Synopsis: You confronted him expecting an explanation, but instead found the ghost of the man you once loved bleeding beneath the trees while the world burned around him {GIF Creds: bombsights}
WC: 2247
Category: Slight Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Old Flames Rekindled, Reader Has Time Manipulation Powers, Slight Slow Burn [TW: Not Proof Read, Mentions of Blood, Profanity, Arguments]
Yup, I wrote a fic because I’m lowkey obsessed. Crazy what 5 minutes of screentime can do.
『••✎••』
You’ve loved Robbie since the cracked leather seats of smoky backroom bars in the 1950s, when Vought still pretended to be something noble and the Cold War felt like it might actually end in fire. He was Bombsight then—cocky test pilot turned supe, reddish-brown leather suit always smelling of jet fuel and aftershave, laughing too loud over cheap whiskey while the other heroes postured for cameras. You fell for him the night he dragged you onto the dance floor after a mission gone sideways, his hand steady on your waist with a strength that would’ve killed a normal person.
“C’mon, dollface,” he’d grinned, voice warm with that old New York edge softened by too many hours in the cockpit. “World’s ending anyway. Might as well spin.”
Your first kiss happened in the alley behind that bar, rain soaking through your coat, his mouth tasting like smoke and bourbon. He’d pressed you against the brick like you were the only real thing left in a world full of Vought lies, murmuring against your lips, “You and me, sweetheart. We’re the ones who last.” You believed him. You let yourself believe him, even as you hid the true extent of your powers—time manipulation that let you reverse wounds, fast-forward decay, or freeze moments like this one—because Vought collected weapons, not people.
You two burned hot and jealous for years: him resenting how easily you could undo time’s damage, you hating how unbreakable and reckless he stayed, flying headfirst into danger like it was his only religion. You hated each other almost as much as you needed each other. Then life, Vought’s rotations, and your deliberate fading into the background pulled you apart. Decades passed. You buried the old feelings under layers of cynicism.
Until now.
You stand in the sterile halls of Vought Tower, heart hammering as you freeze time around Soldier Boy. The world goes silent and gray, Homelander’s distant voice cutting off mid-rant somewhere down the corridor. Ben’s eyes widen slightly when he realizes he can still move—your power never worked perfectly on the originals. He’s older, harder, fresh from cryo and betrayal, but that same swagger remains.
He doesn’t flinch. That was always his gift—taking the impossible in stride and turning it into something he could own. His green eyes lock onto yours, scanning the face that hasn’t aged the way it should have, the subtle lines you could never quite erase without drawing attention.
He knew.
“Relax, sweetheart,” he drawls, voice low and rough like gravel under boots. The corner of his mouth ticks up in that familiar half-smirk, the one that used to make Robbie clench his fists in the bar. “I got no intention of selling you out. Yet.”
He steps closer, frozen particles of dust hanging between you like tiny stars. His gaze drops briefly to your hands—still slightly trembling from holding this bubble of reality tight around the two of you—then back to your eyes. There’s a flicker of something genuine there, old and complicated. Respect? Curiosity? Maybe even affection, buried deep beneath decades of betrayal and survival.
“Figured you’d still be around,” he admits quietly, a rare crack in the armor. “And I’m willing to bet that flyboy fucker is still sniffing around too.”
Ben’s head tilts, studying you like he’s cataloging every change, every similarity. He’s assessing you the way he always did—looking for weaknesses, leverage, anything to tip the scales. And judging by the way his smile widens slightly, he’s already found what he needs. He’s always been an opportunistic bastard when it came to getting what he wanted.
And that’s how you ended up here—staring down at the man you once loved, wrapping a wound on his shoulder while the sky lit up with two identical beams of red light. It was official. You were fucked. Astronomically, cosmically fucked.
Soldier Boy’s deal with you had been simple: he’d keep quiet about your powers and your past with him if you gave him intel on Robbie, and given Homelander’s recent… meltdown, you couldn’t risk exposure. Not now, not with so many pieces in play. You’d spent decades hiding, and you weren’t about to let your carefully constructed life crumble because a 1940s fossil recognized your face.
So, of course, the minute you unfroze time and Soldier Boy slipped away, you’d gone straight to Robbie to give him a heads-up. At first, you thought he’d heed your warning—he was invested in giving V1 to Golden Geisha anyways—but seeing him now, wrapping a handkerchief around his bleeding shoulder against a tree, you realized he in fact had not.
“What did you do…?” you ask, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice as the smell of burnt sugar wafts through the air. You move closer, your shoes crunching on the fallen leaves. “What the hell did you do?”
He didn’t look at you, but you didn’t need to see the expression on his face to hear the resignation in his tone. “What I had to.”
You stop a few feet away, the crisp air catching the hem of your coat. “What you had to? I told you—I warned you about Ben, about them coming for the V1. You were supposed to protect it! To keep it out of their hands!” You could feel the heat of your own anger rising, old frustrations bubbling to the surface. Decades of watching him make the same reckless choices, and now… this. “And you, what? Made a deal with the devils behind my back? All so you can bleed out on the grass like a dog?”
Your words hit harder than any punch, and you see it in the way his shoulders tense. Robbie finally looks at you, and the raw emotion in his eyes—hurt, defeat, exhaustion—shocks you into silence. He looks old. Not in age, but weary. Tired of the fight, tired of running, tired of everything. He looks like a man who’s been carrying a weight for so long he’s forgotten what it feels like to stand straight.
“Don’t you dare,” he starts, voice strained as he presses the makeshift bandage tighter. “Don’t you stand there and pretend this is the same as before. That this is about being reckless.” He pushes himself up from the tree, his movements stiff with pain. “This isn’t about glory, or Vought, or any of that bullshit we used to swallow. I’m tired, alright? I’m tired of living as a ghost, of watching the world spin on without me, of being a permanent relic in a museum I never asked to be in.”
He takes a step closer, the space between you charged with years of unsaid things. “So yeah. I made a deal because he offered me the one thing you would never have given me. A chance to finally be done.”
“Well congratulations,” you shoot back, the words dripping with venom. “Looks like you got your wish.”
“Don’t be a smartass,” he snaps, his patience fraying. “You think I wanted this? To end up in the middle of your pissing contest with Soldier Boy and Homelander? To have to choose between two different versions of hell?” He gestures vaguely at the sky, at the distant sounds of chaos. “Don’t forget, you’re the one who brought him to me. If you weren’t so careless—”
“Careless?” The accusation hangs in the air between you, sharp and sudden. You take a step back as if struck. “You want to talk about careless? You, who jumps into every fight like it’s your last chance to prove something? You, who never learned that sometimes the smartest move is to not make a move at all?”
“I was protecting—”
“No,” you cut him off, your voice dangerously quiet. “It’s like you said. This isn’t about protecting anything. This is about you. About your ego, your need to be the martyr. You’re not tired, Robbie. You’re bored.”
He flinches, and you know you’ve hit the nerve—the one he’s been nursing for years, the one that’s fueled every reckless decision, every near-miss, every self-destructive impulse. You can see the old fire in his eyes, the one that used to draw you in, but now it just looks like desperation.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know you,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “I know you better than anyone. And I know that you would rather burn the world down than admit that you’re scared of being left behind in it.”
You’re both breathing hard now, the silence that follows your words heavier than the one you’d created with your power. You can feel the old familiar pull, the way you always get drawn into his orbit, the way he always manages to get under your skin. For a moment, you think he’s going to argue, to throw more words back in your face. But then he just looks at you, really looks at you, and the anger in his eyes is replaced by something else. Something you haven’t seen in a long, long time.
“Maybe you’re right,” he says, the admission costing him something. “Maybe I am scared. But you know what? So are you.”
He takes another step closer, so close you can feel the warmth coming off him despite the chill in the air. “You’ve spent your whole life hiding, running from what you are. You hide behind your control, your careful little plans, but you’re just as trapped as I am. The only difference is, I’m finally doing something about it.”
If this was back then—back in the fifties, in the alley behind the bar—you would have hit him. Or kissed him. Maybe both. Probably both. But you’re not the same person you were then, and neither is he. The world has changed, and so have you. The realization is a bitter pill to swallow, but you force it down anyway. You’re tired of fighting the same war, tired of being the only one who remembers the promises made in the dark.
“You’re wrong about me.” You say it, but the words ring hollow, even to your own ears.
“About which part?” he asks, a ghost of that old smirk on his face. “The part where you’re hiding? Or the part where you’re trapped?”
“No,” you say, shaking your head, trying to clear it. “You’re wrong about me not giving you an out.”
You reach out then, your fingers brushing against the rough fabric of his jacket, right over the makeshift bandage on his shoulder. He doesn’t pull away. You let your power flow, a gentle, familiar warmth spreading from your fingertips. It’s not a full reversal—you wouldn’t do that to him, not again—but it’s enough. The bleeding slows, the torn flesh beginning to knit together under your touch. It’s the most you can offer him, the most you’ll allow yourself.
“I would’ve given you anything, Robbie,” you whisper, the words a raw, open wound between you. “I would’ve done anything for you. All you had to do was ask.”
The look in his eyes then is a punch to the gut, a dizzying, gut-wrenching mixture of regret, longing, and something so raw and vulnerable it takes your breath away. For a second, it’s like the decades have melted away, and you’re back in that alley, the rain soaking through your clothes, his mouth on yours, the world fading away until it’s just the two of you. Just you and him, and the promise of something more.
But then he blinks, and the moment is gone. The hard mask is back in place, the weary resignation settling over him like a shroud. He lets out a soft sigh, a quiet, resigned sound that’s somehow worse than any argument.
And you realize you can’t bear it. You can’t stand here, in this godforsaken field of trees, with the ghost of the man you used to love, and watch him self-destruct. Not again.
You pull your hand back as if his skin is on fire, the sudden loss of contact leaving you feeling cold and empty. You turn away from him, unable to look at him for another second. “I have to go,” you say, your voice tight. “I have to get back before—”
“Before what?” he asks, a hint of that old defiance back in his tone. “Before they realize you’re gone? Before they figure out you’re not the perfect little Vought soldier you pretend to be?”
“You found peace with dying. Good for you.” You turn to face him, and this time you let him see everything—all the anger, the hurt, the years of loneliness, the desperate, aching need to matter to someone, to anyone. “I haven’t.”
Before he could say anything, convince you to stay, you fast-forward just enough to put distance between you and him. You don’t go far—just to the treeline, far enough that you’re out of sight but not so far that you can’t still see him through the gaps in the leaves. You watch him stand there, a solitary figure against the backdrop of the burning sky, looking lost and broken.
You know eventually you’ll go back—back to him, but for now you stay watching him, your heart aching with the familiar, bittersweet pain of a love that never quite died. You stay until the red light in the sky fades to a dull, angry glow. You stay until he finally turns and walks away, disappearing into the shadows.
Description: Bombsight has the V1 and the boys need to make sure they get it before Homelander
Warning: Smut, public smut (sorta), sex is part of a deal, reader rides Bombsight, unprotected sex
Word Count: 1,131
“You think that old hag knows where the fuck Bombsight is?” She asked Butcher.
He rolled his eyes, “Ya got any better ideas?” He asked, knowing that she had nothing either.
She looks around and thinks for a moment. She saw the photos and old videos of him, he was hot. If they could get some contact with him and he wasn’t willing to give over the V1, she had her ways that maybe could get him to hand it over.
“I know what I'm gonna do when we find him if he doesn’t willingly hand it over at our cost.” She smirks at Butcher.
And if he doesn’t at least she would get to fuck a hot supe.
“Do whateva ya got to do luv but i’m sure it doesn’t have to come down to that.” She shook her head, “Oh I want it to.”
“You’re a hard man to get a hold of.” She said to him and he nearly jumped, turning around to face her.
“You weren’t the person on the phone..” He was confused and she just shrugged.
“No but I'm better.” He walked closer to her and she could see anger in his eyes.
“Where is she?” She chuckled.
“Your girl? Well I just said that so I could get you here and with the V1.” She admits and bits her lip, looking him up and down.
“What makes you think I was stupid enough to bring it with me?” He asked and she chuckled, walking closer to him.
“Cuz you want her to take it and have the hope that she will.”
“What do you need it for? You’re not even a supe.” He points out and she agrees with him.
“Homelander is looking for it so he’ll become immortal and there’s no fucking way I’m letting that happen.” She said with a laugh.
“I’m saving it-”
“She’s not gonna take it. She would’ve then if so.” They were face to face at this point.
“Look you can give it to me without any issues or I can fuck you for it and please chose the second option.” Her hand was running up and down his coat.
“Are you a prostitute for something?” He asked and she shook her head.
“You’re just one of the hottest guys I have ever seen.” She says seductively and leans in.
He looks down at her lips for a moment and back at her eyes that closed before they kissed. Her hand gripped his jacket and pulled him closer. His hands moved to her lower gripped her jacket. Her other hand cupped his cheek and deepened the kiss.
“Where do you wanna-”
“Right here.” She panted against his lips and he chuckled, moving to kiss her neck.
She hummed softly and felt her knees weaken. He pulled her down with him so they were both on their knees and he kissed her again. Their kiss was heavy and lustful as her hands began tugging at his jacket, silently begging him to take it off. He did and it fell behind him. She pushed him back so he was laying down and he grabbed her hips, helping her straddle him.
She removed her jacket and had nothing but a bra on under it causing him to mutter how beautiful she was. She took one of his hands and moved it under one of her bra cups so he could play with her tit. His other hand helped her dry hump as she bit her lip. Her hands moved behind her to unclip her bra, letting it fall.
He let out a breath seeing her tits. She slowed her hips and moved her hand under his white tee. He was built and lean, it was sexy. She practically purred feeling him.
“Sexy.” He felt his dick get harder after that and sat up some to remove his shirt.
The sight was even better and made her panties wetter. She undid the button on his jeans and pulled down the zipper. He bucked his hips as she tugged down his jeans, seeing his hard dick against his boxers. She smirked and cupped him, watching as he hissed in pleasure.
“You’re huge but that only excites me more.” She says and stands up.
He watches with needy eyes as she strips down. Her panties were soaked as she threw them on the pile of her clothes. She straddled him again and tugged down his boxers. He was panting like a virgin getting touched for the first time, though it probably had been a long time for him.
She took him in her hands, “So big, it’ll feel great.” She said and jerked him off a little before lining him up.
She dripped onto him causing him to shiver. Her jaw dropped as she sank down and took him in.
“Fuck.” He hissed out and gripped her hips.
She was warm and tight and he was big, stretching her out and making her feel full. She wiggled her hips some, adjusting to his size. She winked at him before she started thrusting. The spot that they were having sex had the echos of her moans and whines. He tried to stay quiet so he could hear her.
Her hands were on his chest as she bounced, eyes rolling. Her nails dug into his chest some but the pain didn’t affect him. His nails dug into her hips and it was for sure going to leave marks.
“Your dick is perfect.” She purred and all he did was grunt.
It was hitting her in all the right spots, making her cry out. Each bounce, each thrust she felt like she was going to fall over the edge. He kept his eyes on her face as she rode him, loving how expressive she was. He felt her gush on him and she cried out.
“I’m gonna cum.” He managed to easily flip them over and started pounding into her, taking that as a challenge.
All she could hear was his grunts that were next to her ear and she swore that he was in her stomach. She screamed out as she came, her whole body shaking and her eyes shut tightly. He slowed his thrust to let her ride out her orgasm before he sped up.
“Robbie.” She cried out and he groaned loudly, hips stilling as he filled her up.
“Fuck.” He breathed out and she chuckled after catching her breath.
“Looking for this?” She held up the V1 to Soldier Boy and Homelander.
They both look dumbfounded on how she had it and since Bombsight ran away after seeing Homelander fly down they couldn’t question him.
“How?” Soldier Boy asked and she smirked.
“I have my ways and trust me they never fail.” She winked.
pairing: soldier boy & bombsight
summary: bombsight takes on the dominant role as he stuffs his team leader into a storage closet, away from the prying eyes of vought.
content: soldier boy x bombsight, smut, hidden relationship, slurs, kink negotiation/exploration, mentions of masturbation, smut with no plot, cum control, cum eating
notes?: this is my first time writing smut with this ship, soooo bear with me on this! i would LOVE some tips in the comments section so please feel free to drop some if yall want some improvements lmao
⤷ my twt
“keep your voice down- fuck... vought handlers got ears like bats and I ain't in the mood to explain why the team lead is pinned in a damn corner.”
“then stop fighting me, ben. you’re the one who locked the door, and you know you want this.” the younger man's hands gripped ben's bulge, kneading it with a teasing smile as he looked up at him.
“i just... fuckin' fag— shut up and do it 'fore I lose my temper.”
it wasn't long before hushed groans and moans filled the small storage space, as soldier boy groped the shorter man's ass with his gloved hands— bombsight was jerking him off, with a swift pace, he made sure ben was gonna cum under his grip. “ssssst.... fuuuck, keep goin' bitch...”
“you don't get call me that." bombsight mumbled, his sweat dripping on soldier boy's suit as he tightened his grip on the older man's hairy cock. “f-FUCK! why in the hell would y-”
“apologize. or i'll leave you hard and needy in this closet.”
“fuckin' hell... well sorry goddamn it.” this was... new territory for soldier boy— considering he was always dominant during sex, and even so... he kinda liked it.
soldier boy's large hands dug into bombsight's ass, his hips bucking up into the younger man's grip as he closed his eyes in ecstasy.
ben's shaft was fucking throbbing in bombsight's hand, its veins pulsing underneath his palm intensely.
bombsight spat on the thick head, running his palm over it and back down to spread the lubrication— sending soldier boy's pleasure into new heights. “nghmmfhh sh-shit... yeah... just like that....”
“y'close?” soldier boy only let out an uncontrolled whimper, his head thrown back as his hips continued to thrust upwards. bombsight only gave a smirk at the sight— ben was usually the one making him this messy.
the younger man fondled ben's balls, working out both of his hands as he grinned with drool dripping out of his lips. “i'm gonna start counting from 5, you're gonna fucking cum when i finish counting- got it?”
all he got from soldier boy was a whimper, god he was a mess- and bombsight loved it even more. noticing how soldier boy arched his back off the dirty concrete wall, bombsight went faster.
5...
4...
3...
2...
bombsight immediately used one hand to cover soldier boy's mouth, the older man's eyes shot open as he shot his load all over bombsight's hand with a loud groan.
with his hand covered in thick, heavy spunk— bombsight chuckled heavily, as soldier boy melted slowly into the wall from the shockwaves of his release.
bombsight let go of soldier boy's mouth, switching to his jaw instead— “look at me." soldier boy panted heavily, looking down at bombsight as beads of sweat collected at the top of his brow.
the younger man smirked, as he brought his hand up to his mouth.
bombsight began to slurp around his palm, licking the cum off the ridge of his fingers— all while maintaining eye contact with soldier boy, the thick liquid decorating his teeth before he gulped it all down.
soldier boy grinned, ruffling up bombsight's sweaty blonde hair as he sighed before fixing his posture. “i'm gon' get you back for this, y'know that? hm?”
