d like.
Yours,
James.
That had made you smile so hard your cheeks ached. He signed it with his actual name, not the cute nickname he got so many years ago, his real, government name and that was not something that went unnoticed by you.
Immediately you changed his name in your phone to James with a little heart next to it.
You’re not really sure you’re sold on Bucky’s affections towards you, till the third date when Bucky pulls up to your apartment with another bouquet of flowers, peonies this time in pretty pinks and soft yellows.
“Bucky, these are gorgeous!” You had rushed back into your house to add them to the vase with the other flowers he had dropped off for you on your doorstep last week.
You can hear him chuckling in your doorway as you flit about.
“Was there any traffic?” you asked over the sound of your tap filling the vase.
“Not too much, but it is lunchtime on a Saturday.”
You had mentioned to Bucky a little bit ago that there was a perfect spot in the park near your house for a picnic now that New York had finally warmed up, and the next text you had received was Bucky asking if you had any nut allergies.
It wasn’t your usual date day, but Bucky had pleaded and begged just a little (although he really hadn’t had to), and had even sent you a photo of the most gorgeous picnic blanket and you were agreeing faster than anything.
“I’m ready to go now.” Seeing Bucky there leaning in the archway of your kitchen makes you feel so many things that you can’t help it when you lean up and kiss just under his jaw before walking towards your door after snagging your picnic basket from on the counter.
“Coming, Bucky?”
He only shakes his head, some of his hair falling into his eyes as he follows behind you. You swear you hear him mutter, “Not a shy thing at all,” but you don’t say anything because your nerve has worn off and you actually can’t believe you really kissed his cheek.
Bucky hadn’t spared an expense on your picnic. He had gotten peaches, plums, two different cheeses, apples, grapes (black ones; your favourite) and even a bottle of sparkling wine.
You had brought sandwiches and salt and vinegar potato chips (those became Bucky’s new favourites), a sketchbook and your camera.
“Were picnics something you did a lot?” you ask Bucky as he makes you a plate - crackers, cheese, some of the fruit and half the sandwich you packets.
Bucky squints at you as he slices a wedge of the plum free from the stone. “If it was, would you be jealous, doll?”
You shake your head, some of the peach juice dribbling down your wrist. Bucky’s quick but gentle as he thumbs it away and presses his thumb to his lips. You’re so grateful that his hands aren’t on you to feel how fast your pulse hammers.
“I’m just curious what the dating customs of the 40’s looked like.” It’s a miracle your voice remains even.
Bucky nods like he doesn’t really believe you. “I think I went on one, but there was never really a good time for more.”
You wince, you had forgotten that he’d gotten drafted.
Your reaction makes Bucky laugh, “I’m glad I get to find out if I really like them now though. There’s a lot more to enjoy about picnics now without all the smog.”
His teeth snap through the wedge of the plum before he continues, “I can see my date better, which feels like an incredible plus.”
Damn Bucky’s flirting.
You spend all evening at the park, and it’s so fun because Bucky poses for some of your pictures and then takes some of you and when you pose for a few together and Bucky stares at you there’s a sort of stillness that overcomes you.
His eyes bore into yours, the blue of them stopping you where your finger is poised over the button to snap the photo.
“Take the photo doll,” he whispers, his lips hovering near yours as he reaches up and presses your finger down just before leaning all the way in, pressing your lips together.
Bucky’s quick to take the camera from your hand after, setting it on the blanket and cupping your cheek to deepen the kiss.
It’s not too long, but it’s more than a peck and when he pulls away you can barely open your eyes.
“Was that okay?” Bucky whispers, the hand still cupping your face warm where it rests.
“Where did you learn to kiss like that?” his laugh rocks you as you press your forehead into his shoulder. “I don’t think you were really frozen in ice all that time, James Barnes.”
Bucky cups the back of your head as his laughs die down. “Whatever you want to believe, honey.”
Bucky gets to your house just after sunset, and you let him walk you to your front door. You don’t really want the date to end, but you’re tired and you have to imagine so is he.
“I had a really nice evening, Bucky.”
He smiles, a hand on your lower back as he stands in front of you. “So did I,” you turn to open the door but he stops you.
“I’ve gotta go out of town for a little bit, so we’re gonna have to rain check next Friday’s date.”
You hold onto the sleeve of his Henley before he can step back, “Is everything alright?”
Bucky nods, “Yeah just some stuff I have to deal with.”
“Winter soldier stuff?” You nearly whisper the words, not wanting to upset Bucky. He only nods with a soft smile. “Be careful okay?”
“You don’t want to be my nurse if I get hurt, doll? That’s harsh.”
You laugh, shaking your head at him. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
Bucky’s chest aches at your care for him. It’s been a long while since he’s been given that kind of affection.
“I’ll be careful, doll.”
“Good.”
Bucky leans in and presses a kiss just at the corner of your mouth, “Goodnight doll, lock your doors.” He reminds you like you’re not a woman in New York City, but it still makes you smile and your chest goes a little gooey.
Bucky doesn’t move from your doorstep till he hears your locks click into place.
-
Bucky’s been gone for a week and a half already and you can’t help but miss him.
You’ve been chatting back and forth and you’ve even started sending him songs to listen to. He’s got a very limited list of favourites that you’ve made it your mission to resolve.
You find another note in your handbag when you decided against texting Bucky and cleaned your cupboards instead.
It was in your bag from the picnic date, and you smiled when you noticed his handwriting on another receipt from the grocery where he got the cheese.
I hope you find this when I’m gone and you’re missing me; I know you are, doll, it’s okay.
I miss you too and I haven’t left yet.
When I get back I’ll make it up to you, I swear. Maybe we’ll go somewhere quiet again? Or I saw they’re reopening one of those antique places with all those retro trinkets; I could show what I used to have at home. Show you what I prefer now.
Keep locking your doors, honey. I should send you new flowers, the old ones will be dead soon.
Yours,
James.
Bucky’s very good at these, these little notes that leave you smiling and giddy like a fool.
You pull out your phone, you have to text him now.
I got your note. What was your favourite ‘trinket’?
Bucky answers only three minutes later.
My sister used to have a silver jewellery box that I had the pleasure of filling every month.
You smile at that, he’s always been a provider it seems.
Another chime comes from your phone.
We also had a gramophone that played the clearest music I’ve ever heard.
You roll your eyes.
You’re such an old man.
I’m not offended, doll. A pretty girl I’m seeing told me recently I’m not old at all.
Even miles away he’s got you grinning like an idiot with a racing pulse.
You can’t say anything to that and your thoughts take you to what a perfect gentleman he’s been to you. Bucky opens your doors, drives you home and waits till you get into your house before driving off. You think you might be falling for him, and rapidly.
He’s still gone by Monday and you’re missing him hard, only for the girls you work with to giggle before coming to find you.
“These were dropped for you,” they hand you a huge bouquet of red and white tube roses and a card.
It’s not Bucky’s handwriting but it’s from him,
Sorry I’m still not back, doll. I should just be gone for another day. Don’t miss me too much, yeah? I need a few kisses when I get back to make up for all this time away. I listened to that song you recommended, it was good. How do I make a playlist?
Yours,
James.
The note had you blushing and extremely flustered. Your coworkers noticed it immediately.
“Are you two going steady?”
You regret telling them who you’d been going out with. When they leave, you’re stuck with the realisation of how different Bucky is to the men you’ve dated before.
It’s a small thing, but you hardly think any of them got you flowers as consistently as he does, and you don’t think you’ve ever received such thoughtful bouquets.
You called Bucky when you got home, happy to hear his voice.
“Thank you for the flowers, Bucky.”
“You’re welcome, doll.”
You have the bouquet from today on your bedside table and smile when you spot it after changing into your pajamas.
“You caused quite a scene when they got delivered.”
You can hear the amusement in his words. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, the girls I work with brought them to me. They were very impressed by the size of the bouquet, Barnes.”
“I’m just concerned about what you think of me.” Was his answer and after that you couldn’t get a full sentence out of you.
He’s so open with his feelings towards you it’s scary, it makes your heart race but you also know he’s not just saying it. He means it and that makes you fall just a little more for Bucky.
“You’re sweet.” Is all you can manage, your face heated with a blush.
“Sam and I are finishing this up tonight, so I should be able to see you when we get back.”
You don’t know if you’re reading into his words, but Bucky sounds relieved at the prospect of seeing you soon.
“Isn’t it going to be a day’s long flight?”
“And I can see you right after I land, honey. So long as it’s not midnight or while you’re gonna be sleeping.”
Bucky Barnes isn’t good for your heart with the way he just wholly shows you how much he wants to spend time with you.
“Do you still need help with your playlist?”
He huffs, “Sam showed me. He’s not a good teacher though, was snippy the whole time; you’d think he’d remember I was in ice.”
You laugh, “I’ll show you when you get back, babe.”
Bucky doesn’t say anything about the pet name, but for the rest of the phone call he doesn’t respond unless you use it.
It’s two days before he’s back and Bucky drives straight over to see you.
He’s at your door a few hours after you get home from work, and when you open the door to see him, he’s there with a single rose in his hand and a tired smile on his face.
“Is it possible you got prettier while I was gone?” He leans against your doorway.
“You look dead on your feet, Bucky. Come inside.” you lead him to your sofa, watching him move with heavy but careful steps all the way through your living room.
Bucky’s movements are measured, not a single action wasted as he takes off his boots and socks and detaches his metal arm.
“I really missed you,” he sighs as he lays on your sofa, eyes shut as he takes a long breath.
“I really missed you too,” you brush back some hair from his face. “You could’ve gone home to sleep first, you know?”
Bucky opens his eyes and it takes great effort to do so, the whites of his eyes shot through with streaks of intense red.
“I wanted to see you,” he yawns. “But you’ve trapped me into laying on your sofa.”
You laugh, your fingers still knotted in his hair. “You can take a nap Bucky, or you can sleep the night here. I’m not really excited by the idea of you driving back tired.”
“I won’t doll,” he shuts his eyes again, the feel of your fingers on his scalp lulling him into a peacefulness he’s missed. “Tell me what you got up to while I was gone. I know you weren’t just counting down the days till I got back.”
You roll your eyes as you recount the last two weeks of your life, Bucky’s not even awake to hear what you did on the second day of him being gone.
You cover him up with your throw blanket and dim the lights of your living room. You make the playlist for him while he sleeps, putting all the songs you’ve sent him on the memory stick so he can leave with it.
Bucky doesn’t spend the night, but as he’s leaving he holds your cheek, “I didn’t come with an ulterior motive, just to see you. If you want, we can go have dinner tomorrow. I have something I want to ask you, doll.”
“That’s ominous,” you’re a little nervous by that phrase. No one likes being told that someone has ‘something to ask them’ in a day. There’s anxiety crawling up your chest before Bucky kisses your lips.
“It’s a good question baby, don’t overthink it. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
You grab the memory stick off the table before you could forget, “Here, I put all the songs I’ve sent on here.” Bucky kisses you again.
“You’re an angel,” you steal a kiss before he pulls away. “Lock your doors.”
“Sir yes sir.”
You hear him laugh all the way to his car.
Despite Bucky’s well meaning, ‘Don’t overthink it.’ That’s all you did when you woke up and started sifting through dresses to wear.
You’re ready at six and that makes you even more anxious. There’s too much time to do nothing but sit and overthink it.
You’re working yourself up to outright calling Bucky when there’s a knock at your door.
A quick peek at the clock on your stove let’s you know you’ve been overthinking it for forty five minutes.
When you open the door, Bucky’s standing in front of you in a pretty blue shirt that makes his eyes pop, and black dress pants.
He’s not got flowers this time, but he is holding a box of what you think are chocolates.
“Oh my god,” he breathes as he takes you in. You’re in a pretty pale purple dress, white heels and your hair is down in loose curls. You hadn’t gone for heavy makeup but just enough where there’s purple glitter on your eyelids and your lips are a deep red.
“You look handsome.” You say as you fight the blush creeping up your chest at the way Bucky’ stares at you.
“You look,” he trails off like he really can’t find the right words. “Breathtaking.”
You feel as though the blush explodes in your chest and heats your entire face.
Bucky hands you the box of chocolates, “They’re all dark chocolate.” You smile as you take it; that’s another thing Bucky’s remembered you like.
“Do I get to know where we’re going?”
You ask as you slip the chocolates into your purse and shut your door.
Bucky smiles as he watches you lock your door before turning to him. Immediately he links his hand with yours.
“We’re going for dinner somewhere nice,” the entire ride to the car Bucky has you talking. About the last book you read, work, if you think about him every night before bed (the last one was just to make you laugh, but the truth is you do.)
“What about you Bucky? Do you think about me before bed?”
You ask as he parks and he turns to you.
“Oh yeah,” that’s all he says before coming out of the car to open your door. “Think about you more than I think about anything else, doll.”
You manage to hold back your question just before dessert, “Can you please ask me? I’m freaking out and I think my heart might explode from the anxiety.”
There’s a laugh that bubbles from you and Bucky tuts.
“Honey,” you press a hand to your chest. Your anxiety really is at an all time high. You have so many questions rattling around your head that Bucky could want to ask you and you may throw up the lovely pasta you just had if he doesn’t ask you soon.
He leans across the table and holds onto your wrist, feeling the erratic beat of your pulse.
“I’ve been torturing you, haven’t I doll?”
You nod as you try to calm your racing heart.
“I didn’t mean to,” Bucky’s thumb strokes short lines across your wrist. “I had it all set up to come with dessert but I’ll put you out of your misery.”
“Thanks,” you mutter and he smiles.
“I know we’re only going steady,” that gets a smile out of you. He really is an old man, “but I wanted to ask you if I could be yours? Saying boyfriend makes me feel older so I won’t say it.”
You laugh, letting your head fall on his hand where it holds yours.
“Not the other way around?” You ask and Bucky huffs.
“You’re not property, honey.”
You look up with a smile and Bucky’s smile gets a little brighter. “Yeah you can be mine.”
“C’mere,” he tilts your chin a little higher and kisses you; slow and just long enough for it not to be a full make out. “You really missed out on the whole cheesecake with chocolate drizzle writing.”
He says as he pulls away and you laugh.
“Oh, are they not bringing it anymore?”
Bucky shakes his head, mischief in his eyes. “After you just latched onto me in the middle of their establishment? I don’t know, doll.”
“You’re ridiculous.” They still bring the cheesecake and Bucky feeds you the first bite, and like the flirt and menace he is, he gets a little just to the corner of your mouth.
“Let me get it for you,” and steals another kiss, ‘cleaning it off.’
literally any upper middle class tiktok self-identified ‘that girl’ in a pastel workout set with a thirteen step skincare routine and a green juice is a million times closer to being patrick bateman irl than any self-identified sigma film bro
It is okay to mourn the child that you were, or the child that you could have been. It is okay to be sad or angry that no one protected you like you should have been protected. It is okay to grieve.
Short Anxious Bisexual @tremistqueen - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
