#sentry smut

no one could remember exactly when bob stopped being mopey and started getting more touchy-feeling with you.

it hadn't been sudden, nor had there been a single moment where the team could think back to a certain time and say 'that's when it started'. it was subtle enough that he'd managed to slip under the radar until it became something that nobody could ignore.

it started with bob inching closer to you on the couch when the two of you were watching movies. then it escalated to holding your hands at random points in time even if you needed them, and in that case, his hand would fall to your thigh instead. at one point, he'd managed to convince you to let him into your bed by blaming it on the void, and stupidly enough, you'd let him.

at first, it had been a joke between the team because it was honestly a little funny to see bob clinging onto you like a puppy, but sooner down the line, the touch turned into something needier, and that's the part that the two of you hid from them.

the touch turned sexual, and even though you both knew it was wrong doing this with someone who is essentially a coworker, you could never stop— or more like bob could never stop.

maybe it was because he had taken a liking to you. you'd been nothing but kind and accomodating to him since you first met him in that bunker (apart from when you'd shoved your gun in his face). whenever he sensed he was falling apart, he gravitated towards you, and you'd always let him. you had assumed he had just wanted to stick around that kimd of energy when everybody else on the team had turned a blind eye to him.

of course there were days when bob could keep his hands to himself, but he had found that if he stayed away for long enough, his hands— restless and searching— always seemed to settle easier when they found you.

and unfortunately for you and the team, today seemed to be one of those days where he'd restrained himself from touching you.

valentina had organised a mandatory team-building dinner in order to... well, team-build. she practically demanded that everyone get dressed up to the nines and that the jet would pick them up and drop them off at some fancy restaurant halfway across the country.

you linger in your room longer then you mean to, smoothing down the wrinkles and creases in your black dress like it might change its mind about how it's sitting on your body if you dont reassure it enough.

you almost never wear this dress and only wear it for special occasions, and you counted this as one. it fit nicely almost like it was made specifically for you, it skimmed down your body just enough to make you stand a little taller as you look at your reflection. you look really good.

you slip on your heels, tuck your phone into your purse, and give yourself one final look in the mirror— more for courage than vanity— before heading out of your room and shutting the door.

the living room is quiet apart from the boring show on the television and the click of your heels as you walk across the marble floor. the entire team is there scattered across the sofas in their fancy attire like a bunch of overdressed mannequins.

jackets are unbuttoned, ties are loosened, makeup is already a little smudged, some are scrolling on their phones, others are staring at the television screen. they all just look like they're reconsidering every life choice that'd led them here.

the first thing you notice is that bob isn't there.

yelena is the first to turn her head. her eyes fall up and down you a few times before she throws an arm across the back of the sofa. "you look nice." she compliments, and it sounds genuine.

"thanks. it's a bit itchy, but it's comfortable enough for one night." you tug at the fabric that'd bunched at your hips after your short venture down the hall. "you guys look nice too. maybe we should start dressing up more often."

bucky shakes his head, eyes set on the tv. "i'd rather not."

john looks around the room at the team, brows raised as he takes in the mixed of bored expressions and sluggish bodies. "is that all of us? can we finally get off of our asses and get going?"

"eh, bob is not here yet." alexei points out.

"speaking of bob—" bucky turns his head to you, "did you manage to talk to him about limiting touchy-time like we talked about?"

"i cant believe we call it touchy-time." ava mumbles as she stares at the television screen, more to herself than anyone else.

"i tried during training yesterday," you scratch the back of your neck. "but he kept changing the subject. didn't seem like he wanted anything to do with it, so i stopped asking."

"have you ever considered telling him to stop completely? i mean seriously, imagine when he gets sentry under control and valentina clears him for missions." john gestures to nothing in general, hand waving around like it's helping the team visualise it. "kid's gonna be humping your leg like a horny chihuaha while we're getting shot at—"

yelena cuts in with a groan of disgust, "gross, walker. nobody wants to imagine that."

bucky sighs, "i hate to say it, but i agree with john."

ava turns away from the screen, suddenly tuned into the conversation. "me too. do you ever think he just comes up with excuses because he wants to get all touchy-feely with you? i know he's a little... unstable, but how many times can he use the excuse of the void to fondle you all day?"

"he doesnt—" you blink, a little shocked at ava's use of words. "he doesnt fondle me. he just needs a little attention sometimes. that's all." you try to defend yourself as well as bob, but it seems to fall upon deaf ears.

"attention turns into obsession." john adds as if he's a wise old wizard. "i read that online once."

alexei decides its his turn to add his input. "i think its very sweet! is like little puppy and mama dog. if no lines are crossed, then i think those two should be allowed to have touchy-feely time."

you cringe at alexei comparing you and bob to dogs before you huff out a sigh. "can we not talk about bob behind his back? it feels rude. where is he anyways?"

"no idea." yelena shrugs. "we're all out here because we were waiting on you and him."

john checks his watch, one certainly gifted to him by valentina. "yeah, and we're gonna be late if he doesn't haul ass within the next ten minutes."

you glance down the hall, your eyes fixed on bob's door. it remains shut just like it has been all day, and a small knot of concern ties itself in your stomach. something about him being late doesn't settle well with you. you know his routine and his moods, and you know that when he's unusually quiet like this, then it means he's fighting something.

"i'll go check on him." you say, already turning towards the corridor, "make sure he's not dead."

"and tell him to hurry his ass up!" john calls behind you.

you don't bother responding. you turn and head down the hallway, the echo of your heels on the tile bouncing off of the walls while the noise of the living room fades as you move. you come face to face with bob's door, your hand hesitating before you knock, but your knuckles hit the wood three times anyways.

"bob? are you in the—"

the door opens and you're yanked inside by a sharp tug on your wrist before you can finish your sentence, the corridor disappearing as the door shuts behind you.

the first thing you notice is that bob is in front of you and he's sandwiched you between the wall, his mouth already working against yours. the next thing you notice is that his hands are already pulling up your dress, the fabric bunching in his hands as he drags it up.

you break away for air, but bob doesn't take a second for granted. he latches onto your throat and he inhaled a sharp breath that sounds like a mix of relief and indulgence, as if kissing you in the only thing keeping his alive.

"i'm sorry." he whispers into your skin, but you both know the apology won't stick. "sorry—"

his room is quiet apart from his heavy breathing and the small pants that he pulls from you, the light dim through closed curtains and the red glow of his alarm clock. you can still hear the soft chatter of the team down the hall, and it pulls the urgency from deep within you.

you place your hands flat on his chest. he doesnt pull away, but he doesn't push any further either, caught in the miserable in-between where restraint is costing him. you can feel his heartbeat through his chest where your palms rest, pounding and restless with you in his arms.

you frown, "the team is waiting for us, bob—"

but the words barely leave your mouth before he's shaking his head, brown curls brushing against your neck and the underside of your jaw.

"i know they are. i'm sorry, baby. i tried to stay away. i really did," he murmurs against your throat, apologies spilling out of his mouth although his teeth nipping at your skin says otherwise. "but please— i need you."

bob's hands are already tugging down your panties, thumbs hooked in the bands as he drags them down your legs, and although everything in you is screaming to pull him off of you and rush him out of the door, your body moves on its own, stepping out of the fabric as soon as it drops to your feet.

"val's going to eat us alive if we don't make it to dinner." you whimper when he sucks at the base of your neck, hands crawling at the back of his dress shirt.

"then let her. i'll be quick. been holding it in all day, but i cant do it anymore." he groans as his lips travel back up until he's pressing messy kisses onto your jaw and your cheek. "jus' need to feel you on my cock. need to feel you cum on me."

that sends a pant of heat through you.

your brows knit. he really has been good all day— no hovering by your side, no excuses to linger, and no absent minded touches— but now you can feel the cost of it in the way he's undoing his belt and in the way he's so hungry for you that you think he might actually bite you, and you know that you cannot let him go to dinner like this.

"okay." you sigh with a small nod, your hands crawling up to his neck and slotting into the soft brown tuft of hair at the base of his head, "then fuck me."

the groan that rips form his throat and low, and he unbuckles his belt faster than he ever has before. he rips it from his dress pants and it clatters to the floor in a stringy mess. then come his pants, the zipper already undone as he shrugs them and his boxers to the ground.

bob's hands hook under your thighs and he hoists you up against the wall, his weeping cock pressing against you with a pathetic whimper.

he's learnt that even without the sentry, he has enough strength to lift you like you weigh nothing. he's even learnt that he can lift you with one hand. dont ask him how.

his lips are back on yours, his tongue lapping messily against your mouth before you let him in. the kiss is a little rough around the edges like he's forgotten how to be careful with you, all heat and urgency as he breaths you in. you're sure your makeup is all smudged, but you don't really care now that the blunt tip of bob's dick is pressing into you.

and when he finally pushes in,

"fuuuuuccckkkk..." he moans, a little too loud for your liking.

"bob, you have to be—" you cut yourself off with a staggered breath as bob drops you down onto him deep enough that you can feel him in your stomach. "you have to be quiet."

"i'm sorry, it's just— i missed you." his brows furrow in pleasure, his head dropping back down to your neck. "god, you're so tight."

you sigh, "it's been two days."

"too long." he murmurs into your neck. "never wanna be apart from you ever again."

bob starts moving slow, holding onto you by your thighs and rutting his hips into you like he's trying to make sure that your body remember him. his chest is pressed so tight against yours that you almost feel like you can't breathe, and your arms are wrapped around his torso clinging for more.

just as you think he might be savouring the moment, he lifts you without warning and drops you back onto his dick. the sheer force of it rips a moan from your mouth, catching you so off guard that you bite down into his shoulder, your saliva soaking the fabric.

bob pants into your ear, eyes heavy with pleasure. "needed this so bad. needed you. needed to fuck you."

bob doesnt rut into you anymore. instead, he begins lifting you up and down his cock, shuddering in your arms as he drags against your warm walls. the pace he sets is fast enough for the echo of skin-on-skin to bounce around the room, the angle and the pressure of which he has you against the wall hits all of the soft spots in you. your eyes almost roll back, body practically going limp in his arms.

one of his hands come up to cup your face, thumb running along your bottom lip and his eyes watching every quiver in your expression. his other hand continues lifting you and dropping you onto his dick, his fingers digging into your skin with every harsh bounce.

"i heard you talking to the team about our arrangement— about whatever this is—" he admits quietly, eyes set on your saliva coated mouth. "i know it's bad and i know we shouldn't do this."

"bob." you try to cut him off, arms tightening around his neck in an attempt to ground him, but he continues, panicked and a little earnest.

"so just— just tell me to stop and i'll stop—" he rushes, his brows furrowing as he speeds up, his hips bucking up into you, "say the word and i will, i swear. i'll back off and i'll behave, i—"

"faster."

the word leaves your mouth as a whisper, soft and broken and honest, and that seems to be what undoes bob.

his hand falls back to the underside of your thigh and lifts your legs a little higher until your hamstrings burn and your knees are pressing into your chest. he's not bouncing you anymore, but now he's fucking up into you, his cock tearing through you like this is all he needs.

you grab at him, hoping to hold onto something that'll ground you, but he's so strong and so steady that you don't even need to. he's holding you so tight in his arms that you're sure he'd catch you if you were to fall, and that in itself has the ball of heat in your stomach ready to snap.

but then there's a knock at his door only a feet feet from you, and even though it pulls you from your daze, bob continues dragging you his cock in and out of you as if one of your friends isn't right outside.

"hey, you guys in there?" yelena's voice spills through the quiet, "john's getting all pissy with us, so we're leaving."

you have to force a hand over bob's mouth, his moans and panting spilling into your palm, and you feel a little bad when you see the tears that brim in his waterline. your brows knit as you force your eyes to stay open, willing yourself to keep focus when bob can't.

"bob isn't feeling good, so i think—" you swallow down a moan when bob thrusts into you hard enough that your clit grinds into his lower stomach. "i think we're just gonna stay back so i can take—" you gasp, "take care of him."

and maybe bob understands your words as an excuse to fuck him all night long, because his eyes shut and he gets a little closer, hips grinding into your ass instead of fucking you. you've noticed this as a tell that he's close, and the friction is enough to send you over the edge too.

"okaayyyy..." she drawls through the door. "your funeral. we'll be back in a few hours. dont burn the tower down. or do. i dont care."

you can hear yelena's footsteps recording down the hall, and as soon as you move your hand from his mouth, bob starts pistoning into you with inhumane speed, his head dropping onto your shin as he presses into you and finally fills you up.

the sound of his hopeless rutting turns filthy with the combination of your slick and his cum, and he leans in to press another messy kiss to your mouth. your chests move together, and the room falls silent except for the soft sounds of your breathing— his uneven and yours still catching— paired with the quiet thud of his heart.

and the first thing that comes out of his mouth isn't a reassurance or a apology, but a question.

"does that mean you don't want to stop?" he asks, his voice low with uncertainty and what sounds like hope, almost like he's bracing for the answer even though he knows what it is.

your smile as best you can, already tired. your fingers run through his hair, tugging at the soft knots you'd accidentally formed before you speak.

"of course not." you say quietly, "i know the team complains about it sometimes, but that's not something they get to complain about. i dont think its a problem that needs fixing."

the hope in his expression warms your heart. he exhaled like he's been holding his breath all day before he leans into your touch like he's finally allowed to. but then, slowly but surely, you feel his dick harden inside you again.

"are you hard again?" you ask with false annoyance lacing your words, but you could never actually be annoyed with him.

he plays it off by giving you a small peck on the lips, the top of his nose brushing yours as he leans his forehead against yours. "maybe."

He’s never done it sober.

His hands are anchored to you like he’s afraid that if they aren’t, you’re going to escape, slip away. Like you’re just a figure of smoke that is going to curl around his fingers to eventually fade out and away and leave him to an empty room where he will have to face himself.

He had warned you. He said it like he meant it to be a warning, at least. Had told you he didn’t know how to do this the normal way. Displayed his vulnerability, looking at you like this could possibly ruin something between you. 

You don’t see it that way. It makes it all the more special. Intimate.

His hand cups your face as his tongue slides back into your mouth, exploring it like he wants to swallow and savor every breath you have to give. A low hum tears from the back of his throat to vibrate into your own when you let your hand slip under his shirt, fingers briefly grazing against his stomach before he stops you, covering your hand with his own to lace your fingers together.

“Let me–”

He doesn’t complete and closes the gap between you again. You’re not entirely sure what he means, but you can’t seem to linger on the thought when you feel his hands settle at your hips; they’re a bit clumsy and tentative as he holds back from letting them roam along your sides in fear he will come across as too greedy, and his hesitation is a stark contrast to the way he had backed you up against that wall in the first place. 

Bob is not quite sure how much is too much, how to handle things without the chemical confidence and buzz that used to make him chase that potent urge – it had only ever been a matter of satiating his needs any way he could, as quickly as he could. 

It had always been a rush to satisfy his own drug addled lust.

It all feels different now, more anchored, more palpable. He draws every action out, savors each of those, gets you impatient, pulls the focus back to you when you try to take care of him and put him first. And you would say something if you weren’t trying to indulge him and let him take what he wants – it’s the first time he gets to take his time, and he’s too eager to discover what it’s like for you to just take that away from him. 

You’re convinced some part of you would feel cruel for rushing it and not letting it play the way he wants it to, even if it involved putting him and his pleasure first.

His hesitation and restraint is obvious and gets you to pull back from the kiss to take a look at his face. His gaze follows when your hands frame it gently, fingers gently brushing back the strands of hair falling over his face. “Don’t overthink it” you whisper, thumb lingering against his cheek. His lips pinch slightly before he nods half confidently, hand cupping your jaw as he presses his mouth against yours once again. 

It flips a switch, sort of. His hand presses against your lower back to pull you closer to his own body as he leads you with him towards his bed, steps blind and clumsy as he walks backwards – he hums into the kiss in startlement when the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed and force him to sit if he doesn’t want to fall all the way and bring you down with him. You can only breathe out a laugh and climb onto his lap after that.

He forces his hands to settle at your hips and stop faltering, eyelids softly fluttering as he looks up at you like he can’t quite believe you’re real. His teeth lightly sink into his bottom lip, gaze roaming along your face when your hands rest at the sides of his neck. 

“I can’t believe you dodged Mario Party night with Joaquin for this” you smile as you let your fingers gently trace along his face – his own busy themselves by lightly fiddling with the hem of your shirt, playing with the soft fabric.

He grins playfully. “A last minute change of schedule isn’t so bad sometimes” he says with a shrug, hands slipping under the garment to find the soft heat of your body – his thumb lightly strokes your bare skin, rubbing small circles under your shirt. You hum contemplatively, hands holding his face.

“What’d you even tell him?” you ask, brushing away a stray strand of his hair.

He sucks in a contemplative breath before he shrugs again. “Just… something about wanting to go to bed early, y’know” he grins.

Your head shakes, a chuckle escaping your lips. “You liar.”

“I didn’t lie,” he counters, defending himself. “Going to bed early doesn’t necessarily mean sleeping” he teases, moving to nuzzle along your cheek, arms wrapping and tightening around your waist.

“Yeah okay,” your hands find the back of his head, fingers sinking in his hair that’s already messy from playing with it while you were making out. You can feel his breath where his mouth gently brushes at the ticklish skin under your jaw, can hear his low, quiet whimper when you grind against his sweatpants as he presses you closer to his own body, can feel the heat of him through the layers of clothes. “Bob” his face lifts to meet your gaze, a questioning hum quietly vibrating between you. “Take your shirt off and lie back.”

His eyebrows raise in startlement, mouth slightly parting before he snaps out of it and eventually nods fervently, fingers already grabbing at the hem of his shirt to lift it over his head and toss over the floor before his back meets the mattress with a quiet grunt. 

“Holy shit Bob,” you gasp, astounded. His throat bulges as he swallows in nervousness when your gaze rakes along his bare torso. “Why’d you hide those from me?” you ask, barely able to contain the awed smile growing over your face as the tip of your fingers brush against his muscled stomach in fascination.

“Oh,” his face is slowly turning red, body growing hotter than he even thought possible under the look in your eyes, a smug grin tugging at his lips. “I uh, I trained this afternoon so they’re–”

“God, this is so sexy.”

A small, choked sound catches in his throat, something between a flustered chuckle and a desperate groan when your fingers teasingly trail down the hard plane of his stomach, muscles softly tensing under your touch. His lips pinch as his gaze follows your hand, trying his best to remain quiet under the feeling of the graze of your fingertips, throat tight with anticipation when they progressively get lower and lower.

His breath catches again, breathing growing thicker when you reach the waistband of his sweatpants, one finger hooking there. You catch sight of the way his brows are knitted in focus when you look up at him before it goes further. “You okay?” you ask, eyebrows raised, hand stilling to give him room to tell you if it’s too much, too fast. 

He nods almost immediately. “Yeah– yeah” he gives you a reassuring smile, momentarily brought back to his senses. He lets out a small chuckle, slightly shifting his position under you to get more comfortable – it’s not easy when it feels like he’s growing harder each second because you’re straddling him and because your hands are teasing so close to where he needs you.

Bob props himself up on his elbows when you pull your shirt over your head and toss it to join his on the floor, not saying anything, just looking, eyes unapologetically roaming along your figure, mouth parting slightly.

“What?” you ask, voice quiet, suddenly a little shy under his gaze.

“Nothing,” he shakes his head with a sincere smile. “You just– you look so pretty.” he barely has time to catch a glimpse of the smile over your face before you grab his and lunge in to kiss him, his back pressing against the bed again. 

His hand instinctively slides to the small of your back, warm and obvious like he’s burning from the inside out. It travels up your spine, slow and careful like he wants to remember the feeling, wants to remember the soft hitch of your breath when his thumb traces along your ribcage and the way your body leans into his touch like it’s only natural for you to – which it probably is, but he wouldn’t know of since he’s never taken the time to linger with anyone else before, to notice such slight reactions beyond the overwhelming fog of the drugs.

Your body shifts above him to the side when your hand snakes between your bodies, trailing back down his abs, mouth ever so slightly pulling away from his own when you feel you’ve reached the thick material of the band of his sweatpants. “Can I…?” you murmur quietly, breath warm against his kiss swollen lips, fingers grazing the waistband.

Bob nods, and it comes with a breathless affirmative spilling out right after, his voice hoarse and unsteady in anticipation. A barely audible sound escapes his mouth when your hand slips under the layers of his clothes, eyes down to follow, make sure this isn’t just a dream or hallucination – the sight alone of your hand buried down there could have been enough to drive him crazy, but the thought escapes his mind when your hand closes around his hard cock, a small exhale leaving his mouth when you start moving, start gently stroking him like you have all the time in the world and all that matters is right there.

“That feel good?” you ask, a proud grin tugging at your lips from how expressively wrecked he gets, that quickly, not from much.

“Yes– Yeah,” he nods, head sinking back against the mattress.

“It’s real tight in there” you joke, voice soft but gently teasing. He lets out something between a chuckle and a groan, his arm flinging over his face to hide the heat creeping up his cheeks and attempt to chase the embarrassment away. You laugh at his reaction, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “Don’t hide, this is sweet” you whisper, nose nudging against his arm, hand still wrapped around him, pumping slowly. “You’re all tense”

He’s so hard it’s almost painful, your palm gliding along his length, thumb sweeping over the sensitive tip, smearing the precum around just to watch him shudder and hiss through clenched teeth. “Shit– Don’t make fun of me, it’s all your fault”

“Well you look so good like this,” you breathe as you drag your lips along the edge of his jaw, your hand still working him beneath the fabric, not that easily from the lack of space there. “Already wrecked while I’ve barely even really started yet”

He moans, the noise quiet but broken, his arm uncovering his face to grab at the sheets, his hips lightly twitching up into your palm like he can’t help himself anymore. “Please sweetheart,” he whines, eyes squeezing shut.

“Yes baby,” you whisper as your free hand hooks in his clothes to grant him more comfort, kissing the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, then the sensitive spot just under his ear. “Let me take care of you”

It feels like less of a torture once you free him of the prison of his own clothes, and he progressively eases into it as you take your time with him, take the time to observe every little shift in his face, every ragged breath that escapes his mouth, every time his lips part as he’s about to say something but the pleasure steals his words.

His fingers dig into your flesh as he clings to your arm, eyes dark and completely gone from the way you’re touching him and the way you’re looking at him – like he’s so much more than the trembling mess beneath your palm, more than just a body desperate for release, like he’s truly wanted for once in his life. 

He’s never had this like this before, never had it slow, intentional, a bit tentative, not just about finishing.

Bob’s hand shifts to slide up to the back of your neck and guide your face back to his, a low hum tearing from your throat when you sense his fingers working at the button of your pants; it's a bit hurried and clumsy as he struggles, and you're forced to pull away just long enough to rid yourself of the rest of your clothes faster. 

He kisses you again like he’s starving for it once you’re back over him again, deeper, needier, body pressing up against yours like the brief moment you've been apart has been unbearable.

Your forehead remains pressed up against his, breath thick with anticipation, skin burning up with desire. “Are you clean or do we need to–”

“The serum cleared me of anything” he nods, fingers brushing along your face, nose gently nudging your own.

“Okay that’s great– okay.”

Your name leaves his lips in a shaky breath when you roll your hips against his, slick and aching, the head of his cock catching right where you’re warmest. His hand digs into your waist, holding you there as his forehead presses against your shoulder. “Fuck– please,” he whispers, voice wrecked, wavering with need. “Stop teasing, I need–”

“You're acting so impatient for someone who wants to take it easy,” you chuckle softly, reaching between the two of you again to guide him where you want him. 

The moment he feels himself start to slide inside, he lets out a small grunt that joins your own exhale. “Jesus, you’re–” his hands tremble on your hips as you work to take all of him in, inch by inch, until your thighs are pressed flush to his. You pause there, letting the both of you adjust, brushing your fingers along the nape of his neck while your breathing evens out. “Are you okay?” he asks, warm hands settling at your thighs, lightly squeezing in reassurance. You nod, steadying yourself, palms resting against his abdomen to brace yourself, hips leisurely starting to move. 

You can’t help but wonder how many times he’s been in this position before, if it’s ever been serious enough to really mean something to him, if it feels as any good without the chemical alteration – if being that close to him in that context used to really meant being that close, if being that intimate really meant being that intimate, if it used to have any more depth than just the physical connection.

His head sinks back into the soft fabric of his bedding with a faint sigh of your name, broad hands firm at your sides, a hushed cussword quietly slipping from his mouth as you ride him slowly. 

“I’ve dreamed of this before” he admits in a murmur. 

Your movements still just slightly, head tilting to the side in curiosity. “Yeah?”

“Not in a weird way. I mean– dreaming about it is probably weird either way” he adds quickly, brows pulling in embarrassment as his lips twist into a self-deprecating smile. “But I’ve thought about you like this for a while” 

You feel your heart thrumming faster with the way his breath catches every time you rock against him, the way his fingers twitch against your skin when you clench around him, the way he holds your gaze like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Knowing that he’s been thinking about this before, has been wanting you like this for a while and trusts you enough to admit it could make you crumble faster than you even expected. 

You kiss him again, deeper this time, like you're trying to indulge in the way he initially wanted this to be unhurried, body pressed up against his. 

“That’s more sweet than weird but– you can’t say this and expect me to last a while” you chuckle once you pull away, breath hitching in your throat when his hips tilt upwards to meet the slow grind of your body. 

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing” he grins, lips dragging against your bare shoulder, the tip of his fingers running up along your spine.

“I thought you wanted to take your time,” you say, unable to help the soft gasp that follows, cheeks burning as your face buries into his neck when Bob clutches onto your waist to thrust up into you.

“I do. But it's nice knowing I can make you feel good” he grunts, muffled and short of breath, fingers digging deeper into your flesh, eyes squeezing shut when he realizes what he’s capable of when he’s not numbed by something synthetic, when it’s just him and not him and that painful itch to scratch driven by the drugs.

You keep moving together like that for a while, slow, gentle, but desperate. He lets his hands wander, less hesitant than before, sliding up your back and down again to grip your ass and guide your rhythm, groaning softly into your shoulder with each shift of your hips. There’s a desperation in his hold like he’s terrified that if he loosens his grip even for just a second you might disappear, like this entire moment could be a dream he might wake from too soon like it has been before. 

And when he leans back, eyes filled with desire as he murmurs, “Can I– let me get on top, yeah? Let me do this,” the uncertainty is so obvious across his face, like he’s afraid you’ll say no, that your heart tightens in your chest before you nod, cupping his cheek.

His lips twitch into a faint, grateful smile before he rolls you onto your back like it requires no effort at all – you sometimes forget about the serum and its effects that in some cases turn out to be great perks – you never thought of how useful it could be in that kind of situation, but the thought of how much more it could get to your advantage sparks even more excitement within you.

When he settles between your legs, it’s with a tenderness that almost shatters your soul. He doesn’t push back in right away, he just hovers there, his chest pressed to yours and his hands sliding under your thighs as if to remind himself you’re still real. His lips brush the corner of your mouth as he kisses you, his breath shivering against your cheek like he’s afraid he might ruin this if he moves too fast.

And then he’s inside you again, filling you up with a slow thrust that steals the breath from your lungs. It's deeper this time, his eyes squeezing shut as a shudder rips through him, soft moans escaping your mouths at each gentle drag of his cock. 

His pace starts slow, his thrusts calculated, a hand planted beside your head to hold himself up as his teeth bite into his bottom lip in focus. “You feel so good sweetheart” he murmurs, voice low with desire. His words somehow make you feel as good as his body does, unconsciously clenching around him when you feel them reverberate in the pit of your stomach. 

It doesn’t take long before he picks up on the pace, hips rolling harder against yours like he can’t hold back anymore. Soft gasps and whimpers escape you, nails grazing over the muscles of his back as he fucks you, but it’s only when you open your eyes and catch a glimpse of his face that you realize that he’s crying. 

Not dramatically weeping, not full on sobbing, and he probably thinks that it’s not enough to be noticeable and he can probably get away with it.

“Bob,” you whisper, hands coming to hold his face, fingers instantly brushing along his temple, panic and worry filling your voice as your gaze searches his. “Are you okay? Do you want to stop? We can stop–”

“No– no,” he breathes, voice breaking, head shaking. “I don’t wanna stop” he swallows hard, his body trembling above you, gaze dropping in shame. “It’s just– It feels real and that’s– don’t worry, just– let’s just keep going, please” he nods, trying to swallow the lump in his throat, head turning to the side like he wants to hide any way he can, face flushed and damp.

Your hand cups his cheek, gently turning him back to face you. His tears are warm against your fingertips as you swipe them away, your heart breaking for him when you see his gaze reflecting the overload of conflicted thoughts inside his head when his eyes finally meet yours. “Are you sure? We can take five if you want,” you offer, the tone of your voice poisoned with worry, watching intently when his head shakes and he swiftly wipes the few of the rest of his tears away.

“I’m okay,” he insists with a firm and resilient nod though his voice remains quiet and wavering. “I promise.”

You lean up just enough to press a kiss to his lips, soft and lingering. “I know you don’t believe it, but you’re allowed to have nice things, you know,” you murmur against his mouth. 

His breath shudders out again, hand gripping your waist just a little tighter. “Yeah,” he says, almost like he’s still trying to convince himself of it, lips curling into a small, genuine smile when your hand slides down to the juncture between his neck and shoulder to soothingly rub there.

You feel the shift in him after that. It takes some time before the rhythm and confidence build up again, but Bob catches up on his pace, and soon, the momentary disruption is long forgotten, his thrusts growing bolder, surer, still tender but with more intent now, like he’s actively trying to believe that he deserves it, all of it, and has to make the most of it. 

Your lids fall shut at Bob’s quiet gasps of your name breathed into your ear when you tell him how good he’s doing, coupled with his hand snaking between your bodies to touch you, gently trying to coax it out of you, begging you like you’re not already going liquid beneath him. “Come on baby, please give it to me” 

Your fingers curl against his back, legs wrapping tighter around his waist and pulling him in even deeper. "Bob," you gasp as you arch into him, chasing after his touch. You’re so close it hurts, every desperate drag of his cock inside you feeling just right, every graze of his fingers sending sparks up your spine and heat pooling low in your belly.

"Please," he whispers again, like he's begging for more than just your orgasm, like he's asking for everything he’s ever wanted from you; your trust, your faith, your forgiveness for everything he's ever done and felt shameful for before he got here, right here with you beneath him. 

And you give it to him, you give all of it, you want him to have it all.

Your body tightens around him with a strangled gasp, hand clinging onto his bicep and nails digging into his skin as you let go beneath him, moaning his name as you tremble in his arms, melting into the mattress as it overtakes you.

He’s not far behind. The way your body pulses around him and the broken sounds you make in his ear get him right here. He lets out a groan, hips stuttering when you meet his eyes, the dim light of the room making them appear darker than they are – yet you could swear that for the matter of half a second, you can see a golden glint shine through his irises that disappears just as fast as it went, and then he’s spilling into you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. 

His whole body trembles with the force of it, the muscles in his neck tensing under your fingers when your hands slide up to bury into his hair.

“You’re all sweaty,” you tease breathlessly once he starts to come down, fingers threading into his damp hair, lightly scratching his scalp.

His lips curve against your skin, his chuckle low and warm, vibrating through your feverish body. “So are you,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your jaw before looking at you again, gaze heavy with affection and something deeper that makes your stomach twist.

You lie like this for a while, tangled limbs buzzing with that funny feeling, your breathing evening as you hold each other, your thumb idly moving back and forth against his cheek.

Bob takes in a breath before he eventually breaks the comfortable silence. ”Sorry about earlier. When I… Y’know,” his voice drops, gets quieter. “Cried” your head shakes, brows pulling, and he speaks again before you can even begin to tell him he shouldn’t have to feel like he has to apologize for that. “It’s just that... I didn’t know it could feel this good,” he admits like it's some embarrassing confession, not even sure it’s something he would be saying out loud in any other context, not sure it would be something worth admitting. “Not just the sex, I mean. You. All of this.” he murmurs. “The… emotional connection”

He shifts, readjusting his position so that he’s lying beside you, still close, giving you space so he’s not smothering you with the overwhelming heat of his body, but most of all so he can face you. 

“It’s always been so quick and insignificant before” your head tilts to the side as you listen intently, quietly brushing away the damp strands of hair falling over his face, silently encouraging him to go on. “And besides the physical reactions it used to be so… numb.” he frowns. You can practically see the gears turning inside his head as he looks for his words, how to express it properly. “Not-special”

You nod, lips pinching into a small smile that wordlessly tells him that you get what he’s trying to say.

“I feel at ease when I'm with you” he eventually admits quietly, tiredly blinking as he looks at you like you’ve been giving him anything he’s ever wanted and needed.

You don’t say anything, maybe from fear that it wouldn’t even begin to compare to the preciousness of his words, so you just kiss him.

“I would want it to last forever if we could handle it. Being like this with you” he says once he pulls away, and he looks like he might almost cry again despite the grin over his face.

You chuckle, your fingertips lightly tracing the edges of his face. “We can always try” you tease playfully.

He snorts a laugh, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he breathes out like a weight has been lifted off his chest. The exhaustion is obvious over his face, like he’s been drained of all energy, blinking the sleepiness away as he tries to fight it, holding on just to not give up on you like this.

You let your hand run through his hair again. “You can rest. I’ll be there when you wake up tomorrow, I’m not going anywhere”

His eyes roam along your face before he nods, not looking to argue, and he smiles, eyes closing in contentment when you kiss his face.

He had never done it sober, but now he has.

—

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He’s got a smile on his face that someone could see from a mile away. The kind that shows the dimple in his left cheek and makes his eyes squint at the edges. The kind that you’ve learned often means trouble. “Bob, slow down—” you just manage to caution from where you kick your feet in the shallow end with Bucky.

But by then, it’s already too late. 

Bob’s already slammed the door shut behind him — a simple flick of his wrist that’s got a world of inadvertent power behind it. Everyone flinches, bracing themselves for the inevitable impact. The thick glass of the sliding door cracks and shatters until you can’t see through it anymore. 

Bob just freezes, cheeks burning red, like staying still enough will make him invisible. 

“Nice going, Bobby,” Ava chides with her mouthful.

“I’ll fix it,” he squeaks out.

Walker laughs. “How?” 

Bob falters. “I’ll… I’m sure I’ll figure it out,” he shrugs with a wavering smile, much too pretty to argue with.

It stays broken for two days after that, which is how long it takes Valentina to send someone up to fix it.

Typically, when Bob breaks one thing, he breaks several others in quick succession. None of you is totally sure why that is — you only know that a few of you have made quite a bit of money betting on what he’ll break next. (You once made a pretty penny in one night after correctly assuming that Bob would break the dining table before dinner after he’d shattered one of the chairs at breakfast that morning.)

So, you feel pretty confident now betting that Bob will end up shattering the newly installed glass door. 

Of all the other guesses from the remaining Thunderbolts, Alexei’s is the most horrid. “The bed’s next. I know it,” he guesses in a low Russian drawl, then scoffs at the screwed look of disgust on your face. “I share a wall with you, you know? I hear these things—” 

When Bob follows you into the bathroom later that night, half-asleep and insistent on keeping you company while you shower, you wonder silently what’s in there for him to break — the sink, the towel rod, the mirror maybe (if he’s being particularly reckless, which would then mean you’d owe Yelena fifty dollars). 

You can’t help but worry as he trudges in behind you, visibly weighed down by sleep.

“You don’t have to wait for me, Bob,” you giggle from behind the foggy, translucent curtain. He can just barely make out the pretty sound of it beneath the thundering water cascading over you in steamy droplets. “You know that, right?”

Bob rubs a fist over his swollen eyes, wearing the need for slumber all over — in his wild chestnut curls and the glazed-over look in his dark ocean eyes. “I want to, though…” he murmurs in tired slurs. “I missed you.”

“Well, if you were asleep, you wouldn’t be able to miss me.”

“I always miss you when you’re not around,” Bob scoffs, wrapping his fingers around the counter’s edge as he angles himself to sit on top of it.

You open your mouth to respond, but the words dissolve on the tip of your tongue at the dull crack that fills the bathroom. Bob freezes, eyes wide and breath hitching in his throat. The feeling of the marble counter shifting underneath him sobers him from sleep almost instantly.

Your hand slides the shower curtain back, just enough to reveal your flushed features and dripping hair. “…Did you break just something?” you wonder aloud when you don’t find anything obvious out of the ordinary.

Bob swallows hard and shakes his head, despite the split marble slowly pinching his sweatpant-clad thigh. “No,” he answers in a voice an octave higher than usual.

He shifts uncomfortably, and your eyes narrow into the thin slits. “You broke the counter, didn’t you?”

“I’ll fix it,” he blurts, just like he always does. 

Because he always has the best intentions, never means to ruin anything — he just wishes he had the ability to put things back together after he’s broken them. He’d want that power over being some stupid invicible schmuch any day. At least then he’d feel actually deserving of all the praise he gets from the public, if he could make things better instead of destroying them.

As far as Bob’s concerned, the only thing he knows how to do properly is make you feel good. You’re the only thing he’s touched that he hasn’t totally ruined. Despite everything he’s hurt with his hands and his body and his mind, he uses those things to bring you to heaven and back too.

He fucks you within an inch of your life into the mattress, propped on his arms above you with his hands balling the pillow into his fists. His core burns with the intensity of his merciless thrusts, which punch so many pretty whines out of you.

“That the spot, baby?” he pants when your mouth parts in a silent moan, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. “That the spot? Huh?”

You nod wordlessly, unable to form the words, as your body grows taut underneath him. The stimulation is constant and ruthless — your sensitive nipples caged beneath his chest, your swollen clit rutting against the coarse thatch of hair above his cock, your velvet walls gushing around his piercing thrusts. 

The pleasure is all-consuming. You couldn’t run from it if you tried.

Bob watches with lidded, attentive eyes as your orgasm racks suddenly through your body. Your nails dig crescent shapes into his shoulders in a desperate attempt to tether yourself when your limbs start to tremble underneath him. Your cunt pulses around his twitching cock, and his own orgasm swells in the pit of his stomach along with his pride.

“There you go…” Bob pants into your neck, hiding his face there while he chases his high with rapid and erratic thrusts. His fingertips threaten to dig bruises into your skin from where he holds so ardently to your hips. “Take it, baby,” he whimpers. “Take it…”

Your body feels lighter than air as you come down. You exhale deeply and rake your fingers through his curls, coaxing him softly as his cock begins to jerk within your pulsating confines. “Cum for me,” you beg in quiet slurs. “Need it so bad, baby, please cum for me—”

A pained sort of groan sounds deep in his throat. He punches into you once — hard — and suddenly a dull and hearty crack sounds from underneath you. You blink, and suddenly you’re lying halfway crooked on a lopsided bedframe. 

If Bob notices the damage to the wooden thing, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps exhaling pretty little whines into your skin as his cock spits deep inside you. It takes several long moments for the haze to pass, for his cock to soften, and for Bob to realize how both of you are leaning ever so lightly askew.

“…I broke the bed, huh?” he pants against your neck, face still hidden, as his body weight rests wholly on top of you.

You nod, still breathless. “I think so.”

“I’ll fix it,” he promises.

You know he won’t, but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

Bucky stood in the entryway, wind-tousled and still in partial tactical gear. The sleeves of his black shirt were pushed up to the elbows, revealing the flex of muscle and dull gleam of vibranium beneath. He had a look in his eye that was hard to read–half sheepish, half pleased with himself–and he was already fishing through one of the many compartments in his bag. He didn’t speak again until he pulled something out with a sort of slow care.

”Ta da.” You raised an eyebrow at him, seeing him pull something from his bag like it was a treasure he’d smuggled across enemy lines. You hopped off the bench with a soft thud and crossed the room toward him, curiosity instantly piqued–mostly because Bucky Barnes was not one to say ‘ta da’. Not unless he was hiding something behind that half-smirk of his.

Your eyes immediately caught sight of what he was holding.

The flower hadn’t bloomed yet, but even in its dormant state, it was breathtaking. The outer petals were tightly furled, each one smooth and iridescent like the type you would find on shells of certain mollusks–but it was shaded in a gradient you couldn’t quite place. They started as an inky, oil-slick blue at the base, then rippled out into smoky violets and blushing wine tones near the tips. Delicate veins shimmered faintly across the surface, catching the lab lights with a strange metallic luster, almost like the petals were dusted in powdered silver.

The stem curved gently, a deep green tinged with gold, and the leaves were narrow, slightly translucent, and lined with fine threads of coppery red. Even when it wasn’t fully bloomed, it had an energy to it. A heat, almost. As if it were responding to the proximity of warm skin and breath. You squinted at it.

”Bucky, if this is your idea of asking me out on a date, you really need to brush up on your courting skills.” He let out a sharp bark of laughter, head dropping forward briefly with a grin.

“Hey,” He said, handing the flower over to you carefully, “You’re the one who told me, if I saw anything weird, unknown, alien, or otherwise ‘botanically suspicious,’ I should bring you back a sample.” You gingerly accepted the stem, trying not to touch the tightly closed bud itself.

”Yeah, I meant specifiers, not some interstellar looking thing.” You shot back. He leaned against a nearby counter.

”Don’t say I never do anything for you.” He commented back. You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your mouth betrayed your fondness.

”You absolutely broke every rule of containment protocol by walking this thing straight into my lab, but…” You gave the top of the flower another slow once-over, still entranced, “Thanks for thinking of me.” You turned, crossing to your bench and plucking a clean beaker from the rack. You filled it with a few inches of distilled water, and set the flower inside, watching it float just enough to stay upright. The petals didn’t open, but they flexed slightly–like they were stretching, or drinking the water you had put the stem in.

”So,” You started, glancing over your shoulder to where Bucky was still leaning, “Where’d you find it?” You asked, watching him give you a small, casual shrug.

”There was a patch of them, right off the tree line. I spotted them on my way back to the quinjet. Figured I’d snatch one up before anyone else trampled it.” You hummed, turning your head away–not noticing the way his gaze lingered on the flower for a beat too long. You were too busy cataloguing the possibilities in your head. It was too vibrant to be terrestrial, but it wasn’t necessarily alien. Possibly hybridized. The energy you felt coming off of it could’ve been psychosomatic–but you weren’t one to write something off without running tests.

“And you’re sure no one else touched them?” You asked, looking back over at him to see if you can spot any of the tells he had when he was lying. His brow lifted toward you.

”I mean…I touched one obviously.” You gave him a pointed look, and he immediately held up both hands.

”Didn’t eat it. Didn’t stick it up my nose. I was the only one that touched anything. Scout’s honor.” You snorted, and shook your head.

”Alright, Barnes…I’ll bite. I’ll run some diagnostics. Spectrograph, chemical composition, basic pollen analysis when it blooms…All the sciencey things that you don’t understand, then I’ll get back to you.” He gave you a mock salute and pushed himself off the table he was leaning against, going toward the door.

”Just make sure you name it after me if it ends up trying to kill you.”

”Noted,” You called, “But if it ends up giving me superpowers instead, I’ll be naming it after myself.” He was still laughing as the door slid shut behind him. You turned back to the flower, now gently swirling in the water–its petals flexing once more, as if hearing your voice. You leaned in just a touch, and breathed in slightly.

You could’ve sworn it hadn’t smelled like anything before, but now…

Now it smelled faintly of summer rain, citrus, and the soft trace of jasmine. It was warm, soft, and inviting, like it was trying to beckon you to come closer to it. You straightened slowly, then reached blindly across the workbench for a spare sheet of scrap paper, grabbing the pen you had tucked behind your ear.

”Initial scent: None. Notable change after water exposure–New profile: humid, citrus notes, floral base (jasmine like). Unsettling–shift occurred in under two minutes.” You tapped the end of your pen lightly against your chin, your gaze never leaving the beaker. The flower was still half-closed, petals fluttering slightly in the water like they were breathing–like they were aware. The surface tension of the liquid shimmered faintly around the base of the stem, as though reacting to something within the plant.

You didn’t like that.

Flowers didn’t just change their chemical profile that fast. Not unless they were highly volatile. Not unless they were engineered.

A muscle tensed along your jaw.

You slid the note aside and moved quickly now, grabbing a glass containment dome from one of the side drawers–a heat-tempered cloche you typically used when running long-term decay tests on bio-samples. It wasn’t hermetically sealed, but it would be enough to contain most airborne particulates.

Just in case.

You placed it gently over the beaker and the flower with practiced care, watching as the edges sealed against the bench with a soft thunk. The scent dimmed immediatel-ybut didn’t vanish. It clung to the air like it had already soaked into the fibers of your clothes, your skin.

You took a step back, and another, suddenly aware of the way the heat of the room felt a degree too warm.

Your eyes narrowed. You made another note.

“Mild thermal increase noted (subjective). Investigate potential volatile compounds. Possible synthetic ancestry. Unknown reaction to water exposure–possible activation trigger?”

You stood still for a moment longer, arms crossed over your chest now, staring at the flower like it might start humming.

Then you exhaled through your nose, gave your head a small shake, and muttered, “Okay, mystery plant. Let’s see what you’re hiding.”

You turned on your heel and crossed to the far side of the lab, grabbing gloves, pipettes, and a test slide. You didn’t see the way the petals quivered beneath the glass dome. Or the way the center of the bud pulsed–slowly, rhythmically–as if something within it had begun to wake.

You were too busy prepping your tools.

You’d get your first sample from the outermost edge of the petal, where a small amount of condensation had begun to form–right where the flower had interacted with the water. It wasn’t much. Just enough to suggest a subtle chemical discharge. A secretion, maybe. Or pollen.

Your gloved fingers hovered just beside the dome.

You paused.

A thought scratched quietly at the back of your mind, the way instincts sometimes do when they’re not fully formed.

You didn’t ignore it.

You stepped back again.

Instead of removing the dome outright, you retrieved your small fume extractor arm—used mostly for soldering–and wheeled it over until its head hovered just above the cloche’s apex. You flicked the switch, and a soft hum filled the room as the extractor began to filter the air directly above the sample.

Another note:

“Smell is still detectable after containment. Strong. Possibly psychoactive. Proceeding with caution.”

Still, despite your wariness, you found yourself walking back toward the glass.

One more glance. Just to be sure.

The flower was still closed–but now its bud looked fuller. Like it had begun to swell. One of the petals had unfurled the tiniest bit. Barely a sliver.

But just enough for you to see a glint of gold pollen resting in the shadows of its center.

It shimmered like dust caught in a sunbeam.

You stared.

And then, carefully, you reached over to your comm unit and tapped the call button for your assistant team over in the biocontainment lab.

“Hey,” You said when the line clicked open, voice low. “I’ve got a…Weird one. Found by Barnes. It’s stable, but I want a second containment unit prepped in case things escalate.”

A pause on the line. Then:

“Escalate how?”

You glanced back at the flower. That scent. That impossible shimmer. You didn’t know yet.

“Just…Prep it,” You replied. “I’ll send over a sample in a few.”

And then you muted the line.

You looked down at the flower one more time.

It was no longer just beautiful.

It was waiting.

———————

It had been three days since Bucky dropped the flower off, and by this time it had bloomed. Not delicately, and certainly not in the way flowers usually did–with gradual graceful predictability. No. This thing had opened like it knew it was being watched and studied by you.

When you came down to your lab the morning after Bucky brought you the mysterious flower, the petals had fully unfurled–broad, sweeping things with a high-gloss sheen and hypnotic gradients that shifted from gold to scarlet to bruise-dark purple depending on the light. The stamen in its center now pulsed visibly, a slow inhale-exhale rhythm that made the entire structure look…Alive. The pollen shimmered every time it moved, a near-invisible cloud that never seemed to settle but floated in still air like it was defying gravity. Or logic.

You had kept it sealed tight under the reinforced cloche, and had the triple-filtered vents on and the entire section of the lab cordoned off with containment protocols. Your notes had doubled in size, and still, nothing definitive had come back from the biocontainment team. There were just vague updates telling you that they were behind on other specimens and that they would get around to it when they could.

So you worked around it. You monitored. You wrote. You catalogued symptoms–your own included, though they were still annoyingly ambiguous: mild temperature spikes, random surges of adrenaline, difficulty concentrating in bursts. But no rash, no lesions, no hallucinations. There was a kind of pressure, similar to urgency but just on the cusp of it, desire maybe–but for what, you had no clue. You had only inhaled a bit of the pollen and hadn’t been exposed since, so you didn’t dwell on it–not with your schedule stacked, and not with your own lab being as backed up as it was.

You were just rinsing a pipette when the door to the lab slid open with a soft hiss.

”H-Hey,” Came the voice you’d come to recognize more easily than your own thoughts lately. You didn’t need to look up to know that it was Bob, but you did anyways, just to catch a glimpse of him.

He was towering and soft-shouldered in a dark grey hoodie with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows, worn sweatpants hugging the curve of his hips, and his crown of light brown hair was in absolute disarray, like he had it tied up and decided to let the locks fall free in front of his face. He looked like someone who didn’t have the slightest clue what he did to people around him, and he truly didn’t know.

The plastic takeout bag in his hand swung gently as he stepped inside, smiling at you like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Brought y-you lunch.” Your stomach growled at the word lunch, and it echoed through the moment of silence that settled between you, which only made Bob’s grin stretch wider.

”Let me guess,” You started, pulling off your gloves and throwing them into the biohazard bin, “You timed this perfectly because you knew my stomach would start making monstrous noises, didn’t you?”He shrugged, with a small smirk on his face, setting the bag down on your cleared desk near one of your monitors.

”You skipped b-breakfast.” You held out a finger.

”No no…I postponed breakfast.” He shook his head.

”You always p-postpone breakfast,” He said, moving past you to pour you a cup of water from the cooler, his big hands making it look smaller than what it actually was, “And if I d-dont show up with something d-decent by 2 p.m, you would just end up inhaling the vending machine c-crackers and freeze-dried apple s-slices…Which is not s-sustainable i-in the slightest.” You couldn’t help but let out a laugh at his comments.

”Seems like someone has been watching me a bit too closely.” He turned and handed you the water, fingers brushing yours as he didn. His hands were boiling as usual, and it left the paper cup feeling warm from where his fingers had been holding it. His eyes lingered on your face a beat longer than necessary.

”I-I always watch you c-closely,” He said softly, like it slipped out before he could catch it. Immediately his eyes glanced down away from you, dropping to the floor for a second, before flicking away toward the cluttered end of your bench like he suddenly remembered a far more interesting smudge on the tile. His cheeks were red–not just a flush, not just a tinge, but a slow bloom of color climbing from the collar of his hoodie up to the tips of his ears.

You said nothing in response. Not because you didn’t notice–because you did. More because if you said anything, if you so much as looked at him with any kind of expression that acknowledged the truth buried in his voice, he might self-destruct on the spot. So instead, you took a slow sip of the water he handed you, letting the quiet hum of the lab fill the air between the both of you.

Then you turned on your heel toward the takeout bag.

”So what’s on the menu today, Chef Bob?” You asked lightly, pulling the plastic open and peeking inside, “Please tell me it’s not another one of your hot dog stir-fry’s.” He let out a groan.

”Listen…I-It was one time, I-I know nobody was a fan of it.” You grinned as you pulled out a tinfoil-wrapped container, unraveling it with careful fingers. A rich, savoury scent wafted up–soy and sesame and something sweet under it, like cane sugar with more of a freshness that was unexpected, “So what am I looking at?”

”Sticky rice, soy-glazed chicken, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, “T-There’s some grated g-granny smith apple in the glaze…C-Cause I didn’t have honey.” You raised your eyebrows.

”Pretty decent alternative.” You replied.

”Yeah,” He said, shoving his hands into his pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them, “You know how S-Sentry gets with processed s-sugars in his system. Makes him a-all buzzy.” You let out a soft laugh.

”So this is officially Sentry-approved, then?”

“F-For the most part,” He mumbled, “I-I think you’re the real t-test though.” That made you pause, glancing up at him, still holding the half-unwrapped meal in your hands, finding his gaze had landed on you again. This time it held something quiet but vulnerable. Expectant, even. Like he really cared what you thought.

And that was the difference between Bob and everyone else–you knew he didn’t make things just to impress. He made them because it gave him joy to offer them. He brought you food not because he wanted credit–but because he worried you wouldn’t eat otherwise. He brought you books because he remembered which ones made your eyes light up. He let you take his blood every month without protest, even when the Sentry made his pulse unpredictable or his veins hard to find, because he trusted you with every part of him–even that. And because of those little things, you always made sure to praise him.

Even when he burned the eggs.

Even when the pasta came out overcooked.

Even when the hot dog stir-fry almost gave you heartburn.

You forked a bite of the rice and chicken, chewed, and let your eyes widen a bit as the warmth hit your tongue. “Okay. Wait. This is actually good.”

He blinked, caught between shock and a smile. “Y-you don’t have to lie.”

“I would lie,” You said, pointing at him with your fork. “But not this convincingly. This? Bob. It’s delicious.” He looked like he didn’t quite know what to do with the praise. He rocked back slightly on his heels, running a hand through his already-messy hair, trying to hide the shy little grin that was pulling at the corners of his mouth. You watched the way his fingers threaded through the strands, the way his forearms flexed under the soft stretch of the hoodie.

You took another bite and leaned against the counter beside him, letting out a hum of satisfaction.

“Y’know,” You said between chews, “If Val found out you were secretly good at this, she’d start expecting meals during debriefs.”

”She’d want a report first,” He said, playing along, “T-Then she’d make Walker taste it for poison.” The both of you laughed lightly. The silence that followed was companionable. Safe. You brushed your shoulder lightly against his as you leaned forward to set the food container down beside the monitor.

His body went still at the contact.

Not because he didn’t want it. But because he did. You knew that reaction well by now–the micro-freeze, the way he’d let the warmth of your hand or arm settle into him like he was still learning he could have it. That it was for him.

You let your arm linger against his for just a second longer.

Then you pulled back, slow and easy.

He looked at you from the side of his eye. His voice was low when he spoke.

”H-How’s the flower?” You glanced toward the containment dome instinctively. The petals shimmered under the harsh lab light, colors shifting in slow gradients like they were part of something fluid, something still breathing. It looked even larger today. Full-bodied. Restless.

“Still haven’t heard anything back from the biocontainment lab,” You said, turning back to Bob and picking up your fork again. “Apparently they’re still backed up from the Skrull fungus incident.”

His face pulled slightly. “God…D-Don’t remind me of t-that.” You nodded grimly.

“I won’t…But this?” You took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. “No movement. Just… opened. Big. Loudly. Like it knew I was looking at it.” Bob followed your glance as you continued to speak, “I breathed in a little bit of the pollen when I first got it–just a trace. It made me really warm. Flushed. But otherwise nothing dramatic. No side effects. No changes. So I think it was just my body reacting to whatever compound it’s putting off–probably a weird hybridization. Something experimental maybe.” Bob’s brow furrowed at this comment.

”You s-should’ve been wearing a m-mask.” You huffed a laugh, nudging your shoulder into his again.

”Please, I’m pretty sure I’ve been exposed to worse.”

“S-Sure,” He said quietly, his gaze fixed on you now, “B-But definitely not like this.” There was something layered in his voice—concern wrapped around protectiveness, softened by something you didn’t dare name.

You didn’t say anything to it. Just took another bite of the meal he made, let the flavor distract you from how closely he was watching you now. He shifted beside you, and you knew it was only a matter of time before–

“How’s the Golden God doing, by the way…Totally forgot to ask.” Bob rolled his eyes, “You know you’ve got bloodwork today, and I know how much he looks forward to that.” He grimaced.

”D-Darn…I f-forgot that was today.”

“You always forget,” You mumbled between bites, mockingly stern in tone, “Even though we’ve had the same schedule for, what–eight months?”

“Nine,” He corrected, “You count too?”

“Only because I have to track your blood chemistry, Bob.” He gave you a crooked smile, “Stick around,” You said waving your fork at him, “Let me finish this delicious lunch and I’ll get everything set up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave you a faux salute, backing off to give you space. You watched him for a moment out of the corner of your eye as he wandered slowly around the perimeter of the lab, hands in his pockets, shoulders soft beneath his hoodie.

Bob moved like someone who didn’t want to disturb anything. Not just the tools and data, but you–your space, your rhythm, your day. Even now, when he stopped in front of the containment dome, he didn’t lean close or peer in like most people would’ve. He just stood there, quietly watching.

The flower didn’t move. But the pulsing in its center seemed to slow, slightly. Steadying. As if recognizing something.

Bob tilted his head faintly.

But said nothing.

You finished your lunch in a few final bites, wiped your hands on a cloth, and pulled on a fresh pair of nitrile gloves.

“All right,” You called, walking over to the locked cabinet beside your centrifuge. “Time to sacrifice a little plasma for science.”

Bob grumbled playfully as he headed back toward the stool you always set aside for him during these sessions. “Sentry’s gonna make it d-difficult again. Last time you had to chase the vein for like five minutes.”

“Oh how could I forget,” You said playfully, drawing the phlebotomy kit from the drawer, “I’ve never met a God who’s afraid of needles. He flared your heart rate on purpose and kicked the adrenaline response. Your veins were literally jumping.” Bob winced at the memory and sighed.

”I-I don’t think he m-means to be a jerk a-about it.”

“No, he just is,” You turned with a teasing smile and raised your brow, “You listening in there Sentry, I called you a jerk.” A flicker of gold passed through Bob’s eyes, and his expression shifted just slightly. A pressure just beneath the surface of his calm exterior. You saw the way his jaw flexed. The way his breath caught on the edge of a heartbeat. It was gone just as fast as it appeared. You gestured to the stool.

”Alright, you know the drill.” Bob sighed and tugged his hoodie over his head with one hand, letting it fall across the nearby stool in a heap of worn fabric and static-charged threads.

Your breath caught for just a second–not that you’d ever admit it.

He was wearing a plain white t-shirt underneath. Simple, but it didn’t leave much to the imagination. The fabric clung in all the places that mattered: broad shoulders, a narrow waist, the gentle taper of his torso. His arms were sculpted, the muscle built from the serum and his own training he did on the side with Walker–solid biceps veined faintly beneath pale skin, his forearms thick and freckled with golden hairs. Even through the shirt, you could see the subtle rise of his chest when he breathed. His body wasn’t exaggerated or showy like some of the other enhanced agents. Bob’s strength was honest, clean and quiet. The kind that didn’t beg to be seen–just was. He sat on the stool, leaned slightly forward, and offered you his right arm without hesitation–palm up, wrist relaxed, fingers curling just slightly where they hung over the edge of your tray. As always, he was warm. Always a degree or two above everyone else. Like the Sentry lived just beneath the surface, pulsing against the skin.

You pulled your chair close and gently cradled his arm in one gloved hand, “You good?” He nodded, jaw ticking faintly.

”Sentry’s a-already getting stirred u-up.”

“I figured,” You murmured, swabbing the crook of his elbow with an alcohol pad, watching the way the fine blond hairs on his arm caught the light, “You twitched when I called him a jerk.” Bob exhaled a shallow breath, half-laugh, half-wince.

”Y-Yeah he–uh–didn’t like t-that.”

“Well, tell him to behave,” you said, voice softening as you spoke, instinctively adjusting your tone. You’d found, over time, that it wasn’t just what you said–but how. The Sentry didn’t respond well to authority. But he did respond to calm. To care. To you.

“I’m going to insert the needle now, okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” He said quietly, “Keep talking through the process, t-that would help.” You gave him a smile–genuine and soft.

“All right…Just a little pressure here…” You slipped the butterfly needle in with smooth, practiced hands, watching the dark blood flood into the first vial like a ribbon of garnet. He didn’t flinch. His fingers curled just slightly, but that was it. You could feel the tension in him, though–not fear, not even discomfort, really.

Just a heightened presence.

You always felt it when the Sentry was nearby. Like a third set of lungs had begun breathing somewhere in the room. Like the molecules in the air shifted their charge.

“I’m taking five tubes,” You said gently. “You’re doing fine. Your blood flow is nice and steady today.”

“Y-Yeah,” Bob said, watching you with his head slightly turned. His voice had dropped to something deeper. Thicker. “That’s because o-of you.”

You glanced up.

He blinked, quickly. “Your voice. It…I-It helps.” You kept working, carefully switching out the first full tube for the second, then the third, eyes flicking to him only briefly.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Or a cosmic honor. One of the two.” That got a smile out of him, even if it was small. The rest of the draw passed in familiar quiet–soft beeping from your equipment, the slow, gentle swirl of the containment fans, the hum of the overhead lights. His blood was warm in your hands. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you reached the fifth tube and carefully capped it.

You retracted the needle in one smooth motion, placing it in the sharps container before gently pressing a cotton ball to the puncture site.

“Pressure here, please.”

Bob complied, two fingers resting lightly over the spot. You retrieved a bandage, peeled it open, and pressed it into place over the cotton. Your hand lingered a second longer than it needed to. His skin was flushed warm beneath your glove. He smelled faintly of cedar and limes, probably from his shampoo. Then you leaned back in your chair and gave him a mock-serious look.

“So,” You said, cocking your head, “Does Sentry want a lollipop for his troubles?”Bob groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“D-Don’t get him riled up…” You laughed at the way his cheeks turned rosy again, as he attempted to hold back a smile, which failed.

”You sure?” You teased, “You don’t want me to pull out the glittery sticker chart?”

“W-We talked about this…He remembers t-things like that.” You both burst into soft laughter again, the kind that curled at the edges of your ribs and left everything just a little lighter.

And somewhere behind you, the flower twitched.

The petals shifted.

The pulse in its center matched his heartbeat.

But neither of you noticed.

——————

The next day, just after 2:00 p.m., the soft hiss of the lab doors made your head snap up again.

You were halfway through a long-winded notation on the flower’s latest chromatographic analysis when you heard the now-familiar rustle of footsteps and the unmistakable creak of someone cradling a takeout bag with too much care.

“Brought you lunch!” Bob announced.

He looked warm again–an oversized hoodie only blue this time, the same worn sweatpants from yesterday, and hair pulled back messily like he’d tied it in a rush. His free hand shoved deep into his pocket, but the other held a paper bag from a café you liked downtown. He wore the same small, crooked smile that made it difficult to think straight.

“Careful,” You warned playfully, turning in your seat to face him, “If you keep feeding me, I’ll start to expect this kind of treatment.”

Bob shrugged, walking in slow, casual steps toward your workstation. “M-might be worth it…Just to s-see you eat.”

You smiled at that–too caught up in the rare softness between you to notice the way the flower behind its containment dome had begun to stir.

Not much. Just a twitch of its outermost petals. A subtle change in the shimmer of its stamen. But you were facing Bob. You didn’t see the way it reacted to his voice.

“I-I got you the g-grain bowl you like. The one with roasted squash, the f-feta, that spicy vinaigrette you always try to recreate in your lab notebook–”

“I do not take vinaigrette notes in here,” You interjected, grinning.

Bob set the bag down gently on the corner of your cleared space shaking his head at you, glancing over at the dome just as the hum of your equipment shifted slightly. The air changed. Subtle, at first. Like something pressurizing behind glass.

He leaned over–only just–peering closer at the flower inside.

That was all it took.

The dome fogged instantly with a pale gold haze. Then–without warning–the containment glass shuddered with a sharp, pinging sound, like internal pressure had snapped a seal.

Then it ruptured.

The top of the cloche blew off with a muted pop, and a cloud of glittering golden dust erupted from the flower in a slow-motion burst. It expanded like fog, like breath in cold air–drifting, floating–straight into Bob’s face.

You froze for half a second. Then your instincts kicked in hard and fast.

“Shit—Bob!” You yelled, already leaping from your stool and hitting the emergency switch on the wall.

Red lights flashed as the isolation protocols kicked in. Vents slammed shut with a metallic clank, and the air filtration units hummed to life. Your console blinked through a security override as the lab sealed itself airtight. Your heart thudded in your chest like a drumbeat.

Bob had staggered back, coughing hard and pawing at his face, blinking rapidly. The golden dust coated his cheeks, his lashes, the curve of his nose, and clung to his stubble like cosmic pollen. It shimmered with a strange, otherworldly sheen–like it was alive, almost.

“Hey–hey–Bob, come here.” You grabbed him gently but firmly by the wrist, leading him toward the decontamination corner. “Don’t rub your eyes. Just come with me. You’re okay, just–just keep breathing.”

He nodded, still coughing, blinking fast. “I-it got in m-my face–feels like sand, b-but–s-sticky, maybe–” He stumbled slightly as you pushed the lever on the eyewash station.

“Lean in,” You ordered, voice steady. “Both hands on the sides. I’m gonna guide you.” You pressed the large silver button. The twin streams of water erupted instantly, and he hissed through clenched teeth as the cold hit. You steadied him, one hand braced on his lower back as he tilted forward.

”Keep blinking,” You instructed, “Get it flushed out. It’s probably just pollen but I can’t take chances, we still don’t know what that stuff is.”

“It’s–f-fine,” he said, spitting water out, breath hitching. “It doesn’t b-burn, just f-feels weird–” His voice was strained, breathless. You didn’t like the way his skin had started to pink at the edges, how the golden dust had clung even beneath his collar.

When the two-minute flush was over, you helped him lean back slowly, grabbing a towel from the stack nearby and pressing it gently to his face.

“We’re not done yet,” You said, pulling a second towel out and pressing it to the back of his neck. “Blow your nose. Three times. Then cough hard. I want that stuff out of your lungs if you inhaled any of it.”

He obeyed without protest, still coughing lightly between ragged breaths. The dust had left faint shimmer marks down the front of his hoodie, now slightly wet from the eyewash station. You reached over to the wall unit, flipped on the emergency fan array, and turned your console back toward manual override. The air slowly began to cycle through a localized carbon scrubbing system.

You turned back to him, grabbing a disposable cloth and wiping under his jaw, where a little gold still shimmered. His eyes were red-rimmed but clear. Breathing shallow, but not distressed.

You stepped back, hands braced on your hips, the overhead scrubbers humming louder now as the first cycle of filtered air began to push through the sealed lab.

Bob sat perched on the deacon bench, towel still clutched in his hands, his lashes dripping, cheeks damp, and glittered with flecks of gold the eyewash hadn’t quite cleared. He looked flushed–not sick, not distressed–just… warm. Lit from within, like something in him was beginning to glow. But you didn’t let yourself think about that.

Not yet.

“Are you okay?” You asked quietly, kneeling slightly so you were more at eye level with him, voice softening as you scanned his face for any irregularities. “Are you dizzy? Lightheaded? Anything weird?”

Bob blinked slowly, the water still dripping off the tips of his hair as he met your gaze.

“N-No…” He murmured, voice rough with lingering grit, “Just…Feel kinda like I s-snorted fairy dust.” He gave a weak little smile. “M-might be glowing in the dark now.”

You rolled your eyes and let out a half-relieved breath, giving him a playful–but firm–swat to the arm.

“This isn’t funny. You know we have to be in isolation for twenty-four hours now, right?”

Bob groaned, slumping back slightly against the bench. “Ugh. Great. Cool. L-love that.” You crossed your arms.

“We’re both trapped in here. With no way out. The lab is in full lockdown. Airlocked. Everything. Biocontainment protocol 9A.” He sighed, tilting his head toward you dramatically. “

It’s not like we don’t already spend the majority of our free time together or anything.” You narrowed your eyes.

“Don’t act like this is some cozy movie night. You almost got yourself pollinated into another dimension.” Your voice was softer now. More affectionate, more playful. Your gaze dropped briefly–to the faint shimmer still clinging to the edge of his collarbone–and that’s when you noticed it.

You looked down at yourself.

Tiny flecks of gold sparkled faintly across your sleeves, dusted across the dark wool of your sweater and even the collar of your lab coat. The stuff was finer than you thought–so fine you’d barely felt it settle.

“Shit.”

“What?” Bob asked, alarmed.

You pulled your lab coat off immediately, shrugging out of it and tossing it into the nearest biohazard bin. Your sweater followed next, leaving you in the tank top you had underneath–thin, breathable, already damp with nervous sweat. The cold air bit at your arms, but it was better than risking more exposure. You grabbed a clean disposable mask from the supply drawer and tugged it on.

“You got exposed?” Bob asked, sitting up straighter.

You gave him a wry look as you reached for a pair of gloves. “You think that cloud only wanted you?”

He flushed again and shifted where he sat. “S-Sorry…”

“Not your fault,” you said quickly. “You didn’t provoke it.”

Bob’s eyes slid to the corner of the lab where the flower still sat in its shattered dome, motionless now, but unmistakably altered–its petals twitching like cooling muscles, the last of the pollen still floating down like it hadn’t quite obeyed gravity yet.

You pointed to his hoodie.

“That’s gotta come off too.”

He blinked. “W-What?”

“Bob. Your hoodie is covered. You’re basically wearing a glitter bomb.”

“Oh…Right.” He looked down at himself and, reluctantly, peeled the hoodie off over his head, careful not to shake loose any more of the clinging dust. The fabric crackled softly as the static gave way. You moved forward with a biohazard bag already open and waiting.

“Drop it in,” you said, and he obeyed, his white T-shirt riding up slightly with the movement. You caught a glimpse of pale skin, faint golden freckles across his lower ribs, the subtle cut of his hip. You averted your eyes quickly, pretending not to notice.

But he noticed.

You didn’t speak for a beat.

Then:

“Okay,” you said, stepping back with the sealed bag in hand, “Contaminated clothing secured. Isolation timer has started. We’ve got twenty-four hours to kill and a potentially sentient flower that just gas-bombed the strongest man on Earth.”

Bob blinked at you, then gave the tiniest smirk.

“Th-this gonna be in the report?”

“Oh, absolutely,” You muttered, deadpan. “‘Subject A leaned into mysterious glowing flower. Subject B now has fairy glitter in her bra.’”

He laughed. Harder than you expected. The sound echoed softly in the sealed room and you let it hang there for a moment. Eventually his laughter faded, but the heat that was beginning to build in the lab didn’t.

It wasn’t just the tension between you anymore–it was physical. Palpable. You could feel it crawling along the inside of your spine like static. Your skin felt…Tight. Like your clothes were holding in too much warmth. Like the fabric of your tank top was suddenly too heavy in all the wrong places and far too light in others.

You shifted your weight from one leg to the other, hoping it would pass, but it didn’t.

Bob was still sitting on the bench, towel now draped loosely across his lap, chest rising and falling more steadily than before–but even from a few feet away, you could see the faint shine of sweat beginning to gather at the hollow of his throat.

You squinted slightly.

“Is it just me,” You said slowly, brushing a strand of hair off your neck, “Or is it…Hot in here?”

Bob lifted his head toward you, blinking slowly. His cheeks were still pink–flushed in that way people only got when they were either just out of a fever or just getting into something much more compromising.

“I-I thought it was just me,” He said, adjusting how he sat. “I figured the air filters w-weren’t moving much cool air yet. It’s… It’s an enclosed space, so…” He trailed off, eyes catching briefly on your arms, the exposed slope of your collarbone, and then darting away again, as if ashamed of the glance.

You nodded, trying to focus–but it was getting harder. Your tank top clung to the skin beneath your ribs like a second layer of sweat-dampened silk. You could feel the heat collecting at your lower back, a slow, stoked furnace of warmth that wasn’t just the room. Your breathing shifted slightly. Shallower.

There was a kind of pressure building behind your sternum. An ache–not painful, not sharp. Just…Present. Gnawing. Low in your belly. You cleared your throat.

“Do you feel weird?” You asked, keeping your voice as casual as you could. “Like… more than just warm? Any lightheadedness? Sensory changes?” Bob didn’t answer right away. His shoulders rolled back slowly, and his hand came up to drag across the back of his neck. You watched the way his palm moved over the sweat-damp strands of hair, the tension in his forearm, the way his biceps flexed just slightly under the tight stretch of cotton.

He wasn’t looking at you now. But his voice was quiet when he answered.

“M-My heart rate i-is up,” He admitted. “But I d-don’t feel sick. I just feel–” He stopped. Swallowed. Then: “Wound up. I-it’s like I’ve been waiting for something to happen and m-my body’s just trying to stay ahead of it.” You stared at him, hearing as he listed out the same symptoms you were feeling.

Then there was the ache again–twisting low and slow, enough to make you shift your thighs closer together without thinking. You noticed the way Bob’s eyes tracked the motion and immediately flicked away. His chest was rising faster now. His jaw clenched, breath audible through his nose. Something was happening. Something chemical, something hormonal. Something Induced.

You took a slow breath, then glanced at the ruined containment dome, the flower sitting quietly like nothing had happened. Its stamen pulsed gently, and the last wisps of pollen still hovered in the filtered air like gold-lit ghosts.

”You said it didn’t burn when the pollen hit…” You murmured, “Just felt weird…Right?” He nodded slowly, eyes flicking toward your face, then to your mouth, then away. You swallowed hard, wiping a bead of sweat off your forehead. ”How weird?”

Bob exhaled a shaky breath. His hands flexed against his thighs, fingers twitching.

“It just felt really…Light,” he rasped. “Like ash. N-Not like sand–softer. Barely even there. But now–” He trailed off, and when he looked at you, it was like being seen for the first time. His pupils were blown wide, only a thin ring of ocean-blue clinging to the edge. His voice lowered.

“Now I feel like my skin is on fire. L-Like I’m burning…And everything’s so damn sensitive. I c-can’t stop–” His voice cracked, “–I can’t stop looking at you.” Your breath caught. The ache between your legs deepened sharply, twisting upward through your belly like someone had plucked a string that now hummed through your bones. The realization slammed into you with full force. The heat. The ache. The scent. The shimmer. The reaction.

Fuck. You staggered backward from the bench slightly and slapped your hand down on the comm panel by the edge of your lab table, hitting the line for Bucky.

“Come on, come on, pick up–”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s voice crackled over the line. “What’s up?”

“Bucky,” You said, trying to steady your breathing. “Where exactly were you when you found that flower? Be specific. What were the surroundings?”

“I told you, it was near the tree line,” He answered, confused. “On the way back from the ridge. Why?”

“Was there anything else? Anything that stood out?”

There was a pause. Then, “Uh…There was kind of a–garden? Like, a bunch of them. Just a whole patch. Maybe fifty or sixty, I dunno, they were all clumped together.”Another pulse of heat ripped through your core, and you clenched your thighs, biting back a soft, involuntary groan. You half-collapsed, catching yourself on the table edge before sliding down the side of it, pressing your forehead into your forearm.

“Where were they, Bucky?” You grit out through clenched teeth. “Was there a lab? A compound? A goddamn marker on the ground–anything?”

“What? Y/N, I don’t–wait, there was a lab…But it wasn’t even close. Maybe two miles east of it. Looked abandoned. You think it’s connected?”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, voice rough, stomach clenching. Your vision was starting to blur around the edges. “That’s not wild growth, Buck. That’s a planted field. That was cultivated. You brought me a fucking bioweapon.”

There was silence.

Bob had shifted, and when you looked up, he was no longer on the bench. He had crouched behind one of the heavy lab tables on the far end of the room, head bowed, palms braced hard against the floor like he was praying—or like he was trying to hold himself together.

“I-it’s getting worse,” he called out, voice hoarse and echoing faintly off the tile. “I—I can feel it in my hands, my back—like I’m buzzing from the inside out. You need to go to another room, Y/N. Please. I don’t—I don’t know what’s going to happen—”

“There is no other room,” you snapped, clutching your own torso, fingers digging into your tank top like it could peel the sensation off your skin. “We’re sealed in. Remember? Isolation. Twenty-four hours.”

You turned back to the comm, swallowing back the pulse building low in your belly. “Bucky, something happened in that lab. This isn’t just a flower. It’s engineered—enhanced. There’s pheromone manipulation in the pollen. Maybe synthetic hormones. We both got exposed.”

“What kind of exposure?”

You hesitated.

Then you exhaled shakily, voice lowering. “The worst kind. I think it’s… I think it’s sex pollen, Bucky.”

A beat of stunned silence on the other end. Then:

“…You’re shitting me.”

“I wish I was,” you hissed, grinding the heel of your hand into your temple, heart pounding. “And unless I get a suppressant cocktail in the next thirty minutes, I’m going to lose it.”

“What about Bob?”

You turned your head just slightly toward where Bob was crouched, shaking. His knuckles had gone white.

“He’s already losing it,” You whispered.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Nothing,” you said, too fast. “Just…We’re locked in for twenty-four hours. There’s nothing anyone can do. Just… Just keep the others out. Don’t let anyone near the door.”

There was a long pause. Then Bucky’s voice dropped.

“Y/N. What exactly happened in there?”

You clenched your jaw and gave the only answer you could.

“I’ll tell you if we survive it.” Then you hung up the comm, bracing your hands on your knees as the ache spread like wildfire across your thighs, your chest, the hollow between your hips. Everything was overstimulated–fabric too rough, air too dry, skin too tight.

And then there was Bob.

You looked up slowly, panting now, vision swimming with heat and color. You could barely see his face in the shadow of the bench, but you heard his voice.

“I-It’s in me,” he said quietly. “Whatever it is. I can feel it in m-my blood. My skin feels like it’s too small. I’m–I’m shaking. I c-can’t stop it.” His breath hitched, voice breaking apart. “I can smell you. I c-can hear your heart. I can feel every molecule in this goddamn r-room. God, what is this stuff?” You were already dragging yourself across the floor, crawling on hands and knees to the nearest storage cabinet, yanking open drawers for anything–anything–that might help regulate internal chemistry. You were half-crazed with heat, sweat dripping between your shoulder blades, your whole body lit up like it had been set on fire from the inside.

“Okay,” you muttered, teeth clenched. “We’re gonna–we’re gonna figure this out. Just don’t come near me, Bob. Not yet.”

You couldn’t see him now, but you heard the thick, wet swallow from where he hid behind the bench.

“I w-won’t,” He rasped. “But…If you don’t figure it out soon…” His voice was barely audible now. “…I d-don’t know if I’m gonna b-be able to stop myself.” The words weren’t loud. They weren’t cruel. But they hit you like a blow to the chest. A sharp pulse rippled through your core–your muscles tensed like a wire had snapped in your belly. The ache between your legs twisted again, hot and hungry, and a broken sound escaped your lips before you could stop it.

A whimper. Soft, shaken, and needy.

”Shut up,” You gasped, your voice hoarse with panic and arousal, hand bracing against the cabinet, “Just…Stop talking, Bob please…Your voice. Fuck sake.” Another wave of heat surged under your skin like a current of electricity. You curled slightly into yourself, arms trembling, every breath catching high in your throat.

“I–I’m sorry,” Bob groaned from across the room, his voice cracking with guilt and something far darker. You heard him shift, heard the thump of his back hit the cabinet behind him like he’d braced himself against it, like he couldn’t trust his limbs to obey. He let out a loud breath, shuddering.

”G-God, I’m–I’m sorry, I c-can’t even think straight–“ His voice broke on the last word, thick with restraint. You dragged open another drawer with shaking fingers, rummaging through cold metal and sterile pouches, tossing one after the other to the side. Glucose packs. Emergency syringes. No suppressants. No hormonal regulators. Nothing for this kind of exposure.

Your vision blurred as your stomach clenched again. You could feel sweat beading at the base of your spine, making your tank top stick like a second skin. You couldn’t stop panting. Couldn’t stop trembling.

”Fuck…” You hissed, almost on the brink of sob. You slammed the drawer shut with a metallic clang, the sound too loud, echoing in the sealed lab like it was mocking you. ”I can’t–I-I can’t find anything.” You wheezed, voice cracking. You braced your hands on the cold tile, heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your teeth.

The need was crawling over your skin like insects. Every breath was friction. Every shift of your body felt like dragging yourself through static. Your nipples were tight beneath your tank top, aching. You could feel your own pulse in places it didn’t belong.

“Shit–shit,” You whispered, eyes welling with frustrated tears. “Oh my god.”

Behind the bench, Bob made a low, strangled noise.

A grunt. Guttural. Desperate.

You couldn’t see him.

But you didn’t need to.

Because you could feel him.

You could feel the way the air changed when he moved. You could feel the ripple of heat that seemed to follow the sound of his voice. And worst of all–you could feel your body answering it.

Every cell in you was lit up with something heavy and humming. Something wild. Something designed.

You curled forward against the floor, pressing your forehead into your arm. You were panting now–wheezing, almos-trying to hold on. Trying not to cry.

You didn’t hear him crawl over, not until it was too late. Your breath was ragged, and your vision was swimming–and then warmth touched your arm. A large hand. Familiar. It closed over your bicep–but it lit your nerves on fire. You jerked away violently, scrambling back on instinct, collapsing onto your ass with a gasp. Your palm slammed against the tile and you skidded slightly, breath hitching as you spat out–

“Don’t touch me!” Your voice cracked, sharp and wet with panic. The motion made your spine arch, your tank top riding up slightly as your hip knocked into a rolling stool, the metal clattering away. Bob’s eyes widened in horror, hand halfway outstretched like it had betrayed him. He dropped to both knees in front of you instantly, not touching, but close enough for you to feel the warmth coming off his body like a wave.

“Y/N–” He breathed, his voice hoarse, chest heaving, “Y/N I-I feel it too, I p-promise. I feel everyth-ing” His hand hovered near your shoulder again, hesitant. Then, slowly, gently, he reached behind your neck, cradling it with a trembling touch. His fingers were hot against your skin, too hot. “Look at me. W-We’ll be okay. We’ll be o-okay.” You shook your head, lip quivering as the tears came faster now. Not the kind you could hide or blink away–these ones slid heavy and helpless down your cheeks, pooling at the corners of your mouth. You were trembling all over, shoulders shaking, thighs clenching without relief.

”I-I feel like I’m dying,” You whispered, voice raw, “Fuck, Bob it’s so painful.” He nodded once, his face contorting with shared agony, as his hand slipped from the back of your neck to your jaw, like he couldn’t decide whether to hold you or let go.

“I-I know,” He rasped, his other hand gripping his thigh so hard it shook, “I-I’m burning from the inside out. I can smell y-you…I can s-smell everything–“ You swallowed, chest rising in short, hard jerks. Because so could you.

His scent was all over the room now. Thick and devastating. It rolled over you in waves—heat-warmed cedarwood, sweat, and something deeper. Instinctual. Masculine. Not cologne. Not soap. Something completely and totally him. A biological beckoning, chemical and holy and blinding.

It made your thighs twitch and your breath break.

And your own scent…You could smell it, too. Like heat-glazed citrus and clean skin. Something golden and heavy, threaded with notes of sun-warmed vanilla and fresh-cut stems. Like the wild edge of spring. It filled your nostrils, clung to your skin, hung in the air between you like a dare.

Bob’s eyes fluttered, jaw clenching again. He let out a low grunt, like the effort of staying still was costing him something visceral. His voice cracked as he spoke.

“I-Isn’t there…a-any way we can stop this f-from getting worse?” You didn’t want to say it, you really didn’t. But the truth came out anyway, scraped and raw from your throat.

”Only if…” You swallowed. Your tongue felt too thick in your mouth, “Only if we have sex…” The words dropped like a stone.

Bob’s breath hitched so hard it almost sounded like a choke. His throat bobbed, and he blinked down at you, eyes wild and dilated, dark lashes damp with sweat and desperation.

There was a pause–long and shaking.

Then, softly:

“W-Would it be t-that bad if…If we did?”

You flinched. Just barely. The air stilled, vibrating between you. And then you shook your head slowly, tears welling again–not from heat this time, but from something deeper.

“I really didn’t want our first time together being l-like this.”

That stopped him cold. All the breath punched out of him in a single exhale. His lips parted, but nothing came out. His hand fell away from your jaw like it had been burned. His whole posture shifted–still close, but paralyzed with guilt.

You looked away.

Because if you looked at him now–if you looked into that face, flushed and desperate and filled with longing–you’d give in. Your breath hitched sharply—twice—before you folded forward on a gasp, one hand clutching your lower stomach like it might soothe the throbbing pulse building between your legs.

“God,” you choked out, voice breaking. “Oh my god, I—I can’t fucking take it.”

The ache had bloomed into something unbearable—wet and slick and throbbing through your core with every heartbeat. You were drenched, panties stuck to you, heat radiating off your skin like you were about to combust. Across from you, Bob made a strangled sound, his fists tight on his thighs, chest heaving as he forced shallow breaths through his nose—like if he didn’t, he might do something reckless.

“I c-can’t smell you,” He whispered, more to himself than to you. “I–I can’t smell you–I can’t–”

But he could. You both could. Your scent was everywhere–sweet and sharp and thick with want. It hung in the air between you like perfume, like bait, and you knew it was driving him mad.

You twitched again as another rush of slick gushed between your thighs and a broken moan slipped past your lips–soft, needy, involuntary. Your eyes squeezed shut as your hand pressed harder against your stomach, trying to contain it.

But it was useless.

“I can’t–fuck, I can’t take it–” You gasped, and before you could stop yourself, you were lunging forward.

You grabbed his face with both hands–hot, flushed skin beneath your palms–and crushed your mouth to his like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

It wasn’t a kiss.

It was a collision.

A mess of lips and teeth and spit.

You moaned into his mouth the second you felt him gasp beneath you–his lips parting wide in helpless surrender, his hands flying to your waist like magnets. The second he touched you, it was over. You melted into him, mouths sliding and sucking and devouring with sloppy, panting need.

Spit slicked your chin, his chin, your mouths, your skin. It dripped down between you as your lips broke and reconnected over and over in increasingly desperate, wet smacks. His tongue slid against yours, hungry and hot, and you whimpered into the kiss like your whole body was unraveling.

His hands squeezed your hips, hard–fingertips digging in, dragging you toward him roughly until your knees bumped his thighs and your chest hit his. You felt the tremble in him, felt the heat pouring off his body as he let out a low, feral grunt into your mouth, like he was trying to hold himself together and failing.

You pulled back just an inch, breath catching in your throat as a strand of spit still connected your lips, both of you panting so hard it echoed in the sealed lab.

“Fuck–” He gasped, chasing your mouth again, not even giving you time to respond before crashing back into the kiss, even hungrier this time. “You taste like–God–l-like sunlight–like h-honey–fuck, I can’t–can’t stop–”

“Don’t,” You moaned, sliding your tongue into his mouth again, letting it tangle with his, swallowing his sounds, his heat, his everything. “Don’t stop. Please. Don’t stop.” Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking at the damp curls as his hands roamed, gripping your waist so tightly it made you whine. He guided you into his lap without thinking, until your knees straddled his thighs and your body pressed flush to his. You could feel everything–the twitch of his erection beneath the thin fabric of his sweatpants, the way his breath hitched when your hips brushed his, the way his hands couldn’t stop moving–gripping, sliding, needing. Every inch of you was pressed tight to him, and he felt all of it. The heat. The wetness. The hunger.

”G-God…” He gasped, his head dropping to your shoulder for a split second, voice thick, “I c-can’t–can’t stop–need…Need something–“ And then his hands flexed, dragging you forward–against him. You cried out, the sound strangled and high as he rocked your hips into his, grinding you against the thick line of his cock through his sweatpants. The friction sent a lightning bolt through your core, and your whole body spasmed in response, clutching at his shoulders as the contact jolted through your nerves.

“Oh–God–” You moaned, tearing your mouth from his as your head tipped back, spine arching. “Oh fuck–do that again–” He didn’t even answer. Just groaned–loud, filthy–and rolled your hips again. Rougher. Harder. Enough that your soaked panties dragged hot and slick over the outline of him, soaking into the soft cotton of his clothes and yours.

You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders as your thighs trembled on either side of his lap. Your hands found his hair and tugged–hard–and he moaned so deeply it vibrated through your ribs. His mouth trailed down to your jaw, your throat, open-mouthed kisses dragging over sweat-slick skin. His tongue was everywhere–greedy and reverent–and then you felt him kiss the top of your chest, right along the edge of your tank top.

You were panting, shaking, drenched in sweat and arousal. You couldn’t stop grinding down against him now, couldn’t stop chasing that friction as you rolled your hips again and again, letting your swollen heat drag along his cock in slow, devastating passes. The pressure built fast, sharp and aching, pulsing low in your belly with every movement.

Bob’s mouth trembled where it kissed just below your collarbone. His fingers slipped up your sides, shaky but sure–and then they hooked under the thin straps of your tank top.

“P-Please–” He rasped, looking up at you like he was about to fall apart. “Can I—can I see you?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes. God, yes.”

He didn’t wait. He dragged the straps down your arms, kissing the slope of your shoulder as they slipped, one by one. Then he tugged the neckline down–slow, desperate–and bared your breasts to the heavy, sweat-damp air.

The second your nipples were exposed, he let out a groan–a sound so broken, it barely sounded human. His eyes glazed with worship, with hunger.

And then his mouth was on you.

He wrapped his lips around one tight, aching nipple and moaned–like he was dying for the taste of you. His tongue flicked, sucked, lapped, over and over, and you cried out, hips jerking uncontrollably in his lap as you rutted down against him.

“Oh my god–Bob–“ You gasped, fingers burying in his hair, yanking him closer, needier. “That–fuck–you’re so good…” He didn’t stop. If anything, he got more desperate. His tongue traced circles around your nipple, sucking it deeper into his mouth with each slow pull of his lips. One of his hands gripped your ass, guiding your hips faster against his erection, grinding you down until your whole body was quivering.

“Y-You’re so warm,” He panted between kisses. “So soft–God–“ And then he took the other nipple between his lips, just as eager, just as mindless. His tongue licked a long, slow stripe across the swell of your breast and you sobbed at the contact, your whole body arching into him. Bob groaned around your nipple one last time before pulling off with a wet pop, his mouth red and slick with spit. His eyes were blown wide, pupils so dilated there was barely any blue left–but there was something else swimming behind them too, something ancient, hungry, waiting to surface. His breath caught in his throat as he leaned in close, nudging your jaw with his nose, mouth grazing your cheek. Then suddenly–

He surged forward.

Your back hit the cold tile in one fluid motion, the breath punching out of your lungs as he guided you down with firm hands, mouth still dragging across your chest. The contrast between the icy floor and the furnace of your skin made you cry out softly, arching up into his touch.

“Bob–” You gasped, but your words cut off with a moan as his hands slipped low, gripping the waistband of your pants and underwear in one practiced motion.

“L-Lift your hips,” He instructed–voice rough and tight with restraint. You obeyed instantly, and he peeled both garments down your legs in a single fluid movement, baring you to the air, to him, to everything.

Your thighs quivered as the rush of cool air met the wet heat between them. You leaned up, grabbed the hem of your tank top, and tore it over your head. It hit the floor behind you just as Bob stripped off his shirt–his chest gleaming with sweat, muscles flexing, dusted with faint gold shimmer and a constellation of freckles across his collarbones.

You barely had a second to breathe before he dropped between your thighs again, mouth finding yours in a kiss so urgent and deep it knocked your head back against the tile. It was messier now–hotter, more desperate, his tongue fucking into your mouth with wild hunger.

Then he broke away just far enough to speak.

“I-I’m going to c-crawl on my fucking knees,” He growled, “And you’re gonna spread those thighs wider for me, and let me eat you until you come on my tongue.”You arched up with a moan, hips twitching off the floor. Your hands reached for him blindly, pulling at his shoulders as he trailed kisses down your throat, your chest, your ribs.

“I need you so fucking bad,” He whispered, his voice darker now–lower, smoother. The stutter was gone.

You blinked through the haze, the heat, the sweat clinging to your lashes–and that’s when you saw it. The eyes. Not Bob’s soft blue. Gold. Molten.

“Sentry,” You whispered, breath catching.

But you didn’t stop him.

You didn’t want to.

His teeth scraped gently along your stomach, sending electric pulses through your nerves, and then he kissed the inside of your hip bones like he was worshipping an altar.

“You smell so fucking sweet,” He murmured, nose dragging through the crease where your thigh met your core, voice reverent and filthy all at once. “I can’t wait to have a taste.” You sobbed his name as your thighs opened wider for him, your body obeying without question. He slid his hands beneath you, lifting your hips off the floor, draping your thighs over his shoulders–his palms spreading across your lower back to anchor you in place.

“Look at you,” He groaned, lips brushing against your soaked folds without yet tasting. “You’re drenched…You’re so fucking wet I can see it drip.”

Then he leaned in.

And licked a slow, devastating stripe up your center.

You choked on a scream. Your hips jerked hard against his mouth, and his arms tightened around your thighs, holding you down as his tongue moved again–sloppier this time. Messier. Hungrier. He licked into you like he was starving. Long, deep strokes. Quick flicks. Circles around your swollen clit that had you crying out his name.

“God, fuck–yes–”

You gripped his hair hard, yanking at the sweat-damp strands, and he groaned like he liked it–no, loved it. The vibration of the sound against your core made your whole body shake.

“You taste like summer, like heat, like stars.” He moaned. “Absolutely fucking sinful.” He pulled back only long enough to look at you, his mouth wet, chin dripping with slick.

“I can’t wait to make you come on my tongue,” He growled.

And then he dove back in.

Tongue sliding flat against your clit, then swirling, sucking it into his mouth with slow, rhythmic pulls that made your vision blur. You cried out, grinding into his face, your hands clutching his hair, your whole body vibrating with sensation.

“P-Please–” you whimpered, barely able to breathe, “Please don’t stop–”

He didn’t.

He licked and sucked and groaned like you were his favorite meal, like he could do this for hours. His hands gripped your ass, dragging you tighter to his mouth, keeping you from squirming away.

You were going to come.

It was building fast–tight and white-hot and burning like it had nowhere else to go. You were right on the edge when–

He slipped one thick finger inside you.

You let out a loud gasp. It wasn’t pain–it was too much. Too good. The stretch, the pressure, the way his mouth never stopped moving.

“That’s it,” He murmured against your clit. “Take my fingers…Just like that…You’re so tight, fuck…I’m imagining how you’re going to take me.”

You clenched around him, and he groaned again–louder this time–and slid a second finger in, stretching you open. His fingers curled up, rubbing slow, teasing strokes into that perfect, devastating spot. Your walls fluttered, your thighs trembled.

“Oh god, oh god–”

“Come for me,” He growled. “Right now. Let me feel you.”

And he sped up.

Fingers pumping hard, mouth sucking your clit with filthy precision. You sobbed his name, your back arched clean off the tile, and you shattered.

The orgasm ripped through you like fire, like lightning–your thighs locking around his head, your hands gripping his hair as you wailed through it.

He didn’t stop.

Not when you cried out.

Not when you begged.

He kept sucking, licking, fucking his fingers into you as your body convulsed.

Your body was still twitching when he pulled his fingers free–slick and trembling, your core fluttering from aftershocks as he slowly sat back on his heels.

His chin was soaked. His lips swollen. His eyes–those molten, god-touched eyes–burned down the length of your naked body like sunlight through stained glass.

“I should feel sated,” He murmured, voice too calm for the storm coiled in his chest. “I should be full from what I’ve just taken.”He leaned in. Slowly. Pressed one open-mouthed kiss to your thigh, then another–hot and reverent, just shy of your folds. His breath dragged over you, still sensitive, and it made you whimper.

“But I’m not,” He said low, his nose skimming up the inside of your leg as he worked his way toward your face. “I’m still starving.”

You were trying to breathe, but it wasn’t easy. Not with your pulse echoing in your throat, not with the ache between your legs still pulsing with the memory of his tongue, and certainly not with him looking at you like that.

“I’ve waited…So long to taste you.”

His voice was velvet heat–slick with need, rich with something that throbbed like want and worship tangled together.

He braced a hand on either side of your head as he crawled up over you, hair wild around his face, sweat glistening on the slopes of his shoulders and chest. The weight of him caged you in. It wasn’t heavy–it was all-consuming.

You reached up with a trembling hand and cupped his face. His skin was flushed, warm and slick, his jaw tight as though holding back something enormous.

“I can still feel you,” You whispered, voice raw. “On my mouth. On my thighs. Inside me.”

He smiled at that–but it wasn’t gentle.

It was hunger.

“You’ll feel me even more soon.”His hand found your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip, and his gaze flicked down–watching the way your mouth parted for him instinctively. He leaned in again, voice now a whisper of thunder against your cheek, “Imagine what it’s going to be like when I fuck you…” Your hips bucked helplessly beneath him, but he only smirked, catching them with a firm palm.

“Sentry,” You gasped, voice trembling as your thighs clenched under the weight of him, “P-Please. God—don’t you feel it too?!”

His nose brushed yours, breath hot against your cheek. He didn’t answer at first–just let that small, dangerous smile curl across his lips, teeth barely catching his lower lip before he released it.

“Of course I feel it,” He murmured, hips dragging downward, grinding his clothed cock into your slick heat. “It’s everywhere in me. In my chest, in my spine, my teeth.” His voice dropped to a darker pitch, and the gold in his eyes flared one last time before dimming. “I-I just know I’m going to get what I-I need…

Bob sat back on his knees between your spread thighs, hands sliding slow and sure down his stomach to the waistband of his sweatpants. “I-I already came once just from eating you out,” He confessed, voice timid now, “I t-think I have more in me…”

Then he tugged the sweatpants down.

Your breath stuttered in your throat.

His erection sprang free, flushed dark and glistening at the tip, already slick with the evidence of his earlier release. A thick bead of cum sat heavy at the crown, dripping slowly down the curve of his shaft, and your whole body twitched at the sight of it. The raw, shameless arousal surged in your belly like wildfire.

“Fuck–” You whispered, pupils blown wide.

He was beautiful. Veined and heavy and so hard it twitched with every breath. You couldn’t stop yourself. Your hand moved without thought–licking your palm once, slow and deliberate, before wrapping your fingers around him.

Bob groaned immediately–deep. His head dropped forward, curls swinging around his jaw, and his hips bucked into your touch as your hand slid down the length of him in a slow, sticky stroke. His cock throbbed in your grip. Hot. Pulsing.

“Mmmf–fuck,” He growled, the sound rattling against the walls. He dropped one hand down to your thigh to steady himself, the other bracing behind him as you worked him with your slick hand–up and down, tight and wet and slow, like you wanted to savor every second.

His breath came out in sharp pants, his face flushed, his eyes fluttering shut as your thumb rubbed just beneath the swollen head, gathering that leaking slick and spreading it over his cock.

“God, I didn’t even have to touch you and you came.” You whispered,

“That’s what y-you do to me,” he gasped, voice shaking. “I couldn’t help it—god, I couldn’t fucking help it—” He surged forward, kissing you hard, and you moaned against his mouth as his hips began to stutter forward, chasing the motion of your hand with every pass.

It was hot, the way he kissed you–messy. His mouth was open, panting against yours, lips dragging along your tongue, teeth grazing your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth with a wet pop. He moaned into you with every stroke of your hand, deep in his chest, growling like it hurt not to move faster.

He kissed like he was about to fall apart in your arms.

Like he wanted to ruin you and thank you at the same time.

And you could feel it–he was close again. Already.

“G-God–don’t stop–don’t stop–” he choked out, hips bucking into your grip, his cock twitching hard in your palm.

Then his mouth tore from yours with a ragged moan, his body going rigid as he came–again.

Thick ropes of cum spilled across your stomach in hot, wet spurts–slicking your skin, painting the swell of your belly in messy, sticky heat. Bob cried out, breath catching, his hand clutching your thigh hard enough to leave fingerprints as his hips jerked against your hand one last time.

You watched it all, feeling it dripping down your skin. You slowed your hand, and then looked up at him. His eyes were fluttered closed. His mouth hung open, panting raggedly. His cheeks were red and damp with sweat, hair curling against his temples in loose, disheveled strands.

And then–

You ran your fingers through the puddle of cum on your stomach.

Bob’s eyes snapped open.

He watched, transfixed, as you dragged two fingers slowly through the mess he left on you–slicking them up, glossy with white.

Then you brought them to your mouth.

And sucked them clean.

He groaned–low and guttural, more animal than man. He surged forward and kissed you, hard–his mouth hot and open, tongue licking into yours like he needed to taste what you’d just tasted.

And when he pulled back–just barely–he looked drunk. Starved. His voice was hoarse, reverent.

“W-We taste so g-good together,” He whispered.

You whimpered, eyes wide and glassy.

And then your voice broke.

“I need you inside me.”

His breath hitched sharply. His eyes searched your face like a prayer–like he needed to make sure this wasn’t just the pollen, wasn’t just chemical.

But your body told him everything he needed to know. The slick between your thighs. The tremble in your voice. The way your legs fell open without fear. He saw your hand reaching for him–trembling, open, desperate–and instead of just taking it, he kissed it.

One slow kiss to your palm. Then your wrist. Then each fingertip in turn, reverent and breath-warmed. His eyes didn’t leave yours, even when his lips brushed the soft pads of your fingers. It felt like something sacred.

“I-I’m yours, Y/N…” He whispered, his voice wrecked–hoarse and honeyed, lined with awe. “All yours.”

Your chest trembled. Not from the pollen. Not from the heat. From the weight of it–his words, his body, his need. You brought your other hand to his cheek, touching the sweat-slick curve of his face, thumb stroking over his flushed skin.

“You’re burning up,” You whispered.

“So are you,” He breathed back.

But the ache had shifted now. It was lower. Thicker. No longer frantic. Just heavy. Full. Demanding.

His lips met yours again–slow this time, almost trembling. Not chasing. Not crashing. Just pressing. Full and warm. Your mouths moved in sync, deeper with every pass, until he adjusted his weight above you, one forearm braced beside your head while the other hand snaked down to your thigh.

His fingers curled around the underside of it, tugging you closer until your legs wrapped around him again and your slick heat pressed against his length. He groaned into your mouth at the contact.

“G-God, Y/N,” He muttered, dragging his mouth down to your throat, kissing the line of your pulse. “You’re s-still dripping. I can feel it–so hot, so wet for me…”

His hand shifted, reaching between your bodies. He stroked himself once. Twice. The glide was obscene, slick with both your arousal and his release from before. He cursed low under his breath–voice strained with restraint–and guided the thick head of his erection to your entrance. Then–he paused, letting his forehead press to yours, his nose brushing yours as he whispered

“T-Tell me you want it.”

”I want you, Bob,” You breathed, “I’ve wanted you for so long…Please I want you inside me.” You begged, almost on the brink of tears just from the sheer anticipation that wracked through your body. He let out a long sigh and slid in, with such slowness you felt your whole body tense up.

You both gasped at the same time–loud, broken, raw. Your back arched and your thighs locked tighter around him as he pushed forward, inch by inch, stretching you wide with the thick, pulsing heat of him. He groaned above you, mouth falling open as your walls clenched around him, impossibly wet and tight.

“Oh–f-fuck…” He stuttered, his voice cracking like it couldn’t contain the feeling. “You feel…God…You feel like…Like e-everything.”

You whined under him, nails scraping lightly across his back. Every inch dragged through you like it was carved for you–hot, thick, filling. It was too much and not enough at once.

“You’re stretching me so good,” You gasped, voice shaking. “Bob–go slow–I wanna feel all of it.” He obeyed, hips moving with devastating care, sinking into you until he bottomed out, fully seated, buried to the hilt. The moan that left your mouth was guttural. His wasn’t any better. It came from deep in his chest–an animal sound, trembling and wrecked.

He stayed still inside you, just for a moment, just to feel everything, just to breathe.

Your chest rose beneath him in shuddering gasps, your nails pressing into the flex of his back as your hips trembled beneath the weight of him. He was deep–so deep it was hard to breathe–but it wasn’t painful. It was perfect. Like a lock clicking into place after too many years of holding the wrong key.

His forehead dropped to yours, your sweat-slick skin sticking where it touched, his breath ragged and hot against your cheek. His arms trembled faintly from the restraint, from the fire still licking through his blood, from the unholy grip of your body around him. His hands slid slowly from the curve of your thigh up to your waist, his thumbs brushing over your hips as if memorizing them. One hand trailed higher, tracing the line of your ribs, his touch light, soothing, trembling.

”You feel–“ He choked on the words, voice wrecked and shaking, “–Like…L-Like you were made for every inch of m-me.” Your fingers dug into his shoulders as your back arched slightly, hips shifting. The movement made him twitch deep inside you, and the sound he let out was hoarse and broken. Your lips brushed his, breath mingling.

“I need you to move,” you whispered. “Please, Bob. I need you to–”

He cut you off with a kiss.

Not desperate. Not wild. Just deep. Intentional. His lips dragged against yours in slow, soft strokes, his tongue slipping into your mouth like a secret. You kissed him back with a whimper, your hands cupping his face, fingers sliding into the damp curls at the base of his neck.

Then he started to move.

Slow at first.

A long, slow withdrawal that had your breath catching in your throat, followed by a deep, steady thrust that made you moan into his mouth. His hips rocked forward again, harder this time, but still slow. Still deliberate. Still savoring.

You felt every inch.

And he felt everything.

Your slick heat around him. The way your body welcomed him, tightened for him, trembled from the fullness. He moved like he wanted to stay inside you forever–long strokes that dragged through you with devastating patience, hips grinding at the end of each thrust like he wanted to feel the slick press of your clit against his skin.

He kissed you between thrusts–messy, wet kisses that dragged across your jaw, your cheek, your mouth again. His lips caught your whimpers. His tongue tasted your gasps. He moaned into your mouth when you clenched around him.

And then–

His hand slid up your chest, broad and warm, until his palm cupped the base of your throat. Not tight. Not forceful. Just there. Anchoring. Feeling the frantic flutter of your pulse beneath his fingers like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever touched.

“You’re burning,” He whispered, lips dragging across your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “S-So warm…So soft…So alive…”

His hips rolled again, slow but deep, pressing into you until your breath stuttered beneath his palm. Your body arched into him helplessly, your thighs wrapping tighter around his waist, your mouth parting on a moan that he caught with a kiss–hot, slick, and panting. He swallowed it greedily.

The pressure of his hand on your throat didn’t restrict. It grounded. Like he needed to feel your heartbeat just to believe this was real.

You whimpered, and he pulled back enough to look at you–his curls dripping sweat, his lips swollen and damp, and those eyes, half-lidded and molten gold at the edges.

“G-God, I could be inside you forever,” he rasped, voice trembling like the words themselves threatened to undo him. “I–I never want to l-leave this. Never wanna stop feeling you like this…”

Another thrust–this one deeper, grinding. Your head dropped back with a gasp.

“Bob–” You sobbed his name like it was the only word you remembered, your fingers twisting hard in his hair. He groaned, deep and wrecked, his hips stuttering slightly as you tugged, his body responding like you’d yanked something primal out of him. His mouth found yours again, frantic and hot, tongue flicking into your mouth with messy, desperate hunger.

Then he pulled back just enough to see your face–flushed, dewy with sweat, eyes glassy and wide.

“Y-You’re close again,” He murmured, like it was something holy. His hand still cradled your throat lightly, thumb stroking gently beneath your jaw as he pressed his forehead to yours, “I–I can feel it, you’re tightening every time I move–you’re doing so good for me Y/N.” You whimpered beneath him, your hands clutching at his back, at his shoulders, pulling him deeper, harder, anything–

“I’ve got you,” He whispered, rocking into you again, the friction slow and devastating. “Let go for me. Come around me. I wanna feel it. I wanna feel you fall apart.”

You moaned–high and soft and broken.

“That’s it,” he breathed, voice breaking. “Just like that. You’re doing so good—G-God–you’re so perfect.” Your thighs shook around his hips. His hand slid down from your throat to your chest, splaying wide over your sternum, as if he could feel the orgasm building beneath your ribs. His other hand slipped to your hip, holding you still as he gave one slow, deep thrust that hit the exact spot that made your vision blur.

Your mouth dropped open in a cry.

“Come for me,” He begged, hips rolling again, steady and relentless. “Please–I wanna feel you–let me feel you come around me–”

You shattered.

Your back arched off the floor, your breath catching in a series of sobbed gasps as the orgasm ripped through you. He kept moving, kept whispering praise through your climax, voice ragged with awe.

“That’s it…That’s it, Y/N…You’re so beautiful like this–“ You clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you on earth, your nails digging into his back, your body convulsing beneath him with every wave of pleasure. You could feel yourself pulsing around him, feel how it dragged a strangled moan out of his throat.

“I-I’m so close,” He gasped, his voice wrecked, his rhythm faltering. “W-Wanna fill you up–please–can I–?”

You nodded, breathless and trembling. “Yes–yes, please–I want it–give it to me–” With a broken groan, his hips jerked forward one last time–and he spilled inside you. His whole body shook as he came, burying his face in your neck, his arms wrapping around you like he needed to hold every part of you to survive it.

You could feel it–every throb, every pulse of warmth deep inside you. His moans, soft and shaking, buzzed against your throat as his breath caught in your skin.

He didn’t move for a long while.

Just stayed there–buried inside you, mouth warm against your neck, arms tight around your waist like he was anchoring himself to this moment, to the rhythm of your heart against his chest. His breath was still coming in short, shaken bursts, and yours wasn’t much better. You were both trembling a little–not from fear, not anymore–but from the rawness of what had just passed between you. Like your bodies hadn’t quite caught up to the aftermath of something so explosive, so full.

But the heat was different now.

It had shifted. Softened. Still warm. Still thick. But no longer blistering, no longer maddening. Just…Lingering.

Your hands slid slowly up his back, fingers tracing through the sweat that slicked his spine, dragging across the faint bumps of his vertebrae. He let out a soft, shaky sigh against your skin. Your fingertips wandered to his sides, palms smoothing gently over the curve of his ribs as if to say I’m here. Still here. I’m okay.

You tilted your head and pressed a kiss to his shoulder—soft, damp, reverent. His skin tasted like salt and breathless devotion.

Bob shifted then, his arms loosening around you as he lifted his head just slightly, enough to look down at you. His hair was a light brown mess, damp curls stuck to his temples, a few clinging to his cheeks. He blinked at you–slow, still dazed–but there was something clearer in his eyes now. Something tender. His hand dragged along your side, skimming your ribs, and he leaned down to kiss you again.

His lips moved against yours like he hadn’t quite gotten his fill–like maybe he never would. He kissed your mouth, then your jaw, then your neck, peppering slow, breathless kisses along the column of your throat. You giggled once–just a little–as his nose brushed the underside of your jaw, tickling your skin.

He pulled back just enough to blink down at you, lips wet and parted, chest still heaving.

”Y-You know I like you, right?” Your breath caught. Your fingers paused where they rested near the nape of his neck. His voice had cracked slightly on the word like, and you could tell he meant something so much more than that. Of course you knew his feelings for you, it was easy to spot, but hearing him say it aloud–even after the both of you just had the most carnal sex ever–still made you a bit breathless. You swallowed, then nodded–eyes searching his face, your heart fluttering in your throat.

“I like you too,” You whispered, your voice shaky and soft. “Always have…” Your cheeks burned, and not from residual heat. You traced a finger over the curve of his shoulder. “T-The circumstances right now are a bit c-crazy…But…Maybe after this…”You tried to continue, but your nerves tangled the words together.

He finished them for you.

“I-I’ll take you out,” He said, nodding once, as if promising both you and himself. “We…We can go to your favorite r-restaurant. And we can do this right…” He ducked his head a little, voice lowering to a smile. “W-Without the sex pollen.” You let out a laugh–helpless and bright–and leaned up to kiss him again. He grinned into it, just a little, and kissed you twice more, slower now, like sealing the agreement. When he finally pulled back, his thumb was brushing your cheekbone, his other hand still lazily tracing your hip.

His gaze dropped to your chest for a moment, then back to your eyes. “A-Are you still aching?” He asked gently.

You paused, body still humming with the memory of him, but no longer sharp with urgency. You shifted slightly, feeling the wet stickiness between your thighs, the throb finally quieting to something warm and dull.

“It’s dulled a little,” you admitted. “But I think we should wash up…”

He blinked, nodding. “R-Right. Yeah.”

You offered a small smile, brushing the sweat-slick hair from his forehead. “We’ve got that little makeshift shower unit in the corner storage. Emergency setup. I-I can activate it.”

He looked at you, eyes soft, one hand trailing lightly over your ribs again.

“I-I’ll come with you,” He murmured. “Just to m-make sure you’re okay.” His curls hung loose now, wild and slightly matted from where your fingers had yanked at them during your climax. The gold shimmer on his skin caught the low lab lights, making him glow faintly where he hovered above you.

“Aww,” you murmured, brushing a hand lazily over the sharp line of his jaw, “That’s sweet, Bob. Really. But we both know that’s not the reason you’re joining me.” Bob flushed immediately, lips twitching into a bashful grin.

“O-Okay,” He said quietly, nuzzling your cheek with the tip of his nose. “M-Maybe it isn’t…M-Maybe I just wanna wash you, and k-kiss you under the water…Until all this heat dies down inside me.” Your chest stuttered at that, heart tripping over itself. His voice was so soft, so wrecked, so full of you.

“Now that’s much better,” You whispered, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. He smiled into it, and you felt the way his arms curled tighter around your middle, the way his cock–still half-hard inside you–twitched slightly at the praise. He sighed, then slowly pulled out, both of you gasping a little at the drag of it. You shivered, and he was already reaching for a nearby towel to cover you while you sat up. His hand cradled the back of your head as you steadied yourself. Always gentle, even now.

You stretched your sore limbs and started for the far corner of the lab where the emergency hygiene setup was stored. Still naked, still glowing with post-orgasm daze, you knelt beside the console and started activating the emergency rinse station–a compact but functional retractable stall with hot water access, a single pressure-nozzle head, and sealed drainage for contamination containment. You flipped open the sanitation kit, pulling out the packet of unscented soap, a washcloth, and the emergency towels folded like paper bricks.

Bob padded over behind you, and you heard him laugh softly as you organized the supplies with shaky hands.

“What?” You said over your shoulder, arching an eyebrow.

He scratched the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “N-Nothing. Y-You just look really focused for someone who’s still naked and covered in glittery sex pollen.”

You snorted. “Yeah, well,” you murmured, standing and turning to face him, “Remind me to access the cameras in here later and delete the footage of what happened…”

Bob raised his brows. “You think there’s audio?”

You gave him a deadpan look. “Bob. We shouted at each other and cried out mid-orgasm while covered in science glitter. If there’s audio, we’re already blackmail material.”

His face turned scarlet.

“Y-You think they’ll–”

“I don’t think we want our sex tape leaking,” You interrupted, grinning wickedly as you flicked the shower head on. Warm water streamed out with a pleasant hiss, filling the space with a light mist and the sound of soft rainfall. You stepped under it first, pulling him gently in after you. The water hit your skin and instantly began washing away the gold flecks still clinging to your chest and thighs.

Bob’s hands found your waist again.

“…M-Maybe I’ll take a copy,” He mumbled.

You looked over your shoulder at him with mock exasperation. “You’ll have the real thing almost every night, Bob,” you said, voice low and teasing. “I don’t think you’ll need a copy.” His breath hitched–barely–and then you felt his mouth press to the back of your shoulder, his arms circling your waist from behind.

“I-Is that so?” He asked, lips trailing kisses up your damp neck.

You tilted your head back against him, smiling into the steam.

Including the way you two fuck. Of course, there are times where you two are fast and heavy, hands exploring and bodies unable to touch each other quick enough, but his favorite times are when you're beneath him, legs wrapped around his strong hips as he moved within you.

"You feel so good, Bobby," you whispered, voice dripping with pleasure during one such moment .

Your arms were locked around his shoulders, nails leaving crescent moon imprints. You both watched each other, your eyes not breaking contact with the baby blue hue of his.

His thrusts were slow but deep, rocking your body beneath him, your breasts bouncing and your hips moving to meet his.

His cheeks were flushed with exertion and you thought he was the most handsome man ever.

"I love you, baby," he said, leaning down to kiss you as you clenched around him, causing him to groan against your lips.

He could feel you squeezing around him and knew you were close, one of his hands coming down between you to rub at the swollen bud of your clit, causing you to tremble.

You both came together, something that didn't happen often. Bob usually preferred for you to come before he did, manners and such, but there was something to be said about a mutual release. It made it all the more pleasurable to feel him release inside you, flooding your pussy as it squeezed around him.

After, he laid beside you, arms around you with your head on his chest.

It was perfect, and you both were happy.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Sentry was rough. You didn't get to see him often but when you did, you knew you'd be sore for a day or so after. After some particularly tough missions Sentry would still be present, still be worked up. Him and Bob had finally learned to communicate and co-exist in a way.

You loved all of Bob. And Sentry was a part of him, therefore you loved him too.

You also loved the way he fucked you. Sentry mostly fucked you from behind with you propped up on your hands and knees, his hands clamped firmly on your hips.

"Your pussy feels so good," he growled, eyes a glowing amber. The bed shook and creaked beneath you and you were grateful the walls were soundproof or the rest of the team would be getting an earful.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you whined. Your breath was coming in pants as he controlled your movements, pulling you back into him with a pace no mere human could keep up with.

The tip of his cock was pressing into that sensitive spot deep in your pussy and you were soaking both of your thighs. The sounds in the room were obscene, the wet slapping of your bodies, your cries and his groans.

He had already made you come three times, first with his fingers pumping in you at a relentless speed and then twice more on his tongue, not letting up on your sensitive clit until you were near tears.

He worshipped your body.

You had tried to slip one hand down to your clit, but you were quickly stopped.

"I don't think so, goddess. This pussy is going to come from my cock, only. You're. Mine." he growled.

He readjusted the angle, the tip of him moreso pummeling the spot within you now instead of rubbing it.

Before long, you were done for. With your fourth and final orgasm, you gushed around him, soaking his pelvis and the sheets below you. You couldn't even moan, just whimpers leaving you as your body lost control.

"That's it, that's a good girl," he growled, not letting up as he worked himself to his own completion.

He came deep within you, pulling out just before he was done to let some of his spend paint your thighs, mixing with the fluids you had released yourself.

He loved to make you messy and as you collapsed beneath him, face turning on the pillow so you could breath, he let hs hands come to hold your thighs open wider, watching the come flow from you to mix with what he had painted you with.

"You're such a good girl, baby." he said, leaning to press a kiss to the back of your neck, sucking a mark below your ear.

"That should hold you til next time."

Moments later, Bob would return, and he couldn't deny that he loved to see how wrecked you were.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You only had met Void a handful of times before. Bob was doing better with controlling himself more and more everyday, and now Void could come out and be contained easier.

He was still only to be brought out when strictly necessary, only on missions in life or death situations.

And he made sure he got his fill of you too.

The first time you met Void after the incident in New York, you couldn't lie and say you weren't scared. But as time went on and Bob got a better handle on him, you just came to see him for what he was. He was Bob. He was his inner darkness, but he was still part of the man you loved.

And he loved you, even if he fucked you like he hated you.

You were currently tied to the bed, arms above your head fastened to the headboard with one of Bob's old t-shirts.

You and Void both knew you could break out easily if you wanted to. He would never truly hurt you. Just in ways that felt good.

If you thought Sentry was rough, Void was on a whole different level.

Your poor clit was red and aching. It had been two hours of being brought to the edge only to be denied release. Your ass was red and sensitive against the silk of your sheets from the spankings you had received, but you didn't hate the feeling.

Your eyes were glassy, tears streaking your cheeks as you were fucked within an inch of your life.

"Stupid girl," said the black mass above you, his features the outline of the man you love while his faint eyes stared at you.

"You love being fucked dumb, don't you? You just like to take it like the whore you are. My whore."

Your tits were bouncing and he didn't hold back on staring at them.

One hand came to you, pinching one of your sensitive nipples until you cried out in painful pleasure.

"Say it. Say you're mine," he seethed, released your breast to cup your jaw, cheeks squished as his cock pounded you.

The rest of the team was on a mission that didn't require the two of you, and you were grateful they weren't here as even with the soundproof walls, you were worried they'd somehow hear what was going on.

"I-I'm yours. I'm yours, baby. Please," you cried, voice hoarse.

You could see a faint grin on his dim features and he used his thumb with the hand that was holding your face to open your mouth. He spit, letting it land in your mouth before his body sped up even more, impossibly fast.

"That's fucking right, baby. Mine. My girl, my body, my wet, drooling cunt that worships my cock."

His hand came down between where he was kneeled between your spread thighs, smacking your sensitive clit.

You cried out, voice wrecked at the force of your orgasms. It was like one rolled into another and another, him continuing to land sharp smacks to your used pussy as he fucked you deep.

When you finished, he pulled out. His hand came to wrap around himself and he stroked quickly.

He brought himself to the end and came, leaving his release on your tummy and your hot, red cunt.

He untied you after, leaving down to kiss your spit slick lips.

"Until we meet again," he said against them, and then he was gone. Bob came back and though he worried Void had gone too far, you assured him you loved it.

He helped you clean up after and held you, playing with your hair as you rested.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Once Bob had finally learned how to take full control of both of his other sides, it really became like you had three boyfriends wrapped into one. Bob was your sweet, shy golden retriever while Sentry was confident. Void was broody and dominant.

You loved all three of them, and they loved you.

Once they finally learned how to co-exist, which took some time on Void's end, having to learn that the world really isn't all gloom and doom, they actually meshed well together.

You had known them all long enough to tell who was in control of Bob's body and when all three were there at once.

It was easy for you. It could be as simple as them having a whispered conversation with their different tones, or as complex as a change in facial expressions.

They were your boys.

And you were theirs.

Especially when they shared you in bed.

You knew when the three of them plotted together on how to pleasure your body, you didn't stand a chance.

It started out slow, Bob leaving kisses all over your quivering body, gentle sucks leaving marks that you both would admire later.

"You have such a beautiful body, baby," Bob whispered as his tongue laved against your pussy.

Your first orgasm was from his mouth and as you laid beneath him, his head between your thighs, you heard a soft "My turn," before lips latched back onto your overstimulated clit.

"Ohmygod," you cried quickly, hands coming to fist in his hair.

"That's right, baby. I'm your god, and your my goddess," Sentry growled against your pussy, giving one full lick along the length of it before he attached back to your clit.

One of his free hands came up, and he wasted no time in plunging two fingers into you.

He always knew immediately where to aim for your g-spot, and now his fingers rammed it, giving you no time for respite as he fucked you.

"Bob had his fun. I'm gonna eat this pussy, then Void is gonna fuck it good," he said.

When you came it, it soaked his lips and chin and he groaned acting like he was savoring the taste.

Leaving one last kiss to your aching pussy, Sentry moved to the background with Bob. Bob once described it like whoever was in control was taking the front seat while the other two were passengers.

Him and Sentry watched as Void began to ravage you.

"Yes, yes!" you cried as you were held down, thighs pressed to your chest as your calves rested on the black mass that was Void's shoulders.

"Such a good girl, a good whore for us," he said, voice dark.

The new bed was slamming into the wall, but thankfully this one wouldn't break.

There had been a mishap with the previous bed. Once all three of your guys had learned to work together, it was you and your bed against three.

Unfortunately the bed was a casualty.

This one was sturdier, made specifically for the force of your lover.

"I love you, Void. I love all three of you," you whimpered, body shaking and gasping for breath.

His eyes shifted, his black mass of a body still there but eyes shifting to a mix of blue and amber and you knew the response was from all three of your boys.

It was a particularly bad night, all of them having bad dreams which only filled your body with sadness and anxiety. You stuck headphones over your ears, music turned up loud to blast through your head in an attempt to block out some of the feelings. It only helped a little. You stared at the wall opposite your bed, trying to think of better things and trying to latch onto any sort of feeling. You were getting nothing. Either everybody was having a bad night or no positive emotions were strong enough to reach you in the moment. It sucked.

A few hours went by, your eyes blurring with exhaustion as you continued to stare. The emotions weren't dying down, only going through fluctuations where everybody's sleep cycles would circle around. There was a tugging at the side of your head, like something else was trying to get in but you couldn't quite manage to get a latch on it. You sighed and squeezed your eyes shut, only opening them when the tugging got stronger.

You squinted at your door, trying to figure out whether it was your tired brain making you see things or whether there actually was a shadow moving underneath your door. Taking a deep breath in a bid to relax, you used your gift to reach out. Then you felt it. A different type of anxiety, it was more like a quiet concern rather than fear and nerves. 

You ripped the headphones from your head and sat up straighter, surprised when there was a tentative knock on your door. "Hello?"

"Hi." The voice was timid. "It's- it's Bob."

You let out a soft sigh of relief. It was only Bob. You clambered out of bed and padded towards your door, opening it with a tired smile. "Hey, Bob. What can I help you with?"

He blinked back at you, his hair mussed up and clothes crinkled from sleep. "Your light was on."

You frowned. "Uh, yes."

"It's the middle of the night." He added on, hands twisting together into the hem of his shirt.

You realised he was worried about you and wondering why you were awake in the middle of the night. "Yeah, uh, the team dream rather restlessly. And- and I can feel it."

"Oh." He nodded, suddenly remembering what your gift entailed. "That's horrible."

You shrugged. "I'm used to it. But thank you for checking on me. That's sweet of you."

The apples of his cheeks bloomed pink, blood rushing to his face. "No- no problem. Just wanted to see if you were okay."

It was then that you realised you suddenly felt better. Bob's concern was a nicer feeling than the nightmares everyone else was going through. And when he'd blushed you felt another emotion, a warmer emotion. 

"I appreciate that, Bob. Thank you." You smiled at him, pleased when he offered a small smile back. That also improved your mood. "You're making me feel a lot better actually."

"I am?" He seemed surprised, hands dropping to his sides.

"Yes, you're a lot calmer than everyone else right now and it feels good." You paused, looking him up and down. "Can you- could you maybe stay with me for a little while?"

"Oh! Yes. Yes, of course." He shifted from foot to foot, glancing over your shoulder at your room. "Um, why?"

"Because I'm tired of feeling anxious from everyone else. We can just sit for a few minutes and then you can go back to your room. If that's okay?"

He nodded and took a step towards you. "Sure, for as long as you want."

Bob really was sweet, his awkward demeanour only the surface of how lovely he really was. It was difficult to believe that he was technically the same guy who had killed half of New York only a couple of months ago. He really wasn't that person, and never had been. Since then, he'd quickly become one of your favourite people and you didn't see that changing any time soon. He was just the kind of person you wanted to keep around, so worthy of love and protection. 

You tilted your head backwards and opened your door slightly wider. "Come on in then. We can sit on my bed."

His blue eyes widened for a moment before shuffling towards you, bare feet sliding against the floor. You shut the door behind him, gesturing towards your bed to offer him a seat when he hesitated in the middle of your room.

"It won't bite." You snorted, stopping next to him. "You can just sit on the edge if it makes you uncomfortable."

"No, it's not that. I just don't want to intrude into your space." He glanced at you from from the corner of his eye.

"I wouldn't have invited you in if you could do that." You replied, walking around the side of your bed to sit back down in the spot you had been before. You pointed at the space next to you. "I don't bite either."

A small smile graced his face as he went to the other side of the bed to sit next to you. Bob rested against the headboard, staring at the same wall you had been before he'd arrived.

"So... do we chat? Or something?" He asked, head flopping to look at you.

You resisted the urge to push his hair out of his face so you could see his sweet face in all of its glory. He really did make you feel better with his mere presence. You'd never experienced that with someone before.

"We can, if you want. Or we can just sit quietly."

He pushed his own hair out of his eyes, revealing the baby blues to you again. "What were you doing before I knocked?"

"I was listening to music. To try- to try and block it out."

"Was it working?"

"No." You shook your head. "But you're working."

He looked away from you and you panicked, scared that that had been too much. It often freaked people out when you reminded them you could feel all of their emotions. But then you felt it. Bob was happy.

You inched slightly closer to him. "Feels nice when you're happy. It's warm."

He looked back at you. "Warm?"

"And soft. Most people feel harsher when they're happy, in an excitable way. But not you. It's difficult to explain." You closed your eyes, a pleased smile on your lips. "I like the way it feels."

Bob's breathing grew heavier, his voice cracking as he spoke. "I'm glad."

You hummed lowly, your heart rate slowing the more you relaxed. You hadn't realised it had been thundering against your rib cage for the majority of the night. As you calmed down, you grew more and more fatigued. Bob's effect on you was quick and he could only watch as you started to fall asleep. He didn't want to disturb you, it was clear how exhausted you were. He'd seen the way you would move sluggishly on the days when you hadn't slept very well. It hadn't quite clicked in his head why you'd been like that but it was all adding up now. You had always been so kind to him that he hated to see you struggle. You didn't deserve that. So if all he could do to help was sit by your side so you could sleep peacefully, then he was all too happy to do that. 

When you awoke the next morning, you were startled by what greeted you when you opened your eyes. Bob was laying down beside you, mouth slightly agape and quiet snores leaving him. He really was rather lovely to look at. He had a delicate face, his features rather soft. And that was only increased by the peace that radiated off of him during his slumber.

The feeling that was trickling through you was new, and difficult to comprehend. You'd always been surrounded by people with big characters, their lives usually motivated by some sort of misery. You couldn't complain, you were the same. But it meant that the emotions that you received in response would be equally as agonising. They had their high moments, of course. Evenings the team spent together in the tower when you ate dinner, played games and watched movies were usually far more pleasant. But those were only fleeting moments. 

Bob was a breath of fresh air. He certainly wasn't the happiest person you'd ever known, especially when you first met. But because he was rather easy to please, the simplest of compliments making him practically glow, it meant that you often found yourself also feeling good around him. You tried not to take advantage of that but because he was also just kind of wonderful you found yourself enchanted by him. 

You watched him sleep, trying not to move so as not to disturb him. But he probably sensed your gaze in his slumber as it didn't take long before he stirred. He murmured something lowly as he opened his eyes, squinting against the sunlight streaming in through your windows, and stretched. When his eyes landed on you he offered a timid smile.

"Good morning." You whispered, propping your chin on your hand as you looked down at him.

"G'morning." His voice was gruff, even lower than it usually was.

"Did you stay all night?" You asked, suddenly realising that he was underneath the blankets. 

"Yeah, I hope that's okay." He turned on his side. "You fell asleep and I didn't want to disturb you if I left. Especially since everyone's emotions were getting to you."

You grinned at him. "You really are rather sweet, Bob."

He rolled away from you, groaning into the pillow beneath him. "Thank you."

You laughed and sat up as he did. "No, thank you. I appreciate this. It was nice of you."

"You don't need to thank me." He stood up and turned to look at you. "Do you want to go have breakfast? I hide the good cereal behind the pots and pans."

Affection spiralled through you, he was a great friend and you were so thankful to have him.

"Is that why I can never find it? You keep it hidden?" You started following him out of your room, grabbing your robe as you walked. 

"Yeah..." He let out a short giggle. "Alexei keeps finding it though so I have to keep changing the hiding spot."

You smiled at the back of his head as you followed him to the kitchen, ready to start your day feeling more well rested than you had in years. 

After a busy day spent with Bob doing chores around the tower and just hanging out, you were ready to go to bed. You were tired from the day's activities and needed some rest. But Bob could tell something was off. As each member of the team headed off to bed one by one, he watched as you slowly curled in on yourself where you were sat on the couch. It didn't take him long to realise what was wrong.

"Is it bad again?" He asked you, voice hushed to keep it between the two of you. He wasn't entirely sure how the super soldier serum worked on the three members of the team who had it, but if it was anything like what he'd experienced then he didn't want to risk their enhanced senses hearing him. 

"Mhmm." You nodded weakly, your head collapsing against the back of the couch.

Bob moved to sit next to you, debating whether his next offer would be too forward. But the pain on your face was unbearable for him to witness. You'd been so happy all day, the change around was horrible to see. "Would you like me to come to your room again?"

You looked up at him through your lashes, using the little energy you had to cling on to his emotions. "Yes, please."

"Okay." Bob nodded and stood up, angling his head in the direction of your room. "Let's go then."

It didn't take long for that to become the routine between you and Bob. Free days spent in the tower you'd stay by each other's sides and nights would consist of the two of you sharing your bed in order to sleep peacefully. Practically every second you spent in the tower would be with Bob. As well as being a soothing presence, he was also very funny and considerate. It took you about two days of hanging out one on one for you to decide that he was perfect in basically every way. You only hoped he enjoyed your company as much as you enjoyed his. If the emotions that radiated off of him were any indication, then he did like you. A lot. 

A new feeling had started pouring out of him, you'd noticed. One that made the back of your neck tingle and your brain feel fuzzy behind the eyes. You just couldn't quite figure out exactly what it was yet.

The rest of the team didn't fail to notice how you and Bob seemed closer. Stolen glances became a regular thing, the two of you acting as if you shared a secret. They could only watch on in somewhat confused amusement as Bob would look at you first whenever someone told a joke, to see if you were laughing, and how you had started singling out Bob by name whenever you offered to make anyone else a snack or a drink, like he was suddenly your priority. The two of you would also sit next to each other during every evening the team spent together.

They all assumed something had happened between the two of you. Just what, they didn't know. You weren't exactly acting like a couple, neither of you being flirty or touching the other anymore than usual. But the dynamic had certainly changed and was clearly developing more everyday. Whatever it was, it was clearly having a positive effect on you both. Bob seemed happier, smiling more often when you were around, and his emotions directly influenced yours, you were now a lot calmer and seemed less tense. So they just continued to observe in silence, curious to see where it would lead.

When Yelena had attempted to question Bob on it he had stuttered out that it was nothing, a clear give away that it was something. And when she'd asked you, all you had done was give her a coy smile accompanied by a shrug. She just decided to be happy for the two of you.

The thing between you and Bob was going steady for a few weeks, he'd started to open up to you more and more and you clung on to every word he decided to tell you. It was nice. But things quickly changed one night.

You'd been sleeping peacefully next to each other when you'd suddenly woken up. No clear negative emotion was travelling through you and Bob was still asleep so you assumed something else had woken you up. You listened out and heard nothing so sighed and closed your eyes in an attempt to go back to sleep. But you couldn't.

There was a tug at your lower stomach, a sudden ache further down. You shifted yourself, wondering if your position had you pressing on your organs strangely. But it didn't let up, and started getting more intense instead. And then you realised what it was. It was arousal. You were turned on. Puzzled, you flattened yourself on your back with a huff. What could possibly have you feeling like this? It was a normal night, sharing a bed with Bob with no disturbances other than the soft soundtrack of his breathing. Ever since you had started sharing a bed with him at night, you hadn't found yourself disrupted by the anxious feelings of the rest of your team. Bob's presence had been enough to soothe away the nerves and the fear and replaced it all with comfort and relaxation.

You glanced at Bob through the darkness, nothing seemed different with him. And then he made a noise. It was halfway between a content hum and a needy whimper. Your eyes widened in the dark as the pull in your tummy increased. It hit you all at once. Bob was having a sex dream and it was having an effect on you. 

You scrunched your eyes shut, willing it to go away. Not entirely sure why you were even bothering, it had never been possible to just push the feelings away, you took a shaky breath as Bob let out another sound. This one was louder, more of a whine than anything else. Your brain felt misty, you weren't convinced whether what you were feeling was all of Bob or if it was also a combination of your own arousal at the noises he was making. 

Bob was cute, you'd always thought it, but due to the circumstances through which you'd met you hadn't thought it appropriate to ever try to pursue anything. So the idea had died down and you hadn't even considered it in months. As the two of you had steadily gotten closer, you started to treasure him as a friend and nothing else. Bob was sweet, that was undeniable, and you had grown rather fond of him. And now here he was in your bed having a sex dream that was making you wet between your thighs. 

The final straw was the desperate moan that rumbled from Bob's chest and out of his mouth. You shot up in bed, switching the bedside lamp on and tapped him on the shoulder.

He didn't stir. You envied how deeply he slept.

You poked his arm, surprised when you hit solid bicep. "Bob."

He grumbled and turned his face into the pillow.

"Bob." You sighed, shaking him gently.

"Mm?" The sound was questioning but had an undertone to it that reminded you of the sounds he'd previously been making. 

"Bob, wake up." You said, louder than before. You were hoping that the feeling of being turned on would fade away as he came to but you were wrong.

As Bob's eyes slowly blinked open and landed on your face, the feeling in your core pulsed for a moment as his face turned a rosy shade of pink. 

He shuffled around until he managed to sit up next to you, looking around the room to see if there was some sort of problem. "Is something wrong?"

The sincerity in his eyes was infuriating. But only because it made your breathing go ragged as you took in his messy hair and sleepy eyes. His flushed complexion wasn't helping and you didn't fail to notice how he cautiously tugged the blanket over his lap.

You decided to be blunt with it, not being able to concentrate on anything else other than the ocean between your legs. You hadn't even known it was possible to experience the physical things the people around you were going through. You had only ever felt the emotions of others. The closest you had ever gotten to this was being able to tell when people were injured or sick - people had very distinct emotions when they were in pain. But this was a whole new thing.

"You were having a sex dream."

Bob looked away from you. "H-how... how do you know that? Did I- did I say something?"

He looked nervous, more nervous than you'd seen him in weeks, and you could feel it burning underneath the state of arousal he was still in. 

"No." You rasped, hands gripping the sheets beneath you. "I can feel it."

His head snapped in your direction, eyes going wide. "You what?"

Your chest was heaving. "I can feel it."

"What do you mean?"

You laughed lowly, unsure of how you could explain it. "I'm turned on right now because you are."

"Oh." The flush spread to his ears, his voice barely a squeak. "Sorry?"

There was a momentary ache in your chest at his apology, it was phrased like a question but his body language gave away how genuine it was. He was timid, that was for certain, and always feared he was going to do the wrong thing. Bob was scared of rejection and being abandoned. It was why he so often would tell people when he'd completed a chore or done something helpful like the laundry or the dishes. He felt the need to prove why you should all keep him around. He seemed unaware that you kept him around because you all loved him, and it wasn't conditional based on how useful he was.

You shifted towards him, hands reaching out for a second before awkwardly hovering in front of him. Maybe it wasn't the best time to be touching him. "No, no. You don't need to be sorry. At all. I just..."

Bob stared at you, waiting for you to finish your sentence.

"It's just an unusual situation. I've never felt this before."

He swallowed thickly. "You haven't? But I thought you felt everything other people felt."

You nodded. "I do. But emotions. Not physical things."

His eyes flickered up and down your body quickly. "So you're- you're more than feeling it?"

"I assume I'm experiencing the equivalent of whatever you are." You glanced at the tent in the blanket covering his lap. "Which is a physical reaction in the body."

"What you're saying is..." He didn't seem to know how to word it, fidgeting with the sleeves of his shirt.

"Yes, that's what I'm saying." You clenched your thighs together, being careful with your words since you didn't want to freak him out. "I woke you up so it wouldn't be awkward."

He seemed to deflate slightly, nodding in acceptance. "Awkward."

You smiled softly at him, dipping your head down to meet his eyes. "Not because of you. But because me being awake and horny next to you when you're asleep is... odd."

"No more odd than me having a sex dream in your bed." He mumbled, a small smile turning the corners of his mouth up.

A gentle giggle escaped you, glad he was easing up enough to joke. "It's not like you can choose when you have a sex dream. It's okay."

"I know. But I'm still sorry." He leaned towards you. "I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable."

"Bob, you could never." You mirrored him, leaning in. "I'm just wondering how we're going to solve this."

He blinked and sat up straighter. "What do you mean?"

You took a deep breath. "Well, considering I seem to be feeling whatever you are then there's a possibility that if you decide to go and... sort yourself out-" You sent a meaningful look towards his lap. "-then I will also feel it."

His eyes widened. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh." You repeated. "But I also don't want to leave either of us sexually frustrated. That's never fun. So..."

"So..." He seemed to think for a moment. "Are you suggesting that...?"

You shrugged. "Some variation."

"Variation?" Bob was full of questions, finding himself doing nothing but being confused. 

"If you don't want to actually do anything then mutual masturbation is always good."

Bob spluttered, taken aback by that answer.

"Or not." You added in, trying to determine what his real reaction was. His outward appearance seemed reluctant but your body throbbed at the prospect, which you knew reflected his feelings. That meant nothing though. If he said no then that was all that mattered. 

"No, it's-" He cut himself off, a quiet whine leaving his mouth.

You shifted, thighs clenching. "Bob, I beg of you not to make that noise."

"Sorry." He mumbled.

"If you're unsure then we can start with something slower." You suggested, easing into it.

"Like what?"

You shrugged. "Kissing."

He turned bright pink again. Affection blossomed through your chest, he was so sweet. As shy as he was, you could see the sudden sparkle in his eyes at the idea of kissing you. It made you curious about something, something you'd been suspecting since he had first woken up.

"Bob? Who were you dreaming about?" You asked and watched him grapple for an answer that seemed to evade him. "Was it about me?"

He paused his search for reasoning, turning to look at you slowly before nodding. "Yeah."

You smiled. "I'm flattered."

He rolled his eyes, almost self deprecatingly. "Yeah, okay."

You frowned. "If I wasn't flattered then I'd kick you out of this room for being a creep. But I'm not doing that, am I? No. I'm waiting for you to make a decision. Either you stay and we make out. Or you leave and I hump a pillow."

His jaw dropped open, drawing your eyes to his lips.

"Up to you, Bob." You scooted closer to him, dropping your voice down low. "I'm waiting."

Before he could respond, you flinched. Your body recoiled from the door and towards the headboard.

"What's wrong?" Bob sounded panicked.

"Someone's having a nightmare. A bad one." You groaned. "It's a weird sensation feeling their anxiety whilst also being turned on."

Bob only looked at you for a second. "Will I make it better?"

You smiled at him, thankful he'd finally seemed to have caught on to the fact that he was the only thing that managed to soothe you. "You always make me better."

He softened, whole body relaxing as his face turned red with a different emotion. That's when he seemed to make up his mind, shuffling down so he was laying down again next to you and patting the spot directly in front of him. "Turn the light off."

"You sure?" You asked, already reaching for the lamp.

He nodded, sucking in a sharp breath as you settled down in front of him. You were suddenly face to face, but only for a moment as the next second the light was off and you were plunged into darkness again.

"Bob?"

"Yeah?"

"You're cute when you blush." You eased out a hand, gently cupping his cheek.

His own hand inched towards you under the blankets, fingertips grazing the fabric of your shirt. "I think you're the only person who thinks that."

"I find that unlikely. But if so then I'm happy to keep telling you."

"You're only saying that because you're turned on." He chuckled breathlessly. "Trying to get into my pants."

"Do I have to try?"

"No." His nose nudged against yours, steadily get closer and closer but not quite closing the gap.

You realised you were going to have to take that step. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes."

Bob was breathless before your lips met his, so when the collision finally happened it felt as if all oxygen had left him. But that didn't matter. He didn't need oxygen. All he needed was you.

You were gentle at first, testing the waters. But it only took about two seconds before Bob whined, the sound pulsing through you, so your mouth opened up like you'd lost control and your tongue swiped across his lips, teasing him. Bob's hands knotted into the front of your shirt, pulling you closer to him. His tongue curled against yours, a whimper leaving him.

You smiled into the kiss, thumb swiping over his cheek to keep it soft. You were overcome with lust but wanted the same mood that had floated between you and Bob up until this point. It didn't need to turn aggressive in any way now that you were taking it a step further. 

The hem of your shirt cut into your back as Bob's grip on it tightened, his feet pressing into yours so the two of you started playing footsie as you kissed. Bob tasted sweet, you noted, probably about as sweet as he was in general. You suckled his bottom lip into your mouth, revelling in the moan he let out. You pushed yourself closer to him, nose cramming against his cheek as his hair tickled your forehead. 

You pulled away from him to catch your breath, planting a quick kiss on his lips as he chased you. "Hm, slow down. We have time."

"Wanted this for so long." He admitted in the haze of passion that was swimming around the two of you.

The confession surprised you. "Oh, yeah?"

He backed up a little to look at you in the darkness as he gave an affirmative hum. That's when you felt it. The tingle on the back of your neck and the fuzziness behind your eyes. 

"What is that?" You asked, moving your face closer to him to get a better feel for it.

"What's what?" He sounded genuinely confused, voice kind as he asked.

"This new thing you keep feeling? Like a tingle on the back of the neck and a fuzz behind the eyes. What is it? I've never felt it before." 

The intensity you were looking at him with was amusing to Bob, how you seemed so unaware when usually it would be the other way around with the two of you. He knew exactly what you were referring to.

So he only smiled as he told you. "It's the feeling I get when I'm close to you."

Your breath got caught in your throat, eyes searching his in the dark to see how genuine he was being. When you detected nothing but honesty in his face, you dove forward and kissed him again. Despite your initial desire to keep it as relaxed as possible, you couldn't help the sudden craving you had for him. It was raw and primal, a yearning feeling.

Bob's pelvis rutted into yours, a reminder of the thing that got you into this position to begin with. He was still painfully hard and, based on the way you were feeling, that wasn't going to change any time soon. Your teeth and tongues clashed over and over, Bob making happy little noises at every press of your lips. He was insatiable, chasing you every time you decided the two of you needed to breathe. But he didn't seem to have the confidence to touch you anymore, not going any further than the vise like grip he still had on your shirt.

So you decided to make the move again. "Can I touch you?"

He nodded rapidly, his voice desperate. "Please."

The mewl of his voice was intoxicating, giving you permission to let your hand drift down the front of his torso. His abdomen was solid underneath his shirt but, as tempting as it was, you had another destination in mind. When you hit the waistband of his pants you paused, fingers toying with the strings that kept them fastened.

"Are you sure?" You asked, double checking that he was positive he wanted to take it this far.

He barely pulled away from your lips to answer. "Yes, I'm sure."

That was all you needed. You pulled on the string, undoing it, and let your hand slide into the front of his pants. You didn't have the patience to start with any over the clothes touching. Bob's size was somewhat surprising, he was big, which meant that your hand met the velvety skin of his cock pretty much as soon as you'd breached the waistline of his pants. He whimpered into your mouth at the feeling of the silky skin of your palm. 

He was keen, his body reacting immediately with a buck of his hips into your fist. You started with a slow pace, moving your hand up and down carefully to get a rhythm going. His precum worked well as a natural lubricant, making both your skin and his slick. It was only a reminder of the wetness between your own legs. But that thought escaped you pretty quickly when Bob continued to make pretty little sounds into your mouth. He throbbed in your hand, pace of his thrusts increasing when you tightened your grip. 

You kept kissing him, shivering as the feeling of his arousal travelled through you as well. An overwhelming curiosity was plaguing you as you wondered whether you'd feel it when he eventually came. That became less important when Bob's hands finally untangled from your shirt and one of them crept up the plains of your torso to start groping your chest through your shirt. You moaned into his mouth, hand momentarily stilling in place. That didn't last long when he whined into your mouth, a mumble begging for more leaving him.

Your fist pumped his cock harder and faster, drawing him closer and closer to orgasm.

"Come on, pretty boy. I know you're close."

He whimpered at the name you'd given him, the fact that he liked praise was something you quickly noted in your head. Bob kissed you harder, the desperation for closeness evident.

It didn't take much longer before he started twitching in your hand, hot ropes of cum spurting out of him and landing on the sheets between you. You pumped him a few more times, milking him for everything he was worth. A train of whimpers and moans tumbled out of mouth, filling the space between you, as his eyes scrunched shut with pleasure. You kissed him through it, wanting to keep him close as you were feeling his orgasm yourself. The feeling rocketed through you, a sense of ecstasy as it poured out of Bob and into you. Your prediction was right, you did indeed feel it when he did. This was a new development to your gift that had you curious. 

Once he'd calmed down from the high, Bob's eyes blinked open again as he looked at you. "I'm- I'm sorry."

You frowned. "Why are you sorry?"

"Because I- and you didn't-" He cut himself off, distressed. "I thought we were going to-"

You eyed the mess on the sheets between you. "Believe me, what just happened is not an issue."

"Are you still... feeling it?"

"Kind of. Less so now that you've come. But I'm still horny. Especially after that." You sighed. "Can we keep kissing?"

Bob wasn't sure why you'd even asked. It wasn't like there was any scenario where he'd say no to that. So he nodded at you, assuming that your eyes had adjusted enough to the dark to see him. He was right. You manoeuvred yourself over the mess on the sheets and hovered yourself over him.

He looked up at you, the sparkle from before twinkling in his eyes. He finally allowed himself to touch you, not realising that he'd groped you in the heat of the moment before, and placed his hands on your hips before letting them skate up your waist, then your rib cage, before going over your shoulders and letting them land on either side of your face. Then he pulled you down to kiss him. 

You weren't sure how long that went on for exactly, only really aware of anything other than Bob existing when he'd asked whether you wanted to change your bed sheets. You'd only told him it could wait until the morning and that the two of you would just have to stick to his side of the bed. At some point his hands had drifted below your waistline, drawing your own orgasm from you. It surprised you how adept he was at it, but you figured he had a past long before you'd even met him. 

What surprised you both was Bob had moaned as you did, blinking in shock as you came.

"I felt that." He stated, mouth hanging open.

"What do you mean?" You asked, still breathless from the orgasm. 

"I felt that." He repeated.

A frown wrinkled your brows. "You mean... like how I feel things?"

"I think so."

That was another thing that had never happened until Bob.

"I didn't know that was possible." You thought about it for a second before shrugging. "Another thing for tomorrow."

And then you kept kissing him. That went on for a while until the two of you grew sleepy, eventually drifting off in each other's arms.

When you woke up the next morning you found yourself intertwined with Bob, limbs tangled together. You hummed happily and snuggled closer to him. 

"G'morning." He grumbled into your ear.

You smiled at the sound of his voice and turned your head to look at him. "Good morning. You're awake before me."

"Shocking, I know." He huffed, hand stroking up and down the length of your arm.

"What's the time?"

"A little after nine."

Your eyes widened and you shot out of bed, scrambling to find your robe. "Shit, it's late."

Bob followed you out of bed, feeling bad that he'd let you sleep in. But you had just looked so peaceful. "Sorry, I should've woken you."

"No, don't apologise." You beamed at him. "Shouldn't apologise for the way I slept."

He watched you slide a pair of socks on. "How'd you sleep?"

"Good." You grinned. "The best. You?"

"Good too."

You huffed. "You always sleep good."

There was a moment of silence before Bob seemed to decide what he was going to say.

"Do you want to know why I sleep so easily?"

You nodded, always just figuring the amnesia that came with what happened to him meant that he just didn't have bad dreams. 

"Because I dream about you." He confessed quietly. "Even when I'm not having sex dreams."

Your shoulders hunched as your skin prickled with the burn of self-consciousness. There was no way he was telling the truth. "Really?"

"I spend my days thinking about you and my nights dreaming about you." He chuckled shakily. "Even though we spend every second of every day together, I can think of nothing but you. It consumes me. You consume me."

Tears welled in your eyes. "For how long?"

"For as long as I've known you pretty much." He shrugged. "It's been very difficult sleeping next to you for these past few weeks and not telling you."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because you needed me to sleep. And I was scared that you didn't feel the same way so you'd- you'd push me away and go back to restless nights." His hands started wringing together, a telltale sign of his nerves.

You choked out a teary laugh. "How could you ever think I didn't feel the same? Why do you think I spend so much time with you? Why I can't sleep unless I'm next to you?"

"My emotions calm you."

You shook your head. "You make me calm. There's something about you. There always has been. You make me feel things that nobody else ever has. I've experienced new emotions with you. As well as more feelings."

He smiled at the reference to what the two of you had done the night before. "So, what now?"

"What now?" You chortled as you repeated his words back to him. "Now you kiss me and we never stop."

Bob didn't need to be told twice.

The team noticed the moment the switch in yours and Bob's relationship flipped. All it took was one simple gesture. The group of you had been in the kitchen together, chatting about nothing in particular and Bob had been looking at you with a gooey look in his eyes as usual. But then you'd reached up, brushing a lock of hair away from his eyes. 

They all knew then that you'd finally taken the step towards being officially more than friends. None of them pointed it out, exchanging nothing but pleased looks with each other and enjoying the fact that neither you nor Bob seemed to be aware that the rest of them now all knew about the two of you. They weren't entirely sure that either of you cared if they knew.

"Listen," she'd said to Bob one evening, slouched across the common room couch holding a vodka cranberry in one hand and a glitter bomb in the other, "if you're not part of the prank war, you're part of the problem."

You, curled in the armchair with your Cosmopolitan, just snorted and shook your head. “Don’t engage,” you whispered. “That’s how it starts.”

But it was already too late.

By week four, someone—probably Yelena—had rigged the gym's ceiling vents to explode with glitter every single time music was played. It looked like an ABBA concert every time anyone tried to work out. Walker was victim number one. It took him two weeks to clean out all the vents. He was still finding glitter in places no man should.

By week six, Bucky's protein powder was replaced with powdered sugar—Walker's doing. The next day, Walker's toothbrush was swapped for a hot pepper-infused prank toothbrush so strong he almost wanted to rip his tongue out—Bucky's doing. Yelena claimed no responsibility, but laughed out loud until her tummy hurt. Alexei said nothing, but looked immensely pleased. Ava just walked away every time, muttering "children" and "imbeciles" in every single language.

And you? You opted out of everything.

So did Bob.

You were the “normal” ones—if “normal” meant tired, trauma-bonded, and one missed therapy session away from losing it. You liked your body not covered in glitter. You liked your food unsabotaged. You liked your showers dye-free. You liked your clothes not sewn together by a super-soldier with a grudge. You liked peace. Quiet.

Bob, too, had retreated from the chaos the moment it started. He was quiet, nervous, so polite. The Sentry—the most powerful being in several galaxies—was also the one who carried I <3 New York mugs with two hands, murmured “sorry” when he sneezed too loudly, and apologized to furniture when he bumped into them.

You once caught him whispering "sorry" to the coffee machine. You hadn't recovered since.

And then there was Yelena—your best friend, your platonic soulmate, your disaster twin, your ride-or-die with a taser in her boot and a flask in one of the many pockets on her vest. She thrived in these situations. Like a vengeful little chaos gremlin.

You loved her like family. Like a sister. You also wanted to strangle her at least once a day.

You’d lost count of how many times you’d bailed her out of prank-related disasters. You had a permanent, invisible sign that read “Yelena’s Damage Control” stamped on your forehead. Once, you caught her trying to set up a trap involving a pulley system, three buckets of Jell-O, and a pressure sensor under Walker’s mattress.

“Yelena,” you had deadpanned, “this is a war crime.”

“I know,” she’d whispered, eyes gleaming.

You couldn’t stop her. But you could try to contain the fallout.

She'd always been the troublemaker, and you'd always been the one holding the broomstick, ready to clean up after every single mess.

Which is how you found yourself curled up on the couch one lazy, peaceful evening, blanket over your legs, a movie playing quietly. Peaceful, until it wasn't.

Yelena burst into the common area with the chaotic glare of a feral racoon who had just tried McDonalds for the first time.

She had a pouch in one hand, and that look in her eye. The one that meant she was either going to kill someone, or make them cry. The look of someone who had Googled "legal prank weapons" and actually found something.

You didn't look up from your phone. "If that's another glitter bomb, I swear to God Yelena I—"

She grinned, flopped on the couch beside you, and dropped the pouch in your lap.

You frowned. "You bought chocolate?"

"Yes and no," she said, vibrating with excitement. "It's not regular chocolate, silly. It's special chocolate."

You narrowed your eyes. "So... you bought weed chocolate?"

"What? No!" she scoffed. "Not weed. They're sex chocolates.

You stared. “I’m sorry—”

“I found them online,” she said proudly, holding up the tiny pouch like she was unveiling a horcrux. “Not technically illegal. Just... wildly inappropriate.”

Your mouth had opened and closed a few times before you got a full sentence out. "You bought aphrodisiac chocolate."

“Yes,” she continued nonchalantly, as she dramatically placed it in your palm, like this was completely normal and not a felony, “chocolates that make you horny. The bag said you should only eat half of one ‘cause otherwise—" she wiggled her eyebrows, "side effects. And it might make you horny as hell.”

You sighed.

"You're going to poison Bucky Barnes with horny candy? Jesus Christ, Yelena."

“It’s not poison,” she snapped, snatching the bag back. “It’s hilarious. He put fucking green dye in my shampoo, I looked like Shrek’s third cousin for three weeks. Like a fucking radioactive lizard. That shit didn't come out for three weeks. This is justice.”

“You looked adorable with green hair,” you offered.

“Not the point.” She held up a wrapped chocolate. “The point is this—” she pressed it against your cheek “—is going to drive him insane. I leave this out. He eats it. Gets inconveniently boned for eight hours. I laugh. You laugh. We all laugh. Valentina cries. Justice is served. The universe realigns.”

“Or,” you offered, “he kills you.”

“Worth it.”

You sighed, already in too deep. “Okay fine, I approve.”

“Good, ’cause I’m giving it to him right now.”

You frowned. “Isn’t it too suspicious for you to give him the chocolate? He’s gonna suspect you’re up to something.”

“You’re right…” Her eyes lit up again. “I’ll leave it on the kitchen island. The man can’t resist abandoned snacks.”

“Okay… but—”

“No no buts. This is gonna be fun.”

“Yelena…”

“Shush. He’s gonna come back any minute.”

You leaned back onto the couch again as she bolted to the kitchen, dropped the chocolate in plain sight like bait in a trap, then sprinted back and threw herself dramatically onto the couch beside you, both of you pretending to watch the movie playing on the screen.

You started giggling.

“Shut it!” she hissed, elbowing you. “He’s gonna suspect if you giggle like that.”

“I can’t help it,” you wheezed. “I just— I can’t wait to see his face.”

You tried to calm down, but you couldn’t stop picturing it: Bucky, scowling and always so suspicious, wandering into the kitchen, finding the lone piece of chocolate on the island like a bear stumbling across a candy bar in the woods, sniffing it, probably poking it, and then—against all logic—eating it.

And fifteen minutes later? Uncontrollably, catastrophically horny.

It was horrible. It was perfect.

And yet… the common room stayed quiet except for the hum of the TV. The chocolate remained untouched. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. Still no Bucky.

“Where the fuck is he?” Yelena hissed under her breath, peeking over the back of the couch. “He’s usually sniffing around by now. Post-workout fridge raid is like, a sacred ritual.”

“Maybe he’s actually working for once,” you offered, scrolling lazily through your phone. “You know. Doing his job.”

Yelena groaned like you'd personally insulted her. “Ugh. What a nerd.”

She flopped sideways dramatically, letting her head land on your thigh with a little oof. You chuckled and absentmindedly ran your fingers through her hair, brushing it out of her face while she mumbled something about "uselessly punctual super-soldiers" and “flirting with dietary supplements.”

Eventually, her mumbling trailed off. Her breathing evened out. She fell asleep in your lap, curled like a cat, snoring softly.

You stayed like that, warm and peaceful, letting the TV flicker in the background while your thumb scrolled mindlessly over your screen. The prank chocolate glinted under the kitchen light.

And then—

“Oh. Hi, Y/N.”

You looked up.

Bob Reynolds stood in the doorway, backlit by the hallway light, soft curls slightly tousled, wearing a black T-shirt that read sorry I’m late, I didn’t want to come in lowercase comic sans, and his usual grey sweatpants that hung low on his waist.

Your stomach dipped.

"Hey, Bob," you said, smiling.

He gave you a soft smile—shy, unsure, always like he was surprised you were still happy to see him. “Hi.”

His eyes flickered to Yelena, then back to you. He lingered there—just long enough to make your heart flutter.

It wasn’t the first time.

He always did that—like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to greet you. Like saying your name out loud made something flutter in his chest.

And God, he had no idea how obvious he was. At first, you thought it was just nerves. Bob was quiet, thoughtful, shy. But then you started noticing the patterns.

How he always looked for your laugh when the room was loud. How his eyes lingered on your mouth when you were focused on something. How he watched you when he thought you weren’t watching, gaze soft, warm, wanting—not greedy or possessive, just… curious. If you spoke, he listened—not just politely, but curiously, like your words mattered more than anyone else's in the room.

There was always a slight delay when he smiled at a joke—like he waited to see if you were laughing first.

And when you caught him watching? He looked away so fast it was like his thoughts had been yanked straight out of his brain.

You’d noticed. Of course you had.

Yelena noticed it too.

"I—uh—I just came to grab a snack," he said softly, motioning toward the kitchen.

"Sure," you smiled, turning your attention back to scrolling on your phone, trying so hard not to think about him.

A moment later, Yelena stirred, mumbling into your thigh, “He’s so into you.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s not.”

“He is.”

“He is not, Yelena.”

“Babe. You’re so blind,” she mumbled. “I say this with love. Wake me up when Bucky eats the chocolate.”

She was out again within seconds.

You resumed your doom scrolling, ocasionally chuckling at stupid videos on the internet. A minute passed. Then another. Then you heard soft footsteps.

You looked up—and froze.

Bob was back. Glass of milk in one hand. Torn silver wrapper in the other. And—oh no.

Oh no.

A smear of chocolate at the corner of his mouth.

“Uh, Bob… where did you…?”

He blinked, startled. “Oh—this?” He held up the wrapper. “I, uh, found it on the kitchen island. Was it… was that yours?”

You stared.

“Oh god.”

“What?” he said, confused. “Was it like, fancy chocolate? I didn’t mean to—was it yours, Y/N? I’m so sorry—”

You slapped Yelena awake. “Wake up. Wake up right now.”

She groaned, glaring at you. “What the fuck, Y/N! Why would you—”

“He ate the chocolate.”

She blinked and puffed. “What? Ugh, Y/N! I told you to wake me up when Bucky came!"

You stood up, grabbing her chin and physically turning her toward Bob like you were revealing a murder suspect. “He ate the chocolate.”

Her jaw dropped. A full gasp escaped her. “Oh my god. BOB.”

Bob backed up. “I’m sorry! I just— I saw it— I thought it was for everyone—was it yours, Y/N? I didn’t mean to—”

Yelena stomped over and grabbed his face with both hands like she was inspecting a crime scene. “How much did you eat?”

His eyes darted between you and her. “I—what’s happening?”

“Answer the question, Bob.”

“I… I ate all of it?”

“WHAT?!” you shrieked, vaulting to your feet.

“I didn’t know!” Bob said quickly. “I thought it was just normal chocolate—I was hungry—”

“Oh my god,” you whispered.

Yelena spun toward you. “Get the bag. Read the label.”

You fumbled with the pouch, hands shaking, and scanned the fine print.

Recommended dose: HALF a chocolate. Effects last 6-8 hours depending on metabolisim. Fast-acting, onset in 10-15 minutes. Possible side effects: increased sweating (short-lived), spontanous arousal, inability to regulare desire, increased physical sensitivity, touch dependency, increased stamina, vocalization, elevated body temperature, hypersensitivity, desire fixation and obsessive focus on most recent object of desire.

You looked up. Your throat went dry.

Bob was already sweating.

He stood in the middle of the room like he’d just wandered out of a sauna, shirt clinging to his chest, breath coming in short little bursts. He tugged at his collar, blinking rapidly like he was trying to remember how air worked.

"Oh fuck," you whispered.

“Uh…” Bob said, weakly. “Is it… is it warm in here?”

Yelena clapped her hands. “We’re so fucked.”

"You're so pretty Robby." He doesn't know what's making him blush harder; your special nickname or the way your fingers are tracing the veins along his hard shaft.

"R-really?" His hips jerk when he feels your breath on his cock, "I mean, it's....fine. I don't think, I mean, it's nothing special, just-"

Trying to get Bob to take a compliment is something you're still working on. So instead, you shut him up by closing your lips over the head of his cock. The action causes Bob to throw his head back, biting his lower lip to keep that moan in.

The last thing he needs is another 'sex talk' with Alexi. Not even Yelena can save him from that.

Thoughts of his roommates quickly fly out the door. All he can do is watch you try to take him. There's a quarter of his shaft you're not reaching, using your hand instead.

Now, Bob is trying not to judge. He's truly grateful someone as amazing as you wants to be with someone like him. But truly, he can't be that big? No one in the past has ever made those sounds when they were with him. And Bob has watched porn. He knows it's possible to gag on it, but he also knows those are actors who are playing it up. So why are you?

"Are you....good?" He asks. It's blunt but the nicest way he can think to phrase it.

The whine that escapes your mouth vibrates against him, nearly sending Bob into a tailspin.

"You're just so big Robby. Tryin' to take all of you." Desperation laces your voice, amplified by the fact you dive back to taking his cock into your mouth, throat constricting as you tried to take more. His large hands grip your shoulders, his lithe hips now jerking forward.

"You're-fuck- you feel r-really good," His voice is strained. Now that doubt isn't clouding his mind, he can actually let go and feel. Your mouth is so warm and soft. He loves how you have one hand kneading the soft flesh of his thigh, the other stroking up and down his shaft.

"C'mon Robby. Wanna taste ya."