#taking the love of bob's life from him and trying to do the same to benton

[renlyslittlerose]

i love the prompts you have written and i don't know if you still take them, so no pressure to write this <3 but anakin finds out about obi-wan's early apprenticeship (that he was sent away to agricorps, bandomeer mess, melida/daan when he left the order etc) and he realises that he doesn't know obi-wan as well as he thought he did.

Thanks, anon!!! Loved the premise of this one - rife for lots of classic obikin repression, deflection, and ignoring of the real trauma they've both experienced! Yay!

---

‘I heard that Padwans who have yet to place with a Master are sent to the AgriCorps. Is that true?’

‘Indeed, I’d heard the same. Why, Master Kenobi, weren’t you part of the AgriCorps?’

‘Ah, technically, yes. Thankfully, Master Qui-Gon and I found our purpose together, and I was able to complete my training.’

Staring out the cockpit of the starship, Anakin focused on the black space between the stars. Within it lay a tranquility mixed with the overwhelming sense of insignificance that Anakin was craving. Stuck in the blackness of that space, Anakin could maintain a careful distance, void from himself and his churning thoughts.

But try as he might to lose himself into that familiar abyss, something kept tugging him back.

Obi-Wan.

He’d been in the AgriCorp, a fact that he’d never told Anakin. Anakin had to find out at a dinner party with some third-rate politicians on a backwater planet. The thought of it stung and twisted, like a thorn beneath his nail. Try as he might to overcome the source of his discomfort, he couldn’t help but push into it.

Anakin thought he knew everything about Obi-Wan. He was supposed to. They were friends, brothers, father and son. Lovers, when Obi-Wan let himself give in. They were bound by blood, sweat, and seed. Their spirits coexisted within the Force, fused together through it all - despite and because of it. Yet Anakin didn’t know about the AgriCorp, didn’t know about how he met Master Qui-Gon, or what types of mission they’d undergone before Obi-Wan had walked into Anakin’s life on the shores of an ocean of desert.

It was unfair. Years - over a decade - of spending every waking moment with Obi-Wan, and he didn’t even know about the damned AgriCorp.

What else didn’t he know?

“You’ve been quiet ever since we dropped out of hyperspace,” Obi-Wan said.

Blinking back the darkness, Anakin looked down at the console. They were still a fair distance from Coruscant, the ship effectively bobbing out in the middle of nowhere, but Anakin had wanted to take manual control in hopes it would soothe the tremor in his heart. All he’d managed to do, however, was delay their return and lengthen the time they had to spend together - alone, and trapped in a small spacecraft.

Fucking perfect.

“I’m just tired,” Anakin lied. He kept his gaze elsewhere, but could see Obi-Wan’s sleeve out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re a poor liar, Anakin.”

“I’m focused on what I’m supposed to be doing - flying the ship. So unless you want us to crash…”

“What would we crash into? We're in the middle of nowhere.”

“Fuck off.”

Obi-Wan let out a small sigh, one that made Anakin even angrier. He had no right to be annoyed. No right at all. Gripping the steering column harder, Anakin pushed them forward at a faster pace. The motion of the ship soothed Anakin, but when Obi-Wan complained about the sudden velocity change, Anakin’s anger came back.

Pulling the columb back, Anakin brought the ship to an immediate stop.

“Anakin, what are—”

“Why didn’t you tell me about the AgriCorp?” he asked as he finally looked at Obi-Wan.

For his part, Obi-Wan’s expression softened almost immediately. Hesitation fluttered through their bond, and Obi-Wan let out a soft sigh from between gently parted lips. “Is that what’s been eating you up this whole time?”

“What else could it be?”

Obi-Wan shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. “Any number of things, really. You’re not known for your continuous sunny disposition, darling.”

He was trying to deflect. Anakin had dealt with it enough. Hope to make Anakin angry so they could refocus their attention to that, rather than to Obi-Wan’s faults and flaws. The fact that he was trying to do it now - here - made Anakin’s stomach twist and his cheeks grow hot with anger.

“Don’t twist this, Obi-Wan. You know everything about me - everything. You know my past, my fears, my trauma. I’ve both told it to you, and you’ve seen it. I didn’t get the chance to hide it from you, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.”

“But you were my Padawan, Anakin. A child doesn’t know about their parents trauma, nor should they.”

“We’re beyond father and son at this point,” Anakin said. The anger was building. This wasn’t fair, and Obi-Wan knew as such. He was just too stubborn to admit to it. He always had to be so faultless. “We rely on each other, Obi-Wan, in every capacity. You hiding your past from me only shows that it still effects you. And that can be used against you by our enemies. And in turn, used against us.”

Anakin knew he was onto something. Their bond quivered slightly with shame. But just when Anakin thought he was getting somewhere, Obi-Wan shifted in his seat and locked Anakin with a stern look.

“My past is my past, Anakin. Whatever may have happened is settled. I’ve long since come to terms with it, and it will not be used against myself nor you. I promise you this.”

Anakin rolled his eyes and turned away from Obi-Wan. “Yeah, sure. Always so confident, aren’t you.”

He was done. Done with all of it.

“Anakin.”

Or maybe he wasn’t.

“This isn’t just about our missions,” Anakin spat out. He turned back to Obi-Wan. “We’re… we’re more than just warriors, or Generals, or Jedi. We’re… we’re lovers, Obi-Wan. I trust you to be with me when I’m at my most vulnerable. I give you everything. And you can’t even tell me about the shit that went down when you were a kid.”

Obi-Wan’s brows furrowed, and his eyes softened. Eventually he nodded, and looked away. “I… I understand your frustrations, Anakin. I just thought… I thought perhaps that if I didn’t tell you, I could be free from those memories when I was around you. That through your not knowing of these… these past traumas, as you like to put it, I could be free of them as well. You were my safe space from those memories…”

Anakin wasn’t going to fall for it. It wasn’t going to work.

Obi-Wan looked back at Anakin. “I am sorry for keeping parts of my past from you, darling. It was never my intention to hurt you.”

It wasn’t going to work…

Rising from his seat, Obi-Wan took the few steps between the chairs before kneeling down beside Anakin’s. Laying his hand over Anakin’s mechno-hand on the armrest, Obi-Wan warmed the leather glove with the touch of his palm. Looking down at Obi-Wan, Anakin couldn’t help but relax, even as he desperately tried to hold on to his rage. But it slipped away the moment Obi-Wan tucked his chin on top of their joined hands.

“Forgive me for being selfish?” Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin knew this wouldn’t change anything. Obi-Wan could continue to hide, because it was easier than laying himself bare to Anakin. And Anakin would always give in despite his righteous irritation, because he didn’t like being mad at Obi-Wan.

It was easier pretending there was no discord.

“You’re an ass.”

“A very sorry ass.”

Anakin rolled his eyes but accepted Obi-Wan’s kiss all the same.

[gayvecchio]

The line "I know I can love you much better..." playing while Fraser gazes down at Ray in his hospital bed makes me want to spontaneously combust.

[peachesofteal]

Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: 18+ daddy kink

It’s too soon. 

The weight of this certainty is nearly too heavy to carry, his footsteps echoing with dread. 

You’re not ready. 

He’s not ready. 

It’s his fault. Selfishly, he’s encouraged your co-dependence, pulled you closer and closer into deeper water where he knew you’d have trouble swimming without him. He thought he’d have more time to help you develop coping strategies, to get you settled, moved out of your apartment and into his house. Now, he’s leaving you alone as you try to navigate an entirely different life while straddling two living situations, without him at your side.  

You’re at his house tonight. It’s becoming more common, three nights turning to four, then five and sometimes even six, letting yourself in before when he gets caught up on base. His brave fawn on stronger legs, taking self assured steps, and following his lead, his guidance. Your comfort in his home, this world he’s created for you, feeds the beast inside his chest, the dark one, the monster curled around your body in the night, possessive and obsessed. It’s a perfectly balanced scale, never tipping too far in one direction, all his parts and pieces perfectly arranged for you, expertly developed so he can love you in every way you need. 

He’s pleased you’re home and already in bed an hour before you’re supposed to be, curled in the middle with your kindle, your blankets and pillows arranged in the usual bird’s nest, lips parted, glasses halfway down the bridge of your nose. 

They became a new rule after he realized you were getting headaches from not using them. 

“What do you think is appropriate?” 

“For my recipe cards?” 

“For screens and your recipe cards, precious girl. Squinting and strainin’ your eyes is what’s causing these headaches.” 

“Oh right.” You nodded, and then lifted your chin. When you have rules, boundaries, you have security, confidence, support. You don’t have to think, agonize, try to step into a skin that doesn’t fit. All the things that worry you, frighten you, overwhelm you, they now belong to him, they’re his to deal with. You just have to focus on the rules. “Wear my glasses when I’m looking at screens or my recipe cards. Got it.” 

“Good girl.” 

He pauses in the doorway. 

You’re kneading. 

It started a week ago in your sleep. You’d find your way to his chest, rocking and rolling overtop his heart, working a rhythm into to his sternum as you slept, a physical manifestation of your peace, your trust, a subconscious recognition of feeling safe, and cared for, and loved. It’s become present in the quiet of the morning or an evening lull too, when you’re relaxed and content, kneading away on a pillow or his thigh. Such a simple, silent thing that says so much.

Knuckles thunk on wood, and you kick beneath the blankets, kindle falling into the pillows, your startle turning to surprise, and then the sweet spread of happiness colors your face. His drug. The way you beam and light up when you see him is the same way you bloom when you’re baking, or talking about baking, or feeding someone. Your bliss gets him high. A gift he could never repay, and something he’ll never give up. You’ve been able to venture outside of your comfort zone more and into his hold, no longer hiding yourself within his walls, cautious steps becoming more self assured. He knows you’ll always struggle, but he’ll always be here, ready to catch you when you fall. 

“Hi daddy.” 

“Hi sweet girl.” He leans over the edge of the bed to brush a kiss across your lips, little whimper falling into his mouth as he takes it farther, tastes you, nips you. You give him more and more, truly limitless in his arms, your home, exploring and testing, discovering both him and yourself. This willingness, this trust, is a precious thing like your heart. And it all belongs to him.

Your throat bobs when he pulls back and tugs his shirt over his head, sneaking a sly glance as he tugs his pants down next. “I need t’get in the shower. Stay put, keep reading your book, I’ll be a few minutes.” 

“Okay.” He’d have you get in with him, but you look so happy, so cozy, fuzzy socks on your feet, cuddled up in a sweatshirt, and he wants to leave you to your peace. 

Since he’s about to ruin it. 

Your hand is small in his, and too cold. The ice he finds there matches your frozen posture, your nervous expression buried beneath snow as you try to put on a brave face. His precious girl. 

“I don’t understand… I’m- a-are you…” you lose your words, hitch of panic in your breath as you scramble to find what’s needed, something, anything to convey the influx of emotions, the quick build of questions, and he squeezes reassuringly. 

“Take your time.” Normally, he’d just stay silent, give you the space and time, but right now, he knows you need more, recognizing the way you’re tearing yourself apart inside your head. You blow out a shaky breath. 

“How long… how long will you be gone?” 

“It’s hard to say, but I think it’ll only be a few weeks.” The flash of fear strikes through your irises like lightning.

“Okay.” You nod, but it doesn’t stop. You just keep nodding, trying to steady yourself, and he doesn’t think you know you’re trembling a bit, lower lip start to peel away.  “What if something bad happens?” It’s a question for the ages, one he’s wagered his entire existence. A longstanding bet with the reaper, one he never made a fuss about.

Now, he’d barter his soul for one more moment.

“Nothing bad is gonna happen, I’m very good at my job.” He tries to soothe you, but you’re already lost, tangled up in a web, one he should have cleaned up before.

“B-but you can’t promise that, right? I mean, you can’t be sure. Right?” 

“I’m going to be just fine, baby. I want you to focus on yourself instead of worrying about me, alright? You’ll follow all your rules and take care of yourself. Do you understand?” You have a faraway look in your eye, responding like he didn’t speak. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not handling this… I feel… I’m overwhelmed, I don’t…” He pulls you close, and you don’t waste a second, placing your cheek to his chest, ear just over his heart. 

“My good girl, following her rules,” you look up at him, so tortured, conflicted and scared, and his heart aches. “There’s no reason to be sorry. I should have prepared you for this, and I didn’t. That’s daddy’s fault, not yours.” You’re drowning. You’re too far underwater, trying to reconcile what you know with what you fear, kicking and swimming against a current that keeps sweeping you out to sea, desperately clinging to him, searching for your lighthouse in the storm. It’s too much, he knew it would be, and if he could put it off he would, but this is one mission he can’t delay. It’s a rescue, in the bloody jungle, one squad already failing to reach the other. He has no choice.

He curves around you, pulls you down into the blankets and pillows, kissing your salt soaked cheeks. “I know you’re scared baby, I know. I’m sorry.” The guilt stings and bites, a serrated blade between his ribs. He did this, it’s the consequences of his failure that you’re facing now, your uncertainty and fear all created by him. 

Your face presses into his neck as he applies pressure to your nape, murmuring against the shell of your ear, surrounding you with himself, blocking out the rest of the world. 

That’s where the two of you stay, long past the conversation, your tears turning to quiet whimpers before you fall asleep, snuffling against his skin, still holding him tight. 

“I’ll be good daddy, I promise.” He’s got a duffel slung over his shoulder and a backpack at his feet, truck running in the driveway, waiting. He should have left ten minutes ago. Fifteen even, but he can’t let go, still standing in the foyer cupping your face, memorizing every detail. There’s not much he can do now to fix his mistake. It will have to wait until he comes back, a razed city left waiting to be rebuilt.

“I know you will sweetheart,” he brushes his knuckles over the apple of your cheek, “everything is going to be fine.”

“And you’ll call when you can?” He kisses your forehead. 

“I’ll call when I can.” He’ll need to release all of this before he steps on the plane, but for now he allows himself to feel it, ruminate and own it. He’s worried. This is his fault, he’s pulled the rug out from beneath you without any semblance of a warning, he’s changing your routine, your life, again, uprooting you just when you’ve started to feel comfortable. You’re vulnerable, and he’s abandoning you. Ripping a freshly healed wound wide and pouring salt in it.

You lean in, turning your cheek to press your ear over his heart. “I’m going to miss you.” 

“I’m going to miss you too sweet girl, so much. But I’ll be home soon, I promise.” His younger self would scoff at him, chastise him for making such a promise, but it’s different now. 

He’d dig himself out of grave all over again just to crawl home to you. 

[mallory524]

going out

bob x reader

pictures from pinterest

summary- You and Bob finally spend some time together one morning, but you find yourself rushing to defend him when he gets overwhelmed and people aren’t kind to him.

word count- 1,691

tags- THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS, fluff, pining, just a little language, hand holding, stranger being rude to bob :(

notes- the thunderbolts live in the watchtower (previously the avengers towers) because that’s what the post credit scene made it seem like and if I’m wrong I don’t care because I love the idea of them all being roomies :)

Although things hadn’t gone as expected, they are plenty of perks that come with being the New Avengers. The group hangs out together in the Watchtower all the time, none of you have to hide in the shadows anymore, and all the other accompanying “hero” perks. Helping the city by reversing the Void damage thrust the Thunderbolts into the spotlight, which typically just meant being waved to on the streets, and a lot of being told “your money’s no good here” with a big smile when you go out to eat.

Although the group fights a lot, there’s an unspoken understanding that you’re a real team now. More and more often the bickering is playful rather than actually malicious. At risk of sounding sentimental, real bonds are being made. Of course none of you would ever admit that out loud. Except maybe Alexei.

Bob’s enjoying his new life, too. Probably. You assume. He’s still a quiet guy, and sometimes he opts to stay in and read when you all go out for lunch or something. He’s still working through a lot, but everyone else is too, so you know to give him space. It’s clear to all of you that he’s slowly getting a bit more comfortable here with every passing day.

One cold morning, while everyone is sleeping in, you hear rustling and muttering in the other room. You throw on a robe and silently walk into the other room to investigate. Bob’s on the ground picking a bunch of papers up, and he whips his head around when he hears your footsteps.

“Sorry, I accidentally knocked all of Bucky’s things over. I’ve got it”, he says as you sit down next to him and help anyway. For a split second your fingers brush, but he pulls away, almost instinctively. You’d noticed that physical touch in general didn’t seem to bother him that much, but little soft moments like that make him nervous.

He’s gotten a bit of a handle on accidentally showing people memories they didn’t want to see, but maybe he’s nervous that he’d do it again without meaning to.

“Hey, have you had anything to eat yet?”, you say quietly, trying not to wake anyone else up. He shakes his head.

“Do you want to get something? There’s a coffee place I go to a lot. They have little pastries and stuff, too, if any of that sounds appetizing...”

He thinks about it for a second, and then smiles and nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

Inside the coffee shop, it’s cozy and warm. You take off your large sweater, and your phone falls out of the pocket and onto the floor, and both you and Bob reach down for it at the same time. Your hands brush again and he nervously pulls away again. You lean in a little closer and speak quietly. “Bob if you’re worried about-”

“No no, I’m not- it’s not that. That’s under control. I’m just… it’s nothing”. He’s clearly having trouble expressing himself, and he doesn’t seem to want to, so you shake your head and smile politely.

“Hey man, don’t worry about it.” You get a smile in return, which is always nice to see. Bob has a nice smile. It’s so sweet and warm… you can’t deny it any longer. Bob is really cute.

He felt the same way about you, but he’s way too scared to tell you something like that. He’s already jittery enough every time your hands touch…

He really likes being around you. He’s just too shy to ask you to spend time with him, so he’s thrilled that you asked him.

You start to order your usual drink, and Bob gets in the line next to you. The girl taking your order remembers you from the last time you were there, so you talk to her for a little. She’s really sweet! The guy taking Bob’s order is not.

You go to the station with the straws and napkins, and you quietly watch Bob try to order. You realize you didn’t really ask him if he was ready to order, and now he’s at the front of this line trying to figure out what he wants. Bob’s starting to stammer a little and this barista guy is cutting him no slack.

“I’m sorry I don’t know what I’m going to get, I’m thinking…”

“Sounds like something you should’ve figured out before you got to the front of the line”, he says, scoffing a little.

“Yeah you’re right, it was just really fast and-” Bob looks down and shuffles his feet a bit.

“You know there’s people behind you.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m just… um…” Bob trails off, and you can tell that the idea of holding up the line and making all these people wait for him is only making this worse. He’s nervously laughing to try to keep it light, but you can also see him fiddling with the ends of his sleeves while squinting to read the small writing on the menu. You feel your heart break a little just watching him.

“Dude if you seriously can’t figure it out maybe you could get out of line”

Just as Bob is about to step away, you decide you’re not going to watch this anymore and you step up next to him.

“Hey do you know who the hell you’re talking to?”, you say in a hushed, almost professional tone with your arms crossed. “You’re talking to someone who helped save everyone here like a month ago.”

The guy’s eyes widen with realization. “I am so sorry, I forgot, you’re those guys. I was out of town but I saw you on the news-”

“Yeah that’s us. But that doesn’t even matter, you shouldn’t be treating any of your customers like this. Do you do this to everyone? Does your manager know that? Sorry not everyone can read that crazy small print on your menu-”

You continue for a little while, and Bob takes a tiny step backwards so he can be out of your way. This is a side to you that Bob hadn’t really seen. Sure, you bicker with Walker and Ava all the time, and he’s seen how well you can fight of course, (you even had to briefly fight him that one time), but in your everyday lives, you’re always so kind and patient with him. You’re nice to people who come up to you on the street and ask for a picture, and you’re nice to strangers who are rude to you, and you’re nice to the Thunderbolts most of the time, so it’s weird for Bob to see you actually go off on someone like that… and it’s all to defend him?? Strangely, it’s one of the sweetest things someone’s done for him in a while.

“- and you’re lucky I’m speaking quietly. I could be a whole lot louder and I could make a big scene but for your sake I’ll-” but you stop talking when you hear Bob clear his throat.

“I think I know what I want to order now”

“Go ahead”, you say with a little smile as you step out of the way. Bob tells his order to the terrified young man who keeps looking at you like he’s expecting you to lunge at him.

Another barista, who doesn’t realize what just happened, recognizes the two of you and walks up to let you know that it’s all on the house. It’s hard for you and Bob to keep from giggling just a little bit.

After you get your drinks and the muffin Bob ordered, you step back outside and start walking down the street together, enjoying your food and drinks.

“Thanks. You really didn’t have to do all that. I wasn’t ready, I should’ve been ready before I got up there.”

“No, no don’t worry about that. That’s my fault, I didn’t give you any time to read the menu and figure out what you wanted. Besides, that guy was just rude. That’ll teach him to mess with the New Avengers, am I right?” and Bob chuckles quietly.

“Yeah, I don’t really know if I deserve any credit for helping save everyone when I kinda caused all of that in the first place…”

“Hey, you know that’s not your fault”, you say in a softer tone. “You didn’t do any of that on purpose”

“Yeah I know.”

A car then loudly backfires, startling both of you. Bob stops walking and grabs your hand. When he sees that it’s fine and nothing’s wrong, he’s a little embarrassed.

“Sorry I didn’t…” Bob smiles at you awkwardly and trails off. He’s about to let go when you shake your head and gently squeeze his hand. “I’m always a bit jumpy, too, don’t worry about it.”

The two of you continue walking, and you notice that he’s not letting go of your hand, now that he knows you’re fine with it. Maybe he would’ve done that a while ago if he knew you wouldn’t mind…

You walk in very comfortable silence all the way back to the tower, refusing to let go of one another’s hands. Bob feels like he can’t. Like if he let go it might never happen again. He does decide to break the silence, though.

“Y/n, I had a good time” he says as he takes another big sip of his iced coffee. “Thanks for asking me to go out with you. Well, not like go out with you but you know like, coffee and this walk and stuff”.

“Well thank you for joining me. We should do this more”, you say, smiling warmly at him. Just then, you reach the tower. Walker’s heading out, and Bucky’s right behind him. The two of you immediately let go of each other’s hands, but Walker looks at you both a little funny. “Hey guys…”

“Hey”, you say in unison, acting natural as you walk into the elevator and start to laugh a little once the doors close.

“No Bucky I swear they were holding hands. It was so weird”

“I think you’re seeing things, John”

[withahappyrefrain]

wanna give bob sloppy head that has hum questioning his entire existence

Look, It's what he deserves

"Please Bobby?" He wanted to take you out on a lovely picnic date in a nice secluded spot. Bob was trying to be romantic.

What he didn't account for was that you would be ovulating at the time.

"Darlin, it's alright. I can wait until we get back in the car," He tries to assure you. Tries not to jerk his hips when your lips trace over the denim covered bulge, "You don't have to-"

"But I want to," your chin is laying on top of his poorly hidden erection. With those doe eyes, you look so innocent, despite your intentions being the exact opposite.

Bob Floyd has pretty good restraint. Except when it comes to you.

Which is how he finds himself on his back, the soft fabric of the picnic blanket providing comfort, the sun shining down on a beautiful spring day. Not that he could focus on the picturesque view of nature.

No. Bob's eyes could only focus on you and the way your mouth worked his cock. What you couldn't reach, your hand was covered, stroking in tendam.

Then there were the noises. God, the noises you make. Little moans and grunts that dribble from the corner of your mouth.

Bob had always known he enjoyed giving. Going down on his partner was a pleasure. A chance to make them come completely undone. His past relationships had thoroughly enjoyed this aspect of him, but it was never truly reciprocated to the same degree. It didn’t bother Bob, not greatly. For one, he was big. Going down on him required acceptance of a sore jaw. The other was that he truly enjoyed it, truly got off on getting his partner off. Don’t ask him to count how many times he came while in between a pair of legs, the number was embarrassingly high.

Yes, a blowjob was nice every now and then. But it wasn’t something Bob expected. He came to accept it would be a nice, albeit rare, treat.

Until he met you.

Size wasn’t a deterrence. The man made you see stars with just his tongue. In your mind, it only made sense to return the favor. Getting adjusted to the sheer size of Bob Floyd took some time, but you were certainly up to the task.

Besides, it was so fun to watch the usually well composed and calm WSO come undone. If only his fellow pilots could see him now; perfectly gelled hair now curly due to tossing his head from side to side against the blanket. A flush of red that started from the top of his head and ran down to his chest. His rich baritone voice reduced to strangled groans and whines.

Smiling to yourself, your tongue trailed down his hard shaft, starving off his impending orgasm. Bob always took his time with you, so why not do the same?

“D-darlin, p-please.” Who could think of coherent sentences when your tongue was playing around with his aching balls? Christ, he didn’t even get why others were into that until he met you.

You hummed, playing innocent, “You want something Bobby?” His lithe hips spasmed as you increased the pace of your strokes.

“I….” If Bob wasn’t careful, he was going to ask you to marry him instead of asking to come, “Fuck!” A swear! From Bob Floyd! Always a feat.

“Later. When we’re in the car. First, I wanna feel you come down my throat,” was all you said before returning your mouth to his cock. Swallowing Bob Floyd whole was nearly impossible (despite what romance authors say), but you did your best, nose almost reaching the dark hair that dusted the area below his stomach.

Feeling your throat constrict and squeeze around him, Bob could only throw his head back to let out a deep, strangled groan that had him thankful for picking such a secluded spot. His hands fumbled towards your shoulders, gripping on for dear life as your sinful mouth continued its actions.

Bob tried to be considerate and most of the time he succeeded in that regard. His hips jerked upward entirely on their own and normally, he would apologize for it.

But then he felt your throat tightened, heard you gag on his cock and Bob lost all control. All he could focus on was your mouth and how good it felt around his cock. How were you even real? How was it possible he had you, a fucking goddess, on their hands and knees in a park, making him feel fucking incredible?

Perhaps he and Nat didn't eject that day and Bob had found his way to heaven, now coming down a beautiful angel's throat. That was definitely not mentioned in Sunday School.

You took all he had to offer, delighted in doing so. The way his hips squirm, unsure whether to jerk towards or away from your mouth. Digging your fingers into the flesh, you guided his hips towards your mouth, deadset on continuing until he verbally objected.

Least you could do for the guy who made you squirt for the first time.

[tsuyalovebot]

watch you entertain.

pairing: xia yi zhou / caleb x reader (love and deepspace)

synopsis: caleb comes to a few conclusions when you give him a blowjob for the first time.

cw: NSFW and explicit sexual content, mdni. established relationship. mentions of intercourse. oral sex (blowjob). mentions of reader receiving oral sex. hair pulling. imaginative violence (not to reader). petnames (pretty, pipsqueak). mention of oral sex (receiving). he slaps his dick on your face (not sorry). mention of spanking and watching porn. caleb-typical warnings.

wc: 1.7k (drabble....ish????)

author's note: i can't defend myself since 90% of this is word vomit. i'm working on another caleb piece right now, but i needed to get this out of my system. think of it as a precursor piece, like an hors d'oeuvres. also, please disregard any typos. (— - —)|||

The first time Caleb felt your lips on his was magical. The second, third, fourth, and succeeding times were all but surreal.

He had all but convinced himself that your mouth, pressed to his in a flurry of tender touches or desirous cravings, was something he conjured up in the blurry moments of his delusions. You always manage to kiss them away, though.

Later on, you admitted that he was your first kiss.

"When I visited you after you moved out," you said. Hands wrung, your gaze averted downward as you were perched on his lap one evening.

He knows what you're talking about. Remembers its vividness with a startling clarity that would have embarrassed him otherwise, if you didn't share the same sentiments.

By now, you've already kissed and made out in the intimacy of his place beyond finite counting. Had sex with him on whatever surface the two of you could get your hands on. You've long since spoiled him with your presence, both physical and mental. There's a key tucked away in his headspace with your name engraved into the metal. Magnetic and the signification of a special place for you in his heart.

He spoiled you, and now, you spoil him. Neither of you complain about this mutually beneficial arrangement. Why would you?

Though, he can't say he's exactly pleased at the current moment.

"That's it, mmm. You're being so sweet today."

He's watching you, as he always is. You're on your knees before him—you insisted, said it added to the atmosphere despite his crows of indignance at the possibility of them bruising—and your mouth impossibly full of his cock.

You're bare before him, towel discarded on the coffee table with your body damp and he's barely presentable in his uniform. Disheveled and pants undone, he wasn't sure if he was exactly living up to the honorable nature of the clothes he donned. He tried to undress, but you'd been pawing at him the second he walked through the doorstep in nothing but one of the towels he bought you, so his resistance was doomed from the start.

His arms spread on the top of the couch, he tilts his head back and sighs slowly. Hot breath escapes him in time with his Adam's apple bobbing, swallowing a heavy moan that threatens to break free. It takes him a few moments before he peers at your kneeling form once more.

One of his hands cups your cheek, the cool leather swiping over your cheekbone and pushing some of your hair back. Rapt attention on you, whispering soft words of, "that's how you do it" and "a biiit wider, pipsqueak— yeah, like that" with so much appreciation in his tone. Because that's what he feels toward you right now; so much appreciation in his heart belongs to you.

Your tongue was doing sinful licks along the underside of his cock's curve, the girth hefty in your two hands, and your eyes stayed closed in a quiet pleasure. It's expertly done, and the creation of human response as you wrap those pretty pink lips around the tip of him and suckle on it, strings of your saliva leaving sticky wefts along the shaft.

Alternating between peppering his length in kisses and taking a couple inches into your mouth, he's fighting for his fucking life trying to not bust a nut. He's sort of ashamed to have dreamt of this moment for years. You would never let him live it down.

As if the deities couldn't get enough of his suffering, his mind had made the fatal mistake of noting the visible difference of the size of him and your hands and your mouth. It gets him going, that stark contrast and how gently you were treating him.

It's a sight reserved for his eyes alone. Something he wants to pocket and immortalize because it's his and only his. That's the only reason for the powerful plethora of emotions boiling over in his gut. Truly, the only reason.

That's what he tells himself as he observes you with a progressively darkening, clinical, dead-eyed stare that you weren't aware of. A little voice in him nagging at his conscience, spitting words of venom that feeds into the slowly, slowly expanding green-eyed monster rising onto its feet.

"I got a question for you, pretty," he says calmly, deceptively so. Making sure to sound as casual as possible, his gloved hand coming to stroke over your damp, silky hair. You really just couldn't wait to please him, immediately pawing at him when he arrived home and you were fresh out the bath.

You murmur something in reply, lips suctioned to his shaft. Those gorgeous eyes, ones that beheld him with such reverence and adoration in round shape flicker up to his. The vibrations and sight hit him like a freight train and he groans, low and deep. He lets the pleasure settle into his bones.

"You have to answer honestly, 'kay?" He croons down at you, assuring. His facial expression had finally relaxed from its initial, contemplative one. You're happy with this, he notes as you eagerly bob your head, careful to remain quiet.

Good. It'll make hearing your voice all the more worth it. When you said he was your first kiss, he was beyond ecstatic.

Hopefully, you can echo the same thing now.

With an easygoing air betraying that of his positively threatening smile, he asks, "Where'd you learn how to do this?"

There's a sick sense of pleasure in watching you process his words a second too lats. Because you're such an open book with him, aren't you? The way your eyes widen and your lips halt, as if your heart stopped even beating. Even if makes his own blackened heart speed up, its thudding resembling a rabbit's stomping.

Your blinks were a linguistic of their own, and he was the expert in unraveling the lexicology of your existence.

You don't answer fast enough. Or, you don't answer at all. Because now, you're staring him like a child chastised for having their hand in a candy jar—where they weren't supposed to be.

Unfortunately for you, that was more than telling for him.

Caleb doesn't speak. The air is several degrees colder now, like the air circulation was suddenlt cut off, and he drinks in the way anticipation tenses your muscles and your uneven breaths smooth over his skin when you pop your lips off his cock. Those sinful lips that he stole away as his were now glistening in a mix of your spittle and his pre-cum.

He could almost forgive you right now. But, you make the crucial mistake of looking away from him.

"Oh?" It's inquisitive—his tone, yet it has the power of a knife being drawn.

The hand on your head loses its comforting, encouraging air and instead becomes a weight.

A threat.

The visual that's formulating in his head isn't a pleasant one. An image of stained glass shards, blurry yet clear in the vision of you on your knees for another guy. The scattered light capturing your mouth wrapped around the faceless stranger, servicing him the same way you're handling Caleb, seeking that same, sickly sweet tang of validation.

Could it have been that Xavier guy he sees on your phone notifications from time to time? Or is it someone closer to you, from your Association? There's a chance someone else from your childhood reached out to you, maybe after his disappearance. Did they hold you in ways he's been craving to hold you for years?

That's not fair, now, is it? He's worn your hairtie around his wrist for years, disregarded countless scribbled love letters from bystanders, based his little trinkets around those apples you love so much, and spoiled you countless times in his misplaced desire for playing the role of your protector. It simply isn't fair that you sought gratification from a source that wasn't him—because for him, it was always you.

Is it too selfish of him to want your everything?

You don't say anything even as your mouth opens and closes. You're either searching for an excuse, weighing the costs of lying to him at the moment, or you're genuinely floundering for words at the sudden blankness in your head.

He hums again, and it's lower than before. Full of thought and contemplation as his amethyst eyes bore holes into your speechless state. It's full of disappointment and he sees the worry creep into your eyes like a leaking faucet.

Threading his gloved fingers into the tresses of your hair, its smooth leather massaging your scalp, his face softens.

"I guess I did say you should be honest, not fast," he murmurs, laughing to himself quietly.

His lips tilt into a boyish sort of grin, and it's so full of mirth and entertainment that it's easy to process as him diffusing the situation. It works like so, and you're soon tilting your head into his palm and seeking his touch.

In the distance, the kettle in the kitchen screeches like an alarm of what's to come.

Disconcertingly relaxed, his smile seems absolutely sarcastic. A bit sharp at the edges.

"I should make it easier to understand. Let me rephrase it, then."

He pulls your hair. It's one harsh motion and it jerks your head up. A gasp torn from your lips as they fall open, the slight sting shooting through your body with an charged breeze.

"Who did you learn this from?"

He's so used to tasting you before fucking; your sex and his tongue are practically best friends in his eyes. It never once occurred to him to have you suck him off.

He should've been suspicious the second you offered to begin with.

The blood drains from your face some more and he relishes the blank yet alert state your eyes reflect. He's sure your mind is in disarray right now. The feeling is mutual, though you're aware of that too, most likely.

"I have a right to know. I always said that you could come to me if you needed help with anything, right?" It's a rhetorical question. You both know that. You're doomed either way.

You make another breathless noise, and he wants to explore your vocality. Now, how would you sound gagging on him?

"Caleb—"

He shushes you softly and you quiet down in an instant.

"I don't need an answer that isn't related to my question, don't you agree?"

Another rhetorical question as he cocks his head, the gesture mocking.

"You're always tellin' me to be honest and share my thoughts with you. I'm bein' honest now. Everything should be mutual, so, answer my question. I might even go easy on you."

You're totally panicking now, aren't you?

His other hand wraps around the base of his cock and he slaps the shaft onto your cheek, then smearing his leaking tip over your glistening lips, a thoughtful smile playing on his own as if he were offering you candy.

"And depending on how you answer, I'm either taking you over my knee while you spell their name out, or you'll be showing me exactly what pornos you've been watching without my knowledge. So, what's it gonna be?"

[luneariaa]

❝ THINKING ABOUT .. bob reading and you two cuddling together . ❞

MASTERLIST .

"That sounds.." You would say 'ridiculous' out loud, but knowing you would probably do the same thing in real life, you didn't.

"If she loves that guy, and she's gonna leave soon to someplace, she should've hugged him longer."

It's been a comforting evening for the two of you. You had been resting just cozily close with Bob.

One of your legs tangled up with his, and your head is just resting on his chest as he reads to you— peacefully, undisturbingly quiet so.

His voice is quite soothing to be listened to. It just has that calming effect on you, which allows you to be more relaxed, and not wanting to even think of unwanted things at the moment.

One of his hands would find its' way to rub the side of your body, as if wanting to mentally remind himself that you're there with him right now as he reads. He's not alone, and knowing that you truly enjoy and loved the way he reads to you.

Peace. This is what he wanted for so long— something that he truly have longed for. He manages to push all his pent-up issues aside, trying his very best to relish this special moment with you.

"Their love story seemed so tragic.."

You managed to utter out, all while enjoying the mere sound of his calm breathing, and even his occasional gentle touches.

It didn't take long for him to nod slightly in agreement over your own words; his expression pensive. "It is, honestly.."

"But I feel like, despite everything— their efforts for each other feels so personal, willingly to face everything with one another."

"I find that beautiful."

You buried your face on his chest with a nod and a quick hum, already feeling the drowsiness beginning to catch up on you— his arms would securely wrap around you, albeit loosely, and one would placidly stroke your hair lovingly.

It didn't take long before he could faintly hear the light snore from you, which is a clear indication that you have fallen asleep.

Setting his book aside, Bob readjusted his position for a bit, comfortably so, without really letting go of you; pulling the blankets even more to make sure it's enough to keep you both warm for the night—

— to which you snuggled closer to him in your sleep, much to his mild surprise, but it's quickly being replaced with a look of pure adoration.

He's just happy to be there with you like this, all snuggly and warm beneath the covers, with no one else around to bother the both of you.

.

"Barnes, I think we should—" Yelena stopped on her tracks halfway, which earned a puzzled look from Bucky, who's not too far behind her.

"What is it..?"

She shushes him before his gaze darts toward the two familiar figures on the sofa, cuddling so close— so peacefully. Bob's chin is practically resting atop of your head, while you're nestling on his chest, sleeping soundly together.

A small, satisfied smile would appear upon Yelena's face ( Bucky low-key did too ), before deciding to leave you two alone for now— the mere sight warms their heart, genuinely so.

. A/N : this is so crappy i'm sorry 🥹

— written by @luneariaa . reblogs are appreciated. do not repost; all rights reserved . 💫

[slushycoookie]

Kinktober Day 3 ~ Somnophilia

Logan Howlett x AFAB! Reader

Summary: You can't sleep so you decide to mess with Logan.

A/N: I love writing about somnophilia, it's so fun. Hope you all enjoy!

Prev *✧･ﾟ: Next

Kinktober '24 Masterlist

You couldn't sleep.

You were tossing and turning for a few hours, noticing the clock showing 3 in the morning. Your body was getting warm due to the body heat of your husband beside you. Logan was on his back, arm under your head as he snored towards the ceiling. Usually, his loud snores were enough to soothe you to sleep, but not this time.

You turned towards his sleeping frame, watching his chest slowly rise and lower in a steady rhythm. He looked at peace. Not once dealing with the bullshit in his life. You admire his hairy arms, his broad chest making an outline through his white tank top, and the-oh—a tent under the sheets.

Pulling them down, there's an imprint of Logan's cock against his pajama pants. It was random. Your man had no clue what was going on.

You stared at his erection as if you hadn't seen it a million times. That same fluttering feeling formed between your legs and you started getting a thought. You two talked about playing with each other while the other was asleep. Both agreeing to try it out. You never thought you had a reason to pounce on Logan as he slept, but now you do.

Your eyes never left the tent when your fingers reached down below your waistline. Under your pajama shorts, rubbing along your folds then inserting a finger inside. You bit your bottom lip as you fingered yourself, not wanting to make so much noise to disturb his rest. Your middle finger doing a horrible job not pushing against your walls like his dick did, but enough to get you wet. Logan would comment on your soaked pussy, eager to get more from you. He could be so impatient at how he tugged your underwear before mouthing at your cunt. Or watching himself slide his length against you, groaning at your wetness.

Once you were slick enough, you pulled off your shorts and tossed them to the side.

Logan still wasn't disturbed by the way he didn’t move a muscle during your movements. Even as you pulled down his pants, watching his cock spring free. Standing tall and proud, waiting for you to make the first move. You licked your lips, deciding to get a quick taste first.

Your husband stiffened when you wrapped your mouth around his tip. That caused you to freeze, hoping he didn't wake up and see him in your mouth. To your relief, he didn't. You continued by taking more of him. The tip of your nose against his hair, saliva coating his shaft as you slowly bobbed your head up and down. Some of his pre cum coating your tongue.

“Shit…” Logan swore under his breath and you froze once more. Him halfway down your throat only to hear more snoring.

You keep going, not wanting to get greedy and pick up the pace. Accidentally making Logan come down your throat while you still needed attention was not ideal. When you part from him, a string of saliva connects to his shaft. Logan’s brows furrow as the cool air forms around his cock.

You dipped your fingers inside once more, humming at your sex being wet enough to your liking. With some of your arousal on your fingers, you stroked him. His cock shining in the moonlight from a mix of your wetness and spit, focused on every vein that decorated his shaft. How pre cum leaked from his tip, helping you gather more lubrication to stroke him with. His tip red from the treatment.

As carefully as you could, you hovered above him. The bed creaked from the pressure, almost loud enough to stir him awake. Although a sigh of relief escaped you when he didn't wake up. You angled his cock before sinking down onto him. Shaky breaths escape you while Logan hisses at the sudden contact. You held everything in your power to not moan loudly, despite how his cock hit a nice spot against your walls.

“Fuck…” Logan's nostrils flared, breathing getting unsteady.

“Don’t wake up, Lo’…” You shushed, “I'm making you feel good.”

You slowly raised your hips, enough for only his tip to be inside before sliding back down. Your hands on his chest for stability. Bouncing up and down on him wasn't ideal, considering your goal. But it set a delicious pace for you while he stretched you out. A nice burn to your core.

Logan's groans came out low, matching the volume of your own moans as you couldn't be quiet any longer. His arm moves as if he’s searching for you, but stays still at another raise of your hips. Your eyes in the back of your head as you lower back down. You start wondering if he's waking up by the way his hips start to meet yours. Snores nonexistent, and his face frowned in concentration.

Your pace starting to get desperate, hand over your mouth to hide your sobs. Your finger sloppily rubbing your clit. A climax rapidly arrived as your body tensed, low cries escaping you. Your cunt molding around Logan's dick like a glove. To prolong your orgasm, you uneasily kept moving up and down, just enough for his seed to coat your insides.

You crashed along his chest, hearing his strained grunts as he unloaded in you. The sounds of crickets added to the atmosphere of your heavy breathing, trying to get yourselves together.

“Sugar?” Logan called his voice hinting at exhaustion.

“Hm?”

“Did you…did I just…?” He glanced down, seeing he was still inside you.

“I couldn't go back to sleep. Thought this was the best way…” It was his turn to hum, burying his face on your head. “Was I able to make you feel good?”

“Oh yeah.” He chuckles, kissing your forehead, “Definitely.”

Tags: @fandomfics @freythecrazyfae @maddyperezzzsstuff

@mynamesstevenwithav @eyes-ofhell

@maxad99 @howlingco @cherrypieyourface

@snails-doodles22 @siren-141 @nega-omega

@sweetimpurity @hehekittyhawk

@spencerswh0r3 @saintdiior @maliaofthevalley

@yxtkiwiyxt @wtfhasmy-lifecometo @ripleyswife

[fireinmoonshot]

keep your secrets | robert reynolds x reader

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x Reader Summary: Bob is in love with you. He just doesn't know it yet. Warnings: Mention of drugs in Bob's past. Word Count: 1.1k A/N: I haven't written for Bob in about a week, I think, and I just randomly sat down tonight and wrote this. I think it actually turned out very sweet, so I'm just posting it as is. Only proof read once, so I hope it's all right. I hope you all enjoy it. Thank you for all the love on my Bob fics so far. It means a lot! 💗

Bob is in love, but he doesn’t realise it yet. He’s pretty certain that the feelings he’s feeling are normal. He’s felt all of them before at various points in his life – happiness, sadness, joy, affection and many others, most of which he can’t even name unless he thinks hard. 

He’s watching you from across the room, trying not to come across as creepy, though being entirely aware that if you spotted him now, leaning against the wall in the corner, you would likely turn around and walk the other way. He wouldn’t blame you. It’s just hard for him to take his eyes off of you when every time you laugh at something your friend says, your entire face lights up and fills him with so much joy that he starts smiling too.

He knows that you’d find that strange, too.

Because friends don’t look at friends the way Bob looks at you. 

He’s not even sure that he can call the two of you friends – more like acquaintances, really.  He’d met you through Mel, Valentina’s assistant. You and Mel were close, meaning you spent a lot of time around Bob, and he around you. It made it easy for him to start to fall for you.

Especially when he’d catch onto the small things that you do. The way you tuck your hair behind your ear, the way your nose scrunches when you’re frustrated, the way you tap your fingers on your trousers when you’re trying to focus on something. The small things that he’s certain no one else but him has noticed about you, because he notices everything about you. 

The fact that he has barely spoken to you doesn’t bother him. People have created friendships and started relationships off less. He’s done the same in the past, on those drug-fuelled benders that he really can’t remember, but he still knows about even without the memories. If Bob did speak to you more, though, he knows he’d admire you even more. 

In the few small conversations you’ve had, he’s barely managed to keep his admiration for you below the surface. He can be confident when he wants to be, and around you he does want to be. He wants to be the kind of man you can rely on, someone you can trust with everything. Even if he’s not sure he’s the kind of man that even he can rely on himself. He’d never come clean to you about that, though. 

No, Bob can have his secrets. 

He’s so caught up thinking about those secrets that he doesn’t realise when you notice him across the room, watching you. You can see from the glazed over look in his eyes that he’s not really watching you though. He’s deep in thought about something.

You excuse yourself from your conversation with your friend and meander across the room towards him, your suspicions being confirmed as you get closer and Bob continues staring at the place you had been standing by the pool table. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” You ask, finally reaching his side.

Bob blinks, knocked out of his thoughts by your voice, and realises that you’re no longer where he’s staring. He blinks again, trying to clear his head, and when he opens his eyes, they fall on you, standing in front of him, a small smile on your lips.

“Sorry, what?” He murmurs, running a hand over his face to shake himself out of the trance he’d been in before you interrupted him. He’d been thinking about you, and here you were. Almost as if he’d summoned you.

“I asked what you were thinking,” you repeat, leaning up against the wall and crossing your arms over your chest. “You were staring pretty intently. Must be something on your mind.”

Bob looks at you again, taking in your words, and nods slowly. His confidence slowly sinks away the longer he stays silent. “You were watching me?” is all he can come up with.

You laugh softly, one of the laughs that manages to bring a small smile to Bob’s own face. “I should as you the same question,” you hum. “I thought you were watching me when I first saw you, until I saw that look in your eye that made me realise you were just staring into space, and that I just happened to be in the way.”

He shakes his head, instantly wanting to prove you wrong. You weren’t in the way of him staring into space – you were the whole galaxy, there in front of his eyes. You were the stars and the planets and the damn milky way. Staring at the actual night sky wouldn’t even come close to how it feels to look at you. 

But they’re all words he can’t say.

He clears his throat. “No, I… uh, I was just thinking.”

“Hence the reason why I asked what you were thinking, Reynolds.”

Bob is certain that if he could disappear right now, he would.

He lets out a sheepish laugh and nods. “Yeah, right… uh… y’know, it was nothing.”

You watch him carefully, trying to read his face and failing miserably. Bob gives away nothing except the soft and kind nature that you’ve grown used to while spending time around him. Even though you’re certain he’d been thinking about something serious when you’d caught him zoning out, there’s no way to prove it, especially if he’s not willing to admit it to you – and why would he? Who are you to him other than a friend of a friend?

“Okay,” you nod, giving him a tight-lipped smile and taking a step back. “You can keep your secrets for tonight, Robert. I’ll try and pry them out of you some other night.”

“Bob,” he cuts in, the word out of his mouth before he can stop himself. “Call me Bob.”

You raise your eyebrows, a little surprised by the confidence in his tone. It’s the most bold you’ve seen him since you met him. Its not a please call me Bob or a I’d like to be called Bob. It’s a command. Your lips twitch up a little at the realisation.

“Okay, Bob,” you reply. “You enjoy the rest of your night, yeah? I’ll see you around.”

Bob watches as you walk away, heading back over to the friend you’d been with before, and desperately tries to calm down his heart, which feels as though it’s about to beat out of his chest. He can still hear you saying his name, like a constant ringing in his ears that’s pleasant rather than irritating.

You can keep your secrets for tonight, you’d said. Bob is certain that the next time you ask him to share his secrets with you, he’s going to tell you every last one of them without even really meaning to. He smiles at the thought. It doesn’t bother him as much as he’d expected.

[brookghaib-blog]

The ghost I left behind

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Reynolds x reader

Summary: Y/N and Bob had a life before he disappear, full of love, hope, and a lot of chaos, but they managed each other, she was the only one who truly could make him avoid the void inside his mind. How could he turn his only light into a shadow in his mind ?

Note: I wrote this with Sunshine & Rain.. By Kali Uchis, feel free to enjoy this with that on repeat to really feel it burn. Also please somebody give me HD gifs asap. Also if you hadn't read the preview yet, I recommend it!

Word count: 4,7k

Preview

--

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting an ugly green tinge over the already-drab walls of the 23rd Precinct. Y/N pushed the door open with her elbow, hands full—one holding a stack of wrinkled flyers with Bob’s photo on them, the other clutching the hem of her coat closed.

The front desk officer didn’t even look up.

The bell above the door had long since stopped ringing for her.

She shuffled to the counter. She was wearing the same hoodie she always wore—his hoodie, oversized and faintly smelling of old laundry detergent and smoke. Her stomach was just beginning to curve outward, subtle but undeniable beneath the fabric. Four months.

“Hey, Ms. Y/L/N,” the desk sergeant mumbled without meeting her eyes. “You’re back.”

She placed the flyers down with quiet urgency. “I printed new ones. Better quality. I added a note about the reward this time, in case someone’s seen him.”

The sergeant sighed, his pen clinking on the desk as he leaned back.

“I told you last time. No new leads.”

“I’m not asking for a miracle,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Just—please check if anything came in since last week. A tip. A sighting. A… a body, no, not that, but anything really.”

A uniformed officer behind the counter—young, smug, cruel in that casual way people are when they forget you’re human—snorted. “Lady, you know the guy was a junkie, right? Odds are he got tired of playing house and ran off when the stick turned pink.”

Y/N’s heart splintered. Her hands clenched the flyers. “Don’t—don’t you dare say that about him.”

He shrugged. “C’mon. You don’t have to be a detective to figure it out. He got high and vanished. People like that don’t come back. Especially not to play Daddy.”

“He’s not like that!” she shouted, her voice cracking.

The room went quiet.

A throat cleared gently behind her.

“Y/N?” came the familiar rasp of Officer Cooper, stepping out from a side hallway. Silver-haired and weathered, he’d been on the force longer than most of the others had been alive. He always spoke softly, like he didn’t want to scare away whatever kindness he still believed in.

Y/N blinked back tears and turned.

“Let’s take a walk,” Cooper said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get some air.”

--

Outside, the sky was overcast. Cold. Cooper lit a cigarette but didn’t offer her one.

They stood in silence next to the station’s rusted bench. She stared down at the pavement, at her frayed shoelaces, at the grey world around her.

Then she broke.

“I can’t sleep, Mr. Cooper,” she whispered, voice small. “I dream about him every night. I wake up thinking maybe he’s home, maybe I missed a call. But then it’s just me. Just me and this baby. I don’t know what I’m doing—I don’t have money, I don’t have family. He was my family.”

Cooper nodded slowly, his expression unreadable.

“I know you’ve been kind,” she said, her voice rising. “You’ve listened. But I need more. I need you to put more people on this. I need you to look for him like he’s not just some addict you all gave up on.”

She wiped her face with her sleeve. Her tears soaked through it instantly.

“Please. Just… just try. For me. For him. For our child. Bobby wouldn’t leave me. Not like this. Not without a word. Not him.”

Cooper took a long drag from his cigarette. Then sighed.

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

She froze.

His eyes softened, like he wished he could lie. Like he hated what he was about to do.

“We finally traced a lead. Someone matching Bob’s description was seen boarding a flight out of the country.”

She couldn’t breathe.

“Where?”

“Malaysia,” he said quietly.

The word hit her like a sledgehammer.

“No,” she whispered. “That’s… no, he wouldn’t… He didn’t have money. He didn’t have a passport.”

“He did,” Cooper said, sadly. “We checked. It was valid. Bought the ticket in cash. No forwarding contact. No signs of foul play.”

She staggered back, her body suddenly too heavy. Her hand flew to her belly as if to anchor herself.

“So… you’re saying he left me.”

“I’m saying,” Cooper murmured, “that we don’t believe he vanished. We believe he made a choice.”

“No,” she choked. “No, he didn’t. He loved me. We were building a life. He called me his miracle. We were deciding on a name. He cried when I told him. He held me all night and said he’d never leave.”

Cooper looked down at his shoes.

“I know, kid.”

Tears streamed down her face now, silent and relentless.

“I waited. Every day, I waited,” she sobbed. “I believed in him. I still do. He’s sick, not a monster. You’re telling me he abandoned his child before the baby was even born?”

Cooper said nothing. There was nothing to say.

Finally, she whispered, “Is he coming back ? Did he buy two tickets? He did, right, to come back to me, to us?”

Cooper crushed the cigarette beneath his boot.

“One way ticket. Maybe it's better if you go home, take a breath, and just... you can call me, ok ? I have a daughter just like you and she's an amzing mother, you will be too. You have to go to work, just rest.”

She just looked at the flyers in her hand. For months he just disappear, all her money spent in paper, organizing searches, paying potential dealers for a tip of his whereabouts.

"So this is it?"

--

2 years ago

The Cluckin’ Bucket wasn’t exactly a place dreams were made of.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like a swarm of angry flies, flickering over cracked linoleum tiles and chipped yellow walls. The scent of fried oil hung in the air like a second skin, clinging to every surface. It was 11:43 PM, just seventeen minutes before closing, and the only two souls left inside were Y/N, wiping down tables, and Bob, in the back room, peeling off the heavy, foam-rubber chicken costume that had been slowly cooking him alive for eight hours.

He winced as he pulled the beak off his head, his sweat-damp hair sticking up in odd places. His T-shirt clung to his back, his jeans sagged slightly on his hips, and his bones ached in that weird, chemically induced way that only came from a cocktail of meth and shame.

He hadn’t wanted this job.

He sure as hell hadn’t wanted the chicken suit.

But here he was—twenty-something, barely scraping by, dancing on a street corner in 95-degree heat to try and convince people to buy discount wings.

He tucked the suit away in its plastic bag, sighing, and padded into the dining area, rubbing the back of his neck.

And then he saw her.

Y/N.

The new waitress.

She was crouched in front of the soda machine, elbow-deep in the syrup line, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, earbuds dangling from her neck. She was humming something—Fleetwood Mac, he thought—but he couldn’t be sure.

She wore her name tag crooked on her chest, and there was a smudge of sauce on her cheek.

But to him? She looked like she belonged in a painting.

He froze for a second too long, just staring.

God, she was pretty. And he was in a chicken suit just minutes ago. And probably still smelled like sweat and fryer grease. Cool. Real smooth.

She glanced up—and caught him.

Her eyebrows rose a little. Her mouth quirked.

“Robert, right?” she asked, tilting her head. Her voice was warm, amused, like she already knew the answer.

His throat caught. “Uh. Yeah. Bob, actually.”

“Bob,” she repeated, like she was trying it on. “Can you help me with something?”

“Sure,” he said too quickly.

She straightened, gesturing toward a box at her feet. “I’m trying to get this up to the top shelf, but it’s heavier than it looks and my arms are, like, noodles right now.”

He nodded and stepped forward, kneeling to lift the box without much effort. He was wiry, but stronger than he looked. She watched him, subtly biting the corner of her lip.

“Thanks,” she said as he set the box down on the shelf. “You’re stronger than you look.”

He gave a sheepish laugh, rubbing his arm. “Yeah, well… spinning a giant arrow for eight hours a day builds muscles, I guess.”

She smiled. “Don’t sell yourself short. That costume? Kinda iconic.”

He turned bright red. “Oh, God.”

“What?” she teased. “I think it’s cute.”

“Cute?”

“Yeah,” she said, wiping her hands on a rag. “I mean, it takes a certain kind of confidence to dance in a chicken suit and not die of embarrassment.”

He snorted. “More like a lack of options.”

There was a pause—just a second too long.

“Still,” she said, voice softer now, “You’ve got a good smile, Bob.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I said, you’ve got a good smile.”

He swallowed, heart hammering for no reason he could explain. She was looking at him. Not through him. Not with pity. Just… seeing him. And it had been a long time since someone had done that.

They started talking more after that.

Little things. Jokes during their shifts. Late-night scraps of conversation while wiping down counters or restocking sauces. She’d bring him a free soda when she noticed him flagging. He’d sweep her section when her feet were too tired to move. Neither of them said it out loud, but it became something—a rhythm, a comfort.

He never told her about the drugs.

But she saw the shadows under his eyes. The way his hands shook sometimes. The way he chewed his inner cheek when he thought no one was looking. She didn’t ask, and he was grateful.

Until that one night.

They were walking out together. The parking lot was empty, bathed in yellow streetlight. The air was thick with humidity. Bob carried his bag over his shoulder, still fidgeting with the zipper.

Y/N was quiet beside him, arms crossed over her chest.

They reached the edge of the lot. Her car was parked beneath the flickering sign.

He stopped. She didn’t.

Then, she turned back.

“Hey,” she said. “Can I ask you something?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

He blinked. “Uh. No. Why?”

She smiled—and it knocked the air out of him.

“Just wondering,” she said, stepping a little closer. “Because if you don’t… I was wondering when you were going to ask me out.”

He stared at her, stunned.

“I—I mean—I didn’t think you’d—why would you—” he stammered.

She laughed, shaking her head. “Bob. I like you.”

He swallowed. “You do?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Even with the chicken suit.”

And then, because his body moved before his fear could stop him, he smiled—wide and real.

“I… would really like that.”

“Good,” she said, walking backwards toward her car, grinning. “Then don’t keep me waiting.”

He stood in the parking lot long after she drove away, heart pounding, a dumb grin on his face.

For the first time in years, the night didn’t feel so heavy.

--

Central Park in the early evening was dipped in gold.

The last fingers of sunlight threaded through the leaves like warm lace, casting dappled shadows on the grass. It was one of those rare New York days—cool but not cold, the air kissed with early autumn, the sky a watercolor blend of lavender and peach.

Bob stood awkwardly near a bench beneath a sycamore tree, tugging at the hem of his second-best flannel. His fingers twitched in his jacket pocket, where he kept the meth pipe he hadn’t touched in two days.

He was sweating.

Not from the weather.

From her.

Because Y/N was there, spreading out a gingham blanket on the grass near the edge of a pond, her hair tucked behind her ears, a small cooler bag next to her feet.

She looked like someone who belonged in the light.

He still wasn’t convinced he deserved to be sitting beside her in it.

“Okay,” she said, brushing imaginary dust from the blanket. “Don’t laugh. I made too much.”

Bob walked over slowly, hands in his pockets, watching as she pulled out a series of plastic containers and neatly wrapped foil packets. Sandwiches. Potato salad. Tiny cupcakes with blue frosting that had clearly been made with care. Even folded napkins.

“Holy crap,” he said, blinking. “Did you raid a deli or something?”

She grinned. “No, I made it. I… I like cooking.”

“For me?”

She looked at him like it was obvious. “Yeah. Who else would I be trying to impress, Bob?”

He knelt on the blanket, legs crossed, still a little stiff, watching her with barely restrained disbelief. “I just… I’ve never had anyone… you know. Do something like this. For me.”

She shrugged, setting a container between them. “Well, now you have.”

He picked up a sandwich, still stunned. “You made all this… for a guy who dresses like a poultry mascot?”

She chuckled. “I happen to like that guy.”

Bob opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He just smiled—a shy, crooked thing—and took a bite.

Bob sat on the edge of the picnic blanket, chewing slowly, trying not to look too shocked by how good the sandwich in his hand was. “Okay,” he said between bites, “you’re going to have to explain to me how you made this taste like something from an actual restaurant. What’s in this?”

Y/N grinned, tucking a napkin under her leg to keep it from blowing away. “Nothing fancy. Chicken, basil, a little Dijon, homemade aioli—”

“H-homemade? Who even makes aioli? That’s, like, elite-level cooking.”

“I like cooking,” she said simply, with a shrug. “It calms me down. Helps me feel like I’ve got control over something, you know?”

He nodded slowly, finishing the last of the sandwich. “Yeah, I get that. It’s like spinning that dumb arrow—kinda zen, if you ignore the back pain.”

She laughed. “That’s tragic. I cook to relax, and you give yourself arthritis.”

“Hey, I’m not proud.”

She passed him a small container of fruit salad, their knees brushing slightly under the blanket. There was a breeze picking up, threading through the grass, fluttering the corners of the gingham cloth. In the distance, a dog barked, and somewhere near the pond a violinist had started playing faintly.

“You live with roommates? Alone?” Bob asked suddenly, trying to picture what her place might look like. “Your kitchen’s probably better than mine. Mine’s got, like, one working burner and a fridge that sounds like it’s dying.”

She hesitated, then looked down at her hands. “Actually… I live alone now.”

His brows lifted slightly, sensing the shift in her voice.

“I didn’t always,” she continued. “My ex boyfriend and I used to live together, in this little apartment off Bedford. It was cramped, noisy, walls were paper-thin… but it was kind of cozy. It felt like ours.”

Bob stayed quiet, letting her speak.

“He left about nine months ago,” she said. “For someone else. Someone with shinier hair and a ‘real’ job, probably. I don’t know. One day he said he didn’t love me anymore, and that was that.”

Bob’s chest tightened.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

She waved a hand, but her smile was tinged with something older than the moment. “It sucked. But if he hadn’t left, I wouldn’t have taken the job at Cluckin’ Bucket. Wouldn’t have ended up on night shifts. Wouldn’t have met you.”

He blinked, thrown. “That’s… wow. You really think that’s a good trade?”

She shrugged again, but this time with a little smile. “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

Bob looked down at the cupcakes, the homemade food, the folded napkins. All for him.

He cleared his throat. “I just don’t get it. How someone could be with you and let you slip through their fingers. That guy had the f—freaking lottery ticket and he just… walked away?”

She glanced at him, visibly surprised by the fire in his voice.

“I mean it,” Bob said, quieter now. “If it were me… I’d never let you go.”

The moment stretched between them, warm and tender.

She looked at him for a long time, something soft and wounded behind her eyes.

“You’re sweet, Bob,” she said quietly.

“I’m not,” he replied without thinking. “Not really. But I want to be.”

Her lips parted like she wanted to say something else, but instead she reached for another sandwich.

They sat in silence again, this time heavier.

Then Bob spoke, his voice rough.

“I don’t have anyone either,” he said. “No family. No ties. Just a bunch of mistakes and a backpack that smells like old socks.”

She looked at him. “No one at all?”

He shrugged. “Not since my mom passed. My dad was… not really in the picture. I’ve kinda just been floating since then.”

“Me too,” she said. “It’s like… we’re both ghosts in a city full of people who have somewhere to be.”

That hit him harder than he expected.

He nodded slowly, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“I always thought,” he murmured, “that maybe I was just built to be alone. Like I was meant to burn out early. Some people are just… too messed up to fit.”

She leaned toward him, brushing a thumb gently against his hand.

“You’re not messed up,” she whispered. “You’re just… lost. And that’s not the same thing.”

His heart nearly stopped.

“You’re the first person who’s ever said that,” he admitted.

“Then everyone else was wrong.”

He didn’t know what came over him then—maybe it was the sunset or the food or the warmth of her fingers against his—but he turned toward her, and for once, he didn’t feel ashamed.

“Can I… see you again?” he asked.

Her eyes crinkled with a smile.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

--

present day

The apartment was still.

Still in the way a place only gets after someone is gone—not just physically, but really gone. Like the soul of the place had followed them out the door and taken all the warmth with it.

The late afternoon sun filtered weakly through the dusty blinds, casting long stripes across the bed where Y/N lay curled on her side. Their bed. His side still had the indent of his body, even after months. She hadn’t brought herself to sleep on it, like maybe the dip in the mattress could hold his shape long enough for him to come back and fill it.

Her hand cradled the curve of her growing belly. Just past four months. She was showing now. Her body knew, even if the world didn’t care.

Across from her on the nightstand were the pictures—cheap Polaroids and one dog-eared photo booth strip from Coney Island, taped crookedly to the wall. Bob’s stupid half-smile grinned back at her in every frame. The one where he was pretending to flex with a corndog in hand. The one where he looked away, caught off-guard, cheeks red from laughing at something she said.

Her thumb brushed the edge of the picture. Her throat burned.

“God, Bobby…” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

A fresh wave of tears pressed from behind her eyes and spilled freely down her cheek, soaking into the pillow. She clutched the blanket tighter with one hand and her belly with the other.

“You left,” she murmured. “You really left.”

She bit her lip so hard it nearly split, the ache in her chest unbearable.

“I defended you. I told them you’d never run. I called every hospital, every shelter. Put up posters with your face in every goddamn corner of this city. I begged the police to keep looking because I knew something was wrong. I thought maybe you were in trouble, or hurt… or…”

Her voice broke, raw and low.

“Turns out you were just gone. Just—just done.”

She sat up slowly, wiping her face with the sleeve of Bob’s old hoodie—still too big on her, still faintly smelling like him, like cologne and smoke and something warmer.

“You saved up that money. You actually planned this,” she whispered, hollow. “You looked me in the eye… kissed me goodnight, touched our baby, and you already knew you weren’t coming back.”

Her breath hitched as her hand moved over the swell of her belly, as if trying to protect the child from the truth pressing in.

“You knew I was pregnant. And you still left. That’s what makes it worse. Not the addiction. Not the lies. That. You knew, and it didn’t stop you.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“I gave up everything trying to find you, Bobby,” she said, louder now, choking on the grief. “I drained what little savings I had. Every cent I scraped together went to flyers, gas, private search sites. I even hired some guy off Craigslist who said he could ‘track people down for a price.’ That was three hundred dollars I’ll never get back.”

She laughed bitterly through her tears.

“I work double shifts now just to stay afloat. Still serving greasy food to assholes who think I’m invisible—coming home to this empty fucking apartment, sleeping in a bed that feels like a coffin.”

She fell back onto the pillow and stared up at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling in short, shallow breaths.

“I really thought you were different,” she whispered. “I did. I thought… maybe this time, it wouldn’t end with someone leaving. I really get left for everything else at this point, not good enough, prettier women, drugs. And maybe that’s worse. Because at least he looked me in the eye and said goodbye. Or maybe…did you find a better woman Bobby?”

Her lips trembled as another sob escaped.

“You said you loved me. You said we were in this together. We made something together, Bobby. We made a life. And you just… vanished.”

She reached for the ultrasound photo tucked into the drawer and held it to her chest.

“I swear he moves and grows everytime I cry,” she whispered. “Like he knows I need a distraction.”

She ran her hand down her belly again, slower this time.

“But I won’t let them grow up thinking he or she was a mistake. Or unworth staying for.”

The room felt unbearably quiet now. Still, again. But this time, colder.

She closed her eyes and curled tighter around herself, the photos, the baby. Everything she had left.

“I’ll do this without you,” she said softly. “Even if it breaks me.”

And in the stillness, in the tiny home they had built, she stares at the ceiling. Thinking. Doubting. Is this all that life can be ? How would she be able to take care of a little human? Maybe this baby wasn't meant for her. Maybe it was someone else's place to be their mom.

Maybe that's it.

Then I will wait. Just until the baby comes.

[sacredsorceress]

Hi lovely!! Been thinking about Bob taking care of his drunk partner. how he’d feel seeing her at that state, trying to keep himself calm while simultaneously making sure she’s okay. i can just picture him being such a sweetheart with pulling back her hair and rubbing her back, then flinching when she throws up 🥹

.:*Bob taking care of Drunk!Reader.:*

A/N: bob is such an angel. I know he'd love being able to help his girlfriend in her hour of need (even if it's far from glamorous). not proofread sorry!! WC: 1.4k WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol consumption and descriptions of vomiting

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・bob masterlist・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

"Heyyyyyyy Reynolds."

No matter how long you've been together, Bob loves hearing you say his name. It grounds him in reality and reminds him that he's really there, and truly yours. ‘Reynolds’ may have been mostly retired as you crossed the line from teammates to partners, but it still had its way of slipping out: particularly when you had been drinking.

And from the way you dragged out the s in his surname and hiccupped while waiting for him to respond- you were drunk.

"Hey- hi baby," Bob replied over the intercom. "Are you okay?"

Able to hear the small smile on his face through the phone, you hummed.

"Mmmmm yeah," You said. "But I forgot my keys. Wanna let me upstairs hot stuff?"

Even after all this time dating, Bob's face still burned red. He only dropped out in the first few months of high school, but he imagined that this is what being a lovesick teenager would’ve felt like.

"Um y-yeah." He said, nodding. "I... hold on..."

You could hear the sounds of pages rustling as his book was tossed onto the bed, and his slippers shuffled as he dragged his feet against the floor.

"Aaaaanddd...." Bob droned, melodic tapping sounds echoing in your ear. "O-okay it should be open now."

Like magic, the lock on the front door of the Avengers Tower unlocked with several clicks.

“Be up in a second, honey.”

And the line went dead.

As he headed to the elevator to meet you, Bob considered how until recently, he had never known what it was like to have someone rely on him. Sure, he wanted to be that guy- even to a detriment- but whether because of chance or his own shortcomings, no one ever did. Not truly. Even now, with powers and abilities beyond his comprehension, Bob failed to be a reliable asset.

Then there was you. Sweet, loving, kickass you who loved him just as he came and trusted him with your life. Not as Sentry, not as the Golden Guardian of Good (gosh that really was a mouthful), but as Bob.

You and Bob. Two halves of one whole- lost without the other.

Bob may have thought you were doing a lot of the heavy lifting, but then again you knew him better than he knew himself.

As the elevator binged, announcing your arrival, he cringed at the bright light that poured out of it.

Most times you walked out of that same elevator you were like a goddess: confident and poised. Now, Bob chuckled to himself as your own mortality had caught up with you.

Bag slipping off of your shoulder, you stumbled out of the elevator, heels clicking against the floor.

"Mmmm, Bob." You hummed, crashing into his arms. If it hadn't been for his strength, he thinks you both would've fallen to the floor.

"Hi." Bob said, running his hand up and down your back. "Tired?"

Face still pressed against his chest, cheeks smushed up to your eyes, you simply nodded.

God, you were cute.

Sensing how you had shifted your weight entirely on top of him, Bob had a feeling that you'd struggle making it across the apartment in your inebriated state. Rather than watch you bumble like a newborn deer to your bedroom, he bent over, hooked one of his arms under your knees while the other laid flat against your back and lifted you from the floor.

A series of giggles escaped your throat as you clung to his robe.

"I always forget you have super strength." You said, nudging your face into the crook of his neck. "I should've had you pick me up from the bar."

Bob doesn’t miss a beat.

“I would’ve.”

And he’s being honest. He would have done anything you asked of him.

Pushing against his door,

The second Bob had his back turned, he heard your hurried rush to the bathroom. You tripped over the shoes you had disposed off seconds before, catching yourself on the bed before fumbling with the door handle.

Your boyfriend was just about to ask you what was wrong when he heard your knees skid against the floor, sliding into first base just in time for the toilet bowl to catch the contents of your stomach.

It was ironic really that despite the amount of times Bob had thrown up in his own life that he had such a weak stomach. Hearing you now, retching in the other room, the blanket slipped from his fingers as he brought his own fist to his mouth and gagged.

Keep it together. You can do this. You can help.

Do. Not. Vomit.

Like a mantra, Bob whispered cucumbercucumbercucumber to himself as he followed you into the bathroom.

His cool fingers on your scalp made a groan slip past your lips as your face fell onto the toilet seat.

Good thing he cleaned it today, Bob thought.

Squeezing his eyes shut to avoid seeing the contents of the bowl- something that would most certainly make him lose his lunch- Bob blindly ran his fingers over your forehead, pulling your hair back from your forehead and into a makeshift ponytail. Securing it with one hand, he moved the other to your back, rubbing in soothing, circular motions.

"Bob it's-" you retched. "it's okay, you can go to bed."

Digging his face into his shoulder, Bob shook his head.

"No, I can help." He assured you. "Just uh, let it out."

You were inclined to argue, but were cut short by another convulsion hitting your body as you threw up the last of what was in there. Heaving, you swatted your boyfriend away.

"It's okay, Bob." You said, wiping your face. "It's done. Mind running the shower?"

Quick to take a ticket out of vomit duty, Bob went to the shower and turned the faucet. As his hand ran under the water, waiting for it to run from cold to hot, he watched you flush the toilet and pick yourself up off the floor.

Even with your hair a mess and the bright white lighting of the bathroom raining down on you, Bob still thought that you looked beautiful.

"What are you looking at?" You laughed, pulling your shirt over your head.

"You're just... just," He shrugged, a sheepish smile hanging on his lips. "...really pretty." Bob turned his face to hide his blush. "Anyway, the shower's ready."

Stripping yourself of the last of your clothes while holding on to Bob to steady yourself- you'd really have to appreciate just how strong his chest was in the morning when you were sober- you then climbed into the shower. As the hot water ran over your skin, relaxing your muscles, Bob busied himself at the counter. You watched through the fogged glass as he squirt toothpaste onto your toothbrush.

After he slipped you the toothbrush, Bob hung your towel over the shower door, careful not to get it wet. You closed your eyes, focusing on the running water and the sound of him rattling through the cabinets, no doubt preparing the morning care package of pain reliever and water to leave on your nightstand.

Gosh, you were lucky.

Once you had finished washing clean the mess of the night, he helped you dry off. You couldn't help but giggle as he rubbed the tower up and down yours arms, making your hair stand on edge. When he helped you put on a fresh pair of pajama pants, your fingers fisted in his hair to keep from falling, you hummed.

"You're the best, you know that?" You said with hooded eyes. "I'm the luckiest."

Although your bedroom lighting was dim, you could see the heat creep up his neck at the compliment. Bob chuckled.

"I still think you're pretty when you're throwing up." He said, shaking his head in disbelief as he guided you under the covers and into bed. "I'm the lucky one."

As Bob hunched over you, bringing the sheets up to your chin, you couldn't help but mentally argue with him- positive that you were in fact the luckiest.

But, Bob had heard your teammates- particularly Walker- whisper about how they could make him useful; an asset to the team, but it rarely phased him now that he had you. He may not be able to control his abilities enough to save the world, but he could take care of you, his world, and that would be enough.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・inbox・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

[pagesfromthevoid]

Ya'aburnee | r. r.

Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Avenger!witch!reader

And I never got to tell you how I love the way my eyes make yours look green too

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Witchcraft

Author's Note: I combined @domoron's request with an idea I had so I hope you don't mind my dude. Also, there will probably be a part two (but this is NOT a series lol)

Talk to Me! | AO3

“This place has really gone to shit, huh?”

Bucky just sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, as she stands in the foyer of the common space. Yelena has her feet kicked up on the table, eyes drifting up from her tablet. Walker was passing through, but has stopped mid-step as Ava cocks her head to the side like she’s trying to understand. The only people who don’t seem to be mildly annoyed by her presence are Alexei, who is just barely containing his excitement, and Bob, who is looking between her and Bucky like he’s seeing two celebrities at once.

She shifts her weight onto one leg, crossing her arms over her chest as she takes in the motley crew before her. The New Avengers. The group that’s supposed to replace her and her friends and defend earth from whatever is thrown at them –and they all look like they haven’t slept properly in their entire life. 

There’s a file on every single one of them –and she’s read each one several times over. She’s known Bucky for several years now –went to war for him, even. The others she’s heard of in passing –Yelena and Alexei from Natasha; Walker from Sam. The other two –Ava, Bob –she doesn’t know outside of news reports and files. And even then, Bob’s file is the newest.

Hard to believe the guy sitting in the corner is some all powerful being who put New York into a blackout. But who is she to judge?

“Are you here to be helpful, or are you here to be an asshole?” Bucky asks, standing up finally. Four strides and he’s standing in front of her.

“I can do both,” she points out, uncrossing her arms and putting her hands on her hips. “But I’m sure that’s not what you want, is it?”

“I called you for a reason, Hex,” he reminds her, shaking his head. His voice is lower now, like he’s trying to keep the rest of his team from hearing. “You…you know what a team is able to do. We are not the Avengers. We’re not a team; we’re a time bomb.”

“You know,” she interrupts, but she’s softened some around the edges. “Dr. Banner said the exact same thing.”

*****

It’s hard to admit, but the New Avengers —this ragtag team of assholes —are a better team than the Avengers ever were. Not in the sense of power —no, but in the sense of camaraderie. They actually seem to care about one another; not just passing friends or colleagues. 

Yeah, the Avengers cared about each other. But not like this. Not like an actual family. 

It is a hard thing to realize; to accept that, while maybe her team was efficient and good at their jobs, they were only friends because they had to be. Sure, there were closer friendships separately —Nat and Clint, who had history already. She and Steve became close after Bucky almost killed them both years ago. But the Avengers were surface level friends.

Which is totally okay, at the end of the day. 

They did their jobs. They saved the universe. Then…they moved on. 

But the New Avengers…they care about each other. In a weird, almost sibling-like way. There’s a lot of arguing; a lot of yelling. But they frequently eat dinner together, at a table. Even when they're battered and bloody, they will sit down and eat whatever they manage to find. But together. 

The first time she’s invited to join “family time,” as Alexei calls it, she’s confused. He ushers her to the table and sits her down beside Bob, insisting that she has to join. No one else has joined yet, and Bob says they’re all usually late. 

“What’s going on? Mission briefing?” She asks, leaning over closer to Bob to whisper. 

He looks down at her, confused himself. “Oh, uh —we’re having dinner. It’s Walker’s turn to cook this week.”

“You…eat dinner together?” She pushes, and Bob seems like he’s enjoying that she’s confused. Maybe because he finally has something he can explain to her instead of the other way around. 

“Alexei makes us all eat together,” he explains, biting at his nails. “I…I like it. It feels nice, like for an hour we get to pretend we’re normal.”

“You do this every night?” 

He nods some, though he looks like he’s considering the answer. “Most nights, at least. Depends on what they’re doing, or if they’re here. Sometimes I don’t join, for uh…you know, reasons.”

She knows what he means. Even if she hadn’t read his file, she would be able to tell that Bob struggles with a lot. 

“I understand,” she offers, putting a hand on his arm. He flinches, and she pulls back almost immediately. But when he opens his eyes, he seems confused. “Are you okay?”

“Are…are you? You didn’t —did you see anything?”

“I saw you flinch, Bob —that’s all I saw.”

There’s almost immediate relief in his eyes, and the tension in his shoulders drops as he leans back in his chair. She’s about to ask him another question when the rest of the team find their way to the table and sit. 

Then it’s like she’s always been a part of the team. 

Maybe that’s the day they all just decided that she’s a New Avenger and an Avenger. Because after that dinner, she doesn’t leave. Her things have found their way to a room across from Bob’s and next to Yelena. She trains and spars and argues with everyone. 

The only thing she doesn’t do is go on missions. Mostly because Valentina insists she is not part of the team —but she’s also pretty sure Valentina thinks it’s bad for optics somehow. Of course, she doesn’t mind not going on missions. She stays back in the command center, manning the comms and computers. Bob often joins her, and she helps him learn how to operate the tools here. 

“This is…good. I get this,” he says one day, looking over a map with moving dots —the team —on it. “I’m able to help finally without…you know, getting in the way.”

“I doubt you’re in the way,” she reassures, sliding her chair over towards him, reaching across him to hit a button on the screen to send coordinates. “But I’m glad you enjoy learning.”

He hums a bit as she reaches across him. She notes how warm he is, even at a distance. 

“The target is about five miles ahead,” she reminds the team, pulling back but still next to him. Her eyes are on his screen. “There’s eight armored vehicles but there’s no one manning them.”

Bob is biting at his nails again, something she’s noticed he does a lot when he’s restless, and she instinctively reaches over to stop him. Gently, without even thinking about what she’s doing, she pulls his hand away and just holds it while she punches in the next set of coordinates. The only reason she realizes what she’s done is because Bob, instead of pulling away, squeezes her hand. That’s when she looks between their hands and him, and he gives her a timid smile. She returns the smile and the gesture, squeezing his hand back before Bucky is asking for her to map out an exit route. 

There’s a sigh of relief when they get out –back on the jet, back in the air. She shuts the comms off and leans back, staring at the screen for a moment. Then she turns to Bob.

“Wanna grab something to eat?”

He hesitates, like he thinks she’s talking to someone else, but then he nods. “Uh yeah –we can make something –,”

“I meant, like –do you want to go out and get something,” she corrects, standing up and stretching. “They won’t be back until close to two in the morning so we have some time to kill.”

Bob visibly blanches and she frowns some as he slowly stands. “I don’t…I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I haven’t really, you know, left the Tower since everything happened with…with him.”

“I trust you,” she promises, holding her hand out to him.

“I don’t,” he admits, but he takes her hand cautiously. “Can we…can we just pick up something and bring it back?”

It’s a step, she thinks. 

When they return to the Tower with two bags of Thai food (Bob insisted on getting everyone something, even if they had to reheat it), they sit on the floor in front of the window and eat in comfortable silence. She tries to think about the last time she’s just sat with someone like this, and it hurts to realize it’s been too long. Before the Avengers destroyed Sokkovia –god, more than ten years. When her grandmother was still alive and blessing the apartment with incense and cinnamon. Then she thinks about the last time she practiced properly, and that hurts just as much.

“I uh,” Bob suddenly says, looking out the window. Avoiding her gaze, like he might be in trouble when he finishes his sentence. “I read your file the other day.”

“I’ve read yours too,” she offers, like it’s a right of passage to read about your friends to get to know them better. “I didn’t know Valentina had my file.”

“She doesn’t,” he reassures, mixing his rice up carefully. “Bucky uh, gave it to me.”

“And what did you learn about me, Bob?”

“Are you…,” he hesitates, trying to figure out how to phrase it. It’s always a little funny, watching as people try to come to terms with what she is. Especially relatively normal people. “Are you really…like, a witch?”

“Does that scare you?” She asks, setting her food down. 

“I…I don’t know,” he admits, looking down at his hands for a moment. “I guess not? Should I be?”

Shaking her head, she lifts her hand and with a careful swish of her wrist, tendrils of light wrap around her hand. It’s a soft green, slithering over her fingers and up her arm. The Tower is dark enough that the magic illuminates their small space, and Bob’s eyes are wide as he follows each branch of the magic forms into another.

“Is this…do you do like –I don’t know, crystals and all that stuff?” He asks, though he’s reaching up like he’s going to touch the tendrils. 

She doesn’t stop him, tilting her head to the side as his fingers graze them. They wrap around him briefly –warm, soft, like a whisper against his skin –before retreating back to her. 

“I do,” she offers as the magic drifts away into the air, mist surrounding them before evaporating into the empty space. “I even have a broom.”

“Really?” He asks, eyes wide as he looks at her, back straight. 

“Not the way you think, but yes,” she laughs, leaning back. “Practicing witches use brooms for purification purposes –sweep away the negative energies. I’m sure I could fly on it, but that’s more because of me enchanting it and not the broom itself.”

“So you’re…you’re like actually a witch –not just, magic powers but like…the crystal stores and the candles and all that?”

“All the women in my family are witches,” she explains, holding out her hand again. The tendrils return, but this time they wrap around his hand and pull him gently towards her. “My grandmother raised me, and taught me. My mom passed before she could teach me anything. But yes, I practice the actual act of witchcraft while also actually having magic. No experiments or needles needed.”

His eyes light up with the emerald magic, watching as it tugs him into her orbit. Bob doesn’t fight it, too mesmerized by the feel of it against his skin. 

“That’s why I didn’t see anything when I touched you,” she explains, taking his hand in hers. The tendrils swirl around their hands, slinking up his sleeve and over his shoulders. He follows it carefully, like it’s the most amazing thing he’s ever seen. Maybe it is. “I shield myself from the shadows –and that’s all your powers are. That’s all…he is. A shadow, trying to pry and consume.”

There’s a pause in the conversation as the tendrils slowly wrap around them entirely. Holding them together, like the magic itself is trying to bring them closer together. She’s got a good control over it, she always has, but sometimes it’s got a mind of its own. It’s hard to explain to people that her magic is a living thing, that it’s not just a part of her but it’s own entity. She just hosts it, and thanks it. But she thinks Bob would understand this better than anyone else, because he…he has his own entities. Perhaps he doesn’t like them, but he has them.

“Is…the shielding. Can you…can you teach someone that?” His voice is soft, a little shaky suddenly. But there’s a hopeful undertone as he meets her eyes. 

“I can,” she promises. And it is a promise. “Shielding is less magic and more intentions –and I can absolutely teach you if that’s what you want.”

“I…I would really like that.”

_______

Part two

_______

Bob Taglist: @ilovemarvel12 @k1ttyjuice @magikdarkholme @yesshewrites1 @evanbabybear @jaes-last-words @keira-kaz2y5

[neferaskingdom]

♡ Valentine Hotline | LN4

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Running a Valentine’s hotline was supposed to be fun—until she accidentally helps Bob plan the perfect date… for herself.

Previous | Series Masterlist | Next

The last thing she expected to be doing this Valentine’s Day was running an anonymous emergency hotline for lovesick fools, but here she was—headset on, taking call after call, all in the name of charity. Her best friend had roped her into this, promising it would be “fun,” but so far, all she had done was talk panicked men out of buying last-minute gas station flowers.

Her latest call came in with a hesitant, almost nervous greeting. “Uh… hi. Is this Cupid?”

“That’s me,” she said, suppressing a laugh at the ridiculous alias she’d been assigned. “How can I help you, caller?”

There was a pause before he mumbled, “I need help asking out my crush.”

She smiled, already endeared. “Of course! What’s your name?”

A beat of silence, then—“Bob.”

She snorted. “Bob, huh? Okay, Bob, tell me about your crush.”

Bob sighed dreamily, and when he spoke again, it was with a kind of reverence that made her heart melt. “She’s amazing. Like, so cute, but not in a way that she even realizes. And she’s really smart—like, she remembers the smallest details about people, and she’s kind, too. Like, the kind of kind where she doesn’t even think twice about it, she just does things that make life easier for everyone around her. And she’s so funny, sometimes without even trying. I mean, she makes me laugh over the dumbest things. And—God, she’s way out of my league, but I really, really like her. It’s ridiculous how much I like her.”

Her heart melted. “That’s adorable. Have you spoken to her before?”

“Sort of,” he admitted. “We work together, but I don’t talk to her a lot because… well, I’m afraid I’ll say something stupid. I get irrationally shy around her.”

That piqued her curiosity. “Coworker, huh? What do you guys do?”

“I can’t say too much, or it’ll be obvious who I am,” Bob said quickly.

She nodded, intrigued but respecting his anonymity. “Alright, Bob. First things first, you need to start interacting with her more—test the waters, see how she reacts to you. Start flirting a little.”

“Oh God.”

She laughed. “Relax! I’ll help you. We’ll come up with a plan.”

And so, over the next few days, she helped Bob craft the perfect approach. They planned small conversations, little ways for him to test the waters—compliments, inside jokes, light teasing. He seemed enthusiastic yet nervous, but she assured him he was doing great.

Strangely, around the same time, Lando Norris—someone who had never gone out of his way to talk to her before—started showing up more often. He’d stop by her desk with a cheeky grin, making flirty comments that left her flushed. At first, she chalked it up to him just being friendly, but it kept happening.

“Looking good today,” Lando said one afternoon, leaning casually against her desk.

She rolled her eyes but felt her face warm. “Are you just going around giving out compliments to everyone?”

“Only to the pretty ones.” He winked, and she nearly choked on her coffee.

It was weird. But she couldn’t say she hated it.

A few days before Valentine’s Day, she was finishing up some work when Lando hovered nearby, looking uncharacteristically nervous. He shifted from foot to foot before finally clearing his throat.

“Hey, um… can I talk to you for a sec?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

She turned in her chair, surprised by his serious tone. “Sure, what’s up?”

He exhaled, looking at the floor before meeting her eyes. “I… uh, was wondering if you wanted to go out with me. Like, on a date. For Valentine’s Day.”

Her brain short-circuited for a moment. “Wait. You’re asking me out?”

Lando winced. “I mean, yeah? But you don’t have to say yes, obviously, I just thought—”

She cut him off with a grin. “Lando, I’d love to.”

His eyes widened. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” she laughed.

The relief on his face was almost comical. “Oh. Oh, cool! That’s great. Okay, um, yeah, I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Sounds perfect.”

He left looking a little dazed but incredibly happy, and she couldn't help but smile to herself.

That night, Bob called her one last time.

“She said yes!” he practically shouted through the phone. “I asked her out, and she said yes!”

She grinned, heart swelling with pride. “Bob! That’s amazing! I told you she’d like you.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you. Seriously, if—no, when—we get married, you’re getting an invite.”

She laughed. “I’ll hold you to that. Have fun on your date, Bob.”

“Thanks, Cupid. You’re the best.”

And with that, her hotline duties were done.

The next evening, she met Lando for their date, dressed in a pretty outfit and buzzing with anticipation. He looked a little nervous, which was unusual for him, but she found it endearing. The restaurant was charming, the table setup romantic—candles, her favorite flowers, the works.

She took one look at it all and hesitated. The setup felt oddly familiar. Too familiar.

The restaurant. The flowers. The exact order of events.

Her stomach flipped as a ridiculous but nagging thought entered her mind. She looked at Lando, who was focused on cutting his steak, completely unaware of her staring.

“This is going to sound weird,” she began slowly, watching his reaction, “but do you know someone named Bob?”

Lando’s knife froze mid-slice. His head snapped up so fast she thought he might get whiplash. “W-what?”

She gaped at him. “Oh my God. You’re Bob, aren’t you??”

Lando opened and closed his mouth like a fish, looking utterly horrified. “H-how do you—how do you know that?”

She let out a laugh, shaking her head. “Because I’m Cupid.”

Lando choked on his water, coughing as his eyes widened in horror. “No. No way.”

“Yes way,” she said, grinning at his absolute mortification. “I can’t believe I spent days coaching you on how to flirt with me.”

Lando groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my God. I’m never living this down.”

She reached across the table, placing her hand over his. “Lando.”

He peeked at her between his fingers. “Yeah?”

She smiled softly. “So… all those sweet things you said about your crush… they were actually about me?”

Lando groaned again, face going bright red. “I—uh—maybe?”

She felt her heart flutter, warmth spreading through her chest. “That’s honestly the sweetest thing ever.”

Lando let out a breath, rubbing his temples. “You must think I’m such a loser. Calling a hotline of all things just to figure out how to ask you out.”

She shook her head, squeezing his hand. “No. I think it’s endearing. You went out of your way to make sure you got it right. You wanted it to be perfect. That’s really, really sweet.”

He looked at her, expression softening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Their dinner was filled with laughter and easy conversation, and by the time he walked her to her door, she felt lighter than ever. He hesitated on her porch, shoving his hands into his pockets. “So, uh… goodnight?”

She rolled her eyes, stepping closer. “Goodnight, Bob.”

Before he could groan again, she kissed him, soft and sweet, smiling against his lips as he melted into it. When she pulled away, he was grinning like an idiot.

“Best Valentine’s Day ever,” he murmured.

She laughed. “Yeah. I think so too.”

[xinganhao]

11:59 PM ⏰ joshua x reader.

there's only one thing that joshua wants for his birthday: to kiss you at the stroke of midnight, come the 31st. with a little help from his friends, this might just be the year that he finally succeeds.

ⓘ mentions of alcohol consumption. writing (word count: 1.7k) under the cut. happy shua day! ૮₍˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა

TIME CHECK: 9:34 PM. 

Joshua Hong is in love with you. 

He’s been in love with you for eight birthdays (counting yours and his), four Christmases, and two shitty Valentine’s (one for each of you). 

Has he done anything about it? Not really. 

Will that stop him from trying? Absolutely not. 

The two of you had promised to make it to Minghao’s by 9:30 sharp, but the song on the radio had been just a little too good as he pulled the car into park. It’s in those four extra minutes that Joshua is reminded just why he’s been so infatuated with you all this time. 

The enthusiastic way you sing along to the AJ Rafael track. The giggles you let out when you trip over the lyrics only to barrel right on to the next verse like nothing happened. The upturn of your lips, the ghost of a smile— 

God, he is so in love with you. 

He plays the part. He pretends the steering wheel is a drum. He bobs his head up and down in time with your off-tune crooning. He belts when you ask him to, his riff of maybe you could save me from this crazy world we live in breaking off into a laugh when your voice cracks. 

The final verse is still playing when you finally give up, nudging Joshua’s shoulder. “Let’s go,” you prompt. “Before Seungcheol blows a gasket.” 

Of course Seungcheol would be the most upset if the two of you were late. Joshua chuckles at the mental image of his friend pouting the whole night. “Alright, alright,” he concedes. 

He’s out of his seat in the next second, jogging past the front of the car so he can open the passenger door for you. You have that exasperated look on your face— the same one you wear when you’re about to insist that he doesn’t have to do this— but it’s softened by fondness. 

“After you, m’lady,” Joshua says loftily, selling the whole act with a little curtsy. 

You’re laughing as you take his hand. “Don’t mind if I do.” 

Once you’ve stepped out of his car, you surprise him by not dropping his hand. “C’mon,” you urge, instead keeping your hands clasped as you tug him forward. 

He stumbles on his first step but follows easily, the biggest smile beginning to spread on his face. The song from the radio is playing on repeat in the back of his mind— a refrain that could be as good as a promise, if he squinted. 

We could happen, Joshua thinks dazedly as you drag him up to Minghao’s front door. We could happen. 

TIME CHECK: 10:42 PM. 

“Oi, loverboy.” 

The pet name snaps Joshua out of his reverie. His head snaps over to Seokmin, who had been chatting his ear off for the past couple of minutes. 

“Don’t call me that,” Joshua grumbles. 

His friends are merciless. Seokmin snickers. Jihoon bites back a smile. Jeonghan rolls his eyes. 

“We were asking what your birthday wish was,” Seokmin repeats. 

Jeonghan chimes in, “Y’know, after we all pulled lies out of our asses to make sure you could spend the day with the love of your life.” 

“Stop,” whines Joshua, the tips of his ears already beginning to flame red. He composes himself just enough to huff, “And I can’t tell you what my birthday wish was. Otherwise it won’t come true.” 

Jihoon mumbles something like ‘true’, but Jeonghan and Seokmin are relentless. 

“Give us a hint,” Jeonghan insists. 

Seokmin raises his index finger and his thumb. “Just a teensy, little hint!”

Autonomously, Joshua’s eyes flick over to where you are. You’re across the room, engaged in conversation with Mingyu and Vernon. The distance is far enough that Joshua can’t make out what’s being said, but it must be a good one; you’re grinning, nodding, gesticulating. 

He holds back the urge to swoon. It’s a futile attempt; his friends all share looks before bursting into raucous laughter. 

“No hint needed,” Seokmin says amusedly. 

As much as Joshua hates to admit it, the man is right. The answer to what he wished for is clear as day, is in the very same room as him. 

TIME CHECK: 11:10 PM. 

Unbeknownst to Joshua, there’s a plan in motion. It’s a rather simple plan, too, and the boys had been convinced they could see it through. 

After all, they only had to make sure that you and Joshua were at each other’s side by 11:59 PM. 

Simple, right? 

Except Seungkwan, Soonyoung and Wonwoo are knocked out of commission after sharing a champagne bottle. 

Minghao gets into a spat with Junhui over one thing or another. Seungcheol and Jeonghan bicker to the point that Seungcheol has relegated himself to one corner, his arms crossed over his chest as he sulks. 

“These idiots,” Seokmin huffs disbelievingly. Must he do everything himself? 

He checks his watch. He has forty more minutes. 

He could probably afford one more drink. 

TIME CHECK: 11:43 PM. 

Joshua can’t believe his friends. 

If they’re not drunk, they’re feuding. Seokmin— who had earlier been so insistent on seeing the telecasted ball drop— is sprawled out on the couch, knocked out cold. 

“That’s one way to usher in the new year,” you muse. 

Something in Joshua’s chest thrums. 

“Guess it’s just us,” he says smoothly. He thinks he deserves a standing ovation for just how even his voice sounds, betraying nothing about the hammering in his chest. 

His nerves are somewhat eased by the smile that breaks on your face. “It’s just us,” you repeat, and you don’t sound particularly opposed to the idea. 

You even sound… excited? 

Joshua tries not to overthink it. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat, just to keep himself from reaching out for you. “The view of the fireworks might be better from outside,” he says. “What do you say?” 

It’s a selfish offer. Joshua is trying to mastermind his way into being your New Year’s Eve kiss. God forbid a man try to make a move. 

“I say that sounds good,” you respond, and Joshua barely holds himself back from breaking out into a little dance. 

TIME CHECK: 11:57 PM.

Out on the sidewalk, it’s just the two of you.

The streetlamps cast a warm halo over your head. The fireworks bathe you both in multicolored flashes of light. There’s the sounds of bells ringing, and children screeching, and trumpets being blown. 

All of it feels inconsequential to the thrill running through Joshua’s veins. 

You’re standing by his side, talking about your resolutions for the new year. And you’re so lovely. And there’s nothing Joshua wants more than to finally, finally— 

“Oh?” You fish your phone out of your pocket. “Ah, sorry. Give me a minute, yeah?” 

Joshua’s hand twitches at his side, like he’s tamping down the urge to keep you. “Take your time,” he says. 

His eyes follow you as you hurry off, ducking someplace where he can’t quite see you. Joshua tears his gaze away to look up at the night sky instead.

TIME CHECK: 11:59 PM.

Most of the apartments in Minghao’s building have left their windows open. Some superstition about inviting in good luck.

While Joshua is standing outside, he can faintly hear a blaring television beginning to count down the seconds. 

“Seventeen… sixteen… fifteen…” 

Joshua exhales, his breath coming out as a visible puff of air. His eyes flutter close, the image of the full moon burning behind his closed lids. The thought of being underneath it without you makes the earlier thrumming in his chest twist into something that almost aches.

He supposes that some wishes aren’t meant to come true. 

TIME CHECK: 12:01 AM. 

“Shua!”

Joshua startles. He hadn’t noticed your return, and he’s momentarily distracted from his thoughts as his eyes snap open. You look panicked; it makes his chest squeeze with concern. 

“Hey,” he says immediately, his hand instinctively resting on the side of your arm in a bid to soothe. “What’s wrong?” 

“I missed it.” 

“Missed—” 

“Missed you!” 

Before Joshua can question your words, you’re already ranting. “The clock on my phone is a couple of minutes behind, and I thought I had enough time. I just wanted to pop a mint, put on some lipstick, maybe—” 

The implications of your words hit him like a truck. His eyes widen, and then something almost like a laugh breaks from the back of his throat. 

“You— for what?” he manages, even though he already knows the answer. 

“For this,” you say, and then you’re standing up on your tiptoes. 

The press of your lips against his is better than every goddamn firework in the world. Joshua is sure that absolutely no one in the world feels the way that he does right now. 

He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t freeze up for a minute. His free arm snakes around your waist, gently pulling you flush against him. His other hand goes to rest at your cheek as he tilts your head ever so slightly, just so he can deepen the kiss. 

When the two of you break apart for air, Joshua lets you breathe for all of five seconds before he’s kissing you again. 

You giggle against his mouth. And it’s dizzying to him, the way the two of you are smiling as this unfolds; the way the rest of the world is a flurry of noise, but he’s standing still with you in his arms. 

“Shua,” you say his name like a reprimand, gently pushing at his chest to get him off you for a moment. 

His body doesn’t seem to register it. His head instinctively ducks to follow your lips. The sheer desperation of it makes you smile. 

“I’m sorry for being late,” you say, almost shy in your apology.

“My fault,” he responds hastily. “Told you to take your time.”

And, to hell with his dignity— 

“One more, please?” he asks, his tone just a little breathless. 

You’re laughing, again. Not at him, hopefully. He can’t bring himself to care, though, because your hand is already at the back of his neck, tugging him down. 

“One more,” you murmur.

Birthday wishes be damned. A quiet voice in the back of Joshua’s head whispers a disbelieving this is happening as he goes to kiss you again, knowing fully well by the way you respond that this won’t be the last time. 

It’s a fulfilled promise. 

This is happening. We’re happening.

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ we could happen by aj rafael. what are you doing new year's eve? by zooey deschanel and joseph gordon-levitt. 7PM by bss and peder elias. tell me it's not a dream by 10cm. fallen by lola amour.

240525 #joshua 🦌 carats, thank you always. i will work hard to live up to the love that carats give me. so i'll be continue to be in your care. yoshi yoshi~ carats, the moon is pretty.

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[harpsinfinity]

An eventful reunion

Leon kennedy X afab!fem!reader

Genre: smut, fluff

WC: 0.7k

To feel, to hold you was a blessing after being kept away from you for so long. The countless days and nights Leon had dreamt of holding you. Now that he was free from whatever freak of nature monsters were after him, he could indulge. Indulge in you, his love.

"oh fuck angel- I've missed this"

He grunted, face hidden in the crook of your neck as he pushed in and out of you at a slow, gentle pace. He had laced your fingers together and crushed you with his body weight. He wanted, no he needed to be as close to you as possible.

The soft moans you fed into his ear made his head spin and cock twitch inside of you. It almost didn't feel real, yet it was. Your body was so soft against his, untouched by the harsh world around, not tainted like his. His rough, calloused skin from all the years of fighting and pain.

But right now, he was free from that. He was free to feel the soft curves of your waist, the swell of your chest, the silky locks of hair on your head. He had it all, he never wanted to let it go. He couldn't.

Your voice, your beautiful, soft voice brought him back to the real world he was in, calling out to him like a saviour, a lifeline. You were the one to bring him clarity, sense. Without you, the world didn't make sense, like you were the missing puzzle piece in his life.

"Leon, baby, missed this too, missed you. Wanted nothing more than to see your face"

Leon felt his heart swell and his chest puff out, he needed you like he needed air. You were his everything. His lips connected with yours once more, no toungue, no teeth smashing together, no. Just sweet and gentle, slotting together like they were made for eachother.

From your angle, he looked so beautiful. The moonlight shone through his golden locks, those ocean eyes gazing into yours with such a lovesick, sweet gaze. He looked ethereal, like a carefully sculpted statue. It made you want to come on the spot right there and then

You gasp softly as one of his hand leaves yours to rub a rough thumb on your twitching clit. Earning and whimper from you, paired with clamping down on him, causing a groan to erupt from his throat. His adams apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed thickly at the ethereal sight beneath him.

His hips increased in speed all that slightly, both chasing his and your orgasm. You moaned into the kiss, heat pooling in your stomach and beginning to push you onto the edge. Your grip tightening on his hands.

Your legs wrapped around his waist and your head tipped back. Giving him the chance to plaster even more soft, slow kisses which had your head reeling. It was so soft, so intimate. This kind of sex has you so pliant and melty beneath him, it was definitely your favourite part of welcoming him back home.

"come on honey, give it to me, you can do it"

Your soft ah ah ah's begin to increase in volume and frequency as your eyes roll back and your form trembles and twitches beneath him. Leon could feel himself getting close, he was trying to hold himself to get the opportunity to come at the same time as you.

"mhh- Leon, I love you !" You squeal as you smush your lips to his desperately as you tipped over the edge, your release coating him and the sheets. You went limp, laying there and taking the rest of his short, gentle thrusts.

Leon groaned, letting himself go shortly after you, warm come painting your slick walls. You both bask in the afterglow, bundled in Leon's strong, bulky arms. He rested his forehead against yours, breathing a sigh of content with you at the now proper reunion you two had. Beginning to fade out of consciousness, Leon murmurs his reply, his voice sweet like honey.

"I love you always, my angel"

[rosie-posie1313]

Robert 'Bob' Reynolds Fic Recs

06/09/2025

⭒ The ghost I left behind by @brookghaib-blog

Y/N and Bob had a life before he disappear, full of love, hope, and a lot of chaos, but they managed each other, she was the only one who truly could make him avoid the void inside his mind. How could he turn his only light into a shadow in his mind ?

⭒ The ghost I left behind - II by @/brookghaib-blog

⭒ Accident by @upl0aded

you and bob had always been perfect, you kept him happy and he kept you satisfied. but what happens when a buried memory accidentally gets revived?

⭒ going out by @mallory524

shing to defend him when he gets overwhelmed and people aren’t kind to him.

⭒ 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃. By @bloodybreakupscene

although he isn't aware it's even a thing, you're bob's comfort person, his safe space.

⭒ maybe one day  by @fireinmoonshot

Every time you wake up from a nightmare, Bob is there to help you get back to sleep. This time, however, is a little different.

⭒ Something for you by @layla4567

Y/n doesn't know that Bob likes her, but she wonders why he acts weird when she's being nice, maybe she has a sneaky suspicion

⭒ Back To You by @callsign-swan

Valentina finds a way to control Bob and The Sentry: His wife

⭒ Sneaking Around by @/callsign-swan

Bob doesn't mean to be sneaking around. But he can't help it. He's got a secret, and he wants to keep it that way. Too bad he's best friends with Yelena Belova.

⭒ Catalyst I by @shadowbriar

For once, he actually let himself grow comfortable in the gentleness of another.

⭒ ❝ 𝐨𝐡, 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬. ❞ by @swordgrace

plagued by nightmares, bob takes comfort in the one person who’s pulled him from the shadows time and time again — you.

⭒ archives room by @owastie

you’re tasked with searching through the archives room to find some information on a new threat

⭒ Here Now  by @countlessimagines

The past seems to always haunt you.

⭒ Threads of Memory by @pink-petal-horns

⭒ Only you by @woantohae

Bob's dark, evil entity, The Void, appears when you least expect it. The rest of the team must be prepared to confront him and his prevailing malice. However, there is only one person on the team with whom he has a soft spot. And it's her

⭒ Nothing’s gonna stop us now by @/woantohae

Y/N is pulled into the Void by the dark entity that takes over Bob. The team prepares to go after her, while Y/N and Void seem to get a little closer. But at the same time, the past and traumas can be revived.

⭒ Thunderbolts by @/woantohae

What happens when a group of "bad people" needs to assemble to fight something bigger than them?

⭒ In my arms by @/woantohae

The Thunderbolts are constantly on missions, busy trying to do good and save whoever they can. One of them was Bob Reynolds, the defenseless yet powerful man who is part of this team and family. However, he doesn't participate in these missions so he can continue practicing controlling his powers.

⭒ dating headcnaons by @gay-dorito-dust

⭒ relationship headcanons by @/gay-dorito-dust

⭒ soft moments Void has with sunshine reader by @/gay-dorito-dust

⭒ Void by @trainer-from-unova

they were getting used to bob and void. most of the time they dealt with bob, who was shy and respectful — and on the other side was void, who thought he was superior to everyone (or almost everyone) and could get on their nerves a lot of the time, but they had learned that, for some reason, most of the time he only showed up when the former was alone with _______, so they tried not to let those situations happen.

⭒ a second by @/trainer-from-unova

void started feeling something about you, and when he discovered that bob was your boyfriend he felt frustrated.  wanting to live what he lived every day he convinced you that kissing him or having sex with him wasn't being unfaithful since they both share the same body.

⭒ muscle memory by @/trainer-from-unova

on the few occasions that void was present he couldn't help but turn his neck in the direction ______ was facing, fix his eyes on her, prick up his ears when he heard her voice, and even felt the urge to take her hand. those were things, or rather according to him, distractions that got on his nerves.

⭒ told you I’ll be waiting, hiding from the rainfall by @fallenprophets

he left you in Malaysia, volunteering for a study he promised would make him “better”. You’ve almost come to terms with the fact that he’s gone, when you see him again.

⭒ Peace and Quiet by @scarletmika

Sometimes the tower is too loud, and Bob can feel himself getting overwhelmed. He’s always found comfort with you, in your room, where he can find peace and quiet whenever he needs it. And you’ll never turn him away, finding the same comfort in him.

⭒ Stay With Me by @/scarletmika

Bob wants to feel useful, to truly be part of the team, but the others don’t think he’s ready. You take it upon yourself to teach him control, to guide him through. But mistakes will be made, and it might not be possible to keep the darkness from creeping back in once more.

⭒ Always by @/scarletmika

Bob stayed with you, just as you asked, and life couldn’t be better. But the past always has a way of catching up with you, no matter how hard you try and push it away and leave it behind. Now, it’s Bob’s turn to save you.

⭒ xerox Part one by @ichorai

you had one last job before you were free. no more splitting, no more deaths. unfortunately, that job seemed to rope in four other assassins and a… a man in hospital-wear?

⭒ 𝐇𝐂: 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 by @wynnerwynner

⭒ “𝐔𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠”  by @ang3ltine

Bob was asleep for God knows how long, now that he has the chance at a better life. Who better to show him than you?

⭒ So High School by @pagesfromthevoid

⭒ how robert reynolds quietly shows you that he’s in love with you by @attalew

⭒ Dating Bob Headcanons by @sacredsorceress

⭒ Reconnection by @jaesvelvet

You’ve been longing for Robert Reynolds for seven years now. No matter how hard you try to let him go, your heart refuse to do so but after a weird moment of being trapped in your own nightmare, you finally found Robert. On a local news along side with the new Avengers.

⭒ A little bit of jam by @violetrainbow412-blog