Moth to a Flame (Robert Reynolds x Reader) - Chapter 4
Summary: Robert finds himself growing closer to one of O.X.E.’s many lab technicians. She’s gentle and a spitfire all the same, she’s got an odd tension going on between her and Bucky (were they dating at this point?), and she’s got cat-like reflexes for someone with a Bachelor’s degree in science. The biggest mystery? She’s drawn to him just as much as he is to her.
A mission involving an old HYDRA base clicks everything into place.
Warnings/Themes: Use of she/her and feminine pronouns for reader, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Some Bucky x Reader, but it's a Bob x Reader fic, general HYDRA content and warnings that come with that, No use of Y/N (I tried to challenge myself not to do so lol).
Author's Note: Void's obsession grows...
This fic is cross-posted to my Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckityBuckBarnes
The nightmares had begun in the dead of night, when Bob was fast asleep. They fester and creep and stick with you, no matter the duration or the contents.
The first nightmare is fleeting – a messed-up amuse-bouche of the psychological feast that he intended to serve you. Gone are the soft sheets underneath your fingertips, the quiet breaths in your ear.
Gone is Bob.
A chill seeps through your bones, veins becoming ice. No images flash in your mind, but you hear the voices of your parents, as clear as the day you were taken.
You can’t just take her, that’s – That wasn’t the deal!
What the fuck kind of deal did you make? That takes our daughter away?!
They said they wouldn’t hurt anyone if I complied. They said that they could help us. I didn’t think they’d – STOP! STOP, PLEASE DON’T TAKE HER.
Despite the darkness, you feel hands yank you back and forth. Strong, clawed-nails dig into your flesh and drag you down…down….down… deeper into the jaws of an endless abyss. Their voices are fading away from you now, like two ships passing each other in the night, horns blaring, but soon tapering off at a distance.
Above, two glowing-white orbs stare down at you, slightly lopsided, the camouflaged creature tilting its head curiously.
Void.
Your stomach churns at the sight of him.
Sentry was intimidating in his own way – A sun too bright for human eyes to look at for long. A God willing to smite anything before him if he really wanted something. But, he was something you could perceive.
Void is not.
Void is a type of eerie dominance that is looming. The fear is not in your face – It slithers at the edge, it’s stirring beneath the surface. Whereas Sentry was a presence you simply avert your gaze from, Void was a paralyzing individual you couldn’t circumvent. In his own element, he commands the darkness to do his bidding.
You’ve only ever seen him on TV, or on Bob’s files strewn across your messy desk. This first-hand encounter was indefinitely more sobering. Instead of splitting his attention on various people, those two pinhole eyes stare directly down at you. Two beads of light. They might as well have been spotlights to a bug, the way they hypnotize you.
It’s just you.
And Him.
And, well, if he’s here…then –
“What did you do to Bob?”
A mirthless chuckle reverberates across the space.
For once, nothing. He’s sleeping pretty well actually. I wanted to come say hello to you.
“Well, fucking hello. That all?” Your voice, raw with unease and fright, billows out into the vast, empty space. It comes out shaky… weak , despite your taunting words. You hear him release an amused breath, the sound echoing throughout the chamber like howling wind.
If you don’t like my company that much, I could pay Robert a visit. Is that what you want?
Your eyes flash wildly at that, teeth gritted as you flail against the phantom arms grabbing at you. The fear – it splinters into you. The thought of Bob, slouched in a corner as the darkness overtakes him causes your exterior to crack. Those sad blue eyes look at you, pleading for you not to leave him alone with this thing . “Don’t touch him.” You reach out towards him, but he’s levitating further and further away as you sink into the darkness. “Stop. Don’t touch him!”
That morning, you wake with a start, heart hammering in your chest.
Beside you stirs Bob, who blinks sleepily until he recognizes your face. When he does, he smiles warmly. There isn’t a trace of fear or pain on his entire body. “Good morning.” His calm disposition gives way under your tense stare. “Everything okay, Honey?” The endearment slips out of his mouth like it belonged to you, but your blood is rushing to your ears. You don’t really hear it. Your eyes roam his form, making sure everything is in place. Not a scratch on him. He was all smiles until you ran a hand through your sweat-slicked hair.
A bluff, you realize. Void has some sort of twisted sense of humor and he was just bluffing to rile you up.
“I’m fine,” you say, forcing a smile back. “I forgot where I was for a second, I’m sorry.” The words flow out naturally, filling up the atmosphere just the same as they did in the void’s space: empty and without self-belief.
It’s what you do best – You stuff your conflict and your feelings down until they’re shoved into a tiny box, away from others. With your secrets close to your chest, you can deal out whatever cards you choose. And right now, Bob didn’t need to know that he was the cause of your pain.
Bob isn’t fully-convinced. You can tell by the anxious crease between his brows, but he nods, forcing out a polite chuckle. “Just don’t punch me next time you wake up like that, okay?” he teases.
Next time.
Your heart lurches a bit at that. Next time, Bob will hold you in your sleep again, only for the night to once again give way to Void’s antics.
-
A couple of days later, you end up in Bob’s bed.
He was antsy at a small gathering hosted by Valentina. You were wearing something supposedly very cute – He couldn’t keep his hands off of you between nervous glances and shy smiles. Though you had to admit, you were teasing him just a bit. Every time one of your new teammates pulled you away to a conversation, you’d innocently wink his way and go with.
Yelena picked up on this, and being the little shit that she was, whirled you around the party to meet some random rich white men. Once Bob was beet red and practically going to implode, you decided to spare him. His clammy hands pulled you away from the party after a few hours, eyes searching your face wildly.
“Can we get out of here?” You press your lips in a thin line, stifling a laugh at his wide-eyed stare. “Like right now?”
It wasn’t the same nerves he was met with when you first decided to assist the Thunderbolts. It was a want. A need.
You can’t help but laugh, finally, at his fumbling hands, his look of Please don’t make me fucking say it, because I’m gonna explode with anxiety if I have to.
“Let’s get out of here,” you whisper softly. As if you deflate a balloon in his chest, he sighs in relief.
Now, you’re laying on top of him, head resting against his chiseled chest as he plays with your hair. With heavy breaths and sweaty skin, you merely enjoy each other’s presence. Your eyelids feel heavy, your limbs buzzing from adrenaline.
“That was – Wow,” Bob huffs, an incredulous laugh tailing behind.
“That was mostly you,” you chuckle back.
“Yeah, but you’re —” his face flushes with a tinge of red, as if he wasn’t the one passionately making love to you beforehand. “You’re like so beautiful, it was easy to –”
“Laying it on thick, Bob. I’m already in bed with you,” you tease, pinching his cheek. “You’re the one with a sculpted body.”
Bob sighs, a laugh breaking it up slightly. “Didn’t exactly earn it – it came with the serum/”
“You don’t have to brag.”
He slowly gets up, ignoring your protests. His feet pad across the ground, and you get a good look at his backside as he leaves.
“Was it something I said?” you call out lightheartedly.
He practically snorts in laughter. “Just give me a minute.”
Your eyes close as the soothing sound of the faucet reaches your ears. And then it shuts off. When you open your eyes again, Bob is at your side with a wet hand towel draped over one arm. “Open for me,” he softly commands, tapping your thigh. You roll your eyes, stopping yourself from commenting on his bossiness, and allow him to clean you up. In gentle strokes, the sticky feeling between your legs is lifted.
“Thank you,” you murmur when he’s done, and he grins from ear-to-ear. “Can I stay the night?”
“You don’t ever have to ask that. You’re welcome here any time,” he says shyly, tossing the towel into a hamper.
A warm smile graces your lips, but it falters for just a moment when he’s turned around to put on a pair of boxers. You wonder if Void would be triggered by your proximity again –
But when Bob leans down and presses his lips against your forehead – When he gently pulls up your underwear in place and dresses you in one of his oversized shirts, you think you can face whatever comes your way tonight. There’s a sparkle in his eyes as he lays down, facing you. The smile never leaves his face. “Goodnight,” he whispers.
You lean up, kissing his nose and then his soft lips. He sighs in deep content, eyes fluttering closed. His hair tickles your face at the proximity, waves touching your skin in featherlight traces.
“Goodnight, Bob.”
Void’s presence is more indirect tonight.
Musky air fills your lungs, the room sweltering with the heat. Beneath you, black mats give way to your steps. Adrenaline courses through your veins on instinct. Only when you begin to recognize the room, something heavy crashes into your stomach. Your back hits a sparring mat, breath knocked out of you. Above you, a broad-shouldered man with haunting eyes stands tall.
“Up,” a voice snaps, icy-blue staring back down at you. “Get. Up.”
“I’m not in the mood for this,” you growl, standing back on sore legs. A silver knife is clutched in one hand, your other balls up into a fist.
This displeases your opponent. It’s evident in the way his eyes narrow, only slightly curtained by strands of greasy brown hair. The man gets into a defensive position, flexing his fists until one whirs and clicks loudly. His tongue pokes out and swipes at a cut you managed to make on his lip. “They’ll rip your tongue out for that attitude.”
HYDRA would do a lot of things. Removing your tongue would be child’s play in their book – a meager sunday-afternoon activity.
From the corner of your eye, a shadow bursts past, hovering – a predator stalking its prey. You try to follow it, but it’s just out of eyesight. When you turn, you don’t see your opponent lunging in. His metal fist strikes your gut again, knocking the wind out of you once more and sending mind-blowing pain up your chest. On impact, you bite down on the inside of your cheek, blood trickling out of your mouth.
“You’re distracted,” the Soldier growls. “Do I have to keep hitting the same spot til we get this right?”
“Buck – Soldat,” you correct yourself. “We need to find a way out of here –”
Another punch thrown, and you’re able to dodge it this time. Your knife clangs against his metal wrist.
“You’re such a pain,” he mutters, clearly upset by your suggestion. You’re more dialed in now, circling him and keeping up with his hits. Every so often, your gaze would flicker around, trying to catch Void. “What are you searching for, Moth?” The Soldier’s voice is quieter, but harsh, trying not to give information to the security cameras in the room.
“My way outta here,” you answer, striking at his thigh with your knife. He intercepts the blade with a grab of his robotic fist, yanking you forward so that you’re meeting his cold gaze.
“You’re always making things worse for us, you know that?” An edge of warning curls around his words.
You do know that.
Your mind was persistent. Every time they wiped away your memories, those fragments would come back buzzing into your skull until you piece the frayed ends back together. The haze would break for you, and in turn, you’d break Bucky’s behind closed doors. You’d tell him anything you knew about him – remind him of the bridge incident with Steve. You offered him puzzle pieces and placed them where they belong at the same time. Your cycle breaks. His cycle breaks, and then –
And then they punish you worse than the previous reset.
Sometimes, they’d starve you to the brink of death, only to feed you scraps. Sometimes they’d break literal bones just to see how they healed – the scientists used you as a subject for pilot studies. Sometimes, they’d bind you to watch as they tortured Bucky. He’d be fried, over and over again until he was a husk of his former self. He’d forget why his flesh smells burnt or why his head hurt like they took a battering-ram to it.
But you remember everything.
His screams still echo in your mind clear as day.
“We can’t just stay here,” you say quietly, but his nostrils flare like a bull, anger rolling through his whole body.
Because being angry was all he really remembered how to be.
“You’re a stupid little thing,” he seethes. “Keep chasing the light, Moth – keep getting electrocuted to death.” His hand shoots up, grabbing your throat in a vice-grip. And he squeezes. You drop your knife, fingers shooting up to try and pry his grip away. “Or just give up, like the rest of us.”
You can’t get a single breath in, vision blurring, head feeling significantly lighter. Your mouth gapes like a fish – a silent plea escaping your lips. A mix of saliva and blood trail down your lips as he presses in harder. Black spots appear, and one is bigger than the rest, hovering over the Soldier’s shoulder. It watches you, eyes burned into your mind and being your very last last thought as you hear a sickening snap.
You’ve always felt alone, haven’t you? The familiar voice, all-encompassing and melancholy, floods your senses. It’s all you can hear. And all you see is that abyss, vast and cold. For once, it’s welcome in this lonely existence. His voice almost soothes you as oblivion takes over, the weight around your throat disappears.
I understand now. Even with friends who claim they care about you – You can never really believe them. You’re always on guard. You’re scared they’ll all leave you one day. Maybe next year – Tomorrow…? Any second now.
Maybe…Maybe it’d be best if you just –
“Hey – Hey, wake up!”
Your eyes snap open, breath hitching in your throat. You practically headbutt Bob in the chest as you sit, fingers tightening around bed-sheets in a death-grip. “Wh – What?!”
“Y-You were screaming I – I didn’t know what to do,” Bob stammers, hands hovering over you. “I still don’t really know what to do –”
You take in his hunched form, helplessly eyeing you up and down. You keep hearing the sounds of your neck crunching in your head, Bucky’s rage-filled words – You can’t all over breathe again. He grabs your hand and places it over his chest, urging you to breathe along with him. You try your best, despite the river of tears threatening to spill from your eyes.
“Did you – Was it me?” Bob asks hesitantly, swallowing a lump in his throat. “Was it him ?”
You move your hand to his thigh and gently squeeze, trying to reassure him while you also catch your breath. “N-no,” you lie. “It was HYDRA. Just memories I’d forgotten about, I’m sorry –”
“You have nothing to apologize for.” His hand is gently placed over yours, rubbing circles over it. His shoulders shoot up, afraid to ask you anything. Seeing you so shaken up gives him the push he needs.“ Do you need anything from me? Do you…do you wanna talk about it?”
“Just some water please, I’ll be okay.” You bite your bottom lip, trying not to fall apart at the seams in front of him.
“I’ll be right back, okay?” He gives you a quick kiss on the top of your head before leaving the bed. With a momentary pause at the doorway, he shoots you an unsure smile, mouth open slightly, as if he wants to say something, but thinks better if he doesn't.
As he hurries off, you swear you see a shadow by the corner…watching you, as always.
Your breath comes out shaky in a deep sigh. “No more,” you demand quietly. “Leave me alone.”
You quickly whip to the side and pull the switch on your lamp. The room illuminates in a warm light –
The shadow is gone.
-
It’s getting harder and harder to have a restful sleep each night.
When you’re lying next to Bob, the nightmares come full-throttle. You’d dream of previous water-boarding sessions, punishments after trying to console the Soldier, deaths of friends and colleagues alike.
When you’re alone, they’d still come – milder, and sometimes too hazy to remember, but you’d wake up extremely exhausted nonetheless.
Bucky has commented about the dark circles on your face. Sometimes you can’t even make eye-contact with him when he visits anymore. And you feel bad about it – you really do, but the more you dream about him, the more you start sinking back into your former shell. You’d been lingering around the shared Thunderbolts complex more, practically making it a second home. But when Bucky comes in, you make an excuse to leave.
It’s apparent that he’s had enough when he blocks your way today, shoulders crowding the doorway. “Alright – What did I do,” he says.
You back up slowly, arms crossing in front of your chest in a comforting embrace. “Nothing, Buck –”
“Gotta be something,” Ava calls out from the breakfast nook, spooning cereal into her mouth.
“You’re avoiding me like the plague and you won’t even look me in the eye,” Bucky mutters. “So, what did I do?”
You force your gaze upward, staring at the corner of his mouth, and then pushing it to finally meet his blue eyes.
The same ones that were part of the reason you were losing sleep.
An image of the Soldier replaces Bucky for a split second, jaw clenched and eyes hardened into steel. “It’s not you, I just –” You flinch when he sighs. The real Bucky looks back at you now, and his frown deepens, eyes scrunched in genuine worry. He looks hurt – and he looks like he’s contemplating something in his head. Something clicks into place – be it true or a figment of his imagination, and he steps back, looking sick to his stomach.
“Did you…start to remember something new?” he whispers. “Did I do something else?” Your silence answers his question, and he gulps back the bile threatening to make its way upward. “Did I –”
Ava moving from the island snaps you back from your shock and you shake your head vigorously. “You didn’t .” You reach out, placing a hand on his metal arm and squeeze, trying to reassure him and yourself. “It’s Bob, I think.” Your hand slides off of his arm and clenches into a fist. “It’s Void.”
Bucky’s eyebrows raise as he carefully backs you into the kitchen. “What do you mean, Void?” He’s careful not to completely take over your space, instead, he leans in, resting his metal arm on the counter in full-display. It’s as if he’s showing you the weapon because he doesn’t quite fully believe he’s not the problem, and if it’s visible, you wouldn’t be afraid of him striking unannounced.
“Bob’s been…projecting in his sleep. I can see Void in my nightmares – feel him. It’s –” You clamp your hand over your mouth, choking back tears. Bucky’s patient with you, glancing over at Ava and giving her a dismissive look. Ghost, having seen that look before, is smart enough to down the rest of her cereal and hurry off.
“He’s been sending me back there,” you continue quietly. “Watched myself die all over again.”
Bucky flinches this time, taking a step back. Flashes of big, glassy and scared eyes – The same face he sees before him, lips turning blue and expression morphing into a horrified look. You, fingernails digging into flesh and metal, clawing at whatever you could reach and then…and then a snap.
“I didn’t – I didn’t mean to,” he says in a silent plea for you to believe him. “You didn’t deserve to –”
“Bucky, I don’t blame you,” you reassure, gripping the counter of the edge like it’ll anchor you to the ground. “I just can’t be near you right now. I’m sorry.”
He looks as though you’ve physically stabbed him, twisted a knife deep into his gut and wrenched it back out. “No, you’re right,” he gasps, swiping a tired hand over his face. He breaks out into a cold sweat, a faraway look on his features. “You’re right, I understand.”
The Soldier, now so small in this kitchen with his shoulders slumped in defeat and his head hanging low, makes you shift uncomfortably. “Bucky, I’m just really sleep-deprived, and I’m just – I’m sorry. You don’t have to –”
Bucky shakes his head, not trusting his words to come out steady. Instead, he shoots you a somber smile, and walks out, bumping shoulders with Bob on the way.
“What’s wrong, man?” Bob asks in concern, hand carefully placed on Bucky’s metal bicep, but Bucky shrugs it off. “I’ve got uhm – There’s…” With his mind not landing on an excuse, he huffs, patting Bob’s chest apologetically before storming off.
When Bob looks back into the kitchen, you have already slipped away too.
“You’d tell me if something was bothering you, right?” Bob asks, breaking a calm silence between the both of you as he helps dry dishes.
The irony isn’t lost on him.
Bucky’s asked this, Yelena has too. He was getting better at sharing his dark thoughts, but there was a point in time where he’d swallow them up until they choked out all of his words. He’d be alarmingly quiet for a few days on end, just sinking in on himself. And he sees that look on your face – The same haunted look he once tried to hide from when glancing at the mirror.
“I’m fine, Bob,” you say, but it’s weak and so-fucking-tired . You’re losing the fight to keep up this ruse. He can see it in the way your hands shake, your smile torn. There’s an invisible weight bearing down on you, your curled-in shoulders being another piece of evidence. “You’re not fine – I-I just,” he stammers through his words, trying not to push you, but not exactly backing down. “It hurts when I see you like this.”
The past few days, you’d been more timid, jumpy at the littlest things. It’s a stark contrast from the lab technician he’d met a while back. And when you’re back in your element, helping with smaller research tasks, you’d throw yourself into your work and chat with him less. There were less fun, nonsensical questions and more frustrated sighs or snippy remarks.
You hand him the last plate you’d been scraping clean with a sponge, fingers lingering over his sweater sleeve. You really didn't mean to hurt him. You hadn’t meant to worry anyone. The exhaustion weighs you down, practically causing you to sway on your feet. You know that if you close your eyes, the darkness will return, but you just can’t function like this another day.
“Need you to hold me tonight,” you mumble. “Just hold me, please. And then I’ll be alright. I promise.”
“I can do that,” Bob huffs a tired laugh. He quickly dries off the last dish and pulls you into his arms, embracing you in a warm hold. “I’ll do anything I can to make you feel better. Just don’t shut me out,” he mumbles.
“Funny, I said that to you once,” you tease, fingers buried in the fabric of his sweater. It’s not an agreement to do what he asks. It’s a quiet understanding that you both are one in the same. Walking backwards, he slowly leads you to your room – he’s been here enough to map out the place. It’s as if he belonged here from the very beginning. He tucks your head under his chin and hums.
“You did, but I want you to know that you can lean on me too.”
His body shakes slightly, breath shuddering. Because in all actuality, Bob feels helpless in this situation.
He can’t fix it – Not really. Whatever it was running through your mind, Bob can’t simply reach in and pull it out. If he could, he would, over and over again, no matter what he finds in there. It’s just never that easy. He knows that.
You hush him gently, running a hand over his back to soothe him in return. “You right here, with me? That’s enough.”
The night ends with you snuggled against his chest, his arm around your waist. This time, you fall asleep first. He watches your chest rise and fall at a steady rhythm. Your breathing evens out, and he smiles to himself at the peace rolling over your form. He hopes that tonight, you’d be able to get the rest you needed. Tomorrow, you had a long day in the lab.
The warmth of the body against yours disappears, making way for an eerie chill as you slip into a restless slumber.
A dingy-looking cell – Your old friend stares back at you. Kneeling on sore legs, hands bound tightly by vibranium cuffs, you stare through the bars. Beyond them should be the underlit hallways that you’re so used to. Instead, fog obscures anything else from view.
“What is it this time?” you ask. You grow tired of these nights. Even in the dream-world, you’re sure the dark shadows cast over your face. Your hands are tingly in your subconscious, your body not feeling your own.
Testing the waters, trying to see what makes you tick.
The room in this dream is blurred by a thick white haze. No matter how much you squint and blink, your eyes don’t adjust enough to make out figures. Instead, weeping wraiths dance across your vision, always just out of reach when you try to focus on them. They drone on in your ears.
She’s defected again, sir.
So beat her into fucking submission.
These voices are familiar to you, grating and sickenly cold. Despite not being able to make the figures out visually, you remember everything.
You remember the lead scientist, his slimy hands grabbing your tear-stained cheeks to look at you, as if he was scolding a child. You remember the claustrophobic cell they had kept you in, walls caked in grime and ceiling dripping with grey water from shitty plumbing. You remember the hungry eyes of guards. They wait their turn – until you’re disposed of, until you’re made null and…void.
She’s ripe. Still young. One of them sneers. The black uniform fitted to his body was all you remember focusing on when they brought in the gag and bone-cutters. If they keep giving this one second-chances, she’ll be too stale for me. He fixes the muzzle around your face, hooking a finger underneath the strap and yanking you forward. He gives you a dismissive pat to the cheek, his breath hot and reeking of vodka as he leans down.
A dog.
They always treated you like a misbehaving dog.
And they always intended to take you out back and shoot you in the head if you retaliated too many times for their liking. You weren’t lying to John Walker on your mission. You did bite. Your owners just didn’t particularly care for it. You fight against the restraints, teeth bared, eyes wildly searching.
It’d be easier if you played nice. His voice triggers the animal inside of you, desperately trying to claw its way out.
You see the Soldier behind the bars, propped against it with a rifle in his hands. His eyes don’t recognize you anymore, the stormy-blue gaze keeping watch. When you sneer up at the guard and whip your head away from his touch, he grabs your shoulders in frustration. That’s when you spit on his shoe, a dribble sticking to the front of your muzzle grate. A gunshot rings out across the space for your misdeed and you cry out in pain, hunched forward when a bullet is lodged into your thigh.
You bitch, the guard snaps, kicking your injured leg for good measure before leaving the cell – trailing behind the traitor that shot you.
That little tie you had with Bucky was never a reliable tether. It was an unmistakable ploy to keep you here. They let their little Moth flutter about in hopes of some basic human connection, and tore you away mid-flight every now and then, ripping your wings off and gluing them back on as punishment. The next flight, a larger struggle than the last. It was painful, watching him walk away without a care in the world – Without so much as looking back to see you suffer in silence.
You really were, always, so utterly alone.
The guard laughs at the devastation wrecking your features. While you don’t remember his face, you do remember that same man screaming for help – begging for you to spare his life the day you escaped. The scientist and that anonymous guard were the only ones that died slowly, choking on their own blood and coughing up their lungs.
You carry no shame in this. In letting him suffer.
Your chains are unbound as you observe the faceless body before you, rubbing your raw wrists while it gurgles and sobs. No mouth, no eyes – You don’t remember his features at all, but the sputtering and bubbling of his throat was unmistakable. “It’s what he deserved,” you say shakily. You wonder if you’re trying to convince Void, or yourself at this point.
Did his family deserve it? Did his children deserve to find him like this – intestines hanging out, body inside-out? When did you metamorphosize into such a cruel thing?
You can hear the phantom screams and sobbing of his children, no older than 10. You can hear them screaming for their papa, trying to rush past the guards to his body.
You’re sick of this.
“I’m a bad person. Is that what you wanna hear?”
Of course, you didn’t want to think about this guy’s family stumbling upon the aftermath of your revenge. You learned through the grape-vine that the officer and the scientist both had children at home. While their fathers were pieces of shits, no child deserved to see their parents in this state. Despite every molecule in your body telling you that this was incredibly wrong, it didn’t negate the fact that you did it. Without hesitation. Without fail.
You did this. And you can do nothing more to give those kids their fathers back.
I’m just looking out for Robert’s best interest.
Does he deserve to be with someone like you?
His intentions are lies, swaddled by a sick obsession growing deep inside him. You can see it, but you also find some truth in his words. Does Bob really need more on his plate right now? Does he need someone that couldn’t control her temper? You’re quite the baggage, you think. You’ve got inconsistent work hours, a shitty past he has only begun to unpack – and now, his leech had claws on you. And judging by the way Bob wakes up without ever mentioning it, you realize these visits were Void’s way of spending time alone with you – without Bob’s interference. Whatever game he was playing, Void knew exactly how much control he had over you.
“That’s enough,” you snap, but your throat feels taut with emotion. Your vision zeroes in on the dead bodies, Void’s powers forcing you to look . Crimson-red blood. Bodies splayed. Organs trailing in a grotesque display. They didn’t have to go out this way, but the rage that ripped through your chest and consumed you had forced your hands.
When did you become such an ugly monster?
“Void, Stop!” you shout, tears spilling from your eyes. The overwhelming hysteria shocking your body into dry-heaving. “I want out – Let me out!”
The bodies disappear, and all that’s left is the dark figure standing in front of you. Petrified, you stay still, even as he reaches in, your vision engulfed in black. The two inky eyes reflect against an unknown source. White lights flickering in front of you with an unknown emotion. Cold fingers cradle your cheeks, wiping tears away in an odd, gentle manner. Your hair stands on end at the sensation. The feeling reminds you of pressing your face against a street-pole on a cold winter’s day. He’s an embodiment of extreme whiplash.
You’re pretty when you cry.
Your heart stalls in your chest at that. His voice echoes out of earshot, slightly wavering. The static hum of the cell slowly fades into a silence.
And then your eyes snap open. You’re awake.
The moon still hangs above, surrounded by twinkling stars. Silvery light shines through the windows, greeting your bleary eyes. Your cheeks hurt, salty tears having dried over your skin.
You’d been crying. Of course, you’d been crying. The memories you had buried long ago came back to you last night, Void having puppeteered you around again in your sleep. A soft snore beside you draws your attention over.
Bob, with his face half-concealed by a plush pillow, sleeps soundly on his side. His oversized sweater pushes up, practically blanketing him up to his mouth. His hair falls over his face in messy waves, a strand or two sticking to the corner of his mouth where he drooled a bit.
You smile at the sight, releasing a shaky breath.
He looks cozy – soft .
Does he deserve to be with someone like you?
Void’s words replay in your head, when you look down your breath hitches at the image of blood on your hands, fresh and sticky. The blood of the scientists. The blood of that guard. The blood of Bucky –
No, you think. He doesn’t deserve someone like me.
Your lip wobbles and you catch it between your teeth.
“Stop fucking crying,” you whisper to yourself. You’ve done plenty of that the past week and a half. Gently, and ever so slowly – As if to savor this moment, you lean down and place a light kiss to Bob’s head. He shifts a moment, snore changing into a quiet hum, before it starts back up again. A blissful smile tugs at his lips.
Like second-nature, having snuck past HYDRA guards plenty of times before, you slip out of bed without a sound.
Moth to a Flame (Robert Reynolds x Reader) - Chapter 3.5 | Bonus chapter
Summary: Robert finds himself growing closer to one of O.X.E.’s many lab technicians. She’s gentle and a spitfire all the same, she’s got an odd tension going on between her and Bucky (were they dating at this point?), and she’s got cat-like reflexes for someone with a Bachelor’s degree in science. The biggest mystery? She’s drawn to him just as much as he is to her.
A mission involving an old HYDRA base clicks everything into place.
Warnings/Themes: Use of she/her and feminine pronouns for reader, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Some Bucky x Reader, but it's a Bob x Reader fic, general HYDRA content and warnings that come with that, No use of Y/N (I tried to challenge myself not to do so lol).
Author's Note: This is a little extra tid-bit between chapters :) it’s what Bob was doing with his day while Moth was out on her first mission
I thought it was needed SOMEWHERE, but it didn’t fit into the chapter itself. Here you go — Some Bucky-Bob Bonding time!
This fic is cross-posted to my Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckityBuckBarnes
It was your first mission, and Bob was pacing the corridors outside of your lab. The past three hours since you’d left were filled with reading and helping Mel organize files. The other hour he spent here.
He stands in front of the door, like a dog waiting for its best friend to return from work. The metal sits closed, mocking him – A low, droning hum of a centrifuge inside fills the silence.
Why can’t the lab door just open up and swallow him whole — why can’t it just embrace him with that familiar cozy cocoon he shared with you? Easy conversation, gentle laughs…he really just wants to sit on your desk chair and mope. Was that too much to ask for?
“You keep glaring at that door and you might just burn a hole in it in 50 years.”
Turning to face the voice, Bob sighs.
“What are you doing here?”
Bob doesn’t mean for it to come out annoyed and accusatory — He’s just anxious as hell waiting for you to return. Sure, the mission was supposed to be a quick in-and-out, but he’s seen movies and read books where those missions went south quickly. His brain is filled with What-ifs and Void’s voice is growing louder by the minute. It starts to drown anything around him — causing him to zero-in on a spot by the window and dissociate.
She’s gonna get hurt.
You’ll just be sitting here on the sidelines while she gets hurt.
Bucky, who stands before him, cocks an eyebrow. Recognizing the conflicted look in Bob’s eyes, the man snaps his fingers gently in his face. “Hey, Bob. You still with me?” Clearly, Bob hadn’t heard a word he had said in response.
“What?”
The shorter man, in his oversized blue sweater, pouts at Bucky Barnes, and the Soldier releases a drawn-out sigh. He loved his friend dearly, but seeing him in this state was a little pitiful. It's a little painful.
“I’m getting too old for this,” he murmurs. He drags a hand down his tired face and frowns. “I said that I left my wallet on her bench and we need groceries. Are you coming?”
“You want me to tag along?” Bob asks. He looks genuinely bewildered, eyeing Bucky up and down like the soldier grew a second head. He was never asked to help with chores outside of the tower until today. He chalked it up to the team being too nervous about Void or Sentry making an appearance. Fair, in all honesty.
He did get concerned gazes from his teammates after yesterday’s slip-up.
“Why wouldn’t I? Besides, you need air — Look at you, Kid.”
Bob scoffs in confusion, until he sees his reflection in the window. Dark circles blemish the skin under his eyes, his lips chapped and his hair messy. Okay, yeah, he didn’t look great.
He follows Bucky in, pausing near the entrance as the man retrieves his wallet. “What’s your wallet even doing in here?” And why do you have access to the lab door?
Bucky only smirks.
“Your jealousy’s showing.”
“It’s not – I wasn’t –” Bob’s cheeks redden as he fumbles for words.
It earns an amused laugh from Bucky, who merely shakes his head. “Relax, Bob. I left it while chatting with her. Just chatting.”
“I didn’t mean to be aggressive, Buck – I swear.”
“I know. You’re just nervous. I can see you practically buzzing. C’mon, let’s get outta here.”
As he follows Bucky out through the hall, Bob’s heart stutters in his chest. In the corner of his eye, he sees a black figure staring back, replacing his reflection in the passing windows. The beams in between windows break his line of sight, but Void remains constant.
So, you’re not dead.
Void looks straight ahead, following Bucky’s figure, even as Bob is glancing his way. The shadow is nonchalantly floating at the same pace, head held high and one glowing eye visible from his side-profile.
Not dead.
Just thinking.
Bob, not wanting to alert his friend right away, remains physically silent, even as his skin begins to crawl and he breaks out into a cold sweat. Blue eyes nervously stare.
About?
The figure turns now, pinning Robert in place. Two white orbs burn into him.
Thinking about why you two are so obsessed with this insect. What I’d do to her if I ever got the chance to detach myself from you.
“She’s not a —“
“Bob? You good?”
Bob glances over at Bucky, who has stopped in his own tracks. The soldier worriedly clenches his jaw and shoots him a questioning look. Turning back at the glass, Bob is met with his normal reflection, no trace of the nightmarish creature that talked to him prior.
“Y-yeah…yeah I’m sorry. Didn’t get enough sleep last night so I think I’m just seeing things.”
“Right…” Bucky sighs, mouth twisted into a frown. “You’d tell us if you did start seeing them again, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course,” his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows his lie —
And what a bad liar he was.
Bucky, taking in the glassy eyes and shaky smile of his friend, is unconvinced, but shakes it off and motions him forward.
“Let’s get a move on, then.”
-
Honeybuns or Cosmic Brownies…Honeybuns or Cosmic Brownies.
Practically death-glaring at the shelves, Bob’s arms cross in front of his chest, contemplating his choices. Really, he should have neither. The bundles of sugar do absolutely nothing to add nutritional value, but he hasn’t had one since he was a kid — he hasn’t had one since sneaking one back from middle school behind his dad’s back.They look delicious.
A bittersweet smile graces his lips as he contemplates. He grabs a box of each and flips them over in his hands, as if they’d offer something different to convince him.
He used to get his ass whooped for getting caught with one of these. His mom would let him have one — His dad would find the wrapper in the trash. He’d wake up the next day with bruises the size of golf-balls on his back.
He was always punished for indulging. For wanting.
“Get them both,” Bucky calls out from down the aisle, catching up to Bob with his overflowing cart. It’s full veggies and proteins for the super soldiers, cereal for Yelena to snack dryly on (which he’s given her shit for), and snacks for Ava, who insists on trying everything she can get her grubby hands on because it’s all on Valentina’s wallet.
“I don’t think I need both —“ Bob murmurs, but he’s eyeing the boxes up like he must choose between children. Bucky’s used to those glassy eyes, but damn is the kid dramatic.
“Why not? It’s not like they’ll go to waste. I know you can finish those in one sitting.”
Bob’s lips form a thin line in conflict. He can just…have things now.
His head jerks up again when he hears Bucky talking with a phone wedged between his shoulder and ear.
“— Your man is a maniac. He’s been having a silent war with Little Debbie snacks for the past 15 minutes.”
“C’mon, Bucky, don’t tell her that —“ Bob frowns, clearly embarrassed by the whole ordeal.
A push of a button, and you’re on speaker phone. Bob can hear you shuffling around on your end, fabric being zipped up and your gentle laugh ringing out behind it. When a small clang of metal hits the floor, you mutter an annoyed “goddamnit.”
“Hey, you make it to Colorado okay?”
“Hiya Bob!” You grunt, a heavy weight seemingly thrown onto yourself when your voice is strained. “Yeah — Jesus, Walker, what did you pack?! We weren’t even here for a full day —“ you shift, breathing heavily before sighing. “We’re just about done finishing up here. John got shot —“
“He what?! Wait — are you okay?”
“I’m okay, Bob! He stepped on a trap — Clumsy Fucker,” you laugh lightly. “It’s clear here. We’ll be home in about an hour or so.”
A distant “WHAT THE FUCK” is heard from Walker in the back, and Bob shakes his head in amusement.
“Anyways can you help your boy figure out a snack so I can peruse the granola aisle,” Bucky calls out from a few feet away, eyes scanning for a bag of hot chips. His face scrunches in distaste as he picks up a bag of pickle-flavored potato-sticks instead. What the fuck? He mouths, parroting John’s words to himself.
“Why not both, Babe?” You ask, clearly struggling with the weight against you.
“That’s what everyone is telling me,” Bob murmurs, looking back at the boxes. “I just..I’m not used to being able to get one, let alone two boxes.”
“Oh, Bob,” you seem to have stopped moving, an air of empathetic silence on your end. “You should be able to get what you want sometimes without feeling like it’s the end of the world.”
Your voice, calm and comforting, pulls him back to reality – As if you were in the room standing right in front of him.
“Besides, you should enjoy the present – Be selfish for once,” you say. The shuffling picks up again as you air out your grievances about John’s crushing weight.
Be selfish.
Bob hums to himself and nods affirmatively.
He wants a lot of things:
You, for one.
The two boxes of sugary-ass snacks as well.
“Nice I’ll be taking a brownie.” A crunch and the muffled voice causes Bob to look back up after tossing the treats into the cart.
“Bucky – You can’t just open up and eat things in the store,” he panics slightly. “That’s like gotta be illegal or something, right? Superhero or not –”
“I’ve been alive for a million years and served this goddamn country more than it deserves. I will try pickle chips if I want to – and I’ve come to the conclusion that these are shit.” He responds after a swallow. “I’m paying for ‘em anyway.”
“Buck, please don’t give him a heart attack, he’s already going through it with Lil’ Debs,” You laugh. The engines of the jet whir to life, and you have to raise your voice. “Anyways – Gotta go. See you guys in a few, yeah?”
“Bye –”
“See ya, Love you –”
Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up into the sky at Bob’s admission – Bob’s do the same. It was really a slip of the tongue – as if it were a simple familiarity with you. Easy to say, not even a thought behind it. It’s too bad that Bucky hung up before Bob could even get the words completely out.
“Oh, uh – I can call her back so she can –”
“No, no, man. That’s fine –” Bob’s face is beet-red as he waves his arms in the air in dismissal. “She probably knows.”
“Does she?”
“I don’t know!” Bob shoves Bucky’s opened bag of chips into the cart and takes over, running it away like a chariot. “Let’s just go –”
Bucky trails behind him, laughing. “You two are adorable, you know that?”
Bob slows a little, allowing the other man to catch up. He scoffs before scratching his head nervously. “You know – I was just wondering. I’m not taking her from you, am I?”
“It’s 2025, Bobby. We can’t just talk like we own people –”
“That’s not what I -”
“I know, I know,” Bucky snickers, tossing a box of vanilla-almond granola into the cart. “I’m just messing with you. No, I wasn’t pursuing Moth. I’ve only really known her for a month longer than you, but you guys have something really good going on”
Bob halts altogether, turning in confusion. “Wait – She said you guys were old friends.”
Bucky laughs softly to himself, a sad smile on his face. He can’t really make eye contact with Bob at this. “More like – Enemies-to-obsession-to-one-sided-friendship…” He shrugs his broad shoulders. “I wasn’t good to her as the Soldier, I know that from the way she flinches every time I walk into the same room, but I don’t remember everything either.”
“Oh.” Bob tries to piece things together, but comes up short. “But you still remember some stuff?”
“A lot of fragmented memories. Sometimes I can connect them, sometimes I have to use context clues.” He takes the cart back, leading Bob to the registers. “I’ve seen her files. They’re not pretty. Sometimes I wonder why she even lets me into the lab, you know?”
“She’s something else,” Bob murmurs.
“Tell me about it.” A lop-sided grin replaces his scowl. “I’m glad she has you though. She seems a lot softer nowadays from what I remember. That’s not a bad thing. She’s lucky to have you.”
“I’m lucky to have her,” Bob says, an involuntary dopey smile makes its way to his face. “Hey, can we stop by to get her something to eat? I’m sure she’ll be starving when she gets back.”
Bucky nods, helping Bob place items on the belt. He ignores the cashier groaning at the sheer amount that they’re loading onto it. Sheepishly – like he’s the one who did it, Bob neatly places the open bag of chips by his sweets. Bucky snorts at this, reaching for his wallet.
“Let’s get out of here before you explode, Goody-Two-Shoes.”
On the way back, Bob munches on his 2nd Honeybun straight from the box, his eyes bright and his feet practically kicking like a kid.
It’s sweet – Almost too sweet, but it tastes divine. It tastes like he’s able to get something he wanted for once and not feel the inevitable dread that usually comes along with it.
Idk if you’re taking requests but can you do Bob x reader where the reader has powers like Rogue. Bob has the biggest fattest crush on reader, reader is oblivious (but the crush is mutual), and angst angst ANGST
Sailor Song
Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry/The Void x Rogue Inspired!Fem!Reader
Summary: Bob is in love with you, but you can’t be what he wants.
Warnings: Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts as Bob is the main character here. There is a whole boat of angst in here, and it’s a bit heartbreaking, and really frickin sad (don’t worry y’all not too sad…Hopefully lol) but I do like the character of Rogue, and this Inbox Request really sparked a lot of inspiration in me to write for an idea like this!
Author’s Note: I love where I got to go with these two characters and how it played out in the end. I added something to the reader's little arsenal of powers by the way, but it is for the plot. I hope it meets expectations. I kinda wrote this really late at night (01:49am over here lol)
Word Count: 5,477
Bob remembers the first night he saw you in his dreams.
Not when he first met you–no. That had been a tense mission briefing, it was your first introduction to the team. You had barely spoken, and Bob had sat two chairs away from you and tried not to stare. It was like he was enchanted by you– the way you held yourself, the way you stood and said your name, the little wave you gave to everyone with your gloved hands before sitting down. He remembered everything about that day.
But the dream–God the dream was so different.
It started with darkness. Not shadows, not dusk–just a smothering kind of black, like he was trapped in the deepest part of his mind. There was no floor beneath him. No air in his lungs. Just coldness. He was clawing at it. His fingers were raw and bleeding, his breath was ragged, and there was this panic that curled tight in his chest like he had swallowed barbed wire.
There was no sense of direction but all he knew was that he needed to get out, but the darkness fought back. It dragged him down, swallowed his screams, twisted his thoughts into screeching noises. It was his personal version of hell…Then…There was light.
It was just a sliver. A violent, beautiful tear right down the middle of the darkness, like someone had reached in and split the fabric with their bare hands.
Then suddenly the darkness was gone, and he found himself in the middle of a glowing field. The air was thick with warmth and the scent of something sweet–jasmine, maybe. Or lavender. He couldn’t tell. The grass around him was tall and pale, not green, but something softer–sun-bleached gold, silver at the tips like it had caught the moonlight. The sky above him was an endless stretch of colour, he couldn’t tell if it was day or night, but it was a bruised blue-purple, with streaks of rose and gold that bled through like watercolour.
It was quiet…For once it was quiet.
There was no wind. No movement. No screaming. Just breathing–his own, slow and steady. He could feel his pulse slowing down, and his skin didn’t hurt, and his hands weren’t bleeding anymore. There was no evidence of the fight he had put up in the darkness.
Confused, he turned in place slowly, trying to understand where he was–trying to find the edges of the dream. Nothing like this had ever come to him in his dreams, not when sleep was usually a war zone. A collapsing cathedral of his own mind.
Then he saw you.
You were standing a few yards away, at the center of the field, bathed in the low light. You weren’t wearing your gloves, you weren’t armored or distant, you looked happy, something he had never seen. You were smiling, and barefoot, your hair lifted slightly from the breeze that blew by you–something he hadn’t felt until that moment.
Bob froze in his spot, and your name left his mouth before he even realized he was speaking. You looked up at the sound, and turned towards it. Your eyes met him at that moment, and something in his chest cracked wide open. He was shocked that you heard him, let alone looked at him.
And then-just as his feet moved forward, just as his hand twitched at his side with the desperate, gut-deep urge to reach for you…He had woken up.
Ever since that night he would pray that he would see you again in the landscape of his dreams.
And he always did.
Each time he closed his eyes, you were there–waiting for him in that glowing field, barefoot and smiling. There was no fear or sharp intake of breath when he reached for you. It was just you, and him, in a version of the world that didn’t punish either of you for wanting something tender.
During the day, he kept his distance from you. He respected the rules you had– the ones that kept everyone safe. But in his mind he was hyper aware of everything you would do. He learned your habits, the way you avoided tight corridors, how you sat far away from people during movie night, how you always wore long sleeves no matter the weather, and how you pulled away when things became crowded.
But at night, in that field of light and silence, he didn’t have to pretend, even though he knew it wasn’t really you.
He could stand beside you without seeing you run off. He could sit close to you, close enough to touch your arm, close enough to feel your breath when you spoke. Sometimes, you would laugh and throw your head back like you weren’t scared of yourself. Sometimes you would lean into him, like it was easy…Like it was allowed.
In the dream, he wasn’t broken, and you weren’t dangerous, and that was all that mattered.
Then like always, Bob would wake up and land back in a body full of restraint. In a world full of barriers. In a life where the one person he wanted, didn’t truly want him.
Or at least, that’s what he told himself.
Because you never looked at him the way you did in the dream. You never touched him, never lingered near him too long. You were careful with everyone–but with him, there was something more than just caution. It felt like avoidance to him, and he couldn’t figure out if it was because you felt something too, or if it was just the shape of his own delusion.
—————-
“Valentina has planned a retreat for all of us this weekend.” Bucky announced, his voice even but authoritative in the way that warned everyone that nobody was going to be getting out of this, “She says it’s for ‘team bonding,’ so there are no exceptions.”
An array of groans echoed through the common room, and everyone exchanged glances at one another. You were at the kitchen island eating cereal, picking around the marshmallows, leaving them floating in the milk. Your spoon clinked gently against the bowl as you did it, moving slowly and methodically, not looking up to the chaos that was going on around you.
Across from you, Bob sat with his own bowl–one hand wrapped loosely around the ceramic, while the other one rested on the counter beside it. It wasn’t on purpose that he sat across from you, he had just walked in–wearing a baggy hoodie and matching sweatpants–poured his cereal in a sleepy haze and plopped himself down, still rubbing the dreams of you out of his eyes.
”Well why the hell do we need to go on a retreat if we literally already live together? Isn’t doing that enough?” Walker asked loudly, half-laughing, half-serious, his tone teetering on the edge of defiance. Bucky didn’t even flinch at the question because he already knew it was coming.
”Because Val said so, and because you guys don’t know how to wait until after briefings to snap at one another.” Bucky replied, not even looking up from the papers in his hands, “Just a reminder you’re the one who almost got into a fight with Yelena because she accidentally handed you the wrong clip for your gun…So…Maybe that’ll give you another reason why they want us to go into the a cabin in the woods together.” Bucky finished, his tone flat but edged with exhaustion.
A few chuckles rippled through the room, and Ava didn’t miss a beat.
”Yeah, it’s to make it easier to hide the bodies.” She said coolly, reaching for her coffee. Yelena grinned over her mug.
”I don’t need a cabin in the woods. I’d bury Walker deep enough that nobody would ever find him.” Laughter broke out, bouncing off the walls of the compound like someone had opened a valve and let the pressure spill. They all needed it, just to take the edge off the impending doom that was the forced retreat.
You glanced up at Bob who was staring down at his bowl, picking around at the contents like he was distracted. But you saw the way his jaw tensed slightly. The way his hand hovered just a second too long before plunging the spoon back into the milk. He looked up only when the laughter swelled again, and with the most practiced casualness, shoved a spoonful of soggy marshmallows into his mouth.
You glanced down at your own bowl, watching as the marshmallows drifted aimlessly, softening at the edges, bleeding their artificial colors into the milk in soft pinks and greens and blues. They didn’t look real. Like tiny ghosts of something sweet you’d never let yourself want.
A pang stirred in your chest.
Not because of the marshmallows. Not even because of the retreat. But because this was a rare moment–an opportunity to offer him something, anything, that didn’t come off as cold or standoffish. Something that didn’t feel like a wall.
You hadn’t meant for your past interactions with Bob to be sharp. But they had been. Unintentionally. A result of instinct, of fear, of that constant need to protect others from you, and maybe to protect yourself from what you knew you couldn’t have.
You let out a soft sigh, and reached out before you could talk yourself out of it, tapping on the counter in front of him. He had flinched, almost like you had reached out and smacked him. It was the smallest jerk in his shoulder but you saw it. His eyes flicked over to yours, wide and uncertain, like maybe he didn’t believe you were actually trying to get his attention.
“Do you want these?” You whispered, nodding towards your bowl. His eyebrows drew together, confused at your offer, and at the fact you were the one speaking first, when it had always been him to do that. Bob, stumbling through conversation starters. Bob, trying to make you smile. Bob, desperately trying to pretend that he wasn’t dreaming about you every night and waking up lonelier than the day before. His blue eyes glanced down at the bowl for a moment, then raised back to yours. You could see the way he was contemplating. There wasn’t calculation behind his eyes, there was conflict, like he couldn’t tell if this was real, or if he’d finally blurred the line between the waking world and the place where he only ever touched you in dreams.
You watched his mouth part–just barely, like he wanted to say really solid yes, but instead he gave a small nod.
And then–barely audible–he whispered, “Y-Yeah…I mean…If you don’t w-want them of course.” You shook your head at him, then without a word, you slid the bowl toward him. The motion was smooth and steady, but Bob noticed everything. He saw the subtle tension in your shoulders, the way your gloved fingers were barely touching the bowl, like you thought he was going to try to touch you, even the look on your face was telling him that you thought he was going to do something.
He swallowed, sitting up a little straighter, feeling his stomach twisting, as he met you halfway and dragged the bowl away from you, pulling it close to him.
Bob was going to say something, not anything huge, just something that could keep the interaction going.
But before he could get any words out–
”Wait, wait, wait, hold on–we’re all sleeping in the same room?!” Yelena's voice cut across the kitchen like a record scratch. That sentence alone made the both of you draw your attention back to what was happening, surprised by the new information.
”It’s a small cabin,” Bucky said flatly, “One open concept floor. Living room turns into a sleeping area, so bring your own blanket.”
“Oh, this is just great,” Walker muttered, “Can’t wait to wake up to Alexei’s snoring…”
”I do not snore.” Alexei replied.
Bob tuned out of the conversation after hearing the fact that you would all be shoved into one room together to sleep. He could feel a pit of dread settling in his stomach, because he knew what that meant for you. What it would feel like to be surrounded by everyone, pressed into a shared space with no safety net, and no room for distance. He could already see the cogs turning in your head, like the weekend was a minefield and you were the innocent person dropped in the middle of it to try and navigate around the impossible.
Even worse though–he knew what it would mean for him, if he had to fall asleep knowing you were just a few feet away. Close enough to touch. Close enough to hear you breathe. Close enough that when he opened his eyes he would see you, after spending the entire night dreaming of you. It made him ill, and he didn’t know how the hell he was going to handle it when the time came.
———————
The night before the trip, everyone had gathered in the common room to sort out who was bringing what, how many bags were going to fit in the back of the van, who was on snack duty, and who was going to sit where. It had been a loud, chaotic and predictably annoying back and forth, and all you wanted to do was retreat and go to sleep, but you knew that you were going to be a subject that was going to be brought up, so it would be easier to be there.
Bob on the other hand had turned in early.
Said he wasn’t feeling great, a headache according to him. He mentioned he just needed rest.
You overheard him murmur it to Yelena when she passed him in the hallway, and she didn’t push for any information, she just gave him a nod and let him go. It was something that he was doing frequently these days, ducking out of night events to go to bed, and there was always a convenient excuse for him. It was either a headache, lack of sleep, or just not feeling good, and it got him out of everything, including this conversation.
“Okay, okay!” Bucky exclaimed, raising his voice just enough to cut through the arguing, “Even if everyone brings only one bag, we’re still going to be short on space in the van. So we need to figure out how to get everyone there safely without anything happening.” There was a pause in the chatter, the kind that signaled the shift that you were anticipating–the part where you became the logistical variable.
Nobody said your name though.
Instead, there was some fumbling. Alexei muttered something about using the roof racks to tie Walker up onto it. Ava agreed with the suggestion. And Yelena was looking at you out of the corner of her eye like she was waiting for you to offer a solution before anyone else tried to come up with one on your behalf.
”I can drive myself…I have my car,” You said, eyes glancing down at the laminated packing list in your lap, “I can just meet all of you there.” You added. There was a small shift in the atmosphere, like you had immediately taken the tension out of the room. Bucky looked up from the clipboard he was holding, his expression unreadable but focused.
“Thank you, Y/N. That helps more than you realize…But we still won’t have enough space to fit everyone comfortably, would you be able to take someone else with you?” Your eyes flicked up to him.
”Sure.” Bucky bit the inner side of his cheek, like he was contemplating who he was going to send with you. Knowing that you would have final say regardless of the suggestion he gave.
”Would you be able to take…Bob?”
For a moment, all you could think about was how Bob had looked that morning when you offered him your marshmallows. The way he hesitated, and flinched when you tapped the counter, the way his eyes lingered on your gloves.
You thought about how he didn’t look at you again after that, and it made your throat tighten slightly.
Not because you were offended…But because it hurt.
Because there was something about Bob Reynolds that made your chest ache in ways you didn’t know how to soothe. Something about his silence–gentle, tentative, never invasive–that made you feel seen even when you couldn’t be touched. And the worst part was knowing that he wanted to. Not just physically. Not just a hand on your wrist or a brush of fingers. But all of it. The closeness. The company. The conversation that didn’t come laced with protocols.
That’s why you tried to build walls around you as much as possible…Because you knew Bob would never try to scale them. He respected you too much to ignore the rules. Yet you still found yourself thinking that one day he would try to cross the line.
”That’s fine.” You said. It came out even, and controlled, but inside you were anything but.
Bucky gave you a small nod and marked it down with the click of his pen. The others went back to their tasks, but your fingers were stiff against your lap–your gloves creasing every so faintly from how tightly you were gripping the paper.
You left the room not long after, and nobody stopped you.
————-
The next morning came quickly.
Your bag was already packed, and your car was fully prepared for the ride up. You had checked yourself–the gas tank was full, the heat was working, and the backseat was empty. You even shifted the passenger seat back to accommodate Bob’s knees so he didn’t slam them into the glove compartment when he stepped in.
The sky was still a dull blue-gray when you stepped outside, and you could see your breath puffing out in front of you in soft white clouds. The compound behind you was buzzing faintly with the chaos of people double-checking their bags and fighting over seat assignment, but out here in the quietness of the early morning, it almost felt peaceful.
You stood by your car, leaning against the driver’s side door, gloved fingers curled around your thermos. You took slow sips of your coffee–not because you needed it, but because the warmth gave you something to focus on–a distraction from the impending drive. It was only going to be three hours, but you could tell it would be the longest three hours you had ever experienced.
Each passing second was a breath you didn’t want to admit you were holding. Part of you hoped Bob wouldn’t show up–that he would decide last-minute to ride in the van instead and send someone else, to spare you both the awkwardness of being locked in such a small space with nothing but music, the road, and the weight of every unspoken thing between you.
But the other part of you–the one buried deep beneath layers of self-preservation and fear–hoped he would. Hoped he would sit in your passenger seat and glance over at you, and maybe this time…He wouldn’t look away.
The front doors of the compound hissed open.
You didn’t have to look to know it was him. You felt it. The shift. That subtle pressure in your chest like gravity had tilted slightly in his direction. You turned your head just enough to catch him walking across the lot, backpack slung low over his shoulder and a tupperware container cradled in his arms. His hoodie was pulled over his head, and his coat was zipped all the way up, making him look smaller than usual despite the broadness of his shoulders.
He spotted you and slowed.
Bob always slowed when he saw you. Like he needed an extra second to brace himself.
He adjusted the container in his grip and gave a shy, uncertain wave. You lifted your thermos in return.
”Morning,” You said quietly.
”Morning,” He echoed, voice hoarse like he hadn’t spoken to anyone yet today, “I uh…I brought that banana bread that I made yesterday evening. It’s not…I mean. It’s not good, but Yelena tried it last night and didn’t die, so…” You let out a small breath, as a smirk slowly tugged up on your lips.
”Low bar, but I guess it’ll do.” That made him laugh a bit, like he was a little embarrassed, but it was something. He moved towards the passenger door, shifting from foot to foot. You reached into your pocket, clicked the fob and unlocked the doors.
”I adjusted the seat already for you,” You mentioned, opening your own door, slipping in and putting your thermos into the cup holder, while he did the same on his side, “Didn’t want you cramped the whole drive.” You added, when he was able to hear you.
”Oh…Uh…Thanks.” He said after a beat, sliding his backpack off his shoulder, before easing himself into the seat beside you, and shutting the door. The quiet that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it settled between you like mist–thick with things that neither of you wanted to say to one another. You didn’t look at him right away. You focused on adjusting the heat, on clicking your seatbelt into place, on the scrape of your thermos as you nudged it deeper into the cup holder. Anything to keep your hands busy.
But the air had already changed.
The moment he sat down, you could feel it. The warmth of his body chased out the cold that had lingered in the space all morning. He smelled like laundry soap and something sweet–vanilla, maybe. Cinnamon. The faintest trace of sleep still clung to him, and something about that undid you a little. He had clearly just rolled out of bed, eyes still rimmed with the softness of sleep, his hair slightly mussed beneath his hood.
And worse–there was a part of you that wanted to lean closer, just to breathe him in.
Bob didn’t move much, but you could feel the tension radiating off him. His shoulders were rigid, like he was afraid to take up too much space. His hands stayed clasped around the tupperware in his lap, like he needed something to hold onto–some anchor to keep him from saying something he shouldn’t. Like, I dreamt about you again last night. Like, You touched my face and nothing happened. Like, I don’t know how to sit next to you now without wanting things I can’t ask for.
“Did you sleep well?” You asked quietly, putting the car in drive, almost like you were asking for him to tell him about what he had been dreaming about, “I heard you mention to Yelena that you weren’t feeling too well.” Bob looked over at you fast, like he hadn’t expected you to say anything to him for the drive. He was thankful that the hoodie over his head hid his flushed ears, but his face wasn’t shielded from your gaze, and you could see the way the red creeped up on his cheeks.
”Uh…Yeah. Yeah I slept well…Feeling much better.” You nodded once, lips pressing together in a way that wasn’t quite a smile, nor a frown. You didn’t believe him, not fully at least. His voice was too soft, and too careful, like he was picking his words carefully. And maybe that’s what hurt you the most–how gentle he was even when he was lying.
“Oh. Good.” You said simply, eyes fixated on the road ahead as you pressed on the gas, pulling out of the parking lot. Bob sank into the passenger seat, still tasting the ghost of your name on his tongue from the dream he’d barely left behind.
The field had been brighter last night. You laughed at something he said. The kind of laugh that made him feel like the world wasn’t so sharp anymore. Like maybe it didn’t hurt to breathe when you were near. You’d touched his face in the dream–cupped his cheek like he was breakable and safe all at once–and he’d felt it linger long after his eyes opened. He was surprised you didn’t notice how red his eyes were from crying, but then again why would you be concerned with that.
Now he sat here, beside the real you, and he couldn’t even meet your eyes for more than a second.
You glanced at him, catching the way he clutched the tupperware container like it was the only thing anchoring him to the moment, the way he fiddled with the edges, the nervous twitching he always did that you couldn’t help but notice. It was one of his many tells that something was bothering him, but you didn’t push, your eyes just returned to what was in front of you.
The highway stretched ahead like a ribbon of grey silk, unraveling beneath your tires. The sun hadn’t quite risen yet, and the pale light bleeding through the windshield was casting a bluish tint over Bob’s face. You kept your eyes on the road, but you could feel his presence like heat on your skin.
“You really didn’t have to bring anything,” You murmured after a stretch of quiet, nodding toward the banana bread.
Bob looked over at you quickly, then back down at the container like it had surprised him to still be there. “I… I just thought it might be nice. For the cabin. It’s dumb, but I—uh—sometimes baking helps when I can’t sleep.”
Your grip on the wheel tightened slightly. “It’s not dumb to want to do something nice…I wasn’t saying it to be…Cold or anything. It’s just a nice thing to do.”
He looked at you then. Really looked. Just for a moment. And for the first time in what felt like ages, you looked at him.
A breath passed between you. Heavy. Loaded.
But it didn’t last. Bob glanced back down at the container again and shifted in his seat. The tension in his shoulders softened marginally, and you could tell the lull of the ride was beginning to get to him. The rhythm of the road, the warmth of the heater. You caught the slow, unconscious twitch of his fingers against the plastic lid before he rested the tupperware gently on the floor by his feet and leaned his head back against the headrest.
“I think…I’m going to close my eyes for a bit,” He said, voice barely above a whisper.
“Are you alright?” You asked, concerned about the sudden change in his demeanor.
“Yeah…J-Just tired.” He murmured, his lashes fluttering once before settling. You didn’t push. You didn’t ask if he was sure. You just adjusted the heat a little higher and turned the radio down low, giving him the space he always gave you.
The car fell into a soft hush, broken only by the low hum of the engine and the distant thump of tires over uneven pavement. Bob’s breathing slowed next to you. Gradually. Unevenly at first. Then steadily.
And then it was silent.
Until.
“…Y/N.”
Your name. Whispered like a secret. Like a prayer.
It wasn’t loud, but it wasn’t quiet either. Just clear enough to freeze your hands on the wheel.
You glanced over at him, and his face was tilted toward you now, not fully, but just enough to expose the vulnerability in his features. His brows were drawn slightly together, lips parted, and the softest tremble lingered on the edge of them–like he was mid-sentence in a conversation he couldn’t have while awake.
“…M-Miss y-you.” You didn’t mean to slam on the brakes.
Technically you didn’t–but your foot did twitch hard enough on the pedal to make the car lurch slightly, just enough that your coffee sloshed in the cupholder and Bob stirred in the passenger seat with a soft grunt. But he didn’t wake–not fully. He just shifted his head slightly against the seat, curling further toward the door like he was bracing himself for something, the way someone does when they expect to wake up heartbroken.
You stared at him for a long, stunned second. Your fingers had gone numb around the wheel. You weren’t even sure you were breathing. All you knew was you had to pull over to try and regain some sense of stability before continuing, because your thoughts were derailing and spinning out of control.
You pulled off to the shoulder as smoothly as you could, but your hands were trembling too much to hide it. The car dipped slightly as it slowed to a crawl, the crunch of gravel beneath your tires filling the sudden silence now that the radio had gone quiet. You didn’t turn the engine off. You didn’t unbuckle your seatbelt. You just sat there, staring at your own reflection in the faint gleam of the windshield, breathing like someone who’d just run a marathon.
Bob shifted again beside you in his sleep, brow creasing like he was trying to hold onto something—some fragile thread of whatever dream he was caught inside. But all you could hear was your name, still echoing softly in the air between you.
Y/N.
Miss you.
Your throat tightened so hard it hurt.
Because no one missed you. Not like that.
You didn’t let them.
You couldn’t.
Not when the cost of closeness was something you couldn’t afford. One wrong brush of skin, one slip in control, one heartbeat too fast, one lapse of judgment–and everything you cared about could shatter. You had spent years learning how to exist at arm’s length, how to keep every tender instinct buried beneath gloves, sleeves, distance, and detachment. You had become an expert at denial. At convincing yourself that loneliness was better than guilt.
But Bob Reynolds–quiet, sweet, trembling Bob–was dreaming about you like you were something he had lost. Like he’d had you once. Touched you once. Held you once.
And the worst part? You believed him.
Because deep in your bones, somewhere beneath the power that was humming like electricity in your bloodstream, you felt it. That dream wasn’t just a dream. You knew what it felt like when someone’s subconscious pressed into your atmosphere–when they wanted you so badly that even your powers couldn’t keep them out. And if he’d been dreaming of you enough, if he’d carried that version of you with him night after night…There was a chance his dreams had reached into yours too.
That would explain the phantom warmth you sometimes woke up with. The laughter you’d hear in your sleep and never understand. The way your chest had started to ache when he walked into a room.
“Oh my god…” You breathed, so softly it barely counted as sound.
Your gloved hand hovered, trembling slightly, before you set it down in your lap again. You couldn’t reach out. You wouldn’t. But your heart was thudding so violently in your chest now that you could feel it behind your eyes.
You turned to look at him again.
His lashes were still down, mouth parted slightly in sleep, but the edges of his expression were laced with pain. It wasn’t rest he was getting–it was longing. A quiet, desperate kind. And if you listened carefully, you could hear the tiniest whisper leave his mouth again–like a plea caught in the middle of a storm.
“…Don’t go…Please d-don’t go.”
And your heart broke into a million pieces, because as much as you wanted to reach out to comfort him, there would be no use. It would only draw you in deeper, and somehow you would end up losing him, and that was something you couldn’t risk, something you wouldn’t risk. Bob was part of your constant whether you liked it or not, but you couldn’t be what he needed, or what he wanted, not with the powers you held, and you knew that right from the start.
You just didn’t realize how hard it would be to suppress everything and bury it, but now was just the beginning of the pain.
Summary: Robert finds himself growing closer to one of O.X.E.’s many lab technicians. She’s gentle and a spitfire all the same, she’s got an odd tension going on between her and Bucky (were they dating at this point?), and she’s got cat-like reflexes for someone with a Bachelor’s degree in science. The biggest mystery? She’s drawn to him just as much as he is to her.
A mission involving an old HYDRA base clicks everything into place.
Warnings/Themes: Use of she/her and feminine pronouns for reader, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Some Bucky x Reader, but it's a Bob x Reader fic, general HYDRA content and warnings that come with that, No use of Y/N (I tried to challenge myself not to do so lol).
Author's Note: Trying to give you a little comfort near the end so then I can ease you into some angst. You're welcome?
This fic is cross-posted to my Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckityBuckBarnes
“You did not fucking hang up on me yesterday.”
Valentina’s voice rings out, bouncing against the lab walls, breaking the peace you share with Bob.
He looks up at it, then ducks, as if he could hide himself from the prying eyes of the older woman. Beside him, with elbows braced against the metal table, you mount a glass slide with liquid. Your body remains unflinching, as if you expected this day to come.
“Boss Ma’am,” you greet, your gaze focused on your current project. If your fingers so much as move, the cover-slip on the slide will fall in a way that a million bubbles will form in the sample, and fuck up imaging completely. “What brings you here?”
“Well – Before you so rudely hung up on me, I was going to explain that –” Valentina does a double-take and stares at Bob incredulously. “What the hell are you doing here, Robert?”
“Hi,” he replies meekly. Ever since that big accident in New York, he can never really hold eye contact with her. He still feels extremely bad for almost crushing her wind-pipe as Sentry, despite Yelena constantly reassuring him that she tried to kill him back. They were even now.
“Yes, Hi,” she parrots slowly, trying to assess the situation. “Did she recruit you as unpaid labor now?”
“Actually, we’re uhm. We’re friends?” he offered.
“Boyfriend,” you clarify without missing a beat.
“Oh. Okay, wow,” Valentina scoffs. She looks at you, who hasn’t even glanced up once this encounter, and then back at Bob, who’s smiling like a school-boy at your confession. “We’re gonna talk about this later, but for now, I have new goals set in place for your career.”
“Lab technicians hardly have a career path to follow,” you mutter in a self-deprecating joke.
“Luckily for you –” she pulls up a stool to the other side of Bob and straddles it, uncomfortably close to him. “You’ve got experience in more than just the lab. If you’d let me finish on the phone, you would’ve heard that I wanted you out on the field for Project Sentry. It’s not a separate objective.”
That causes you to look up, the cover-slip falling at an odd angle and forcing – Yep, air-bubbles into your sample. You groan in annoyance at that, but pay attention nonetheless.
“What do you mean?” you ask.
“My favorite assistant, Mel –”
“Who you fired –”
“And rehired –” She says. “Made an oopsie with logistics back when we were to destroy all of the very-legal activities O.X.E. was a part of.”
You rest your chin on the back of your wrist, careful not to touch your mountant-covered gloves. “Go on.”
“We have biological samples from both Robert and other experiments – Rest in peace to them, by the way – strewn across separate bases. We need them returned, examined, and compared.”
“Why not send someone else to do it?” Bob asks this time – And when Valentina narrows her gaze at him, he shrinks further into his seat. “Ma’am,” he tacks on.
“Because, Dear Bob, Bug here knows the ins and outs of a few HYDRA bases that some of them are stored in. We ransacked some a while back and used them as satellite labs.” Valentina taps her head with her index finger, hoping he’ll recognize her amazing thinking. “Word on the street is that a few rogue HYDRA agents have taken some back after we abandoned them – They’re supposedly back in business.”
For a moment, Bob’s shoulders tighten, an utterly confused look on his face.
HYDRA?
Bring you back into the Lion’s den?
Why on Earth would Valentina suggest such a thing – Especially after all you’ve gone through to get away from your past?
He feels his stomach churn in anxiety for you, for what you could possibly see and re-live.
And what if you got hurt? What if you died?
A frenzy itches to breach his skin, his whole body tingling with manic energy.
Something snaps within him.
“You’re not sending her back.”
Both you and Valentina startle at the authority in his voice. The muscle in his cheek visibly twitches as he clenches his teeth. His scowl is less sad, more angry, and a little unsettling. If you squint a little, you can see gold rings trace the outline of his blue irises.
“Robert –” Valentina starts, but Bob shakes his head calmly, pinning her in place with his determined gaze.
“You’re not taking her back there. She wouldn’t want to relive that.” His fingers grip the metal bench a little too roughly, dents beginning to form under the pressure.
It’s the first time Sentry has made any entrance with you around, and you’re concerned, to say the least. While flattered that both Bob and Sentry want you safe, his powers put you on edge.
“Bob, I can handle myself. It’ll be okay.” you whisper. With a moment of hesitation, you reach out and place a hand over one of his.
“Can you, Little One?” Bob – Sentry, fixes his gaze onto you now, his eyebrow shoots up inquisitively. He tenses at your touch, but pulls away slowly before he can crunch the table under his fists. He’s sitting up taller, head cocked to the side. “I’m simply keeping you safe here – From them…from yourself. Can’t you see that? Or are you just blinded by your hubris?”
You bristle at the name – At the sheer audacity of Sentry to be looking down upon you with such contempt. You really can’t tell whose side he’s on or if he even cares for you like Bob does. All you know is that the brown-haired man with kind blue eyes would hold you with higher regard than this.
“From myself? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You practically snarl.
“I think you know, Moth.”
“Sentry,” you seethe, because Bob isn’t in the room right now. “Are you always this much of a condescending dick?”
Valentina makes a noise of disapproval, making a ‘cutting’-motion with her hand over her neck. She’d rather not have a part two of New York’s Darkest Hour. “Let’s not provoke the lovely gentleman over here, yeah?” She smiles politely at Sentry. “She doesn’t mean it.”
Really, you should back down, shut up and move on with your life, but the thought of Sentry taking over Bob’s body just to dictate your life pissed you off a little.
It was incredible the way he morphed Bob’s entire features to the point of no recognition. It was like every muscle in his body was holding back immense strength. There was no telling what happens when he turns back either, and dealing with the other guy seemed like an exhausting ordeal already.
“Bring him back, please,” fuckface, you want to add, but decide on your better judgement. “I’m very sorry for snapping.”
Another tic in his jaw, and he’s leaning forward, practically nose-to-nose with you. Slowly, a smirk makes its way across his face. “I like it when you beg, you know that? It suits you.”
Good God, did you want to punch him in the face – Which was insane, considering how handsome you found Bob’s face to be. You hold still, refusing to cower from his intense stare. He seems to be searching for something in your gaze, eyes flickering across your face, before he sighs.
“You want to die out there? You want to get re-captured, choke on your own blood, and worry the ever-loving hell out of Bob? So be it.”
You flinch at that. “If I die —“
Quite frankly, you haven’t really given it much thought. It’s not like you had death-wish, but the fear of death was almost programmed into you at a young age. You were never quite worried until…until you had someone who cared about you — until you had Bob.
You take a deep breath, and blink, deciding to glare at the table instead. “If I die, then at least it’s to benefit other people, right?”
A scornful laugh leaves his mouth. He grabs hold of your chin, forcing you to look up.
“You’re as pitiful as I always imagined you to be.”
Before you can protest, he closes his eyes. When he re-opens them, there’s no longer gold shimmering between the white and blue.
Bob blinks a few times, before realizing just how close he was to you. He jerks back, heat rushing to his cheeks as he lets go of your face. “Sorry – I blacked out for a second. I uhm – Everything alright?” He glances between you and Valentina, visibly confused.
“How did you do that?” Valentina asks Bob, just as bewildered as he was.
“Do what?”
“You turned into Sentry, so Void would usually follow.” She frowns, crossing her arms across her chest.
“I did what?” Bob’s eyes widen as he examines you closely, making sure there wasn’t a scratch on your body. “I didn’t hurt anyone did I?!”
“We’re fine, Bob,” you reassure, recovering from your little stare-down with Sentry. “We were just having a conversation. He really didn’t want me taking up field work.”
“Well, I didn’t really want you to either. I guess he shared the same sentiment?” He clears his throat, grimacing at the sight of craters he’d made on the table. “I’m not sure why Void didn’t show up, but I have been getting a little better with controlling my powers. Only a little though…obviously.” When he receives silent contemplation from the both of you, he feels the need to fill in the quiet. “Maybe…Maybe they both kind of just clash and take over when I’m feeling strong emotions. I was getting really panicky, you know?”
You nod then, offering him a small smile. “Thank you for caring about me so much, Bob.”
“Of course I’m gonna worry about you – But, you know, you’re capable of making your own decisions,” he murmurs. A worried crease forms between his eyebrows. “Just be safe, okay? Come back to me in one piece.”
Your smile falters a bit.
The sentiments swirling around in your noggin when Sentry was trying to talk you down returns. Be safe, come back to me in one piece, he said in such a gentle manner.
So long have you felt like just a tool to everyone.
You work. You fight. You survive — all for the sake of others.
But Bob is sitting here, admiring you like you’ve got the answers to all of Earth’s toughest mysteries. He looks at you, like you’d be devastating to lose.
Come back, to me, he had said. You’re not a disposable wrench in a toolbox. You’re a person. His person. And he wants you to come back to him.
“I promise I’ll come back to you.”
That seems to visibly put Bob at ease. His shoulders slump back down to their normal position. Slowly, and carefully, he takes hold of your face, gentle fingers cradling each cheek. His eyes close, and he presses a soft kiss against your lips.
“Good,” he murmurs.
Good grief, you were touch-starved.
You have to fight a surprised moan at his kiss, and instead give him a quick peck back, pulling away from him with a crooked grin.
Valentina, on the other hand, looks like she wants to gag at this exchange.
Young love was so utterly exhausting, she thinks. She’s become far too jaded for it.
“She’ll be tag-teaming with Thunderbolts members, Robert. You don’t have to worry about her.” Valentina nods to herself.
Bob cracks a smile, but it’s unsure and lop-sided. “I don’t know, that kind of makes me worry a lot more. But that’s good, I think.”
He just hopes it’s Bucky, Yelena, or Ava paired with you. Walker and Alexei, he had his doubts about.
Valentina only hops up from her chair, clapping her hands together in a small celebration. “Yay to agreeing with me – Absolutely love it when that happens!”
Her joy causes you to stiffen, and you eye her up and down suspiciously. “So…When do I start?”
“Tomorrow!”
“Fuck.”
You did end up being paired with John Walker for the day.
His incessant complaining about your rusty combat skills, your inability to agree on his plans, and your occasional “I miss Bob”s really put a damper on his mood, apparently. You didn’t see eye-to-eye with him on a lot of things.
You should go this route instead of that.
He brought weapons that you wouldn’t necessarily bring on a stealth-slash-scouting mission.
Captain America should’ve been armed with guns in the first place instead of relying on a giant frisbee. This was a sillier argument, but he wanted to argue about it too.
And – Sweet Jesus, He loved to talk, despite him insisting that you chatted too much.
“They didn’t teach you proper form in HYDRA or something?”
“Anyone ever teach you to shut the fuck up?” You mutter, tossing a retrieved USB in the air and boredly catching it.
It was an easy mission.
The base was scouted by the both of you and cleared of enemies. You’re sure that it’ll ramp up in the future, but brushing the dust off of your skills was needed. Despite having focused on lab-related techniques for so long, your ability to scope and map out a place was akin to riding a bike. It never left.
He never said anything, but John was impressed by the way you spotted booby-traps before even stepping into a room. You would throw an arm out in front of him and shove him back, and when he complained the first time, you pointed to the thin, barely-visible tripwire. He was interested to know what you could do in a fight, and wonders if you’d be up to sparring sometime.
“Man, I can definitely tell why Bob likes you,” John laughs genuinely, brushing off your abrasiveness. You were at each other’s sides, making your way back to the jet.
“Do tell, Agent.” You’re fighting a smile now, the mere mention of Bob putting you in higher spirits. “And choose your next words carefully.”
“You could definitely pick fights on his behalf. Lotta bark.” He’s facing you now, walking backwards.
“I bite too,” you toss back, grinning crookedly.
“Kind of hard to believe. It’s not like you –”
“John, Wait – Look out!” You lurch forward, trying to snatch his arm.
Too late.
Walker steps on an old poorly-hidden sensor pad (well, not poor enough for him to miss it, apparently). A loud pop, then a rush of wind is heard, and you gasp, ducking your head in case.
John’s startled shout causes you to jump, and when you rush toward him, you realize he’s on the ground, clutching his calf.
Embedded somewhat deep into his flesh is an arrow. The head of it is caked in rust.
“What kind of medieval-fucking-shit is this?!” He screams.
“Oh my god, are you okay?!”
“Yeah, yeah. Except for the fact that I HAVE AN ARROW STICKING OUT OF MY LEG?”
You wince, making sure the rest of the area was clear before kneeling beside him and grabbing hold of the arrow. “It’s not too bad, right? I should probably just yank it out?” You frantically glance from his wound to his face. “You have your tetanus shot, right?”
“Of course I have my fucking shot — No, no leave it in! First-Aid and all that –” he groans and sneers. “Just help me up, please. Stop freaking out, you’re freaking me out.”
John Walker, you’ve come to realize, is fucking heavy.
You’re hobbling back with half his weight leaning up against you, and it’s quite frankly, hard to breathe. You have to wonder what the hell they put in his serum, and if they gave the same thing to Bob.
They must have, because you know that fucker is ripped underneath his sweaters.
You shake the thought out of your head, focusing on the task at hand.
The ride back is quiet, save for your occasional checking-in on him. He seems to be faring okay, all things considering. And when you apologize to him for not seeing the trap earlier, he brushes you off, stating it was a shared mistake.
His nonchalant attitude wanes completely though when you both return to the compound.
“Oh, Walker –” A large man, thick with a grey beard greets you at the med bay. You’ve been introduced to this boisterous man, Alexei. “You have become a porcupine! It is a good look.”
“With one-fucking-quill? Man, can you just get the nurse?” he grunts.
“What’s this about a porcu – Oh, boy,” Yelena, who has been hanging out by the reception-desk, wanders over next. She fights back a laugh at the sight and loses, snorting down at Walker’s leg. “Did you get in a fight with Hawkeye or something?”
“Or something — Is every goddamn person in this building here to take the piss outta me?” John glares up at you next, when a hint of a laugh reaches your mouth. You couldn’t really help it, though. Yelena’s was contagious.
“We were kind of waiting around,” Yelena says. “Wanted to make sure she got home safe.”
“And what about me?” John snaps at her. He gives a short nod to a nurse, who assesses the situation frantically and calls for help.
“What about you?”
“Jesus Christ.”
When Walker is taken away, Yelena shakes her head to herself, the remnants of her laughter slowly simmering down. She ragged on the guy, but you can tell from the moment she walked over, she was silently examining the wound to make sure it wasn’t fatal.
“He’s worried about you, you know?” she asks you now, taking in your slightly disheveled appearance.
“Why would he be worried? He’s the one who got nailed in the leg,” you chuckle.
“Not Walker – Bob.”
“Oh? Where is he?”
If Yelena sees your lit-up eyes and your sudden giddy-composure, she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she smiles fondly. “He went out to the grocery store for a bit. Why don’t you wash up and I’ll let him know you’re okay?”
You smile at this. A nice warm shower, a comfy pair of sweats, and a snack sounds really damn good right about now.
“Thanks Yelena.”
“Hey now,” she chides. “That’s what friends are for.”
“Friends?”
“A friend of Bob’s is a friend of mine.”
It was an incredible thing, you think, that Bob had such a great support system around him — That they were greeting you with open arms because Bob liked you.
A few extra friends on your side was unexpected, but welcome nonetheless.
The day comes to an end as the sun traverses downward. Its rays disappear in a temporary goodbye, leaving room for the glow of the moon and the sparkling city lights.
You pad across your kitchen — It was a 2-bedroom complex above the lab, sharing the floor with only a couple of other scientists. They each had their own room, and while you knew they actually live here, you never really see or hear them.
A simple mission should’ve left you feeling refreshed and ready to start a new day, but today’s events tuckered you out. After showering and changing your clothes, it only then occurred to you just how rusty you were with these kinds of things.
Exhaustion weighs down on you, and you’re a little too tired to cook tonight.
You were about to toss in a microwave dinner when you hear two taps at your door — as if whoever was on the other side of it was hesitating. Following them are a few more knocks, stronger and more determined.
You haven’t had guests here in quite some time, and you were a little annoyed, to say the least. Whoever this was just had to choose your orientation day on the field to come visit you.
Your frown is quickly replaced with a grin, however, when you swing open the door to reveal Bob.
He’s holding a brown paper bag by the handles, a bottled beverage tucked underneath his arm. His hair is a mess framing his face, but he’s smiling back sheepishly at you.
“Hey! Sorry, got caught up in some things. I’m here now.”
“I wasn’t even aware you were coming,” you laugh lightly. “What’s all this?”
He follows you inside, setting the bag and drink on the counter, before rolling up the sleeves of his favorite blue sweater. “Well, I figured you’d be hungry and tired after a long day. Wanted to swing by with some food.” He starts unpacking white cartons. “I got you some Chinese. Figured I’d just get you a smorgasbord of stuff. Just in case. Plus, you know, I just wanted to see you.”
Absolute boyfriend material, you think to yourself — Running around your kitchen for plates like he knew exactly where they were, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear as he sets glasses down, and looking really handsome while doing all these things so frantically? It’s a touch of domesticity you’re not used to.
He turns to you when you go quiet, the slight shock on your face causing him to shrink just a little. “Is that okay?”
“You’re the best, you know that?”
He chuckles, his posture relaxing again. “It’s just food,” he teases. He hands you a plate and you both start scooping on whatever looks good (in your current hunger, everything did).
When you settle onto the couch, he can’t help his curious eyes from looking around the place.
There are a few scientific posters as well as ones from your favorite video-games and shows. On shelves, you have figurines and a few of your favorite books. The only personal item is one picture of your parents with you as a baby, sitting in a frame in a bookcase.
You wince a bit, shoveling rice in your mouth as you watch him.
Your place felt a little more bachelor-pad than home to you. Not on purpose, of course. You just didn’t have a lot of personal items kept since you spent quite a while under HYDRA. Your only piece of memory, the framed photo, was given to you by Bucky, who found it in one of your old files.
“It’s a little..”
“Pretty sweet,” Bob interrupts. He smiles knowingly, returning his attention back toward his food. “My space is a little emptier. I was actually thinking about going to the farmer’s market next week to look for some cool stuff to add to it. Would you wanna come with?”
You hum in thought. Walking around hand-in-hand with Bob like any other normal couple sounds like a dream.
“I’d love to!”
In a comfortable quiet, save for the mindless show on TV you’d put on just to watch, you and Bob finish your food.
“I heard about Walker-pine. You come out unscathed at least?”
You nearly choke on your drink, shaking your head at him in mock anger. “I’m fine, but do not call him that.” When you softly punch him in the arm, he grins. “It’s bad enough he hates me. I don’t need the team to remind him that our first mission together was ass.”
“Walker doesn’t hate you,” Bob says with a roll of his eyes. “He actually asked if you were coming out on the next mission with him and Ava.”
“I can’t even think about the next mission right now, Bob,” you groan, a hint of a laugh lingering by.
Without saying a word, he begins gathering your dirty dishes, and before you could protest, he fixes you with a stern gaze. As he rinses them off and places them in your dishwasher, you can’t help but pout a little.
“What’s on your mind?” He asks from the kitchen.
The heaviness of the food sinks into your stomach, the tiredness seeping back into your body. But, you don’t want to sleep yet. You don’t want Bob to leave either.
“Can we just watch TV for a bit, or do you have somewhere to be?”
He flings stray water from his hands off in the sink and wipes them on his pants. Taking in your slouched position and your closing eyes, he chuckles. “No offense, Sweetheart, but you look like you’re able to fall asleep on the spot.”
“I just wanna be with you tonight,” you mumble. “Haven’t seen you all day.”
His gaze softens at that, head tilted slightly just to take it all in. He wonders if you were even aware how adorable you looked right now.
“I can stay in bed with you till you fall asleep?”
The words send a quick jolt of energy up your spine and you’re practically bee-lining for the bathroom to brush your teeth.
Behind you, you can hear him laughing to himself. He’s putting leftovers away, without you having to ask.
That night, you settle into bed, Bob holding you up against his chest. His chin rests on your head, his breathing slow and steady. With every sigh, your hair flutters a bit in the breeze.
“You don’t have to leave, you know?” You whisper, fingers tracing the bed sheets under the moonlight.
“I’ll stay, then,” he mumbles, lips now pressed against the crown of your head in a kiss.
It’s the first night you spend together, cradled in each other’s arms. His soft snoring, which you found adorable, lulls you to sleep.
It's the first night you realize that Bob's a walking furnace. The heat emitting off of him not particularly searing, but warmer than what was comfortable. You murmur a sleepy complaint, and half-asleep Bob laughs softly, kicking the comforter off the both of you.
It's the first night that you felt completely at ease curled up on this bed. With long work hours, you really only used it for quick naps and when you're about to pass out from exhaustion.
Tonight, it feels like a cozy haven.
It’s also the first night that the nightmares begin.
Summary: Robert finds himself growing closer to one of O.X.E.’s many lab technicians. She’s gentle and a spitfire all the same, she’s got an odd tension going on between her and Bucky (were they dating at this point?), and she’s got cat-like reflexes for someone with a Bachelor’s degree in science. The biggest mystery? She’s drawn to him just as much as he is to her.
A mission involving an old HYDRA base clicks everything into place.
Warnings/Themes: Use of she/her and feminine pronouns for reader, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Some Bucky x Reader, but it's a Bob x Reader fic, general HYDRA content and warnings that come with that, No use of Y/N (I tried to challenge myself not to do so lol).
Author's Note: Trying to give you a little comfort near the end so then I can ease you into some angst. You're welcome?
This fic is cross-posted to my Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckityBuckBarnes
“You did not fucking hang up on me yesterday.”
Valentina’s voice rings out, bouncing against the lab walls, breaking the peace you share with Bob.
He looks up at it, then ducks, as if he could hide himself from the prying eyes of the older woman. Beside him, with elbows braced against the metal table, you mount a glass slide with liquid. Your body remains unflinching, as if you expected this day to come.
“Boss Ma’am,” you greet, your gaze focused on your current project. If your fingers so much as move, the cover-slip on the slide will fall in a way that a million bubbles will form in the sample, and fuck up imaging completely. “What brings you here?”
“Well – Before you so rudely hung up on me, I was going to explain that –” Valentina does a double-take and stares at Bob incredulously. “What the hell are you doing here, Robert?”
“Hi,” he replies meekly. Ever since that big accident in New York, he can never really hold eye contact with her. He still feels extremely bad for almost crushing her wind-pipe as Sentry, despite Yelena constantly reassuring him that she tried to kill him back. They were even now.
“Yes, Hi,” she parrots slowly, trying to assess the situation. “Did she recruit you as unpaid labor now?”
“Actually, we’re uhm. We’re friends?” he offered.
“Boyfriend,” you clarify without missing a beat.
“Oh. Okay, wow,” Valentina scoffs. She looks at you, who hasn’t even glanced up once this encounter, and then back at Bob, who’s smiling like a school-boy at your confession. “We’re gonna talk about this later, but for now, I have new goals set in place for your career.”
“Lab technicians hardly have a career path to follow,” you mutter in a self-deprecating joke.
“Luckily for you –” she pulls up a stool to the other side of Bob and straddles it, uncomfortably close to him. “You’ve got experience in more than just the lab. If you’d let me finish on the phone, you would’ve heard that I wanted you out on the field for Project Sentry. It’s not a separate objective.”
That causes you to look up, the cover-slip falling at an odd angle and forcing – Yep, air-bubbles into your sample. You groan in annoyance at that, but pay attention nonetheless.
“What do you mean?” you ask.
“My favorite assistant, Mel –”
“Who you fired –”
“And rehired –” She says. “Made an oopsie with logistics back when we were to destroy all of the very-legal activities O.X.E. was a part of.”
You rest your chin on the back of your wrist, careful not to touch your mountant-covered gloves. “Go on.”
“We have biological samples from both Robert and other experiments – Rest in peace to them, by the way – strewn across separate bases. We need them returned, examined, and compared.”
“Why not send someone else to do it?” Bob asks this time – And when Valentina narrows her gaze at him, he shrinks further into his seat. “Ma’am,” he tacks on.
“Because, Dear Bob, Bug here knows the ins and outs of a few HYDRA bases that some of them are stored in. We ransacked some a while back and used them as satellite labs.” Valentina taps her head with her index finger, hoping he’ll recognize her amazing thinking. “Word on the street is that a few rogue HYDRA agents have taken some back after we abandoned them – They’re supposedly back in business.”
For a moment, Bob’s shoulders tighten, an utterly confused look on his face.
HYDRA?
Bring you back into the Lion’s den?
Why on Earth would Valentina suggest such a thing – Especially after all you’ve gone through to get away from your past?
He feels his stomach churn in anxiety for you, for what you could possibly see and re-live.
And what if you got hurt? What if you died?
A frenzy itches to breach his skin, his whole body tingling with manic energy.
Something snaps within him.
“You’re not sending her back.”
Both you and Valentina startle at the authority in his voice. The muscle in his cheek visibly twitches as he clenches his teeth. His scowl is less sad, more angry, and a little unsettling. If you squint a little, you can see gold rings trace the outline of his blue irises.
“Robert –” Valentina starts, but Bob shakes his head calmly, pinning her in place with his determined gaze.
“You’re not taking her back there. She wouldn’t want to relive that.” His fingers grip the metal bench a little too roughly, dents beginning to form under the pressure.
It’s the first time Sentry has made any entrance with you around, and you’re concerned, to say the least. While flattered that both Bob and Sentry want you safe, his powers put you on edge.
“Bob, I can handle myself. It’ll be okay.” you whisper. With a moment of hesitation, you reach out and place a hand over one of his.
“Can you, Little One?” Bob – Sentry, fixes his gaze onto you now, his eyebrow shoots up inquisitively. He tenses at your touch, but pulls away slowly before he can crunch the table under his fists. He’s sitting up taller, head cocked to the side. “I’m simply keeping you safe here – From them…from yourself. Can’t you see that? Or are you just blinded by your hubris?”
You bristle at the name – At the sheer audacity of Sentry to be looking down upon you with such contempt. You really can’t tell whose side he’s on or if he even cares for you like Bob does. All you know is that the brown-haired man with kind blue eyes would hold you with higher regard than this.
“From myself? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You practically snarl.
“I think you know, Moth.”
“Sentry,” you seethe, because Bob isn’t in the room right now. “Are you always this much of a condescending dick?”
Valentina makes a noise of disapproval, making a ‘cutting’-motion with her hand over her neck. She’d rather not have a part two of New York’s Darkest Hour. “Let’s not provoke the lovely gentleman over here, yeah?” She smiles politely at Sentry. “She doesn’t mean it.”
Really, you should back down, shut up and move on with your life, but the thought of Sentry taking over Bob’s body just to dictate your life pissed you off a little.
It was incredible the way he morphed Bob’s entire features to the point of no recognition. It was like every muscle in his body was holding back immense strength. There was no telling what happens when he turns back either, and dealing with the other guy seemed like an exhausting ordeal already.
“Bring him back, please,” fuckface, you want to add, but decide on your better judgement. “I’m very sorry for snapping.”
Another tic in his jaw, and he’s leaning forward, practically nose-to-nose with you. Slowly, a smirk makes its way across his face. “I like it when you beg, you know that? It suits you.”
Good God, did you want to punch him in the face – Which was insane, considering how handsome you found Bob’s face to be. You hold still, refusing to cower from his intense stare. He seems to be searching for something in your gaze, eyes flickering across your face, before he sighs.
“You want to die out there? You want to get re-captured, choke on your own blood, and worry the ever-loving hell out of Bob? So be it.”
You flinch at that. “If I die —“
Quite frankly, you haven’t really given it much thought. It’s not like you had death-wish, but the fear of death was almost programmed into you at a young age. You were never quite worried until…until you had someone who cared about you — until you had Bob.
You take a deep breath, and blink, deciding to glare at the table instead. “If I die, then at least it’s to benefit other people, right?”
A scornful laugh leaves his mouth. He grabs hold of your chin, forcing you to look up.
“You’re as pitiful as I always imagined you to be.”
Before you can protest, he closes his eyes. When he re-opens them, there’s no longer gold shimmering between the white and blue.
Bob blinks a few times, before realizing just how close he was to you. He jerks back, heat rushing to his cheeks as he lets go of your face. “Sorry – I blacked out for a second. I uhm – Everything alright?” He glances between you and Valentina, visibly confused.
“How did you do that?” Valentina asks Bob, just as bewildered as he was.
“Do what?”
“You turned into Sentry, so Void would usually follow.” She frowns, crossing her arms across her chest.
“I did what?” Bob’s eyes widen as he examines you closely, making sure there wasn’t a scratch on your body. “I didn’t hurt anyone did I?!”
“We’re fine, Bob,” you reassure, recovering from your little stare-down with Sentry. “We were just having a conversation. He really didn’t want me taking up field work.”
“Well, I didn’t really want you to either. I guess he shared the same sentiment?” He clears his throat, grimacing at the sight of craters he’d made on the table. “I’m not sure why Void didn’t show up, but I have been getting a little better with controlling my powers. Only a little though…obviously.” When he receives silent contemplation from the both of you, he feels the need to fill in the quiet. “Maybe…Maybe they both kind of just clash and take over when I’m feeling strong emotions. I was getting really panicky, you know?”
You nod then, offering him a small smile. “Thank you for caring about me so much, Bob.”
“Of course I’m gonna worry about you – But, you know, you’re capable of making your own decisions,” he murmurs. A worried crease forms between his eyebrows. “Just be safe, okay? Come back to me in one piece.”
Your smile falters a bit.
The sentiments swirling around in your noggin when Sentry was trying to talk you down returns. Be safe, come back to me in one piece, he said in such a gentle manner.
So long have you felt like just a tool to everyone.
You work. You fight. You survive — all for the sake of others.
But Bob is sitting here, admiring you like you’ve got the answers to all of Earth’s toughest mysteries. He looks at you, like you’d be devastating to lose.
Come back, to me, he had said. You’re not a disposable wrench in a toolbox. You’re a person. His person. And he wants you to come back to him.
“I promise I’ll come back to you.”
That seems to visibly put Bob at ease. His shoulders slump back down to their normal position. Slowly, and carefully, he takes hold of your face, gentle fingers cradling each cheek. His eyes close, and he presses a soft kiss against your lips.
“Good,” he murmurs.
Good grief, you were touch-starved.
You have to fight a surprised moan at his kiss, and instead give him a quick peck back, pulling away from him with a crooked grin.
Valentina, on the other hand, looks like she wants to gag at this exchange.
Young love was so utterly exhausting, she thinks. She’s become far too jaded for it.
“She’ll be tag-teaming with Thunderbolts members, Robert. You don’t have to worry about her.” Valentina nods to herself.
Bob cracks a smile, but it’s unsure and lop-sided. “I don’t know, that kind of makes me worry a lot more. But that’s good, I think.”
He just hopes it’s Bucky, Yelena, or Ava paired with you. Walker and Alexei, he had his doubts about.
Valentina only hops up from her chair, clapping her hands together in a small celebration. “Yay to agreeing with me – Absolutely love it when that happens!”
Her joy causes you to stiffen, and you eye her up and down suspiciously. “So…When do I start?”
“Tomorrow!”
“Fuck.”
You did end up being paired with John Walker for the day.
His incessant complaining about your rusty combat skills, your inability to agree on his plans, and your occasional “I miss Bob”s really put a damper on his mood, apparently. You didn’t see eye-to-eye with him on a lot of things.
You should go this route instead of that.
He brought weapons that you wouldn’t necessarily bring on a stealth-slash-scouting mission.
Captain America should’ve been armed with guns in the first place instead of relying on a giant frisbee. This was a sillier argument, but he wanted to argue about it too.
And – Sweet Jesus, He loved to talk, despite him insisting that you chatted too much.
“They didn’t teach you proper form in HYDRA or something?”
“Anyone ever teach you to shut the fuck up?” You mutter, tossing a retrieved USB in the air and boredly catching it.
It was an easy mission.
The base was scouted by the both of you and cleared of enemies. You’re sure that it’ll ramp up in the future, but brushing the dust off of your skills was needed. Despite having focused on lab-related techniques for so long, your ability to scope and map out a place was akin to riding a bike. It never left.
He never said anything, but John was impressed by the way you spotted booby-traps before even stepping into a room. You would throw an arm out in front of him and shove him back, and when he complained the first time, you pointed to the thin, barely-visible tripwire. He was interested to know what you could do in a fight, and wonders if you’d be up to sparring sometime.
“Man, I can definitely tell why Bob likes you,” John laughs genuinely, brushing off your abrasiveness. You were at each other’s sides, making your way back to the jet.
“Do tell, Agent.” You’re fighting a smile now, the mere mention of Bob putting you in higher spirits. “And choose your next words carefully.”
“You could definitely pick fights on his behalf. Lotta bark.” He’s facing you now, walking backwards.
“I bite too,” you toss back, grinning crookedly.
“Kind of hard to believe. It’s not like you –”
“John, Wait – Look out!” You lurch forward, trying to snatch his arm.
Too late.
Walker steps on an old poorly-hidden sensor pad (well, not poor enough for him to miss it, apparently). A loud pop, then a rush of wind is heard, and you gasp, ducking your head in case.
John’s startled shout causes you to jump, and when you rush toward him, you realize he’s on the ground, clutching his calf.
Embedded somewhat deep into his flesh is an arrow. The head of it is caked in rust.
“What kind of medieval-fucking-shit is this?!” He screams.
“Oh my god, are you okay?!”
“Yeah, yeah. Except for the fact that I HAVE AN ARROW STICKING OUT OF MY LEG?”
You wince, making sure the rest of the area was clear before kneeling beside him and grabbing hold of the arrow. “It’s not too bad, right? I should probably just yank it out?” You frantically glance from his wound to his face. “You have your tetanus shot, right?”
“Of course I have my fucking shot — No, no leave it in! First-Aid and all that –” he groans and sneers. “Just help me up, please. Stop freaking out, you’re freaking me out.”
John Walker, you’ve come to realize, is fucking heavy.
You’re hobbling back with half his weight leaning up against you, and it’s quite frankly, hard to breathe. You have to wonder what the hell they put in his serum, and if they gave the same thing to Bob.
They must have, because you know that fucker is ripped underneath his sweaters.
You shake the thought out of your head, focusing on the task at hand.
The ride back is quiet, save for your occasional checking-in on him. He seems to be faring okay, all things considering. And when you apologize to him for not seeing the trap earlier, he brushes you off, stating it was a shared mistake.
His nonchalant attitude wanes completely though when you both return to the compound.
“Oh, Walker –” A large man, thick with a grey beard greets you at the med bay. You’ve been introduced to this boisterous man, Alexei. “You have become a porcupine! It is a good look.”
“With one-fucking-quill? Man, can you just get the nurse?” he grunts.
“What’s this about a porcu – Oh, boy,” Yelena, who has been hanging out by the reception-desk, wanders over next. She fights back a laugh at the sight and loses, snorting down at Walker’s leg. “Did you get in a fight with Hawkeye or something?”
“Or something — Is every goddamn person in this building here to take the piss outta me?” John glares up at you next, when a hint of a laugh reaches your mouth. You couldn’t really help it, though. Yelena’s was contagious.
“We were kind of waiting around,” Yelena says. “Wanted to make sure she got home safe.”
“And what about me?” John snaps at her. He gives a short nod to a nurse, who assesses the situation frantically and calls for help.
“What about you?”
“Jesus Christ.”
When Walker is taken away, Yelena shakes her head to herself, the remnants of her laughter slowly simmering down. She ragged on the guy, but you can tell from the moment she walked over, she was silently examining the wound to make sure it wasn’t fatal.
“He’s worried about you, you know?” she asks you now, taking in your slightly disheveled appearance.
“Why would he be worried? He’s the one who got nailed in the leg,” you chuckle.
“Not Walker – Bob.”
“Oh? Where is he?”
If Yelena sees your lit-up eyes and your sudden giddy-composure, she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she smiles fondly. “He went out to the grocery store for a bit. Why don’t you wash up and I’ll let him know you’re okay?”
You smile at this. A nice warm shower, a comfy pair of sweats, and a snack sounds really damn good right about now.
“Thanks Yelena.”
“Hey now,” she chides. “That’s what friends are for.”
“Friends?”
“A friend of Bob’s is a friend of mine.”
It was an incredible thing, you think, that Bob had such a great support system around him — That they were greeting you with open arms because Bob liked you.
A few extra friends on your side was unexpected, but welcome nonetheless.
The day comes to an end as the sun traverses downward. Its rays disappear in a temporary goodbye, leaving room for the glow of the moon and the sparkling city lights.
You pad across your kitchen — It was a 2-bedroom complex above the lab, sharing the floor with only a couple of other scientists. They each had their own room, and while you knew they actually live here, you never really see or hear them.
A simple mission should’ve left you feeling refreshed and ready to start a new day, but today’s events tuckered you out. After showering and changing your clothes, it only then occurred to you just how rusty you were with these kinds of things.
Exhaustion weighs down on you, and you’re a little too tired to cook tonight.
You were about to toss in a microwave dinner when you hear two taps at your door — as if whoever was on the other side of it was hesitating. Following them are a few more knocks, stronger and more determined.
You haven’t had guests here in quite some time, and you were a little annoyed, to say the least. Whoever this was just had to choose your orientation day on the field to come visit you.
Your frown is quickly replaced with a grin, however, when you swing open the door to reveal Bob.
He’s holding a brown paper bag by the handles, a bottled beverage tucked underneath his arm. His hair is a mess framing his face, but he’s smiling back sheepishly at you.
“Hey! Sorry, got caught up in some things. I’m here now.”
“I wasn’t even aware you were coming,” you laugh lightly. “What’s all this?”
He follows you inside, setting the bag and drink on the counter, before rolling up the sleeves of his favorite blue sweater. “Well, I figured you’d be hungry and tired after a long day. Wanted to swing by with some food.” He starts unpacking white cartons. “I got you some Chinese. Figured I’d just get you a smorgasbord of stuff. Just in case. Plus, you know, I just wanted to see you.”
Absolute boyfriend material, you think to yourself — Running around your kitchen for plates like he knew exactly where they were, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear as he sets glasses down, and looking really handsome while doing all these things so frantically? It’s a touch of domesticity you’re not used to.
He turns to you when you go quiet, the slight shock on your face causing him to shrink just a little. “Is that okay?”
“You’re the best, you know that?”
He chuckles, his posture relaxing again. “It’s just food,” he teases. He hands you a plate and you both start scooping on whatever looks good (in your current hunger, everything did).
When you settle onto the couch, he can’t help his curious eyes from looking around the place.
There are a few scientific posters as well as ones from your favorite video-games and shows. On shelves, you have figurines and a few of your favorite books. The only personal item is one picture of your parents with you as a baby, sitting in a frame in a bookcase.
You wince a bit, shoveling rice in your mouth as you watch him.
Your place felt a little more bachelor-pad than home to you. Not on purpose, of course. You just didn’t have a lot of personal items kept since you spent quite a while under HYDRA. Your only piece of memory, the framed photo, was given to you by Bucky, who found it in one of your old files.
“It’s a little..”
“Pretty sweet,” Bob interrupts. He smiles knowingly, returning his attention back toward his food. “My space is a little emptier. I was actually thinking about going to the farmer’s market next week to look for some cool stuff to add to it. Would you wanna come with?”
You hum in thought. Walking around hand-in-hand with Bob like any other normal couple sounds like a dream.
“I’d love to!”
In a comfortable quiet, save for the mindless show on TV you’d put on just to watch, you and Bob finish your food.
“I heard about Walker-pine. You come out unscathed at least?”
You nearly choke on your drink, shaking your head at him in mock anger. “I’m fine, but do not call him that.” When you softly punch him in the arm, he grins. “It’s bad enough he hates me. I don’t need the team to remind him that our first mission together was ass.”
“Walker doesn’t hate you,” Bob says with a roll of his eyes. “He actually asked if you were coming out on the next mission with him and Ava.”
“I can’t even think about the next mission right now, Bob,” you groan, a hint of a laugh lingering by.
Without saying a word, he begins gathering your dirty dishes, and before you could protest, he fixes you with a stern gaze. As he rinses them off and places them in your dishwasher, you can’t help but pout a little.
“What’s on your mind?” He asks from the kitchen.
The heaviness of the food sinks into your stomach, the tiredness seeping back into your body. But, you don’t want to sleep yet. You don’t want Bob to leave either.
“Can we just watch TV for a bit, or do you have somewhere to be?”
He flings stray water from his hands off in the sink and wipes them on his pants. Taking in your slouched position and your closing eyes, he chuckles. “No offense, Sweetheart, but you look like you’re able to fall asleep on the spot.”
“I just wanna be with you tonight,” you mumble. “Haven’t seen you all day.”
His gaze softens at that, head tilted slightly just to take it all in. He wonders if you were even aware how adorable you looked right now.
“I can stay in bed with you till you fall asleep?”
The words send a quick jolt of energy up your spine and you’re practically bee-lining for the bathroom to brush your teeth.
Behind you, you can hear him laughing to himself. He’s putting leftovers away, without you having to ask.
That night, you settle into bed, Bob holding you up against his chest. His chin rests on your head, his breathing slow and steady. With every sigh, your hair flutters a bit in the breeze.
“You don’t have to leave, you know?” You whisper, fingers tracing the bed sheets under the moonlight.
“I’ll stay, then,” he mumbles, lips now pressed against the crown of your head in a kiss.
It’s the first night you spend together, cradled in each other’s arms. His soft snoring, which you found adorable, lulls you to sleep.
It's the first night you realize that Bob's a walking furnace. The heat emitting off of him not particularly searing, but warmer than what was comfortable. You murmur a sleepy complaint, and half-asleep Bob laughs softly, kicking the comforter off the both of you.
It's the first night that you felt completely at ease curled up on this bed. With long work hours, you really only used it for quick naps and when you're about to pass out from exhaustion.
Tonight, it feels like a cozy haven.
It’s also the first night that the nightmares begin.
Summary: Robert finds himself growing closer to one of O.X.E.’s many lab technicians. She’s gentle and a spitfire all the same, she’s got an odd tension going on between her and Bucky (were they dating at this point?), and she’s got cat-like reflexes for someone with a Bachelor’s degree in science. The biggest mystery? She’s drawn to him just as much as he is to her.
A mission involving an old HYDRA base clicks everything into place.
Warnings/Themes: Use of she/her and feminine pronouns for reader, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Some Bucky x Reader, but it's a Bob x Reader fic, general HYDRA content and warnings that come with that, No use of Y/N (I tried to challenge myself not to do so lol). In this chapter: Mentions of DV/Abuse, childhood-trauma, and drugs.
Author's Note: AYYYY It's part 2. More fluffy this time. Comments are as always, so appreciated!
This fic is cross-posted to my Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckityBuckBarnes
The elevator up the Watchtower felt a little unreal. Being a senior tech meant you had some level of clearance, but it still comes as a surprise when you’re able to press one of the higher floor numbers and not get reprimanded or have the bioscanner laugh in your face for trying. You wonder if Bucky had said something to the security team.
The elevator dings. Your feet carry you forward as if you’re familiar with the place.
You bypass a confused woman, blonde with choppy hair. Yelena, you recognize. Shooting her a polite smile, you suddenly feel a little stupid.
Sure, let’s just barge into the lair of top-tier superheroes who lack a reliable moral compass, you think. That’ll go great. They’ll love that.
“Bob, your girlfriend is here and she is angry!” she calls out, laughing to herself. Your shoulders, previously tense, fall down back to a relaxed position.
From the way she stares at you, you can tell Bob speaks of you a lot – hopefully in a good way. She doesn’t put up a fight in stopping you, instead she gestures to the corner, where Bob sits with his knees to his chest on a teal loveseat.
His appearance is disheveled, hair sticking every which way and a confused frown graces his features. He turns to you, eyebrows pushing a crease into his forehead. His face goes from slightly-annoyed, to shocked, to mortified — all in one fell swoop.
“Oh, hi,” he says timidly – As if he didn’t worry the fuck out of you – As if you didn’t run through every single line of conversation you’ve had with him, hoping you didn’t say something to run him off.
“Hi?” you ask, slowly. “Been waiting for you to show your pretty face and break one of my favorite pens again for a few days now and – Here I am, pacing the superhero lounge trying to find you like a lovesick Tinder date you’ve ghosted.” You throw your hands up, scoffing. “All I get is ‘hi’?”
Truthfully, Bob has Pavlov’ed you into expecting a drink on your desk every morning with a stupidly cheesy message along the lines of “Smile at least once today :) “ or “Experiment got you down? TRASH IT!” written in sharpie. The cup, neatly sitting on top of a napkin, would be facing your seat before you even got to it. He always showed care in presenting it, as if you’d judge his entire character off of one beverage.
That coffee was damn-near perfect every time.
Truthfully, you really did feel ridiculous, acting like he’s neglected you when you didn’t deserve his attention at all. Who were you to dictate when he’d come and greet you? Besides, you did have his number and you did text him. The silence should’ve been an answer all within itself.
Truthfully, you think you couldn’t go another day without talking to him and seeing his face.
He was an angel in the lab. He kept you company, helped you pry heavy things open (he freed an empty nitrogen tank out of a machine once without breaking a sweat — you remember having to call in 3 other people once because it was screwed on so tight.), and most of all, he cherished your time just as much as you did his. When you were frustrated with a protocol, he would chime in with an idea, sometimes with one nonsensical, but you would never laugh at it. You always gave it serious thought. He, on the other hand, would encourage you when you were feeling the Imposter syndrome hit hard. Instead of telling you to give up, he would simply smile and tell you to look at the issue from another angle.
The two of you became two peas on a cozy little pod.
And if you did do something to scare him off, you’re not sure you could live with that.
You miss his company. You miss him.
Bob’s brain short-circuits until the cog in his head kerchunks again.
He didn’t realized how long it’s been since he last saw you. He also didn’t understand your need to seek him out. No one has ever done this for him – not even the team.
When he hits his lows (which hasn’t happened for a while since he met you), a simple message to the others would suffice. All new to mental health, they were still not quite sure how to deal with feelings in a healthy manner. Instead, they’d leave him alone to stew in his own thoughts if he so wished. Unless, of course, his thoughts became dangerous manifestations, drawing out a certain someone underneath his skin.
The Void was quieter since meeting you through Bob’s eyes – Perhaps intrigued by the emotions growing deep within himself…perhaps plotting to use said emotions to mess with Bob. Though there are still murmurs of You’re not good enough and She’s wasting her time on you, Bob has managed to snuff it out.
That is, of course, until 4 days ago in the lab.
Much like his highs and lows, your relationship with Bucky seemed to have flip-flopped constantly. You were laughing, slapping Bucky in the arm playfully, and during conversations, Bob felt like an afterthought. Bucky spoke carefully to you, but slipped in a bit of his old persona from before the freeze, calling you Doll or Honey and you ate it right up.
You smiled, shyly, lighting up when Bucky told you about John’s fuck up on the most recent mission. Vision skewed by his anxiety, it looked almost as if you saw Bucky like he hung the stars.
Can you really blame her? Girls dig a morally-grey man with a dark past. He’s got you beat in that department.
Bob gripped his own wrist, digging into the sweater sleeve as if stopping himself from doing something dangerous. His teeth gritted as he tried to calm down the voice.
Before, Bob told himself that he wasn’t jealous of this relationship you had with Bucky. But as he sought you out more, the ugly green monster inside of him felt it —
No, not green. Black.
The Void seemed to have studied Bob’s feelings for you and shaped it into something far uglier. Be it loathing or self-doubt, it left a bitter taste in his mouth, one he didn’t wish for you or a Bucky to witness.
Shut up.
They’ve got something going on, and you’re an idiot if you think you could get in between that.
I’m not trying to get in between anything. She’s a friend. If they’re together…well –
You’ll be okay with that?
She’ll never look at you like she looks at him. You’re acting pathetic.
You. Are. Pathetic.
Bob knew that Void was just riling him up, but it really was pathetic. He’d known you for nearly two months and he already felt some type of way towards you. He knew what you like and dislike, knew your routine and hobbies, but compared to Bucky, did he really know you?
Deflated, he cleared his throat and stood from his seat, drawing your gaze over to him. Bucky stopped talking and did the same.
“I’m uhm. I’m gonna go,” he muttered. With his hair covering his face a little, he missed the disappointed look in your eyes. He didn’t see the concern crossing both of your faces. He hadn’t even noticed when you stepped toward him.
“Everything okay, Bob?” you asked carefully. A reaching hand was held in the air, as if approaching a stray dog.
And it crushed him further. He knew you meant well – knew it was out of genuine concern, but in the moment it felt like you were walking on eggshells when you talked to him.
What a fucking loser.
“Just got a lot of chores to do,” he lied, a forced smile tugged at his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes. “Alexei ate a lot last night and the dishes are piling up.”
Bucky hummed in confusion. It was his turn for dishes that night. “I can help, Kid” he started, also worried about his friend’s shift in demeanor. Bob had a good streak of days going on, one he was afraid was breaking out of nowhere.
“No! No. Seriously, you guys do your thing. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Bob slipped on that mask of indifference, meeting your gaze with faux confidence.
He didn’t hear you call out for him when he rushed out of the room, nor did he hear your next words:
“See you tomorrow! Let me know if you need anything…?”
‘Tomorrow’ didn’t end with Bob back in your lab. And he didn’t answer your texts, but you were afraid to push him.
And now here he is, curled up on the couch, trying desperately to find an excuse as to why he’s been avoiding you. He can’t do so without exposing too much of himself and his feelings. He can’t tell you that he has this undeniable crush on you and he wanted it to bloom, but the creature in his head was telling him no – And maybe that creature was right.
So he tells you half of the truth.
“Hey, I’m really sorry.” A corner of his lips drags upward in an apologetic smile. “I really haven’t had much energy to do anything. I’ve kinda just been sitting here…reading – ” And it was the truth. He’s been spending most of the week trying to start chores only to get overwhelmed and end up on the couch. The only thing he felt like calling an accomplishment was taking showers, and even those felt daunting.
“I didn’t do anything to upset you did I?” You ask.
“What?” Bob lurches forward, his side leaning against the armrest. He shakes his head vehemently and waves a dismissive hand. “No - No! You didn’t do anything, it’s just. It’s me.”
“You’re out of spoons, then?”
Bob’s melancholy smile drops into a confused frown and he looks at you with a slight tilt of his head.
The rest of the team has cleared the room, leaving just the two of you to hash it out. Your upset gaze softens significantly. With relaxed shoulders, you settle yourself onto the ground beside him, despite there being an abundance of seats in the room.
“Spoons?” he asks.
“Spoons.” You look out the window above, hands buried in the plush rug underneath you. “It’s like your energy levels for doing stuff every day. You’re tired because you’re out of them and you need to recuperate.”
“Well, I haven’t been doing much of anything,” he retorts. “And the spoons aren’t replenishing.”
You’re visibly thinking now, eyebrows furrowed and a concentrated look on your face. You’re staring at the ceiling, as if looking for an answer up there. You did this often in the lab when trying to troubleshoot stuff, and he found it endearing.
You’ve been where Bob is, plenty of times — more than you can count. Something changed when you landed a job though. You got too busy to even worry about energy reserves because work became all you had. You couldn’t afford to think about replenishing spoons. It’s as if someone shoved more in your drawer every time you were running low — a new task here, some praise there to renew your sense of worth again in this world after…
“Sometimes going out helps. You’ve kind of been stuck here, except for when you’re going on missions, right?” When he hums in agreement, you laugh quietly. “And I’m sure the lab isn’t the most relaxing place.”
“I haven’t gone out in a while, actually,” he admits, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. It’s not as if he was barred from doing so, he just never really had a reason. Plus, New York was overstimulating when he was on his own. Being pushed around by people on the sidewalks and smelling garbage bags on the side of the road wasn’t at the top of his to-do list. “Been keeping myself held up.”
“Go out with me then”
His eyes widen, looking down at you and when you realize your choice of wording, yours do too.
“Like not on a – Unless you want to – I mean,” you swallow a lump in your throat before you can dig yourself into a hole and he lets out a genuine chuckle this time. He can’t stop the toothy grin from forming on his face. It’s your turn to be flustered, and he’s grateful for the switch.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” he teases. “Where are we going?” He stands and stretches, trying to hide just how excited he was. You catch a glimpse of his abs, and you hurriedly avert your gaze. “Wait – Don’t you have work to do?”
You had so much work to do, but maybe you needed this break too. Maybe, you realize you’ve been running on a false drive which had long since burned out. A breath of fresh air could reset it all, and Bob’s disappearance really did remind you that there was more to life than work.
Your nonchalant shrug pushes his falling smile back up. “I have some sick hours I could use that don’t rollover. And I don’t get sick.” You hop up and grab his wrist, carefully over his sleeve. Your fingers trail over the fabric until you’ve got a comfortable grip. “Let’s go get some coffee.”
“You don’t get sick?” He notices your hand and tries not to look sad. You must have gotten the rundown of his powers and how he was still unstable when in a slump.
“I’m kind of like a milder super-soldier,” you reveal, dragging him along. You smile, unsure, but wanting to tell him nonetheless. It felt…easy with Bob. “Only Bucky and Valentina know, but I was injected by HYDRA with a serum. Kind of a lamer version. So I won't get sick.”
“You don’t have to tell me because of –” Bob gestures at the air at a loss for words. Because he’s depressed? Because you want him to feel better? Because you pity him?
“I want to.” Your grip on his wrist slide downwards, moving the sleeve with it. You hold his hand through the sleeve, shyly rubbing circles along the back of his thumb. “Maybe not everything. I’m not trying to trauma-dump on you.”
He hopes to God you don’t hear his heart thumping against his chest like a drum. He’s a little grateful about the layer between his skin and yours now, because you can’t feel his sweaty palms. “Some other time then,” he whispers.
On the way out, you two bump into Bucky, who eyes your joined hands incredulously.
She’s embarrassed of you.
Bob begins to pull away.
Your hold tightens.
”You okay?” you ask with a light squeeze. He hums yes, not fully committed to his answer. His eyes are focused on Bucky, who recovers from his momentary shock. With a hand on one hip and a slight tilt upwards, he smiles kindly.
“Well, well, well, I’m glad you’re gettin’ some air,” he says. “Don’t get into any trouble, you two.” A suggestive wink sets Bob’s face on fire.
Bob was expecting a lot of things.
He was expecting Bucky to scoff and size him up. He was expecting you to pull away like you were touching fire. He was expecting himself to cower and excuse himself from the scene.
He wasn’t expecting the genuine relief on Bucky’s face.
Then again, he reminds himself that if Bucky didn’t care, he wouldn’t have waded through the Void to find Bob in the first place. He wouldn’t have latched onto Bob like Yelena and the rest of the crew then. He wouldn’t have promised to look out for Bob, weathering the storm no matter what it brought.
He smiles. “Thanks, Bucky. We’ll try not to.”
“No promises,” you interject, a wolfish grin at your lips, and Bob can’t help but laugh at that.
Bucky watches you both leave, deep in thought.
You’ve changed since he first met you here –
For the better.
—
“I can uhm – Pay you back,” Bob starts, his fingers curved around the foam cup of his matcha.
He’s never had it before, but you suggested he tried something new. Sweet, creamy, and tastes like a tinge of grass. He kind of likes it.
The you across from him is also new — Carefree, smiling without a worry in sight, unbothered by work or deadlines. He definitely likes it.
“My treat,” you chirp, downing your second cup of coffee. In front of you is a giant slice of chocolate cake, two forks on either side. Bob observes you, your gaze settling on the dessert, wondering just where to start.
You were very upset about his absence earlier. He was the cause of your worry – the cause of you skipping out of work just to find him.
“I’m sorry,” he says, gaze breaking to stare at his green drink. “I should’ve texted.” He plays with the cardboard around the cup, prying it off slowly.
“No, Bob,” you laugh. “I’m sorry. It’s not like I’m your girlfriend or anything – “
“But you care.”
“Of course I care.” Your eyes narrow, as if he’s stating the most bizarre thing in the world.
A moment of hesitation, and then you’re reaching for him again, your hand touching his over the cup. It stills.
“You – You don’t have to shut me out, you know that right?” you ask. Like how I’ve shut you out before, evading all of your questions.
He didn’t know that. He didn’t know that he could come to you about his worries – didn’t know if he was worthy of that. Where did he even stand in your eyes? A distraction from the lab? A mere nuisance that you’re afraid is too late to tell off?
When he meets your gaze again, his breath catches in his throat.
The look you gave Bucky before was a simmering fondness, one courteous and tame.
The look you’re giving Bob now was a radiating warmth, bright and all encompassing – A sun that he can’t look away from.
There was no mistaking it –
Love, platonic or not, was all he could see.
“All I do is worry people around me,” he sighs, unable to look away. “I don’t even understand why you guys bother.”
And truly, he wasn’t fishing for empty words or pitiful stares. He can’t help but cringe at himself though.
You’re such a despicable, whiny, little –
“I think it’s hard to remember that you’ve got people on your side when you’re fighting an amplified version of intrusive thoughts,” you explain. The way he flinches into himself makes you wonder if he’s having an internal conversation with that monster right now. When he swallows thickly, you know you’re somewhere near the truth. Glaring at his chest, as if staring directly into the Void’s gaze, you sigh deeply. “He tells you what you want in life, I’m sure – What you deserve.”
Your eyes meet his now, unyielding and anchoring him to the ground. “But what do you want, Bob?” It takes his breath away. “What do you deserve?”
You, he thinks. Instead, he squeezes your hand, bringing it up to his lips to hide his smile. “I want to get to know you. And for you to know me.” His gaze momentarily stops at your lips, before moving down to the oak table, and onto the cake on your plate. “I think I’d want that. If you’re okay with that.”
You sit back in your seat, pulling your hand away slowly, and he misses your grasp, but the smile you give him remains relaxed.
It’s true that you only knew basic things about him: his favorite color, favorite movie — but, you didn’t know much about his own past, save for the Manila files surrounding his involvement with Sentry and Void. You know that the two personas are merged with him in some way – that was the whole point of your ongoing research.
“Who were you then, Bob?” You offer.
“Well, for one, I used to be a methed-out chicken suit,” he murmurs dumbly. He leans back in the booth, arms draped over the back of the seat. “Spun signs for cash.” He shrugs. “Spent that cash on…more meth.”
This, you knew, from Bucky blabbering it. It didn’t come as a surprise. It sure sounded scary though, from the wince on Bucky’s face as he retold their first encounter.
“And how about before drugs?”
He gives you a lopsided grin, a quick shrug. It’s the everything is fine look that you’re so accustomed to now. He takes a bite of cake, fork scraping lightly against the plate as he sets it back down. “Abusive father. Abused mother. I didn’t exactly have a before the drugs and depression phase. It’s all I can really remember.” He sighs. “I was a high-school drop out too — thought about eventually getting my GED. Maybe someday… Either way, I didn’t have much going for me.”
“Whoa - okay,” you murmur. “I’m so sorry.” Because that’s all you can really say. He wasn’t expecting any other reaction though.
A sad smile breaks out across his face. “It’s okay. I did have a sick PlayStation collection I hid from my parents. And got into some fun trouble when I was still in school. Had a handful of good friends.”
.
“Favorite game?”
“Grand Theft.”
“Sick. Do I say I’m surprised?”
He laughs, leaning in now, as if you’re about to let him in on a secret. “So, what about you?” When you stiffen, he nods in understanding. “HYDRA off the table — was there a before? An…in between?”
A shaky breath escapes you. Fuzzy memories of before were a lot easier to talk about than during that hell-scape. Not that those memories were a dream per se.
“I kinda remember bits. I was in high school myself when I was taken. Was weeks before graduation. Normal life. I wanted to become a zoologist at one point — was even doing internships at the zoo.” You laugh fondly at the image of yourself, holding up blue frogs in gloved hands like it was Christmas. He laughs too.
“My mom was kind, soft-spoken, but hardworking. My dad worked for the government — they took me for ransom at first and then saw potential. I defected not even a couple years in. They usually take younger kids so they could —“ you pause, and he doesn’t push. “Anyways, it was around the time I was turning 18. you could say we’re both high school dropouts.”
He laughs softly, which calms your nerves a lot. “What a couple’a losers.”
You snicker. “I did go back to college for a bit though so it’s just you.”
“Ouch, friendly-fire,” Bob says, feigning hurt by rubbing his chest where his heart is. “No more zoos?”
Your shoulder bounces in a half-committed shrug. “When Valentina’s crew found me wandering around DC, they got me housing, pulled a few strings, sent me through school.” You grin. “She’s an asshole, but the whole thing taught me that I wanted to do something to help other people. Plus, I like having my own space to work. And I look good in my lab coat. ”
He smiles at that genuinely and a small giggle breaks through. “You look good in anything, though.”
Bob, you’ve come to realize, can most definitely fucking flirt.
“Shut it, Bob.”
Both of your cheeks start to hurt from smiling and laughing. A comfortable silence settles between you both, only peppered by occasional jokes and lighthearted comments —
You’ve got cake on your face, Bob.
And you’ve got a really pretty smile, you know that?
Staring out the window, Bob breaks this silence, trying his best to be indifferent. He glances at you, lips tugged up shyly this time.
“So you and Bucky…”
“Me and Bucky…?” You ask in a teasing voice.
“Are you guys — I don’t know…”
He looks like he’s about to hurt himself from thinking too hard and you try to stop from choking on your cold coffee. “We’re, uhm — we’re re-acquainted. We used to be coworkers, secretly friends.”
The cryptic wording only puts more confused wrinkles on his face.
“We’re just friends, Bob,” you assure. Unbeknownst to him, the word tastes bittersweet on your tongue. He misses the way you push that word out between your teeth, as if shooing away an unruly guest. “We were never together.”
When his mouth forms a tiny ‘o,’ a smirk fights its way onto your face, wiping your sad frown off.
“So you’re…”
“Seeing a Bob right now. Maybe again tomorrow if he wants,” you shrug, ignoring your heart hammering in your chest.
“I’d love to,” he answers quickly. He clears his throat, trying to play it off. “Unless you’re like — talking about another Bob.”
“Jesus Christ,” you exclaim, a laugh bubbling out of your chest. “I want to see you, Bob.”
He sighs in relief. “Oh, good.”
“Good.”
You gather your empty cups and cleared plate, following Bob to the trash cans. Tossing your trash and placing the plate into a dirty dish bin, you follow him out the door.
As you do this, you pick up the pieces you’ve learned about Bob, and place them inside yourself for safekeeping. He does the same for you.
As you walk, your hands are intertwined. This feels unfamiliar, for the both of you — not necessarily scary, more exciting. Occasionally, he’ll sway and bump into you, and you’ll laugh, softly shoving him back.
Your intimate bubble suddenly pops when your phone rings.
You pick up.
Bob can hear the caller on the other side, loud and annoyed. He recognizes that grating voice anywhere.
“I know you’re not actually sick —“ Valentina accuses. “You never take a day off.”
You roll your eyes and cough into your free hand lamely. “Sorry, can’t hear you over me dying”
“I’ll choose to ignore your shitty acting, Little Lady. Anyways, I was thinking — You’ve barely made progress in the lab on project Sentry, so I plan to have you work on something new. What do you think about getting back onto the field?“
“Absolutely not – ”
“For research purposes, Sweetie. No combat. You’ll be well-protected, I’ll have ‘em bring snacks – “
You hang up, no doubt expecting to get an earful tomorrow. You’re in no mood to be called pet-names. Only a select-few could do so, but not by Valentina.
“Everything good?” Bob asks.
You shove your phone into your pocket and lean into him, slowing your pace.
“It’s tomorrow’s problem.” You look up, but his gaze was glued to you. “What about you?”
Bob is still tired, but he feels lighter. Much lighter. He knows that if Void comes back around tomorrow, he’ll have you to stifle the thoughts.
Summary: Robert finds himself growing closer to one of O.X.E.’s many lab technicians. She’s gentle and a spitfire all the same, she’s got an odd tension going on between her and Bucky (were they dating at this point?), and she’s got cat-like reflexes for someone with a Bachelor’s degree in science. The biggest mystery? She’s drawn to him just as much as he is to her.
A mission involving an old HYDRA base clicks everything into place.
Warnings/Themes: Use of she/her and feminine pronouns for reader, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Some Bucky x Reader, but it's a Bob x Reader fic, general HYDRA content and warnings that come with that, No use of Y/N (I tried to challenge myself not to do so lol). In this chapter: Mentions of DV/Abuse, childhood-trauma, and drugs.
Author's Note: AYYYY It's part 2. More fluffy this time. Comments are as always, so appreciated!
This fic is cross-posted to my Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckityBuckBarnes
The elevator up the Watchtower felt a little unreal. Being a senior tech meant you had some level of clearance, but it still comes as a surprise when you’re able to press one of the higher floor numbers and not get reprimanded or have the bioscanner laugh in your face for trying. You wonder if Bucky had said something to the security team.
The elevator dings. Your feet carry you forward as if you’re familiar with the place.
You bypass a confused woman, blonde with choppy hair. Yelena, you recognize. Shooting her a polite smile, you suddenly feel a little stupid.
Sure, let’s just barge into the lair of top-tier superheroes who lack a reliable moral compass, you think. That’ll go great. They’ll love that.
“Bob, your girlfriend is here and she is angry!” she calls out, laughing to herself. Your shoulders, previously tense, fall down back to a relaxed position.
From the way she stares at you, you can tell Bob speaks of you a lot – hopefully in a good way. She doesn’t put up a fight in stopping you, instead she gestures to the corner, where Bob sits with his knees to his chest on a teal loveseat.
His appearance is disheveled, hair sticking every which way and a confused frown graces his features. He turns to you, eyebrows pushing a crease into his forehead. His face goes from slightly-annoyed, to shocked, to mortified — all in one fell swoop.
“Oh, hi,” he says timidly – As if he didn’t worry the fuck out of you – As if you didn’t run through every single line of conversation you’ve had with him, hoping you didn’t say something to run him off.
“Hi?” you ask, slowly. “Been waiting for you to show your pretty face and break one of my favorite pens again for a few days now and – Here I am, pacing the superhero lounge trying to find you like a lovesick Tinder date you’ve ghosted.” You throw your hands up, scoffing. “All I get is ‘hi’?”
Truthfully, Bob has Pavlov’ed you into expecting a drink on your desk every morning with a stupidly cheesy message along the lines of “Smile at least once today :) “ or “Experiment got you down? TRASH IT!” written in sharpie. The cup, neatly sitting on top of a napkin, would be facing your seat before you even got to it. He always showed care in presenting it, as if you’d judge his entire character off of one beverage.
That coffee was damn-near perfect every time.
Truthfully, you really did feel ridiculous, acting like he’s neglected you when you didn’t deserve his attention at all. Who were you to dictate when he’d come and greet you? Besides, you did have his number and you did text him. The silence should’ve been an answer all within itself.
Truthfully, you think you couldn’t go another day without talking to him and seeing his face.
He was an angel in the lab. He kept you company, helped you pry heavy things open (he freed an empty nitrogen tank out of a machine once without breaking a sweat — you remember having to call in 3 other people once because it was screwed on so tight.), and most of all, he cherished your time just as much as you did his. When you were frustrated with a protocol, he would chime in with an idea, sometimes with one nonsensical, but you would never laugh at it. You always gave it serious thought. He, on the other hand, would encourage you when you were feeling the Imposter syndrome hit hard. Instead of telling you to give up, he would simply smile and tell you to look at the issue from another angle.
The two of you became two peas on a cozy little pod.
And if you did do something to scare him off, you’re not sure you could live with that.
You miss his company. You miss him.
Bob’s brain short-circuits until the cog in his head kerchunks again.
He didn’t realized how long it’s been since he last saw you. He also didn’t understand your need to seek him out. No one has ever done this for him – not even the team.
When he hits his lows (which hasn’t happened for a while since he met you), a simple message to the others would suffice. All new to mental health, they were still not quite sure how to deal with feelings in a healthy manner. Instead, they’d leave him alone to stew in his own thoughts if he so wished. Unless, of course, his thoughts became dangerous manifestations, drawing out a certain someone underneath his skin.
The Void was quieter since meeting you through Bob’s eyes – Perhaps intrigued by the emotions growing deep within himself…perhaps plotting to use said emotions to mess with Bob. Though there are still murmurs of You’re not good enough and She’s wasting her time on you, Bob has managed to snuff it out.
That is, of course, until 4 days ago in the lab.
Much like his highs and lows, your relationship with Bucky seemed to have flip-flopped constantly. You were laughing, slapping Bucky in the arm playfully, and during conversations, Bob felt like an afterthought. Bucky spoke carefully to you, but slipped in a bit of his old persona from before the freeze, calling you Doll or Honey and you ate it right up.
You smiled, shyly, lighting up when Bucky told you about John’s fuck up on the most recent mission. Vision skewed by his anxiety, it looked almost as if you saw Bucky like he hung the stars.
Can you really blame her? Girls dig a morally-grey man with a dark past. He’s got you beat in that department.
Bob gripped his own wrist, digging into the sweater sleeve as if stopping himself from doing something dangerous. His teeth gritted as he tried to calm down the voice.
Before, Bob told himself that he wasn’t jealous of this relationship you had with Bucky. But as he sought you out more, the ugly green monster inside of him felt it —
No, not green. Black.
The Void seemed to have studied Bob’s feelings for you and shaped it into something far uglier. Be it loathing or self-doubt, it left a bitter taste in his mouth, one he didn’t wish for you or a Bucky to witness.
Shut up.
They’ve got something going on, and you’re an idiot if you think you could get in between that.
I’m not trying to get in between anything. She’s a friend. If they’re together…well –
You’ll be okay with that?
She’ll never look at you like she looks at him. You’re acting pathetic.
You. Are. Pathetic.
Bob knew that Void was just riling him up, but it really was pathetic. He’d known you for nearly two months and he already felt some type of way towards you. He knew what you like and dislike, knew your routine and hobbies, but compared to Bucky, did he really know you?
Deflated, he cleared his throat and stood from his seat, drawing your gaze over to him. Bucky stopped talking and did the same.
“I’m uhm. I’m gonna go,” he muttered. With his hair covering his face a little, he missed the disappointed look in your eyes. He didn’t see the concern crossing both of your faces. He hadn’t even noticed when you stepped toward him.
“Everything okay, Bob?” you asked carefully. A reaching hand was held in the air, as if approaching a stray dog.
And it crushed him further. He knew you meant well – knew it was out of genuine concern, but in the moment it felt like you were walking on eggshells when you talked to him.
What a fucking loser.
“Just got a lot of chores to do,” he lied, a forced smile tugged at his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes. “Alexei ate a lot last night and the dishes are piling up.”
Bucky hummed in confusion. It was his turn for dishes that night. “I can help, Kid” he started, also worried about his friend’s shift in demeanor. Bob had a good streak of days going on, one he was afraid was breaking out of nowhere.
“No! No. Seriously, you guys do your thing. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Bob slipped on that mask of indifference, meeting your gaze with faux confidence.
He didn’t hear you call out for him when he rushed out of the room, nor did he hear your next words:
“See you tomorrow! Let me know if you need anything…?”
‘Tomorrow’ didn’t end with Bob back in your lab. And he didn’t answer your texts, but you were afraid to push him.
And now here he is, curled up on the couch, trying desperately to find an excuse as to why he’s been avoiding you. He can’t do so without exposing too much of himself and his feelings. He can’t tell you that he has this undeniable crush on you and he wanted it to bloom, but the creature in his head was telling him no – And maybe that creature was right.
So he tells you half of the truth.
“Hey, I’m really sorry.” A corner of his lips drags upward in an apologetic smile. “I really haven’t had much energy to do anything. I’ve kinda just been sitting here…reading – ” And it was the truth. He’s been spending most of the week trying to start chores only to get overwhelmed and end up on the couch. The only thing he felt like calling an accomplishment was taking showers, and even those felt daunting.
“I didn’t do anything to upset you did I?” You ask.
“What?” Bob lurches forward, his side leaning against the armrest. He shakes his head vehemently and waves a dismissive hand. “No - No! You didn’t do anything, it’s just. It’s me.”
“You’re out of spoons, then?”
Bob’s melancholy smile drops into a confused frown and he looks at you with a slight tilt of his head.
The rest of the team has cleared the room, leaving just the two of you to hash it out. Your upset gaze softens significantly. With relaxed shoulders, you settle yourself onto the ground beside him, despite there being an abundance of seats in the room.
“Spoons?” he asks.
“Spoons.” You look out the window above, hands buried in the plush rug underneath you. “It’s like your energy levels for doing stuff every day. You’re tired because you’re out of them and you need to recuperate.”
“Well, I haven’t been doing much of anything,” he retorts. “And the spoons aren’t replenishing.”
You’re visibly thinking now, eyebrows furrowed and a concentrated look on your face. You’re staring at the ceiling, as if looking for an answer up there. You did this often in the lab when trying to troubleshoot stuff, and he found it endearing.
You’ve been where Bob is, plenty of times — more than you can count. Something changed when you landed a job though. You got too busy to even worry about energy reserves because work became all you had. You couldn’t afford to think about replenishing spoons. It’s as if someone shoved more in your drawer every time you were running low — a new task here, some praise there to renew your sense of worth again in this world after…
“Sometimes going out helps. You’ve kind of been stuck here, except for when you’re going on missions, right?” When he hums in agreement, you laugh quietly. “And I’m sure the lab isn’t the most relaxing place.”
“I haven’t gone out in a while, actually,” he admits, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. It’s not as if he was barred from doing so, he just never really had a reason. Plus, New York was overstimulating when he was on his own. Being pushed around by people on the sidewalks and smelling garbage bags on the side of the road wasn’t at the top of his to-do list. “Been keeping myself held up.”
“Go out with me then”
His eyes widen, looking down at you and when you realize your choice of wording, yours do too.
“Like not on a – Unless you want to – I mean,” you swallow a lump in your throat before you can dig yourself into a hole and he lets out a genuine chuckle this time. He can’t stop the toothy grin from forming on his face. It’s your turn to be flustered, and he’s grateful for the switch.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” he teases. “Where are we going?” He stands and stretches, trying to hide just how excited he was. You catch a glimpse of his abs, and you hurriedly avert your gaze. “Wait – Don’t you have work to do?”
You had so much work to do, but maybe you needed this break too. Maybe, you realize you’ve been running on a false drive which had long since burned out. A breath of fresh air could reset it all, and Bob’s disappearance really did remind you that there was more to life than work.
Your nonchalant shrug pushes his falling smile back up. “I have some sick hours I could use that don’t rollover. And I don’t get sick.” You hop up and grab his wrist, carefully over his sleeve. Your fingers trail over the fabric until you’ve got a comfortable grip. “Let’s go get some coffee.”
“You don’t get sick?” He notices your hand and tries not to look sad. You must have gotten the rundown of his powers and how he was still unstable when in a slump.
“I’m kind of like a milder super-soldier,” you reveal, dragging him along. You smile, unsure, but wanting to tell him nonetheless. It felt…easy with Bob. “Only Bucky and Valentina know, but I was injected by HYDRA with a serum. Kind of a lamer version. So I won't get sick.”
“You don’t have to tell me because of –” Bob gestures at the air at a loss for words. Because he’s depressed? Because you want him to feel better? Because you pity him?
“I want to.” Your grip on his wrist slide downwards, moving the sleeve with it. You hold his hand through the sleeve, shyly rubbing circles along the back of his thumb. “Maybe not everything. I’m not trying to trauma-dump on you.”
He hopes to God you don’t hear his heart thumping against his chest like a drum. He’s a little grateful about the layer between his skin and yours now, because you can’t feel his sweaty palms. “Some other time then,” he whispers.
On the way out, you two bump into Bucky, who eyes your joined hands incredulously.
She’s embarrassed of you.
Bob begins to pull away.
Your hold tightens.
”You okay?” you ask with a light squeeze. He hums yes, not fully committed to his answer. His eyes are focused on Bucky, who recovers from his momentary shock. With a hand on one hip and a slight tilt upwards, he smiles kindly.
“Well, well, well, I’m glad you’re gettin’ some air,” he says. “Don’t get into any trouble, you two.” A suggestive wink sets Bob’s face on fire.
Bob was expecting a lot of things.
He was expecting Bucky to scoff and size him up. He was expecting you to pull away like you were touching fire. He was expecting himself to cower and excuse himself from the scene.
He wasn’t expecting the genuine relief on Bucky’s face.
Then again, he reminds himself that if Bucky didn’t care, he wouldn’t have waded through the Void to find Bob in the first place. He wouldn’t have latched onto Bob like Yelena and the rest of the crew then. He wouldn’t have promised to look out for Bob, weathering the storm no matter what it brought.
He smiles. “Thanks, Bucky. We’ll try not to.”
“No promises,” you interject, a wolfish grin at your lips, and Bob can’t help but laugh at that.
Bucky watches you both leave, deep in thought.
You’ve changed since he first met you here –
For the better.
—
“I can uhm – Pay you back,” Bob starts, his fingers curved around the foam cup of his matcha.
He’s never had it before, but you suggested he tried something new. Sweet, creamy, and tastes like a tinge of grass. He kind of likes it.
The you across from him is also new — Carefree, smiling without a worry in sight, unbothered by work or deadlines. He definitely likes it.
“My treat,” you chirp, downing your second cup of coffee. In front of you is a giant slice of chocolate cake, two forks on either side. Bob observes you, your gaze settling on the dessert, wondering just where to start.
You were very upset about his absence earlier. He was the cause of your worry – the cause of you skipping out of work just to find him.
“I’m sorry,” he says, gaze breaking to stare at his green drink. “I should’ve texted.” He plays with the cardboard around the cup, prying it off slowly.
“No, Bob,” you laugh. “I’m sorry. It’s not like I’m your girlfriend or anything – “
“But you care.”
“Of course I care.” Your eyes narrow, as if he’s stating the most bizarre thing in the world.
A moment of hesitation, and then you’re reaching for him again, your hand touching his over the cup. It stills.
“You – You don’t have to shut me out, you know that right?” you ask. Like how I’ve shut you out before, evading all of your questions.
He didn’t know that. He didn’t know that he could come to you about his worries – didn’t know if he was worthy of that. Where did he even stand in your eyes? A distraction from the lab? A mere nuisance that you’re afraid is too late to tell off?
When he meets your gaze again, his breath catches in his throat.
The look you gave Bucky before was a simmering fondness, one courteous and tame.
The look you’re giving Bob now was a radiating warmth, bright and all encompassing – A sun that he can’t look away from.
There was no mistaking it –
Love, platonic or not, was all he could see.
“All I do is worry people around me,” he sighs, unable to look away. “I don’t even understand why you guys bother.”
And truly, he wasn’t fishing for empty words or pitiful stares. He can’t help but cringe at himself though.
You’re such a despicable, whiny, little –
“I think it’s hard to remember that you’ve got people on your side when you’re fighting an amplified version of intrusive thoughts,” you explain. The way he flinches into himself makes you wonder if he’s having an internal conversation with that monster right now. When he swallows thickly, you know you’re somewhere near the truth. Glaring at his chest, as if staring directly into the Void’s gaze, you sigh deeply. “He tells you what you want in life, I’m sure – What you deserve.”
Your eyes meet his now, unyielding and anchoring him to the ground. “But what do you want, Bob?” It takes his breath away. “What do you deserve?”
You, he thinks. Instead, he squeezes your hand, bringing it up to his lips to hide his smile. “I want to get to know you. And for you to know me.” His gaze momentarily stops at your lips, before moving down to the oak table, and onto the cake on your plate. “I think I’d want that. If you’re okay with that.”
You sit back in your seat, pulling your hand away slowly, and he misses your grasp, but the smile you give him remains relaxed.
It’s true that you only knew basic things about him: his favorite color, favorite movie — but, you didn’t know much about his own past, save for the Manila files surrounding his involvement with Sentry and Void. You know that the two personas are merged with him in some way – that was the whole point of your ongoing research.
“Who were you then, Bob?” You offer.
“Well, for one, I used to be a methed-out chicken suit,” he murmurs dumbly. He leans back in the booth, arms draped over the back of the seat. “Spun signs for cash.” He shrugs. “Spent that cash on…more meth.”
This, you knew, from Bucky blabbering it. It didn’t come as a surprise. It sure sounded scary though, from the wince on Bucky’s face as he retold their first encounter.
“And how about before drugs?”
He gives you a lopsided grin, a quick shrug. It’s the everything is fine look that you’re so accustomed to now. He takes a bite of cake, fork scraping lightly against the plate as he sets it back down. “Abusive father. Abused mother. I didn’t exactly have a before the drugs and depression phase. It’s all I can really remember.” He sighs. “I was a high-school drop out too — thought about eventually getting my GED. Maybe someday… Either way, I didn’t have much going for me.”
“Whoa - okay,” you murmur. “I’m so sorry.” Because that’s all you can really say. He wasn’t expecting any other reaction though.
A sad smile breaks out across his face. “It’s okay. I did have a sick PlayStation collection I hid from my parents. And got into some fun trouble when I was still in school. Had a handful of good friends.”
.
“Favorite game?”
“Grand Theft.”
“Sick. Do I say I’m surprised?”
He laughs, leaning in now, as if you’re about to let him in on a secret. “So, what about you?” When you stiffen, he nods in understanding. “HYDRA off the table — was there a before? An…in between?”
A shaky breath escapes you. Fuzzy memories of before were a lot easier to talk about than during that hell-scape. Not that those memories were a dream per se.
“I kinda remember bits. I was in high school myself when I was taken. Was weeks before graduation. Normal life. I wanted to become a zoologist at one point — was even doing internships at the zoo.” You laugh fondly at the image of yourself, holding up blue frogs in gloved hands like it was Christmas. He laughs too.
“My mom was kind, soft-spoken, but hardworking. My dad worked for the government — they took me for ransom at first and then saw potential. I defected not even a couple years in. They usually take younger kids so they could —“ you pause, and he doesn’t push. “Anyways, it was around the time I was turning 18. you could say we’re both high school dropouts.”
He laughs softly, which calms your nerves a lot. “What a couple’a losers.”
You snicker. “I did go back to college for a bit though so it’s just you.”
“Ouch, friendly-fire,” Bob says, feigning hurt by rubbing his chest where his heart is. “No more zoos?”
Your shoulder bounces in a half-committed shrug. “When Valentina’s crew found me wandering around DC, they got me housing, pulled a few strings, sent me through school.” You grin. “She’s an asshole, but the whole thing taught me that I wanted to do something to help other people. Plus, I like having my own space to work. And I look good in my lab coat. ”
He smiles at that genuinely and a small giggle breaks through. “You look good in anything, though.”
Bob, you’ve come to realize, can most definitely fucking flirt.
“Shut it, Bob.”
Both of your cheeks start to hurt from smiling and laughing. A comfortable silence settles between you both, only peppered by occasional jokes and lighthearted comments —
You’ve got cake on your face, Bob.
And you’ve got a really pretty smile, you know that?
Staring out the window, Bob breaks this silence, trying his best to be indifferent. He glances at you, lips tugged up shyly this time.
“So you and Bucky…”
“Me and Bucky…?” You ask in a teasing voice.
“Are you guys — I don’t know…”
He looks like he’s about to hurt himself from thinking too hard and you try to stop from choking on your cold coffee. “We’re, uhm — we’re re-acquainted. We used to be coworkers, secretly friends.”
The cryptic wording only puts more confused wrinkles on his face.
“We’re just friends, Bob,” you assure. Unbeknownst to him, the word tastes bittersweet on your tongue. He misses the way you push that word out between your teeth, as if shooing away an unruly guest. “We were never together.”
When his mouth forms a tiny ‘o,’ a smirk fights its way onto your face, wiping your sad frown off.
“So you’re…”
“Seeing a Bob right now. Maybe again tomorrow if he wants,” you shrug, ignoring your heart hammering in your chest.
“I’d love to,” he answers quickly. He clears his throat, trying to play it off. “Unless you’re like — talking about another Bob.”
“Jesus Christ,” you exclaim, a laugh bubbling out of your chest. “I want to see you, Bob.”
He sighs in relief. “Oh, good.”
“Good.”
You gather your empty cups and cleared plate, following Bob to the trash cans. Tossing your trash and placing the plate into a dirty dish bin, you follow him out the door.
As you do this, you pick up the pieces you’ve learned about Bob, and place them inside yourself for safekeeping. He does the same for you.
As you walk, your hands are intertwined. This feels unfamiliar, for the both of you — not necessarily scary, more exciting. Occasionally, he’ll sway and bump into you, and you’ll laugh, softly shoving him back.
Your intimate bubble suddenly pops when your phone rings.
You pick up.
Bob can hear the caller on the other side, loud and annoyed. He recognizes that grating voice anywhere.
“I know you’re not actually sick —“ Valentina accuses. “You never take a day off.”
You roll your eyes and cough into your free hand lamely. “Sorry, can’t hear you over me dying”
“I’ll choose to ignore your shitty acting, Little Lady. Anyways, I was thinking — You’ve barely made progress in the lab on project Sentry, so I plan to have you work on something new. What do you think about getting back onto the field?“
“Absolutely not – ”
“For research purposes, Sweetie. No combat. You’ll be well-protected, I’ll have ‘em bring snacks – “
You hang up, no doubt expecting to get an earful tomorrow. You’re in no mood to be called pet-names. Only a select-few could do so, but not by Valentina.
“Everything good?” Bob asks.
You shove your phone into your pocket and lean into him, slowing your pace.
“It’s tomorrow’s problem.” You look up, but his gaze was glued to you. “What about you?”
Bob is still tired, but he feels lighter. Much lighter. He knows that if Void comes back around tomorrow, he’ll have you to stifle the thoughts.
Whatever happened with Walker, it wasn’t your fault. I get it. It’s just that shield’s the closest thing I’ve got left to a family. So when you retired it, it made me feel like I had nothing left. Made me question everything: you, Steve, me. You know, I’ve got his, uh, I’ve got his book. And, uh, I just figured if it worked for him, then it’d work for me.
Bucky Barnes in RAINBOW COLORS (insp)
Summary: Robert finds himself growing closer to one of O.X.E.’s many lab technicians. She’s gentle and a spitfire all the same, she’s got an odd tension going on between her and Bucky (were they dating at this point?), and she’s got cat-like reflexes for someone with a Bachelor’s degree in science. The biggest mystery? She’s drawn to him just as much as he is to her.
A mission involving an old HYDRA base clicks everything into place.
Warnings/Themes: Use of she/her and feminine pronouns for reader, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Some Bucky x Reader, but it's a Bob x Reader fic, general HYDRA content and warnings that come with that, No use of Y/N (I tried to challenge myself not to do so lol).
Author's Note: I literally only saw Thunderbolts once and I’m so rusty with writing pls be gentle oh my god. I don’t even know if it’s canon that Bob likes coffee or tea but I saw him with a milkshake so I guess he’s a sweet-tooth in my eyes – anyways I’m babbling. Please enjoy.
I had fun writing. Comments are so appreciated!
This fic will be cross-posted to my Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckityBuckBarnes
There was something off about you.
Bob Reynolds first learned of your existence when Valentina set up a remote lab space in the tower. He snooped around one morning while everyone else ran missions, aimlessly wandering hallways and exploring new rooms he’d never seen before. He walked into the lab, pale feet barely making any noise against the tile floor. His curious gaze ponders the white walls and pristine tables.
“Hey, Walking Safety Violation – I’ve got blades out on the bench!”
The voice startles him out of his stupor, and Bob whips around to you, sitting cross-legged on a stool and eyeing him up incredulously. “Oh – Sorry! Must’ve taken a wrong turn –” he says lamely, hands up to show you he means no harm. He stumbles backwards, back hitting the edge of a table. A beaker clatters against the surface, threatening to spill. He snags it with sweaty palms, stilling it in place before cringing and looking back at you.
Your eyes dart from his ungloved hands to the container with nasty-looking grey liquid. “Jesus Christ,” you mumble, shooting from your seat and running up to him. You grab his sweater sleeve quickly, but not in a harsh way, and slowly steer him so he’s back in the middle of the room – away from anything that could harm him. “This is a lab, not a playground – Look, can you just – Let’s –” You frantically usher him out the door and back into the hallway.
He takes a better look at you now when you’re in front of him. Your appearance is tousled, lab coat wrinkled with random stains, bags under your eyes, a frustrated frown haunting your lips. You’re glaring up at him, but it’s not anything menacing. In fact, there’s slight amusement behind your gaze.
Cute. He’d be lying if he said you didn’t look cute.
He grins nervously, rocking back on his heels and shyly picking at his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m –”
“Robert Reynolds, I know” you interrupt, laughing lightly. “Been working on your DNA for the past 6 months.” You wince. “Wow. Nope. That’s definitely a weird thing to say.”
“Well you can call me Bob…and,” He breathes out a confused chuckle. “What?”
You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. Robert “Bob” Reynolds was definitely not supposed to know that O.X.E. gave you the assignment of figuring out what the fuck he was.
Valentina’s gonna kill you.
To be fair to yourself though, you were running off of fumes and overworked. You’d been isolated from the few friends you had, only having time to chat online – rarely getting the chance to hang out anymore since Project Sentry began. On top of all that? You needed more samples from Bob to pull apart, and Valentina (despite pressuring you to make some progress) keeps procrastinating. Though collecting these samples and thinking of research activities was the job of your lead scientist, you wanted to compile any excuse in the book to finally take a break from the 4 walls you see every day – even if it meant unloading on this guy.
“Well if the cat’s outta the bag,” you grumble. “I’m in charge of running tests on your DNA to figure out how everything Valentina injected into you changed your genomic makeup – How you became infused with Void and Sentry.” You can see him shift uncomfortably in his spot and smile apologetically. “Look, I’m not supposed to tell you about it, alright? I feel like I’m breaking a bunch of HIPAA rules doing it without your permission, but the boss kind of has a hold on me and I owe her a favor. I swear it’s only to benefit you. We’re trying to figure out how to regulate your powers and help you get them under control.”
“Alright, kind of a lot to take in,” Bob says, eyebrows scrunched. “Guess she has a tight-leash on a lot of her employees. Should I get the team involved? We could probably break you out of whatever contract she has you under –”
“It’s not like that” you cut in, shaking your head vigorously. He raises an eyebrow at that. “Appreciate it, really, but it’s more of a…” you try to look for the right words, but feel like you’ve already revealed enough. “Just trust me. No one can really fix my situation,” you offer.
A timer goes off inside the lab, muffled behind the doors. You give Bob a once over, making sure he doesn’t have iodine in his hair or a pipet tip stuck in his foot from bumbling about – and definitely not just to check him out. Once you deem him safe and in one piece, you turn to head back inside.
“Wait!” His warm hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. His grip is firm, but gentle, allowing you to break away if you really wanted. “Could I at least get a name?”
Your gaze is glued onto where his skin meets yours and your cheeks go warm. It only reminds you just how much of a social life you lacked, being locked away in a lab daily for 12 hours. Get it together, oh my god.
You shyly smile up at Bob, taking in his blue eyes and – goddamn his jawline could cut through diamonds. You offer him your name, one that feels rusty on your tongue – One that you haven’t heard since you were a child. Your college degree boasts a different alias, but with Bob, you feel like maybe he’d appreciate your true name.
And he does. He repeats your name gently, his eyes softening. He lets you go, gaze lingering a little too long on your form as you stumble back inside.
The rest of the day, his head was occupied with thoughts of you. He wondered what you did outside of the lab – wondered what shows interested you and what your favorite kind of food was. He also wonders if maybe – just maybe, he was so enamored with you because he spent most of his days speaking with the same 5 people (6 or 7 if Valentina and her assistant needed something, but even that was a stretch). It may be selfish, but he wants to see you again and get to know you. Maybe you and him could start a friendship of sorts, one that he doesn’t necessarily have to share with the others.
The next day, however, his hope for this is crushed when he nears the lab and hears a familiar voice on the other side of the door – one not belonging to you.
With the door slightly ajar, he peeks his head in, his hair falling in messy waves around his head. He sees Bucky, leaning against the lab bench across from you. The tall brunette flexes his fingers as he grips the table behind himself. The only indication that he’s heard Bob peer in is the flicker of his blue eyes towards the door and a ghost of a smirk on his lips. The soldier doesn’t even acknowledge Bob. Instead, he turns his attention back to you.
“And what did we say about keeping a low profile again?” he asks smoothly, his metal finger tracing a groove on the bench.
“I know what I said, but – He’s got puppy dog eyes, man. Besides, it’s a lonely existence in the tower when he’s not on missions with y’all. I’m sure it’s miserable just sitting around as back-up anyway.”
“Woe is he,” Bucky responds in an unconvincing tone. “The kid has enough things to worry about. I don’t think he needed to know that Val was swabbing his spit in his sleep because she didn’t wanna admit they don’t know what they put in his serum.” He sighs wearily, leaning back further before nodding. “That woman’s gonna kill you. Giving you a job was kind of a rare hand-out, you know?”
That comment would sting the hell out of anyone, but Bob doesn’t see you tense at it at all. Instead, your body slouches. “I did go to college. I do have a degree. I’m qualified for this job, Buck. Just got here…later than others my age.” Bob watches as Bucky snorts, posture lowering to match yours. “If it helps – you’re still physically 25.”
Out of his view, your eyes narrow at Bucky. You study the tall man and frown at a realization. “Bob, it’s rude to eavesdrop,” you call out, crossing your arms.
Bob ducks in embarrassment. He scurries in, being more careful not to run into anything this time. Instead, he opts to stand by the door – as if he was interrupting something, as if he wasn’t meant to be there. Of course, he knew Bucky was deliberate in his words and that his presence was caught way before he even stepped foot in the lab wing. Bucky wanted him to hear everything – whether it was because the soldier was sympathetic to being a test subject, or simply felt bad for Bob, it didn’t really matter. He was grateful for not being left out.
“You guys were talking about me,” he says matter-of-factly. He purses his lips. “Is it really snooping?”
You throw him a tired smile over your shoulder. “It's still very much snooping,” you tease. “Bucky was just leaving anyway. If you promise not to spill any media waste today, you can sit and talk to me while I pipette?”
Bucky takes it as his cue to leave, but before doing so, places his right hand on your shoulder. “Just keep your head low, Moth,” he warns softly.
It’s the first time during this interaction that Bob sees you tense up. Your teeth click together in a grit as you shrug off his hand. “Told you to stop calling me that,” you mutter. It’s as if Bucky pushed a button and switched off your previous eccentric personality. “Go.”
Bucky has the heart to look a little disconcerted, as if he’s called you this nickname out of habit. It didn’t hold the same meaning to him as it did to you, from the way your eyes glare sharply in contrast to his worried gaze. Still, he doesn’t push to apologize. Instead, he saunters out, throwing Bob a warm smile.
Within the next hour, Bob silently finds a chair across your bench and watches as you meticulously inject purple samples into tiny wells of a plate. He musters up enough confidence to approach the subject of who you were exactly, but each attempt ends with you chastising him gently with kind words and a sad smile.
That story’s for another time.
You shouldn’t have to worry about that kind of stuff. Could you pass me that box of tips?
Bob. Please, let’s talk about something else. If you’re gonna become my fellow lab-rat, we gotta draw that line, okay?
So instead of prodding you about your history, he asks about what you do for fun, how long you work each day, and what exactly you were doing right now – waterboarding this plate you just painstakingly loaded in front of him.
I like to draw sometimes…play video games. I don’t go out very often, but when I do, I like to treat myself to a nice dinner. What about you?
I feel like I’m in here til 10PM, Bob. I don’t think I’ve made much progress in figuring you out. Your DNA is…sticky?
Well. You need to wash off the residual protein that didn’t bind to the surface and –
The truth is, Bob has no idea what you’re talking about when it comes to science, nor does he quite give a fuck, but your eyes light up and you’re passionately explaining the process to him.
When you ask him for a tool, he practically bounces from his seat to grab it, carefully maneuvering around the lab unlike his first visit. Sometimes, he’ll be unsure of what you’re asking for, and instead grabs a fistful of random shit in the general direction you point at. Instead of making fun of him, your eyes twinkle with amusement. He can’t help but smile back, glad to have drawn you out of that dark place you threw yourself into when Bucky called you ‘Moth.’
In all honesty, he felt a little proud that your attention on him was a contrast from interactions with Barnes. With Bucky, you seem guarded, slightly annoyed, but with a familiar politeness to your composure. You approached the man with hesitancy to understand him. With Bob, you were calmer, and more excited to talk to him about anything sans your past. He was new to you, and you were new to him – and you wanted to befriend him with open arms.
Still, Bob insists that there is something off about you.
The more he visits you, the more weird shit he gets to see.
Every now and then, he’ll find himself in the lab at the same time as you and Bucky. He’s always had a knack for observing, and he sees the lingering gazes between the both of you. Sometimes, there’s an odd crackle of tension when one of you says something seemingly menial, as if referring to something long buried in the past. Hackles raise and shoulders stiffen. It’s almost like you and Bucky forget yourselves. Other times, you share a gaze much softer with each other – much sadder. He can’t help but ache at that. Something was clearly there, and he couldn’t bring himself to feel jealous of the connection.
Sometimes, Bob can’t believe his eyes when you ask for Bucky to hand you a tool and he’s throwing syringes or scalpels at you. Metal would whizz through the air, but you catch it effortlessly, as if you didn’t just pull the craziest move for someone with a Bachelor’s degree in Science. He curiously tests this once, pretending to trip on something while handing you a micro-spoon. The tool flies through the air towards your forehead, but you questioningly snag it and ask if he’s okay (and how the fuck did he manage to trip on flat surface?).
Occasionally, you’ll drop plates when holding too many things at once – and what Bob thinks would end in a biohazardous mess actually ends with you catching it flat with the top of your foot, a slight cringe on your face and none of the liquid disturbed.
At one point, John was working out above the lab, got super impatient with a sandbag, and pummeled it through the ground, sending a shower of sand and broken metal through the floor and over your bench. Instead of shitting yourself (like Bob almost did), you side-stepped around it and sighed in annoyance, claiming that your samples were now contaminated.
The oddest thing Bob has observed about you, however, is your endless capacity for affection and patience, specifically for him.
Ever since meeting you, Bob has made it a rule to visit you every morning (save for mission days). Sometimes, you two didn’t do long lab hangouts – those days were reserved for quick Good Morning’s and a small cup of coffee dropped off at your desk. Still, he told you when he was away, and that was few and far in between seeing each other.
So when Bob went MIA for 4 days straight (with Bucky stating that he was very-much still alive), you got tired of waiting for him at your bench. You slapped your blue gloves onto the metal table and marched your ass up to the sleeping quarters of the Avenger(z).
Summary: Bob thinks he's in control. At least…until you get involved.
Warnings: Angst, cannon level violence, mutual pining. I'm a sucker for a happy ending.
Words: 5k
I've been foaming at the mouth. Someone sedate me.
The Watchtower was spacious. It was a beacon of hope where the Avengers once stood. But you felt you were drowning.
The missions weren’t going as smoothly as the team had hoped. When it came to news headlines, everybody was catching strays. Everyone was a critic.
Bob may have had a point all along. It did feel like a void.
Your myriad of thoughts was dark, expansive, and all-consuming. You were helping people, sure, but you were tired…not that you would tell anyone. You didn’t push it down the same way Yelena did, nor did you have wild outbursts like John.
But on difficult nights, you would pull out an old tobacco tin from under your bed. Your dad used to make the prettiest charcoal pictures. But you took time to try and recreate his old drawings from memory, and it kept the demons at bay. Sometimes, you kept at it until your eyes burned, until you were slumped over the old sketchbook.
You weren’t any good at it. The lines were too dark, and the pictures were smudged in the wrong places. But you kept trying. The cleaner your hands, the better the day. But some nights were real bad, and the charcoal would dig into your fingerprints and smear across your cheek. What you were trying to scrub away, you wouldn’t name.
On those nights, you could swear the shadows in your room were darker.
You made an effort to participate with the group. You joined in on late-night movies where Alexi was bound to burn the popcorn. You guided Ava through technical documents, relaying the best ways to bypass encrypted files and store copies of data without the risk of frying the system. Even Bob, who was careful and reserved, offered to help pick up the latest take-out order. You would be a monster not to accept his help.
Even with Valentina keeping the group in the spotlight, you preferred the old Buick for late-night errands. You had a hard time breaking out of keeping a low profile. Bob was still skittish. His memory teeter-tottered on a knife’s edge, and even in those uncertain times, you could rely on the careful smiles and quiet observations. Bob was sincere. He was kind.
“Drawing anything good?” he whispered from the passenger seat.
Bob’s eyes flitted to your hands before settling on the old tape player. You took a moment to look at your hand on the steering wheel as you peeled through a green light. You hadn’t had the time to think about washing up before your late-night run. A sad smile stole at your lips.
“I don’t remember,” you offered just as quietly.
And truly, you didn’t. Overwhelmed with the week as a whole, you were blindly drawing lines and sketching in dark spaces. Everyone had their nightmares. Everyone had their battles, and you tried to relax your shoulders. Little drawings couldn’t harm you. You shrugged as you pulled up to the curb.
“Just feeling it out. Maybe one day I’ll have a masterpiece to show you.”
“Oh. R-right, yeah,” Bob muttered.
But you missed the hint of something in his eye as he turned away, his hands tugging at the lap belt. And you missed it again while you handed him the box of fried rice, your fingers brushing against his.
It was a bad night. You remembered dozing off while laying on your belly and drawing on your bed. You shouldn’t have been surprised that the midnight snacks and fucked up sleep schedule gave you bad dreams.
Well, not bad dreams. Just one. One dream that made your insides ache. You were lost and in the dark, the pitch black cocooning you. There was no place for light or peace; all you had were your lonely thoughts. You could reach out and touch, but there was nothing there. Your hands were shaking as you clasped them together. There was no point in walking around, no point in calling out. You were alone. Helpless.
Maybe you were meant to be. That thought stayed with you.
You were enveloped in the darkness, fatigue tugging at you even in your dreams. And then, right when you were on the cusp of oblivion, you heard the rustling of fabric.
It was in your head. You were finally losing it. You were all alone-
Until the weight of a cloak dropped around your shoulders.
An empty feeling lingered for days.
Bad guys were busted, justice was served, and you were on autopilot. You offered to hang back on the next mission and thought it would be the perfect time for redecorating. Something to distract yourself.
“You mean, like painting?” Bob asked, stopping his pacing in the kitchen. He had been looking for a box of Wheaties you knew John threw out the night before. “We…we can do that?”
The owlish tilt of his head caught your attention. Your nose scrunched with mild amusement. You had been noticing those little mannerisms of his more and more.
“Hmm?” You hummed, the hint of a question in your tone. “Well, it’s not like anyone can stop us.”
Bob stood there for a moment, almost mumbling under his breath. “I didn’t think about it like that.”
And a lightbulb flashed.
“Do you wanna come with me?”
There was a flicker of color in his cheeks. “Oh, uh, you don’t have to. I mean -”
But your growing smile and unwavering gaze pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts. Bob finally pushed his hair back, taking a steadying breath.
“Yeah, that’d be nice.”
And that’s how you two ended up comparing paint swatches at the hardware store. Shoulder to shoulder, you debated the fundamental differences between cream and eggshell.
You noticed how Bob kept gravitating to a stormy blue. Funny. It was akin to how his eyes looked after long days of staring out the Watchtower. Not that you had noticed.
But you could see anxiety rippling through him as he looked at the tape, different primers, and finishes on the paint. You could see the compounding impact it had on him in real-time.
“I thought it’d be easier,” he whispered with a frown. “It’s - it’s too much.”
You stepped forward, letting your paint swatches scatter to the ground.
“Hey,” you urged, reaching for his shoulder. “We can just pick a color.” Bob’s shoulders were rounded in, and his head dropped slightly. He was warm, probably warmer still with a sweatshirt on. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, yeah?”
And his eyes danced from one of yours to the other. Oh. And the storm in his eyes was uncanny.
“It doesn’t have to be perfect.” He repeated at last.
You hummed out a sigh of relief.
“In fact,” you urged, “I hope it’s not perfect. Then we can come back here and try again. It’ll be fun.” You shrugged. Bob thought about it, debating with a question long enough for you to notice his fingers twitching.
“You want to come back here?” he thought. “With me?”
His eyes drifted down to the toothy smile you offered. His look was like you had unlocked some secret treasure. You didn’t hesitate to seize the moment.
“Who else would I invite? Alexi has no taste. He’s been wearing the same red suit for decades.”
Bob huffed out a hint of a laugh at that. You almost forgot about the aching, empty feeling in your chest. A moment of quiet passed between you, glancing down at the stack of swatches covering the ground and the disgruntled sales associate walking your way.
“You good?” You thought to ask.
Your hand was warm-no, he was warm. Noticing you were still holding to him, you let your hand slip down his arm before letting go. You cleared your throat. He watched the movement before taking his own tentative step back.
“Yeah,” he assured. There was a hint of color in his cheeks. “All good.”
Blue paint was speckled all over your clothes. It was on your arms. Hell, it was probably in your hair. And in the quiet, you listened to an album that Bob put on while pushing all his furniture to the middle of the room. It was a trainwreck, an absolute disaster. You should have had supervision. And you were having the best time.
And you two painted in silence, listening to the rock tunes.
“Sorry,” he mumbled at some point, but you waved it off.
“I don’t mind,” you hummed, pulling a rogue paint bristle off the wall. “I don’t mind if there’s not much to say.”
And Bob didn’t quite know how to show his appreciation. In his head, it was loud enough already.
That night, you didn’t have to reach for the sticks of charcoal under the bed. There were no demons to keep at bay. Your paint cans lie abandoned in a pile next to the door, with an unspoken promise behind who would help you paint your room.
It was inevitable that your light-night thoughts drifted back to careful eyes and brown curls.
The dream came back.
Dread didn’t tug at the corners of your mind this time. Shame didn’t grab root and drag you into despair. But the darkness was welcome, a quiet, constant companion. This time, you didn’t fear what you couldn’t see. You stood, feet on solid ground, and started walking around in the vast bleakness. At first, your strides were careful. You didn’t know what you would run into. But there was nothing. In the dark, there was nothing. There was nothing to fear.
Silent steps turned brave. Brave strides turned to running, wanting to feel the burn in your lungs. And you ran until - until you couldn’t touch the floor anymore. That, too, was gone, and walking was meaningless. There was no point, no need to waste your stamina.
Were your eyes open? Closed? Did it matter?
You were suspended in nothing. You were nothing.
And…and it was okay. It was alright. There was a tugging feeling even, and you reached out, not expecting something to reach back.
But something did. Fingers entwining with your own, grasping firmly but not too tight. Your eyes searching, but not seeing. And finally, the fall of a breath. Low, quiet even in the dark. Golden eyes peering back at you.
You woke up with your face pressed against the page of the sketchbook. A piece of charcoal was loose in your grasp, your hand darkened with markings. And you felt…well, you felt like you were missing something.
The rasp of a soft knock at your door stole your attention. After a moment, you pulled yourself up, shuffling to the door with a yawn.
“H-hey.” Bob smiled as the door swung open. And a curious expression lingered on his face as he took you in. “Did you just get up?”
“Good morning,” you replied, a sleepy grin on your cheeks. He noted it, his lazy grin threatening to reel you in.
“I was gonna see if you wanted lunch. I making sandwiches. Didn’t know if you like bologna. Uh. Do you?”
You pulled the door open wider, leaning against the frame. Bob’s eyes moved away from you, tilting his head into view of your room.
“I don’t know the last time I’ve had bologna.” You thought, rubbing your eyes. Was it already lunchtime? You couldn’t remember the last time you slept in so late. It felt like you had been hit by a truck.
“Oh, it’s awful,” Bob warned, but it was with a smile. Charming. He was charming. “But I grew up with it, so it’s something of a comfort food…And I might have already made you one.” He admitted, sheepishly pulling one hand through his hair. The other, which had been cleverly hidden behind his back, pulled forward a plate with two sandwiches. “B-but I can come back later, you know. So it’s no big -”
“I’d love one.”
It was quick, more to yourself than to him, but he heard it all the same.
You were more embarrassed to think it was because Bob liked it. He liked it, and he thought of you while making it. Was it getting warm in here? Clearing your throat, you pulled back.
“Come on in,” you offered. “I’ll clean this up,” you put your palms up to show off the crime scene before pointing your thumb toward the bathroom. “And I’ll be right out.”
You stepped away and closer to the bathroom before you could embarrass yourself further. No, no. You were fine. Everything was fine.
But everything was not fine.
Because you couldn’t see the delicate way Bob stepped into your room, his heart fluttering. You didn’t see his hands clench up or watch his eyes scan over the open sketchbook on your bed. And you didn’t see the dark reflection staring back at him, practically jumping off the page. The subtle glow of gold in his eyes wasn’t so subtle now. Something was happening.
And Bob was…well, Bob did what he did best. He panicked.
He was long gone when you turned off the sink and left the bathroom. You let the towel in your hands drop. The only things that remained were the untouched sandwiches and a sketch smeared into nothing.
Little did you know it was the start of something much bigger.
Bob avoided you. Like the plague. He kept to himself and his books. He was talking to himself again.
He ignored you until the others returned, basking in their loud, abrasive attitudes. The ache in your belly only grew as you watched him walk by you, skirting around you while you tried to say hi.
Did you have the heart to confront him? Had you done something wrong?
“Give him time,” Yelena offered one night. “He is like a wet cat now. No use trying to capture him.”
Not that it made you feel any better.
It didn’t help that you knew that everyone else knew. How could they not with your rag-tag bunch? And no one felt qualified enough to intervene.
Bob…he didn’t want to hurt you. He just didn’t know what to do. He hung around Ava and John more, handling their snarky digs and half-assed attempts at including him because it was easier than admitting he felt something he shouldn’t. He felt something he couldn’t afford.
And you were the collateral damage.
He didn’t mean for it to cause you to throw yourself back into your work. And he didn’t mean for it to get you captured.
“Bob?” Yelena yelled, bursting into his room in the middle of the night. He jumped from a dead sleep, foggy as he came to. “Bob!”
“What’s - is there a fire?” He mumbled with those doe eyes.
Why else would she be so alarmed? He could hear the commotion outside his room, hear the shuffling of gear. What time was it?
“No fire. There’s no fire.” Yelena shushed him, but he was more distraught by the different voices talking over each other in the hall. Something was thrown. “Here, shush. Listen -” She persisted, pulling herself over to him to keep him calm.
But it was too late. Bob heard your name among the ruckus. Your recon mission with Ava fell apart; Ava was the only one who checked in. Something about being outnumbered. Something about being all alone. And that’s all he could hear.
You were all alone.
And he pulled himself up, only for Yelena to push him back down again.
“Hey, hey,” she snapped. “It’s going to be okay. We’re gonna find her.” Her voice was softer.
But Bob knew a lie when he heard one.
“W-where?” He panicked. Adrenaline spiked, his blood turning to ice. “Where are they?”
“What?” Yelena asked harshly.
“Where?”
“The check-in was somewhere outside Vegas-” And her words fell short, not realizing the change in his cadence.
His eyes were...well, she wasn’t looking at Bob anymore. And in a blink, she wasn’t looking at anything anymore.
And all that was left behind was the imprint of a shadow fading into the sheets.
You didn’t think twice about pushing Ghost outside when the sirens went off. Her powers would be useless if she got too close to the noise. But it meant she was locked outside the gated campus, and you were locked inside.
You could still hear the sirens as the door closed in front of you. But Ava had the data, and dammit, you were proud that she was able to collapse their network from the inside. She really was listening to your advice.
The smuggler’s den was crude, but they were tough. They brought in all kinds of military-grade equipment and gear from outside the states. And you could hear footsteps closing in.
You were locked in. Trapped.
Time to get going. Leveling your gun, you scoured the hallway for another exit strategy. There were so many rooms, a puzzle of pathways and ventilation tunnels if you could just -
“We’ll smoke her out.”
“No, we need her alive. Get the lights.”
No. Shit - you took to the closest room when the building went dark. You bashed your thigh against a table and stopped. There were no emergency lights overhead and no red exit signs. This place was definitely not up to code.
But it was familiar to you in its way.
In the dark, you had found bitter solitude and unspeakable fear. You had felt an overwhelming peace and notion of comfort. It was calming, like the strokes of charcoal against the page. Filling in the empty space with shadows.
But now, all you felt was anger. This was different. The darkness was an adversary, and you could hear the clunk of footsteps coming down the hall. In the dark, you were trapped like a mouse in a cage, waiting for the cat - heavily armed smugglers - to strike you down.
Cowards.
You were out in the open. Feeling around blindly, you scowled at the obstacles. Chairs lined a long table, and there were cabinets against the walls. Nothing big enough to climb in. Nowhere to hide. But you kept searching, feeling around. And when you felt another door at your back, you turned the handle before hearing voices at the other end of the room.
“We have a visual -”
And stumbling through the door, you made a blind run for it. And you were frustrated, bashing into more chairs and tripping over your feet.
When footsteps rushed in, you blindly shot out in the direction of the noise before more shots echoed through the room. And your heart ached. You couldn’t go down without a fight, not now. Not against some brutes with shipping data. Not after everything you had done.
Not when this was your idea - when you needed to get as far away from the Watchtower as possible.
Not when - a renegade shot struck your shoulder, reeling you back. You were frantic, emptying your gun into the dark. The bastards.
But even with your aim and your anger, the thugs could see with their night vision goggles. And you couldn’t. You heard it over the roar of your own breathing; one man got too close. You lunged on instinct, rolling around and landing a punch to his throat, feral for escape, before being pulled off.
“No!” One man commanded. “Alive - we need her alive.”
But the man you hit was angry. In a cowardly display, the man charged, coughing and staggering, landing a hit to your stomach. You struggled for breath, clawing back and fighting for footing.
“Alive!” The other man ordered.
There were too many of them. There were too many of them, and a fear bubbled up your throat.
This was your idea. It was your idea to throw yourself into the mission and distract yourself from...Well, there was no use in denying it now.
Your belly ached. Your heart was in ribbons. You did this to try to forget how desperately you missed Bob. You missed the scrunch of his nose and the meticulous way he ate popcorn one kernel at a time. You missed his bad jokes and the clumsy way he filled the dishwasher. You missed the smell of his mahogany shampoo and the underlying ozone that wouldn’t wash away.
Goddammit.
You couldn’t die down here.
But your spiraling thoughts had to come to a messy halt. In this case, it was in the form of the building shaking all around you, like it had been struck by a meteor shower. The men called out with fright, then screamed.
You knew this part. The lights would come on, and Ava would come barreling in at any moment. So you waited. And waited.
But it never came. The screams stopped mid-breath. The handprints digging into your arms were gone in a flash. The heavy breaths and stomping steps disappeared. Perking up with a groan, you dragged your feet forward. What was this?
And then déjà vu jolted through you.
You were dreaming. You must have fallen asleep or maybe been knocked out cold.
You were in the dark, but you weren’t alone.
“Where are you?” You called out bravely, squaring your shoulders. You knew what was lurking in the shadows. “Show yourself!”
But the emptiness stretched on. You stepped around in a circle. Your feet were still firmly planted on the ground. This was your dream. This was your attachment latching into the hooks of your subconscious. You were losing it.
“You’re reckless.”
It was a simple observation. One you dared laugh at.
“Reckless,” you mirrored with a snicker. “Hopeless. Delusional. Desperate. Isn't that why you're here? Isn't that what you feed on?”
Listing off your inner thoughts, feelings you wouldn’t admit when awake. You were comfortable, too comfortable. Engaging now wouldn’t make any difference.
“No.” It was a warning. “I feel it.”
The slow timber of words carried a weight all their own. Each syllable was intentional, pronounced. But feel it? Feel what? You turned in the dark.
“I’m not naïve to what he feels.” But this wasn’t Bob. It was the other closing in.
“Oh, Robert. He has hero dreams. Dreams of pushing me away. Thinking you could forget about me.”
His words were tormenting, chastising his counterpart.
In your dreams, this monster never spoke to you. You were used to quiet, lingering touches. You were used to watching from the rafters. And then there was a firm pause. Your fingers flexed. The reverberations of his words in your head were heavy.
“He will fail you. He can’t keep you safe.” he continued.
He was riling you up, and the proximity was not lost on you.
“Your shame is harrowing. Ongoing. Buried, deep in your subconscious.” The swish of fabric behind you was intentional. He was urging you to tilt your head. He was close now, hovering right over your shoulder. And then a whisper. “It’s precious. Don’t you want to know what it is?”
Goosebumps littered up your arms.
No.
“You do.” He coaxed.
No.
“You know. You already know why I can’t leave,” and feeling hot under the collar, uncomfortable at the bluntness, you gave in. Tilting your chin up, two pinpricks stared back. Unblinking. Unfazed.
He was frightening.
“You care for him,” he pressed. You couldn’t hide even if you wanted to. “All of him. And that means you care for -”
“Void.” Your call was a warning.
Raising your hand defensively, you turned to face him head-on. And where your hand should have caught nothing but air, it rested against the hard expanse of his abdomen. You took a sobering breath. It was too close, too human.
He closed his eyes briefly, satisfied, before finding yours again. There was no heartbeat. But there was a flex of movement, of his silhouette under your fingertips.
“And why wouldn’t you?” He tormented. “When my name is so sweet from your lips. You're reckless," he reminded. "You care.”
And shame zipped up your spine. That was it; he was your shame.
“You hurt him.” You deflected, thinking of Bob.
“We hurt each other.” Void acknowledged carefully, head tilting ever so slightly. Then, shifting closer, added, “But I am not the one who left you.”
And it felt like another jab. You were waiting for the pin to drop, for you to wake up from this dream. There was no other explanation for it. It wasn’t real.
You pulled your hand back, embarrassed and nervous, only to be stopped as his grip clasped over yours. He wasn’t warm, not like Bob. He wasn’t cold, like the ice in your veins. Your eyes looked where you could imagine his hands were before letting them drift up.
Gold light peered back. Where a face should be. Too human. And your free hand carefully reached up, grasping where you could imagine the curve of a jaw. Your breath caught in your throat when you found it. The touch was grounding.
“And he is not the one who found you.”
Silence.
“Then why are you here?” You challenged, prodding for an answer. “You could have left me in the dark.”
Pinhole eyes narrowed.
“You called for me. Not him,” The admission held a heavy weight. “You called. For me.”
Your cheeks were warm. He spoke it like it was a siren's call. And it was dangerous.
“You care.” You realized, whispering now. “You feel.”
“What I feel is irrelevant.”
But that wasn’t true. You were convinced he could see your smug expression even in the pitch-black room.
“You’re bleeding.”
Ah. Deflecting again. You knew that game but were through with the charade.
“Fine,” you conceded. “I do care. You win. I care about Bob. I care about his fucked up mind. So sure, I care about you - even if you destroy and create loathing and shame. Perhaps that’s my shame.” You admitted, pulling your hand away from his face.
It wasn’t real.
And it was time to wake up.
“This has been nice,” you admitted. “But if I’m going to die alone in the desert, I better face it.”
The Void offered no words of comfort. You weren’t expecting any. And as you stepped back and out of his hold, the cold seeped in.
Your breathing was uneasy, and the dull ache in your shoulder bloomed into hot pain. You were bleeding. The lights flickered on. The lights…
And he was still there, a dark figure in an empty room. Where there had been men, dark shadows cast along the ground. There was a tick in your jaw. You felt seasick.
And you realized then that it wasn’t a dream. Stoic and observant, the Void was still. His curled hair and the shape of his nose were too uncanny. Pinhole eyes stared back at you even then.
You hiccupped out an uneasy breath. Emotion pummeled into you. Fear. Abandonment. Solitude. Pain. Hope. No. NO.
He didn’t make a move, but observed. And then, at last, the low call of your name had you buckling at the knees.
He had been there all along, skirting around your mind. He met you in the dark, draping his cape around you and holding you in the quiet moments between sleep and wakefulness.
The Void was real. A tangible threat. Bob knew it. And then it clicked; that was why he pushed you away.
A hand reached out.
You had borne witness to the destruction and affliction it caused, and yet…
“You’re bleeding.”
And as you looked down from where his hand extended, red blossomed from the top of your shoulder down to your navel. Oh god.
“Let me,” He stopped, grounding the words. “Let me in.”
It was an offer of help, and you didn't think. You didn’t look up as you nodded. The movement was slow, slight, but deliberate. And he took action before you could blink.
A firm hand to the wound was all it took, the other wrapping around your hip to keep you planted. And in front of your eyes, inky tendrils replaced the bloodied stain. Where the Void’s touch lingered, it mimicked the charcoal smudges from your sketches.
He was your bad dreams and late nights. He was there the whole time, carving a hole for himself. And it left behind an imprint for you to remember.
He will fail you. He can’t keep you safe.
But now you could read between the lines.
“You can’t keep me safe either.” You whispered. He was no hero. No savior - he said it himself.
The grip tightened at your hip, his hair clouding your peripheral vision. He was pulling closer, the hand at your shoulder moving to hook under your chin. He was forcing your attention on him. Bob might have put up a fight, but the Void was inevitable. He wasn’t going anywhere.
And as he drew closer, you smelled it.
Mahogany and ozone. Bob was there, too. The visage changed.
In front of your eyes, the Void flickered in and out of focus. You could see all of them like frames in a set of photos.
The Void. Bob Reynolds. Sentry. Powerful blue eyes, golden eyes, and pinhole eyes locked in. They were drawing closer still until you were a breath apart. And before you were swept under the current, the three of their voices overlapped in unison.
It was not a kiss, but just on the cusp. It was a promise.
So, I’ve been gone for 4-ish years and left this tumblr for dead. Much has changed, one having been my motivation for writing. I do really miss it, and Thunderbolts has awakened something within me again.
Im doing a soft return and would love some requests for reader inserts in my inbox! Im interested in writing for:
James Buchanan Barnes (ofc, my beloved) — any iteration of him
Robert “Bob” Reynolds ( New hyperfixation omg)
Yelena Belova
Steve Rogers
Harvey SDV (so random I know — maybe I’ll rebrand myself a bit LOL)
Y’all still here? Sorry for abandoning you btw 😪 I hope everyone is doing well. Please feel free to chat with me in my inbox as well! Would love to catch up!
I also wanted to take a moment to express how much I miss @the—sad—hatter . She passed away a year or so ago and she was once a huge motivator for me to write more. I hope she’s resting peacefully now… and no longer hurting. Tumblr feels a little lonelier without her.
Everytime I see you you I think TUMBLR MOM. You are like this really nurturing and caring person and I wish you were my parent in real life.
Well maybe I am. Listen, all I’m saying is we don’t have definitive proof that I ain’t your Ma, so as long as we don’t get a maternity test done, we can roll with it.
I’m perfectly happy to be everyone’s parent.I’m just gonna start tossing out adoption paperwork like I’m Oprah.
YOU GET ADOPTED, AND YOU GET ADOPTED! EVERYONE GETS ADOPTED!
Though, if we’re being honest with ourselves here, I’m kinda more like a grandma.
Synopsis: Hydra is not as dead as everyone thought. After losing both parents in one night, Captain America saves you and takes you to Wakanda where he introduces you to his best friend Bucky Barnes who is tasked with turning you into a strong soldier. Of course, just because he has to spend time with you, doesn’t mean he has to like you.
The only image I was able to find a legitimate source for was the bottom left which is [here]. These are beautiful!
Tag list is closed!
1.🗽She Can’t Take Orders
2.🌳You Still Don’t Know Anything About Women
3.⁉️You Shouldn’t Have Fallen
4.🧤Take Off Your Pants and Your Shirt
5.📺You Have To Sit Right Next To Me?
6.🥃Why Are You Always Where You Aren’t Supposed To Be?
7.💊What Did You Just Call Me?
8.🤚Half the Time I’m Around You, I Can’t Stand You.
9.🥊I Almost Killed You.
10.😶You’re Working Your Gams Too Hard.
11.👄It’s My Fault, I Wasn’t Sure What I Wanted.
12.🌲How Banged Up Is She?
13.🗄Feeling Nostalgic?
14.💔I Fucked Up Steve, I Don’t Know How To Fix It.
15.📋Because She Doesn’t Want Me To.
16.📂If I Wanted To Kiss You, I Would Have
17.📞What The Hell Did I Just Do?
18.⛈No, She Just…Sent Me Away.
19.💖I’ve Made You Cry So Much Already.
20.🎵You’re Here. I’m Perfect.
21.💦Can’t I At Least Hold Your Hand?
22.💐So…I Lied
23.💥Please Let Me Kiss You!
24.👥Giving You a Reason To Wanna Be Here
25.❄You Smell Incredible.
26.🔥Finally.
27.🍑You Taste Like Honey.
28.💍Never Say Never.
29.💕You’re An Idiot If You Think You’re Going Alone
30.🌿Goddamnit, Steve!
31.🧗♂️Will You Marry Me?
32.🚿You Woke Me Up, Sugar.
33.💬Gross…
34.👰I Just Want You.
35.💋Good Morning, Mrs. Barnes. Pt.01
36.⛵Good Morning, Mrs. Barnes. Pt.02
37.⛺I’ll Be Faster On My Own
38. ⛑Stay Safe
39. 🖤Steve. Steve. Steve? - Last chapter
This story is followed by The End of the World but focuses on a different reader. The reader from You’re My Mission is referred to as Sophia to prevent confusion in The End of the World.
(It was an absolute rollercoaster!!! One I felt so much joy, heartache, and frustration over. This is by far my FAVORITE series out there. I’ve always been an enemies-to-lovers kinda gal but everything else is icing to the cake. While I wish it would’ve ended on a different note, that’s probably just my emotional side speaking)
vaporwave
turnnoffyourmind
2087
titsay
gummygunk
annaxmalina
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blakekathryn
