Mid-40's Sebastian Stan, Chris Evans, Tom Hiddleston, Pedro Pascal, Glen Powell, Austin Butler, Tommy Flanagan, and
Jenna Ortega - Tags for #buckysteveloki-me - requests are open - submit a post @buckysteveloki-me, @youngadult9016 and @tommyflanagangifs (pic and header) [18+ only on NSFW. Minors interacting on NSFW will be blocked!]
Bed Rotting: Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader (Ex!Wife AU)
Summary: Robby starts to blow up his life after you return to Seattle.
SET AFTER:
The Neurologist - Robby doesn't think much of Jack's friend The Neurologist...
Cuffs - Robby makes a discovery when a pair of handcuffs malfunctions at a crucial time.
PREQUEL TO:
Divorce Papers - Jack gives a couple of home truths to Robby after he finds out he signed your divorce papers.
A Fucking Nightmare - Robby’s worst nightmare comes true when his ex-wife shows up as a guest at Dana’s vow renewal ceremony.
Regrets - Robby can't help but think about his regrets after seeing his ex-wife for the first time since he signed the divorce papers.
Unread - Robby turns to Jack when you don't respond to his message
The Call - Robby takes the plunge and decides to call you, leading to a surprising revelation.
The day that Robby decides to burn down his life, is the day he can’t find the strength to get himself out of bed. He lies there in the sheets that smell like you, staring at the vacant pillow where his wife used to sleep. You went back to Seattle just over a week ago and every night since has been torture.
At first, it felt like he’d been eviscerated. Like someone had carved open his chest, wrenched out his heart and was squeezing it in their fist as he bled out onto the floor, choking and gasping. He lived like that for days, shoving down the agony through every Face Time that you shared.
This morning though, the numbness has started to set in. It’s a cold absence that creeps up through his muscles, sapping his energy, rendering him inert. He draws the covers up over his head, burying himself deeper into the cocoon of warmth. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine you aren’t over 2000 miles away, that you’re still lying right there with your back to him, your even breathing filling his ears as the light filters through the gap in the curtains.
On the nightstand, his phone starts to ring. The chime of another Facetime call. You always check in over breakfast, the two of you sharing the first meal of the day together before you head off to work. He closes his eyes tighter, blocking out the accusatory tones with the quilt as he curls up into a ball underneath the sheets.
If he answers that call it means breaking the illusion, facing the reality that you aren’t here, and right now Robby needs that. He needs to feel like his wife is in his orbit, that his world isn’t falling apart without her.
The phone falls silent, a text notification bleeping instead. An apology for missing him, he assumes.
He inhales your scent again, breathing you in as the buzzing in his head starts to subside, his shoulders relaxing as sleep overtakes him. He spends the next twenty fours in a twilight state, shifting between dreams of your greatest hits.
That night at the beer festival, when your eyes shone like stars and he knew in that moment he was going to marry you.
The way you took his breath away in a white dress, as you walked down the aisle with a bouquet of peonies.
Your arms locked around his shoulders when he gave you a piggyback home because the heels you were wearing had cut your feet to ribbons.
There are thousands of tiny moments that make up your life together, all of them discarded for a job in a city that certainly is not your home.
When he returns to work the next day he looks like shit. Apparently, there’s a difference between sleeping and bed rotting, his body just didn’t get the memo until he thrust himself into the shower this morning.
“You doing ok?” Jack asks him when he slinks into work barely on time. He’d missed another breakfast call with you this morning, he’d sat there at the kitchen table, coffee mug in his hand and watched your name and face pop up as his screen until it disappeared.
“Yeah.” He says pressing his palms into his gritty eyes. “Just a rough morning.”
“Alright.” Jack’s voice is full of concern, or suspicion. Robby can’t tell. “You’ve been having a few of those since she went back to Seattle.”
“Didn’t realise you were keeping track.” Robby remarks, standing in front of the boards with his hands on his hips. He can’t stand to be around Jack at the moment. His observations hit too close to home, his words full of accusation. Why don’t you just come right out and say I’m a shitty husband, he wants to ask the other man. Why don’t you just tell me every single thing I’m doing wrong? Instead, he says “I’ll take the head lac in South 9.”
“Robby.” Jack calls after him, but he’s already in motion, already throwing himself into work because he doesn’t want to think about the fact he’s going home to an empty house again tonight, that he’ll eat dinner alone, watching that show you were meant to be viewing together.
The truth is that Robby doesn’t want to face the reality that his wife might not be coming back, that maybe she’s abandoning him the same way that his mother did.
Like My Work? - Tip your friendly fan fic writer here! Or be a sweetheart and drop me comment or reblog.
baratheonpilled
janainaart
jacobvanloon
gummygunk
snowghoul
germansingergirl
kaledo-art
