#robert barnes reader insert

[senka-mesecine]

What do you think the boys favorite thing personality wise is about the reader. Like what kind of person do they prefer and admire.

---

― Chris would admire and gravitate towards someone who's fundamentally good. Who's righteous, especially when met with adversity and hardship. Someone who has a clear cut sense of right and wrong. Someone who has strongly set ideals and morals they don't flinch from easily, if at all. Someone who can be looked up to. A person who follows their own path even if said path isn't always the most popular or well threaded path to walk down or even if they're walking down it all alone. The person in question doesn't even have to be tremendously loud about this character trait or virtue signal it all the time, in fact, it is preferable they don't, because in don't tooting their own horn, they're effectively demonstrating how honest and genuine their whole compass is. Just the quiet, down to earth sort of conviction that the truth and commonplace day-to-day goodness is on their side and that time will tell they were correct all along --- and this, by extension? It is possibly the most lofty character trait Taylor could ever admire in another human being.

― One would think O'Neill would look favorably upon a person who's not only tough as nails and merciless, and even ruthlessly so due to his association and ass-kissing levels of support of individuals like Barnes, but I do think that deep, deep, deep down, the very opposite is true and even though Red wouldn't admit to it willingly, he'd actually secretly admire someone who's keen on giving him a goddamn break every once in a while. Yeah. You've heard that right. Red O'Neill wants a goddamn break. And someone who has a rare tolerant streak? Who's ready to go easy on him, repeatedly so? Shows him some clemency? While he might not demonstrate it openly, he'd be entirely blown out of left field by this because when was the last time that ever happened, huh? Yeah, that's right. Not in recent memory. His own ingrained habits run so deep, in fact, he might just openly mock his admired person's attempts to be lenient on him because that's what ought to be done to keep up a macho facade. In actuality? Man's at a loss for words.

― Bunny possibly lacks the foresight or wisdom necessary to have a clear cut set of character traits that he could classify into the 'I admire' and 'I don't admire' boxes respectively and if he was pressed on the matter, he'd probably say something entirely lewd, inappropriate or wholly horrendous, in the vein of 'I sure admire I get ass from so and so'. That's Bunny for you, in a nutshell. Simply put, the very fact you're his person is already a cause for him to annoyingly and perversely run his mouth nonstop about you to the degree he's boring everyone's asses off within earshot. He's got firmly set tunnel vision, sure, but it's safe to say that whoever his babe is, he's gonna like everything about them through sheer virtue that he 'scored that', so basically, if you squint hard enough, he simultaneously the most widely accepting and most wildly unaccepting person in the world; both wholly not picky and extremely picky. Which character traits he admires? Uh, all of them? Whatever you's got goin', he might say, and that's the entirety of Bunny's philosophical view on the matter.

― Having undoubtedly met a whole barrage of hotheads in his day who lost their lives over nothing, Rhah could very well admire a person's temperance --- someone who knows when to be passionate and someone who knows when to cool down. Someone who can have fun when fun is warranted and someone who can be serious when it's necessary. Someone who could be seen neutral, in ways, when it matters. Dare I say, an occasional centrist? It's this middle ground, balanced approach to life that keeps people alive in the first place and an individual with enough foresight to understand that instead of being needlessly swept up by rhetoric, ideals and zeal is someone Rhah could have a very favorable opinion of, albeit, in a very subdued, private way because he lives by his own words and he wouldn't want to get swept up in being preferential to anyone too badly, even though he is towards you and that's obvious to anyone with eyes. But, that's his own problem, and nobody else's, he might think. He likes your good sense. It's a rare thing to have. Genuinely sees you as a kindred spirit who 'gets it' due to it. Like you've cracked some great universal truth by just being you.

― King's a positive, hopeful person by nature and it can be fair to say he admires more than anything people who are positive and hopeful too; who never fail to see the good side of any crappy situation. Who believe a better tomorrow's possible in spite of the odds. The future? The future can turn around on you and be helluva of a wonderful place so long as a person's alive and breathing on this Earth --- so long as you draw breath, everything still has the chance to turn out fine. That the sun is shining, birds are chirping and that it's all good, man. Individuals who walk into any room and their good energy and vibes, their smile alone, just manages to brighten the place up like a lightbulb. Yeah. It's all bullshit to him, any other set of traits in existence, if this one quality isn't down to a tee seeing as how this is something his own personality encompasses as well. Along with all of that, it's fair to throw in that he looks up to people who are devoted. Have their loyalties and priorities straight. Who know their friends from their enemies and stick by them. But, on top of all that? Yes, this quality of positivity. That's the real deal to him.

― Geez, I downright see Wolfe nonironically admiring someone he can complain to, or to reiterate, someone to whom he can spill out all the things that bug him and actually be listened to because this is (possibly) a man with about ten thousand grievances bottled up and ten thousand ways in which he couldn't articulate these grievances to nobody due to all the empty vacuum of air he needed to keep floating around himself in order to maintain just the vague illusion of authority. But, point is, I think it's plausible to say there was about a million times Wolfe wanted to just let it all out and tell someone about all the shit but he just couldn't, so when he finds an ear actually willing to listen --- someone who cares --- who isn't about to belittle him, make fun of him or see him as lesser than, someone who might actually give him a space to talk and be heard, that's genuinely a quality he'd think the world of to the degree it's hard to believe for the longest time this person's real and not just covertly mocking him. It's not necessarily empathy itself in the general sense that Wolfe admires --- just empathy directed at him and him alone, almost selfishly so.

― Elias would appreciate above all else a person's capacity for spirituality --- perhaps not necessarily organized religion in the classical sense or some sort of fanatical zealot (quite the opposite) but he'd definitely admire a person who believes in some sort of higher force. A higher power in whatever capacity. A person who has their third eye open to see past all of this physical, temporal bullshit and understand the greatness of...well...everything. That's not the stoner in him talking, he just genuinely has the belief in anything ranging from rebirth, reincarnation and heck, returning as the wind or a lone deer after he dies and yes, he'd above all else admire a person who'd share his mystic, almost transcendent streak and who'd understand that life consists of neither war, nor strife or nor politics nor any of this. That's not what matters. What matters is the soul. The intangible. And you can call it The Universe, Karma or just about whatever you like, but if you understand nobody ever truly leaves and that everything's connected, Elias might just be pacified by that. Like you are aware he's never truly leaving you, no matter what happens to him. He is with you always.

― Barnes admires intelligence; not exactly book intelligence or book smarts. Chances are, he can't stand people who wave scholarly theory in his face instead of possessing good, old practical knowledge. He doesn't expect you to understand quantum physics, that's for sure. Doesn't even expect you to have street smarts --- but more in the sense of lived experience, observations and god-given wisdom regardless of your age; something a person either has or they don't have. Something that cannot be taught. Just something that's...there. And he notices. Oh, does he ever. He can differentiate a naturally wise individual with a good head on their shoulders from someone only pretending to be one by just looking at them and that person who is acute, sensible, prudent and discerning without being in anyone's face about it? The understated type of smarts? Yeah. He admires that more than anything even though he is fiercely closed off about the fact he admires anyone or anything at all. Might just keep it wholly to himself. Huge honor coming from him of all people, though. Barnes thinking you're insightful and smart? Someone worth listening to? It's like hell freezing over, that's how rare that is.

[https-bobreynolds]

save her

pairing: robert ‘bob’ reynolds x thunderbolts*! reader

summary: during a mission, seeing you in danger caused the void & sentry to show up.

warning: mentions of bloods, injuries, a curse word mentioned, anxiety and self-blaming. mentions of y/n. also, reader’s a badass who has powers like wanda.

author’s note: i’m not gonna lie, this is my BEST fic yet and i’m pretty sure it’s gonna be hard to beat so i hope i did the action sequences justice!! this is inspired by @disillusioniary ‘s comment on my bob headcanons post!! hope you like it <3

the thunderbolts* was currently on a mission deep in enemy territory. your target was a highly fortified secure facility that contained weapons of mass destruction. the mission was complicated because the target was heavily protected by an elite special ops division, so you were all expecting heavy resistance.

the team was currently moving through a heavily guarded corridor. the area was well fortified and manned by heavily armed guards. every corner was armed with motion detected weapons, and there were multiple barriers in strategic locations to make progress more difficult.

you had been briefed before the mission, and you were aware of the risks you were all taking. the mission brief was clear: reach the target and retrieve the weapon, or destroy it if you can’t recover it.

every member of the team was confident they could complete the mission, but they were also fully aware that there was a very real chance they wouldn't make it out alive.

the team was approaching the target area, and things were getting tense. they could hear voices coming from the other side of the door, and they knew they were about to meet a lot of resistance, there was at least a hundred of them… but they were still calm, still focused on the mission. they all knew the risks, but they were willing to take them.

bob was in the middle of the team, sandwiched between bucky and john. he was feeling nervous, his heart racing in anticipation. he had never been in a situation like this before, had never been in the middle of a fight like this. he felt like a fish out of water, he felt out of place, like he didn't belong here.

he was lost in his thoughts, trying to calm himself down... he was feeling a lot of things all at once, and his nerves were getting the better of him. he was trying to keep it together, not wanting to show the other how scared he was... but his breathing was coming out in short, quick bursts.

you noticed him from behind, quickly patting his shoulders in reassurance, giving him a nod and a smile when he looked back at you with his doe eyes, thankful for the reassurance, and making him feel so much better, knowing that you were there to support him.

that brief sense of peace was quickly tarnished when bucky made a signal with his hand ‘1, 2, 3’ and within seconds, the door exploded wide open, revealing a large amount of soldiers ready to kill them all.

all hell broke loose. bullets started flying, alexei was screaming “FEEL THE WRATH OF THE THUNDERBOLTS!!”, and the team scattered, taking cover and firing back. bob was crouched behind a corner, his heart pounding in his chest. he could barely see past his own fear, his hands shaking so badly he could hardly hold his gun... then he heard a voice, one of the others calling out to him.

“bob- look out..!” you yelled, jumping in front of him, quickly moving your hands to literally, work your magic through. you are a master of telekinesis, chaos magic, and mind manipulation- though not as strong as your mentor, wanda maximoff, yet.

he snapped out of his fear induced trance and turned to look at you, just in time to see you jump in front of him. he could see the energy surging from you, the magic surging through the air, he felt a wave of disbelief wash over him... was this really real?

“focus..!” he heard someone yell out, only God knows who, in the midst of the chaos. he shook his head at that, trying to clear his mind and focus on what was happening around him. the battle was all around them, the bullets flying and the explosions thundering. it was sensory overload, and he was trying to stay focused.

“bob, try and get the weapons, will you??” yelena said from across the room, as calmly but still firm as she could, shooting at the enemies. bob swallowed his own spit, adam’s apple bobbing, ‘m-me??’ he thought to himself, wondering why the hell was he here instead of washing the dishes back at the tower.

his thoughts was disturbed as he heard an “i’ll cover you, go!” from you, energy surging once more, covering the man with a chaos-magic shield.

bob took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart... he could see the weapons on the other side of the room, and he knew he had to get to them. he was scared, but he knew he had to trust you to keep him safe. he nodded to you, trying to summon the courage to make a move.

he quickly ran, feeling a surge of adrenaline, bullets bouncing off from your magic shield. it made him feel safe, really, but you were getting tired, having to protect not only yourself but bob. only realizing now, that you’re holding off the enemies in front of you with one hand while protecting him with the other.

‘almost there…’ he thought to himself.

the moment he was there, his mind were in shambles, trying his best to think straight. ‘the mission was either to retrieve or destroy…’ and the latter seemed much easier than the first one.

he grabbed onto his gun and shot directly at the weapons, seemingly having to forgetten the fact that they are in fact, highly explosive.

after that, everything just seemed to go in slow motion- the moment the huge explosion occurred: alexei quickly pulled yelena into a bear hug, protecting his little girl from the debris, and they were fine- as they both were furthest away from the weapons.

bucky quickly threw a punch on a soldier before he ran and slid away from the explosion, leaving him to safety. walker got his shield to protect both him and ava, still getting pushed by the impact of the explosion though.

you however?

you completely lost focus on your surroundings and focused it all on his, placing both your hands in front of you, at him, using the energy surge to create a much more powerful shield for him- the impact of the explosion immediately throwing you and several shrapnel onto the wall, causing you to spit out blood, cuts everywhere.

“shit, y/n, are you okay??” bucky asked, from somewhere in the background.

bob couldn’t look, couldn’t believe what he had done... the explosion had been massive, and he was expecting to be injured, to have been hit by shrapnel... but none of the debris had touched him- you were protecting him, shielding him from the explosion... he felt guilty, guilty that he had done this to you. he tried to look back at you, hoping beyond hope that you were okay.

he rushed over to you, trying to find a way to help... he couldn’t stand seeing you in pain, especially knowing it was his fault. he crouched down next to you, trying to assess the damage... he could see that you were struggling, and it was tearing him apart.

“i-i’m alright, bob…” you said slowly, trying to reassure him as if you weren’t a few seconds away from fainting, eyes starting to feel so… heavy.

bob didn’t know what to say, he just crouched there, shaking, as if he’s the one in pain. “you know damn well she’s not.” a familiar, dark voice suddenly came to his head, it was the void.

“you did this to her”

“this is your fault”

bob’s heart sank, his mind racing with guilt... it was all his fault, he had caused this. he could see that you were struggling, that you were in pain, and it was all because he had failed to think rationally.

“i… i don’t k-know what to do… i don’t know how to help her…” bob scrambled, feeling like he was spiraling, trying so hard to remember the first-aid kit tutorials that you showed him several nights ago, “why can’t i… w-why can’t i remember??”

“you can’t save her...” the dark voice immediately says, as bob’s thoughts were being consumed by guilt and fear, like he was drowning- like he was sinking deeper and deeper into a whirpool of anxiety.

“but i can.”

bob froze, he knew that voice... it was the other one, the one that he tried so hard to keep locked away.

“p-please…” in a second, bob closed his eyes, letting the darkness take him away, wanting nothing but you to be safe, “save her…”

the next moment, bob opened his eyes, now with golden rings around it, it was no longer bob, it was the void. bob was long gone, replaced by a cold and calculated demeanor, his black silhouette... his gaze fixated on only one person, you.

bob the void immediately stood up, and in an instant, flew across the room, throwing punches at the remaining soldiers who dared stand against his way. he was like a storm, destroying everything in his path... he moved with such grace and speed, like a work of art, each punch executed with precision and accuracy.

it was almost like an… overkill, even, he didn’t care about their wellbeing at all. he just kept throwing punches even if they were already unconscious. unbeknownst to him however, you were becoming weaker and weaker. the blood loss making your eyes droopy, your breathes shorter.

the more he fought, the more angry he got... he could feel the rage building up inside him, could feel himself losing control... but he didn’t care, all he cared about was taking the soldiers down, one by one.

he found himself on top of a poor soldier, punching him to oblivion. he couldn’t stop- until he heard a familiar voice, john’s to be exact, “bob. that’s enough.”

but that alone wasn’t enough to stop him, ava, who was holding your weak body, yelled at him, “you have got to save her, bob.”

for a moment, it seemed like the void might listen… his fist was inches away from smashing the soldier’s face in again, but he froze, almost shocked by what he heard.

‘save her’ he repeated in his mind, as if reminding himself. her. the girl who had bob in a chokehold, the girl who had shown him affection that nobody has in more than twenty years, the girl who’d do anything for him.

he abruptly stood up, walking back to them, to you... the others immediately prepared themselves, ready to defend themselves in case he gets volatile, “you can’t save her, not by punching people… not like this… but the sentry can” yelena says, desperate to save her friend.

the void stood there, trying to make sense of what he had been told… ‘the sentry?’ he thought, ‘how can the sentry possibly save her?’ he couldn’t understand, but he wanted to try, for her.

he suddenly remembered, the sentry is a being… so powerful… so almighty… that he can heal others with a simple touch. “i can… save her…” the void bob muttered, feeling a sense of determination wash over him… he had to try, he had to save you.

in a few second, his black silhouette started to fade away, going back to bob’s figure- but the others could tell that it wasn’t him, not with golden rings around his pupils anyway.

he was quiet, slowly moving closer to the girl. but it wasn’t because he was afraid or anything like that, no. it was because of his pride, knowing that he is the only one who could save you.

he knelt down next to you, his gaze fixed on your injured frame... he could see the pain you were in, the suffering you were going through... it made his heart ache to see you like this, but he would never admit to that.

he looked at the others, one by one, as if saying ‘look at me, look at your savior’, before he touched your arm, hands glowing a golden bright aura.

the others watched in awe, they were all holding their breath, waiting to see what would happen next- never could they have imagined your scars and wounds healing in just a mere seconds, your breathe coming to a better pace, and your eyes, opening once more.

you groaned, your eyes fluttering open as you slowly came to... you could feel something different, something had changed... you weren't in pain anymore, you weren't feeling sick anymore... you were good as new.

“bob..?” you asked softly, looking at the man with the golden eyes. he let out a small sigh of relief before his eyes went back to his normal state, closing it shut, and fainting right next to you.

you were immediately alarmed to see him collapse next to you, worried that he was hurt somehow. you checked him for injuries, and when you couldn't find a single one, you looked over at the others, searching for an explanation.

“don’t even ask.”

part two

[sillygoose067]

Wrong Bag, Right Time

Lewis Pullman x Reader

You’re already regretting your decision to book the late-night flight by the time you step off the plane. Your brain is a thick fog, your legs are stiff, and your eyes are burning from a barely-there nap sandwiched between two chatty seatmates. The fluorescent airport lights feel like a personal attack as you shuffle through the terminal, clutching your carry-on and weaving through a sea of bleary-eyed travelers.

You follow the signs to the baggage claim, your body moving on autopilot, ears still ringing from the jet engines and the tinny airline announcements. You lean against a cool, steel column, rolling your shoulders back as you wait for the belt to start rumbling. Around you, people are already gathering, faces drawn and eyes darting every few seconds as the carousel creaks to life.

Bags start thudding onto the belt, one after another — a parade of black, navy, and occasionally neon roller bags that look like they’ve been through multiple rounds of airport roulette. You squint, eyes scanning the blur of luggage as it slowly snakes its way around the conveyor.

Your suitcase is black, a standard roller bag with a scuffed corner and a strip of faded, decorative tape around the handle — a last-minute attempt to make it easier to spot in the chaos. When you finally catch sight of it, you push through the small crowd, reaching for the handle just as a kid with a Spider-Man backpack nearly trips over his own shoes, forcing you to dodge sideways to avoid a collision.

You grab the suitcase and wrestle it off the belt, feeling the reassuring weight of your overpacked essentials as the wheels clatter onto the tile. It’s a little heavier than you remember, but then again, you crammed it full of work documents, laptop accessories, and enough backup phone chargers to power a small tech convention.

Dragging it toward the exit, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the glossy airport windows — hair mussed, eyes smudged with exhaustion, and your blouse slightly wrinkled from a restless sleep against the plane window. You sigh, mentally promising yourself a long, hot shower the second you get to your hotel.

The shuttle to the car rental lot is packed, every inch of space claimed by tourists and business travelers with the same dazed expressions you’re sure you’re wearing. You brace yourself against a pole, your suitcase tucked between your knees as the bus lurches into motion, bumping over the uneven tarmac.

By the time you reach your hotel, you’re practically running on fumes, dragging your suitcase through the lobby and into the elevator with a series of clumsy, exhausted jerks. You fish out your key card, nearly dropping it twice before you manage to swipe it through the reader and stumble into your room.

Your heels come off first, clattering to the floor with a dull thud as you toss your bag onto the bed. You flick on the bedside lamp, the warm glow instantly making the small space feel a little less sterile.

The water from the shower is scalding, and you let it beat down on your shoulders, eyes closed as the steam fills the small bathroom, fogging the mirror and making the tiles beneath your feet slick. You let yourself stand there longer than necessary, feeling the tension slowly drain from your muscles, the ache in your lower back gradually easing.

Wrapped in a thick hotel towel, you shuffle back into the main room, hair dripping onto the carpet as you flip open your suitcase, ready to dig out your comfiest, most threadbare shirt and collapse into bed.

But when you peel back the top layer of clothing, your fingers don’t hit neatly folded blouses or the sensible, corporate slacks you’d meticulously packed. Instead, you pull out a rumpled Led Zeppelin tee, its soft, well-worn fabric clearly belonging to someone who’s spent years living in it.

You blink, holding it up, the faded graphic stretching across the front like a relic from another lifetime. Confused, you dig deeper, pulling out a small mountain of band tees, a denim jacket with fraying patches sewn into the sleeves, and a battered leather notebook, its cover creased and edges worn.

Your pulse quickens as you flip through the pages, finding half-finished sketches, messy notes in looping cursive, and the occasional smudge of ink where someone clearly wrote in a hurry. There’s a faint, musky scent clinging to the pages, a mix of worn leather and old cologne.

“Wait...” you murmur, setting the notebook aside as you reach for a thick stack of papers wedged against the side of the case. It’s a printed script, the title bold at the top and someone’s lines heavily highlighted in yellow.

You glance back at the open suitcase, your mind racing, heart thudding against your ribs as you fish out a small, laminated luggage tag tangled in the zipper. It flips over in your hand, the plastic cool and slightly warped from years of travel.

“L.P.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” You sink onto the edge of the bed, the towel slipping from your shoulders as you stare at the mismatched pile of someone else’s life spread across your hotel sheets.

---

Across town, Lewis Pullman hauls his suitcase up the narrow stairwell to his apartment, one hand gripping the railing as he leans into the climb, every muscle in his legs protesting the final stretch. He fumbles for his keys, and finally shoulders his way inside, the familiar, comforting chaos of his one-bedroom coming into focus as he kicks the door shut behind him.

He toes off his boots, letting them fall wherever they land, and drags the suitcase into his cramped living room, tossing his jacket onto the back of the couch. The streetlights outside cast thin, golden strips across the walls, and his refrigerator hums steadily in the otherwise silent space.

He flips open the suitcase, too tired to even think about organizing, and reaches blindly for a clean shirt. Instead, his hand lands on something stiff and sharply pressed.

Lewis frowns, pulling out a neatly folded stack of dress shirts, their collars crisp and perfectly creased. He blinks, eyebrows knitting together as he digs deeper, pulling out tailored slacks and a leather-bound planner with a small, discreet logo embossed on the corner.

“What the...” He flips the planner open, eyes skimming over tightly packed meeting notes, detailed itineraries, and a color-coded calendar that looks like the work of someone who genuinely enjoys spreadsheets.

He reaches for a thick, intimidating-looking folder marked “Confidential” in bold letters, his heart sinking further as he flips it open to reveal a stack of professionally printed documents.

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” He lets the folder drop onto the floor, running a hand through his already messy hair as he stares at the unfamiliar contents of what is very clearly not his suitcase.

Somewhere out there, someone is currently rifling through his tangle of band tees, scribbled notes, and, worst of all, his heavily highlighted script for a new gig he'd just scored.

---

You stare at the suitcase spread open on your hotel bed, the pile of band tees and creased notebook sitting there like a physical reminder of the chaos your life has just become. You should do something — call the airline, maybe, or at least try to figure out who this L.P. is before their missing luggage becomes your permanent problem.

But you’re exhausted. The kind of tired that settles deep in your bones, turning your thoughts into molasses and making even the simplest task feel monumental.

You let out a long, frustrated sigh, rubbing your eyes and glancing at the clock on the bedside table. It’s already pushing 1 a.m., and the idea of trying to navigate a customer service call right now feels like a special kind of hell.

“Alright, fine,” you mutter to the empty room, tossing the vintage tees back into the suitcase and flipping the lid closed. You’ll deal with it in the morning, when your brain is at least somewhat functional. For now, you just need sleep.

You crawl into bed, still vaguely damp from the shower, and tug the covers up to your chin. The mattress is firmer than you’d like, the pillow a little too thin, but it doesn’t take long for the steady hum of the hotel air conditioning to lull you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

---

Across town, Lewis drops onto his couch, head thudding against the worn armrest as he stares up at the cracked ceiling. The folder of mysterious corporate documents is still sitting on the coffee table, its thick, embossed cover practically daring him to open it again.

He considers getting up, maybe flipping through the papers for a hint about who his mystery bag-swapping stranger might be, but the thought alone makes his eyes feel heavier. He’s not exactly equipped for a late-night detective mission right now, not with the remnants of jet lag still clinging to his brain like a wet blanket.

“Tomorrow,” he grumbles, kicking his feet up onto the armrest and letting his eyes drift shut. He’ll deal with it in the morning, when his brain isn’t actively trying to shut down.

---

The next morning comes far too quickly. You wake to the sharp, insistent chime of your phone alarm, the sound cutting through your foggy consciousness like a knife. You groan, slapping at your phone until it goes blessedly silent, and roll onto your back, staring up at the bland, popcorn-textured ceiling.

It takes a moment for the events of the previous night to come rushing back — the wrong suitcase, the unfamiliar band tees, the mysterious L.P. luggage tag. You sit up slowly, rubbing at your eyes and trying to shake the lingering cobwebs from your brain.

First things first: your own suitcase. You’d had the foresight to slip an Apple AirTag into one of the side pockets before your flight, a small, paranoid part of you always worrying about exactly this kind of mix-up.

You grab your phone, opening the Find My app with a flick of your thumb, but the screen just loads into a frustratingly empty map, the little green dot stubbornly refusing to show up. Too far away, probably. You grit your teeth, already regretting not springing for the upgraded model with the longer range.

You tap the call icon and put the phone to your ear, bouncing your knee as it rings.

“Thank you for calling Apple Support. Please hold while we connect you to the next available representative.”

You resist the urge to groan, your fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against the hotel comforter as the tinny hold music crackles in your ear.

---

Across town, Lewis is having his own version of a chaotic morning. He’s halfway through his second cup of coffee, hair still damp from a hurried shower, as he flips through the stack of neatly printed documents that had been sitting in what he thought was his suitcase.

Every page is packed with dense, professional text — contracts, meeting agendas, and what looks like a series of legal documents with a name scrawled at the bottom in neat, looping handwriting.

“Alright,” he mutters to himself, leaning back against the kitchen counter as he taps the name into his phone’s search bar.

Results flood the screen, a frustratingly long list of people with the same name scattered across LinkedIn profiles, news articles, and random blog posts. He scrolls through the first few pages, trying to find anything that might match the person he accidentally luggage-swapped with, but it’s like looking for a needle in a very, very crowded haystack.

He blows out a breath, tossing his phone onto the counter and rubbing the back of his neck. His manager is going to kill him when they find out about this. Still, he can’t exactly let a stranger hold on to his scribbled notes and half-finished script forever.

“Alright, screw it,” he says, grabbing his phone again and pulling up his manager’s contact.

“Sam, hey, I’ve got a situation,” he says as soon as the line connects, pacing a tight circle in his small kitchen. “No, it’s not like last time. I just... I might have swapped bags with someone at the airport, and I have no idea who they are, but they’ve got my script. And my stuff. All my stuff.”

There’s a long pause on the other end, the kind that usually means Sam is resisting the urge to throw his phone against the nearest wall.

“Okay,” Sam finally says, his voice a carefully measured calm. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to take the bag you’ve got and head back to the airport. There’s a decent chance the other person will do the same once they realize they’ve got the wrong bag.”

Lewis sighs, glancing at the stack of neatly folded dress shirts and leather-bound planner sitting innocently on his counter.

“Yeah, alright,” he mutters, grabbing his keys off the hook by the door. “I’m on my way.”

---

Meanwhile, your Apple Support call finally connects, a cheery voice on the other end promising to walk you through the steps to locate your missing suitcase. You glance over at the still-open bag on the bed, the crumpled script catching your eye.

Maybe it’s time to finally figure out who the hell L.P. is. You grab the thick stack of papers, flipping to the cover page and skimming the title. Your eyes widen as the name Lewis Pullman jumps out at you, the pieces suddenly falling into place.

Lewis Pullman. The actor. Bill Pullman’s son.

You stare at the script in your hands, heart thudding in your chest as the full weight of your accidental heist hits you.

“Oh, no,” you mutter, sinking back onto the bed. “What have I done?”

---

Lewis taps his fingers against the steering wheel, jaw tight as he stares at the congested freeway ahead. The morning sun glares off the windshields around him, turning the LA traffic into a slow, blinding crawl. He glances at the passenger seat, where your neatly packed suitcase sits like a silent accusation, the crisp corners and tasteful leather trim a stark contrast to the chaos he’s used to.

By the time he finally reaches LAX, the nerves in his stomach have twisted into a full-on knot. He parks and hauls the suitcase through the labyrinth of terminals, the weight of his mistake pressing down on his shoulders.

The airport is buzzing with activity, the steady thrum of engines and the chaotic clatter of luggage creating a backdrop of controlled chaos as he heads for the airline counter.

The attendant at the lost and found desk looks up, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow as Lewis approaches, his suitcase clutched in a white-knuckled grip.

“Hi, I... I think I accidentally swapped bags with someone on my flight last night,” he says, his voice coming out a little more strained than he intended. He sets your suitcase on the counter, running a hand through his hair as he tries to sound less like a sleep-deprived mess. “This isn’t mine. I’m hoping the person who has mine will come looking for theirs, too.”

The attendant nods, typing something into the computer and giving him a weary, knowing smile — the kind that says this isn’t the first time someone’s stumbled in with the wrong bag and a panicked expression.

“Just leave it here,” she says, slapping a tag on the handle and sliding it onto the cart behind her. “If the other person comes by, we’ll let them know you dropped it off.”

Lewis hesitates, fingers still wrapped around the handle, his brain fighting a ridiculous urge to hold onto the bag a little longer. He gives it a final, reluctant nudge, watching as the cart wheels it away and disappears into the maze of behind-the-scenes airport chaos.

With a deep, tired sigh, he turns and heads back to his car, hands shoved into his pockets as the sounds of the bustling terminal fade behind him.

---

Meanwhile, back in your hotel room, you’ve entered the frantic, mildly horrifying phase of a full-on internet spiral. Your laptop is balanced precariously on the edge of the bed, multiple tabs open on Lewis Pullman.

You grab your phone, pacing the small stretch of carpet between the bed and the window as you pull up his IMDb page, half-hoping there’ll be a contact button you can just click to resolve this mess. But of course, there isn’t. The closest you get is a list of his past projects and a handful of magazine interviews that all seem to paint him as the down-to-earth, quietly intense type.

Finally, after what feels like a small eternity of frantic googling, you stumble across what you think might be his manager’s number, tucked away on an obscure industry listing. You dial it, hands shaking a little as the line rings, each passing second making your pulse thud harder against your ribs.

Voicemail.

You hang up, your breath coming out in a short, frustrated huff as you toss your phone onto the bed. You’re tempted to try again, maybe leave a message this time, but something about the whole situation already feels too much like a scene from a bad rom-com, and you’re not sure you can handle the embarrassment of leaving a rambling, half-panicked voicemail for a guy you’ve never even met.

Finally, you decide to cut your losses and head back to the airport, clutching Lewis’s battered suitcase like a lifeline as you weave through the bustling lobby and make a beeline for the lost and found desk.

An attendant is sitting there, her expression unimpressed as she types away at her computer. You clear your throat, shifting your weight nervously as you set the bag on the counter.

“Hi, I think I accidentally swapped bags with someone on my flight last night,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I just... I just want to leave this here, in case they come looking for it. It’s got a lot of their stuff in it, and I’m, um, really hoping mine is still somewhere in the system.”

The attendant glances at you over the top of her computer, her expression a mix of boredom and mild curiosity. She slaps a tag onto the handle of the suitcase and adds it to the same cart Lewis’s bag disappeared on earlier.

“We’ll call you if we find anything,” she says, already turning back to her screen.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat as you scribble your name and number on the form she slides your way. It feels weirdly final, like you’re closing the book on a strange, mildly mortifying chapter of your life.

---

A few weeks pass, and the whole suitcase fiasco slowly slips into the background noise of your daily routine — a bizarre, slightly embarrassing story you’ll probably share with friends over drinks someday.

But then, just as you’re starting to convince yourself that you’ll never see your meticulously packed suitcase again, your phone buzzes with a call from an unknown number.

“Hello?” you say, balancing your phone against your shoulder as you fumble with your laptop.

“Hi, this is LAX Lost and Found. We’ve located your suitcase. You can come pick it up anytime this evening.”

---

You arrive at the counter a little breathless, the memory of your original suitcase still a fresh sting as you approach. But just as you step up to the desk, another figure rushes up beside you, his sneakers squeaking against the polished tile.

“Hi, I’m here to pick up my suitcase —” you both start, your voices overlapping in a messy, tangled echo.

You glance at each other, both of you wide-eyed and a little winded, and then immediately look away, the awkward tension settling like a heavy fog. He’s tall, a little scruffy around the edges, his hair tousled like he’s run his hands through it one too many times. There’s a brief flicker of recognition in his eyes, like he’s trying to place you, but then he quickly looks down, rubbing the back of his neck as if he’s suddenly aware of how tightly the air feels around you both.

The attendant rolls her eyes, bending to grab two identical suitcases from the back, her movements sharp with barely disguised exasperation.

“Here,” she says, shoving both bags onto the counter with a loud thunk. “I assume you two know which is which this time?”

You and Lewis both reach for your respective bags, pausing to double-check the scuffs and ID tags, even unzipping the top a few inches just to be sure.

When you both exhale in relief, catching each other’s eye for a split second, his mouth opens, closes, and then opens again, like he’s trying to catch the right words before they slip away.

“Uh, hey,” he starts, one hand gripping the handle of his suitcase, the other half-raised in a tentative gesture. “I, uh... just wanted to say thanks for, you know, bringing my stuff back. I know that, uh, it probably... wasn’t the most convenient thing.” He lets out a little breathy chuckle, eyes dropping to his shoes for a second. “I mean, I’m not sure what I would’ve done if you hadn’t.”

You let out a small, relieved laugh, the lingering tension breaking like the first crack of a smile after a long, awkward silence.

“No, it’s fine. I... kinda panicked when I realized what I had. Almost didn’t want to touch anything, but, uh... yeah.” You bite your lip, feeling a little of the same nervous energy radiating off him.

He nods, his shoulders relaxing a bit, and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, like he’s working up the nerve for something.

“So, uh...” he hesitates, his gaze flicking back up to yours, the corners of his mouth twitching in a hesitant, lopsided grin. “Maybe we could, I dunno, grab a coffee sometime? Or, uh, dinner, if that’s... less weird?”

You blink, a little caught off guard by the sudden offer, but the earnest, slightly flustered look on his face makes it hard not to smile.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding before you can second-guess yourself. “Dinner sounds nice.”

“Cool, cool,” he says quickly, letting out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a silent cheer. He fumbles for his phone, nearly dropping it as he tries to unlock it with one hand, his cheeks turning a little pink. “Uh, here, just... give me your number and I’ll... yeah.”

You chuckle, tapping your info into his phone as he watches, his eyes crinkling at the edges when you hand it back.

“Alright, well... I’ll text you,” he says, stepping back with a little half-wave. “Thanks again. Seriously.”

You nod, your heart doing an odd little flip as you watch him turn and weave back into the airport crowd, his suitcase rolling behind him, the wheels clattering against the polished floor.

[h3catee]

Introductions Are in Order

Paring: Robert Reynoldsx Fem!Witch Reader! Past Avenger!  

Summary: Bucky asks a favor of you and ends up getting you entangled with one of Valentinas ploys. 

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS*,  talks of mental health, depression, anxiety. Some violence (bc its marvel), some language. Trauma. Angst. Decent amount of Hurt/ With some comfort! 

Word count: 2.7k

AN: Hi! Welcome to my fic! this is probably multi part idk my plans yet. I'm leaning more towards multi-part bc I'm usually a chapter by chapter writer so there isn’t a lot of Bob in this one but I hope its a good intro to maybe a 2-3 parts. I literally fell in love with Bob's character during Thunderbolts and this man gave me motivation to write again. I didn't have a Beta reader for this one so pls forgive any grammer or silly mistakes. Forewarning (y/n)’s powers based off of the Marvel character Morgan le Fay just to throw that out there, she’s definitely not Wanda but definitely not Morgan. Think morally gray/ hates everyone except like 3 people/ witch trained by the past avengers. Next part will have more Bob I promise, just wanted to introduce the story here >:3

Song for the chapter: https://open.spotify.com/track/09fDemXgXzRReTfb7UWxjD?si=7e0b5d606b824813 

xoxox

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“I need your help with something.” 

You sighed heavily before responding, “Hello to you too Senator Barnes!” You heard the man grumble from the other phone line. 

“You know I hate when you call me that,” Bucky said. 

“Well…what do you want, Buck?” You said, rolling your eyes. You look around your empty apartment for something to fidget with while Bucky chews your ear off about calling him another stupid nickname. 

“Y/N, Valentina’s got this guy apparently named Bob-” 

“Bob?” You ask, cutting him off. Who names their kid Bob in this day and age? 

“Yes, Bob! I’m with Nat’s sister and she said we have to go get him because he’s part of some Sentry project,” He explained, voices yelling at him in the background of the phone call. “Can you just meet us at the tower?” 

A wave of nausea rolled over you, “The tower? Bucky, I don't go around there anymore.” 

“I know, but I wouldn’t be calling you if I had anyone else to call.” 

“How nice,” you taunt. You were never any of the Avengers first calls. To be fair you weren’t sure if it is because they were scared of you or your lack of social skills. “Also Nat’s sister?” 

“Later,” Which means he says he’ll tell you later but in reality he’s never going to bring it up again unless you find the answer yourself. 

You sigh, walking over to the bookshelf in your apartment that’s filled with books, both regular and magical, and pictures. Your hand brushes across a photo of yourself, Steven Strange, and Wanda, “I don’t fight anymore Bucky. You couldn’t just ask Sam?” 

“He’s uhmm..busy,” He answered, “I know how you’re feeling y/n.” 

“You don’t,” You interrupt. How could he possibly understand how you’re feeling when he barely reaches out to you unless he needs something. Him and the rest of the remaining team abandoned you, after Wanda, you had no one to turn to. You felt the all too familiar dull ache in your chest. You chewed on the skin around your nails waiting for Bucky to respond. 

“ I think we need you for this one.” Which means in Bucky terms that whoever they are fighting is a mutant and something he can’t fight. 

“Fuck,” You mutter to yourself. 

Ever since Wanda vanished you refused to step back out on the field.She was the only one that truly knew what you were capable of considering she was the one that found you all those years ago. Not even Thor, a god, could hold you back during training sessions and the only avenger to understand your pain was Wanda. And now she’s- 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath to ground yourself. You haven’t been able to sense her magic anywhere. No matter what realm you went to, you couldn’t find her. 

Fuck you Bucky Barnes. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆

“She already knows we’re here,” You try to explain to the group in front of you. Bucky gave you and the rest of the team a run down of Sentry and what Mel, Valentinas assistant, told him about Bob. That doesn’t stop them from driving a truck through the lobby destroying the front of the building in the process, “Awesome,” You have no choice but to join the fight to defend the group. Defense only, you tell yourself 

While Walker has his back turned, a soldier on the ground fires a few stray bullets, you toss your hand up and redirect the shots to the wall behind him, “Watch yourself walker,” You growled. Before he could reply you went back to the fight. Using your magic to cast illusions into the minds of the soldiers fighting to give the group an advantage when attacking.

“I just had that drywall put in. You can just come up, you know that right.” Valentina’s voice rang out over the intercoms, “But I know you knew that already y/n. Come on up!” 

Yelena and Ava looked at you, knowing you had previously stated that and they had just refused to listen. You just rolled your eyes at them before motioning them to go in the elevator. 

“You are not coming,” Yelena asked as the group of 5 squeezed into the elevator. 

You shake your head before pointing up. You close your eyes and feel the familiar stomach reeling feeling of teleporting to where the penthouse once was. Where you shared few but long lasting memories. Your eyes wander across the empty walls and fairly empty room before you look at Val. 

“Ah! Y/N, so lovely to see you darling. You see I’ve always wanted to work with you,” The woman said. 

“Can’t say the same,” You said in a sarcastic tone. 

“Hmm, well maybe he’ll change your mind.” You just raise an eyebrow.

You don’t have the chase to question her because Bucky and the team come through the elevator doors ready to arrest her for crimes. You look between each person and back to Valentina, honestly not sure what is going on. 

That's when you feel it. A humming. Power. You look around only to notice no one else in the “Thunderbolts”, as Alexie is calling them, notices it. You try to pinpoint a mind to tap into to find where this power is from but you can’t, a black shadow blocking you out. Shit. 

“Meet Sentry.” 

You look up to where a man is clothed in a…ugly suit, with unnaturally yellow blonde hair. 

“Hey guys,” He greats. You study him for a second, the power dripping off of him but there's something else there, something all too familiar. You try to invade his mind but there's something keeping you out. You pull and claw at the black void keeping you out. 

“Y/n.” You vacate the attempt on his mind and meet his eyes. You cock your head to the side, he knows what you were doing, “That won’t work,” his voice coming out cautious. 

“Take care of them Robert,” Valentina orders. 

“I don’t want to hurt you guys,” Bob says, looking around at all of them in front of him, “Please just give yourselves in.” 

“Wait-” Yelena tries to interrupt. 

Alexie yells before running towards the man. Instead of following the rest of the team you stand back and observe. Everything they throw at him gets blocked or countered. Teleportation. Flight. Strength.

Bucky shoots at Bob only for the bullets to be sprayed back at him and Walker. You hold your hand up blocking the bullets and directing them towards the already broken window. Thats when Sentry notices you. 

“I knew I liked her,” Walker says to Bucky, getting ready to fight again. 

“Wanda’s not here to save you this time.” 

You barely move after hearing the voice in your head when the rest of the Thunderbolts move to attack Bob. You shake your head as if to clear your thoughts but you feel his eyes on you. Instead of the blue you saw earlier, Bob’s eyes have a golden hue. 

“She left you, just like you told her to.” 

“Stop,” You whisper to yourself, rage boiling beneath your skin. 

The fight breaks out and you watch as Bob grabs Bucky's Arm. 

“God damnit,” You whisper, before running towards the two to save Bucky. Bob tosses Bucky to the side, his arm now torn off. You shot a blast of energy towards him only for him to teleport out of the way. I don’t want to hurt you, You try to telepathically tell him. 

“You can’t hurt me,” He says aloud. 

“Says who,” You taunt. Your feet leave the floor before you can’t register your rage taking over. Blast after blast and nothing is hitting him. 

He teleports in front of you and grabs your neck. What he doesn’t expect is to look behind you and see a beach. A sunset. He furrows his brows as he looks around in confusion. 

That gives you enough time to grab his wrist and teleport out of his grasp. 

The illusion collapses around the two of you as you lose contact. With every fight you’ve been in, usually your opponent will be thrown off once coming out of the illusion but Bob…He raises a hand before you can counter and you slam into the concrete wall of Avengers Tower, the wall cracking behind you. 

 You feel an arm hook under your shoulders and begin to drag you to the elevator which you see is already occupied with the rest of the team besides you and Yelena. “Get off of me,” You grumble. You teleport out of her grasp and out of the tower completely. Your knees are wobbly beneath you and you assess your surroundings. Guard still up. 

“Are you hurt?” You turn and see Bucky running towards you, the rest of the Thunderbolts following in suit. 

“You know I’m not,” You used your magic to heal yourself immediately after the hit, “I tried to help Buck but I’m not strong enough anymore. I’m leaving.” 

“No, let us regroup and we can go back in,” Alexie tries to argue. 

“All of you just got your asses beat, you especially-” 

“Well I am just rusty but now I am ready to go,” The older super soldier bellows. 

You see Yelena put a hand over her eyes. You just laugh out of disbelief and begin to walk down the street. 

“Wait y/n,” Bucky follows after you, “Just wait-” 

You turn, he can feel the rage dripping off of you, “What!” You shout, “What do you want from me?” 

He just stares at you, “I was going to ask if you were okay.” 

You laugh, “Am I okay? God, you should've asked me that when Tony died. Or when I lost Vision and then lost Wanda. Or Nat. Or Steve.” 

“You acted like you didn’t even care about half of the team, what did you expect me to do?” He argues. 

“I didn’t want to hurt any of you!” You exclaim, letting your emotions run wild on the streets of New York, “If you think that up there I used all my power, you're wrong. I didn’t want to hurt any of you so I stayed away.” 

“But Wanda-” 

“But Wanda understood me, more than you or Tony or any of them. You don’t understand what I went through, what I’ve done. Bucky, you don’t know who I really am.” 

There was commotion behind you, taking your concentration away from the conversation. Citizens were pointing up towards the sky. You and Bucky exchange glances before running to where you could have a clear view of what they were looking at. 

A shadow of man floated above Avengers Tower. You watched as he raised a hand and all of a sudden a helicopter came crashing into a crane. Concrete and rubble began to fall from the buildings that were hit. People were screaming. 

Typical avenger in New York occurrence. 

You and Bucky split off to protect the people from being crushed. You used your magic to stop concrete from crushing a family and urged them to get into a building. 

“You’re alone,” You turned to see the man closer to you now. You recognized the voice from just minutes ago, Bob, “You’ve always been alone.” You just stare at him, “It eats you alive doesn’t it, y/n.” 

People are screaming, you turn to look behind you and see shadows of people spread across the floor in dark black smoke. You heart drops, what the fuck is this guy. 

“The pain goes away. Just come with me,” Bob captures your attention once again, “I can make it go away.” 

“How?” You whisper. He reaches a hand out to you. 

“Y/n! Stop!” Bucky shouts behind you but something in your mind is telling you to go. Telling you that everything will stop if you accept his hand. Everything will be quiet. Will the pain finally go away? 

“Y/n,” The distorted voice urges. 

That’s when you close your eyes and walk into the void. 

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You open your eyes and find yourself in an all too familiar room. One lined with archaic symbols preventing you from escaping. Your heart drops because you see yourself, younger, wounded, broken standing on the other side of the room. 

You know this day, you recognize it by the energy alone. This was the first time you killed someone. The first time you disintegrated someone's body and brain. 

“Y/N, Before you is a man who is being convicted of crimes against countless women, including your own mother,” You watched as your younger self balled her hands into fists, “Your task is to eliminate him.” 

Younger you nodded. 

“N-no,” You ran over to where you stood and wrapped your arms around your younger self, “you don’t have to do this,” 

“Get off of me,” Your body is thrown a few feet away from your younger self. That's when you feel it, the pain of a curse of 1000 sharp white-hot knives digging into you, you scream and writhe on the floor. That was your punishment when you were captured, if you ever disobeyed or failed, they cursed you over and over. 

“Stop,” You sob, the curse diminishing, “Stop,” You whisper, tears falling onto the floor beneath you. Your mind whirls and your limbs ache, like you’re gripped by a fever that burns through you like wildfire. 

“Y/n?” A male voice. 

You look towards a doorway where Bob stands, not Sentry, not Void but Bob. You squeeze your eyes shut to stop crying. 

“Oh god, I-I’m so sorry,” He runs over to you, “I-I can’t stop it,” He apologized. 

“I don’t understand,” Your voice comes out as a whisper, “What is this?” You finally sit up and watch the rest of the scene play out in front of you. 

You watch as younger you raises her hand towards the man and he begins to scream in agony. You watch as his skin flairs and melts. 

“Don’t look,” Bob urges, grabbing your arm and pulling your attention from the memory. There are tears in his blue eyes. He has brown hair now instead of the fake gold that Val gave him. He’s clothed in a sweater and tan pants. He honestly looks like he’s going to pass out. “I can’t do anything right, I’m so sorry,” He mumbles, “I-I don’t even know you and you’re stuck here with me. It’s this…void.” 

“How do we get out?” You ask, looking down to study your shaking hands. 

“I-I don’t know. There’s different rooms and each one just gets worse. I’m so sorry Y/n,” He begins to cry. Your heart shatters for a moment thinking about what he must go through if he deals with this constantly, now with the serum it must have fully taken over him. 

“Let’s just get out okay,” You place your hand on his thigh and he tenses beneath you. You squeeze his leg in reassurance before standing up, “P-please don’t tell anyone what you saw, I-I can’t. No one knows.” 

“I won’t, Why would I tell them?” He asks sincerely. All you can do is nod, “Y-you can trust me.” Once again, you just nod. 

“Do you think everyone else is in here?” You ask, trying to change the topic. 

“M-maybe,” He saying, shrinking in on himself. 

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m fine. We’ll all be fine,” You soothe, “Let’s just find them.” 

Thats how you ended up finding the team, fighting Bob in a chicken outfit, and getting out of the void. Only to have Valentina throw a new title on the group right after. 

The New Avengers. Including you. Awesome. 

And that’s how you ended up here, living in the tower after some much needed renovations. Bob didn’t remember anything after the Void incident but something told you to tell him. So you showed him through your magic. He apologized profusely to the team and kept his distance since then. Honestly, he reminds you a lot of yourself when you first joined the Avengers with Wanda. But you refuse to let him fall into that dark of a hole like you did. 

You want to save someone for yourself, for once. You want to save him. 

part two!

[loversrocktvgirl2]

I NEED BOB, i need to cuddle that man to sleep and i need to kiss his face - do with that what you will

muahahahhahaha hi babes i wrote you some headcannons

my mini multiverse of madness…

Cuddles (Bob x Reader Headcannons)

word count: ~0.4k

masterlist

Ughhh this man is just in dire need of cuddles and affection AND GUESS WHAT Y’ALL YOU CAN GIVE THAT TO HIM 

In my mind, Bob seems like the kind of guy who would struggle with insomnia, so I’m picturing that you “go to sleep” in your room for about twenty minutes before you sigh, pick up your favorite blanket, trudge barefoot down the hallway and into Bob’s room, where you find him reading a book, and you lay down with him, using him as a pillow with your blanket half-draped over you. You’re kind of like his weighted blanket, relaxing him to help him fall asleep. It doesn’t work every time, and Bob still has a lot of sleep struggles, but you being there relaxes him, and if he needs anything, he can wake you up and you can talk. 

Whenever Alexei convinces everybody that a movie night is a good idea, Bob lays on the couch with his head in your lap and you play with his hair. Sometimes, Yelena gently headbutts your shoulder and declares, “my turn!” which makes you laugh. 

Bob has a lot of trauma associated with being touched, so you’ve always been careful to be very gentle with him and respectful of how he likes being touched. You never sneak up on him from behind or touch his back or shoulder while walking by. He feels safer if he sees that it’s you first before there’s any physical contact. Once he knows that it’s you, he feels okay. 

Bob doesn’t often initiate affection, but now that you’re more comfortable together, he’s definitely the kind of guy to dress in sweatpants and a t-shirt and drape a blanket over his shoulders, walk over to you and just open his arms like, “hello. I require affection” and you just get to hug him. It’s wonderful, 11/10 would recommend.

Bob also loves holding your hand. It grounds him. Whenever the air has a bit of tension at the New Avengers dinner table (say, if John and Ava are bickering), he’ll reach for your hand under the table and that’s enough to keep him feeling good at the moment. 

Yeah, those are my thoughts. WHY IS HE SUCH A LIL’ CUTIE PATOOTIE HUMAN JELLYBEAN??

taglist @spaceycat @vidanand @xo-cench @raikan624 @yeehawgiddyup13 @wpdarlingpan @puer-aurea

just thunderbolts/bob

@papitas-con-sal @yesshewrites1

[supercap2319]

Tony: "Y/N Stark! Have you been fooling around with Bucky?"

Y/N: "Actually, I suck his dick, and he buys me dinner."

Tony: "Why?"

Y/N: "Because lunch is not a date? That's why it has its own special menu."

Tony: "No, I mean, why are you sucking him?"

Y/N: "Because he's hot."

[moonlightsolo]

thunderbolts where you're exhausted to the brim and they're worried

lights out | thunderbolts* x reader ⋆｡°✩

pairing: thunderbolts* x fem!reader (with a slight hint of bucky x reader)

warnings: unhealthy coping mechanisms, insomnia, reader being kinda strung out lol

word count: 2.1k

note: okay wow. it’s been two years since i actually wrote anything and posted it on here so i’m glad to be back!! i hope u like it <3

It’s been four days since your last mission. Four days since you’ve felt the relieving bliss of a full night’s rest. 

96 hours. 5760 minutes. 345,600 seconds. 

But it’s not like you’re counting anyway. 

Usually you’re fine after an assignment, maybe a little sore or winded— but not this exhausted; mentally and physically. 

It’s almost like clockwork now as you lie in bed throughout the night. Your thoughts loud as you listen to your own breathing, and thrumming of your heartbeat beneath your ribs. How the air conditioning kicks on and blows cold air onto your face, causing you to bundle up under the covers. 

The only source of light in your dark room is coming from your phone as you scroll through numerous social media apps. Your eyes dancing over the screen, switching between tiktoks and instagram reels as you doom scroll. 

And then your eyes begin to flutter shut, hand going limp as your phone drops beside you on the bed. Your body allows you all but twenty minutes of sleep before your heart constricts with anxiety. 

You wake up gasping for air, sitting straight up in your king-sized bed. Your oversized pajama shirt is drenched in sweat and stuck to your body as if it’s clinging to the sleep you’ve been so rudely disturbed from.  

Your eyes dart around your dark room before following the beam of light coming from your phone. The same video has been playing on repeat, along with a song as someone dances to it on the screen. 

With a loud sigh and a deep breath, you reach over to check the time on your phone. In the top corner it reads, ‘2:18’ a.m. With your heart still beating heavily against your ribcage, there’s no way you can try to sleep now. You might as well go watch some tv instead of mindlessly scrolling on your tiny phone screen. 

You rub your eyes with your fists, eyes watering desperately as you stifle a yawn. Your feet kick the covers off as your legs swing over the side of your bed. Shuffling your feet into your slippers, you use your phone screen as a flashlight to direct yourself to your door. 

Your head peeks out as you slowly open it, looking down the dark hallway. You listen for any movement, any sign of life from your other comrades. 

Sometimes you wonder if they can tell you haven’t been getting enough sleep, maybe it’s the dark circles or how you space out more often. 

Or maybe it’s that you’ve skipped training five times in the last four days. It wasn’t a rare occurrence to have bouts of sleepless nights, they knew that too— but this has been the longest and most exhausting four days of your life. There’s no way that they haven’t caught on yet. 

As you make your way to the living room, your body viscerally shivers from the crispness of the air in the tower. The sweat on your skin cools, and the dampness of your shirt turns chilly. You need warmth, and you know exactly what will suffice. After snatching a blanket off the couch and wrapping it around your shoulders, you shuffle into the kitchen. 

Yawning as you pop a pod into your coffee maker and quietly pulling a mug from the cabinet. It reads, ‘I ♡ NYC’, which makes you smile and scoff at the irony of it. The coffee maker splutters and spits out coffee as it brews the liquid gold into your cup. 

The aroma almost does the job of energizing you itself. You wrap your hands around the hot mug, hissing from the heat, but you allow it to warm your cold hands as you make your way to the living room. 

Tucking yourself into the far corner of the plush couch, you pull your knees close to your body to drape another blanket over your legs. Your hand clicks buttons on the remote as you sip on the hot coffee, humming from the taste and how it warms you from the inside out. 

Some late-night sitcom is on, so you resort to watching that for now. Quietly giggling along with the laughter in the background of the show. You don’t even notice soft footsteps padding down the hallway towards you as you stare wide-eyed at the tv screen. 

A deep voice calls out your name, making your eyes snap towards the sound. It’s Bucky. 

“What are you doing up?” His voice is scratchy from sleep as his half-lidded eyes squint from the brightness of the tv. His hands are on his hips as he stares at you, almost like a disappointed dad. 

“Oh shit. I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” Your hand grips the remote as you hurriedly turn it down. 

His feet drag as he walks into the living room, still standing up as his eyes watch the screen. The light casts over his features as you stare at him from your position on the couch, “No, no, it’s okay. I heard the tv but I just wanted to make sure everything was okay…” He trails off and turns toward you with his eyebrows wrinkled in the middle, “Well, uh… Are you okay?” 

Your eyes nervously dart from your coffee in your lap to him, and then back to the tv. Your body shudders, urging you to word vomit about how you haven’t slept in four days and how your stupid mind won’t shut up. 

“Y—yeah, Buck. I’m good.” You send a quick, insincere smile his way before looking back down at your steaming mug. You can still feel his eyes on the side of your face, refusing to look up at him. He knows. 

The couch dips beside you, making your breath catch slightly as you side-eye him. 

“Well, I’m gonna sit out here with you and watch whatever the hell you’re watching.” He almost chuckles, his hand motioning toward the tv. 

He looks over at you as his metal arm folds behind his head, the other sprawling out on the back of the couch toward you. Almost like he’s inviting you to move closer to him. 

It’s not weird for you and Bucky to cuddle—especially during your low points, but you can’t give in.

“It’s called friends.” You mumble, still staring into the mug. 

“Hm?” He hums and adjusts himself so he’s a little closer to you, his head leaning forward so he can hear you clearer. 

“The show. It’s called friends.” You speak up, and turn towards him now before taking a sip of your coffee. 

Bucky watches you intently, how you bring the mug to your lips, how your bloodshot, purple-rimmed eyes flick to the screen and back to him. 

“Is that coffee?” He questions with a raised eyebrow, his hand reaching out for it, and you hand the mug over to him. He takes a sip out of your cup before handing it back to you, settling himself into the couch with a satisfying tsk and an, “Aah.” 

“So why haven’t you been sleeping?” He asks with his eyes trained on the tv. You start to fumble over your words, stuttering and wiggling in your spot. “I-uhhh.. wha-?” Your voice trembles. 

Why can’t you just admit it? 

“We’re all worried about you, ya know. Missing training, showing up to meetings late, stumbling into the kitchen for food… or coffee. You've been hiding in your room for days now.” He tilts his head toward your cup to prove a point. 

Tears begin to well up into your eyes, your bottom lip shuddering and your hands trembling. Bucky watches as your walls start to crumble, the exhausted, beaten, and bruised version of you seeping through. “Hey hey. It’s okay, doll.” He sits up now, taking the mug from your hands to set it on the coffee table. 

Once the coffee is safely put to the side, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you from your cocoon of blankets. Your face is smushed into his soft cotton tee shirt, tears soaking the fabric as you silently weep into his chest. 

“I-I jus-just can’t sl-sleep.” You stutter out, arms still by your side, his strong arms caging you in, “My-my mind, my th-thoughts… I just can’t anymore.” 

Bucky shushes you, one of his hands rubbing circles into your back. “I know, I know.” He hums. 

Bucky lets you cry into him until it turns into quickened breathing, and then your body starts to go slack. He’s been through this with you so many times, too many times. 

Your head moves from his chest, wiggling your way up to fit into the crook of his neck. Your soft breath fans across his warm skin, and your arms hesitantly wrap around his solid waist. 

Bucky pulls you closer, his lips pressing a kiss to your temple as you snuggle in close. The sound of footsteps breaks you from your little bubble with Bucky, your watery eyes lifting to see Yelena standing at the edge of the couch. 

“Everything okay?” Her usual strong, accented voice is soft as she stares at you with tender, yet tired, eyes. 

Bucky pulls back slightly to turn, his flesh arm still holding onto your waist as he looks at Yelena. A small smile plays on his lips before turning back to you, tapping your hip as his grip loosens. 

“Yeah, she’s good now. Can’t sleep.” Bucky yawns at the end of his sentence and covers his mouth with the back of his hand. You move back slightly, still pressed against his side but not in an embrace. 

“Good. We were worried about you.” Yelena comments, which makes you snort. Both of them turn towards you, looking confused. 

“Bucky said that earlier.” You poke at him jokingly, and he swats at your hand. Yelena lets out a raspy laugh and plops down on the chaise lounge, kicking her feet up as she looks at the tv. “Friends, really?” She rolls her eyes and motions for the remote with her hand. 

You toss the remote to her, and she catches with ease—not even looking as it flew toward her. She flips through the channels as Bucky pulls you closer, your head gravitating towards his lap. You keep telling yourself this is a normal thing for you and Bucky to do; he helps you. But this time, it just feels different. 

You lay on your side, head on his thigh as you curl up into yourself. His hand instantly goes into your long flowing hair to play with it before he pulls a blanket over your body. You can feel yourself relax, your chest warming up as your nervous system resets itself. 

You can feel yourself growing sleepier by the second as Bucky’s hand cards through your hair. Yelena and Bucky’s quiet conversation is slowly drowned out as your ears start to ring, blinking slowly as you try to fight the weight pulling down your eyelids. 

The tv in front of you blurs out of view as your eyes shut, finally succumbing to the sleep your body has been begging for. 

-

You wake up to a bright room around you, sunshine illuminating the walls shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows. You can feel wetness around your mouth, almost as if you’ve been drooling. 

Wait, where are you? And what is that delicious smell?

Your eyes fully open and you suck in a deep breath of fresh air. It smells of breakfast, like bacon and maple syrup. You’re surprisingly still in the living room, but the tv’s volume is lowered and Bucky isn’t under you anymore. Your coffee cup has been cleaned up, and you’re still covered in a blanket or two. 

As you sit up, you groan, muscles aching from sleeping in a weird position on the couch. You move your neck side to side, yawning as you stretch your arms above your head. 

“Ah! Sleeping beauty is awake!” Yelena’s voice shouts, making you jump as you spin around to face her. 

Bob is sitting at the kitchen island alongside Bucky, while John is at the stove cooking. Yelena is sitting on the counter, laughing at something Bob said as she bites into a piece of bacon she has in her hand. 

The sound of something sizzling catches your ears, and suddenly your stomach grumbles. Bucky swivels on his chair to turn toward you, his face beaming when he sees you’re awake. 

Your lips twitch upwards into a smile, sliding off the couch to shuffle over to him. His arm wraps around your waist from his seated position, “How ya feel?” He asks, looking up at you. 

“Pretty good, still tired but much better.” You sigh happily, smiling around at your teammates who return the same expression.  

John sneakily eyes Bucky’s hand sitting comfortably on your waist, winking at you which makes you blush. 

You know you’ll start to feel better, slowly but surely. Especially with everyone around you being so supportive. They’ll make you feel more like yourself again, and you know you’ll be back to a regular sleep schedule soon. Hopefully with Bucky’s help again. 

[rhynestonez]

ASHES LEFT BEHIND

New Avengers! Bucky X Rogue! Reader

Summary: You were once Bucky’s ally. Now you’re a ghost in the dark, leaving bodies behind. When he learns you’re the threat they’ve been hunting, everything shatters—and he knows he’s the only one who can bring you in… or end it himself.

—

Warnings: blood, gore, torture, unstableness, declining mental health, stalking, hunting, maybe a hint of schizophrenia, some humor if you squint. Death, lots of it.

—

Note: guys PSA, you are not nice in this, you will be doing some not nice things to everyone, including Bucky. So, be warned. Thank u for reading! Taking a break from Oneshots and focusing on this !

Part 1: Blood In The Concrete

The compound was quiet now.

Not the kind of quiet that meant peace—but the kind that followed slaughter. It hung heavy in the air, clinging to the smoke curling toward the rafters and the tang of blood that soaked the floorboards. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, buzzing like flies drawn to death. One of them sputtered out, giving a soft pop before falling completely dark.

That was better.

You moved through the shadows with the precision of someone who’d done this too many times to count. Your boots didn’t make a sound. You didn’t breathe unless you had to. You stepped over the fresh body of a man who’d still been gasping ten minutes ago, the heel of your boot brushing the edge of his fallen rifle. You didn’t look at his face. You didn’t need to.

This wasn’t personal. Not anymore. Each body behind you had once been a man with choices. You’d given them their last.

And now you were almost done.

You pressed your back to the wall, shoulders tensed beneath the worn canvas of your tactical jacket. The blood on your sleeves wasn’t all yours. Some of it had dried. Some was still warm. The weight of your knives on your hips was familiar, comforting. You flexed your fingers—coated in the remnants of the last kill—and exhaled softly.

Just three left. You could feel it.

Then—footsteps. Fast. Measured. Not the scuffling panic of low-level guards who just found their friends dead. This was different.

You stilled.

Voices echoed down the corridor, warped slightly by the long concrete halls.

“Jesus. Is that—are those gunshots to the temple?”

“This is one person? One person did all this?”

You didn’t move. The corner of your mouth twitched upward—not quite a smile, more muscle memory. If they were nervous now, they hadn’t even seen the worst of it.

You tilted your head slightly, just enough to hear better.

“Should we tell Val?”

A pause.

“No- no, we can handle this..”

A beat of silence. Heavy. Cautious.

You adjusted your grip on the smoke grenade in your palm. Someone’s boot scraped too close.

“Shh—did you hear that?”

You moved.

Click. Ping. TSSSS—BOOM.

The corridor exploded into a wall of grey smoke. Shouts followed. Coughing. Cursing. You ran, swift and silent, boots barely kissing the ground as you darted through the side door and up the maintenance stairs. The sound of chaos faded beneath you.

The roof cracked open before you like a wound.

You burst through the rusted door and into the daylight, the hot sun hitting you like a slap. The city stretched beyond the ledge, veiled in haze. Steam curled from rooftop vents. Neon bled from windows and signs below, painting everything in flickering hues of red and violet.

You didn’t stop.

Pain lanced up your leg with every step—your ankle already beginning to swell—but you didn’t slow down. You leapt from rooftop to rooftop, slipping like a shadow between steel and brick. You moved on instinct, muscle memory, adrenaline.

You weren’t made for glory. You weren’t made for medals or headlines.

You were made for this alone.

You landed hard, ankle twisting again with a white-hot crack, and you grunted, teeth gritted so tight it felt like your molars might shatter. You stumbled, caught yourself, and kept moving.

No stopping.

Not now.

You made it to a high point—a water tower platform—and dropped to one knee, pulling your rifle from your back. The barrel slid smooth against the edge as you found your mark.

Below, three of them regrouped. Tactical, smart, spread out. You tracked them with practiced patience. Eyes narrowed behind your visor, breath soft through your nose. You spotted her—short blonde hair, fast, favoring the arm she used for her sidearm. She moved with purpose.

You exhaled.

Waited.

She broke cover for a split second. That was enough.

Crack. The shot echoed like thunder.

A clean graze. Blood spilled down her sleeve as she shrieked and dove behind a rusted HVAC unit. The others scattered with her.

You sat back on your heels, annoyed.

Too close. You should’ve ended it. But your ankle throbbed with every pulse of your heart, making your aim just a hair off. You dragged your fingers across your thigh, grounding yourself. No shots came back.

They didn’t know where you were. That was the only win tonight.

Then—

BANG.

The rooftop door slammed open again. You didn’t react outwardly. Inwardly, everything went still. You moved fast, ducking behind the maintenance shed, low to the ground, smaller gun already drawn.

Footsteps. Heavier. Confident.

Male voice, muttered curses under breath.

“They gotta be up here…”

You listened. Breathing shallow.

You’d recognize that voice anywhere.

Walker?…

You didn’t flinch. Not outwardly. Not when the ghosts from your past came crawling back. The gun in your hand was warm from your palm. You adjusted your grip. Waited. Watched his shadow move past the edge of the shed.

Then you spun out, clean and fast, gun raised.

He turned at the last second—shield already up.

BANG.

CLANG.

The bullet ricocheted off the Vibranium with a spray of sparks.

“Shit.” he muttered, speaking into his comms. You heard the buzz of it—crackling, interference. Someone yelling. Something about aborting.

You didn’t wait.

The gun dropped back into its holster. You drew both blades. Twin steel kissed the cold air.

And you charged.

Up the shed, off the side, a blur of motion as you launched yourself at him with a grunt, blades raised. He blocked the first strike. The second grazed his ribs. You didn’t stop. You danced around him—strike, twist, elbow to jaw, blade to shoulder.

This was what you were made for.

He landed one solid hit—a left hook that split your lip and had you seeing stars for half a second. But you answered with a kick that drove him back to the edge. His shield came up again.

You grabbed it, firmly.

And he wasn’t expecting that.

With a twist of your body, a scream of metal, and a loud grunt from you- you ripped it from his grip and sent it flying off the into the sky, it soared through the air, probably landing into an alley somewhere below.

He froze.

You raised your blades, breathing hard.

Then—

“Holy shit..”

He then said your name in question.

The name cut through the heat.

Not a code name. Not the terror they whispered in fear.

Your name.

You went still.

Not because it mattered. Not anymore. But because you hadn’t heard it spoken by someone who used to care.

You stared at him, muscles coiled tight.

And for a moment, just a moment—there was something in his eyes. Regret. Recognition. Maybe fear.

You almost struck again.

Almost.

But the comms flared again. Static. A voice, distorted but urgent.

“Retreat Walker!. Repeat, abort! The target is lethal—this isn’t containment—get out!”

You began circling him, slowly.

He hesitated.

Swore under his breath. And ran.

You didn’t chase.

He wasn’t on your list.

-

The window creaked as you slipped through it, collapsing inside the cramped apartment that had become your sanctuary.

You lay on the floor for a while. Chest rising and falling. Blood seeping through your shirt where the hit had landed. Your ankle screamed. Your lip throbbed. The shadows on the ceiling didn’t answer your questions.

Eventually, you sat up.

You dragged yourself to the metal table in the corner, flipping on the single bulb overhead. A crude corkboard sat against the wall, photos pinned in organized clusters. Notes. Circles. Threads of red yarn.

You crossed off six names.

Circled two.

And wrote three.

Under “Walker” you wrote:

“Confirmed. Recognition. Shield.”

Under “Unknown Blonde”:

“Shot. Right arm. Fast. Team leader?”

You stared at the board. Taking a step back.

“Idiots..” you mumble.

—

The debriefing room was silent.

Walker sat stiff, bandaged, exhausted. His hands were tightly held together. He’d cleaned the blood off, but the impact was still there. Everyone could see it.

Val was pacing, heels clicking on tile.

“Did you get a good look at her?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then finally—

“Yeah. I did.”

She stopped. “Are you sure?”

His voice was quiet.

“It was her..“

Walker says your name, low but clear.

In the far corner, Bucky lifted his head.

His body tensed, subtle but sharp.

He stared at Walker.

“What?”

Walker met his eyes. Nodded. “It was her but, I don’t know Bucky. She didn’t look right in the eyes.”

Silence fell.

-

Bucky swore under his breath.

The door slammed behind him, echoing through the empty corridor like a judgment.

Bucky didn’t notice how hard he’d closed it.

He stood in the middle of the room, still in full gear, the sweat cooling on the back of his neck, heart pounding harder now than it had during the mission.

He stared at nothing.

Just air. Just the dark.

Then the word tumbled from his lips, hoarse and unbelieving.

“…fuck.”

His jaw clenched.

He turned slowly, shrugging off his jacket, his dog tags clinking against his chest. They felt heavier tonight—like everything did. The collar of his shirt stuck to the back of his neck as he moved toward the mirror, barely registering his own reflection. His eyes looked tired. Hollow.

Walker’s voice was still in his ears, playing on a loop:

“I know it was her. I saw her—looked right at me. Frisbee whipped my shield off the fucking building like it was nothing.”

He said your name.

And Bucky had frozen.

Not out of fear.

But disbelief.

Because it couldn’t be you. Not you. Not the person he used to know. Not the one who’d run into battle beside him and Sam like fire through gasoline—reckless, sharp, unstoppable.

You’d saved people. Fought tooth and nail to protect them. You didn’t shoot to kill unless it was necessary. You were the one who never missed a mission debrief, who made coffee before sunrise for the whole damn team, who dragged him out of his head after bad nights. Who laughed like you didn’t carry ghosts and fought like you didn’t care about dying.

And now you were out there painting New York red.

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing now, boots dragging across the old concrete. He sat down hard on the edge of his cot and rested his elbows on his knees. His hands pressed to his mouth, brow furrowed deep.

“What the hell happened…”

The room felt too small. Too quiet. And then the memories came without asking.

You, leaning over a table full of intel with Sam, arguing about whether the Hydra base had a secondary entrance.

You, shoving Bucky out of the way of a grenade without a second thought.

You, shoulder to shoulder with him after a long op, both of you bloodied and half-laughing at the insanity of it all. A moment suspended in the hum of post-battle calm. Back when everything still worked—when the three of you did, anyway.

Before Sam took the shield.

Before Bucky joined The New Avengers.

Before you disappeared.

He’d told himself for years that he’d left you behind because he had to. Because the past was a weight he couldn’t afford anymore. That he couldn’t bring his ghosts with him into this new chapter—this cleaner version of himself that Val and The New Avengers pretended they believed in.

But the truth was simpler. He didn’t know how to say goodbye to you.

And now here you were, bleeding your way through criminal syndicates like a ghost in combat boots. Leaving bodies behind like breadcrumbs. Slipping through their fingers.

They called you rogue. A threat. Unstoppable.

But Bucky knew better. You were angry. And you were hurt. By what? He didn’t know.

He leaned back and stared at the ceiling, eyes tracing cracks in the paint. How long had it been since someone checked in on you? Since anyone gave a damn? How long had you been doing this alone?

He wanted to tell himself this was just temporary. That you’d come in from the cold if someone reached out. Maybe if he reached out. That you were still in there, somewhere under the blood and smoke.

But the reports said otherwise.

There was a method to your madness. A list. Precision. Tactical executions. Nothing sloppy. Nothing erratic. The kind of kills only someone trained like you—or like him—could pull off.

He’d seen the photos. Way before he knew it was you.

One man, shot directly in the jugular. Clean, fast. No screams.

Another—spinal damage, paralyzed before he hit the floor.

All human scum with mouth dropping records and backgrounds. But still. Bodies were bodies. And now you were on Val’s hit-list.

“Shit.” Bucky muttered, dragging both hands down his face.

A part of him—buried deep—wanted to protect you. To find you before anyone else did. To get to the bottom of whatever the hell this was and stop it before it ended with a bullet to your head or imprisoned for the rest of your life.

But then the other part spoke. The one that had clawed his way through years of brainwashing and guilt and regret. The one that knew what unchecked violence did to a soul.

If he didn’t stop you… who would?

He stared at the floor for a long time. His fists clenched. The silence pressed down harder than the weight of his own metal arm.

Finally, he stood, walking to the desk tucked into the corner. He pulled out a tablet, typed in a few keys, and brought up your file.

Redacted lines. Warnings in bold.

HIGHLY TRAINED

LETHAL

APPROACH WITH EXTREME CAUTION

IF ENGAGED: DO NOT NEGOTIATE

Your photo stared back at him. Cold. A little outdated. You looked younger then. It was an enhanced picture from a security camera, you had your face almost completely covered here, but your eyes were hitting directly up to the picture.

Now that he knew it was you, he couldn’t unsee it.

He sat back down and stared at the wall as if it might offer an answer. But the room stayed silent.

And Bucky Barnes, for the first time in a long time, was afraid of what came next.

—

Rain sheeted down in a steady curtain, thick enough to blur car lights and drown voices. New York was a living, breathing monster, soaked to the bone and steaming in the cracks. You moved through it like a phantom—layered in shadows, wrapped in weather.

Baggy pants hid the subtle limp. A heavy gray hoodie clung to your frame, the hood pulled low over a black cap that tucked your hair out of sight. A coarse wool scarf wrapped tightly across your mouth and nose, itchy and damp, but essential. Only your eyes remained exposed, darting and cold—hyperaware. Calculating. Quiet.

Each step sent a dull throb up your leg. You masked it well, but you felt every fracture of movement in the twisted ankle you’d earned on that rooftop. A memento from John Walker’s unfortunate run-in with you. He hadn’t died. He hadn’t mattered.

You moved like smoke between market stalls, the scent of wet asphalt and cooking oil battling for space in the air. People pressed in close, some shouting over tarps, some bartering beneath umbrellas. You blended, not just because of your disguise, but because no one expected danger to limp.

The world didn’t know what to do with a wounded predator.

You handed a vendor exact change for a bundle of scallions. He smiled. You didn’t. You gave a small nod, barely perceptible, and moved on.

Still, the tension coiled under your skin, tight and twitching. The kind you couldn’t shake. Not just from the weather or the pain.

Something’s off.

You had that sense now—always. Like being haunted. Like someone was watching you from between the cracks in the bricks, waiting for you to misstep. You felt it in the way your shoulders wouldn’t drop, in how you kept checking every puddle’s reflection.

You told yourself it was just paranoia. A leftover instinct from years of fighting alongside people who now no longer stood beside you.

Across the street, under the dripline of a rusted fire escape, Bucky Barnes stood still in the downpour.

His hood was up, jacket zipped, but he didn’t move. Not yet.

He had been watching the figure move through the market for a full five minutes now. Something about the gait—off-kilter but fluid. The way their eyes moved—scanning with intent, not curiosity. The way they handed over exact change without a word.

And the scarf.

The scarf set something off. Almost identical to how you wore it in your files picture.

He squinted, narrowing in on your eyes. They were different now—harder, colder, unreadable—but he remembered how they used to look after a mission. After patching someone up. After laughing over terrible beer and good silence. There was still something there.

He didn’t want to believe it.

But he knew.

He started to move.

You caught it in a reflection first—just a blur at the edge of a truck’s mirror. A man moving too directly, too deliberately.

Not the kind of walk a tourist makes. Not a shopper. Not anyone innocent.

You turned slightly and caught a fuller glance. Medium build, layers, moving fast—but not in panic. In pursuit.

Your stomach dropped.

Not because you recognized him.

But because you didn’t.

Not through the crowd. Not in the rain. Not with the way your blood began to roar in your ears.

You saw a hunter.

And your body reacted before your mind did.

You gripped the bag of scallions harder. Stepped hard into the crowd. Limp and all, you moved fast, slinking between a couple arguing over bagels and a kid with a toy drone buzzing above his head. You didn’t run—not yet. Running drew attention.

But you weaved, tight and sharp, crossing intersections without looking, ducking low under awnings, breathing through clenched teeth.

Bucky saw you move.

He cursed under his breath and started after you.

He didn’t call your name. Not yet. That would spook you more. He could see it in the way your hand moved to your side—not for balance.

For a weapon.

Still injured, still fast.

You broke into a run as soon as you hit the next block. It wasn’t clean—your ankle dragged slightly—but your instincts made up for it. You leapt a trash bin, darted behind a flower cart, and vanished down a narrow gap between two apartment buildings.

By the time Bucky rounded the corner, you were gone.

He scanned every window, every fire escape, every shadow.

Gone.

A sigh pushed out of his chest, frustration and something heavier behind it.

That was her.

No doubt now.

And she’s still fast.

He was just another threat to you. Everyone was now.

The moment the apartment window slammed shut behind you, you pressed your back to the frame, chest heaving like you’d outrun a wildfire. Your hoodie clung to your soaked skin, weighing you down like a corpse’s shroud, and the rain still echoed in your ears—heavy, relentless, unyielding. The bag of scallions thrown crudely in the corner.

You didn’t move for a while. Couldn’t. The only sound in the room was your breath—uneven, rattling—and the faint tick of the old kitchen clock. You blinked, and your eyes darted to the lock. Still in place. You checked the second window. Secure. Then the door. Deadbolt still twisted tight.

Still, you didn’t feel safe.

Your feet carried you before your mind could. Pacing. Tight little figure-eights on the warped wooden floor. You peeled the soaked hoodie off, tossed it to the corner, then pulled off the scarf with trembling hands. A tank hugged your body, still dry. You couldn’t sit down. Couldn’t breathe right. Something was off.

Who the hell was that?

You were careful. Meticulous. You barely had enemies left. You killed most of them. And yet—someone followed you. Not a pickpocket. Not a casual observer. Someone who knew. Someone who saw you.

“Think.” you whispered to yourself, voice hoarse and low. “Think, think—”

You listed the dead aloud. Hydra remnants—gone. That cartel out of Jersey—slaughtered. The informants that snitched on you in Prague—silenced. The Sokovian smugglers—burned. All confirmed. All accounted for.

So who?

You ran a hand through your hair and paced again. Circling the room. You knocked a chair over and didn’t stop to pick it up. Your fingers scratched at the skin beside your thumb, tearing at it until it flaked red. When blood bubbled, you sucked it clean, absentminded.

There were too many gaps. You hated gaps.

You dropped onto the floor beside the low table, scattering old photos, folded maps, knives.

You knew exactly who to find.

You didn’t trust phones. Didn’t trust whispers. Didn’t trust much of anything anymore.

But Cicero—you trusted him to be scared.

He worked the backend of SHIELD-adjacent black markets before the fall. Now he sold secrets in alleyways and underpasses, dealing in favors and leverage for whoever still paid in blood. A paranoid bastard. Never stayed in one place too long. But you remembered how he flinched the last time he saw you. How his hand twitched when he thought you might come closer.

You found him in a low-rent laundromat basement in Brooklyn, just after sunset. Right where your contact had said he’d be.

He didn’t even have time to scream.

You hit him hard—twice in the ribs and once in the jaw. He folded like paper, crumpled and wheezing on the floor. A small room, cinderblock walls, no windows. Perfect. You’d scoped it before. Knew the exits. Blocked one with a chair.

He was tied to a busted radiator in under two minutes. Hands behind his back. Ankles bound.

Your knuckles ached already. Not from hitting him—no, from how tightly you’d been clenching your fists since the rainy street chase. Since the voice in your head told you that someone had finally caught your scent.

Someone dangerous.

“W-what do you want?” Cicero spat blood. “I didn’t sell you out, I swear—”

You backhanded him without a word.

“Two names-“ you snapped. “A man with a shield. Military. Goes by Walker. And a blonde woman—lethal, fast, Russian-trained. They’re working together. They were hunting me. I want everything you have on them. Every file, every connection. Don’t waste my time.”

“I—I sold those files months ago—”

“Wrong answer.”

Your blade was unsheathed before he finished blinking. You let the tip rest just under his eye. You didn’t press, not yet.

“Next lie means blood.” you murmured.

He whimpered, nodded quickly. “Alright! Alright! They’re not digital. Paper. Hard copies. I keep ‘em in the archive locker, second room behind the boiler—code is 9-2-6. Please, just—please, don’t kill me—”

You held eye contact a beat longer than you needed to.

Then stepped away.

The boiler room was just as grimy as you remembered. You shoved aside crates and scrap until you found the locked cabinet. Entered the code. The lock clicked.

You dug through the files in silence, hands sure and sharp, tossing aside useless folders—blacklist reports, defunct IDs, international redacted pages, all trash. Your pulse thrummed with each page flipped. You knew what you were looking for. Faces. Names.

And then—

Yelena Belova.

A shot of her in tactical gear, dossier clipped neatly behind.

John Walker.

His photo was a military mugshot—jaw clenched, too proud. Both files thick with notes. Missions. Affiliations. Even a contact list. Goldmine.

You flipped through them fast, just enough to confirm what you needed. Then you tucked them neatly into your bag. Clean. Precise.

You zipped it shut with a final, definitive motion.

Then turned back toward the other room.

Cicero was watching you wide-eyed, tears running into the split at his cheekbone. “Please—look, I gave you what you wanted. You got what you wanted. You don’t have to—please, just don’t kill me.”

You tilted your head. Watched him squirm.

“What group are they.” You asked, adjusting your bag on your shoulder.

“They’re new!” he babbled. “Off-book. Real hush-hush types. Government-sponsored, but not Avengers—something different. I don’t know the name. I swear I don’t know the name!”

No words. Just a quiet, closing breath. You stepped forward.

And then— Crack.

Your fist landed one more time, square across his jaw. He slumped unconscious, head lolling against the radiator pipe.

You stood over him a moment longer, flexing your bruised hand, knuckles already screaming with pain. The adrenaline didn’t cover it this time. You squeezed until they popped again, just to feel something solid.

You exhaled slow.

You had what you needed.

And that was that.

—

You sat back on your heels, heart thudding. Papers scattered around you, only Yelena’s. You read every page front to back, taking every inch of information about her. Her face—she was the one you grazed. She’d screamed. You remembered the pitch of it, that sharp spit of Russian through clenched teeth. The others had called her name, but it was drowned in the chaos.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. Eyes closed. Your body rocked slightly. Just enough to feel movement. It steadied you.

One named stood out among the papers.

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine.

Your heart rattled against your ribs. Not fear. Not quite. But something dark and tense in the pit of your stomach.

If they were there… and chasing you… It wasn’t just a coincidence.

Six days later you hadn’t slept more than two hours in one sitting since that night. You couldn’t.

The maps returned. Your walls were plastered again—cords of red yarn, photos, names, timestamps, street cams printed in grainy ink. Pins stabbed into districts. Names written twice. Crossed once.

You sat on the rooftop across from a bodega. Coffee in hand, cold, untouched. Your camera rested beside your knee. You watched the alley across the street through a set of worn binoculars. You hadn’t blinked in almost a minute.

You weren’t here to kill. Not yet. Just here to stalk. You were hunting information now. And patience was the most dangerous weapon you had.

Yelena came first. You followed her from a mission drop in Queens, tracked her habits. She was careful—ducked in and out of unmarked vehicles, used multiple exits. But you knew how to catch up. You followed from rooftops, from crowds, from the mirrors of coffee shop windows. You learned the way she tugged her jacket tighter when nervous. How her stride shortened when she was scanning. The way she twisted her gold ring when she was frustrated.

You wrote it all down.

Walker was easier. Loud. Unsubtle. He traveled in straight lines, barked orders, picked fights with people who didn’t know who he was. You tailed him to his apartment. Marked his windows. Took four photos of him leaving through the fire escape instead of the front door—paranoia? Protocol?

You didn’t care. You got what you needed.

On the fifth day, someone brushed your shoulder too hard on a street corner and you nearly drew your blade. You didn’t, but your face cracked—eyes wide, jaw clenched. You hissed a curse and disappeared into the crowd, heart sprinting ahead of your feet.

When you returned to your apartment that night, your hands were shaking too much to hold the pen. You dropped it three times before you could circle their names.

John Walker.

Yelena Belova.

Both under the control of Valentina.

“I’ll finish what I started. Once the job’s done, I’ll come for them next.”

You were wound tight as wire. Picking at your fingers until the blood dried black under your nails. Paranoid. Exhausted. Wired. But determined.

Because if Valentina wanted to hunt you—

She’d better bring more than a Captain America wannabe and the widow’s sister.

-

The door swung open with a wet creak, and John Walker stepped into the safehouse like he’d just walked out of a storm—and he had. His jacket dripped steadily onto the warped floorboards, his boots leaving slick tracks behind him as he peeled off a pair of soaked gloves and let out a low, frustrated breath.

“I think I was being followed yesterday.” he said, not bothering with a greeting.

Across the room, Ava barely lifted her eyes from the flickering lighter in her hand. She was curled in an armchair like a feral cat, hoodie pulled tight around her face, her fingers idly flicking the lighter open and shut, open and shut.

She didn’t even blink. “Maybe they caught the scent of that try-hard cologne you insist on wearing. Smells like fragile masculinity and impulse regret.”

Yelena, stretched across the lumpy couch with her boots propped up on a pile of unsorted surveillance files, gave a sharp laugh without looking away from the half-eaten container of dumplings balanced on her chest.

“Or maybe it was the way you walk.” she offered. “Like you’re auditioning for a one-man patriotism parade.”

Walker rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath as he slung his soaked jacket over the back of a chair. “It’s always so warm and welcoming in here.” he said, mostly to himself. “Really makes a guy feel appreciated.”

Ava clicked the lighter shut with a flick of her thumb. “We appreciate that you haven’t gotten us killed yet.” she said flatly. “That’s something.”

“Barely-“ Yelena added. “But we’re counting it.”

Walker dropped into the nearest chair, rubbing the rain out of his buzzed hair. His jaw was tight, though. Beneath the sarcasm and familiar jabs, there was something else simmering—something that didn’t come from friendly ribbing.

“No, seriously.” he said after a pause, and the humor bled out of his voice. “Someone was watching me. I felt it. Can’t explain how—I didn’t see them, but they were there. Close.”

That quieted the room.

Ava’s lighter stopped flicking. Yelena lowered her chopsticks mid-bite.

“You sure it wasn’t your ego?” Ava said softly, but the sharp edge in her voice was gone. She leaned forward just a little, finally studying his face.

Walker didn’t answer right away. He looked toward the rain-streaked windows, his gaze distant, calculating.

“I’ve been followed before-“ he said. “This was different though. Felt sharp. Predatory almost.”

Yelena sat up now, her posture shifting subtly—ready, alert. Her green eyes locked onto him like a trigger being slowly pulled.

“Off-“ she repeated. “Like ‘someone’s-got-you-in-their-sights’ off?”

Walker nodded, slow and certain. “Off like I was the next thing on somebody’s list.”

Yelena’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Ava stood, finally tossing her lighter onto the table. It clattered once and went still.

“Well-“ Ava muttered “Isn’t that just comforting.”

No one spoke for a moment. The soft drone of the storm outside filled the silence like a warning.

Yelena narrowed her eyes slightly. “You think it was her?”

Walker shrugged one shoulder, but his gaze didn’t waver. “I don’t know. But whoever it was… they weren’t just passing through.”

Something unspoken passed between the three of them. They had all felt it before—that creeping sense that the hunter had become the hunted.

And none of them liked that feeling.

[boltthunders]

Platonic Y/N x New Avengers Headcanons

Much like Bob, you have been adopted by several depressed assassins.

You have a very much needed healing ability that allows you to heal the wounds of your teammates in quick speed! The ability leaves you rather drained afterwards though…

Cue Alexei and Bucky mother hen-ing you to death because they don’t want you to overexert yourself.

Val kinda saw you as a burden at first, but you’re REALLY good at social media, and the New Avengers’s follower count SKYROCKETED after you posted a bunch of selfies during missions.

Was John getting decked in the face in the background of one post? Yes. Did it go viral? Yes.

Are you posting analogy horror style videos of the void staring at the camera? Yes.

Did you post a video of Alexei crushing a toaster after it refused to give him his toast? Yes. Yes you did.

Val immediately gave you controls of all the social media accounts.

You live tweeting a mission

Living in the New Avengers Tower is nuts.

Ava tries to scare the shit out of you daily by phasing behind you and grabbing your shoulders.

It doesn’t help you’re jumpy. Ava finds it VERY amusing.

Yelena kinda avoids you at first, but then you compliment her makeup and it’s game over. She practically adopts you as her little sibling.

She will force you into self-care nights. Just go with it.

Bob is just happy to have someone else to talk to. At least someone more open to chit chat and not so serious conversations.

You two do sneak out for midnight bodega runs. It’s a secret, and exclusive to just the two of you.

Alexei is just like a dad collecting kids at this point. He just appoints himself at your dad, even calls you Ки́са (kitten/cat).

John kinda ignores your existence until you ask him about his service in the military. Then he opens up like a book. Is constantly sliding you snacks at the most random moments. It’s how he shows he cares.

Bucky is kinda neutral. He doesn’t mind you, he does get worried about the side effects of your abilities. When Alpine finally arrives, he can’t help but smile when you’re giving Alpine the best pets. You won him over.

Cue you pet sitting Alpine and Yelena’s guinea pig when you’re recovering from extensive healing duties.

Not you starting an instagram page for both Alpine and Yelena’s guinea pig.

[j-eryewrites]

The Line | Thunderbolts*

Chapter Five of Under Pressure: A Thunderbolts Fic

Previous | Next

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Word Count: ~6.0k

Warnings: Canon typical violence, descriptions of injuries and blood, mentions of death, mentions of Reader's trauma and shame rooms, mentions of child and domestic abuse, mentions of mental health and illness, Valentina hate train, descriptions of pain and suffocation, THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS, (let me know if I missed any)

Author's Note: My significant other took me to see Thunderbolts for the third time and I'm going back later today to watch it one final time before it leaves my local theatres (thanks HTTYD). We've finally reached the end of the film and now onto the fun part, speculating. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

A field of white welcomed you back. This time you didn’t run. This time, you didn’t try to stop what was to come. You just sat there on the linoleum floor, crying. Again, the lights flickered, a sign of what was happening to your fellow unconscious friends. Soon, everything went dark. The scene rewound, starting over again. 

“Begin the simulation,” repeated over and over again like a mantra. Unlike the self-care and self-love ones that Bucky occasionally sent to you, this one burned, opening wounds you thought were long forgotten. The scars reopened, intertwined with the fresh ones that littered your body. The Sentry–Bob’s energy still remained in you, occasionally igniting a new wave of pain. To top your stay in hell, the memory of Bob’s still body flashed in your mind. The red light of the kill switch. His dark blue cloak gently waved from the breeze that snuck in from the broken window. You had killed him. You did. The darkness that overcame Bob was right. You were a Jinx. The mantle of hero would always be out of your reach, just out of the tip of your fingers. 

“I’m so sorry, B-Bob,” you choked on your sobs. Tucking your legs into you, you wrapped your arms around your shins, pulling them in close. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Begin the sim–” 

“Y/N?” You flinched at your name. This wasn’t supposed to happen. That’s not how the memory went. You weren’t even known at Y/N back then. Untucking your head from the shield of your knees, you looked up. In the one-way window, you no longer saw the inside of the laboratory. Instead, it was an attic. In the center of the room sat Bob. He lifted his head as if he were trying to see you better. 

You stood up, wiping tears. “Bob?” You blinked, and he was gone. Confusion pinched your brows together as you whirled around. The lights above began to flicker again. Bob was here. You had seen him. Maybe there was a way to get out of here–out of this memory. Stepping back until your spine hit the wall behind you, you took in a deep breath, and charged shoulder braced for impact. 

CRACK!

You were bounced back from the recoil. Resetting your position, you continued to ram yourself into the glass. 

CRACK! CRACK! 

The flickering was getting harsher. You had to get out before the memory reset. 

CRACK!

Placing all the force you could muster behind the attack, the window gave in. The sound of glass shattering and scattering across the floor vanished just as you tumbled to the ground, surrounded in darkness. Groaning, you pushed yourself off the floor. You lifted your eyes to scan your surroundings. The laboratory was gone. Instead, you found yourself in a vast battlefield of debris and fires. The ghosts of buildings–the Avengers compound stood over the wreckage of the Earth. Scattered around the area stood heroes, your family, and others who joined the fight along the way, standing tall as they fought against the alien army. In the middle of it all, you spotted the purple titan fighting against a blur of red and gold. 

With one final swing, he tossed your Father to the ground as clouds of dust enveloped him. Behind the sky was filled with smoke. The dark grey clouds clogged up the fiery dusk in the sky. You swore the battlefield went silent as Thanos approached Tony. His thick, purple hands clasped around the glove that housed the Infinity Stones. 

“I am…inevitable,” Thanos declared, bringing his fingers together to snap. But by then, you were already running. Like the memory before, you couldn’t help how your feet carried you. A part of you knew nothing you did now would change anything, but the other side didn’t care. She was a little girl who wanted to save her dad; she was no longer the woman you were today. 

“Dad!” You screamed as you tripped over a chunk of debris. Your body tumbled, snagging your clothes and ripping holes in the fabric, but you didn’t care. Instead, you trudged on, getting back up. Just as Tony was about to snap, the glow of the infinity stones glowing brighter and brighter, you tackled him to the ground, clawing at the stones. “Please, Dad. Don’t do this. Let me–”

Tony shoved you away. The back of his hand cut deep into your cheek as he slapped you. “You can’t run from this.” It wasn’t Tony’s voice that came out.  It was Bob’s, but void of all warmth. The scene around you darkened. Suddenly, the scene brightened. Tony was no longer in front of you. Instead, he lay against a stone. His arm was ashen and falling apart. His dark eyes were losing the light of life in them. 

“No.” You shook your head, fighting back tears. 

“You can’t change anything. You just make things worse,” the voice continued. 

“No!” You screamed, covering your ears. “No, please! Bob, please stop this,” You begged, crumpling to your knees as Tony vanished, leaving only his iron heart behind. Tearing your eyes away, you caught sight of a puddle at the cusp of your knees. The puddle beside you rippled. The image was now a window into the attic you had seen before. “Bob?” You peered into the puddle, as your fellow comrades bowed their heads and knelt in respect and reverence for your Father’s sacrifice. 

“Y/N?” Bob, your Bob, not the one void of any warmth, responded. 

“B-Bob?” You repeated, unsure if your eyes were tricking you. He bit his lip, nodding. “Can I…?” You trailed off, flinching at the sound of Tony being tossed to the ground by Thanos. The memory had started again. “Can I come in to where, you know, wherever you are?” 

Bob glanced down at his hands and the Rubik's cube in his grasp. His face scrunched up in thought as he gazed at the puzzle of mixed and matched colors, before welcoming you in. You leaned closer and hesitantly reached a hand into the puddle. When your hand didn’t make contact with anything, you dove headfirst into the puddle. 

The scene around you changed. Your eyes scanned the room: boxes with different hand-written labels stacked upon each other, walls covered in plaid blueish-green wallpaper that was falling off due to the humidity, and a dusty bed with quilts, pillows, and a teddy bear piled on. On each face of the room, there were windows. Your eyes narrowed to see out of them, but you could only find a greyish light. 

“Oh, woah,” Bob muttered, looking up from the Rubik's cube in his hands. His eyes took in your disheveled appearance, so much for Valentina’s makeover. You turned around to face him and felt your breath catch in your throat. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” No words found the will to crawl out of your throat. How could you speak when the man you’d just killed was sitting right in front of you? Tears pooled in your eyes at the sight. There sat Bob, on a circular rug, hunched in on himself. The pure blue of his sweater made his eyes glow, but not the gold you had seen before. These were Bob’s eyes. 

 “A-are you crying?” Bob asked you, a concerned expression flickered over his face. 

“Oh,” You muttered, snapping out of your daze. Slowly, your hands raised to your cheek, wiping the tears away. “I guess…yeah.”

“Your cheeks are really red, you must have,” Bob trailed off before his shyness took over, forcing him to quietly mutter the rest of his sentence, “…cried a lot.” His head fell back to the puzzle cube, afraid of what you might say. The sound that came next was not the reprimand he was expecting. Instead of a snappy comment, you laughed. Bob’s eyes found yours again, in awe at the sight. 

 “Thanks, Bob.” You said, now wiping tears from the laughter. “I needed that.” Once your eyes had dispelled the tears, you noticed the cube in his hands. Coming to sit beside him, you pointed to the object. “What are you…”

“Oh, it’s a Rubik's cube,” Bob explained, his voice a level below a whisper. “Helps distract me from the–”

Suddenly, a loud crash came from down below. You couldn’t help how you jumped out of your skin at the noise, noticing Bob flinching just the same. Below, an argument broke out. A man with a harsh voice began to yell, threatening, who you assumed was a young Bob, as he stood up for his Mother. Louder noises began to fill the air as pleas followed. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, trying to comfort Bob. Before your hand could brush against his shoulder, you froze, quickly tucking it into your lap. 

Bob’s eyes fell as he watched your hand disappear. “I–I-it’s fine. I’m used to it.” 

Shaking your head, you said, “No one should be used to that…” You paused, trying to find better words to comfort him. The only thing your mind conjured up was “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Bob reassured.  

A moment of silence fell over you as the room grew quiet once again. The only noise that your ears picked up was the clicking of the Rubik's cube. With each spin of Bob’s fingers, the colors became more and more mixed up. As if Bob never wanted to try and solve it in the first place, choosing to give in to the chaos. “So…,” you cleared your throat. “The memories…um, I–” You couldn’t find the words.

Bob, noticing your hesitation, paused his pursuit of solving the puzzle. “What are you trying to say?”

*I’m not good with words. Do a better job of listening and being seen. I couldn’t speak for the longest time after, well…even so, my mom, Natasha, she could…understand. Read me like a book. Could tell when I was upset, hungry, or tired before I even realized I was. It was like magic. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is that… I’m here for you. High or low.” 

“You remember?’ Bob stammered in disbelief at your words. 

Of course, you had remembered. He had mentioned this in the vault as you were trying to turn the lights back on. It was a moment of trust and calm before the storm. “I remember.” Taking a gulp, you wet your coarse throat.

You watched as Bob’s shoulders slowly slumped further down than you thought humanly possible. “It’s one of the l-lows,” he confessed. You bowed your head at his words, thinking on how to best help him. Instead, you remained quiet. The kind that allowed you to listen and not just hear. You nodded, encouraging Bob to continue talking to you. “At least I found a nice room.” He offered you a brief smile. His eyes eluded your attempts to make eye contact. 

With crinkled eyes, you turned your gaze away from Bob. The attic was cozy and seemingly less hostile than all the other rooms you had been in. You could even go as far as say it was welcoming. “It is nice. Was this–” Glass plates shattered below you. You hadn’t realized the scene had reset, watching as Bob fell back, caving in on himself.  

“Hey, it’s okay.”  Bob’s body shook like an earthquake had erupted. The Rubik's cube clattered to the floor. 

“You think you’re a hero, Bobby?!” Bob’s Father yelled, threatening his son. 

Snatching up the Rubik's cube, you placed it back into Bob’s hands. However, the whispers in his head were growing louder and louder. Each word was a dagger cutting deeper into him. He couldn’t hear you or feel your attempts to calm and comfort him. Your face fell watching his comfort and flinch as the conflict below got louder and louder. Without thinking or fear of touching him, your fingers slid around his face, covering his ears. Bob’s eyes flew open as he tried to jerk back. His brows raised as his eyes rapidly blinked, looking between your shaking hands and your face. Slowly,  the muscles in his forehead began to relax, soothing the fine lines that appeared before. 

“I’m here. I’m here, Bob.” You whispered to him. They were words you had heard before, sung to you when you were at your lowest. Each time spoken by someone new: Natasha, Steve, Tony, Clint, Bruce, and even Thor. Now it was your turn to utter them. 

Despite the volume of the violence below, Bob heard you, louder than he had ever heard anyone before. “You’re not alone.” Without warning, the room groaned and shook. Objects began to fall from their homes on forgotten shelves, clattering to the floor. Dust kicked up into the air, clouding your view. “What–?” You questioned, instinctively pulling Bob closer. 

“It’s him,” Bob whimpered. Out of the chaos, the shadows in the corner no longer seemed full. Now empty of any shape or form, they crept closer to you two. Beneath you, the strands of fabric in the rug rose. Like vines, they coiled over your limbs, pulling you down. They yanked you away, swallowing you into the floor. The room began to spin, and the rug whirled as if the center of the room had become a maelstrom.  “Bob! Help, Bo–” A cluster of fabric slapped itself over your mouth. 

“He can’t help you. Can’t even save himself, let alone you.” Bob froze. His heart seemed to stop beating as pools formed in his eyes. He couldn’t move, cowering at his voice echoing in his head as you were sucked from view. Just as fast as the storm came, it cleared. There was no sign you had been there. Biting down hard on his lip, Bob tried to fight back tears. It was right. How could he have saved you? He couldn’t help anyone. 

“Always making things worse,” he heard his father’s voice say in tandem with his own.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

You fell from the ceiling, collapsing onto something hard, hearing a sickening crack as your joints rejected the cold surface of the dark floor. On instinct, you curled in on yourself, your hands clutching your waist and stomach. In the fetal position, you shakingly took in one breath at a time; gentle words of advice Natasha had given you long ago as you lay in bed with a recovering dislocated shoulder and fractured ribs. You had gotten hurt on one of your test flights with Tony. You couldn’t quite figure out how to control the force of the thrusters, causing you to spin out and crash into a few trees. Not the most graceful landing you had ever done. Still, Nat sat beside your bed, watching over you and never leaving your side until you were feeling better. 

It was just a simple breathing tactic. In and hold. Out and hold. It was supposed to calm your mind from the panic that arose with an injury. After all, you weren’t allowed to panic in a fight. One wrong move, a moment of overthinking, and you were dead. You inhaled and exhaled to calm the storm in your mind. The void. It had taken you away from Bob and brought you somewhere else. You didn’t dare look up until you were ready. The room would wait for you. 

Lying there on the unwelcoming ground, you felt a chilling breeze trickle over your body. The air was crisp and dewy. All signs were that a rainstorm was coming. Your face scrunched in thought as you continued to breathe. Maybe you could figure out what the Void had in store for you, what memory awaited your tortured mind. From behind the dark of your eyelids, a warm, barish yellow light filtered in. You frowned, finding no memory of yours to match up with what your senses were telling you. Taking a sharp inhale, you opened your eyes. 

Shattered glass and crumbled debris surround you, forming a makeshift nest. Your eyes met your distorted reflection on the dark flooring. Spects of glass lay beneath you as you carefully pushed yourself to a seat. Nothing in your body ached or screamed as if it were broken. You sighed in relief, dusting the shards of glass that clung to your body. Some cut their skin as they brushed it away. Droplets of red blood leaked out from under your skin. A sign you were human and fragile. 

Hissing, you braced yourself against a nearby wall, letting your head fall back. You hadn’t seen the room you were in, and you were terrified of what awaited you. Closing your eyes again, you tried to prepare yourself for what horrors lay ahead: would you see them all disappear again? Watch yourself fail in destroying the Mind Stone? Stand behind the door to Morgan’s room, listening to her cry herself to sleep? No matter the memory that came crawling back up to haunt you, you knew you had to find a way out and get back to Bob. 

Opening your eyes, light flooded your view. You brought your hand to shade your eyes until you adjusted to the sight. Nothing you had thought of before could prepare you. The Void had sent you here. The thing you regretted most and hit every weakened part of you. The moment you knew you had no chance of upholding their legacy. The moment you had crossed the line and lived up to your namesake. 

A sob choked its way out of your throat. There you were in the corner, shriveled up into a husk of yourself as you fought the full force of the Sentry’s power. Above you, he stood. You watched as uncertainty seeped through the cracks of his invincibility. Robert knew he was strong. Stronger than anything anyone had seen before, yet staring down at you as you suffered, you saw he did the same. His words of assistance earlier in the vault echoed in your mind. He only wanted to help. To be strong enough for you and the others. That’s why he ran from the truck and stood in the line of fire. But now the cloak had been pulled from his eyes. The truth that followed the Sentry’s actions and Valentina’s snake-like words. He didn’t help. He had created hurt.

You watched as his hands twitched; his finger itching to reach out to you and ease your pain, but your betrayal stopped him. You had drained his power. You had, only for a moment, weakened his strength. He was torn at the sight of you. Shame and guilt crept to the surface. You saw the moment his eyes darkened and an emptiness crept into them. The very look you found in his face–the Void’s. Then it clicked. They were one and the same. Bob, Sentry, and Void. Each carrying the same burdens and fears, each one manifesting it differently, each one just as terrified as the other. 

There you sat, leaning against the wall, watching the scene unfold: Valentina instructing Bob to finish it and kill you, his refusal, and a budding challenge against her. You watched as he paced around the room, the tremors from his hand returned as more of his insecurities fractured at the surface. Despite it all, you watched how he continued to glance back at you, struggling. It was like he needed assurance you were still breathing, still alive.  Each time his eyes darted back at you, his posture faltered, blond hair falling into his face as if the sight of you was grounding him and breaking him all at once. 

Finding the courage to stand, you dragged yourself to Sentry–Bob–the Void. He had Valentina pressed up against the wall. Anger and fear mixed into one, as he choked her. In the blink of an eye, he fell, eyes rolling back into his head. Valentina made her getaway, leaving you and him alone. You crouched beside his body, bringing a hand to his cheek, brushing the wisps of hair that had fallen. You fought tears as you whispered a silent goodbye. A promise you’d never hurt him again, that you’d always be there just like Tony and the others had promised you all those years ago. You and Bob were one and the same. Alone, scared, and desperate for someone to stand by them, to see you for who you truly were, unashamed of the past and of the scars that littered your soul. 

Slowly, you got up and limped to the elevator doors, all the while the other you ran to Bob’s side, weeping over her choices and his death. Sniffling, you pressed the call button, your back turned as darkness took over the room. 

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

In the darkness, you stumbled forward. Your hands were raised in front of you to warn you of any obstacle in your way. However, there were no obstacles above. Instead, they came from below in the shape of a pile of people. Tripping, you braced yourself for impact, only to have your fall cushioned by another. A groan escaped from underneath you. 

“Yelena?” You questioned, seeing the blonde below you. 

“Stark?” Yelena repeated your name back. A relieved smile appeared on her face at the sight of you. 

“I’m perfectly peachy in case anyone was wondering,” Walker groaned. Beside you was Walker, holding his stomach from where you stepped on him.

“Oh, sorry, Walker,” you apologized, trying to push them off. As you placed your hand down and pushed, a chorus of ows echoed out from Ava. You scrambled off of her and the others as best you could, totally not kneeing Alexei in the face. He rubbed his nose where you had made contact. It was still sore from when a certain meth addicted chicken whacked him in the face once or twice. 

Once everyone had found themselves back on their feet, you took in the sight of them all. They were all in varying stages of ease at the sight of you. Last they saw, you were crumpled on the floor, burning from the inside out. You had sacrificed yourself so they could get out. Bucky gave you a silent look over, his eyes scanning yours to confirm that you were really there. You saw the remaining ripples of concern and fear in his eyes as his eyes caught sight of every cut and bruise littering your skin. You knew the promise he had made Steve on that bench, that he’d watch over you, and he did. A silent protector, he stood beside you, supporting you when you found it hard to even stand. You reached out to him, finger grazing the metal of his arm. 

“Jesus you look like shit,” Walker stated taking in your appearance. 

“Thanks, Walker,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes at him. You wouldn’t admit that even the sight of him reassured you. He was still an asshole, but a welcomed one. Now, you didn’t have to face the rooms alone anymore. 

“Anytime.” He offered you a soft smile, clutching his shield just a little bit tighter. Behind Walker, you spotted a head of soft brown hair. The light curls drew you forward.  “Bob, you’re all right,” you sighed. You couldn’t help but watch how his face widened as if he expected you to be upset for how his fear overcame him earlier. Biting his lip, he gratefully smiled, eyes darting to the floor. 

“Not to cut this…short.” Ava waved her finger between you and Bob, “But where are we?”

Yelena turned her head. Before you all were a lab. Desks with tubes and glass beakers stacked upon shelves filled the room. In the middle was a pathway, leading to an examination room. Shadows of people were scorched onto the walls, and sitting in the room was he. The void. Still and silent, he sat, hunched over, hands tightly holding the other in his lap. “I've been here before,” Yelena confessed, taking the first step into the room. The rest of you followed suit, and the sliding doors closed behind you with a thud. 

“This is where it started,” Bob began to speak as you all approached the Void. “I was traveling through Southeast Asia. Thought I'd figure something out. At least find more drugs. Then there was this guy.” His eyes were wide as he recalled his memories before the vault. “Started telling me about a medical study. An experimental drug that could make me...stronger. Felt like a miracle. Finally, I could prove to everyone that I was more...something.”

“And look what you unleashed,” the void rasped. His bare feet clattered across the lab floor as he hopped off the gurney. Like a shadow, he maneuvered himself into the doorway. His empty eyes glowed with a cold light that glared at you all. You couldn’t help the tremble that escaped the tips of your fingers. Bucky’s cool fingers wrapped around yours, giving them a light squeeze. You glanced over at him, nodding your head in thanks. 

“The most embarrassing part was thinking you could be anything more than...nothing,” the Void directed his insults at Bob. 

“We're leaving,” Yelena declared, stepping forward, she made your intentions clear. You weren’t asking the void, you were telling him. 

For a moment, the Void just stared at you all in silence. His eerie eyes bore holes into the side of Bob’s skull. Slowly, his eyes trailed from Bob over to you. His eyes narrowed. “No,” he growled. “You’re not.” 

From behind the Void, the gurney was lifted off the floor. Floating, it flipped to its side, brushing past the Void before shooting itself at you all. You grabbed Bob, tackling him to the floor out of the range of the metal bed. Bucky, Walker, and Ava dodged out of the way with ease. Yelena and Alexei weren’t so lucky, as the gurney trapped them against the door. Yet the Void’s siege was not over. Above, the lights flickered as the metal and strings flew down each, trapping another one of you. Ava beside Alexei and Yelena, Bucky against one of the desks. Across from him, Walker was staked into the desk behind him. A sharp shrapnel of metal stuck out of his shoulder blade. You and Bob ducked away from each attack until you got hit with a chunk of metal. The material coiled around your wrists, bringing them to the ground. Another piece wrapped around your torso, further trapping you. All that remained was Bob. 

“Let them go,” he pleaded with the void. Tears flooded his eyes at the sight of all of you struggling and hurt. The void was an extension of him, and he was doing this. He was hurting you. 

“You think they care about you?” The void growled, stalking towards Bob, who crawled towards you to try and pull the metal off of you. With each tug of Bob’s hands, the metal constricted tighter and tighter, causing you to cry out in pain. “You don't matter...to anyone.” The Void continued his assault. 

“That's not true!” Yelena exclaimed, only to be choked as a plastic tube wriggled its way around her neck. She gasped for air, face turning a deep shade of purple. 

“Don't hurt them,” Bob commanded. The Void only sneered.  “I'm stronger than you.”

“Let's see,” the Void challenged. Suddenly, Bob was on his feet, arms swinging into the darkness. The Void easily dodged Bob’s attacks as if it were a choreographed dance. From Bob’s inexperience, the Void attack, punching into Bob’s stomach and face, crumpling him to the ground. The Void’s smile grew brighter as Bob coughed up air and spit. 

“Get up, Bobby,” Walker urged on. The piece of shrapnel dug deeper into his shoulder. His cry of pain switched on something in Bob. Instantly, Bob was on the Void, tackling him to the ground. With his shadow securely underneath him, Bob raised his fist and brought it down. A sickening crack filled the air as the ceiling began to crumble. With each hit Bob landed on the Void, the room fell into more and more of a disarray. The hold the metal had on you tightened even further. You watched as the darkness that swallowed the Void whole leeched onto Bob. Slowly, it began to climb. Bob slowly destroyed the Void; he was slowly killing himself. 

“Bob, stop!” You cried out, only for the glass wall to shatter. The tiny shards flew into the air, cutting you all.

“This isn’t right,” Bucky yelled over the chaos of the room. 

“You thought you were going to be someone big?” The void taunted Bob as he continued his assault. “Some kind of savior? You can't even save yourself.” Bob’s punches got more and more violent as desperation seeped through. The darkness continued to spread. You flailed against your chains, fingers reaching out to Bob, but he was too far away. 

All of a sudden, a blur of black flew through the air. Yelena ducked and dodged everything the Void and the room sent at her. She leaped over the crumbling floor, rolling beside Bob. Hurriedly, she wrapped her arms around him in an embrace. One by one, the others followed suit, breaking free from their restraints to run to Bob. First was Ava, then Alexei. Next came Walker as he yanked the piece of metal from his arm, raising his shield as he ran over to you to pull you off the floor. Together, the two of you dashed to Bob, wrapping your arms around him and the others. Last came Bucky, who held you all close. His head tucked into your shoulder. 

Bob’s fist was no longer digging into the Void. Instead, he sobbed, every part of him sinking deeper into your embrace. “We...will always...be alone,” the void croaked up at Bob, who turned his head into the crook of your neck. His tears soaked your skin. 

“Not anymore,” you all collectively whispered as you continued to hug him, holding him up, letting him know he was not alone anymore.  None of you would be. Together, as a team, you’d face the darkness in each of you, come what may. 

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

When you all opened your eyes next, finding yourselves in the streets of New York City, you stayed in the hug. Each of you is holding on, not wanting to let go. Each of you yearned for the embrace and the meaning behind it. All of you scared that if you’d let go, you’d be alone again. Reluctantly, you all peeled away,  standing up one by one.  “Is everyone okay?” You asked, dusting off your pants before helping Bob to a stand. 

“You were great in there, Bob,” Walker noted, offering Bob a genuine smile. For once in the entire time you’d been together, there was no sarcasm sprinkled into his voice.

“Thanks, Walker.” Bob beamed, his eyes blinking rapidly, before calming. “Wait, where?” The expression of utter confusion spread from Bob to all of you. “Who are you two?” Bob asked, pointing to Bucky and Alexei. 

Alexei let out a nervous chuckle. “Oh.”

“What happened here?” Bob’s confusion only increased. “Sorry, I'm a little fuzzy.”

“Well–” You croaked, glancing at the others. 

“Are you serious?” Walker gasped, defeatedly flinging his arms into the air. His exasperated eyes met with all of yours. 

“Are you okay?” Yelena frowned, looking up at Bob. Her eyes scanned him for any trace of remembrance or the Void, but none could be found. 

“Yeah.” Bob nodded, a bit taken aback by Yelena’s question. “I'm fine.”

“Yes,” A sheer voice cried. As if on cue, all seven of your heads whirled in the direction of Valentina. She looked flustered as she paced around the road, hissing into her phone. “ I said I need an extraction ASAP. No, I know–” 

Your eyes honed in on the woman. “Valentina…That Bitch.” 

Before you all could begin your hunt for revenge, Walker interjected. “Wait, wait. What happens when he gets his memory back?”

Momentarily, you paused, peering around at everyone. You couldn’t just leave Bob, not after what happened, not after the silent promise you all had made to each other in the shame room fighting the Void. 

“Okay,” Yelena declared, latching onto Bob’s arm, pulling him along in the direction of Valentina.  “Come on.”

“Oh, me too?�� Bob asked, looking behind him as if Yelena was talking to another person, but he found none. 

“Yeah,” Yelena nodded. “We'll stick together from now on.”

“How sweet,” Bob smiled, glancing forward at you and the others as thoughts of Valentina's death filled your heads. 

“You can't kill her,” Bucky stated. His eyes flicked back at those who had the most bloodthirsty glares. “We have to take her in.”

“You can't kill her, Bucky, but you said nothing about–” You began. Your fist was tightening at your side, dreaming of finding a home in her pompous face. Maybe you could even knock a few of her pearlescent teeth out. 

“No,” Bucky reprimanded. “You can’t kill her either.”  

“Oh, I'd like to kill her,” Ava added. 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “We are not killing anyone.” 

Beside you, Walker, fought against his shield. Your eyes flickered down to his struggle and the taco-shaped shield. You snickered. Walker sent you a warning glare. “If Bob gets his memory back, he can fix this stupid thing.”

“Don’t, I quite like it,” you teased. “Captain Taco.”Walker groaned beside you. Coincidentally, his grip on his shield slipped, bringing his elbow into your side. 

“Ow,” you hissed. Quietly, you made a note for your future self to stay clear of the super soldiers when you decide to tease them next. “Save it for Valentina.” 

“Oh,” Walker’s brows raised. “Trust me, I am.” 

Valentina’s dark brown eyes flickered over to you all. Her hands raised as she expertly backed up, navigating the debris littering the streets of New York City. “Alright, guys.” She pleaded. “I know we're all going through a lot of feelings right now. I am, too. I get it. Give me half a second.” Suddenly, she was gone, disappearing behind an opaque sheet. One by one, you all followed her through the screen, and one by one, you all froze. 

In front of you, reporters stood with mics ready. The photographers in the crowd didn’t wait to start snapping photos of you all as you trickled through the screen. You flinched at the bright flashes of light. 

“Are we alive?” Valentina asked into the various mics set up on the makeshift stage. “Excellent. For years, I've been working in secret to develop a new era of protection. Today, the citizens of the United States need that protection, and thanks to my hard work, they got it.” Turning around, she waved her hand, presenting you all. “Ladies and gentlemen, meet the new Avengers.”

“What the fuck?” You gulped as journalists’ questions filled the air. Murmurs and whispers of the news grew to a deafening volume. Still, the cameras flashed and Valentina smiled. She peered back at you all, making sure to make eye contact with Bucky and you as if to say I won, try and impeach me now. A frown etched itself onto your face, all the while Bob stood beside you, all cheering and clapping without a clue in the world. 

Stepping forward, Yelena whispered something into Valentina’s ear. You couldn’t quite make out the words, but it was all worth it to see the smile wiped off Valentina’s face. After a moment, Yelena stepped back in line with you all. Photographers were yelling at you all, demanding you look in their direction. Each command made your head ache. 

 “I’m too tired for this shit,” you grumbled. Tired was an understatement. You had been up over 72 hours fighting tooth and nail for your life. You hadn’t eaten at all in that span of time. Exhaustion filled your bones and gnawed at your remaining patience. Turning away, you stepped off the stage, pulling Bob along with you. 

“W-wait, where are we going?” Bob asked, looking over his shoulder as the others followed behind you, leaving Valentina on the stage alone. If she was so desperate to remain in the public eye, she could deal with it. 

“Getting food,” you announced over your shoulder. “I’m in the mood for shawarma.”

Yelena’s stomach growled beside you. “So long as you pay Stark. I’m happy.”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

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⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

[scuttle-buttle]

So I'm toying with the idea of writing again.... possibly about the thunderbolts and having their first Christmas as a family because I love them and I can't get yelena saying she wanted an American Christmas out of my head

[senka-mesecine]

―

The smoke break. 🚬

x

[baskinbucky]

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 🥞 ／ ⋆ ۪ filofax master folder

this masterlist contains all compiled works for easier browsing!

ps. hyperlinked texts are available for viewing.

should there be any requests, feel free to drop by my inbox. thanks!

bob reynolds

tonight, I asked God a favor. (one shot)

synopsis: everyone in the tower knows how much bob likes you, and everyone is trying to help him showcase his affection little by little—one of them hopes you'd return the affection before lovesick bob gives up on trying.

lights, camera, and love on air! (fic: on-going)

synopsis: you and bob are star-partners in highschool, especially within the school publication where you both first met. students often confuse you two between lovers or simply emotionally constipated idiots. that one coming summer of the outgoing Editorial Board members for the school held a one-last roundtable discussion, all eyes turn to you and bob for one last spiel.

↪ pt. 1, pt. 2

the closest thing to peace was (pending)

synopsis: as the team depart for a mission, you and bob were left at the watchtower. bucky insisted you stay behind to rest and heal from the injuries you sustained from the previous battle with the remnants of HYDRA.

cold coffee and book fairing (pending)

synopsis: you and bob got way too excited about the book fair, not realizing the flock of people that got you and him separated momentarily—until you found him coaxing a child who got lost, making it both your mission to bring the kid back to their guardian.

bucky barnes

daytime in anaheim (pending)

synopsis: post-void battle shenanigans at the watchtower where the team gathered to be briefed shortly before their scheduled departure for an off-work trip, one that Yelena had specifically requested time and time again—that godforsaken trip to disneyland, and it's up to you and bucky to keep all hands on deck.

come back, be here. (on-going)

synopsis: a mission failed and a broken heart returned back at the headquarters, and despite having to save almost everyone in the team, Bucky blames himself for what happened to you.

↪ pt. 1, pt. 2

robert floyd

they say, 'home is where the heart is.' (one-shot)

synopsis: while being secretly a wife to WSO Lieutenant Floyd and a daughter to Capt. Mitchell, it is imperative to keep the status under the wraps. Let's just say, it was a huge reveal when you went to visit the Hard Deck in full uniform with your husband silently drooling over you, and a few of them take notice.

[h3catee]

A Moment of Peace

A Moment of Peace 

Paring: Robert Reynolds x Fem!Witch Reader! Past Avenger!  

Summary: After a few months of living with the New Avengers you have found solace in the quiet moments and Bob couldn’t agree more. 

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS* (Post Thunderbolts*), Fluff, talks of mental health and trauma, depression, anxiety, some language. Short talk of self harming/destructive tendencies (just fighting lol nothing crazy chat) 

Word count: 2.5k

AN: BOB! BOB! BOB! This is part 2 of my series and will definitely introduce the dynamic with Bob! Maybe some fluff. Maybe some confessions. Maybe some cuddling! :3 luv u (I didn’t have a beta for this part so pls pardon minor mistakes)

part one!

xoxo

Song for the chapter: https://open.spotify.com/track/77KnJc8o5G1eKVwX5ywMeZ?si=5616af3c21274b54 

⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆

*months after moving into New Avengers Tower* 

“Can you just pass me the remote y/n,” Walker argued. His brows furrowed in annoyance. 

“Suck my balls walker, I’m tired of watching your military propaganda movies,” You argued back, “Someone back me up here!” 

“I second that,” Ava said, tossing herself on the couch next to Yelena who just nodded to agree with you. 

“It’s not military propaganda. It’s just war movies from the American perspective.” 

“Gah! Let us watch this documentary about the Soviet-” 

“No,” Yelena cut her father off in a heartbeat. You couldn’t help but laugh, “Who picked last time?”

The group looked around. Bob was sat reading a book in his usual corner uninterested in the movie night taking place. “Bob hasn’t picked,” Walker said, noticing your gaze on him. You turned to walker and shook your head in a ‘why the fuck would you do that’ way. He just shrugged with a shitty smirk on his face. 

“N-no it’s okay guys,” Bob called, now looking over at where you all were sitting, “I don’t know any good movies, just let…” He seemed to think for a second, his eyes locking on yours before he quickly looked down at his hands, “Bucky pick.” 

“Oh god that's worse than Walker,” You groaned. Bucky threw a pillow at you while you weren’t looking, but quickly threw your hand up to use your magic to stop it, you threw it back at him, “I was joking..” You say throwing your hands up, “Walkers still worse.” Bob laughs from his corner. 

Walker scoffs and stands, “You think that’s so funny huh Bob?” 

“Oh god,” Yelena says. 

You turn and look at Bob with an amused smirk. He looks at you for a brief moment, a rare tight lipped smile brushes his face but it’s gone before you can even appreciate it. He immediately looks back down to his book with blush spreading down his face. You sigh, turning back towards the TV when you catch Bucky looking at you with a weird look, the smile falling from your face. ‘What?’ You ask him telepathically. He just shakes his head, grabbing the remote to put something on. 

That's how you all find yourselves an hour and a half into Silence of the Lambs. Alexie is snoring loudly. Walker left about 20 minutes into the movie and Yelena and Ava went to spare. Leaving you, Bucky and Bob in his corner. You sigh to yourself before standing. 

“Where are you going?” Your friend asks, his eyes still trained on the screen. 

“You aren’t my mother,” You say before grabbing your blanket and walk over to where Bob sits, still engrossed in his book from earlier. “Can I join you?” You see his shoulders tense, “Or not it’s okay I don't want to intrude,” You ramble. 

He looks up at you with sad eyes, “N-no you’re not intruding. I just..didn’t hear you come over,” He explains. 

You exhaled a quiet laugh through your nose, “That’s hard to believe coming from someone with superhuman everything,” 

He laughs and shakes his head,”Yea, sure if that’s what you want to call it,” he mutters, “W-what did you want anyways- I don’t mean that in a bad way that's- I didn’t mean for it-” 

“Whoa whoa whoa,” You wrap your blanket around yourself before sitting in front of the brunette, “Bob, don’t work yourself up okay,” You place a hand over his. His skin is boiling under your palm, you don’t mean to tense but the temperature difference is scalding, “I just wanted to see how you are?” 

“I’m okay other than the constant internal reminders of what I did a few months ago, I’m fine.” 

You look at him with raised brows, “Come on,” You stand back up removing your hand from on top of his. He just looks up at you timidly. 

“Where are we going?” He doesn’t make a move to get up, actually it looks like he’s melting into his chair even more than before you came over here, “Bucky doesn’t want me to go out.” 

You extend your hand for him to take, “Everyones gone to bed, let’s watch a movie.” 

“But I don’t really know of any good movies,” he reminds. 

“Please,” You drop your sarcastic and fun facade for a second, “I-I haven’t been sleeping well and this is the only time I can find peace out here.” Now you feel stupid. Why are you confiding in him anyways? No one cares about your lack of sleep, it’s not like it affects the way you fight.

“Don’t think like that,” He cuts in, sitting up. You return your hand back at your side before walking away completely with a sigh. He can hear your thoughts. “Wait y/n I’m sorry I didn’t mean to,” Bob mumbles something to himself before sinking back into his seat. 

“Drop it,” You say, snapping. How could you let your walls drop like that? Over something so stupid. You head to your room, using your magic to close the door behind you before tossing yourself face first into your bed with a groan. “God damnit,” You whisper to yourself. 

You aren’t sure when it happened but shortly after moving into the tower you found yourself trying to get Bob to open up to the group. Maybe it was the fact he reminds you of yourself when you first joined the team. You wouldn’t let anyone close to you besides Wanda and on rare occasions Bucky and look where that got you. Alone. Scars littering your body from throwing yourself into fights you should've won just to feel something. You didn’t want to see him fall down the same path so you tried and tried to invite him to cook meals, watch movies, workout in the training facility, all of which he turned down. Tonight felt like the nail in the coffin after months of trying you couldn’t get to him and you just let him in your head instead. The only person he seems to enjoy talking to is Yelena and she couldn’t explain a reason for why he was avoiding you. 

Three soft knocks on your door took you out of your own head. You sat up and stared at the door. But you crawled back on your bed and curled into a ball under your covers, having no intention of answering. You simply flicked your wrist and all of the lights dimmed. You closed your eyes trying to find sleep when it wasn’t going to come. 

“Y/n, please I’m so sorry,” It was Bob, “I’m so sorry,” His voice broke like he’d committed some heinous crime against you. He knocked twice more very softly. You sighed before you opened the door with your magic and let him in. You untangled yourself from your sheets and sat up against your head rest looking at him in the dimmed light. You could see lines of tears down his face. You closed the door behind him once he had fully entered your room. “I didn’t mean to read your thoughts, I want you to trust me.” Your heart cracks painfully in your chest hearing his voice. “I just, I don’t-” and he stops talking. You pat your bed in front of where your sitting ushering him to come over, “I can’t” 

“Why?” You whisper. 

“I don’t want to hurt you again,” He said. You just blinked at him, you couldn’t think of a single time Bob had ever hurt you, “When...he took over, your room, the way you were screaming,” He started to cry and your heart sank even more because you knew he couldn’t control it. Hell, he didn’t even remember what happened until you showed him, “I just can’t put you through that again.” 

“I-” you started, but words failed to amount up to what you needed to say to him so instead you would show him. Gently you placed your palms to cup his face. The pad of your thumb wiping away his tears, “It’s okay,” you whispered. His skin felt like fire under your hands and his cheeks were growing with blush as you continued to hold him. 

“It’s not though,” He said before pulling out of your grasp and turning away from you, “I really hurt you, the way you were screaming, I can’t do that to you, of all people, you,” He confessed. Your face grew hot. You crawled out from under the sheets and placed your palm on his cheek forcing him to look at you. Tears were pooled in his eyes, threatening to fall if you said the wrong thing and he refused to meet your gaze, “I want you to trust me.” 

“I do trust you, Bob. Probably more than anyone here,” You said admittedly, “If it were to be anyone that could get in my head I’m just glad it’s only you.” 

His eyes came up from the floor and locked with yours, “How can you trust me so fast? I ruin everything I come in contact with. I’m a walking disaster ready to happen.” 

��I don’t care, take me down with you,” You whispered. 

“Why? I’ll ruin you.” 

“I’m already ruined,” You confessed, “I have spent the last few years pushing everyone I know away until they’ve died and I can’t bring them back. Then I sit and think about every single word I’ve ever said to them and it haunts me. Every night.” 

“I’ll just make it worse by being around you. What happens if the void takes over and I can’t stop it. I can’t see you hurt like that again,” The confession of his feelings towards you were on the tip of his tongue. 

“I can handle myself,” You tease, “I can help you. Can I show you?” 

“W-what are you talking about?” 

You remove your palm softly from his cheek and he almost looks desperate for your touch again, you smile weakly at him, “Do you trust me?” 

“Yes,” He answers immediately. You nod at his answer. Slowly you place your hands in his hair, running your fingers gently through it until he shivers under your touch. Slowly you feel the energy coursing through your arms till it reaches where the tips of your fingers gently caress the back of his scalp. He hums and closes his eyes as the feeling of peace takes over him. When you first started working with the Avengers, some of their thoughts would keep you up from how loud they were. That's when you created a spell that works almost like a calming drought on whoever you would use it on. Did you have to have your hands on them, no. You just know how tormented the man in front of you is and you’d do anything to soothe that. “What did you do?” 

“It’s a spell I created that calms down your mind,” You carefully massaged his scalp while the spell set in, “It can last up to 8 hours, but that’s the most I could get.” 

He slowly opened his eyes, “How come you haven’t tried it on yourself? You mentioned that you haven’t been sleeping…I’m sorry for bringing it up.” 

You shook your head with a smile, “When I wrote the spell it was specifically one to use on other people, I’ve never been good with magic that would actually help myself. Not really my thing,” You laughed, trying to cope with your inadequacies. 

“Let me help you,” He said softly, “Please y/n you don’t know how much it would mean to me. You-” He cut himself off, closing his eyes once more. Almost so he didn’t have to see the look on your face, “I want to protect you, I’ve never wanted to do something so badly. But I am so terrified of messing up and hurting you.” You knew exactly what he was trying to say, “Let me keep you safe, please. I know I’m no use now but please.” 

Your fingers came to a halt as you felt the spell finally sink in, his body physically relaxed. Slowly you moved your grasp back to holding his face between your palms. “Okay,” You whispered, his eyes widened, “Only if you let me take care of you in return.” 

He nodded earnestly but he faltered, “If I ever hurt you though y/n you have to leave me.” 

“No,” You countered, “I’m with you no matter what, okay? I’m a big strong girl, I'll be fine.” He didn’t look too convinced, “Bob, I promise you will never hurt me, and if there ever comes a day where that could happen we’ll cross that road when we get there, okay?” 

“Okay,” You smiled and he smiled back, blush creeping its way back onto his face, “Do you want to try to sleep, it’s late,” He said looking at your clock on the dresser. 3:47am. 

You bit your bottom lip between your teeth and removed your palms from his face. His body leaned into where your touch had just been, “Can you stay?” You asked timidly. He looked taken back by your question. 

“Only if you want me to,” He said. You nodded in response, “You have to say it, please, for me.” 

You felt heat spread across your face, “Stay with me.” 

“Okay.” 

You two spent the next 10 minutes getting ready for bed together in a peaceful silence, exchanging small smiles that would ignite that butterfly feeling. Bob went and retrieved his toothbrush and a fresh set of pajamas before coming back to your room. The two of you carefully climbed into your bed together, you could feel him shaking softly next to you, “Are you nervous?” You teased. 

“Yes,” He laughed, “How can you tell?” He joked before crawling under your sheets with you. Carefully you scooted closer to him and placed your hand gently on his chest and he lifted up his arm for you to rest on. His heart was fluttering beneath your fingertips and his body radiated a comforting heat you had never felt before. 

“Thank you,” He said softly. 

You smiled against his chest, “Of course.” You felt your eyes grow tired and you quickly raised your hand to turn the lights off fully. You let your eye close and felt Bob wrap his arm tighter around your body. 

“Is this okay?” 

“Mhm,” You hummed. And for once the both of you drifted off into a dreamless sleep. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆

“Look at how cute, they look like baby seals cuddling together,” Alexie said rather loudly. 

“Shut up,” Yelena whispered. 

Bucky hummed. The rest of the team stood crowding your doorway which they took upon themselves to open just a sliver. 

“Get out of my room,” You said in a sing song voice, before you closed to door. With your eyes still closed you pushed yourself deeper into Bobs grasp.

“Do you think they’ll be upset?” Bob asked, you could tell he was getting nervous. But with you carefully tucked in his embrace, he relaxed once again. 

“We aren’t!” Alexie shouted through your closed door. 

“Lovely.” 

[vikwrites]

⛧ VIK'S MARVEL MASTERLIST

Smut ψ | Fluff ♡ | Angst 🥀

⎊ Money, Money, Money. \ ♡ ψ ➵ Starting off as simple, transactional love during the height of Tony’s alcoholism, devolves into something real. ➵ Ship : Tony Stark x Reader

⎊ Playboy \ ψ ➵ Tony Stark invites you into his Rolls Royce. ➵ Ship : Tony Stark x Reader ⎊ Body Electric \ ♡ 🥀 ➵ You and Tony work through your insecurities, together. ➵ Ship : Tony Stark x Reader

⎊ Bliss and Honey \ ♡ ψ ➵ You and Tony share a moment of intimacy in each other's arms. ➵ Ship : Tony Stark x Reader ⎊ Copacabana \ 🥀 ➵ A letter to Tony Stark, 16 years after his death. ➵ Ship : Tony Stark x Widowed! Reader ⎊ His Sweet Girl\ ψ ➵ Nestled between Tony's legs, and all you wanted was to just feel him. ➵ Ship : Tony Stark x Reader

[supercap2319]

Tony: "Y/N, what are you doing?"

Y/N: "I'm making Steve and Bucky a pride cake."

Tony: "Why?"

Y/N: "Because they finally realized they're comfortable with their sexualities, and I think they should get to celebrate that. Don't you?"