Hi, so I am super excited that some of y'all have been sharing my writings! They are just blurbs or thoughts but I may write more. Anyway, I thought maybe it would be okay for me to make a master list.
I have been writing for Andrew Pope Cody and Jack Abbot. But I am hoping to get inspiration for some other characters I like to think are my fictional boyfriends. From TV, Movies and Books.
Oh! and only 18+ content! Get away if you are not an adult!
synopsis: When a dream makes you look at Bob differently, you have to ask yourself if it's really different or if you've just opened your eyes
tw: fem!reader, aviator!reader, call sign Mystic, reader as a wet dream about Bob, they are practically married but don't realize it, obviously gets suggestive, alludes to them hooking up, barely edited.
fic, ficlet, drabble, request
I had a dream about Bob last night and then this was born
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You weren't sure how you ended up here, but Bob's lips were soft and you never wanted to separate. Not that Bob wanted to separate, not with how he was parting your lips to slip his tongue into your mouth. You couldn't help the moans you let out, and you couldn't help but melt into Bob's chest. Bob used the hold he had on your hips to pull you closer and you slipped your arms around his neck, eliminating the rest of the space. Bob's hand slid from your hip down… down… down, he was just centimeters from where you wanted him to touch you the most. His fingertips ghosted over-
Your alarm made you gasp and sit up, sweat rolling down your back. It had felt so real, down to the feeling of Bob's hands on your waist. You killed your alarm before standing, your mind reeling. It was just a dream, it meant nothing, right?
You rolled your shoulders and neck as you got out of bed, you had to shower before work even though you showered the night before. Your shower was filled with flashes of your dream, of how Bob grabbed you and how he kissed you. The drive to work was much the same, but you paused in the parking lot. Bob was your friend, best friend. You couldn't ruin that, you couldn't throw everything away because of Bob.
You walked into the ready room to most of the others already there, but it was Bob that your eyes cut to. It was normal for you two to greet each other first, to give each other a hug and for you to leave a kiss on his cheek. But you second guessed if you should, only for Bob to look over and see you. Then you couldn't skip it because you saw his face light up at the sight of you, had he always done that or are you just seeing things because of your dream? "Morning," you mumbled, wrapping your arms around his neck while Bob hugged you.
Turning your head, you gave Bob a kiss on his cheek. "Morning," Bob replied, pulling away. God, had he always brushed your waist when he pulled away?
You were trying to keep yourself from combusting when Jake narrowed his eyes at you. "You good, Mystic? You look like you've seen a ghost," you looked over at Jake, blinking a few times.
"Yeah, I just had an odd dream and haven't been able to shake it," you mumbled, not technically a lie but you weren't about to admit you had a wet dream about your best friend.
You sat down into your seat, placing your eyes firmly on the board in front of you. You couldn't look at Bob, but your eyes betrayed you and you looked over. God, look at Bob. He was just talking with Mickey and Natasha about something, but he had rolled his flight suit sleeves up and your eyes traced the veins running down his arm. "Was that dream about a certain WSO?" Jake sat down next to you, cutting your eyesight off from Bob.
You blinked up at Jake, your eyes wide. "What? No," you denied.
Jake raised an eyebrow with pursed lips. "Are you sure? You were staring real hard."
You sighed, looking over at Bob and seeing him already watching you and Jake. "Can you not? At least not here?"
Jake looked over at Bob, a smirk on his face before looking back over to you. "Sure, but we live in the same apartment building and I'm in the middle of a dare with Coyote so I'm not bringing any girls home. You better be prepared to give me a run down," Jake stood but should have known better than to say that and walk away from you.
"Jake Seresin, are you saying you want to be an honorary girly?" you called after him, smirking when he looked over at you.
Jake raised a hand and pointed at you. "Don't say that again," he warned.
"You all heard it, Hangman's a girly now!" you announced, laughing as he huffed and fell down into his seat as the others teased him.
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You spent your day watching how Bob and you acted together. You were second guessing everything, was it normal for you friends to gravitate towards each other. You had always known Bob was attractive, and you couldn't tell if the dream was distorting how you looked at Bob or if you had actually always looked at Bob that way.
Jake had spent the day watching you slowly lose it, how you were desperate to keep up appearances but also reading into everything you were doing. You caught Jake watching and trying not to laugh all day as you panicked.
Bob seemed to notice something was off, and you could tell he didn't fully buy the odd dream excuse as much as the others did. "Hey," Bob caught up to you in the parking lot and you paused to talk to him.
"Hey," you smiled at him, watching him reach out to grab your hand but pause.
You close the distance and grabbed onto his hand, letting him spin the ring you had on. "We're ok, right?"
You tilted your head, confused but nodded. "Why wouldn't we be?"
Bob sighed, spinning the ring on your finger just a little faster. "You've been off today and I know you said it was an odd dream, but I just wanted to make sure," Bob sounded so small.
"I promise," you nodded before stepping closer. "We're still on for tomorrow night, right? Because I have all the snacks waiting at my house," you changed the topic, trying to get Bob happy again.
It worked if Bob's smile was anything to go by. "Yeah, do you still want me to pick the movies?"
You smiled back before giving Bob a hug just to prove you were ok. "Yes, but make sure it's nothing sad," you nodded before pulling away from Bob.
Bob smiled, giving your hand a squeeze before stepping away. "I'll see you tomorrow then," Bob smiled and you nodded before walking off to your car.
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Jake was knocking at your door at 5pm exactly, military precision and southern manners drilled into him. "Ok, spill," Jake didn't even greet you properly, just handed over the take out he was holding and beelined for your kitchen to grab wine glasses.
You'd tease Jake about liking wine more than beer but refusing to drink it in public another day. "It wasn't too… obscene," you started, pulling out the food from the bag. "It felt more like a very realistic day dream," you clarified.
Jake poured the wine glasses with a nod. "Realistic how?" You then, a little embarrassed, explained the whole dream to him as you slowly poked at your food. "Wow, you really are hopelessly in love with Bob," he mused.
"I didn't even know!" you practically shouted, leaning back against your couch. "Well, actually I had an idea but it was like the dream distorted everything. So now I'm not sure if I actually like him or if it was the dream messing with my head," you mused. "And even worse for me, we have our weekly movie night tomorrow night at his house."
"Damn," Jake muttered, grabbing his wine glass. "So are you going to tell him?"
"I can't do that. There's no way he feels the same!"
"Robert Floyd is hopelessly in love with you just as much as you are in love with him, if not more. Dude, come on it's so obvious."
"Then how come I've never noticed?"
"Because you never wanted to notice," Jake raised an eyebrow at you while you shoved a forkful of your food in your mouth. Not so expertly avoiding saying if he was right or not.
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It was almost suffocating to be in Bob's room while the dream was still on your mind, but Bob's DVD player was in his room and you wanted to watch a movie he only had on DVD. Which meant you were in bed with Bob as you both shared the bowl of popcorn and candy you brought. "Are you actually watching the movie? Or am I more interesting?" Bob had a small smirk on his face as you looked away from him.
"I wasn't staring," you defended, your heart pounding at being caught. "I just happened to glance at you," you added, your voice low.
"Mhm, sure," Bob teased as you gently shoved his shoulder and told him to shut it. "Are you ok?"
Even teasing you, Bob had to make sure you were ok. "Yeah, I was just thinking," you nodded, shoving a Twizzler into your mouth. Bob let you lie as he turned his attention back to the TV, taking occasional glances at you as you pointedly avoided looking at him.
By the end of the second movie, the popcorn was gone and you both moved the snacks away from the middle. You were pressed into Bob's side and his arm was thrown over your shoulders, both of your eyes on the TV. You could teach a masterclass on how to avoid looking at someone right next to you with how well you managed to keep your eyes from moving to Bob at all.
Bob had to get up to change the DVD and you took it as your time to take a deep breath, your eyes closing for a moment. "Do you want to watch another movie or are you tired?" Bob asked softly, suddenly next to you and gently touching your cheek to get you to look at him.
You wanted to yawn but you also wanted to watch another movie. "We can watch another," you assured him, watching him round the bed to join you. Bob decided to watch a movie off Hulu instead, you two shared a profile on there since there was one too many of you and only seven accounts allowed.
The movie played as you both got comfortable, Bob not even caring that you had fallen asleep. Bob just adjusted the two of you so you were comfortable and turned his TV off, falling asleep with you.
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You woke up the next day, some of the best sleep you've gotten since you made it to San Diego. Bob had his arm thrown around your waist and his front molded to your back, holding you as close as possible. You didn't know whether to stay still and enjoy it or get up, it's not like you had work or anything.
Sinking into Bob's bed and his hold, you decided to stay where you were instead of getting up. Bob woke up not long after you, if the way his hold tightened before he sat up was an actual indicator. You rolled over and looked at Bob, your smile soft. "You didn't have to let me sleep in here," you told Bob.
Bob gave you a smile too, reaching for his glasses and putting them on before laying down again. "I wasn't going to wake you," Bob said.
You moved over and laid your head on his shoulder, soaking up the slow morning. "I didn't mean to fall asleep on you."
"It's ok, you were tired," Bob said, both of you falling silent for a while before your phone went off.
You reached over and answered it before looking. "Hello?"
"Did you do it?" Jake asked.
"What? No," you answered, sitting up and rubbing your forehead. "It's," you pulled your phone away to look at the time, "9 in the morning. Is that all you called me for, Hangman?"
"Yes, do it. Tell him," were Jake's parting words before he hung up. You laid back down and put your phone on the nightstand again.
"What was that about?" Bob asked softly.
You hesitated for a moment but sighed. "Hangman came over for a little on Friday to gossip, he was just being Hangman," you answered.
Bob huffed a laugh before getting out of bed. A part of you wanted to complain and try to convince him to spend more time with you, but you remembered you weren't actually dating. So you sat up and followed him out to his kitchen, the evidence of your movie night all over the place. "Do you want to go out for breakfast?" Bob asked, looking at the very bare bones in his fridge.
"Yeah, let's get ready," you said, walking off to find your bag still on the couch where you left it after grabbing your pajamas.
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As you sat in the diner across from Bob, the waitress having just dropped off the check, you realized Jake was right and you needed to tell Bob you were in love with him. But you didn't want to do that when you two were just out and about and you still weren't sure he actually liked you. "Your car looks like it belong there," Bob casually muttered as he pulled into the driveway next to your car.
"I'm in love with you," you quickly spit out, your voice steadier than you thought it would be.
Bob smiled at you, turning in his seat to face you. "Yeah? Took you long enough to admit it sober," Bob murmured, leaning in close to kiss you. You melt against Bob's lips before he pulled away.
You blinked a few times before you finally caught up to what he said. "What do you mean it took me long enough to say it sober?"
"You told me once when you were drunk, but you made me swear not to tell Bob," he let you know.
"But I didn't know until Thursday night when I had a dream about you," you blurted out, confused.
"It was a few weeks ago," Bob told you. "Wait, you had a dream about me?" You took one look at Bob's smug smile and got out of his car, shaking your head as you went to unlock his door. "What was your dream about?" Bob was hot on your heels.
You spun to look at him. "I already told you that I had a dream, can't you fill in the blanks?" you pleaded.
Bob stepped closer, boxing you against the wall but leaving enough space for you to side step him if you wanted. "If it's anything like mine, then I'll have no problem with that."
You gasped but didn't move, holding your stance even as you stared up at Bob. "What was your dream about?"
"Which one? The one where I marry you? Or the one where I fuck you so well you forget your own name?"
You closed the distance between you two, pushing your body against Bob's as you kissed him. Bob had quickly backed you fully against the wall, making sure to slide his hand between your head and the wall so you didn't smack it. When you two pulled away to breath, you placed your forehead against Bob's. "It's 10 in the morning," you muttered, your chest rising and falling fast. "Let's at least last until after dinner."
"I've waited since the moment I've met you, I can wait a bit longer," Bob assured you, yet pulled you in for one more kiss.
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Masterlist | Requests
If you want to be added to the tag list, follow the directions on my masterlist
Summary: When Todd Stevens agreed to the bet, he thought it'd just be some easy money. He'd flirt, make you feel special and once the bet was complete, he'd let you down easy. Only Todd wasn't prepared to fall in love. And even worse, he wasn't prepared for you to find out.
Warnings: ANGST, being asked out as a bet, Mitch is annoying AF, auguring, break up and make up, happy ending, headcanon format, alcohol mentioned
Word Count: 2.4k
Note: Basd on this request here. TY sm for this @trelaney this was fun!!! I decided not to make this one full on angst as an apology for Tuesday and because of that it was longer than anticipated but I hope y'all enjoy :)
Masterlists
Part of my 500 Followers Celebration
Todd who smirks when he hears the bet. He’d been fucking around with his frat brothers in the library when you caught his eye. You were studying in the corner, quiet like a mouse with your head in a book about 1800s literature. And Mitch, being the annoying fucker he is, caught on and started talking shit about your choice of literature. Todd told him to knock it off. At first, he was amused, but Mitch just kept going and somehow it escalated from that to the bet at hand.
Todd who doesn’t even know why he agreed. He tried to shrug them off when he realized they were serious, laughing along noncommittally when they suggested it. He doesn’t do relationship and you’re not the usual type he goes for. But the more his brothers egg him on, the more inclined he felt to go through with this, always caving into the pressure. You shared a couple classes together, but never spoke, in completely different social circles, but you were cute enough. Ask out and make the shy girl from Social Studies 483 fall in love with you and get 100 bucks. Easy peasy.
Todd who puts on that Stevens charm, his pearly whites on full display as he shows off why he’s known as the Casanova of Sumpter. First, he starts by actually talking to you in class. It’s more than just the usual asking for notes from the class he missed last week or if you saw the discussion post that was due on Friday. He asked you how your weekend was, what major you were pursuing, what you wanted to do after graduation, eyes shimmering with fake interest as you stammer, heart beating in your ears and face hot, not used to his attention at all.
Todd who ignores the fact that you look so cute caught off guard, squirming and eyes darting when you can’t believe he’s talking to you. He sums it up to just being happy that the bet seems to be going his way, and in no time, you’d be head over heels for him.
Todd who pats himself on the back when you agree to meet up for a study date after class. He plays it off that he needs your help to pass your upcoming midterm, totally omitting that fact that he’s the top student in your class.
Todd who surprises himself. Because he’s falling for you. Hard. After your study date, he asked you out on a proper one, and then two, and then three, and pretty soon you were official.
Todd who fell in love with your giggle first. You were on your third date when he took you to an indoor ice-skating rink after you told him you’d never been before. He was teaching you how to skate, only thing was, Todd was from Texas and had never skated a day in his life. A squeal, a gasp, fumbling hands, and two colliding bodies later and you were giggling in his ear, half holding onto him and the railing for dear life
Todd who basically moves you into his frat house one month later. You still have your dorm room, but after one too many times of you crashing at Todd's dorm after a late-night study session, Todd’s gotten used to the feeling of you next to him in bed, he can’t sleep right if you aren’t there with him. He needs to snuggle his head into your neck, wrap his arms around your waist and feel your heart beating against him to sleep now.
Todd who tells you things he’s never told anyone before. He’s never been with anyone long enough to actually open up to them about his dad, the pressure from his family to be perfect, and how he feels he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Todd who loves how you just listen to him. You don’t try to tell him what to do or only half listen. You’re attentive, letting him rest his head on your chest as he explains how he feels, drawing circles on his back as you let him talk until he’s run out of things to say.
Todd who starts to feel guilty about not telling you the truth about how you started. And it only gets worse the more intense he felt for you. He was going to tell you the truth, he just needed to find the right moment and find the right words. He didn’t want to fuck up the only thing that made sense in his life.
Todd who doesn’t know how this happened. It was your five-month anniversary, and Todd was planning something to celebrate it. Yes, the Todd Stevens was planning to celebrate a five-month anniversary. Todd always thought it was silly when people celebrated small anniversaries like this, but not with you. He planned to surprise you with flowers in class, only you weren’t there.
Todd who feels so confused because you didn’t tell him you were planning to skip or that you weren’t feeling well. He texts you as soon as class starts, knee bouncing, fumbling with his roses as he waits for your text that never comes.
Todd who calls you the moment class is over because he still hasn’t heard from you. Then he remembers he still has your location and rushes over to your dorm when it says you’re there, classes de damned.
Todd who knocks calmly at your door, calling out your name that he missed you at class, and asking if you’re okay. The longer you don’t answer, the more he worries. He ran into your roommate on the way up here and when he asked about you, she shrugged and confirmed you were still in bed, crying.
Todd who ignores the looks he’s getting from you neighbors as his knocks become more frantic. You’re crying, and he just wants to make you feel better. If this were five months ago, Todd would laugh at himself for being so desperate for a girl to open her door for him.
Todd who feels relief the moment your door opens, only for his face to drop. Your eyes are swollen like you’ve been crying for hours, nose sniffling and face stained with tears.
Todd who rushes forward, shutting the door behind him as he tries to hug you, to figure out what’s wrong and do whatever he can to stop your tears. Tears like these had no right to come out of your beautiful eyes. Only for your hands to come up to his chest and push him back.
Todd who is so confused. Why won’t you let him hug you? Why is there disappointment and anger in your eyes as you stare at him? Almost like this was your worst fear come true.
Todd who says your name. It’s soft and pleading, almost desperate as he begs you to say something and stop looking at him like he’s a traitor. He’s not prepared for the next words that come out of your mouth.
Todd who feels like his soul is being torn out of his body when you tell him you know about the bet. His knees buckle for a second but he's able to regain composure. He asks you what you mean, and that's when you tell him.
Todd who wants to punch the shit out of Mitch. That’s how you found out. He’d been talking too loud, talking shit about how ‘Mr. Pres’ is getting boring after he started dating you. That he never would’ve goaded him in the bet if it meant Todd wasn’t going to be throwing ragers anymore and not drinking with his brothers every night.
Todd who is rambling, not making any sense as he tries to explain it all away. It wasn’t like that, maybe at first but not now, he really does care for you, he promises. He was going to tell you that night, he swears. The more you shake your head and blink back tears, the more frenzied he is in his excuses.
Todd who tries to stop you when you try to push him away. Not forcefully, he just wants to explain, for you understand. That yes, it was a bet at first, but you’re more than that, have been for a while.
Todd who tries to give you the flowers, says to just take them and sit down and let him explain. That’s all he wants. Your voices are getting louder, yours in anger, his in worry. It’s the last straw when Todd tries to push the flowers in your hands again. You grab them and throw them across the room before screaming ‘liar’ at him.
Todd who stares at you in shock. He's never heard you scream like that before. So broken and full of vitriol. You say nothing else as you push him out the door and slam it shut behind him. The click of the lock is deafening.
Todd who presses his forehead to the door, begging you one last time to let him explain. His voice is so small, so broken. He’s fighting back tears, but he’s losing the fight. He doesn’t even care that a few of your neighbors are sticking their heads out of the door and watching him. He just tries.
Todd who is ever the stubborn frat president. You think that’s the last you’ll see of him, that he got the message. But then you wake up to a bouquet of flowers outside your door the next morning. And the same thing the next morning, and the next and the next. All with a different note attached with a variation of ‘I’m sorry’, ‘please talk to me’, ‘let me explain’ and the most recent had an ‘I love you’ note. That last note makes you pause because you’ve never said that to each other before. But then you throw it away. He didn’t mean it. He was just trying to get you back for that stupid bet.
Todd who jumps out of his seat and across the room the moment you show up to class. You’d been avoiding it all week, too embarrassed to show your face. News gets around fast at Sumpter and the moment you show up, you can feel it. Your face feels flaming hot when all eyes turn to you. Todd rushing over only makes everyone’s whispering intensify.
Todd who follows you out of the room only seconds later. You couldn’t handle the stares, some of pity and some of amusement from Todd's fellow brothers. Before you can get far enough, a hand tugs you into a supply closet and shuts the door.
Todd who is talking so fast. It comes out all jumbled and makes your head spin, but you catch a few words, mostly a repeat of what was on the letters. You hold your hand up to stop him, and he actually does. That’s when you take a good look at him.
Todd who has bags under his eyes, which are swollen like yours are from hours of crying (Todd? Crying?). His usual perfect slicked back hair is unkempt, like he just dragged himself out of bed, ran his fingers through his hair and called it a day. He looks like shadow of his formal self in the week since you’ve last seen him.
Todd who soaks in every word you say once you start talking. He’s digesting it, letting you speak your peace, letting you rant about what just happened in class and how the last few days have been hell for you. How you hate how much you miss him, and how you hate how much you want him to hold you right now.
Todd who is somehow holding your hand now. Firm, but not tight, like he’s afraid if he lets go, you’ll disappear from his hold. You don’t know why but you let him. But then again, you’ve always been told you can be too soft at times. And Todd Stevens is your ultimate soft spot.
Todd who feels his blood rushing to his ears, his palms trembling, leg twitching involuntarily when you finally stop and tell him to explain himself. You need to hear it from him. You try to cross your arms, trying to appear bigger than you feel right now, but Todd still doesn’t let go of your hand, and you don’t have it in you to tug again.
Todd who is careful with his words. He admits the truth, that your relationship did start as a bet, but after your first date, it wasn’t about that anymore. You interrupt him, but he keeps going, listing off everything he loves about you. Your giggle, how you feed the squirls on campus even though there’s a sign outside that says not too, how you need your coffee to be extra creamy to the point it’s not even coffee anymore but it’s extra sweet just like you. He loves how you can’t study without playing music, how you always need to triple check your citations for your essays even though Todd’s already double checked them.
Todd who admits that you’ve made him see there’s more to life than being president of a frat, and doing whatever he can to appease his dad. That you make him want to be a better person. And most of all, he loves you.
Todd who feels the smallest flutter of hope when your face softens the moment you hear his confession. You ask him if he’s serious or if he’s just saying all this to get you back.
Todd who answers without a shadow of a doubt. He loves you. He has for a while, and he was going to tell you that night. He was going to come clean about it all. Because you’re not just a bet to him, you’re everything.
Todd who whimpers in surprise when you smash your lips against him, but he recovers fast. His hands wrap around your back; your hands get tangled in his hair as you melt into each other. He’s missed you so much. Your taste. Your touch. Everything.
Todd who pulls back when he feels your tears against his cheek. Worry is clear as day across his face as he cups your cheeks and asks if you’re okay. When you nod, Todd pulls you into his chest as you both sink into the floor of the supply closet, just holding each other close.
Todd who doesn’t make it to any of his classes that day, and neither do you. After you leave the supply closet, you spend the rest of the day and weekend hiding away in his room, talking, clearing the air and making new promises to each other. Promises to be true and honest with one another to finally start anew.
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hi hello i’m not sure if your requests are open but w1nter-fairy wrote the CUTEST fic about buckys gf under anesthesia after surgery and i’m here to request the same thing but with bob reynolds pls 🥺👉👈
missing piece
bob reynolds x reader
summary: as far as you remember, bob is the friend you’ve been pining over and dancing around for a while, but when he’s sitting at your bedside after your surgery, you realize you might be missing a few details.
cw: fluff, post surgery, anesthesia, temporary partial memory loss, established relationship, mentions of hooking up, mentions of drugs, light angst because I can't help myself, soft soft gentle bob
a/n: I had another ask asking for this prompt lmao so I had to, and obviously, idea credits go to @w1nter-fairy!! I tried tweaking it a bit and making it my own way so it wouldn't be a copy and paste from their amazing fic and I hope I managed to do it justice! this was so silly and fun to write I'm so happy
word count: 1.8k
masterlist | taglist | ao3 | @eyelessupdates
buy me a coffee ♡
He’s allowed into the room while you’re still asleep. He wasn’t sure he would be, but the nurse must have sensed his worry from a mile away, and his eyes tend to be very persuasive whenever he’s desperate for something.
He’s careful as he closes the door behind himself after entering, like the faintest noise could wake you up even though the steady beeping of the monitor already rhythms the otherwise quiet room.
The doctors told him already, but seeing it lifts the heaviness on his chest when he sees you – you look okay. And maybe it’s stupid because his medical knowledge is very much limited and you could as well look the same and be doing horribly wrong, but something in him holds hope and he’s already half as less nervous just looking at you.
He drags the chair at the corner of the room beside your bed and sits, hands fiddling with the hem of his sleeves just to busy his hands.
He knows you need your rest and he would never think to wake you up, but a part of him hopes you will wake up soon just so he can really make sure you’re okay.
The clock ticks so slowly and for so long, but Bob would rather be here with you than out there in the waiting room with the complaining hypochondriac man who, as he heard it from an intern, was here for the third time this week and that had only made him more anxious as he waited for news on you.
Bob’s arms are crossed and laid over your bed at your side, chin resting over his forearm as he waits, matching his breathing to yours, watching the rise and fall of your chest. He would rest his head over your lap if he was sure it wouldn’t bother you or wake you up.
His eyes don’t leave you, and he has watched you sleep so many times during nights he couldn't manage to that he notices the second something shifts over your face and you look like you could be waking up. He sits up, slow and careful, adjusting over his chair, hand holding yours, thumb caressing over your fingers as he awaits the slightest change in your demeanor.
Your eyes open with difficulty, trying to fight the rays sifting through the blinds, closing again a few times until they adjust to the luminosity of the room, still remaining heavy with haziness. Your head spins funnily, but not in an uncomfortable way, and your limbs feel numb and somehow very present at the same time.
It’s only when you feel a tingle at your fingers that you fully realize someone is here, and notice the man sitting at your side when he had until then only been a faint shadow at the corner of your eye.
Him. Bob.
He has no reason to be here, you think.
But you're glad he is.
“Heyyyyy,” you grin, a dazed expression over your face, a cheerful tone through the haze in your voice.
Bob’s face lights up and he shifts his position over his chair again. “Hey,” he murmurs, smiling, a bit surprised by your enjoyment. “How are you feeling?”
The tingle again. It’s more of a caress more than a tingle now that you feel it again, and your eyes track it, and it’s in your hand on the same side Bob is sitting.
His hand is holding yours.
“I think I’m doing just great,” you confidently declare, head leaning back into your pillow in contentment, a smile over your face. “But I have to ask–” you clear your throat lightly, eyes squeezing shut before opening again like you're trying to chase the veil of fuzziness away. “Is this– are you flirting?”
Bob’s eyes narrow in confusion. “What?”
“I don’t mind, it’s okay Bob” you nod, eyes closing for a second before you smile, still in the haze. It feels like you could fall back asleep in no time. “You’re finally making a move”
“I’m sorry baby, what do you mean?” he asks, gently squeezing your hand. The nurse told him you might not be making sense, after all.
Your head moves forward and away from where it was buried in the pillow, and your eyebrows lift as you blink in confusion. “Baby?” you repeat slowly, like you’re testing the word, how it rolls off your tongue. It sounds funny in your mouth, then your eyes narrow suspiciously at him. “Bob.”
“Yeah?” he answers carefully.
“Why are you calling me baby?”
He’s not sure what to answer for a second – he’s not sure whether he should be amused or worried that you’re confused like this. “You don’t remember?” he asks quietly, frowning.
You squint faintly, like you’re trying to put the pieces together, eyes roaming over his figure like it will help you figure it out. “Remember what?”
His heart sinks to his stomach so brutally it almost hurts. “Oh,” he breathes. He knows he shouldn’t be taking this so seriously, because he had been warned you would be out of the loop – confusion, memory gaps, disorientation – but he didn’t actually expect it to be that bad.
“Did I forget something important?” you ask, genuinely concerned now as you watch his reaction, which somehow makes it worse. Your worried expression brightens abruptly again, shifting to something else entirely. “Wait– did we hook up?” you ask excitedly.
“What? No– I mean, yes? Not just…” he lets go of your hand to rub his own over his face. “God”
Your mouth opens in shock before turning into an amazed smile. “Oh my god,” you gasp. “We totally hooked up”
His cheeks warm up and his hand rubs over his eyes tiredly again, but he can’t help the smile over his face. “Okay, listen.” he shifts closer to the bed, hand resting over yours again, smiling when your gaze flicks to where they meet when he does. “You and I, we are dating”
“No we’re not” your head shakes. “You’ve had a crush on me for like– months and we’ve been weird around each other for so long and you would combust before asking me out”
He laughs, head tilting to the side. Touché. “Okay, I guess that was true at some point” he nods, pinching his lips. “But we’ve moved past that.”
“Really?”
“Yes” he nods, a chuckle escaping from his mouth. “I love you and you love me… I’m pretty sure”
“Oh my god” you whisper, eyes flicking around the room, trying to piece it back together now that you have the information. Your eyes land on him again. “So we… Kiss? On a regular basis?”
He chuckles, a bright, rich sound that reminds you why you’re in love with him. Something you couldn’t forget. “Yeah. We kiss.”
“Oh,” you whisper, blinking like you’re trying to chase the fog of your brain to remember it. “That’s– that’s great” you nod, a smile slowly growing over your face, finally allowing yourself to believe it all, despite how it all seems too good to be true. You stare at him for a few seconds too long, like your drugged brain is trying very hard to put puzzle pieces together but keeps dropping them. Your smile fades into a frown when you pull away from his touch and busy your hands picking at the skin around your nails, a small pout and the threat of tears brimming your eyes. “Bob it’s– it’s really cruel if you’re lying just to make fun of me” you declare, voice quiet and throat tight. “Very fucked up”
His mouth gapes and he backs away for a second, an appalled and slightly panicked expression over his face. “I would never do that to you” he assures, getting closer again and reaching for your hands. You let him take them, gaze back on him. You look like you’re about to cry and he feels terrible. “I swear.”
You don’t say anything for a moment, watching as he holds both of your hands, the warmth of his touch strangely familiar now that you think about it. His thumb caresses over your knuckles and you look back at him, your chest tightening when you see the genuine affection he holds when he looks at you.
“To be fair you do look like you’re in love with me” you admit. “So I’ll believe you”
He snorts a laugh and nods like he’s just been granted forgiveness, a more relaxed expression over his face.
“How long have we been dating?”
Bob’s eyes flick back to yours. “Not long,” he says. “A few months. And I was the one to make a move, for your information” he insists, eyebrows lifting, a teasing smile as he tries to lift up the mood.
You frown, inspecting his face. “Really?”
“Mhm.” he approves, trying not to laugh at your reaction. “I knocked on the door to your room one night and kissed you”
“Oh,” your eyes widen immediately and you let go of his hands to adjust your position a little better in the bed, like the sentence alone has jolted something awake in you more effectively than the anesthesia ever could, like things are finally getting interesting. You bring your knees to your chest and hide your face into your hands, letting out a drawn out whine. “Oh my god, I wish I could remember” you wail, hands sliding down your face in despair.
“You will.”
“But I’m scared I won’t, what if I just don’t?” you whine again, face dropping in distress, a frown etched onto your face. You look like you’re going to tear up again, and despite how much Bob empathises, he feels horrible that he can’t help but smile at the situation, doing his best to hold back and not laugh.
“Sweetheart, you’re so, so high” he whispers, brushing the back of his fingers against your cheek. “I don’t even think I have ever been that high” he says with a small smile – he most definitely has been, but he needs you to feel better, so for this exclusively, he will lie. “The anesthesia just needs to wear off. You will remember. I promise you”
He looks sincere, and it's the only thing you have for now, so you choose to believe it. “Okay” you mutter. Bob can practically see the gears turning in your head, and he knows you’re trying to make sense of it all, desperately searching through the parts of your brain holding those memories. He also knows you’re tiring yourself out trying.
“You should get some more rest” he advises, hand brushing your hair back.
You nod and blink, making yourself comfortable under the sheets again, positioning yourself onto your side, facing him. “I’m so sorry I don’t remember.”
He tilts his head so he can look into your eyes, a soft smile over his face. “That’s okay”
Your eyelids grow heavier each second but you fight it, one last question burning your tongue. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course, baby”
“Are you always this nice to me?”
He smiles. “I try”
“I’m really lucky, then”
—
every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated♡
Pairing: Bob Reynolds x telepathic! reader
Summary: In which you accidentally overhear Bob's thoughts about you late into the night
cw - brief angst, mentions of nightmares, fluff
Darkness had fallen over the Tower hours ago, leaving the city unnaturally quiet tonight. Too bad you were wide awake, restlessly tossing back and forth in the sheets.
Trying to sleep when plagued with nightmares of your past was hard enough; it was even worse when you could listen to other people's dreams at night. Not to mention, you were living with nearly half a dozen other equally traumatized people. Over the past few months, you had gotten better at managing your powers and could ignore most people's thoughts, especially when they were asleep.
"Stupid nightmares" drifted into your mind, but it wasn't your own thought. Shoot! You had accidentally connected to someone else's mind. Who was it?
Memories of a shadowy figure in the sky, hovering over the city, crashed into your mind.
Bob? No! Anyone but Bob!
Accidentally connecting with someone's thoughts felt invasive enough, but Bob's mind was a battleground for him, so it felt worse somehow. Guilt crept up in your chest, taking over as you tried in vain to push his thoughts away. Even if it was an accident, it felt selfish to listen in, given how you've noticed the dimples in his smile lately, or volunteered to stay with him when the others were out on missions, or helped him with the dishes each night after dinner. Okay! So you had caught feelings for him. Even you weren't oblivious enough to ignore that.
With a groan, you rolled over, burying your face into a pillow in embarrassment. Just as you began closing your eyes, you caught a name- your name.
"I wish they were with me now." Bob's thoughts entered your own. Even from here, you could get a hazy picture through his own eyes as he tugged a pillow to his chest. "If they were, I would do this..."
Oh no. No. No. No. Was this about to get weird? Sure, Bob could be a bit awkward at times, but you never suspected him of being some perv.
Instead, fear gripped you, followed by a sense of peace flooding every inch of your body as he hugged the pillow pretending it was you. For a moment, the connection was so strong you felt as if his arms ghosted around you, pulling you in gently. The sensation was odd, nearly making your breath go away.
Images filled your mind like a glitching movie from his imagination. Nothing weird at all, actually. Images of Bob gently pushing your hair back while you smiled in your sleep. The two of you curled up, watching a movie together in the Tower as you munched on snacks. Taking walks in the snow and laughing. Protecting him from Val, or anyone else who tied to hurt him.
An image of you holding him, as if you would never let go.
Wow, this was just sad. It's heartbreaking to see what Bob thought about- all he wanted was to be accepted.
Was Bob so terrified at night that he was pretending a pillow was a person? Besides, why would he imagine you rather than Yelena? Even if they weren't together like that, they seemed to share some sort of unspoken understanding of one another. The two of you were just teammates who got along well, right?
"You know, I've been meaning to tell you something," he whispered to nobody, almost as if he had practiced this several times. "And it's okay if you don't feel the same, but I r-really want to spend more time with you because I like you..."
His fingers curled around the pillow's fabric gently, caressing the silk almost reverently. Suddenly, he pulled it closer, clinging to the pillow desperately, as if it were a lifeline. Short, rapid breaths escaped him before they finally lulled, his heartbeat slowing down to a calm.
For a moment, your heart nearly stopped in your chest. It took everything in you not to leap out of bed right now, rush to his room in your PJs, and tell him you felt the same. To tell him you would protect him from the nightmares, from the memories that haunted him, and the other person who followed him like a shadow. Honestly, you assumed he would never like you back. The two of you were so different, and he was recovering from so much; it didn't seem like the right time.
"That would never work," he muttered to himself. "She's so amazing...and terrifying. Honestly, I don't think she likes anyone, so why would she like someone like me?" Rolling over, he buried his face in the pillow, mumbling, "She probably likes Bucky instead."
Bucky? No way! He was more like an older brother to you than anything.
"I'm not enough," he thought to himself, "I'll never be enough for her."
Enough! You couldn't take this anymore. Tossing your blanket aside, you marched out of your quarters and down the hall towards his. Taking a deep breath, you knocked on the door.
"Bob? Are you okay? I was up getting something to eat and heard noises," you asked, forcing a casual tone.
"Uhh...I'm fine!" he called out with a hint of embarrassment. There was a shuffle, then he cracked the door open. Sad, brown eyes stared out from the dark, shining with a mix of fear and almost hope. "See? I'm okay," he said awkwardly, giving a crooked smile. "Are you?"
"Bob, if you ever need help or anything," you began, unsure where to go with this. Words weren't exactly your skillset. Not in the way using a blade was. Why was this so much easier in the books you read? "Look, I get it...how the past sticks around. The nightmares."
Bob's eyes widened with understanding, staring a moment quietly. "It never seems to leave, does it?" he said, glancing away and scratching the back of his neck. "Follows you around."
"I can help, if you wanted."
"No, no...I'm fine," Bob began. "Uh, goodnight." Before he could shut the door, you pushed your foot in the crack, stopping it.
"Did you need something?" he asked.
No use beating around the bush. "Do you want me to stay with you tonight?" Bob nodded shyly, letting you step inside.
Tossing the pillow aside, you asked, "Do you want the left or right side of the bed?"
Thanks for reading! Requests always open! Tag list open!
summary: bob can never pretend to be patient when he's in bed with you, so you try to teach him to be.
cw: smut, edging, handjob, sensitive desperate bob lets go, whiny bob lets go, sub!bob, light bondage, praise, bob's power making him break stuff when he comes yayy, fluff, aftercare, like one single mention of drugs
a/n: well...... yeah. I need to make this man whimper I'm sorry. I'm not so used to writing smut I hope it's not so bad pls be indulgent!
Bob can be patient if he really has to. Sitting for dozens of minutes in the waiting room of his psychiatrist when all the previous appointments have progressively gotten delayed, meaning his own is no exception. Waiting for John to put his ego aside and finally call it quits with the punching bag so he can get his turn. Watching Yelena hesitate on which movie to pick from her watching list when really, she could pick any since she plans on watching them all anyway.
One thing he has never gotten acquainted with is being patient whenever he’s in bed with you.
Not when you’re slowly kissing down his neck and no matter how good it might feel to take the time, his pants feel like they’re about to burst from how long he has been hard. He can’t pretend to be patient either when he has you under him on the couch of the Watchtower when no one else is home, lips swollen from kissing, your chest heaving in ragged breaths and your hands buried in his hair, lightly tugging to pull him back to you and kiss him again when if he doesn’t have you touching him elsewhere he’s pretty sure he’s going to cream his pants in the minute.
And he certainly cannot be patient when, just as you are now, you’re straddling his thighs, the palm of your hand gliding along his throbbing cock, slow and languid, your teeth biting a mischievous smile into your bottom lip as you watch every reaction of his.
Your eyes wander over his figure, insistent and lustful as you admire the way his hand digs and paws at the fuzzy pillow over your bed, limbs reacting the only pathetic way they can when he knows he’s close to coming, the muscles of his lower stomach tensing with the intensity of it, hips rolling into your touch, just enough so he doesn’t look so desperate yet.
It’s all so cruel when he very well knows you will stop stroking him before he tips over the edge, letting it all fade away, but some part of him hopes he will get to come before you pull your hand away, even if he will feel guilty that he did and he knows he doesn’t really deserve to.
Because some part of him thinks he deserves to feel the frustration of not being given what he wants, for all the shameful things he’s done, and in some way, he shouldn’t even deserve to come – if he really had to get what he deserved then you shouldn’t even let him, you should just leave him hard and aching.
But the thing with you is you’re too good to him, and he doesn’t even deserve to have you making him feel that good when all he’s ever done in his life has been trying to be just as good and ending up making things worse, for everyone around him, for himself.
So he will have to be patient.
His lower stomach burns as he feels it building, can only hope that this time will be the one you will let him come – he hopes each time, so desperate and lightheaded that his guilt can’t even reach him anymore. Your hand glides maddeningly tender along the length of his leaking cock, and even though his bottom lip almost dents with the way he bites back his sounds, the lightbulb of the dim light over your nightstand starts to flicker betrayingly – just as he’s about to come and maybe break something, you remove your hand, once again. “You’re gonna short circuit something” you say, denying him his orgasm once more tonight. The whimper that leaves his swollen lips as you pull away is almost endearing, his eyebrows pulling in a desperate expression.
“You’re short circuiting me,” Bob whines, voice small but rough, head dropping forward all at once like the strings of a puppet brutally cut, hair draping over his face and hiding the flush over his cheeks.
You fake pout, running a hand through the brown waves of his hair, brushing them back from his face, admiring the visible warmth over it. “I know, but it’ll feel even better once I finally let you come” you say, voice soft with enjoyable pity. Your hand leaves his hair to caress his thigh where you’re straddling his legs, fingers brushing beside where his cock twitches desperately, just inches away. His chest heaves in frustration, fingers clawing helplessly at the soft sheets of your bed like he’s trying to hold onto something other than you or he will burst.
“The…” he vaguely gestures to his side, glancing there for nothing more than half a second, a helpless exhale leaving him. “The lamp is telling you”
You look at the lamp over your bedside table, the light stabilized now. “I could tell even without the flickering” you declare, a chuckle escaping your lips. Even without the lamp, there is no mistaking the way he thrusts into your hand when he gets closer, desperate for more friction. You adjust your position over his lap, hand caressing over his bare thigh. “You’re doing so good for me Bob,” the already satisfied smile over your face grows with the way his dick twitches at your praise, and the ache between your legs strengthens too, painful and obvious, but that's a matter for later. “Just a few more and I’ll let you come, okay? Gonna make you feel so good baby.”
He nods eagerly, brows still knitted in a pitiful expression.
There’s a desperate humming vibrating into your mouth when you kiss him, tongue brushing against his as his chest heaves with a moan when your hand runs along the hard plane of his abs, fingers tracing down his happy trail to eventually close around his cock again. Your hand isn’t even moving, and he’s already almost just as close as he was when you stopped, quiet whimpers hummed into your mouth that turn into full moans when you let your thumb focus and rub on his sensitive tip. You've been at it for so long and he has never stopped leaking, probably a curious side effect of the serum. Maybe the fact that he’s so easily worked up and sensitive is part of it too.
“Do you remember,” you start, lips still so close to his, thumb teasing around the sensitive tip of his dick and spreading the bead of precum leaking from it. A shuddering halt escapes his mouth and he looks down to where your hand is working, his breathing starting to get thicker again. “That time you came so hard you couldn’t stop laughing?”
His chest lifts with a laugh, and you feel the breath he huffs out. “Yes”, he says, ears turning red at the memory, still vividly remembering the weird mixed feeling of ecstasy and disbelief.
“I’ve been meaning to make you do that again” you declare, teeth sinking into your lower lip with a smile.
A whispered curse slips from his lips as he bucks into your hand, his laughter immediately dying down as the focused frown takes place over his face again, trying not to come right then and there. “Shit, okay” his eyes squeeze shut, head sinking back into the pillows of your bed, a loud sigh leaving his chest. “I’m gonna come if you keep it up and tell me stuff like this” he warns, eyes half lidded from the weight of all the sensations he’s bearing.
“Oh, okay.” your mouth twists in a grimace. “But that’s kinda the plan, you know. Eventually”
He hums a low sound and his eyes open to the ceiling, a low whine coming from his chest when he adjusts his position, shifting your weight over him, and uses it as an excuse to thrust his dick into the palm of your hand. His hands rest at your hips, broad and warm, his sense of discipline off as his thumbs ever so lightly slip into the hem of your underwear, and you let him for a second, until you remove your hand from his dick and his chest caves with another pitiful sound. “Bob, do I have to tie you up?”
He knows better than to speak. Or even think about it. He knows he’s fucked if he allows himself to imagine being bound and at your mercy for more than a second.
“You’re lucky I even let you thrust into my hand”
“Sorry” he mutters, hiding his face in the crook of his arm, a sigh leaving his chest. “I’m really trying to focus, but–”
“I bet you are” you cut him off, climbing off his lap to get off the bed. His throat tightens with confusion when he thinks you are leaving him here like this, and he props himself up on his elbows, watching as you rummage through a drawer of the dresser, his breathing still short. “I’m still tying you up”
When you walk back to the bed it’s with a belt in hand, and Bob swears he could come right then and there. You’re really doing it. “Oh–” he lies back on the bed when you straddle his lap again, purposefully grinding against his dick when you grab his wrists. His eyes carefully follow each of your movements, an obvious awe over his face, and he lets you handle him with ease, completely pliant under you when you wrap the belt around his wrists, gently tightening the loop. “I’m sorry” he murmurs as he watches you above him.
“That’s alright,” you declare as you let his arms rest above his head once you’re done binding him. “I’m doing this because I knew you’d like being tied up but would be too afraid to ask for it” you grin, giving his thigh a gentle pat. His face scrunches into a grimace of awkward agreement, and his dick twitches with need like a poor thing denied attention. “Look at you, Bob. You’re a mess” you grin before you lean to kiss his cheek.
He could break his bounds easily if he wanted to, could get this over with quickly. He’s never really had to wait before, the drugs wouldn’t really allow him to – but he wants to, wants to be good for you, needs to ignore the pressure in his loins as your mouth trails from his jawline to his neck in soft kisses. It’s evil that this is the thing that almost undoes him – he would hate to end up having a ruined orgasm after all of this.
“You’re gonna be good for me now?” you ask, talking between kisses against the slope of his throat. He nods, eyes shut tight and assured, and you sense his throat tightening where your mouth feels it, can feel it budge with anticipation when your fingers trail down his defined abs to meet the core of his need again. Your face is still tucked in his neck where you can directly feel the vibration of his whimpers of relief – or oppositely, of frustration because he’s still trying to hold on – when your fingers wrap around his throbbing, aching cock again. “I’ll let you thrust.”
His head digs further back into his pillow, eyelids fluttering back and forth as your hand starts to work on his sensitive cock. He won’t get sheepish on the one thing he’s allowed – he bucks into your fist, fucking your hand further than you do it, chasing the pleasure you're giving him. The feeling of your soft palm gliding over his aching cock gets much more maddening now that he controls the pace, and he knows he can and will probably sabotage himself with it, but he can’t help it, he’s far too deep into it now, he’d rather suffer the consequences later than have you deny him his orgasm once again.
“Please,” he brokenly pleads when the light flickers again, when what’s resting over your bedside table starts to tremble with the way he bucks into the palm of your hand with erratic, desperate thrusts. His wrists strain against his bounds, the muscles of his stomach tensing, sweat beading at his temples when he tries to hold it, still guiltily moving against your touch. “I can’t–”
“It’s okay, Bob” you murmur. “Let go”
His face contorts with a whimper of relief, and his frown of focus turns into one of determination when you finally let him loose; he bucks wildly, fucking your hand with short, sharp thrusts until the pleasure is too intense, too much to bear.
He’s been there before tonight, only this time, he doesn’t have to hold it, and white flashes before his eyes when with a guttural cry, he hilts inside your fist, his cock pulsing and jerking as he starts to come – the lightbulb explodes with the force of it in a sharp sound.
He’s too far gone to notice, and you can’t let the sudden fright of it stop you guiding him, so you keep helping him through it, maintaining his pace when his body gives up on the effort and only sinks into the mattress when he can’t give any more.
He’s wrung dry, dizzy with the intensity of it, soul up to the ceiling or even well up above at this point, but completely out of his body, he’s sure. He only feels the ghost of your touch over his cheek, just feels the warmth of your mouth after it has left it, barely hears it when you praise him and help him down the slope of it all. His eyes fall shut, chest heaving heavily as he catches his breath, blood pumping and limbs light when you free his wrists and guide his arms down.
He nods when you make sure he’s okay, body doing it on his own, eventually smiling when he finally regains sentience. His hands cover his face, and while he knows he’s safe with you, he starts giggling – either in embarrassment or relief, he has no idea, but he can’t help it, and it lasts a good while but eventually helps him fully come back to his senses.
His eyelids prickle with the weight of everything that has come crashing down, a beaming smile over his face as he looks over at you when you lie down next to him. He's never felt so lighter before, has never felt like an empty shell in the good sense of it.
“You broke the lightbulb” you murmur, pushing back the strands of damp hair sticking to his face. He usually easily gets sweaty, but it has never been that bad before.
He grimaces guiltily, watching to the side, seeing the chunks of glass scattered over the bedside table. “Sorry… Did you– did you get hurt?”
“No” you shake your head reassuringly, watching the worry fade from his face. “But we’re gonna have to invest in candles” you tease. “Unless you turn them into flamethrowers”
He huffs out a laugh, face beaming in guilty amusement. “I’ll try not to”
He blinks, slow and heavy as his hand holds yours over his chest rubbing back and forth, and it’s obvious he’s exhausted and probably won’t hold on too long before he gives up on remaining awake and sleeps like a log. “Don’t fight it,” you smile softly. “I’ll clean you up”
“Thank you” he murmurs, chest heavy with what remains of it all. “You were right. It was great”
“You were great” you whisper, kissing his cheek. “You weren’t that bad on the patience matter.”
He smiles, somewhat proud of himself for it.
At least, he will know he has it in him the next time Valentina ambushes him into an excruciatingly long mission meeting.
—
every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated♡
hey, was wondering if i could get a light angst/ mostly fluffy fic of bob r? established relationship, basically he's having a bad day, reader comes home helps him cut his hair to help him feel a little fresher on a way? love your bob fics btw - anonymous
Cut me open - Bob Reynolds
Fandom: Thunderbolts
Warning: a little angst with some fluff! Bob experiencing a 'big low' aka depression and is very tired from keeping Void at bay. Bob is Baby Blue <3
Relationships: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x reader
Notes: I love this request! Thank you so much. So wholesome. I wrote this in one sitting... it's night and i need to sleep now. Hopefully no mistakes!
ℕ𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕘𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕤
You exhale softly at Bob’s refusal to accept the inevitable, climbing onto the rumpled bed and lying over him carefully. You trailed your fingers against the bare skin just below the hem of the baggy sweater and slipped your hand beneath, the first thing you noticed was how cold he was despite being buried beneath a nest of blankets. Pressing your thumb down, you started rubbing circles against his hip, an attempt to slowly ground him. Humming with contentment, you feel the soft rise and fall of his breathing beneath your chest; that careful movement of life. “You gotta get up soon.” The words were muffled as you nuzzled into his neck, peering at the side of his face from the low angle. “C’mon, baby.”
“Hm… No, I-” he murmured something soft and unintelligible while pressing his face further into the pillow that cushioned him.
“Yes, yes,” you informed him playfully, nudging your nose against the side of his neck before pulling away. There was an audible sound of discomfort when you relinquished your comfort and moved off him, settling on your haunches.
Bob shifted, lifting his head enough so that his chin was resting on the plush surface of the pillow as he peered over at you with exhaustion. One of his hands pulled out from under the pillow, settling against the mattress to hold his weight. His fingertips were coated in wisps of darkness. It didn’t travel higher than his knuckle, just a steady occupation that he was holding back. You frowned at the sight of it, and then tore your attention back to his face. He was bleary-eyed, blinking slowly, too slowly, as he breathed through his nose and scrunched his face.
You savoured the sight, flickering your eyes across his expression with familiar endearment. “Hey, baby blue,” you shifted closer and laid a comforting kiss upon his cheek, the soft pressure causing him to whine and lean into the affection. “Are you gonna get up for me? Yeah? C’mon.” His eyes closed easily when your hand found its way into his tussled hair, pushing it from his face and scratching your nails gently against his scalp in a soothing motion. “I’m going to get some scissors and cut a couple of inches off.”
“You should cut me open,” Bob murmured, pushing himself up enough to crawl into your embrace. Somehow, it felt so much worse when he wrapped himself around your figure with desperation, as if you were the pillar of security in a disaster. He was so cold.
It caused your breath to lodge itself in your throat, brutishly thrown into the sensation of his state. He was just a man. A pitiful man with the unfortunate circumstance of his mental disorder warping into something undeniably dangerous. It was distressing, not what he could do but what it did to him. That was worrisome. Unbidden, there was a welling of tears touching the waterline of your eyes. You hated this, feeling the very physical evidence of his struggle. “I’ll cut you open and remove everything that pains you. How about that?”
“Hm… I’d like that.”
“Alright,” you pulled away hesitantly, unwrapping his hold with careful guidance. “I want you to sit here, and I will get some scissors, alright?” You asked him, cupping his face gently in your hands and tentatively stroking his cheekbones in circular movements. Already his hair was falling over the back of your hand, as if it was shielding his face. “Let’s get you feeling a little less like a blanket monster, and more like Robert Reynolds.”
“No, no, come back,” he tried reaching out, sighing dramatically when you climbed off the bed and headed out the room. It was quiet when you left, as if his bedroom was being swallowed by something bigger than himself. And perhaps it was. He could see it, crawling silently from the tips of his fingers and drawing wispy tendrils along his wrists before retreating to his knuckles. It didn’t go further than that. Bob had been pushing so hard to keep it at bay, exhausted by the efforts of constant struggle that it forced him to blink back the stinging in his eyes. He felt like an exhausted child in that moment, frustrated by how heavy his limbs had become.
You padded quietly into his bedroom with a towel thrown over one arm, a pair of scissors in one hand, and a spray bottle and comb in the other. You kicked the door shut behind you with the careful push of your foot. Bob was sitting on the edge of the rumpled bed, duvet bunched up and hanging off the edge. He was staring at his spotted socks and taking short, sudden breaths.
“C’mon, let’s sort that mop of yours,” you stepped up to him, throwing the towel and scissors on the bed beside him.
“I’m tired,” he exhaled quietly, leading forward until his forehead was pressed against your abdomen. Bob lifted his arms, wrapping them around your waist to hold you close. He didn’t want to let you go again, not when he needed the closeness and support that you so sweetly provided.
It felt impossible. You never knew the exact thing to do when he was like this, there was no solution to this topple of emotional state. Bob couldn’t be dragged or coaxed out of it, your only option was to be at his side and offer support. It made you feel useless. Nothing made you feel so incapable than when he was like this.
“I know, sweetheart. But you can’t stay in bed for too long when you’re like this. It’s not good for you.” Lifting the bottle, you pressed the trigger and sprayed water into his hair. He flinches at first, jolting and nudging his face against your abdomen. You did this a couple times, making sure it wouldn’t completely drench him but ensured it was coated enough make his hair malleable. It was almost amusing how long his hair had gotten, on the verge of passing his shoulders in length once you got the comb through it a couple times. There were a few knots to untangle, nothing that couldn’t be sorted with ease.
“This would be easier if you weren’t using my stomach as a headrest,” you told him with a gentle tone, tucking some wet strands of his hair back. “No doubt this will be uneven.”
Bob made a faint noise, a ‘hmph’ sound that was more of a vibration against your top than an actual response. The grip around your waist tightened a little, putting a stop to any ideas you had about moving out of his embrace.
Dragging the towel from beside him, you laid it across his shoulders to withhold the possibility of stray hairs getting under his clothes. You knew how itchy that was. Afterwards, there was a steady silence between you, with the occasional grinding of the scissors taking the few inches of hair that hung between your middle and forefinger. There was already a gathered amount of hair clinging to the towel, thick chunks of it.
Sometimes there was a squeeze around your waist, his arms clenching as he breathed and enveloped himself in you. “I’ll be finished in a moment,” you told him, raking your fingers through his hair and checking the length. “And then we can make something for dinner, how’s that?”
He made a ‘hmph’ sound again.
“I was thinking that we could make spaghetti,” you spoke softly, knowing he wouldn’t respond but that didn’t matter. “I don’t think my stomach can survive another mac and cheese. My insides will be stuffed with cheese if we don’t put our feet down.”
“I like mac and cheese.”
“Come on, tilt your head back,” you put the scissors down. He shifted, taking his forehead off your stomach with reluctance. You curled a finger under his chin, applying pressure until he was staring up at you. “There you are.” Your hands traced through his damp hair, leaving paths in their wake. Evidence of your touch. You scrunched the ends, trying to encourage those loose curls to form again. “Feel any better?”
He said nothing, watching you with quiet fondness that was undeniable in its devotion. For a moment, it seemed reality was slipping away. It wasn't the cruel grasp of that other side of him. It was the gentle coaxing of him. Just him. There was no other, no scales that tipped back and forth. Just Bob. His hand settled on your lower back, under your top and gently resting against your skin. Oh, you wet cat, you thought with amusement, smiling at the sight of him. Then he nodded slightly, a barely there motion as he soaked up the attention. “Yeah… thank you.”
“Yeah?” You pressed your lips together, feeling the soft vibration against your mouth when he melted into your touch, humming with contentment.
He was smiling when you pulled away slightly, a lethargic thing that you found endearing. “Yeah,” he whispered while nodding with a more noticeable motion.
The Five Times Bob Was Accidentally Flirting (and the one time you realised it wasn't an accident) | Bob Reynolds x Reader | Oneshot
You'd spent months seeing that Thunderbolts on TV, but as a new member of the team, you're excited to get stuck in and make friends with the heroes. What you aren't expecting is Bob, or how much attention he pays you. Does he know this looks like flirting?
Content: Rom-com style fluff and flirting.
Masterlist | Marvel | Bob Reynolds
At first, you're not entirely sure what to make of Bob, the secret, mostly unknown New Avenger, when you move into the Watchtower.
And worse, you're not sure what Bob thinks of you.
You'd expected him to be quiet and keep to himself, the long sleeved sweaters and shy smiles giving the false impression of someone painfully introverted.
But he's always around, lounging on the uncomfortable couches, reading, sat at the island sipping coffee. He's a constant presence, even if you only speak a few words together. He speaks to the others a lot, and it makes you jealous that they all have this bond that you've missed out on.
It turns out, you're the shy and quiet one at first.
The new girl.
Your first impressions were formed not by TV appearances and interviews, as they were with your other new teammates, but by a single elevator ride with Mel.
"Experiment gone wrong gone sort of right, don't expect too much from him, apparently he's in recovery but…well, he's hard to monitor," she'd said, not looking up from the tablet she was tapping on.
"Sure, okay."
It had felt a cruel way to talk about any human, but particularly a person they'd done actual human experimentation on and, not for the first time, you wondered what you'd got yourself in to.
How strange would everyone be?
Mel had thrown you to the wolves as soon as the elevator opened, "oh, they're here, see you later."
She had given you a little shove, duffle bag swinging at your side, and the doors closed behind you.
"Hi Newbie, I'm US Agent, but you can call me John."
You had recognised the man from the news, Walker, he had a new costume since then, and you shook his hand and introduced yourself while he stayed in what felt like continuous motion, moving towards you, standing in parade rest, shuffling his feet.
"Oh, we know, locked files, redacted names—" he looked impressed.
"She knows who she is, Walker." His voice was soft and low, but firm, when he appeared from behind John. "Hi, I'm Bob, you can call me Bob." He smiled, holding his hand out from the ripped cuff of his oversized sweater.
"Hi, Bob." He held your hand for a second longer than you were expecting, squeezing your palm gently and looking at you as if he was inspecting you. His eyes flicked down and then up, his smile widening and a glint appearing in his eyes.
"They bring food in around six, if you're hungry, but help yourself to snacks." He had lifted his other hand and wrapped it around your far-too-long handshake, his fingernails neat and pink. "If there's nothing you like, I keep some chips and stuff over by the windows, help yourself." And then he was gone, back to a perch where you could see a stack of books and a large water bottle with a straw.
Walker had raised his eyebrows, "not like our Bob to share his secret chip stash. Welcome to the team." He patted your shoulder.
Meeting the rest of the team had been a blur of handshakes and hellos, the feel of Bob's palm never leaving your fingers. Did he realise how soft his palm had been? Did he know how warm and welcoming he was? You couldn't get the feeling of him out of your mind, or the image of his hands wrapped around yours.
Bob is funny and kind, intelligent and thoughtful.
He's forgetful too, sometimes staying in his room for a day or two and then emerging with no memory of his time away or that he forgot to turn up to a meeting.
But he takes it in his stride, lopsided smile and floppy hair and all.
He has a strange sense of routine, attempting the same series of events, even when the timing is wrong. Appearing from his room in the evening with no memory of the day but an insatiable need to eat a deli sandwich. So he does. He follows his routine regardless of what his watch says and the more he does it the more you find you don't mind.
Eating cereal with him at 10pm and watching reruns of Saturday breakfast cartoons on a Tuesday is exactly what you need to stop you worrying about the rapid training programme you're on.
One week, he starts making more of an effort to not only turn up to dinner on time, but also making sure he gets a spot next to you, and you're more pleased than you'd like to admit to spend more time with him. And to be eating dinner at dinner time, instead of in the middle of the night.
Bob angles his chair to ignore whoever's on the other side, usually Bucky or Yelena, and engages you in a series of erratic questions, normally would-you-rathers that have you questioning the sincere look in his eyes while you answer or, out of nowhere, very specific questions like your favoutite ocean animal or if you've ever broken a bone.
Yelena rolls her eyes, smiling fondly before tucking into what is always a plate of mostly Mac and cheese.
Bucky often pulls Bob's seat back, more than once an evening, opening up a space between you both that you hadn't realised Bob had closed. He shuffled closer in tiny incriments until you're pressed together, the closeness only visible when the space is created again.
"So, first test flight tomorrow?" He asks, looking at you from the corner of his eye. "How do you feel?"
"I'm good I guess, it'll be good to go out as a team before were really needed."
You'd spent a few weeks training together, going over some basic combat techniques and getting to know the jet and helicopter that will be your domain.
"Yeah," he retreated a little, tucking his left hand into his sweater and using his right to scoop up some mashed potatoes with his fork, the knowledge that he'll be left behind heavy in the room.
The table lapses into comfortable chatter, plans for what everyone is taking for the flight, routine air reconnaissance, a film they might want to watch later, and you focus on your food, enjoying the soft patter of everyone's voices.
And then fingers touch yours, "here, have some more potatoes, you can't just live on green beans." Before you can stop him he's put two scoops of potatoes onto your plate and pulled the gravy away from Ava.
"Oh, thanks Bob." When you looked up at him he's watching you, a small smile playing in the corner of his mouth, an emotion you weren't sure how to place, but his smile widened as you ate.
Despite being in many ways luxurious, the Watchtower was always somehow…uncomfortable. In the living space, by the large windows that framed the Manhattan skyline, the air was always sticky and hot. Bugs under a glass, you were always too warm so the entire team took to wearing shorts and t-shirts as if it was summer.
But the rest of the building was aggressively air conditioned, kept at a level 64°f in the hopes that it'd keep everyone calm and, more importantly to Val, looking box fresh and ready for whatever PR action she required.
In theory this meant taking a sweater everywhere, just in case. And in reality it meant that everyone left an assortment of sweaters, knitwear and even blankets in odd places like outside of the elevator and by the gym doors.
Which is exactly where you found yourself, sweat pouring down your forehead, hands on your knees, when the AC notched up and sent a full body shiver down your spine.
You were sure Valentina had this particular corridor kept colder than all the others just in case any of you were photographed looking even slightly sweaty in your own home. But now the mix of post-workout come down and over compensating cold air was giving you goosebumps so bad you were shivering.
"Hey," Bob's voice was soft in the quiet corridor.
"Uh — hi," your teeth chattered in response and you put your arms around yourself. Partly for warmth, partly because you were now very aware that you were in tight shorts and a cropped work out top while Bob looked perfectly normal in his jeans and sweater.
"Are you okay?" He squinted a little through the soft curtains of his hair, "you look kinda…unwell?"
"Oh, yeah, I'm fine, just really hot and then —" as if on cue the AC whirred again, "cold. You know how it is."
"Yeah…do you want to borrow my —?"
Bob was already pulling his sweater off before you could say anything, lifting his baggy t-shirt underneath and revealing a glimpse of those ridiculously toned abs you'd heard all about. While his face was covered by his sweater you took a moment to appreciate how good he looked, muscles flexing slightly when he moved, and then the softness of his chest as he relaxed, the t-shirt falling back down to meet the waist band of his underwear, peaking over his jeans.
"Oh — god, no, that's okay, I'll be alright — I--"
Bob continued to ignore you, frowning while he turned the sweater the right way around and then rolled it up in his hands to slip it over your head.
It'd already been a little oversized on him, but now you felt lost in it, the wool on the arms stretched out of shape but the chest pulling tighter over your breasts.
He smiled, "perfect fit."
It was warm, and it smelt lovely too, of clean laundry and something sweet but fresh like a peppermint candy, a scent so uniquly Bob you had to resit the urge to bring the sweater up and over your face so you could drink it in.
"Thanks," you allowed yourself a smile and glanced up at him, suddenly aware of how close he was, of his fingers lingering at your elbow, the gentle flutter of his lashes and the pout of his lips when he spoke.
"No problem."
He took your hand in his and for a moment your heart fluttered, then he rolled up the sleeves on each side so your fingers could be seen from between the thick cuffs, "there, perfect, see ya later."
He left you in the corridor, surrounded by him, your mind reeling.
"So if you all open your mission briefs you'll see —" Mel paused and waited for Bob to sit down, his late arrival to the meeting resulting in the most awkward of silences.
"Sorry," he whispered, sliding into a chair next to you and placing a coffee cup in your line of sight.
"As I was saying, your mission briefs have an outline of the building inside, I've marked the areas with CCTV, you'll need to recon how wide this is."
"Can we share?" Bob's voice was a soft tickle in your ear.
"Sure," you pushed the manilla folder closer to him and he scooted his chair over.
"Thanks," he shifted, his arm around the back of your chair so he could lean closer over your shoulder. The scent of his body wash was strong and, judging by the damp curls of hair at his nape, he'd run from the shower. Bob's hand brushed your bare arm, warm and soft.
You resisted the urge to lean into him, to allow your cheek to rest against his chest, to wrap your own arm around him in return. You were also suddenly very conscious that you were wearing his sweater today, it had found its way into your gym bag as the perfect cover up to go with your gym workout gear and you'd been reluctant to part with it.
Bob's fingers pulled at the cuff and he smiled.
"Sorry, meant to give it back."
"No, don't, looks better on you anyway."
Across the table Bucky coughed and Ava stiffled a laugh from behind her folder.
Bob tapped the papers together in a poor immitation of a news anchor and you both looked back down at the floor plans.
"This looks easy." He whispered again, "but can I come with you?"
At the front of the room, Mel rolled her eyes again. "Can we please focus on this incredibly short meeting like the adults we are?"
Nodding you tried to look contrite, turning your page in time with the change of slide on Mel's projection.
Mel made a mental note to tell Valentina she'd found a way to get Bob on missions.
"It was not that bad, you exaggerate." Yelena teased.
"It was that bad, fuck, I don't know how I'm supposed to sleep now."
John turned the television off, taking the credits of the bone chillingly freaky film Yelena had chosen with it.
"Derivative." Ava said, sneaking the last of the popcorn.
"I liked the man at the end when he —"
"Oh my god, Alexei, please don't." You buried your face into the nearest pillow and curled up.
"Alright kids, that's enough." Bucky said decisively, stacking snack bowls and turning the blinding overhead lights on. "Bed time," he began shooing you all off the sofas, "you don't have to go home but you can't stay here, bars closed, get out."
He gave a half smile when Yelena and Ava booed, throwing stale popcorn at his retreating back before scurrying away to their rooms.
"I know where you live!" Bucky yelled from behind the dishwasher.
"I choose next film, know good Russian film, very scary."
"Please no," you still hadn't moved, despite the others filtering out into the corridor. The thought of putting your foot down on the floor was giving you the shivers, what if that thing was under the sofa and grabbed you and then —
"Are you alright?" Bob's hand on your shoulder was steadying, as warm as it had been in your mission briefing last week.
"Just…spooked, I guess. I should walk it off. I'll be alright."
The dishwasher clicked, the water starting, and you jumped, throwing the cushion towards the counter and reaching for the gun normally holstered on your thigh. It did get you out of your seat though, even if it was to run for the door.
"Ohhkayyy, you're not fine."
"I am, really, I'll just keep the lights on."
Bob rolled his eyes, keeping pace as you walked down the hallway to your rooms.
"Okay, I'm fine, night, Bob." You gave him a weak smile and opened your bedroom door, the room beyond dark with patches of shadows from the ever present glow of New York.
"Come on," Bob shut the door with a click and took your hand, leading you across the hall to his room, "you can stay with me."
The table lamps were already on in Bob's room, casting a warm light that chased the odd shadows into the corners.
"You can take the bed —" he gestured to the collection of pillows and blankets strewn across his otherwise identical bed.
"Or…we could share?" You suggested, half-hopeful. After all these little touches you were still unsure if Bob even liked you like that. He was always so kind and gentle, thoughtful and friendly.
"Sure, I'll brave your room and get you something to—"
"Do not leave me for the monsters, Robert Reynolds!"
After a promise that he'd never ever let a monster eat you, and a quick turn in his ensuite to wash your face and change into a spare t-shirt and shorts, you climb into bed.
"Thanks for letting me stay here." You whispered into the semi-dark, one little light still on in the corner.
"Of course, I'm here whenever you need me."
Even as Bob wrapped his arm around your waist, his nose tickling the back of your neck, you still weren't sure if Bob realised just how boyfriend he'd become. He was just so kind and thoughtful.
His hand splayed out over your tummy, his thumb tucked under the fabric of your shirt and rubbing soothing little rainbows into your skin.
"I hate these things," Yelena tossed the embossed paper invite onto the kitchen island where it skidded to a halt in front of your coffee cup.
"What is it now?"
"Some gala charity thing," Bob read over your shoulder, his hand brushing your elbow. "Top up?" He didn't wait for an answer before pouring fresh coffee into your cup.
"I'll be in my room," Bob filled his own cup and slouched back to the elevator.
"And is there coffee for me, no, of course not." Yelena muttered to herself, banging her mug behind you.
"The worst part is, I don't even enjoy dress shopping anymore." You let your head rest on the cool countertop, thinking about a day getting prodded and poked by Valentina's staff, fitting you into some awful outfit to satisfy a brand deal.
"No, the worst part is I will have to hang out on my own now."
"What do you mean? We always hang out at these things, I was planning on stealing a tray of cocktails and hiding in a corner with you!"
Ava appeared, yawning and making grabby hands at Yelena until she shared her coffee. Her eyes caught on the invitation and she sighed deeply.
"I guess it's just the two of us this time!" Ava handed the mug back.
"What are you two talking about!?"
The elevator dinged again and Bob strolled back out, "before I forget," he ruffled his sleepy curls, "let me know what colour Valentina puts you in, then I'll get a tie."
He turned away as if he hadn't just said the most confusing thing you'd ever heard.
"See." Yelena said with a smirk.
Ava just pointed, as if that helped at all.
You slumped forward onto the counter. "You are no help!"
Ava and Yelena lent against each other, laughing in a way that just made you angrier.
"Whatever." You dumped your coffee out in the sink and slunk off to your bedroom.
In the end, Valentina put you in black, she put everyone in black and herself in white as if she was arranging a wedding with her own ego.
Just to spite her you'd pretended the heels she'd sent didn't fit and, instead, had chosen a pair in a deep midnight blue that caught the light as you moved.
As always she arranged you all in the living space, scrubbed clean and then styled earlier in the day, heaven forbid people saw that you were normal people, ready for what Alexei called the "family photograph" and Bucky called "pandering to the press."
The only problem was, Bob hadn't arrived yet.
"Mel," Valentina snapped, "go and fetch him!"
Frustration bubbled through the room as Mel scurried to the elevator just as it opened, and out stepped Bob.
He'd brushed his hair back for the evening, long curls hugging his ears. And, like the others, he was wearing a black suit and white shirt. But, around his neck, he wore a midnight blue tie and silver tie pin.
It was like time had slowed down under his gaze.
Yelena smirked at Ava and then you.
But you didn't care, because Bob was looking at you, up and down slowly, landing on your shoes and allowing a soft smile to play across his lips before time started up again.
"I'm here, I'm here." He hurried to take his place, putting his arm around your waist. His grip was warm and firm through the thin material of your dress.
The photographer clicked rapidly, having given up on trying to get you all to look at the camera at the same time a few months ago. He checked his laptop and then, as quickly as he'd clicked, the team dispersed around the room.
Everyone except you and Bob.
"You look beautiful," Bob whispered, his cheek brushing yours when he turned towards you.
"Thank you, you look really handsome."
A blush rose on the back of his neck.
"I especially like your tie," you turned towards him, as if to fix something on his lapel and caught his eyes, a slight sparkle beneath the dark blue.
"Well you didn't tell me what colour you'd be wearing, so I had to guess."
You both looked down at your shoes and, when you looked back, he was already looking at you. He was so close you could feel his soft exhale when you stepped even closer. He was wearing cologne, layered over the familiar scent of his body wash and shampoo.
Bob opened and then closed his mouth, a little frown line appearing between his brows.
You saved him, taking his hand and running your finger over his thumbnail. "I think I've been really stupid."
"You could never —"
"This whole time I thought…I just thought you were being friendly and maybe you just didn't realise how flirty you were being..."
Bob squeezed your fingers and then let them go, stepping back and bursting the bubble you'd found yourselves in.
"Oh — I'm sorry, I didn't mean to over step, I made you feel uncomfortable and —" he blew out a breath, scrunching a hand in his hair.
"You didn't overstep, I…understepped?" You laughed and he paused, looking at you again with such intensity that you lost your words. Instead you tugged on his hand again, stood on your tiptoes and kissed him.
His lips were soft beneath yours, a gentle caress, his hands slid down your bare arms and he encouraged you to loop them around his neck, pulling you closer.
His hand on your waist had been warm during the photographs, but it was nothing to the feel of his entire body pressed against your own, each part of you slotting together perfectly. The bubble you were worried you'd burst grew, a rainbow slick of sunshine warming you both in the setting New York sun.
Red Scrubs | Bob Reynolds x OXE Experiment!Reader | One shot 1.3k
Bob wakes up next to you in the desert with no memory of what happened in the vault.
Content: canon-divergent, what if Bob wasn't the only experiment? What if you were worse! Bob is a sweetheart. Memory loss.
For @fluffyjuly Day 14 - “You stayed?”
And @juniebjonesin picnic prompts - quiet affection / yearning
Masterlist | Marvel | Bob Reynolds
It's hot, it's far too hot and Bob isn't entirely sure what he's going to do about that but considering you've been out cold for almost an hour, he figures it's probably his responsibility.
He'd woken in the blazing sun wearing hospital scrubs with what looks like bullet holes in them. His are blue-green, yours are red.
Something itches in the back of his mind that you need to run, but he's not entirely sure from what. Just a growing sense of dread and a desire to be literally anywhere else.
He can see dust in the distance, cars driving along a road maybe? And part of him knows that could be the easiest way out of this. Following the road to a town and then calling for help.
But he also can't remember who he's running from, what if they follow him? What if they answer?
Bob doesn't have the best relationship with the police and he's not keen to see if it's changed since the last time he was cuffed in the back of a cruiser. He's fairly sure there's at least one warrant out for him and he isn't overly keen to find out if it's still outstanding.
There is a building though, and from this distance, it looks abandoned. At least it might shelter you both from the sun for a while.
With some effort Bob rolls you onto your back, checking your face and temples for any bleeding. It's a beautiful face, one that tugs on his memories in a way that has his gut twisting. But nothing clear surfaces.
It tracks, his memory has been terrible for years, since he started using, and he doubts that whatevers happened to him in between will have helped.
Unlike his scrubs, yours are mostly intacked, apart from one hole at your shoulder. There's no blood there, but there is a neat circle punched out of the fabric. Looking down. He can see a wider circle on his own chest in the same place.
Did you get in front of him? And then he what? Took the rest of the bullets and lived? Whatever you'd both taken it had to be crazy.
At least there was no blood, just your floppy body.
"Hey," he taps your cheek gently, "hey wake up."
Your eyelids flutter, your hand shooting up to wrap around his wrist, and then you're sighing into his palm.
"Can you walk?"
You shake your head, but Bob manages to get you half to your feet, your weight leaning against him as you both stumble through the dry grass and rocks of wherever the hell you ended up.
The building looks further away now if possible. But together you pick your way towards it.
On closer inspection, it looks like an abandoned garage, maybe there'll be some running water, what if there's food?!
Bob picks up the pace and beside him you try to keep up, your feet dragging.
He doesn't remember what kind of man he was before what is clearly the worst trip of his life, but he knows he'd never leave you behind. He knows he's not the kind of man to leave anyone behind, but certainly not you. With renewed energy, he picks you up, hooking his arm under your legs.
He takes a stumbling step, but then he finds his balance. Despite the heat you tuck your face against his neck, your breathing shallow. It feels sticky on his skin but the mostly regular inhale and exhale helps him keep a slow, but solid, pace.
He was right, the garage is abandoned. A calender displaying a mostly naked woman tells him it was last used in 2019.
As soon as he has you settled in a shady spot, he tears it off the wall and drops it into the waste paper bin.
Mercifully the tap is still working, ice cold water bangs out of the pipes, rattling the entire sink. He runs it for a few minutes, just in case, and then fills a cracked mug to the brim, sipping slowly.
He can feel your eyes on him from the main garage room, so he brings the mug through and holds it up to your dry lips.
"You stayed with me." You croak the words out slowly and it takes Bob a moment to process them.
"I couldn't leave you in the desert."
"Not just the desert, before."
"I don't really remember before." He hands you the mug so you can have the last drink.
"Oh," you close your eyes and sigh.
You look sad again and he isn't sure why, he wants to make you happy.
He saw a few cubbies in the backroom, maybe there's food.
Bob hurries around, refilling the mug and looking for anything left behind, returning after a few minutes with some Twinkies and a fruit roll up.
"You must be hungry."
You crack an eye and take the offered treat, eating it slowly and savouring every bite.
The calm look on your face makes Bob feel better too, and he wants to keep it that way for as long as possible.
"Let's stay here for a while, then we'll figure out our next steps."
Your hands moves across the concrete floor and covers his, there's dirt beneath your nails and your skin is dry, but the weight of your palm is a reassurance he'll be searching for for a while.
"Thank you, Ba—Bob." You close your eyes again, catching your words, and there's that tug at Bob's memories again, making his stomach churn.
"You're welcome."
Before he can process anything else, the door opens and a cross looking man in leather is marching in, followed by a familiar group of sorry looking anti-heroes.
"Bob!" There's a blonde woman with a bloody nose and a dirty face looking very excited to see him.
His memory pulls again.
Yelena.
She's wriggling in her handcuffs to try and get closer to him and the action reminds him of something. A tunnel, no, a tower, a silo, an elevator shaft.
"Uh—hi," he didn't think he could possibly feel anymore confused than he already was.
"This is Bob?"
"Yes, Bob!" The group choruses, and a tall man with a scruffy beard a dust bin lid — no — that's Captain America — was Captain America follows up with a muttered, "how many times, Bucky."
That's who he is, the man in leather, Congressman Bucky Barnes, what on earth is he doing —
His train of thought is interrupted by a loud ringing and Barnes answering the phone.
"Yes," his voice softens, "Mel… yes, I found them."
There's a series of protesting noises from the assembled, tied up, group.
"If I tell you that I found your experiments too, you'll do the right thing, won't you — yes plural."
Barnes squints over at you both and Bob can feel you shrink behind him, curling your body inward, arms around your knees. He leans over, covering you from Barnes' eyeline.
"Two, Bob and I dunno, Bob's friend. He's in blue, yes."
Bob looks down at his scrubs.
"— and she's in red. Yes she, yes red — oh. Right. Okay."
Barnes puts the phone down and slides it into his back pocket.
"Robert?"
"You can just call me Bob."
"Your friend there, what's her name?"
"I can't remember," bob shrugged.
"Ma'am, do you remember?" He's obviously trying to be nice, but he looks ready to fight.
"Uh— I'm not sure, I just remember following Bob out of that basement and then now I'm here."
Barnes looks at everyone and circles a finger. "We need to get out of this building, you too Robert."
Bob looks at you instead, tears in your eyes.
"Why are they frightened?"
"I don't know," you choke out. Maybe you do know, maybe you've seen a video of why and maybe you can feel why bubbling in your body the more frightened you become.
"Robert," Barnes says gently, "she may be dangerous, why don't you come outside with us?"
Even Yelena is looking pointedly at the door, imploring him with her eyes.
Summary: You attended your very first D&D session with Eddie, but bad blood drives you away. After leaving in a hurry, Eddie reaches out, and he's not willing to accept your cryptic messages at face value.
Warnings: Language
Masterlist
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Summary: Bob’s having trouble dealing with the intense crush he has on you. He thinks it’s best to keep it all in but you want the opposite.
Contents: fluff, New avengers, takes place in the avengers tower, Bob is down bad, roughly based on the song guilty as sin by Taylor swift, a little suggestive (Bob's having thoughts about you), reader is oblivious at first, comfort, reassurance, happy ending. Not really proof read, maybe proof skimmed?
You never picked up on the way Bob seemed to curl into himself whenever you entered the room. The way he made as much space for you as possible and tried to be invisible. It was just typical Bob to you.
He was doing it now as you entered the kitchen after a sparing sessions with Ava. You went straight to the fridge to grab a water and only after closing it did you see Bob, standing with his arms folding in the crook of one of counters.
"Hey," You offered a smile and he returned one back. "Thanks for washing dishes, you really don’t have to do that we can pick up after ourselves." You remind him after eyeing the empty sink.
"Oh, it’s the least I can do." Bob shrugs and scratches the back of his neck.
"We appreciate it. At least I do." You make your way out of the kitchen with your water but not before offering Bob another smile.
Once you’re out of sight, Bob shakes his head, feeling a sense of humility. Like he does after every encounter with you.
You’ve always been kind to him. But he noticed the change in his feelings towards you after game night last month.
Bob had been a bit more bold that night. He’d called Walker out for cheating during uno. Walker didn’t take it kindly(although he was in fact hiding cards underneath his seat). Walker had been harsh in his defense against the accusation and you were the first to defend Bob. The rest of the team had hopped on the ban wagon and forced Walker to stand up and just as Bob had stated, uno cards fell from Walkers ass.
Bob felt good knowing you had his back.
After that he started noticing more things about you. Like how you gave the smallest tasks your all. How encouraging you were with the team, he’d watched as you squeezed Ava after she’d phased for longer than she initially thought she could without, well, dying. Some mornings he’d watch you make sure there’s enough water in the coffee pot so when Bucky gets his cup of Jo he isn’t as grumpy.
And mostly, Bob admires how when you’re feeling overstimulated or down you don’t take it out on everybody else.
Bob found that he just liked everything about you and he accepted that his feelings wouldn’t be going away.
When night fell, Bob woke from a nightmare. Though he could never remember, he knew that the void had yet again plagued his mind. He crawled out of bed covered in sweat and decided to go to the kitchen for a glass of water.
As he crept down the hall he heard faded sounds of laughter and when he rounded the hallway corner he saw lights from the tv flashing in the dark.
You were watching some sitcom, curled in a fuzzy maroon blanket, eating gummy worms.
Bob contemplated turning around and heading back to his room. The moment he decided it was probably the best thing for him to do if he wanted to avoid embarrassing himself in front of you, you turned your head to face him.
The alert quickly left your eyes and a gentle smile replaced your features.
"Hey," you said softly.
Bob timidly waved.
"Sorry is the tv too loud?" You asked reaching for the remote.
Bob quickly shook his head, "no no no, not at all, I just couldn’t sleep."
You nodded, understanding. Not only because it was Bob and you knew the darkness in his past still haunted him but because you also couldn’t sleep.
"You wanna join me?" You offered, even holding up your bag of gummy worms.
Bob only nodded before padding over to the sofa and taking a seat in the corner. You scooted closer to him to hold out the bag. Bob was going to refuse, not wanting to steal any from you but he saw that you were pretty adamant on sharing so he took one.
He also didn’t mind how you’d stayed close to him through out the rest of the night.
Bob had nearly lost it when you stopped into his room fresh out the shower. Your hair was wet and you had your towel wrapped around you.
"Do y'know where the cotton balls are?" You asked.
Bob didn’t even realize you’d spoken. He was more focused on where the towel had just wrapped around the top of your breasts. Then his eyes moved to your bare legs and he nearly died then and there. His thoughts started rushing to scenarios where he’d be able to touch you, drag his hands along your bare legs, and kiss the area above your breasts.
"Bob?" You raised an eyebrow before it clicked.
Bobs cheeks turned beet-red and he averted his eyes to his hands.
"Um, I-I’m not sure. With all the injuries you all sustain I doubt we have any left." He stammered out, trying his best to recover, hoping he didn’t just completely screw things up between the two of you.
"Okay, I’ll make it work. Thanks." You awkwardly stepped out of the room. Not because you were weirded out by Bob's reaction but because somehow you felt like you’d weirded him out.
You were aware that the two of you had grown closer and though Bob never expressed his limits and boundaries you were always aware that they were there. Maybe entering his room, his personal space was a crossed line. Not to mention wearing nothing but a towel on top of it.
This time you’re the one shaking your head, fighting off the sense of embarrassment.
After a mission briefing the next day, you were quick to hurry out of the office room.
Bob was now sure he’d completely fucked things up between you two. Why else would you avoid him like that? You didn’t offer your usual soft smile from across the table that morning and not even a mumbled good morning and now the thought of you was keeping him up at night.
Just beneath his door he could see faded changes in light. Before Bob knew it, his feet padded to the door and he slowly opened it.
Tonight it seemed you were watching some game show.
As he made his way down the hall, your head came into view, sitting in front of the screen and eating grapes. Bucky had once commented that being in front of the screen was bad for your eyes but you just shrugged at it and it only then occurred to Bob that the reason you stayed up so late at night was probably because you couldn’t sleep either.
You sensed him even with his socks walking on the marble flooring. Turning your head you offered a smile. "I can turn it down if it’s too loud."
"No, it’s fine." Bob scratched the back of his head and contemplated what he would say. He’d never felt this way about anyone; his past had consisted of abuse, drugs, and self-loathing. He wasn’t sure how to handle a situation with someone as soft as you. He awkwardly made his way over to the couch and sat down, making sure to keep some distance between you two.
"Are we okay?" Bob blurted all of a sudden.
"Yeah, why wouldn't we be?"
He shrugged and averted his gaze, "I don’t know, I thought I might’ve weirded you out or something."
You shook your head, "No, why would you think that?"
"Because I’m me."
"I like that you’re you, Bob." You reassured. Hesitantly you scooted an inch closer to him and turned to fully face him on the couch. Shifting your legs to a sideways angle and leaning the weight of your head on your loosely closed fist, while your arm rested on the back rest of the sofa.
"I don’t make you uncomfortable?"
"You’re the most comforting person in this building," You tell him. You take a second to evaluate him, his posture, his facial expressions. Nervous as usual but he also has a look of hope on his face.
So you took a chance and leaned in and nuzzled your head into the crook of his neck.
"Is this okay?" You asked.
You felt him nod before he uttered a soft "Yeah"
After a few moments of Bob coming to the conclusion that this was really happening, he finally relaxed into you and wrapped an arm around your body to pull you closer.
"I don’t weird you out, do I?" You asked, jokingly.
"Yeah, a little bit," came Bobs reply.
You gasped, and playfully nudged his shoulder. "Bob Reynolds did you just make an attempt at humor?"
"Yeah. Was I successful?" He questioned while scratching the back of his head.
Your soft laugh was all the answer he needed.
The two of you watched the game show until you dozed off.
It was the first good nights rest Bob had ever gotten.
You and Bob were on the couch till morning. Sound asleep and oblivious to your teammates staring down at you two.
"I did not see that coming," Walker commented.
Alexei hummed in agreement.
"Really? I’ve had a feeling for weeks." Ava countered.
"Yes and Bob hasn’t been so good at hiding his little crush." Yelena added.
"Hm, what about you Buck?" Walker looked towards the kitchen where Bucky was sipping his cup of coffee.
He sighed, "I don’t care."
A/n: Hi and thank you for reading. I might do a second part because I just love Bob so much and he deserves all the love in the world. Anyways I hope everyone’s having a great day.
You get back from a mission to find Bob's missed you more than you expected.
Content: tiny bit of sad Bob, cuddles, almost confessions.
For @fluffyjuly - Day 29 - Touch Starved | “Don't leave me alone again”
And for @juniebjonesin Picnic Blanket Prompts - hidden feelings → romantic tension / almost confessions
Masterlist | Marvel | Bob Reynolds
It was late in the evening when the jet touched back down at the Watchtower. There wasn't a single member of the team that wasn't exhausted, despite both Bucky's (followed by Alexei and John's) insistence that "super soldiers don't get tired".
You staggered off the landing platform with the rest of the team, leaving a scattering of tactical outfits, boots, guns and knives in your wake. There were mumbled promises of "tidying up tomorrow", but you knew you'd all need a least two days to recover from the help Valentina had just put you through.
Lacking in super powers, or widow endurance training, you sadly made up the rear of the returning cavalry, holding your weary head up high all the same.
John stuck his arm out to hold the elevator door, each of your friends leaning against the walls with their eyes shut, but you waved him away.
"I'm going to grab a drink, you guys go on ahead."
The doors shut and you sighed into the darkness for only a moment before dragging your feet to the wet bar, hoping it had been stocked with ice cold water.
"You're back?"
Bob's voice sounded as tired as your own, coming from his corner of the operations room where he'd clearly fallen asleep in his bean bag chair.
"Yeah, we all are, no casualties our side so don't worry."
Bob set his book down carefully and you watched him fidget with his hands.
"I could do with a hug," you sighed and he was on his feet in seconds.
Bob's hugs could fix anything, his arms surprisingly strong under his sweaters, but he was always soft and snuggly too.
"Thanks," you squished your face into his chest and breathed him in, so much like home now that you were back.
"I think I might come with you next time," he admitted, lips touching your cheek briefly.
"Are you sure? Are you ready?"
"I — I don't know. I just — don't leave me alone again." He confessed.
"Okay, I'll talk to the others, we can take it on turns or work out who needs to go."
"Yeah, I guess."
"Bob."
"Just let me —" he let his head rest on top of your head. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell you how he really felt. It was on the tip of yours to say the same.
Bob Reynolds who cries while fucking you because he just loves you so much and finds you so beautiful that he can't hold back his emotions which only makes him drive his hips faster and deeper into you
bob reynolds x afab!reader (cw: cockwarming, no gendered pronouns for reader)
Thinking about… Bob Reynolds, your sunny boy who immediately blushes all over, breath stuttering just from wanting to be close with you. He approaches you, torturously slow because he still can't convince himself that you want him as much as he wants you. He just wants, wants and wants... Even if its just a look, a brush of your hand, your voice. He wants it all. Most of all, he just wants to be with you, all the time. Feel your presence wrap around him.
It makes him go insane, actually. He needs to be close to you. He craves it, deep inside his bones, the need to be close to you is constant. He yearns for your warmth. He needs to feel it in every part of his skin, including on his now full on hard cock.
So he gets closer, closer and closer. You let him. God, you always let him.
When he gets like this, when he is clearly uncomfortable under his skin, when every little thing seems to set him off, eyes twitching, fingers fidgeting, his sole solution is you. And you are painfully aware.
He puts his hand on your hip, eyes searching everywhere but your face. He is shy when he wants this. Pulling you closer by the hip, chests now touching, you can feel he hardness of his cock through his sweats. He rests his head between your shoulder and neck, noses along it, inhaling your scent. He rubs his head on your neck, then your cheek like a pup, and honestly, it is endearing how much he loses himself in you. How he is so needy, so desperate.
He stops for a moment, putting his entire weight on you, and lets out a sound that is close to a whine. He whispers, quiet and small, "Can we... Can I... I need you, baby. Please."
He gets overwhelmed easily. You tease him about it, how he goes dumb, how he cannot form a sentence when he gets like this. But you know what he wants, you can feel it in his skin. You can feel it on your skin too, because you can feel the wetness on your underwear start to grow by the second. You can't resist him.
"Yes, honey. Get comfortable for me, yeah? Be good about it."
He thanks you repeatedly, calls you his baby, and kisses your neck as he gets up a little. His hands start wondering under your t-shirt, and slowly starts to reach for your underwear. When he realizes you are wet, he groans loudly and curses under his breath. He palms himself through his sweats and after a moment he pulls it down, revealing his hard, weeping cock. His tip is flushed pink and shiny.
He is not going to last too long being still, you think to yourself. He loves being buried inside you, loves how you envelope him in your warmth, both inside you and in your arms. It soothes him, makes his head clearer, thoughts silent. But he always gets needy after a while, always.
He pumps his cock a few times, spreading his slick along his length. With his other hand, he touches your underwear where there is a wet spot and pants loudly, like a needy dog. He slips it to the side, reveals your aching and glistening pussy. The sight makes him bite his lip, stopping the embarrassing sounds he was going to let out.
"Come on, Bob. Don't make me wait." Your breaths were starting to come out shaky from the expectation. As much as Bob needs this, you need it too. You love seeing him this desperate for you, love keeping him inside you, filling you up, making you whole.
He apologizes a few times, and lowers his head to give you a kiss on the lips. You brush your hand along his curls, always loving the soft feel of his hair along your fingers. At the same time, you feel the head of his cock against your entrance, making you tense up momentarily. His cock slips, catches in your panties and slides over your hole to your clit. You exhale loudly, Bob groans at the same time, then quickly apologizes for it. You hold onto one of his arms, nails digging into his bicep. "Honey..." Bob shakes his head, curls going around, face going redder, and ruts his hips again, this time entering you slow, so slow.
Your hole welcomes him gladly, he moans and grips your hips in a soft hold, head going to rest on your neck again. He buries himself in you, gently, feeling the warmth of your walls around his cock, relief going through his spine. When he is buried to the hilt, he sighs and puts his weight on your chest, body going loose. You start to pet his hair again, listening to his (and your own) breathing getting steady, melting together. He kisses, kisses and kisses your neck, lips constantly seeking your skin. He holds you closer, caging you in his unrelenting but gentle hold.
This is what he wants.
To be with you, to be one with you. He wants you to keep him inside forever, maybe live under your skin, wants you to own him, never let him go. It makes him feel safe, in a way, safe and wanted.
You know he is going to start moving soon, getting needy like a bad little pup. But you are going to keep him like this, as much as he wants.
You know he deserves it.
a/n: heyy!! this too is an old work from me that i decided to post here again... hope yall like it!! i wonder if you miss bob as much as i do...? also how do you feel about the 3 pixels we got of him in the doomsday trailer? 🥲
watch this be the wrong thing (classic) ⭑ part one
you live in a shitty apartment and your shower stops working. johnny comes up with a solution. (johnny storm x fem!reader)
AN: this has been in my drafts for almost a year lol. also not proofread!
WORD COUNT: 6.4k
It starts with a shower.
You’re freshly awoken and groggy and you had been so tired the previous night that you went to sleep without washing your hair. You, unsurprisingly, woke up with your hair still greasy and unkept which just isn’t right. You curse yourself for not doing anything self-care related the night before, but it’s hard to really care for yourself when you’re teaching five-year-olds for seven hours and then running to the coffee shop for another five hour shift. New York is expensive.
It’s so expensive that you have to work your ass off to make ends meet, and you’re still living in a shitty apartment on the Lower East Side. The type of apartment where you make sure to make a whole show of opening your apartment and slamming the door shut to alert any lingering mice that a human is home and could hurt them (you could never hurt a fly). The type of apartment where you have to make-do with the fact that your front door doesn’t properly shut unless you turn the knob and click the door closed just right. It’s not the ideal living situation. But you make do: your cat, Chester, is a good tool to scare away mice and you installed a second lock on your door just in case. It’s fine.
What’s not fine, however, is you stripping off your pajamas before turning the faucet on your tub.
And no water comes out.
“What the fuck,” you say, a loud declaration to yourself since no one is around and you really don’t have time for this. You turn to your sink and twist the spout. No water.
You press your hands to your eyes and hope this is just an unlucky start to your day. You tell yourself that you’ll leave it alone for a few minutes and you’ll come back to the water working, whether it’s ice cold or lukewarm you will shower. You grab your bathrobe and toe your way to the kitchen.
Thankfully, everything else seems to be working okay. Your toaster perfectly heats the piece of sourdough and you lather it in butter. Everything is going to be okay. You eat your bread silently, eyes double checking that Chester’s bowl is filled with food and water. You smile; as if on queue, the cat makes his way to the bowl and starts eating. At least someone is having a good start to the morning.
When you’re properly fed and manage to look through your closet for an outfit for the day (there's a maxi skirt that you bought last week that you’ve been dying to show off), you trudge back to the bathroom to try again. You say a little prayer to a God you’re no longer sure you believe in if He would let your day start like this, and turn the faucet again.
No water.
You don’t have it in you to pull a string of curses from your throat. You have forty minutes to get to work and you’re completely unprepared, and your eyes still haven’t de-puffed. You think you may cry, but that would do you no good. Instead, you go back to your bedroom and to your vanity and decide that you will cope in any way you can. You place your hair into two braids and secure it with cedar-scented hairspray to mask any smell (gross). You still put on your butter yellow maxi skirt with a matching long-sleeve and slip on your loafers. You use your half-empty cold cream to get rid of any residue on your face before applying your makeup as usual. By the time you’re finished, you check the clock to see that you have thirty minutes to make it to the elementary school.
Before you leave your apartment building, you knock at the apartment across from you. You’re fidgety because you’re running a little late, but you don’t think you’ll be able to function unless your questions are answered.
Frances, your elderly neighbor, opens the door. She has a book in her hand, the corner of a page dog-eared but she still has a finger in the novel to hold her place. Her eyes light up. “Good morning, dear! How are you?”
“Hi, Frances, I’m doing well.” You feel bad for not exchanging the pleasantry back, but you’re in a rush and you were already late to work last week when your train got delayed. “I’m not gonna lie, though, I’m running late for work but I need to ask—is your water working?”
Frances glances back into her apartment. “Well I just washed the dishes, so yes. I would say it’s working pretty well. Although, it was pretty murky when I first turned it on, which happens all the time! My advice is to let it run for a minute or two and the water will clear right up!”
God. How is this building still livable? You wonder how many health code violations your landlord must’ve dodged, or failed to take care of.
Your smile is tight, incredibly forced as you thank your neighbor and wish her a good day.
This, you think, is the worst start to your day that you’ve ever had.
٠࣪⭑
You find Rachel in her classroom, grabbing her coat from the back of her chair. And when she finally takes notice of your presence and smiles, an immediate warmth flushes you over being looked at in a deeply maternal way. She, you think, has that kind of effect. Many years your senior, Rachel has still managed to become your closest friend at work, always spreading some sort of teaching-wisdom from years of doing a profession that you only started two years prior. For a second, you forget about your troubles.
You two move in a synchronized manner, exiting the school doors and walking towards Yancy Street. It’s been a ritual for some time now that you two go to Maisie’s during your lunch hour. You think you’ll soften around the edges once you get your hands on a slice of lemon blueberry cake.
Rachel is the first to break the comfortable silence.
“You look really pretty today.”
You smile. “Thanks. I don’t feel it, though,” you reply honestly. “You wouldn’t believe it—the water in my apartment isn’t working.” You recount your shower story, and the sink, and how you asked Frances only to realize you’ve just been handed the worst luck for the day.
“Murky water? Honey, how are you still living there?”
“The rent is so good, someone must’ve been murdered there.” Your mouth had nearly dropped when you saw the ad in a newspaper almost a year ago, bragging to all your friends at the amazing deal you caught. Most of them even seemed impressed by your search. Only, there had been one friend in particular who had seemed skeptical by the cheap price; the same friend who had put in your head that someone was probably murdered for the price to drop that low. You brushed him off at the time.
“Well, until your water starts working again, please know that my place is always open for you.”
You mutter another thanks as you round the corner to Maisie’s, though you know you’ll never take Rachel up on her offer. You never liked the feeling of intruding in someone’s personal space, and to do that to your coworker seems to be the worst case scenario. You follow her into the shop and begin contemplating what exactly you’re going to do with your water not working. You suppose asking Frances if you could use her shower isn’t a terrible idea. She likes company, anyway.
You and Rachel spot Ben Grimm before he can even notice. He’s a few people ahead of you, already ordering at the counter with his form towering over the people in front of you. You don’t hesitate to nudge Rachel with her elbow, to which she nudges you back. She tries to hide her blush. You don’t bother hiding your smirk.
“Hey, Ben!” you call out once he steps to the side of the counter.
He turns his head the wrong way at first, and you laugh. He follows the sound of your voice, turning the other way as he scans down at the crowd of people. His eyes light up when they meet yours, awkwardly shifting through the people around him until he’s next to you. Your name and Rachel’s slip delightedly from his lips as he clutches his bag of cookies to his side. “How are you guys?”
You and Rachel reply at the same time.
“Good—“
“—Horrible.”
Ben’s eyes widen. “Okay, let’s backtrack.”
You and Rachel look at each other, and you motion for her to go first.
“Well, we did finger-painting today. And no fights broke out, no one got paint in their clothes—which is the first year I can say that that’s ever happened. So, I’m feeling pretty great. I’m sure the kids do, too!”
You scoff. “I can’t even get my kids to not get crayon on their uniforms. I don’t know how Leo did it, but his collar is still stained red. Good luck with him in two years.”
Rachel looks like she’s filling that thought into her brain. “Noted.”
Ben shifts his look to you.
You sigh. “My water doesn’t work. I can’t shower.”
“Yikes. You know, I thought I smelt something when you guys entered—“
“Oh, shut up,” you swat his arm. It does more harm to you than him.
The line moves forward, and you step with it, glaring at him despite the smile threatening to break across your face. You know Ben well enough to understand that the teasing is affectionate. You also know him well enough to understand that the more visibly annoyed you become, the more he enjoys himself.
“I’m serious, though,” he says. “What’re you gonna do?”
You just need to get through the day first; to deal with rambunctious kids before your own problems. You shrug, choosing not to answer.
٠࣪⭑
You hear his voice before you see him.
You’re too busy sorting through your array of keys, entering the front of your apartment building. Your mind is half on the pesto pasta you plan to reheat in the oven, half on the fact that you have two hours of alone time until your shift at the coffee shop. You hoped that you would spend it watching television with your reheated food, but now you think it’ll be spent trying to get a hold on your landlord. Who always seems to be on vacation. You climb two flights of stairs, fiddling with your apartment key.
“I wanna see it.”
You jump, a small gasp escaping you as you clutch your chest and follow the sound of the voice.
Johnny is leaning against your apartment door, eyes crossed and giving you a pointed look that leaves no room for questioning.
“Johnny,” you lightly scold. “You scared me.”
He repeats, “I wanna see it. For myself.”
“See what?” You push him to the side and stick your key in the hole, turning it and entering your apartment, already knowing he’s a step behind you. You never questioned when Johnny shows up randomly, you just wish he wouldn’t scare you in the process of doing so. You turn back to him and raise a quizzical eyebrow.
He closes the door behind him, turns the knob and clicks it just right to close. He’s observant like that. “Your water,” he replies. His head tilts as he looks up. “Or lack of.”
You shouldn’t be surprised. “I assume Ben told you.”
“Like a good friend, yes. I didn’t even get a call.”
You fight a roll of your eyes. “Because it’s not your problem, Johnny.” Still, you guide him to your kitchen sink where he stands in front of it, kneeling down dramatically to stare at it close. When you turn the spout, no water comes out. You do it a second, third time for good measure. He continues to stare at it.
After a few moments, he sighs and gets back up to his regular height, towering over you. He looks down at you with a frown, like you’re a puppy found in an alleyway. “Your problems are my problems. And this just won’t do.”
You try—you really do—to ignore the flutter in your chest at his words. After all these years, he still manages to disarm you.
Being best friends with Johnny Storm should be a good thing. While the world only recently discovered his greatness, he’d been your little secret for a bit longer than that. You met when you were still in college, accidentally spilling coffee on his shirt. You’d been more shy back then, less comfortable with his presence, and was sputtering apologies faster than the cars driving by. You guess Johnny had taken a liking towards you, buying you a new coffee despite him being the one with the ruined shirt. He’s just thoughtful like that.
And it should be a good thing—he’s a good friend! He knows your coffee order by heart, even knowing how to make it himself with just the right amount of cream and sugar. He cooks for you when you’re sick, and does your laundry when you’re fully healed to get rid of the excess germs and grossness that comes with the flu. He brings over leftovers of Ben’s cooking when you’re too tired from work to come to family dinner. Hell, he’s become an amazing hat trick when it comes to career days at school—he came in once with printed science worksheets that he somehow managed to convince Reed to help him put together.
Being best friends with Johnny Storm should be a good thing.
Except for the fact that you think you’re in love with him. Which may be the dumbest non-decision you’ve ever made in your life.
And his words don’t really help.
“It ‘won’t’ do’?” you manage to choke out. You hope he doesn’t hear the change of inflection in your voice. The way your words sound like it had to do somersaults in your throat before exiting.
“No,” he says, thankfully still in his head, “it won’t.” His head snaps up, eyes locking on you. Your heart races. “Where’s Chester?”
You both do a once-over of your apartment, eyes lighting up when you spot Chester by the window, soaking up the fall sun. His head instinctively turns, as if sensing the two pairs of eyes on him. He purrs, and turns back to the window. You smile.
“Okay, headcount complete,” says Johnny, clapping his hands once. “Pack your bags.”
Your face contorts. “Huh?”
“Pack your bags,” he says, the way a person would say obviously. “You’re not living here.”
“And why is that?”
He looks at you deadpan. “You don’t have working water.”
“And where would we stay?” you reply defiantly. “I hope whatever hotel you’re thinking of will come out of your pockets.”
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t be silly. You’re staying with me—with us, I mean. Me, Reed, Sue, Ben. At the Baxter Building."
You’ve been to the Baxter Building a handful of times, more than a handful. You do remember, though, a time you actively avoided the entirety of the building, too intimidated that Johnny lived there and you were still living with your parents in their two-bedroom at the time. The first time you entered was when you and Johnny were supposed to catch a floral exhibit at the MET, but he’d forgotten a coat. He barely spared you a second glance before pulling you into the building, nodding at the lift attendant and entering the elevator. You thanked God that day that no one was home, and you tried your best to not stare in awe at the floor-to-ceiling windows and slick sofas, waiting for Johnny to return from his bedroom. After that day, you’d been invited to family dinner because Sue was just extremely upset that she missed you the first time. Then, family dinners had become a regular occurrence for a while, until you finished your degree and you got a job—two, at that—and the dinners dwindled. You were too tired for the commute and traded Ben’s stellar cooking for your cooking that’s… less so.
So you’re quite familiar with the layout and sense of comfort Johnny’s home can bring.
But you gulp. You don’t think you can live there.
“Johnny—“ you heave a breath, trying to piece your words together carefully. If you say the right things, he might leave this issue alone. “I’m calling my landlord later. He’s going to get my water fixed, I don’t need to go anywhere. I promise.”
He scoffs. He’s walking to your bedroom before you can stop him, “What, your landlord that’s always surfing in California? Yeah, let’s give him a call!” He opens your closet and reaches up on the top shelf where you keep your suitcase, lifting it down with ease. Your eyes turn away from where his shirt rides up, instead turning to stare at your bed because, wow, your throw blanket is super pretty.
“I’m not asking you to move in with me,” he tries to rationalize the thoughts in your head. “Just pack the essentials, you know, some clothes, cat food, shower supplies, obviously. We’ll call your surfer landlord, and knowing him, he won’t get to it in at least five business days. Once this is all fixed, you’ll come back. Simple as that.”
“I just—I just really don’t think this is a good idea.” The thought of living with Johnny makes your stomach churn, to be so close to him. Not only do you not want to do it for obvious reasons, but you don’t want to get in his way. His head is always in the clouds, and when it’s not, there’s something to get done. You imagine your perfume getting in the way of blueprints on his dresser. Chester sniffing at his clothes and leaving cat hair in his wake. It’s not a good idea.
“It’s a great idea,” he says. “I’ve decided. You can’t change my mind, you know that.”
You do know that. He’s always been the stubborn one. And you thought your stubbornness for not wanting to live in the Baxter Building would rival his own, but you feel your resolve slipping—as it always seems to do around Johnny.
“I don’t want to get in your way, Johnny,” you say honestly; a last resort that will hopefully make him come to his senses. He’ll hopefully realize that you’re right, that he is very meticulous to how he spends his time and he doesn’t want you there for most of it. It’ll hurt, yeah, but it’ll stop him from doing something he’ll regret.
He mulls over your statement, arms crossing as he eyes you. You look away, feeling suddenly scrutinized under his gaze. You contemplate if it’s a bad time to ask him to put your suitcase back above your closet (you can’t reach it).
Finally, after moments that stretch out, he exhales. “Is that really what you think?”
“I mean, I don’t know. I’m just trying to be realistic.”
“Well,” he takes a step closer to you. “I would argue that I function better when you’re around. Johnny loves company, didn’t you know?”
Your nose scrunches. “I hate that. When you refer to yourself in third person.”
“I’m just stating the obvious! Since we’re being realistic.” He places a hand on your shoulder and it’s searing hot, not from any of his abilities. “I’m offering you to stay because I want you too. It’ll be like a really long sleepover—we barely have those! You’re always busy.”
You bite your lip, contemplating. You feel the weight of his gaze, eyes searing into yours as if they’ll help convince you (they do, that’s the problem). You think about your morning, how pissed you were when the water wouldn’t work. How if it did, it still probably would’ve been cold and you’d be shivering your way into your robe.
You think of the Baxter Building, considerably more luxurious than yours. You’ve been inside their bathroom before—there were multiple shower heads.
You think of how much closer the building is to your school.
You look back up at him, a conclusion beating into your brain. “Permission to be selfish?”
Johnny smirks. “The floor is yours.”
“… A shower at your place does sound nice.”
“Yes!” Johnny pumps a fist in the air, face contorting in a way that has WINNER plastered on it. “Yes! Keep being selfish! You can use Sue’s fancy soaps, and we have really nice towels. Hell, we can even try to give Chester a bath if he's down for it!” He places his hands on your shoulders and levels his head with yours. “This is going to be good. Think of it like a getaway. From this shitty apartment. That I’m still going to try to convince you to move out of, by that way.”
You laugh at that. “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll stay with you.”
His smile has been lighting up your world for a couple of years now, grin always made up of sunshine and a softness you could never properly place. It’s disarming, and magical—for lack of a better word in your vocabulary. It’s the reason he’s always been easily convincing you of his antics over the years. It’s the reason you go out of your way to do things you wouldn’t normally do, like picking him up an apple turnover at Maisie’s, just to see a glimpse of the upturned corners of his lips and sparkle in his eye.
You file the smile he gives you under Top Five Johnny Smiles and grin back.
“Okay, okay,” his words echo yours, but with the bewilderment of someone who finally got through to someone (does he know you never stood a chance?), “let me help you pack.” He turns back to your closet and eyes the array of clothes. “What shirts do you bring? Oh—what about that red sweater your kids love? The one they said is soft when they hug you.”
You exit your trance now that he’s preoccupied with something else. You quickly scan the suitcase and eye how much you can actually fit because you’re known as a chronic over-packer. You went on a weekend trip with your girls last month, and two days at a hotel in Montauk translated to two suitcases and your purse filled to the brim. You just operate like that, unfortunately.
“No, not that one,” you reply. “I spilled yogurt on it two days ago.” It’s currently sitting on your ever-growing laundry pile, left unkept as you went about your week.
Johnny turns to you and rolls his eyes, no bite behind it at all. “We can wash it, anyway. Bring it.”
The next thirty minutes of your life are taken up by going through your closet with Johnny. He holds up various pieces of clothing from your closet and flashes them at you, waiting for your hum of yes or your shake of the head no. If it’s a no, he places it neatly back into your closet. If it’s a yes, he takes it off the hanger and unceremoniously tosses it over your suitcase. He probably thinks he’s being the pinnacle of a helpful best friend—and while yes, he is—but in reality, his trivial sifting gives you a chance to pack more personal matters, like your underwear and bras and journal that you never let Johnny read. Then, you go into your tiny bathroom and collect all your soaps because you’re not actually going to use Sue’s fancy ones, despite what her brother offered.
He peaks his head into the bathroom door, brows furrowed. “What do you mean you don’t want to bring your green cardigan?”
You side-eye him, zipping up the small pouch you’re using to pack toiletries. “Because I already said yes to two other ones! I’m only staying for a few days, not moving out.”
Your words settle to him as he looks away thoughtfully. “I’m just trying to give you options while you’re there,” he says, “You’re pretty indecisive—“
“Thanks.”
“But anyway, can I switch out your yellow cardigan for this one? This is my favorite.”
You try to stomach the thought of Johnny noticing you enough to have a favorite anything of yours. “I didn’t know my wardrobe was your personal fashion catalogue,” you manage to reply.
“It’s fall,” he says plainly. “Green is perfect.”
The rest of your packing journey is uneventful. You make your bed because you don’t want to leave your apartment a disaster while you’re gone. Johnny does your dishes. You manage to stuff Chester’s food and a few toys in the sliver of room left in your suitcase, having to sit on the top to zip it shut. You silently congratulate yourself, though, since you managed to fit everything you need into one suitcase this time.
Johnny dusts off his hands as he comes out of your bedroom, shutting off the light after he did one last sweep of the area.
He picks up your suitcase without difficulty, muscle flexing under his t-shirt (not that you noticed). “Lesson plans?”
“Got it.”
“Chester’s food?”
“I somehow managed to stuff it in his suitcase.”
“Laundry you want to wash?”
You hum, more focused on wrangling Chester into his cat carrier. Surprisingly, he goes in without much of a push. He must know something is wrong with the apartment, or maybe he’s excited about spending a few days in the Baxter Building.
“Good,” mutters Johnny. “I don’t wanna come back here if you forgot something.”
You let Johnny think that he’s involved in a life-or-death situation, as if the distance between your apartment and the Baxter Building isn’t a thirty minute commute. You wander off to double-check that every light is closed, your lamp is unplugged, and the little water stain Chester left is cleaned. You don’t even contemplate the fact that you might be stalling until Johnny is grabbing your wrist from where you were gonna float past him to make sure perishables aren’t out on your kitchen counter.
“We double-checked everything,” he says softly. His eyes are boring into yours again your brain goes haywire for a moment because, fuck, his eyes are so blue and soft and staring at you with a tenderness you would give a small kitten. “I know you’re nervous. You don’t need to be.”
You open your mouth to argue—to say you’re not nervous, that you just don't like change, or that you’re fine here in your broken, waterless apartment. But the way Johnny is looking at you makes every excuse dry up before it reaches your tongue. His thumb lingers where it caught your wrist, rubbing small circles at your pulse point. You try to stop your mind from clouding.
Thankfully, Johnny spares you from having to reply. He clutches your suitcase tighter and guides you to the front door. “C’mon, let’s go before you change your mind on me.”
You mindlessly follow him, nerves building up in your stomach. But also something else entirely. Something more selfish, excitement. At the idea of being in Johnny’s vicinity for a period of time longer than you ever had before.
“Mice!” Johnny calls out for one last time, turning his head to the expanse of your apartment with a boisterous voice. “Don’t ruin the place while we’re gone!”
٠࣪⭑
You really could not focus for the duration of the train ride, your mind blended with a mix of excitement and sheer nervousness.
You don’t know why you’re so nervous. The Baxter Building isn’t some new, unlocked setting. The last time you entered the living quarters of the Fantastic Four was merely a month ago, following Johnny across the expanse of the floor to the dinner table. Ben made whiskey grilled ribs, and the night was filled with quiet giggles because Johnny kept getting sauce in his face. At one point, you grew tired of the mess on his mouth and used your napkin to reach over and wipe the excess sauce on his lips. You remember the moment vividly, your proximity to Johnny slowly growing less and less in your head as you reached over to delicately tap his lips. His eyes had widened considerably, mouth sealed shut as he let you clean his mouth. You tried to make the moment less intimate, tossing the napkin to his lap and muttering to him something about having manners. You blamed the wine you consumed for the flush of your cheeks and the boldness you carried that night.
You had gone home that night and mulled over your life choices and how they all somehow led to wiping Johnny’s mouth. It felt silly, really. Your face still felt hot.
You think hard at that moment because something like that may happen again—God forbid a few drinks are in your system—only this time, you would have no private area to return to and question everything. No, you would still be in the same vicinity as Johnny. You pray you don’t embarrass yourself.
The train stops at 43rd and Madison Avenue. Johnny is hauling you up from your seat before you can further question yourself. Chester meows tragically at the sudden stop.
“Johnny,” you ponder, mindlessly following him as you peer down at your furry friend. You dodge a few people getting onto the subway cart as you’re exiting. “Will Chester get lost in there?”
“I doubt it,” replies Johnny. “It’s not like the floor is messy, there’s nowhere he can really hide—Ben keeps it as sleek as possible. And we can have H.E.R.B.I.E. follow him around for the first day so we can know any of his hiding spots.”
You nod, satisfied with his response to keep your cat safe. “Sounds good.”
The Baxter Building immediately takes form the second you step up from the stairs of the subway, looming over every other building. It’s daunting, but you’re behind the self-confidence of Johnny Storm, so you let him take the lead. As you get closer to the building, you take notice of the amount of people—tourists, most likely—taking pictures on their cameras of the building. Their eyes can’t even inch away from the spectacle to notice that the Human Torch is in front of them, nearly blocking their shot.
Johnny takes notice of the overcrowded space in front of the building and leads you to the side entrance—the fancy kind where you need to put a specific pin in to unlock the door. He doesn’t even try to block the numbers he types in as he gets the door open, though you don’t bother trying to remember it.
You make your way through the expanse of a hallway, coming to a stop where a security guard sits behind a desk. Johnny doesn’t spare him a glance. And, because you’re with him, the guard doesn’t spare you one. You don’t recognize the guard and were moving too fast to catch a glimpse of his name tag, but you assume he must be new. You would be lying if you said you didn’t have a favorite security guard you’ve come across (his name is Robert, and he’s got one of those curly mustaches and kind eyes and his eyes don’t glaze over you, instead giving you hellos and trading conversations).
Once you’re in the elevator, Johnny shifts your luggage from one hand to the other and places his free hand on the small of your back. He leans down, breath fanning your face that has you wanting to squirm where you’re standing.
“Final moments of peace before you’re part of the family,” he mutters softly, a grin playing at his lips.
The way Johnny is saying it can make a person think you got hitched in between the time you saw Ben earlier in the day to now. You’re thankful you’re the only person to hear it, or else there might be an innuendo from Ben or one of those knowing looks from Sue that has you feeling nervous.
The elevator chimes and the doors open, and you immediately spot the two people who had been at the forefront of your mind. Johnny ushers you in, hand still warm on your back.
They don’t notice you at first. Ben is farther away, balancing two cups in one hand as the other nurses a boiling pot. He lightly mutters a curse to himself as he stares down at the stove. And Sue is sitting on the couch, surprisingly languid for a woman who has the entire world at the palm of her hand, flipping through pages of what looks like notes in her hand.
You think for a second that you and Johnny will manage to slip past them without being noticed. It’s not that you don’t want to greet them, but you’re already a bundle of nerves and feel out of place at the thought of staying with them.
But Johnny clears his throat and the two look up from what they are doing.
Your name slips warmly from Sue’s lips, who immediately puts down the stack of papers in her hand and stands up. She’s swift in a way not a lot of people are when kicking her feet off the coffee table. “I feel like it’s been forever.”
“Feels like it,” you reply as she walks up to you. “Teaching children can make seconds turn into minutes.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here.” She takes you into your arms, slightly towering over you in her red heels. She has a similar aura to Johnny, a comforting one that makes you feel warm and safe in her arms—though, for completely different reasons. She hugs like a fresh blanket from a dryer, or your favorite mittens in the winter time. “And Johnny says that you’ll be staying with us?”
You part from her and smile. “I hope that’s okay?”
“More than okay,” she replies, eyes going wide at the thought of you even questioning it. “You’re welcome anytime. I should be upset that it’s under these circumstances, but I’m a bit more excited that there’s someone to babysit Johnny.”
“She’s not a babysitter!” he interjects. “… she just happens to control me better than any of you ever could.”
“Yeah,” Ben calls out from the kitchen. “We know.” He calls your name and motions you over with his now-free hand.
You smile at him, motioning your pointer finger, gesturing that you’ll only be a moment. You look at Johnny. “Is this a good place to put down Chester?”
“A perfect place,” he replies. “H.E.R.B.I.E.!”
The robot slides over at the call of his name.
“You’re in charge of watching Chester,” says Johnny, rubbing his head softly. “Don’t let him out of your sight.”
A few beeps of agreement that you don’t necessarily understand, and you’re unzipping Chester’s bag.
The three of you, and Ben from afar, watches curiously to see what the feline does next. He starts by peeking his head out and sniffing. His nose crinkles in a way you’re all too familiar with, like when you change his kibble to something more healthy or bring home a new toy from the store. When his eyes finally land on H.E.R.B.I.E, he steps out, in a trance at the small robot. He sits in front H.E.R.B.I.E and observes.
“Well, looking after him will be easy,” says Johnny.
“He’s never seen a robot before,” you say.
“Clearly.”
“I’ve always wanted a cat,” says Sue. “This will be exciting.”
You grin up at her, happy that Chester will be welcomed warmly by the family. When you’re sure that your cat isn’t going to run off to the nearest hiding spot, you turn your head back to Ben and make your way over to him. He traded staring at Chester for continuing to stir the pot on the stove.
“Hi,” you say once you reach him, rounding the corner of the stove to stand beside him.
If you were to rank your closeness with everyone in the Fantastic Four, you think you rank Ben second to Johnny. Your fondness for him happened by chance, really. You both frequent the same bakery and he seems to orbit around Rachel, who you’re constantly with. This allowed for more moments between you two outside the Baxter Building, often sharing a four-pack of meringues while you wait for your lunch hour to end. You exchange baking tips, the kind your grandma passed down onto you, like butter over margarine and adding a pinch of salt to brownie batter. He keeps them in the small notebook he carries everywhere. You feel a comfortability in his presence that you don’t get from Sue, trading maternal for friendly.
“Try this.” He picks up a spoon from beside the stove and dips into the pot. The red concoction covers the spoon. He leans down to bring the spoon to your lips.
You don’t hesitate to encompass your lips around the spoon, taking in the savory taste as you hum. The spice hits after you’ve swallowed. And, once again, you’re wondering why Ben doesn’t run a cooking show. You certainly know that he can just snap his orange-stoned fingers and have top producers waiting for him. “That’s really good!”
“Right? It’s for dinner,” he says. “So you better shower, stinky, I can’t have your aroma powering my dish.”
Your nose scrunches. You’re quite used to Ben’s teasing, you like it in a way. No one ever is quite close enough to you where they can comfortably jab you without it hurting a little (Johnny certainly can, but he never does. He saves his digging for Reed). With Ben, you know it’s without malice. “Got it, Captain,” you say.
“Speaking of a shower,” a voice cuts in.
You and Ben jump, not even noticing the Johnny had materialized behind you. He looks at you both pointedly before eyeing the spoon that’s still being held up by your mouth.
“She can be your taste tester later. Let me show her around.”
You ignore the fact that you already know the Baxter Building quite well, and nod. Johnny and Ben exchange a conversation with their eyes that you don’t even try to decipher.
You’ll ask Johnny about it later if it still mattered in your brain.
