[scarletbit]

— MASTERLIST ✮⋆˙

✮⋆˙ GUIDE ── s–smut, f–fluff, a–angst, ✦–personal fav

— Robert 'Bob' Reynolds

⭒ Lay your bets and pay the price / a, f

⤷ bob reynolds x black widow!reader / 1.9k

A rogue mission has more consequences than you intended, and all before breakfast.

⭒ Honey / a, f

⤷ bob reynolds x black widow!reader / 1.3k

He gives it different meaning.

⭒ The List / f, ✦

⤷ bob reynolds x new avengers!reader / 1.9k

You have a crush. Bob tries to find out on who, one bolt at a time.

⭒ Sunshine and rain / f

⤷ bob reynolds x new avengers!reader / 1.1k

Sick, tired, bitter, and bleeding. you were the worst kind of patient - he shows up anyway.

⭒ Apricity / a, f

⤷ bob reynolds x new avengers!reader / 1k

You offer some sunlight at a dark time. (or, you and bob watch a video of that day.)

⭒ I'll pay the price, you won't / f

⤷ bob reynolds x new avengers!reader / 1.1k

You knew you could never allow yourself to love or be loved by someone like bob. that didn’t stop you from trying.

— James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes

⭒ Gold rush / a, f, ✦

⤷ congressman!bucky barnes x new avengers!reader / 0.8k

He hadn’t seen you in years, no one had. When you appeared at the annual congressman ball, as beautiful as ever and as effortless as he knows you were trained to remain in all circumstances, it was like no time had passed at all.

— Miscellaneous

⭒ Here we go again! / f, ✦

⤷ kara zor-el x fem!reader / 1.5k

You really shouldn't let her in. But when she's standing outside your door after two weeks, can you really turn her away?

[scarletbit]

Here we go again! / kara zor-el

paring: kara zor-el x fem!reader summary: You really shouldn't let her in. But when she's standing outside your door after two weeks, can you really turn her away? genre: fluff, suggestive

“Nu-uh, not this time.”

The smile that had greeted you when you first opened the door didn’t falter with your rejection. If you didn’t know any better, you could’ve sworn it actually grew.

Actually, you did know better and it definitely did.

“I’m here to apologize,” Kara puts her hands up. Her hair is disheveled and the ruffling of her trench coat is the only sound drifting across the currently desolate street your apartment door faces. This late at night, it’s only her and the wind.

She opens her mouth to continue but you know exactly what’s going to follow.

“Again,” you finish for her.

“Again,” her eyes cast down as she bites her lip. Any other night, you would’ve found the disarming coy act cute. Tonight, you find it annoying.

“Two weeks.” Usually, you’re never this short with her. You’d let her in, she’d spend the night and you’d talk and talk over breakfast.

She’d discuss her esoteric adventures far beyond the planet you both called home now and all the never ending complaints she had about her cousin.

“It’s like, I get it, you’re Superman.” she’d start while brushing her teeth, using her hands to gesture wildly, getting toothpaste foam all over your sink and mirror (which you made her clean up after her rant). “but oh my god, I don’t care that everyone on this planet thinks you’re perfect, can you just relax with all the self-righteousness.”

You’d listen and laugh as she continued her attack on Mother Teresa in Spandex (her words.)

“I mean, he does have a point, didn’t you say you’d hang up the intergalactic club hopping?”

She’d leave the bathroom a mess and make her way over to you on the couch, plopping next to you as you finished your coffee.

“You know, you’d both get along great,” she’d grin, eyes squinting as she’d lean closer to you. “I bet he also makes his journalist girlfriend brush her teeth before kissing her in the morning.”

“Girlfriend?”

She’d ignore it, kissing the quip away as she moved on top of you while you reached your hand out and prayed you’d locate the coffee table to put your cup down with your eyes closed.

One of her hands would reach up into your hair and she’d lay you both down on your old sofa.

“It’s not like I’m ever gone for more than a couple days” she’d say and you’d feel the minty fresh breath intertwine with your own as her hand began making its way down your stomach. You’d be late for work, again, but you didn’t care.

“Plus,” she’d tilt her face playfully and deliver her signature line, “distance makes the heart grow fonder.”

Yeah, tonight, you were annoyed.

“Two. weeks.” You repeat, pausing between words this time for dramatic effect. Your recent flare for drama no doubt influenced by the last couple months you’d spent with her.

You don’t know if you have a right to be upset. It’s not like you two ever labeled your relationship and Kara was never one to be tied down by frivolous things like commitments or gravity.

Her trips to other planets were frequent and spontaneous but she was right, they never lasted more than two days and she’d always make sure your apartment was the first stop she made when she returned, a verbal and physical apology in tow.

But two weeks without a word from her and your heart went way past fond and straight to annoyed.

One week ago, she’d already be inside, her coat decorating your bedroom floor. Four days ago, you would have forced her to grovel a little harder than usual before giving in. Two days ago, however, you decided you deserved a little more than getting ghosted by an alien.

Kara puts her hands in her pocket and leans back on her heels, “I lost track of time,” the grin returns to her face along with a familiar glint in her eyes.

“Let me in and I’ll make it up to you,” she moves to go past your frame, still leaning on the front door, and into your living room, a habitual movement built from months of practice. You curse yourself for being so easy in the past, enabling her little cycle of disappearing, apologizing, and weaseling her way out of making any actual changes in her behavior.

“I said nu-uh,” you shift to stand in her way, blocking her from entering. You were aware if she wanted to it wouldn’t take more than a fraction of her strength to move you aside but it was really more for effect. “Do I need to say it in Kryptonian?”

God, you were so mad that you wanted to let her in, but this time you had to have some self-respect, even if she did look really hot hungover.

She pauses and you hope she senses you’re being serious this time. She straightens her back and her teeth show as her grin becomes a smile, “You don’t even know how to,” she says with a teasing lilt. Note to self: good at fighting, bad at picking up hints.

“I’m serious, Kara.” You hope your tone and furrowed brows do the trick and get your message across this time, “two weeks and not a word? I’m not letting you in, go home.” You gesture out into the empty street, trying to turn her away as soon as possible.

You feel it’s only a matter of time before she says the right combination of words and your door opens just enough for her to finally make her way inside.

“Okay okay, I hear you.” You doubt that. She withdraws her hands from her pockets and runs them through her hair, the action doing little to calm the strands. It’s almost reflective from the light that eminates from behind you and you would be lying if you said you hadn’t missed her. Her hair, her laugh, her jokes, even that stupid fucking trench coat she refused to hang on your coat rack (“It just looks sooo much better on the floor.”)

“What can I do to make it up for you?” Kara asks, a faint air of seriousness coming over her.

“Apologize.” You keep your request brief.

“Well,” she darts her eyes around before looking back at you, “I’m trying to, but you won’t let me in.” Her words come out a little too teasing for your liking.

You cross your arms, “No, a real apology.”

She pauses, the words likely seeming foreign to her. Beyond the cheeky I’m sorry’s and whispered half-promises to not disappear again between kisses, Kara was not prone to earnest expressions of wrongdoings.

You doubted she even saw her road trips as something she had to apologize for. But she was here and if she really wanted you to let her in, which you reminded yourself you shouldn’t do anyways, she’d have to truly and sincerely apologize for leaving for two weeks and not letting you know.

You might not be her girlfriend but you sure deserved more than no signs of life followed by a midnight booty call. You were proud of yourself and even if she turns around and leaves like you claim you want her to, you stood up for yourself and didn’t give in.

She stares at you for a few seconds, but you’re not making eye contact anymore, choosing to stare at the door handle you probably shouldn’t have turned when she knocked in the first place.

“I’m sorry I was gone for two weeks and didn’t let you know, it was shitty and you deserve better.”

So here’s the thing.

When you imagined this in your head, back when you said you definitely weren't going to let her in, it took a lot more back and forth before she even acknowledged that 1) you were hurt 2) she was the reason for it and 3) you were owed an apology.

You truthfully hadn’t expected her to own up so quickly. Can you really blame yourself for finding her sincerity so fucking attractive.

You surely can’t blame yourself for moving aside and gesturing with your head for her to come in.

She smiles and reaches for your face with both hands, chilled thanks to the cold wind that’s been nipping at you since you opened the door, takes your lips into hers, and replaces the cold you felt just moments ago with a new heat that reminds you exactly what you missed most these past two weeks.

It’s a messy kiss but you can taste her apology on your tongue, and that’s all you need to fully abandon your previous stance.

She breaks the kiss and takes your chin in her hand, giving you a playful peck, lingering, before making her way inside and straight to your bedroom, a route she knows well.

You’re left practically panting on your doorstep, when you hear what sounds eerily like a piece of heavy clothing hit your floor.

[scarletbit]

Lay your bets and pay the price / bob reynolds

paring: bob reynolds x black widow!reader summary: A rogue mission has more consequences than you intended, and all before breakfast. word count: 1.9k genre: angst, fluff

You have a cut on your lip.

You run your tongue over the throbbing wound, the metallic twang turning your expression sour. Small but mighty. It stared back at your reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Unlike the bruises that decorate your legs or the swelling in your knuckles, you really have no idea where it came from.

You mentally backtrack, trying to pinpoint the moment during your little, tiny, itty-bitty, really not even worth mentioning, solo mission yesterday.

Couldn’t have been the punches you failed to dodge, those only hit the side of your head and you remember checking yourself after for any signs of a concussion or bleeding.

Maybe the fall you took when that asshole grabbed you by your collar when you finally managed to grab whatever piece of vibranium technology the team had been tasked with retrieving. But no, you landed on your back. You’re not the smartest person in the world but even you know that defies basic logic.

“Whatever” you mutter to yourself. No point in speculating now that the damage was done.

You’ve met plenty of soldiers who took pride in their injuries, wearing them like a badge of brutality and bravery. Their visible wounds are a reminder that they’re still standing, unlike whoever was unlucky enough to deliver the blow.

You weren’t quite as poetic.

Like a mark of failure tattooed on your skin, you knew it’d heal but not before marketing to the world that you’d gotten slower and less coordinated, letting the skills you’d learned years ago wither away. You’d gotten too comfortable.

“Yoo-hoo, I can’t hold my own! Come fight me, clearly it’s easy!” If these wounds could talk. You especially hated any kind of blemish on your face. So unabashedly broadcasted, entirely unconcealable.

You splashed water on your face and made your way out of your bedroom, knowing no colored lip balm would cover the injury.

—

The sight of his broad back facing you welcomed you when you got to the kitchen.

“Morning” You sang, trying to match Bob’s impossibly chipper, yet consistent, greetings.

No response. Weird.

He carried on assembling the concoction he stood over on the counter, no doubt peanut butter was a key ingredient.

“Can you make me one of whatever you're cooking,” you requested, trying to take advantage of his headstart on breakfast.

Still no response. Even weirder.

You never were the patient kind, and no one would even think of describing you as subtle.

“Wrong side of the be-?”

“Where were you last night?” he cut you off, discarding whatever he was working on and turning to face you, arms anchoring him to the counter as he leaned back.

You were at an impasse.

You should’ve known Bob would've noticed your absence. Ever the observant guy, it was sloppy of you not to think he would’ve wondered where you ran off too when he inevitably found his way outside your door. Sleepless nights wandering around the tower often shepherded him there. You deprived him of the movie marathon you promised you’d always be up to whenever he found himself in that condition.

You should’ve known he’d wonder why you’d break such a promise.

But, there really is no point in stressing him out further. He’s too unnecessarily protective. Even though he knows you can hold your own, you realize telling him what you were up to might just lead to a lecture on precaution and safety that you really weren’t up to. You appreciated it, sure, but you were still running on the high from last night's success.

If you minced the truth a little, one could argue you’d be lying to your good friend Bob but it’d save him the headache of worrying about you, which, you rationalized, was really a net positive.

So, that's exactly what you did. 

“I went for a run” you lie, “couldn’t sleep,” you remind yourself that the best lies are simple “you know how it goes.”

You sucked your lower lip into your mouth, the taste of metal nudging you into the realization that he saw you before he went to bed and few runs ended with surface level injuries. Even less likely if you’ve spent a good chunk of your life physically training in agility.

“If I go in your room, am I gonna find what we're supposed to be recovering tomorrow” he narrows his eyes, “as a team” he spits out.

“Okay, so hear me out.” You didn’t get the chance to tell him technically he’d find it in the briefing room where you were going to casually point to it and remark “oh, this old thing” when everyone gathered there later.

“What the hell!” He pushes himself off the counter he was leaning on, starting towards you and stopping right in front of your body, clearly teeing up the very lecture you wanted to avoid.

“We needed it!” You justify, hoping your smile would do the job of persuading that your words clearly weren’t, “I was being helpful!”

At least you told yourself so. You had no doubt that the random vibranium item, whose function and purpose you paid less than zero attention to when the mission briefly discussed it, was probably only meant to line the pockets of whoever Valentina had promised it to. Maybe even just for her personal collection, it wasn't really your job to question it. That was more Bucky’s job.

“It’s not funny!” He turns, head slightly shaking as he raises his voice. “You look terrible” he continues, eyes looking you up and down.

“You sneak in in the middle of the night like some kind of vigilante after going rogue and putting yourself in frankly” he raises his hands in exasperation, “completely unnecessary danger” his voice picks up in pitch as he delivers the final words, weirdly making them land a little harder.

“Okay, first of all, no need to yell” you begin, rolling your eyes. You bump his shoulder as you make your way past him to the couch, plopping down and hoping your lack of concern and blasé attitude about your late night task rubs off on him. “and gee, thanks for the compliment.”

“Can you take this seriously” he’s beginning to lose his patience with your cavalier attitude. You are too.

“You’re making such a huge deal about this. I appreciate the concern but honestly, you’re welcome!” Your tone turns facetious. “I saved everyone a full mission trip so now everyone can just relax,” you pull out your ace as you point to him “we can even finally finish that movie we started like a week ago now that we don't have to prep.”

“’You’re welcome?’” he throws your words back at you, they don’t miss. Clearly, you’d struck a chord. You just hadn’t expected the music to be so loud.

“I don’t care about some movie, we’re supposed to be a team, if you would’ve just waited for everyone maybe you wouldn’t have gotten your ass kicked.”

“I” you immediately look up, taking personal and deep offense at his suggestion of your weakness, as if it wasn’t already on full display right there on your lip “did not get my ass kicked.”

You definitely did. If you had kept up with your training maybe a couple of their punches would have landed and you wouldn’t have gotten swept to the floor so many fucking times.

“You could’ve gotten seriously hurt,” he pauses.

“Killed.” the single word having the weight of the entire sentence he meant to say with it. You take in the state of him and realize there are few realities, even by Strange’s calculations, where you were the reasonable one in this situation.

The bags under his eyes and a single glance at the sole coffee cup on the counter behind him you’d assumed was food told you the story of his night better than his words could. You took on this solo adventure to avoid putting others in the way of danger that always came with these kinds of assignments. No matter how small the job or how competent and briefed the team, there were always a countless number of armed soldiers, wired explosives, or the occasional unprecedented danger that meant the possibility of losing those you’d spent months of your life with. Those you knew, Those you cared about. Him.

To a reasonable person, the right thing to do when you realize you’re in the wrong would be to count your losses and apologize. The right thing to do when losing, per your training, was to go down swinging.

“It’s really just a scratch” you soften your tone and continue your tirade of justifications.

“I was going catatonic waiting for the rest of the group, I took matters into my own hands, I thought you appreciated me being a self starter” Strawmanning, you were at the end of your rope of excuses. “I’m fine! I’m barely even hurt!”

You grab your lip and fight the urge to wince “See? Just a scratch.”

No response. This was the kind of silence that stung worse than any failure you envisioned when you set off last night. You couldn’t bear it. Not from him. No matter how nonsignificant the cause of it seemed, you’d caused him pain.

Clenched between your pointer and thumb trying to signal “it doesn’t even hurt!” like a kid showing his wounded knee after falling off a bike they begged to ride without safety wheels for the first time, your lip still ached. This hurt more.

You were careless and as you finally reveled in the consequences of your mercurial bravado act, you realize it wasn’t worth this.

“I’m sorry” but that wasn’t you.

He looks up, whatever retort he was preparing lost as the apology settled in the air.

Oh shit, it was.

You let go of your lip, bringing your arms down to your side.

“I’m sorry” you say again, this time fully aware of the syllables leaving your mouth. You tasted the foreign words and even you can admit they were more palletable than blood.

You never did anything half assed, and you figured you shouldn’t start now. “We are a team, I should’ve waited, you’re right it was careless.” You relented. You walked closer to him, tentatively. Still aware of the fact he hadn’t spoken.

“You could’ve died,” he finally mutters when you stand in front of him.

You ignored the small hit to your ego that came with the assumption that such an easy mission would be what took you out. You know that's not what he means. What he means is that he cares, and you cared that he cared.

“I won’t do it again” you smiled “promise.”

You went to hug him and couldn’t avoid the sigh of relief when he met you halfway, encompassing you with his arms as you settled into his chest.

“I promise” you repeated yourself. You tried not to make it a habit to break your promises to Bob, movie nights aside.

When you finally let him go, something dawns on you and you begin to laugh.

“It’s really not funny” he defends, thinking you’re making fun of his previous monologue.

You regain your composure and bring your finger to your lower lip, the beginning stages of healing taking place now that the blood’s starting to dry.

“I ran into my bedroom door when I came in last night.”

[scarletbit]

Honey / bob reynolds

paring: bob reynolds x black widow!reader summary: He gives it different meaning. word count: 1.3k genre: angst, fluff a/n: so a bit of suspension of delief is required to accept that that a black widow was codenamed honey, let’s not think about it too hard.

Codename: мед

Translation: “Honey”

The name wasn’t yours. It was what they assigned to you.

Like the missions, the targets, and the commands, the name didn’t belong to you. Nothing did. Not the weapons, the technology, the uniforms, or the comprehensive files of information on marks. None of it it was anything more than a tool for you to complete your most important task: what they wanted.

The minute you stopped being useful, taking longer on missions, botching hits, or worse, getting caught, the name would be stripped away and reassigned to one of the others unfortunate enough to be one of twenty still standing after training.

Your name was indicative of exactly what both the creators and dissenters of the network that bore you knew to be true: women were overlooked, taken for granted. Able to slip easily through a man's defenses.

No one would ever suspect Honey capable of the things she’s done.

You really fucking hated it.

You hated how you responded to the name and worked to keep it out of the hands of anyone who could use it to bring down the network that disgusts you now but once unwillingly viewed as infallible.

The thing you hated most, though, was how you kept it.

Today, long after most of the people who first called you it have been eliminated in what is one of the only acts of true justice you’ve been an active participant in, you were still Honey.

You didn’t do it in an act of defiance, a final fuck you to the same people who’d kept you subdued and controlled for most of your life.

You didn’t do it to reclaim the power the same name had stripped you of. You didn’t even do it to honor the countless women who’s own names would never be remembered, much less uttered ever again.

The reason you did it was so terribly simply, you’d never even bothered explaining it.

You couldn’t remember what you’d been called before.

So you introduced yourself as Honey, only when it was absolutely necessary. Many times, you didn’t introduce yourself at all.

You didn’t introduce yourself to Yelena. Her and her sister merely discovered your name among a long list of other widows. You hadn’t introduced yourself to Bucky or Ava or Alexei or John.

And you definitely hadn’t introduced yourself to Bob.

“Yeah way to go, Honey!” he exclaimed.

Your head shot up. He holds up the newspaper he was reading.

It wasn’t unlike Bob to cheer on something as menial as this week’s New York Bulletin article.

The tabloids took turns brownnosing. A disingenuous marketing scheme no doubt spearheaded by Valentina and her team. Each week someone in the tower became the star player, an ‘indispensable asset for this new team of defenders.’ It seems this week is your turn.

You didn’t bother with the publicity anymore. But in your quick skim of the front page someone happened to have left in the kitchen counter, you knew even the paper didn’t address you by Honey.

It seemed ‘silhouette,‘ the makeshift identifier that some citizens of New York, in their frantic need to label anything remotely super, quickly tied to you, was good enough for the editors of the Bulletin.

In your opinion, it was lazy, uninspired and offensively basic. But it wasn’t Honey. Your face must have given away the shock that the unexpected name provoked.

He lowers his hands suddenly, and as he tries to gauge what he’d done wrong from the sudden stillness in the empty room, you search his face for the coldness that was always present in the eyes of everyone who’d called you by the name you were christened with years ago.

As you brace yourself for it, all you can find is sincerity.

Bob begins to backtrack using what you know are his somewhat limited skills of socialization.

“Uh” he begins, “That’s what you go by right?” his question comes off more like an apology. “Shit, I’m sorry, did I get that wrong?”

When you don’t immediately respond, he continues to explain, “I’ve just, I heard Valentina call you that once so I assumed” he brings his hands up to his head, scratching his forehead as his nervousness makes its way front and center.

“I shouldn’t have assumed” he’s trying a new strategy now, shifting to awkward laughter.

“You know what they say about assuming” You don’t. You hope he can’t tell from the scrunch of your eyebrows. He can.

“You make an ass out of…” He trails off, a final attempt at a chuckle leaving his mouth as the joke(?) falls flat.

In all the emotions Bob had somehow cycled through in front of your eyes in the past minute, you especially noticed the absence of one. Malice.

There was no trace of the machiavellian intent you believed was inseparable from the title he’d uttered.

You hadn’t known Bob for more than six months, but you didn’t dislike him. A powerful tool brutalized by others for their own gain. The story sounded familiar.

But unlike you, in all your bitter glory shaped by years of blurry memories of actions that weren’t entirely your own, Bob is different.

He isn’t calculated. The name didn't sound like the call to command it could be. He used it the only way he’s ever known it as. Just a name.

You recognize Bob’s panicked state beginning to take over him. It comes easy now after a few months of co-habitation. Your silence was becoming cruel. A disproportionate punishment for a man whose only crime was addressing you.

You could retaliate. Call him Sentry and remind him what it feels like to be called something that belongs to a version of you that will always be there, despite efforts to ensure otherwise.

But despite the initial shock, you realize the word hadn't conjured up the same dread it could. You were more captivated by his efforts to correct the faux-pas he thought he’d made.

You take a breath in, preparing yourself for what might turn out to be a pretty stupid call. But what the hell. Things were different now. He was different. You hoped so, anyways.

“Yeah,” you say your first words of the entire exchange “You can call me Honey.”

You almost miss the way his grip softens on the poor newspaper still in his hand as he says “Are you sure.” Testing the waters, he continues “…Honey?”

You look him in the eyes, “I’m sure” you mimick his hesitance “Bob.”

You offer your own version of an apology for your long stretch of silence. You grin.

An exchange of names. An introduction.

It isn’t lost on you how your name is a homonym of the pet names that many adore. If the slight tint of his cheeks served as an indicator, he was aware of it too.

Maybe it wasn’t unfathomable that you could keep your name and all the terrible people, events, and actions that stained it, while also allowing room for a new meaning. A connotation you could choose. An association of your name with someone innocent, something genuine.

‘Honey’ from his mouth, you conclude, isn't delivered as punishing as you thought it always would.

In fact, you begin to think as his eyes light up at the mention of his name and he returns to the forgotten article he hadn’t finished reading with a small grin on his face, it was almost sweet.

You return to your own discarded task of reading up on the next mission (a rescue operation that helps solidify that yes, things really are different now.) As you make a bet with yourself regarding who will be the next MVNA (Most Valuable New Avenger) featured on next week’s news coverage of it, you steal a glance at Bob.

Confirming he’s still reading, you turn back and quickly mouth your own name. Not entirely unlike a toddler learning to associate sounds with meaning.

You don’t quite yet do it justice like he does.

[scarletbit]

Gold rush / bucky barnes

paring: bucky barnes x ex-avengers!reader (walk with me) summary: He hadn’t seen you in years, no one had. When you appeared at the annual congressman ball, as beautiful as ever and as effortless as he knows you were trained to remain in all circumstances, it was like no time had passed at all. word count: 0.8k genre: angst/fluff a/n: finally dipping my feet in the bucky pool

Bucky had seen a lot of things. As a soldier, a fighter, and now a congressman, Bucky was sure he had seen more in the last century than most ever would.

Yet, as he rationalized that nothing should be able to shake him anymore, he still couldn’t stop the way his breath hitched and his vision blurred as he faced the sight in front of him.

You were here.

If someone had told Bucky four years ago that there'd come a time when you would be just out of reach while standing a measly 100 feet away from him, he would've laughed.

Laughed at the idea of a world where he'd let himself be anything but yours. Then laughed harder at the thought of him going through said world without you.

He could still laugh now, he thinks. It’d just have to be at the idea of him ever thinking such a good thing would last as long as he imagined it would.

Now, as the gold accents of your dress glimmer and glisten under the amber lights that decorated the halls he'd spent the last couple months pretending he belonged in, he felt like his past and present were colliding in ways he wasn't trained to handle.

Your smile flashes comfortably, effortlessly as you fraternized with politicians, policemen, and other people who Bucky learned the hard way had their personal agendas and rent-seeking tactics that made his already impossible job that much harder.

This wasn’t a coincidence.

He had no doubt you could reach the upper echelon of New York City politics if you so wanted. But that wasn’t something you ever desired.

This had to be some operation you were leading for some underground network or shadow syndicate you’d decided was more important than him and everyone else you once knew all those years ago.

Bucky’s glass stills in his hand.

He realizes he's making assumptions based on details of a person he’d memorized long ago. A person who might not even exist anymore.

His throat tightens as his body refuses to swallow the fact that he didn’t know who the person atop the tax-funded staircase in front of him was or wanted anymore.

Bucky calculated his already slim chances of winning his re-election campaign if he made a scene by approaching you and the crowd you’d attracted, supressing a grin at the unconscious realization that you had remained as magnetic as he remembered.

As he discards his now empty glass, he looks around for a waiter with a full tray. Or, in his desperation for the liquid courage he’d need for this blindsiding scenario, a forgotten glass of champagne somewhere.

The world seems to slow when your head turn in his direction after faking a laugh at what he knew was likely a terrible joke. Suddenly, Bucky sees something he didn’t think he ever would again as your eyes finally lock on his.

Even with the 100 feet of distance between you, he swears he could see the color of your irises as if you were only inches away. The same color he’d spent years missing, trying to frantically remember every night before he drifted off.

He made sure you wouldn’t be able to take his memories of you away like you took everything else when you left 1,159 days ago.

Bucky flinched as the number burns the back of his throat like the taste of the cheap liquor they served at last year’s gala. He takes another swig of the flute he managed to find before you spotted him.

As you peer down from the second floor, your gaze adjusts to the new circumstances: him. Your face blanks. Any semblance of laughter that had been directed at the Queens representative to your right (that he never really bothered learning the name of) disappears completely.

If you felt even a fraction of what he was experiencing being in the same room as you, then he knew there was simply no expression good enough to convey the emotions this reunion was resurfacing.

Nothing would be able to express how the impossibly tall ceilings of city hall were closing in, making the enormous space feel claustrophobically small.

With just one look, it was you and him. Again. No space left for the hundred other people that suddenly didn’t matter at all.

There was a time where Bucky would have been able to describe every dress you owned. As you stand across from him in an unfamiliar gown, in an unfamiliar place surrounded by people neither of you know as well as you do each other, Bucky finally begins to practice something his therapist has spent years trying to force him to adopt.

As your eyes soften and the nothingness that captured your features begins to be slowly replaced by the warmth he had dreamt about, Bucky allows himself to be something he never had been before: optimistic.

[scarletbit]

The list / bob reynolds

paring: bob reynolds x new avengers!reader summary: You have a crush. Bob tries to find out on who, one bolt at a time. word count: 1.9k genre: fluff a/n: im #back

Bob knew he wasn’t the most perceptive person.

He’d been told he could be a little oblivious. But it was incredibly obvious that you had a crush. Anyone could tell. You were off.

It began last week after he’d turned to face you during the latest mission debrief. The blush that had spread across your cheek wasn’t there before. He’d never seen you get that red. Were you having an allergic reaction? No, that’s not right, you didn’t have any allergies.

As you looked down at the manila folder in front of you, this was the point in the meeting where you two would make eye contact where you’d roll your eyes at having to sit through another meeting and Bob would offer what he could to hopefully soothe your annoyance: a quick smile.

When that didn’t happen, Bob’s suspicions were confirmed.

He knew such a blush was a tell-tale sign from the crushes he harbored throughout high school on girls who never spared him a second glance, not that he would have known what to say to them, if they had miraculously approached him.

So why hadn’t you told him?

You and Bob had become good friends these past few months since forming the team. You’d confided in him, telling him about all those memories you once thought would be better left unsaid. In return, Bob trusted you to tell you about the deeper rooms he found himself in whenever the void completely seized him. You were close.

So why hadn’t you told him?

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. He would never judge you. You knew that. You had to know that. He’s pretty sure you know that. It took him a long time to believe he deserved this level of friendship from you. You were so unconditionally accepting, it overwhelmed him. He had to prove he deserved it. As a good friend, he had to get to the bottom of this so he could make sure you knew he supported you!

His objective, Bob decided, was clear. Find out who you were infatuated with so he could help you get what he knew you deserved: someone who made you feel happy and loved and, most importantly, a friend who was happy for you!

Yelena

Bob looked at his hands, checking the list he wrote down in his notebook. Starting off strong. The ink hadn’t even dried, but surely Yelena made sense. Maybe you’d bonded over your similarities or, more likely, your shared hatred of stupidity.

But as he walked into the meeting room and looked over you two discussing notes from the previous couple missions, he realized this was a conversation between two friends, not a meeting between secret lovers.

And yes, Bob wasn’t the most perceptive person but Yelena was. If Yelena hadn’t sniffed out any secret crushes you had for her, then they simply weren’t there.

Maybe this would be harder than he thought. He really should’ve gotten lunch before starting this manhunt.

Ava

Bob kept his eyes peeled the next couple of the day as you interacted with everyone around the tower. Any stutters, any accidentally-too-long stares, any nervous laughter or bad joke. If it was a symptom of a crush, he would make sure he noticed it. Of course, it would help if you were the kind of person to display any of them. Other than the blush he’d witnessed days ago, you were asymptomatic.

Ava was the next suspect on the list and today’s meeting was the perfect chance to unveil. As everyone sat around the table listening to the endless droning that was the instructions for your next mission, Bob paid even closer attention to you than usual. No blush this time. Noted.

By the time you looked at him and rolled your eyes at the minutia that was planning something that after all your training came second nature to you, he couldn’t offer solace with his usual half smile because he was too busy being stumped.

One thing was clear. You hadn’t looked at Ava once during the entire meeting other than to add on to the extraction plan she proposed. Still no blush, not even a stutter as you spoke to her. He had nothing.

Walker

He respected you too much to even entertain this route. Next.

Alexei

Realizing he could’ve saved himself the 20 seconds it took to write these two names down, Bob quickly crossed that one off the list too.

Bucky

God, how could he have been so blind!

Obviously this covert, clandestine crush you were harboring had to be on their official (though unofficial, if Yelana asks) leader.

It makes so much sense now. You and Bucky. You’re headstrong, confident, compassionate and so so determined that Bob still remembers the intimidation that washed over him when you first met all those months ago. There was nothing you couldn’t accomplish. And Bucky was-

Bob tilted his head up, eyes squinting as he thought.

Bucky was some of those things too! Albeit, he didn’t brandish those qualities as well as you did. Bob supposes he shouldn’t be so quick to judge. If you liked him it must mean there was something special about him. Something unique you had to admire enough to deem him worthy of giving something he knew you coveted: love.

Bob knew you loved him. He knew you loved everyone in the tower. You didn’t have to declare it everyday, or really ever for that matter. At least not in words.

But on missions when you lingered in front of Yelena, your stance protective, even when Bucky announced that the coast was clear. Or when you listened intently and showcased yet another thing you’re good at, acting, when Alexei droned on about the “good ol’ days,” too many pints in to tell any kind of compelling anecdote. When you exhanged tales of your darker operative days with Ava. When you quipped at Walker and took it on the chin when he returned the significantly less clever punches. When you let Bob linger around for all of this. He knew you loved.

But he also knows this kind of love is different. It’s so different. He wants you to have this. You deserve to have this, more than anyone. And though he didn’t think Bucky was your perfect match, he can concede that he doesn’t know if anyone in the entire world—scratch that, galaxy—who deserves you. So if you’re choosing Bucky then he can still complete his own mission: be happy for you.

The plan was simple. Well, the new plan. Now that he cracked the case wide open (Bob had already begun practicing his new moniker of ‘Bob Reynolds, Private Eye’ in the mirror) it was time for him to bring you two lovebirds together!

You weren’t particularly shy so if you hadn’t confided in Bob or confessed to Bucky, he knew was the perfect Bob for the job (the slogan he’s been working on for his fictional private investigation company in case the rest of the team cuts their losses and makes him leave the new avengers) to make things right and get this budding romance off the ground. Like a good friend was.

He stood next to you in the kitchen counter, mirroring you as you both leaned against the counter. Bucky was fixing his hair with the aid of the large mirror that decorated the space near the front entrance .

“Are you guys hungry. You guys must be hungry” he stammered. Smooth, he’s getting the conversation started between you two. Everything’s going right according to plan.

You raised your eyebrow, looking up from the files you had been reviewing “are you?” you questioned.

“Nope!” he responded too quickly “but I bet Bucky is” he shifted his attention to the man standing near the front door, “I mean all that running around and,” Bob paused realizing he doesn’t actually know what Bucky does for most of the day “stuff.” Good save, Bob congratulated himself.

“What wrong with you” Bucky’s gruff reply didn’t really leave him much to work with. Why couldn’t you have liked someone less grumpy. Someone more deserving of you.

Someone more like “What if you guys got dinner for everyone” Bob cut off his train of thought and he turned back to you and forced out the next words “from that deli place we like nearby.” Bob felt ill sacrificing the place that was just for you and him to now become for you and Bucky, maybe forever.

But Bob Reynolds, Private Eye simply won’t rest until a case is solved and you’re happy. Even if it means giving up the place you shared priceless conversations in. It’s okay, he reminded himself, every conversation with you is priceless anyways regardless of where. Plus, the owners never let him use their employees only restroom anyways.

“Can’t, I have plans” Bucky laid flat the same strand of hair he’d been maneuvering for minutes, reaching for his keys in his jacket and he opened the front door.

“Yeah, I bet,” You turned 180 in your seat, facing the entrance as a teasing grin lit your face up. Had you always looked this happy talking to Bucky?

“Have fun on your date tonight” You sang dragging out the final vowels as you swiveled back around. As they lingered in the air and strangled Bob’s final lead and last hope of cracking this case, he stood stunned. Oh.

He could hardly even comprehend the “screw you” Bucky yelled behind him before closing the door. It seemed Bob Reynolds, Private Eye hadn’t cracked the case open. He hadn’t even fractured it. In fact, the case was very much still locked behind the bars of a well secured prison.

Bob began to think that maybe he should revisit the possibility of Alexei, you can never be too thorough in an investigation, especially when your main lead is out on a date with someone else.

Worst of all, all this talk of dinner made him actually hungry.

“You’re being weird” you cut off Bob’s train of thought, getting up to leave.

“No, I’m n-” Bob looked down at the notepad in one hand and realized he couldn’t finish his sentence without becoming a liar.

“You are” he’d decided to retort instead.

“Sure,” eyebrow raised. “Training time” you muttered, suspicion still tainting the words as you started towards the hallway across the room.

“Try to be normal again when I get back” you pointed at Bob, whose last remaining defense was the curt smile he now adorned as you left the room.

You were right, of course. He was being weird, this whole thing was ridiculous. If you didn’t want to tell him he really shouldn’t pry and risk the last thing he’d ever want: upsetting you. The investigation was about to be a cold case.

“Oh,” you appeared in the corridor again. “I got you that sandwich you like on my way here” you smiled, “It’s in the fridge”

So, Bob looked ahead at the Italian deli illuminated by the white light of the fridge, the words xtra m sprawled on the foil surrounding it, and behind him to the empty space you had stood just minutes before. He realized that in all his meticulous, sly, and yes, he will admit, a little nosy, investigating, he had forgotten to put one name on his list.

Reaching for the pen he abandoned on the counter days ago when he mistakenly declared his list complete, Bob jotted down one final name.

Yelena

Ava

Walker

Alexei

Bucky

Bob

[scarletbit]

Sunshine and rain / bob reynolds

paring: bob reynolds x avengers!reader summary: you were sick, tired, bitter, and bleeding. you were the worst kind of patient - he shows up anyway. word count: 1.1k genre: fluff a/n: It felt mandatory to have a sick day drabble.

You were being punished. There was no other explanation for the incessant pounding in your head. Every terrible decision you’ve ever made has manifested in the pressure in your sinuses and the ache that pulsed through your left abdomen.

All your years of guerrilla training had equipped you with all the traits that made a good soldier, but it didn’t prepare you for the cruel combination of having the flu after being shot in the stomach. All because of a one second delay in evading the bullet that wasn’t even directed at you. And no matter what Bucky claims he saw; it was just one second.

“I don’t deserve this” you murmured to yourself, turning over in your blanket riddled cot that would have once been called a bed but was of now what you expected to be your final resting place.

When the knock on your door first came you were sure it was finally your time. For the first time in your life, you thanked whatever higher being was taking mercy on you.

The louder second knock was much more unwelcome.

“What?” you groaned into your pillow, too tired and too annoyed to direct any niceties at whoever stood on the other side.

The door began to open, a familiar figure emerging.

“Hi,” Bob stood in the doorframe. His eyes darted around your room, anticipating a dismissal when you realized it wasn’t some urgent situation, just him.

When it never came, he inched forward. You were still busy trying to comprehend the new presence in your room with that sickness induced haze still clouding your mind.

“Yelena told me to check in on you” he raised his hands “said i should ‘make sure you weren’t dead’” he finished with air quotes, a brief grin adorning his lips.

“A few more minutes and I will be” you mustered out, eyes finally focusing on his figure.

On most days you welcomed Bob’s sheepish charm and attempts at conversation. Today, however, when you felt like severing your head from your spinal cord just to get a respite from your somehow worsening headache, it was much harder to converse.

“Look, Bob” You sighed, trying your absolute hardest to avoid what Ava would (incorrectly, of course) label as an “outburst” and remain calm. Even in sickness, you didn’t want to agitate Bob. Especially when he was simply showcasing his unique style of helpfulness. “I’ll survive” you asserted.

“Yelena said you’d feel better if you left your room” he mumbled, newfound caution surrounded his words.

“I promise if Yelena was in my place she’d shoot you just for suggesting that.” you remarked. You flopped on your back, gaze shifting away from Bob back to the spot on your ceiling you’d very recently designated your favorite.

Bob’s eyes narrowed as he thought about the best way to go about this situation. He wanted to make himself useful. Do this for Yelena and help you feel better. “We could watch a movie” he offered not so much at you but rather at the pile of sheets that resembled your figure.

You groaned loudly, then winced when the sound reverberated in your skull. The idea of listening to more people talking, or worse, the loud explosion that were undoubtedly in whatever action movie Bob was probably thinking about was one you truly couldn’t stomach.

“Please, no more noises” You begged, moving your pillow over your head. You hoped it’d smother you.

“It’s a silent film” he insisted, holding his palms in front of him defensively “no more noises” he reassured you, “promise” he smiled, letting his hands fall when you peaked your head from its hiding place. It wouldn’t be a terrible idea to abandon the tomb you’d been holed up in for the past day.

Sensing your resolve weakening, Bob went in with his finisher “I can make that one soup you like.”

“Sold” no hesitation. You loved that fucking soup, and Bob was surprisingly good at making it. Granted, it wasn’t the most demanding task. You began gathering all your blankets and steading yourself on your right side to finally rise from your bed. Bob leaned forward, hand stretched out to offer you a hand

“Oh, I can…” he started as he reached for you.

“I got it.” you cut him off curtly, shoving his hand away before it touched yours. The worst part about being out of commission was the weakness. Like everyone else who resided in this tower, you really hated being weak. Even more maddening was the idea of being perceived as such.

Bob retracted his arm and straightened his back, standing awkwardly by your door. You realized maybe that was one of those “outburst” Ava liked to mention. Where Yelena, Ava, and even Walker, would call you out when you became cross, you knew Bob was different than all of you. Gentler. You’d seen him get annoyed plenty of time, but unlike the rest of the maverick members that composed the thunderbolts, he was rarely combative. You knew he wouldn’t call you out, even when you really deserved it. For example, like if you were being snappy after he just trying to help you on an especially terrible day. You could’ve apologized, but you lowered your head and started for the door.

Bob turned to let you walk past him through your bedroom door. He smiled as he saw you beeline for the living room couch, relieved you’d accepted his invitation and more relieved he wouldn’t have to report news of your death to Yelena.

A couple hours later, with a warm bowl of a soup in your hand and black and white figures moving about on screen, you turned to Bob.

“Thanks” you murmured.

You meant it, you were thankful for everything. You were thankful that he willed himself to deal with you when you were sick, wounded, and irritable. You were thankful for the movie selection, his attempt at helping you, and for continuing to do so after your ‘outburst’, even though you wouldn’t have blamed him if he retracted the offer altogether. You were thankful that this wasn’t the first time he’d offered a helping hand since you’d both found a home within these walls.

When Bob turned to face you, his eyebrows slightly furrowed as he attempted to interpret the only word you’d said since leaving your bedroom.

You couldn’t decide which part you were most thankful for or how to express that to him. Would there be any point even if you could? When you’d relied on actions your entire life, words had such little meaning. There was so much to thank him for that nothing came to mind at all anymore. So, you landed on the simplest.

“For the soup.”

[scarletbit]

Apricity / bob reynolds

paring: bob reynolds x avengers!reader summary: you offer some sunlight at a dark time. (or, you and bob watch a video of that day.) word count: 1k genre: angst, fluff

Bob, Sentry, the Void. They were all one, there was no way to separate them and it you wouldn’t know what it would look like even if you could. You knew you had to accept him as one and you did. You loved him because he understood what it was like to have a part of yourself you didn’t want to have and be forced to embrace it anyways. To have something indescribable be merged with every aspect of your being.

You saw the way his gaze lowered whenever the team asked him if he could ‘activate’ Sentry while everyone was huddled in the debrief room, preparing a plan of attack for the next mission.

“I would if i could control it” he’d laugh nervously.

You heard the change in the inflection of his jokes as he reminded Yelena that he not only had no control, he also couldn’t even remember what he’d done. The twitch in his eye as he swallowed through another one of Walker’s sneers.

You knew it weighed on him, not knowing how to describe it himself either. How to differentiate between the pieces that made him the same Bob that now inhabited the tower, a place that took him time and reassurance to even believe he could belong in.

However, Bob was anything but weak. Your efforts to offer support often manifested in a form of cautiousness that became one of the main reasons for those rare arguments that rocked you both. You knew where he was coming from. You remember the same frustration and helplessness you felt when you first joined the team. How you were treated like a child begging to be left unsupervised by Bucky and even Yelena on those days you were reminded of what you had done and who you had been. Despite your reflexes, you learned to give him the room he needed by simply listening when he wanted to talk about those feelings he could hardly even describe.

You sat with him on the corner of the couch, one hand resting reassuringly on his back, the other trying to will itself away from your mouth (there really couldn’t be two nail-biters in one relationship).

“For the record, I don’t think this is a great idea” you reminded him, keeping your eyes on his face to will his away from the phone screen he held in his hand.

“I know” it was clear he was nervous; it was even more obvious that you were too. “I have to see” his grip tightened, the white of his knuckles offered proof “it’s been long enough.”

The video began, the shaky camera angled up into the sky to reveal Bob. Though not him, not really. Or maybe it was. The black shadow that encompassed what was undeniably Bob’s figure appeared on camera. It was him, of course it was.

The sound of people running became amplified. The screams of the people of New York City overwhelmed even the person shooting the video as they lowered the camera and began running themself.

You wanted to ask him to mute it. For both your sakes. He had to be hating this, and you hated knowing that he was. But you couldn’t. You’d try to convince him not to remind him that he was being manipulated by Valentina and her forces and that most of the team knew what it was like to willingly lose autonomy. They understood him and didn’t blame him. No matter how many times you’d all tried to explain, he couldn’t understand, and he definitely didn’t sympathize with the version of himself who would do that to innocent people. Do that to his friends.

He might not have remembered what he had done but he knew he hated the person he was seeing on that phone screen. You wouldn’t ask him to turn it off, but you couldn’t not say something.

“Hey” you began, shifting your hand from his back and moving to gently grasp the side of his face, compelling his gaze away from the video still replaying on the small screen to your eyes.

“It’s not you” you attempted to reassure him and help calm some of the uneasiness you could feel threaten to bubble to the surface of his already frayed composure.

“But it is” he grinned grimly, the expression never reaching his eyes. You couldn’t disagree with him, not when you didn’t know how. It was him, but it also wasn’t. That’s not a very compelling argument though.

“We have all done things we would do anything to take back, but we can’t, and we shouldn’t” you said the only thing you knew would help, the truth. “We’re here today because of it, we get to help others even after everything we’ve all done” you smiled, genuine. “We did bad things, fine, and maybe we don’t fully deserve any of this but we’re here now” your hands found his “you’re here now.”

His smile mirrored yours, genuine. He didn’t have to say anything. It was you who always knew how to vocalize the unrelenting deprecation that overwhelmed you both, even when you didn’t think you did. He didn’t have to say thank you when you reached over and fished the phone from his grip, throwing it across the couch, far from both of you, as if it was the reason such thoughts existed in the first place. He didn’t have to mention it when you turned the television on and put on that movie you’ve been talking about seeing for months, despite you never having time to do so, what with training and missions keeping you preoccupied. When you turned the television on, he didn’t have to mention the name of the movie you’ve been talking about seeing for months, despite you never having time to do so, what with training and missions keeping you preoccupied.

He didn’t have to say I love you when you fell asleep in his arms on the same couch you helped ground him, like you always do, not even a couple hours ago. In moments like this, when your presence alone shined on Bob’s shrouded clouds of thought, words were both too much and too little to describe the warmth you introduced.

[scarletbit]

I’ll pay the price, you won’t / bob reynolds

paring: bob reynolds x avengers!reader summary: you knew you could never allow yourself to love or be loved by someone like bob. that didn’t stop your heart from trying. word count: 1.1k genre: fluff a/n: hello everyone! i am new to writing so please feel free to leave me any notes or suggestions as well as any requests! thank you for reading!

Love just wasn’t meant for people like you. You knew this. You had spent too many nights with Yelena detailing all the reasons you would never allow yourself to love or be loved to think any differently. You’d seen what love could do, the light it could reignite in people’s eyes, and decided early on that such feelings of belonging were too sacrosanct to be wasted on someone like you. Your hands had shed too much blood for them to be worth embracing anyone.

So why did you feel something suspiciously similar to it every time you looked at Bob? You would kill for the rest of the team (even sometimes Walker, if he would ever consider keeping his mouth shut for longer than 5 minutes.) You’d done it before on many missions where they’d found themselves compromised. But this wasn’t that. at least, you didn’t think so. You had tried to reason with your reflection in the bathroom mirror every time you escaped to it after Bob turned and caught you looking at him. Again. You reminded yourself of what you did and didn’t deserve. you deserved the nightmares. You didn’t deserve anyone who could look past what’d you had done and the people you had hurt. You deserved to remember the face of every person whose screams you’d try your hardest to forget. You didn’t deserve bob.

Ultimately, it really didn’t matter how your entire body ignited every time he reached over to reach the plates above your head when you were camped out in the kitchen after missions. So, what if you could describe every feature of his repulsively perfect face in pristine detail. Did it really matter that you were the one he turned too when his own nightmares became too overwhelming for even someone who was labeled a god not long ago. And yes, maybe when he entered the training room your eyes shifted too quickly to try to find his.

These things didn’t really matter though. Like any good agent, you did what was required when a mission became too challenging. You changed strategies.

Your replies got shorter, from “good morning” to “morning” to simply forcing yourself out of bed before the rest of the team to make sure you wouldn’t commit the cardinal sin of seeing him with a cup of a coffee, made perfectly to your liking, and a smile you’re sure could never mean anything more than a simple declaration of friendship. You changed your designated seat during team meetings. Now, you sat next to Yelena and absconded your usual post by Bob’s side. You smiled and calculated every expression. You were a trained agent. You ignored Ava’s eyebrow raise when you politely declined Bob’s weekly movie night invitation. It was shockingly easy to shrug off Walker’s jokes when you found yourself in an increasing number of sparring sessions with him to avoid Bob’s presence in the common area. 

You expected that by the end of the month whatever feelings you thought you’d had for Bob would be nothing more than a temporary weakness in your disposition.

You hadn’t accounted for him.

You didn’t consider that he’d find himself outside your bedroom door in the middle of the night. You definitely didn’t expect to have to offer any kind of explanation when he asked you if he’d upset you.

“Whatever it was I did, I really really didn’t mean to upset you” he stares up at you, his hands tucked into his pants. This was the closest you had allowed yourself to be near him for weeks. You felt your resolve weaken. But years of training taught you better than to give up on a mission. 

“No” you paused, offering a tight smile and a quick glance. “No, of course not.”

His eyebrows furrowed. You’d really never been the best in the field at convincing people.

“I’ve just been really busy, with training and all that, y’know” you opened your door further, hoping the faux warmness would end the conversation and send him away before the feeling you’d work desperately to erase began rising again, allowing you to think about what being loved by Bob would feel like, an idea you had no business entertaining. When he stepped forward into your room, you felt your nerves jump and your throat tighten. 

“Oh, okay” he sighed, looking past you into your room.

You’d forgotten that this would involve much more work that simply readjusting your schedule and skipping a movie. You’d neglected to think about how Bob was the kind of guy to blame himself if you suddenly stopped talking to him. You forgot that’s why you had to do this in the first place.

“Yeah, okay” he repeated, stepping back into the hallway. You could taste the bittersweetness that would linger after he left. The temporary relief you’d feel for having avoided your feelings yet another day and the disappointment that’d settle when he was no longer near you. You looked down at your feet, trying to decide which was worse.

“Could I” he started. You met his eyes again, a mistake you had to remember to stop making. “Could I… sleep here tonight?”

You knew you should say no, such closeness would not help your mission and it certainly wouldn’t help the thudding within your chest that stopped you from hearing what bob said next.

“What?” you asked.

“Oh, I just haven’t been able to sleep, like at all, the past couple nights” he let out a breathy chuckle, his eyes darting around your face. “Because of the…” he didn’t have to finish. 

As if remembering all the times you’d immediately accepted him in the past when he showed up with that look in his eyes that longed for the same comfort you also find yourself desperate for, Bob straightened his back and turned to walk back to his room. “Nevermind, it’s stupid, sorry” he murmured as he hurried down.

Your legs moved on their own as you followed him into the hallway.

“You can stay” you called after him, though you swore you never gave your mouth permission to speak. 

He stopped suddenly, turned back towards you and smiled. For a second you could really believe maybe this one meant something a little beyond friendship, though not yet entirely definable, and definitely not love. 

That night, as you laid next to Bob, you felt yourself completely relax in a way you forgot you could. As his body heat lingered near yours in that spot on your bed that had only ever been inhabited by him, you realized maybe you would never know what being loved by Bob would be like. but as you closed your eyes and smiled at the image that would greet you in the morning, it would be an impossible mission to claim you didn’t understand what it felt like to love Bob.