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hyoer · 16 days ago

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Swear Jar

pairing. David!Clark Kent x reader

synopsis. Clark is the office goody two-shoes. Can you really make him swear?

warnings. lots of cutie clark!! no use of y/n. lois is just as cool and suave as ever, no lois hate here. some angst and lots of fluff so don't worry. oh and some?ish swearing.

word count. 3k (oneshot)

Notes at the end.

“Shit”

The remnants of the blueberry latte you’d picked up for Lois were currently completely soaking your new trousers. The woman in question is standing in front of you, staring up at you apologetically while dabbing furiously, not that the paper-thin napkin is doing much.

“It’s the jitters.”

“Lois, you have withdrawls.” she waves you off “Same thing sweetie.”

From across the room, Clark taps at the swear jar.

“C’mon, I just got in hardass,” you groan.

“You know the rules.” He chimes, voice light and airy and mocking.

You scowl and trudge past him toward your desk.

Shit, all of your files are soaked. Perrys going to be so pissed when you hand in your first drafts later.

“You're so mean Clark.” You huff.

“Hey,” he says with a shrug, rolling back to his desk while spinning his stupid pen around, “you’re the one that said you wanted a challenge.”

Even when you’re annoyed, you can’t help staring at him.

His curls are soft, framing his face in a way that kind of remind you of a cherub. The rest of him not so much. Despite the oversized blue suit he wears every day to work, you’d been lucky enough to catch a peek at his absolutely ridiculously large biceps a few months ago when the office got too hot.

Still somehow not as hot as him.

Even his dimples are perfect, both of them placed perfectly at each side of his face, coming out to say “Hi” every two seconds because of how often the large man smiles at you.

Anyway back to the ridiculous swear jar.

For some reason someone had suggested that the office should take part in a no-swearing competition. The incentive? Whoever swore the most would have to hand over the contents of the swear jar to the person that swore the least.

Full ceremony, full knighting.

Everyone knew Cat or Perry would be knighting; that part was absolute.

But guess who was in the lead to win? Well ok it wasn’t just Clark, Ron was giving him a run for his money. The man barely had a crease of his suit most the time, let alone breaking his composure enough to swear. So there were fair odds going.

Sitting at the edge of your desk, playing with the pens that had definitely already dried out you look up at Clark and ask “You suggested this competition knowing you’d win right.”

“Mmmmmmaybe,” he cheekily glances up at you through his glasses, “Not my fault I have morals.”

“Not even going to get into this debate with you again.”

You always ended up in that same argument: the correlation between swearing and intelligence. You said it was a sign of linguistic expression. He said it was laziness.

Across the room, a collective groan breaks out.

A tally under Ron’s name on the scoreboard appears, the man in question lets out a pained sigh, pulling a book over his face in shame.

The only person that hadn’t groaned is sitting pretty, chewing on a piece of gum. You could imagine his smug face as he knelt down to receive his crown, the prince of virtue himself.

You could not let that happen.

“Guys, surely this is unfair.” Flapping her hands around “When have any of us actually heard Clark swear?”

Jimmy muttered out in deep thought “I heard him say the s-word once.”

“Shut the f- front door!” Cat said, her eyes wide, well-manicured fingers slapping Jimmy’s shoulder. “Where and when, we need all the deets.”

Jimmy blinked, booting the memory up. “We were at a conference for LexCorps new clean energy plant, total bull obviously. HIs leather journal caught on fire somehow, something to do with the electronics next to his bag. But it was weird I don’t remember anything flamable-“

Lois clicks her hands in his face to get him out of his trance. “Focus. Are you sure?”

He shakes himself awake “Anyway, look the point is the guys human, he can slip up.”

Time to ragebait Clark Kent.

5 days till crowning

Your first idea is simple.

Stan Lex Luthor.

Out of all the men on Earth, only two could reliably work Clark Kent into a frenzy: Bruce Wayne and Lex Luthor. Talk about either and he’d transform into Mr Hyde, frothing and pounding on his desk like a man possessed. Sure, you’d have to deal with a sermon about truth and justice for at least an hour after the mention of Lex, but you’d live.

So of course, that morning you waltzed into the office fully committed to the bit. Thick black shades covered your eyes, and a long black t hugged your frame. The entire thing screamed soft cosplay. A few LutherCorp-branded pens peeked out of your pocket and you held a mug you’d “borrowed” on your last visit to LuthorCorp.

Also to be extra subtle, you hung framed keychain of the bald deviant on the side of your bag.

The change wasn’t lost on clark.

“What on earth is that?” he asks, pointing with genuine horror to the keychain.

“You like it?” you grin. “I decorated it myself!”

Clark turns to Steve at the next desk. “Get your phone out. She’s lost it. Call 911.”

His hand reaches out and presses against your forehead, checking for a fever or maybe checking that you aren’t being mind controlled somehow. You bat his hand away, heart hammering traitorously from just a light touch.

“What?” you say, trying to sound genuine. “Is it so wrong to admire a man as great as Lex Luthor?”

Clark gapes at you. “Are you being serious?”

“Oh, I loooove the guy,” you say, dragging the word. “He’s so hot—”

“Perfect,” comes a voice from behind. “Since you like him so much kid, you can take over Cat’s article on the LuthorCorp building redesign. You’re on interview duty for the rest of the week.”

You jump. “What?!”

Where the hell had Perry come from? He looms over you, staring hard enough that, if it was a sport, he’d be rivaling Serena Williams in her prime.

“What I meant was wow! I’m so excited,” you say, voice sliding into a what you hope sounds like an enthusiatic tone.

You exhale in relief as he seems satisfed with your answer and walks away.

Clark is already halfway down the hall when you hear him laugh and nod to himself.

“What the hay.”

4 days till crowning

Your second idea is a lot better.

A lot better.

Clark’s glasses are practically superglued to his face. Like, not even metaphorically. You once saw Jimmy barely reach for them, as a joke, and Clark had reacted like he was about to be unmasked in front of a firing squad. He’d turned pale and physically backed away from Jimmy.

So yeah.

They were a good source of fear for the guy.

Getting them off his face wasn’t going to be the easiest task.

He was clumsy, sure- he was constantly tripping on wires and bumping into chairs. When it came to those glasses? He was precise. Always adjusting, always repositioning.

You’d wanted to try them on once but like smeagol with the ring he just, wouldn’t give them up.

So you brought in Jimmy. It was simple Jimmy would “accidentally” spill something on Clark’s face.

Right between the brows.

Jimmy hesitates before speaking. “You want me to- just, what, throw a drink in his face?”

“Not throw. Spill. You’re perfect for this.”

Jimmy scowls. “Rude.”

If only a certain superhero wasn’t listening in on your plan.

Ten minutes later, there you both are- you’re perched at your desk, watching like a hawk as Jimmy approaches Clark with a smoothie in one hand and a tremor in the other.

“Hey, Clark! Try this—banana, kale-

Clark turns to greet him with his singature corn-fed, wonder-boy smile, and then-

Splash.

Jimmy gasps like he’s just committed murder.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

You had to give the kid credit he could put on a good performance.

Smoothie splatters across every inch of Clark’s face and glasses. Perfect time for you to now swoop in and steal them.

And then Clark… chuckles?

“No worries,” he says, already pulling off his glasses with two fingers and reaching for a napkin, not even giving you time to snatch them away. “Happens all the time.”

You stare.

Jimmy stares.

Everyone stares.

Clark just wipes his face, a small knowing smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

What?

“Thanks for the drink,” he adds lightly, patting Jimmy’s shoulder as he stands up. “You saved me from falling asleep at my desk.”

Then he walks away.

You slowly turn to Jimmy. “Fudge nuggets”

“Did you.. just say fudge nuggets?”

Clark, in the bathroom, quietly taps away at his phone. The faint shimmer of Mr. Terrific’s hypno-contacts glint for just a second before he put his glasses back on.

3 days till crowning

“I give up,” you mutter, slumping forward onto your desk with a dramatic sigh. “The guy’s a no-swearing patience machine.”

Lois pats your shoulder with a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry. You’ll get him next time, tiger.”

But deep down, you both know the truth.

Clark is going to win.

So when everyone is packing up for the day and slowly shuffling their way out of the office, you turn to him and say it out loud- because what’s there to lose?

“You win, Kent.”

He glances over, eyebrows raised. A small smile pulling at his lips like he knew your admittance was coming. “Took you long enough to come around.”

You walk side by side with Clark, the summer air finally bearable enough to not sweat while on a stroll. The sounds of cars and people hum around you both.

But halfway to the train station, you pause. “Hang on,” you say, eyes locking on Mo’s bakery. “We’re stopping.”

Clark follows your gaze and gives an approving nod. “For Mo’s cupcakes?”

“Mo’s cupcakes.”

Inside, the store is cool and delicious, smelling of cinnamon and blueberry. But your eyes aren’t focused on the rows of decident desserts in front of you. No. They're somewhere else entirely. The cashier working the espresso machine- tall, blonde, and enough forearm on display that you feel like a victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time.

He glances up and smiles when he sees you. You smile back, just a little too long.

Clark notices.

As you joined the short queue, you whisper to him, “The cashier’s so cute, right?”

Clark blinks. “What?”

“You don’t think he’s cute?”

He glances toward the counter, narrowing his eyes like he’s x-raying every inch of him. “I mean… yeah, he’s a good-looking guy, I guess.”

He looks deeply confused and unsettled, like he can’t figure out what’s going on.

“Wait,” he says slowly, “did you come here just for him?”

You scoff while looking flushed, nudging him with your elbow. “No! Don’t make me sound like some kind of fanatic. It’s like Great Earl Grey cupcakes and a hot guy that occasionally brushes hands with me? That’s a nice end to my day.” You sigh dramatically, hand over your heart, and Clark lets out a noise somewhere between a huff and a groan.

“Find us a table, please?” you say sweetly, waving him off like a well-trained puppy.

Clark obeys as always.

He’s like your own personal puppy.

At the counter, the cashier gives you his full attention, smiling with that well-practiced corporate charm. He leans in just slightly, and you tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear without even thinking.

You order two cupcakes and a couple of drinks, and before Clark can even get up to help or offer to pay, you already swipe your card. Then, just as the cashier hands you your change, he slides you a small folded slip of paper.

You don’t open it until you’re halfway back to Clark.

“Oh my god. He gave me his number!”

Clark looks up, startled. His jaw tightening. He takes a slow sip of his coffee and says deadpan “That’s great. Fantastic. Really, happy for you.”

2 days till crowning

Clark walks in like a cat who didn’t get the cream and wants the world to stop turning because of it.

You, on the other hand are in a good mood, a very good mood.

Texting under your desk with a giddy little half-smile you don’t bother hiding. The guy from the bakery- Dan, had messaged you back almost instantly after you texted last night. Smooth, charming, and just the right amount of funny. You have a dinner date with him tomorrow night.

Maybe you’ve finally found the Jerimiah to your Isabela.

Clark’s chair creaks with every look he gives you throughout the day. His typing is uncharacteristically aggressive, and he glares at his screen like it owes him money.

“What do you think I should wear?” you whisper, leaning over to Cat

She raises her perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “For who?”

You just grin and tilt your phone towards her. She lets out a quiet noise of appreciation.

“What about the black dress you wore last month?” Grabbing at your phone.

“Heels too” she says with a slow nod “Definitely heels.”

You’re so caught up in it all- scheduling a nail appointment in your head, planning the jokes- that you almost forget about your dinner plans tonight with Lois, Jimmy, and Clark.

By the time the three of you are halfway done with dinner, you’re still rambling about tomorrow’s date.

“—he said he knows this place that has a set menu that just does french fries and ribeye steaks. You can get the fries and sauce on tap, isnt that great?” You laugh lightly, not noticing the look Jimmy gives Lois.

She looks at him, gesturing towards you silently.

Clearing her throat, she draws your attention to the man sitting next to you. “Why are you so grumpy, mister?” She asks Clark.

“I’m not,” he says flatly, adjusting his glasses awkwardly.

“You didn’t even smirk when Steve lost out on the Centennial Park story this morning. That man fell into a pond chasing a source, Clark. You always laugh at that kind of thing.”

“I’m just… feeling tired,” he says, not even bothering to look at any of you. “I think I’m gonna head out.”

You blink. “Oh. Okay.”

He leaves without letting any of you speak.

You watch him go, tall frame disappearing onto the street, his shoulders sloped down, strangely defeated. The other two continue on rambling about the Justice Gang's latest blunder.

You feel the smile fade from your face, just a little.

1 day till crowning

Your date day extraveganza is finally here.

Not that Clark’s keeping track.

At all.

The cup in his hand is from a place downstairs that definitelty is a rip-off. $10 for an oat milk hojicha latte? But what can he do, he’s decided to non-offically boycott Mo’s until barista Dan is fired. He hasn’t come up with the exact crime he’s commited but hes a journalist he’ll find out.

Not only is his coffee overpriced but the rest of the office isnt making his life any easier.

Every time you so much as mention your dinner plans, they all look over at Clark with the saddest, most sympathetic glances humanly possible.

Whatever. He doesn’t care…

Actually he really does, time for a plan.

Clark catches you on your way back from the printer, hovering near your desk like he’s waiting for something, but pretending to not be.

He clears his throat as you pass, then gestures vaguely toward the store closet.

“Hey, uh- can I grab you for a sec? I need help finding some A3 paper.”

You stare at him, one brow raised. “You need my help… to find paper.”

“Yeah,” he says quickly, his voice sky high.

You follow him despite his strange behaviour. “Okayyyy, weirdo.”

He stops in front of the supply closet door and glances over his shoulder before opening it and letting you in.

“Is there a reason you’ve cornered me into the supply room or am I great at sniffing out non-traditional paper sizes?” Your comment draws no reaction from him, and you stare at him inquisitively.

He isn’t really sure what to do now.

He takes a step towards you and reaches out to grip the top of your shoulders, his arms are big and warm and you feel the urge to go limp and have him pull you flush against him. Snap out of it.

“Don’t go out with him,” he says quietly, his voice hoarse like the words have been sitting in his throat all day.

You blink. “Clark, what are you—”

“Just…” His grip tightens slightly, not painful, just desperate. “Please promise you won’t.”

You step back a little, frowning. “And why would I not?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Stammers. Still holding your arms, still looking at you like you’re slipping out of his grasp and he doesn’t know how to stop it.

And you? You’re frustrated.

Heat is rising in your chest at the ridiculous request and Clarks inability to give you an answer.

“When you figure out why I shouldn’t go out with a hot guy that asked me out and actually likes me, let me know. Until then? Mind your damn business.”

You move out of his grasp and turn to leave and as soon as your hand tocuhes the handle his voice calls out.

“it is my business.”

You expect him to add on a joke, because theres no way in hell he just said that to you.

You turn, “What did you just say to me?”

Clark stans tall now, brows drawn tight, chest heaving slightly. You step towards him, eyes narrowing, chest puffed out.

“And why the hell would it be your business?”

Clark’s eyes are closed, his shoulders up to his ears, hands balled into fists. It almost looks like he's Wile. E. Cyote the way he’s stood so taught.

“BECAUSE I FUCKING LIKE YOU!”

He continues on, eyes still closed pushing the words out like they’re painful “I like you more than I’ve ever liked anyone and Idon’twantanyonetohaveyoubutme?”

You step forward, voice softer. “Clark… hey. Look at me.”

His left eye cracks open.

“I like you too, idiot.”

And just like that, all the tension bleeds out of him. Shoulders dropping, fists unclenching.

He looks stunned, hopeful, a little dumbfounded.

“Shit,” he breathed. “You do?”

You grin. “You think I go out of my way to hand-bound leather journals for just anyone? Please.”

He laughs- a breathless laugh- and then your lips meet his.

His lips are soft, his top lip smaller than the bottom, meaning he has to press deeper into you in order to taste you. Not that you’re complaining. Clarks hands began to fumble about but finally find their place, one on your waist, the other twisting its way to the back of your head. Yours are roaming his chest, shaky while you press against his firm pecks.

You decide that you’d really like to breathe now, and even after you pull away Clarks lips attempt to chase you back to his. His eyes are desperate and glazed over. God, he looks wrecked.

Then you leave your starry-eyed lover in the dust and run up to the office scoreboard to draw a crisp two tallies under Clark’s name.

Clark smiles as he watches Ron kneel in front of Perry, the office cheering for the new “Prince of Prig”.

Totally worth it.

I'm so obsessed with Superman. 😜😜😜 I had this cheeky fic locked and loaded last week but thought I'd post rn!!

Also, pls tell me I'm not the only one suddenly majorly interested in switching from law to some kind of journalist role 🙏🏻.

#clark kent x reader #clark kent #clark kent imagine #superman #superman x reader #superman 2025 #lois lane #jimmy olson #perry white #ron troupe #kal el #dc superman #dcu #oneshot #x reader #superman imagine #david!superman #david!clark kent #david corenswet

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hyoer · 17 days ago

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Project: Get Over Bob (3)

pairing. Bob Reynolds x reader

synopsis. Bob likes someone that’s not you and now, wait- is Bob over you?

warnings. some mention of heavy topics like trafficking but no in depth descriptions! lotttttsss of angst but some comfort too because I'm not completely evil ;0 reader and bob are constantly misunderstanding each other!! some descriptions of injuries and meanie bob.

word count. 6.7k

part 1.

part 2.

Notes at the end of this chapter

Project: Find Ivan

Mongolia was beautiful

Blue skies, quiet mornings, space to breathe and think .

Maybe a bit too much.

You’d needed the break. Needed to get out after Project: Get Over Bob had failed so spectacularly. None of your well-planned phases helped to squash the intense feelings you had for Bob.

You, Alexei and John were crammed into a one-bedroom flat in Ulaanbaatar that felt more like a storage closet with windows than a living space. You tried not to think about how much money Valentina had and how little she’d spent on housing funds for the mission.

She was a multi-millionaire for crying out loud.

Mel had a theory about your lack of sleeping space: punishment.

Bob had been distracted at the gala, distracted by you.

Valentina had noticed, of course she had.

You cursed her for her pettiness.

At least the meal budget was unlimited, well you were pretty sure the budget was there to satiate Alexei’s uncanny ability to eat everything within a five-foot radius of his body.

The IBJJF championship venue was close enough that you only needed a pair of old-fashion binoculars, a digicam and some hefty patience to scope out the coaches. Your first few days were spent watching matches, taking notes and eating your body weight in Khuushuur.

Nights in the capital smelled like sweat and sounded like fists meeting pads. You and Walker sparred on every spare patch of floor in the apartment until you were breathless and sore and collapsing onto the pull-out couch. Alexei would then find a way to keep you both up until the am, regaling you with stories of his time as the Red Guardian. His stories were loud, sometimes funny and full of impossible heroics.

But the stories and the night never lasted as long as you wanted.

Sleep rarely came. But when she did, Lady Morpheus made sure to torture you with the thoughts you tried to bury during the day. Dreams of Bob and Lily in a booth somewhere peaceful, laughing at something small, leaning into each other. His hands at her shoulders, touches so light they even made you shiver.

Your subconscious clearly had no respect for your boundaries.

You had three weeks to build up your cover, plenty of time to enjoy your fully funded holiday with a side of espionage. The first month’s mission brief: blend in, train and explore. Be the wide-eyed American athlete with the eccentric Russian coach.

Ok so, maybe Valentina wasn’t that petty.

Sukhbaatar Square became your favourite place, hours were spent there, watching street performances and listening to live music. Walker got dragged into an impromptu volleyball game once. Then again. And again. And soon the local teens were arguing over who got him for the next match like he was prime Shaq.

You grinned every time.

Alexei was glued to his camera the whole trip. Constantly fiddling with settings he definitely didn’t understand, restless at the opportunity to document everything he did.

At one point, you’d all gone to the Equestrian statue of Genghis Khan and spent a minimum of forty minutes being directed by Alexei. Those awkward JC Penney TikTok videos had nothing on you and John’s poses.

The National Museum of Mongolia was Alexei’s version of heaven.

He ignored the all of the “no photography” signs, ranting on about Lena, Melina and printing. He had an explanation for everything there. John dragged his feet at first, bored out of his mind; until he stumbled across an exhibit on nomadic tools and then it was lecture time. He was smug, irritating, but oddly endearing. Your ears were turned vaguely in his direction, pretending to listen while you took in the artefacts yourself.

Once you all had had your fill of real life, it was time to get down to business.

The mission was simple on file: find Ivan Petrovitch.

In reality, it was anything but. Intel said he was buried somewhere behind the scenes- tucked into the judging committee. Invisible, but still present.

You walked into the competition hall like it belonged to you- shoulders squared, your steps measured, eyes locked forward. Your expression alone carved a path through the crowd, and Walker and Alexei followed closely behind.

Your first opponent Natalia had two recent losses via armbar. On paper, she should have been a warm-up for you. You made a mental note to go easy. Keep it clean and professional.

Approaching the mat with a warm smile, you had extended your hand to greet her.

She walked past you.

No nod, not even a flicker of acknowledgment. You muttered under your breath, “Rude.”

Her head snapped towards you eyeing you with distain.

She was a good ten feet away- how the hell had she heard that?

The bell rang.

You stepped onto the mat, confident in your movements. Natalia backed up immediately, basically inviting you to attack her lead leg. Her retreat looked like hesitation but something about the movement made you feel uneasy. You lunged, but she became a blur, intercepting your move with a sharp arm drag. In one brutal motion, she locked your right leg and flipped you to the floor, knocking the air from your lungs.

You blinked up, blinded by the harsh lights above you.

She pummelled you into the mat with precision and power that bordered on inhuman. Every attempt at escape, deep half guard, underhook, anything, was shut down effortlessly. Her arms caged you around you like steel, you could barely breathe, barely think, barely move.

So much for taking it easy on her.

When it was over, the ref pulled her off you. Humiliated, you slipped off to the bench and dropped your gaze to your feet in an attempt to catch your breath.

A sharp yelp suddenly caught your attention.

You looked up just in time to see Natalia’s coach grab her arm, his nails piercing at the material of her uniform. He handled her like a misbehaving child while she just stood hunched and apologetic.

Your stare lingered too long.

His eyes locked with yours in warning as he shoved her towards a side door. She stumbled and glanced back at you apologetically as she disappeared.

John crossed the mat with his signature smirk. He spoke out cockily. “Did you even bother practicing before you got here?”

You didn’t look at him right away. The ache in your shoulders still hadn’t faded. “There’s something wrong,” you murmured.

“You see something while she was beating your ass?”

You exhaled slowly. “More like felt it. That girl- Natalia- her collar drag could’ve ripped my arm clean off.”

“So what?” he scoffed.

You stared at him, brows raised. “She’s strong. Unnaturally strong.” He blinked. Confused.

“Strong like you, bonehead.”

As John finally managed to put two and two together, you stared off at the door the girl had been shepherded through. “Every movement of hers, on and off the mat, just doesn’t feel right,” standing up “I don’t think, I don’t think we’re here for Ivan, or well we shouldn’t be here for him”

Your steps were heavy as you made your way toward Alexei, taking your time to observe the almost robotic agility some of the other girls also moved with.

“What was the name of the woman we had on file for the Widow serum?”

“Kurdrin.” he said, barely glancing up from the files in his hand.

Your voice dropped to a whisper. “Lexei, this competition isn’t a lure for Ivan.” You swallowed hard.

“It’s a sales floor.”

The moment you voiced your suspicion, something shifted between the three of you, an unspoken understanding that Valentina was going to be super pissed when you got back.

You weren’t here for Ivan anymore.

You all began to make your way through the hall weaving your way to the service entrance attached to the laundry room. John knelt down and pulled back a maintenance panel, lifting his tactical bag around with a grunt. From the side pocket, he produced a tablet about the size of a paperback.

“Who gave you that?”

He smiled guilty. “A little flirting with Mel goes a long way.”

Remind yourself to keep him away from her when you got back.

He flicked open the case, revealing a small screen. A quiet hum pulsed from it as the scanner powered up, casting a faint bluish glow onto his face. You all took a breath as he sent out an alert for backup.

“There,” he muttered, adjusting the map. “One room, lower southeast wing. Ten heat signatures with minimal movement, it has to be where they’re holding the girls.”

Alexei squinted at the bright screen. “I do not trust this. Looks like arcade game.”

“You don’t need to trust it,” handing him the tablet. “you just need to hold it, the big red dots are people. Tell us where to avoid over comms. Easy peasy.”

“I do not like blobs,” Alexei muttered resignedly, his hands turning the tablet upset down in distrust.

Alexei’s tone would have been comical to you if you weren’t so terrified at the thought of such high-tech equipment in the hands of the man that had once added his entire contact list to the Thunderbolts group chat.

As if sensing your unease, he gave you a overly reassuring smile.

Yeah, this wasn’t going to be good.

“John, take the west corridor and sweep the other storage rooms. I’ll hit southeast and check the other wing.” He nodded. “We meet in the middle. If anything smells off, pull back.”

One last look at the Alexei and you both set off.

You slipped into the staff corridors, the noise of the match hall faded behind as you made your way through the narrow passageways. The air was still and heavy with the kind of silence that made you feel uneasy.

“Left turn my dochka,” Alexei’s voice buzzed in your ear. “The room in front- has lots of people. I think ten, but they are still.”

You crept forward, every step calculated as you pressed your ear to the surface of the door.

No whispers. No breathing. Just still.

“You sure the signatures coming from this room?”

“Very sure, lots of blobs.”

The doorknob was cold in your hands and with some slight pressure you turned it slowly.

Your eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room and you saw them.

Ten girls.

All of them sat slumped on the floor, zip ties tight around their wrists, heads hanging low.

Every step you took towards them had them flinching.

As you got closer you noticed their uniforms were clean, not a speck of dirt on any of them. Like they were props set out for display. And off to the side, resting with her back against the wall, was Natalia. Her eyes shot up to yours and her lips parted-

The door behind you slammed open.

You turned just in time to block the first hit from one of the men that was clad in tactical gear. But the hits came harder and faster the more you were pushed around the room. One grabbed your arm and slammed you against the crates stacked at the back of the room. You stood up dizzy and swung back, landing a blow to his gut.

“Walker, I need help” you gasped into your comms.

“I’m pinned,” came his response. “Five on me right now. Hold on.”

With the knowledge that Walker wasn’t coming anytime soon you became desperate.

You started grabbing at anyone or anything. Letting yourself loose and clawing at them as rabidly as possible.

One grabbed you by the scruff of your cotton jacket, his fist came down fast, striking the side of your head like a hammer. The blow was so forceful that all you saw was a flash of white hot light and then silence.

You came to in John’s arms, the man hushing you as you began thrashing in his arms. “No… no, please John, let me up I can – I can-“

He let you tire yourself out.

Your legs were limp under you, the bulk of your weight leaning on the super soldier’s shoulders as you made your way out of the building. Alexei was already waiting at the staff exit, pacing in circles by the van. His eyes widened, taking in your appearance, clearly ready to scold you, but John nodded softly- uncharacteristically serious.

The silence that filled the vehicle was suffocating.

Your head rested on the side of the window, bumping against the cool pane every so often making you wince. You felt Alexei begin to slowly slide into the back seat with you, his large arms wrapping around you, approaching you like an injured animal. You found yourself launching into his chest, all of the air in your lungs being exhaled out as you sank into his warmth.

Slow melodic tones rumbled from under your fingertips, a lullaby, something unfamiliar, was currently escaping Alexei. He began patting your back the same way he did once to Lena and Tasha, the movements felt repentant.

You didn’t sleep, just closed your eyes.

That was enough.

Project: Give up?

Coming home should’ve felt like relief.

Plenty of soft blankets, shelves of comics, and finally some rain. But it didn’t. You’d failed.

Not John, not Alexei, you.

Valentina made sure you knew how badly you’d screwed up. She’d stormed into tower, her shrill voice echoing off the walls, demanding consequences. Bucky and Ava stopped her at the door threatening that they had enough dirt on her to get her back into cuffs if they wanted. You’d caught the tail end of her rant- something about a deal with Sokovia being off the table now.

Not that you cared.

Bob had come to your room every day since you’d been back.

He’d sat on the edge of your bed talking about something stupid Yelena had done while you’d been gone or how studying calculus had been rotting his brain. The time away from him had made you needy, for his attention, for him. So you let him stay and ignored the part of your brain reminding you of your old project.

Eventually, you decided to stop moping.

The team was sat around on the sofa watching The Skeleton Twins- your comfort movie. Your Letterboxd top four was common knowledge around the tower so you knew they’d queued it up in hopes of luring you out.

Cheeky.

You collapsed onto the sofa and Bucky pulled you into his side like habit, like your absence hadn’t happened at all. Your legs were splayed across his lap while his vibranium hand played with the fabric of your pyjamas, twisting them absentmindedly.

The movie was just background noise for Bob His eyes were trained on the comfortable way you and Bucky had settled into the corner of the sofa.

Bob didn’t know it wasn’t romantic, but it sure as hell felt like it was to him.

And he didn’t like it at all.

You didn’t notice Bob at first. Not until Bill Hader began serenading Kirsten Wiig and everyone laughed.

Almost everyone.

You didn’t hear his laugh.

You always could, no matter how crowded the room. It was soft and melodic, filtering into your ears like a warm cup of cocoa on a cold day. Your last image of him had been him cooped up in the med bay, shaking from the stress of being taken over by an eldritch god. The lack of laughter unnerved you.

You turned your head, hoping to capture a grin from him.

You saw the look of unease in his eyes.

Just a flicker- but there nonetheless, too heavy to be anything else but discomfort. He didn’t say anything to your raised brow and kept his face neutral. But something was wrong; his hands were tucked tightly under his arms like he was cold, his back was ramrod straight against the plush seating.

Suddenly, Bucky let out a sharp snort as the film jumped into the credit sequence taking your attention away from Bob’s strange behaviour.

You rolled your eyes. “Why are you scoffing about it’s a good film.”

“I wouldn’t say good, but it was definitely interesting doll,” Bucky teased, flicking a piece of popcorn at your head.

“Don’t call me that, Barnes.”

He grinned with those weirdly pointy teeth of his “What, you gonna beat me up?”

At that you both cackled and began play fighting with the dozens of pillows John had bought when he went through his grand designs phase. The man in question was complaining about how much he’d spent on the goose feather pillows you’d desecrated. You began to crawl towards Lena, the woman shrugged you off and handed you back to Bucky leading to an all-out fight between the three of you.

Bob watched on.

Feeling as though there was no place for him in your intimate moment.

You hadn’t done anything wrong. Bob knew that, he should’ve been happy to see you fall back into your regular routine after being cooped up in your room for so long.

But he wasn’t.

No one noticed when he left, not even you.

Life carried on with the same mundane tone for Bob.

He was like a band stretched too far, too tight.

Who knew when he would snap.

You were held up in your room for most of the next day.

You’d ordered enough Chick-fil-A to create your own monster like Frankenstein with the chicken bones.

Your phone pinged again. And then again.

It was buried under the laundry heap you hadn’t bothered folding. With an annoyed sigh you scrambled your way to the pile and dug it out.

OPN DOOR. Well, at least Bucky was straight to the point

You texted, Can you come back tomorrow for my corpse?

His reply was instant: No, I opn door now.

You barely had enough time to straighten out your workspace before the hot-head made his way through. “Why do you type like you’ve never seen the alphabet before?” you muttered.

“So I can annoy you,” his grin was almost endearing as he eyed the mounds of halo top underneath your desk. “how you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” you shuffled the empty containers towards the rubbish bin, failing miserably. “just taking a sabbatical”

He gave you an incensed look. “And this extended sabbatical requires copious amounts of fried chicken and whatever the hell that is.” inspecting the container on your lap.

“Kanafeh,” you said, lifting your chin. “it’s the world’s greatest dessert. Educate yourself.”

He leant down and took a slice before flopping onto your bed. “Im sure you’ll be willing to part with some so I can learn.”

He didn’t look at your face when he questioned you again, softer this time. “So… are you finally gonna tell me what happened.”

“Not you too.” you groaned, letting your head fall onto your desk, muffling your voice.

“Sweetheart,” patient as ever “even before you and Bob had your soiree in the death zone you were fumbling about and ignoring him. What’s this really all about?”

You lifted half of your face to the man “Promise you won’t laugh.”

“Never“

You inhaled. “Okay, I had this like plan. Like, a well-thought-out, multi-phase plan.”

“To get over Bob?”

You shot him a look. “Mhmm and before you say anything. yes, it didn’t work.”

While you pouted and Bucky chastised you, a tall figure approached your door, half in shadow.

Bob stood, well floated, outside of your door his fist half-raised ready to knock, but he didn’t. He just watched.

Watched as you stared at Bucky with a playful expression, the same way you did a few days before. His chest ached , God he felt stupid. He’d come to show you his latest breakthrough. the ability to fly without passing out or ending the world.

He’d been proud.

For the first time in a long time Bob had something good to bring to you.

Inside, Bucky fiddled with your pillow, grinning at your very obvious love for the golden boy “I can see that.”

“And flooding my room didn’t help either,” you added under your breath furrowing your brows in annoyance.

“…Sorry, what?”

“You and your creepy super hearing Jesus,” Looking away from him in embarrassment. “I might’ve taken a hammer to the pipes. I needed an excuse to move to the room next to yours.”

Bucky stared at you, silent for a moment before bursting into loud, uncontrollable laughter, rolling around on the bed in circles.

“Why don’t you ever laugh that hard when I tell actual jokes?” you asked, mock offended.

“Because nothing’s funnier than imagining you thinking tactical plumbing was the best idea for this plan”

“I just…” you sighed. “I couldn’t be next to him anymore. Having him walk past every night, hearing his voice through the wall. It was actual torture.”

The words hit Bob in waves.

He stared at the door like it might offer an explanation, like maybe you’d jump put and tell him “I knew you were there Bob we were just teasing you, come inside so you can propose to me!”

But no, you really had just admitted you’d damaged your room just to avoid being next to him. The room that you had spent weeks carefully decorating, dragging him to every plant shop within the city to curate your own dreamspace as you coined it.

You’d destroyed that room.

Did you hate him that much?

Bob lowered his hand from its place near your door. Curling his fingers into a fist by his side. His face stayed calm, almost expressionless. He turned without a sound, hovering down the hallway. Your laugh followed, mocking him as he made his way to his room.

One thought in his mind.

She wanted to get away from you.

None the wiser, you continued your conversation with Bucky.

“It’s like, well, imagine being stuck in a closet with David Corensweat for 3 hours, you’re telling me you wouldn’t want to give the guy a smooch?”

He scrunched his nose in thought. “I’m not denying he was good-looking in The Politician but he’s not my type.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot he flies without wings, right.” He guffawed at that, throwing a pillow at your face in mock anger, but you could see the tips of his ears slowly flushing red.

Project: Bob should get over you?

You needed a good book.

Ignoring the fact nobody wanted to start a book club when you’d asked five months ago you decided to just buy 7 copies of Americanah and tape them to everyone’s doors.

You were mid-search on Google when a name popped up. Lily’s shop.

Of course it was top of the list. Perfect reviews, handpicked recs and the best vanilla coffees in the city.

Of course.

Swallowing your pride wasn’t one of your most notable traits but what did you have to lose?

You walked in, the bell overhead chiming that same mellow note you remembered. The air smelled like paper, sandalwood, and something floral. Making a beeline for the new-in table you grabbed the first book you could see with a half-interest in the cover and a full intention to pretend that was the only reason you were there.

“Hey!” Her voice caught you off guard, as did the soft hug she pulled you into.

You tensed for a moment, then let yourself melt into her. “Hi. I haven’t- uh, haven’t seen you in a while, how’ve you been?”

“I’ve been great,” she beamed. “I decided to expand the store. We’re building into the unit next door this week!”

You nodded, eyeing the chaos behind the counter; power tools, papers, bits of half-assembled shelving strewn about the place. Just as you primed yourself to let out a well-formulated joke about power tools, a man strolled out from the back towards you both. He was tall, handsome in a probably-models-for-la-roche-posay kind of way.

He leant down, kissed lily on the cheek, saying something about fixing a computer and heading out for extra parts.

He glanced at you, smiled politely, and left.

What the hell?

Standing still for a moment you sputtered out “Sorry um… not to be nosey, but aren’t you and Bob still...?” squishing your hands together in confusion.

She chuckled softly. “Together?”

“Oh, no,” she said, smiling like the whole thing was obvious. “We figured we’d be better off as friends, he still comes by for coffee occasionally, but honestly? It was clear his head was somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else?”

Lily gave you a pointed look. “More like someone else.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Me?”

“Come on,” she laughed. “The man practically vibrated every time you came into a room. The whole time you were away he was pining after you like a little baby,” leaning in “one night at dinner, I caught him staring at photos he’d taken of you napping.”

“No, he did not!” You laughed, half in disbelief.

She laughed too, warm and unbothered. “Full-on wistful. like you were a picture in a locket of his husband lost at sea.”

“I’m... sorry,” you said softly, coming down from the high of finding out Bob, maybe just maybe, liked you too.

“For what? It’s not like either of you committed a war crime,” she said, waving it off. “Bob’s a good guy. Just wasn’t the one I was waiting for, I mean have you seen my boyfriend?”

You left with the books stuffed into your bag, your chest lighter than it had ever felt after your talk with her.

Time to woman up and kiss Bob (or ask him out).

As soon as the clock hit seven you were rushing back home to the dining area, you could finally unleash the months-worth of flirting you’d been saving up for Bob.

Well, that’s what you thought would be happening.

Bob was unusually quiet, his face down in his food, inspecting it as if he’d never seen broccoli before.

You tried to break the ice.

“Hey Bob, could you pass the sugar?” you spoke while tapping at his bicep.

He didn’t look up.

“I don’t get how you can eat lemon and sugar on pancakes. It’s disgusting,” Walker spoke from his seat on the other side of you.

“It’s a delicacy,” you defended, turning your head to face him.

“Even in Russia, we—” Yelena started from across the table, but you weren’t listening.

You turned back to Bob. “Could I have—”

“Get Walker to get it,” he cut in coldly, not even looking up from his plate. Pushing his salmon from side to side, not even bothering to pretend to eat.

Everyone paused.

John cleared his throat in an attempt to break the mood and pushed the sugar toward you. “Here you go?”

Bob stood up without a word and left the table, his chair scraping against the floor as he walked out. His footsteps were heavy as he made his way downstairs.

When did Bob start stomping around like that?

That was Bucky’s thing.

What’s up his ass?”

“He’s probably just stressed because of his exam jackass.” Ava scolded John, all while reaching over to squeeze your hand.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding like a bobble head. “Must be the stress.”

You weren’t convinced

That week’s sparring session had started as a team-building exercise. Everyone suited up, grumbling half-heartedly as you all prepared to pretend to beat each other up for a good five hours.

But Valentina, ever the benevolent dictator, decided to turn your fun day into a science experiment. “For data.” she’d said, an unhinged glint in her eye.

Where was Congressman Gary’s impeachment team when you needed them?

Bob descended from the upper floor just in time to watch John adjust the harness strapped across your chest, some sort of weird tracking rig measuring motion, strength, and vitals.

“Don’t move,” he muttered, tightening a strap. “There. All strapped in.”

Bob let out an audible sigh. His eyes lingered on John’s hands near your chest, then flicked away as he rolled his eyes. You didn’t say anything about his obvious distain but forced yourself to remember that he was still the same guy that apparently slept in your bed while you were abroad (information courtesy of Yelena Belova the amazing super spy).

So you smiled at him. Not the fake strained kind, but the subtle “I’m in love with you” type of smile. He gave one back- begrudging, but it was there.

You knew your charms were undeniable.

You bounced onto the mat, light on your feet, throwing silly jabs into the air like you were training for a Rocky reboot.

The performance didn’t rouse a single laugh from him.

“This one’s for comparison,” Mel called from the edge. “We need a baseline on Bob’s strength against a non-enhanced opponent.”

You squared up “Ready?”

Bob didn’t answer.

Instead, he shoved you back with a single, casual flick of his hand, a bored movement not aggressive. You stumbled back but found your footing quickly, darting in to land a punch, only for him to palm your face and push you aside like you were nothing.

“Hey,” you snapped, breathless. “Aren’t we supposed to be sparring?”

“We are,” he muttered under his breath. “Not my fault you’re not putting any effort in.”

You lunged again. He barely dodged.

You jabbed at his side. He caught your wrist, twisted it, and let go just as you lost your footing again.

“If you had any powers, maybe you’d be able to do something useful.” He spoke from above, the view reminding you of the way it’d felt when you’d first seen Bob in his sentry costume. The mocking kindness to his glare, as if his words were helping you figure out a truth that you should’ve already known.

He said it so softly, you almost convinced yourself you’d misheard. But when you looked into his eyes you saw the flicker of resentment. The way his jaw was locked tight and you knew then it hadn’t you’re your imagination.

Maybe Bob agreed with the Void after all.

Maybe everything he’d said that day was him.

Maybe he meant it all.

You blinked once, twice, and then laughed, dry and unsteady, as you raised your hand in mock surrender. “Okay, I’m tapped out.”

Mel looked ready to step over to you, concern heavy in her gaze, but Valentina waved her hand. “We have enough. That’s it.” You nodded, wiping the back of your glove across your cheek and giving Bob a hollow smile.

His eyes locked with yours and something in your expression made his stomach twist.

“Looks like everything’s coming up Bob!” John joked, walking past you trying to high-five Bob.

He walked past him keeping his eyes trained on his feet.

Yelena scoffed. “Idiot.”

“Why does everyone keep calling me that, is there something I’m missing??” He whined out.

The meeting was really dragging on.

And the team had been treating you like a sick puppy all week, too nervous to ask if you’d spoken with Bob yet.

You tried to focus, flipping through the folder in your hands.

“Hey, where are the access codes I submitted? They’re moving the drop point further north, so we’ll need clearance for the next base over—”

“They’ll be in the southern base,” Yelena interrupted. Her head was turned towards you, waiting for you to say something that might change her mind. She was always like this when it came to anything Red Room-related, no space for deviation.

You pressed her. “I know, but just listen. If the convoys are rerouted north like the last drop—”

“Why don’t you let someone who knows what they’re doing handle it?” Bob’s voice cut through.

His eyes were fixed on you, almost gleeful at what he’d said.

“Excuse me?”

He didn’t even blink. “You had one job. Keep the girls safe. And you let them get taken.”

“Bob,” Yelena warned, tone low, almost disbelieving.

“That wasn’t even the mission,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “We had to improvise. We weren’t even meant to—”

“The Red Room doesn’t give second chances,” he snapped again “you know that. But hey, maybe if you’d been able to handle yourself, we wouldn’t be here figuring out how to clean up your mess.”

His voice was soft but the venom in it was unmistakable.

Bucky shifted beside you, jaw clenched tight enough to crack. Ava’s eyes were dark, her glare practically burning holes through Bob’s skull. Yelena, Alexei, and John exchanged looks like they weren’t sure whether to hold you back or hold him down.

Your body began to tremble, not just from the anger stewing inside you, but from the humiliation of knowing that what he said was the truth. You weren’t strong enough to hold off a couple of mercenaries and hadn’t pushed for Alexei to go in. Instead, you’d let the strongest team-mate you had stay on comms while you went in, ego high.

“Fuck you,” you whispered, unable to find the words to defend yourself. “You don’t know what happened.”

You left.

Alexei stood up slowly.

His voice was firm and fatherly. “I do not know why you choose cruelty today Robert. But you will say sorry to her.”

Finally snapping to his senses, Bob rushed up, intent on catching up to you. As he began darting for the door he was stopped by John gripping his arm. “That was really fucked up dude.”

“I know Walker.” He griped, sounding annoyed.

“No you don’t, we didn’t even know the red room was directly involved until she figured it out. We would have been in and out without any kind of knowledge of what was going on if she hadn’t used her brain.”

John sighed loosening his hold on him “Look, buddy I know you like her, we all do. The only person that doesn’t is her, just talk to her-”

“I know. I’m just… angry. At myself. And she-she doesn’t even need me. Not with Bucky around.” Bob swallowed.

“Bucky.” Yelena wiped her hand over her face clearly exasperated, not stopping there, she looked over to the others gesturing wildly in the air. “Christ, you two are morons”

“Bucky’s got a certain captain that he talks about all day, every day. Why would he want to be with her.” Ava chimed in from the front of the room.

Bob seemed confused “But she said she couldn’t stand me, I-I heard you both.” Pointing at the man who was currently red-faced.

John, clearly at his wits end, stated while holding onto Bob’s shoulders. “I don’t know what the hell that’s about but, maybe you could use your big mouth to ask her with your words?”

Before Bob could protest, Bucky walked up his arms folded, giving him a disapproving stare.

“You didn’t hear everything,” Bucky said flatly.

“What else was there to hear?”

Bucky sighed, like he was regretting getting involved. “She didn’t move because she hates you. She moved because she was trying to get over you.”

Bob stared. “What?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, glancing toward the hallway you’d disappeared down in deep thought. “She thought if she put some distance between you, she’d stop liking you so much.” his voice was softer, reluctant. “Didn’t work obviously.”

Bob’s face fell. “I didn’t know. I didn’t even think- I’m such an idiot-.”

“Yup,” Walker said, not even hiding his irritation. “Now go fix it.”

Bob took off down the hallway, heart pounding, really hoping he wasn’t too late.

“Open the door,” Bob pleaded, voice muffled through the wood but still loud enough to hear how desperate he sounded.

“I don’t want to talk to you.” The distance between you and the door wasn’t enough to hide the exhaustion in your tone. Months of constant back and forth between you and Bob played through your mind as you stuffed yourself deeper under your covers.

The mounds of fabric weren’t enough to keep out Bob’s incessant knocking and pleading.

“I’m sorry. Please. I don’t know what came over me. I- I know I’ve been all over the place, but just let me see your face. Let me explain.” You heard him exhale, long and slow. The weight of his frustration pressed through the door, like he was leaning his whole body weight into the apology.

You imagined his forehead resting on the wood, hands in his hair ruffling the curls that you loved so much.

Stop thinking about his curls!

You perched up on your bed, your sheets wrapped around everything apart from your mouth. Still refusing to open the door. “So you can realise you were being a dick,” you said flatly. “but not before you decided to act like one?”

Silence.

“I was jealous of Bucky, and John and just the thought of anyone that wasn’t me being with you the way I want to be with you.” he said, quiet enough that you had padded back over to the door just to hear him without straining.

“And what way is that?”

“The kind of way that has us being sixty years old, surrounded by at least ten grandchildren on Thanksgiving.”

You fumbled with the door handle, the chill of the hallway air biting at your skin as you yanked it open. The duvet clung to you like armour, preventing him from seeing you. You barely had time to adjust before you realised you were staring directly at Bob’s chest.

He smelt like clean cotton and distress. The thin black shirt he wore strained at the shoulders and you could feel warmth pouring off him,. The thump of his heartbeat was so close to your cheek.

Reality suddenly set in, coming out of your haze you took a step back, pulling the fabric back down your face.

“Still doesn’t explain,” A cough escaped you. “why you’ve been treating me like I’m leper.”

“I know it doesn’t.” His voice broke, just slightly. “I was scared. And I took it out on you.”

“You made me feel like an idiot,” you say. “The worst part is … you’re not wrong, it was my fault.” Your breath hiccups as tears stream down your face.

“No, no, no” he says quickly. “You fought like hell to get them out of there; even Walker was swamped and the guy has about ten tonnes of hydra serum pumping through him.”

His fingers tentatively graze over your form, brushing your face like he’s unsure if he has the right to. His fingertips trace the shape of you, your cheekbone, the curve of your brow, almost like he’s memorising you. His thumb strokes slow circles at your temple, easing the tension in your furrowed brow.

Glancing up at him, your eyes big, glossy and red. “You want us to be grandparents at sixty years old?”

The corner of his mouth quirks as lips purse together. “Baby,” he murmurs, tender now, “I’d be fine with anything you want.”

Then his face shifts - gaze absolute, voice hushed and certain. “I love you.”

You buried your head into his chest, overwhelmed by the statement.

“Say it again,” you whisper, barely audible.

“I love you.”

You pressed yourself closer to him. “One more time?”

He kissed the top of your head murmuring it again and again.

Mustering up some confidence you snapped your head up, capturing his lips with yours. Feeling his well chapsticked lips against yours sent a shiver down your spine and he stood frozen as you continued your attack. While caught off guard Bob managed to come-to enough to slip his hands down to your waist as he kissed you back deeper, slower and desperate. Your arms reached out looping around his neck and into his hair, pulling him closer to you, attempting to drink in as much of him as you could.

Once you’d realised that you werent able to hold your breath you pulled back, you took some time to admire your handy-work. Bob looked out of his mind, his lips were parted, breathing heavily like he’d just fought off a hundred men.

“Was that ok?”

His voice cracked “Yeah- yeah that was nice.”

Yeah, Project: Get Over Bob was a bust.

“Soooo, was this the intended outcome of your little project?”

“Who told you about that?!!?”

Hiiii I know its been a while my lovelies, I had no motivation to finish after my word app blunder, and then all the studying for my exam didn’t help my morale.

I want to thank all of you for sticking by this fic and leaving such lovely comments and engaging with it! There's a lot more dialogue in this chapter so I had a bit of a tricky time writing it, I hope it doesn’t seem to clunky.

I have another exam this august so won’t be back to writing until after it but I have a very cheeky idea for a Bucky x Congresswoman!reader fic if any of you are interested :) and also a kinda? epilogue to PGOB!1

Also, yes I believe in sambucky supremacy im sorry to the stucky shippers out there.

Ps. Im not a kissing pro but I hope the description is good enough for ya’ll!! there will be a lot more of that in the epilogue :)

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds #bob thunderbolts #thunderbolts #alexei shostakov #ava starr #bob x reader #bucky barnes #robert reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #fanfiction #marvel x reader #sentry x reader

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