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qutequeersstuff · 5 days ago

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𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐒𝐊𝐘 - 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖓𝖊

𝐫𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐱 𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐛!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7,214

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: returning to the small wyoming town you were raised after a sharp fall from grace, your music career having turned into mindless pop you were forced to churn out by your manager and now ex, a return to home is just what you need, the perfect place to take a break from the life of a pop star, and also to meet some old faces.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: mentions of drug addiction, drinking, bad highschool memories, cheating, frustrating miscommunication.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: hey pookies, so despite only just finishing one series, i've already started another because im a glutton for self torture. not a huge amount of rhett in this until the end because i wanna get our reader established first, keep an eye out for part two and please message me if you'd like to be added to a taglist.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨

life was nothing but a series of twists and turns, followed by hard fucking drops.

from the moment of your ‘discovery’ by an agent of a recording company just after graduating high school, you’d been pretty damn certain life was going to be absolute roses from here on out. a promised escape from the country town in wyoming to the beaches and glamour of los angeles.

it was exciting, going from a nobody that occasionally sang in a bar or two in your home town to now having an entire team behind you, helping you pump out records and preen you for live performances across america.

maybe you should have known from the beginning it was too good to be true.

with the money that came from your bursting career, do too came the parties, the drinking, the endless supply of anything you wanted at your finger tips, any and all abuse of your health was brushed aside by everybody around you, to the point that as long as they were able to get you awake enough to sit in a makeup chair and put a coffee in your hand, it didn’t matter what you’d done before.

even with all of this, you’d managed to stay afloat with your manager by your side, the man you’d come to think you’d fallen in love with, he’d been there with you the moment you arrived in hollywood, it was only inevitable that you’d have fallen head over heels like an idiot.

he was just the same as the others, allowing you to put your body through hell every night as long as you were able to make him money in the day time, each time pushing you to harder and harder limits. more hours in the studio, songs written faster.

by the time you were four years into your blossomed career, your music had almost completely lost the soul it had started with, power anthems of love and loss reduced into standard pop that came with flashy music videos and tedious choreography.

it was bound to all come crashing down sooner or later in retrospect.

when you’d caught the man you loved in bed with your makeup artist, you’d thought at the very least that he might have at least tried to defend himself, cook up some half baked lie following the basic premise of “it’s not what it looks like.”

instead he’d only smirked at you, making a comment about how nice you looked, an evident jab based on the fact that your makeup was smeared from the night of partying and your glittery clothes were still on.

despite the fact he was your manager, he seemed to have no problem letting you crash completely.

with the tabloids pumping out images of you running out of the hotel looking the way you did, it wasn’t hard to out the pieces together about your issues, scathing headlines painting a picture of a washed up popstar going into a downward spiral.

maybe he hadn’t actually expected you to fire him, expected that you would actually have made sure you weren’t stuck in any sort of binding contracts from the beginning.

because when you’d opened the door of your hollywood home and saw your own father standing there, you couldn’t have held back the cry that left you.

you hadn’t spoken to him for at least a year, when he’d brought up concerns for your partying, the people around you twisted his words, making it seem like a personal attack in a convincing enough way that you’d cut him off entirely, believing in your heart of hearts that he was trying to jeopardise your career.

the day your father had driven almost three days out to LA to find you, when the tabloids had no doubt finally made their way all the way down to wyoming, that was the day you’d hesitantly allowed him to help you get the therapy you needed.

with a few final comments from your lawyer, the official word out was that you’d temporarily retired into rehab, and that you would be spending some time with family while you recovered.

you thanked the stars that you at least had hired a good lawyer, one that actually gave a damn about her job, you’d even dare say about you.

amanda was fresh out of law school when you’d hired her, a risky move, but one that paid off, considering that your ex was now almost penniless, save for the small settlement that had been offered in order for him to keep his mouth shut.

you’d damn well nearly cried all the tears out of your body when you gave her one final hug before getting in your fathers truck and prepared for the long drive back to wyoming.

you really, really didn’t want to go back home, with the embarrassment of public opinion of you, as well as just an overall dislike for the almost deserted town you grew up in, you knew you had to bite the bullet should you be able to recover, as well as try to salvage the damage to your career.

when your mother died, you offered to move your father to los angeles, more than enough money at your disposal to set him on a gorgeous ranch, but he’d refused, always proud; he’d always said he was born in this town, and he’d die in this town.

it was a pity you didn’t share the same sentiment in the slightest.

the long drive had been worsened by the fact that your body was still recovering from the detox you’d been forced to undergo, weak from the horrible sleep you’d been having, and exhausted from all the med’s you had to take afterwards.

you’d managed to almost entirely pass out within about 45 minutes.

even over the span of almost two days and one truck stop, your father had spoken very little.

there was much between the pair of you to be worked out, so much anger shared mutually that needed to be addressed.

when you hadn’t come back to wyoming for your mothers funeral, your father had never sounded more heartbroken over the phone, one of the only times you’d ever heard him genuinely sound like he was gonna start crying any minute.

in your barely sober state, you’d said some words you’d regretted the moment they left your mouth, the guilt eating away at you every day since then, and probably would for the rest of your life.

when you’d finally spotted the welcome sign for the small town you grew up in almost two days later, you couldn’t ignore the growing dread in your stomach, as the buildings came into view, you suddenly felt yourself becoming very conscious of the designer items you were wearing, having become so accustomed to such things that it became the norm in hollywood, but it was most definitely not the norm in wyoming.

the sunglasses pulled over your eyes couldn’t have helped either, considering the golden versace emblem present on the side of them.

intent on at least trying to hide yourself, you pulled your hood over your head and lowered yourself in your seat slightly, keeping your eyes on the road and willing yourself to not be seen by any locals that might remember or recognise you.

this entire town was filled to the brim with people that were proud, loyal; you didn’t have any doubt in your mind that they wouldn’t have the greatest opinion of the girl who ran off to hollywood and came running back home when it chewed her up and spit her back out.

“dad. can we go straight home. please.”

your pleading seemed to have little affect on your father, who only shook his head as the truck came to a stop outside of a diner you’d remembered from your childhood, fond memories of milkshakes and club sandwiches.

“no can do ducky, you remember what the doctor said.”

he held his finger up, reciting the strict instructions he’d been given when he became your official carer for the extent of your recovery.

“food every three hours, lots of greens and lots of protein, last time you ate was at that gas station, and i’d hardly call spicy beef jerky nutritious, you need a meal.”

you’d have been lying if it hurt your heart a little bit how much care he was putting into all of this, the man you’d always known to live off of steak and cornbread had taken the time to research all of nutritional information and requirements going forward.

and you’d treated him like shit and barely spoke to him for an entire year.

in no position to say no, you only pulled your hood further over your face, exiting the pick up truck and crossing your arms in the hope that your clothes wouldn’t be the deadest giveaway in the world, much less the fact that everybody here knew your dad, and by extent, you.

hopefully, a decent meal would at least do you the service of feeling like you actually had a full stomach for the first time in at least a day.

you were thankful you’d managed to keep the meal down, yet you were no less embarrassed when the waitress in the diner looked at you like you were crazy when you asked if they had anything avacado in it, a request you didn’t think was that crazy, seemingly reflecting just how long you’d been away from home.

when you’d arrived at your childhood house on the ranch your father owned, the sounds of horses in the distant pasture welcomed you, a familiar yet at the same time almost foreign sound to you.

one familiar sound however, caught your attention almost like a reflex, your head whipping back around to your father as he gave you a knowing smile.

“there’s no way.” you spoke with shock evident in your voice, only receiving a nod from your father and a shrug of his shoulders.

“i couldn’t find the heart to sell her ducky, you should have known that.”

with that being all the confirmation you needed from your father, you turned back in the direction of the neigh’s you could heard, allowing your feet to move on their own as you walked around the back of the house and to the fenced off area where the horses were kept.

and there she stood, her head shaking as she fussed, seemingly knowing your father was finally home based on the sound of his truck.

the gypsy vanner before you stood proud, her caramel and white colours practically shining in the sun. you thought your father would have sold her, you know how much he would have been able to pick up from selling such a beautiful horse, and with you gone, there was no one around to ride her.

aurora had always had an interesting temperament similar to your own, independent and stubborn, it was no surprise you were made for each other when she first arrived on your farm when you were only seventeen.

you were almost scared to approach the fence where she stood, terrified she wasn’t going to remember you.

even if she did, she gave little response other than staring across at you as you stepped closer, reaching out your arm and running your hand across her head with a visible hesitance.

if she hadn’t recognised you, you knew she would have tried to go for your hand by now, she always did refuse to let anybody ride her except you.

had you know that a reunion with your horse of all things was going to make you this emotional, you would have better prepared yourself.

the childhood pictures lining the walls of the living room in your home told a story that brought with it memories that were both happy and sad.

from the ones of you on aurora all the way up to your high school graduation, it was a colourful group of pictures that seemed to out forward a beautiful happy family.

until you seemed to disappear from the pictures suddenly, leaving pictures of your mother and father at barbecues with extended family, your own face very clearly absent.

already you could feel yourself dreading the emotional unpacking that was going to happen during your time home.

much less the actual unpacking judged by the suitcases that had been placed in your bedroom, the one that had barely changed since you left.

as much as you knew it would have been better to rip the bandaid off and unpack everything, you were so exhausted from the long drive you could hardly bring yourself to do anything except flop on the double bed with the bright purple sheets.

when a knock sounded on the open door, you raised your head to see your father standing there, a fluffy blue towel on his arm, and your various new med’s placed in a labelled container ordered by the days of the week.

“i thought you’d be pretty desperate for a shower huh? long drive.”

even with the overwhelming tension that seemed to remain permanent between you two, your fathers friendly smile and attempted crack of a joke had already started warming your heart just like it used to.

“thanks dad.”

it was all you could muster in that moment, the emotion seeming to take its hold finally as you rose from the bed to take the towel out of his hand and put the med’s on your side table.

“i’ll get started on dinner, then we’ll probably head in for the night, i got an early start tomorrow.”

even now in his older age, he worked hard as ever, with the limited hands on the farm because he was always adamant about not hiring more help than he needed, there was only so much one man could do after all.

nodding your head, you walked past him and headed in the direction of where you remembered the bathroom to be, saying nothing else and not looking behind you as you entered and shut the door.

at least the shower was a sanctuary where you could finally let the gravity of the situation finally wash over you, suddenly feeling so real that it came crashing down as soon as you stepped under the water and wet your hair.

your hand held over your mouth was seemingly enough to only let out silent cries, finally here in the cramped bathroom with the horrible water pressure, did you allow yourself to feel the emotion of everything that had led to you being here now.

putting your body through hell only to do it all over again fighting with detox and withdrawals, you could still feel how delicate of a state you were in, still finding yourself shaking on occasion or zoning out when you were trying to focus.

your war was hardly near over, that was the only thing you were absolutely certain of.

it seemed that your father had been more than happy to let you sleep in, because when you woke up and saw that the time in the clock read almost eleven in the morning, you were shocked you’d managed to get a solid nine hours of sleep.

maybe being back in a bed that was so familiar had done you a world of good already.

your meds were sat on the side table, along with the glass of water you had guessed your father left there for you, ready for you to take your first round of the day, a mix of tablets meant to stabilise both your body and your mind, a delicious cocktail of chemicals to try and make you feel even slightly normal again.

when you’d finally made your way down to the kitchen, a fresh set of lounge wear on, more designer, the fact made you cringe when you’d opened your suit case and realised that you owned nothing except designer, reminding yourself that you’d have to make time to go out to town to find some new clothes that didn’t cost a stupid amount of money.

with a kitchen that was usually left rather unsupplied, you were shocked to open the cupboard and see an array of healthy snacks and a multiple different choices of health foods, obviously your father had done enough research to stock up, even adding a few of your favourites that your certain amanda had been involved in selecting, because you knew for a fact that your father had no idea what matcha was.

only able to feel thankful for the support around you, you prepared yourself a drink for the morning as well as a small bowl of fruit and yoghurt, a nice light breakfast.

the sun practically called to you, the warmth against your skin being exactly what you needed as you placed your sunglasses on once more and sat at the outside table on the porch, beginning to slowly make progress on your breakfast.

when your father finally emerged and made his appearance from the barn across the dirt driveway, he waved at you and began to walk over, pulling off the gloves he was wearing.

finally walking up the small set of steps, he sat across from you and let out a sigh, the trucker hat on his head being enough to shelf him from the sun, as well as the cover over the porch.

“do you want me to make you a coffee?” you offered, partly out of politeness because you knew your dad always stopped drinking coffee after nine, otherwise he’d get jittery.

“i’m fine ducky, thanks though.”

the nickname was something you’d had all your life, seemingly originated from the fact that you’d always be found down at the creek as a child, trying to beat the heat by standing in ankle deep water and catching tadpoles.

nodding your head, you took another sip of your own drink, staring out into the coast field of your fathers property.

“i gotta go into town and try and get some new tools, just to the hardware supply, thought we could do a little window shoppin’?”

his offer was perfectly timed, as you’d managed to scrape down the last bite of your breakfast, nodding your head as you covered your mouth to avoid talking with your mouth full.

“i was gonna ask if we could go to town, that sounds perfect.”

with a satisfied smile, your father stood and told you to be readied up in about ten, giving you enough time to go back and wash your bowl in the kitchen.

town was bustling with life as it always did at this time, so many people going about their daily errands just the same as you and your dad.

while he’d taken the time to occupy himself at the hardware store, you’d excused yourself to have a look at the small boutique next door, opening the door which resulted in a soft ring of a bell.

before you’d had the chance to take a proper look at anything, you’d watched a head poke out of the back room, a smiling staff member greeting you before moving to stand behind the counter set up with a till and computer.

offering up a small smile, you kept your sunglasses on as you ran your hand over some of the pairs of jeans on the shelf in front of you, as well as some of the few leather pieces above them.

maybe they’d look nice with one of your sweaters back him in the-

your name being spoken directly behind you made you almost jump out of your skin, turning your head to see that same staff member standing behind you now, speaking your name out as if it was more of a question than anything.

as you finally turned, her mouth open led with a shocked smile as you finally got enough of a look at her face to recognise her as one of the girls you’d gone to highschool with, though you’d hardly call the pair of you friends.

“oh my god, i thought it was you!”

the southern drawl in her voice only seemed to grate across your brain as she reached forward and pulled you into a hug with no hesitation at all, your arms coming up uncomfortably as she let out a little sound of glee as she hugged you.

“i can’t believe it’s really you, big hollywood star back here! what’re you doin’ here?”

her questions were already putting you on edge, her peppy attitude and tight hug that you didn’t consent for enough to already send your anxiety going.

“i’m uh.. i’m visiting some family.”

your response only brought a look of sadness over her face, her hand flying up to your shoulder as she tried to seem comforting, only succeeding in making you more uncomfortable.

“oh i know, im so sorry to hear about your mama, when i found out i was just heart broken for ya’ sweetheart. it was such a shame to hear you couldn’t make it up for the service.”

the mention of that was enough to send you pulling back, almost bumping into the shelf behind you, your hand coming up in a stop motion which silenced her quickly.

“i’m sorry.” was all you could muster before you found yourself turning quickly, your anxiety to the point now where you can feel your head throbbing and your hands starting to shake.

your first attempt at integrating back into your home town was so far going horribly.

as you made your way to the exit and stumbled out the door, you collided with a passer by, only able to call out another apology as you kept your head low, a hand coming up to your face in some small attempt to alleviate the feeling of eyes in you that you weren’t even sure were real or just your mind tricking you.

finding your way back to your dads truck, you opened the door and practically fell onto the passenger seat, sliding down to try and hide yourself with prying eyes as you lifted your sunglasses to sit on your head, tears already beginning to flow.

you knew she hadn’t meant to upset you, that was what felt the worst about, she was just trying to comfort you and yet came on so strongly that it had sent you spiralling in a matter of seconds.

it hadn’t taken your dad long to get back to the truck opening the door and already beginning to chat to you before he saw the state of your reddened and puffy eyes.

“thought you’d have taken longer that that ducky! i wouldn’t have minded wait-“

as his eyes finally caught the sight of you crying, he quickly got into the seat and chucked the tools in the back, shutting the door as he put a hand on your shoulder.

“what happened? are you okay? did someone say something to you?”

his questions all came at once, leaving you only able to shake your head to alleviate his concerns, your hands coming up as you wiped your eyes.

“i’m okay dad, i promise, i just need to go back home.”

understanding but not pressing any further, your father responded by immediately turning the key and roaring the truck to life, pulling out of the parking space and making fast work of heading back to the house without breaking the speed limit.

It had been a good first attempt at the very least, even if it was ultimately a failure; you couldn’t blame the woman from the store, it was natural for people out this way to be overly friendly, it just seemed you’d forgotten that during your time away.

Home was a welcome sanctuary at the very least, a beacon of warmth and familiarity seeming to wash over you as you stepped back inside, wasting no time before going back up to your room and shutting the door, maybe you’d be able to just try again tomorrow, maybe it’d go smoother.

As you father spent the rest of the day tinkering away in the barn, you’d managed to keep yourself occupied with a book, reminding yourself to grab a tv next time you managed to get out into town, at the very least, with the your pride and wellbeing at a stand still you could remain thankful that you’d managed to get out of the lawsuit with your wealth and contract primarily intact.

The meds placed next to your bedside table were the first thing to catch your eye, your psychiatrists words echoing in your head like clock work, reminding you of all the little things you needed to remember, which ones you had to take with food and how many each day.

Your nighttime routine used to consist of expensive skincare, silk sheets and an hour and a half spent on going through your itinerary for the next day, all the appointments and interviews and recording sessions you’d be doing for hours at a time.

There was some part of you that almost felt as if you were in limbo, now all you had to do was take your meds and lay in bed reading, you hadn’t had this much free time in at least five years.

When your father had asked if you wanted to come out to the rodeo with him, you’d initially been hesitant, the idea of crowds only filling you with anxiety.

As much as you’d wanted argue, it was hard to deny his argument that it was a good opportunity to get out of the house, insisting he’d be by your side the entire time ready to go if it became too much.

His commitment was so strong, some part of you simply didn’t have the heart to say no, hesitantly agreeing with a smile.

A rodeo clown in his youth, your father was beloved by the community, well known on top of that, there was little doubt that you’d be stopped at least three or four times at the very least by people who knew your father, and by extension, also knew you.

With the stetson your father had managed to dig out of his wardrobe and a pair of true religion jeans, here you were, weaving through the crowd as the smell of fried food you’d never been allowed to eat by your personal trainer filled your nose, the sound of echoing rock music playing on the speakers.

Even now already, you were pushing yourself to keep your cool, letting yourself be put as ease by placing your fingers in the shallow pockets of your jeans, running them over the fabric to keep yourself grounded, occasionally bumping shoulders softly with your father.

All of this was something you’d been taught to do to manage your anxiety, even since you were only young, keeping yourself grounded by feeling and looking had always helped profoundly, especially now if ever.

Correctly predicted, it’d only taken about thirty seven minutes into arriving at the rodeo for your father to be stopped by a buddy, exchanging quick hugs and small talk, even allowing yourself to shake the mans hand and laugh at his comment about how he “hadn’t seen you since you were yeigh high!” and gesture with his hand to show how small you were.

After about an hour and checking out everything up for offer, saying hello to a few more buddies, your father led you to where you’d both be sitting in the stands, a corn dog covered in mustard sat in his hand, just as he’d always gotten from your memory.

It’d be hard to lie and say there wasn’t nostalgia to be found here, coming her with your mother and father so many times as a kid, whereas towards graduating highschool you’d attended less and less.

Your mind was interrupted by the sudden blaring of music, an announcer’s booming voice coming through the loudspeakers to hype up the crowd, eliciting cheers as a response when he’d asked the crowd if they were ready.

Unable to hide even the slightest of smiles when you watched your father cheer, you clapped your hands together in show fo excitement, even managing to let out a small cheer.

Each rider came out and received cheer’s from the crowd as their names were announced, some names sounding familiar, others not. A few people you could have sworn you remembered from highschool.

As time went on, even you started getting invested, at one point letting out a resounding ‘oooh’ with the rest of the crowd as one of the riders was thrown off his bull only moments before the buzzer signalled his eight seconds were up, laughing to yourself as he threw his hat to the ground, stomping back towards the gate.

Suddenly you were thankful for your father’s insistence, even if it had partly been due to the fact that he didn’t want to leave you at the house by yourself. For what felt like the first time in months, years even, you felt some semblance of peace, allowing yourself to enjoy something you’d stopped enjoying years ago.

One name out of all stood out to you only slightly more than others, only due to the fact that hid father had been a good friend of your own, even occasional business partner when it came to the sale and exchange of livestock, not exactly a friend as opposed to somebody you just saw a lot of when his father brought him round to your family’s ranch to give royal a hand.

You weren’t sure if Rhett had changed much since highschool, considering you hadn’t seen him since you left for Los Angeles, much less due to the fact you could hardly make out his features from where he was currently positioned behind the gate, sat atop of bull that already seemed to be sufficiently pissed off.

Personality wise, your opinion of royals youngest son had soured towards your graduation, the nickname he’d used to call you echoing in your head, the nickname that stuck so hard that almost everybody in your graduating class began to call you the very same thing.

When tweety bird first began to get thrown around, you’d only laughed awkwardly, hoping it would eventually fade, just like every other nick name did in highschool.

But even when one of Rhett’s own friends, the one you’d been crushing on hopelessly for months, had called you the nickname, hoping to be endearing, it only stung deep in your chest in a way that you couldn’t quite explain.

It wasn’t necessarily his spreading of the nickname that had caused you to dislike him so deeply; the nickname you could have brushed off as a teenage boy just being a bit of an asshole to make his friends laugh.

What he’d done that really twisted the knife, was tell the aformentioned friend of his, that you’d already found a date for the dance coming up later that year, only when you’d found out from a mutual friend that he’d told Rhett about his plans to ask you out, only for Rhett to shut it down immediately, for what reason, you still had no clue to this day.

It didn’t matter what the reason was, the damage had already been done; by the time you’d found out, the dance had already been and gone, a boring and melancholy event that had essentially been ruined for you by Rhett Abbot for absolutely no discernable reason.

You’d tried to reason with yourself and think of anything you could have done to Rhett in order for him to have some sort of vendetta for you, but there was nothing you could conjure up in your mind that could possibly be the reason why.

Whatever ill will he had towards you certainly hadn’t been helped when you’d spotted him in the hall with his friends, stormed over and told him to eat shit completely unprompted.

The last interaction you’d had with him before you took the final step and got on a bus to Los Angeles only a few days later.

There was a rational part of you reminding yourself that you were an adult now, that there was no reason to still be upset over something that happened when you were both teenagers, but to have had something that important ruined for you for no actual reason other then him just seemingly going out of his way to be an ass.

Well it was hard to call that water under the bridge.

The eighteen year old heartbroken girl in you had to pretend she wasn’t even the slightest bit satisfied when the cream coloured bull finally whipped him off rather unceremoniously onto the dirt ground, the buzzer ringing out only a second later, signalling that he’d failed.

At the same time, the adult that you were told yourself that it was unfair to celebrate the failures and possible physical injuries of a person you hadn’t spoken to in years.

“You remember Royal’s youngest, right Ducky?”

Your father had pulled you out of your own daydreaming with a hand on your shoulder, his other arm pointing to Rhett out on the small arena as he rose from where he landed, only able to quickly jog back towards the gate as the handler’s came in to herd the kicking bull back to its pen.

Nodding with slightly cringed smile, you watched him until he hopped the iron gate, disappearing from sight just as quickly as he’d been thrown out into the ring.

“We should go say hi after! I’m sure Royal’d love to see you!”

As much as you’d wanted to refuse, as much as you might have still had it out for his son, you couldn’t deny that Royal and his wife had ever been anything but sweet to you, inviting you around for lunches with your father a lot when you’d still lived in Wyoming, even Cecilia going as far as to add you on facebook when she’d seen you on tv for the first time, wishing you luck in your new career.

Even you couldn’t deny how good it would feel to give her a big hug for the first time in years.

It’d been a good amount of fun to watch the rest of the riders, to feel a kin ship with the rest of the crowd in the joy you all expressed when a rider successfully stayed on for the required eight seconds; how much you’d felt your heart soar when your father grabbed your shoulder excitedly, raising his arm and cheering with you.

When it finally finished up and everyone began to peel off of the stands, you gripped your father’s arm, letting him guide you out of the small arena.

As the pair of you made a turn towards the rider’s area, a gate marked with a rather large privacy sign that held remnants of familiarity for when you’d been backstage before a show, swearing for a second you felt yourself preparing to be bombarded by a makeup and wardrobe team just as you always had used to.

A tip of the hat to the guy at the gate had seemingly been all your father needed to be let through with you, his close relationships with most of the riders as well as probably their father’s as well carrying weight.

It had taken a bit of walking past lots of trailers and drifting past the chatter of lots of voices, some pleased with their wins, others audibly upset that they’d failed.

One voice that you instantly recognised as Cecilia made your heart jump a little bit, catching her in your vision just as you rounded the corner, standing with her arm’s crossed talking to somebody who you recognised after a few moments when you got closer to be Perry, the eldest of the siblings.

Your father’s voice called out to Cecilia, her head turning and her face forming into a gleeful smile as she waved the two of you over, your face slightly hidden under the stetson, your head downturned as you got closer.

“What’re you doin’ here?” she called out as she finally met halfway with your father, taking him in for a hug and patting him on the back endearingly, your arms crossing sheepishly as you stood slightly to the side.

“Thought you might wanna see who’s back in town!”

As your father, spoke, he turned and held his arm out to you, outstretched hand practically announcing you as you rose your head, only able to smile softly and wave with a hesitant hand, Cecilia’s face twisting for a moment before her eye’s widened and an opened mouth smile came over her features. “Oh my goodness!” she practically squealed out, her hands coming to her face before she stepped forward, opening her arms to place a hand on your arm softly, not quite pulling you in for a hug just for the moment which you silently were thankful for.

Reaching your own arm forward, you placed a hand on her shoulder, the soft fabric of her flannelete shirt being a great bit of texture for you to run your finger tips against for an extra little bit of grounding.

You could hear your father’s happy and satisfied chuckle, seemingly knowing how much it would mean to Cecilia that you came to say hello, considering how much she’d doted over you in your younger years.

“How the hell have you been, babygirl!”

Her voice was layered with a slight hint of emotion, a hand coming up to crush a strand of hair away from her face as she took a step back and put her hands on her hips.

You could only smile and nod, mustering up as generic of a response as you could.

“Takin’ it easy.”

Understatement of the century.

You wouldn’t have been surprised if she knew what had been happening with you, every tabloid in america had seemingly relished in sending your story across the country, all the details of your legal case and rehab.

Her face seemed to soften, her brows upturning as she nodded.

“Thats the way.” she spoke a bit softer, “You look beautiful, honey.”

Her kind words still hit just the way they always had, warming your heart to the core with her motherly nature.

Cecilia gestured to Perry, checking to see if he remembered you which Perry answered with a nod and polite hello, which you returned with a nod of your head.

Taking your arm in her head, it was as if you’d never been gone, Cecilia immediately going back to her old ways as she showed you around the rider’s area, making comments about how the two of had to go horseback riding together soon.

As the unavoidable finally made it’s way known, you felt Cecilia tap your arm, pointing in the direction of a trailer that must have been theirs, the door open and the light on, a figure stepping out with a fresh shirt and slightly damp hair. “There he is, Rhett! Get yer’ ass over here!”

When Cecilia’s youngest son turned his head to the two of you, he seemed indifferent, tired even, not surprising considering what he’d been through less than an hour ago, yet he still slowly began to walk towards his mother, running his fingers through his damp hair.

“You remember your father’s friend with the ranch down the road right?”

From where you stood, you could see Rhett nod, a polite smile coming to his face as he hadn’t seen your face yet, expecting his mother to introduce him to a stranger.

“Look who’s come back down for a visit!”

When you lifted your head, it seemed to take a few moments for him to recognise you, his brow furrowing slightly as he looked at you, your own face twisting into an awkward smile as you raised your eyebrows.

“How’ve you been Rhett.”

Your tone was formal, nowhere near similar to greeting an old friend, which of course you weren’t, seemingly putting off just enough stand offish energy for Cecilia not to pick up on it.

Clearing his throat as he wiped a hand across his face, evidently trying to catch himself and pretend like it hadn’t taken him a moment or two to recognise you, nodding his head as he placed his hands on his hips.

“Been good.”

It was clear that the both of you felt the awkward energy, not entirely sure where you stood with each other considering the last words you’d spoken to him years ago, clearly he wasn’t sure if you still hated him or not.

Nodding your own head back, part of you wondered if he’d seen the articles about you, seen the reports from TMZ; some anxiety settling in the back of your mind, if he still held a dislike towards, it definitely wasn’t helped by the paparazzi photos he’d seen of you drunkenly getting into limo’s, or the pictures of you leaving court.

“I watched you ride before.” it was all that you could muster out, your brain panicking when you realised it’d taken you a few seconds of silence to respond to him.

Pursing his lips slightly, he managed a small smile, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked over at his mother briefly.

“That bad, huh?” he joked with a chuckle, your brows furrowing slightly as he seemed to take it as snide remark straight away, your head tilting.

“I never said that.” your tone couldn’t be held back, unable to not feel just the slightest bit stand offish as he furrowed his own brows, visibly taken aback slightly by your response.

Just as he opened his mouth to say something in response, his facial expression tellin you it was probably something just as equally snarky as your own, only to be cut off by the sound of your own father’s voice calling you over, Cecilia’s arm twisting out of your own.

It seemed Rhett hadn’t changed much, still holding some sort of idea about you that made it seem like you were a bitch, at least that’s what he’d muttered when you’d walked away from him in the hall that day in school.

“Have a good night Cecilia, drive safe for me okay?” you spoke quickly, wanting to avoid any confrontation that could potentially be rearing its ugly head, turning on foot before she could respond and walking back over to your father who was waving you over.

“Ready to go home, Ducky?”

Your fathers arm curled in yours, a knowing smirk seemingly being exchanged with Cecilia before he turned to walk with you.

“Absolutely.” you responded, a satisfied nod on your head.

Continuing on through the crowd that was growing thinner and thinner as you approached the exit, you finally made it back into your fathers truck, opening your door and buckling yourself in as he got into the driver’s seat.

“I spoke with Royal while you were with Cecilia by the way.” he began, turning the key as the truck roared to life.

“We’ve been invited out to dinner with them tomorrow night.”

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qutequeersstuff · 5 days ago

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psyche

series masterlist

synopsis. After the catastrophe in New York-when the Void tore through the city-the Thunderbolts know it can't happen again. Bob Reynolds doesn't need another collar or containment spell. He needs help. Enter her: a psychiatrist with an unusual gift, capable of stepping into the mind itself. No one expected her to reach him-least of all, him. "You're just going to leave me the moment it gets too hard, aren't you?" he says. She meets his gaze, steady and unshaken. "I've walked through nightmares to get to you. I won't walk away now."

pairing. robert "bob" reynolds x reader

warning/s. mentions of trauma, mental illness, depression

status. ongoing

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

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qutequeersstuff · 6 days ago

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Robert 'Bob' Floyd Fic Recs

06/12/2025

⭒ 𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒕 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒚𝒅 𝒇𝒊𝒄 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒔 𝒊𝒊 by @ruerecs

⭒ Shy Reader x B. Floyd by @0mg-bird

At the Navy bar your friends drag you to, you come across an aviator who isn’t like the rest of them.

⭒ Switch up by @littleenglishfangirl

⭒ I Will End You by @itwillbethescarletwitch

Fem!Mitchell!Reader

⭒ naval admin reader by @moon-fics

⭒ That’s my wife by @writesick-lover

⭒ Hangman’s Sister by @cap-winter-barnes

Y/N is Hangman's little sister - everyone on the Dagger Squad knows she's dating Bob, except for her big brother.

⭒ Sunscreen by @siempre-bucky

Bob burns. Your daughter gets very paranoid when he forgets his sunscreen one morning and insists on bringing it to him.

⭒ Hair by @/siempre-bucky

Bob feels disappointed when he can’t do elaborate hairstyles on his daughter so you let him practice on you.

⭒ "B feeling shy in swimwear and A hyping them up" by @/siempre-bucky

You know Bob’s reserved, his favorite yellow shirt was his comfort source at the beach, but you just want to see his beautiful body underneath it. So naturally, you pin him to the side of the Jeep and tell him he’s hot.

⭒ He Didn’t Have to Be by @imjess-themess

You’re afraid Bob is going to run the other way when your daughter accidentally calls him dad.

⭒ The Five Stages of Falling In Love by @/imjess-themess

Y/N’s falling in love, even though she really didn’t want to. She’s going through the five stages of grief upon realizing it.

⭒ Being his girlfriend by @nobody7102

⭒ Bad day by @/nobody7102

⭒ It’s okay by @/nobody7102

⭒ Polaroids by @the-shedevil-writes

Bob keeps your relationship private, but he doesn’t try to hide the dozens of Polaroids of you all over his locker and truck. He has a daily routine of taping his favorite Polaroid of you to his jet’s console, but when it goes missing, things get chaotic. Luckily, you’re there to make everything better.

⭒ Concussion by @38livesalone-has3cats

⭒ secret wife by @writingdumpster

When you go to pick up Bob at the base the dagger squad finds out that Bob’s been keeping a wife from them.

⭒ bob’s shirt by @/writingdumpster

When you wear Bob’s shirt to The Hard Deck, your secret relationship is found out. Reader’s callsign is Fox.

⭒ Wanna Buy You A Drink by @anonymooseforever007

It's been five months since Bob's seen his wife, and aside from Natasha he had yet to mention her to his team. He calls it privacy, she jokes it's internalised possessiveness. But tonight, with Penny's help at the Hard Deck, more than one person is in for a surprise. After all, who doesn't love a good innuendo?

⭒ He’s All That by @withahappyrefrain

Bob has always been shy, which has gotten in the way of meeting folks. So, his friends decide to give him an impromptu makeover.

⭒ The 5 Times You Flirted With Bob + The 1 Time He Picked Up on It by @/withahappyrefrain

You’ve fallen for your friend and have decided to drop some hints that you’re flirting. Unfortunately, Bob doesn’t realize that immediately

⭒ Unorthodox (Pt. 1) by @specialbrewbutterbeer

⭒ Unorthodox (PART II) by @/specialbrewbutterbeer

⭒ Waiting for Someone by a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all

⭒ Hands by @foreverrandomwritings

The 5 times Bob sees you looking at his hands and the 1 time he says something.

⭒ 𝐖𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐩𝐬 by @roosterbruiser

AdmiralsDaughter!Reader where the dagger squad finds out he's dating/engaged/married

⭒ The Wingman by @roosterforme

Bob never did this sort of thing. Talking to girls and flirting and romance. It’s not that he didn’t want to, he just didn’t really know how. But you were different in all the right ways, and you made him feel confident enough to try.

⭒ A Friendly Push by @skvatnavle

⭒ My Love, Forever by @robertcallsignbobfloyd

Bob doesn't want the whole squadron to know he's married, but needs his biggest support system with him in North Island.

⭒ All Fun & Games by @purelyfiction

Returning to San Diego was just another assignment for you. Another step in the career path, full steam ahead, until you come to an obstacle in the road. Usually, you’d navigate around it, keep on going, but this is no normal obstacle. It might be enough to reroute you completely.

⭒ Bob x hangmans sister, by @ahockeywrites

⭒ Being Married To and Having a Baby With Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd Headcanons: by @fanboygarcia

⭒ Robby by @dearestdaffodils

Bob likes to keep his personal life and work life separate.

⭒ Only Exception by @kinzis-writing

Y/N Mitchell swore to herself that she would never allow herself to date or get involved with anyone from any branch of the military. After worrying about her father, the past few years, she knew that she never wanted to experience that worry for a significant other. After her father gets ordered back to California, she may just meet the one that ruins all her plans.

⭒ It’s Always Been You by @midnightdevotion

⭒ My Boys by @writergirl35

You and Bob have welcomed a son into the world. Your son just turned 11 months and Bob can’t decide who he loves more, his son, or the woman who brought him into the world.

⭒ Dancing with you by @applebutter-and-cinnamon

A dance with Bob leaves you infatuated and slightly surprised that a man like him actually exists.

⭒ Welcome home by @joaquinwhorres

Bob comes home to you and reflects on your relationship.

⭒ Just Bob by @fandomwriterkailyn

⭒ the captain’s daughter by @callsignhoney

an unlikely candidate has you breaking your dad (and brother’s) “no pilots” policy

⭒ Need to Know by @bussyslayer333

an accidental call to your boyfriend on girls night leaves everyone shocked at a revelation they never thought they would have; bob fucks.

⭒ Make It Proper by @Rassvetsky

“He blinked at you, before his smile got a bit wider. You could see the reflection of the setting sun in the blues of his eyes, a twinkle of excitement— the gratitude of being understood maybe, or it’s just that he’s glad to have you around.”

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qutequeersstuff · 6 days ago

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Idiots At a Wedding

Summary: Pretending to be Bob's girlfriend in front of his family has to be easy right? Right...?

Pairings: Bob Floyd x fem!reader

Warnings: Fake dating

A/N: Omgg, I am so so so thankful for all the love you've given to the first part. I was so scared while posting but you've just made me so so so happy. Here's the masterlist for the series. Happy reading, and please don't be a stranger.💞💞

1. Idiots At a Wedding pt.1

2. Idiots At a Wedding pt.2

3. Idiots At a Wedding pt.3

4. loading...

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qutequeersstuff · 8 days ago

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Bob Floyd - Top Gun: Maverick Masterlist

+ Miles Miller - Bad Times At The El Royale and Rhett Abbott - Outer Range

Wanna be added to a taglist? Either comment on this post or send me a message!

Taglist: @kpopgirlbtssvt, @adriansboyfriend, @live-love-be-unique

1.1) Tense I Tumblr I AO3 I

Hangman unexpectedly plays matchmaker when he offers the group a way to deal with the after-effects of their training, which causes Bob to meet the one for him.

1.2) Relaxed I Tumblr I AO3 I

In the comfort of his relationship, Bob gets a bit excited when his girlfriend first admits she loves him and unknowingly convinces her to be hours late for work. After an incident that causes her bed to break, Bob is mortified but secretly loves the teasing he gets from his friends later that day.

2) Tomorrow’s Tomorrow I Tumblr I AO3 I

Before and after a mission, sober or drunken, Bob wants to spend his time with just one gal. Their friends are also rather amused by his obvious crush on her and like to document their interactions.

3) The Female Species I Tumblr I AO3 I

It turns out the Dagger Squad doesn’t really know much about Bob. They certainly didn’t know he had a wife, yet she provides them with some more information about the reclusive Robert Floyd. She hadn’t seen him in three months and was more than prepared to spill all of his well-hidden secrets to his friends. Yet he still managed to leave the celebration early, and instead of being alone like usual, he has his wife on his arm.

4) So Very Polite I Tumblr I AO3 I

Of all the traits of Bob, his girlfriend has a particular gripe with how polite he is. Usually, it’s a good aspect of him. Sometimes it can be a little annoying, especially if she’s lacking sleep. But, that’s okay. She has her own special way to force him to be a little more casual in her home.

5) Robert Floyd, Man of The Sky

Oneshot I Tumblr I AO3 I

When his old college pal inherits her grandmother’s lake house, Bob is the first to nominate himself to help out. It gives him something to do and a chance to feel young, something that he only feels when he’s in the sky.

Series I Tumblr I AO3 I

Bob and his best friend from college move into and redecorate her grandmother’s lake house, and both come to realise that there is something else between them. But just like the renovation, coming clean to each other takes longer than they’d hoped.

6) Loverboy I Tumblr I AO3 I

After not seeing each other for years, Bob reunites with his old friend for the mission, and they pick up right where they left off - desperately yearning for each other’s love.

7) Mini Me I Tumblr I AO3 I

Of course Bob has a family. It was obvious. Phoenix knew that and did everything in her power to ensure he got back to them. So, she had to meet his wife and son. A trip to the Hard Deck gives his son a new fascination and his wife a chance to reconnect with an old college… friend? Boyfriend? Whatever, it doesn’t annoy Bob at all.

9) All Over Again I Tumblr I AO3 I

When he used to say that he wished he could fall in love with his wife all over again, Bob may have jinxed himself. Yet, the process of knowing her once more wasn’t as smooth as he’d used to think. Honestly, he doesn’t know which is worse: his broken bones or the fact she can’t seem to forget who he once was?

10) Ducky’s I Tumblr I AO3 I

After leaving the Navy, Bob enrols in college to experience what he missed. At a café, he meets Y/N, a fellow bookworm who quickly becomes more than just a friend in more ways than one.

1) Human Radiator I Tumblr I AO3 I

It’s chilly in Wabang, so Rhett is immediately at the beck and call of his girlfriend because she’s cold and needs a little cowboy love to make her feel better.

2) Happy Pig I Tumblr I AO3 I

The Abbott’s have been working Rhett to the bone for far too long, and he’s allowed one day off to finally catch up on some quality time with his girlfriend. She, under no circumstances, allows him to get out of bed.

3) Sitter of Babies I Tumblr I AO3 I

Rhett needs help. He’s a single dad, and Royal still expects him to work overtime at the ranch. Every day he gets more and more worn out until he’s finally allowed a day off and meets an old friend and his sister. She’s kind and funny and offers to babysit for him, and because it’s cliche, he can’t help but fall for her.

4.1) Hell of a Ride I Tumblr I AO3 I

The sting of being unappreciated by his family hurts a lot less when Rhett has someone who lavishes him with affectionate pet names and comfort. He gets a little concerned when he can’t find her face in the crowd. How will he be able to win the state championship without her cheering him on? Does he even need to worry?

4.2) Heaven Of A Ride I Tumblr I AO3 I

With their feelings out in the open, the pair want nothing more than to indulge their new-found connection. Yet, like usual, Rhett has some concerns that need to be addressed before that can happen.

4.3) Wheel of Devotion I Tumblr I AO3 I

Rhett desperately wants to take his girlfriend on a date but has a hard time verbalising those thoughts out loud. When the county fair comes, they take the opportunity to make the most of what it has to offer.

5) The Sweetest Surprise I Tumblr I AO3 I

Y/N feels disappointed when her boyfriend, Rhett, seems to forget her birthday. Despite her growing doubts, Rhett surprises her with a romantic gesture, taking her on a scenic picnic overlooking the town and indulging in handmade birthday cake.

6) Of Fluffy Cows and Elusive Jerky I Tumblr I AO3 I

On a quiet Wyoming Valentine’s night, Rhett's world shifts when his not-quite girlfriend surprises him at the Abbott ranch, and something cracks his guarded heart wide open. Emotions run high, and Rhett is left to realise that love, real love, has finally found him.

1) Corrupted I Tumblr I AO3 I

Although he doesn’t know her movies, Miles becomes enraptured by one of his guests and fails to restrain himself to show her the kind of love he believes she deserves. Yet, their fling must be kept under the radar because her stage mother is rather possessive.

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qutequeersstuff · 9 days ago

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Some Kind Of Love

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Pregnant!Thunderbolt!Fem!Reader!

Summary: You and Bob find out that you’re expecting, and things get extremely complicated when you realize that the good news comes with its own set of interesting side effects.

Warnings: Fluff, Discussions surrounding pregnancy and pregnancy symptoms, Exploration of fear surrounding pregnancy, Scenes involving medical checkups, There are some supernatural elements to this

Author’s Note: This was a request by a cool ass anon, and it’s a two parter! I really enjoyed writing this first part and exploring the ideas that were brought up in the request itself, I really took the idea and literally dashed off with it screaming. Absolutely loved it! Thank you so much for the neat request and I hope I did it justice <3 (so far at least lol)

Word Count: 6,198

Four little pink plus signs greeted you that fateful morning.

They all sat in a neat, trembling row across the marble lip of the bathroom sink–each with a soft pink plastic cap, each window displaying the same quiet verdict in unwavering lines. The morning light slanted through the frosted glass window, shining down on them like a hand reaching out to caress it, as if even the sun understood the gravity of what was resting there.

You were only supposed to take one.

One test. One answer. One more gentle disappointment that you would tuck away like the others–stacked quietly in your memory alongside months of calendar calculations and hopeful silences. But the moment the positive result came up–faint but immediate–you froze in your spot. You weren’t relieved, or joyful, you were in pure disbelief.

Then, almost without thinking, your body moved quickly–muscle memory taking over your actions completely. You grabbed another box from the cabinet under the sink, ripping it open with shaking hands before opening up the plastic that the test was surrounded in. Your heart was hammering inside your ribs like it was trying to escape from the confines of your body–or like it was trying to wake you up from this dream. When the same result came back, you took a third test, doing the exact same thing.

By the fourth test, your hands were shaking with pure relief and excitement. You couldn’t stop staring at the results, as if it might somehow change if you closed your eyes for too long.

You needed to be sure that this was real.

Because after eleven long months of trying, hoping, and hurting together–you didn’t know how to trust good news anymore.

You and Bob had started the journey together with optimism. The kind that sits high in your chest and makes you whisper things like ‘this could be the month’ after every kiss, and every breathless evening tangled together in bed, sweaty and laughing and full of quiet wanting. He had taken the liberty to mark the dates in a small notebook, it was chalked full of ovulation windows, fertility reminders, and soft little smiley faces in the margins beside your initials.

It had been romantic, even magical at first.

Until it wasn’t.

By the seventh month, the intimacy had begun to feel clinical, timed, and mechanical. The warmth that once bloomed between your bodies–those breathless nights laced with quiet laughter and whispered I-love-you’s–began to thin under the weight of expectation. Sex became a checkbox, with each wave of hope that came crashing down with another let down. You’d lie tangled in the sheets afterward in a haze of silence, with Bob’s thumb stroking the back of your hand absentmindedly, while neither of you said what hung between you.

The tension settled into your bone like a second skin. You started visiting the med bay together after returning from missions, but it wasn’t just for bruises or being patched up–it was for answers. The techs ran every test they could think of. Hormone panels, sperm counts, uterine scans…Everything under the sun. You sat side-by-side on sterile white exam tables with your hands clasped tightly together while polite professionals told you the same thing, over and over again:

”Everything looks normal.”

But normal didn’t help, because no matter how normal everything looked, nothing was happening.

And that was the part that began to hurt the most.

Bob tried to hide it, but you saw the guilt spreading inside him like a quiet rot.

One night, after a particularly long debrief, you came into the bedroom to find him sitting on the edge of the bed in the dark. The lamp on his side was still on, casting soft golden light across the sheets, but he wasn’t moving. He sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees, hands twisted into his thick light brown hair, like he was holding himself together by sheer force.

You stepped toward him, wordlessly, and wrapped your arms gently around his shoulders. At first, he didn’t move. He just let out a quiet, shaking breath–one that you felt creep down your spine. Then his hands found you, pulling you closer to him, arms curling tight around your waist like he needed you as close as possible. His head dropped forward until his ear was resting against your stomach, and you slid your fingers into his ruffled locks of hair, smoothing them down as you always did when he was unraveling.

It took him a long time to speak, and when he did, it was barely a hushed breath.

”M-Maybe it’s me…” You froze in your spot, “Maybe it’s the…The Sentry s-serum. It wasn’t properly tested…I–I don’t even know what it did to my body. To my cells…” His voice cracked, low and raw and ashamed, “Maybe i-it broke something inside me…Maybe it’s my fault.” Your heart shattered. You pulled back just enough to look down at him, your free hand coming up to the curve of his jaw to tilt his head up. You brushed your thumb across the soft skin beneath his eye–where tears began to well up in the corners–watching his lashes flutter at the touch. His face was flushed in the amber glow, lips parted like he was struggling to breath through the thoughts that plagued his mind.

”Don’t say that Bob…” You said gently. He swallowed hard, his lashes dampening.

”Everything came back fine for you. But for me…T-They don’t even have a panel that goes into d-depth enough. That’s probably w-why we don’t have answers.” You shook your head slowly, pressing your forehead to his.

“It’s not your fault. It’s not mine either. It’s just…” You paused, barely able to say it. “It’s just happening the way it’s happening. And I know that hurts. I know.” He curled his arms tighter around you, before burying his face into your soft stomach again. You could feel how hard he was holding himself back from breaking further. It was like being loved by someone standing at the edge of an earthquake, afraid to fall in too deep in case he took you with him.

Then some nights, Sentry would surface.

In the quiet moments between sleeping, and turning over to reposition yourself, when you were both too exhausted to pretend you weren’t hurting, his golden eyes would flicker and overtake the ocean expanse of Bob’s. He would lay behind you, with one arm slung protectively over your waist, palm pressed flat over your womb, like he could feel a future there, and he never stuttered or hesitated when he made his claims.

“I will make it happen, my love,” He whispered, voice like honey and heat curling against the shell of your ear, “Even if I must pull the stars from the sky and set the world ablaze to do it…You were made to bear my light…And I won’t stop believing that.” He kissed the back of your neck, his hand stroking along the softness of your stomach.

”I can already picture them…I can feel them in the ether…Yours and mine.” And for the briefest second–you believed him.

There were other nights like that. Quiet ones, where you woke to find Sentry’s arms curled around you like a shield, his forehead pressed to yours, whispering promises you didn’t know how to hold.

By the ninth month of trying, the emotional weight had started to wear thin. You’d stopped tracking your cycle. Stopped buying ovulation strips. You even started pulling away a little when Bob reached for you–not out of rejection, but exhaustion.

The joy was gone, and that magic and closeness ceased to exist.

One night, you lay on the couch together after dinner, half-draped over his chest, your fingers curled loosely in the hem of his shirt. You could hear his heartbeat in your ear–steady and strong–and it made you ache with love for him in ways you didn’t have words for.

So you finally said it.

“…Let’s stop trying.”

Bob went still beneath you. His arm around your shoulder froze mid-stroke, the fingertips that had been tracing idle patterns against your skin stilling in surprise.

“What?” he asked softly.

You looked up at him, eyes glassy but calm. “Let’s stop tracking it. Stop planning it. It’s making us miserable.”

He stared down at you, concerned. “But–what–if?”

You shook your head slowly.

“If it happens, it happens,” You whispered. “And if it doesn’t…Maybe we weren’t supposed to be parents.”

His face crumpled like you’d reached in and crushed something inside him.

But then he pulled you in tighter.

And replied, “O-Okay. I just…I don’t want you to think it’s your fault. Ever.”

“I don’t,” You lied softly. “Not anymore.”

You nestled against him and didn’t speak again. You didn’t have to. Because in that moment, the two of you silently agreed to step back, to take your hands off the wheel and let the universe drive–even if neither of you liked where it might go.

And now…Here you were two months later, with four positive pregnancy tests in front of you, beaming the news that you had been wanting to see since the beginning.

“Just one more…” You whispered to yourself, like it might bring even firmer proof that this was real, that you weren’t dreaming still. That the aching quiet of the last year had finally given way to something more.

But before you could tear open the packaging to one more test, you heard a gentle knock.

“Y/N…Is e-everything okay?” Bob’s voice asked, soft as a breath through the wood. You froze, your fingers tightening around the unopened test. Your heart thudded, and you glanced back down at the row of pink plus signs. Your throat tightened as you stepped toward the door, swallowing against the wave of emotion building behind your sternum. You cracked it open just a sliver, and the moment you did, your eyes found him.

He was already staring at you.

Messy hair from restless sleep, light brown strands sticking out like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times. His grey sweatpants clung to his hips from where he’d thrown them back on half-asleep, and his chest was bare–warm and flushed from the heat of the sheets, freckled skin rising and falling with each nervous breath. His eyes scanned over your face, and you saw the way his brow pulled–worried, tender, and afraid.

”…Y/N…What’s w-wrong?” He asked gently. That was the moment you realized you were crying. Silent tears rolled down your cheeks without fanfare, without permission–carved straight from disbelief and joy and exhaustion. You lifted your hand quickly, wiping at your face with the back of your wrist like it might erase what he saw.

“C-Can I come in?” You gave a shaky little sniffle and nodded, stepping back just enough to open the door wider. He didn’t hesitate. The moment there was enough room, Bob stepped in and reached for you like he couldn’t stand a second more of distance. His hands came up to your face instantly, gentle but urgent, tilting your chin so he could see you properly in the light. His thumbs swept across your cheeks, brushing away the tears that continued to fall.

“Why are you c-crying?” he asked, searching your expression like he was bracing for heartbreak. “Did you…D-Did you get your period?”

You shook your head immediately, the denial spilling from your lips in a breathless rush. “No. No, I didn’t.”

His hands stilled on your face, and you felt him pause–completely, fully still like he was afraid to breathe.

“That’s…That’s why I took the test,” You whispered. “I’m three weeks late. And my body’s been…” You faltered, eyes fluttering shut as you tried to explain. “It’s like I’ve been feeling these little…Pins and needles? All over. Especially in my stomach. I didn’t really think much of it until–until you said it.”

Bob blinked. “S-Said what?”

Your voice was nearly a whisper.

“That maybe it was happening.”

You saw the way his expression shifted then. How that sentence came back to him like a ghost. He had said it so gently, with that hesitant hope he always laced through his worry, like he didn’t want to jinx anything but couldn’t stop believing in you anyway. He had stood beside you in the kitchen just last week, watching you rub your stomach absentmindedly–trying to ease the discomfort you were feeling–and said it so quietly you almost didn’t catch it.

Now, with his hands still holding your face and your eyes glistening beneath the bathroom light, spilling tears, he looked terrified.

“I–I didn’t mean to get your hopes up,” He said quickly, stammering over the words. “I–I just…I thought maybe, maybe it was finally–God, Y/N, if I made you think–” You shook your head again, cutting off his spiral before it could build into something heavier.

“Bob,” You breathed. “You were right.”

His eyes widened slightly, lips parting as if the air had suddenly gotten too thin.

”W-What?” Your hands found his wrists gently, fingers curling around them as you guided him across the bathroom, his socked feet shuffling quietly across the tile behind you. The sunlight had shifted again, now casting a warm halo over the sink–and over the four test sticks aligned like sacred relics, their soft pink caps and double lines shining beneath the golden hue.

Bob followed your movement, as you stopped and tilted your head toward them, wordlessly telling him to see for himself.

He looked down.

And everything about him seemed to slow.

He hunched forward slightly, blinking hard like he didn’t trust his eyes, his hands still hovering in the air like he didn’t know what to do with them. His brows furrowed, mouth falling open slightly as he looked closer–at each plus sign, one after the other, as if he needed to study every single one before the truth could bloom fully in his chest.

“…Holy…” His voice cracked. “Holy shit.”

His eyes snapped back to yours.

“Y-You’re pregnant?”

You let out the softest breath, almost a laugh but caught halfway by tears, and nodded.

“I’m pregnant,” You whispered, your voice breaking mid-syllable.

And just like that, he crumpled into you.

He let out a laugh–a huff of disbelief, breathless and wild–and then wrapped you in his arms so tightly you felt like the only thing anchoring him to the earth. His face buried itself into the crook of your neck, warm and damp with tears as his arms closed around your back, curling in like he wanted to disappear into the moment and stay there forever.

You held him just as tightly, your fingers sliding through the soft mess of his hair, your chin resting on his shoulder.

He breathed against your skin.

“You’re pregnant…You’re really… Oh my God.”

You nodded into his shoulder, laughing gently through the tears. “We’re gonna have a baby, Bob.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you again, his eyes glassy, lips parted like he still couldn’t catch his breath. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips—soft, slow, and full of wonder. The kind of kiss people write about. The kind that tastes like the end of grief and the beginning of something holy.

When he pulled back, he was smiling.

Then he laughed–really laughed–and looked down again at the row of tests before glancing back up at you with wide, teary eyes.

“W-Who takes four pregnancy tests,” He said, breathless with awe and amusement, “When the first two should be perfect confirmation that it’s happening?”

You let out a small laugh and swatted playfully at his chest. “I was in shock!”

He caught your hand and kissed your knuckles, then pressed it to his cheek like he couldn’t bear to let go of you.

“I’m only joking…I-I probably would’ve done the same…” Bob’s laugh rumbled low in his chest, soft and breathless, the kind that bubbled up from somewhere deep and warm. He leaned forward again, unable to resist the gravitational pull of your joy, your eyes, your mouth–and kissed your cheek. Then your nose. Then another to your brow.

And another.

You giggled, trying to wriggle away from the onslaught, but he held you fast with both arms, kissing across your face like he was tracing the constellation of his entire future.

He pulled back just an inch, golden warmth shining through the tears in his eyes. “S-Sentry is g-going to flip his lid.” You snorted, forehead resting lightly against his, your smile tugging at the corners of your lips like it had been waiting to return for months.

“I’m glad I got to have this moment with you first,” You whispered, voice softer now. “I feel like…Now that this is really happening, he’s going to be even more protective of me.” Bob brough his hand up to his chest, eyes wide in playful mock offence.

”A-And I’m not as protective as h-him? Is that what y-you’re saying?” You gave him a teasing smile, poking your fingers against the muscles that lined his stomach, leaning your weight towards him.

”You’re just the right amount of protective,” You said sweetly, “But…Unlike you, he would destroy the entire planet if something were to happen to me…So…” The corner of Bob’s mouth twitched up into that crooked little grin you loved.

”T-This is true…” He murmured, nose brushing yours. “Won’t fault you for w-wanting him to be a bit calmer…M-Maybe I can talk to him about that.”

You raised your brows. “You think he’ll listen?”

His arms slid tighter around your waist. “He listens to you m-more than he listens to m-me.” His voice was quieter now, like the truth of it was something he didn’t quite know how to say louder. “A-Always has.”

Your eyes flickered over his face, studying the curve of his mouth, the warm flush in his cheeks, the awe still settled in the crinkle of his brow like he hadn’t fully come down from the miracle of it all.

“Are you flipping your lid too?” You asked.

Bob let out a low laugh and leaned into you again, burying his face against your neck, his voice muffled but full of that same breathless wonder. “I-I already did, sweetheart,” he said, kissing the hollow of your throat. “L-Lid’s long gone.” You laughed, tears slipping freely again, and you reached for him–both arms looping around his neck as you pulled him into a real embrace. No more shock. No more waiting. Just you and him, wrapped in the truth you both thought you might never hold.

He squeezed you so tight you could feel his heartbeat pressed against your chest.

“We’re gonna be okay,” He whispered, almost to himself.

You nodded, closing your eyes. “Yeah,” You breathed. “We really are.”

———————

About five and a half months later the couch had practically grown to match the shape of your body. It groaned beneath you like an old friend as you shifted, the fabric warm from hours of lingering and the soft cream blanket wrapped around your legs knotted somewhere at your knees. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the ceiling vent and the occasional scrape of Bob’s pen scratching against a mission log from down the hall. Sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains in lazy streaks, painting everything in muted golds, the kind of light that made the world feel soft-edged and far away.

Your eyelids were heavy. Not just from the long day–but from everything. The weight of your limbs, the steady ache in your lower back, the constant fluttering exhaustion that had been clinging to your bones like static for weeks now. The med bay techs said it was normal. “Just your body working overtime,” They’d chirped. “Perfectly healthy. Nothing to worry about.”

Still, it didn’t feel normal. It felt cosmic. Like something else was siphoning your energy on purpose.

Your hand slid across your belly, fingers tracing the curve that had blossomed so quickly over the past two months. The baby had started kicking last week–gentle taps at first, like your stomach was tapping back whenever you pressed your hand there. But now, the little one responded to everything. A shift in temperature. Bob’s voice. And most of all, cravings. The second one popped into your mind, you immediately felt the odd sensations of taps against your stomach, like the baby was telling you to get up and get it–and right now was one of those times.

You let your head fall back against the cushion, palm warm on the swell of your bump, rubbing gently.

“…Just give me five more minutes, kiddo,” You whispered, voice hoarse and affectionate. “Mommy just needs to rest a bit longer…”

As your eyes slipped shut, the room dimmed–but not from your eyelids.

You cracked one eye open again just in time to see the lamp beside the couch begin to flicker. Not a casual bulb hiccup. A slow, pulsing flicker. Like something breathing. Or responding. Your brows pinched faintly, heart skipping a beat.

”Sentry,” You called out, eyes locking in on the lamp, “Can you stop please?” There was no response–only another pulse of light. Then another. Then the faintest hum, low and glassy, vibrating somewhere behind your ears like a tuning fork deep in your skull.

Footsteps padded out from the hallway, and Bob appeared in the common room, damp hair curling slightly from the heat of the shower he had taken about two hours ago before he started working on the mission report, with a towel slung around his neck to keep his hair from dripping onto his shirt.

“H-Huh?” He questioned, surprised at the sight of you sitting upright on the couch. You turned your head slowly toward him and motions toward the flickering lamp.

”Stop flickering the light.” Bob glanced over to where you were gesturing, then brought his gaze back to yours.

”D-Do you see Sentry h-here right now?” He joked, pointing at his eyes, which were shimmering their normal deep blue. Your brows furrowed, your fingers still splayed protectively over the gentle curve of your belly as the lamp pulsed again–once, twice, slow and drawn out, like the rhythm of a second heartbeat.

“Then…What’s happening–” You began, but you didn’t get to finish the thought. Because just as the question began to leave your lips, a soft, undeniable movement rolled beneath your palm. A shift. A stretch. A little thump against your palm.

The light flickered again.

Your lips parted, eyes widening just a little as your heart stuttered in your chest. You looked down, then back at the lamp. And that’s when your pulse spiked with something other than fatigue.

“…Bob?” You said slowly, not taking your eyes off the softly pulsing bulb. He stepped toward you, towel now loose around his neck, one brow arched slightly in concern.

“Y-Yeah?”

You swallowed and turned toward him fully.

“Can you…Go grab me some chocolate ice cream?” You asked. “And crush up some potato chips onto it?”

He blinked. “R-Right now?”

You nodded, voice even and quiet, eyes drifting back to the lamp again. “Yeah. I need to try something.”

Bob didn’t question you further–just gave a soft little hum of acknowledgement, a small smile, and padded into the kitchen, leaving you with the low, steady flicker of the lamp and the strange thumping in your belly that had synced to its rhythm like a song only the two of you could hear.

The hum in your ears didn’t fade. If anything, it deepened the longer you sat still.

He returned quickly, careful hands cradling the bowl like it was precious cargo. The clink of the spoon against ceramic echoed through the quiet room.

“Crushed the chips in nice and good,” He said softly, still clearly trying to read your face. “L-Like you like it.”

You nodded slowly, lips pressed together in something between gratitude and concentration as you took the bowl, your gaze never leaving the flickering lamp. You dipped the spoon into the ice cream, scooping up a messy, jagged mound where crushed chips poked out like salt-dusted glass. You brought it to your mouth and took a bite–cold, crunchy, sweet and savory all at once–and chewed slowly, watching.

Bob sat gently on the edge of the couch beside you, towel still draped across his shoulders, eyes shifting between your face and the lamp.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, fingers brushing your knee through the blanket.

You nodded again, slowly swallowing. Another bite. Another crunch.

Then the light stopped flickering.

Everything went still.

You paused mid-motion, the spoon still hovering near your mouth as you stared across the room.

No hum.

No pulse.

Just silence.

Your tongue flicked absently over your bottom lip, catching a bit of melted ice cream. Then you slowly dragged the back of the cold spoon across your mouth, down to your chin, and turned your head toward Bob.

“…I think we may need to go to the med bay.”

His whole body tensed. His hand stiffened against your knee. “W-Why?” he asked immediately, voice rising an octave. “Is everything okay? Are you n-not feeling good?”

Your eyes searched his, calm but certain. “I’m fine,” you said gently. “I just… I have to ask them something.”

Bob’s brow pinched, his free hand gripping the towel now like he was bracing for bad news. “O-Okay. What…What do you think it is?”

You hesitated. Your fingers brushed your stomach again–this time slower–as the tiniest tap fluttered beneath your skin. Then you looked at the lamp, still quiet and dim. The air around it no longer vibrated and it was no longer looking like it was flickering Morse code at you.

Your voice was barely above a whisper.

“…I think the baby was doing that.”

Bob blinked. “The…The lights?”

You nodded slowly. “It stopped when I gave in and ate what I was craving. Right after I told them to wait.” He stared at you, eyes wide, and you could see the gears turning in his mind–sifting through possibilities, logic, science, the unknown. His lips parted as if to speak, then closed again. You could see the flicker of gold rising just faintly behind his pupils.

“S-So…Our kid…Might h-have Sentry’s abilities?” He said, stunned.

You looked down at your belly, brushing your fingertips gently over the fabric of your shirt.

“I think they already do.” You replied.

————————

The med bay was unusually quiet for midday.

The sterile hum of overhead lights buzzed faintly above, softened only by the muffled whir of machines in the background and the occasional tap of booted footsteps down the hall. You sat perched on the edge of one of the exam room chairs, an old grey hoodie stretched over your bump, the sleeves pushed up as you spooned another mouthful of half-melted ice cream and chips into your mouth.

It was more soup than sundae at this point–cool and salty-sweet–but you didn’t care. The moment it hit your tongue, the baby gave one tiny, satisfied kick. You exhaled, easing back slightly, your eyes drifting across the room to where Bob sat hunched on the edge of the medical table.

He was picking nervously at the bandage on the inside of his elbow–the cotton ball barely hanging on beneath the crinkled tape where the lab techs had drawn a fresh round of blood.They’d also asked for a sperm sample, just in case.

“I-I didn’t think it could p-pass on like that,” He murmured now, eyes still fixed on the loose edge of his bandage, his voice soft with guilt. “The Sentry stuff. I mean…” You sighed quietly, resting the bowl of ice cream on the counter beside you.

“We don’t even know for sure yet,” You said gently, licking a bit of salt from your thumb. “Let’s just wait for the results.”

Bob gave a slow nod but didn’t look up.

“I-I’m sorry,” He said quietly.

Your hand stilled, and you looked over at him. “Bob, I’m not mad at you.”

His head lifted slightly, eyes flickering to yours. “I-It seems like you are.”

You groaned under your breath, pushing up from your seat. “I’m not.”

Crossing the room, you moved to stand between his legs, resting your hands on his knees first, then sliding them up to gently take his hands. He resisted for a second–unsure, sheepish–but let you guide them forward. You brought them to your stomach, pressing his large palms against the gentle curve of your bump. The baby shifted almost immediately, a subtle little roll beneath your skin like they were saying hello.

Bob’s lips immediately turned up into a smile, as his fingers twitched against the spot that had flinched beneath his touch just moments ago.

Then you reached up, fingers curling softly against his jaw as you tilted his head up

“I’m not mad, Bob,” You said again, quieter this time. “Look at me.”

His eyes finally met yours.

Soft and heavy-lidded, lined with something old and aching–guilt, maybe, or worry dressed in too many layers of silence. You could see the shimmer of doubt flickering behind the blue, the way he was already bracing for worst-case outcomes before anyone had said a word. The way he always did when it came to you.

“All I want to do,” You said gently, voice low and even, “is make sure I don’t have to be doing something extra to keep both of us happy and healthy, okay? That’s all this is.”

Your thumbs stroked along the curve of his cheek, slow and patient.

“This isn’t about blame. It’s not about anything other than making sure we’re safe. All three of us.”

Bob let out a short breath, his jaw shifting slightly beneath your touch. “Y-Yeah, but… what if this makes it harder for you?” He murmured, his voice cracking just a little. “W-What if this causes problems further d-down the line? If Sentry is u-unhinged with me sometimes…I-I can’t imagine what a baby could do…E-Especially when it’s relying on you…” You let out a quiet huff, somewhere between a breath and a laugh, and your hand slid up to the soft mess of his hair.

“Well, that’s exactly why we’re here, isn’t it?” you said, arching a brow playfully. “We update the techs, and they figure out a plan. That’s kind of their whole job.”

He opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but stopped when you leaned in a bit closer.

“Bob,” You whispered softly, your fingers tracing just beneath his eye, brushing over the faint circles that had deepened in the past weeks. “We’re a team. Me, you, Sentry…” Your lips tugged up slightly, “…Even the Void, when he’s behaving.” That earned a barely-there smile from him. But it was real. You felt it twitch beneath your palm.

“We’ve gotten through worse. We’re managing all of this together just fine,” You continued. “And we’ll manage this too. Whatever it ends up being…We’ll figure it out.”

He swallowed hard, but nodded–once, then again, a little more firmly this time.

“…Okay,” He said, the word soft but full of trust. “O-Okay.”

You leaned in and gave him a kiss.

It was gentle, slow, and unspoken–the kind that didn’t need to ask for anything. The kind that just reminded him he was still yours. Still enough. Still good.

When you pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, and his hands remained where they were, settled protectively over the curve of your belly like he was guarding something sacred.

The baby stirred again beneath his touch.

And this time, neither of you flinched.

Just sat there in the quiet, holding each other–wrapped in warmth and soft light and the simple truth of your bond, waiting together for whatever came next.

The quiet knock came like a break in static.

You and Bob both looked up, heads lifting at the same time as the door creaked open and the med tech stepped inside with a tablet pressed against their chest. Their expression was professional, but there was a distinct glimmer of curiosity behind their eyes–the kind of barely-restrained intrigue that only showed up when science started tipping toward the supernatural.

“Hey,” The tech greeted, voice gentle but brisk as they closed the door behind them. “Sorry for the wait. We wanted to run everything twice just to be sure.”

Bob straightened on the edge of the exam table. You could feel the shift in his body beside you–shoulders rising, grip instinctively tightening over your hand as if to brace for something he couldn’t stop.

You stayed still, your thumb tracing over the back of his knuckles as the tech swiped through the tablet, pulled up a screen, and angled it slightly toward the two of you.

“So, we compared the blood sample we pulled from you,” The tech said, gesturing toward you, “With the fetal cell-free DNA that circulates in maternal blood during pregnancy.”

Then they paused, looking directly at Bob.

“And we compared both directly with your sample and a read of your original Sentry serum signature on file.”

Your breath caught quietly. Bob’s leg bounced once, then stilled.

The tech continued, eyes flicking back to the screen. “There are definitive traces of the serum’s presence in the fetus. Not the exact structure, but markers–identifiers–that mirror your serum signature almost exactly, including some of the same regenerative protein indicators we’ve flagged in your biology before.”They glanced up at you now, more focused.

“Which likely means that yes, the serum has been passed on in some form. And based on the movement patterns and the report you gave earlier about the lamp responding to emotional states or cravings…” They paused, lips pressing into a tight but impressed line. “…Your baby may already be exhibiting early-stage sensory projection or electrokinetic response. We’ve seen something similar in third trimester post-enhanced cases–but this… This is a bit earlier than we’d expect.”

You blinked, slowly. “So they’re…Already developing powers?” you asked softly, though it didn’t really feel like a question anymore. Just a breath. A confirmation.

The tech gave a small nod. “Looks like it.”

You felt the lump begin to rise in your throat–slow, thick, humming beneath the surface.

“So…They’re only going to get stronger?” you asked, your voice hoarse and tight. The tech offered a small smile, like they were trying to be as reassuring as possible.

“Well, yes. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing.” They glanced down at the readout again. “As long as you keep satisfying your cravings and listening to your body, the fetus will likely stay balanced. Think of it like…Emotional regulation but you’re doing it from within the womb.” You choked out a laugh at that despite yourself, and Bob exhaled a tense breath beside you, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“You just want to be able to keep them under control,” The tech went on. “Y’know what I mean? Stable inputs. Satisfied cravings. No high emotional spikes or power surges. As long as you do that, you and your baby should be completely fine.”

You and Bob both nodded.

His hand tightened slowly around yours again, anchoring you–his thumb curling along the side of your wrist, as if grounding himself through your pulse.

You looked up at him, then smiled faintly as you murmured, “Well, Sentry is going to be buzzing about this for the rest of the time I’m pregnant.”

Bob let out a soft, defeated groan and dropped his forehead briefly to your shoulder.

“P-Probably for the rest of our lives…” He muttered, half-laughing, half-dreading.

You felt his hand slide gently over the swell of your stomach again–warm and gentle–and you knew he was trying not to panic. Not to think too far ahead. But his touch lingered like a prayer all the same. The baby gave a little thump beneath his palm in response.

“Jesus,” He whispered under his breath, bringing his other hand to his temple, massaging it slowly, before adding, “He’s d-definitely buzzing already.”

You snorted and leaned your head against his, your smile widening just a little as the tech chuckled lightly and excused themselves, giving you space.

You didn’t say anything for a few moments after the door clicked shut.

Just breathed.

Together.

And let the truth settle around you like gravity–sacred, strange, and somehow just right.

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qutequeersstuff · 10 days ago

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ENCHANTRESS ╱ BOB REYNOLDS/VOID SERIES

✷ ─── +18 MINORS DNI 𓏲 ◟ ♡ ˖ ࣪ dark themes, witchcraft, mentions of trauma, grief, mentions of character's death, blood & ritual imagery, possession, morally gray characters, violence, sexual tension, slow burn, nsfw smut scenes, chapters with explicit sexual content will be tagged and rated accordingly. each chapter will include specific warnings.

✷ ─── AUTHOR'S NOTE. this series is my love letter to witchy women, lovers of fleetwood mac and mother stevie nicks, and misty day devotees. this is for the ones who speak to the moon, pull tarot cards, carry crystals on their purses, and leave salt at the doors just in case. arabella montenegro is an original character born from my obsession with witchtcraft, feminine rage, tarot cards, and folklore. she's not just a witch, she's a girl with a monster inside of her who still dares to love deeply and profoundly. i also craved a latina!oc for bob reynolds bc yes—latinas for bob reynolds. let's be for real right now, bob needs someone who can hex him and heal him at the same time. thank you for reading and giving this series a chance. reblogs are always welcomed and deeply appreciated, comments warm my heart and inspire me to keep writing, so thank you for always supporting me! lots of love, bri.

✷ ─── ENCHANTRESS SERIES. chapter one: beauty in tragedy. chapter two: the devil you know. chapter three: the witch. chapter four: moonlit waters. chapter five: divine hunger. chapter six: to burn & be burned. chapter seven: of teeth & tenderness. chapter eight: bound by blood. chapter nine: ashes between us. chapter ten: salt in the wound. chapter eleven: blood moon. chapter twelve: whispers in the dark. chapter thirteen: the witch and the void.

⠀‘ ݁ ִ ׂ ̧ ִֶָ 𖥔 ࣪ ˖

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ prophet girl, ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀chosen by the sun, ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀do you hear the gods whispering ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀those silent stardust words?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀cursed daughter, ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ uttering insanities no one believes ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀do you regret taking the vow?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀‘ ݁ ִ ׂ ̧ ִֶָ 𖥔 ࣪ ˖

♱ ˖ ࣪ . ARABELLA MONTENEGRO was born under a blood moon, marked by old gods, bound to ancient magic, cursed and chosen all at once.

A witch.

A weapon.

An Avenger once, before the world became too loud, and her own shadows grew teeth sharper than anyone could control.

They called her The Enchantress, not realizing that name belonged to something else—the other half of her.

The darkness that lives beneath her skin.

Not evil. Not good. Just ancient, and waiting to be let out.

Now, Arabella walks barefoot through the Watchtower—salt at her doorways, obsidian rings on her fingers, shadows whispering her name like a sacred incantation. Her tarot cards never lie. Her shadows never sleep.

After the near-destruction of New York by the Void, she's called back to a world she tried to leave behind, she’s called back to the fight—to the Thunderbolts, to Bucky, to the ghosts of who she used to be.

And to BOB REYNOLDS.

The golden god with too much power, and too many fractures.

He is power incarnate.

And Arabella is the only thing he cannot destroy.

But the Void sees her too. Wants her. Recognizes the entity buried inside her—the one who looks back when she stares too long into the dark.

Because inside Bob, something dark stirs.

And inside her, something just as dark answers.

Arabella Montenegro doesn't believe in salvation. Not for herself, not for anyone else.

But somewhere between salt circles and moonlit rituals, between banter, bitten lips, and stolen touches—the witch and the void begin to burn.

And when they finally touch, the world will never be the same.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ROBERT 'BOB' REYNOLDS ╱ THE SENTRY/VOID

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ARABELLA MONTENEGRO ╱ ENCHANTRESS

𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐅𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐍 © 2025. DO NOT STEAL, REPOST, OR COPY THIS STORY TO TUMBLR, WATTPAD, AO3, OR ANY OTHER PLATFORM. Moodboards and graphics made by @houseofaegon DO NOT repost or reuse without credit. chain divider by @cursed-carmine

♱ ˖ ࣪ . taglist: @the-a-word-2214 @favestxrboy @uraesthete @abbysbenchpr @sammystarswrite @pey2618 @qardasngan @lunaoieoie @orithyia-eriphyle @amatiswayland @madzzz6958 @all-by-myself98 @dark-silhouette @ghost-ghost-13 @wyvernthekriger @gayfiretruck @watermeezer @lvmxla @novausstuff @mommymilkers0526 @natureartisian @feralgoblinbabe @misaki-evans (if you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know in the comments. love, bri.)

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qutequeersstuff · 10 days ago

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Moth to a Flame (Bob Reynolds x Reader) - Part 1

Summary: Robert finds himself growing closer to one of O.X.E.’s many lab technicians. She’s gentle and a spitfire all the same, she’s got an odd tension going on between her and Bucky (were they dating at this point?), and she’s got cat-like reflexes for someone with a Bachelor’s degree in science. The biggest mystery? She’s drawn to him just as much as he is to her.

A mission involving an old HYDRA base clicks everything into place.

Warnings/Themes: Use of she/her and feminine pronouns for reader, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Some Bucky x Reader, but it's a Bob x Reader fic, general HYDRA content and warnings that come with that, No use of Y/N (I tried to challenge myself not to do so lol).

Author's Note: I literally only saw Thunderbolts once and I’m so rusty with writing pls be gentle oh my god. I don’t even know if it’s canon that Bob likes coffee or tea but I saw him with a milkshake so I guess he’s a sweet-tooth in my eyes – anyways I’m babbling. Please enjoy.

I had fun writing. Comments are so appreciated!

This fic will be cross-posted to my Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckityBuckBarnes

There was something off about you.

Bob Reynolds first learned of your existence when Valentina set up a remote lab space in the tower. He snooped around one morning while everyone else ran missions, aimlessly wandering hallways and exploring new rooms he’d never seen before. He walked into the lab, pale feet barely making any noise against the tile floor. His curious gaze ponders the white walls and pristine tables.

“Hey, Walking Safety Violation – I’ve got blades out on the bench!”

The voice startles him out of his stupor, and Bob whips around to you, sitting cross-legged on a stool and eyeing him up incredulously. “Oh – Sorry! Must’ve taken a wrong turn –” he says lamely, hands up to show you he means no harm. He stumbles backwards, back hitting the edge of a table. A beaker clatters against the surface, threatening to spill. He snags it with sweaty palms, stilling it in place before cringing and looking back at you.

Your eyes dart from his ungloved hands to the container with nasty-looking grey liquid. “Jesus Christ,” you mumble, shooting from your seat and running up to him. You grab his sweater sleeve quickly, but not in a harsh way, and slowly steer him so he’s back in the middle of the room – away from anything that could harm him. “This is a lab, not a playground – Look, can you just – Let’s –” You frantically usher him out the door and back into the hallway.

He takes a better look at you now when you’re in front of him. Your appearance is tousled, lab coat wrinkled with random stains, bags under your eyes, a frustrated frown haunting your lips. You’re glaring up at him, but it’s not anything menacing. In fact, there’s slight amusement behind your gaze.

Cute. He’d be lying if he said you didn’t look cute.

He grins nervously, rocking back on his heels and shyly picking at his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m –”

“Robert Reynolds, I know” you interrupt, laughing lightly. “Been working on your DNA for the past 6 months.” You wince. “Wow. Nope. That’s definitely a weird thing to say.”

“Well you can call me Bob…and,” He breathes out a confused chuckle. “What?”

You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. Robert “Bob” Reynolds was definitely not supposed to know that O.X.E. gave you the assignment of figuring out what the fuck he was.

Valentina’s gonna kill you.

To be fair to yourself though, you were running off of fumes and overworked. You’d been isolated from the few friends you had, only having time to chat online – rarely getting the chance to hang out anymore since Project Sentry began. On top of all that? You needed more samples from Bob to pull apart, and Valentina (despite pressuring you to make some progress) keeps procrastinating. Though collecting these samples and thinking of research activities was the job of your lead scientist, you wanted to compile any excuse in the book to finally take a break from the 4 walls you see every day – even if it meant unloading on this guy.

“Well if the cat’s outta the bag,” you grumble. “I’m in charge of running tests on your DNA to figure out how everything Valentina injected into you changed your genomic makeup – How you became infused with Void and Sentry.” You can see him shift uncomfortably in his spot and smile apologetically. “Look, I’m not supposed to tell you about it, alright? I feel like I’m breaking a bunch of HIPAA rules doing it without your permission, but the boss kind of has a hold on me and I owe her a favor. I swear it’s only to benefit you. We’re trying to figure out how to regulate your powers and help you get them under control.”

“Alright, kind of a lot to take in,” Bob says, eyebrows scrunched. “Guess she has a tight-leash on a lot of her employees. Should I get the team involved? We could probably break you out of whatever contract she has you under –”

“It’s not like that” you cut in, shaking your head vigorously. He raises an eyebrow at that. “Appreciate it, really, but it’s more of a…” you try to look for the right words, but feel like you’ve already revealed enough. “Just trust me. No one can really fix my situation,” you offer.

A timer goes off inside the lab, muffled behind the doors. You give Bob a once over, making sure he doesn’t have iodine in his hair or a pipet tip stuck in his foot from bumbling about – and definitely not just to check him out. Once you deem him safe and in one piece, you turn to head back inside.

“Wait!” His warm hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. His grip is firm, but gentle, allowing you to break away if you really wanted. “Could I at least get a name?”

Your gaze is glued onto where his skin meets yours and your cheeks go warm. It only reminds you just how much of a social life you lacked, being locked away in a lab daily for 12 hours. Get it together, oh my god.

You shyly smile up at Bob, taking in his blue eyes and – goddamn his jawline could cut through diamonds. You offer him your name, one that feels rusty on your tongue – One that you haven’t heard since you were a child. Your college degree boasts a different alias, but with Bob, you feel like maybe he’d appreciate your true name.

And he does. He repeats your name gently, his eyes softening. He lets you go, gaze lingering a little too long on your form as you stumble back inside.

The rest of the day, his head was occupied with thoughts of you. He wondered what you did outside of the lab – wondered what shows interested you and what your favorite kind of food was. He also wonders if maybe – just maybe, he was so enamored with you because he spent most of his days speaking with the same 5 people (6 or 7 if Valentina and her assistant needed something, but even that was a stretch). It may be selfish, but he wants to see you again and get to know you. Maybe you and him could start a friendship of sorts, one that he doesn’t necessarily have to share with the others.

The next day, however, his hope for this is crushed when he nears the lab and hears a familiar voice on the other side of the door – one not belonging to you.

With the door slightly ajar, he peeks his head in, his hair falling in messy waves around his head. He sees Bucky, leaning against the lab bench across from you. The tall brunette flexes his fingers as he grips the table behind himself. The only indication that he’s heard Bob peer in is the flicker of his blue eyes towards the door and a ghost of a smirk on his lips. The soldier doesn’t even acknowledge Bob. Instead, he turns his attention back to you.

“And what did we say about keeping a low profile again?” he asks smoothly, his metal finger tracing a groove on the bench.

“I know what I said, but – He’s got puppy dog eyes, man. Besides, it’s a lonely existence in the tower when he’s not on missions with y’all. I’m sure it’s miserable just sitting around as back-up anyway.”

“Woe is he,” Bucky responds in an unconvincing tone. “The kid has enough things to worry about. I don’t think he needed to know that Val was swabbing his spit in his sleep because she didn’t wanna admit they don’t know what they put in his serum.” He sighs wearily, leaning back further before nodding. “That woman’s gonna kill you. Giving you a job was kind of a rare hand-out, you know?”

That comment would sting the hell out of anyone, but Bob doesn’t see you tense at it at all. Instead, your body slouches. “I did go to college. I do have a degree. I’m qualified for this job, Buck. Just got here…later than others my age.” Bob watches as Bucky snorts, posture lowering to match yours. “If it helps – you’re still physically 25.”

Out of his view, your eyes narrow at Bucky. You study the tall man and frown at a realization. “Bob, it’s rude to eavesdrop,” you call out, crossing your arms.

Bob ducks in embarrassment. He scurries in, being more careful not to run into anything this time. Instead, he opts to stand by the door – as if he was interrupting something, as if he wasn’t meant to be there. Of course, he knew Bucky was deliberate in his words and that his presence was caught way before he even stepped foot in the lab wing. Bucky wanted him to hear everything – whether it was because the soldier was sympathetic to being a test subject, or simply felt bad for Bob, it didn’t really matter. He was grateful for not being left out.

“You guys were talking about me,” he says matter-of-factly. He purses his lips. “Is it really snooping?”

You throw him a tired smile over your shoulder. “It's still very much snooping,” you tease. “Bucky was just leaving anyway. If you promise not to spill any media waste today, you can sit and talk to me while I pipette?”

Bucky takes it as his cue to leave, but before doing so, places his right hand on your shoulder. “Just keep your head low, Moth,” he warns softly.

It’s the first time during this interaction that Bob sees you tense up. Your teeth click together in a grit as you shrug off his hand. “Told you to stop calling me that,” you mutter. It’s as if Bucky pushed a button and switched off your previous eccentric personality. “Go.”

Bucky has the heart to look a little disconcerted, as if he’s called you this nickname out of habit. It didn’t hold the same meaning to him as it did to you, from the way your eyes glare sharply in contrast to his worried gaze. Still, he doesn’t push to apologize. Instead, he saunters out, throwing Bob a warm smile.

Within the next hour, Bob silently finds a chair across your bench and watches as you meticulously inject purple samples into tiny wells of a plate. He musters up enough confidence to approach the subject of who you were exactly, but each attempt ends with you chastising him gently with kind words and a sad smile.

That story’s for another time.

You shouldn’t have to worry about that kind of stuff. Could you pass me that box of tips?

Bob. Please, let’s talk about something else. If you’re gonna become my fellow lab-rat, we gotta draw that line, okay?

So instead of prodding you about your history, he asks about what you do for fun, how long you work each day, and what exactly you were doing right now – waterboarding this plate you just painstakingly loaded in front of him.

I like to draw sometimes…play video games. I don’t go out very often, but when I do, I like to treat myself to a nice dinner. What about you?

I feel like I’m in here til 10PM, Bob. I don’t think I’ve made much progress in figuring you out. Your DNA is…sticky?

Well. You need to wash off the residual protein that didn’t bind to the surface and –

The truth is, Bob has no idea what you’re talking about when it comes to science, nor does he quite give a fuck, but your eyes light up and you’re passionately explaining the process to him.

When you ask him for a tool, he practically bounces from his seat to grab it, carefully maneuvering around the lab unlike his first visit. Sometimes, he’ll be unsure of what you’re asking for, and instead grabs a fistful of random shit in the general direction you point at. Instead of making fun of him, your eyes twinkle with amusement. He can’t help but smile back, glad to have drawn you out of that dark place you threw yourself into when Bucky called you ‘Moth.’

In all honesty, he felt a little proud that your attention on him was a contrast from interactions with Barnes. With Bucky, you seem guarded, slightly annoyed, but with a familiar politeness to your composure. You approached the man with hesitancy to understand him. With Bob, you were calmer, and more excited to talk to him about anything sans your past. He was new to you, and you were new to him – and you wanted to befriend him with open arms.

Still, Bob insists that there is something off about you.

The more he visits you, the more weird shit he gets to see.

Every now and then, he’ll find himself in the lab at the same time as you and Bucky. He’s always had a knack for observing, and he sees the lingering gazes between the both of you. Sometimes, there’s an odd crackle of tension when one of you says something seemingly menial, as if referring to something long buried in the past. Hackles raise and shoulders stiffen. It’s almost like you and Bucky forget yourselves. Other times, you share a gaze much softer with each other – much sadder. He can’t help but ache at that. Something was clearly there, and he couldn’t bring himself to feel jealous of the connection.

Sometimes, Bob can’t believe his eyes when you ask for Bucky to hand you a tool and he’s throwing syringes or scalpels at you. Metal would whizz through the air, but you catch it effortlessly, as if you didn’t just pull the craziest move for someone with a Bachelor’s degree in Science. He curiously tests this once, pretending to trip on something while handing you a micro-spoon. The tool flies through the air towards your forehead, but you questioningly snag it and ask if he’s okay (and how the fuck did he manage to trip on flat surface?).

Occasionally, you’ll drop plates when holding too many things at once – and what Bob thinks would end in a biohazardous mess actually ends with you catching it flat with the top of your foot, a slight cringe on your face and none of the liquid disturbed.

At one point, John was working out above the lab, got super impatient with a sandbag, and pummeled it through the ground, sending a shower of sand and broken metal through the floor and over your bench. Instead of shitting yourself (like Bob almost did), you side-stepped around it and sighed in annoyance, claiming that your samples were now contaminated.

The oddest thing Bob has observed about you, however, is your endless capacity for affection and patience, specifically for him.

Ever since meeting you, Bob has made it a rule to visit you every morning (save for mission days). Sometimes, you two didn’t do long lab hangouts – those days were reserved for quick Good Morning’s and a small cup of coffee dropped off at your desk. Still, he told you when he was away, and that was few and far in between seeing each other.

So when Bob went MIA for 4 days straight (with Bucky stating that he was very-much still alive), you got tired of waiting for him at your bench. You slapped your blue gloves onto the metal table and marched your ass up to the sleeping quarters of the Avenger(z).

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qutequeersstuff · 10 days ago

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COUNT TO TWENTY-TWO — part six

⋆˙⟡ robert (bob) reynolds x reader (thunderbolts*)

summary: There's a stolen white van filled with trained assassins with no clear plan on how to take down Valentina and save Bob. But Valentina, on the other hand, has a plan up her sleeve. Unveiling her new weapon, The Sentry. Golden and powerful. Maybe too powerful with Void lurking beneath the surface.

warnings: canon-typical violence, swearing, thunderbolts* spoilers (obviously)

author's note: english is not my native language, so i apologize for all grammatical errors / mistakes in my writing (if there are any!)

You don't have a plan. None of you have a plan. But you're here to save Bob and stop Valentina from doing anything more harmful than she has done already.

You are sitting more upright than before, spine stiff against the cold wall of the rattling white van. Across from you, Yelena is adjusting her handgun, securing the magazine. Then she checks her Window-Bites strapped on her wrists, checking if they're working correctly. Then, Ava is next to her, sitting calmly and swinging her arms over her bent legs. Lazily back and forth. Looking quite bored. John, on the other hand, was also checking his guns and had his helmet on already. He slid the magazine into his handgun and then checked it from the sides. Once from the left and once from the right. His shield was already strapped to his arm, prepared for any fight to happen outside the van, or maybe even inside the van.

You wondered if this was the right path. Storming into the late Avengers tower. Where the first heroes stood, names like Stark, Rogers, or Romanoff. But now it's gonna be visited by a group of psycho warriors that try to play as good heroes. A mismatched group of strangers. Most of you don't even fit the title of hero. You were not exactly sure who you were in this moment. Or who you were pretending to be in this moment. You were not a savior, you weren't even a good person. You tried to be one, but you're not a good person if you kill people. Especially for work. You save some, but you also kill some.

You weren't even sure if Bob wanted to be saved. Did he want you all to find him? To save him, to help him? Maybe he was too far, too gone. Being someone new, someone else. Maybe he wanted to be lost, to be not saved.

But.

Everyone needs saving.

No matter what anyone says, no matter how they act and play. There is always something deep inside of them that's still bleeding. Waiting for someone to reach in. And help. Buried underneath layers of confusion, despondency, and dread. And many more other layers. The ones that fold easily and the ones that are hard to fold. The ones that tell the truth and the ones that lie, it's all deep inside of every single living being even if they don't want to believe in it. It's themselves. It's you.

"We are arriving at your destination! Hold tight!" Bucky's voice rang out from the front of the van, from behind the steering wheel. The van then suddenly kicked forward, forcefully accelerating. The van lurched. You then felt the shift in the gravity, and the van was then lifted off the ground. Its wheels no longer touching the ground, then they fell back down and you hear a loud noise. Glass shattering suddenly. The entire van jolted forward as you then hit the wall, probably inside the building that you crashed through. John's shoulder knocked into you, the shield's edge grazing the side of you as well.

You heard the front door open and that was your cue to stand up. You were quick to jump to your feet and pull out the gun from your thigh holster. Then all the others in the back of the van got up to their feet, all ready to fight whoever was waiting for you all outside. You heard gun shots as well, there was not just a one security guard.

John shoved the van's doors upwards, getting it open. The doors slammed back up and gunfire creaked towards them in a span of a second.

John leapt out first, shield raised high in front of him, hiding. Bullets flickering off it. He charged forward behind it towards her nearest armed guard. John was the first to move, slamming into him. The shield knocked the rifle from the armored guard's hands and then it hit the man full in the chest, the edge of it right into the middle of his front. The force of it sent the guard flying backward.

The blonde shorter woman, Yelena, was next to jump from the white van's back. She bolted out of the van and rounded the side of the white wrecked vehicle, disappearing from your sight. She had a plan in her mind.

Ava was next to jump down. She landed hard against the building's floor, close to where one guard was. He was already raising his gun towards the new addition. Ava closed the distance between them in an instant with a one strong punch landed to his jaw. Then came more. She hit another to his ribs, then to his chest, and then another one and another one. She then kicked off the gun from his grasp and punched him again, stronger now. The man fell to his back and slid away on the floor.

You were the last to jump out.

The moment your boots hit the floor, you didn’t wait. Your hand moved the second you were touching the ground, reaching up to where the blades were tucked at your belt. You sent two of them flying before you could even process where you were standing. Both of the blades struck the nearest guard. Sinking into the skin of his shoulder. The guard staggered backward, grunting in pain, his rifle clattering to the floor as his arm let go of the firearm became of the blades stuck in his shoulder. You didn’t give him a second to recover and get his gun. You lunged forward and caught the ends of the blades, gripping both with tight fists like they belonged to them. Then you yanked them downward, hard and quick. The blades ripped clean through the fabric and the armor beneath. Carving a ragged fine line from the top of his shoulder to just above his chest. His scream pitched higher underneath his helmet and mask, his knees buckling under him as he dropped to the ground in pain. Collapsing down. You didn't need to look at him again as you were already turning and moving away from the body on the ground.

You didn't see the guard on your right, a shot rang out but flew just beside your arm.

“Twenty-Two!” John’s voice cut through the chaos from somewhere on your left. You were quick to turn towards the sound to catch a sound and view of a metal object flying towards you. You grabbed the edge of the shield, twisting your body to plant it between yourself and the shooter on your left. Blocking all upcoming bullets hammering towards you.

The guard let out a few more rounds of shots towards you, who was hiding behind the shield. Then, when the fire eased for a brief second, you hurled the shield with full force. It hit him square in the front of his helmet-covered head, but he went down instantly. His body crumpling down onto the floor. The shield flew back, hitting your arm like it was yours.

You caught it instantly.

John was beside you a moment later, reaching for the shield, which was now in your arm. He ripped it from your arm with a verdy familiar pull and flashed you down a cocky smirk, "you're not bad with the shield. You sure you weren’t asked to be Captain America before me?”

He didn’t wait for your response and was already jogging away towards another guard near him, slamming his boot into the man’s chest like it was just another normal day for him. You smirked at his words with a small chuckle leaving your lips, then you turned towards another guard near you, who was busy aiming his rifle at Ava who was phasing away between other officers.

You leapt towards him and brought your legs up high. Your boots slammed into the guard’s face. He stumbled backward like he didn't know how to walk and in the air you drove your knees forward, ramming them straight into his chest. The force sent him skidding across the floor towards the wall behind him. He was left to lay there.

You took off, already having your eyes on another fight ahead of you. Bucky was in front of you, surrounded by three more armed guards. You jumped onto the nearest one, the one who was aiming his gun right at Bucky's back. Then you wrapped your arm around the back of his throat, yanking it downward and back while he tried to catch his breath. You slammed your knee into the backs of his legs, kicking him down to the floor hard. He fell onto the ground onto his back with a noise of pain escaping him. You stepped over him, raised your boot, and brought it slamming down onto his face. He laid then unconscious, knocked out.

Beside you, Bucky kicked another guard’s knees, sending him staggering down onto the floor. He turned towards you briefly, "nice one!” he shouted at you and you smiled at him back, nodding at him.

The metal-armed man turned back in time to catch the third guard by the neck, his fingers wrapping around the guard's neck under his jaw, holding him off the floor, his feet not touching the ground.

Suddenly, a loud noise of a beep sounded out through the chaos happening at the reception of the building. Everyone froze. Bucky's grip around the guard's neck did not falter and he kept him up off the ground. Your eyes shot up at the ceiling where the sound echoed from. The sound of the beep from the speakers eased and a very familiar voice spoke out.

"Jesus, you guys. I've literally just got that drywall in! I've left the door unlocked, so you can come up," the voice of Valentina Allegra de Fontaine sounded from the speakers.

You didn’t even notice the guard beside you until the faint sound of dragging against the floor caught your ear. The one Bucky had knocked out earlier was dragging himself away on the floor very slowly. He slid slightly, just enough to reach for the weapon he had dropped when Bucky kicked him onto the floor. You turned sharply and kicked it away from the guard, sending it across the floor somewhere into a distant corner. He groaned, curling in on himself again. Shielding himself like a little turtle.

Bucky glanced at the guard still squirming in his grip, holding his neck. Then slammed his forehead forward into a headbutt at the guard. The guard fell onto the ground with a pained sound.

Around you, the others from your little hero group left their guards alone as well. All of the guards are coughing, wheezing, or pulling away in pain that you all caused to them. Apparently for no reason. Everyone moved, stepping over groaning or unconscious bodies. All of you followed Bucky who was walking towards the elevator to get to the main room where Valentina most likely is.

"Come up? I don't like this—" you muttered to Ava on your side, who just phased right next to you. She made her mask disappear and she looked at you with the same expression as you currently had on your face.

"It's definitely a trap," the dark-haired woman muttered to you as the two of you stopped just in front of the elevator, waiting for it to come down, "Valentina has something up her sleeve. I'm telling you that."

The elevator then made a sound. It had arrived down to your floor. Bucky stood much more straighter in the front at the sound, preparing for whoever may be on the other side. Not moving. Behind him, John shifted as well. The shield strapped to his arm raising just a little bit higher than before. Just in case. The doors then slid open with a very common mechanical sound of a ding. All of you stopped in front of it, now staring at an empty elevator. There was nobody inside.

Bucky stepped closer first, chest rising slowly as he peered inside. Then he gave a nod and stepped inside first. Going right at the back of it and then turning around, leaning his back against the wall. John peered inside and then walked right after the metal-armed man, adjusting the shield on his arm. He stopped just by Bucky's left, right at the elevator's corner. Ava stepped closer to you, letting Yelena walk in before the two of you. She was quick to stand right in front of the two super soldiers. She raised her eyebrows, still unsure about this whole situation.

"Come on," you nudged your shoulder with hers. She looked at you and nodded, going in before you, right beside Bucky on his right. You stopped just in front of her and then Alexei was the last one to go in, standing just beside you.

The doors then slid shut. The descent began nearly immediately as the doors closed. No one touched anything. No buttons were touched or pushed. It was programmed for you to only get where Valentina wanted you all to be at.

No one in the elevator spoke. You did not know what to talk about. You didn't want to make any assumptions or theories about what will happen on the floor you are going to. What will welcome you there, or who will welcome you there? You could feel your muscles twitch in your legs, and there was still feeling inside you. You were not scared. It wasn't fear. You just did not know what to expect. After all, that woman has the only power to kill you. The only thing in the world that lays you to a complete sleep. The one where you never wake up. The never-ending darkness.

The elevator kept going. Higher and higher. The floors are going by. The elevator continued its very silent ascent. The panel just above the door flickered every time you passed another floor. The numbers are climbing nearly endlessly to whatever is waiting at the summit. Each floor brought you even much closer to the woman who was the main character in this play. Who knew everything about this, about you, about everyone. She has it all planned and always has had it planned.

The elevator chimed once again with the very common mechanical sound of a ding

It settled with a sound and for a moment the doors didn't open, as if they were frightened of what was behind them as well. Then the doors started to slide open. The numbers above stopped at the last one out of them all.

The blonde woman was the first one to move. Stepping out with confidence holding over her. Her head turned from one side to the other one, taking in the newly shown room in front of her. Her eyes catalogued every detail of it.

Her father followed just behind his daughter. His shoulders squared upward when he stepped out, preparing for anyone or any fight. The helmet clipped onto his head. Then Bucky moved. He didn’t look to the sides, didn't look at the details of the room. He said nothing and just moved behind the two Russians, Yelena and Alexei. Then the rest of you spilled out. You, Ava, and John follow close behind. Both of them are on your side like protective shields.

The room itself was breathtaking. It was nothing close to where you had lived before. Nothing similar to the small apartments you had back when you lived in Europe. When you travelled from one country to another one. This room had floor-to-ceiling windows. Glass was stretching wide and into the height, revealing the beautiful unobstructed view of the skyline of New York City sprawling endlessly below. Skyscrapers reached towards the windows like they wanted to take a look inside as well. From this height, the city looked nearly peaceful.

"How crazy is it to think of all the monumental fights that happened exactly here where you're standing?" the familiar voice spoke out and you finally caught the sight of the woman who said it. She was standing by the kitchen table and just popped out a bottle of champagne or a bottle of wine. Now pouring herself a glass of it.

"I... I don't really care," she said almost immediately after, sipping the drink from her glass, moving away from the table, "I mean the place wasn't cheap, but... it's got the optics."

"Well. It's over, Valentina," Bucky's voice broke through, cutting off Valentina's useless and uninteresting speaking, "this ends today."

"Oh, Congressman Barnes. Oh, wow," Valentina turned towards the metal-armed man who stopped just a few steps away from her. Soft, but sarcastically with a breath of mockery, "you know, I never really thought of you'd have a promising political career, but... Last than half a term? Yikes..."

"We're taking you in, Val," John spoke out instead of the other super soldier. His voice was low, but strong with words.

Valentina let out a little fake laugh from between her lips, raising one of her eyebrows at the super soldier, "I don't think so... Junior Varsity Captain America."

That was the final push of words for John. John's mind snapped and so did his steps. His hand darted for the gun strapped at his thigh, his fingers wrapping around it. But before he could take another step, a sharp voice of the other super soldier with longer hair rang out, "Walker!"

It was a single word, but it froze the other super soldier from doing anything harmful to the woman. The room went still again.

"Oh, nice to see you, Ava," the woman now turned towards the dark-haired woman on your right who made a few small steps towards the woman with a drink in her hands. Her voice laced with fake, mockery sweetness.

Valentina then did a double-take when she noticed the blonde woman, "Yelena..." she made a grimace at her, blinking a few times, "you look awful."

Yelena blinked at her and gave her a wide sarcastic smile that stretched on her face. Then it fell back down as fast as it came on.

"You're sure you're really ready for that public-facing goal that you asked me now?" Valentina tilted her head and looked at the blonde woman through her lashes. Smiling at her. The blonde woman started to slowly walk up the steps on the small platform of the kitchen that Valentina was standing on. Yelena then snapped at her, "eat shit, Valentina. Let's go."

"Okay... You are all so adorable. Just think, I've sent you down there to kill each other and instead you make nice and you form a team—" Valentina smiled at Yelena and then looked around the other suited up people until her eyes fell onto you. She stopped, her mouth falling open slightly. Her expression faltering. Her mouth dropped, brows pulling tighter as if her eyes did not work properly over seeing you standing there before her.

"You're—How are you alive?" she asked, her lips parted and eyebrows furrowing. Her eyes travelling over your figure as if you were not real in her eyes.

You didn't move at first, "you are not as clever as you think you are, Valentina," you said, a small bit of anger threading through your facial expression, brows furrowing on your face. Valentina's fake smile returned back onto her face in that same moment after you closed your mouth.

"I knew it wouldn’t be that easy to use. But I will figure it out. Don’t worry," she said with that fake voice of hers. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she spoke her bitter words, "you’ll no longer be called Twenty-Two. Rather… a Zero, huh?”

You held your ground, forcing your mouth to stay shut, teeth clenched tight to keep from saying anything that you wanted to come out. To tell her. Or from pulling out the gun strapped to your thigh. You held yourself back from doing anything. Just as your eyes moved, in your peripheral vision, you caught a slight movement. It was John.

He stepped forward gradually. You noticed that his hand hovered near the grip of his weapon which was tucked at his gun holster on his thigh, but his fingers didn’t close around it. He didn’t act. Not yet. He wanted to, though. You didn't look at him, but the gesture meant something to you. You were grateful somewhere deep in your soul. It spoke loudly.

"Anyway—" she turned her head away from you and her gaze fell upon the red-suited man on her right who was leaning himself with his arm against the table, "and who's this old Santa?"

"I'm Alexei Shostakov," the Russian super soldier spoke his name. That made Valentina even more confused and she tilted her head at him. The man leaned closer and spoke louder than he did before, "the Red Guardian."

"What?" Valentina grimaced with confusion on her face. She did not recognize this man from anywhere and he did not look like that he belonged here.

"Where is Mel?" Bucky spoke out and stepped closer to the woman with the drink in her hand.

"Mel? ...Ohh, Mel, yeah!" she said with a fake voice of hers, thinking about the mentioned name for a second, "Mel is having a little loyalty issue, but I'm just so grateful that she stayed long enough to lure you all in!" As she spoke, Bucky reached forward and took the glass of champagne or wine from her hand. She didn’t stop him at all. Bucky placed the glass drink gently on the countertable behind her.

Then, the metal-armed man reached forward with his right hand. His hand rose towards Valentina. Right at her neck, or her jaw, or face. But just as his fingers came within a small distance between his hand and her face, the hand suddenly stopped moving.

His entire arm froze.

His wrist started trembling. As if a weird force stopped him. The limb wavered oddly in the air in front of Valentina's sly face, glitching like it was in the wrong dimension. There was no physical barrier, but something else was there, holding him from moving any further. Any closer to the woman. Something invisible. Holding him and his arm in place.

Keeping Valentina safe and untouched.

Valentina didn’t flinch at his hand. She simply looked at him, unfazed, "I'm not alone..."

"Robert."

Your heart dropped. Your chest tightened like it had been touched with a cold hand, squeezing it. You took a step forward, eyes wide, mouth parting. A short hesitant and unbelieving step forward. Your mind flipped as the name left her lips. That name. It was Bob.

But then you heard it. Someone's footsteps. They were heavy and loud. Sounding out as they came down the steps behind Valentina. You froze, staring at the appearing figure at the top of the stairs. Everyone else stilled too. Staring frozen at where the sound of footsteps was coming from. Boots appeared first, dark black leather ones, stepping over the stairs down.

And then he stepped fully into your view.

It was him.

But it wasn’t.

It wasn't just Bob. The one you knew. But it was the one from the papers Yelena handed to you when you were back in Utah's desert. Project Sentry. The person in front of you did not resemble Bob, it was Valentina's impression of the golden guardian, Sentry.

"Oh my god," Yelena let out as she took in the appearance of the figure in front of her. Stepping backward, her eyes wide. You kept your eyes on him, following each step the figure took down the stairs. Your stomach twisted.

The figure that stepped down the steps had the face of someone you know. The rest of him looked different, almost unfamiliar. Like it wasn't even him under all that. A different person with the same face. This was not the Bob that you were looking for. This was someone else.

His suit was yellow and gold, with black stripes like veins going down his sides. On his back, was flowing blue cape. The suit stretched tight over his frame like it was part of his skin. Almost sticking to him. Sleek and form to him. The texture was something between an armor and a cloth, not at all similar to the hospital pajamas he was wearing when you had met him in the vault in Utah. On his hips hung a belt with a symbol. The familiar symbol with the letter S that you had seen on the papers that Yelena gave you. Then, just below his throat, was a circular indent in the suit. His hair was different too. Gone were the familiar soft brown locks that you remembered that he had. The small strands of hair that fell over his eyes in some moments. Now, it was blond. Almost unrecognizable. It was slicked back, away from his face. Keeping his face seen for the people.

It was all fitting like it was drawn and shown in the papers. She had made him what she had wanted him to be.

The Golden Guardian of Good.

Sentry.

Not Bob.

She hadn't just enhanced the man. But she had changed him, designed him. It wasn't Bob. Not anymore. He was exactly what Valentina wanted. Just like in the pictures. A living, breathing weapon of hers that she will use.

"That's Bob?" Bucky asked out loud, moving away from Valentina and holding his wrist. It caused him slight tolerable pain at that spot.

"Yeah, he's changed a little bit," Ava muttered, squinting her eyes at the approaching gold and yellow-suited figure with a flowing blue cape.

"It is my great honor to introduce you... The Sentry," Valentina held her hand up at the man who stopped to stand just next to her. A smile stretched on her lips.

The man with now blond hair turned his head towards where you all stood, nodding a few times. Then he spoke out, "hey, guys..."

"Wow. That's a cool name," Aelexei said from underneath his bushy beard, staring at the man in gold. You couldn't tear your eyes off Bob. Or now Sentry. You were wondering if Bob was still there, the Bob that you had met. You were looking for something else. Or rather someone else. Was that quiet-spoken, nervous, but brave man that you had met still buried underneath all that armour and power?

"All powerful, invincible, stronger than all the Avengers rolled into one. Soon to be known as the Earth's mightiest hero," Valentina started to describe the man beside her and his power. The words rolling off her tongue like she was reading an encyclopedia about gods. Ava and John looked back at Alexei who complimented the name, their expressions furrowed. Then they looked back at the golden figure in front of them.

You kept staring. Your eyes were glued. You couldn't move. You were frozen, glued, unmoving. Then, just that moment, the man in gold's eyes moved and fell upon you. Your gazes meeting together. His gaze didn't waver away, it stayed on you. You just stared back at him, eyes wide, chest tightening slightly. But not in fear. It was in hope. Hope that he was still there. Your lips parted very slightly and a whisper almost left your parted mouth. His name. But your voice was stuck. You were completely stuck.

"Have you dyed your hair?" Ava suddenly quipped in, tilting her head as she stared at the different colour hair on his head.

"Um. Y-Yeah, um—" the figure in gold answered the dark-haired woman. The speaking was just like Bob. You knew it was him deep inside, maybe even outside. It was Bob. You felt it, in your whole body and soul. He is there, in front of you. Alive but still different.

"Yeah. It was my idea! People love classic heroes," Valentina smiled at the woman and then at the figure in gold next to her who looked down at her as if he expected her to speak for him.

"Okay, I'll bite. What's the plan?" Bucky stepped forward, his eyes trained on the woman in front of him. Staring daggers at her from his place.

"Haven't you figured it out yet, Bucky?" Valentina tilted her head and her smile dropped very slightly, her eyes on the longer-haired man with a metal arm, "well, at least you're somehow cute..."

"You're not going to hurt people," Alexei spoke out with his thick Russian accent lacing his words that left his mouth.

"Oh, no..." Valentina said with her voice dropping lower, "no! I'm not gonna hurt people. I'm gonna hurt you," Valentina sharpened her tone, "you see, the press is on their way here now and they're going ot witness the awesome power of the Sentry as he takes down this ruthless group of rogue agents," she widens her smile at you, her white teeth visible, "and that's the beginning of new era, in which I decide how to keep the American people safe. Answering to noone..." her eyes glistening with pride and determination. Then her voice turns lower again, sharp, "I will be unimpeachable."

Beside her stood the golden Sentry. Bob stood beside her. The golden figure stood still, moving slightly on his feet like he didn't know what to do with his body. But he didn’t move any forward. Didn’t speak. But his eyes once again found yours again. A gaze that lingered on you for a moment too long. Something flickering in them, lonely deep inside his orbs. Reaching, looking for something outside.

And then his eyes moved quickly away when another person spoke again.

"That's... never gonna happen," the metal-armed man drawled at her. Mocking smile tugging at his lips.

"Sentry... your first mission is to take down these criminals," Valentina turned her head slightly to the side, changing her tone to the golden man beside her.

You instinctively stepped back, your posture straightening. You knew this could end badly if Valentina is the one controlling Bob. The dark-haired woman close to you, Ava, got her mask back on her head, standing more alarmed than before. Bucky rolled his shoulders and stepped more straighter and prepared as well. The other super soldier, John, stepped forward too, raising his shield slightly higher than before. Trying to stay prepared for whatever could come at him.

Bob, or the Sentry now, gulped and looked at you all right in front of him. His eyes were searching for something to reach out to. He breathed out, "I don't wanna hurt you guys..." he let a small awkward smile glide onto his lips, "why don't you just... turn yourselves in?"

"You don't wanna do this, Bobby," John shook his head. The call of the nickname for Bob made the golden man turn his head, his eye twitching slightly. Something moving within him, deep inside. Like it was being pushed.

"You can call me the Sentry," the man in gold said with a such a different from tone that you had ever heard him use. You narrowed your eyes at him, pleading for him silently to look at you. He has a choice, he needs to know that.

"Please, don't do this. You do not need to listen to her," Yelena stepped forward, her eyes snapping to the man in a cape beside Valentina. Her voice was full of urgency and emotion. The man in gold didn’t respond. He just looked at her. Not knowing what to say, but Valentina was quick to make up her own story to push him.

"Robert. They don't think you're good enough," Valentina tilted her head up at the man in gold. She didn't raise her voice, she didn't really need to. Her words hit like it was a yell in Bob's mind, turning all the thoughts against him. But Yelena was quick to defend her own words and not make Bob believe the other woman beside him. The manipulative one.

"That's not true, remember? You can trust me. I know you," she stepped forward, her eyes softening. Trying to defend herself from the manipulative woman's lying words. Her eyes did not leave Bob's.

"I don't think that you do," he replies coldly, his demeanor cracking into something else than he really was. His words were cold coming from his mouth. His shoulders were then set harder, and his face stiffened. He looked different from what he looked like before.

Yelena’s face crumpled, fell down. Her breath caught in her throat, words not leaving her mouth anymore. As if the language failed her, she didn't know what words to say to save the man. He was too far, too gone from the truth and saving.

The short moment of silence was cut off by loud yelling of the Russian super soldiers behind the group, "enough talking!"

"No one messes with the West Chesapeake Valley... Thunderbolts!" the man yelled out, growling loudly at the woman and the man in a cape standing opposite him. Then he launched himself off to run towards them, Yelena and Bucky jumping away to not get bulldozed by the bigger man in a red suit.

Valentina furrowed her face and moved herself behind the caped man, "Thunderbolts?"

Before Alexei could throw any punch or kick, he only neared close to the golden man before being absolutely thrown away. By a single punch to the stomach from the man in the cape. He was thrown into the wall behind him and then he fell back down when he made contact with it. Bob didn't even look like he used any force. A single small punch to the stomach made a man like Alexei be thrown across the room like he was a small feather.

"How did—" you started to say, moving away to the side as well. Bucky was quick to pull out both of his guns and aim them at the man with the cape. Yelena quickly jumped in front of Bucky to stop him from shooting at the now-blonde man. Standing just in front of the metal-armed man's target, blocking his path of shooting.

John threw his shield at the blonde man, and it spun in the air, moving fast towards the man with the cape. But he was quick to raise his arm in front of himself. Almost with such a simplicity. The shield flew back to John's arm. Bouncing from the Bob's arm to the super soldier. Then came Ava's turn. She phased just behind the man in gold and punched him, which didn't make him even flinch. Her fist hit him but it didn't have any chance of him being hurt or even touched by it. It did absolutely nothing. Not even a flinch, a sway of his body from the impact. He just simply turned his head at her. His expression remained stoic and unreadable. John then came jumping at Bob, his shield raised up in the air. He was quickly caught by the hit of Bob's arm against the shield. Yelena tried to run up to him. Surging forward, but before she could reach him, she was quickly stopped.

A sudden force, just when Bob lifted and stretched his arms beside his body up, everyone around him flew to the sides like they were pushed by strong wind. An invisible wave of force pushing against the bodies and making them go further away. Yelena was hurled backward, dropping to the ground hard. Ava crashed down in a roll, phasing out at the last second to avoid smashing directly at the table beside. John's shield flew from his arm as he was thrown away, landing just beside the long wide windows.

Bucky once again had both his handguns pointed at the man with the cape, already shooting at him. You let out a louder sound as the bullets flew straight towards the blonde man. Bob then just stretched his arms beside in front of himself, his palm facing the upcoming bullets coming his way. They were stopped just in front of his palm. He tilted his head at where the bullets had stopped, almost not believing the sight in front of him either. Then he pulled his hand back and made a motion to send the bullets flying back from where they came from, changing the direction of their journey. They were then straight tossed at Bucky. The man didn't even process the flying bullets towards him until the another super soldier with a shield jumped right in front of him. The shield was pulled high to stop the bullets from getting to either of them. They both then hit the wall behind them, just where Alexei had hit it a few moments before.

You didn't know what to do. You didn't want to hurt the man, but the way he was hurting others was not a nice way to go. You did not want to fight him. You didn't know if you should join the fight and let yourself be drowned in the sea of disappointment and embarrassment of being downed by the once-hospital-pajama-clothed man and Valentina. A bitter shame pressing into you from above.

"Alexei, wait!" Yelena rasped out loudly when her father came running towards the blonde man. With a small hand knife. The father did not slow, he was already off running like a beast.

He raised his hand to stab the man, but was once again stopped by the invisible force that Bob was using when he put his palm facing him and the knife. The Russian then pushed the arm away and huddled around the man to wrap his arms around Bob's stomach, trying to push him off his balance. He was pulling against him like he was a toy. Not moving at all. Alexei then continued to try stabbing the man anywhere on the yellow-gold suited covered body. The stabbing was not causing any damage as it was being held by an invisible force or a shield around him. Even when he tried to stab his face, nothing happened. Not even a scratch, not even touching his body with the tip of the knife. Nothing. Not even a step being taken or a flicker of damage on him. He didn't budge at all. Like the air had become solid, he couldn't make the knife touch the blonde man.

Alexei muttered something under his breath and raised his other hand to punch him. Bob was quick to respond to him by stretching his arms towards him, the invisible force pushing Alexei through the window, breaking it, and leaving him hanging and flying above hundreds of metres above the ground. For a one short horrific moment, he was levitating above New York's streets. Then he was pulled back, yanked, and thrown against the kitchen cabinets. Alexei didn't even have time to scream out. He was thrown hard back. The glass of the cabinets broke when his body hit it. Cracking and collapsing around him.

Ava phased just again next to Bob, but he was quick to fly, or rather teleport, away. Ava was not even being so fast to acknowledge it before she was punched in her chest by him, throwing her away. John then came running at him too, hitting him square in his jaw with the shield. The blonde man didn't even flinch, the shield not causing any damage to his face. Bob turned around, his fingers wrapping around the edge of the shield before he turned it around, his other hand also wrapping around the other edge of the shield. Then, he pulled his hand forward. Bending the shield. Bending it right around John's arm like it was nothing, like a piece of rubber. Not a metal. Like it was nothing to Bob. He then punched him and pushed him away.

Just when John's body fell on the ground close by you, you knew you had to join. You couldn't stand there any longer, not helping and just staring. Without a second thought, you launched yourself off the floor, sprinting towards him. Towards Bob. You had to try, anything would help now. You jumped at the last moment when you were near him, throwing a kick at his knees to make him try to lose his balance. A desperate attempt at something. But he didn’t even flinch. Didn't even buckle or move. It was like kicking a statue. Like a rock. Without a second attempt at kicking him in his knees, you wrapped your arms around his shoulder, your hands gripping the top of his golden suit, just where his cape came to be connected.

You were breathless. Your face close to his as you shouted at him, "Bob! What are you doing? This isn't right!"

He didn't respond to your question, his eyes didn’t even meet yours. They slid to the side, down to where your hands clung to him at his shoulders. Like he didn't believe your hands were on him. Then his head tilted and he looked up at you. His eyes were different, "how do you know what is right?” he snapped at you.

Then his arm moved up. His hand shot up and closed around yours which was on his shoulder, his fingers wrapping tightly around yours. Pain is spreading through your fingers. His grip crushed your fingers inside his palm. You let out a choked, ragged noise as your hand twisted unnaturally in his. It hurt, your fingers bending in his palm into different directions than they were supposed to be. He was squeezing them so hard. Your fingers twisting beneath the pressure of his hand.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, his eyes staring down at you. He leaned closer, "especially you."

Then his other hand rose. The other one was still crushing your fingers so badly in his palm that you were expecting him to break all your fingers one by one. The invisible force suddenly hit you too. It slammed against you and hurled you across the room. You flew across the room, and then your back collided with the wall. You then slid down, your knees falling against the floor, your other hand scrambling to hold the one that was being crushed by Bob's a few seconds before. It stung and hurt.

Your good hand cradled the one that was in Bob's grasp. The pain was terrible. Your fingers throbbed in pain, definitely slowly swelling. You looked up and cradled them close to your chest. You caught sight of a movement in front of you. It was Bucky. He stood up and unzipped his leather jacket that he was wearing, pulling it right off and throwing it to the side somewhere behind him. Now his arms are free, a blank black shirt clinging to him.

He stalked forward and jumped just as he was in front of the golden man. He hit a strong punch with his metal arm across Bob's jaw.

But Bob, he didn't even move.

No recoil, flinch, or stagger. He stayed still like a statue. Not a single twitch of pain across his face. His eyes gazed at the metal-armed man who was trying to hurt him in any way.

His face did not show an expression of any pain or discomfort. Bucky threw another two punches across Bob's face, but he stood still. Bucky was determined. Bob's facial expression was not changing as he stared down at the metal-armed man who was throwing punches at him. The metal-armed man was driving punches into him like he was a punching bag in a gym. Bucky threw another round of punches at his stomach, then again at his face and jaw. Bob stood completely unfazed, utterly unaffected by this whole stunt. Then Bucky tried one last punch at the man with the cape, but his arm was stopped by a hand wrapping around his fist. Bucky never got a chance. Stopping him in the middle of his punch.

Bob’s eyes dropped to the metal arm in his hand. Bucky’s vibranium arm then somehow started shimmering. An orange soft glow was creeping along the inside of the vibranium metal gear. The metal began to turn glowing crimson, as if heat was blooming beneath the surface of the metal arm. Bob's fingers were digging into the metal, making Bucky's metal arm tremble. His eyes went wide as she took in his other arm. Bob was looking amused, smirk slightly showing on his lips.

And then, he ripped the metal arm off Bucky's shoulder.

Bob then didn't even look at the new addition in his hand before he swung it at the other man. The vibranium arm collided with Bucky and made him be thrown away. Bucky was then launched backwards, his body completely lifted off the ground. He flew through the air of the room and then crashed down just near the others. Yelena, Ava, John, and Alexei are near him. You were on the opposite side, alone with your hand cradled to your chest as you watched the scene in front of you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a flicker of movement. Just near the nearly gone, shattered remains of the kitchen. Your eyes snapped to it. You saw a chance, only one. So, you didn't think and took it. You ran. Scrambling to your feet, your eyes on the figure by the kitchen.

Valentina was standing there. Slowly moving around the destroyed remains of the kitchen. But you were quick to catch her.

You threw yourself at her with everything you had left in you. Every single power you held. The both of you then crashed to the floor in a tangled heap, your body landing hard against hers. Right on top of her. She grunted out, surprised by the sudden fall. Your hands found her throat and squeezed. Hard and as much as you could. Your knee drove itself right into her stomach, which made her let out a pained gasp. Then she let out a strangled and aheezing sound like a groan. Her hand flew up, her nails scraping against your wrists, clawing at your grip.

She parted her lips and tried to call for any help, "Robert—help!" she rasped out.

You didn't let go. You were determined. You tightened your grip, digging your fingers into her neck, pressing down harder than you ever could. Her eyes widened. Her legs kicked against the floor and her other hand then suddenly went low, just where her skirt ended, where a pocket laid on her skirt. Her fingers went in, but you kept squeezing your fingers across her neck, your knee pushing against her stomach. Pressure building.

Then, a pain erupted inside your body.

It was everywhere. Every nerve lit up at once, and your whole body felt it. Your chest, your head. Literally everything. Every single part of your body. It was like your muscles were folding themselves. The air fled from your lungs almost immediately, like it wasn't even there before. It felt like your whole body was being torn apart. It was unbearable. It was indescribable.

It was just any pain.

It was death.

Your grip faltered just as your vision went dark. It was just a void. The darkness consumed you. This time, you were not sure if there would be any return for you. If there was a return. You might not wake up. The pain had vanished. But it had only vanished because you did too. The silence was not peaceful, it wasn't peace. It was a void, an absence. It wasn't cold, nor warm. It was nothing. It was absolutely nothing. And it welcomed you like an old friend, like it knows you. Like it may keep you there this time.

Forever.

John yelled out your name the moment your body collapsed on top of Valentina. Your limbs falling limp like you were a marionette doll. But you didn't hear the call of the number. You were not there anymore. Your form laid utterly still on top of the now gasping woman. There wasn’t a twitch. Not a breath. Just that terrifying stillness. Your body is completely still once again. John had seen it before, but this time it was different. Your body was not disappearing.

Ava was already moving, scrambling to her feet. She grabbed the metal arm in front of her that laid on the floor, Bucky's metal arm. Yelena was already opening the elevator and was quick to jump inside, Ava following just behind. Bucky was quickly thrown over Alexei's shoulder with the help of John. The three super soldiers scrambled away from the scene, away from Valentina and Sentry. All of them were inside the elevator, apart from the one super soldier. John followed last, but hesitated at the doors. He couldn’t move. He didn't know if he should. He couldn’t tear his eyes from your body. You still hadn’t disappeared, you were not reappearing. There wasn't any rewinding. Your body was still there. You were lying on top of Valentina, who was trying to push you off.

John wondered if this was the actual time. The one where there would be no coming back. No twenty-two before regeneration. Just death claiming you like an old friend that could finally stay.

John's eyes couldn't leave you, but he turned slowly away. His eyes landed on the golden-suited man standing still. Bob was still watching you. His face was now quite readable. He was frozen. His hands were limp at his sides, but his fingers were twitching, almost trembling. His chest rose and fell, like he was trying breathing exercises. His lips were parted, just slightly. And his eyes... His eyes were wide, flickering with something. A faint golden glow had begun to shine around his orbs. It was flickering like a fire.

"Walker!" Ava yelled out and Alexei's hand grabbed his wrist, pulling him inside the elevator room before the doors closed shut. Shutting you all away.

Valentina finally shoved your body off her, grunting as she pushed herself upright back. She coughed out, but sat up straight. She stood up and slowly, very slowly, walked towards the man in the cape. She stopped just beside him, massaging her throat from the pain you caused her from the grip on her neck.

"Finish the job, Robert,” she said to him, tilting her head up at him. Staring as the elevator doors sealed the three of you from others. Your body lay there by the kitchen. Utterly still and quiet. Dead.

Bob didn’t move. Not at first. His fingers trembled at his sides. His eyes stayed locked on you.

“…Finish the job?” he repeated in a whisper, turning his head to the side towards Valentina who stopped just beside him. But his eyes did not leave your body.

"What did you do?" his voice deepened, his fingers trembling at his sides even more than before. The words were laced with venom. He slightly turned his head again, his eyes finally snapping to the woman beside him, "what did you do?"

"You need to do what I say, Robert," Valentina responded without answering his question, a smile stretching on her lips.

He looked down at her, his eyes twitching a small bit of an unbelievable, awkward smile getting onto his lips, "why?"

"...Why?" she echoed back, squinting at him. She was starting to get a bit mad, maybe even anxious. He wasn't listening to her and she knew that could end badly for the both of them.

"How did you kill Twenty-Two?" he stepped forward towards Valentina. She simply took a step back, staring up at his twitching face. She kept her chin up, staring up at him. His voice dangerously dropped at the question.

"I have my ways," she said with a simple voice and a curling smile. That made the man in gold look at her like a beast.

"No. You can't do that," he said lowly, his head bending down almost scarily. His face twisting. He looked feral, like he was about to crack through the surface of his own body. He looked almost inhuman.

"I can and I did... Robert, listen. All of them are just a manipulative, lying group of criminals. You cannot possibly think that Twenty-Two or either of them cared about you," the woman swallowed down all the fear and stepped forward to the man. Standing straight like a ruler with squared shoulders. She was trying to stay confident in the presence of nearly a god himself.

"You're lying—" he muttered quietly, his brows furrowing. Uncertainty flashed across him. He looked nearly hurt, but still stood his ground. Believing his truth.

"Robert," she pressed with his government name, her voice firm, "they are now free. You had a mission to to take them down—"

"But..." he started to say, lifting his head up, something twinkling in his eyes like a flame. He stepped forward, lifting his head with his chin. Towering above the woman.

"Why would a god take orders from anyone at all?"

Valentina's face changed, a small flicker of fear drawing shapes on her face, "I think you're throwing around the word god a bit loosely there..."

"No, no... Cause you said I was all powerful and invincible. Stronger than the whole team of Avengers, which includes at least one god. So..." he started walking around her, nervously scratching his hands. His eyes flickered to your body a few steps away from him, his heart hammering in his chest. His breath ragged at the sight, but then he rather pulled his eyes away. He didn't know what to do. His pacing was slow, restless, and confused. Almost anxious.

"So, I'm starting to think maybe... you don't know what I am..." he stepped forward again, closing himself onto the woman. He stopped his anxious pacing, blocking her path. Stepped in closer.

"Oh, goddamn it..." she whispered, or rather hissed, under her breath. Her hand sneaked behind her back, right pulling out something from her skirt pocket.

"Or what I'm capable of..." he slowly inched closer to the woman, taking long but slow strides right towards her.

"Maybe, I need to show you," he stopped just in front of the woman, his head lowered and staring down at the woman. She had her hand behind her back, hiding something. But he noticed it, he felt it. He felt her fear. He felt everything.

"This is so... irritating," she gritted her teeth together, her finger resting against the small button of the device which she was hiding behind her back. Her last level of control. Control over the golden man in front of her. She still thought she could win at this point. But she thought wrong.

Bob, or rather Sentry, moved faster than Valentina could even process.

His body surged forward, his cape flying behind him. His arm snapped upward and his hand clamped around the woman's already bruised throat. His fingers curled into the exact same bruised flesh where your hands had been gripping at the same flesh just moments before. It was like the man was retracing your own art and act. His fingertips pressed into the growing purple marks that slowly bloomed on her skin. Fingers holding her neck with precision like he wanted to completely break her. Her breath caught in a strangled gasp when his fingers wrapped around her neck, her eyes bulging out. His boots then left to floor and so did her heels. Then, together they rose in the speed of light, floating and him holding her by the neck like she weighed nothing. Then he surged and flew forward, backward for Valentina.

He slammed her into the tall pillar just between the wide and long windows which showed off New York's skyline. The back of her head slammed against the wall and then recoiled back. The device that she planned on using against the golden man laying somewhere behind them on the floor, loosely fallen from the woman's fingers.

"You were going to turn on me... Just like the rest of them," he scowled down at her, his grip tightening around the woman's neck. She desperately grabbed at his wrist, her throat bruised already from your hands. His fingers digging into your left marks like they were drawn there to fit for his own fingers.

"You hurt the people I care about. You hurt someone I care about... This was not what you promised me," he snarled at her through clenched teeth. His thoughts wander to you. To the body laying somewhere behind him. He couldn't even think about it. He didn't turn around to look at you again. He couldn’t. If he looked at you, he might then just shatter. He needed you back.

"I'm not afraid of you, Robert," she gasped through her mouth, her hands wrapped around the man's wrist that was under her chin. Trying to pry his hand off her.

The blonde man just smiled and let out a small noise of amusement, a quiet breath, "that's not Rob you need to be afraid of."

His brows then knit together tightly, his expression deepening. His jaw was clenched. He tightened his grip. His fingers dug into the flesh of her throat. Her head jerked slightly as her body trembled. She was about to pass out, a gasp of breath leaving her lips. A choking gasp escaped her throat again. He didn't move, just his hand did.

Then, suddenly, an electric sound cracked through the air. The grip around Valentina’s neck faltered and then snapped open. The hand that was holding her was falling away from her throat. Her body sagged against the wall, sliding down and falling against the floor, her back against the wall.

The golden figure before her dropped to the floor.

He collapsed sideways onto the floor. His eyes, which were before glowing like pieces of the sun, were now utterly covered in darkness. He didn't even blink, his eyes lost the entire color in them. Her gaze locked on the body in front of her, on the man who’d nearly ended her life without hesitation, wrapping his hands just where yours were. Then her gaze wavered upward, noticing a woman's figure standing there.

It was Mel.

She held the black device in her hands, holding it upward and pointing at the man before her. The now lifeless one. She met Valentina’s gaze, her eyes wide open.

"Good girl," Valentina said, staring at the woman who helped her. She smiled at her and pointed at her, "you came to your senses!"

"Come here. Help me up!" Valentina said, trying to push herself up. Her body was hurting as she tried to push herself up from the floor. Mel was quick to come to her on her heels and walk around the lifeless laying body of the Sentry. Pulling up the woman with her hand.

"I want a raise," she said without turning her head, already turning away and walking off. She stood long enough to only help the woman, wanting to be away from the scene of what had happened in the room. Moving away from the woman and the golden-suited body. Her heels clicked as she walked.

"Totally fine. Get a clean up on that body..." she muttured and nodded towards the golden man, "also the other one... There... And tell Holt that's finally time to go lethal on these losers," she said as she followed Mel into the elevator, then turned her head slightly, her eyes ctaching the two lifeless bodies of Sentry and Twenty-Two. Leaving the two of you, two lifeless bodies laying on the floor of the late Avengers' penthouse. Both of them were sent to their death by a single device.

The elevator closed behind the two women. The room was now dead silent. Nobody alive was inside, just two broken bodies laying apart from each other, both suffering the arms of death welcoming them.

Then it started. It looked like a spilled ink, seeping through the floor towards the laying man. It crawled its way towards him, oozing and going like a dark black oil, going underneath Sentry's lifeless body. It seeped through his legs first. Then it consumed him whole. The golden glistening colour of his suit now dulled into a nearly complete black darkness.

Like a shadow. His face was the last to disappear under the shadow. There was no light on him anymore. It looked almost like his body didn't even have a texture. Like he was a piece of a shadow. Shape of a darkness.

A void.

It wasn't Bob who opened his eyes. It wasn't Sentry either. The warmth that had once lingered in Bob was gone. Gone completely. Two small dots of white stared out from the darkness where his sky blue eyes had been. They weren’t lights. They didn't look like the light you came to look for when you were in the darkness. They were hollow, almost terrifying as the darkness was. The kind of lights you saw in nightmares. Not quite real. Something that does not bring comfort. It ruins the comfort that lives around it.

The figure laid for a moment, the small light pinpricks staring ahead at the skyline of New York. Then the figure rose up. It was like the shadow itself had awoken and become a living creature. He rose like a shadow peeling itself off the floor. He stood from where the Sentry had fallen, now back on his feet.

Alive.

Two white dots burned faintly in the center of the black of his face, where his eyes should’ve been. Small but they were there. He hunched as he walked. Like a predator nearing its prey. Each step was slow, deliberate. Like he planned out each of them. His head slightly tilted to the side, the small white lights fixed directly at the lifeless body laying near him. He was studying you, observing you. The white eyes didn’t move any away as he crouched right beside you. For a while, he just stared at you, the lifeless body laying there.

All alone.

Like he was.

Then, his hand, the dark shape of void and darkness extended. His fingers brushed across your face. From your nose, where the fingers first touched, to down beneath your eyes, the fingers slowly dragging over your face like it was remembering its path. Then to your cheek, it stayed there. He was almost gentle. He was curious. He was curious about you, he looked like he was unsure if you were real.

His shadow-like palm then slowly opened and he pressed it flat against your cheek. And then, the darkness finally spoke.

“What did they do to you?”

The words were deep. Bob's voice sounded like it had been morphed with a touch of a nightmare. He stayed there, crouching beside your body with his hand on your cheek. His head bowed down to you and the white dots in his face glowed a little brighter now. Like he had found something that belonged to him.

"He should have protected you. You were the only light I didn't want to extinguish. The one thing that stilled the noise in our head..." his head lowered more, until the darkness of his face nearly touched yours.

"I will bring you back."

Then he leaned forward. His hand slipped from your cheek and slipped right under your shoulder by your neck and the other curled beneath your back. He let himself fall hunched over you, holding you close to the darkness. He folded over you, his head bowed, his brow nearly pressed to yours. His arms tightened and the shadows that clothed him began to move. Achingly slowly they then reached for you.

The shadow began to spread. The blackness crawled like spilled oil, slipping over your legs, your chest, then your arms, and then it consumed you whole. It took you in. A shadow born from the pain of others. You laid there lifeless in his arms and draped in the same void that wrapped around him like a second skin. A vow shaped in the darkness.

"Follow your fears," the darkness whispered, the dark forehead now pressed against yours. Resting against your own. His palm spread on your back, holding you to him like you were a myth. His shadowed arms closed tighter around your body, cradling you.

Then, you slipped from his arms. Shadow to shadow. As if you truly became a shadow itself. You slipped through his dark fingers, like you were just a piece of his imagination. Dripping away. It was as if you had never existed in this space. It was empty, no sight of a lifeless body laying there or the dark shadow-like outline of your body that was there a mere moment before.

The dark silhouette of the man remained kneeling a moment longer, staring at the empty place that his arms had full before. The white lights that resembled his before blue wells twitched once, then he closed them and lifted his head, his chin up. Like he was praying. Slowly, he then rose back up to his feet. His figure stretched up, black and tall. The shadows clinging to him. He then opened the small white lights he called his eyes and turned his head.

The broken window stared at him. The Void stepped forward, tilting his head with an idea springing in his mind. He saw a path laid in his mind. He knew what he had to do.

He had to make them fear.

With a final lingering glance at the empty space where you had vanished from his arms, the shadowed figure stepped from the broken space where the window sat before. His feet not touching the floor anymore, he rose into the air. The dark outline in the daylight.

Carve shame deep into their soul. Feel the cold, aching pain of loss again. The seeping pain was going through their old, nearly forgotten wounds. To remind them of their every whispered nightmare.

How it hurt them and how it will hurt them again.

hooe you liked this! if yes, comments and feedback are very appreciated! <3

the scene with void kneeling, crouching over twenty-two was inspired by those linked two paintings and a sculpture;

ivan the terrible and his son ivan (painting)

lovers in the small boat (painting)

sculpture by stephan abel sinding (sculpture)

imagine bob (currently void) just draped over twenty-two like from some old gorgeous painting... i'm using my imagination too much for writing lol sorraaaay

TAGLIST: @qardasngan , @one17 , @ren-ni , @werewolfgirl1995 , @mysticdelusionengineer , @lauryn2theelectricboogaloo , @mewmew222 , @badbishsblog , @lovely-foxes-exe , @funkyfable , @melvin333 , @sunflower-0180 , @witch-of-letters

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qutequeersstuff · 11 days ago

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COUNT TO TWENTY-TWO — part one

⋆˙⟡ robert (bob) reynolds x reader (thunderbolts*)

summary: You're working under Valentina Allegra de Fontaine. Now, trapped miles under the Utah's desert in a strange vault, surrounded by even stranger people. You're forced to team up with this group of strangers. Among them is one particular stranger. A brown-haired man with slightly overgrown hair, who is quiet and noticeably nervous. But for some reason, he's drawn to you. More than he should be.

(this part is just slight introduction to the backstory of the reader!)

warnings: canon-typical violence, swearing, thunderbolts* spoilers (obviously)

author's note: english is not my native language, so i apologize for all grammatical errors / mistakes in my writing (if there are any)

PART ONE | PART TWO ...

The year 2015.

Another cruel year to pass by. Treated less and less like a person and more of a subject. A subject for the death's wish. You are kept alive another year. Not because they care about you, about your health, it's becoming more an obsession. They want to understand death by breaking you and by using you. They wouldn't really call you immortal. You do die. You are their offering to death. Over and over again, they kill you and you die. Shot, burnt, drown and so many more experimental deaths to be used to kill you.

You have become the prototype, the subject, of the most impossible: unkillable.

You are undying.

And each return feels a little less human.

There is thumping. Loud thumping. It sounds like footsteps nearing closer, the steps falling angrily against the ground, making the sound echo around. The clamor of boots slamming against the ground. They are fast and forceful. Hurrying somewhere. It sounds like dozen of footsteps. Not just footsteps of one or two people, but it's a large group of people.

The ground beneath you is stone-cold and rough beneath your body. There is an ache you’re long accustomed to. A familiar one. The cold isn't hurting. It just exists around you. You've come to find it comforting after a while. It's something you've grown to appreciate. It is something to remind you that you're still alive.

The footsteps then draw closer. The sound of the weight of bodies and their forceful footsteps, the metallic clink of gear, the friction of their tactical cloth sounds out as they're the nearest than before. The sounds then pass by your door. The hurrying loud steps fading away as they pass by. The forceful sounds of their footsteps moves beyond you. The sound fades down the corridor and the silence creeps back in.

There is no light in this place. There never is and you don't remember if there even was. But your eyes have memorized it. The exact lines where the wall meets the cold stone floor, the exact distance from your place on the ground to the door where the footsteps sounded, the place where a little tray with nearly rotten food is located at. You do not need light to see it. It is all etched into your memory, deeply embedded. There is not a single window, no light peeking out.

Time is lost there. There is no point in counting the seconds, minutes or hours. You don't know how long you've been stuck there, in and out. You don't know how long you've been sitting on the cold ground with your back against the stone wall behind you, in the darkness.

Then suddenly, the ground underneath you shifts. It begins as a soft tremble, barely more than a shiver beneath your skin. You think it's you at the first, the coldness finally getting to you. It shakes, the floor tilts and you hear the tray with the food move as well. Then in a blink of an eye, it eases. It stills. But the stillness doesn't last, another shaking tremor starts. It feels a lot heavier and domineering than before.

The floor beneath you convulses. It feels as if it's nearing closer to you. Your legs ache as you move them for the first time in what feels like days. They’re stiff. They're trembling from cold and maybe from the blood finally flowing through them. The actual weight of your own body feels unfamiliar as you slowly slide your knees forward. Moving from the curled position you’ve been in for so long. Pain slowly moves from your body.

Your hand unhooks itself from around your knees and then drags behind you, palm slowly feeling over the cold ground beneath your body and afterwards your palm finds the wall and its cold surface. With a low, involuntary groan, you press against it, using the leverage to push yourself upright. Your muscles protest but you rise anyway. You don't raise yourself to your full height, but just enough to hover, the wall helping you stand on your shaky legs.

The shaking doesn't ease. It feels as if something is getting demolished. Feels like the walls are collapsing, ceilings falling, everywhere everything falling apart. Yhe ground beneath you then suddenly feels like it had vanished. The floor rips itself away from your feet and the floor feels so far away underneath your legs.

You then fall. Your body slams against the stone ground, hard. Breath is knocked out of you, you let out a strangled gasp as you collide with the floor. Your head slams against the floor, the pain shots through your head and through your whole entire body. Everything is moving. The walls, the entire room, is not collapsing and shaking. It feels like it is falling. The room you're trapped in falls downward, dropping down, falling.

Then the world comes to a halt. Into a very angry one.

The entire room crashes against something solid with a force that whips your body sideways. You’re thrown with no time to brace yourself. Your shoulder hits another wall with a loud noise. Another shot of pain explodes right through you. You slide down to the floor, your shoulder aching. Air is knocked from your lungs again. You didn't even get air into your lungs before getting it knocked out again. Your every breath hurts and burns. Your head throbs with a deep pulsating sensation. Everything aches.

There is a silence again. But above you, there is a faint heavy sound. Something else, many other things, are falling outside the room that you're trapped inside. Slamming into the ground one after another. The room has stopped moving. But you haven’t. You’re trembling uncontrollably, breath shallow, burning sensation in your throat, your chest tight.

You don’t know what just happened.

Maybe the doctors who played with your life finally played with someone else's and did something worse to them. You hope so. You hope the doctors got the worst of it. Especially the ones who were so ruthless with you, who threw you around, killed you many times, gave you the worst time of your life.

Maybe the weapons they had been experimenting with had exploded, making the whole building collapse, make it disappear and have it gone. Fallen on itself. You hope the grounds have opened under their feet and swallowed them in a slow agonizing pained speed so that they would remember how it felt dying. You hoped they got the absolute worst of it.

You close your eyes, not like you intended on. You feel your consciousness slipping away. You can feel your eyes rolling back, your body going slack against the floor. The last thing you remember is the absolute pain in your shoulder, head and neck.

You don’t know how long you’ve been unconscious. There is no real sky here to measure by. No sun above you, no clock ticking on a wall and no watch hanging on your arm. There is only darkness surrounding you, the same familiar one.

You stir when you hear it. A recognizable language from behind the walls, voices of living creatures. Faint and muffled. Human voices sounding out after you don't know how long. You cannot make out what they're saying. You recognize the accent and the rolls of their words. It's your language. A language that you've grown up with.

Then comes another sound. A sound of grinding screech of metal comes next. It sounds depressing to you, as if they're trying to make something work. They're trying to pry something that was meant to stay closed. You roll your head, the motion dragging absolute death-like agony across your whole body. Everything hurts. You turn towards the sound, towards the door.

You open your eyes. It stings, you feel wetness slipping from them down your cheeks. Then you hear it, a loud click noise. The door hisses. You prepare to feel the light, you haven't seen it in days. Then it comes. It isn't soft, warm or comforting. It's torment, awful pain to your half-opened eyes. Your body recoils, your head reflexively moves away, but your eyes stay on the door. You're terrified to what to see in the light. In that light before you, something or someone moves. There are silhouettes of figures, more than a few. Their voices are louder now, they sound urgent and scared.

The final move of the door makes the light even more intense. It's now wide open, the room around you finally coming into the light. You squint into the light, still laying on the floor. You want to speak out, to ask them something, but your whole throat is burning and you cannot form any words without a pain shooting down and up.

Then someone steps forward, through the door, into the room you were trapped in. Blurred outlines of figures in the haze. Then a voice rings out, urgent.

"Tu je človjek!" There is a person! You feel like you're imagining it, those aren't rushed and professional words like the doctors yelled at you. It's your language. Human words said by a human voice.

You manage to lift your head, just barely above the ground. The motion sends another pain down your spine, but you hold it up. You squint through your own watering eyes with the light still burning, but you begin to see them more clearly.

They look like civilians, not the doctors. Not the ones who stuck you against the table, needles in your arms with an unknown serums going into your blood; which made you scream until you couldn't even remember what it was like to be quiet. Those people in front of you are not them.

Two more step into the room, brushing aside dust and smoke in front of them inside the room. One of them breaks away from the others and strides directly towards you without any hesitation. They drop to their knees beside your laying body. Then their open their mouth and the familiar words come out.

"Hej—hej! Jesi li poraneny?" Hey—hey! Are you hurt? Their voice sounds urgent, but it's low. You squint your eyes and blink up at them, their face hovering above yours.

Your throat is so dry, it feels like its burning when you even try to open your mouth. But you force yourself to move. Just a little. Enough to answer without any words. You gather the last bits of your strength and you nod your head. You are definitely hurt.

The person above you exhales and motions for the two other figures to come in, they walk right over to you and your head tips back slightly, just enough to see the faint outline of the stretcher settling beside you which they've brought in.

"V redu je... Ne pomeraj se preveč. Zdaj si v bezpetsi." It's okay... Don't move too much. You're safe now. You want to believe the words, you wish to be safe. Their voice is gentle, caring. As if they’re speaking to a child, who's scared and hurt.

"Zdaj te podniesieme. Bedzie bolelo, ale ćemo biti oprezni." We’re going to lift you now. It’ll hurt, but we’ll be careful. You hear quiet instructions pass between them after the person tells you that they're going to lift you onto the stretcher. A hand slides beneath your back under your shoulders and the other person sneaks their fingers under your knees and grabs you there, you feel their fingers shaking slightly.

Then you brace yourself because you see the person above you nod to the other one. They lift you up and the pain flares through you. Your body moves from the cold floor onto a different material, much comfortable. A groan slips from your lips, painful. The figure who found you first walks beside the stretcher as the other two lift it. Their face comes into focus at last, blurred through wetness in your eyes and brightness of the light from outside.

"Bit ćeš redu, neboj se." You'll be fine, don't worry. They glance down at you and smile softly at you. Then the light finally comes in a warmer tone, they take you outside and you finally adjust to the light. But what you see makes your heart ache, the street is... Gone. Buildings are fallen, cars are destroyed, there are holes everyrwhere and it looks like there was a war. Cars are overturned, their tires in the air. The whole city is in ruins. Everything is in ruins.

"Što se stalo?" What happened? You stutter out, the words barely sounded out, but the person above you heard it.

"Sokovia je pao. Avengeri nas nemogli sve spasiti vseh." Sokovia has fallen. The Avengers couldn't save us all. Your heart felt hard, as if it had stopped. The only place you knew, the city, the country, that held your memories, your nightmares, your whole life has fallen.

The word fallen can barely cover what you're seeing right now. This is devastating. Absolute devastation. Everythign is gone, you remembered the roads, the buildings, the parks, the people. But this, this is nothing. Even though you spent nearly your whole life stuck somewhere in a hidden facility in the city, where the doctors and scientists made their own choices on other bodies. Trying new serums, new experiments, new protocols. You vividly remembered the short life before, it was beautiful.

It wasn't like this. With buildings spilt in half, the roads with craters in them. Every second reveals another piece of the past reduced to ash and destruction. A shattered playground that you never visited during your childhood days, a small flower shop with its windows shattered and roof fallen inside, a billboard with a smiling family now torn.

The person who was walking beside you sees your eyes scanning the wreckage and leans a little closer to tell you something.

"Do you understand English?" the person asks you softly and your eyes flicker to him. His voice had an accent. It wasn't Sokovian accent, something more western. You nod to him that you understand and let out a groan as another pain shoots through your neck.

"It had happened so fast. Something lifted our city into the sky. It was ripped from the ground. There... There was a machine, or that's what they've said. Under the city or inside. It was sort of a bomb. The Avengers tried to stop it..." They tell you what happened. Your chest tightens, you want to ask something, anything. But you don't know what you would ask. You haven't been up in the city for nearly your entire life. You were trapped inside with doctors who were trying on making you a new experimental patient. They filled you with unknown medications, drugs, serums and other sort of chemicals, which were supposedly helping you to become something. Then they killed you. All over again. Different ways. And then they made you come back alive. It was terrifying and inhumane.

You lie there on the stretcher, barely breathing. Behind you, around you, lies the final scene of Sokovia and its aftermath. There is nothing. You realize you don’t know where they’re taking you. You don’t know where you're going to go after this. You were never alone, there was always a doctor, or someone beside you to keep track of you.

And now, you were left with nobody and no place to live in. The city, Novi Grad, was gone, the experimental facility was gone. Everything was gone. Whoever had hurt you before though, was left with nothing but death. Buried with the city and its ruins.

The time passed by.

It's been years since the fight at Sokovia. Many years since you got freed from the unkown facility that you were trapped in and moved to s different country after a month in the hospital. The world kept moving and spinning, the Avengers went on and fought more, then they had to sign the accords sent by the Sokovians after they've ruined their country, fought about it and then something else happened. The Blip, how they called it. The five long years where half of the population had vanished from the entire world and turned into just a piece of ashes in a mere second.

And yet somehow, after all those years and events throughout them, you are still there.

After you were free to go from the momth in the hospital near Novi Grad, the capital city of Sokovia, you left the country entirely. You moved to the west. It wasn't really by your choice, though. The evacuation protocols moved what remained of Sokovia’s displaced citizens across the border or into a smaller cities in the country.

The Slovak government, with the help of the Sokovian government, placed the Sokovian refugees who made it out into a small apartments scattered through the capital city. Your apartment was on the second floor of a building that looked like it came from a very old depressive eastern european movie.

Inside the apartment, the space was barely enough for one person. It was clearly meant with no humor when they said that it was a small apartment. There was a mattress sat in the corner of the room on the wooden floor. A bathroom that could fit only you and only if you didn’t try to move much. The sink was just beside the tub. The tub next to it was yellowing. The washing machine was most likely older than you and you usually had to barricade it with a chair because it kept moving out of its place when it was turned on. Then there was a tiny kitchen a pair of burners, a very narrow counter, one cupboard that creaked when you opened it and refrigerator that had this weird annoying noise.

After you moved into the city, you were given papers with a new false birthdate and a new false name along with a last name. You started to learn the country's language slowly, from the street signs, from overheard conversations in the streets and from television playing in the next apartment over, where an old, nearly deaf, man lived.

You spent whole afternoons laying on the mattress on the floor, staring at the ceiling until the light of the sun came down and the night came up. The city iself was beautiful, even though many people disagreed with the fact. Said that it was boring. But you thought very otherwise. You came to care for it.

And still, despite the quiet, despite the anonymity, despite the new life, you never felt safe. Not really. You flinched when footsteps came too close behind your apartment's door. You kept a knife under your mattress, telling yourself it was just there in case something may happen.

After a year and a half in Bratislava, you realized that you had enough. The city had given you space to remember how to live, even if you hadn’t quite managed it. The days in the city didn’t feel like days. You lost tracks of days and weeks, you were getting bored. Not of the city, but of yourself. You felt stuck. The world outside was changing and you were not. You were still stuck in the version of yourself that had gotten out of facility, its wreckage and finally tried how to live outside again.

So when the message came you took it. It was from the Sokovian government, specifically from the ones who cared for their refugees and their current situations. There was another refugee, a woman from Novi Grad, who had spent the last year in another city in different country, Budapest, and she wanted to switch her current location, the city not being her right place. You agreed to switch places. The papers were signed quickly. Your bag was packed before the message even came. You got on the first train the next day and travelled to the next country and next city. You felt it the moment the train crossed into the city, Danube on the side in the windows, the towering buildings on the other side. Everything seemed a bit different here.

The apartment they gave you was just in the centre of the city. The building that the apartment was in was tall, narrow, and pressed between two other buildings. The flat itself was a lot better than the one you had back in Bratislava. You had a real bed now, not just a mattress on the floor. There was a tiny desk under the window with a small brown-cushion chair nearby. It was still pretty small, but it was enough. After a few weeks, you signed up for another small language course during the week. You already knew many languages, but not this one. After a while, you could speak just well to understand others and start a conversation. Which you did not plan on doing.

Budapest gave you a space not just to exist, but to begin something new.

And something new did start one day during your stay in Budapest. When you reached the subway entrance, you barely glanced at the world behind you. You were tired, you had walked around the city for the whole day, looking for something to do. That was when it happened. The loud sound came first, from behind you. A roar of metal on pavement, followed by screaming of civilians somewhere there.

A black car came down into the station. It came down hard across the stone steps of the station and slammed into the lower platform with an impact that sent debris flying around, the car on its roof. Screams erupted from behind you. You were nearly on the end of the escalator, near where the subway was, you didn't know if you should go up, see what happened or maybe even help them.

You finally got off the escalator and stood at the end, looking up from where the sounds came from. People were turned as well, the escalator descending slowly. Then another yells errupted as two women slide down the escalator railing fast. One wore black clothing, a red haired braid whipping behind her as they slid down the railing. The other woman had blood on her hands, gripping it in a cloth as they both slid down, her blonde hair in a tight ponytail. They both landed just ahead of you with a thud against concrete, rolling over.

Before you could think, something roared behind them. You dropped down instinctively, your body moving before you even registered what you were avoiding. It hit the wall behind you, cracked right into the concrete pillar. You turned towards it, still crouched. It was a shield. Not the famous one, blue, red and white with a star. This one was matte, dark-blue-like with a three ended orange symbol in the middle.

When you looked back, the two women were already running away. Leaving a smeer of blood along the floor of the station. You stood still, confused. You looked back at the shield and observed it for a moment.

Before you could reach out and touch it, a sound of heavy footsteps grew behind you. You quickly whipped to the sound. There was a person behind you, their head tikted to side and they were towering over you. A skull-like silver mask staring down at you. Tactical gear strapped around their whole figure, their entire body covered in combat clothing. The figure didn't speak and didn't move. Their head was slightly tilted to the side, observing you curiously.

Then, after a moment, they stepped forward, their tactical boot making contact with the station's floor. The figure came closer. They raised their arm and it came just next to you. Behind you, a loud sound ripped through, something being pulled from the pillar. Their shield. The figure kept their eyes on you. You couldn’t really tell if they were curious, or if they were assessing, or trying to decide whether you were worth something. For a moment, you both just stared. Then, the figure took a step back, rolling their shoulders slightly and turned away from you with a one last glance. With no words, they turned and walked deeper into the station, where the two other women retreated into.

That was one of the days, which made you remember that you were still living. Which made you think about your past, from when you were stuck in the facility with vials in your arms and experiments done on your daily. Gun against your temple, knife in your abdomen, a poisoned cloth against your nose and mouth and many, many other ways to kill you.

Those years in Bratislava and Budapest changed you in many ways. Bratislava taught you how to live with silence and offered you a new start when you finally left your home country. Budapest has welcomed you the same way. It was another new start. It taught you how to be afraid again. And so, one day, after the years you've spent in Europe, you packed everything you had and paid an absolute price to board a plane straight to the United States.

You didn’t know what waited on the other side of the world, but you knew what you were leaving behind.

Sokovia became a shadow, stuck somewhere far into your mind. The person who had crawled out of that terrifying hole of an unknown experimental facility in the middle of the city, who had watched the city crumble traped inside a dark room, was someone else now.

You were starting over. Once again.

hope you liked this! if yes, comments and feedback are really appreciated! <3

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qutequeersstuff · 11 days ago

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I just want to highlight this moment in the Thunderbolts* movie since I have rewatched this gif several times.

I enjoy the fact that since Sentry (Bob) is new with his powers, he initially flinched when Bucky shot at him thinking he would be harmed despite being told he was invincible (Bob’s backstory of ab*se), just to fully realize he has some form of telekinesis. Once he does, he appears to look a bit smug and arrogant but you also see some anger being expressed. Smug about the fact that he can finally protect himself but also anger which could be transference from his dad to the others battling him.

Sorry. Had to get this out of my head. Just a moment I enjoy with the subtle face acting Lewis Pullman has here.

#thunderbolts #bob reynolds #yelena belova #bucky barnes #alexei shostakov #ava starr #john walker #sentry #the void #valentina allegra de fontaine #thunderbolts*#lewis pullman

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qutequeersstuff · 12 days ago

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Something To Lose

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds xf!reader, Reader POV

Summary: Turning your back your old life and joining the Thunderbolts was supposed to be easy, but you never expected to find something or rather someone you could lose. Reader is a hero named "Mystic," with a dark past. This is just a collection of one-shots that all take place in the same world. Listed in Chronological Order!

Tropes: Idiots In Love, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Forced Proximity, Violence, Self-Deprecating Thoughts, Depression, Fluff, Angst, Black Cat Reader vs. Golden Retriever Bob, Grumpy (Reader) vs. Sunshine (Bob)

Warnings: Individual warnings will be in issued in each chapter. The reader has a backstory that is referenced multiple times within this series. Bob is a little OOC. Please be gentle this is the first time that I've ever written for him.

Sleepless in NYC: Having insomnia can be isolating, but lucky for you there's someone else at Avenger's Tower who can keep you company.

Five More Minutes: Bob and you share a rare moment of peace at the tower after a long week. Takes place after reader and Bob fall in love.

Last Updated: 05/08/2025

(Pictures on moodboard from Pinterest)

Taglist:

@jollyhunter @angrydragon90 @toxicrelief

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qutequeersstuff · 12 days ago

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Lover, You Should’ve Come Over (Bob Reynolds x Reader) - Masterlist

Rating: 18+ MDNI - this will include smut in later chapters and contains mature themes as well as graphic violence

Chapter List:

1 - The time you needed help to breathe

2 - The time you needed help to calm down (& The time he needed yours)

Chapters 3-7 will follow week by week!

Summary:

Recovering from injuries was worse than receiving them, especially the mental side, which only worsens when you push everyone away.

Bob reminds you that you don’t have to deal with the bad things on your own, if you can just let him in.

The five times you needed help from the team & The one time you accepted it from Bob

Tags/Warnings: Violence, Injury Recovery, Near death experience from a gunshot wound, mentions of past abuse (from both reader and Bob’s pasts), friends to lovers, slow burn, nightmares, painkillers, bad mental health from both Bob and Reader, hurt/comfort, angst, protective!Bob Reynolds, smut in the final chapter which will require a wholeeee list of other tags

A/N: I’m about 75% done with this fic, which will have an overall 40-50k words and I hope to have an update out weekly!

Read on AO3

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qutequeersstuff · 12 days ago

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Willow (Masterlist)

A Percy Jackson and Mcu!AU

[ divider by @saradika; collage by me ]

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Fem!ExAvenger!Demigod!Reader / Robert Reynolds x Fem!ExAvenger!Demigod!Reader

Summary: You are were an Avenger. But before becoming an Avenger, you were a demigod— half human, half god—rescued and trained by Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers and Tony Stark. You were only 15, then. Fast forward 10 years later, here you were, with the three people that you looked up to, and who had saved your life, being dead. Leaving you alone and too old to go back to your camp. That left you with no choice but to pick up odd, free agent work to keep your life going with the support of your remaining family. What happens when you meet a meek, vulnerable man who contained the power of a million exploding suns, who made you relive your worst traumas?

Warnings: World building + character background, Mentions of Injuries, Blood, Demons, Monsters, Canon Typical Violence, Depression, Death of a parent, Insecurities, Isolation, Fluff, Slow Burn kind of, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Found Family content, CW+IW+Endgame timeline, Reader has magical abilities of the goddess Hecate (eg: necromancy, pyrokinesis, hypnokinesis, dark magic, etc. you can find the rest on rioridanwiki!), that’s all i think! Warnings will change acc to the chapters!

**this is a work of fiction. I don't own any of these characters except the reader. I have made some changes to fit the storyline better and because it's an AU. I have taken all the information from google and riordanwiki. Incase I have gotten anything wrong, please let me know!**

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

taglist: @96jnie @ethereal-athalia @joaquinsgf @parkersjoy @spideybrie @tacorice @rin-borahae @darling-eos @shootmethroughmyhead @pinkgin1220 @astromilku @antclotz @incorrectateezforatiny @malu940 @gingy7891 @chxrry-wxn3 @marymun @jinx53 @tippyeddy @rhaenyrathecruell @magpiemayhem @kawaiilovephantom @blackcats-and-witchcraft @kaixvdenny @giona45-5 @qardasngan @sarcazzzum @lilajoy-ily

@80pairsofcrocs @lovelyypythoness @fleabagoflowers @thenameishayley248 @lizzie8878 @freyagallileaevans @lilienvenus @funperson21 @markusstraya @watermeezer @eroselless @maeflowers653 @midsreads @agustdpeach @sunflower-0180 @mommymilkers0526 @icefox8155 @yesshewrites1 @jenelle473 @pparkeramorr @dontpulloutman @bea-the-tenth @vikingqueen28 @jeon-gabby97 @kittycatcait219 @hoalkk1 @mewmew222 @badbishsblog @ethereal-athalia @justsomerandompersonintheworld @renbisou

sorry if I forgot someone/you didn’t get tagged! reply if you wanna be removed from or added to the taglist!

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qutequeersstuff · 12 days ago

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Sanguine Hunger: Ptichye Moloko

Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven Pairings: Platonic!Yelena & Fem!Reader, Bob x FemThunderbolts!ExAvenger!Reader Summary: Late-night cravings drive you to the kitchen, where you find unexpected solace. Tags: No use of ‘Y/N’, Female reader, Reader is a mutant with blood manipulation powers that require her to have regular blood consumption. Slow burn! I have around 10k words of lore for this reader insert, so strap in. Beta read. Warnings: Graphic depictions of blood/blood consumption. (very) Slight descriptions of body horror. References to past trauma/violence. Word count: 3.1k

Some days were easier than others. That sanguine hunger that churned in the depths of your stomach was only a distant hum, a sound so quiet you had to tune the rest of the world out to hear. That was before the Thunderbolts, when Valentina still held both the carrot and the stick.

When Valentina dangled fresh meat over your nose, and you devoured it like the pathetic dog you were. You were always fulfilled, at least in terms of blood; you always had a victim you bled dry, and another lined up. The last eight years as a mercenary was mindless work with a simple objective: kill. Valentina used you as a warning to anyone who didn't play nice.

Things were different now as a 'New Avenger'; killing was usually frowned upon, and deaths were few and far between. So, the hum grew louder, eating at your insides like the parasite your power was.

The Thunderbolts tried to work together to find a solution, trying to think back to your old Avengers days when you had weekly blood transfusions, but after being fed for so long, it wasn't enough any more. After trial and error, the Tower's refrigerator became your own personal blood pantry—rows of crimson bags organised by type, each one a salvation from the need you fought harder than any enemy to keep contained.

Although transfusions were more desirable for everyone else to witness, feeding directly into your stomach was the most potent way to get blood into your system. At first, you took to carrying a matte black tumbler everywhere, but eventually, you grew tired of Walker's lingering gaze whenever you took a sip, his eyes fixating on the ruby stains between your teeth, his expression a shade of disgust, though he tried to hide it.

So now you only drank in the dead of night, in the comfort of your room.

But tonight was different. The day had been a special kind of hell—cameras flashed in your face during the press conference, and fighting the 'villain of the week' drained you mentally and, from using your powers, physically.

Now the kitchen, your last lifeline, remained frustratingly occupied. The rest of the Thunderbolts found themselves orbiting in the kitchen long into the night, some impromptu debriefing (that you refused to attend) became aimless conversation, their voices drifting down the hallway like a barrier between you and salvation.

It wasn't until the bright, glaring red numbers on the clock beside you read 2:12 AM that silence settled, and the telltale sound of footsteps began fading.

You waited for twenty, painstakingly long, minutes. Counting each second like a prisoner counting down the days until sweet release. You slipped from underneath the silk covers of your blanket, your mattress groaned against your weight, as if telling you to stay. Your feet made no sound against the marble flooring of the tower. The hallway stretched before you, room after room, two with light peeking out from under the cracks of the door.

Your senses picked up on the smell of fresh exposed blood just two floors down, and you could almost taste the metallic tang dancing on your tongue. You took the stairs, descending with irregular clumsiness, one hand trailing the wall for balance as a wave of dizziness reminded you how desperately you needed blood. The communal floor was supposed to be empty, dormant like the rest of the Tower.

Yet as you approached the kitchen, your nostrils flared as they caught something. Something sweet, a flavourful mixture of cocoa powder, sugar, butter, and the steady rhythm of a heartbeat. You froze mid-step, cursing silently. Someone was still awake.

Yelena was in clear view, her head buried deep into a cookbook. For a second, you thought about turning around and retreating into the confines of your room, but the painful stab of your veins convulsing brought you back to your senses. "You're not as quiet as you think," Yelena said without looking up.

Her hair was messily piled behind her head, and she wore comfortable-looking faded flannel pyjama pants and an old, beat-up white tank top. "I could hear you pounding down the stairs," Yelena continued, now looking up. Her eyebrows furrowed deep into her glabella, her top lip arching upwards in slight shock. "You look like shit. You okay?" You remained in the doorway, caught between pain and the unexpected intimacy of seeing Yelena do something so domestic.

"Drained," you replied, quick and rougher than intended. Pattering down to the fridge, you swung it open with shaking hands. Yelena nodded in quiet understanding and looked back down at the bowl in front of her. You scrambled for any bag you could reach, your hands gripping tightly at the first one you touched. The liquid sloshed around in the clear bag as you twisted the valve at the top and wrapped your lips firmly around the nozzle.

The first mouthful hit your system like electricity, flooding your withered veins with life. You tried to suppress the small sound of relief that escaped your throat, but failed. Behind you, Yelena continued working, the rhythmic sound of a whisk hitting against the side of a bowl providing a strangely soothing backdrop. No questions. No staring. No judgment.

“What are you making?” you asked after a moment, your voice already stronger, the tremor in your hands subsiding as the blood worked its magic.

“Ptichye Moloko," Yelena replied, her hand working tirelessly, whisking a white, sweet-smelling mixture. “Couldn't sleep.” You nodded, understanding without needing elaboration. You all had your coping mechanisms. You stepped around the kitchen island and sat on a stool in front of Yelena.

“My mother used to bake,” you offered quietly, “Challah, mainly.” You smiled crookedly, your thoughts trailing off, unprepared for the memory's sudden vividness, the smell of your mother's kitchen from a century ago. You finished off the rest of the blood bag and placed it to the side; your veins were fuller now, yet the relief was fleeting. You recognised the hollow echo still reverberating beneath your skin. You had stretched yourself too far this time, waiting until you were running on fumes.

One bag merely took the edge off; your body, depleted from your powers' exertions, demanded more.

Yelena didn't push for more, instead responding with, “If you're still awake in an hour, you can try it.” You bobbed your head; you should have returned to the solitude of your room, hidden behind the walls you had spent so long meticulously building, but instead, you found yourself walking beside Yelena to get a better look at the cookbook. It was in Russian, of course.

“I can help, but my Russian is rusty,” you said, your eyes scanning over the words you understood. Yelena's eyebrow arched slightly, but she nodded toward the refrigerator.

“Fridge. Third shelf. Heavy cream. I hope your arm isn't weak.” A small laugh escaped your lips, unexpected but genuine. You retrieved the heavy cream from the fridge, grabbing another blood bag. You placed it on the counter beside you, trying to be casual about it. Yelena's gaze flicked to it briefly, then back to her bowl without comment. “Put it in a bowl and whip it, I'll say when you're done.” You poured the cream and began whisking it by hand; the repetitive motion was almost meditative, and for a moment, you forgot about the blood bag sitting inches away.

“You said you knew Russian?” Yelena asked, now adding the layer of pale, thick cake into a pan.

"Yeah. Natasha taught me. Taught me English, too," you replied tentatively, hand gripping your spatula slightly tighter in anticipation of Yelena's response. A shaky breath left Yelena's nostrils, but her mouth remained tightly shut.

"She liked Ptichye," she said, eventually, her throat closing. "You're almost done." You felt the familiar ache rising again, eyeing the blood bag. "Just drink it," Yelena said without looking up, her hands reaching underneath a cupboard, returning with a small pot. Heat flushed in your cheeks at the notion of being caught staring. You stuttered for a moment, fumbling around for a reply.

"I usually don't have it in front of others."

"Why?" Yelena asked, "Because Walker? He's disgusted by everything. Yesterday I saw him scowling at my guinea pig." A laugh bubbled up from your chest.

"People think it's weird, disgusts them. Reminds them I'm…" You drifted off, trying to focus all your attention on the stiff peaks forming in your bowl.

"Different?" Yelena finished, shaking her head. "When I was young, they made us sleep with our ankles tied to the bed frame. Every morning, my skin was raw." She lightly pressed one of the stove's digital buttons, which beeped in response. "Everyone has their scars. Some are easier to hide than others." You reached across the kitchen island as you twisted the valve and brought it to your lips; you braced yourself for the recoil you'd come to expect, but Yelena continued pouring chocolate chips into the warmed pot atop the stove, completely unfazed.

"Smells good in here," a small voice said quietly from the kitchen's door frame. You jumped lightly, immediately wiping any remnants of blood from around the rim of your mouth. Bob stood stock still on the cold flooring, his bare feet restlessly fidgeting. His hands twiddled around with the bottom seam of his blue pyjama jumper. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. Couldn't sleep. Could smell someone cooking."

He lingered in the doorway, backlit by the dim hallway light, his shadow stretching across the kitchen tiles. He shifted his weight awkwardly for a moment longer before walking in and sitting on a barstool. His eyes fluttered to the blood bag in your hand before snapping back up to your eyes. You smiled back at him, revealing your blood-stained teeth.

"Bird latex," you said, presenting your bowl of whipped cream to Bob. Yelena burst out in laughter, her eyes creasing in the corners. She shook her head, her hand preoccupied with mixing the melting chocolate.

"Bird milk. Ignore her, Bob, she is terrible at Russian." Bob's mouth hung open, his brow furrowing as if decoding a cypher. A soft "oh" escaped him.

"It's just mousse and chocolate icing, I think." You took another mindless sip from the blood bag as you thought, moving to sit beside Bob, "Yelena's right, my Russian is terrible." The kitchen fell into a comfortable silence, only broken by the soft clinking of Yelena's spoon against the pot of melting chocolate.

"Do you want to help?" Yelena asked, glancing at Bob quickly from behind her shoulder. Bob straightened, his shoulders tensing slightly before he nodded. "You can start assembling," Yelena instructed, pointing to the pan with cake layered at the bottom. "Cakes in. So start cream, then cake again. When I'm done, we'll put the chocolate on top." As Bob moved to help, you watched with silent amusement. He hadn't commented on your drinking, nor cared that your teeth were stained, or your breath gave off a metallic tang with every word. His eyes shot up to where your eyes watched him.

A drop of blood dripped from your mouth and trickled down the side of your lip. Bob watched it slowly descend the curvature of your lip before your thumb swooped it up, sliding a red streak across your chin. Your tongue darted from the side of your mouth and lapped it from your finger in one careful swoop.

His Adam's apple bobbed slowly in his throat, mouth suddenly dry from watching your unintentional performance. He shook his head repeatedly, trying to remove the inappropriate imagery from his thoughts. Trying to focus on scooping up the spoonfuls of cream into the pan, his brow furrowed in concentration, as if he was defusing a bomb rather than forming a cake.

"You know," Bob said as he waited for the dessert to settle before adding another layer, "I've been thinking about starting a garden on the rooftop. Growing things. Walker says it's a waste of time, but…" He shrugged, leaving the thought unfinished.

"Walker," Yelena rolled her eyes, "has a heart of wet cardboard." You laughed in reply and discreetly dipped your finger into the bowl of whipped cream in Bob's arms, gesturing to him in a silent plea not to tell Yelena.

"I could help. I think it'd be a good use of all that space," you replied, and Bob's face brightened in response.

"Really? Do you know anything about plants?"

"No," you admitted, bluntly. "But I'm a quick learner." You shrugged your shoulders and leaned back on the stool. The stove turned off with a distinctive 'beep', followed by Yelena holding a warm pot of melted chocolate.

"You had some, didn't you?" Yelena accused, her head tilting sideways as she stared down at you.

"No," you lied, raising the blood bag to your lips with deliberate nonchalance. You gestured with the half-empty pouch clutched in your other hand, as if its very existence disqualified your involvement. "Ask Bob." Yelena's gaze shifted to your teammate, whose guilty expression hung between you. Before words could leave his lips, you corrected yourself, "Don't ask Bob," your voice softening as a smirk bloomed across your face. Bob's laughter mingled with the clink of his spoon against glass as he settled it down, his work finished.

Yelena poured the warm chocolate over the layered dessert in one smooth motion, creating a glossy coating that immediately began to set against the cold layers. She picked it up by the base of the tray, opening the fridge with her spare hand. "It needs to set," Yelena stated, sliding the dessert into the refrigerator. "Forty minutes. Minimum."

You groaned in response, finishing off the rest of your blood bag, and you placed it beside the other empty one. You felt your power flow back into your veins, you could hear everything again - the subtle heartbeats underneath layers of clothes and skin and the sound of blood rushing through veins and travelling through hearts. All of it under your command.

"I'll wash," you offered, sliding off your stool. The least you could do was help clean up after they'd accepted your feeding without comment.

"I'll dry," Bob added. He brought all the utensils he could gather at once to the side of the sink and grabbed one of the dish cloths. Yelena looked momentarily surprised before stepping back and raising her hands.

You settled into a rhythm, washing each utensil haphazardly and passing it to Bob, who dried it with practised fluency. It was repetitive, boring, but oddly comforting. No mission plans, no next steps, just bubbles and wrinkled hands.

Yelena had taken her temporary leave upstairs at some point, stating she'd be back down when the cake was done, leaving just you and Bob washing dishes side-by-side. "This is nice," Bob said, his voice so quiet that if you hadn't just turned off the water, you wouldn't have heard it.

"What is?" you asked, although part of you already knew.

"This," he gestured vaguely around the kitchen, a dripping cup still in his hand. "Normal things. Together." You smiled in response, dipping your hands back into the water-filled sink. You handed Bob the last bowl and drained the sink, watching the soapy water swirl away.

"The garden," you said, turning to Bob. "What would you grow?" His eyes stayed focused on the bowl in his hands.

"Anything I couldn't kill easily. I have a black thumb." You laughed in reply, tucking a piece of loose hair back with your shoulder. You couldn't help but stare at him for a moment, his face was slightly flushed, a light shade of pink.

Your ears focused on the rhythmic pattering of his heartbeat against his rib cage, steady but fierce. Your bottom lip found itself slowly trapped beneath your front teeth as you stared him down. You gulped hard, feeling the thick saliva crawl down the crevice of your throat.

"I'll buy a book," you grabbed the cloth from Bob's hands, gently pulling it from his grasp. "Start simple. Tomatoes, onions, garlic." You wiped your hands with the moist cloth, and Bob's eyes followed the movement.

"I have a book in my room, got it a long time ago when I first had the idea." He trailed off and, realising he was starting to ramble, attempted to backtrack. "But, I mean, you can still get a book. My one is probably dusty by now, I don't even think I remember where I put it." You stopped him with a light touch on the shoulder.

"If you're not tired, after cake, we can go to your room and start planning. No clue when we'll get the next chance." His thin lips twisted into a stunned smile, and he nodded repeatedly.

The sound of footsteps interrupted your conversation, and Yelena reappeared in the doorway, a thick cardigan over her tank top. "Cake's probably done."

"Never thought I'd see the day," you said, turning around. "Yelena Belova, deadly assassin, waiting impatiently for cake to set." Yelena shot you a look.

"And I never thought I'd see the day when the notorious bloodhound 'Vampyra' would be washing my dishes." She bit back.

"Not a Bloodhound any more," you corrected. The nickname didn't sting like it used to. "Just a regular dog. House-trained and everything." Bob laughed, and even Yelena's lips bent up. Yelena walked down to the fridge and observed the cake - it still needed more time. Instead, she pulled out the dessert and examined it.

"It'll do," she decided, setting it on the counter. She took a knife and cut into it with no technique at all, revealing the uneven layers of cake and cream. She handed a crumbling slice to Bob and you. The stickiness attached to the skin on your hands, leaving chocolatey brown stains in its wake. You took a bite, the sweetness of the chocolate juxtaposing the stark taste of blood still resting on your tongue. It wasn't unpleasant. Bob took a much larger bite, his expression instantly softening into delight.

"This is amazing," he mumbled through the mouthful. You nodded in agreement, taking another bite of your slice. "Do you think we should do this more often?" You looked down at the cake in your hand, uncomfortable with the tenderness.

"Why not?" Yelena said, her expression unperturbed, her voice slightly muffled by her mouthful of cake. "Kitchen's always here." You looked up to find Bob eyeing you, waiting for your verdict.

"Sure, I'm up most nights anyway."

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qutequeersstuff · 12 days ago

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The Lighthouse Vol. 1

Bob Reynolds x Reader

Fandom: MCU

Note: Howdy. Finally finished it. I really love how this one turned out. Very domestic fluff, forced proximity type stuff. Bob is so very dear to me, so I hope you enjoy it. I will also be posting this to my Ao3 for easier navigation; right here.

Summary: After the battle with Thanos, getting dusted for five years followed directly by another battle with Thanos, you were more than content living in your small, small town on the coast of Maine, overlooked by a beautiful lighthouse. Your life was perfect, you thought. Quiet, sure, but perfect. Until Bucky Barnes showed up on your doorstep with Bob Reynolds in tow.

Warnings: canon-typical drug mention (Bob’s former drug use), mental health discussion (but nothing super super serious; Bob has depression and Bipolar), little bit of canon-typical violence as a treat, some swearing.

Word Count: 29k (Split into Two Volumes, Vol. 2 here)

Reader Is: Female (only mentioned a few times, I think, I tried to be vague-ish), late-twenties

An Unexpected Bucky

“Crashing against him like…like a wave on the…no. No, that’s so bad,” You murmured to yourself, finger repeatedly tapping the backspace key. Maybe writing a book was harder than you thought it would be. How had Scott Lang pulled it off, you wondered. Granted, Scott’s book was an autobiography and you were dabbling in fiction, which was harder, you were sure.

You took a long sip of your drink. Something warm and caffeinated to power you through the next chapter or so, you hoped.

Outside, there were actual waves crashing against the actual shore, not too far from the little east coast house you called home. It was a dreary kind of day, the sky full of clouds. It wasn’t supposed to rain, but you wouldn’t be surprised if it did. You didn’t mind. The rain helped you think sometimes, and god knew you could use it.

Your eyes scanned the last paragraph you had, fingers itching for the next words. Sometimes, it was just so hard to let it flow. And you weren’t exactly in the ideal position to be writing a kissing scene, let alone anything steamier than that, given how long it had been since you’d partaken in any of those activities. Maybe you’d have to read some and come back to it.

Before you had the chance to decide, your phone rang.

You didn’t get many calls these days. Not important ones, anyway. Mostly spam concerning your car’s extended warranty or robo-calls from those scam Avengers Insurance agencies. No one was going to cover your car if it got smashed by the Incredible Hulk. That was merely a risk people took living in New York, you were afraid. It was why you’d moved away. You’d seen something on the news the other day about some new incident out that way. A giant, looming shadow that had been, miraculously defeated. Once you knew you didn’t need to head out to help, you’d turned it off. You hadn’t done much hero work lately; you were probably rusty anyway.

Instead, you’d picked a quiet life in Seaberg, Maine. Left New York and hadn’t looked back.

You picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, kid. Your doorbell still broken?”

“Congressman Barnes, good to hear from you. And yeah, I think it is. Why, do you know a guy?”

“Nah, but could you come open the door?”

Oh. That changed things. You slipped off of your barstool and straightened your shirt out, glancing down at yourself. Yeah, your oversized tee and your Stitch pajama pants would have to do, you supposed. You unlatched the door, undoing the three locks holding it shut and pulled it open to find Bucky, looking different than he’d looked in the news circuit since he’d been elected. A little rougher around the edges.

Still, he smiled when he saw you, pulling you in for a hug. “Hey. How are you doing?”

“I’m good, Bucky. How are you?”

He hesitated. “Loaded question. Can we come in?”

We? Sure enough, when he stepped to the side, he revealed another guy, standing there in his shadow, a mop of curly brown hair hiding some of his face. He waved, hand swallowed up by the sleeve of the sweater he was wearing. From underneath the curls, a pair of kind, curious eyes peered out. Harmless, you ruled. Utterly harmless.

“Hi there. Yeah, uh, come on in.”

The aforementioned guy followed Bucky into the house, dragging a small orange suitcase behind him. You raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. You knew answers were coming.

Bucky made himself comfortable. Opened your fridge, grabbed a bottle of beer from the door of it. Used that fancy vibranium arm to crack it open with a hiss.

“How’s Congress?” You asked, sitting back at your island.

He huffed a laugh. “Done with that now.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That was a quick term! What happened?”

“You been watching the news?”

“Here and there.” You shrugged, stirring your straw in your drink. You glanced at the guy again. At his suitcase. He wandered a little further into your house, drawn to your shelf of DVDs. “What’s going on?”

“You hear about the, uh…incident in New York last week?”

“Some of it. Shadow guy or something. Seemed like it was handled and I didn’t get a call, so I figured…”

Bucky tilted his head towards the guy, eyes saying everything his words didn’t.

Your eyebrows furrowed, glancing over at him. He was crouched in front of the shelf, reading the names of the movies off of the spines. Utterly, utterly harmless. And yet…

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. We’re renovating the Tower. He needs a place to lay low for a few weeks. I figured I’d see if you had any objections. I know you have a guest room.”

“The Tower? The Tower? What the hell…?” You knew you’d been checked out for a few weeks, but that was news.

“Yeah, so that’s the other bit.” Bucky took a sip from his beer. “We’re starting the team back up. We could use a healer, if you’re up for it. I know you seem very…comfortable here, but…” He pointed to the decor you had up. “It’s nice, by the way. Looks really nice.”

“Thanks.” You looked at the guy again, and he was looking back this time, sitting criss-cross on the floor in your living room. He gave a pleasant smile.

“I’m Bob, by the way. You’re (Y/N)?”

“Yep, I’m (Y/N). Nice to meet you, Bob.” You turned back to Bucky. “Is he…like you used to be?”

“In a sense, yeah.” Bucky nodded. “We don’t know the extent of it, but you’re the expert.”

“No, the Wakandans were the experts. I was the contingency plan. You do know that, right?” It was true. They were the ones that had broken through Bucky’s mental conditioning. You were just there to put him to sleep. You were a healer, among other things. One of your abilities lulled people unconscious, which came in handy when the Winter Soldier was on a rampage.

“Well, I called. They’re kind of dealing with something over there. So…”

“I’m next on the phone tree. Well, I’m honored you thought of me. I haven’t heard from anyone since…well, since Tony’s funeral, really. We’re all scattered to the winds now.”

“Yeah, no kidding. I’m serious, though. They’re all very green. We could use someone with a little experience.” He said.

You exhaled a long breath, looking around at your things. Just pack it all up? Just leave? Snip the roots you’d put down and go? And then you looked at Bob again, who had moved on to inspect your collection of Wii games, nodding to himself as his eyes skimmed over Mario Galaxy and your Just Dance collection.

“Oh wow…” He murmured, looking impressed.

“I have a job here. I’d need someone to help me pack all this shit up. I’m not leaving my records and my Legos in Maine.”

“I’m sure Bob would love to help you downsize. He likes organizing stuff. And I’ll bring some help to get it all moved in two weeks.” Bucky offered, giving that little expectant look that you were sure had all the dames in the forties swooning over him. Yes, Bucky, whatever you say, Bucky. It was unfair, really. No wonder he’d won the election, even though you were pretty sure he’d killed JFK.

You gave another sigh. A more resigned sigh. You shook your head, not as your answer, but just in spite of yourself. Chuckled, even. “Yeah, alright, fine. I’ll put in my two weeks. And I’ll have a list of groceries I want in that pantry the second I step over that Tower threshold.”

He grinned. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Greener Pastures

You swore every cart in this grocery store had at least one shitty wheel. It was a rule of the universe, you were sure. Still, you steered the cart up and down the aisles, letting Bob guide you. Everything the two of you would need for the next two weeks. So far, this included lots of mac and cheese, some chips and queso, a bag of baby carrots and dip, a few assorted snacks, some microwave popcorn, and a package of Oreos.

“What kind of pasta do you like?” You asked, eyes scanning the shelf.

“I’m not picky about that kind of thing. The spirals are fun, though.”

“Spirals it is.” You put a few boxes in the cart.

After the grocery store, you stopped at the rundown little theater at the end of the main drag of town, where you worked. Bob followed you into the lobby, looking around at the old marquis mounted to the front of the concession stand. You marched over to the managers’ desk, where one of your favorites was on duty. Leah.

“You seeing something today?” she asked.

You shook your head, grimacing as you handed over the slip of paper that sealed the deal.

She frowned. “You’re kidding. No. Noooooo. This feels like divorce papers.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” You shrugged, giving a sad little smile. “Greener pastures, I hope.”

“The bookstore poached you, didn’t they? I know you’ve been wanting a job there forever, but they’re never hiring.”

“Actually…I’m moving. It’s kind of last minute, but…I figured I’d put my two weeks in in case it doesn’t work out.”

Leah scoffed. “Pfft. Like we wouldn’t just hire you back anyway. You’ve been here for years.”

You nodded, glancing back at Bob, who was looking at the posters of upcoming movies. “Yeah. Feels like home here. But…I’ve gotta go back. I’ve been avoiding it too long.”

“Thought you’d say that. Well, I’ll let the GM know. Good luck with the move. I’m sure I’ll see you again before you leave.”

“Thanks. Come on, Bob. We’re all set here.”

“Alright.” He nodded, hands in his pockets, following you out the front doors. He climbed into the passenger seat of your car. You buckled up, turning the radio back on, adjusting the AC. The groceries were piled in the back seat, but nothing was frozen, so it was probably fine.

Out of the parking lot and onto the main drag of town, you passed several storefronts, people milling about, waving at each other. It was a small town. Everyone really did know everyone. And though you’d been an outsider when you’d moved there, you weren’t anymore. Instead, you had some friends, you’d like to think. Members of the community who you depended on for certain things.

The guy you bought your chives from at the farmer’s market, the old lady that ran the used bookstore, the guy at the record place who held the really cool ones until you got a look.

“This place is really nice.” Bob said quietly, watching the windows go by. “A lot of flowers here. Cool lighthouse.”

“It is. It gets really touristy in the summer, but…you came at a nice, quiet time.” You said, putting your blinker on and making a turn. “Anything else you need while we’re out?”

He shook his head. “I brought most of it. Thank you, though. For the groceries and stuff.”

“I was getting low.” You shrugged. Your modesty didn’t seem to get rid of the smile on his face, though.

Once you were back home, he helped carry the groceries in. The guy was…well, stronger than he looked, frankly. Bucky hadn’t explained everything there was hiding beneath his surface, left a lot of that for you to figure out, but you could add super strength to that growing list. With everything brought inside, you showed him up to the guest room so he could get settled while you put everything away.

It was a small room, the walls painted blue. There was a framed painting of a lighthouse you’d gotten at an art fair the previous summer, a set of dark blue sheets and a plush comforter. There was a small TV perched on the edge of a mahogany dresser. It had been decently cheap secondhand due to the large scratch on one of the legs.

“There’s a bathroom through that door there. I’ll show you how to use the shower. Feel free to put stuff in the drawers, I don’t care. And if you get cold, there are blankets tucked in the hope chest at the end of the bed.” You said, pulling open the lid to show him.

He nodded, committing the information to memory. You showed him the shower, like you promised, which was relatively straightforward compared to other models you’d operated, and then left him to his unpacking, heading downstairs.

It didn’t take long to put everything away. In fact, by the time you were done, the water on the stove had just started to boil. You poured in a box of mac and cheese. The noodles cooked, you drained them after, and added them back to the pot with some butter, milk, the cheese powder, and a hearty spoonful of queso, stirring it all together.

“That smells really good.” Bob smiled, padding down the stairs, hair wet from a shower. He had changed into yet another oversized sweater. You were beginning to think that suitcase of his was just full of them.

“It’s just mac and cheese. Thought I’d keep it simple for night one.” You replied, sliding the pot off the hot burner, turning the dial down. You handed him a bowl and a spoon, serving yourself first and leaving him more than half of the pot.

You walked down the step and a half into your living room, flicking on the TV. There was a channel that just ran animated movies all day. You didn’t have the full rundown on Bob or whatever trauma was hidden behind those kind, sad eyes, but kids’ movies were usually a safe bet with most folks, so you let it run. You figured he’d let you know if Monsters Inc. was too intense for him.

For the most part, you ate in silence, the sounds of your forks on the ceramic bowls quietly percussing in the small room. You wanted to say something, but didn’t know where to start with…all that, so you didn’t.

When the bowls were empty, you took them back to the kitchen, slipping them in the dishwasher. You soaked the pot, returned to the couch. It occurred to you that you should put some time into finishing your projects. The crafts you had been putting off. Some of them probably wouldn’t survive the move to the big city. Well, that, and you’d lose all motivation once you set foot beyond the confines of Maine. Your giant crochet blanket was as good a place to start as any.

You pulled it out of the storage ottoman in front of your armchair, setting to work. It was a nice, thick blanket, made of giant, fluffy yarn. The hook you were using for it was a massive plastic one, rather than a smaller, traditional one.

Bob glanced over at you every once in a while, curious. “Is that knitting or crochet?”

“This is crochet,” you explained, holding up the stitches as though it would help. “Knitting is two sticks, crochet is just one. I can do both, but…honestly, crochet is kind of easier. It works up faster, too. But knitting is better if you want something…more substantial. Like socks or something. Tighter, closer stitches.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen yarn that big,” he said with a chuckle, looking at it.

“They call this ‘blanket yarn.’ It’s the big guns.”

“I can see why. Does that take long?”

“If you keep at it? No. But I am a master procrastinator, so…you’re gonna see me do a lot of random hobbies these next couple weeks, get everything wrapped up.”

He laughed. “Fair enough.”

You worked for a while longer before you noticed him shaking a little. You glanced over, eyes scanning him for symptoms. You didn’t mean to; it was the healer in you. Finding a problem, fixing it.

“You okay?”

“’M fine.” He reassured, offering a soft but unconvincing smile. He considered for a moment before trying again. “I, uh…get the shakes at night. I’m okay. They’ve been better lately.”

You put the blanket aside, putting in a stitch marker. “Can I try something?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Oh, uh, sure. Yeah. Try…what, exactly?”

“Did Bucky tell you what I do?”

He shook his head, curls waving in front of his face, making him look so soft and small.

“I used to be the healer on the team. It’s why he left you with me. Come sit here.” You pushed the ottoman further away from the armchair, patting the cushioned seat. He obliged, getting up and crossing the room, sitting there, gazing up at you with those curious eyes. You sat on the chair just behind him. “I’m gonna touch you a little, okay? Let me know if it’s too much and I’ll stop. People find it overwhelming sometimes.”

“O-okay.” He nodded, shoulders hunched.

You watched the way his muscles seized ever so slightly. Tensing and untensing. Withdrawal, for sure. He was probably a few weeks clean. From what, it wasn’t your place to ask. But you could help, at the very least.

Deep breath in.

You focused, reaching in for the first time in a long time. A gentle white glow bloomed from your chest, your palms. Sometimes you forgot how bright you were. Other times, your inner light was stretched across the ceiling, dancing like an aquarium.

You reached out, hands extended, smoothing across Bob’s shrouded shoulders, down his arms. The moment you made contact, he let out a long breath, head falling back as he looked up at the reflections of your light, blocked only by the imprint of his shadow. His tremors stopped, muscles relaxing.

“Ohhh.” He exhaled, melting beneath your touch as your hands worked, fingers digging into the knots on his back, the tension around his neck. The energy combined with your expert touch was enough to put even the Winter Soldier on his ass. Speaking from experience.

After a few minutes, you pulled back, letting your glow fade back to neutral.

“Better?”

“How’d you…do that?” He murmured. He wasn’t shaking anymore, eyes scanning down his arms, honed in on his fingers.

“Lots of practice. It’s not a permanent fix, but it’ll help you sleep, at least.” You promised, getting up from the armchair and walking around to get a look at his face. His eyes were half-lidded, that soft, sleepy smile cemented onto his features, it would seem.

He nodded, taking a long breath and letting it roll out of him. “Thank you. For that. For…everything, really. It was really nice of you to let me stay here. You definitely didn’t have to, having it just kind of sprung on you like that.”

You shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. If you need more, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll do this for you every night if you need it.”

He chuckled, tilting his head, catlike amusement on his face. “Don’t tempt me with a good time. That was…wow. I’ve never been to a massage place or anything, but I have to imagine that’s five-star service right there.”

You laughed at that. A genuine, honest-to-god laugh. Huh. That was new.

“Anyway, I think I’m gonna head up for the night while I’m still all drowsy and stuff. Don’t wanna blow it.” He stood, straighter than he had the whole time he’d been there. He was kinda tall, apparently.

“Have a good night, Bob. My room is just down the hall if you need anything.”

He smiled. “Alright.”

And as he walked up the stairs to the second floor, it occurred to you that…maybe having a roommate wouldn’t be so bad. Honestly…maybe you’d been kind of lonely? All this time? Odd how that happened.

Well, one way or the other, you had one now. With any luck, the two of you would make it through the next thirteen days unscathed.

I mean, one could hope, right?

Local Honey

You made a concerted effort to wake up a little earlier the next morning. You didn’t know what time Bob would, and you didn’t want him to be alone on his first morning there, so you got out of bed, got dressed for work, and sat at the island in the kitchen with a bowl of cereal, typing away on your laptop.

He didn’t come down until ten or so, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He was wearing a pair of pajamas with fish on them. You couldn’t help but chuckle a little. This was supposed to be the most dangerous guy in the world? You didn’t buy it.

“Good morning.” You said, giving a welcoming smile. “How’d you sleep?”

“Like a rock. Those waves outside are something, huh? Like a free noise machine.” He stretched, yawning. He opened the cupboards, looking for breakfast. He found it relatively quickly, picking a packet of oatmeal. He explored a little, looking in the other cabinets until he found a bowl and a spoon. “Can I use this honey?”

“Mmhmm, go for it.” You nodded. “I get it at the farmer’s market. The guy who does it is local. It’s supposed to be good for your allergies, eating local honey. Gets you used to the pollen or something.”

He brightened at that factoid. “I never knew that! Makes sense, though.” He stirred the oatmeal mix together with some water and popped it into the microwave to thicken. Once it came out, he drizzled some honey on top along with some banana slices. “Can I sit with you?”

“You don’t have to ask. Make yourself at home,” you said. “Sit where you want, eat what you want. If we run out of something, we can just go get more. That said, I have work at noon. I’ll be back sometime around six. Are you gonna be okay here alone?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” He nodded, making a perfect scoop of his oatmeal. “Do you want me to do anything while you’re gone? Like…laundry or something?”

“No, that’s okay. Thank you, though. I should get my schedule today, too, so we can figure out how much I work these next few weeks. Shouldn’t be much. It’s been really slow.”

“Seems like a fun job. Movie theater.”

“It is. I get free posters. Free tickets. Half-off snacks. It’s a decent gig. Doesn’t pay much, but…”

“I get it. I was a sign-spinning chicken as a summer job.” He confessed, giving a self-depreciating chuckle. “So, you know…”

“Sounds warm.”

“It was. A very sweaty experience.” He shrugged, face morphing into that little earnest smile of his. “I’d much rather scoop popcorn, I think.”

***

And scoop popcorn you did. Work was rather uneventful. Slow as all hell, in other words. Nothing good was out, so your only customers were a handful of old ladies trying to haggle for a lower ticket price, which was not how that worked at all.

“Heard you put in your two weeks,” one of the managers said. “Why’s that?”

“Going back to New York. One of my friends,” Bucky Barnes, aka the former Winter Soldier, “is…looking for a new roommate,” healer for his new Avengers lineup “and…I’ve missed it, I guess.” You said with a shrug.

You didn’t miss the city. You did miss…being part of something. Now that the seed had been planted in your head, and you’d slept on it, you were coming around on it. Living in the tower. Having a built-in…family, or something similar. A team, at the very least. And Bob was nice. You hoped the others would be the same, whoever they were. You still refused to read up on it, for fear of psyching yourself out of it.

After work, you hit a drive-thru and headed home, setting the bag and two drinks on the island. You almost did a double-take when you saw the shoes in front of the door until you remembered you had a house guest.

“Bob! I got dinner!”

He came around the corner, grinning. His sweater of the day was green. It suited him. He eyed up the bag on the counter. “I could have made us something.”

You ignored the flutter your heart did when he said that. You couldn’t remember the last time a man had offered to cook for you, in any sense of the word. “Oh, that’s okay. I never feel up to it after work, so I just figured…”

“Nuggets?”

“I got ranch and barbeque.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

“How was your day? Get up to anything fun in my absence?”

“Nah, not really. Just explored the house a little. Watched a movie. You have a lot of board games.”

“I collect Monopoly boards. I collect a lot of things, actually, which is going to be our main project…starting tomorrow. I need to sit down.”

“Long day?”

“Boring day. Thursdays are always slow as hell.” You replied, kicking your shoes off. You walked out into the living room, setting up a pair of TV trays, for once grateful that you had more than one. “What do you want to watch?”

“Oh, I don’t really care. You can put on whatever.” Bob sat down in front of one of the trays, pulling his feet under his legs as you distributed the food. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Yeah, of course. I should have texted, but then I realized when I clocked out that I don’t have your phone number.”

“I don’t have a phone. They said they’d get me one when I go back.” He said softly, as though he didn’t believe the words. You wondered why.

“Ah. Gotcha, okay.” You nodded. “I can set up my iPad here. Text it from my phone. And you can use it to message me back.”

At that, he gave a genuine smile. “Yeah, that works. Thank you.”

“Quit thanking me. I’m just trying to be a good host to my guest.”

He chuckled, shrugging. “Right. I’m just not used to it, is all.”

You could tell he meant it. And it broke your heart. You didn’t know what all he’d been through on his way to you, but you knew this boy was not used to kindness, even though he had all the kindness in the world tucked behind those sparkling eyes.

“Get used to it.”

“Okay, deal.”

***

That night, you were a little restless. One of those nights where you just toss and turn, and then readjust your blankets, flip your pillow, and toss and turn some more. But you swore, one of those times, when you sat up and opened your eyes just the tiniest bit, that there was a shadow, looming in the corner of your room.

Two glowing yellow eyes.

When you lit your hand—a common alternative to a flashlight, in your case—there was no one there. Just a hoodie hanging over your closet door.

So you laid down and went to sleep.

Knight of Cups

Rain pitter-pattered steadily on the roof the next morning. Dreary gray skies floated beyond your fluttering curtains. The perfect day to stay inside. Really, the perfect day to begin the impossible journey of weeding out the junk in your house.

You got dressed, pulling on a striped shirt and a pair of overalls with a bee embroidered into the denim. That, you’d done yourself. You let your anchor necklace settle between your collarbones, adjusting it with your fingers before heading downstairs.

It took a while for Bob to come down. He gave a sleepy little chuckle, hoping to distract from the bags beneath his eyes. It didn’t work. But you didn’t ask questions. You had to trust him to come to you if he needed help.

The two of you ate breakfast. He kept fixating on your honeybee and he couldn’t keep the smile off of his face, that soft, soft look in his eyes.

“I did it myself. The bee. Embroidered it.”

His smile widened. “Really? You embroider?”

“Not a lot, but yeah. Got a kit on clearance at the craft store.”

“It looks great. I couldn’t even tell.” He murmured, eyes sliding from the bee up to meet yours. “Looks super professional. What, uh…what’s the plan today?”

“I figured we’d tackle that bookshelf first. The big one.”

“Aye aye.” He took your empty plate and rinsed it off, setting it in the dishwasher.

You got your hair out of the way and walked over to said bookshelf, planting yourself in front of it, hands on your hips, eyes scanning the spines. It was a large shelf, had come with the house. It was made of an old rowboat. Wide and sturdy, absolutely filled with books, almost floor to ceiling. Not to mention the knickknacks scattered about. The stray Funko Pop or action figure.

A tiny plastic Winter Soldier stood guard in front of your leatherbound copy of the Hobbit. Bucky would get a kick out of that.

“Where do we start?” Bob asked, suddenly behind you.

You jolted a little, turning to look at him, hand slapped over your heart. You chuckled a little. “Jeez, you’re quiet.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You grinned, turning back to the shelf. “I’ll, uh…go grab some boxes. I think we’ll just stick to the classic keep, trash, donate. You can start taking stacks of them off the shelf and I’ll start sorting.”

“Got it.”

The two of you split. You rummaged around in a closet and found some empty tubs, dragging them back out to the living room, where Bob was stacking books on the coffee table for your consideration. He stopped in his tracks, wound up for a second, and then sneezed like a kitten.

Most dangerous man in the world my ass. “Sorry. It’s probably pretty dusty over there. I’m not great at staying on top of it.”

“’S fine.” He rubbed the end of his nose, scrunching it in an attempt to get his sinuses back in order. “You got a lot of, uh…vampire romance there.”

“I had a phase.” You chuckled, scooping most of them into the donation box. You saved a few of the good ones, though. It continued like that, Bob bringing you an armful of books at a time and you would split them up accordingly.

“Aww, man, Animorphs, I used to read these all the time!” He grinned, looking at the art on one of the covers, finger tracing over Rachel’s transformation into a starfish.

“You can have them if you want. I’ve only got a handful and they’re all out of order. I never did read them all.”

“You mean that?”

“Yeah, knock yourself out. I’ll get another box.” You said with a grin, walking out of the room with yet another box that you set in the corner of the room. You used a piece of tape and a Sharpie to label it BOB, which he grinned at, setting the small set of paperbacks inside.

“So uh…How do you know Bucky?”

“Old friend.” You replied, gathering your words as you flipped through a pile of murder mysteries, choosing to part with most of them. “He, uh…right, so…Sam found me, actually. Sam Wilson. Scouted me out back in…well, it was before the blip. Bucky was brainwashed by HYDRA and worked for them for a while. So I was there to…put him to sleep, basically. I can’t undo brainwashing, but I can mellow someone out.”

“Yeah, you’re good at that. Damn near knocked me out with it.” He said with a chuckle.

“I was hitting you with Level 2 waves. When I get up to like a 5 or so, it would indeed knock you out.” You replied, meeting his eyes. “So yeah, I went with Bucky to Wakanda while they untangled his mind, in case things got out of hand. Fought Thanos, got dusted, and then everyone split up and it’s been radio silence since then. I keep tabs, but…not enough, I guess.”

“And that’s why they sent me here, then, I’m guessing. So…you can knock me out if I…you know…if the other guy makes an appearance…?” Bob asked softly. You could tell it had been on his mind.

“Other guy?” You asked, genuinely baffled for a moment until you remembered his shadowy counterpart. The one you’d seen on the news. The floating black silhouette with the cape and the glowing eyes. The one who was supposedly standing right in front of you. “Right. I mean, I guess so. I also just like to think I’m good company.”

You shuffled through another few stacks of books, sorting through things. Books you were never going to read, books you had read and didn’t like very much, all went into the donation box. Maybe you were in the mood for it, or maybe you really were more of a pack rat than you’d previously thought, but it was…easy to part with a lot of it now, with either hindsight or the free time to finally go through it.

Every once a while, you’d walk over and set one in Bob’s box, stuff you thought he would like, but he spent some time in front of the donation box, too, picking things out for himself. It brought a smile to your face, him crouched there, searching for treasures.

“Tell me about yourself.” You said suddenly.

“What do you…want to know?” Bob asked, sitting himself down cross-legged on the carpet. “I don’t know much about my…powers or…”

“Oh, no no no. Tell me about…you. Like, um…what’s your favorite color? Favorite movie? That kinda stuff.”

“Oh. Uh, blue. And Finding Nemo. I…grew up in Florida. I hate rollercoasters. I threw up in a haunted house one time. I’m afraid of heights. I like sitcoms, but I have trouble remembering stuff that happened in the early seasons. I like to read. Hence the uh, stack I’m collecting here. I hope you’re not donating these anywhere important. I’m poaching all your good picks.”

“Nah, take whatever you want. The rest are going to the used bookstore in town. She gives store credit for them, so we can pick up one or two new ones while we’re there, if you see anything you like.” You reassured him.

“What about you?”

“Hmm?”

“Favorite color, movie, all that stuff.” Bob insisted, eyes glimmering.

“Yellow. Movie is tough. I love a lot of movies. Probably Howl’s Moving Castle right now.” You replied, grabbing the last of the books from the shelf. You tucked the Hobbit along with the tiny Bucky into the Keep box. You’d give them to him when he came back. “I’m from New York. Lived there most of my life. I like the quiet life, though. The waves on the shore, the familiar faces. In a big city, everyone blends. You’re the tiniest drop in the biggest bucket. But here…I could go down a whole row of shops and tell you the names of every shopkeep. I know all the old ladies in the farmers’ market.”

He nodded like you’d said something profound. “I…yeah. That drop in the bucket stuff. I get that. I like it here, too. Little town. It’s easier to…breathe.” He turned one of the books over, reading the back of it before tucking it into his box. He couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off of his face, looking at his haul. It made your chest warm. “Thanks for these. And don’t tell me not to thank you because these are a gift, not standard host stuff. I’m allowed to thank you for that.”

You laughed, nodding. “Alright, fair. And you’re welcome. We might need to get you a bigger box. I’ve got a lot of shit in this house. I have no doubt you’ll pick up some more trinkets by the time we leave.”

He grinned. “Promise?”

***

Once the books were sorted, Bob helped you load the boxes of outgoing copies into the back of your car. He was…stronger than he looked. You tried not to read too much into it. You didn’t want him to think you were sizing him up as a threat. You were sure those looks were the ones he was hoping to escape in your middle-of-nowhere little town.

It wasn’t a long drive. Just a few minutes down the road, further down the coast. You parallel parked with ease.

“Okay, now that is a superpower.” Bob said, impressed. “I’ve never seen anyone do it that easily before.”

“I’ll give you some pointers before we leave.” You chuckled, slipping out of your seat and checking both ways before stepping into the street, walking around to the trunk of the car and grabbing a box. Bob followed you through the front door, the little bell above the door jingling as you did.

Inside, was the coziest bookstore in the world, to be sure. Suncatchers in the windows reflected little rainbows on every surface. It was low-lit, but fairy lights and a handful of lanterns made up for it, illuminating the place with a glow that could only be explained as magic, you were sure.

The shopkeep was an eccentric old lady named Earlene, who had a beaded glasses strap hanging around her neck. She was wearing a loose tie-dye blouse and more rings than you could count, big giant hoop earrings attached to her ears.

She was who you wanted to be when you grew up.

“Well, if it isn’t our glowing girl herself. How the hell are you, (Y/N)?” Earlene asked, motioning you into the shop, arms open wide. You set your box on the counter, slipping around the side of it to hug her.

“Doing great, Earlene. Brought some new stock for you.”

“I see that. You cleaning house or what?”

“Something like that. Heading back to New York for a while, I think.” You confessed, putting it out in the open. Ripping it off like a Band-Aid.

She frowned at that, shaking her head. “Damn. It’s always the good ones. You’re gonna visit, though? My niece got me on that…Instagram.”

“Oh, I will add you for sure.” You promised. “And I’m sure I’ll visit.” There was some rustling behind you, Bob looking at the shelf of classics.

Earlene pointed with a manicured finger. “Is this one the boyfriend?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No. There is no boyfriend.”

“Well, there should be. You’re a beautiful young lady and you aren’t getting any younger.” She said, earning a laugh from your companion, who set the box of books he had on the floor in front of the counter.

“Earlene, this is Bob. Bob, this is Earlene.”

“Think of me as the town wine aunt. Well, great-aunt now, I suppose. I’m not getting any younger, either.”

“She hosts Tipsy Tarot nights once a month.”

“And I promise you, honey, that Knight of Cups is coming in any day now.”

You scoffed. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I like your shop.” Bob said, pointing to the lights. “Really cool vibes in here.”

“Well, thank you, Bob. Take a look around. With all these books (Y/N) is unloading, you can take at least a few.” She said with a grin.

“I’ll go get the last box.” You volunteered, heading back outside to get the last one out of the trunk. When you returned, Bob was crouched in front of the classics shelf, looking at the cover of something. Frankenstein, you were pretty sure.

Earlene motioned you over towards the counter with a curled finger, beckoning, not unlike a witch in a children’s fairytale. You followed anyway, standing behind the counter with her. She took one of your hands in hers, reaching into her pocket to hand you a small, rectangular box. You knew from the cover art alone what it was. A tarot deck. A classic, vintage, Rider-Waite tarot deck.

“Earlene, I can’t, this is—”

“This has been sitting behind that glass counter for years, hon. Trust me. No one in this town wants it. Take it to the big city with you. Find your Knight. They say it’s good luck to have your first deck given to you.”

You held it carefully, turning it over to look at the other side. Warmth welled up in your chest, and a soft little sigh was all you could do to stop it from welling up in your eyes as well.

“Thank you. I’ll treasure them.” You promised.

Earlene squeezed your hands, getting a little misty herself. “I know you will. Now, you better be good in that city, glowing girl. I don’t want to see you on the news.”

Bob laughed at that and you shook your head, giving a sardonic little smile. “No promises.”

***

You sat on the living room floor that night, doing a facemask when Bob walked into the room, fiddling hands swallowed up by the soft cotton of his sweater. Rain pitter-pattered on the roof still. Light and delicate. He tilted his head, looking at you curiously.

“You’re green.”

You giggled, nodding. “I am. Clay mask. I’m not huge on the skincare stuff, but it helps sometimes, with all this salty sea air.”

He reached up and rubbed his face. “Huh. Should I be doing that too? Not important. Anyway, uh, I was just, uhhhhh…” He paused for a long time. You could practically see the dialogue options scrolling behind his eyes before he finally settled on one. “Heading up to bed.”

“Okay. Good night. Let me know if you need anything.” You told him, almost expectant for him to say more.

He didn’t though, just nodded, gave that soft sleepy smile, and said, “Goodnight.” He padded up the stairs back to his room. You listened to the rain in his absence, staring up the dark hallway, watching as the light clicked on and then off again. You smiled softly.

You hoped he was finding some peace and quiet in your little town, even if it was just for a little while.

The Beacon

The rain put you out like a light that night. You slept in the next morning for the first time in what felt like forever, woke up peacefully to the birds chirping, sunlight stretched across your pillowcase.

Something sizzled in the distance. Smelled like breakfast. You grinned, slipping out of bed and getting dressed before wandering down the stairs. Bob was indeed standing at the stove, cracking an egg into a sizzling hot pan. You watched as he scrambled them, stirring them around with a fork. He wasn’t super confident with the movements, but he was doing good.

He glanced up at you as you stepped down into the room, eyes almost glittering as he took you in. “Morning. Just making us some breakfast. I’m not much of a cook, but I can make eggs.” He hissed as he lost focus, hand grazing the edge of the hot pan. When he pulled it away to look, though, there was…nothing. No redness, no burn. Just his hand, as it was before. Odd, you thought.

“Does it hurt?” You asked, taking a step closer.

He shrugged. Lied. “A little.”

You reached out, letting your glowing palm smooth over the spot, giving him the tiniest bit of energy out of habit, clearing up the pain as easily as someone wiping a whiteboard.

He smiled a slow and earnest smile, those thick eyelashes fluttering down over his ocean eyes. “Thanks. Cool trick.”

“No problem. Thanks for breakfast.”

He chuckled and gave a shrug, stirring the eggs around again. Once they were cooked, he plated them up, bringing them over to the table and setting them on your thrifted placemats. You sprinkled some salt and pepper on yours, sipping some morning tea.

“Hey, um…I saw on the calendar you work tomorrow. I can cook dinner, if you want. So it’s nice and warm when you get back. I make a mean pasta.” He offered, poking his eggs with a fork. He bit his lip, eyes locked on the edge of the plate, flicking up to yours after a long moment.

You smiled, nodding. “We can go to the farmer’s market today, get some veggies.”

His face broke into a grin. “I’d love that.”

***

You led Bob up the rows of local vendors, pulling a little wagon behind you. He browsed thoroughly, hands playing with the ends of his sleeves. You picked out your favorites at the honey stand, a few more bottles than you usually did. The old man who ran it, Mr. McAllister, raised a bushy gray eyebrow.

“Stocking up there, (Y/N)?”

“I’m moving back to New York, actually.” You explained, giving a shrug. “So I’ll need some for the road.”

He frowned, but added another jar of honey to your bag with a wink. “On the house. Safe travels.”

You smiled softly. “Thank you.”

It was like that at every booth.

The guys you bought your chives and onions from with the awesome handlebar mustaches. The girl at the crochet booth. The longest stop was at the tea booth you so adored. The middle-aged woman that ran the booth motioned you closer, slipping a brown beaded bracelet off of her wrist and onto yours.

“Tiger’s Eye. For good luck in the big city.” She said.

You gave her hand a squeeze, thanking her for it. It was always the small town ladies that turned out to be witches, but the magic was appreciated nonetheless.

And as much as the locals loved you, they also loved Bob. He wandered the booths, asking questions, weighing tomatoes in his hands, feeling them to find the good ones. The Chive Brothers gave him a chive to chew on, which he did, munching it like a farmer with a piece of straw.

“Is this the boyfriend?” The old lady selling earrings with her granddaughter asked, motioning to Bob, who was asking the honey vendor about his bees.

You shook your head, watching him fondly. It wasn’t impossible to see why they’d think so. Especially when he turned around to catch your eyes from across the aisle. He pointed excitedly to some candles made from beeswax.

You grinned and followed him over, putting a hand on his arm to let him know you were standing there.

“They’re made of the beeswax they collect.” He said with a grin. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just thought it was cool.”

“You want one?”

His eyebrows shot up, looking like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “What? Oh, no. I’m fine. I…I don’t have…”

Bob had come into your home with that suitcase and only that suitcase. He didn’t have any money on him. Didn’t even have an ID. You still weren’t sure what to make of him, where he’d come from, what he’d been through to get to you. And of course, Bucky was never one for thorough explanations.

Without missing a beat, you looked at the candles on the table. “Well, what scent do you want?”

“You don’t have to…you’ve already done so much for me, it’s just a silly candle.”

You shrugged, handing Mr. McAllister a ten dollar bill. “Well, then tell him which one you want.”

Bob rolled his eyes, a reluctant grin tugging at the edge of his lip. “Alright, fine. I’ll take the eucalyptus one, please.”

***

The foghorn blared across the waves, the sound of it echoing for miles. In the distance, the lighthouse, spinning like a top, around and around and around. Its light stretched into the fog, arms reaching out towards the harbor. One big ship slugged through, crawling. A towering shadow. Two discernible lights roved. Like eyes.

You sat on the back deck, watching, knees curled up to your chest, chin resting there. You were glowing at a Level 3. White, dancing light, licking at your form like flames. Rainbows refracted on the beechwood railing. You took a long breath, letting it roll out of you, floating off into the fog.

The back door squeaked as it slid open and you turned, light dampening back to neutral.

“Hey.”

“Hey. You were…glowing.” Bob said, planted in his spot just inside the doorway.

“I do that sometimes, yeah.” You turned your head, ear tucked against your knees. “Wanna sit, or…just stand there?”

He chuckled, walking out onto the deck and sitting next to you on the back step. “Do you, uh…glow often?”

“Sometimes. I get headaches if I hold it in.”

Bob nodded. “Bucky called you Beacon. Kinda thought he said ‘bacon,’ actually. But…Beacon, like…lighthouse?”

You met his eyes, amusement flickering across your face. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

His curls rustled as he shook his head. “No, not really. I mean, I know the stuff you told me about like…helping Bucky and stuff, but…”

“The name didn’t really stick. Beacon. It was all we could come up with. I had a shirt with a lighthouse on it and…that was that.” You explained.

“So, you’re named after the shirt? Just like…”

“Well, I glow, too. Pretty bright, if I get all worked up. I, uh…live this close to one in case of that, actually. If I needed to get away. Glow super bright. Far enough away from people, hidden in plain sight. That, and the rent is super cheap because of the—” The foghorn blared, causing you to chuckle, pointing vaguely in that direction. “That. Because of that.”

He laughed, nodding. “Good trade-off, I’d say.”

You stared at the swivelling light. The other beacon. “I hope you never have to see me like that.”

He looked bewildered. “Why?”

“Well, it’s…kind of blinding, really. Like staring at the sun.” You breathed. “My lower glow is healing and gentle. When I’m all bright like that, it…hurts people.”

“Bad people, though.” Bob thought about it for a long moment. “I think it’d be kinda pretty. Like��well, like a lighthouse.” He shrugged. “We’ve gotta find you a better name than Beacon, though.”

A laugh bubbled from your lips. “We’ve got some time to workshop it.”

The Stray

There was nothing you enjoyed less than trying to explain ticket prices to old people. If your theater ran a promotion one time, they’d come around expecting that price forever because of an ad they saw on Facebook. And you’d had that conversation about twelve times that day. In addition to being yelled at because a boomer got confused over which theater he was supposed to be in. You were right. He was wrong. But that never seemed to matter in the end; not to them.

You ducked into the backroom and sent a text to your iPad, checking in on Bob. It was the longest day you’d left him alone for. A 9 to 6.

“Hey, buddy. Everything good at home?”

You didn’t see his reply until a few hours later, when it was slow enough to slip into the back again.

“I am good :) See u for dinner :P Bring your appetite, glowy lady.”

You laughed, unable to wipe the smile off your face as you typed your reply. “Is ‘glowy lady’ an official name pitch or…?”

And he sent back, “Do u not like it? :(”

Giggling, you typed another quick text. “I’ll add it to the list for consideration.”

One of your coworkers pushed through the swinging door between the counter and the backroom, looking you over. “You back on the apps again?”

“Huh? No. Why?” You replied, clicking the phone off and tucking it into your back pocket again.

“I haven’t seen you grin at your phone like that since you were dating. You got a hot date tonight or something?”

A warm flush spread across your cheeks, down your neck. “Nah, my, uh, houseguest is making dinner tonight. That’s all. He’s funny.”

“Funny, huh?”

“Yeah, funny. Sweet.” You shrugged, ignoring the swarm of butterflies that had kicked up in your stomach. Swirling and swirling.

“How’d you meet this guy again?”

“Friend of a friend.”

“Sounds like more than that now.”

A smile tugged at your lip, unable to defend yourself, really. “Getting there.”

***

You pulled into your driveway at a crisp 6:15, and for the first time in a long time, your house smelled like home. You opened the door, kicking your shoes onto the mat.

Bob was standing at the stove, using a wooden spatula to stir together a pasta dish in a casserole pan, chopping up chunks of softened cheese and stirring it in with the cooked tomatoes and herbs.

“Almost done over here.” He said over his shoulder. “How was work?”

“Long. And bad, also. Lots of cranky customers. I’m better now, though. That smells good as hell.”

“It’s not hard. I can teach you.” He poured the noodles into the dish and stirred them in the sauce, making sure everything was coated.

You watched him move, a fond smile crossing your face. He was wearing your apron, his hair tied back in a scrunchie you’d left in the living room, the ends sticking out all choppy because of the length.

And it was wrong. It was so wrong, but you couldn’t stop yourself from imagining walking up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, and burying your face in his shoulder. You tried to convince yourself it was because you’d been living alone for so long. You’d been single for so long, but the truth was, it was just something about him. Those soft eyes. He looked at you like you were glowing all the time. Like you were made of starlight.

But you doubted Bob was in the headspace for that kind of thing. Which is what made it feel so wrong.

He scooped out two bowls, motioning to the table he’d set with your leftover Halloween napkins and a few forks. You grabbed a drink from the fridge and slipped into the seat across from him.

“How was your day?”

Bob smiled, giving a shaky shrug. “Fine. It was good. Got some reading done. Kept hearing something by the back door, but I went to check, and I didn’t see anything.”

“Mmm, I’ll check it out later.”

“I know I keep saying it, but, uh, it’s really, uh…really nice here.” Bob said, poking around his pasta. He took a bite, smiling shyly.

“It is, isn’t it?” You ate some, too, the taste of the homemade sauce enveloping your tongue. “This is really good. Thank you for cooking for me.”

“Yeah, of course. You, uh…had a lot to work with. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had a…fridge full of food.” He said it so easily, but you could tell he meant it. That made it sadder, you were sure.

You didn’t know what to say to that, eyebrows furrowing together.

He saved you the trouble. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m fine. I know how that…sounds. I…I’m doing a lot better now.” He took a long breath, holding it before letting it out. His eyes slid across the wall, over a cross-stitch tapestry of a pirate ship. “I like it here.”

“We can still visit. I’m planning on leaving some of the essentials here. We might need a safe house every now and again. I like it here, too.”

He seemed to make peace with that. That he could come back. “Cool. I’d like that.”

After dinner, you boxed up the leftovers, a little less than half the pan, and helped with the dishes. Bob wiped down the counters, stopping when he heard something outside the side door. He turned, peering out the window.

“I don’t see anything, but I swear I hear a—”

Bob was interrupted by a crisp Meow.

You smiled, turning away from the sink and walking over towards the cupboard, opening it to reveal a container of kibble. You scooped a heaping cup of it and opened the door, motioning Bob over. “You’re not allergic, right?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

You pulled the door open and there he was, Reginald the Lighthouse Keeper, the local stray. Immediately, he was against your ankles, rubbing his little cheeks against whatever skin he could find. You reached down, scratching behind his ears as he meowed insistently.

“I know, I know.” You walked out onto the step, pouring kibble into his little metal bowl, sheltered from the somewhat frequent rain by the awning above the door. “Here you go.”

“Whoooo is thisss???” Bob asked, face awash with affection as he looked down at the skinny orange cat with the big brown eyes, eagerly gobbling up the kibble.

You snatched up the second bowl, walking into the kitchen to get him fresh water from the sink and returned to find Bob crouched there, petting him, cooing babytalk. “That’s Reginald. He’s the local stray. Beloved pillar of the community.”

“Why doesn’t anyone take him in?”

“Oh, we’ve all tried. He doesn’t want it. Prefers to wander. But we all take care of him, make sure he’s not…eating too many birds, you know. And the local vet keeps him up to date on his shots.”

Bob pet him, hands confident for perhaps the first time since you’d met him, from his head, down to his tail, the end of it curling around his wrist. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “I love cats.”

“I think he loves you.” You grinned, leaning against the doorway. It was true. Reginald purred like a motor, leaning into Bob’s palms, nudging against his hand any time he dared to stop his motions.

“Animals are like that, you know. Just…bottomless, unconditional love. He just met me and already, he loves me.” Bob chuckled, petting his little head. “It’s hard not to love them right back.”

That was how you were starting to feel about Bob, really. You just met him. And yet…

Nothing Scary

It was another quiet day in Seaberg. After breakfast, you stood in the living room, stretching out your back and staring at the shelf where you kept all your records. Surely some of them could go, right?

“Records, huh? You have a lot of them.”

“Yeah, I’m a pack rat. We can do my CDs today, too. Maybe the DVDs.”

“Big day.” Bob nodded, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater. “Let’s do it.”

You pulled out each milk crate, evaluating each album with care as you sorted them. These were a lot harder to part with, but you did find a few that you didn’t resonate with anymore. Some, you’d have to leave here at the house, you decided, but there were a good few you wanted to bring to New York with you.

Of the losers, Bob did snag a few for his box. One of them, he very carefully slipped out of its cardboard and set it on your little turntable, dropping the needle. It crackled for a moment before swelling to life. An 80s soft rock album.

You grinned, watching him sway. “Bruce Springsteen?”

“I just love this song.” He admitted as the sound filled the room with warmth. Or maybe that was just the smile on his face.

And that was how it continued. You discarded records and Bob would scan through them and take songs on a test drive, listening to how they sounded. Some of them, he scrunched his nose at and put in your donation box. Others, he slipped into his own with that fond little smile on his face.

After the tenth box, you stood and stretched, twisting the tension out of your back. Bob put another song on, the familiar sound floating from the speaker. Dancing in the Moonlight, from an album of assorted 70s hits.

“Love this song.” You murmured, shoulders shimmying almost beyond your control. Your feet followed suit.

Bob chuckled, unable to drag his eyes away. Like a train crash, you were sure. And though you expected him to stay planted there, watch you make a fool of yourself, instead he wandered further into the room, following your lead. You giggled, dancing beside him. You offered your hand and he took it, spinning you around, which caught you off-guard. He had moves, kind of. Awkward moves, but moves no less.

He took one of your hands in each of his, pushing and pulling your arms to the rhythm of the song, eyes sparkling. You may have been the glowing girl, but he was glowing. Happy and unashamed.

At the end of the song, he let go of your hands, sweeping into a bow, curls falling in his face. He straightened up, cheeks flushed. “I, uh, I’m gonna get a drink.”

You stood in the empty living room as the next song kicked on, your heart racing still from your little activity. Well, that and other things. You’d…never seen him look so free before. Like while the music played, all of Bob’s baggage was far, far away, and he was just…light.

He came back into the room with two glasses of ice water and handed one to you. You took a few generous sips before setting it on a coaster on the coffee table.

“We should do something tonight.” Bob resolved. “See a movie or…?”

“There’s a drive-in not far from here.” You chimed. “I’d take you to my workplace, but we don’t do late showtimes on weekdays and we won’t be done organizing all this crap until like seven minimum.”

“Nothing scary?”

“Let me check.” You pulled your phone out of your pocket, pulling up their website to see what they were showing that evening. “Nope, nothing scary. 80s movies double-feature. Back to the Future and Weird Science.”

“Oh, sweet. That sounds fun. Maybe pick up some food on the way?” He suggested.

You nodded, lips curling around the words before they spilled out. “It’s a date.”

***

It took hours, but eventually, you’d weeded through all the media in your house and Bob had a giant stack of DVDs in his box. The rest, you took to the thrift store on your way out of town. It was a little chilly tonight, so you packed a hoodie, and tucked the blanket you were still crocheting into the back of the car to work on during the movie.

You hit a drive-thru at the burger place at the edge of town and then drove the ten or twenty minutes out to the drive-in. It was further up the coast, in a big empty field on a hill. You were sure anyone who lived anywhere near there got a free show every night, even if they couldn’t hear it.

You paid admission at the gate and then backed into your favorite spot, in the middle of one of the middle rows. Not too close, not too far. Off to the right side, there was a concession stand and the bathrooms, which were housed inside a building. It was nice. You hated porta-potties.

Bob grinned, looking around. “I’ve never been to one of these before. Didn’t know they still did them, actually.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty neat! They show good stuff sometimes. And the popcorn is super cheap. Bathrooms are right over there.” You told him, opening the car door and walking around to the trunk. You pulled it open, making sure the car was off properly so the battery wouldn’t drain, and arranged a few blankets and pillows, making the ideal nest for a double feature.

Bob carried the bag of food around and set it in the middle, slotting the drinks into the cupholders on either side, up by the tiny back windows of your SUV. He pulled out his fries, eating the few that were left. He’d started on them on the drive over, while they were still hot.

You ate too, making quick work of your burger, taking intermittent sips of your soda, so that by the time the movie started, you had your hands free to work on your blanket.

Bob took his time, savoring every bite, sucking the salt from his fingertips before moving on to the next thing. He took a long sip of his milkshake and then sat back for a bit, hands folded on his stomach, leaning back against the pillows. He watched as you worked on the blanket, using a massive, plastic crochet hook to weave the fluffy stuff together.

He reached a tentative hand out, touching it. He gave one of the rows a squish, eyes lighting up at the feeling of it between his fingers. “Woah! I did not expect that to feel like this.”

“They’re nice as cushioning. I made one for one of my college chairs to sit on. Made it like, twice as comfortable.” You told him.

“You did college?”

“Mmhmm. Just barely finished before I got a call from Sam Wilson. Creative Writing, which does me a lot of good out here, you can imagine.”

“Creative Writing.” Bob repeated. He chuckled, shrugging. “I mean, this seems like as good a place for it as any. This town feels like it was plucked straight out of a romance novel. Must help with the writing. The…vibes of it.”

“You’re telling me. I keep emailing Hallmark, but they don’t seem to want to film anything here. Missed opportunity.”

He laughed at that. “I, uh…never did college. Kinda…dropped out of high school. Been thinking about getting my GED, but…” He gave that shy little shrug that was so common when he was opening up about something rough. The ‘hey, it’s fine’ shrug. But you could always tell it wasn’t fine.

“I’m sure that’s something that could be arranged. When we get to New York.” You said, tilting your head.

He nodded, giving a strained little smile that you couldn’t quite decipher. It was about either the GED or New York, but one of the two was stressing him out, so you decided not to press it further.

The trailers started up and you glanced at the convenience stand. There was a short little line formed there. “You want popcorn?”

“I could go for popcorn.” He agreed, grateful for the change in subject.

You reached into your wallet, handing him a ten dollar bill and telling him to get whatever he wanted. He returned a few minutes later with a big popcorn and a bigger smile, settling back into the car. It rocked a little as he settled his weight, getting comfortable again. He set the tub of corn between the two of you, snacking idly as the trailers gave way to the intro of Back to the Future. You couldn’t help but grin as Marty got blasted back by the massive speakers in Doc’s garage.

It went by pretty fast. The movie and the blanket. You finished it about halfway through, knotting the end and weaving it in with your hand, pulling it through loops until the little tail disappeared into the fluff.

Bob glanced over, impressed. “Wow, you finished it!”

“Only took me like four months of procrastination.” You chuckled, folding it in half and draping it over the seats behind you, so it would be softer to lean on.

“Hey, better late than never, though. I couldn’t do something like that.”

As the movie continued, you could feel Bob’s train of thought veering off course. He was getting lost in thought, that contemplative little frown on his face. You watched, clinical. Scanning for the same signs you used to look for in Bucky. That there was someone else sitting at the steering wheel. But that wasn’t the case. He was just thinking. Spiraling, even. About what, you weren’t sure.

When you reached into the popcorn bucket, your hand brushed his and—

You were somewhere else now.

Shoes crunching through the snow as you approached the light streaming through the trees. Headlights. Screaming. They were screaming your name, the ones that were conscious.

“Hello?” You looked around, cold, cold air nipping at your cheeks, snowflakes catching in your tangled hair. “Hello?”

There was someone standing in the trees, watching. You searched, but couldn’t find them. You knew you were alone. Yet, the screaming persisted.

You picked up the pace, pushing past winter-soaked pines and unforgiving trunks, and then—

Sorry. I’m sorry. (Y/N)? A long sigh. Always making things worse…

Like being underwater. You pushed through the tunnel vision, resurfacing. You blinked a few times, taking a big breath.

Bob was leaning closer, staring at you, blue eyes blown wide with worry. The streetlights over by the concessions cast warm shadows on his face. But shadows no less. He peered out from behind his soft curls, waiting for you to say something.

“I’m okay. I…wow. Yeah, I’m fine.”

He breathed, sitting back a bit, tugging his sleeves down over his hands so it wouldn’t happen again. “Sorry. I-I don’t know how to control it. It’s just—”

“It’s okay.” You reassured, voice soft and even. “It’s okay. I…didn’t know you could do that.”

His fingers curled beneath the fabric of his sweater. He gave that sad little shrug again. “I…I’m…not really sure w-what all I can do, actually. ’S all kinda fuzzy, still. I thought it would come back to me, being out here, and some of it has, but…some of it, I’ve only seen footage of. I don’t…remember doing it.”

You nodded, listening. You reached out gently, touching his sleeve. He stared at your hand like he was afraid he’d burn you through his sweater, but he didn’t move. Sat frozen, letting it happen.

“It’s okay.” You repeated again. “It’s okay.” Then, because he still had that look in his eyes, like he was bracing for impact, “No one is mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

That one took. He blinked. Breathed a little. Nodded, some of the tension rolling out of his shoulders. He managed the tiniest smile in the world, but it was still a smile, and you could tell it was a real one. “I needed to hear that.”

You gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “I know you did.”

***

That night, as you laid awake in bed, you heard some rustling downstairs, shuffling around in the kitchen. You rolled over to look at your alarm clock. 2:22 in the morning.

The footfalls sounded up the stairs, extra loud on the creaky one. He stopped in front of your door for a long moment, hovering. You could almost feel his energy there through the door.

And then it passed, retreating back into the guest room.

Relieved, you laid back down, staring at the ceiling. Somewhere deep in the back of your mind, you knew that hadn’t been Bob, precisely. Exhausted, you quieted the voice, closing your eyes and going back to sleep.

Tags: @eywas-heir, @honig-bienchen, @thek8archive

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