mahmahmahmysharona

[mahmahmahmysharona]

[mahmahmahmysharona]

When you and Bob have your first time…twice (pt. 2)

Bob Reynolds x Avenger Reader (Part 6/6)

*smut warning*

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5

You and Bob managed to get past your seemingly failed attempt at sleeping together pretty quickly.

If anything, it calmed you. You knew now that it couldn't be rushed, especially for the both of you. Too much pressure and one of you might implode — and considering one of you is arguably the most powerful person in the universe, it wasn't really a risk worth taking.

So, you let it be. For exactly a week, until you were sent out on a last minute mission.

It went terribly.

The fact that they saw you coming wasn't your fault — but Ava's near-miss and subsequent injuries were.

You were supposed to be covering her. But then you got distracted trying to reload a gun, and before you knew it she was on the floor, a blade sticking out of her side because she wasn't able to ghost-out in time and you weren't paying attention to warn her.

She stayed conscious, which was a good sign, but the return back to the tower was horrific, watching Yelena switch out bloody bandages and trying to keep her awake.

You, meanwhile, were a mess. You cried when you thought nobody was looking. How could you be so stupid? You had only one purpose in life — only one thing you were really good for — and you failed at that, too. If you couldn't help protect your team, then what was the point?

Ava could read your mind, telling you, "It's okay. It's not your fault." She was even cracking jokes by the time you arrived back. You smiled and nodded, but the smile faded as soon as you helped get her down to rest and you returned to your room. When you caught yourself in the mirror, you were taken aback. You hadn't even realized the extend of your own hits. You looked like shit, which only added to your dismay.

Then, right on cue, the door creaked open. Bob. He stepped inside, just as he always did after you got back.

You were certain you'd never seen anyone else in your life make the expression he made in that moment: like their heart is climbing up through their throat.

"I heard things went bad," he said. He moved towards you, but you stepped back. You didn't want to be held right then. You didn't deserve it.

"I'm just...gonna take a shower," you told him. You didn't even wait for a response. You went into the bathroom, stripped your clothes, and stood under the water, trying to scald yourself of your misery and guilt.

What good are you?

By the time you got out and wrapped a towel around yourself, you expected Bob to have given up and returned to his own room. But when you stepped out, he was still there, sitting on a chair and playing with his fingers. Of course he wouldn't give up on you. And then you feel even worse for thinking he might have done.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, standing up.

God, you thought. You don't deserve any of this. Him. Them. This job. Your eyes welled up with threatening tears, and you wiped them away before they even had a chance to fall.

"I failed to do my job, it's as simple as that," you said. "Now Ava's in for a difficult recovery, and the team won't trust me."

"Of course they will."

You shook your head. "I'm only valuable because of what I can do, not because of who I am. And now I've just proved I can't even do that. Maybe they don't even need me."

You laughed, because it was all you could bear to do. You didn't even know what you needed, what would lessen some of the burden that had been nipping at you since you stepped foot back in the tower.

But Bob did. He saw you standing there, all your well-concealed self-hatred finally coming to the surface, and there was only one way he could think to stop it in its tracks.

He reached forward and took your arm in his hand, pulling you towards him. When you reached him, he wrapped his other arm around your waist and kissed you deeply.

You stumbled a little, not expecting this, and from Bob of all people. But he had you. He always had you, and as he kissed you, you found yourself melting under his grip.

It took a lot of strength to reach up and wrap your arms around his neck, but you managed. Then you were on each other, pressed against one another as close as you could without wondering when the universe might collapse in on itself between you, right there.

He was pulling you out of your own mind, like you had done for him so many times before. It was intoxicating for you both. You wouldn't have been surprised if things had stopped there — if you had both pulled away from the edge before you'd toppled over it — but you were surprised when you suddenly felt his hand drop down to the back of your thigh, dripping the skin there through your towel.

"I need you," he said into your ear. You could feel the words slipping into you and making your spine tingle. "Can I have you now?"

"Yes." You think you said it. Maybe you didn't say anything at all. But suddenly, you felt his hand gripping the towel at your back and tearing at it, pulling it free and dropping it to the ground beside you. Jesus, was this real? You only needed to look at his eyes, which looked you up and down with almost painful reverence, to confirm that it was.

Then he was on you again, his palms dragging against your bare skin and leaving trails of goosebumps all over as he kissed you harder, faster. He moved you around to position himself on the side of the bed, using his hands to bring you to him until you stood between his knees.

He pressed his kisses against your stomach, your ribs, the mounds of your breasts, leaving you breathless and gripping onto his hair just to keep yourself upright. But that was nothing compared to what he did next, dragging his lips down to where your thighs met, where you were already wet and waiting for him.

When his tongue found you, you gasped. Despite all the things you'd done, all the chaos you'd seen, nothing had thrown you as much as the feeling of his tongue lapping at you, grabbing handfuls of your thighs and pressing you onto his mouth even more.

"Holy shit," you breathed, pulling at his shirt. You wanted it gone. You wanted him to be as exposed as you, ready for you to climb on top of him and take him in. But he wasn't letting you, instead grabbing your hands and pulling them down by your sides, holding you there.

You wondered briefly if this was still Bob. But then he loosened his grip and ran his thumb across your wrist, and you knew it was. This was just a new side of him you never even knew he had.

Honestly, Bob didn't know he had this in him either. It astounded him that at times he wasn't able to put one foot in front of the other without messing up, but now, he had you wrapped around his little finger. He hated having such little control over his own life, always at the mercy of the darkness that hid inside him. But now, he was taking control, and there wasn't anything dark or regretful about it. In fact, he thought he could have burst into a ball of light right then and there, listening to the sound of your whimpers.

"Please," you said. "I want— I want you."

When his mouth left you, you were finally able to wrestle his shirt off of him. And as he leaned back, you took the chance to press him down onto the bed and mount him, taking his face in your hands and pressing your mouth against his like it was the only oxygen in the room.

Underneath, he shifted to remove his pants, and you finally felt his hard length pressing against you. You ground down onto him, earning a moan from him into your neck. There was no rush, but you felt as though you might pass out if you didn't have him soon. You reached down and freed him from his underwear, your breath hitching in your throat as you felt him bound against your core.

He was already reaching down, positioning himself at your entrance. "Jesus," he breathed. "You're perfect."

"You couldn't bring yourself to say anything to that. What was there to say? Instead, you gently perched at the tip of him, then lowered yourself onto him, slowly.

Someone whimpered. Someone gasped. It was hard to tell anything anymore, since the only thing you could focus on was how perfectly he fit into you. How good it was to feel him in the pit of you. As you rocked yourself on top of him, rising and falling with the lift of his hips, his hands found your face and used it to lower you down to meet him.

He kissed you, your bodies grinding together in a quickening pace, desperate to get closer, deeper. But there was nowhere else to go. Nobody had ever got this close to you before, and you hoped he could tell that just by the pounding of your heart. (He had to feel that too, right?)

When you felt one of his hands slip between you both, his thumb finding your core and caressing it, you could barely stop yourself from letting out a yelp. Instead, you settled for moaning his name, and he suddenly reacted with a new urgency.

You were growing close and wanted to tell him as much, but there was no way in the world you could form any sort of words right now. Instead, you grabbed his free hand, locking your fingers together and squeezing it tight. You found the wave, finally letting out a small cry as you finished. When you came to, his hand had found the base of your throat, and he was whispering in your ear feverishly, "I'm gonna— Can I—"

"Yes, yes, please."

That was all he needed. He buried himself in you, shuddering with his final thrusts and pressing his face into your shoulder. You waited until you were fully certain he was through — and then a few moments longer to catch your breath — before lifting yourself off and settling on the bed next to him. Between you both, your hands found each other.

"You didn't break anything," you told him after a while. "What does that mean?"

You didn't look at him, but you could hear him smiling. "It means it was perfect," he said, exhausted. "Was it— good for you?"

"Of course."

Everything else — the mission, the dread, the future — that would come back to you. It would never go away. But now it was different, because you had each other. Two fucked-up peas in a pod, trying to find some grasp on reality. He was your reality now, and he was rolling over to press his lips against your cheek.

You regretted nothing.

(That's the last of this miniseries, but open to requests if anyone has ideas for Bob one-shots they want to see!)

Tag list: @purplefluffycows @i-shall-abide @avengersinitiative2012 @tatsunesworld @lovelyypythoness @yujyujj @tortilla-chips-and-allioli @thek8archive @k1ttyjuice

[mahmahmahmysharona]

When you and Bob have your first time…twice (pt. 1)

Bob Reynolds x Avenger Reader (Part 5/?)

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Here is what you learned about Bob after the kiss:

He loved kissing. Seriously, anytime you two were left alone, he was on you. In the day, these were light and quick, stolen out of the air in small moments of privacy. At night, when you two could hide out somewhere in the tower, they could be long, feverish kisses that left you both off-balance.

He stayed up late and woke up early. You never know what he did between those hours, but you were always dozing off before he did, and when you woke up, he’d already be alive to the world, watching the sunrise through the window or staring up at the ceiling. You wished you could learn the sound of him sleeping.

He waited up for you on nights when you headed out on missions. No matter how small, how easy, he was always there when you got back. (Apparently, he always did this.) Now, when you headed back to your room in the early hours, you’d barely touch your door before you heard his creaking open and felt him reaching out for you. He would follow you inside and watch you get ready for bed, climbing in beside you and letting you nest your head in the crook of his shoulder. Soon, it became the only way you could sleep at all.

You and Bob tried to hide your new relationship as much as you could at first.

You both acted normal in front of the rest of the team, but found solace in spending the nights hidden in one of your rooms. Honestly, it wasn't much different to what you were doing before — only this time, there was a newfound level of physical intimacy you were both trying to adjust to.

You hadn’t been in a relationship for years, thanks to your newfound status as an enhanced being and your never-ending line of duty. And Bob…well, Bob had his own reasons for a gap in his resume.

To put it bluntly, neither of you were novices in this particular field, but you weren’t exactly pros, either.

But it was undeniable: You both wanted each other. Now that you were allowed to, it was hard not to let the nights were you held each other get overheated fast. But you both broke away before things got in too deep. It became harder and harder, especially the more you fell for him.

Putting it down to a combination of shyness and lack of experience, you decided one day that it would be best to bite the bullet and take the plunge.

"Bob," you said one afternoon in the kitchen, with you and Bob eating lunch and hiding your joined hands under the counter. "Do you want to have sex with me?"

He let out a noise: half a laugh, half a strangled choke. "...What?" he asked.

"You heard me."

"Uh..." He looked around. It took him a few coughs to clear whatever food was now stuck in his throat from the double take. "Yeah. I mean, of course. Do you?"

"Yes." You picked some of the crust off your sandwich. You hadn't planned the conversation beyond this point. "Then I think we should. Tonight?"

He blinked. Then, remembering himself, he nodded, trying to match your professional tone. "Okay. Uh...looking forward to it."

You laughed: thank god. That was done with. And soon, you'd both have gotten over the initial awkwardness, and the real fun could begin.

That night, you waited up, wore your pyjama shorts and tank (the only thing you had that could even remotely be considered as alluring) and sat on the edge of your bed. You waited until you heard a knock at the door, and Bob came in.

He shut the door behind him and waited, softly smiling. There was too much waiting going on. "Hey. Come here," you told him, patting the mattress next to you. He moved over to your side, but you both remained in your own spot.

Eventually, he broke the silence. "I didn't know if you wanted me to get...stuff," he said. "Or if you already had."

"Stuff?"

"Condoms," he clarified. It wasn't a word you thought you'd hear Bob say when you first met him. Mind you, you never thought you'd be sitting here with him, getting ready to do what you were about to do. (Or at least, what you thought you were about to do.)

"Oh," you let out a small, breathy laugh. "Don't worry about that. It's not a problem."

He mimicked your laugh, not quite knowing why. "It's not?"

"I can't get pregnant. So, you know, it's your lucky day."

His eyebrows knitted together. "...What do you mean?"

"Just because of...what happened to me. The serum changed my biology. They said a lot of normal stuff isn't possible for me anymore."

You've told people this fact before enough times for it to become painless. But now, seeing the shattered look on Bob's face, you suddenly remembered the weight of it once again. You shifted in your seat, tearing your gaze away from him.

"I'm sorry," he said, resting his hand on your thigh. "...We don't have to do this if you don't want. Not tonight."

You snapped your eyes back up to him. You didn't want pity. You didn't want time. You wanted normalcy. You wanted him. You leaned forward and kissed him, bringing your hand up to his face and pulling him in.

He hesitated, but reciprocated as soon as he knew it was okay for him to do so. You stayed like this for a while, your lips moving against each other as you inched closer and closer. When his hand gripped your thigh harder, you took a sharp breath in. The sound seemed to flip a switch in him, and he brought his other arm to your hips, pulling you in and closing the gap between you.

You followed the movement and lifted yourself up, throwing your leg over him and resting yourself on his lap. Your arms looped around his neck, and you felt his hands grip handfuls of flesh on either side of your thighs.

"Do you want me, Bob?" you asked into his lips.

"Yes," he gasped in return. "You know I do."

In response, you rocked your hips against him, feeling the firm pressure underneath. He let out a soft moan, gripping you tighter, wrapping his arms around you. His lips found your cheek, your chin, your neck, striking the balance between pressing softly and giving away the hunger he was feeling from having you on top of him.

Your mouth found his earlobe, and you nipped at the skin there. "God," you heard from below you.

Taking that as a sign, you gently pushed him backwards until he was laying flat on the bed with you mounted above him. At being distanced from you suddenly, he appeared agitated, reaching up and grabbing you by the arms to pull you down and kiss you once more.

You rocked back and forth, increasing the friction between you, feeling him harden impossibly between your thighs. At seeing his face — a muddled mix of pleasure and concentration — you reached your hand down between you and guided your palm over him. The exhale he released was low and loaded. He was trying to hold back, and you didn't want him to.

As you slipped your hand along the border of fabric and firm muscle, one of his hands found your hair, hooking a handful and tugging gently. Finally breaking through, you reached down and took him in your grip. At the feel of him, you let out a soft hum, but he was nothing compared to the gasp that came from him.

"Shit," he said. "Oh, shit."

You held him in your hand, gently and slowly moving up and down, enjoying the feeling of his hips rising up to yours with each motion. He pulled on your hair even more, bringing your face down to his so your breaths became entangled between you. You increased your movement, pumping your hand harder. Bob moaned into your mouth, and you couldn't help it — your own moan followed, his name coming out right alongside it—

Suddenly, there was the sound of shattering glass. A lot of it.

A yell echoed from across the tower: "Holy hell!"

You and Bob sat bolt upright. You looked at him. He looked at you. You were both pink in the face and panting. It only took a second — and god, you didn't want to — but you slipped off him and went to the door.

"What the hell was that?" you asked, still feeling the knocks of your heart against your chest pounding through you.

"Uh...I think...I think that was me."

You turned to look at Bob. He was still sitting there, still at attention, now with a slightly bashful look painted on his face. You looked at him and back at the door.

"I'll be right back," you told him. You slipped outside, wandering towards the kitchen. When you got there, Walker is standing in the dark, in his pyjamas, staring at a pile of broken glass. It seemed every glass in the cabinet exploded, shattering fragments across the kitchen. Walker looked at you, dumbfounded.

"I just came in for some water, I swear to god," he said.

"Well..." You paused. "You know where the dustpan and brush is."

As you walked back to your room, you heard him yell, "But I didn't do this!"

"I don't see anyone else in the room with you!" you called back.

When you returned to your room, you were disappointed to see Bob standing, seemingly recovered from the position you were in not just a few minutes ago. Seeing your confusion, he came to you, grabbing your arms and pulling you closer.

"Is it a mess?" he asks, pressing his lips to your head.

"Yes. You really did that?"

"I guess so. I think I got overwhelmed, but in a good way. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I’m sorry. Maybe I pushed this too hard and too fast. I just wanted…I just wanted us to—”

“I know. Me too.”

God, now you wanted him even more. He’d never believe it if you told him, but you honestly thought that out of everyone in the building, Bob was the only one who ever said what you wanted to hear. You reached out and pulled him in. You felt his hand at the back of your neck, stroking the skin there. You wanted him again, and he wanted you (you could tell from the sound of his fluttering heartbeat by your cheek), but you wanted to let it be. You wanted to wait.

Turns out, you wouldn’t have to wait for much longer after all.

Coming soon: …Pt. 2.

Tag list: @purplefluffycows @i-shall-abide @avengersinitiative2012 @tatsunesworld @lovelyypythoness @yujyujj

[mahmahmahmysharona]

When you and Bob try to stay away from each other and fail miserably.

(Bob Reynolds x Avenger Reader) Part 4/?

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

Over the next few weeks, you found yourself falling apart. Not enough for everyone to notice, but enough for you to feel it.

You missed him. You missed your friend. And unfortunately, now that you knew you loved him, Bob's absence hurt you.

Maybe you did something wrong. Maybe you didn't. Bob is a complicated person with a complicated past. Perhaps he just changed his mind about wanting to know you.

You found yourself staying in your room to avoid accidently coming across him (you didn't need to bother: Bob was also hiding out in his room for the same reason), and this raised questions from the others. But you shrugged them off, not wanting to spill your secrets and worries when it looked like they might not even matter anymore.

Things aren't helped by the fact that Bob was getting worse. Not that you witnessed it, but the others made sure to mention it to you. He seemed more agitated, more careful than usual. He was talking to himself again. He was jumpy, too. It scared you. You wanted him to be okay.

Finally, you could both stand to be in the same room again. But there was little eye contact, and only conversation when necessary. ("Can you pass the milk?") You hated it.

If you had more courage, you would have told him that you couldn't stand him not being around you, and how unfair it is to lose someone just when you realised you loved them.

You would happily pretend not to if it would make him come back to you.

Things came to a head one afternoon when Bucky and Walker came to blows. Walker, resorting to pointing out the flaws of other team members in order to defend himself, ended up using Bob as collateral damage, calling him "the world's worst house pet."

Bob was standing right there. Walker didn't mean it. It was a cheap shot. But Bob took it personally. You should see his his fists curl up and a sadness wash over his eyes. He slipped out of the room, unnoticed by the others in the chaos of the fight.

You were furious. Raging. If you couldn't help Bob like you used to, you could sure as hell still stick up for him. You crossed over and knocked Walker to the ground, slamming your fist into his nose.

Walker yelped, but he fought back. He always fought back — you made him promise never to go easy on you in training, so why should he now?

The fight lasted a good while, and the others even got bored and wandered off. Eventually, you both called it quits, somewhat unsure of who actually won. But you were fairly certain he got the message you were trying to send.

Afterwards, you headed back to your room, your cheek scraped and jaw bruised from the scrap. You were about to go inside when you heard a crack from across the hall. Bob.

You rushed inside his room without knocking. He was pacing the floor, rubbing his wrists together. Talking to himself. To him. Behind him, a fist-sized patch of the wall crumbled inward.

"Bob," you said, stepping forward. His fist wasn't bloody — he doesn't get injured as easily as you — but he looked shaken. When he saw you, he stepped backwards. God, it hurt you to see him look at you like that.

"Please, don't come any closer," he said. "Something's happening to me."

The tremor in his voice and the self-hatred you felt even from where you stood was enough to make you move towards him again. "You're upset, that's all," you said. "Ignore Walker, he was just heated. You were in his eyeline, and you're an easy target. He was out of line."

"Except he's not out of line," Bob said. When you reached out for him, he shifted away, suddenly alert. He told you again to stay back. It was the worst he's been in a while, and he didn’t know what would happen to you if you touched him.

"I'm here with you," you told him. It's the best you could do if he wouldn’t let you go any closer. His eyes were red with restrained tears.

He continued, "I'm the most useless person here, and even if I weren't, I'd be the most dangerous."

"I don't believe that. I don't believe it for a second."

"None of you are safe with me."

"I'm safe with you, Bob."

He looked at you. You could practically hear his heart splintering into a thousand pieces beneath his ribs. "How can you be sure?"

You once told him that if he ever got lost, you'd find him. You'd crawl through your worst memories to bring him back. He was lost now, right in front of you, and you needed him. He needed to know you trusted him, that you'd give him everything on blind faith alone, because you believed in him.

You reached out, grabbed him by the shirt, and pulled him into you. You kissed him. His body stiffened under your touch, but he didn't pull away. Your lips moved against his, trying to say a hundred things without speaking at all. I'm safe. You're safe. We're safer together.

You kissed him for god knows how long, until you needed to come up for air and you heard him choke out, "I—I don't know if I can—"

But he could. You knew he could. You took his arm and wrapped it around you, holding onto him for dear life as you did so. His hand hooked onto your shirt and grasped the fabric tightly. A lifeline. He was coming back to you, out of the darkness.

"Don't let go of me, okay?" you told him, your lips grazing his mouth again. He nodded, tightening his grip on you. You kissed him, and his time, he kissed you back. At the feeling of it, you became undone. Suddenly, it was you who needed to be held. You'd never felt like this, and it was almost too much. Between kisses, you heard yourself begging him, "Don't let go of me.”

He held you firmly, and when he pulled away to speak, his voice was calmer. He pressed his forehead against yours, lips skimming your own as he said, “I won't.”

And he didn’t. He didn’t even when you had to pull away from the kissing for good, dizzy and breathless. When you finally looked at him again, he was flushed, his nostrils flaring with loaded breaths. But he was calmer. He was back. And more importantly, he was holding you steady. Weren’t you supposed to be supporting him right now?

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“Yeah. …How did you know to do that?”

“Honestly, I didn’t know if that would do anything. Worth a shot.”

He caught your eye, and before you knew it, his thumb was touching your cheek, just below the fresh grazing.

"Did you have this before?" he asked.

"I beat the shit out of Walker. I'll admit, he got some good punches in."

Finally, he laughed. Then you. When you both regained yourselves, you worked up the nerve to say something — something you’ve been wanting to say since that day in the elevator.

“Bob…” you began. “I’m not sure I can be your friend anymore.”

His first reaction was one of hurt, and it’s one you’re far too used to seeing on his face. But once he understood what you were saying, he nodded.

“I don’t think I can either.” You felt his hands tighten at your back, and he whispered, “I'm going to ruin this.”

“No, you won’t. And even if you wanted to, I wouldn’t let you.”

“How can you be sure?”

When the words landed, you both caught each other’s eyes and smiled. Right before you pulled him down to you, your lips meeting again, and the world disappearing once more.

Next time: When it’s yours and Bob’s first time…twice.

Tag list: @purplefluffycows @i-shall-abide @avengersinitiative2012

[mahmahmahmysharona]

When Bob realizes he's in love with you, and it sucks even more.

(Bob Reynolds x Avenger Reader) Part 3/?

Part 1 // Part 2

It took you a while before you figured out your true feelings for Bob. Unfortunately for him, he knew from the beginning.

Seriously. From the moment he laid eyes on you in that death trap where you all almost suffered a violent, fiery end, he was gone.

And, let's be honest, terrified.

You were beautiful, formidable, and watched him with this calculating stare that looked like a scowl if he caught it at the right moment. And he understood why. You were keeping your guard up until you were sure who he was and whether you could trust him.

Whatever this feeling brewing was, he knew it was unusual. He knew it was precious. And he knew it was dangerous. How did he know? Well, it was the only thing that hadn't made him feel like utter shit in years.

And, despite everything, he knew that things like happiness and hope were only tools that The Void could use against him. And maybe Void was right — he didn't deserve anything. At least, not anything good.

And you were good. You had a laugh that danced across the room, a sharp wit, and a bravery that he could only dare to dream about possessing one day. He watched you for months, carefully. And then you started talking to him.

It freaked him out. He didn't want it. He didn't want to get closer to you, because he didn't trust himself to handle it right. He couldn't handle anything right. So he withdrew into himself, trying not to give you any reason to want to talk to him more.

But damn it, you kept trying. And then, that one day, he had to give you a reason. He said he was scared. Of you. Which is only half true, because he knew all you really wanted to do was help people. And you quickly proved yourself by helping him, shaking hands and cementing a friendship.

And suddenly, his new family became something more. The others cared about him, looked after him, helped him learn how to live again. But you soon became the thing he lived for. He looked for you every time he walked into a room. He listened to your radio updates on the comms, and he stayed up on nights when you were out on missions. He never said anything to you when you returned — he just wanted to hear the sound of your bedroom door clicking shut, signalling that you were back. (And alive, more importantly.)

You snuck him out to the movies that one time, and he hated it. He couldn't stop thinking of it as a date, which it definitely wasn't, but it gave him this horrific feeling of not knowing how to act. He looked around the room to see if he could get cues on what other couples were doing around them. But then you'd squeezed his arm, and he didn't feel so stressed. (Actually, maybe he didn't hate it at all.)

The nightmares and tiptoeing around his own emotions eased up around you. There was an ease he hadn't felt in...well, ever. And when those old horrors did bubble up, you were always there. Soon, he couldn't imagine how it could have ever been any different.

So yeah, he loved you quickly. But he didn't even know that's what it was until one night, when you'd fallen asleep on the couch. He knew you hated sleeping like that — it made your neck stiff — so he nudged you awake.

You woke up, looked towards him, and smiled. Your eyes were still lidded with sleep, you brushed your hair from your face, and you said, voice throaty, "Hmm. Hey, Bob."

And, honestly, that was it. Nothing profound or anything. He just watched you wake up, like he'd done before. But that was it. He was yours.

Or at least, he would have been. The next day, he walked you to the jet and took your hand in his, because for the first time, he was worried that there was a slight chance you wouldn't come back. You were more than capable, he knew that. But bad things happened to people he cared about — he didn't dare think about what could happen to someone he loved.

But he didn't need to think about it. His nightmares did that for him. That night, his spinning mind was quickly invaded by him. And he brought out the big guns: visions of you, bruised, beaten, brutal fantasies that dripped in blood.

And, for good measure, he even made sure Bob remembered what he'd already done to you during his brief life as Sentry, when he's easily toppled each Thunderbolt, including you, grabbing you by the throat and throwing you away like you were made of nothing.

He woke up yelling, covered in sweat and the sheets torn beneath his hands. There was no way he was sleeping after that. He waited until the sun rose and he heard the first clangs of life in the kitchen. The others were up, but you weren't. You weren't sleeping — you were hiding out in your room, consumed by your new revelation.

You didn't want to lose Bob. Let's face it, you needed him. Just because he told you to be careful, that doesn't mean he loved you too. So then what? You profess your new feelings to someone who's emotionally delicate, they freak out, and the most important connection in your life is gone, just like that?

You decided you would go find him. You could both read each other easily, and if you could just look at his face, you'd know if you were crazy or if there was something there.

Bob, meanwhile, was in the kitchen, listening to Bucky recap the night's antics, but not really listening at all. He was waiting for you to walk through the door, to see your face. If he could see your face, he would know what to do.

Then, you walked into the room. You were tired, wired, and weren't feeling like yourself at all. You looked at Bob. He looked at you. For a second, you thought he was going to cross the room and come to you. If he'd done that, you would have thrown yourself at him, asking him what it all means. But he didn't. He looked at you, then looked away. He ignored you completely, walking towards his spot at the window, and picking up his book.

You must be crazy.

Bob sat in his chair, the book trembling between his hands. He could have torn it in two right then if he wanted to. You'd stood there, so beautiful and brilliant, and he loved you. He loved you, and he couldn't. He wouldn’t let himself. He’d lost his family, his future, his sanity, and himself. He’d just about managed to forgive himself for all that, but this would be the end of him if it ended badly.

He's crazy for even thinking he deserved any part of you.

Next: When you and Bob tried to stay away from each other and failed miserably.

[mahmahmahmysharona]

When you realize you might be in love with Bob, and it sucks.

(Bob Reynolds x Avenger Reader) Part 2/?

Part 1

After that day, things completely change between you and Bob.

The awkwardness and silted interactions from before have disappeared, and although it takes a little while to settle into your new dynamic, you quickly realized that you maybe never found yourself as comfortable with anyone as you are with him.

The others in the team were great and all (even though the clash of personalities often ended in yelling matches across the floor while Bob sat in the corner, watching wide-eyed), Bob was different. You soon found your friendship was a quiet one, and you both often knew what the other person was thinking before they even said it.

Eventually, it manifested physically. Instead of asking Bob to pass something across the table, he seemed to know what you wanted before you even knew it yourself, handing over pepper shakers and the TV remote before you'd even opened your mouth.

And the favour was returned. Once Bob opened himself up to you, you began to notice he small patterns and gestures that hinted towards his state of mind. You knew he was unfocused when he fiddled with the page corners of his books. You knew he was restless when he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

You also discovered that Bob, despite his restrained nature, didn't miss a thing. When he didn't think anyone was looking, he scoffed quietly to himself at Walker's grandiose, self-centred praises. He rolled his eyes when Alexei pitched a new, ridiculous marketing opportunity for the team, but only when he deemed it safe to do so.

In these moments, you were reminded that Bob was another person before all this. And maybe, in the darkness of his old life, he was a more daring person. But that Bob was gone, and he masked it all with this new, careful version of himself. You enjoyed all of him, even the little slips of attitude you didn't even know he had.

The others noticed your newfound friendship, and seemed happy that there was at least one other person to help when it came to Bob Duty. But they didn't know just how close you two were growing so quickly.

In time, you found yourself thinking that Bob might be your favourite person in the room. Which, you thought, is probably why he was always he first person you looked for. In the morning, when you said goodnight, and whenever you got back from a mission.

Although neither of you would say it, you didn't want this new friendship, precious as it was, to be stolen away by the others. You wanted it to grow quietly, privately. So you two developed a ritual, often sitting out on the balcony when everyone else was asleep.

At first, Bob was careful with what he told you. He was self-conscious of his past. He wondered how far he could go back until he hit something that made you suddenly became disappointed with him. And honestly, you felt the same. You were willing to bet that your misdeeds were far greater and bloodier than his, and just as he didn't want to be thought of as a basket case, you didn't want to be thought of as a bad person. And hey, maybe you are, but you certainly don't want him to think of you that way.

But the more nights you spent together, the more you trusted each other. And several months later, you could have written a book for all you knew about him. You knew about his father, where Bob would hide when he yelled, and how he helped clean up the messes afterwards alongside his tearful mother. You knew about the first time he got high. The first time he stole money to buy more. The first time he got beat up by his dealer. You knew all about how he met Val, and his last memories before waking up in that box.

And he knew just as much about you. He knew about your time in the system, how you worked hard to get a good government job and establish a "normal" life for yourself after a childhood that was anything but. He knew how it was all taken away, being involuntarily opted into the serum programme that turned you into a superhuman weapon. How you became Val's toy soldier after she helped clean your record after you killed the wrong person in your quest for revenge.

True, you could write each other's stories now, but neither of them would be fairytales.

You grounded Bob, and he made you feel as though a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. After a while, you both wondered how you would ever cope without having the other person to fall back on. To listen without judgement. To laugh without embarrassment. Really, how did you go this far without each other?

One time, you even snuck him out to the movie theatre, wanting you both to do something normal people did. He hated it. Spent the whole time looking nervously around him, no doubt counting the amount of people in the audience, tallying up the potential fatalities he could cause if something happened. He only relaxed when you placed your hand on his arm, squeezing it, silently telling him, Don't worry, we're safe with you here. (The others were furious when they caught you sneaking back in.)

You knew how to handle Bob when he began to spiral, which, in his defence, was happening less and less these days. It was as simple as talking him down, maybe rubbing the back of his shoulder, or sitting with him in the dark if things were especially difficult. He didn't need talking to — he just felt better if he knew you were there.

The day you realized you were falling in love with him hit you like a train.

Seriously. In your lifetime, you've been beaten, stabbed, thrown from a three-storey building, almost blown up (twice), and shot at more times than you can count. But this really threw you.

Honestly, maybe you just thought this is what friendship is. You'd never had any real friends before to know for sure. That warm feeling in the pit of your stomach when he laughed, the feeling of utter bliss when it was just the two of you, the way your heart jolted slightly when you caught him looking at you from across the room: these were symptoms of a new way of being.

It happened when you, Bucky, and Ava were leaving for a mission. A straightforward break-in of a shady facility — you'd done it at least fifty times before. No big deal. You were bringing the last of the gear up to the elevator, Bob coming up behind you.

"Is it a long one?" he asked, his voice just low enough to ensure the conversation was just between you both. It was a volume you both used plenty of times in the tower.

"We'll be back tonight," you tell him. "Between the three of us, it shouldn't be a drag. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay." He got into the elevator with the three of you, bringing up one of the bags along with him. This wasn't unusual — he often helped out with the prep. It was his way of feeling useful.

The three of you stood in the elevator, silent, waiting for the doors to open onto the tower roof and expose you all to the bright, startling sky.

Then, from behind, you felt Bob's hand clasp around yours.

You two had touched hands before. High fives, or friendly gestures of reassurance, sure. But he was holding your hand, giving it a firm squeeze. A numbness spread up your legs and through your spine, pleasant and isolating. You were stunned. His fingers tightened.

The elevator doors opened, and Bucky and Ava stepped out ahead of you. His hand slipped away, quickly. You were frozen until suddenly, Bob's voice appeared behind you, softly saying, "Be safe."

You turned your head, suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to see his face. And god, you wished you hadn't. He was watching you, his eyes searching yours, hoping you understood what he meant. That by saying "be safe", he really meant, "Come back to me."

And as the last slivers of sun came through, catching his eyes, it hit you. You were falling in love with him, and you had been from the moment you two had shaken hands.

Nobody had ever wanted you, and you learned to not want anybody in return. But in that moment, you would have been willing to rip out your future from the threads of the universe and hand it to him, saying, "Here, it's yours. Have it. Have me."

But you didn't. Ava called your name and you turned back around, walking out of the elevator and onto the jet without looking back at him. You couldn't look back, because you had to do this right. You had to protect Bucky, and Ava, and yourself. You had to get the job done.

And you had to do it carrying the fact that you were now deeply, undeniably, fucked.

Next: When Bob realizes he's in love with you, and it sucks even more.

[mahmahmahmysharona]

When you don't know why Bob doesn't like you, but a relapse forces you to find out.

(Bob Reynolds x Avenger Reader) Part 1/?

You don't think Bob likes you very much. Especially when the situation goes from being a ragtag group of underdogs to a fully blown Avengers Avengerz(!)-living-together-in-the-tower deal.

In fact, maybe he just doesn't think much about you at all. He's quiet, shy even, with most of the team, but on the rare occasions he contributes more than a mere small smile, you're the last person he's talking to.

It doesn't bother you much. So what if Yelena is his keeper, making sure he's alright and keeping a tactful eye on him? Obviously he'd be more open with her. But still, you wonder if you ever said something wrong, or were too harsh on him when you all first met. (Hell, he'd even rather talk to Walker than you, it seems.)

Okay, maybe it bothers you more than you'll admit.

You've never been one to make friends easily, but when you can't even win the affections of someone who literally has the living embodiment of guilt and resentment fighting for dominance inside of him, then there must be something wrong with you.

But you get on with life. The new version of it, anyway. You train, you go on missions, you sleep, and you do it all again. Occasionally, the team starts to develop into something more important to you. They have your back, and you have theirs.

Still, even with all this, Bob doesn't bite. Not when you offer him coffee, not when you ask him about what book he's reading, and not even when you try to crack jokes about the team's questionable public branding.

So you give up. You keep your head down. But then one day, Yelena asks you to hang back from a mission to keep an eye on Bob, who seems to be in his head more than usual.

"Maybe it'll be good for you two," she says, not unsubtly. "Get to know each other a little."

Great. Now you know everyone has noticed the rift between you.

You stay out of his way, poking your head around the corner ever now and again, catching him sitting in front of the window and looking out at the sky. You know better than to ask him if he's okay, so you stay hidden.

Except one time you look out, expecting to see him there, and he's gone. Shit. You've lost the biggest asset and most dangerous weapon in New York.

You quickly head to his room, certain he's fine, but not wanting to be responsible if he's not.

When you get there, the door is partially open, and you gently push it the rest of the way. The lights are out. You look around, and your heart stops when you see a shadow sitting on the bed. A black silhouette, sitting very still. Your head suddenly fills with memories of that day, when you were forced to relive the most horrific snapshots of your past: revisiting some of your most terrible deeds — ones that you can't outrun, even in your sleep, even now. It’s torture without the pain.

Without thinking, you reach back and pull out your gun, pointing it at the shape. Your hands are steady, but only just. You know from experience bullets will do nothing to stop The Void, but if the team comes back and finds your shadow burned into the ground, you at least want them to know that you fucking tried.

As soon as you do, the shadow moves. "Woah, woah," it says. "It's me." It reaches over and switches on the bedside lamp, illuminating the room in a relieving warm glow. It's just Bob, sitting on his bed, looking rightly panicked.

You immediately stand down, hooking your gun back into place. Your heart is still pounding. "Bob. You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were..." Then you immediately feel bad.

"Sorry," he says. "I just wanted to sit in the dark for a while. I should have thought--"

"No, don't apologize."

When you ask him what’s wrong, he’s cagey. You’ve done this dance before — trying to talk to him and getting little in return. He’s okay, you’re okay, so you give a small grunt and decide to leave.

But he stops you, a guilty look on his face. Finally, he explains. He always feels this way when the team leaves for missions, knowing how dangerous he is but hating knowing everyone is in danger. He wants to help, but has no idea how to harness his powers beyond simply controlling them. He looks up at you, suddenly quieter (if that’s even possible) and says that today feels even worse, because the one person who likes him the least is stuck babysitting him.

“Hold on,” you say. “What do you mean?”

Then it all comes pouring out. Bob thinks you hate him. You think Bob hates you. Neither of you hate each other. The realisation makes you laugh, hard. He doesn’t quite get there, but he does crack a confused smile.

Evidently, your resting bitch face paired with his natural shyness has caused a stalemate.

“Bob, I’ve wanted to be your friend this whole time,” you say, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I just stopped trying because you seemed…I don’t know, scared of me or something.”

“I think I am, just a little.”

“Don’t you have the power of a hundred suns or something?”

“A million exploding suns,” he says casually, shrugging. You don’t really know what to say to that until he cracks a smile, and you realise the only response is another laugh.

“Okay, well, for clarity’s sake, can we be friends now?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says. Emboldened, he holds out his hand. You look at it, remembering what happened the last time you accidentally grabbed his hand a year ago in that damn incinerator. (A trip into the "Void Rooms", even when brief, isn't good.) Your recollection must register on your face, because you see his smile drop. He pulls his hand back, but you know that in order for this to work, he has to trust you. And you have to trust him.

You reach out and grab his hand, gripping it firm in yours, shaking it as he wanted you to. Between your fingers, something is happening. There’s an invisible charge. Can he feel it? You shake it off.

“For what it’s worth,” you tell him. “I don’t see you as a burden. Nobody else around here does, either. I think we need you as much as you need us. And don’t be scared of me, because I’m not scared of you.”

That seems to unlock something in him. His shoulders drop, his chest expands and releases with a loaded, relieved breath, and his hand quickly relaxes in yours.

“Well…” he tears his eyes away from your hands, looking back up at you. “…That’s another person I can add to my very small list.” Another thought crosses his mind, causing the smile to fade.

"What would you have done?" he asks. "If it hadn't been me in here? If it had been...the other me? If I'd dragged you back into that place?"

You feel your fingers flex in your palm by your side. You'd go down fighting, is what would really happen. But you can't say that. You have to say something else: something not as desperate but equally true.

"I would have found you," you tell him. "I would have torn through every memory to find you, Bob. And we'd get out of there, just like we did before. Together."

His brow creases, watching you, ringing his hands, torn by some internal conflict you'll never fully understand. But he does soften still, giving you a grateful nod.

You leave him then, giving him the space he obviously wants. But what you don’t know is that he doesn’t want you to leave. He wants to talk to you, to catch up on getting to know you. There’s so much he missed out on, because he’s stupid, and now he wants to do everything he can to make up for it.

What you also don’t know is that, despite being relieved that you two can now be friends, is that soon, there’ll be a whole new problem.

Soon, just being friends won’t be nearly enough for either of you.

Part 2 (aka: When you realize you're falling in love with Bob, and it sucks.)

[mahmahmahmysharona]

A Place for Us (Riff x OC)

It took a moment for him to realise that the world around him had changed. The cool night air was now warm, the sound of car horns and trash cans clanging were now music, and the hard cold surface of the fire escape was a place he didn't ever want to move from.

As they kissed, something inside him stung. Not a pain, but a sting nonetheless. It was a feeling that told him this was the greatest thing he would ever come close to. That nothing else really mattered. Not the Jets, not the Sharks, nothing. He saw something in his mind - a life, a hope - that hung there, just close enough for him to reach out and touch. Something good, something better.

And it scared him half to death.

Based on the 2021 movie adaption. Riff expects an uneventful summer for himself and the Jets, but things turn unexpected when he meets a young women that he becomes infatuated with for reasons that he cannot understand. This, on top of a new gang forming in the West Side, sends him into a tail spin that makes him question everything.

[mahmahmahmysharona]

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bee real, my senior thesis

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The contrast between Tan’s mantra and the rest of the Fab 5’s mantras is sending me.

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i think the biggest communication problem is we do not listen to understand. we listen to reply.

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Teen bedrooms from 80’s movies

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