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Chapter 3 is done! Let me hear your thoughts.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹ The crowd shifts, and I lose sight of Claude Russet. Silently, a path is cleared to the stage. Cedar turns to look for

Masterlist:

(Let me know if you want to be added!)

#flower of flowers #raven updates #raven writes

Imagine giving Bob Floyd a hurricane shot…I need a fic of that…

#bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #lewis pullman #raven writes

Now I’m thinking about Top Gun…totally not to get over Miles…totally not.

#I’m lying #i’m not okay #bob floyd #miles miller #raven writes #lewis pullman

Owen Taylor…I’m not healing from you

#i’m not okay #owen taylor #lewis pullman #raven writes

I just saw Todd Stevens…oh my god

#todd stevens #lewis pullman #someone sedate me #raven writes

(I kinda forgot about drafts so yall got two chapters td)

Chapter 4

The bedroom at the end of the hall was sparse—nothing but a simple wooden chair, a small dresser, and a worn mattress with a heavy olive-drab blanket. Bob guided you inside, staying strictly by the doorframe to give you space. He looked around the small room as if he were inspecting it for hidden cameras or O.X.E. tech, his large frame completely dominating the narrow entryway. "It's not much," Bob murmured, his voice dropping into a shy, quiet rumble. "But it's dry. And nobody will come in here. I'll be right outside on the couch. If the noise inside your head gets too loud... or if you just need me to stand by the door, you just have to knock on the wall. I'll hear it." You sat down on the edge of the mattress, the old springs groaning softly beneath your boots. You looked up at him through the deep shadows of the room, observing the way his hands still trembled slightly, the way his ragged clothes didn't fit his massive shoulders, and the pure, unfiltered empathy in his eyes."Bob," you said quietly.He froze, his head snapping toward you. "Yeah?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?" You tilted your head, your voice completely genuine, stripped of any suspicion. "You don't know me. For all you know, O.X.E. put me in that box because I'm exactly what Walker thinks I am." Bob swallowed hard, his throat completely dry. He rubbed the back of his neck, a small, incredibly sad smile breaking through his exhausted features. "Because when I looked at you through that glass," Bob whispered, his voice cracking slightly as he took a step closer, stopping just short of the bed, "for the first time in my life, the Sentry didn't tell me to run. And the Void didn't tell me to fight. It was just... quiet. You make the noise stop, y/n. I don't care what's written in your files."

The silence that settled between you was magnetic, heavy with a slow, burning tension that made the air in the small room feel thick. You looked at his hand, inches from yours on the mattress. You wanted to reach out, to feel that strange, grounding warmth again, but the caution of a lifetime of survival held you back. "Go get some rest, Bob," you murmured softly, a faint, real smile finally touching your lips. "I'll see you in the morning." Bob nodded quickly, his face flushing all over again as he stumbled backward out of the room, gently clicking the door shut behind him.

___________________________________________

Two hours later, the safe house was dead to the world. You lay awake on the mattress, staring up at the cracked plaster of the ceiling. The silence of the countryside was unfamiliar, almost deafening compared to the constant hum of cryogenic stasis fluids. Your fingers lightly traced the hem of your jacket, your mind replaying the look in Bob's eyes when he had pinned you to the concrete wall—the terrifying, magnificent gold that had vanished the moment he realized you were just a person trying to breathe. Suddenly, a faint, rhythmic scratching sound echoed from the hallway. It wasn't a footstep. It sounded like metal scraping against wood. Your muscles locked instantly. You slid out of the bed without making a sound, your boots hitting the floorboards with practiced, silent grace. You crept toward the door, pressing your ear against the cool wood, holding your breath. Through the thin drywall, you could hear the low, frantic murmurs of a conversation happening in the dark communal space. "...her biometric signature doesn't match any known O.X.E. database," Bucky’s hushed voice carried through the hallway, dripping with a lethal, tactical alertness. "But I ran the residual encryption codes Ava pulled from the mainframe before the incinerator blew. They didn't build her, Yelena. Those are old Soviet algorithms. Hydra algorithms."

"Hydra went dark years ago, Barnes," Yelena’s voice was a sharp, skeptical whisper. "Not all of it," Bucky fired back, the metallic hum of his arm shifting in the dark. "They had an undocumented division. A deep-science cell that predated the Maximoff experiments in Sokovia. If she’s a leftover from that cell, she isn't just an anomaly. She's a sleeper agent. And right now, she’s sitting in a room with a man who can accidentally level a continent if she triggers the wrong part of his brain." Inside the room, your chest tightened. The air around your fingertips began to hum, a faint, almost invisible vibration rattling the glass on the dresser.

They were circling the truth. But before Bucky could say another word, a sharp, heavy thud echoed from the living room floor, followed by the sound of Bob violently tossing and turning on the old couch, letting out a low, agonizing groan in his sleep. The conversation in the hallway cut off instantly into a tense, waiting silence. You stood in the dark, your heart hammering against your ribs, realizing that the fragile safety of the house was already fracturing—and the man sleeping on the couch was the only thing standing between you and the dark.

Through the thin wood of the bedroom door, the muffled voices of Bucky and Yelena had faded back into the shadows of the hallway, but they were instantly replaced by a sound far more distressing. From the living room, a low, ragged gasp cut through the dark. It was followed by the sharp, metallic groan of old couch springs straining under an immense, sudden weight. Bob was thrashing.

You stood perfectly still in the center of the dark bedroom, your boots barely making contact with the floorboards. Through the drywall, his breathing turned into a rapid, hyperventilating wheeze. It was the sound of a man drowning in his own mind, trapped in a nightmare where the sun was collapsing and the darkness was swallowing him whole. “No... no, please,” Bob’s voice drifted down the corridor, a fragile, broken whimper that didn't belong to a god-level threat. “Don't let it out. Don't look at it.” You didn't think. You didn't stop to consider Bucky’s warning about stepping out in the middle of the night, or how volatile your presence might be to a fracturing mind. You gently turned the handle, the old latch clicking softly in the quiet house, and stepped out into the narrow, moonlit hallway.

The communal living room was bathed in stark, silver shafts of light cutting through the uncurtained windows. Bob was twisted in the center of the sagging sofa, his massive frame curled tight. The thin institutional blanket was tangled around his torso like restraints. Across his skin, faint, erratic veins of brilliant golden light pulsed under his flesh, casting erratic, geometric shadows against the peeling wallpaper. The air in the room was boiling, thick with the scent of ozone and scorching fabric. The Sentry was fighting to break through the surface of his terror.

You walked across the creaking floorboards, keeping your movements slow, fluid, and entirely visible in the moonlight. As you neared the edge of the couch, the ambient heat radiating from his body pressed against you like an open furnace. "Bob," you whispered, your voice a calm, grounded anchor in the sweltering dark. "Bob, look at me. You're awake. You're out of the box." He didn't hear you. His head thrashed against the structural cushion, a sudden, blinding spike of golden light flaring from his closed eyelids. The air around him began to hum, a high-frequency vibration that made the dust motes in the air dance violently. Knowing the risk, you reached out. You let your bare hand slide into the heat, your fingers pressing gently but firmly against his broad, trembling shoulder. The contact was instantaneous. The violent hum in the room snapped shut. The blinding golden veins beneath his skin rippled once, turning a deep, soothing amber before dissolving entirely back into his veins.

The suffocating heat vanished, replaced by a soft, natural warmth that seemed to drink in the cold air of the farmhouse. Bob’s eyes snapped wide open. His pupils were dark, wild, and entirely human. He stared up through the shadows, his chest heaving under his ragged shirt, his gaze locking onto your face as if he were trying to determine if you were a ghost or reality. "You're here," he choked out, his voice a raw, trembling rasp. He didn't move away from your hand. Instead, his shoulder leaned subtly into your palm, drawing in the grounding weight of your touch. "The noise... it just stopped. The moment you touched me, it went entirely dark. How do you do that?" "I don't know," you murmured softly, sliding down to sit on the very edge of the low coffee table opposite him, keeping your hand resting gently on his arm.

"Maybe whatever they did to me just matches the frequency of whatever they did to you. A variable to balance the math." Bob slowly uncurled his massive frame, sitting up on the edge of the cushions. He looked down at your hand on his arm, his face turning a soft pink in the moonlight, entirely flustered by how close you were sitting. He was intensely aware of the fact that the entire house was dead silent, and that you had left your safe room just to pull him out of the dark."I was dreaming about the lab," Bob whispered, his wild brown eyes turning incredibly soft as he looked at you.

"They were trying to split me down the middle to see where the light ended and the dark began. But then I heard your voice. It was just... one word. And the whole room broke apart." He reached out, his massive, calloused hand hovering over yours for a long, hesitating second before his fingers lightly brushed against your knuckles. The spark between you didn't bite this time; it was a slow, burning warmth that sent a quiet ripple of static up your sleeve. "You shouldn't be out here," Bob murmured, though his fingers didn't move away from yours. "Barnes is right outside the door. He thinks you're dangerous." "Do you think I'm dangerous?" you asked, tilting your head, your voice completely steady in the dark. Bob looked into your eyes, his chest rising and falling in a deep, rhythmic cadence that perfectly matched yours. A slow, genuinely happy smile broke through his exhausted features—a look entirely free of the Sentry's terrifying majesty or the Void's nihilism."No," Bob said, his voice dropping into a fierce, quiet certainty. "I think you're the only real thing I've touched in a very long time."

#bob reynolds x reader #thunderbolts #bob reynolds #raven writes #lewis pullman

I think I am going to make this my first series but I’ll try and make other fics and not just obsess over Bob(probably) also I changed the pov a bit so bare with me while I fix the rest.

Chapter 3

The armored truck cut its headlights a quarter-mile before the final turn, rolling to a silent, heavy halt in the overgrown gravel driveway of an abandoned farmhouse.

Outside, the early morning mist hung low over the dark fields, swallowing the pale, silver light of the moon. John killed the engine, the sudden silence inside the cabin was thick, punctuated only by the rhythmic, metallic ticking of the cooling radiator.

"We're here," Yelena announced, sliding her shock batons into her tactical belt with a sharp click. She looked across the dim red cabin at you. You hadn't moved from your spot against the metal paneling, your knees pulled slightly toward your chest, your features shrouded in the deep shadows of the corner. "The welcoming committee inside isn't exactly warm, but they aren't O.X.E. either. Keep your hands where we can see them, and nobody gets hurt." You gave a slow, deliberate nod.

As you shifted to stand, your boots catching on the steel floorboards, your shoulder brushed against Bob’s arm. An immediate, sharp jolt of static electricity snapped between your jacket and his sleeve. It wasn't the standard bite of dry winter air; it carried a sudden, localized spike of heat that caused the air between you to shimmer with a faint, golden distortion for a fraction of a second.

Bob flinched violently, his face flushing a deep crimson as he scrambled backward, nearly tripping over his own thin institutional blanket. "I—uh—sorry," Bob stammered, his voice dropping into a panicked, high-pitched whisper. He wouldn't look you in the eye, his wild brown eyes hyper-focused on the floorboards as he clutched the blanket closer to his broad chest. "I didn't mean to... the Sentry, it just... it reacts when things get close." "It's fine," you said softly, your voice raspy from the stasis but entirely steady. You looked down at your own hand, wondering if he had felt the strange, deep pull that had just rippled through your own chest. "You're just warm."

___________________________________________

The front door of the safe house creaked open, throwing a stark, yellow wedge of light across the wooden porch. Waiting in the communal area were Bucky Barnes and Alexei Shostakov. Bucky stood near the shadow of the kitchen counter, his vibranium arm gleaming faintly under the low-hanging bulb, his posture completely rigid. As the team filed in with you and Bob in the center, Bucky’s sharp eyes instantly locked onto you. He didn't see a threat he recognized, but his decades of black-ops conditioning screamed that you were an unknown variable.

He could feel the heavy, unnatural weight to the air around you—the unmistakable pressure of a living weapon."Walker," Bucky said, his voice a low, guarded gravel. "Comms said you found one target. Who is this?" "Her file was totally wiped, Barnes," Walker said, tossing his rifle onto the wooden table. "Wiped at the root. Call her y/n. But she’s the reason the whole O.X.E. sub-level had an automated incineration protocol. They wanted her erased." Alexei stepped forward, his usual boisterous energy completely absent.

He looked at you, then at Bob, who was hovering less than an inch behind your shoulder like a massive, protective shadow. "To hide a person behind a structural wall... it is a coward’s game," Alexei rumbled softly. "Are you broken?" "Not broken," you responded calmly, meeting the old super-soldier's gaze without blinking. "Just untracked." Bucky didn't look convinced. He took a slow step toward you, his metal hand resting flat against his belt. "We have a space problem. There are only three rooms. Alexei and Walker have one, Ava and Yelena have the second, and I have the third. We don't have a spare cell for someone who can sweep an artificially enhanced super-soldier off his feet."

"She can have mine," Bob spoke up suddenly. The entire room went dead silent. Yelena slowly turned her head, a sharp, amused eyebrow arching so high it nearly disappeared into her bangs. Bob was practically vibrating with nervous energy, his hands wringing the edges of his blanket, but his tone had been fiercely unyielding. "I'll... I'll take the couch," Bob mumbled, his face turning an even darker shade of red under the kitchen light as he realized everyone was staring at him. "I don't sleep much anyway. The Sentry doesn't like it when I close my eyes. She needs a place to lock the door. She needs to feel safe." Bucky looked from Bob’s desperate, protective expression to your unreadable face.

He recognized that look. It was the fierce, terrifying loyalty of two people who had survived the dark and suddenly found the only other person who understood the language of the shadows. "Fine," Bucky said slowly, leaning back against the counter. "Take the room at the end of the hall, y/n. But the door stays unlocked from the outside. If anything skips a beat in the middle of the night, I'm coming through the drywall."

#bob reynolds x reader #sentry x reader #thunderbolts #bob reynolds #raven writes #sentry #lewis pullman

Flower of flowers chapter 2 is published! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it.