It was supposed to be one drink.

Yelena swore the bar had “the best vodka in the city.” Bucky said he’d keep an eye on everyone. Alexei insisted he could “outdrink the entire building.” Eva just wanted to unwind.

You?

…You made the mistake of letting Yelena order your drinks.

Tequila. Vodka. Whiskey. Something blue and probably illegal.

By midnight, the others were giggly and loose but still standing.

You, however, were leaning heavily on Yelena, mumbling something about “gravity being rude.”

“Okay, okay,” Yelena grunted, dragging your dead weight. “We need to take her home before she becomes puddle.”

Bucky helped steady you. “Puddle? She’s already halfway there.”

Eva snorted, grabbing your other arm. “She smells like a distillery.”

Alexei slapped your back a little too hard. “She is STRONG!” You nearly face-planted into the sidewalk. “Never mind,” he added. “She is squishy.”

By the time you reached the Thunderbolts base, you could barely walk. Yelena shoved the door open and announced:

“We bring gift! Very drunk gift!”

The only one inside was Bob.

Quiet, sober, curled up on the couch with a blanket and a cup of tea. He looked up—eyes widening when he saw the state you were in.

“Oh… wow,” he murmured. “They really let you drink all that?”

“Let?” Yelena scoffed. “She stole two of my shots.”

You lifted a hand, trying to wave. Except you missed the air entirely and almost fell forward.

Bob jumped up so fast he nearly tripped. “H-here! Wait—wait, I’ve got you—”

The second you reached the couch, your knees gave out and you practically collapsed sideways, landing half on the cushion and half against Bob’s chest.

He froze.

Every muscle in his body turned to stone.

You were warm. Very warm. And you smelled like every alcohol known to man.

Bob swallowed hard. “O-oh. Um. Okay. She’s… on me now.”

Yelena patted your head. “She likes you. Congratulations.”

Eva smirked. “She’ll probably pass out any minute.”

“I’m… surprised she hasn’t thrown up yet,” Bucky added.

Bob went pale. “Th-throw up? On me?!”

“Relax,” Yelena said, already walking away. “We believe in you.”

One by one, they disappeared into their rooms, leaving you slumped heavily against Bob.

Your head slipped from his shoulder and fell right into the crook of his neck.

Bob stopped breathing.

“(Y/N)…?” he whispered, voice shaking. “Are you— are you alive?”

You mumbled something incoherent. It sounded like “warm cloud man.”

Bob’s face turned crimson.

He carefully adjusted you, one arm sliding behind your back so you didn’t fall. His hands hovered nervously at your waist, terrified of touching too much.

“You really drank a lot,” he whispered. “I can… smell it. All of it.”

You let out a tiny sigh and burrowed closer.

Bob made a squeaky noise.

He looked at the ceiling helplessly. “Why does this keep happening to me…”

But then he noticed your breathing had slowed, soft and steady against him.

You were asleep. Completely gone. Safe, but heavy and warm, curled right into him like you belonged there.

His expression softened.

And very slowly—very carefully—he pulled the blanket around both of you.

“I’ll… stay with you,” he murmured. “Just so you don’t fall. Or, um… explode. Or something.”

He rested his head lightly against yours.

And even though he was flustered, shy, and terrified of your tequila breath…

He didn’t move.

Not for the rest of the night.