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woantohae · 1 month ago

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In my arms || (Bob Reynolds x reader)

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

Despite telling them he's capable, the team prefers to give him more time to get used to them, until one mission, when a member of the team is injured. And all Bob can think about is the fury he feels when he hears Y/N being hurt. And how much he wants revenge on whoever did it.

content warnings: angst, he fell first and he fell harder, "avengers" tower, fluff, thunderbolts being a family, violence, curse words, SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS*, Yelena and Bob being like brother and sister, "touch her and you die" trope.

Author's note: I WATCHED THUNDERBOLTS*!!!! And let me tell you, it was better than i imagined. Honestly, it became one of my favorites and it can easily be in my top 3 of Marvel movies. I just can't describe the experience with enough words, but the waiting was totally worth it ✨️ AND THE POST CREDIT SCENE 👀 MARVEL ATE WITH THAT ONE.

With that being said, i'm excited to tell you that i'm gonna write more of Bob Reynolds 👉🏻👈🏻 So here you go, a one shot with him, wich contains a few spoilers of the movie. At this point our reader will be polaris lol.

Hope you like it and comment what do you think of this one 💌

Bob was getting used to the place.

What had once been Avengers Tower had now become his new "home." He had an incredible view of New York City, several rooms to hang out in, thousands of dishes and meals he'd never been able to prepare in his life, and the pleasant company he shared every day.

The team had made him feel comfortable and part of something worthwhile, despite what they'd gone through to get to this moment.

Bob still felt guilty about what happened when Void took control of him and darkened everything in its path, even when Yelena reminded him it wasn't his fault and that he wasn't alone. The blonde had become a trusted person for him and was always there when he needed her. He told her his secrets and how he felt, and the Russian always gave him advice or a word of encouragement. Even with the trust he had in her, he confided in her something he never thought would happen to him. Or rather, something he thought was impossible to happen in such a short time.

He was attracted to Y/N.

The girl whom his other self had caused to see horrible things from her past, the one who could move metal objects with a simple flick of her fingers, and the one who made his heart race and his cheeks blush. It was a feeling that consumed him every time he was near her or even thought about her.

And Yelena, being the good spy she was and good at reading people, knew how Bob felt about Y/N. She always encouraged him to get closer and talk to her more, but Bob simply couldn't do it. It was not that easy.

"It sounds easy," John says, after hearing the plan for carrying out the mission.

Bob shakes his head to return to reality and ignore such thoughts.

"Wait until we get there and they welcome us with open arms," Bucky says, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"We still made it last time, and look at us here," Y/N replies, shrugging her shoulders.

Ava laughs and shakes her head.

"We'd better get moving," she says.

Bob looks at the group with hope in his eyes, but feels unsure about what he's gonna say.

"Can I come with you, guys?" he asks.

All heads turn to look at him with a mixture of surprise and sympathy for his question. They know he wants to help however he can, but after Void was under control and hadn't appeared for quite some time, they weren't so sure it was a good idea to expose him like that again.

"Bob..." Yelena begins to say.

Bob hurries to explain himself.

"I know what you're gonna say. But I think I'm ready, I know I can control it" Bob says with determination in his voice "I've been practicing and trying to talk to him, so maybe I can do it, today"

"We know, Bobby," says John, "But we must complete the mission without any mistakes or problems along the way."

The brunette looks down and clears his throat, nodding. He raises his gaze to smile and meet Y/N's gaze, who smiles back.

"No, no, I understand," he says dejectedly. "When the time is right, I can come with you."

Bucky pats his shoulder and Alexei gives him a thumbs-up. Despite their attempt to lift his spirits, he can't help but feel useless and without any reason to be in the group, other than washing dishes, tidying the place, or reading books he finds lying around.

He hates the feeling.

But it is what it is, right now. And he has to face it.

After the meeting to organize the plan, the group dispersed to look for the weapons and prepare the car in which they would go to the location. Bob watched from afar as the rest of them prepared, while playing with his fingers. He shifted his gaze to the large window overlooking the city and didn't feel Y/N's presence approaching him.

"Hey," she said in a soft tone.

Bob turned his head to look at her and smiled delightedly.

"Hey," she asked.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He nods and laughs softly, pretending to be okay and swallowing the feeling that bothered him.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine"

The girl mimics his smile and stares at him, while Bob feels the heat spread to his cheeks.

"Hey, how about we watch a movie when I get back?" she offers, patting his arm to get his attention.

Bob smiles.

"I was actually thinking it could be a movie night with just us. If you like that idea," Y/N says, crossing her arms and shrugging her shoulders with a smile on her face.

"A movie would be nice. I think it would be fun to have a movie night with the rest of the team," he says awkwardly "We haven't had one of those in a while, so..."

She lets out a soft laugh, thinking how cute he looks all flustered.

"Oh..." he remains silent to calm his nerves until he speaks again so as not to make a fool of himself. "Oh! Yeah, just the two of us. Of course. It could be fun. Count me in!"

Y/N smiles and laughs softly, wich sounds angelical to Bob's ears.

"Great. It's a date" she says.

Bucky calls her to let her know they're about to leave, so she starts walking away from Bob.

"See you, Bob."

"See you. Good luck," Bob says with a dazed smile on his face, remembering the girl's words.

It's a date.

Bob walks to his room with an excited smile, feeling happiness in his chest, but when he remembers the last thing Y/N said, his eyes widen.

"Oh shit! It is a date!"

He needs to prepare for it.

----------

Bob listened and watched from the communications room to see how the team was doing on the mission.

It wasn't going so easy as they planed back in the tower a few hours ago, as they had run into a group of mercenaries who weren't going to give up so easily. The brunette just hoped everyone was okay and managed to complete the mission—and he really hoped Y/N was okay and didn't get hurt.

A feeling of anguish and anxiety was causing Bob's chest to tighten. His leg kept moving as he played with the Rubik's Cube in his hands, unable to complete a color.

The sound of bullets filled his ears, and his jaw clenched as he heard and saw Yelena or Bucky being hit. Alexei grumbled as he tried to pull a man off John to help him, and Ava took care of a few. Y/N tried to stop the bullets as best she could, but there were some hidden snipers she couldn't sense with her powers so easily.

"There's to many of them!" John complains through the earpiece in Bob's ear.

"Fuck! If we don't stop the ones from the roof we cannot go back to the car!" Ava exclaims in an almost exhaustive voice.

"Shit. C'mon guys" Bob whispers while frowning his eyebrows at the scene.

"Bob, can you see how many are on the roof?" Yelena asks from the communicator in her ear.

"Uh, yeah, yeah" he says inmediatly "There's five on the roof. Three of them has guns and two of them are programming something on the computer. Seems like.... oh no"

"What Bob?" Bucky asks.

"It's a bomb! You need to get out of there" Bob says quickly.

"Shit," Yelena curses.

"I can try to stop them. But I need you to cover my back," Y/N says in a confident, hurried tone.

Bob watches as the girl begins to head toward the other side to attack the group of men with guns at the entrance. The others try to stop anyone from attacking her, and she moves stealthily between the bodies to reach the entrance. Bob focuses his attention on the cameras in the building that shows Y/N, his heart aching at what's happening in the footage. Or what could happen.

"Please, be careful," Bob whispers.

Y/N stops the guards' bullets at the entrance with precision in her movements and attacks some who plan to hit her. Bob's eyes glance at the rest of the team as they manage to escape thanks to the distraction caused by the girl with green sparkles flashing from her fingers. However, he doesn't stop for more than five seconds just to check on the girl again. He wants to make sure she's okay, even if it's from behind the computer. Far away from the place where she is right now —just the thought of it makes his inner self freak out.

Something it's beginning to awake inside of him. Something he thought he had buried for his own good.

Or rather someone.

"Y/N, all done. Let's head to the car. I'll try to get to you right away," Bucky orders.

"No. It's okay, I got this," she chimes in stubbornly.

Bob shakes his head.

But before she can do so, a stray bullet hits her shoulder, destabilizing the girl.

"Fuck!" she complains, touching her shoulder.

"Y/N?" Bucky asks worriedly.

"Y/N!" Bob yells, watching as one of the guards hits her with her gun on the back of her head, causing the girl to fall unconscious to the ground.

That's it.

Bob rushes out of the tower's communications room and runs to the balcony, where he takes to the air with determination. He doesn't stop for a second, because time is precious, especially after seeing Y/N getting attacked. The only thing that keeps repeating in his mind is the visual image of the girl being injured, so he moves quickly through the air until he reaches the others. He had seen the coordinates and the area where they were, so it was easy for him to arrive in time.

Bob tries to find the place that the camera allowed him to watched the area in wich the girl was back at the tower, and when he finds it, he is surprised to find that one of the men responsible of attacking Y/N is carrying her unconscious body in his arms. Fury courses through his veins at the sight, and he rushes to stop the bastard. It's as if he's being consumed by darkness, a sensation he knows all too well.

As soon as he's in front of the guy, he stops him and without a second thought, tries to attack him, careful not to hit Y/N. The man looks at him in horror and carefully places the girl's body on the ground, then raises his hands in surrender.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know..." he stumbles, but all Bob sees is red.

He growls and begins to mercilessly beat the man's body, making him bleed, and doesn't stop until he's unconscious. Blow after blow, unleashing all the anger he felt at seeing how the bastard hurt the girl. He can still see her grimace of pain and how her body fell unconscious to the ground, helpless, and who knows what they might have done to her if he hadn't arrived in time.

"Please...." the man begs almost unconscious.

Bob doesn't hear him. He doesn't want to.

And Void doesn't want to too.

The rest of the team arrives at Y/N's location, only to see her lying on the ground with a scarlet stain forming on the shoulder of her suit, while Bob kills the man. Ava approaches the girl's body and makes sure she has a steady pulse, while John makes sure that no one appears and attacks them by surprise.

"Bob," Yelena warns and tries to approach him to make him see reason.

"No! He hurt her. No one can touch her, or hurt her!" he exclaims in a mixture of anger and darkness. "No one! You heard me? Fucking no one!"

The others stare at the scene and notice how Y/N wakes up and observes the state Bob is in. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder, she rushes over to him and wraps her arms around him from behind, resting her face on his.

"Bob, hey. It's okay," she murmurs in his ear, feeling the man begin to slow down the blows, so she tightens her grip on his body. "I'm okay. Everything will be okay."

Bob calms down and brings his now covered in blood hands to Y/N's arms, then turns his body and hugs her with all his strength, trying to cover her body to protect her just in case, and also feel her in his arms and make sure nothing happens to her anymore.

"You are hurt" he whispers in her ear.

"It's just a scratch. I'll be fine" Y/N says with a small smile on her lips.

"He hurt you. I couln't allow him to do it" he says in a broken voice.

Y/N looks at the rest of the team and smiles at them, letting them know she's okay. Kinda. Bucky sighs and shakes his head at the girl in that state, knowing she must be screaming from the pain of the bullet, while Alexei smiles sideways and tries to encourage her from a distance. The blonde russian girl mouths to her that she will get the car ready to go, to wich Y/N nods and indicates her to do so.

"We still have our date," she tells him, still standing with the brunette, glancing at the man's lifeless body.

Bob lets out a sigh and nods his head against Y/N's chest, agreeing with her.

"Our date," he says in a soft tone, relaxing at the touch of her fingers in his hair. Although he can't help but feel anger again when he smells the metallic scent coming from the girl's wound.

"Yeah. Are we still up to that?"

"Definitely" Bob answers and lets out a small laugh.

She smiles and then pulls away from him to look him in the eye. Those blue orbits who watch her with a spark on his eyes.

"So let's go home and have our date, okay?" Bob nods and then lowers his gaze to the girl's wound.

"First, we need to treat your wound," he says, pointing to the red stain on her suit.

"Would you help me with that?"

"You don't have to ask me twice."

They both stare at each other with a small smile on their faces, understanding how much they care for each other and would do anything to keep them safe and viceversa.

Especially Bob.

And as long as Y/N is in his arms, he'll be okay.

#fanfic #fluff #angst #bob reynolds x reader #marvel #thunderbolts #sentry masterlist #sentry x reader #the void x reader

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trainer-from-unova · 1 month ago

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after dark

english ao3 Ⓢ spanish ao3 Ⓢ masterlist Ⓢ 𝄞

ship: the void x afab!reader

summary: porn without plot. yup that's it

au: idk, it doesn't really matter

c/w: piv sex, rough sex, cuni, spit as lube, fingerfucking, rough kissing, multiple orgasms, unsafe sex, creampie, open to interpretation

a/n: inspired by Nosferatu (2024) and After Dark by Seraphim Shock, also I wrote this before watching the movie and English isn't my first language, and even if you read it here kudos on ao3 are appreciated

word count: 915

She didn't remember how her clothes had disappeared, but it didn't matter and was even appreciated — at that moment it only mattered to merge their bodies into one. She spread her legs, giving him space and permission to make way for him. He reached between them, bringing his hands to her breasts to squeeze them hard, making her whimper and then sliding them down her belly. Then he put them on her thighs, spreading them even wider and kissing her belly all the way down to her crotch, putting his right hand on her thigh to keep it open all the way and using the other to put her other leg over his shoulder.

She knew her dreams were strange and repetitive, always dreaming of a dark, male silhouette slowly emerging from the darkest corner of her bedroom at night to make her his, but she wouldn't complain about such a thing. It felt good, and sometimes it felt so real that she thought succubi existed and that one visited her at night. The only lights in the place were the red button of an extension cord and the light of the laptop indicating that it was being charged, but it was enough to see him appear, approaching her to climb up her bed.

As soon as he got down to work she began to moan, embarrassed as ever at the sounds escaping from all her lips as she clutched at his head, feeling his long hair between her fingers as he dragged his tongue from her wet hole to her clit, and as always both she and he knew for certain that she wouldn't last long. She was so easy to please.

Unconsciously her hips bucked against his mouth and nose, and her body began to tremble as he thrust his tongue into her. She found it hard not to writhe in pleasure, and he could tell he was about to make her climax by her increasingly high-pitched, uncontrollable moans, which grew louder as she clung even tighter to him. Still he continued to plunge his tongue into her hole, flicking it in and out a couple of times before moving up to sucking on her clit. She was already more moan than person, whimpering stretching his long hair as she felt herself on the verge.

She couldn't help but let out a moan as she suddenly noticed him pull away, rising up as he inserted his index and middle finger where his tongue used to be. He didn't have to do much to make her cum, just move his fingers back and forth rapidly for a few seconds. When the moment came she held tightly to the pillow behind her neck as she screamed.

After that she noticed him pulling his fingers out from her and the mattress sinking to her sides as he put his hands to climb on top of her. She also noticed him settling back down to stand between her legs again, and she cooperated by wrapping her legs around his back as she caught her breath.

There was never a sound from him, and she could tell that not even his chest was uneasy from any possible labored breathing as she put her hands on his shoulders or wrapped her arms around his back, feeling his bare chest against her. She chalked it up to missing that detail because her brain was too busy realistically imagining other things.

And she thought the same of his physical appearance — totally dark, with only a few small white dots like eyes that watched her without blinking. She felt he could even see her soul, but she didn't care and even dared to put her hands on his cheeks to pull him closer to her and kiss him with tongue, trying to appease her need to feel him inside her while he brought his dominant hand to his member to rub his wet tip against her entrance in the same state.

As she felt him make his way inside her unceremoniously she moaned, the pleasure palpable in the sounds escaping her mouth as she clamped down on him as she felt him enter her fully. She was used to him going straight to the point when it came to penetrating her with his cock. He grabbed her too, wrapping his muscular arms around her and ramming his hips into her, thrusting back and forth endlessly and making the sound of their skins colliding, as well as her wetness and the moaning nonsense she said, begging for more between cries as she felt her second orgasm forming in her lower abdomen, wanting it to come all the way down to her crotch again.

She wept and writhed uncontrollably as her second orgasm hit her, tensing and arching her back, but he held her tightly to keep her from slipping out of him, feeling her throbbing insides clinging to his member. At the same time he gave one last thrust, rougher than the previous ones, to stop short and fill her with his seed as she caught her breath again, her mind now even more clouded by the sum of the orgasms. What made that mental fog lift a little was to feel him grab her cheeks with one hand to kiss her again as he pulled his member out of her.

"Dream of me, only me," he said, his voice wrapped in an eerie echo before he pulled away from her and disappeared.

#robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds fanfic #robert reynolds x you #robert reynolds x y/n #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds x y/n #bob reynolds masterlist #the void masterlist #the void x reader #the void x you #the void x y/n #mcu masterlist #marvel masterlist #bob reynolds fanfic #x reader #smut

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motthe · 1 month ago

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there's no death here | robert "bob" reynolds

ཐིཋྀ thunderbolts caught me with a bob-shaped hole in my heart.

warnings: spoilers from thunderbolts, super!reader, fem!reader, not sure if I'll make a bunch of parts or even finish this idea so be warned, gonna go ahead and say canon-divergent to save my ass bc im no marvel expert.

masterlist | ao3

You weren't built for battle—the powers you had were more defense based than anything—but you had been trained by the best of the best. The countless lessons left your survival skills above subpar, and maybe you could make use of your size and strangle a man twice it, but those things didn't make you a hero.

And being around so many of them for so long, it's disturbingly easy to start to feel useless.

“Born or cursed?”

You didn't remember who had asked it. You do remember you had been younger, that you'd been more or less adopted into the world of the Avengers without ever truly being thrown into it. Wanda and Natasha had been your everything, especially when it came to helping with your powers. Between the supernatural and the mental side, they had done wonders.

Sitting around and not making use of yourself would be spitting on their memory, so it wasn't long before you were dragged into government business. Reading minds was handy, but picking apart memories? Entering their psyche?

You were gold to detectives and last resort for men in black suits who would “talk” to criminals if you didn't.

The work had drained enough from you by the time Bucky showed up on your doorstep with a bottle of liquor and a favor.

“This isn't what I do,” you told him, looking over the files. “I'm not a therapist or a teacher. If Void is as powerful as you say it is—”

“It can be beaten,” he explained. “We've done it before. I just need you to help Bob block it out. You know how to do that.”

“With other people's thoughts,” you argued.

He shook his head. “You suppress memories. You put them into neat little boxes for your agent work.”

“You want me to make him forget something that dangerous?”

“I want you to show him he's not alone when it comes to this side of superpowers.” Bucky stood, a warm hand coming down on your shoulder and squeezing. “We've all been scattered. It's a shit team, the New Avengers, but it's something, kid.”

“I’m not a kid anymore, Bucky,” you sighed.

“I know. Wouldn't be asking you for your help if you were.”

The door shut to your apartment in farewell, but one visit from the Winter Soldier had too many opening at once. Flashes of earth's most mightiest heroes, of old friends, dead friends, missing ones.

Getting dragged back into that mess was asking for trouble.

Sipping on free alcohol, you flip through the packet of Robert “Bob” Reynolds. Sweet face, fucked past, and a far more fucked psyche for the powers he'd revealed in the last hit on New York.

Cursed, you decided by the end of your research, frowning as a picture slipped free. The New Avengers were definitely a ragtag group. Bucky was the only one you knew, Yelena you learned more than enough about through Nat digging around her head one time too many. Alexei Shostakov as well, but he was easy to pick apart at one glance. Anything revolving around Ava Starr and John Walker was rumors or passed down the grapevine.

Your phone vibrated. Checking it drew a deep line between your eyebrows. Someone was asking for another questioning, this time through the mind of a rampant serial killer in Chicago. They didn't have enough on him.

You leaned into your hands, sighing.

Across the block at a red-light, Bucky glanced at his phone and smiled as he read over the text.

“I need to meet him before I agree to this.”

The light flicked green.

The Watchtower was a shadow of the place you used to know. Repairs were still being made leaving people crawling on every floor but the top level had been finished for two weeks now, leaving the New Avengers with their shared space.

Bucky had promised the team would be out when you arrived, save for Bob. As it was quiet when the elevator door opened, you were glad to see he'd kept that promise.

“Welcome back,” he called, walking up.

“Which room did you snag?” you scoffed, eyeing the decor. Minimalist, neutral tones. Far greyer than the old room you remembered.

“The biggest.” He said it like it was obvious. Maybe it should've been.

Hearing movement, you both turned as a shadow passed by the windows. The hunched shoulders were a dead giveaway, soft eyes flittering between the floor and you as the young man stepped down.

Bob wore a dark blue sweater that drowned his figure and dark jeans. His hair was still a shaggy length and dark brown from the recent pictures you'd seen. By all accounts, he looked normal, but the anxiety flowed off him in waves that crashed against your head.

His mind extends way beyond others.

“Hi,” he greeted softly, clearing his throat. “You're, uh, Bucky's friend?”

You introduced yourself, stepping forward to offer your hand. He was quick to step back even across the room, body tensing.

“Wait, don't. I'm not sure if I—”

“When's the last time you transported someone into a shame room?”

The shock on his face had you glancing at Bucky for answers.

“Last week,” he said, crossing his arms. “Nothing super dangerous. Uncomfortable, but we get a lot of repeats so we break off easily enough.”

“Wait, so how much do you already know?” Bob asked, arms wrapping around himself.

“Enough,” you and Bucky respond.

Bob sighed, head nodding along as he turned away. “Great, guess that makes it easier.”

“I wouldn't say that; you're guarded now.” You moved closer, keeping your steps slow and your hands behind your back. Bob remained tense but didn't shy away. “Bucky called me here to see if I could help you, but I came here to see if you even want it.”

“Well, uh…” he swallowed, head bowing.

Do you want my help? His eyes flashed wide, breath catching as he looked up. You kept your expression neutral as you raised a brow. Do you? This will only work if you want to put in the effort.

“Can you see everything?”

You fought not to smile at the childish awe in his voice as it echoed back to you. I'm not looking. I'm listening.

A series of curses and panicked background commentary had you laughing.

I've heard and seen a lot. Honestly, don’t worry about it.

“That's easy for you to say,” Robert grumbled. “I cant control my thoughts like you can.”

“Would you like to?”

“It's not that I don't want your help,” he said, hands tangling into his sweater. “I just don't want to hurt anyone again. A lot of people… Some don't snap out of what I make them see. It's bad.”

“I have faith in my mental state,” you assured him. “Mental barriers, especially. I need to see just how powerful you are, though. Because if you get past mine, that means I'll be training you through trial and error. It's risky but it's not impossible.”

Bob looked to Bucky. “Do you think that's a good idea?”

Your old friend shrugged. “I brought her in because she's good at what she does. Whatever she wants to do, I have to trust it's the right decision.”

“I could hurt her!” Bob breathed and looked back to you. “I could hurt you really, really bad. Are you sure you know what you're signing up for?”

“I read through your files. I saw the extent of your powers and the aftermath of the accident,” you explained. “I'm prepared to help you with all things mental and psychic, but trust has to go both ways.”

You raised your hand again. He flinched, shuffling back.

“You want to help me now. What if that changes?” he whispers. “What if you see what it's really like and it scares you?”

“We won't know unless we try.” You took a step. Hand outstretched.

Bob looked at Bucky again, as if waiting to see if anyone would disagree. Whatever he searched for wasn't there.

He sighed and met your gaze. Pale blue eyes, you noted, with colors shifting around the pupil.

“Okay,” he nodded, holding up a shaky hand. The skin was bitten raw around his nails, skin dry but warm. The moment you felt it, there was a pressure against your mental shields. You could see the darkness clouding around you, searching for a way in, but you held firm.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, arm trembling as he stood there. His eyes were closed, head turned away.

You smiled, holding in a laugh as you used your other hand to grab his. “I'm fine, Bob. You're definitely powerful.”

“But you didn't see anything?” he said, eyeing where you were joined.

“I've had years to work on my mental barriers. You can't breach what doesn't have an entrance.” You squeezed his hand. “This is a really good sign. I'm going to have to let you in at some point to see just how potent your power is, but we'll work up to that.”

“You really don't see anything?” he whispered, hope rising in his expression as he searched your gaze.

“Just you,” you promised, unable to keep from smiling. “We'll have to work on your projection. Your thoughts are…loud.”

His face flushed red as he pulled away, sputtering an apology. There was some halfass excuse about the bathroom as he fled. Bucky stepped up to fill the empty space.

“What was he thinking?”

“None of your business,” you chuckled. “You got a guest room for me?”

But you had to admit you were flattered. Mens’ thoughts usually came up with the same descriptions for you at first glance. All your life you'd been met with disgusting thoughts and hateful opinions or plain “hot” and “sexy.”

This might've been the first time a man had ever thought of you as “radiant” before.

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houseofaegon · 16 days ago

Note

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.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

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)

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marvelouslymarly · 5 days ago

Text

Middle of the Night (Bob Reynolds x female!reader)

This is part 2 to my After Midnight fic with Bob Reynolds - read part 1 here

Masterlist

Rated: E for Explicit! MDNI!!!

Pairing: Bob Reynolds/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x female!reader

Summary: After having you for the first time, Bob can't seem to stop thinking about having you again.

CW: as always mild thunderbolts spoiler warning since this is set after the events of the film; 90% of this is pure smut (horny Bob (like, it's bad how needy he is); fingering; unprotected piv (wrap it before you tap it, guys :*); choking; the smallest hint at cockwarming right at the end there...); some angst and a little bit of fluff... But mostly just pure and filthy smut, again: MDNI :) [not beta-read bc I wanted to get this out to you asap]

Word count: 4.6k

Hope you enjoy!!! Reblogs and feedback appreciated <3

You felt secure with Bob’s hands resting on your tummy, your chest rising and falling softly, no reason to be scared or tense with him holding you close. There was no activity in the Watchtower apart from the two of you cuddling, enjoying each other’s company without the need to speak. After the events of the evening, your body had felt tired in a different way. It was a physical exhaustion that you weren’t used to. A satisfied fatigue leaving your limbs heavy, your core still sending tiny aftershocks through your extremities. There was a pleasant warmth emanating from Bob, his chest brushing against your back softly with every inhale. Your brain had quieted, no haunting thoughts running through your brain, only the sound of Bob’s calm breaths and the occasional kiss on your shoulder or the slope of your neck. His fingers were drawing lazy patterns on your skin and your own were running up and down his arms.

“I wanna stay like this forever,” your voice was low, scared that if you talked too loudly this serene moment would dissolve.

You took his hand and kissed the back of it, your fingers playing with his for a second before intertwining. Laying with him felt like second nature. Your bodies fit together perfectly, his the perfect big spoon to your little one. Your legs were tangled lazily, just as if this was how you were supposed to exist. With Bob by your side, your skin pressed up to his. As if everything that had happened in your life was leading you to this moment, leading you to Bob.

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” he agreed quietly, his voice already laced with sleep. He nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck and inhaled your scent, a content hum falling from his lips. “You smell so good, love. Like summer rain and heaven.”

You smiled to yourself and turned around slowly, your leg slipping over his side and your hand moving up to cup his cheek. You kissed him softly, your eyes fluttering shut when your lips met his, and he pulled you even closer. He deepened the kiss, one of his hands in your hair, the other on the small of your back and you slipped your tongue into his mouth. It wasn’t a hungry and eager kiss like the ones before, it was slow and reverent, both of you too tired to ravish the other one. You tasted each other, teeth sinking into the other’s bottom lip slowly. Your hands held onto each other, digging into the other’s skin with soft determination as if to memorise the hills and valleys of the other’s figure.

When you pulled apart again, his hand was on your cheek, holding you in place, his forehead resting against yours, while you caught your breaths. There were content smiles on your lips, kiss-bitten and full.

Bob rolled onto his back, pulling you with him to rest against his side. Your head moved to lie on his chest and you closed your eyes, listening to the soft thump of his heart beating rhythmically under your ear. He placed a kiss on the top of your head and then put his cheek to it, holding you close.

You drifted off like this, his right arm slung over your hip and his left hand holding yours, your fingers intertwined. Your dreams were calm ones, of easy times and comfortable moments. Of moments like this one. Lazy weekends spent lounging and reading on the couch with him. Sunset strolls on the river bank, holding hands and laughing at small things. Coffee dates at your favourite café down the street.

When you woke up a little later, Bob had turned away from you, whimpers leaving his lips. You put out your hand, looking for the switch of the bedside lamp, and then you turned it on, giving your eyes a moment to adjust to the bright light. Your eyes searched the bed, and you let out a sad sigh when you saw Bob, lying on the edge of the bed, his back turned to you, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly.

“Hey, Bob, I’m here. It’s gonna be okay,” you whispered, moving up to him and carefully placing your hand on his shoulder before turning him onto his back. His mouth was hanging open a little and his brows were furrowed in what you interpreted was fear. But then his brows pulled up and a low moan left his mouth, his hand running over his leg and to his hardening dick. Your cheeks heated and your heart calmed down, realising what he must’ve been dreaming about.

His arm moved to cover his eyes and his hips bucked into his own touch. Your name rolled off his tongue in a low growl and you covered your mouth, biting down on your lip at the sight in front of you, arousal starting to build between your legs. Bob’s hand ran through his hair and his teeth sank his into his lip, a heavy breath leaving his flared nostrils.

“Mhm, just like that, babe…”

He palmed at himself a few times, groaning and whimpering, the veins on his forearms popping. Your free hand made its way between your legs, and then he startled awake, sitting up straight and his eyes wide. His gaze flitted around frantically and then met yours, his Adam’s apple bopping in a heavy gulp.

“Hi,” you chuckled, your hand falling from your mouth.

His cheeks turned a bright pink and Bob fell backwards, covering his face with both of his hands, groaning embarrassed.

“Oh, god,” he mumbled from behind his hands and turned on his stomach, trying to hide his shame from you. “I am so sorry, [y/n].”

“What for,” you asked and laid across his back, kissing his shoulder blade softly. You ran your fingers through the hair at the back of his head and tried to catch a peek at his face.

“That you had to witness… that,” he grumbled and turned his face to the side. “And that I woke you up.”

“Babe, you don’t have to feel bad about this!” You smiled at him sincerely and kissed his cheek gently. “I think it's kinda sweet that you were dreaming about me.”

“‘Sweet?’ Oh, great,” he complained and turned his face away from you again.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” you sighed and pouted. “I just meant that… I’ve never… seen someone have a sex dream about me,” you added and sat back down on your side of the bed.

This made Bob turn around, pulling up his leg to hide his hard-on while sitting up as well, looking at you confused.

“Don’t look at me like that, I’m serious.” You shrugged and let your eyes travel over his naked body. “Is there something you want me to do?”

You let your fingers walk up his leg and pushed him back down onto the mattress, hovering over him. Bob looked up at you, your hair falling around your face, and he cupped your cheek, running his thumb over your soft skin. His eyes fluttered shut and he pressed his lips together in a thin lip while your fingers ran up the inside of his thigh.

“Maybe you could tell me what we did in that dream of yours,” you offered, your voice sultry and low as you leaned down to him.

When his eyes opened again, his pupils were blown, most of the blue taken over by the black of his pupils, and you smirked, brushing the tip of your nose against his. He pulled you down, closing the distance and crashing his lips to yours before turning you over. His left leg slotted between yours, his hard dick pressing against your thigh and you gasped into the kiss at his weight on top of you.

“I’d rather show you,” he muttered and dropped his face to the crook of your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses to the pulsating spot under your ear. He leaned on his fist by your side and his free hand slipped between your legs, a low chuckle leaving his lips, sending vibrations down your spine. “So wet already, doll?”

You turned your face to the side, giving him more access to your neck, and nodded in agreement, your eyes rolling back in your head at the feeling of his fingers running through your folds. His thumb moved to your clit and your hips met his touch eagerly.

Bob burrowed his face in your hair, his middle finger slipping into your hole easily with a wet squelch, and a smug groan rolled off his tongue. “So needy, huh?”

“I want you so bad, Bob,” you breathed, already a little light-headed. You were still a little tender from the rounds earlier that night, so when he slipped in a second finger with the next thrust of his hand, you yelped a little, one of your hands moving to his wrist.

“You okay, baby?” He purred into your ear and then moved to look into your eyes, not moving his fingers until you looked at him, too. “I don’t wanna hurt you.” There was softness to the low gravel of his voice and his eyebrows knitted together in a furrow.

“No, it’s ok,” you assured and nodded, smiling at the tenderness in his eyes. “I’m ok.”

“Tell me if I should stop,” he told you and kissed you, his lips moving against yours masterfully.

He slipped his tongue into your mouth and slowly started to move his fingers again. The movements were cautious but deliberate, his fingers curling at the right moment before slipping back in deeper again. The pain you’d felt at first slowly turned into pleasure, your breath hitching when his fingertips brushed against the spot deep inside of you. His lips split into a smirk against yours and you simply nodded, your brain foggy from kissing him and the feeling of his fingers inside you.

“That’s it, baby.”

You looked down at where his hand was between your legs, another moan escaping you, and you let go of his wrist, your hand running up his arm and clawing at his shoulder when his hips started to grind into your leg.

“Take me,” you whimpered into his ear when his forehead fell to your shoulder, the familiar feeling of your nearing orgasm spreading through your lower stomach. Your free hand moved between your bodies and wrapped around his erection, pumping up and down his length.

“Are you sure?” His voice was but a whimper at the feeling of your hand wrapped around his dick and his fingers slipped out of you, leaving you feeling empty again.

You nodded, your hips twisting to his, and kissed him hungrily. Bob moved on top of you, your hand slipping from around his dick and his hips positioning themselves between your legs, and you moaned when his dick brushed against your sensitive cunt. He looked down between you and, without any warning, pushed into you, his hand covering your mouth in anticipation of the loud gasp leaving you.

“Shhh, baby. We gotta be quiet. Wouldn’t want the others to find out what we’re doing, right?” He placed a kiss on your cheek and then rolled his hips back, almost pulling his erection all the way out of you, only to thrust back in a second later.

Your back arched against his chest and your head lolled back at the feeling of him filling you up so well.

“You feel so good around my cock, doll,” he groaned into your ear, the grip of his hand on your hip getting tighter, his restraint from drilling into you waning with everything second. “So wet and fucking tight.” You could hear the pride in his voice and when you met his gaze from the corner of your eyes, you made out the tiniest hint of gold gleaming in his dark eyes.

You wrapped your arms around him tighter and rolled your hips against his, making him slip into you further and feeling his balls at your ass. His head fell down against your shoulder again and you let out a chuckle, his hand still covering your mouth and muffling the sound.

“Oh, you think this is funny, love?” His hand moved to your chin and he turned your head, making you look at him. The gold had fully taken over what was left of the blue around his pupils and you gulped, unable to hide the smirk on your face. Bob pulled his hips back, sliding out of you completely, and he flipped you over. His hand moved to your wrists and he held them tight, while he pulled you up onto your knees to have your hips meet his, your face buried in the pillow.

You tried to look over your shoulder but then he thrust into you again, harder than before and bottoming out, the sound of skin slapping on skin echoing through the room. Your eyes squeezed shut against the sweet pain and you bit into the pillow, muffling the moan you couldn’t control. His hand wrapped around your hip and he started thrusting into you relentlessly. The tip of his dick brushed against your g-spot and you arched your back, pushing your hips into his desperate to get even more friction.

“You take me so well, baby,” he groaned into your ear, leaning over your back and drilling you into the mattress. You struggled against the grip on your wrists and he let go a little, allowing you to dig your fingers into the bedsheets before putting his hand on yours. Your other hand snaked around his head and you buried your fingers in his hair, keeping his head close to yours, so he could hear the sweet noises he was evoking from you.

“You like that,” he growled, his voice turning up at the end in a question, and the hand that had previously sat on his hip moved around to your front, the pad of his middle finger connecting with your swollen clit.

A high-pitched moan slipped past your lips and you met his movements, your orgasm approaching fast at the pace of his thrusts. Your legs started to shake and he chuckled, adjusting his arm to carry more of your weight and supporting you better.

“Can you hold on for a moment longer, love, mhm?” His voice was hot against your ear and you shook your head, already feeling the first wave of your orgasm about to hit.

“You feel too good, Bob,” you whimpered, and the grip on his locks tightened when his dick brushed against your g-spot once more, your orgasm washing over you. Your walls clenched around his length and you could feel tears running down the bridge of your nose at the intensity of the pleasure coursing through your veins.

“That’s it, baby.” The movements of his hips grew sloppier, letting you know that he wasn’t far behind.

He rode out your orgasm and then his hips stopped suddenly, his dick buried deep inside you, while he came, a string of swear words falling from his lips. You could feel his warm cum trickle down the back of your thigh while he continued to thrust in and out of you, riding the highs of his own climax, while his fingers were working on your clit, sending sparks through your entire body.

When he was done, he collapsed next to you after placing you on the mattress softly, and then pulled you close to him again. You curled up against his front and pulled his hand up to kiss his fingers one at a time, trying to catch your breath. His other hand ran through your hair and then trailed down your arm, his touch soft and lovingly.

“Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head, closing your eyes, a content hum leaving your lips. “No, it was just right.”

Bob placed tiny kisses on the top of your shoulder, slowly moving up the slope of your neck and then he buried his head in your neck again.

“God, you smell absolutely divine right now,” he mumbled against your ear, and inhaled again, his hand flattening on your tummy, holding you close.

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in his arms, sleep trying to pull you back into dreamland. Before your eyelids grew too heavy, you turned your head a little and started:

“Hey, Bob?”

He moved against your back and grumbled sleepily before kissing your cheek and telling you he’s awake.

“I don’t want you to feel bad for… you know…” You stopped for a second, fighting sleep and rubbing your eyes. “For having sex dreams about me or getting yourself off, ok?” You turned around and cuddled up against his chest, looking up at him from under your lashes and going on: “Or you can always wake me up if you need something, yeah?”

He averted his gaze, his cheeks turning pink again and you ran your finger over his cheek. After a moment of considering what you said, he nodded and then met your eyes again, something heavy lingering behind them.

“What’s up, love?” Your smile fell and you moved up a little to be on the same level with him.

“It’s just that… ever since the trial…”, he trailed off, his gaze wandering through the room for a moment before he closed his eyes. He scratched the side of his face with the back of his hand and then took a deep breath, his chin quivering a little.

“Ever since the trial, every feeling I had… It’s just all so much more intense and my brain - it gets so loud. Like… It did that before, too, you know? But now, it’s like the dials have all been turned up to a hundred. And it’s constant,” he explained and his eyes opened again, tears brimming at his bottom lid.

“Oh, Bob.” You sat up and pulled the pillow you had claimed up to rest your back against, before placing his in your lap. You patted the pillow softly, motioning for him to put his head in your lap, and when he did, your fingers started to run through his dark locks, brushing them out of his face and smoothing them down the back of his head.

“And I feel like, now that I’ve had you… You’re all I can think about. How you taste… how you sound and how you feel.” He looked at you, a lonely tear running down his cheek. “And god, it makes me feel so… like there’s something wrong with me.” His voice broke at the end there and his shoulders started to quake, a sob breaking from his lips.

“There isn’t anything wrong with you, Bob.” Your thumb ran over his cheek, brushing away the tears rolling down the hills of his face, and you pulled up the covers, tucking him in a little. “I don’t mind, really.” His eyes flitted to yours as if to say that he didn’t believe you and he turned his head, facing away from you.

“I know, your brain is probably telling you the opposite right now…”, you tried, your fingers running over his shoulder and down his arm to take his hand in yours, and then continued: “but I don’t get anything from lying to you about this… I don’t want you to beat yourself up about the fact that you get a little horny about me from time to time.”

“Oh, if it was only ‘from time to time’,” he scoffed and wiped away the tears, sitting up next to me. He looked at you then, searching for any sign that you weren’t telling the truth. When he couldn’t find any, he sighed and nodded, his shoulders slumping a little.

“Well, like I said, if there’s ever anything I can help you with…” You leaned over to him, wrapping your fingers around his chin and lifting it a little to make him meet your eyes. “You can always come to me or wake me up. If you need a cuddle… or a shoulder to cry on… or, whatever, I’ll always be there for you!”

You kissed him softly, the salty taste of tears on his lips, and wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. His hands held onto you, his fingertips digging into the flesh of your shoulders, as sobs broke from him.

You had worried about this when you’d seen the gold in his eyes earlier, knowing that if the Sentry came out, the Void wouldn’t be far behind. You’d seen him struggle with this a few times in the last months since moving into the Watchtower but this meltdown broke your heart even more. You’d never been this close to him during a bad episode since that group hug in the lab-shame room. You’d never felt his body shake like this against your own, his nails leaving halfmoon shapes in your skin. And hearing the whimpers and cries leaving his lips tore at your heart.

You ran your fingers through his hair soothingly, shushing him softly, and pulled him into your lap, rocking back and forth.

~~~

When you woke up the next time, his lips were on your shoulder blade, fluttering over your skin, leaving behind soft, open-mouth kisses, while his fingers were dancing up your bare legs. His hard dick was pressing up against your ass, and he groaned against your back, his fingers digging into your thigh, while he tried to keep his hips from grinding into you. Burrowing his head in your hair, he sank his teeth into your neck, his breathing heavy already.

“Babe, are you awake,” he asked, his voice barely a whisper and you nodded, still half asleep. “God, I’m so sorry,” he grunted and bucked his hips, his length brushing against your core. You moaned sleepily, arching your back a little, and felt yourself getting wet again.

“I don’t know how to…”, he whimpered and his left hand slipped between your thighs while the other one glided under the shirt he’d given you to sleep in. “I need you…” His voice was filled with desperation, with need, and it went straight to your core.

His right hand cupped your breast and squeezed it, the pad of his thumb drawing circles over your hardening nipple. Your body, still sensitive from the last round and those before, reacted by sending sparks through you, the arousal pooling between your legs in anticipation while his fingers were playing with your clit. His movements were sloppier than before but it didn’t matter because your nerve endings felt like they were on fire, every stroke over your clit waking you up a little more from the slumber clinging to your brain.

“Can I…” He started carefully, his hips stationary behind you, his cock waiting patienty. His fingers slid through your folds with an obscenely wet squelch, and he moaned into your ear. You nodded again, your eyes fluttering shut from both exhaustion and pleasure.

You weren’t used to feeling this needy yourself, your past relationships barely lasting long enough to offer the possibility of multiple rounds in one night. Before, having sex with someone was about taking the edge off, it wasn’t about being with the person you were fucking. It didn’t matter who they were, just that they could get you that relief you needed so badly.

But with Bob, something had changed. Even with multiple orgasms in one night, you still felt the need burning deep inside of you. You needed to feel him. His fingers. His tongue. His teeth. You needed him to fill you up, balls deep inside of you and fucking you senseless. And you needed him to do it over and over again. You needed to moan his name, knowing that he was yours and that you were his.

His arm snaked around your hip tighter, changing the angle at which his hand slid between your thighs, and you buried your face when his fingers slipped into you. This time, he didn’t wait to add the second one but pushed it in right with the first one. A breathy moan fell from your lips and your hand moved down, fingers digging into his arm. His fingers thrusted into you, wet sounds filled the room and you could feel your cheeks heat at how soaked you were for him.

“Fuck, you sound so good, all wet and slick,” he groaned into your ear and kissed your neck, his fingers keeping the pace of pumping in and out of you and curling at the right moment.

When he felt that you were prepared enough, he pulled his fingers out again, and brought them up to his mouth, licking off your juices, one finger at a time. “You taste so good, so sweet, baby,” he purred, his voice dark with lust.

A satisfied hum fell from his lips and he kissed your shoulder blade again, his hand moving between you to line his dick up with your pussy. He pushed his hips forward, slipping in a little before he pulled back out and angled your hips a little. With his next thrust, his dick glided into you in one go, his balls settling against your ass, and Bob buried his head in your hair, a guttural groan escaping his lips. He tried to catch his breath for a moment, his grip on your hip holding you in place, before he pulled back his hips again slowly. The hand on your breast moved up your chest, pushing up the shirt, and then his fingers wrapped around your throat carefully, making sure to not push too hard on your larynx.

Bob thrusted back in and you gasped, your head falling back against his shoulder. He got started with a steady pace and every time a moan dared to fall from your lips, his hand would close a little more around your throat. Your head was getting foggy from the pleasure of his dick filling you to the brim, and you moved your hip against his, trying to get more friction, your climax building quickly.

“So fucking good, baby,” he whimpered and picked up speed, his movements growing sloppier as he was approaching his own release.

Your hand moved between your legs and you bit down on your lower lip when the tip of his dick brushed against your g-spot right as your finger connected with your clit.

“Love it when you touch yourself while I fuck you, doll.”

His teeth sank into your ear lobe and you let out a choked yelp, feeling the first sparks of your orgasm rushing through your body. His cock twitched inside you as your walls clamped around his length, and you stilled, the intensity of your high too much for you. Bob chuckled deeply behind you and held onto you tightly, his warm cum coating the inside of your pussy once more, while he kept rutting into you.

Once he was done riding out your shared climax, his right hand fell from around your throat and caressed the spots his fingers had dug into your skin. Bob covered your shoulder in hot, open-mouthed kisses and massaged your shaking legs with his left hand, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. He didn’t motion to pull his half-erect dick out of you, just nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck as his hand reached over to the bedside table to get a tissue for cleaning you up from your mixed arousal leaking out of you. His touch was soft, as to not overstimulate you any further, and your eyes fluttered shut, the exhaustion hitting you hard all of a sudden.

Just as you were about to drift off, you felt his fingers run through your hair and heard his voice near your ear, a soft ‘sleep well, love’ followed by a kiss to your cheek sending you off to a calm and dreamless slumber.

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erule · 9 days ago

Text

Teenage dream | b.r.

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x reader

Summary: you’re in love with Bob, but he doesn’t know that and this is tearing you apart. Until one day, he tells you to ask him what you’ve been eager to know.

Warnings: angst, fluff, friends to lovers trope, making out (reader and Bob are both 18+ here), Thunderbolts* spoilers ahead

Word count: 1.7K+

A/N: hi guys! I’m back with a ff with Bob Reynolds, because I just loved his so much in the movie (and Lewis too ofc!!). Feedback is always appreciated by a writer! I hope you enjoy it 🌙

Main Masterlist

MCU Masterlist

Somehow, you’ve always known that. Since the first time he entered in the room, you’ve felt something, a sort of an energy or a vibe. Yelena looked at you, because she got it even before you could even comprehend what was happening inside of you. It was like a teenage dream that would come to reality. Bob said hello to everybody and your eyes lingered on his face more than you would do with a stranger. You knew what he did, but you didn’t really care about it. You weren’t scared. After years of working with the Avengers, you knew the risks.

It was even funnier, when Bucky asked you, door closed behind you, if you were sneaking out with him. You gulped, embarrassed, but also giggled at the thought. You wished you would, but no, that wasn’t you. He was having some kind of affair with somebody else. You shrugged, then you went away in order to go back to your room, but you found Yelena next to your door.

“He did it, didn’t he?” She asked and you nodded. Yelena sighed, tired. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I told him you weren’t doing anything with Bob, but he wanted to know it directly from you. Did it hurt you?”

“Not quite as when I saw Bob kissing Sarah,” you answered. Sarah was the classic girl next door: simple, cute and nice. You had nothing against her, really, but you weren’t glad to see her with your beloved Bob. Oh, you sounded so riddiculous!

You sighed, while preparing yourself to get into the shower. Yelena gave you a T-shirt for later.

“I can only imagine,” Yelena said, while sitting on your bed. “If I could do something about it, like smashing his face into the wall or…”

“Unfortunately, you can’t,” you replied with a smile. “Still, I love you for that”.

“No, I don’t like all of these emotions. I’m gonna get out from here. See you at dinner, babe,” she said and you waved at her.

Sometimes, you thought that she was your only friend beside of Bob. How do you really talk to your friend about you being in love with them? You got into the shower in order to go to dinner very fast. You changed your clothes, then you did your hair. You were wearing your shoes, when somebody knocked at the door.

“Hey,” a sweet voice said and you recognized it immediately.

“Hi,” you replied and your heart began to race.

“I… uhm… know, from Walker, that Bucky wanted to talk to you about something urgent today. Is everything alright?” He asked and you didn’t really know how to answer. You remained silent for a couple of seconds, so he shaked his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to intrude. I was just worried about you. Bucky can be very unpleasant, sometimes”.

“Sometimes?” You joked and he smiled.

“Multiple times”.

“Anyway, thank you for your concern, but it was nothing serious”.

Then, he gulped, nodding, his shoulder on the door jamb and his fingers intertwined. You looked at him, your lips parted as if you were about to ask him a question, but you didn’t. He seemed to as well, though.

“I’ve missed this,” he said.

“What?”

“This,” he repeated, pointing at him and you with a finger. “Us. Being friends, making jokes. Whatever we were before”.

“Before what?”

“Before I got with Sarah,” he said and you gulped, trying to hide your sense of guilt. Your feelings.

“We’re still friends,” you stated and it was true.

“I know,” he replied, then he walked towards you and you started to feel uncomfortable.

“Please, don’t,” you said. You couldn’t handle it anymore.

He stopped.

“I know that there’s something off here, Y/N. Just tell me,” he said and you felt terrible. He was really trying to have his friend back, but you couldn’t even admit that you were in love with him with yourself, let alone with him! You bit your bottom lip. Who knows what Void would have seen, if only he could. Maybe your secret dreams about him or the lowest point of your life, when you followed him to see why he would always go to the cafè in front of the compound. You were ashamed of yourself. He couldn’t touch you, otherwise he would have found out everything.

“I can’t. I’m sorry,” you found the courage to say, but he sighed.

“Y/N, if I did anything to offend you, I’m sorry,” he said. “You know that I wouldn’t hurt a fly, come on”.

You tried to hold back the tears.

“People can’t know anything”.

“True,” he said, while getting slowly closer to you. Your skin began to get hotter very fast, as if his only presence could make you feel warmer. “But they’re not my friends”.

“I don’t want to know your personal life’s secrets”.

“Something’s telling me you do,” he said with the ghost of a smirk on his pale face. You tilted your head. “You could live with the doubt forever or… you could just ask”. You gulped. “Ask me”.

You released the breath you were apparently holding. When you were just a teenager, you used to fantasize about a lot of fictional and real guys as if it was some kind of game, but now, all of this didn’t seem like a game to you anymore. He was real, in front of you, asking you to make him a question. So you did.

“Why not me?”

You knew why he chose her, it wasn’t a stupid challenge between two people being in love with the same guy. It was about you and him, this time. It was about being the second chance again.

His eyes flickered. For a moment, he wasn’t Bob anymore. He was Void and Void knew how to break into your heart like nobody else. You wondered if you made the right call.

“Because it was easier,” he answered. You were confused. Easier to be with somebody less demanding than you? Easier than breaking a friendship? “Easier to fake that I didn’t care about you as much as I do,” he said, as if he could read your mind. “Everytime I look at you during a mission, I hope that our enemies don’t get how much I love you. Everytime I see you walking into the compound, I ask myself if Bucky or Yelena or anybody else knows that I’m wrapped around your finger. And every damn time that something bad happens, I fear that it happened to you and that I wasn’t there to protect you”.

The tears were rolling on your cheeks at that point.

“It’s unfair”.

“What? That you didn’t tell me that you were in love with me?” He asked.

“That you’d rather sneak around with anybody but me”.

“You’re being mean,” he said, clenching his jaw.

“And you’re breaking my heart”.

He looked at you as if you just broke the ice into his eyes and now he was bleeding on the outside. His eyes were glossy and circled in red.

“Well, then it’s a good thing that you did the same with mine, I guess”.

That was the moment in which your heart shattered into pieces.

***

Yelena was very focused while listening to your argument with Bob, but once you were finished, she rolled on the bed, exhausted. A corner of your lips turned up in half a smile.

“You’re unbelievable!” You exclaimed, but she threw a pillow at you.

“Am I? You’re the one who fought with the love of her life over a stupid thing!”

The skin of your face started to burn.

“He’s not… He’s not the love of my life”.

“Babe, come on, he is. And he has been for as long as I can remember. Probably, you were dreaming about him when you were still a teenager”.

You sighed. It was like she could read you. That was probably why you felt something already when he just entered into the room and he light it up like it was the easiest thing to do on the planet. At that point, you couldn’t even lie anymore: you were desperately in love with him.

“You think that he was right all along?”

Yelena got up from the bed and shaked your hand.

“Y/N, have you met us? We’re the new Avengers: we go on missions, we try to save the world while we also make stupid jokes about dying in a cool way. Yeah, he’s pretty much right”.

You sat down on the bed.

“I ruined everything, didn’t I?” You asked her, while your hands are on your face.

“Maybe not,” she said and you could feel that she was smiling.

You get up immediately from the bed, as if you could feel his presence. It’s like a dream coming true. He’s standing again with an arm on the door jamb, hands in the pockets and a curl of his hair on his forehead. He had never looked more beautiful, if that was possible.

Yelena left the room with a smile on her face.

“Hi,” you said, incredibly guilty.

“Hi”, he replied. Even his voice was like drinking cold water during a hot Summer day. It was refreshing for your ears. His face, on the other hand, was a breath of fresh air. He really was the man you’ve been looking for you whole life. You even dreamt about him when he was still a character in your head. “What you said the other day… it really hurt me”.

“Bob, I’m so…”

“No,” he interrupted you. “Let me finish. Honestly, I could have handled it in a better way. I also wasn’t fair to Sarah, you were right, so I broke up with her immediately after our argument”.

You were at a loss for words.

He walked closer to you. His fingertips caressed your cheek and he was looking at you as if you were the sun and he was desperate to warm up. You felt electricity running through your veins, some tiny shots that were jumping from your back to your neck. He used his thumb to part your lips gently. Your eyes were burning because of the tears behind them. Please, let this moment never come to an end, you thought. Then, he placed his lips on yours and you lost every control over your nerves. Your hands felt the urge to tighten around his hair and your lips became hot and swollen after a short time of kissing. It was like the whole world has disappeared into his embrace. Every fantasy you had when you were little had now become a reality. You couldn’t even believe it. Every dream of yours was now there, in front of you. And they were all worth the wait.

#erule's masterlist #bob reynolds x reader #lewis pullman x reader #void x reader #sentry x reader #robert reynolds x reader #thunderbolts #bob reynolds x you

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luvmanifesting · 5 months ago

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Masterlist

HOW I INDUCE IT

how i induce pure consciousness :3

simplified version of how i do it ig?

MY PURE CONSCIOUSNESS POSTS

“nothings working”

“struggling”

“stop over complicating it”

“what is pure consciousness?”

“things you can manifest”

“the key to inducing pure consciousness”

“understand it a little better”

RANTS

“decide”

“reassurance”

“let go”

“you aren’t excluded”

“stop wasting time”

“complaining”

“realize”

“breathe”

“🫵”

MY success stories (none are in order)

“my first time ever”

“my second time”

“3rd”

“4th”

“5th”

“6th”

“7th”

“8th”

Extras

“your fault”

“FAQ”

My New world!

“1”

“2”

Things that made it click for me in my journey (Not my posts!!)

“Void state”

“2”

“3”

“4”

“5”

“6”

“7”

“8”

“9”

get to know me!!

“introduction!”

not here anymore

“love you all, i shifted permanently already.”

#loa tumblr #pure consciousness #void state #masterlist #manifesation #loa

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itwillbethescarletwitch · 13 days ago

Text

Forever Us

Bob Floyd x Fem!Reader

warning: it gets a little sad but nothing crazy.

The front door creaks softly as I nudge it open, the weight of the last box in my arms. The house is still, save for the distant hum of the air conditioning, and the softest scent of fresh paint lingering in the air.

Our house.

I set the box down—carefully, because Bob labeled it fragile, and I don’t want to risk breaking whatever sentimental treasure he packed away. Then I stand there for a moment, barefoot on the hardwood floor, looking around.

Sunlight spills through the windows, catching dust motes dancing in the air. Our half-built life is scattered across the room: blankets draped over the back of the couch, mugs we haven’t yet found a place for, picture frames leaning against the wall.

Bob’s boots are by the door. His cap is hanging on the hook we just installed together.

And then I hear it—him.

A soft, off-key humming from the kitchen. The low clink of plates as he unpacks.

I move quietly, padding toward the sound, leaning on the doorway for a moment to watch him.

Bob is standing at the counter, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in concentration as he carefully places our mismatched plates in the cabinet. There’s a streak of dust on his cheek, and I know if I pointed it out, he’d blush—that beautiful, delicate pink that only ever shows up when he’s flustered.

I can’t help it. My heart squeezes.

I clear my throat, smiling.

“Hey, stranger.”

He looks up, and there it is—that soft, slow smile that always makes me feel like I’m the only person in the world.

“Hey yourself.”

He steps toward me, hands brushing off against his jeans, and then he’s close enough that I can smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the laundry detergent we both love.

His fingers find mine, gentle, like he’s always careful with me. He lifts our hands and presses a kiss to my knuckles.

“We did it,” he whispers, like he still can’t believe it.

“Yeah.” My voice catches in my throat. “We did.”

He smiles again, and it’s so Bob—soft, shy, completely sincere.

“Ready to tackle the rest of these boxes, Mrs.-Almost-Floyd?”

I laugh, light and warm, and tug him close by the front of his shirt.

“I’ll tackle them if you make me coffee.”

He grins, leaning in so his forehead brushes mine.

“Deal.”

The kettle whistles softly as Bob pours the coffee into my favorite mug—the one with the little chipped corner I refuse to get rid of. The smell fills the kitchen, warm and familiar, like Sunday mornings and slow dances in the dark.

I flip through the wedding binder sprawled across the kitchen table, pen tapping against my lip as I stare down at a page filled with color swatches.

“Okay,” I sigh dramatically, holding up two shades of sage green. “Which one is the sage green, Bob? There’s moss, there’s eucalyptus, there’s olive… apparently, this is a life-or-death decision.”

Bob leans over my shoulder, peering at the page like he’s studying a map for a mission. His voice is soft, teasing, as he points to one with a slightly more gray undertone.

“This one looks nice.”

I tilt my head, studying him instead of the swatches. The sunlight catches on the glasses perched low on his nose, the faint curve of a smile playing on his lips.

“You’re not just saying that because you want me to stop stressing over the napkin colors, right?” I ask, poking him in the ribs.

He grins, that boyish, lopsided smile that makes my heart trip over itself.

“Maybe a little.”

“Bob Floyd!” I gasp, shoving him gently, and he laughs—a real, full laughthat fills the kitchen, wraps around me like a blanket.

Before I know it, he’s tugging the pen from my hand, setting it down, and slipping his arms around my waist.

“You know what’s more important than napkin colors?”

I arch an eyebrow, playing along.

“World peace?”

His grin softens. He tilts his head, nudging his nose against mine, voice a low murmur.

“Us.”

I feel it in my chest—like something warm blooming in my ribcage.

Then the music shifts on the playlist—a slow, easy love song we both know. Bob’s hands slide to my hips, and without a word, he starts to sway with me right there in the kitchen, next to the half-unpacked boxes and the coffee mugs.

“Really?” I laugh, but I’m already leaning into him, my arms winding around his neck.

“Really.” He smiles, cheeks flushing, and we sway in slow, lazy circles, the world outside the window blurring into nothing.

The song carries us, and we’re so close that I can feel his heart beating under my palm. I rest my head on his chest, and for a long, quiet moment, we just exist—in the soft light, in the warmth of the kitchen, in the life we’re building, one small, beautiful moment at a time.

Bob’s voice is a whisper against my hair.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

I hum, not opening my eyes, too content to move.

He pulls back just enough so I can see him—those ocean-blue eyes, earnest and shining.

“I still can’t believe I get to marry you.”

My breath catches, and I feel my throat tighten.

I press my forehead against his, and we stand there, holding on, swaying, as the sun sinks lower and the sky outside turns gold.

We’re still swaying, the coffee forgotten on the counter, when Bob’s phone buzzes insistently against the table.

He groans softly against my hair, his hands resting on my hips like they never want to let go.

“Do we have to answer that?”

I peek at the screen.

Phoenix.

“Probably,” I sigh, but I’m grinning. Bob presses a kiss to my temple and steps back reluctantly to answer the call, holding the phone to his ear with a soft, “Hey, Phoenix.”

I wander back to the table, flipping through our wedding binder again, listening in on Bob’s half of the conversation.

Phoenix’s voice crackles through the line—loud enough for me to hear from across the room.

“Tell me you didn’t let her talk you into lavender tablecloths, Floyd. Come on, man.”

Bob flushes, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I think they’re sage green, actually.”

“Even worse!” Phoenix laughs, and I shoot Bob a look, mouthing traitor at him while he tries not to smile.

Then Rooster’s voice booms through, like he’s just waiting for his turn.

“Tell Y/N she better not make Bob wear one of those ruffled tux shirts! And no matching flower crowns, I swear to God—”

I snatch the phone from Bob’s hand.

“Rooster Bradshaw, if you don’t shut up, I will make you wear a flower crown and a pink tie.”

Bob’s laughing behind me, all warm and soft, his hand curling around my waist like a reflex.

Phoenix’s voice cuts in again, teasing and smug.

“You two are disgustingly in love, you know that, right?”

Bob leans in close, his lips brushing my cheek as he murmurs,

“Guilty.”

I feel the blush rush up my neck as I end the call, tossing his phone onto the table.

For a second, we just stand there in the middle of the kitchen, like the world has gone quiet except for us.

“Okay,” I breathe, pulling back a little, trying to get serious. “We still need to figure out flowers, table settings, first dance song…”

Bob hums like he’s thinking real hard, his chin resting on my shoulder, his hands still firm on my hips.

“I know a song.” His voice is soft, like it’s just for me.

I turn toward him, eyebrows raised, ready to tease, but he just smiles—thatsmile, the one that makes me feel like I’m the only girl in the world.

“Lover,” he says quietly, almost like he’s shy to admit it. “The one with Taylor and Shawn Mendes. I know it’s your favorite.”

My heart stops.

“You…” I blink, stunned. “You remember that?”

His hands tighten on my waist, pulling me closer like he’s afraid I might float away.

“Of course I do. Every time I hear it, I think of you.”

It hits me hard, like a sudden wave, the way he sees me, the way he loves me.

And when the song comes on the playlist—like the universe knows—he takes my hand, spinning me softly in the middle of the kitchen, humming the lyrics under his breath.

“Can I go where you go… Can we always be this close forever and ever?”

We sway, wrapped up in the music and each other, and I swear it feels like the world is standing still.

When the song fades out, Bob presses his forehead against mine, his voice a whisper in the quiet.

“I want this. Always.”

I don’t even have words—just a nod, my eyes shining, my hands curling into his shirt as I hold on tight.

And it’s so perfect. Like we’re living in our own little love song, just for a little while.

—

We’re at the bakery, sitting across from each other at a little table covered in sample plates. I’m trying to focus on the cake flavors in front of us, but Bob’s staring at me like I’m the cake.

“Okay,” I say, pointing at the options in front of us, “lemon, red velvet, chocolate, or almond. What’s your pick, Lieutenant Floyd?”

He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You already know I’ll eat anything you want, sweetheart. You could pick cardboard, and I’d say it’s the best cake I ever had.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the grin that breaks across my face.

“Bob. You have to have an opinion.”

He leans forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping a little.

“My opinion? The lemon one’s good, but you make a face when you taste it, so that’s a no. Red velvet makes your eyes light up, so I say we go with that. Plus…” He pauses, lips twitching.

“…it’s the color of love.”

I gasp, throwing a napkin at him, but he catches it midair and starts laughing. His laugh is so free, so light—it makes my heart hurt in the best way.

“Fine,” I say, grinning. “Red velvet it is.”

“Red velvet it is,” Bob echoes, like it’s a vow.

— back at home

The kitchen table is an absolute disaster.

There are ribbons tangled around Bob’s fingers, a hot glue gun half-melted onto a paper plate, and glitter—everywhere. My laptop is open to a spreadsheet with names and addresses, and Bob’s handwriting is a careful, neat scrawl across a growing stack of envelopes.

I’m half-sitting, half-leaning across the table, pen cap in my mouth as I try to tie tiny bows on the little gift boxes we picked out. Bob glances up, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth like he can’t not smile when he looks at me.

“Careful, babe,” he murmurs, voice low and warm. “You’ve got glitter on your nose.”

I pause, blink at him, and scrunch my nose up in an oh no kind of way. Bob’s grin widens—pure sunshine.

“Here,” he says, leaning across the table, fingers brushing so soft against my skin as he wipes the glitter away. He holds my gaze for a second too long, and my heart does that annoying little flip it’s been doing since I met him.

I smile, quiet, and go back to the task at hand.

⸻

The Favors:

Each RSVP’d guest gets a small, thoughtful box—inside, a handwritten note, personalized just for them.

Bob’s meticulous—he remembers Phoenix’s favorite whiskey, so he writes a thank-you card and tucks in a mini bottle with a tiny tag: To the best wingwoman—cheers to being the honorary maid of honor.

He writes to Rooster about being the best man for the best reason, slipping in a pair of novelty socks that say “Best Man Ever” because he knows Rooster loves a good joke.

For Maverick, Bob writes a quiet, thank you for believing in me kind of letter. It’s simple, but it’s so Bob.

And for everyone else—funny memories, inside jokes, little details that show Bob Floyd notices everything.

⸻

I’m working on my own stack, writing with a slightly messier hand than Bob’s—to Phoenix, thank you for the late-night phone calls when I needed to vent about seating charts. To Hangman, for always making Bob laugh (even when it’s not funny). To Payback and Fanboy, for their dance floor moves.

Every time I finish one, Bob glances over, reading without reading, just smiling at me like I’m his whole world.

At some point, he leans back in his chair and says, quietly, “I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone like I love you.”

And it’s soft, it’s unprompted, it’s Bob.

We’re still at the table, finishing up the last few favor boxes, when Bob quietly gets up and heads to the speaker on the counter. A few seconds later, the familiar opening notes of Lover (Remix) fill the kitchen, soft and warm, wrapping around us like a hug.

I glance up at him, smile tugging at my lips—he’s got that look again. The one that makes my stomach do backflips.

Without a word, Bob crosses back to me, holds out his hand, and I take it like it’s instinct. He pulls me up, close against him, our fingers twined together.

We sway—slow, steady, like the world outside doesn’t exist.

My cheek rests against his chest, and I can feel his heart beating, a steady, quiet rhythm. His other hand presses gently against the small of my back, grounding, and I let myself breathe.

The music plays on, and I feel it creeping up—this soft, warm ache in my chest. My eyes sting, and I blink fast, but it’s too late.

Bob feels me tense, pulls back just enough to tilt my chin up.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice so gentle it undoes me. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head, but the tears spill over, and before I can stop myself, the words come tumbling out.

“I just—” My voice breaks. I press my hand to his chest, trying to keep it together, but it doesn’t work.

“I never thought I’d have this,” I whisper, barely there. “I never thought I’d find someone who looks at me the way you do. I thought—God, Bob, I thought you’d leave. I thought you’d find someone better. I was so scared.”

He just listens, and that’s the worst part. He lets me feel it, lets me say it, and when I stop—when I’m sniffling into his shirt like an idiot—he pulls me closer.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says softly, like a vow. His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing away a tear, and his voice cracks just a little when he says, “There’s no one better, baby. Not for me.”

I let out a watery laugh, and he smiles—so soft, so Bob.

“You make me want to be better. Every day,” he murmurs, leaning his forehead against mine. “But you—God, you’re everything. Exactly as you are.”

We stand there for a long time, just holding each other. The music fades out, but we stay swaying, like we can’t stop. Like we won’t.

Because we won’t.

Not now. Not ever.

—— Wedding Week Mayhem

The Rehearsal Dinner

It’s warm and golden in the private dining room they rented—string lights overhead, soft music playing in the background, and everyone buzzingwith energy. The tables are cluttered with half-empty glasses, plates scraped clean, and napkins folded over plates.

Bob stands up, a little awkwardly, tapping his glass with the side of his fork. His cheeks are flushed—he’s never been a guy for speeches, but tonight, he’s all in.

His hands are a little shaky as he holds his note card, but when his eyes find mine across the table, the world stops.

“I’m not much for words,” he starts, voice low, and I swear to God, my heart aches with how much I love him.

“But when I think about—about her—” Bob swallows, nervous laugh, teary smile— “I think about how lucky I am. How I never thought this kind of love would happen for me.”

There’s a pause. Rooster’s grinning like an idiot, Phoenix is already dabbing at her eyes, and even Hangman looks like he might feel something.

“She’s my best friend,” Bob says, voice thick, soft, and so full of love it feels like it might knock the wind out of me. “And I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life making her as happy as she’s made me.”

He lifts his glass, the whole room raising theirs in a quiet, perfect moment.

I’m wrecked. Completely. And when I catch Bob’s eyes again, I know—this is it. He’s it.

The Wedding Day

The morning is a slow hum. A soft glow of sunlight through sheer curtains, the faint sound of waves in the distance, and the smell of fresh coffee from the kitchen.

I wake up to the sound of Phoenix’s voice—gentle, but teasing.

“C’mon, lovebird. You can’t be late to your own wedding.”

I sit up, my heart already thundering. There’s this ache in my chest, a buzzin my skin, like the whole world is holding its breath.

The suite is filled with soft chatter—Phoenix zipping up my dress, helping me step into my shoes, the faint clink of glasses as the girls toast with mimosas. My hands shake as I pick up my bouquet—white peonies, soft pink roses, and a little sprig of baby’s breath.

I catch my reflection in the mirror—hair pinned perfectly, eyes shimmering, veil cascading down my back—and I swear, I barely recognize myself.

“Wow,” I breathe, voice cracking.

Phoenix hugs me from behind, resting her chin on my shoulder, her smile soft. “You’re gonna wreck him.”

—

Bob is pacing. Pacing. He’s tugging at the sleeves of his shirt, running his hands through his hair, biting his lip so hard it’s almost white.

Rooster’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching him like a hawk.

“Bob. Buddy. Breathe.”

Bob lets out a shaky laugh. “I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

But when the music starts outside, when they tell him it’s time—he freezes.

—

As I step onto the aisle, I feel my knees buckle, just a little.

He’s there.

Standing at the altar, hands shaking at his sides, eyes wide and wet, like he can’t believe I’m real. His lips part, like he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t—just stares.

And God, the way he looks at me—like I’m the only person on earth. Like I’m his everything.

I clutch my bouquet tighter, smiling so wide it almost hurts.

Each step feels like a dream. Like the world has slowed down just for us. The wind catching my veil, the sunlight glinting off Bob’s glasses, the quiet sniffles from our family and friends.

When I finally reach him, he takes my hand—and doesn’t let go. Not even for a second.

His thumb strokes over my knuckles, soft, soothing. Like he’s reminding himself I’m here, I’m real, I’m his.

“Hi,” he whispers, barely audible.

I laugh, tears already pooling. “Hi.”

The officiant starts speaking, but it’s a blur. All I can hear is Bob’s breath—shaky, a little fast—and the quiet, soft tremble of his voice when he says,

“I didn’t think I’d ever get this lucky.”

Our vows are quiet, almost whispered. Words we’d practiced in the mirror, words that feel too small for what we feel.

“I promise to always hold your hand when you’re scared.”

“I’ll be your best friend, your home, your safe place.”

“I’ll love you when we’re old and gray, and I’ll love you through every storm.”

His voice cracks, and I feel it in my chest—this aching, overwhelming love.

When we kiss, it’s slow. Like we’ve got all the time in the world. His hands cupping my face, my fingers tangled in his shirt, like we’re holding onto each other for dear life.

The applause feels distant. The only thing that matters is us.

—

The reception is a dream.

Bob’s hand never leaves mine—he keeps looking at me, like he can’t believe I’m real. Like if he looks away, I’ll disappear.

We sneak outside at one point, away from the music and laughter, just to breathe. The sun is setting, casting golden light across his face, and he leans his forehead against mine, smiling so soft it’s barely there.

“You’re my wife,” he whispers, almost like he’s in disbelief.

“You’re my husband,” I whisper back, and we both laugh, a little giddy, a little overwhelmed.

—

It’s perfect.

Just us. The music soft—Lover, playing just for us. Bob’s hands on my waist, my arms around his neck, swaying slow.

His lips brush my ear as he sings along, quietly, like it’s just for me.

“Can I go where you go… Can we always be this close forever and ever…”

It’s magic. Like the world has disappeared, and it’s just me and Bob.

Forever.

—

It’s been two weeks since the wedding, and if I could bottle these days, I would. Every moment feels like a photograph—us, tangled in bed sheets in the morning, Bob’s arms tight around me like he never wants to let go. Us, laughing in the kitchen as he flips pancakes, his hair sticking up in every direction, syrup smudged on his glasses. Us, side by side on the couch, watching my favorite movies while he hums along to the songs, his hand finding mine like it belongs there.

There’s this warmth in our home, a softness that feels like forever.

But the mission looms.

We’ve known it was coming—classified, dangerous, quick turnaround, he’d said. Two days, tops. I pretend to believe him.

So we hold on tighter. We fill the days with little things: folding laundry and sneaking kisses between t-shirts and socks, grocery store runs where he lets me sit in the cart like a kid, movie nights where we dance in the living room to Lover (the Shawn Mendes remix—our song, our secret).

And every time he looks at me, it’s like he’s trying to memorize every detail. His eyes linger on mine a little too long, his hands find my waist a little more often, and his kisses—God, his kisses feel like they’re goodbye.

I don’t say anything. Neither does he.

⸻

The night before the mission, we lie in bed together, the sheets tangled around our legs, the lamp casting a warm glow over the room. I’m wearing his shirt—soft and worn, the one that smells like him—and my fingers trace the curve of his shoulder, the freckles across his chest.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he whispers, voice soft and low.

My throat tightens.

“I’ll miss you,” I say, barely above a whisper.

Bob leans in, his forehead pressing gently to mine, his hand cupping my cheek like I’m the most precious thing in the world. His eyes are soft behind his glasses, but there’s a glimmer there—like maybe he’s scared, too.

“I’ll miss you more,” he says, and I swear, my heart aches.

I kiss him, slow and deep, like I’m trying to tell him all the things I don’t have the words for. Like please come home. Like I love you more than anything. Like don’t you dare leave me.

When we finally pull back, there’s this quiet between us, like the world has stopped spinning.

⸻

The morning of the mission comes too fast.

It’s still dark when I wake up, the soft beep of his alarm pulling me out of sleep. I sit up slowly, watching as he gets dressed—flight suit zipped up, dog tags catching the soft glow of the lamp, hair messy from sleep. He looks so steady, so brave, and it makes my chest hurt.

I stand in the doorway, clutching a coffee mug, watching him lace his boots. His hands move methodically, but his shoulders are tense, like he’s holding back.

He turns, and our eyes meet.

“Hey,” he says softly, like he’s afraid to break the quiet.

I cross the room, the mug still warm in my hands, and I set it on the dresser. My arms wrap around his waist, pulling him in, and he melts into me. His arms go tight around my shoulders, his head drops to my neck, and I feel his breath—shaky, like he’s holding back tears.

I close my eyes, breathing him in.

“Be safe,” I whisper, my voice cracking.

He pulls back just enough to cup my face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the tears I didn’t even realize had started falling.

“I promise.” His voice is rough, barely holding it together. “I’ll come home to you.”

I nod, even though my stomach feels like it’s twisting into knots.

He kisses me then, slow and lingering, and it feels like forever. His hands cradle my face, gentle and sure, like he’s afraid I’ll break.

When we finally pull apart, he presses his forehead to mine, breath warm against my lips.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you more.”

His eyes close, and he lets out a shaky breath like he’s memorizing the way this feels.

And then he’s pulling away, grabbing his bag, dog tags clinking softly. He turns at the door, one last glance, and I swear I see it—the fear.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says, and then he’s gone.

The door closes with a soft click, and I’m left standing there, clutching the coffee mug, tears slipping down my cheeks.

The house feels empty.

Like part of me just walked out the door with him.

———

The first day without Bob is the hardest.

I wake up wrapped in the sheets we shared, the pillow still warm from where he laid his head, the scent of his cologne lingering faintly in the air. It’s quiet—too quiet. No soft humming from the kitchen, no lazy footsteps across the floor, no coffee mug waiting for me by the sink with a sticky note that says love you, always.

I stay in bed longer than usual, pulling the blankets up over my head, pretending for a moment that if I don’t move, maybe he’s still here. Maybe it was just a bad dream, and when I open my eyes, he’ll be there, glasses slightly askew, hair sticking up in all directions, grinning at me like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

But when I finally get up, the house feels empty.

I try to fill the day with little things—laundry, dishes, reorganizing the bookshelf we both swear is a war zone. I light a candle that smells like vanilla and cinnamon, the one he always says reminds him of “home,” and it makes my chest ache.

I even sit down with the stack of wedding favors we’ve been working on, folding letters, tying tiny bows, but the words blur together, my fingers shaking.

Just one more day, I tell myself. Just one more day and he’ll be home.

So I go outside. The sun is warm, the breeze soft, and I think maybe if I just sit here, maybe if I let the sun soak into my skin, the ache will ease. I settle into one of the chairs on the porch, a glass of lemonade sweating in my hands, and close my eyes.

The sound of birds, the soft rustle of leaves—it’s peaceful.

Then—the sound.

Low, at first. A distant, rising hum, almost like thunder. I open my eyes, squinting at the sky.

The jets.

Bob’s squadron.

I sit up straighter, my heart stuttering—because they’re low. Too low. Moving too fast.

And then, like the sky itself is ripping open, there’s the crack of gunfire—not on base. Here. Here.

I stand up so fast I stumble, my bare feet skidding on the grass. The glass of iced tea on the table shatters as it’s knocked over, forgotten.

What’s happening?

Another crack—closer now. Sharp, relentless. I hear it before I feel it: the thudding of my own pulse in my ears, the sharp, acrid burn of smoke clawing at the back of my throat.

Then the screaming starts.

High. Panicked.

Neighbors.

Families.

I turn toward the house. Toward the porch. The wind shifts and smoke curls thick and black over the roof—my stomach turns to ice.

It’s chaos.

The world is smoke and fire and screams.

I can’t think—I can’t breathe—but I can feel the burn, the heat against my skin, the sharp sting of cuts on my hands, the rasp of air scraping down my throat like sandpaper.

I’m running.

Blind, wild—tears streaking soot across my face, my heart pounding so loud it drowns out the sounds of sirens and gunfire.

The porch is gone. The roof is caving in. The house—our house—the home we built together—it’s burning.

I should run. I should leave. I know that.

But I can’t.

Because in the middle of the flames, I see it.

The small wooden box on the coffee table—Bob’s gift to me the night he proposed. It’s not the ring—no, it’s something else. Something even more us. A collection of our memories. The concert tickets from our first date. The tiny plastic dinosaur he won me at the fair. A photo strip from the booth at the beach—Bob’s hair messy, my cheeks flushed, our smiles so wide they barely fit in the frame.

And inside, folded carefully, the letter he wrote me on the night he left for that mission three months ago. The letter I never showed him I read a hundred times, the one where he told me, I don’t know what the future holds, but I know it’s you. It’s always been you. It’ll always be you.

I can’t leave that.

I won’t.

So I run back in.

The smoke chokes me, burning my lungs, my eyes watering so bad I can barely see. The floor is hot beneath my feet, the air thick and suffocating. I stumble, trip over fallen beams, but I keep going—I have to get it.

My hands close over the box just as the ceiling groans—deep, low, a sound that settles in my chest like the crack of a breaking heart.

And then it collapses.

A wall gives way, and I don’t even have time to scream.

The weight hits me like a freight train, knocking the air out of my lungs. Wood. Plaster. Glass. I feel it—sharp, crushing, unforgiving.

I clutch the box to my chest, curl my body around it, trying to protect it, even as the pain rips through me—sharp, white-hot, blinding.

Bob.

Bob, I’m sorry.

I taste blood in my mouth, feel it on my lips. My fingers tighten around the box as the world tilts and fades to black.

I’m sorry, Bob. I just wanted to save it. I just wanted to save us.

—

The hallway smells like antiseptic and grief. Bob’s boots echo down the linoleum floor, each step too loud, too sharp, like the world has tilted and nothing feels real.

Phoenix’s voice still rings in his ears—“It’s bad, Bob. It’s really bad.”

His stomach is a fist. His heart is a war drum in his chest.

He pushes through the door to the ICU, and the sight of her—

It’s like a knife to the chest.

She’s lying there, surrounded by machines that beep and hiss and breathe for her. Tubes snake from her arms, her face pale and bloodless, a cut on her temple stitched up haphazardly, bruises blooming across her skin like dark, terrible flowers.

She looks so small.

So fragile.

His girl—his fiancée.

The woman he’s going to marry.

The woman he was going to build a life with.

The woman he was going to grow old with.

The woman who’s lying there now like a doll someone forgot to finish painting.

A nurse approaches, quiet, tentative, holding something in her hands.

“She had this,” she whispers, her voice gentle, like she knows she’s handing over something sacred.

It’s the box.

Their box.

Bob’s fingers tremble as he takes it. The wood is charred, blackened in places, the corners rough where the fire licked at it, but it’s still intact. She went back for this.

For them.

For him.

Tears sting his eyes, blurring the edges of everything, and he feels like he’s suffocating.

He drops into the chair beside her bed, the box clutched so tightly to his chest it hurts.

“Baby…” His voice cracks—shatters. It’s not even a whisper, just a broken, desperate plea.

He reaches for her hand—it’s cold, so cold—and he presses it to his lips, the tears falling fast and furious now, spilling down his cheeks, soaking into her skin.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he chokes out, his voice raw, barely human. “I’m here, okay? Just… just stay with me. Please. Please, I can’t—”

His breath hitches, a gasp like his lungs are collapsing.

“I can’t do this without you. You hear me?” His voice is a sob now, wet, ugly, shaking so bad his whole body trembles. “I can’t—”

His head drops onto the bed beside her, his tears soaking into the thin hospital blanket. His shoulders shake, a broken, ragged sound tearing out of him as he clutches her hand like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

And then—

Her fingers twitch.

Just the slightest movement, but it’s enough.

“Baby? Baby, I’m here, okay? Please—just open your eyes. Just—just look at me, baby, please.”

Her eyelids flutter, barely lifting, and her lips part like she’s trying to say something.

He leans in, so close their foreheads nearly touch, his tears dripping onto her cheeks.

“I’m right here, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

Her lips move.

“I love you,” she breathes, so faint he barely catches it.

And then she tries—God, she tries—to smile.

Her fingers curl weakly around his.

And just like that—

The monitors wail.

A flat, horrible, endless tone fills the room.

“No. No, no, no, no, no—baby—baby—”

Bob’s voice shatters, a sound so broken it barely sounds human.

He presses his forehead to hers, his tears pouring down now, sobs wracking his body, violent, helpless.

“Please—come back, please, sweetheart, I love you, I love you so much—”

His hands clutch her face, smoothing her hair back, his fingers shaking.

“Come on, baby, please, please, don’t do this to me. Don’t leave me. Please—I’ll quit the Navy, I swear, I’ll do anything, just—God, just come back to me.”

But she’s gone.

She’s gone.

And the weight of it crushes him, suffocates him, drowns him.

He can’t breathe.

He can’t think.

He presses the box to his chest, his tears soaking into the charred wood.

She went back for this.

She went back for them.

And now he has it.

But he doesn’t have her.

He never will again.

—

It’s cold. The kind of cold that sinks into your bones and makes you feel like you’ll never be warm again. The sky is overcast, a dull gray that stretches out forever, and the air smells like rain, like earth turning under the weight of grief.

Bob stands at the front of the cemetery, hands shaking so hard he has to grip the program tight to keep from dropping it. It’s a simple program—her name in bold letters across the top, Y/N Floyd, her birthday, the day she left.

Beloved Wife. Cherished Friend. Gone Too Soon.

That’s all it says. It’s not enough.

Phoenix is there, standing just behind him, her hand on his back, steady but helpless. Rooster’s off to the side, sunglasses hiding red, puffy eyes. Hangman’s quieter than Bob’s ever seen him, his usual grin wiped clean.

Bob’s wedding ring feels heavy on his finger. He rubs it over and over, like it’ll bring her back. Like if he just holds it tight enough, maybe none of this is real.

They lower the casket into the ground, and it feels like the world is ending.

Bob breaks.

He drops to his knees in the wet grass, gasping for air, sobbing so hard his chest hurts, his face buried in his hands.

“I’m sorry… God, I’m so sorry…”

His voice is hoarse, raw.

“I should’ve been there… I should’ve protected you…”

Her name tears out of him like it’s ripping his soul apart.

Phoenix kneels beside him, tears slipping down her cheeks, her arms around his shoulders, holding him up because he can’t hold himself up anymore.

The others stand in stunned, aching silence, watching the man they thought was unshakable shatter right in front of them.

The sky opens up then, a soft drizzle falling over everyone, soaking into Bob’s shirt, his hair, his skin. It feels like the world itself is crying with him.

The last thing Bob hears before the cemetery clears out is the sound of the rain on the coffin, soft and steady, like a heartbeat that shouldn’t have stopped.

—

The First Night Without Her

Bob walks into Phoenix’s apartment with a single, battered box in his hands. It’s light—too light—like the weight of her life had been stripped down to scraps.

He sets it on the table. It makes a hollow sound, like an echo in a house that’s too quiet.

Inside the box:

• Their wedding photo. The glass is shattered, but the image is untouched. Her smile—his smile—forever frozen, and he can’t even bring himself to touch it.

• The tiny teddy bear they won at the fair, its fur singed from the fire. He picks it up, and the smell of smoke still clings to it. It smells like loss.

• The engraved dog tag she gave him when they first started dating. “Come back to me.” His thumb traces over the words, and it feels like they’re mocking him now.

• The playlist CD she made for him, labeled in her handwriting: Bob’s Mix (For the Days You Miss Me).

• A napkin from their first date, with a faint smudge of her lipstick. It’s wrinkled and yellowed, but it’s hers.

• The ring. The one he slipped off her finger in the hospital, the one she wore every single day. It’s cold in his palm. It feels wrong without the warmth of her skin.

• And a small, charred photo strip from the photo booth—her laughing, his arm around her, her eyes so full of love. The edges are blackened, but the middle is perfect.

He sits down, the box open in front of him, and just stares. Phoenix watches from the doorway, her heart in her throat. She wants to help, but there’s nothing she can do.

“Let me know if you need anything,” she says, her voice barely a whisper.

Bob doesn’t answer.

He stays on her couch that night, curled in on himself, clutching the ring in his fist so tightly it digs into his skin. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the tears are soaking into the couch cushion beneath him.

⸻

The Bouncing Between Friends

Bob doesn’t go back to the house—he can’t.

Every time he thinks about it, it feels like there’s a weight on his chest, like the air is too thick to breathe.

So he drifts—like a ghost—between Phoenix’s, Hangman’s, Rooster’s, Fanboy’s.

Phoenix makes him tea and lets him sit in silence.

Hangman pretends everything’s fine, cracks jokes that don’t land.

Rooster cooks breakfast and pushes the plate toward him, but Bob just stares at it.

Fanboy hands him a blanket and a spare pillow, says “We’re here for you, man.”

But the truth is, nobody knows what to say.

Nobody knows how to fix a man who’s shattered.

⸻

The First Night He Breaks Down

One night, Bob sits on Phoenix’s floor. The box is open in front of him, and he’s holding the teddy bear in one hand and the CD in the other. The tears come before he can stop them, hot and relentless.

He sobs—really sobs—like a man who’s losing his mind.

“I can’t—” His voice cracks, and it’s pitiful. “I don’t know how to do this, Phee. I don’t know how to breathe without her. I don’t know how to wake up and not see her next to me. I—” His breath hitches, his body shaking. “I don’t know how to be me without her.”

Phoenix just sits beside him, her hand on his back as he breaks.

⸻

Visiting Her Grave

The first time he visits her grave, it’s pouring rain.

He stands there, drenched, shivering, clutching the teddy bear like it’s the only thing keeping him together. The headstone is too new, the letters too clean.

Y/N L/N Floyd

Beloved Wife. Forever Missed.

He kneels, the rain mixing with his tears, and sets the bear down. His voice is hoarse, broken.

“Hey, baby… I, uh… I brought the bear. I know it’s silly, but… you loved it.”

He can’t look at the stone. He stares at the ground, his hand pressed against the wet grass.

“I miss you so much. I—” His breath catches. “I’m trying to be strong like you always said I was, but I can’t do it. I feel like I’m drowning without you. It hurts so bad. I can’t… I can’t—”

He doubles over, his shoulders shaking, his sobs wracking his body.

“I need you. Please. I need you.”

But there’s only silence.

The rain.

The wind.

The sound of his own shattered heart.

⸻

The Late Nights

He watches her favorite movies until 3 AM, the TV screen blurring through tears.

Every time the familiar song comes on—Taylor Swift’s Lover remix—it’s like a knife.

He hears her voice singing along in his head. He sees her twirling in the kitchen in his hoodie, her hair messy, laughing like there’s nothing in the world but them.

He listens to her playlists, the sad songs she loved:

• Bruno Mars: Talking to the Moon.

• Lewis Capaldi: Before You Go.

• Taylor Swift: All Too Well (10 Minute Version).

And every time, he breaks.

Open-mouthed, gasping for air, clutching his chest like he’s physically in pain.

He slides down the wall, sobbing into his hands, whispering her name over and over like a prayer.

——

First Day Back at Work

Bob stands in front of the mirror in the locker room, his hands trembling as he buttons up his uniform. The patches feel heavier today, like they’re pressing down on his chest, a silent reminder of the life he’s leading while hers was stolen.

He stares at himself—bloodshot eyes, hollow cheeks, stubble on his chin he hadn’t bothered to shave. He looks like a ghost.

He takes a deep breath, his fingers ghosting over the wedding band on his left hand. It feels wrong to wear it, but it feels worse not to.

The others are waiting in the ready room.

He can feel their eyes on him when he walks in.

It’s like the air shifts—the quiet sympathy, the unspoken pity.

Phoenix stands first, offering a soft, “Hey, Bob.”

Rooster gives him a nod, his face tight with unspoken emotion.

Hangman opens his mouth like he’s going to say something—maybe a joke, maybe anything—but then closes it.

Bob forces a small smile, but it’s hollow.

“Morning,” he croaks out.

He sits at the table, pulling out his notebook, pretending to focus on the mission brief Maverick is starting.

But all he hears is static.

All he sees is her.

That morning before the mission, her hands smoothing down the front of his uniform, her lips pressing to his cheek, whispering, “Come back to me, Bobby.”

His throat closes. He blinks hard, but the tears well up anyway, threatening to spill over.

He grips the pen so tightly it snaps in his hand. The ink splatters on his notebook, smearing over a page filled with half-finished doodles she used to draw when she was waiting for him to get home.

Phoenix is watching him, her brows furrowed in worry.

“Bob?” she whispers.

He shudders, forcing a shaky breath.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, but the words taste like lies.

⸻

The First Flight Back

When they gear up for the flight, Bob’s hands tremble so hard he can barely get his helmet on.

He tries to breathe, but the oxygen mask feels too tight, like it’s stranglinghim.

What if I don’t make it back?

What if I die, and she’s already gone, and I never see her again?

He clenches his fists until his knuckles go white, trying to push the panic down.

Phoenix catches him just before they head out. Her hand on his arm is warm, steady.

“You sure you’re good for this?” she asks, her eyes searching his.

Bob swallows hard. His voice is barely a whisper.

“I have to be.”

Because if he stops, if he lets himself feel for even a second, he’s going to fall apart.

⸻

That Night

Bob doesn’t go home.

He drives. For hours. Past the base, past the beach where they used to watch the sunsets, past the grocery store where she used to ask him to get her favorite snacks.

Everything feels empty.

The world is still turning, but his has stopped.

He ends up in front of her grave. Again.

The teddy bear is soggy from the last rain. The flowers are wilted.

He sits on the wet grass, his hands in his lap, and just cries.

The sound rips out of him like something dying.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I don’t know how to live without you. I’m so lost, baby. I’m so lost.”

He leans his forehead against the headstone, his tears soaking into the stone.

“Come back to me,” he begs, whispers, pleads. His hands tremble as they trace her name. “Please come back to me. I need you. I need you so bad.”

But the night is silent.

Only the sound of the wind, the distant ocean, and Bob’s shattered sobs fill the air.

——

Bob’s Visit to the Wreckage

It’s been a few weeks.

The wreckage of what used to be their home sits silent under the afternoon sun—charred wood, twisted metal, broken glass all tangled together like a nightmare that never ends.

Bob stands there, staring at it, his boots crunching on the broken pieces of their life.

The air smells like smoke and ash, even though the fire’s long gone. The wind stirs the ashes like ghosts, like echoes of laughter and love that usedto fill this place.

He walks through it slowly, carefully, as if the ground might swallow him whole.

There’s nothing left.

Their wedding photos? Burned.

The books she loved? Ashes.

The clothes they folded together, the blanket they curled up under—gone.

He kneels in the rubble, sifting through it, trying to find anything. His fingers tremble as he picks up a half-burnt corner of a card, a shattered picture frame.

And then…

He sees it.

A small patch of floor—untouched.

Not a speck of soot, not a single crack. Just clean, bare floorboards in the middle of everything.

That’s where she was.

Bob’s breath catches in his throat, his chest tightening so hard it feels like his ribs are splintering.

He sinks down onto his knees in front of it, his hands braced on the floor, and he breaks.

Sobs tear through him, raw and unforgiving. His fingers clutch at the floor, like he can hold onto it, like he can hold onto her.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry,” he gasps, over and over, his voice shattering under the weight of it all. “I should’ve been here. I should’ve protected you. I should’ve—”

His words dissolve into sobs as he curls in on himself, shaking so hard it feels like the grief might split him in two.

And then—

He hears cars.

Engines rumbling, tires crunching on the gravel.

He looks up, eyes swollen and red, tears streaking down his cheeks, and sees them.

Rooster. Hangman. Phoenix.

They’re standing there, all three of them, like they couldn’t not come.

Rooster looks like he’s trying not to cry, his jaw clenched so tight it’s shaking.

Hangman, for once, doesn’t have a single smart-ass comment—he just stares at the wreckage, his hands stuffed in his pockets, looking like he’s trying to hold himself together.

And Phoenix—God, Phoenix. She walks up to him, kneels down next to him, her hand resting on his shoulder.

“Come on, Bobby,” she whispers, her voice thick with unshed tears. “Let’s get you out of here.”

But he can’t move.

Not yet.

His hand stays pressed against the patch of clean floor, his thumb stroking it like he’s desperate to memorize it, to take a part of her with him.

“I can’t leave her,” he whispers, broken.

Phoenix’s breath shudders. She blinks back tears.

“You’re not leaving her,” she says softly. “She’s here. She’s always gonna be with you. But she’d want you to come with us now.”

Bob swallows hard, his whole body trembling.

And slowly—slowly—he lets them help him up.

They don’t rush him. They don’t say much. They just start sifting through the wreckage with him, trying to salvage what they can—small things, scraps, memories.

A cracked mug.

A singed book with her handwriting in the margins.

Her favorite sweatshirt, torn and dirty, but there.

They pack what they can into boxes.

And when the sun starts to set, Bob stands in front of the house one last time, holding that sweatshirt to his chest like it’s the only thing keeping him standing.

Phoenix, Rooster, and Hangman stand behind him, quiet. Just… there.

And Bob knows—he knows—that he’ll never really leave this place behind.

Because she’s in every inch of it.

And he’ll carry that with him, always.

——

A Cure for Minds Unwell

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky a canvas of deep indigo, speckled with stars. Bob sat alone on the beach, the cool sand seeping through his jeans, grounding him in the present, yet his mind was adrift in memories.

Clutched in his hand was her old music player, miraculously salvaged from the wreckage. It bore the scars of the fire—scratches, a melted corner—but it still worked. He pressed play, and the familiar strumming of a guitar filled the air, followed by Lewis Capaldi’s raw voice:

“Waking up too early, static on the TV

Dressed in all the clothes I had on

When yesterday decided I didn’t need to fight with

The hours and the seconds no more”

Bob closed his eyes, the lyrics painting vivid images of his current existence. Mornings blurred into nights, each day a monotonous cycle of going through the motions. He hadn’t changed out of his uniform in days, the fabric stiff with salt and sand.

“Doing all the things that I’m supposed to

Working every day the way that most do

Smiling while I’m hiding what I’m going through

But you know, you know, you know”

He thought of Phoenix, Rooster, and Hangman—their concerned glances, the unspoken understanding. They saw through his facade, knew the depths of his despair, yet gave him space to grieve.

“That, if I’m being honest

I couldn’t tell you this is all I wanted

I struggle sleeping ‘cause the house feels haunted

Filled with the shadows of regret and the things I should’ve said

To the ones I laid to rest, and, lately

I’m terrified that all my youth is fading

Man, growing old is so excruciating

Is there a cure for minds unwell? ‘Cause my head’s a living hell

If I’m honest with myself”

Tears streamed down Bob’s face, each word cutting deeper than the last. The house—what remained of it—was indeed haunted. Not by ghosts, but by memories, by the life they had planned, now reduced to ashes.

He remembered finding her locket amidst the debris, the photo inside charred but recognizable. It now hung around his neck, a constant reminder of love lost.

“Stumble as I’m leaving, one foot takes the lead, and

Second seems to struggle to find

A solitary reason to continue seeking

Any use in walking this line”

Bob’s body trembled as he recalled the days following her death. Each step felt like wading through molasses, every breath a conscious effort. The line between living and merely existing blurred.

“So, how am I supposed to see an end

To my all-consuming, constant fear and dread

When I can’t even seem to make it out of bed?”

He had asked himself that very question countless times. The weight of grief was suffocating, an ever-present shadow that loomed over every aspect of his life.

As the song reached its end, Bob lay back on the sand, staring up at the stars. The vastness of the universe made his pain feel both insignificant and all-encompassing.

He whispered into the night, “I miss you. Every day, every moment.”

The waves continued their rhythmic dance, the world moving forward, indifferent to his sorrow. But in that moment, with the remnants of her music echoing in his ears and her locket resting against his heart, Bob found a sliver of solace.

He knew the pain would never fully dissipate, but perhaps, with time, he could learn to carry it, to live alongside it. And maybe, just maybe, that was his cure for a mind unwell.

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void-of-unparalleled-chaos · 2 years ago

Text

I decided to make some masterposts for my writing in a vain attempt to make Tumblr organized. Apologies for the spam!

#the void screams back #Void's masterlists

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woantohae · 2 months ago

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Close to you || (Bob Reynolds x reader)

Summary: AU! Where Yelena asks Y/N and Bucky for a big favor while they're on a mission: to save Robert Reynolds, a friend of hers. Thinking it would be an easy mission to carry out, they readily accept, only to be surprised to find that it won't be as they thought.

And Bob is nothing like he pretends to be.

Author's note: Hello! So this is basically a dream that I had last night and I couldn't not write it. I hope you enjoy it 💌

Content warnings: au! fanfic, fluff, curse words, void being a flirt kinda? (i know he's not like that in the comics, but a girl can dream), bucky and reader acting like sister and brother, bob having a soft spot for reader, shy! bob, hints of angst.

"What's his name again?"

"Robert Reynolds," Yelena says through Y/N's earpiece "They've had him there for a long time, and I promised to go get him once I knew his location."

Bucky prepares his weapons, his brows slightly furrowed, as he listens to the blonde through the communicator in his ear as well.

"Old friend or an ex from the past?" Bucky asks, to which Y/N smiles in amusement.

Yelena laughs sarcastically.

"Ha, ha, ha. Yeah," she says. "He's just a friend. I could never see him that way in my life, and he thinks the same. I'm not his type, anyway."

"We'll do our best, Yelena," the girl assures her, starting to walk with Bucky to the back entrance of the place.

Yelena thanks them, then leaves the duo on their own. They both act stealthily and cautiously to avoid being seen by the guards. Bucky is in charge of throwing a rope that sticks to the ceiling of the compound, giving it a couple of tugs to make sure it's secure.

The black-haired man watches her.

"You coming?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Of course," she begins to rise into the air with the ease of her powers. "See you up there."

Bucky complains and curses, while Y/N laughs. She is the first to reach the roof and waits a few seconds until the man reaches her side.

"Sometimes I forget you can fly," he says, letting go of the rope and letting it fall from the ceiling.

They start walking to the ventilation duct, which Bucky easily opens with his metal arm. He lets Y/N go through first, and she cautiously squeezes through the ventilation duct, complaining about the space in the process. With great care and effort, they begin to walk through the limited space until they reach the grate that leads to the lab where Robert was. The duo stays on their knees, crouching, peering through the grate, a bright orange light emanating from it.

"I think it's here," Bucky says, adjusting the weapon in the small backpack on his back.

"Do you know the plan?" Y/N nods as she peers through the grate, looking at a man lying on a stretcher in the fetal position. "You ready?"

"Are you?" He looks at her, to wich she confirms her answer with the movement of her fingers that open the metal grate.

Bucky is the first to go down, trying to make as little noise as possible, then raises his arms and embraces Y/N in them. They make sure no one is watching them, so they give Yelena the sign to lock the glass room they're in. Suddenly, the deafening sound of the metal doors slamming shut is heard, jarring the brunette awake, who falls off the stretcher and onto the floor.

"Ouch!" he groans.

Y/N walks over to him and crouches down to check on him. Bob's eyes are still closed from the impact, a look of grievance on his face.

"Are you Robert?" she asks, frowning.

Bob opens his eyes and finds himself staring at the girl in front of him.

He swallows and nods repeatedly.

"Yeah, yeah."

She smiles and brings her fingers to the communicator in her ear. "We got him, Yelena," she says triumphantly.

The brunette sits up, resting his elbows on the floor and looking at her with hope in his eyes. He remembers the blonde-haired girl who stood by him when he needed her most. Until Valentina's team managed to capture him again to continue turning him into their weapon. Time passed and his hope faded, but now a calm slowly invaded his being.

"Good job, guys. Thank you" says Yelena and the smile on her face can be heard through the earpiece.

Y/N looks back at Bob and gets up from the ground offering her hand to help him, which he accepts. Robert notices Bucky who is looking at him carefully and cautiously, alert to any sudden movement.

"Well, Robert. We need to go. Now," Y/N says.

Bob nods, not questioning her decision.

He feels the blue-eyed man's cold glare and swallows, suddenly feeling small; it's as if he hates him without even knowing him, and doesn't understand why. But he doesn't have time to continue questioning that, as a deafening alarm suddenly sounds. The metal doors begin to rise, revealing several guards pointing guns at them behind the glass.

"Shit," the girl curses and positions herself next to Bucky.

"I thought we had more time, Yelena," Bucky says, sounding exasperated.

"Fuck, I didn't think they'd discover us so quickly."

"Really? Well, they did," Bucky says, readying his weapon.

He signals Y/N with his hand, indicating the vent for them to leave. "Go, I'll distract them."

"Come on," she says taking Bob's arm —not thinking twice, the girl knows Bucky can take care of this on his own.

They move as quickly as they can.

"Can you get in?"

"I-I think so."

Y/N lets the brunette climb first, then pulls herself up and enters, feeling Bob help her by wrapping his arms around her waist. The pair crawl through the duct quickly until they reach the exit to the roof. Soon they both step out, but stop abruptly when it can be heard the sound of guns pointed at them. There are some guards who went up to the roof to catch them.

"Stop! Don't move!" one of them shouts.

Both Y/N and Bob raise their arms in surrender, until the girl decides to move her hands and take the guns from them, while Bob throws them away through the air, letting them fall while hearing their cries for help. She looks at him in surprise and raises an eyebrow, to which Bob glances at her, as if what he did was wrong.

"Wow, that was good."

Bob smiles and shrugs.

"Thank you. You too."

The moment of victory doesn't last long, as Bob feels something stinging his neck. He reaches for his neck and pulls out a dart, staring at it with a frown. The girl notices that one of the guards is left in the corner, and before he can attack them, she uses her powers to shot him with one of the guns that was on the ground.

"Fuck," Bob says.

Y/N's eyes widen and she reaches for him when she realizes he's about to faint. The girl's arms wrap around him as best she can and she tries to communicate with Bucky.

"Bucky, we have a problem here."

"Yeah, me too!" he replies, while she hears the bullets on the other side. "Do you think you can make it to the car?"

The girl looks down at Bob, who is unconscious, and considers her options. She can fly to the car without a problem, but she's never carried someone in her arms while doing so. However, Y/N would have to do it if she wanted to complete the mission.

She sighs and nods with her head, even if Bucky can't see her.

"Yeah, i can do that."

"I'll be there in a minute. I need to take care of something before. Be careful" he says the last thing in a concerned tone.

"I will. You too, Bucky" she asks.

Without waiting any longer, she grabs Bob's body in her arms and soars into the air until she reaches the car. She opens the door with a flick of her fingers —without needing the keys, and carefully puts Bob inside, then gets in the car and closes the door, checking that no one else is near the perimeter. Y/N catches her breath as she adjusts Bob's body so he's sitting in the car and she puts on his seatbelt.

Y/N brushes a strand of hair away that's falling from the man's forehead and looks at him, scanning the details of his calm face. But the calm doesn't last long because Bucky decides to jump into the car without a warning.

"Fuck, Bucky! What the hell!" she exclaims, feeling her heart race in shock.

"No time to yell at me! We have to go, now!" Bucky yells as he starts driving.

The black-haired man drives like there's no tomorrow, and they get as far away from the scene as possible, feeling the bullets hit the car, but the sound of an explosion steals their attention.

"Shit. That was you?" she asks, looking over her shoulder.

"I had to stop them somehow," Bucky says, his eyes fixed on the road.

"Not bad," she says, pouting and shrugging.

Bob slowly wakes up, opening his eyes and looking around.

"What happened?" he asks in a soft tone.

Y/N looks at him and smiles.

"Everything's okay. We managed to escape, don't worry," she comforts him in a soft tone, noticing how Bob's frown softens and she can see the relief on his face.

"Is everything okay back there?" he asks, looking at them in the rearview mirror.

Y/N nods, but the man abruptly turns the car to take a shortcut, causing Bob's body to move —and the brunette's face to land directly on Y/N's breasts.

"Fuck, sorry!" Bob says panicking.

Y/N feels a heat spread across her cheeks at what happened with Bob, even though she knows it was a complete accident. Unlike Bucky, who glares at him as he continues driving at top speed.

"Hey, it's okay," the girl says, and Bob immediately pulls away from her.

"You seemed to enjoy it, Robert," Bucky says in a serious tone.

"Bucky. Now's not the... Watch out!"

The car is hit by another vehicle, causing it to flip through the air. Y/N rushes to try to use her powers and stabilize it, bringing it back down to earth, only now they're upside down.

"Are you okay?" Bucky asks, groaning.

"I think so," she replies, looking at Bob, who's grimacing from the impact.

From one second to the next, the girl is yanked out of the car by someone, while Bob and Bucky shout at her to stop and let her go. One of the guards who managed to reach them grabs her by the hair and pulls her head back, putting a plastic syringe down her throat. If she makes a false move, he'll inject her with it.

"You're not that useful with your magnetic powers now, are you?" the guard says in her ear.

Bucky blows the driver's door open and immediately gets out, pointing a gun at him. Bob still hasn't gotten out of the car.

"Ah, easy there. I can inject this into her anytime if you shoot me, soldier."

Y/N looks at him, her eyes telling him not to do anything. Bucky clenches his jaw and lowers the gun, then drops it to the ground and raises his hands in surrender.

"We'll do this: you give me Reynolds, and also I take the girl with me, and no one gets hurt," he offers with a mocking smile.

"Eat shit," Bucky replies, gritting his teeth.

"Yeah, I don't think so," a voice identical to Bob's is heard.

The rest watch as Bob walks toward them slowly but surely, with a much darker and more confident aura than a few minutes ago when they rescued him.

"You're going to let her go, and then I'll take care of you so you never show up again," he assures, standing in front of the guard.

"How are you going to do that? Are you going to beat me up?" He laughs, and Bob just smirks.

The brunette stretches out an arm and uses his hand to make the guard choke suddenly, freeing Y/N, who is instantly rescued by Bucky. They both watch as Bob chokes the life out of the man without having to touch him, then disappears, leaving a dark, black trail on the ground.

The pair stares at him in perplexity, and he turns to look at them, specifically at Y/N, whom he approaches, standing in front of her.

"You're safe now," he says calmly.

A few months had passed since Bob had arrived at the home, greeted by Yelena, who was happy and relieved to see him alive.

The pair shared a unique connection and a friendship they had forged over the years since they met in the laboratory where they were subjected to a series of torture experiments. They had promised to seek each other out once they had found the location they were in. Although it had taken a while, they were now reunited.

The rest of the team had also welcomed him well and were getting to know him over the last few days to integrate him into the group.

Yelena had explained to them that Bob tended to have his good moments and his bad moments—like what happened with the guard when Y/N and Bucky rescued him. It was as if they'd possessed poor Bob, turning him into a more confident, powerful man with dark intentions. It wasn't that they judged him for that; everyone there had done things they regretted, but this was different. Something beyond their capabilities.

The rain was now pounding the roof of the compound. The ambient temperature was low, and every time Y/N blew air through her nose, she could see white steam rising from it. The girl had a cup of tea in her hands that relieved the cold a little, while she sipped it, appreciating the rainy landscape in front of her.

The house was completely silent, allowing only the soft sound of falling raindrops to be heard. It was the perfect weather and occasion, according to the girl; she could enjoy it all day with nothing to do and no one to interrupt her. John was spending time with his baby, Ava was on a first date with Yelena—the pair were getting to know each other much better after forming a team. Meanwhile, Alexei was working in his spare time as a limo driver to pay some bills, and Antonia had decided to step away from the group for a while to pursue her own business.

So the only people in the house were Bob, Y/N, and Bucky, the latter of whom was in an online meeting at the office with Sam.

Y/N watched through the window as Bob hurriedly ran into the house. She watched as Bob entered, shook his hair, trying to dry it, and then proceeded to take off his jacket and shirt, leaving his torso bare and unaware of Y/N's presence, who looked away.

"How was the gardening, Bob?"

"Oh, shit!" He froze and tried to cover his chest with his shirt "I'm so sorry. I thought I was alone"

She smiles amusedly, still holding her mug. She takes a sip and nods at the rain outside.

"Whenever it rains, I stay inside. It helps me disconnect from everything," she explains, while Bob nods, still holding the shirt to his chest.

Y/N raises an eyebrow and walks over to him, then places the mug on the table, standing face to face with the brunette.

"Need help? I can do the laundry, today." Bob swallows and shakes his head, letting out a nervous laugh.

"You don't have to. It's my stuff."

She shrugs and shakes her head, tilting it as she looks at him. "I don't have a problem with that"

She seriously wants you, right now. Do something. Or I will.

Bob frowns slightly his eyebrows and shakes his head, trying to make him go away. But he knows it's not that easy.

Y/N places her hand on Bob's to encourage him to give her his clothes. Their eyes are on each other, and neither of them seems to want to look away. Bob is a bundle of nerves when he feels Y/N's touch.

"I've noticed you tend to ignore me," she says in a low tone.

Bob's eyes widen and he shakes his head, as if he's been caught in the act.

"No, no, no. I'm, well, I don't... I'm sorry if you felt that way." Bob tries to form a coherent sentence, but has trouble doing so, seeing how Y/N keeps looking at him with those bright eyes he often likes to find in a crowd "I didn't mean to, really. It's just you are incredible and pretty, and I just..... I don't know..."

Seeing the man's worried state, Y/N places a hand on his cheek to make him look at her.

"Easy, it's okay. I'm not mad about it," she says with a smile "I just wanna know why. I would love to get to know you better, actually".

"Really?" the brunette asks.

She nods and smiles sideways.

Bob stares down at Y/N's lips for a few seconds, thinking about how soft they look. He wonders what it feels like to kiss them, and this isn't the first time he's done it.

It wasn't anyone's surprise that Bob started to have feelings for the girl in front of him; he's sure it was the day they rescued him. It may have been immediate, but he couldn't deny the way his heart raced, and it didn't even match how it felt when he was drugged or experimented on. This was better and more powerful, a feeling he craved every chance he got.

Y/N felt the same way about Bob. She found him handsome, sweet, and warm to be around. Lately, she'd been trying to give him hints that she was attracted to him, but the man never noticed. Maybe he was too oblivious, because he was pretty much the only person in the team who didn't seemed to noticed. The first to notice this undeniable attraction was Yelena. She constantly teased them by the looks the pair gave each other, and how they reacted when they heard each other's names in a conversation.

They wouldn't get away with it that easily.

"I, uh... think you're pretty," he blurts out. "And you make me nervous because you're wonderful. In every aspect of the word. "There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of you or look at you, hoping you'll return my gaze".

She looks at him dearly, feeling her heart race. In a nice way.

"And maybe it's silly, but whenever I'm around you, I feel at peace," he says sincerely. "And I haven't felt that way in a long time."

Can you be more pathetic about it? Just kiss her already!

God damn it, shut up.

Bob falls silent at the sight of her expression and thinks he's screwed up, so before he can explain, or even try to, he feels Y/N grab the back of his neck and pull him closer for a kiss. He's surprised but lets go, letting go of the shirt from his hands to hug her waist, while Y/N rests her hands on his broad shoulders and they continue moving their lips in sync.

Bob doesn't want this moment to end because he thinks he's dreaming, so he wraps his arms around the girl's body to pull her closer to him, feeling that voice in his head bothering him once again.

Just like that, her lips feel good, don't they?

Bob growls when he feels Y/N's hands caresing his chest, feeling the coldness of her fingers. Their moment is interrupted by someone clearing their throat as they enter the room.

The two of them separate from eachother. Y/N lowers her gaze and bites her lip, while Bob alertly stares at Bucky, who looks at him seriously.

"I'll just say you two should go to a room if this goes any further. We don't want this to be any more awkward than it is," Bucky says, going to the kitchen to get a cup and start making some coffee.

Y/N pats Bob's chest, and he looks at her, then follows her like a puppy.

"You don't have to be such an asshole," Y/N pinches Bucky's arm as she walks past him.

"It's my duty as your friend."

"Looks more like a brother, kinda stuff," Y/N says, taking Bob's hand and leading him to his room.

"Use protection!" Bucky warns.

Oh, we will.

Bob internally scolds himself as he hears Void invade his mind for a moment. Y/N laughs in amusement at Bob's reaction, stopping him in the middle of the hallway, just in front of her room.

"We don't have to do anything," she clarifies, and she sees how he relaxes a little.

"But I'd like to spend a little more time together. If that's okay with you."

Bob smiles and nods.

"I'd like that too."

Damn, Bob. We miss the fun part.

SHUT THE FUCK UP.

#robert reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x reader #fanfic #marvel #thunderbolts #sentry masterlist #sentry x reader #the void x reader #robert reynolds masterlist #writers on tumblr #writing

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trainer-from-unova · 1 month ago

Text

sweet dreams

english ao3 Ⓢ spanish ao3 Ⓢ masterlist Ⓢ 𝄞

ship: robert reynolds x afab!reader

summary: where you're in love with the man of your dreams, literally

au: more based on the comics than in the mcu and he's more powerful and aware of what he can do with his powers

c/w: constructed reality, amnesia, secret past, lies, implied stalking, lies, crying, light angst, domestic fluff, emotional hurt and not much comfort tbh, implied unsafe sex, not very graphic smut but a simultaneous orgasm, bittersweet open ending

a/n: even if you read it here kudos on ao3 are appreciated and english isn't my first language

word count: 1467

She didn't know how or why since she couldn't remember "designing" him in her imagination, nor was he apparently based on anyone real and she usually had enough to do with the fantasies she imagined before bed about her favourite fictional characters or famous people, but apparently her mind had designed another life and a fictional boyfriend that she dreamt about every night when she fell unconscious. His name was Bob, and they did all the things couples do: go on dates, tell each other they love each other, hug, kiss... Etc. He was the perfect boyfriend in every way — he was her type in every way and he was everything a girl would want in a boyfriend.

According to her diary she had known him for a little over a year, although it had been longer since she started dreaming about him — but in reality she had known him for much longer, she just couldn't remember him.

Little by little she became obsessed with him, and although she saw him every night, she wanted to compile all their encounters because when she woke up she sometimes forgot many things, so she began to write and draw in notebooks everything she experienced with him so as not to forget anything and to feel him closer, more real. Maybe he wasn't real, but unfortunately her love for him was.

Even when she was awake she dreamt about him, and how could she not? She knew that her obsession with Bob had gotten out of control and that it wasn't normal to dream about him all the time, but according to her it was a defence mechanism her brain had created. She knew it wasn't normal, but was she hurting someone, or herself? She thought about going to therapy, but she didn't have enough money to go and talk about her dreams — it wasn't a real problem. She told herself that her love for Bob wouldn't slow down her love life in real life, but unfortunately her love life was as non-existent as this one apparently was — she couldn't find anyone she really connected with, and she'd rather be alone than in bad company.

She knew the dreams were strange, that nothing there made sense and that it was better not to try to make sense of them unless you wanted to end up with a headache from the confusion, but it was strange to her that she always dreamt in first person, when normally, before him, she used to dream in third person. They also tended to have continuity and she no longer dreamt strange things, like flying a plane and in the next "scene" being on the beach having a few beers with Queen Victoria. And sometimes she was aware that she was dreaming.

But at the same time she was fascinated by how real it all felt at times, so real that it was even scary. At that precise moment she couldn't see him as they were in the dark, but she could perfectly feel every millimetre of his body against hers — his hot and naked chest against hers in the same state, her legs hugging his back, her arms hugging his head, her hands clutching his long hair, his breathing hitching and moaning in her right ear with every thrust... She could even feel him cumming inside her and pulling out his member.

"See you tonight, my love," he whispered sweetly in her ear before kissing her cheek with the gentleness he hadn't had while fucking her, but her mind was so clouded by the orgasm she'd just had that she almost didn't hear him. The only thing working properly for her at the moment was her sense of touch, and she felt him pull away from her as she felt his cum drain from inside her.

"Bob?" she asked when she caught her breath, or rather, when she woke up. There was no answer and she didn't feel him next to her either, plus she was wearing panties and a baggy shirt again and didn't remember getting dressed.

She only saw two small white dots in front of her, assuming it was sunlight coming through the tight slits in the blind. She reached out to turn on the lamp on the bedside table next to the bed. When the small warm light illuminated the place she saw that she was in the room at home and not in the room in the house she shared with him in her dreams, which she knew as well as the real one. She felt a tickling liquid coming out between her vaginal lips, and for a second she thought, or rather, hoped it was his semen as crazy as it was and even though she didn't want to get pregnant, but for better or worse it was just a lot of discharge from the erotic dream she had had. She was so busy trying to process everything that she didn't even notice that those little white dots had disappeared with the light.

Then she reached under the pillow, reaching for her mobile phone with her sense of touch. When she picked it up, she pulled it out and looked at the time on the lockscreen. It was early in the morning and she was working the afternoon shift that day, so she decided to lie in bed doing nothing but daydreaming, wasting time and waiting for him to fall asleep again even for a little while so she could see him again, but no luck.

He was sitting cross-legged on their bed, and on his crotch was her. He had his hands on her waist and she had her hands on his shoulders as they talked about whatever, though she was paying more attention to his face, scanning and analysing every detail as she took her hands off his shoulders and brought them to his bangs, brushing them out of his face in an attempt to tuck them behind his ears.

"I'm not so handsome that you can't stop staring at me," he joked, tilting his head to the side to see if her eyes followed him.

"You're such a dummy, you are so handsome!" she replied, pretending to be offended as she gave him a little tap on the shoulder with her dominant hand, and they both laughed. "But that's not all..." she said more calmly, "I have this feeling..." she said as she looked at various parts of his face and put her dominant hand on one of his cheeks, "that I know you in real life," she said finally looking into his eyes as he moved his head towards her hand, to feel her touch even closer.

"Maybe you did," he said with a melancholy smile and tone — he always got like that when she was aware that what she was living was a dream, "in another life."

It sounded beautiful, and maybe there were possibilities (considering the strange world she lived in, where aliens and magic existed), but she was a reasonable girl and thought it was more likely that he simply had the face of someone she saw at the train station where she worked. She saw thousands of faces a day, his face was probably of some guy who made a dent in her subconscious (and with how handsome Bob was, she wouldn't be surprised).

"And what kind of life was that? Um?" she asked curiously. She didn't believe that possibility, but she wanted to imagine this supposed past life.

"Maybe..." he said looking behind her shoulder. "I was a superhero and I had to make everyone forget about me with my superpowers," he said forcing a comical tone but still unable to look her straight in the eye, not wanting her to realise that what he was saying was the truth.

"Why?" she asked, wanting more information. The story sounded interesting.

"For safety, of everyone" and she assumed he meant it for his civilian identity, so that she and other loved ones wouldn't be attacked by villains.

"Well, that's sad," she said grimacing.

"Yeah," he said grimacing as her. He then hugged her, needing the comfort and protection of being so close to her and wanting to hide the tears that were beginning to form in his eyes. Evidently she returned the gesture, hugging his head in silence until she sighed deeply.

"...I'd love it if you were real," she said sorrowfully.

"...If it's any consolation..." he said looking at her again, "You're very real to me, you're everything to me."

"Yeah, but... I want to be with you always," she said, as much moved as frustrated.

"I'm always with you, I'm closer than you can imagine. Trust me, I'm your guardian angel."

And this time he wasn't lying.

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motthe · 1 month ago

Text

there's no death here | robert "bob" reynolds [part 2]

warnings: childhood trauma, bit of blood, secondhand embarrassment maybe???

masterlist | ao3

Bob didn't know what to expect when Bucky mentioned a friend of his being able to help with his “weird mind power stuff.”

Said friend being a woman, Bob wasn’t sure if that made things easier or not. Opening up to anyone felt forbidden these days. That and the team knew how to deal with his bad days. He would have to see someone react to him for the first time all over again.

One thing Bob was sure about was that he would feel a hell of a lot worse hurting a woman if this training didn't go well.

Then you walked off the elevator, and he quickly realized he couldn't save face around you. For one, you held yourself like every other hero in his life. If there was a weakness, he couldn’t pinpoint it, and you held more confidence in one finger than he’d ever had in his entire life.

And second, you were beautiful. It had been a fact even from a distance, but then you held his hand without fear, and you’d smiled bright enough it blinded him for a good second.

Training the psychic side meant you were going to see every molecule of shit that ever existed in his head. There was nothing he was going to be able to hide from you. But if you weren’t running for the hills after everything you’d heard in his head the first day, then maybe there was a chance.

Bucky also mentioned all the lowlives you’d had to needle your way through to get evidence for detectives. When you said you’d seen the worst of the worst, you had meant it, and while Bob never once thought of himself as a good or even useful person, he could at least feel a bit better about himself when compared to a serial killer.

He had done bad things, but he'd never wanted to do them intentionally.

‘“So, h-how is all of this going to work?”

It was his second day meeting with you and after the storm of introductions with the rest of the team, one too many comments from Walker, and a strange look of respect passing between you and Yelena, this was the first time he’d ever been alone with you. There was no Bucky to look to for second opinions, no one to step in if something went wrong—

“Nothing is going to go wrong.”

His attention zipped to you as you sipped from a to-go coffee cup. “Um, can you warn me when you’re going to…you know?”

“I’m not reading your mind,” you said, tongue catching a stray drop on the corner of your lips.

Thank God, he thought and you winced like someone had blasted music in your ears. You made some vague hand gesture before the line in your brow relaxed.

“You’re projecting,” you said. “I told you, you're loud. But I can block you out. It just takes some fine tuning I don’t usually have to do with others.”

“So I’m just shouting everything?” he whispered, horrified.

You shook your head. “Not always. It’s bits and pieces. When you’re worried or excited the volume builds. It's like if you were ranting about something, y’know?”

“Can we work on that first?” he begged.

“First,” you said, clearly amused, “we have to get comfortable with one another. When I skirt around your head, you’re guarded in some places and open in others. You have to get used to being completely open with me before I can teach you to close yourself off.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “You’re going to have to see a lot of messed up stuff. I know you already have but still.”

“I’ll apologize as well,” you laughed, “because it’s going to go both ways. You’re going to see as much of me as I will of you, but that’s part of the process of building mental shields.”

“But if I’m able to get in—”

“You've done a great job keeping it under control so far,” you told him. “From what I read, you only see glimpses before you or your target breaks away.”

“I don’t want to even do that, though.”

“Well, in order to learn how to not do that, I have to see how you even do it in the first place.” You lifted your hand, palm facing up as you twiddled your fingers at him. “Let’s see what you bring out.”

He shook his head, sinking further into his chair. What happened to building up to his despicable magic trick? This was only day two. “I don’t think that's a good idea. Aren't we supposed to meditate or build the whole mind barrier thing by imagining bricks?”

“We’ll get there,” you promised, sipping your drink again. “For now, let’s level the playing field. You’re embarrassed and scared of all the things I know already. This will let you learn about me a bit.”

“What I make you see—” he tried again.

“I know. Trust me, I can handle it,” you swore, eyes hardened with certitude. “Now, come on in, Bob. The door’s open.”

He wasn’t going to pretend he wasn’t curious about what shames you had floating around in your past, but baring yourself open as easily as you were… How were you okay with that? Would he learn where that came from while you were teaching him?

He closed his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek. He didn’t want to put you through the worst times of your life.

“Please, Bob. You trusted me to try yesterday. I need that again.”

“I know,” he whispered, straightening his shoulders as he looked you in the eye. “I just don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

There was that smile again. Radiant, he thought and you huffed on a laugh. Shit.

“I’m not afraid,” you promised.

He swallowed and reached out a hand. “You will be.”

A wall of darkness crashed over your mind. The ground fell out from under you, sending your heart off rhythm. Your first reaction was to ground yourself, but you fought it, allowing Bob’s presence to wash over you and drag you into whatever memory his power clung to.

Opening your eyes, you sucked your teeth at the sight of that old, wooden dining room table. You were four, doing your best to get around the food on your plate as your mother sat opposite of you. The dining room had that powdery smell of youth.

“Fuck,” you whispered, eyes watering as the grief claimed you. She was alive and breathing again and you were about to see the beginning of her spiral. But you had prepared for that.

“You don’t have to hide, Bob,” you called, sensing him nearby. “Come here.”

He stepped up on your right, eyes glued to the scene before looking at you. “You’re so young.”

“I was,” you agreed, frowning at the expressions flickering over your mother’s face. She looked a mess, clothes ragged on her frame and eyes darting around the room before settling on you, scowling at your plate.

“Baby, eat your food, please,” she called quietly.

“Don’t want to.”

You drowned the conversation out as you turned to Bob. “Your powers seem to pick shame from the beginning.”

“Never this young,” he whispered, eyes round as he looked at your toddler self.

“I was born with my powers. I couldn't control them back then,” you explained, wincing as your mother began to yell. You held a hand up, silencing the scene.

“How did you…?” He looked between your hand and the environment in awe.

“You can’t block my powers even when I’m in the midst of yours. That's interesting,” you hummed. Your heart squeezed in your chest as your mother threw herself to the floor, clawing at her head as your child self ran to her, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“What happened?” he asked, voice shaking.

“I projected a lot. Like you do now,” you explained, grabbing your upper arm as your mother’s hand found the butter knife on the floor and slashed. “She thought she was going insane and then she did.”

Bob turned away as your toddler self began to bleed, crawling away and screaming into silence. “I don’t want to see this.”

“Then don’t,” you told him. “Pull out of it.”

“I can’t just do things like you can!” he said, panic rising.

“Focus. Take a breath.” You eyed the scene as it started over from the top. Another thing to note. “You latched on to this memory. Let it go.”

“How?” His breath was picking up.

“Can I touch you?” you asked. The question seemed to confuse him for a second before he nodded. You grabbed his arms and turned him away from the dining room, getting his full attention on you. “Feel my hands?”

“Uh, yeah,” he murmured, bobbing his head.

“You’re feeling that with your mind. This isn’t real.”

“It was real," he breathed, watery.

“And now it’s done,” you stated gently. “Can’t be changed. I'll always regret what I did to my mother, but I was a kid. There was nothing I could do.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, hands folding back over yours as he took a slow breath. “Okay.”

“Feel the floor under your feet. You’ve grounded yourself to this memory. Now you just have unground.”

He looked down, expression pinching as he fought to focus. You couldn’t help but laugh as he jumped.

“With your mind,” you repeated.

“This is my mind!” he said, voice shrill and eyes wide as he met yours. “God, what if we’re stuck?”

“We’re not stuck,” you promised, squeezing his hands. “Here, I’ll do it. Maybe you’ll be able to feel it.”

Honing in on the sensations around you, you followed them back to your core, centering your focus on yourself and Bob. With a slow breath, you let that shield snap over the two of you, forcing the darkness back.

There was a split second as you trailed out of Bob's mental snare. You couldn't be sure, but somewhere on the horizon of your consciousness melding with his there was a…mass. A dark blotch.

And when you noticed it, there was no way to hide when it noticed you back.

A gasp of air split your lips. Back to reality, you two were still at the table in the Watchtower. Bob blinked opposite of you, his fingers skimming your palm. The shield you'd propped over both of you was still intact—that mental bond pulsing.

“How did she do that?”

Lots and lots of practice, you answered him, making yourself known in his head. Feel this? That’s how you’ll know I’m in your head.

He made a distressed expression that had you snorting. His head turned from side to side, reminiscent of a cat with a medical cone on for the first time. He wasn't sure what to do with a second presence melded to his. “Oh, weird. Okay. That feels so weird. I don't know if I like this.”

Yeah, not very comfortable. You want me to leave?

“Yeah, just, well, lemme try to get used to it for a second. So weird, what the fuck?”

You covered your face with your hand to try to find a semblance of professionalism, but it was impossible with the faces he made and the stream of thoughts filtering through.

I'm sorry, I shouldn't be laughing.

“I'd rather you be laughing than running, screaming out of the room. It's embarrassing, but it's not the worst.”

If it makes you feel any better, I'm not a professional in any shape or form. Bob's head tilted as he stared through the table. There was a brush against your mind. I'll make mistakes trying to figure out the best way to teach you what I know—oh, hi. That's me.

“You’re warm,” he replied aloud, squinting as he zeroed in. You made a point to retreat back a bit in case you ended up back in a shame room. His eyes flickered up to yours. “I feel you moving around. Is this how you see stuff?”

You nodded, a bit flustered at the feeling of his consciousness circling yours. He learned fast. “I’m not actively looking right now, just making my presence known. Careful, you press any further and you'll get my subconscious thoughts again.”

He shuddered as you pulled away from his mind completely. Your mind barrier went up for both his privacy and yours.

"Sorry, I should’ve warned you.”

“No, its fine, just...so weird.” His nose wrinkled as he said it.

“Yeah, I've heard that before,” you scoffed, smiling into your drink. The way he grinned back, it weighed in one corner—the same side he turned into to avoid eye contact. “You have any questions for me after all that?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, that sweet smile dropping as he bit at his lip. “You…felt something when we left the shame room. How did I feel that? And what was it?”

“My shield connected us. I wanted to bring you out with me instead of pushing you out. Would've been a bit rude since I asked you to show me.” You fiddled with the cup sleeve, leaning back into your chair. “As for what I felt, I don't want to assume anything but seeing as I sensed it as much as it sensed me…”

“Did it scare you?” he asked.

“No, but I didn't expect to run into Void this soon. Does it always sit on the outer edges like that?”

Bob shrugged. “On good days, yeah. But he's always around. A voice in the back of my head.”

“Tell me about him,” you murmured. “I've read what others think of him, but I want your input.”

“He's just…bad.” Bob shook his head, hands rubbing over his jeans. “Everything messed up or wrong in me, he feeds on it. He spits it back out on the bad days and tries to overwhelm me? I guess?”

“Does he try to get out often?”

His hair swayed as his head shook again. “More like when I'm weakest.”

“Weakest mentally? What about physically?” Bob shrugged, looking put off by the questions. “I'm not trying to overstep, I just need to understand as much as possible. They say he's your alter ego, that he's separate from you.”

“I mean, that's not wrong but I don't know if that's right either.”

You made a mental note. “Would you call him a parasite?”

“No.”

You raised a brow, amazed at the certainty. “Why? You said he feeds on you.”

There was a twist in his face, a flash of molten something in his eyes as he shook his head. “Sorry. Um, I don't know. I, uh…”

You slowly reached back out to his mind, gentle as you weighed against him. It's okay. We can stop here for today.

“Sorry,” he breathed, shoulders sinking. “He's louder now. I think we pissed him off.”

“Yeah, that'll probably be happening a lot from now on,” you chuckled, standing to throw your empty cup away. There was no trash can in your immediate view. “If you ever need help, I'm good at blocking things out for a time. I don't know if that would make things worse, but it's worth a shot, right?”

He surprised you with a weak laugh, clearing his throat as you turned. “Sorry. I know you said you weren't a professional, I just didn't expect this to be casual.”

You weren't sure how else you could have been. The stuff you both would be dealing with, well, you'd be getting personal with a whole lot in a very short amount of time. That's why you and Wanda were so close as well as Nat. One wanted you to learn your powers on a spiritual level, and the other wanted you to be able to steel your mind when chaos came knocking.

Hopefully, with Bob you could be that anchor they had become for you.

“I'm definitely not the strict and unemotional type,” you agreed with him. “As dangerous as all this could be, it's a breath of fresh air compared to what I was doing, so. Thanks for wanting me to help.”

There was that shy little grin of his again. You hoped, maybe after a few weeks or less, it wouldn't be as rare to see.

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houseofaegon · 10 days ago

Note

I feel like Bob would be so panicked to be a dad but also so excited. What do you think he’d be like when you’re giving birth? I feel like he’d feel like he was gonna pass out, but then yelena would snap him out of it and tell him he has to be there for you.

Yours pt. 2 ✩ Bob Reynolds

Pairings: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolts!Reader

Warnings: labor scene, pregnancy (birth), found family, soft!bob, girl dad!bob, thunderbolts chaos, tribute to nat cause i miss my baby

Summary: You were exhausted, nine months pregnant, and completely over it. Bob was hovering, Bucky was baby-proofing the compound like it was a warzone, and the Thunderbolts were preparing for the arrival of “the heir” with all the grace of a SWAT team on caffeine. One labor joke sends the whole team into full-blown labor panic—until your water actually breaks.

Word Count: 3057

Author’s Note: this is part 2 of Yours. i got so so so so many requests from you guys screaming for more dad!bob content and to turn yours into a series. can’t say no to yall, also bc i am so obsessed with bob being a dad and the thunderbolts being the chaotic found family. i laughed so hard while writing this, i love girl dad!bob so much. me next me next put a baby on meeeeeeeeeeeee!!!! hope you all like this <3 love, bri.

You were thirty-nine weeks pregnant.

Your hips ached. Your ribs were being actively assaulted from the inside—tiny feet pressing like it was trying to escape out the side. You were hot all the fucking time, sweaty in places you didn’t know could sweat, swollen, hormonal, and deeply, profoundly miserable.

And Bob?

Your sweet, golden retriever of a boyfriend—who once whimpered just sucking on your tits—was now operating on a rotating diet of baby books, blind panic, and seventeen cups of coffee a day. He’d taken “nervous father-to-be” to Olympic levels of intensity. There were laminated checklists. Color-coded spreadsheets. He had a three-ring binder labeled “LITTLE PEANUT’S PREP PLAN.”

“Do you need anything, love? Snacks? A foot rub? A bubble bath? Prenatal yoga—maybe an orgasm?”

You blinked at him, dead-eyed. “I need to not be pregnant, Bob. I want this baby out.”

He flinched like you’d stabbed him, then immediately dropped into nursing mode, offering you a pillow, his water bottle, a heating pad, and his hand like it was a bouquet of peace offerings.

“Right, yes, okay—sorry, baby. Just—any day now, right?”

He smiled wide. Hopeful. Desperate.

“Yes,” you hissed, holding your lower back with both hands. “Which means today. Maybe. Hopefully. Dear god, please come out.”

It had been like this since the beginning—ever since you told him, standing in your bedroom, voice trembling, eyes wide as you whispered “I’m pregnant”—he had melted completely. Dropped to his knees. Sobbing and laughing, kissing your stomach like it was already carrying the entire universe. His entire universe.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he’d promised, crying against your skin. “Both of you. I promise, baby.”

And he had.

Oh god, he had.

To a completely unhinged degree.

He’d downloaded seven parenting apps within an hour. Subscribed to every newsletter. Turned on daily notifications that buzzed at 7 a.m. sharp with affirmations like “Today, little peanut is the size of a cantaloupe!”

You had no idea why he chose the nickname “little peanut”—but it stuck. So did the updates.

“She’s the size of a melon today,” he’d say with awe, hand splayed over your bump. “And apparently her fingernails are already fully developed. Isn’t that wild?”

You didn’t want to know the sex—not until the baby was born. It was the one decision you both agreed on instantly. Bob said he wanted “the moment.” The shock and awe. The magic of it. Even though he insisted on calling the baby her half the time anyway.

“What if it’s a boy?” you asked once, teasing.

“Then he’s my little peanut,” Bob had said. “But I still think she’s gonna be a girl.”

He said it with so much quiet certainty, like he already knew.

Bob wasn’t the only one who spiraled.

Bucky had been roped into “fortress duty” around month four. What started as helping you put together a rocking chair had turned into a compound-wide baby-proofing project that quickly escalated into paranoia-level security.

There were now corner guards on every sharp edge. Lock systems installed on all drawers. Bob and Bucky actually installed a childproof toilet lock. No one could open it without a manual.

Yelena nearly pissed herself trying to get it off.

“This baby isn’t even out yet and I’m already being terrorized,” she’d groaned.

Walker tripped over a stair-gate Bob installed in a hallway with no stairs. He took out three potted plants in one crash.

“OH FOR FUCKS SAKE! I don’t even think babies walk until a year in!” he groaned from the floor, rubbing his back.

“Little peanut could be gifted,” Bob muttered, sipping his thirteenth coffee. “You don’t know.”

Alexei was absolutely thrilled. The moment you hit six months, he declared himself “Thunderbolt Grandfather” and started wearing a homemade apron that read “World’s Greatest Dedushka” in glittery red Sharpie. He brought you beet soup every night, no matter how many times you politely asked him to stop.

He insisted on “grandfather bonding rituals,” most of which involved sitting next to your belly and singing softly in Russian while cradling your bump like it was a sacred egg. He often told the baby stories about “strength, pride, and the Russian winter.”

Walker had no idea what was going on 90% of the time. He once offered you a cappuccino at seven months and asked how your “tumor” was doing.

Bob tackled him to the ground. Ava took the coffee out of your hand without saying a word.

Speaking of Ava—she was your shadow. Quiet, ever-present, always there with a hand at your back, a cold cloth when you overheated, or tea before you even asked. She didn’t speak much, but her presence was steady. Like a heartbeat just outside your own.

And Yelena?

Yelena was your rock. Your unofficial bodyguard. Your midwife-in-training. Your best friend and your biggest pain in the ass.

She glared at doctors, snapped at anyone who stood too close to you, and once elbowed one of Valentina’s intern in the face just for looking at you wrong. She referred to herself as “the godmother,” and called your bump “the heir.”

She’d cried—punched the wall actually—when the first ultrasound showed a heartbeat.

“Oh my god. It’s the heir!,” Yelena whispered, eyes locked on the monitor. “That’s our little baby.”

The Thunderbolts didn’t just support your pregnancy.

They wrapped themselves around it like a shield.

You had never been more exhausted. More uncomfortable. Or more profoundly, heart-achingly loved.

You waddled into the common room like a pissed-off general in the final trimester of war. Blanket dragging behind you like a cape. Water bottle in one hand, belly leading the way like it had its own gravitational field. Like a planet. Your ankles hurt. Your tits hurt. Your soul hurt.

“Move,” you groaned.

Yelena didn’t even flinch. She just kicked her feet off the couch and waved you over like royalty. A teasing tone in her voice. “Your throne, my queen.”

You dropped onto the cushions with a dramatic grunt. “I swear to God if this baby doesn’t come out in the next twelve hours, I’m gonna leave Bob and fake my death. Start a new life. Maybe become a lighthouse keeper and grow potatoes.”

Across the room, Bob gasped audibly.

“No!” He dropped the book in his hands and rushed to your side like you’d just been shot. “No leaving me, no faking your death, and—you don’t even like dirt, baby. I can run a bath! Want me to play Mamma Mia? Your body responds really well to ABBA.”

You glared at him, unblinking.

“My body responds really well to satanic music, sweetheart.”

Bob’s eye twitched.

Yelena wheezed from the other side. “She’s entering her final form. It's her villain era, and I'm all here for it.”

Walker was hunched over in the corner with a baby bouncer in his lap, trying to decipher the instructions while holding them upside down. “This thing has like thirty screws. Babies don’t even sit yet. Why does it need hydraulics?”

“Because it’s an all-terrain bouncer,” Bob replied seriously.

“Where are we bouncing the baby to? Fucking space?”

Bucky sat on the arm of the couch next to you, watching the exchange like someone who had aged fifty years over the course of the last nine months. He was drinking his fourth cup of coffee and had installed five baby gates this week.

Alexei was in the corner holding up a onesie with “Future Thunderbolt” written across the chest in glitter paint. “Is small now, but malysh will grow into it. Like destiny!”

“The baby not even born yet,” Ava muttered, handing you your fifth bottle of water for the day. “Maybe let the baby take a breath before assigning them to the team roster.”

Bob was hovering over a checklist.

“Has anyone seen the birthing playlist?” he asked. “I made a few. One’s classical, one’s rock, and one’s just the Mamma Mia soundtrack on loop.”

Walker blinked. “Didn’t you also make one called ‘Panic But With Vibes’?”

Bob nodded gravely. “Yes. For emergencies.”

You sighed, rubbing your belly.

Yelena glanced at you. “You look like you’re about to pop.”

“That’s because I am,” you snapped. “She’s training for the World Cup in there.”

“You okay?” Bob asked. “Contraction? Back pain? Foot cramp? Do you need another magnesium chew?”

“I need all of you,” you said sweetly, eyes fluttering shut, “to shut the fuck up.”

They froze.

Yelena snorted. “Now that’s the nesting aggression. Beautiful.”

You cracked an eye open and saw Bob staring at your belly like it might speak.

And that’s when you had the brilliant, evil idea.

You gasped. Loud. Clutched your belly.

“Oh—oh my god,” you said, eyes wide. “Guys. I think my water just broke.”

Instant detonation.

Bob shot to his feet like a nuke had gone off. The binder fell. Papers flew. He was on his feet in an instant, eyes wild, hair standing on end like static had just punched him in the soul.

“Oh my god—okay, okay, it’s happening, everyone stay calm—baby, where’s your go-bag? WHERE IS THE GO-BAG?!”

Walker launched himself upright, chair crashing backward. “SHE’S IN LABOR? I THOUGHT WE HAD A PLAN! I’M NOT READY FOR THIS!”

He tripped over the diaper pail Bob had installed yesterday and hit the floor like a falling oak tree. “I’M DOWN. MEDIC!”

Yelena leapt onto the coffee table in full combat mode. “I’LL GET THE WHEELCHAIR!”

“WE DON’T HAVE A WHEELCHAIR,” Bucky deadpanned, already on his feet and adjusting his sleeves like he was about to deliver the baby himself.

Alexei raised a towel in the air like it was a sacred artifact. “THIS IS IT! TO THE MEDBAY!”

“WHY DO YOU HAVE A TOWEL?!” Bob screamed.

“THE MOVIES ALWAYS SAY TO BRING TOWELS!”

Bob was circling you now, voice high and strained. “Are you having contractions? How far apart? Do you need to sit down? Stand up? Squat?! Do I boil water? I can boil water! I HAVE A KETTLE!”

“NO TOWELS! NO WATER!” Bucky roared. “Jesus fucking Christ it’s not the 13th century. Get your shit together!”

You blinked.

And then burst into laughter. Like ugly wheezing laughter. Full-on, tears streaming, belly-shaking hysteria.

Everyone stopped mid-chaos. Even Alexei froze mid-kneel.

You gasped for breath. “Oh my god, you should’ve seen your faces—“

Yelena’s mouth dropped open. “You little bitch.”

“You’re joking?!” Bob gasped, grabbing his heart like you’d physically stabbed him.

Ava turned on her heel and walked away. “I need a sedative.”

“I hope your child is a menace,” Walker groaned standing up from the floor, his hand on his hip. “You deserve it.”

“I think I just had a stroke,” Bucky dropped to the couch.

Alexei put down his towel like he was attending a funeral.

“I was kidding!” you said between gasps, wiping your eyes. “Oh my god. That was so worth it.”

Bob looked like he aged five years in five seconds. “You can’t do that to me,” he whispered. “I felt my soul leave my body.”

You stood, still giggling. “Relax. I’m not going into labor today—”

Pop.

Warmth pooled between your legs.

You went still.

So did everyone else.

You looked down and then up again, locking eyes with Yelena, who already looked halfway to a warzone. Bob’s mouth dropped open like he just watched his favorite vinyl record shatter.

“Holy fuck.”

“OH MY GOD IT’S REAL THIS TIME!” Bob screamed.

“EVERYONE MOVE!” Yelena barked.

“TO THE MEDBAY!” Alexei shouted with pure glee, raising his arms like he was about to be beamed up into the mothership.

“No—wait—oh my god—” You doubled over, contractions hitting you like a freight train out of nowhere.

Ava was already at your side, sliding under your arm without a word. “Breathe in. Slowly. Lean on me. I’m right here, I’ve got you. We're moving slow, okay?"

Yelena was on your other side instantly, bracing your elbow. “You’re fine. You’re breathing. We've trained for this, remember? You’re the heir’s vessel.”

“Why are you like this?” you gasped.

Walker ran toward the door, tripped over the labor bag Bob had pre-packed for the fifteenth time, and slammed his whole body into the wall.

“I’M OKAY,” he shouted from the floor.

Bucky stepped over him without pause, steadying Bob, who was currently spinning in circles with his hands on his head.

“She’s in labor. She’s really in labor. I’m not ready. I don’t remember the affirmations—where’s my playlist?! I didn’t charge the speaker!”

“You have one job!” Yelena shouted. “Get to the medbay!”

Alexei was following you down the hallway like a personal cheerleader, waving a rattle in the air like it was a battle flag. “THE LITTLE THUNDERBOLT IS COMING!”

Bucky shoved the medbay doors open so hard they dented.

And Bob?

Bob paced the hallway outside like he was about to give birth himself.

“Okay okay okay—breathing—she’s breathing—I should be breathing—is this what a panic attack feels like? Where’s the playlist?! Yelena, where’s the fucking playlist?!”

Ava placed you softly on the medbay's bed. You were already covered in sweat and absolutely screaming as another contraction hit you like a truck.

“DON’T YOU DARE PASS OUT, BOB!” you snarled as Bob peeked in the doorway, white as a sheet. “IF YOU FAINT I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL RIP YOUR SOUL OUT THROUGH YOUR NOSE.”

Bob whimpered. “Yes ma’am.”

Yelena smacked him. Just once. Sharp and fast.

“Snap out of it, Robert Reynolds. She needs you. The baby needs you. Pull it together.”

He blinked, then nodded like he’d been activated.

He rushed to your side, and grabbed your hand. He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes wide, breath shaking.

Ava’s voice was steady. She was the calmest of the three inside the room.

“Okay, sweetheart. This is gonna hurt. A lot. But I need you to breathe. It’s time.”

You were soaked in sweat, clutching Bob’s hand like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. Your legs trembled. Your body screamed. Your vision blurred.

He kissed your temple, your cheek, your lips—soft and desperate. One hand caressed your forehead. The other braced your back when you screamed again.

“Okay,” Ava said from between your knees. “Push.”

And you pushed.

You pushed like your life depended on it.

Bob squeezed your hand, whispering affirmations, crying with you.

“You’re almost there. Just a little more, baby. I see her—I see our baby—”

Another contraction hit. You screamed. Ava’s voice rose gently over yours.

“One more. That’s it. I've got it.”

And then—

A cry.

Sharp. Loud. Beautiful.

Your world stopped.

Bob froze. His breath caught. His hand flew to his mouth, and he sank to his knees beside the bed, weeping so hard it shook his chest.

“She’s here, she's so beautiful.” Ava said gently, smiling as she swaddled the tiny pink bundle. “It’s a girl.”

Bob let out a sound you’d never heard before—pure joy, broken and sobbing.

“I’m a dad,” he whispered, laughing through his tears. “Oh my god, I’m a dad. She’s a girl—I’m a girl dad! I knew it!”

Ava placed her gently on your chest, smiling proudly at you.

She was tiny. Red. Wailing. Beautiful. You stared at her, heart pounding, breath gone.

Bob’s hands hovered like he was afraid to touch something so sacred.

“She’s perfect,” he whispered. “She’s so perfect.”

Yelena leaned in from your right, eyes wide, damp with tears she was pretending weren’t there.

“Well?” she whispered. “What’s her name?”

You smiled. Bob looked at you. Then at her. Then back to your daughter.

"Lena Natasha Reynolds"

Yelena froze. Her lips parted. Her hands trembled.

“You—what?” Yelena whispered, voice cracking in disbelief.

You looked at her, still smiling through the blur of tears. Bob’s hand found yours, squeezing tight. You nodded.

“Lena Natasha,” you said softly. “For you. And Nat.”

She dropped slowly to her knees beside the bed, gaze locked on your daughter as if she couldn’t believe she was real. Her hands trembled as she reached forward, and you gently helped place Lena in her arms.

“Hi, little one,” Yelena whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks. “You don’t even know… You have no idea how much I love you already.”

She stroked Lena’s soft cheek, holding her so gently it made you cry harder. Her hands were trembling. And then she let out the softest, most ragged sob you’d ever heard.

"You're so loved, little peanut. You have no idea," she whispered.

Bob kissed your face over and over, breathless. “You did it. You fucking did it, baby. You’re everything. You’re—God, I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

He stood suddenly, kissed Lena’s tiny forehead, and bolted out of the medbay like a man on fire.

Bucky, Walker, and Alexei were seated outside like expectant sitcom dads. Legs bouncing. Eyes bloodshot. The moment they saw Bob burst through the doors, disheveled and red-eyed, they all stood.

Bob’s lips trembled.

"It's a girl."

Bucky’s eyes filled immediately. His shoulders dropped like he’d been holding tension for months. He stepped forward, grabbed Bob by the shoulders—and pulled him into a hug so tight it stole the air from the room.

“You did good,” Bucky whispered, voice rough. “She okay?”

Bob nodded into his shoulder. “She’s perfect. She’s so perfect.”

Walker burst into tears. Loud, hiccupping, ugly ones. “I knew it! I knew it was gonna be a girl! I felt it in my bones!”

Alexei screamed. Like, screamed.

“OUR LITTLE THUNDERBOLT HAS ARRIVED! I AM A GRANDFATHER!”

He immediately grabbed Bob and Bucky in a bone-crushing hug, shouting something in Russian. Walker joined, sobbing into Bob’s shoulder. Bucky just closed his eyes, hugging tighter.

And Bob—sandwiched between his brothers, laughed through it.

“She’s here,” he said, voice cracking. “She’s finally here.”

Back in the medbay, you cradled Lena to your chest, smiling through your tears as Yelena stroked her tiny head and whispered, “Your family’s insane. You’re gonna love them.”

"You were amazing," Ava whispered, brushing your hair back softly.

Bob returned minutes later, quiet now. He sat beside you, kissed your temple, and laid his head next to yours.

"Thank you," he whispered. “You gave me everything. She’s everything I ever wanted.”

And with Lena curled against your heart, Yelena beside you, Ava watching over, and Bob’s hand pressed to your cheek.

You believed him.

You were home.

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