rhettsunshine

[rhettsunshine]

Danny Ramirez as Eric Tales of the Walking Dead | 1.06

[rhettsunshine]

LEWIS PULLMAN and CHRISTOPHER ABBOTT Catch-22 (2019) 1.03

[rhettsunshine]

Copyright infringement on the bottom of all of them is sending me.

[rhettsunshine]

robert 'bob' floyd

top gun: maverick (2022)

[rhettsunshine]

[rhettsunshine]

“I-I-I wanna fuck you.” Robert stutters out one morning over the breakfast table. It’s just you and him, the rest of the team had woken up extra early to get more training in, you had declined on the fact that you were just recovered from an injury and didn’t wanna push yourself too far. Robby declined too and now you know why.

You practically choke on the swig of coffee that is in your mouth. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I want to fuck you,” He repeats, more sure of himself now, a definitive nod punctuating the end of his statement.

“Right now?” You ask, one foot up on the wooden chair where you’re sitting, eyebrow raised in questioning surprise.

“Yes, right now,” Another curt nod.

“Can I finish my coffee first?” You ask, eyes sparkling slightly even as you push a bit of pastry out of your cheek with your tongue.

“o-oh, sure, yeah, of-of course.” And just like that Bob was back to his nervous, stuttering self, sitting back down in a hurry, eyes trained on the table until you took the last sip of your coffee and stood up.

——

(I might finish this later, it just made me laugh. I fear this could also be read as a Bob Floyd drabble? My characterization might be off.)

[rhettsunshine]

Tío Joaquín ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: Joaquín falls for his nephew's teacher, you.

tw: fem!reader, science teacher!reader, reader is nicknamed Sunny by coworkers and kids, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

I hope you guys aren't tired of me continuously picking science related jobs, I just really love science (hence me being premed). Joaquín falls first and harder in this because of course he would

➽──────────────❥

You knew Antonio by name, not because he was a bad student or because you knew all your student's names (you did), but because he was always the first to offer help.

"Miss Sunny?" Antonio was walking up to you, the nickname the other teachers called you in the hallways making quick work to spread to the high schoolers.

"Yes, Antonio?" You looked up from where you were putting things back into the proper boxes for your next class.

"Do you need help? I have study hall next hour, I can be late," Antonio had his bag thrown over his shoulder, ready just in case you say no.

"Hold on," you reached into your pocket and pulled a pad of sticky notes and a pen. "Run this to your teacher and come back," you handed him the note, one saying that you needed to borrow him. You watched his sprint away and shook your head lightly.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

"Didn't I tell you to go back to class?" You asked Antonio, he was sitting on the side of your desk. You two had finished cleaning up a few minutes ago.

"Yeah, but there's only like 3 minutes left and then I go to lunch," Antonio told you. "And I come back here for lunch," he pointed out and you gave him an unimpressed smile. He was right, he was apart of the group you allowed to eat lunch with you.

"Fine, whatever," you relented lightheartedly. "Just make yourself useful, clean the beakers or something," you told him.

"Oh! Wait, my tío is coming for lunch. Can I take him here?" Antonio was halfway to the sink with all the beakers.

"Yeah, sure, your uncle can come," you told him, you've had family members stop by for lunch before.

"Thanks, his name's Joaquín, by the way," he told you and you nodded.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

"Tío, this is my teacher Miss Sunny," Antonio introduced you, you hadn't looked up from your computer yet.

"Y/n, not Sunny. Sunny's a nickname," you supplied before finally looking up. You were met with Joaquín Torres, Falcon, the most attractive man you've ever seen.

"No one calls her y/n," you looked over at Antonio. "Sorry, l/n," Antonio corrected himself.

"It's nice to meet you," you offered your hand, there was no hesitation when he shook it. "Take a seat anywhere," you gestured to the room and Antonio took his spot on the end of your desk. "Aren't you going to sit with your uncle?"

"He can sit here," Antonio moved his laptop and made room for Joaquín. You didn't fight it, knowing it would happen anyway.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

"Goodbye!" You were waving multiple kids out of your room at the end of the day. "That was the last bell, you don't have to go home but you can't stay at school!" You kept ushering them out. You were about to shut the door when you heard Antonio yell from down the hallway.

"Miss Sunny!" Antonio and Joaquín were rushing to your room.

"Hello!" You laughed gently, you watched Antonio catch his breath.

"I forgot my headphones in here," Antonio rushed past you and started looking.

"It's nice to see you again," you told Joaquín.

"You too," Joaquín smiled down at you.

"How was following Antonio around?"

"Boring, none of the other teacher's are quite as pretty as you," Joaquín told you.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

"Hi!" You smiled at Antonio, his mother, and Joaquín.

"Hi, thank you for doing this," Antonio's mother thanked you. You had said yes to a last minute meeting to discuss Antonio's 504 plan.

"Of course, Antonio is one of my best students," you supplied.

"You mean one of your favorites," Antonio said.

"I do not have favorites," you looked over at Antonio as you sat down at the semi circle table and let the others sit with you.

"This is my brother, Joaquín. I was told you met him last week," Antonio's mother, Savannah, reintroduced you two. "He's here because I wanted to know if I could add a clause that Joaquín is allowed to come hang with Antonio whenever Antonio needed," Savannah asked.

"Oh, ok. So that's a question for Dr. Kelly, our principal. I can't make any adjustments without her permission, and even then I can't promise that she would be able to get that kind of permission," you told her, an apologetic smile on your face.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

"Do you want to come to my family's bbq?" Antonio asked.

"Antonio, I am your teacher. I am supposed to stay at a professional relationship with you," you told the student.

"It's after graduation, I won't be your student anymore," Antonio gave you a smile and you sighed.

"Ask me at graduation," you told him before he went to go sit down.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

"I graduated!" Antonio celebrated and ran past his family to you. You gave them all an apologetic smile as Antonio hugged you. "Tía Sunny, I graduated!"

"Oh," you looked at Savannah and Joaquín as he called you his aunt. You could see the matching smiles from the family. "Congrats, Tonio. You did it, I'm proud," you gave the boy praise and felt him hug you tighter. "Ok, ok, go hug your mom and uncle," you pulled away from him and watched as he bounded over. You were pulled away from the family by other students.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

"Hey!" Antonio yelled from farther away. You were being hit on by some older single father. "Get away from my tía!" Antonio shouted.

"Tonio!" You hissed at him. "Be nice," you chastised the boy.

"He's too close," Antonio argued and you looked back over at the dad. He was several steps away from you now, his wife pressed into his side.

"It was nice meeting you, Mr. Wilkins," you waved to him and walked off with Antonio.

"Really? You were willing to be Miss Wilkins?" Antonio asked as you walked up to his mom and Joaquín.

"What?" Savannah asked.

"I was talking to Jordan Wilkins' father when Antonio walked up," you explained.

"He was totally flirting with her!" Antonio argued.

"He was being nice," you countered and pushed the boy away gently by the head.

"No he totally was flirting with you!" Antonio moved back and pushed your shoulder.

"Yeah, ok," you joked, rolling your eyes. Antonio seemed satisfied and took Joaquín by the arm to meet his friends.

"Antonio does love you," Savannah mused and you looked over at her.

"I'm sorry?"

"Antonio talks about you a lot, says you're his favorite teacher. He's convinced he can make you his aunt, either unofficially or getting you to marry one of his uncles," Savannah told you. You looked over at her with a small smile.

"Can I ask why it's only you and Joaquín here tonight?"

"The rest of the family couldn't make it up from Miami in time," Savannah told you.

"Oh, Antonio invited me to your family bbq," you changed the subject quickly.

"You are invited," Savannah told you softly.

"I'll be there," you replied just as softly, you liked the Torres'.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

"Tía!" Antonio called for you as soon as you walked through the gate.

"Tonio!" You called back, you had been there plenty of times since graduation. You had become an honorary Torres at that point, Antonio consistent on calling you 'tía'.

"Let me introduce you to everyone," Antonio took you around, you were hit on by a few of his uncles but he shut it down right away.

"Your mom told me that you wanted me to marry one of your uncles," you mused after he stopped his second uncle from hitting on you.

"Yeah, one, as in a specific one," Antonio reasoned.

"A specific one?" You questioned right as Joaquín walked up. You and Joaquín had gotten close enough for casual intimacy. It was evident in the way that he slung his arm around your shoulders.

"Hey, mi reina," Joaquín smiled at you. mi reina = my queen

"Hey," you fought the urge to kiss his cheek, your want for this to me more almost stronger than your self control.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You were on Joaquín's lap around the fire pit, you were going to sit on the floor with Antonio, but Joaquín was insistent that you sit on his lap.

"Antonio told us to call you Sunny," James, one of Antonio's uncles, said from the other side of the firepit.

"Yeah, it's a nickname from the other staff at the high school," you informed said with a small shrug.

"Why?" Savannah asked.

"We had a beginning of the year party thing for district, I ended up covered in yellow powder. The one that's used for fun runs, it was everywhere. I was completely yellow but I smiled for the picture anyway, I've been Sunny ever since," you explained, a smile on your face at the memory.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

"Yellow's my favorite color," Joaquín casually told you when he walked into the kitchen, you had left several minutes ago to cool down. Being in Joaquín's lap was starting to get to you, your thoughts running too wild.

"Huh?" You questioned.

"Yellow is my favorite color," Joaquín reiterated and stepped closer, his hands finding a home on your waist. "I bet you looked gorgeous covered in it," Joaquín dipped his head down closer to your face.

"I have photos," you muttered and you felt his lips brush yours. "Or if you wait until after this and come home with me, I'll show you the yellow lace I'm wearing," you promised, brushing his lips with a little more pressure.

"We're saying goodbye, after this," Joaquín told you and you wanted to ask after what, but his lips where on yours.

➽──────────────❥

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[rhettsunshine]

It's Always Been You ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: You and Joaquín grew up together and fell in love together

tw: fem!reader, childhood best friend!Joaquín, singer!reader, reader had an emotionally constipated father, ex playboy!Joaquín, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

We hit 200 followers!! Thank you to every single one of you that got us here!! As promised, here's my long childhood best friends to lovers!! I wanted this to be longer but I felt like this ended where it needed to.

➽──────────────❥

You and Joaquín met when your dad was stationed at the base in Miami, you were neighbors. And your backyards were connected by a gate, one that was constantly open and had a flow of people through it. 

Joaquín Torres quickly became your best friend, your parents may have orchestrated it but you two didn’t know that. Joaquín brought you out of your shell and, in return, you gave him a friend that never said his energy was too much.

“Y/n, will you marry me?” Joaquín was holding the small ring he won from the coin machine. Both of your families were having a joint vacation, you all were at the local arcade and you and Joaquín were joined at the hip running around.

“Can best friends get married?” You asked him, taking the ring and shoving it on your finger anyway.

“My mamá said her and my papá were best friends before they got married,” Joaquín told you and you smiled at him, taking him by his hand and running off to play more games.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Your parents always stated that they knew you two were made for each other, it was your mother’s dying wish for you to get married one day. She died when you were only 12, it broke you but Joaquín was there. It broke your father more, she was his best friend, his reason for life, and he became distant. He went to work and then home, he ran from everything that wasn’t constant. He ran when things got hard, he ran from you when you cried or when you needed anything more than the essentials. 

You got used to it, when he would grab a bag and leave in his car, you would pack your own and walk to the Torres house. Joaquín got used to it too, when he heard your dad’s car leaving randomly, he would quickly clean his room and make his bed for the two of you to share. You swore to mamá Torres that you were ok, that this is what you knew. What you will know until you move out, that the Torres house gives you enough love.

And if you lied to her, if you were in fact not ok, that is the lie you gave to others. That is the life you made for people to see, even if you tensed when people got upset. Even if your eyes darted between that person and the door behind them, that is what they were supposed to believe. 

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

After college, you apologized to your mom’s grave. If you couldn’t admit your feelings to Joaquín by now, it would never happen. You watched Joaquín meet and fall for one of the sorority girls, it came with the territory of him being in a frat. You hated it but you couldn’t do anything, you lost your chance. It didn’t matter that you still had that little ring or that you used to spend so much time in his room. It didn’t matter that you knew Joaquín better than anyone or that you two flirted constantly. Joaquín wasn’t yours and you knew that, it hurt but it was true. So you stayed behind him, when girls slept with him and then ghosted him. When he swore he liked his new girlfriends only for them to leave after they’ve had their fun. You were there to pick up the pieces, every time. 

You were worried sometimes, thinking he would notice your feelings. Thinking he would pick up how you held him a little too close. How you would press too many kisses to his head and forehead when he curled into you. How you would press yourself into him as you stayed in the same bed after one too many drinks and movies.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

It was after one of these nights, one where you and Joaquín got a little too drunk and spent the night in your apartment, that you realized how deep your feelings were. It wasn’t a lighting bolt realization, it was a small moment in the late morning. You were just sitting together, your shoulders pressed into each other while a movie played and you two drank hot chocolate. 

It started with a simple sentence, his nickname for you slipping past his lips like it was always supposed to be used. “Angel.”

You hummed before looking at him, finding him already looking at you. His eyes were always pretty to you, but in the light streaming in from the window, they were prettier. His curled hair moving slightly with the morning breeze from the open window and the scent of his soap curling around you made you pause for a moment. “Yes?” 

“I forgot,” he admitted, his eyes darting around your face like he was trying to commit it to memory. You just smiled at him before looking back at the TV, missing the way he was smiling at you.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Years passed, quiet yearning and heartbreak simmering under your skin and you saw the world go into a chaos and go back. Saw Joaquín join the Air Force and work for Captain America, saw Joaquín date girl after girl but end up with you when it didn’t work out. You weren’t sure if he noticed how you never seemed to get a boyfriend or how you turned down every offer of a date. It’s not that you didn’t want to go out, it’s just that Joaquín was the only person you knew would just walk out like your dad. You weren’t sure if he even cared half the time, he never seemed to ask if you went out or not. 

Sam brought it up one day, you were lounging in his house with the boys. You all were having a relaxing day while watching movies and doing nothing. The boys were exhausted from their latest mission and you were just tired of your manager trying to get you to do another tour.

“Y/n, why do you never go on dates?” Sam questioned, he had seen a random tweet asking if you would go on a date with the user.

“Uh, no one’s ever asked me,” you easily lied, it was a lie you told people a lot. 

“No one?” Sam raised his eyebrows at you in a questioning manner.

“Well, I mean, there was this one guy but he, uh, he was weird,” you said, your lie quickly falling apart.

“There’s no way you haven’t been asked more than that,” Sam said and you darted your eyes to Joaquín and back.

“Well I have but,” Sam quickly cut you off.

“But what?”

“But they’ve only ever been fans, I’m sure they’d hate the reality of it,” you told him, throwing your leg over the side of the chair as you twisted.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Sam mused but you just shook your head.

“Not entirely interested in trying,” you confessed as you sipped your drink. You missed the look shared between Joaquín and Sam, the way Joaquín hated thinking about you being with other people.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You noticed Joaquín’s dating habits, there were no more dates. He turned down every invite to go out or even just spend the night with someone. You wanted to ask about it but you also didn’t want to seem weird asking him about it. 

You also noticed that Joaquín was spending more time with you, it felt comfortable. Too comfortable, he was a constant but you felt your feelings grow.

Then it happened, “Angel, I like you, a lot more than I probably should,” Joaquín told you and you just left. You grabbed a bag of essentials and left Joaquín alone in your apartment. 

Joaquín stood there, his heart breaking but his mind running even more. He knew why you ran, it’s how you got treated when you were younger. It’s what your mind connects to feelings, it’s why you run. So Joaquín stayed, he stayed in your apartment and waited until you came back.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You went to the hotel down the street, you worked on your songs and kept your feelings away. You hated that you ran, that you did exactly what your dad did. You wanted to tell Joaquín that you liked him too, that you loved him, but it scared you. And it scared you that it scared you because he was the only person you could see a future with. 

You pulled a jacket out of your bag and something tumbled out of the pocket as you put it on, you bent down to pick it up. You paused when you saw what it was, you had to get back to Joaquín. You threw your things back into your bag and ran to check out, the ring held tightly in your hand.

“Angel, I promise that as long as you have the ring, I’ll marry you when we’re older,” it was the promise little Joaquín made to you that very same vacation you got the ring. 

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Joaquín was in your apartment when you got there, you had to pause to get your phone back. You had gone the last few days without it but you needed to track Joaquín. Joaquín looked over when the door opened, he jumped up from the couch when he saw you. You were wearing his old Air Force hoodie, one he had given you a while back, and a pair of lounge shorts. You were out of breath from running back to your apartment and your eyes were wide. You didn’t pause when you saw him, you just dropped your bag, closed the door, and ran to him. You pressed yourself to him, pulling him into you as you hugged him.

“Angel, are you ok?” Joaquín wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.

“I love you,” you told him, pressing your face into his shoulder. “I love you but I’m scared, I’m scared that I’m no better than my father. That I’ll keep running every time my emotions get too high,” you admitted, your face still in his shoulder. “And I’m sorry for running,” you added.

“Angel, you’re not your father and I understand why you ran. But if you give me a chance, if you let me show you what real unconditional love is, you won’t feel like you have run anymore,” Joaquín promised as he hugged you even tighter. You pulled away just enough to press your lips to his, a quiet promise that you would. You would let him love you and let him show you that you don’t need to run anymore, that only one would run from you.

➽──────────────❥

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[rhettsunshine]

Fix You Up, Baby||Joaquin Torres x Reader

Summary— You patch Joaquin up after a rough mission—tending his wounds with the same tender touch you learned from your grandma.

Word count—978

The door creaked open, and there he was half limping, half swaggering, with dried blood trailing down his temple and a sheepish grin already working its way onto his face.

You didn’t bother hiding your sigh as you set down the first aid kit.

“Jesus, Joaquin.”

“Hey,” he rasped, wincing as he leaned against the counter. “You should see the other guy.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” you asked, already tugging off his jacket, brows pinched. The black fabric stuck to his skin in places, soaked through with blood and sweat. “You look like you went three rounds with a wrecking ball.”

“Maybe two and a half,” he muttered, letting you work.

The shirt came next. You didn’t look away; he was used to that by now. Your gaze was clinical, mostly. Okay, partly. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, marred by bruises and a shallow gash across his ribs. He hissed when you dabbed at it with antiseptic.

“Careful,” he whined, exaggerating the flinch.

You arched a brow. “You get yourself banged up just to see me, huh?”

The room went still for a beat.

His lips quirked up as he met your gaze. “Maybe.”

You scoffed, but it came out too soft to be convincing. “Idiot.”

He shrugged one shoulder, eyes never leaving yours. “I like your hands. They’re gentle.”

That made you freeze. Just for a second. But you picked the gauze back up like nothing happened. “That’s ‘cause my grandma taught me. She said if you love someone, you gotta fix them up like they’re the most important thing in the world.”

Silence again, thicker this time. Your fingers slowed against his skin.

“…You love me, mi ángel?”

Your eyes flicked to his. You were close enough now to feel the heat of his body, to see the faint smirk battling with the raw tenderness in his eyes.

You pressed the last piece of gauze down a little harder than necessary.

“Don’t push your luck.”

But your voice was too warm. Too careful. And the way he grinned? He knew.

The gauze stayed where you pressed it, but your hand didn’t move. Joaquin’s breath caught just slightly and for a moment, all the teasing and flirtation gave way to quiet understanding. You were both tired. Worn thin by the job. But in these little pockets of stillness, there was something soft between you that neither of you had dared name.

You cleared your throat and stepped back, fingers brushing the curve of his shoulder as you moved. “Sit still. I’m not done.”

He obeyed, which was rare. Not even a smart remark. You swore you could feel him watching you as you opened a new roll of bandage, the low light catching in his lashes, the gold-brown flecks in his eyes still too damn kind for someone who’d just been in a knife fight.

Your hands slowed again, muscle memory taking over and your mind drifted, unbidden, to the first time you’d ever patched him up.

It had been a mess. Your second mission together. He was still too trusting, too green, and you’d been all sharp edges and silence, trying to unlearn the instincts the Red Room drilled into your bones. You didn’t talk much back then just did your job, cleaned your weapons, and stayed out of the way.

But that night, he’d come back bloody and too stubborn to ask for help.

“I can handle it,” he’d insisted, jaw set even as he swayed on his feet.

“You’re about to pass out.”

“Am not.”

You’d called him a dumbass. Ripped his shirt open with your knife and cleaned the wound with a shake in your hands you hoped he didn’t notice.

He did.

He’d winced, but he’d smiled through it. “You’re really gentle for someone with murder eyes.”

You’d told him to shut up.

He hadn’t. Not then. Not now.

Back in the present, you tied the last of the bandage off and set your hands on your hips. “There. Good as new.”

Joaquin blinked, like you’d pulled him out of a thought. “You zoned out for a second,” he said quietly. “Where’d you go?”

You looked down at your bloodied fingertips, then back at him. “Just remembered the first time I patched you up. You were mouthy then too.”

“I was trying to make you laugh,” he admitted. “You looked like you’d forgotten how.”

That knocked the air out of you for a beat.

“I hadn’t,” you said softly. “Just hadn’t had a reason in a long time.”

His expression shifted. The teasing faded. “You got one now?”

Your eyes met, and it felt like something inside you cracked wide open.

“Yeah,” you said. “I do.”

A long pause. Then Joaquin reached for your wrist, slow, giving you time to pull away but you didn’t. His thumb brushed against your pulse point, warm and steady.

“I think I’m gonna keep getting banged up,” he said, voice low. “If it means I get you like this. Focused. Soft. Close.”

You should’ve warned him not to say things like that.

Instead, you leaned in just a little. “You don’t need to bleed for my attention, Joaquin.”

“No?” he murmured. “What do I need, then?”

You hesitated. Let yourself feel the weight of the moment. The years of slow-burn closeness, late-night stakeouts, battlefield stitches and quiet kindnesses.

“Just show up,” you whispered. “In one piece.”

His hand slipped from your wrist to your cheek, tentative and careful. “And if I do? Keep showing up? Maybe let you patch me up even when I don’t need it?”

You smiled.

“Then maybe I’ll let you kiss me next time.”

[rhettsunshine]

confidence taken in, by a sun tan and a grin

[rhettsunshine]

Catch-22 1x02 >> major major in every scene ?/?

[rhettsunshine]

the void

rhett abbott, outer range (s01e01)

[rhettsunshine]

maj. major major, catch-22 (e01)

[rhettsunshine]

IMMA GO FERAL

baby come back

[rhettsunshine]

𝙻𝙴𝚆𝙸𝚂 𝙿𝚄𝙻𝙻𝙼𝙰𝙽 as 𝙱𝙾𝙱 𝚁𝙴𝚈𝙽𝙾𝙻𝙳𝚂/𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚁𝚈

Thunderbolts* (2025)

[rhettsunshine]

Bob and a reader who bruises easily and when they have sex the reader is usually marked up the next day?

Marked ✩ Bob Reynolds

Pairings: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolt!Reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. explicit sexual scenes, bruising (reader bruises easily), rough sex, possessive!bob, protective older brother!bucky, strong language, secret relationship, minor angst, fluff, found family, chaotic thunderbolts energy, family dynamics, violence (threatened),

Summary: You and Bob had been sneaking around for months, the thrill of secrecy only fueling the fire and desire. But bruises from the night before threaten to unravel everything—especially when Bucky Barnes sees them and goes into full protective big brother mode.

Author's Note: omg you guyssssssss!!! i had so much fun writing this one. i am so obsessed with the whole secret relationship setup, and bucky going full protective older brother mode???? ughhhhhh I'm obsessed. i love my boyfriends<3 yelena my baby I love love love writing her so much she's sooo ughhh I love her!!!! i love myself some found family<3 keep the requests comingggggg!!!! i’ve got so many on my inbox already i’ve been planning out all of the fics so they’ll be posted soon<3

You woke up tangled in sheets, muscles aching, skin kissed with tenderness. Bob's arm was drapped heavy over your waist, the rise and fall of his chest pressing your back into him, grounding you, like he needed the contact to breathe. He always held you like that after—like if he let go, you might vanish.

A dull ache throbbed deep in your thighs, your hips, the slope of your neck. Each mark a reminder of the night before. Of how careful he tried to be. Of how easily he lost himself in you when the door was closed and the rest of the world disappeared.

It had started slow, like it always did.

Quiet knock on your door, late enough for the others to be asleep or buried in their own distractions. Bob would linger in the hall, hoodie thrown over his head, hands in his pockets like some kind of teenage boy sneaking into his girlfriend's room.

The moment the door clicked shut, the tension would snap. You’d throw yourself at him—starving, always starving—and he’d catch you every time.

Last night was no different. You'd been watching him all day, practically squirming on the sidelines of the gym while he trained with Yelena.

That damn white shirt clung to him, soaked through sweat, riding up every time he moved. His biceps flexed with every punch, his golden curls damp and wild. You caught him watching you more than once, eyes dark, mouth parted.

He looked wrecked before you even touched him.

By the time he showed up at your door, you didn’t say a word. You grabbed him by the collar of his hoodie, yanked him into your room, and kissed him like he was oxygen.

His hands trembled when they touched your waist. “I’ll be careful,” he whispered, even as you guided him to the bed, tugging his clothes off, already breathless.

“You don’t have to be,” you said. "I don't want you to be."

He kissed down your neck, hands gripping your thighs like he was anchoring himself. When his mouth found your pulse point, he sucked just hard enough to draw a moan—and the bruise bloomed seconds later.

He pulled back to look at the mark, already forming, then looked up at you with something feral in his eyes. “You’re so fucking soft,” he groaned. “I’m gonna mark every inch of you. Mine. All of you.”

You gripped his hair, kissed him harder. “Then do it.”

His fingers laced with yours, pinning them above your head as he pushed into you slowly, the stretch of him drawing a gasp from your lips. He watched your face like it was the only thing that mattered.

His thrusts were slow, deep, patient at first—until you begged.

“Harder, Bob. Please. Don’t hold back.”

He shuddered. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I do,” you gasped. “I want all of you.”

His mouth crashed into yours, and the dam broke.

You swore the headboard cracked. The bed groaned beneath you. Your name was a prayer on his tongue, murmured between bruising kisses and gasped apologies he didn’t need to make.

Because you loved the marks. The ache. The secrecy.

The thrill of sneaking out of his room at 3AM, hair a mess, lips swollen. Of pretending nothing happened in the halls the next day. Of brushing fingers under the table during briefings, eyes meeting like a promise.

And in those moments—when no one else knew, when it was just you and him—you felt more his than ever.

You traced a bruise on your collarbone absently as you slipped out of his bed, one of his t-shirts falling to mid-thigh. You bit your lip to hide the satisfied smile. Bruised and adored. Just how you liked it.

The tower was still quiet as you crept back to your room to change, slipping into gym shorts and a hoodie for morning training. You paused once, catching your reflection in your bathroom mirror—faint marks painting your hips, the curve of your neck, the inside of your thigh.

Heat flushed through you at the memory. His hands gripping your waist. His voice—“You’re mine.”

You tugged the hoodie tighter and headed down to start training.

The gym was already humming with low music and the sound of punches hitting pads. Bucky was setting up on the mat, hoodie off, sweat darkening the collar of his black shirt. He gave you a quick nod when you walked in—his version of a good morning.

Bucky Barnes had been like a brother to you since day one. Not in the forced “everyone on a team is family” way—no, this was different. Real.

He was rough around the edges when you first joined the Thunderbolts, all tight-lipped commands and watchful eyes. Cold. Distance. Guarded. But something in you cracked through that hard soldier shell. Maybe it was how stubborn you were. How warm. Unafraid to rile him up, to poke the bear. Maybe it was how you asked too many questions. Or the way you always saved him a seat in the briefing room. Or how you reminded him—without meaning to—what it felt like to care about someone without it turning into war.

You sometimes reminded him of Steve.

He saw him in you. In the way you saw people. In how you never gave up on anyone, not even him. In the way you could smile even after a mission gone sideways and still say, "We're okay. We'll figure this shit out."

You were brave. Kind. Loyal.

You were the thing Steve used to fight for.

And Bucky—he didn’t say it, couldn’t say it—but he clung to that. To you. Because if someone like you could believe in him, then maybe there was still something worth saving inside him.

That’s why he called you “kid,” even though you weren’t.

That’s why he tossed you his hoodie when you were cold, sat beside you when you couldn’t sleep, and taught you how to break a man’s wrist with a flick of your body weight.

He watched over you in the field. Back-to-back in a firefight. A quiet hand on your shoulder after a tough mission. His voice, always steady, always low: “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

He wasn’t your teammate. He wasn’t a friend.

He was your brother. Your family. Not by blood. But by bond. By choice.

And that made what happened next inevitable.

Because when he saw those bruises, the ground shifted underneath his feet. All he could see was someone hurting you. And he'd spent decades trying to protect people like you, people he cared about. He had lost Steve. He wasn't going to lose you.

“You’re late,” he said.

“Barely,” you said, grinning. “Try smiling once in a while.”

He rolled his eyes. “Try not tripping over your own feet.”

“Rude,” you said.

He tossed you a set of gloves. “Let’s go. Standard drills.”

You started slow. Footwork. Blocks. He moved easily, but watched your form like a hawk, correcting gently with a hand at your hip, your wrist, your shoulder.

“Looser on the right,” he murmured. “You’re tightening up too much, kiddo.”

“I’m fine.”

“Mm-hmm.” His tone was skeptical. “Take off the hoodie.”

You froze.

“It’s hot in here,” he added, too casually. “And you’re sweating like hell.”

“Bucky—”

“Off, Y/N.”

Shit.

You sighed, peeled it off, revealing the tank top beneath—and the faint, fresh constellation of bruises that peppered your collarbone and shoulders.

The moment the hoodie dropped to the mat, everything stopped.

Bucky’s whole body tensed.

His eyes locked on the marks. A slow, terrible realization crawling across his face like storm clouds. His voice was suddenly razor sharp.

He stopped breathing.

“What the fuck is that?”

You blinked, already knowing where this was going. “It’s nothing, Bucky.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice dropped, deadly quiet. “Who did this?”

“I said it’s nothing—”

His gaze narrowed. “Don’t bullshit me. Y/N, what is that?” He stepped forward, fingers brushing the side of your neck. His touch was soft, but his jaw was tight. “Who the fuck did this to you?”

“I—” You swallowed. “It’s fine, Bucky. It’s—just mosquito bites, that's all.”

“I'm not stupid. I know what bruises look like,” he snapped, his voice rising. “And those? They didn’t come from sparring.”

You stepped back. "Please don't do this."

“Do not follow me unless you’re gonna tell me the truth.”

And then he was storming down the hall, headed for the common room. Straight into the storm.

Because to him? This wasn’t just bruises.

It was his kid—his sister—hurt, marked, and silent about it.

And he’d tear down the whole damn team to protect you.

But of course, you followed him. You fumbled to put the hoodie back on, trying to catch up with Bucky.

You caught up to him just as he stormed into the common room, boots stomping accross the floor. You barely had time to catch your breath before all hell broke loose.

Bob was sprawled on the couch, legs stretched out, hoodie pulled halfway over his head, curls messy on his forehead. Yelena sat beside him eating chips straight from the bag, one boot resting on the coffee table. Walker was slumped on the other, flipping channels again and again.

"Just pick a damn channel already, jeez," Yelena scoffed.

"We have Netflix you know?" Bob chimed in softly.

The second Bucky entered, everyone looked up.

“Do you know who fucking did this to her?” Bucky barked, voice sharp enough to cut metal.

Yelena blinked, slow and unbothered. She raised one perfectly arched brow and held up her bag of chips. “Wow. Good morning to you too, soldier boy. Want a chip?”

Walker frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about this!” Bucky turned, grabbed your armg gently, always gently, and tugged the hoodie sleeve up to show the fading bruise near your wrist. “And that,” he pointed to your neck. “And that.”

“Bucky, please—” you tried, stepping in front of him, but he wasn’t hearing it.

“You better start talking,” he growled, pointing at each of them like they were suspects in a murder trial. “Because if one of you laid a hand on her—”

“Okay, this is very dramatic,” Yelena said, popping another chip in her mouth. “I love it. Are we in a movie right now? Because damn, the drama.”

“I’m being very fucking serious right now, Yelena.”

She shrugged. “Just trying to defuse the tension.”

“And you're not helping!”

“I know,” she said sweetly.

Bucky whirled on Walker next. “Was it you?”

Walker sat up straighter, blinking. “What? No! Jesus—”

“I swear—if you even looked at her wrong—”

“Oh, come on, man!” Walker snapped, tossing the remote on the couch. “I’m not suicidal.”

While Bucky and Walker bickered, Yelena turned to you slowly, her eyes cool but curious. Then—subtle as smoke—her gaze dropped to the bruises peeking from your hoodie, then flicked to Bob.

Bob hadn’t moved. But he was watching. His shoulders tense. His jaw clenched.

Yelena raised one perfectly arched brow. You saw the moment it clicked for her.

Of course she knew.

She wasn’t stupid. She’d seen the way you looked at each other during debriefs. The way you flushed when Bob’s fingers brushed yours in the kitchen. She’d definitely heard the sounds coming from your room last night—because, shocker, spies hear everything.

But she wasn’t going to rat you out to Bucky. No. She gave you the look—the look—tilting her head with the tiniest smirk like, girl, really? him? damn okay.

Then she turned back to her chips like none of this concerned her.

Meanwhile, Bucky was still in full interrogation mode.

“I will find out who did this,” he said, voice rising again. “And when I do—”

“You’re going to do what, Barnes?” Walker snapped back. “Ground us? You're not her dad.”

“I don’t have to be,” Bucky growled. “She’s family. I raised her on this goddamn team while you were still figuring out which way the bathroom was!”

“Oh my god,” Yelena said through a mouthful of chips, “this is better than anything on TV.”

You rubbed your hands down your face and slowly met Bob's eyes, just for a second.

It was enough.

He stood up. Violently. Almost knocking off the entire coffee table.

Yelena sat up straighter, chip bag rustling. "Oh, here we go."

Walker looked from Bob to Bucky, then back. “Wait. Wait wait wait—are we fighting now? In the middle of the living room? Are you guys serious?"

Bucky turned toward Bob, chest puffe like a feral bull. "Say something. I dare you."

“Enough!” Bob’s voice cracked like a whip across the room, thunderous, vibrating in the air like it came from somewhere deeper than his chest.

Yelena froze, chip halfway to her mouth. “Well, there goes the drywall.”

Bucky took one menacing step forward. “What did you say?”

Bob didn’t flinch. His voice was low. "It was me."

Dead. Silence.

Oh, fuck.

You could've heard a pin drop.

Yelena whispered, “Oh my god, I knew it.”

Walker blinked. “Hold the fuck on.” He gasped like he just found out Santa wasn’t real. “Wait—you two?! You’ve been doing it?”

“You?” Bucky spat, stepping forward. “You think that’s fucking funny?”

“No,” Bob said calm. Too calm.

And that snapped Bucky.

He lunged. “I’m going to kill you right now!”

“Bucky!” you shouted, throwing yourself between them just as Bucky’s fist came up.

You caught him mid-swing, grabbing his wrist, bracing your weight against him with everything you had.

“NO! No, no, no—Bucky, stop!” you yelled, pushing back on his chest, eyes wide.

Bob didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His hands stayed at his sides, jaw set like he was ready to take it.

“You did this to her?” he hissed. “You put your hands on her?”

“I didn’t hurt her,” Bob bit out. “I’ve never laid a hand on her in anger—”

“You left bruises!” Bucky shouted, jabbing a finger toward Bob like he was issuing a death sentence. “You don’t get to decide what hurting her looks like! You don’t get to be the one who touches her and makes her lie to me about it!”

“Bucky, please,” you pleaded, voice breaking.

“I didn’t hurt her,” Bob snapped. “You think I don’t know what I’m capable of? I’ve been terrified of it since day one. Every time I touch her, I’m scared shitless I’ll lose control—but I don’t. Because I’d rather die than ever cross that line.”

Bucky’s jaw locked. “That’s not comforting.”

“She’s not a child, Bucky,” Bob bit out. “She knows what she wants."

"But she's my child, Bob! Mine," Bucky roared, voice cracking with something other than rage, like fear. "I've been protecting her since she joined this team. I've bled for her. I would take a bullet for her if it meant keeping her safe. You think you can just crawl into her bed—what? Expect me to shake your hand? Pat your back? You're fucking delusional."

"She's not yours to own!" Bob roared. "You don't get to decide who touches her, who loves her. She’s not some piece of property. She made a choice. I made my choice."

Bucky’s breathing was ragged, fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white. “She’s my family!" he hissed. "And you didn’t even have the balls to tell me.”

“I wanted to,” Bob snapped. “She told me you’d do this.”

“She was right!” Bucky barked, his eyes glossing over with betrayal. “Because I trusted you. You were supposed to be safe.”

“I am.” Bob’s voice dropped. “I love her. I’m careful with her. You know she bruises easily. Everyone knows it. I try. I always try. But she wanted it. She asked me to. I never forced her. I’d never do that to her.”

You stepped in closer, your hand sliding to Bucky’s chest. “He’s telling the truth.”

Bucky stared at you like he didn’t recognize you for a second. “You let him…”

“I wanted him,” you said simply. “And I still do.”

Walker stood up slowly, blinking like a deer in headlights. “Oh my god,” he muttered, running a hand down his face. “Is this… is this a thing? Like a regular thing? You two just… sneak around and… Jesus Christ, you two fuck?”

Yelena nearly choked on her chips.

She turned to him slowly, eyes wide with disbelief. “Walker. My guy. You live here. How have you not noticed?”

“I thought the noise was the pipes!” he said, flailing.

Yelena tilted her head. “You thought the pipes moaned her name at 2AM?”

“HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW?!”

She blinked. "Walker, if your pipes ever sound like that, you call an exorcist. Not maintenance."

He shook his head, exhaling hard. Then he looked at Bob, fury simmering low. “If you ever cross a line—if you so much as make her flinch or cry—I will end you. You break her heart, I break your face. Deal?”

“Deal,” Bob said without hesitation.

Bucky stared at Bob, his jaw ticking. But then his eyes shifted—back to you. Still tight with anger, but… softer now.

“You okay?”

You smiled—small, soft, but sure. “I promise,” you said. “I’m more than okay.”

You glanced back at Bob. He was still watching you like the room didn’t exist.

“He makes me happy, Buck.”

Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Goddammit.”

He yanked you into a hug, a little too tight, one arm slung around your neck like he was both scolding you and shielding you. You melted into it as he pressed a kiss to your head.

“I swear to God, Y/N,” he muttered, voice low in your ear, “if he hurts you, I’ll kill him myself.”

You chuckled against his chest. “I know you would.”

Bucky sighed and pulled back, plopping down onto the couch like the last ten minutes had aged him a decade. “And for the love of all that is holy—use protection.”

Yelena snorted next to him. “And do not fuck in the communal shower. Please. I beg you.”

Walker looked horrified. “Wait—have they?!”

You and Bob exchanged a look. He blushed. You smirked. Then you crossed the room, and without missing a beat, Bob reached out and pulled you into him. His arm slid over your shoulders like muscle memory, tucking you against his side with an ease that made everyone in the room groan. He looked down at you with that soft, dopey grin, like a damn teenager who just scored the girl of his dreams.

Yelena let out the loudest groan of all. “Oh my god, you’re disgusting. Look at you—so in love. Yuck!” She made a dramatic gagging noise. “This is vile. I feel violated.”

Bob chuckled.

Bucky didn’t even look. He just threw his head back. “Jesus Christ, please stop this. I can’t take it anymore.”

Yelena didn’t miss a beat. “Honestly, Buck? I’m surprised she can still walk after what I heard last night.”

Bob choked violently.

You burst into laughter, burying your face in his hoodie, muffling a wheeze.

Bob cleared his throat, red as a tomato. “Okay, wow.”

Bucky clapped his hands, hard. “OKAY! Great. That’s enough. Breakfast. Anyone?”

Walker, still pale, raised a hand. “I need alcohol.”

Bucky didn’t even hesitate. “You know what? Make it two. Double.”

Yelena leaned back, completely unbothered, tossing a chip in her mouth. “God, I love this team.”

And you? You looked around—at the chaos, the bickering, the laughter—and felt it settle deep in your chest.

You loved them too.

With all your heart.

    ⊹             ⊹            ⊹             ⊹            ⊹          ⊹             ⊹             ⊹

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 want to be tagged in my future works lmk! <3)

[rhettsunshine]

ooo maybe needy/desperate bob with reader. (saw this on another blog where he has an oral fixation with readers breasts, so maybe a breeding thing going on there as well?) if youre feeling up to it, maybe he DOES knock the reader up (by accident or on purpose, your choice) and him just taking care of the reader/what he'd do

Yours ✩ Bob Reynolds

Pairings: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolt!Reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. unprotected p in v, oral fixation (breasts), breeding kink, accidental pregnancy, pregnancy symptoms & test scene, found family, fluff, emotional comfort, soft and needy!bob.

Summary: What started as another desperate night tangled in Bob’s arms becomes something so much more. Two weeks later, something in your body changes—and Yelena and Bucky are the first to notice. When the test confirms it, you’re terrified. But when you finally tell Bob… he drops to his knees. Because he meant every word he’s ever said. And now it’s real. He’s yours. And you’re his. Forever.

Author's Note: oh my god i'm screaming rn, i'm getting bombarded with request of bob with a breeding kink ughhhhhh and i am not complaining, keep them coming cause its hot as fuckkkkkk!!! this one's shorter lol. i've been writing a loooott these past few days jeezzzz, i'm so obsessed with bob i can't take it anymore. bob being a dad is all i need in this life. my baby deserves happiness!!! <3 i might’ve taken a lot of inspiration from the headcanons i posted yesterday about bob having a breeding kink lol im giggling like an idiot right now. thank you for the request!! i have so many in my inbox now i promise i will get to them soon, im writing a lot of them right now so i will probably be posting them these next days <3 ty again for all the love and support!! i love u all

Bob's hands were already tearing your shirt off.

You’d barely even started to lift it when he groaned and got impatient—fingers grasping the hem, tugging, mouth already on your skin before it was halfway over your head.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasped, lips grazing the curve of your breast as it bounced free. “You're so beautiful.”

You could feel him shaking. His mouth closed over one nipple like it was instinct, and he moaned, deep and wrecked.

“Bob—” you whimpered, back arching up as his tongue swirled slow and messy around your hardened nipple.

“I can’t help it,” he groaned into your chest. “They're so perfect. So full. You were made for me.”

You were already wet. Just from this. From his mouth, his need.

He sucked, switching sides like he couldn’t get enough. Like he’d die if he didn’t taste every inch of you.

“You want it again, baby?” he asked, voice thick. “Want me to fill you up?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes—Bob, please…”

He was already pushing your legs open, pulling his sweats down just enough to free himself. He didn’t tease. Just lined up, pushed in slow, groaning.

“Gonna make you mine all over again,” he whispered, thrusting deep and steady. “Gonna fuck you so full you won’t be able to think straight.”

His mouth never left your chest. Kissing, sucking, moaning into your skin.

“You're everything,” he whispered. “You’re mine.”

He came with your nipple in his mouth, deep inside, holding you down as he spilled into you with a low, broken groan.

“Look at you,” he whispered, resting his hand on your lower belly, still buried deep inside you. “So fucking full of my seed. Gonna have you leaking for days.”

You laughed softly, breathless. Teased him—called him obsessed.

He just grinned, kissed you again, slow, messy, tender. He pulled you into his arms and tucked you beneath his chin.

You fell asleep on his chest, lulled by the rhythm of his breathing.

Neither of you knew what you'd done.

Not yet.

But you would soon.

Two weeks later, you couldn't sleep. Something in your body felt off, too sensitive, achy, warm in ways that lingered longer than they should. It hit you in waves: nausea in the mornings, dizziness in the evenings, a strange heaviness in your chest that wasn’t just physical.

You knew the signs. But you didn’t want to believe it.

The gym was warm. You were mid-spar with Yelena, sweat clicking your back, knuckles stinging with every hit, but something wasn't right. Your chest felt tight. Too tight. Your balance, off. The world tilted just a little too much as you threw your next punch.

You stumbled.

“Whoa—whoa, easy there.” Bucky was at your side in a flash, strong arm wrapping around your back, catching you before your knees hit the mat. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, too quickly, breath catching in your throat.

Yelena wasn’t convinced. She stepped forward, arms crossed, that sharp look in her eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay, dollface? You look like you’re gonna be sick.”

“I’m just lightheaded,” you muttered, brushing them off. “Didn’t eat breakfast this morning, that’s all—”

But then your stomach twisted. Your throat burned. And you turned.

You ran.

Straight down the hall, straight into the nearest bathroom. You barely made it to the toilet before your stomach gave out.

Bucky was right behind you, kneeling next to you without hesitation, one hand rubbing your back, the other gently pulling your hair our of your face. “Hey. Breathe. Just breathe, okay?”

Yelena stormed in seconds later. “Move over, Barnes. Let me see her face.”

You slumped back against the wall, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Sweat beaded at your temple. Your hands were shaking.

Yelena crouched in front of you, her expression surprisingly sof.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “We’re going to ask this one more time. Are. You. Okay.”

You looked between them—Yelena’s raised brow, Bucky’s furrowed one—and sighed.

“I don’t know.”

That afternoon, you were sitting cross-legged on the bathroom floor with Yelena beside you, both of you hunched over the pregnancy test box. Bucky was sitting on the edge of the tub, arms crossed, visibly trying his best not to panic.

You held the test in your hands—upside down, because you couldn’t look yet. You weren’t ready.

"Okay, so hypothetically, if you’re pregnant, what’s the plan? Hide it? Cry? Run to Russia and live off-grid? Because I vote off-grid. Maybe Monaco or Hawaii.”

"Yelena," Bucky muttered.

“What? I’m being supportive.”

You stared at the stick, hand trembling. “I can’t do it. I can’t look.” You handed it to Bucky.

He looked confused. “Me?”

"Please, Bucky. I can't do it."

He sighed, gently taking the test from your hand.

There was a long beat of silence.

You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until you looked up at him. His eyes met yours. And that was it.

You knew.

Bucky didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to.

Your hand flew to your mouth. Your heart dropped, rose, twisted.

Yelena blinked, leaning in, yanking the test from Bucky's hands. “Wait—wait. No fucking way.”

You didn’t speak. Just nodded slowly.

Yelena’s jaw dropped as she stared at the test. “You’re actually pregnant?!”

You nodded again, and then—Yelena shrieked, the test flying off her hands and landing on the floor.

“Oh my god! That golden retriever of yours did it?! I knew your boobs looked bigger!”

“Yelena!” Bucky barked.

But she didn’t care. She wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug, pulling you against her like you were made of glass.

“I got you, babe,” she whispered. “We’re gonna figure this out.”

And Bucky—he didn’t say much. But he sat beside you, one big hand landing gently on your shoulder.

“I’m here too,” he said, quiet. “Whatever you need. But you gotta tell him."

Bucky and Yelena left your room a couple minutes after that. The test was still in the bathroom. Your hands were trembling.

Pregnant.

The word echoed in your head. Your legs felt like they might give out.

You sat on the edge of your bed, clutching a pillow to your chest, trying to calm your breathing when the door opened.

"Hey, baby," Bob's voice was warm. He sounded so happy.

You looked up. He was still in his tactical suit, unzipped halfway, sweat in his collarbones, golden curls messy from his field training. Walker and Ava's voices echoed down the hall behind him, fading away.

Bob's smile widened when he saw you. "You okay? I missed you. You didn't text after your traning—I figured you were tired, but…”

You cut him off.

“Bob,” you said quickly. “Wait.”

His smile faltered.

“I—I need to tell you something. Just… listen, okay?”

His face went still. That happy smile was gone, replaced by a look of concern.

You stood slowly, your hands shaking.

"Baby, what's wrong? Are you okay? Did something—"

You cut him off again.

"I'm pregnant."

Then the world stopped.

Bob froze where he stood, eyes locked on you. He didn't move. Didn't blink. It hit him slowly, like a wave. First, his mouth opened, then closed. Then again. His breathing picked up.

"Please say something," your voiced cracked. Eyes filled with tears almost instantly.

“Are you serious?” he said, voice cracking, almost breathless. “Baby—please tell me this isn’t a joke. You’re really…”

You nodded, heart pounding. You were crying already.

“I’m pregnant, Bob.”

He walked towards you and dropped to his knees.

Just like that.

His hands found your waist as he pressed his face to your stomach—nothing even showing yet—and sobbed.

“Fuck,” he choked. “Oh my god. Baby, you’re pregnant. You’re really pregnant.”

You ran your hands through his hair, gently cradling his head.

He was shaking. Laughing through tears. His whole body trembling as he kissed your stomach, again and again and again.

“A baby?” he whispered. “Oh god. I’m gonna be a dad.”

He looked up at you and smiled.

“You have no idea how happy I am right now,” he said, voice breaking again. “God, I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

He kissed you—fierce, messy, wet with tears—and rested his forehead to yours.

You sobbed, a big grin on your face as you held his face softly.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he promised. “Of both of you. I promise, baby."

And the way he hold you in that moment? You knew he meant it.

Because he meant it. Will all his heart.

He'd always wanted a family, someone to love, someone to care for. And now he had you. Forever.

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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 want to be tagged in my future works lmk! <3)