I Can't Have What I Want (but Neither Can You) | Bob Reynolds
I can't have what I want (but neither can you) | Bob Reynolds
Bob Reynolds x F!Reader
Summary: You don't know how to explain the feeling when you see Bob and Yelena together. You don't understand it, and you don't like it. You think maybe you're not a people person, maybe you're better off being on your own. You take matters to solve this problem your own way, but everyone doesn't agree with your logic.
Stand-alone. One-shot.
"'Cause I know we be so complicated But we be so smitten, it's crazy I can't have what I want, but neither can you"
Warnings: 18+MINORS DNI. Minor spoilers for Thunderbolts! Smut (my first time writing smut deserves a warning itself tbh)
Not proof read/edited. Maybe later. Idk. I hate editing.
a/n: I am so obsessed with this man...I just couldn't not write a fic. He has been rotting my brain since I saw Thunderbolts and I don't see my obsession ending soon lmao....also my first time fully writing smut. I tried.
ao3 | masterlist
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The sound of laughter echoes around the living space as both you and Bob are scrolling through the endless selection of movies, making fun of each-others movie preferences. The light from the city is reflecting through the window glass, it’s a beautiful night and the two of you wanted to spend it indoors while everyone else in the Tower tended to their own business.
It’s one of those rare quiet and peaceful nights at the Towel. You decided why not take advantage of it, hauling Bob out of his room and inviting him to a movie night (a movie night that doesn’t involve unnecessary commentary or spoilers).
“We’ve gone through an entire collection of romcom’s…do you not watch anything else?” Bob teasess as he nudges your shoulder, a small grin spreading across his face. You roll your eyes, tossing the remote to his lap.
“Okay, drama queen. You pick.”
Bob chuckles, causing his knee to press lightly against yours. He’s warm – you notice with every light tough to the shoulder, whenever your bodies lightly brush against eachothers, he’s always warm. Being close to him is no different from wrapping your body with a freshly dried blanket. Months since the New York incident, your downtime has been spent with Bob. You found comfort in him, his quiet smile and haunted eyes enticing you. He was both gentle and strong, it was impressive. Bob was the only person who made this new life you’ve all been pushed into feel like a home.
After what seemed like endless scrolling, Bob lands on Warm Bodies. “Zombie movie. I think this one’s a winner.”
“God help us,” you groan. “This is still romance.”
“Sure, but it’s with zombies.”
You hum in response, sinking your body further into the large couch and glance back at him. You offer him a shrug – accepting the film of the evening.
The sound of the movie beginning echoes through the surround sound, and it’s all you're able to hear as the two of you focus on the screen in front of you. That is until the moment was interrupted by the elevator door’s ding.
Heavy footsteps make their way towards the couch, not shying away from being the only loud thing in the room besides the TV. You turn your head as they approach, it’s Yelena.
“Movie night?” she asks, a grin spread across her cheek. She’s in a grey sweatshirt, her blond hair is pulled back by a headband.
You turn your head back, nodding in response.
“Nice,” she makes her way to the other side of Bob, dropping her body next to his. “What are we watching?”
“Something with zombies, y/n says they fall in love.” he replies, turning to her with a wide smile – his soft eyes gazing over at her, his half-laugh expression you try to believe is just for you.
It’s uneasy, the feeling at the bottom of your stomach. It’s doing more flips than you do during a mission, your arms crossing quicker than you realize how you’re reacting. It’s completely illogical, there’s no reason for you to feel this bothered.
But you watch them, you see the way she nudges his arm, how he doesn’t pull back. With you, Bob seems almost hyper-aware of his proximity to you, but with Yelena, it’s almost as if physical boundaries don't exist. He is completely comfortable with her. You begin to watch him watching her, how his eyes follow her subtle movements, how captivated he stares at her as she laughs – confident and magnetic. Why did he never look at you like that? The thought sneaks its way to your head, you can feel your heart rate slowly begin to increase. Something is pulling tight in your chest.
You don’t understand it, but you sure as hell don’t like it.
“I’m actually kind of tired,” you say quickly, standing up before you are able to finish your sentence.
Bob diverts his attention towards you, “Already?”
You lower your head, nodding sheepishly. The walk to the elevator feels as if it’s a few miles away as opposed to a few feet, each step feeling as if you’re walking in slow motion.
Behind you, you hear bodies shifting.
“You sure?” Bob mildly shouts, his voice dripping in confusion.
When you finally make it inside the elevator, you pretend not to hear him. The sound of your finger pressing the button rapidly becomes the loudest noise – the desperation to be anywhere but the common room being obvious. When the door finally closes, it’s quiet but your thoughts seem to be so loud. There’s a mix of emotions and ideas going through your head, but you're unsure how to make sense of any of it.
As you push open your bedroom door – it feels heavier than usual. The shallow light of your lamp shining too bright, and your bed looking like the ultimate safe space.
You’re not used to this feeling – it’s beyond foreign and it startles you. Not even the most dangerous mission can make your stomach churn the way it does when you see Bob watching Yelena. It’s been like this for weeks at this point, your breath becomes shallow when they share an inside joke together. Your heart races more than you’re used to when you see Yelena place her hand on his shoulders. There's a nauseating feeling that takes over when every moment with them, you feel like a third wheel to their friendship. They share a specific bond, and a friendship like there’s can’t be replicated. They’ve been through too much, know each other too well.
It’s way more intimate than any kind of friendship you and Bob have.
But you’ve known this. This isn’t new. Their friendship wasn’t some kind of secret, it’s been this way since you joined the New Avengers and it’s been this way since before you were recruited in.
But recently, you haven’t been fine. You try to convince yourself that you’ve been sick, but the feeling of unease only happens when you’re around them.
You just don’t know why.
You're settled in bed, it’s dark, and you want to be asleep. You’d do anything to be asleep. The weight of the blanket over you should be comforting, but it just makes you feel too aware. It’s fabric grazing over your skin, the rustle of the sheets whenever you shift in place. While your room is dark, the light from under the door can’t seem to escape your focus. The realization that the movie night you planned is now happening without you.
You try telling yourself that this is ridiculous. Why did you leave? Exactly what was the problem? Bob and Yelena are close friends, but they’re also your friends. They’re your team and co-workers, you all live under the same roof now – so why was your brain doing this to you?
A soft tap on your door pauses your thoughts, your name being softly said against the other side.
Your breath gets caught in your throat, for a few seconds, you actually forget to breathe.
It’s Bob.
He stops tapping your door before he says, “Can I come in?”
You don’t respond, keeping your body still. You hope the lack of any sound, any proof that you’re awake would cause him to walk away. To leave you and your thoughts alone.
“I’m coming in.”
You make a small noise as you hear the door slowly creak open, quickly pulling the cover over your head. Your body is still as you hear footsteps slowly approach you.
For a moment, you think of getting up. Explaining yourself and wanting to offer an apology, ending the movie night before it even really started. But you lay there, still and motionless, pretending to be asleep.
It feels like there’s someone hovering over you, you hear the sound of shifting on the ground. You imagine Bob standing over you, fidgeting as he contemplates whether to wake you or let you rest. Luckily for you, he takes a step back, you hear his footsteps slowly begin to sound further away before he lightly shuts the door.
A loud gast escapes you, from the breath you forgot you were holding. You kick your sheets off you, releasing the sticky hold it had on you due to your sweat.
You’re unsure what you got yourself into, or how you got there in the first place. You just want things to be as they were, you want to feel normal again.
You have got to do something about this.
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You don’t mean to avoid him – that wasn’t the plan.
At least not at first.
You just needed some space, some perspective, some time to breathe and allow yourself to be level headed.
It was just easier to be all of those things without Bob. And without thinking about how he looks at Yelena, and without wondering if he’s ever looked at you that way (and to you, that’s wishful thinking). But, who cares. They’re friends. You’re friends. You’re all friends, there’s nothing wrong with that.
And yet, the ache lingers. The feeling you got before sneaks its way into your body whenever you share your space with them.
It was subtle at first – you skipping out on team meals. You’re not in the common room often anymore, you prefer to spend your evening locked up in your room or training by yourself in the training room.
And it’s peaceful.
There’s no aching feeling in your chest, there’s no butterflies flying freeling in your stomach, there’s no feeling of uncertainty or disappointment. You tell yourself, maybe you’re off being alone. Perhaps, you’re not someone who functions well in teams, you’re probably just naturally a lone wolf.
And no one questions it, you hardley figure anyone even notices the fact that you’ve lightly pulled away.
Well, at least most of them.
You can’t help but see the quiet looks Bob sneaks at you during meetings. You try to ignore the way his smile lighty drops when you answer him too quickly, or when you look too eager to leave. He stopped trying to sit next to you or stopping by your room when he’s bored.
It hurt more than you thought it would.
While you realize that this was the plan, this was your intention, you wanted space and you got it. But it still hurts.
These days, the only thing that helps is being in your room or the Tower’s gym.
You decide today is one of those days. The world outside was too loud, just like in your head. You needed something to focus on, something to ground your body and allow your mind to be still.
The Tower gym offered it all – empty, nothing louder than the echo of a weight dropping to the ground. It was the kind of noise you needed, it was the release your body was begging for. This was the place where you could move your way through the internal noise. You could sweat it out. Punch those intense feelings away.
The current victim of your frustration was the punching bag, each strike against it vibrates up your arms like lightning. You finally felt like yourself again, the feral rhythm of your fists, the feeling of your strength, how accurate all your hits were. It reminded you of how accurate and sure of yourself you always used to be.
You feel your sweat drip down your chest. Your hoodie was tied around your waist, your sports bra sticking onto you like a second layer of skin. It was incredible – you didn’t want to stop. You didn’t want to think.
You didn’t want to think of how you managed to fumble your forming friendships. Or about how even being forced into a team, you manage to isolate yourself from everyone. Not about how Bob looked at Yelena like she hung the stars herself. Not about how easy it is for him to welcome her into his embrace, or how unguarded he is around her. You didn’t want to think about how your chest had pulled so tightly at the sight, you felt like you could barely breathe.
“Woah,” a voice called out from the entrance of the gym, loud and sharp enough to separate you from your focus. “I never want to be on your bad side.”
You pause mid-swing, averting your gaze to the doorway. You find John Walker leaning against the frame, sleeves pushed up and his arms crossed. He lets out a light whistle, a half smirk spread across his face.
You wipe off your forehead with the back of your wrist, becoming too aware of your apperance.
“If you annoy me enough, you might become the new bag.” You say, and gratifyingly, Walker lets out a rare laugh.
“Mind if I join you?” He asks while stepping inside.
You reply with a shrug, turning back towards the mats. “It’s a free gym.”
He drops his bag and follows you, silently joining your workout.
In no time, it led to the two of you on the sparring floor, bodies intertwined and slamming into each other. The first few minutes of the spar was silent, just heavy breathing and grunting surrounding the two of you. It was the kind of silence neither of you mind.
“Who pissed you off?” and then, Walker spoke.
You don’t reply, trying to force yourself out of his hold.
“C’mon, y/n.” he hisses, nudging your knee with his, holding onto you. “Your going at it like this is personal.”
Twisting your body, you manage to escape his hold. You stumble in front of him, landing on your knees. You shoot him a glare, “This is how you make friends?”
He flashes you a toothy grin, “I mean, it’s working. Isn’t it?”
You roll your eyes, but a chuckle manages to escape your lips. Walker offers you his hand, helping you up from the ground.
You stretch your body for a second, rolling your shoulders before responding back to him. “Let’s spar. Talking optional.”
Walker takes a step back, raising his hands in the air as if he’s surrendering. “Optional? That’s a shame. You have such a nice voice.”
You scoff at his antics as you stepp into stance. He follows suit, preparing for the first most. You begin to stab at him once, then twice, and he braces it well. His arms are strong and hands steady, not holding back. It wasn’t long before you started picking up the pace, the sound of shuffling feet and strikes drowned out any of the previous spiraling thoughts you had.
Walker ducks one of your strikes and smirkes as you lightly stumble. “You sure you not training for a match with anyone specifically?”
“If you keep talking, I might be.”
His laugh is loud and smile is wide, “Feisty. I like it.”
You can’t help form a grin across your face, and before you know it, you let out a full body laugh. Breathless. Genuine.
You dodge another playful jab and attempt to shove Walker backward. He managed to catch your wrist mid-shove, and twisted it softly. It messes with your momentum, causing you to stumble into his chest, letting out a quiet yelp. His hand settles at your waist, pulling your bodies closer together.
“Woah,” he teased. “If you wanted to dance, all you had to do was ask.”
“I’ll make sure to lead.” you winked at him, pushing him back playfully.
“So you’re one of those.”
The two of you laughed, and for a moment, it was nice. This was the first time in weeks you weren’t spending your free time alone. It was simple. Flirty. Harmless.
It was fun.
Until the door opened.
The sight makes your stomach drop for reasons unknown to you.
It was Bob.
He stood at the doorway, his broad shoulder tense, arms to his sides and fingers lightly fidgeting against one another. Even under the low gym light, he was golden.
He stood there silently, not saying a word. His eyes were too busy locked on the scene in front of him.
Your body is pressed against Walkers, his hand still hovering near your hip. Your cheeks are flushed, your in your sports bra, your smiling like before and laughing like Walker was God's gift to Earth.
Bob’s face was unreadable. He was too still, too quiet.
“Hey,” you managed to choke out, still a little out of breath. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Bob didn’t look at you, his eyes still laying on Walker's hand on your body. “Didn’t realize I was interupting.”
Walker shifts, hands still on you. He doesn’t notice your body tensing up or your breath becoming staggered. “We’re just messing around. You want in?”
Bob’s eyes flicked to you, and for a second, you think you see his brown eyes quickly shift to gold. You can’t put into words the emotion going on behind his eyes, but it isn’t just irritation.
“No,” Bob says flatly. “I’m good.”
With that, he turns his body and walks out.
“Uh…” Walker finally releases you, helping you find your balance as your bodies seperate from each other. “Did I miss something?”
You shook your head slowly, trying to prevent your body from freezing or your mind becoming a frenzy. The gym that was once your safe space is now added to one of the places you are going to have to avoid. There’s a weight in your chest that is settling like concrete the longer you stand there.
“I’m gonna shower.” You say softly before leaving to your last sanctuary: your room.
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The halls of the Tower always manage to feel too long when you don’t want to be found.
You try to take the short way to your room, quickly leaving the bathroom as soon as you finish your post-workout shower. You try to ignore the uncomfortable dampness of your hair, or the chill spreading through your body under your over-sized nightwear. The only thing you want more than anything is to be alone in your room. You want to shake off the unnerving weight pressing down on your ribs. You feel guilty without having a reason to be. You feel like you did something wrong. You tell yourself that you might just be flustered, Bob just happened to catch you off-guard in a compromising position. It could have been anyone, and you’d probably feel the same way. It didn’t mean anything.
But then you remember his eyes. How he looked at you (even though he was trying not to). He didn’t just look irritated or disappointed. But something else.
You managed to finally turn to the last corner – but then you were stopped short.
He was there, leaning against the wall outside of your room. Your sanctuary. The place that was supposed to be safe.
His arms are crossed, head down like he’d been waiting on your arrival for some time. His hair caught the soft glow of the overhead lights, casting warm shadows across his cheekbones. You can see his chest rise and fall at a steady pace, like he’s focusing on it. He looks so calm on the outside, but you knew him too well.
His jaw was tight. His posture was tense. If you didn’t look close enough, you’d miss the slight frown forming from the corner of his lips.
“Bob..”
He looked up slowly at the sound of your voice.
“Hey.” His voice was quiet, but not soft as it was once before. It wasn’t gentle or warm. It was just quiet.
You shift awkwardly, looking down at the droplets falling to the ground from the ends of your hair. You’re determined to look anywhere but at him. “Did you need something?”
“I think we need to talk.”
You sigh, slowly nodding your head. You slowly go past him, still not looking up. You unlock the door, stepping inside as Bob follows behind you, then closes the door behind him.
The lamp was the only light on in your roon, an amber gold hue shining a dim light around the two of you. You stand near the bed, holding your damp towels awkwardly. Bob stayed close to the door, like he didn’t have permission to come closer.
The silence seemed to stretch on forever, the two of you sneaking glances at each other, waiting for the other to speak first.
Then, Bob lets out a deep exhale. “Are you mad at me?”
The question hurt. Hitting you like a punch to the gut.
“No..why would I be mad at you?”
“I don’t know,” he sighs, his voice slowly growing sharper in frustration. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“No I haven’t –”
“Yes, you have,” he interrupts. “You ditched me on movie night, which was your idea. You stopped hanging out in the lounge. You sprint out of a room when I walk in. And then today…” his voice trails off, his jaw twitching before he begins to speak again. “Today I saw you. I saw you all over Walker.”
You swallowed, the feeling of guilt crawling over your body again. “We were just training.”
Bob nodded slowly, finally looking you in the eyes as if he was looking for answers. “Right. Just training.”
“Bob…”
“I’m not mad,” he said between breaths, trying to calm himself. His voice is quiet again. “I just..I don’t understand what I did. If I even did anything. Did I bother you or something?”
Your throat tightens. Your fingers fidget against the towel in your hands, finding comfort in squeezing something. “No. It’s not that.”
“Then what?” His voice cracks with something raw, something new. “Was I around you too much? Talk to you too often? Did I..make you uncomfortable? Whatever I did…I…I think you need to tell me.”
“You didn’t,” You said quickly, trying to ease his mind. You toss the towels in a bean bag not too far from you. You slowly begin to take a step forward. “Bob, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then why are you pulling away from me?”
Your mouth opens lightly, but nothing comes out. How can you explain a feeling you don’t understand? How could you explain what you’re going through without shattering the friendship you’ve built? How can you tell him I hate seeing you smile at her like that without sounding crazy?
While being so deep in thought, you don’t notice how Bob was currently looking at you. Really looking. Like he was searching for answers from your face.
Your silence and worrisome look on your face broke something in him. It’s as if he was finally able to connect the dots that have been in front of him all along.
“You’re…jealous?” He asks, both you and himself. “That’s what this is?”
You flinch – the word you’ve been avoiding like the plague finally making it to the surface. “I’m not–”
“You are,” he takes a step forward. “You’re jealous of…Yelena?”
Your heart pounds against your rib cage, your ears become hot and you feel your body tense. This isn’t what you wanted, this wasn’t a conversation you wanted to have.
“Why?” He asked. “Why does it bother you?”
You shake your head. You don’t want to say anything, but it spills out against your will. “Because – because I see how you look at her. How you smile at her. How comfortable you are with her. And I know you care about her. And I know I shouldn’t care, it’s stupid and petty, but I do care. I hate that I care because it really doesn’t make sense and –”
Your voice broke, eyes widening as you just realized what you’ve said. You press your hands to your face, hoping to disappear. This was all too overwhelming, the adrenaline rushing too fast to know what to do with it.
“I didn’t..I dont want to feel this way,” you whisper through your fingers.
Bob was quiet for a second. A part of you hopes he’s so repulsed, so turned off that he just walks away and avoids you the same way you’ve been avoiding him.
“What way?” He asks softly.
You dropped your hands, heart in your throat. Your voice is working before your brain is, your thoughts and feelings finally being exposed to both you and Bob.
“I think I’m in love with you.”
You said it, quickly and softly. They were barely there, if Bob wasn’t listening carefully, it could’ve been missed. But as quiet as you were, it rang like thunder against the windowstill.
You see Bob staring at you, stunned and speechless.
You begin to rush to fill the silence, coming to terms with what you just confessed. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. It just did. I thought it would just go away. I wanted it to go away, or at least for it to stop hurting. But then today, I saw you and you saw me, and God – I'm just so sorry. I dont want to ruin anything –”
“Stop,” he said quietly.
You froze, afraid and relieved. It was finally out there. You finally admit to yourself what you’ve been going through, and now he knows too. But you were afraid that you would lose him, and that him not knowing would have been better.
Bob takes two steps forward, slowly as if he is waiting for you to tell him to stop. He cups your face, thumbs brushing against your cheeks. His eyes were shining, warmed and in awe at the sight of you flushed in front of him.
“You didn’t ruin anything.” He says.
Then he kissed you.
It was slow, as if he’s been waiting to do this forever. Like he’s savoring this moment, wanting to remember how your mouth felt against his.
You melt into him, hands clutching the front of his shirt, trying to pull him closer.
Your lips part with a soft sigh, his forehead resting against yours.
“I’ve been in love with you for a long time.” He whispers against you. “I didn’t think you felt the same.”
You let out a shaky left, still gripping to his shirt. Slight tears cling to your lashes. “We’re both idiots.”
“Maybe,” he whispered while pecking your forehead. “But we’re idiots together.”
You kiss him again – this time deeper, more certain, more hungry. His arms wrap around you fully, pulling your body close to his. This time he was less hesitant, less shy.
Your hands tangle in his hair as he gently backs you towards your bed. There is no rush in the way he touches you, only devotion. It’s as if he was memorizing every breath, every sound coming out of your mouth, every shiver.
The back of your knee hit the mattress, and he pauses. Slowly parting his lips from yours.
“You okay?” He murmured against your lips.
You nodded, breathless. “More than okay.”
He gives you his soft smile that beams across his face, it makes your chest ache. Oh, how’ve you missed him.
His hands are careful as they slide under your shirt, fingers brushing up your sides, tracing your skin with feather-light touches. Goosebumps bloom across his skin, finally being able to feel you. He slowly peeled the shirt over your head, slow and unrushed, his eyes never leaving yours.
“You’re perfect.” he said, his voice low and awed.
You begin to tug at his shirt in response, “So are you.”
He chuckled at your playfulness, letting you pull his shirt off.
You take a quick look at him, the way his hidden muscles flex at every movement, the definition across his chest. You can't help but have your hand trace along his chest, adoring evey inch of him.
You look up to see him looking at you as if you were the only thing in the world he could see.
You slowly lean back on the bed and he follows, settling over you gently. He braces himself on his forearms as he kisses you – slower, lazier, like he never wanted to let the moment end.
Your legs tangle beneath him, his hands trace lines down your arms and outside of your thigh. You let out a soft gasp as his lips travel to the edge of your jaw, then the side of your throat, and the line of your collarbone.
“Tell me when to stop..” he whispers between kisses.
“I won’t” you whisper. “I want this..I want you.”
His breath hitches at your response, his grip around you tightening. His hand trails down your body, before finding your most sensitive area. At first contact, your hips shift lightly, causing Bob to press down slightly firmer. He circles you – slow and soft, the pleasure causing your head to tip back. Bob begins to place kisses ontop of your exposed throat, wet and firm, like he was trying to leave a mark – like he wants to prove to everyone that you belong to him.
His circles catch up to your moans. Every gasp and whisper results in him pressing harder, circling faster.
“You’re doing so good,” he whispers into your ear. “You sound so perfect.” Your back arches at his soft praises, there’s a heat building up between your legs. He has you wrecked and he hasn’t even entered you yet, you’re a whimpering mess who is struggling to ask for more.
Bob places a kiss back to your mouth, it’s sloppy and desperate. He’s moaning into you, your reaction to his touch is making him insane. It’s not enough – he wants you a wreck, he wants you to beg and plead, he wants you to want him the same way he’s been wanting you.
His fingers dip lower, and he feels you. Soaked, warm, you're throbbing at his touch. It takes everything in him to not choke at the sensation, he focuses on your whimpering to keep him at ease. You arch deep into his fingers, thrusting into him for friction.
“Oh my g-god…” you manage to breathe out. Bob hisses as your nails dig into his back, his fingers following the rhythm of your hips. Your moans slowly begin to get louder, your pace on his fingers increasing.
“You can cum for me,” Bob whispers into your ear, as if he’s giving you permission to release.
And you do, whimpering his name, your hips dropping to the mattress. He is still slowly pumping in and out of you, still pleasuring you as you come down from your high.
You let out a disappointed sigh when his fingers leave you, but you’re quickly surprised when you see him put his fingers in his mouth – tasting you. He moans as he savours the taste of you, of what he’s done to you.
He lowers his head, placing a soft kiss on your lips. You tangled your fingers in his hair, holding him close, slowly separating your thighs, thrusting up against him. You feel him, he’s hard and his tip is brushing up against you.
“I want you…” you whisper against him.
“God…you drive me crazy.” he whimpers out.
After trailing soft kisses around you, he slowly begins to ease into you. The world around you shrunk – the only thing existing is breath, skin, and heat.
It started off slow and tender, his movements careful as if this could end any moment. He begins to murmur your name like a prayer, rocking into you with patient rhythem. He was paying attention to every reaction you had, making sure to keep note of everything he did that felt good to you.
“I’ve got you” he whispers into you, your moaning against him as his hands grip at your hips, pushing himself deeper inside you. He groans as he feels you gripping him, your slick causing the sound of your skins slapping to echo around the room.
“You feel so good around me…you feel so good,” his cheeks are flushed. His thrusts begin to stutter, no longer feeling controlled like before. Bob is allowing himself to lose himself into you, gripping you harder and kisses sloppier. “I’m – oh, I-’m –”
You kiss his jaw, rocking your hips in return. The feeling of your clit rubbing against him and his fullness thrusting overwhelming you, causing your second orgasm to approach.
“Me too…keep going…gonna cum for you,” you manage out, before you whine out multiple “fuck’s” as you cum around him. Feeling you finish while he was inside you was all it took for Bob to cum with a broken gasp, releasing all of him inside of you. He continues to pump into you slowly after you both cum, kissing you through the shuddering aftershocks.
He gets off of you, plopping himself besides you. You curl into his arms, your bodies warm and hearts full. He presses a kiss at the top of your forehead, caressing your shoulder with the hand that's to your side.
“I never want you to ignore me like that again, I won’t let you.” He confesses.
You hold onto him tighter, apologetically. “I won’t. I promise.”
And for the first time, the ache in your chest was gone. The endless months of doubts and feelings of uncertainty no longer existed.
The only thing left was Bob, and finally feeling like you belong.
More Posts from Starfulhabitz and Others
The ghost I left behind
Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Reynolds x reader
Summary: Y/N and Bob had a life before he disappear, full of love, hope, and a lot of chaos, but they managed each other, she was the only one who truly could make him avoid the void inside his mind. How could he turn his only light into a shadow in his mind ?
Note: I wrote this with Sunshine & Rain.. By Kali Uchis, feel free to enjoy this with that on repeat to really feel it burn. Also please somebody give me HD gifs asap. Also if you hadn't read the preview yet, I recommend it!
Word count: 4,7k
Preview
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The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting an ugly green tinge over the already-drab walls of the 23rd Precinct. Y/N pushed the door open with her elbow, hands full—one holding a stack of wrinkled flyers with Bob’s photo on them, the other clutching the hem of her coat closed.
The front desk officer didn’t even look up.
The bell above the door had long since stopped ringing for her.
She shuffled to the counter. She was wearing the same hoodie she always wore—his hoodie, oversized and faintly smelling of old laundry detergent and smoke. Her stomach was just beginning to curve outward, subtle but undeniable beneath the fabric. Four months.
“Hey, Ms. Y/L/N,” the desk sergeant mumbled without meeting her eyes. “You’re back.”
She placed the flyers down with quiet urgency. “I printed new ones. Better quality. I added a note about the reward this time, in case someone’s seen him.”
The sergeant sighed, his pen clinking on the desk as he leaned back.
“I told you last time. No new leads.”
“I’m not asking for a miracle,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Just—please check if anything came in since last week. A tip. A sighting. A… a body, no, not that, but anything really.”
A uniformed officer behind the counter—young, smug, cruel in that casual way people are when they forget you’re human—snorted. “Lady, you know the guy was a junkie, right? Odds are he got tired of playing house and ran off when the stick turned pink.”
Y/N’s heart splintered. Her hands clenched the flyers. “Don’t—don’t you dare say that about him.”
He shrugged. “C’mon. You don’t have to be a detective to figure it out. He got high and vanished. People like that don’t come back. Especially not to play Daddy.”
“He’s not like that!” she shouted, her voice cracking.
The room went quiet.
A throat cleared gently behind her.
“Y/N?” came the familiar rasp of Officer Cooper, stepping out from a side hallway. Silver-haired and weathered, he’d been on the force longer than most of the others had been alive. He always spoke softly, like he didn’t want to scare away whatever kindness he still believed in.
Y/N blinked back tears and turned.
“Let’s take a walk,” Cooper said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get some air.”
--
Outside, the sky was overcast. Cold. Cooper lit a cigarette but didn’t offer her one.
They stood in silence next to the station’s rusted bench. She stared down at the pavement, at her frayed shoelaces, at the grey world around her.
Then she broke.
“I can’t sleep, Mr. Cooper,” she whispered, voice small. “I dream about him every night. I wake up thinking maybe he’s home, maybe I missed a call. But then it’s just me. Just me and this baby. I don’t know what I’m doing—I don’t have money, I don’t have family. He was my family.”
Cooper nodded slowly, his expression unreadable.
“I know you’ve been kind,” she said, her voice rising. “You’ve listened. But I need more. I need you to put more people on this. I need you to look for him like he’s not just some addict you all gave up on.”
She wiped her face with her sleeve. Her tears soaked through it instantly.
“Please. Just… just try. For me. For him. For our child. Bobby wouldn’t leave me. Not like this. Not without a word. Not him.”
Cooper took a long drag from his cigarette. Then sighed.
“There’s something I have to tell you.”
She froze.
His eyes softened, like he wished he could lie. Like he hated what he was about to do.
“We finally traced a lead. Someone matching Bob’s description was seen boarding a flight out of the country.”
She couldn’t breathe.
“Where?”
“Malaysia,” he said quietly.
The word hit her like a sledgehammer.
“No,” she whispered. “That’s… no, he wouldn’t… He didn’t have money. He didn’t have a passport.”
“He did,” Cooper said, sadly. “We checked. It was valid. Bought the ticket in cash. No forwarding contact. No signs of foul play.”
She staggered back, her body suddenly too heavy. Her hand flew to her belly as if to anchor herself.
“So… you’re saying he left me.”
“I’m saying,” Cooper murmured, “that we don’t believe he vanished. We believe he made a choice.”
“No,” she choked. “No, he didn’t. He loved me. We were building a life. He called me his miracle. We were deciding on a name. He cried when I told him. He held me all night and said he’d never leave.”
Cooper looked down at his shoes.
“I know, kid.”
Tears streamed down her face now, silent and relentless.
“I waited. Every day, I waited,” she sobbed. “I believed in him. I still do. He’s sick, not a monster. You’re telling me he abandoned his child before the baby was even born?”
Cooper said nothing. There was nothing to say.
Finally, she whispered, “Is he coming back ? Did he buy two tickets? He did, right, to come back to me, to us?”
Cooper crushed the cigarette beneath his boot.
“One way ticket. Maybe it's better if u go home, take a breath, and just... you can call me, ok ? I have a daughter just like you and she's an amzing mother, you will be too. You have to go to work, just rest.”
She just looked at the flyers in her hand. For months he just disappear, all her money spent in paper, organizing searches, paying potential dealers for a tip of his whereabouts.
"So this is it?"
--
2 years ago
The Cluckin’ Bucket wasn’t exactly a place dreams were made of.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like a swarm of angry flies, flickering over cracked linoleum tiles and chipped yellow walls. The scent of fried oil hung in the air like a second skin, clinging to every surface. It was 11:43 PM, just seventeen minutes before closing, and the only two souls left inside were Y/N, wiping down tables, and Bob, in the back room, peeling off the heavy, foam-rubber chicken costume that had been slowly cooking him alive for eight hours.
He winced as he pulled the beak off his head, his sweat-damp hair sticking up in odd places. His T-shirt clung to his back, his jeans sagged slightly on his hips, and his bones ached in that weird, chemically induced way that only came from a cocktail of meth and shame.
He hadn’t wanted this job.
He sure as hell hadn’t wanted the chicken suit.
But here he was—twenty-something, barely scraping by, dancing on a street corner in 95-degree heat to try and convince people to buy discount wings.
He tucked the suit away in its plastic bag, sighing, and padded into the dining area, rubbing the back of his neck.
And then he saw her.
Y/N.
The new waitress.
She was crouched in front of the soda machine, elbow-deep in the syrup line, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, earbuds dangling from her neck. She was humming something—Fleetwood Mac, he thought—but he couldn’t be sure.
She wore her name tag crooked on her chest, and there was a smudge of sauce on her cheek.
But to him? She looked like she belonged in a painting.
He froze for a second too long, just staring.
God, she was pretty. And he was in a chicken suit just minutes ago. And probably still smelled like sweat and fryer grease. Cool. Real smooth.
She glanced up—and caught him.
Her eyebrows rose a little. Her mouth quirked.
“Robert, right?” she asked, tilting her head. Her voice was warm, amused, like she already knew the answer.
His throat caught. “Uh. Yeah. Bob, actually.”
“Bob,” she repeated, like she was trying it on. “Can you help me with something?”
“Sure,” he said too quickly.
She straightened, gesturing toward a box at her feet. “I’m trying to get this up to the top shelf, but it’s heavier than it looks and my arms are, like, noodles right now.”
He nodded and stepped forward, kneeling to lift the box without much effort. He was wiry, but stronger than he looked. She watched him, subtly biting the corner of her lip.
“Thanks,” she said as he set the box down on the shelf. “You’re stronger than you look.”
He gave a sheepish laugh, rubbing his arm. “Yeah, well… spinning a giant arrow for eight hours a day builds muscles, I guess.”
She smiled. “Don’t sell yourself short. That costume? Kinda iconic.”
He turned bright red. “Oh, God.”
“What?” she teased. “I think it’s cute.”
“Cute?”
“Yeah,” she said, wiping her hands on a rag. “I mean, it takes a certain kind of confidence to dance in a chicken suit and not die of embarrassment.”
He snorted. “More like a lack of options.”
There was a pause—just a second too long.
“Still,” she said, voice softer now, “You’ve got a good smile, Bob.”
He blinked. “What?”
“I said, you’ve got a good smile.”
He swallowed, heart hammering for no reason he could explain. She was looking at him. Not through him. Not with pity. Just… seeing him. And it had been a long time since someone had done that.
They started talking more after that.
Little things. Jokes during their shifts. Late-night scraps of conversation while wiping down counters or restocking sauces. She’d bring him a free soda when she noticed him flagging. He’d sweep her section when her feet were too tired to move. Neither of them said it out loud, but it became something—a rhythm, a comfort.
He never told her about the drugs.
But she saw the shadows under his eyes. The way his hands shook sometimes. The way he chewed his inner cheek when he thought no one was looking. She didn’t ask, and he was grateful.
Until that one night.
They were walking out together. The parking lot was empty, bathed in yellow streetlight. The air was thick with humidity. Bob carried his bag over his shoulder, still fidgeting with the zipper.
Y/N was quiet beside him, arms crossed over her chest.
They reached the edge of the lot. Her car was parked beneath the flickering sign.
He stopped. She didn’t.
Then, she turned back.
“Hey,” she said. “Can I ask you something?”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
He blinked. “Uh. No. Why?”
She smiled—and it knocked the air out of him.
“Just wondering,” she said, stepping a little closer. “Because if you don’t… I was wondering when you were going to ask me out.”
He stared at her, stunned.
“I—I mean—I didn’t think you’d—why would you—” he stammered.
She laughed, shaking her head. “Bob. I like you.”
He swallowed. “You do?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Even with the chicken suit.”
And then, because his body moved before his fear could stop him, he smiled—wide and real.
“I… would really like that.”
“Good,” she said, walking backwards toward her car, grinning. “Then don’t keep me waiting.”
He stood in the parking lot long after she drove away, heart pounding, a dumb grin on his face.
For the first time in years, the night didn’t feel so heavy.
--
Central Park in the early evening was dipped in gold.
The last fingers of sunlight threaded through the leaves like warm lace, casting dappled shadows on the grass. It was one of those rare New York days—cool but not cold, the air kissed with early autumn, the sky a watercolor blend of lavender and peach.
Bob stood awkwardly near a bench beneath a sycamore tree, tugging at the hem of his second-best flannel. His fingers twitched in his jacket pocket, where he kept the meth pipe he hadn’t touched in two days.
He was sweating.
Not from the weather.
From her.
Because Y/N was there, spreading out a gingham blanket on the grass near the edge of a pond, her hair tucked behind her ears, a small cooler bag next to her feet.
She looked like someone who belonged in the light.
He still wasn’t convinced he deserved to be sitting beside her in it.
“Okay,” she said, brushing imaginary dust from the blanket. “Don’t laugh. I made too much.”
Bob walked over slowly, hands in his pockets, watching as she pulled out a series of plastic containers and neatly wrapped foil packets. Sandwiches. Potato salad. Tiny cupcakes with blue frosting that had clearly been made with care. Even folded napkins.
“Holy crap,” he said, blinking. “Did you raid a deli or something?”
She grinned. “No, I made it. I… I like cooking.”
“For me?”
She looked at him like it was obvious. “Yeah. Who else would I be trying to impress, Bob?”
He knelt on the blanket, legs crossed, still a little stiff, watching her with barely restrained disbelief. “I just… I’ve never had anyone… you know. Do something like this. For me.”
She shrugged, setting a container between them. “Well, now you have.”
He picked up a sandwich, still stunned. “You made all this… for a guy who dresses like a poultry mascot?”
She chuckled. “I happen to like that guy.”
Bob opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He just smiled—a shy, crooked thing—and took a bite.
Bob sat on the edge of the picnic blanket, chewing slowly, trying not to look too shocked by how good the sandwich in his hand was. “Okay,” he said between bites, “you’re going to have to explain to me how you made this taste like something from an actual restaurant. What’s in this?”
Y/N grinned, tucking a napkin under her leg to keep it from blowing away. “Nothing fancy. Chicken, basil, a little Dijon, homemade aioli—”
“H-homemade? Who even makes aioli? That’s, like, elite-level cooking.”
“I like cooking,” she said simply, with a shrug. “It calms me down. Helps me feel like I’ve got control over something, you know?”
He nodded slowly, finishing the last of the sandwich. “Yeah, I get that. It’s like spinning that dumb arrow—kinda zen, if you ignore the back pain.”
She laughed. “That’s tragic. I cook to relax, and you give yourself arthritis.”
“Hey, I’m not proud.”
She passed him a small container of fruit salad, their knees brushing slightly under the blanket. There was a breeze picking up, threading through the grass, fluttering the corners of the gingham cloth. In the distance, a dog barked, and somewhere near the pond a violinist had started playing faintly.
“You live with roommates? Alone?” Bob asked suddenly, trying to picture what her place might look like. “Your kitchen’s probably better than mine. Mine’s got, like, one working burner and a fridge that sounds like it’s dying.”
She hesitated, then looked down at her hands. “Actually… I live alone now.”
His brows lifted slightly, sensing the shift in her voice.
“I didn’t always,” she continued. “My ex boyfriend and I used to live together, in this little apartment off Bedford. It was cramped, noisy, walls were paper-thin… but it was kind of cozy. It felt like ours.”
Bob stayed quiet, letting her speak.
“He left about nine months ago,” she said. “For someone else. Someone with shinier hair and a ‘real’ job, probably. I don’t know. One day he said he didn’t love me anymore, and that was that.”
Bob’s chest tightened.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
She waved a hand, but her smile was tinged with something older than the moment. “It sucked. But if he hadn’t left, I wouldn’t have taken the job at Cluckin’ Bucket. Wouldn’t have ended up on night shifts. Wouldn’t have met you.”
He blinked, thrown. “That’s… wow. You really think that’s a good trade?”
She shrugged again, but this time with a little smile. “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”
Bob looked down at the cupcakes, the homemade food, the folded napkins. All for him.
He cleared his throat. “I just don’t get it. How someone could be with you and let you slip through their fingers. That guy had the f—freaking lottery ticket and he just… walked away?”
She glanced at him, visibly surprised by the fire in his voice.
“I mean it,” Bob said, quieter now. “If it were me… I’d never let you go.”
The moment stretched between them, warm and tender.
She looked at him for a long time, something soft and wounded behind her eyes.
“You’re sweet, Bob,” she said quietly.
“I’m not,” he replied without thinking. “Not really. But I want to be.”
Her lips parted like she wanted to say something else, but instead she reached for another sandwich.
They sat in silence again, this time heavier.
Then Bob spoke, his voice rough.
“I don’t have anyone either,” he said. “No family. No ties. Just a bunch of mistakes and a backpack that smells like old socks.”
She looked at him. “No one at all?”
He shrugged. “Not since my mom passed. My dad was… not really in the picture. I’ve kinda just been floating since then.”
“Me too,” she said. “It’s like… we’re both ghosts in a city full of people who have somewhere to be.”
That hit him harder than he expected.
He nodded slowly, chewing the inside of his cheek.
“I always thought,” he murmured, “that maybe I was just built to be alone. Like I was meant to burn out early. Some people are just… too messed up to fit.”
She leaned toward him, brushing a thumb gently against his hand.
“You’re not messed up,” she whispered. “You’re just… lost. And that’s not the same thing.”
His heart nearly stopped.
“You’re the first person who’s ever said that,” he admitted.
“Then everyone else was wrong.”
He didn’t know what came over him then—maybe it was the sunset or the food or the warmth of her fingers against his—but he turned toward her, and for once, he didn’t feel ashamed.
“Can I… see you again?” he asked.
Her eyes crinkled with a smile.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
--
present day
The apartment was still.
Still in the way a place only gets after someone is gone—not just physically, but really gone. Like the soul of the place had followed them out the door and taken all the warmth with it.
The late afternoon sun filtered weakly through the dusty blinds, casting long stripes across the bed where Y/N lay curled on her side. Their bed. His side still had the indent of his body, even after months. She hadn’t brought herself to sleep on it, like maybe the dip in the mattress could hold his shape long enough for him to come back and fill it.
Her hand cradled the curve of her growing belly. Just past four months. She was showing now. Her body knew, even if the world didn’t care.
Across from her on the nightstand were the pictures—cheap Polaroids and one dog-eared photo booth strip from Coney Island, taped crookedly to the wall. Bob’s stupid half-smile grinned back at her in every frame. The one where he was pretending to flex with a corndog in hand. The one where he looked away, caught off-guard, cheeks red from laughing at something she said.
Her thumb brushed the edge of the picture. Her throat burned.
“God, Bobby…” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.
A fresh wave of tears pressed from behind her eyes and spilled freely down her cheek, soaking into the pillow. She clutched the blanket tighter with one hand and her belly with the other.
“You left,” she murmured. “You really left.”
She bit her lip so hard it nearly split, the ache in her chest unbearable.
“I defended you. I told them you’d never run. I called every hospital, every shelter. Put up posters with your face in every goddamn corner of this city. I begged the police to keep looking because I knew something was wrong. I thought maybe you were in trouble, or hurt… or…”
Her voice broke, raw and low.
“Turns out you were just gone. Just—just done.”
She sat up slowly, wiping her face with the sleeve of Bob’s old hoodie—still too big on her, still faintly smelling like him, like cologne and smoke and something warmer.
“You saved up that money. You actually planned this,” she whispered, hollow. “You looked me in the eye… kissed me goodnight, touched our baby, and you already knew you weren’t coming back.”
Her breath hitched as her hand moved over the swell of her belly, as if trying to protect the child from the truth pressing in.
“You knew I was pregnant. And you still left. That’s what makes it worse. Not the addiction. Not the lies. That. You knew, and it didn’t stop you.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
“I gave up everything trying to find you, Bobby,” she said, louder now, choking on the grief. “I drained what little savings I had. Every cent I scraped together went to flyers, gas, private search sites. I even hired some guy off Craigslist who said he could ‘track people down for a price.’ That was three hundred dollars I’ll never get back.”
She laughed bitterly through her tears.
“I work double shifts now just to stay afloat. Still serving greasy food to assholes who think I’m invisible—coming home to this empty fucking apartment, sleeping in a bed that feels like a coffin.”
She fell back onto the pillow and stared up at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling in short, shallow breaths.
“I really thought you were different,” she whispered. “I did. I thought… maybe this time, it wouldn’t end with someone leaving. I really get left for everything else at this point, not good enough, prettier women, drugs. And maybe that’s worse. Because at least he looked me in the eye and said goodbye. Or maybe…did you find a better woman Bobby?”
Her lips trembled as another sob escaped.
“You said you loved me. You said we were in this together. We made something together, Bobby. We made a life. And you just… vanished.”
She reached for the ultrasound photo tucked into the drawer and held it to her chest.
“I swear he moves and grows everytime I cry,” she whispered. “Like he knows I need a distraction.”
She ran her hand down her belly again, slower this time.
“But I won’t let them grow up thinking he or she was a mistake. Or unworth staying for.”
The room felt unbearably quiet now. Still, again. But this time, colder.
She closed her eyes and curled tighter around herself, the photos, the baby. Everything she had left.
“I’ll do this without you,” she said softly. “Even if it breaks me.”
And in the stillness, in the tiny home they had built, she stares at the ceiling. Thinking. Doubting. Is this all that life can be ? How would she be able to take care of a little human? Maybe this baby wasn't meant for her. Maybe it was someone else's place to be their mom.
Maybe that's it.
Then I will wait. Just until the baby comes.
Simon Riley / female reader Secret baby trope / 18+ Previous
Simon appreciates where Kyle has decided to put down some roots.
He likes this part of the city. It's busy, but manageable, and Kyle's managed to find himself a decently sized home, one big enough to accommodate both Simon and Johnny when they're on those swing days between missions. There are enough beds or couches for when the three of them get pissed at the pub down the street and have to stumble back nearly crossed eyed.
Of course, he never talks about the other reason why he finds this neighborhood so charming, but he suspects both the boys know.
He likes to hold onto your memory like a little secret. Knowing you're possibly still living in this area, in that flat, is enough to bring him out to the pub after they all get back to the house and crash.
Kyle's mouth twists into a mischievous smirk, and he glances at Johnny before honing his sights. "Fancy a drink, LT?"
It's been just under a year since Simon has been here. He rubs his palms against the bar top, trying to casually glance around, searching for something he knows he won't find. He can still hear you, still smell you, still feel your skin against his. He's spent the last year jumping from mission to mission, country to country, plane to plane- and above the carnage and the sounds of killing and fighting-
he still hears your voice. His name on your lips. When he closes his eyes to go to bed at night, it’s your face he sees, lulling him to sleep.
A fantasy.
"Did ye get her number, at least?" Johnny interrupts his memories, and Simon shakes his head.
“Better off that way.” He rolls his shoulders, stretching sinew and bone, trying to force his body to relax. It’s always like this, between ops. He’s stuck in fight mode, wires all crossed, head still fuzzy. Every now and then, his ears will ring, and he tries shake it loose, echoes of gunfire popping inside his skull.
He chooses to drown it out.
All three of them do. It works well enough, and they stumble back to Kyle’s, taking their respective places strewn across the house, Simon falling asleep face down in the guest bed without another drunken thought.
The sun cracks through the blinds too quickly. He stomachs a tea, and advises the Sergeants he’s heading back early to wrap up some paperwork, and steps out onto the street.
It’s later than he’d like, sidewalk already bustling with throngs of people, and he pulls his nondescript black ball cap farther down over his face. The sun is warm, glaring onto the back of his neck until his jacket almost feels claustrophobic. His hands fall idle as he walks, so used to holding a weapon or clicking the mic open on a radio, he doesn’t know what to do with them at rest. Doesn’t know how to hold them. There’s a void there, a void everywhere, etched into his skin, a whisper of the man he should’ve been.
The sidewalk may be busy, but he doesn’t miss a face. He never does, it’s a part of the job, but when his eyes glance across a woman who looks just like you- his entire life stutters to a stop.
You have a baby strapped to your chest. A chubby, round baby who kicks their feet when you lower your head to murmur something to them, palm flat against their belly.
You have a baby? You have a baby. There’s a pang of sadness in his heart, a swell of disappointment as he rationalizes what he’s seeing, the proof of you belonging to someone else, having a life with someone else, loving someone else. He only had you for a night, and he knows it, but he can’t pretend he hasn’t been seeing your face every time he closes his eyes for the past year.
It’s closure. A final nail in the coffin. The end of something that never was.
You’re just as beautiful as he remembers, a sunny spring day, a bouquet of overflowing flowers. Does your hair still smell the same? Would you still make the same noises for him?
Reality brings him back to life earth. Are you in love, or married, or with the father?
And then you turn his direction, closing the gap, failing to notice him standing like a stiff board in the middle of the sidewalk until you’re too close, eyes darting up and up-
to meet his.
Your mouth drops open. An ocean of people flow around where you’re both frozen in place, and he gives you a sheepish smile. “Uh, hey.”
Your hand cups the back of the baby’s head, and you look panicked, scared, before you blurt out the one thing he didn’t expect:
“I didn’t know how to contact you.”
Wait… what?
Just a Salesman
Summary: Your perfect world shatters when a furious stranger bursts into your home, accusing your loving, devoted husband of being a monster responsible for countless deaths.
Genre: angst
TW: swearing, mention of death
A/N: Posting sm today wow. English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!
Masterlist
You always believed in the goodness of people. Growing up in a small, close-knit town had shaped you that way.
You’d been the type to bake cookies for the elderly neighbor down the street, rescue stray animals, and donate whatever you could to people in need. When you met your husband, it felt like a gift from the universe.
He was everything you thought you’d never deserve: charismatic, attentive, and so gentle with you it made your heart ache. He would listen intently to your rambles about work, surprise you with your favorite pastries from the café downtown, and hold you close on cold nights when the world seemed too overwhelming.
You hadn’t known much about his work—“sales” was all he ever said—but it didn’t matter. He always came home to you, and that was enough. You admired how he seemed to understand people so easily, reading emotions and desires with an almost uncanny precision. He was your safe harbor, and you were his soft place to land.
But what made your marriage unique wasn’t just the way he made you feel; it was the way you balanced him. Where he was logical and composed, you were emotional and empathetic. If he brushed off a stranger’s plight with practicality, you’d step in with a warm smile and offer help. He often teased you about your boundless kindness, calling you “his little bleeding heart,” but his tone was always fond.
“You’re too good for this world,” he’d whisper sometimes, brushing your hair behind your ear. You’d laugh, kissing his cheek.
“And you’re my world,” you’d reply, never missing the way his gaze softened.
You were blissfully unaware that the man you loved and trusted so completely was hiding a shadowy part of himself, one that was entirely at odds with the person you knew.
It was a chilly winter evening when your life began to unravel. You’d just finished preparing dinner, humming to yourself as you set the table for two, the flicker of candlelight adding warmth to the cozy living room.
Your husband had called earlier, saying he’d be late, but you didn’t mind waiting.
The knock at the door came suddenly, jolting you out of your thoughts. Expecting it to be a neighbor or a delivery, you opened it with your usual bright smile, only to find a man standing there, his face lined with rage and exhaustion.
“Can I help you?” you asked kindly, though his expression unnerved you.
“You already have,” he muttered darkly, stepping inside uninvited. “Where is he?”
“I’m sorry—who are you talking about?” you stammered, retreating a step.
“Your husband,” he spat, his voice trembling with barely contained fury. “Where is that bastard hiding?”
“I think you’ve made a mistake,” you said gently, though your hands were shaking. “My husband hasn’t hurt anyone. He’s just a salesman.”
“A salesman,” the man repeated with a bitter laugh. He fished a small card from his pocket and slammed it onto the table. You glanced at it, confused by the cryptic design.
“He gave me this,” the man continued. “And because of him, I had to watch people die. Because of him, my friends are dead! You’re married to a killer!”
The words pierced through you like shards of ice. “That’s impossible,” you whispered. “My husband would never—”
“Open your eyes, lady!” he shouted, making you flinch. “Do you even know who you’re married to?”
Before you could respond, the door creaked open again. Your husband stepped inside, his eyes immediately locking onto the stranger.
“Gi-hun,” he said calmly, closing the door behind him. “It’s been a while.”
Your heart sank as you turned to your husband, his usual warmth replaced with a cold, calculating smile you’d never seen before.
“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice trembling.
“Go to the bedroom,” he said softly, but there was an edge to his tone that made your blood run cold.
“No,” you said, shaking your head. “Not until you tell me what this is about. Why is he saying these things?”
The room was tense, the air thick with unspoken truths. Gi-hun’s fury burned hotter as he stepped closer.
“She doesn’t even know, does she?” he sneered. “You’ve been lying to her this whole time.”
Your husband’s jaw tightened. “This isn’t her concern.”
“She’s your wife! She deserves to know the kind of monster she’s married to!”
“Enough,” your husband snapped, his voice firm but not raised. He turned to you, his expression softening just slightly. “Go upstairs, sweetheart. Please.”
You stood frozen, torn between obeying the man you loved and demanding answers. The tears in your eyes blurred your vision as the image of your perfect life began to crumble around you.
Thank you for reading!
me, a supposed writer, when i can’t find the very specific scenario i made up in my head in any fanfic: am i- am i supposed to write it myself??
Praying someone can help me find this cod Drabble fic thing jdjdjd
It was about Gaz going into like—a school to talk about stranger danger n’ the reader is the classroom teacher 😭❤️ it has been in my head for a hot minute whew
My Sun, My Star
A/N: I'm so weak for Winter soldier Bucky. I cant wait to write more of him, I love this sad guilt ridden man.
Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Reader
Words: 6756
Warnings: Breaking and entering, Minor violence, Injury and Blood, Winter soldier Bucky, GN reader but also Pregnant reader, mild language, I'm not sure if this is fluff or angst or both??
Summary: You wait up late for your boyfriend Bucky to return from his mission, but it isn't Bucky who finds you.
Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue | Bucky Masterlist
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Your eyes blinked slowly, heavier with each passing second, yet you still managed to open them once again. Glancing at the bright white numbers of the digital clock you watched it change to 1:46 AM, causing a groan to pull from your lips. Bucky was supposed to be back tonight (yesterday technically) from his latest mission, but he still had yet to show up at your shared flat.
You checked your phone again, the lack of notifications mocking your tired eyes. You let out one more sigh before you turned off the mindless babbling of the TV and stood up to get ready for bed. You were sure Bucky wouldn’t want you waiting up so late in your current condition anyway, he had been harping you about getting enough sleep and water and everything in between.
“I’m only four months pregnant, Bucky. I’m fully capable of staying up late” You had said to him.
“Five months, Doll, and it’s about your cortisol levels. It’s not good for you or the baby, and it could lead to them being underweight” he said, reciting exactly what the doctor had told him during your last checkup.
“Four and a half,” you argued as you stuck your tongue out at him, “and she was talking about getting chased by a bear kind of stress, not staying up to watch Bake Off.”
You snorted at the memory of just earlier that week, a small smile coming to your face as you went through your nightly routine. You continued to check your phone here and there as you went, “Did you get back safe? How’d your mission go?” you had texted two hours ago, yet it still remained unread and unanswered.
‘Maybe one more quick text wouldn’t hurt,’ you thought to yourself as you typed out the simple message and hit send.
“Stay safe, okay? I love you.”
You sighed as you set the phone down, “it’s okay, everything is okay,” you assured yourself as you pulled one of his large hoodies over your head, enjoying the way the hem brushed against your bare thighs and the sleeves threatened to swallow your hands. “He’s a former assassin and a super soldier! Nothing is going to happen that he can’t handle,” You stated firmly to your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes remained unsure despite your voice’s conviction, but you did your best to ignore it, focusing instead on the achingly tired look they held.
“Yes, I know. It’s finally time for bed, little one,” you mumbled sleepily as you felt your baby kick against the walls of your protruding belly, being quick to climb between the layers of blankets and lonesome sheets. “Fuck, that's cold…!” you swore quietly as your bare legs hit the icy fabric- having gone unwarmed by your personal space heater and super soldier.
Thankfully sleep came easily, the thought of waking up to Bucky’s sleepy, scruffy face only further urged your body to wind down so the moment would come sooner.
----
Bucky’s phone buzzed again in his bag, lighting up with your smiling face as your text displayed on the screen, but nobody reached down to check it, as everyone found themselves in a far more urgent situation.
“Keep him busy, Rodgers! I just need one more minute!” Tony yelled as he dug through the equipment in the quinjet, “For fuck’s sake, who organized this last?”
“What do you think I’m doing…!” The blond grunted with a justified hint of frustration,” Sam? Any help??” He shouted with a pointed look, telling more than asking as he struggled to restrain his thrashing friend. A swift metal fist flew toward his already battered face, barely giving him time to duck out of the way and attempt to restrain it again.
“Honestly? Seems like you’ve got this one,” Sam said, holding up his hands.
“SAM.”
“I’m coming..! God, can’t either of you old men take a joke?”
No one knew exactly what happened, Bucky had gone off on his own in the Hydra base they were exploring. It was supposed to have been recently abandoned, something about the agents leaving in an urgent rush that left files upon files sitting out in the open. It was supposed to be a simple mission; everyone goes off in teams, gathers what they can, and makes sure there are no surprises. But Bucky assured them that he would be fine to go on his own, he hadn’t had a sign of relapse in over a year, and he would only be picking up what looked important. A simple job.
He should’ve listened.
It was when he didn’t return to the jet with the rest of them that they started to get worried.
“So, where’s the Manchurian candidate?” Tony jested, looking at his watch. They were supposed to leave maybe 10 minutes ago, not terribly late by any means, but enough to start getting worried about Bucky’s quietness over the coms.
“Man, come on.. ” Sam sighed at Tony’s joke as he crossed his arms.
“Bucky?” Steve tried calling over the coms, ignoring both of his teammates, but the line remained all too quiet.
They found him finally in the basement level of the office building, old discarded computers lining the walls along with cabinets upon cabinets of old files and other equipment. He hadn’t even realized it was a trap until he stepped right into it, triggering a switch that had the computers and hidden speakers flashing images and sounds that assaulted his senses with fragmented memories long forgotten.
He should have listened.
Sam had found him first, on his knees in the middle of the floor with hands desperately covering his ears, trying to block out the incessant noise. Hauling his teammate to his feet, he rushed back to the jet, calling everyone off from their search before anything else could be sprung.
At first, they thought he might be fine- quiet, but fine. He had given them a small smile and a wave of his hand as everyone tried to check in with him, taking a seat as the jet took off to go home. It had all seemed relatively normal until they were halfway back and the unseen battle inside him must have taken a turn.
“Got it!” Tony yelled as he pulled out the dart gun, aiming quickly as he fired two shots into Bucky’s chest, readying a third as he waited and watched for the tranquilizers to finally take effect. It was slow as Bucky continued to struggle against the drug’s drain, his body and mind turning into slow-moving molasses. Low grunts emanated from his throat as the last of his strength ebbed away, leaving nothing but forced sleep in its wake.
“Was two really necessary?” Steve asked as his shoulders finally relaxed, the strain and worry now temporarily over.
Together they dragged the drugged-up assassin into the jet’s small quarantine area for the remainder of the trip, satisfied only when they heard the mechanical locks slide into place. It wasn’t much, and they knew that and if he really wanted to there would be no stopping him from getting out, but it was something- enough to give them a few seconds of preparation if nothing else.
“I’m not giving a super soldier only a single dose, you two metabolize things like this way too fast and I’m not taking any chances with the Tin man over there.”
Bucky- no, the Winter Soldier, seemed to still be out of it when they finally landed, sat up and leaning against the wall, head slumped forward just as they had left him.
“Alright, let's just get him into one of the holding rooms for the night. We’ll work on resetting him-” Tony lifted his hands as the two men glared in his direction, “- on ‘fixing him up’ as soon as he’s been secured.”
Sam shook his head as Tony corrected himself, taking notice of the lit-up phone in Bucky’s bag, buzzing with an only recently delivered message. Sam had quickly become one of your closest friends after you were introduced to the team. He was one of the few people Bucky trusted with his life and between his sarcastic jokes, his incredibly loyal nature, and his willingness to give Bucky shit whenever he deserved it, you knew very quickly how great a friend he would be.
But now his stomach twisted as he saw your name flash across the screen, the alert quickly minimizing itself as it joined the other messages you had sent that night. How was he gonna break this to you? The last thing you needed was a bunch of unnecessary stress on your shoulders, but it’s obvious you were beginning to worry over their late return. Sliding the phone back into its rightful place Sam told himself that he’d call you once they had things more figured out.
“Heart rate still seems to be resting. With any luck, he’ll remain knocked out until we get inside,” Tony relayed as he monitored the Soldier’s vitals and pressed the button to open the heavy quarantine doors.
The doors slid into their resting positions with a soft click.
As soon as that click landed on sensitive ears, vibrant blue eyes shot open. Sparing not even a second, the Winter Soldier surged forward from his seat, not nearly as far gone as he left them to believe. With the element of surprise, the Soldier easily knocked past his teammates, throwing his body weight against them and knocking Sam and Steve off balance, leaving him a good headstart as he dashed out the jet’s open door.
“Fuck, Bucky- Wait!,” Steve swore as he stumbled out behind him, having to use his super soldier speed just to keep pace. But between the settled darkness of the night, and the winding alleyways the brunette stuck to, Steve was left falling behind in no time. “Shit,” Steve swore as he slowed to a stop, looking around for any sign of his compromised friend.
However, the streets lay barren, the fluttering of moths in the streetlights the only sign of life on the entire block.
---
The heavy thud of his boots echoed against the alleyway’s pavement. He wasn't sure where exactly he was headed as his silhouette slunk between the warm light of the streetlamps, but part of him- a currently repressed part of him- knew that safety was bound to be just ahead.
His heart beat smoothly as he kept his pace, every other step falling in time as he rounded the corner. Blindly, he let himself be led by instinct and his feet maneuvered the city’s countless paths with a mind of their own. They slowed before a little apartment building and as those emotionless eyes looked up, he knew this was it.
The lateness of the hour had almost assured that no one was around as he slipped inside, footsteps padding up the stairs before stopping at the third floor. His heavy boots left nothing but wet prints in their wake as he wandered down the hall, impossibly silent, as even the notoriously creaky boards dared not announce his presence.
The closer he got, the more the back of his mind itched, as if something- someone- was begging him not to go any further, but he refused to listen; he knew this was where he was meant to be and where he would find what his body was so inexplicably drawn to.
With each step his head turned on a swivel, looking for the sense of safety and familiarity that the other half of him seemed to find here- and desperately wished he wouldn’t discover. Just as his foot was about to take another step he stopped. ‘No. Here.’ His gut told him, turning to the door.
His door.
Your door.
The former assassin bypassed the lock with ease, quickly slipping in before shutting the door behind him. A dim light illuminated the living room, the little lamp you left on for him casting its orange glow over his surroundings as he surveyed them.
A few mugs stand beside the sink, framed photos dot the wall and side tables, and a veritable nest of blankets lay across the couch. It was obvious someone had been here, and recently. A deep breath pulled into his lungs, causing his head to tilt to the side in contemplation as an unfamiliar scent hit his nose, something just as earthy as it was sweet and speckled with distant notes of… him?
“Hmmph”
His sensitive ears picked up the soft grunt from down the hall immediately. His shoulders squared and tensed as his body leaned into a defensive position. Cautious fingers pulled the knife from his boot, ready for whatever may come at him as he approached.
The sounds of soft breaths lead him to a door left ajar. Light just slipped past the curtains into the darkened room. Badum… Badum… Badum… a heartbeat pulsed in his ears as he took a step closer, leaving the door open and letting further light fall onto the source of the noise.
His wolfish gaze ran down your form as you lay there on your back, swallowed in the extra fabric of the old sweatshirt. Your hand rested casually over your stomach as your other one squished gently against your cheek. Your legs lay bare to the world after having kicked the overbearing sheets away, leaving just a glance of your underwear for him to take in.
“Mmph” You grunted again as you shifted, your face now turned to him as that earthy scent of yours gripped him like a vice and refused to let go.
Your sweet sleep became interrupted though- much to his dismay- as the phone on your nightstand began to light up and buzz incessantly. Still, as a statue he watched as you groaned, propping yourself up on your elbows as you went to check what your device could possibly want at this ungodly hour.
With one loose fist, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes away, blinking consciousness back into them until you saw Bucky’s illuminated figure before you, standing tall and quiet as he watched you intently.
“Bucky..?” You couldn’t hide the grin that spread across your face as you saw the familiar face of your lover lit up by the bright light of your phone screen. But the longer you looked the more you noticed.
His eyes were all wrong, his gaze was devoid, that’s the only way you could put it. Devoid of meaning and humanity, it seemed every gaze- every movement- was a means to an end. Empty… save for a flicker of fear; It was probably the only thing in those eyes right now that registered as human. The fear of someone who was lost, unknowing of their purpose, and confused as to why your gaze was made his cold heart falter.
His expression was flat and stoic, save for the knit of confusion that pulled his brows together. His stance was tense and prepared, the discrete knife still glittering in his hands as he took another step forward, his head slowly shaking in response to your question.
A gasp caught in your throat as you finally understood. Glancing at your phone you saw it was Sam who was calling, undoubtedly trying to tell you what you now already knew.
“Soldat…” You whispered, trying to hide the way his name sent shivers across your skin. Your phone went black then, as you didn’t pick up in time and you were left blind by the sudden darkness.
You and Bucky had talked about what to do if you found him like this, “You call Sam and Steve, Okay? You find a place to hide and you stay far away, no matter what you hear. There’s no reasoning with him,” He had told you.
So much for that
Your phone lit up again with Sam’s urgent call, its revealing light sending ice down your spine as you saw the man nearly standing over you now, just a hair’s breadth away.
Your hand rose slowly, shaking as you tested a reach for your phone, stopping dead in your tracks as he let out a disapproving grunt. Your head nodded slowly as you gulped, returning your hand to your stomach as you watched his gaze finally shift away.
With unbothered calmness, he looked toward your phone to see Sam’s face and name scrawled across your screen. Wordlessly he reached over and pressed the ‘decline call’ button, cutting the call short and leaving you two in perfect silence once more.
Panic began to rise in your throat as his gaze turned back toward you, darkened now only by the lack of light. With slow movements the Winter Soldier reached out, putting the knife away as he crouched down, as if trying to attract a skittish animal.
Your whole body tensed as his reach came closer, eyes screwing shut as you waited for the worst, “Please… Just don’t hurt her…” You whispered, fear and desperation rattling your voice, just as it did your anxiety-filled body.
But the pain never came. Instead, the cool touch of metal fingers ran down your cheek, barely denting your flesh as he relished in its softness. Your eyes peeked open cautiously, as his fingers moved along the slope of your jaw, tilting your head up as he came to your chin.
His eyes had changed, you noticed, instead of being a harsh blizzard, they had now settled into something more human, something warmer and… yearning?
“Soldat..?” You questioned as you watched his lips part, his senses focused only on the way your body reacted to his touch. You were sure he could hear the rapid pattering of your heart beneath your ribs, its pace only increasing as his fingers moved down your neck and to the exposed collarbone in your loose neckline.
“Красивый [Beautiful]...,” was all he could reply. It came out so soft you weren’t sure you heard it at first, it’s quiet reverence meant for your ears and your ears only. “Из-за тебя он чувствует себя здесь в безопасности...? Замки дерьмовые, видимость слишком высокая, но ты… [Are you why he feels safe here…? The locks are shit, the visibility is too high, but you…]” He continued, quiet and unbothered as if he assumed you couldn’t understand him.
“He’s been bugging me to get better locks all week…” you replied with a huff, quickly shutting up as his stare found your eyes again. Between Bucky’s ramblings in the night and Natasha’s tendency to only gossip in Russian, you had made an effort to learn it; You were still learning, and your pronunciation was shit, but your understanding had gotten far better.
“And you have a good ear…” He spoke in English this time, the vague hint of an amused smile pulling at the assassin’s stern lips. You couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever done that before. If that odd little smile had been seen by anyone else- anyone still living that is.
A breath of relief left you as your lips stretched to mimic his, the tension easing out of your body a little by little.
His metallic touch continued to linger, running down your covered chest until it settled on the waistband of your underwear, the cool metal trailing across your ticklish skin.
“Ah, wait, Sol-” You jumped at his touch, grabbing his wrist, despite knowing you wouldn’t have the strength to stop him if it’s what he wanted.
But instead of dipping his fingers lower, he simply tugged the oversized hoodie up, gathering it over your chest and exposing the firm baby bump concealed below. His head tilted to the side as he listened to the tiny heartbeat that fluttered in your belly as well as the thuds of its little movements against your skin. Slowly, still with that inkling of a smile, he turned to look at you, his hand hovering just above your vulnerable midsection as if awaiting permission.
Heat rose to your cheeks as you hesitated. On one hand, you felt a surprising amount of calm under the assassin's touch, his need for your approval only increasing your sense of security. But on the other hand, Bucky would never be able to live with himself if something happened to you or the baby, accident or not.
“Oh. I-”
CRASH.
You nearly jumped out of your skin as were cut short by the loud noise. The door to your apartment slammed open, surely breaking the hinges with the sheer force of it. Over a dozen heavy boots stormed into your apartment as the lights turned on, flooding your senses and forcing the Soldier’s attention elsewhere.
Your hand found his instantly, the heat of his calloused skin a comfort to you just the way Bucky’s was, especially as it squeezed around yours just the same. Sitting up properly now your sweatshirt swallowed your pregnant form once again and you peeked out to see just what was going on.
Through The Winter Soldier’s defensive stance in front of you, his knife is now drawn once more, you watched a small armed group, covered in black tactical gear raid your home, all guns pointing towards you- or more accurately- the former assassin attempting to shield you. You recognized the symbols on their vests as the team’s secondary security force, having even met a few of them over the years. But where was the rest of the team? Where was Sam, and Steve, and Tony?
“Step away from the civilian!” “Put your hands in the air!” “Sir, drop the knife!” They all shouted, overlapping with each other as each of them rushed out their demands.
“Don't shoot! It’s okay! It’s okay!” You rushed.
You tried to slip your hand from his, but he only held fast, “Soldat, please… It’s okay, just do what they say… They don’t want to hurt us. Please,” You urged, giving his hand a gentle squeeze,
His defenses faltered as he listened to you beg him to stand down. It wasn’t the usual begging he heard in his line of work, and coming from your lips had his walls cracking in an unprecedented way.
He shouldn’t have looked back at your eyes, wide and pleading, as they shook his walls further. Moving slowly he turned, kneeling before you despite the way the armed group yelled at him not to. You just held up your hand to them, pleading for them to be as gentle with him as he was with you.
“Мое солнце [My Sun]...” The warm flesh of his hand came up easily to cradle your face and a small smile pulled at him again as you leaned into his large palm. “Я только что нашел тебя. Я не потеряю тебя снова так быстро[I’ve only just found you. I will not lose you again so quickly]. ”
Your heart both swelled and pained for your Soldier. You looked into his eyes and saw a sense of certainty, a sense of knowing, you hadn’t seen from him earlier. “Oh… my soldier, my star,” Your fingers entwined with the hand holding your cheek, ”You can not lose me in any way that would last…” You whispered to him past the shouts, the commotion, and the tension, like you were the only two in the room.
“Sir, put the knife down!” A young squad member called again, his voice far more concerned than his superiors. You didn’t recognize him or his number and you figured he must’ve been new. His gun trembled in his hands as he shouted again, but as the Soldier failed to move and the kid’s finger unexpectedly twitched, there came a sudden-
BANG.
“Ah-!” Your face twisted with pain as you pulled away, “Fuck…!” Your hands instinctively grabbed your leg, clamping over the shooting pain in your calf that hit you- well- like a bullet.
You winced again as you pulled one of your hands back, the raw skin of your leg angrily letting you know that it did not like being brushed against. Warm, wet crimson covered your fingers as you looked down, becoming slightly dizzy at how much had already covered your palm. You were thankful it only seemed to be a graze, but the burn you already felt and knowing you were losing blood had your stomach lurching in uncomfortable ways.
Concern painted the assassin’s expression as you recoiled away from his doting touch, but as the unmistakable warm, metallic smell curled into his nose, his expression darkened dramatically. What was once kind, curious blue eyes now saw nothing but red as he caught sight of the wound slashing across your skin. His jaw set firmly, almost audibly grinding his teeth as he stood and turned to the young kid.
You looked back at the newcomer as you tried to breathe through the pain, the horrified look on his face telling you that he knew he was a dead man walking. His face went ghost white as the super soldier stalked toward him and through even worse trembling hands he raised his gun to shoot again.
“No…!”
A sickening thud rang out as the bullet hit the assassin square in his good shoulder, getting lodged in the muscly flesh. His shoulder jerked back at the force, but it wouldn’t stop his stride as he closed the gap. Another shot rang out, but with the solid vibranium arm now covering the barrel it did little to help this poor dumb kid. Snatching him by the neck, you watched as your assassin held him up until his feet kicked uselessly in the air.
Every gun immediately trained on him and with their proximity you knew they wouldn’t miss a fatal shot if it came to it.
“Stop! Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! Soldier, put him down!” You yelled as you maneuvered towards the edge of the bed. “Please, don't shoot, I can fix this!” you continued, trying to convince yourself as much as you convinced them. Familiar voices joined in on your plea as Sam and Steve finally entered the picture, urgently trying to talk down both the Winter Soldier and the secondary security team.
“Bucky, It’s okay... Just put the kid down, alright?” Steve tried to reason with him, “He’s new, he doesn’t know what he’s doing yet.” Steve tried his best to stay calm and patient, but the young man was beginning to change colors now. “Bucky, put him down before you do something you can’t come back from.” But Bucky’s ears were deaf to the outside pleas and the Winter soldier refused to listen.
“Ah..!” You whimpered as you tried to stand and approach the commotion. The pain in your leg reached new heights as you tried to put weight on it, causing you to tumble to your knees almost immediately. You clutched your belly, hoping the sudden jostle wouldn’t upset the baby too much as you tried to get up again.
“Hold on, Y/n. Stay down for a minute so we can wrap your leg…” Sam asked of you, moving over to help as soon as he saw the blood on your hands, “You’re losing plenty already.”
“No, I have to…. I can’t let him get hurt,” you argued, pushing away his helpful hands as you tried to stand again. You heard the crashing thud and rushed voices as you shakily got to your feet, leaning all your weight on your good leg. As you looked up again you came eye to eye with worry-filled icy blues.
“Sol-”
“Мое солнце [My Sun]...” He interrupted, his metal arm snaking around your waist to pull you in possessively and away from those who threatened your safety. On the other side of the room, the nervous kid now coughed and wheezed for breath, but you were just happy to see he was still alive.
“Please just listen to them. You’re already hurt, don’t get yourself killed…” you pleaded, your hand barely brushing over his bleeding wound before pulling his hand to your rounded belly. He tried to keep his expression steady, but you saw the way his eyes widened slightly as he looked down. “She needs someone looking out for her and I can’t do this on my own. I can’t keep away all the dangers of the world…” Your forehead rested against his as you tried to shift your weight, whining as you gave up and moved back. You couldn’t deny that this part of Bucky was her father too, even if he had been hidden away for ages, she was still his too. Whether Bucky would see it the same way you weren’t sure, but right now you were just concerned with making sure he got out of this alive.
“I can’t do this without you…”
The silence felt deafening as he considered. He never had to think about other people relying on him, not like this. His orders had always been to leave no threats, to finish his job and move on, no matter the cost to him. But the pain in his soft, fleshy shoulder was getting harder to ignore. The way his blood-soaked shirt clung to his arm now climbed to the forefront of his mind as he watched your big eyes stare back at him, desperate to understand. He was between a rock and a hard place.
“I’ll be right beside you the whole time..” You assured him, “We both will, but please let everyone get us some help.”
A gentle nudge pushed against his palm as his thoughts swirled around him, snapping him back to a single line of thought and he knew then. Defeat laid heavy on his shoulders as they slumped, accepting what must be done., “Мое солнц [My Sun] …”, He said, “Если вы так хотите, то я не буду жаловаться [If it is what you wish, then I will not complain].”
You couldn’t tell just how long you had been holding the breath you let out, your muscles relaxing as he finally held his hands up. The security squad began coming forward with an array of cuffs, but it was Sam who stopped them this time, glancing back at you for confirmation as he assured them that they could take it from here. Despite the arguing and the hesitation, they seemed to relent, shifting their focus now to their injured colleague.
Both Sam and Steve looked tired but relieved as they turned to the two of you, bloody and pained in your current state. Though they weren’t quite better; both of them looked like they had been the unfortunate punching bag of a certain super soldier mere hours before. Sam had bruises lining his arms from where he was surely blocking blow after blow and Steve smiled a bit with his busted lip, dried blood still stuck in the corner of his mouth.
“Let’s get you two to the tower…”
----
The journey to the tower was quiet, your soldier never letting you out of arms reach as you all boarded the armored truck, and made your way up the tower and to the lab.
Doctors tried to treat the both of you, but as soon as anyone dared to come close your assassin was right there to growl them back. They’d hardly be able to get past his possessive hands even if they could manage to get close, his touch keeping you pulled beside him at all times.
“Soldat…” you warned him, but he was too preoccupied gathering the medical bag they had been dropped. Coming over to you, there was no warning as he scooped you up from the ground and set you on a table to get to work.
“Oh-!” You exclaimed as you held onto his strong shoulder, quickly getting plopped back down on the corner of the cold metal table. A shiver ran down your skin as you shifted against the sleek table, watching as practiced hands scoured through the medical bag, producing everything he needed as he went about fixing up your leg wordlessly.
You were beyond thankful for the haze of the (baby-safe) painkillers as his fingers slid over the raw flesh. Despite the gentle numbing of the painkiller your fingers still lay tangled in his hair as he worked, only tugging in discomfort as the gauze wrapped tightly around your leg.
"Thank you..” You said when he finally finished, moving back to appreciate his work before giving it a satisfactory nod. His eyes had grown distant again, bits of confusion and uncertainty swirling in the storm of his eyes, and you reached out to stroke your thumb across his cheek. His stony cool expression remained as you touched him, his mouth staying a firm line as he instinctively leaned into your palm. You watched him for a moment before you continued, knowing that his thoughts must be far away.
“It's your turn now, big guy.... your shoulder is still seeping and you can’t keep losing blood like this," You urged him just as you had on the ride to the tower. He had refused to listen then, letting nothing else occupy his mind until he knew you were fully taken care of. But now as you sit safely before him, the only looming threats being Sam and Steve who seem to haunt the hallway outside, he finally relented.
You moved to stand, needing the angle to effectively dig out the bullet still lodged in his muscles, but he held you still with a single large hand on your shoulder, "Stay," he urged you with that low rumble of his. His eyes lingered on yours, ensuring you would do as he asked before he began to move again, gathering the supplies you would need.
He slid his bloody shirt off, revealing the weeping wound beneath and the scars of many wounds past. You expected him to stand in front of you, maybe sit so you could take care of him, but that didn’t seem to be the important thing right now.
He climbed up onto the cold table where you sat, curling onto his side with his back facing the door so his wounded shoulder sat closest to you. His head lay in your lap with a look of unmatched serenity as he pressed his forehead against your rounded belly. And there he rested, quiet and unmoving as he took his quiet moment. But he was far too exposed like this, far too trusting of “threats” lurking outside, and he almost reminded you of Bucky again. Was Bucky fighting to come back…? Was the Winter Soldier trusting you to watch his back? … or was he accepting of something you weren't sure he knew yet?
"Are you sure? It's going to be harder to take the bullet out this way. I don’t want to hurt you more than I have to," you tried to explain as you pulled out the forceps.
But he simply shook his head, "I know my time here is short, my Sun..." he said with an even tone, no semblance of fear to shake his voice, "Please let me enjoy it like this…."
Your voice caught in your throat as he answered, his blunt acceptance and knowing catching you off guard. You wished beyond anything that you could soothe him, to tell him no one was going to hurt him or take him away again. But you wouldn’t lie to him, so instead you said nothing, Your words rasping as you replied, "Of course, My star…."
The room was quiet as you worked, the only noise the sweet mumblings from your boyfriend's lips as he filled your baby’s ears with loving promises. His body let out a grunt and a soft squelch as you finally tugged the crushed bullet out. Pain creased his brow but his words never faltered and neither did the nudges or kicks he got in reply.
Carefully you cleaned up the blood, packing the wound as best you could, but you were sure Tony and his team would be redoing it soon nonetheless.
A sigh escaped him as he heard you putting away your tools, "My Sun?" he asked.
"Yes?"
“Is it time…?”
You cast your eyes downward, looking into those confused and swirling blues as they watched you with unbridled hope.
You nodded, wiping away the tears that welled in your eyes, “It’s time…” you whispered.
He nodded, thinking quietly as he looked down at your belly again, his hand smoothing over the skin he’s exposed, “Will I see you two again…?”
Your heart broke at the slight waver in his voice, “Oh, my star…” you said, resting your palm against his cheek, “It’s just like I said, ‘you can not lose me in any way that would last’. I’ll see you again and again, in this life and the next,” you assured as you leaned down to kiss his temple, a small smile forming at the corners of his lips. Tears blinked from your eyes as you continued, “I don’t know when, or for how long, but you will see us again. You can always come home to me, and I will always be there to welcome you.” You leaned, slow as not to scare him, and kissed him gently as he turned again to look at you.
It was awkward at first, but you didn’t mind, you couldn’t imagine the last time the Winter Soldier had felt such gentleness, let alone a kiss.
But the moment was ripped away as the door opened, Steve, Sam, and Tony all standing in the doorway. “We’re ready for him,” Tony said simply, “Let's get this started so my lab techs can go home….”
-----
You watched behind thick glass as Tony and his team of technicians attached various wires and machinery to Bucky’s body. Sam and Steve’s hands lie on your shoulders, trying to comfort you as you watch them finish tuning and placing everything. You watched as his blue eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling, as still as a statue as he let them do their work.
“I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have to watch this…” Steve tried to comfort you, but you only shook your head.
“No… I promised I’d see him off,” you replied, then thought with a pause, “Despite all the warnings Bucky gave me I’m happy I got to see him face to face…”
“Well, it helps that he wasn’t trying to beat the shit out of you…” Sam mumbled, getting an immediate nudge from you right in one of his bruises, “ Ow…okay, point taken.”
You smiled and shook your head. It was true though; despite the fear, blood, and death that dripped from his moniker, despite the pain you endured in his presence, you would do it all again. Bucky had hidden this part of him from you for so long, only ever showing you half of his face. And though you know he wouldn’t like it, you’re happy to finally see him in full light- to know and love him completely as he’s meant to be.
Tony says something that’s hard to make out through the glass, but you see him give a thumbs up to you all so he must have been ready. He moved to the switch, hesitating for a moment to let you say a quick goodbye.
Your Soldier’s eyes found yours right away, but there was no trace of sorrow for you to see, no discomfort or fear. In fact, he seemed almost excited; excited and hopeful that when he saw you next he’d have a bundle of joy to look forward to as well.
“Мое солнце [My Sun]...” you watched him say beyond the glass.
“I’ll see you again, My stars. I’m sure of it…” You replied with a soft smile.
He had just enough time to smile softly back at you, an image now pleasantly etched in your brain before Tony flipped the switch and the reset procedure began.
You covered your eyes quickly as Bucky’s body began to convulse, his strained grunts and shouts breaching containment despite the way he tried to hold it all back. The sounds of pain continued for minutes, but it felt far longer. Though, it wasn’t until it got quiet that you began to worry.
“Is it done? Is it over...?” You asked the men on either side of you, afraid to peek past your hands for fear of the worst.
“Doll…?” you heard the familiar voice call, gritty and rough from its recent use but still carrying that same soft tone he used with you.
Your heart swelled, “Bucky...?”
_____________
Taglist: @writingmysanity @simpxinnie (sorry I forgot to tag!)
It's been a while since I've written for our favorite sad man, so if I've missed you/you want to be added to the taglist, DM me to let me know!
Omg stopppp,,,,
I just remembered this fic I read, though I can’t remember if it was here or on AO3 so please help !!
Basically, one of the top gun Maverick members had like a friend who I think was a single mom???? I think it was Bradley??? And basically they were in an abusive relationship with their ex, who found them again and started stalking I think???
I do remember a part where he— as in the ex—tried to take the kid from the daycare the mom reader dropped the kid off too and Rhett Abbot was in it for some reason? And I think maybe Bob died??? Jesus this sounds like a fever dream but trust it happened in a FIC GUYS 😭 I JUST NEED HELP FINDING IT
Cards Close to the Chest // Bob Floyd
Summary: When Bob & Phoenix fall from the sky, Bob’s closest kept secrets come to light as two of the most important people in his life race to his side.
Warnings: Bob Floyd x F!reader. Fluff (poorly written) Mild cock-sure Jake Seresin. Hospitals. F18 accident. Wholesome read.
Word Count: 3k
Author Note: I was just feeling some fluffy Bob content and I thought this would be a good way to break up the tension with all my over dramatic angst/whump. Thank you so much to @a-reader-and-a-writer for beta reading this for me! Vee did gods work with this one.
Main Masterlist | Bob Floyd Masterlist
No significant other wants to receive that call. That dreaded call that tells you that the inevitable has happened. That phone call that sucks all the air from your lungs and replaces it with cement. The very phone call that alters your perception of life, of time, of all the small arguments you ever had with the person you love so dearly. It's the phone call no significant other wants to receive.
“Is this Mrs Floyd?” The man on the other end of the line asked with a cautiousness that told you he really didn't want the answer to be yes. Your daughter, Millicent, sat in her high chair smashing bananas all over the surface of her tray. Getting to know the texture of the latest solid you had introduced her to.
“This is she? May I ask who's speaking?” You didn't mean to come across as defensive, but the panic inside your chest had well and truly begun to bloom. Your eyes lingered over to the pair of spare reading glasses your husband left lying around the small apartment the two of you and your young daughter had been staying in. If this was the phone call, the very phone call that was about to alter your life forever you couldn't help but to think of the last time you saw your husband wear those frames.
“Mrs Floyd, Y/n, my name is Pete Mitchell, Captain Mitchell, or Just Mav will do–” The man on the other end of the line rambled off the list of names he went by. You didn't care all that much, but you let him go on. Your eyes drifted back toward your daughter, the very embodiment of half you and half your husband. Robert Floyd. In your mind, you prayed to whatever god was listening that this wouldn't be the phone call every military spouse dreaded.
“There was an accident during a training exercise your husband was involved in this morning.” The words all sounded broken and inaudible, all but the few key details.
‘Husband’ ‘Involved’ ‘Accident’
“Is he–” Mav knew what the question was going to be, so he gave you no chance to ask, he wanted to be the one to call, he wanted to be the one to tell you that although your husband had been involved in a training accident, he was still in one piece and very much alive.
“He's alive, still very much in one piece ma’am–” Mav caught himself smiling ever so slightly, despite the looming knowledge in the back of his mind that the situation could have been a lot worse. “They want to keep him overnight for observation, so if you'd like to come in and see him, I'm sure Bob would really appreciate it.”
The sigh that left your body, the shock that overwhelmed you, the tears that stained your cheek you weren't aware were there all told you one thing—you couldn't live without your husband.
“O–okay.” You nodded to yourself as if the man on the other end of the line could see you. “Y-yes, I’ll, uh, just get our daughter sorted and I'll be right in.”
It was then Maverick’s turn to sit in the deafening silence that threatened to consume his entire being. Bob had a daughter? That added a whole other layer to the incident he hadn’t accounted for.
Bob kept that card close to his chest, his daughter, Mille, was his pride and joy.
“Try to keep in mind he's okay Mrs Floyd,. Your husband’s a very skilled weapons system officer and his training truly saved his life today.” You hadn’t taken your eyes off your daughter since you remembered how to breathe as you stood in the middle of the small apartment kitchen. She was so innocent, so young, so mesmerised by her dad that she would have known something was wrong if he didn't come home.
“It's never been my husband's ability that I doubt, Captain Mitchell.” You replied as you wiped away your tears and reached for a sponge to go about cleaning up your daughter's high chair mess. “It's the system he works for that keeps me up at night.”
***~***~***~***~***~
Jake Seresin had never been so relieved when he was told that both Bob and Phoenix were alright and almost injury-free. Phoenix had a few bumps and bruises, a minor cut on her forearm, and a minor concussion that would surely see her grounded for a week at the minimum.
Bob was the same, only his ribs had taken a pretty nasty beating when he hit the ground with an unprecedented amount of force. Still, the usually arrogant, somewhat self-loathing, and above all infuriatingly good aviator wasn't about to say how relieved he truly was.
But he did, however, offer to take Phoenix some personal belongings for her overnight stay in the chateau short-stay ward of the Miramar Base Hospital.
“Just hold on a minute, sweetheart!”
Jake didn't mean to stick his nose where it didn't belong, but the ear-piercing cries of a child that couldn't have been any older than one broke him out of his mid-afternoon trance. The carpark at the Base hospital was packed to the rafters, but surely there would have been a parent’s park closer to the entrance?
Jake wished with every fibre of his being that he could have kept walking, he wished he just could have kept putting one foot in front of the other. But his mother raised him right. With a heavy sigh and a regret deep in his chest, Jake doubled back a few paces and turned his attention to the woman struggling to get up the stroller.
“Ma’am, I hate to be a bother but do you need a hand?”
“Me?” You turned around to address the man who’d been the only person to stop while others had walked right on past and whispered under their breath. Some had even stopped to watch, but no one had offered a hand. “Yes, yes please I just need someone to–”
Assessing the situation, Jake was sure he knew what the issue was.
Within a few seconds of you trying to explain what was wrong, the man who’d stopped to help had placed the bag he was carrying over his shoulder down onto the ground and stepped hard onto the safety that was jammed.
“How did you know to do that?” You asked with a look of disbelief as you immediately raced around to grab your daughter out of the car. She was distraught. “Shhh, I’m here, see I told you just a few minutes, didn't I baby?” You tried your best to soothe the crying tot.
“My sister has the same stroller, gets jammed all the time.” the man smiled politely as he stood by the now perfectly erected stroller. “Jake, Jake Seresin.”
“I recognise the callsign–” You replied when you finally allowed yourself to take in what the man was wearing. The same Nomex flight suit your husband frequented more often than not. “Yeah, Hangman, you work with my husband.” You beamed as you bounced your daughter softly until she was calm enough to be placed into her stroller.
Jake was racking his brain trying to figure out who the hell your husband was. He thought he knew everything about everyone he worked with. From the secrets Rooster tried to keep to the fact Payback had a raging nut allergy. BuUt a wife and child? Who the hell had a wife and child and hadn’t bothered to mention it?
“I work with your husband?” Jake repeated back to you like he was still trying to play catch up. “Sorry, I must be having a mind blank, with all due respect to your husband.”
“Bob Floyd?” You mentioned your husband's name like it was honey on your tastebuds. Jake truly couldn't compute what you were saying. Bob fucking Floyd was married? Bob Floyd had a kid!? “He had a training accident earlier today with his front seater, scared the absolute hell out of me.” You tried to laugh, but you weren't about to mention to Jake that you'd spent the better half of forty-five minutes in the shower with your daughter having a full-blown panic attack after Mav had called.
“You're Bob's wife?” Jake asked with a frown that was so deeply indeed on his forehead you truly weren’t sure what was so wrong about the fact you were Bob's wife. “Bob has a wife?” As you clipped your daughter in, Jake picked up the bag he’d been carrying up to the entrance of the hospital before he stopped to help you.
“Together seven, married for three.” You proudly smiled as you started walking your daughter’s stroller towards the hospital. Jake kept himself in line, walking by your side as he tried to compute the information he was being delivered. “Bob’s a pretty private person, please don't be offended if he didn't tell you we existed.” This wasn't the first time and you knew it wouldn't be the last time you were left to explain that yes, your husband was in fact your husband.
The chuckle that left Jake's mouth told you it wasn't about being offended.
“No Ma'am, no offence taken–” He explained through the shit- eating grin. “I just wasn't aware Bob had it in him is all.” The idea Bob had a wife was an easier pill to swallow than Bob having a whole ass child. In Jake's mind, Bob was far too ill-equipped to know how to use what he had. Or at least that was the rough opinion he had of the wallflower-esk weapons system officer. “But it's nice to know the guys got a family.”
“He does, he’s got us–” You couldn't help it when your eyes welled with tears. “Isn't that right, Millie girl?”
Jake had never stopped to wonder what the loves of his coworkers were like. Sure, he knew Phoenix and Rooster prior to their return to TopGun, but never once had he stopped to think if Bob had a family.
“He’s a real lucky guy.” Jake confirmed as he walked with you. “Gorgeous wife, cute kid, I'm sure he’s gonna be really happy to see you after the day he’s had.”
***~***~***~***~***~
In all the time Bob had flown for the United State Navy, this had been his closest call with death. The bed sheets that covered the small hospital bed scratched at his exposed skin. The paper-thin hospital gown that now adorned his body left little to the imagination if he stood.
The very last person Bob expected to see enter his hospital room was Jake Seresin. Bob thought he was having an all-out nightmare when the cock-sure aviator walked in with a shit-eating grin as wide as his cheeks would allow him.
“No–no absolutely not.” Bob shook his head in utter disbelief. “You don't get to come in here and give me shit after I fell hundreds of metres out of the sky.” It had been a rough day to say the very least and all Bob wanted more than anything else in the entire world was to hug you and his baby girl. “Hangman, I'm so serious right now–” Bob pressed as Jake stood with a proud chest and that smug ass grin by the door of his hospital room, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets.
“You know, that's no way to talk to the man who saved your damsel in distress wife in the carpark–” Jake replied as you rounded the corner and pushed your daughter’s stroller into the hospital room. “Funny, I don't think any of us knew you were married, Floyd.”
Bob's demeanour immediately softened as you made your way over with tears of mixed emotions welling in your eyes. Bob’s eyes mimicked yours, those baby blue eyes were quick to fill with clear but heavy tears as you sat on his bedside.
“I'll leave you guys alone.” Jake knew when to leave a room, and he had someone else to go see after all. Phoenix, probably the only woman on the planet who could keep his ego from inflating to new heights. “Put some WD40 on the safety of your daughter's stroller too. It's starting to lock up–” Jake made sure to tell Bob before he left the room, still carrying the bag full of Natasha’s personal belongings he promised he would hand deliver. Bob's precious cargo however, the family that loved him to the moon and back and three times over, seemed like a more pressing delivery to complete first.
“Bob–” Your hands were on your husband's cheeks the second Bob leaned in to kiss your lips ever so tenderly. The pads of your thumbs worked to wipe away the tears that spilled over his lower lash line, staining his cheeks with a salty layer of tears. “What on earth am I gonna do with you, hey?” You smiled through the kiss, speaking against your husband's supplye lips as he tried to keep his composure. “Falling from the sky like that? You scared me half to death.”
“I’m sorry–” It was the first thing Bob was able to muster as you pulled away and reached down for your little girl. “I'm so sorry. Phoenix got us out of a pretty rough spot, she's the reason I'm still here.”
You’d never met the woman who was currently flying with the love of your life, but you had to trust her. There was no room to not to.
“Someone was enjoying her banana mush when Captain Mitchell called.” You explained as you picked up your daughter and handed her to Bob who was waisting with open arms and bright eyes. He was so relieved to be able to hold his daughter again, you could see that much as clear as day. “Isn't that right Millie, yeah–yeah, Dad really threw a spanner in the works, didn't he?”
“Hey, baby girl.” Bob mumbled into the crook of his little girl's neck as he held her close to his chest. The burn in his ribs was worth it as she used his thighs as a stable surface to tiptoe on. “Oh my goodness, I can't even begin to explain how much I love you both.”
“We love you so much.” You leaned in once again to kiss your husband's lips. “I don't know what I'd do if I lost you. You don't get to scare me like this again, okay?”
Bob knew that you knew he couldn't promise you that, that was the worst part. He knew this could happen again and possibly be a worse outcome than this. But Bob also knew you needed reassurance he was here, that he was safe and that he wasn't going anywhere.
Death himself would have to drag him down to hell kicking and screaming before he ever left you.
“I'm not going anywhere baby, not now, not ever.” Bob cooed as he kissed you back, thankful he got to come home to his girls after such a life-threatening accident. The WSO knew he would have to see a shrink before getting in the cockpit again. How he was going to explain away the nightmares of leaving his wife a widow and his daughter fatherless he’d never know. “I’m here, I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere.”
“Phoenix, I don't think you're supposed to be walking?” Jake's voice echoed down the hall as you and Bob looked towards the door of his hospital room. There, in the doorway, stood Natasha Trace with wide eyes and shocked horror written all over her face. It was clear to you at that moment that Bob hadn’t told her either, Bob hadn’t told anyone about you or his daughter. You were the two closest cards he kept close to his chest.
“You have a family!?” Phoenix asked almost as if the answer was unclear. “Bob, you have a family and didn't tell me? Didn't tell any of us?” There was a rhyme to Bob's reasoning as to why he kept the two of you a secret. Bob just wanted something all for himself. He liked to keep his work life and private life as separate as possible. The Navy could be all-consuming on its best days, coming home to you and knowing not a single person could interrupt or stop by was simply the best version of heaven neither Bob could ever think of.
He just wanted his family all to himself, something the Navy couldn't control, couldn't touch, couldn't taint.
“Nix, this is my wife, Y/n, and my daughter Millicent.” Bob introduced the pair of you softly. “My best girls. “My whole world is in these two.”
You sent the clearly distressed aviator a simple smile and a soft wave as you stood from your husband’s beside. You understood this was a lot for her to take in. The idea that her WSo had more to lose than she ever thought.
“I'm still getting over the fact you have a daughter.” Jake interrupted from behind Phoenix as you walked closer to where she stood to take her in a warm embrace.
“Jealousy is a disease, Seresin, I can tell you exactly how I made my daughter too if you want?” Bob held his daughter in hips lap as she babbled to herself as he helped her stand on her feet. She wasn’t walking yet, not even close. But she loved to stand.
“My husband tells me you’re the reason he's still alive.” You spoke to Natasha like she deserved to be told this accident wasn't her fault. It could have happened to anyone. It shouldn't have happened to your husband and his front seater, but that was the luck of the draw–and you were blatantly aware it could have been much, much worse.
“So, thank you for making sure he gets to come home another night.”
***~***~***~***~***~
How to Lose 'Bob' in 10 Days
Characters: Bob x Y/N, Robert Reynolds x Y/N, Sentry x Y/N, The Void x Y/N
Summary: You thought you'd lost, your husband, Robert Reynolds forever. Consumed by the Void and the chaos it left behind. But then you woke up in a world not your own. One where he's alive. Where he goes by Bob. Where he doesn't know you. To him, you’re a stranger. You have 10 days to lose him, before everything falls apart. But the cracks are already forming. Time stutters. Reality bends. And something followed you here, something made of grief, memory, and everything you refused to let die. As you try to lose Bob in 10 days, the world unravels with every lie you tell yourself. You’ll have to make an impossible choice: hold on to the man you love, or face the truth and finally let him go. Because if you don’t... this world won’t just end. You might go with it.
Word Count: 2081
Warnings: Mentions of grief, Violent/Graphic, A dark twisted version of How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, Spoilers maybe? (Please let me know if I should add anymore.)
Note from the author: This is my work, and I will be posting on here and @ strawb3rrygal on Archivesofourown. Keep in mind these are my ONLY TWO accounts. Please feel free to reblog if you like it! I've been working on this one as I write my other fic 'The Temp' which you can also check out if you'd like.
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Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that something was… wrong.
It started with the silence. The usual commotion outside her apartment — shouting neighbors, honking cars, the occasional bark of that yappy Pomeranian two floors down—had dulled into a hushed, almost reverent quiet. It wasn’t the peaceful kind. It was the kind that felt staged. Like the city had paused to see if she’d notice.
Even the air in the apartment felt heavier, colder. Like it had forgotten how to move.
She sat up in bed, slowly, rubbing her face with both hands. Her skin was clammy. Her breath fogged slightly in the air. She hadn't been sleeping well lately. Her dreams always ended with the same sensation, falling through a place she’d never seen, toward something that knew her name.
Y/N glanced around the room, but it felt… distant. The walls looked just a little too clean. Her furniture, though familiar, felt arranged by someone else. Her plants sat perfectly healthy on the windowsill, but she couldn’t remember the last time she watered them. Did I do that?
She moved to her cabinet, rifling through underwear with robotic purpose. Sometimes, she found comfort in small rituals wearing something pretty, layering clothes like armor. She settled on a violet lace set that used to make her feel soft and strong at the same time. She tugged on thick leg warmers, worn jeans, and her favorite winter boots. The white fuzzy sweater she pulled over her head enveloped her in warmth, but even its softness felt muted. Almost unfamiliar.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she padded into the kitchen or what passed as one. After Robert’s death, she’d left behind the bigger apartment, moved closer to her office, to the city, to noise. To distraction. Now, the noise was gone. The distractions had turned their backs.
She poured herself cereal, sliced up a banana, and scattered some chia seeds across the top like she always did. She chewed slowly, eyes drifting out the window and froze.
A billboard stood across the street. Large. White background. Red letters. It wasn’t there yesterday.
Y/N narrowed her eyes. The ad was for a new Broadway show she didn’t recognize. The slogan beneath it read: “It’s not too late to come home.”
She blinked.
Was it a coincidence? A strange marketing ploy? She tilted her head, as though looking at it from a different angle would explain away the chill creeping up her spine.
She shrugged, more to herself than to anyone, and looked away. But the sensation didn’t leave.
Finished with her breakfast, she slipped on her jacket, slung her bag over her shoulder, and stepped outside. The air bit at her cheeks. Pedestrians passed her with heads bowed, not making eye contact. No one bumped into her. No one spoke. The street was the same—and yet it wasn’t.
Her building’s bricks looked darker. The corner coffee shop had changed names. The newspaper vendor on 42nd street was missing. She told herself she must’ve overlooked it. Told herself she was tired. Still healing.
But healing didn’t feel like this.
At work, everything looked normal. Her coworkers greeted her with practiced smiles. She smiled back. She said good morning. She walked to her desk and turned on her screen.
Y/N was a writer for the nation’s most beloved women’s magazine, a voice of modern relationships and hope-filled advice columns. She had a dedicated readership. A strong social media presence. A decent salary. On paper, she had everything.
But every word she wrote about love felt like a betrayal.
She wanted more. Real stories. Stories about people who were never offered the soft landings she described in her columns. She wanted to write about the cracks in the justice system, about prisons dressed as reform. About things that mattered. Things her boss didn’t care for.
In the beginning, she made it work. Being married to Robert Reynolds had made her an expert in the language of love. In heartbreak. In grief. But then… the Void. Then Thor. And then silence.
Y/N blinked at her computer screen. Her reflection stared back, faint in the black glass. She looked… slightly off. Like the reflection was lagging. Or waiting.
She reached out to shake the mouse and for a moment, just a moment, her reflection didn’t follow. She paused. A strange pressure built behind her eyes. Then the screen flickered on. Her inbox loaded. The moment passed. She swallowed hard and forced herself to breathe.
Maybe she was still dreaming. Maybe it was just grief. Maybe she was just tired.
But somewhere deep inside, something whispered You’re not supposed to be here.
A sharp tap on her monitor startled her. Y/N’s eyes snapped upward.
Tara stood there, grinning wide, her hair sleek and pin-straight completely different from her usual crown of soft, carefree curls. It made her look polished. Almost artificial. Like someone had run her through a filter.
“Morning, sunshine,” Tara chirped.
Y/N blinked. “Morning…”
“You ready for the meeting?”
“Which meeting?”
Tara laughed shaking her head. “The pitch meeting. Elise wants something viral. Fresh blood. She's been in a mood all morning, so bring the juice.”
Y/N nodded, but her mind was still half-submerged in static. The pitch meeting. Right. She’d forgotten. That strange fog hadn’t lifted since she woke up. She couldn’t tell if it was stress… or something more invasive. Something crawling just beneath the skin of the world. She rose from her chair, pushing aside the low thrum in her head, and followed Tara toward the glass conference room.
Then stopped. Her breath caught in her throat. Inside, surrounded by laughter and coffee cups, sat Marlene. Marlene who had spent last night on Y/N’s couch, red-eyed and blotchy, sniffling into a wine-stained hoodie. Marlene, who had sworn off men forever after the barista she’d been seeing ghosted her for not owning a French press.
And yet here she was. Early. Polished. Smiling. Her posture crisp, her lipstick perfect, not a tear-streak in sight.
Had she imagined it? The crying? The whole night?
Y/N sat beside Tara and forced herself to breathe, ignoring the pressure clamping down on her chest.
“All right,” Elise snapped, breezing in with the presence of someone who lived off cortisol and sugarless espresso. She clapped once. “Let’s talk ideas. Love, lust, the dopamine dance—whatever keeps readers clicking even when their rent’s overdue.”
Stella, their photographer, raised a hand like a schoolgirl on fire. “I got Sam Wilson to agree to a spread. Flight to New York is booked. We’ll shoot by Sunday.”
“Beautiful,” Elise said with a tight smile. “Next?”
Her eyes slid to Marlene.
Y/N braced herself.
Marlene blinked. For a second, her expression went blank like someone had unplugged her.
“Uhh…” she started, stalling. “I was thinking… maybe…”
Tara jumped in, her voice a little too bright. “We were discussing the new Avengers this morning.”
Y/N’s eyes narrowed. The new Avengers? That was the first she’d heard of it.
Elise tilted her head. “Go on.”
Tara nudged Y/N with her elbow.
Y/N cleared her throat, racking her brain. She couldn’t think of anything New Avengers related so instead she said: “Maybe we flip the usual love column. Instead of giving advice on what to do… we show readers what not to do. Like…” She looked at Marlene and felt a little pang of guilt at her next words. “Sabotage a relationship on purpose.”
Elise raised a brow. “Intentionally?”
Y/N nodded. “Yeah…” She thought for a moment. “You know… every red flag. Clingy texts. Sudden jealousy. Oversharing childhood trauma on the first date. Show readers what bad behavior looks like in real time.”
A slow grin crept across Elise’s face. “Interesting. And what’s the hook?”
Y/N hesitated. She felt the weight of Marlene’s eyes. The clock ticked too loudly.
“How to… lose a guy?” she offered weakly.
Elise laughed, the sound sharp and amused. “How to Lose a Guy… in 10 Days. I like it.”
“Why ten?” Tara asked, leaning forward.
“Seven’s too short, and we go to press in twelve,” Elise said with a shrug.
The room buzzed with excitement. Everyone nodded. Marlene even clapped.
But Y/N felt nothing. Not pride. Not relief. Just hollowness.
Because in her world she hadn’t needed ten days to lose the love of her life.
Just one.
One catastrophic day when the sky cracked like glass. One moment when Thor’s lightning lit up the battlefield and left smoke and silence in its place. One breath held tight in her throat, when Robert, the Sentry, turned to her with eyes rimmed in black and begged her to forgive him. Forgive the thing he’d become.
Her smile stretched across her face like cellophane. Tight. Fragile.
Her fingers trembled.
“And… one more thing,” Elise said, voice slicing through the buzz. The room stilled. Every eye snapped to her. Even the air seemed to lean in.
“About the new Avengers,” she continued. “The column would really pop if the guy you lose was one of them.”
A collective gasp rippled across the table like a wave. Y/N blinked; a beat too slow. The thought hadn’t occurred to her before she’d have to actually date someone. Not theoretically. Not hypothetically. Actually. She hadn’t done that, not since Robert.
Her stomach dropped.
“I’m sorry,” she said, voice hollow. “The new Avengers?”
Marlene let out a laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Have you been living under a rock?”
“There’s a whole new lineup,” Marlene went on. “Less Iron Man, more... walking HR violations.”
Tara snorted. “God. Remember John Walker? He’s newly divorced, right?”
“Ugh, please don’t,” Marlene shuddered. “He smells like Axe body spray and bad decisions. Maybe she could go for someone less... sociopathic?”
Tara leaned forward, practically swooning. “What about Bucky? He’s handsome. Mysterious. That arm?”
Y/N didn’t respond. Her pulse had started to climb, a steady drumbeat of panic behind her ribs.
Elise tapped a pen against the table, calm as ever. “Maybe we should push for a deeper angle someone off-grid. The one no one’s cracked yet.”
Y/N glanced up. Something in Elise’s tone had changed.
“There’s a mystery man in the files,” Elise continued. “Operates alone. They’ve been calling him Bob.”
The name landed like a grenade in her chest.
Y/N’s breath caught. “Bob?”
Elise flipped through her notes, reading aloud without a shred of awareness for the horror she was conjuring. “Yeah. Real name might be Robert Reynolds. He’s not officially affiliated, but our contacts say he’s powered. Dangerous. Probably not even registered. The government’s been hush-hush. Some kind of asset gone rogue.”
Y/N stopped breathing. Her heart pounded like fists against a locked door. That name. That name.
Robert Reynolds.
Her Robert. Her husband. Dead. Dead. Burned to nothing but a shadow at the edge of a battlefield. She had watched the light leave him, seen his eyes turn black, his voice split by the Void inside him. She held his body when it cooled. He was gone. Gone.
And yet…
Tara’s hand brushed hers. “Hey,” she whispered. “You okay?”
Y/N didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her lungs had turned to glass. Her throat closed tight. This isn’t real. It can’t be real. Because nothing about her life since waking up had made sense. Her bedroom drawers had clothes she didn’t remember buying. The skyline was off, wrong buildings in the wrong places. Little things, piling up.
And now this.
Robert. Bob. Alive?
Elise looked up; one brow arched like a blade. “Is there an issue?”
Y/N stared at her, the world trembling at the edges. Like it might peel back and show her something too big to survive. Her mouth opened. Words didn’t come. But she forced herself to breathe. She had to. She had to play along. Had to get close. Had to see this man whoever he was. If it was really him. If it was a dream. If it was a lie.
“No,” she said finally, her voice hoarse and splintering.
She curled her fingers into a fist under the table, nails digging into her palm like a tether to her reality.
“I’ll do it,” she said.
And just like that, it was done. She had been assigned to destroy a man who wore the name and possibly the face of her dead husband.
And no one in the room even noticed the crack in her voice. Or the scream trying to claw its way out of her throat.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Author Post Note: mueheh :)
A FEAST
Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x Reader // has female parts !
A/N; okay so! This is a small Drabble so it’s like—cut short a bit? Along with this is a Drabble and uses female parts! Short word count! Also I’m still getting used to writing so I apologize if this is messy (┳◇┳) I will edit when I see fit for myself aha!
NSFW under the cut!
Gaz doesn’t know how he found himself in this position. His head full of lust, his tongue sucking up your lower lips. Your plush thighs on the side of his head, caging him in. And your soft mewls of pleasure make him twitch in his pants. He just came back from deployment—unlocking the doors of the shred house just to find you dressed in beautiful lingerie. And he couldn’t help himself. You were wrapped up like a present, from him to unwrap over and over again. And he loved it. His mind is fuzzy as he finds himself kneeled, while you’re laid on your back on the edge of the bed.
He eats you out like a starved man. Your plush thighs over his shoulder, while his hands rest under your upper thighs. His hands knead your flesh while his mouth slobbers against your wet slicked folds. He hums in delight as your taste fills his mouth. Your whimpered moans make him hard, but your lower lips make him harder. He’s still clothed in his shorts, yet he has no shirt. Your body lays naked on the bed. Sweat trickling down your forehead.
“Fuck love..” he whispers as his licks over your clit. The sounds of wet slurping noises follow after, sending waves of pleasure up and down your spine. He doesn’t speak to you—he speaks to your pussy. “So wet for me. So so fucking delicious.” He mutters, downright pussydrunk as his lips smack, covered in your juices.
His tongue is buried in your hole but peaks out to lick and feast more. Every time you try and squirm away his hold on you locks down. Forcing your body to push back up against his mouth, his nose, his face. His nose brushes up on your clit, officially making the majority of the bottom of his face wet with your slick.
His eyes close for a split second as he groans in pleasure. Inhaling your sex scent like it’s a new perfume. Slurping down your juices like a forbidden drink that’s supposed to be out of reach.
“Gaz!—Kyle.! Oh!” Your voice is hoarse as it calls out his Call Sign then his real name in pathetic mewls of pleasure.
One of your hands finds his head of hair, gripping it and making him grunt out. Your other hand trying to muffle your moans, yet proving unsuccessful as Gaz purposely trails up and down your wet folds and nips at your clit teasingly. Your body twitches in delight, his movements are so overwhelming. You can feel the knot in your lower belly. The way his tongue moves and explores your lower wet cavern. The way he doesn’t stop as he can feel you clench down on his tongue, only making him continue on more. He can taste you. He can feel you as you get more wetter under only his tongue and soft peppered kisses on your wetness.
Dripping, he thinks. You’re absolutely dripping. Soppy and wet and you coat his face so nice. His eyes peek open to look up. Your eyes are shut in pleasure and your mouth open as it produces those beautiful noises. His mouth leaves your soppy and quivering cunt for a moment, peppering wet kisses up your thighs. He can smell your scented body wash—inhaling it so nicely. But he cut himself short as his wet lips found your clit, his tongue teasing so nicely.
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