Bob Thunderbolts X Reader - Blog Posts

someone to protect — b. Reynolds [part 1]

𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 彡 you only came to the grocery store for bread. you didn’t expect to run into the man who once broke into your apartment, stole your tv, and fled through your window with second-degree ramen burns. and you definitely didn’t expect that same man—now shaggy, awkward, and uncomfortably familiar—to be dragged into your life again by a booming russian in a red tracksuit who insists on borscht and redemption dinners.

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 彡attempt at comedy, mentions of past drug addiction (meth use and overdose), violence, language, and mature content in future chapters (including trauma-related themes and emotional intimacy). Please read with care !

if you prefer to read it on wattpad 🔗

word count: 6.1k

enjoy !

The grocery store’s air-conditioning blasted cold enough to raise goosebumps on your arms, a sharp contrast to the muggy New York summer outside. You shivered, rubbing your forearms as you grabbed a basket and drifted through the isles. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, a bright, sterile hum that matched the strained pulse in your temple. You needed to focus. Just stick to the list. Get in, get out.

First on the list: bread. You turned down the bakery aisle, weaving through a pair of kids wrestling over a trolley like it was a prized race car. You wondered, just briefly, if one of them might suddenly turn into a super-soldier and crash into the shelves. You caught yourself. That paranoia had been creeping up ever since that day, and you had to admit it was exhausting.

Two months. Two months since the floor beneath your desk had cracked open like a jaw, spilling glass and drywall onto the street below. Two months since you had stumbled through the smoke and the alarms, clutching your laptop and half-eaten sandwich, your brain caught in a vicious loop of your worst memory, replaying over and over like a scratched CD.

You gripped the handle of your basket tighter, nails digging into the cheap plastic. You’d made it out just in time to watch a helicopter tilt sideways into the third floor, shattering the windows of the office you’d been sitting in minutes earlier. You remembered the heat, the blinding white flash of the rotors slicing through glass and steel, the rush of air that had nearly pulled you back into the chaos. You hadn’t been able to process it then, and you weren’t sure you could now.

You drew in a slow, steady breath, blinking back to the present as you grabbed a loaf of sourdough. Focus. You had more pressing problems than intrusive memories. Like rent. Or the fact that your employer had declared bankruptcy two days after the incident, leaving you and the rest of your department with nothing but a final, pitying group email about “unprecedented circumstances.” You scoffed, shoving the bread into your basket a bit too hard.

Moving into the canned goods aisle, you scanned the shelves for soup, your eyes lingering on the discount labels. You were still trying to convince yourself that this whole unemployment thing would be a short-term inconvenience, but your bank account said otherwise. You hadn’t even had the energy to look for a new job yet. The idea of sitting in another sterile, glass-panelled office, tapping away at spreadsheets while waiting for the next disaster to strike, felt like a cruel joke.

You turned the corner, debating the merits of tomato versus chicken noodle, when you nearly crashed into a broad chest that felt as solid as a concrete pillar. You jerked back, your basket swinging dangerously close to clipping your own hip and looked up.

The man you’d almost barrelled into towered over you, his shaggy, overgrown hair brushing the collar of his thick, grey cardigan. It hung loose on his frame, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, revealing surprisingly defined, sinewy muscles that stretched the wool in a way that suggested he was used to lifting more than just grocery bags. His eyes, a stormy mix of grey and blue, blinked down at you with a hint of surprise, like he hadn’t expected to be standing here either.

“Oh,” he said, his voice soft and unsure, like someone who rarely spoke first. His hand reached out instinctively as if to steady you, fingers hovering just a breath away from your shoulder before he hesitated, withdrawing his arm like it might burn him.

You blinked up at him, something niggling at the back of your mind. He looked… familiar. Not just in the ‘guy you pass on the street every day’ kind of way, but in a way that prickled at the edges of an old, half-forgotten memory. You stared at his face, the scruffy jawline, the faint scar along his cheekbone, the haunted, cautious eyes that flicked away the second they met yours.

You knew this face.

You knew his face.

Your pulse stuttered.

Then it hit you. The flicker of a greasy hoodie pulled tight around a gaunt, desperate face, a figure silhouetted in the light of your open fridge, a whispered, frantic apology cut off by a steaming cup of ramen splattering across a narrow, bony back.

“Oh my god,” you said, your voice coming out more breathless than you intended.

His eyes widened, a deer-in-headlights kind of terror flashing across his face.

“It’s you.”

“Uh…” He took a half-step back, one hand coming up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. “It’s… me?”

“Yeah, you.” You jabbed a finger into his chest, immediately regretting it as your finger hit something disturbingly solid beneath the wool. You winced, pulling your hand back quickly, masking the sharp sting with a tight scowl. “You’re the one who broke into my apartment and stole my TV a few years back!”

The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. He blinked once, twice, then seemed to shrink a little into his cardigan, eyes flicking to the side as if he might find an escape route between the rows of chicken noodle and tomato soup.

“Oh. Oh.” He grimaced, his ears turning an impressive shade of pink. “Uh, yeah. I’m… I’m really sorry about that.” He stammered, rubbing his arm awkwardly. “I-I told you I’d replace it.”

You scoffed as you remembered his desperate face twisted with pain from the hot noodles that was thrown at his back, his words barely coming out coherent. “Yeah, well, that’s hard to believe from the guy who bolted out my window with a 43-inch flatscreen and a bad case of ramen burns.”

He flinched, a guilty look crossing his face as he glanced down at his shoes. “Yeah… I deserved that.” You were about to snap back, something cutting and cathartic, when a booming, heavily accented voice echoed down the aisle.

“Bob! There you are my friend!”

You turned, just in time to see a massive, bear-like figure stomping toward you, arms outstretched like he was about to crush the both of you in a bone-cracking bear hug.

Bob turned a little, his head dropping like a guilty puppy. “Oh no…”

The mountain of a man, dressed in a bright red tracksuit and sporting a bushy beard, clapped a meaty hand down on Bob’s shoulder, nearly sending him to his knees. “I have been looking for you everywhere! What are you doing here, hiding among the soup cans like a little mouse?”

You blinked, your mind struggling to keep up. You do know now that the man who stole your TV is named Bob, such a peculiar name.

Alexei’s grip on Bob’s shoulder tightened, his thick fingers nearly disappearing into the oversized grey cardigan, and for a moment, you almost felt a little sorry for the guy. Almost. The big Russian’s bearded face split into a grin, his eyes twinkling like he’d just found an old friend in the canned soup aisle.

“Ah, Bob! Did you find the canned corn ?” he boomed, his deep, accented voice carrying down the aisle and probably into the frozen foods section.

You took a small, instinctive step back, watching as Bob visibly shrank beneath the older man’s enthusiastic grasp.  Alexei’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes narrowing with a sudden, almost childlike excitement. Without warning, he released Bob’s shoulder, reaching into his shopping basket as he brought it up, the box crinkling slightly in his massive hand.

“Look, look!” He leaned in towards you, jabbing a thick finger at the front of the box. “You recognize this?”

You blinked, leaning in despite yourself. The box was a generic-looking brand, the kind that’s always on sale but no one actually buys unless they’re desperate or trying to save a few dollars. The front featured a group of people, posing – Alexei’s finger pointing at a specific man.

You glanced at the person he was pointing at on the box, then back at him. Then back at the box. Then at Bob, who had gone a peculiar shade of pink beneath his scruffy, overgrown hair, his eyes fixed on the tiled floor like he wished he could disappear into it.

The Red Guardian’s grin only grew wider as he watched your confused expression, his finger tapping insistently on the printed image.

“See? See? You recognize, yes?” He straightened, puffing out his chest as if to match the image on the box. You blinked again, torn between second-hand embarrassment and a bizarre kind of awe. “Uh… yeah.” You muttered out, fingers awkwardly playing with the handle of your shopping basket.

His eyes sparkled, clearly thrilled by the recognition. “Yes, yes! You know me!” throwing his hands up causing you and Bob to flinch at the sudden burst of movement.

You tilted your head, watching as he posed with one fist on his hip, the cereal box still clutched in his other hand like it was the Olympic torch. “Red… something?”

He leaned in closer, his beard twitching with anticipation, like a giant, overeager bear.

“Red… Guardian?” you finished, half-question, half-statement.

He slammed the box down onto the edge of the nearest shelf, the impact making the metal rattle and the box to tremble. “Yes! Red Guardian!” he roared, clearly pleased with himself. You took a step back, fingers tightening around your grocery basket. This guy had the energy of a particularly loud uncle at a family barbecue, the kind that smacks you on the back hard enough to make you lose your breath.

“And you?” He pointed at you now, his massive hand blocking out half your vision. “You, what is your name?”

You hesitated, glancing at Bob, who was now staring resolutely at the floor tiles, his shoulders hunched like a child expecting a scolding. You felt a strange, uncomfortable twist in your gut, that same old unease from the ramen incident years ago prickling at the back of your mind.

“It’s, uh…” You cleared your throat, feeling oddly exposed under the Red Guardian’s intense, expectant stare. You croaked out your name, this also catching Bob’s attention, the both of you making eye contact but he quickly broke it off when you glared at him.

Alexei beamed your name out loud, rolling the name around in his mouth like a fine wine. “Beautiful name! Strong name!” He clapped his hands together, the sound echoing down the aisle, his gaze now falling on Bob

“And how do you know our Bob here?” he asks, the grin on his face not disappearing.

Your eyes slid back to Bob, who was now shuffling his feet, his hair falling into his eyes as he fidgeted with the fraying edge of his cardigan sleeve. You squinted at him, a sudden flash of irritation tightening your jaw. Right. You remembered exactly how you knew this guy.

“Oh, Bob here,” you said, making sure to put a lot of emphasis on his name long with letting a hint of your old anger creep into your tone, “stole my TV a few years back.” You scoffed out, you did not have a TV for a good few months and you was just a struggling college student.

Red Guardian’s smile froze, his thick eyebrows climbing towards his hairline. His gaze snapped to Bob, who winced, his ears turning an even deeper shade of red.

“Bob,” Red Guardian said slowly, his thick, bushy eyebrows knitting together in a mock expression of fatherly disappointment. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a loud, exaggerated whisper that still echoed down the aisle. “You did this?”

Bob flinched, his head jerking up as he stammered, “I-I, uh, I told her I’d replace it!” He shot you a panicked, pleading look, his hands wringing the hem of his cardigan like a guilty child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. “Oh, yeah. Right before you dove out my window with my flatscreen under your arm!” you pointed your index finger towards him in an excusing manner watching as he flinched at his, your brows furrow at this…he seemed like someone who is always on edge.

Red Guardian made a deep, disapproving sound in his throat, his head shaking slowly as he clapped a heavy hand down on Bob’s shoulder once again, making the man visibly wince.

“Tsk, tsk, Bob. This is no good.” He turned back to you, his eyes sparkling with a kind of mischievous, paternal glee. “He must make this right, yes? Repay his debt. Prove he is a good man! And no longer bad chicken Bob!” he exclaims out loud, your even more confused now.

‘Chicken Bob?’

Before you could protest, the Red Guardian’s grip tightened on Bob’s shoulder, his other hand sweeping towards you in a grand, magnanimous gesture. “Bob, you must invite this fine woman to dinner. Show her that you are reformed, yes?”

“W-wait, what?” Bob’s eyes shot wide, his face blanching beneath his scruffy beard.

“Yes, yes!” Red Guardian barrelled on, clearly delighted with his own idea. “You will come to dinner with us, yes?” He turned to you, his eyes bright, his grin nearly splitting his face in two. “It will be great honour to have such a strong, brave woman in our home. We make great borscht! Very delicious!”

You opened your mouth to object, to point out that you still had half a grocery list to get through, not to mention a few years of lingering resentment towards the man who had once made off with your only decent piece of electronics, but the Red Guardian’s booming voice cut you off.

“Come, come! Do not worry about groceries. I will make you borscht. Bob will show you he is a good man. Yes, Bob?”

Bob made a small, strangled sound, his eyes flicking between you and the Red Guardian like a trapped animal.

“Uh… y-yeah?” he managed, his voice so small it was almost swallowed by the grocery store’s humming lights.

Before you could fully process what was happening, the Red Guardian was already steering you and Bob towards the exit, the cereal box abandoned on the shelf behind you, his booming voice echoing through the aisles.

“Come, come, we will have great feast! You will see, Bob is very good man now!”

You shot Bob a sharp, exasperated look as you stumbled along beside them, your brain still scrambling to catch up. How the hell had this become your life?

⊹

The walk to the  Watch Tower – the tower that now housed the ‘new’ avengers - was mercifully short, though it felt longer than it was with the Red Guardian practically booming with every step, his heavy boots clapping against the pavement like a small parade. The morning air was crisp, the sun cutting through the towering glass and steel around you, casting long, sharp shadows across the cracked pavement. You managed to get your groceries- Alexei insisting to pay for them as you clutched the bag tighter, the contents rustling softly against your leg as you tried to keep pace with the oversized man beside you.

Every few steps, you felt Bob’s presence behind you, shuffling quietly, his cardigan sleeves pulled down over his hands like a nervous schoolboy. You caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glossy glass doors as they reached the base of the tower, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours for a fraction of a second before darting away again.

He still looked like a ghost of a man, all messy, unkempt hair and slouched shoulders, you almost felt bad for him, but the memory of your missing TV kept you firmly on the side of irritated.

Alexei, however, was in a world of his own, practically vibrating with energy as he slapped his massive palm against the sleek, polished metal of the tower’s entrance, his voice echoing off the glass.

“Come, come! We are home now!” He gestured grandly for you to enter, his broad, calloused hand sweeping towards the sliding glass doors.

You hesitated, glancing up at the towering structure. The sleek, reflective surface stretched up into the cloudless sky, the sunlight catching on the edges of a large A near the top. You swallowed, feeling a flicker of nervousness and nostalgia – you had been here before, long ago – work purposes, memories you just wanted to tuck away.

Before you could fully process the absurdity of the situation, the Red Guardian had already marched through the doors, his heavy boots clanking against the marble floors inside, leaving you and Bob to awkwardly shuffle in behind him.

The lobby was cavernous, the high ceilings stretching upwards like a cathedral, glass and steel arching around you in a way that felt both futuristic and oppressive. Soft, ambient music hummed through hidden speakers, the faint, sterile scent of air conditioning tingling in your nose. You glanced over at Bob, who was still staring at his shoes, his long, bony fingers twisting into the frayed edges of his cardigan sleeves.

You shifted your grocery bag to your other hand, your fingers starting to ache from the weight. Alexei was already jabbing at the elevator button with one thick, impatient finger, muttering something in rapid Russian under his breath as he waited for the doors to open.

With a soft ding, the elevator slid open, its brushed steel doors parting like the jaws of some enormous, metallic beast.  Alexei stepped inside without hesitation, gesturing for you and Bob to follow.

You stepped in, feeling the air turn colder as the doors slid shut behind you. The soft, mechanical whirr of the elevator filled the silence as Alexei punched in the floor number, his massive knuckles practically dwarfing the tiny, glowing buttons.

For a moment, the only sounds were the gentle hum of the elevator and the faint rustle of your grocery bag as you adjusted it against your hip. You glanced sideways at Bob, who was staring intently at the corner of the elevator, his face a study in nervous concentration.

You tightened your grip on the bag, the plastic cutting into your fingers as you felt a fresh wave of irritation bubble up. How the hell had this guy gone from petty TV thief to… whatever the hell this was? You eyed him again, trying to reconcile the image of the jittery, scrawny man beside you with the half-forgotten memory of him scrambling out your window, your flatscreen clutched awkwardly in his arms.

The Red Guardian’s deep, rumbling voice cut through the silence like a hammer on glass. “Ah, Yelena will be so happy to meet you! Maybe you and her can be friends, yes? She needs more friends” He gave you a broad, toothy grin, his beard twitching as he chuckled to himself. “And you, Bob, you should also make more friends. You are too quiet, like a little ghost.”

Bob made a small, strangled sound, his eyes flicking up to meet yours for the briefest of moments before darting away again. You scowled, your fingers tightening around the grocery bag handle.

You shifted awkwardly, your eyes darting around the room as the uncomfortable silence stretched on. You felt Bob’s presence beside you, his hand twitching slightly as if he wanted to shove his hands into his pockets but was too nervous to move.

The elevator ride felt long- longer then you remembered. Finally, you shot him a sharp, sideways glance, Alexei was humming something in Russian lost in his own world as you lowered your voice to a harsh whisper. “How the hell did you end up here?”

Bob’s eyes widened, his head jerking up like a startled deer. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words seemed to catch in his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he stammered, “I-I… it’s a long story.”

You narrowed your eyes, feeling the weight of the forgotten ramen incident settling heavily in your chest. “I did not know the b-vengers also took on petty thieves”  you muttered, your grip tightening on your grocery bag.

Bob’s head tilted slightly, the harsh white light casting faint shadows across the sharp lines of his face. Your words stung like a bandit aid being ripped, his hair hung loose around his shoulders, a little too long, a little too messy, and his jaw tightened at your words. He tried his best to block memories of his past, breaking into peoples homes- stealing their valuables- all in order to buy meth – to get high.

“It’s… complicated,” he mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze flicking down to his scuffed boots.

You huffed, eyes narrowing further. “Complicated? You broke into my apartment and stole my TV. That’s not complicated, that’s just petty crime.”

Before Bob could sputter out a response, the elevator gave a soft chime and the doors slid open, revealing the sprawling lounge of the Avengers Tower. The space was sleek and modern, polished floors reflecting the city lights streaming in from the tall glass windows. Low, comfortable couches were scattered around, and a massive screen dominated one wall, currently flashing muted news headlines.

A lady with short blonde hair spots the three of you her sharp, curious eyes immediately locked onto the three of you as she crossed the room, her genie pig clutched in one hand, its tiny paws scrabbling against her fingers. She cocked her head, blonde hair falling over one shoulder as she sized you up, her expression unreadable before she turned to look towards Bob and Alexei.

“You do know you need to inform me first before you go anywhere with Bob, dad ?” she asked her voice laced with annoyance as Alexei gives her a sheepish grin.

“The boy needed the fresh air; thought grocery shopping will help him out.” He states, Bob just nervously standing next to him – Yelena gives the two a small smile – her dad was with Bob, she should not worry that much but at the same time her father has a blabber mouth and says things a bit too quickly before he thinks- which could trigger Bob.

Her gave now falls back on you as you were standing awkwardly through that little conversation, the urge to just run out, to disappear was becoming greater as her eyes locked with yours- stern.

“Dad,” she said, her tone clipped, her gaze still not leaving you. “You know you can’t just bring strangers in here.” Alexei’s face brightened, as if this was exactly the response he’d been hoping for. He clasped his large hands together, making the genie pig in Yelena’s grip flinch.

“Relax, Yelena. Bob here needs to make up for a mistake,” he said, clapping a massive hand down on Bob’s shoulder, making him flinch slightly. “And I thought, what better way than a dinner? A little easier on the champ.” He gave Bob a hearty shake, his bicep bulging as he grinned before he says he needs to prepare dinner in an excited tone, rushing to what you assume is the kitchen.

Yelena’s eyes narrowed further, her suspicion deepening as she looked from you and then to the clearly mortified Bob, who was steadily turning a deep shade of pink.

“What did he do?” she asked, eyes locking onto you, clearly expecting some explanation for this odd little reunion.

You didn’t miss the way Bob’s shoulders tightened, his jaw clenching as if bracing for impact. For a second, you considered letting him squirm a little longer, but the memory of your old, second-hand TV, the one you’d scrimped and saved for, flashed through your mind.

“He stole my TV a few years back,” you said, keeping your tone as casual as you could, but not quite managing to keep the bite out of your voice.

Yelena did not seem phased by what you had said as if its something of the normal as she turns towards him. ‘Did he steal her TV too ? is this a normal ? why are these ‘avengers’ so casual with a petty thief ?’ you thought, you must wanted to go home now.

“Bob,” she said, her voice soft and calm as if she switched off her scary demeanour to calm and soft one- just for him, just for Bob.

“You stole a TV?”

Bob shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, his face a deep, blotchy red. He muttered something under his breath, eyes firmly fixed on the floor, his broad shoulders almost curling in on themselves.

“Wow,” Yelena said, leaning back, clearly enjoying this. “You really are full of surprises, Bob”

Bob’s head dropped lower, and you could practically feel the waves of embarrassment radiating off him.

“ It was when I was on meth!” he quickly justifies, your eyes widen slightly at this new found information, that actually explains a lot. “I-I needed cash so I used to steal stuf-f” he stammered out his eyes now locking with yours, a guilty expression on his face but his eyes were soft and sincere “and I’m really sorry I stole your TV, I did not want to but the voic-” “Okay Bob, that’s enough you don’t need to explain yourself anymore, what has been done in the past is in the past, you don’t have to worry, right?” Yelena had caught him off, her gaze now hard on you, trying to intimidate you into saying right- you looked at her as she wrapped a hand around his wrist- not in a forceful manner but in a way to comfort him ? then you looked at him, his eyes seemed distant, he seemed to be drifting – something was not right as you gazed back to Yelena, her gaze still cold and hard on you as if telling you to go along with her.

You took a deep breath in; a small smile stretches on your face. “Right, the past in the past” you said as sweet as you could , Yelena letting out a breath she did not even know she was holding, Bob’s eyes flickering towards you, a slight shine to them.

What is wrong with him ?

“After all, to be here with the new avengers means you have done something super good” you said, you tried not to sound sarcastic, but Bob seemed to be like a deer caught in headlights, his mind slightly spiralling.

‘You are only here so that you don’t become a threat to others’ a voice, no- its voiced whispered in his ear – his breath hitching, eyes turning glassy. Yelena noticed this quickly, a hand wrapping around his shoulder.

“Why don’t we go and sit down ? huh ? Bob? Lets go have a seat, you can pet Cucumber!” she says all of this out quickly as she lead Bob to the couch, your gaze followed them, next to the couch was a guinea pig – ginger and white, it was lazily seated on a mini pillow before being gently grabbed by Yelena- the guinea pig let out a small ‘pip’ before it was placed in Bob’s hands.

“Here pet Cucumber – think happy thoughts!” Yelena says, you just watched all of this happen awkwardly with your grocery bag making your fingers red, why the hell was this woman babying this grown ass man ? was the first thought that came to mind – Yelena’s gaze snapped towards you, her head cocking towards the couch.

“Sit.” Her voice was stern, this caused you to gulp as you made your way almost tripping on the rug towards the couch. ‘God, did I do something wrong?’ you really wanted to go home now, your heart was beating fast.

You sink into the far end of the couch, the soft cushions sagging beneath you as the worn fabric creaks under your weight. Your grocery bags rustle as you set them down beside you, the thin plastic crinkling sharply in the quiet room. Bob hesitates for a moment, his gaze flicking to you, then quickly away, before his gaze falls back on cucumber – who was happily sat on his lap. His knees bend stiffly, his limbs too long for the small space, and the fabric of his oversized cardigan bunches awkwardly around his wrists, the sleeves slipping down to cover his knuckles as he gently brushes his thumb on the animal.

For a moment, he just stares at his fingers, his thumbs rubbing slow, nervous rhythm on Cucumbers head, his shoulders hunched as if he’s trying to make himself smaller. You catch a faint tremble in his hands, the slight, uneven twitch of his fingers - it’s a small thing, barely noticeable unless you’re paying attention, but you catch it – the subtle, constant fidgeting, the way his breath hitches slightly whenever you glance his way.

Yelena sighs a breath of relief as if she had just stopped a bomb from exploding - she perches herself on the armrest, her arm stretching along the back of the couch, fingers absentmindedly scratching at a threadbare patch in the upholstery. The tiny guinea pig in Bob’s lap, sniffs at the air, its tiny pink nose twitching as it detects the faint, salty scent of your groceries.

Yelena tilts her head, her sharp green eyes flicking between you and Bob, catching the tension that crackles faintly in the air. Her gaze now falling on the paperwork that was scattered on the desk, a groan escaping past her lips “I thought Bucky was going to handle this” she sighs out annoyedly – it was mission reports that Valentina wanted back. Yelena thumbed through them, she knew her dad would want to do it but she don’t really trust him because he will say he is going to do it but ends up doing something else, Ava does not want to do them by choice, Walker – well he will straight up say no, and Bucky offers to do it but is also busy with his congress stuff and her? Well, it’s just tedious.  

Yelena’s accent thick but her tone light, as if she’s trying to ease the awkwardness settling around you, “we really should get a personal assistant. Valentina keeps dumping more and more crap on us.” She mutters more so to herself, feeling a headache forming while she stares at the cluttered coffee table, where stacks of mission reports and loose paperwork spill over the edges, threatening to slide onto the floor. One particularly crumpled page still bears the faint outline of tiny teeth marks – Cucumber’s latest snack, no doubt.

You heard what she had said, the need for a personal assistant, maybe you could just add your little two cents as you let out a soft, bitter chuckle, your fingers curling tightly around the thin plastic handles of your grocery bags. “A personal assistant, huh?” you murmur, leaning back into the couch, trying to find a comfortable spot among the lumpy cushions. You catch Bob’s shoulders tensing slightly, his head ducking lower.

“Well,” you continue, tilting your head slightly, a crooked smile pulling at your lips as you glance at Bob, trying to break the awkward tension “I could assist you with that.” You pause, letting the words hang in the air for a moment before adding, “And maybe Bob can help me get the job, you know, as a favour. Since he did steal my TV.” You still did not want to let go of the whole TV stealing incident, this seemed to irk Yelena now.

“I don’t think we would need a girl plucked from the grocery store to be our personal assistant, especially one still hung up on a stolen TV from years ago.” She states, her voice clipped, each word a precise cut. “ Besides, I highly doubt you have the …mindset for such fields”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back a little “Depends on the field” you reply, tone light but your eyes sharp, catching the subtle shift in Yelena’s posture. “You’d be surprised what some of us pick up along the way”

Bob’s head snaps up, his eyes wide and startled, his mouth opens and closes wordlessly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggles to find his voice. For a moment, he looks like a cornered animal, his dark eyes flicking nervously between you and Yelena, his fingers twisting together with renewed urgency.

Before Yelena could respond – her eyes held suspicion, Alexei bursts through the kitchen doors – the smell of food, seeping through as he grins widely.

“The dinner is ready!”

The late afternoon sun spilled through the tall, glass walls of the penthouse, casting long, slanting beams across the polished marble floors. The city below pulsed with life, a distant hum of engines and faint, echoing car horns rising from the streets, muffled by the thick, soundproof glass. The air inside was cooler, tinged with the faint, lingering scent of ozone from the tower’s advanced air filtration system.

Mel leaned against the glass railing, a sleek, black tablet balanced on her forearm, the screen flickering with a steady stream of security alerts. Valentina stood beside her, one hand wrapped around a steaming cup of dark coffee, her expression sharp and slightly irritated, her eyes locked on the swirling security feed.

“Please tell me it’s not another one of Alexei’s weird karaoke nights,” Valentina muttered, her voice low, the edges of her words sharpened by a hint of annoyance. “Last time, it was that poor Pizza guy, and I still don’t know how he ended up in a Spider-Man onesie, belting out ‘You’ve Got a Friend in Me’ at three in the morning.”

Mel smiled slightly, tilting the tablet slightly to catch the glint of the overhead lights. “No, nothing like that. But… well, we might have a situation. Look at this.” She tapped the screen, the security footage flickering as the camera angles shifted, closing in on the lounge below.

Valentina’s eyes narrowed as she took in the scene – Yelena’s wary posture, Bob’s hunched shoulders, and you, perched awkwardly at the end of the couch, your fingers still curled tightly around the crinkling plastic handles of your grocery bag, the faint sheen of sweat dotting your hairline despite the cool, climate-controlled air.

Valentina watched the security camera, a scoff leaving past her lips at Yelena complain about simple paperwork and you talking about being their personal assistant.  Your face away from the camera, your hair obscuring your face.

“why does Alexei bring random civilians to the tower? Gosh, Mel please add that I need to give them a warning on that – especially to that Red Guardian” she could feel a headache forming, ever since she announced the bunch of morally grey ‘heroes’ as the new avengers, her days of peace had been short – needing to cater to every single one of their demands.

She was just about to tell Mel, that she did not want to see anymore until your face came into view - Valentina’s eyes narrowed, her head tilting slightly as she took in the scene, her pulse quickening, a faint, instinctive prickle of suspicion tightening the muscles along the back of her neck.

“Wait,” she said, her voice low, her fingers tightening around the edge of her coffee mug. “Zoom in on the girl. Let me see her face.”

Mel hesitated, then swiped a finger across the screen, the pixels tightening around your face, capturing the faint crease between your brows, the annoyed twist of your lips, the dark, smudged shadows beneath your eyes.

Valentina’s breath hitched, her sharp eyes locking onto your face, the faintest flicker of recognition sparking in her gaze.

“Run facial recognition,” she snapped, her tone low, the sharp, edge creeping back into her voice.

The screen flickered, the system processing the command, the dull, mechanical hum of the tablet filling the brief, breathless silence. Then, with a soft chime, the results flashed across the glass, lines of text scrolling rapidly, the bright red banner of a classified file pulsing at the top with your picture on the left-hand side.

NAME: [Your Name]

ROLE: Strategic Planner, Stark Industries

PROJECT: [REDACTED] - Experimental Weapon Development (Scrapped)

STATUS: Resigned, Position Vacated

Valentina’s eyes crinkled at the corners, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across her lips, her fingers curling around the edge of the tablet.

“Well, well,” she murmured, her eyes still locked on your face, frozen in a moment of nervous laughter beside Yelena.

 “Maybe the New Avengers do need a personal assistant after all.”

Author’s note

I’m so sorry if this feels rusheddd, I just wanted to get my ideas out uahajw but but I’m excited – reader is slightly a beech but but she will redeem herself!! I promise hehe

Please do leave a like, comment, reblog - would very much appreciate

Also if you would like to be added to the tag list comment below !!

the BANTER, the DIRTY TALK, the EVERYTHING thank you for enlightening me this was amazing !!

Sweet Treats and Side Effects ✩ Bob Reynolds pt. 2

Pairings: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolt!Reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. use of y/n, bob reynolds x fem!reader, found family, accidental aphodisiac, chaotic prank war, slow-burn, mutual pining, thunderbolts frat house energy, dubious influence (consensual but under a magical substance), yelena’s chaotic best friend energy, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, rough sex, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving), praise kink, slight dom!bob, bob whimpering!!! (yes godddddd), feral!bob, emotional vulnerability, post-sex fluff.

Summary: When Yelena kicks off her next move in the Thunderbolts prank war with a bag of questionable aphrodisiac chocolates, you agree to help her “prank” Bucky Barnes into a very inconvenient eight-hour erection. Unfortunately, Bob Reynolds gets there first. Now the most powerful man in the tower is red-faced, sweating, and very, very desperate for one thing—and it’s not chocolate. It’s you. And when the side effects kick in full-force, you’ll have to decide if you’re helping your friend… or completely, shamelessly indulging his deepest, filthiest desires. Chaos. Horny chocolate. Yelena being the worst. And Bob being the sweetest, softest, most absolutely feral man alive.

Author's Note: this is part 2!! part 1 is linked below <3 if you want to be added to the taglist just comment<3 thank you all for the immense support and love you've been giving me these past few days, writing bob has been an absolute dream and I am honestly so obsessed with him and the thunderbolts!!! i can't wait to keep writing more bob fics and also bucky fics <3 stay tuned!! thx for all the love, I appreciate it so so so much! im actually going feral for bob you guys have no idea!! i love him and it hurttttsssssssssss <333

masterlist. part 1. part 2.

Yelena clapped her hands. “We’re so fucked.”

“You think?” you snapped, dropping the bag on the couch like it burned you.

“Okay, okay,” Yelena said, immediately shifting into disaster mode. She began pacing in frantic circles like a small, angry general. “We just wait it out. Hide him somewhere. It’ll pass. Probably.”

“What?! We can’t do that—”

“What do you want me to do?” she snapped. Then she turned to Bob, voice oddly chipper. “Hey Bobby, you’re gonna have to lock yourself in your room tonight and, um… well, I hope your hand doesn’t cramp.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned.

“I—I—uh—” Bob stammered. Bob tugged at his collar again, now visibly sweating. His curls were sticking to his forehead. His cheeks were flushed. His pupils? Big. HUGE. Like he was staring at a plate of lasagna and you were the lasagna. “I-I think I might be… having an allergic reaction?” he said, voice climbing an octave.

“Oh god, Bob, I’m so sorry." You glared at Yelena. "We are sorry.”

Yelena leaned in, squinting at him like he was a science project. “How do you feel?”

Bob looked between you both. “Like my skin is… humming? And I feel warm. Everywhere. My bones are warm. Is that—normal? Should my bones feel like this?”

Yelena snorted. “Oh yeah. You’re absolutely boned.”

You glared. “Not helping.”

Bob whimpered softly and wiped his forehead with the hem of his shirt. Which revealed his stomach. And a good few inches of solid, golden muscle.

Abs. Solid, golden, damp abs. You could’ve passed away on the spot and filed no complaints.

Yelena spun on her heel so fast you swore you heard cartilage crack. “Oookay. That’s my cue. This is your problem now.”

You blinked. “My problem? You poisoned him!”

“He poisoned himself! I left a booby trap, not a buffet!”

“Yelena—”

“Nope!” she interrupted, grabbing your shoulders like a hostage negotiator. “You’re taking him to his room. Now. Before he starts humping the couch cushions.”

“Why me?!”

“Because.” She pointed dramatically. “You’re the object.”

“…What object?”

She looked you dead in the eye. “The object of desire, dumbass.”

Bob groaned softly. “Y/N?”

You turned to look at him—and oh. The look in his eyes. Desperate. Unfiltered. Hungry in a way that made your thighs clench and your brain scream danger, danger, this is a six-foot-five nuclear sunbeam with incredible abs who wants to rail you into the drywall.

“I’m gonna pass out,” you whispered.

“No you’re not,” Yelena said brightly, shoving you toward him. “You’re gonna take Bob to his room and lock the door and not open it until he’s either back to normal or fully wrecked.”

“Yelena!”

She gave you two thumbs up and a wink. “Godspeed, slut.”

"I fucking hate you."

"You'll thank me later, babe," she winked. "Now go before Bucky comes. I can't lose this fucking prank."

You muttered curses under your breath as you grabbed Bob’s arm. His skin was hot—burning hot. Not in a fever way. In a someone poured sunlight into this man’s bloodstream kind of way.

“Okay, Bob,” you said gently, guiding him toward the hallway. “We’re going to your room now. You’re gonna lie down. Maybe breathe. Maybe not combust.”

He followed obediently, but every so often he whimpered. Whimpered.

“I feel… weird,” he murmured. “Everything’s… loud. And you smell really… really good.”

Your heartbeat punched a hole through your chest. “Oh. Thanks. That’s just… body wash?”

Bob smiled, “Smells like heaven. You smell like you.”

“Okay, okay,” you muttered, opening the door to his room and gently pulling him inside. “Just sit down. It’ll pass. You just need to—”

But Bob didn’t sit.

When you got him inside and shut the door behind you, he was already pulling off his shirt.

“Whoa—Bob—what are you—”

“It’s—so hot. I can’t—God, I’m sorry—” he gasped, tugging the fabric over his head. His chest was damp. His abs were glowing. His chest rose and fell rapidly, every line of muscle taut, shimmering.

Mouthwatering.

His abs looked carved. Like someone designed them in Blender and forgot to turn the realism setting off.

“I feel like—my skin’s burning,” he panted. “I feel—like I need so-something. Someone."

That last word came out like a confession.

Bob was gorgeous. In the quiet, tragic way. All softness and stormclouds. Not traditionally confident like Bucky or smirking like Walker. Not cocky. Not deliberate. Just undeniable. All gold and power and bashful energy coiled too tight. A man who always held himself back—until now. And right now, he looked wrecked. Like he was about to burn alive in his own skin. Like he was about to shatter from wanting you.

His shirt hit the floor like it needed to be gone.

Bob stood there, flushed and trembling, chest rising and falling so fast you thought he might hyperventilate. Every line of him was tension—drawn tight like a bowstring, glittering with sweat. His hair clung to his forehead, curls damp, eyes wild. Hungry.

“Bob,” you said carefully, your back hitting the door behind you. “You need to sit down. Just breathe.”

“I can’t,” he choked out. “I can’t, Y/N, I—God—my skin, it’s burning. It hurts.”

Your breath caught.

He took a shaky step forward, like he wasn’t sure his legs would carry him. “It hurts, Y/N. It hurts so much. I—I need to touch you. Please. Please touch me. I need you. I need—fuck, I need you so bad it’s killing me.”

Your back hit the wall. Your legs nearly gave out. You could barely breathe. Your heart wasn’t beating—it was pounding, a violent, panicked rhythm like it was trying to break through your ribcage and escape your chest entirely.

“Bob…” you said, hands half-raised like you might have to catch him or hold him back or—God—pull him closer. “I don’t think this is a good idea. You’re under the influence of the chocolate and—”

His head snapped up.

And the man standing in front of you? Was not the soft-spoken, fumbling Bob who apologized to doorknobs. Not the Bob who ducked his head and blushed every time you complimented his curls. Not the Bob who stammered through “hi” like it was a sacred prayer.

“No,” he growled—growled, from the back of his throat. “Don’t you dare chalk this up to a piece of fucking chocolate.”

His voice had dropped—deeper, rougher, unsteady but sure. It wasn’t shy. It wasn’t hesitant. It was possessed.

Your breath caught.

Sweet little Bob had left the building.

And whatever had taken his place—this version of him with sharp eyes and a wild edge—was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world keeping him alive. He was vibrating with energy, with restraint stretched to the breaking point. He looked like he was one second away from devouring you whole.

He stepped closer. Slow. Deliberate. Like a man who knew exactly what he wanted and had finally stopped pretending otherwise.

“I’ve wanted you for months,” he said, voice low and ragged. “Every time you laugh, I get hard. Every time you touch me—even just my fucking shoulder—I have to lock myself in the shower and jerk off with your name in my mouth like a prayer.”

Your lips parted in a silent gasp.

“I dream about you,” he continued, voice splintering like a dam breaking. “Full-body, soul-wrecking dreams where I make you come until you’re crying. Where I ruin you slow, until all you know is me. My mouth, my cock, my hands. Me.”

You whimpered.

Bob took another step, and your bodies almost touched. Your breath mingled with his. The heat pouring off him made your skin tingle. His eyes locked on yours—burning, wild, aching.

“I think about your mouth every time I touch myself,” he confessed. “I imagine how you’d moan. How you’d scream with my head between your thighs.”

You squeezed your legs together instinctively, and he noticed—his eyes dropped and lingered, jaw tight, nostrils flared.

“And right now?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Right now, I’m losing my fucking mind. Not because of this fucking chocolate. Because you’re here. You’re real. And all I want is to get on my knees and worship your pussy until you’re begging me to stop. I want to fuck you until your legs shake and your voice breaks from screaming my name.”

You felt like you were unraveling from the inside out.

“I want you bent over, whimpering,” he said. “I want your nails in my back. I want to feel you pulsing around me while you tell me how good I’m making you feel. I want to make you forget every man who ever tried. Because they’re nothing compared to what I’ll give you.”

His voice cracked then—emotion cutting through the heat like lightning.

“Please, Y/N. I'm begging you. I need you," he whimpered. "I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

The room was silent.

The air between you pulsed.

And you—wrecked, trembling, soaked down your thighs and holding onto your last shred of composure—nodded once.

“Then take me,” you whispered.

And Bob—once sweet, shy Bob—let out a sound so low and broken it made your entire body shiver.

Bob’s mouth was on yours before you could breathe his name again. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was hungry. Like he’d been dreaming of this and finally got to eat.

His hands were shaking as they cupped your cheeks, as he kissed you with lips that trembled—not from fear, but from desperate restraint. He kissed you like he wanted to pour his soul into your mouth, licked into you like he needed your taste to survive.

“God,” he moaned between kisses, “your lips—fuck—been thinking about this for so long—”

You were breathless already. You gripped your shirt and yanked it over your head. The second your top hit the floor, he froze.

“Oh… my god,” he breathed. His eyes were wide, taking you in like a man starved. Looking at you like you were an angel. Mouth parted like he forgot how to use it. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, completely wrecked. “I—fuck—Y/N, you’re unreal.”

Then he dropped to his knees. Not knelt. Dropped. And dragged your pants and underwear down so fast you felt dizzy.

“Let me taste you,” he begged, kissing the inside of your thigh. “Please, I need—I’ve needed this for so fucking long.”

He kissed up your thigh. Again. And again. Little gasps and moans slipping from him just from the anticipation.

“Been thinking about this every night,” he said, breath hot against your inner thigh. “How you’d sound. How you’d taste. Please—please—please let me make you come.”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, breath catching. “Bob—please.”

He didn’t need more. His tongue met your pussy and moaned. Into you. Like he was tasting divinity.

He licked slow at first—long, broad strokes, tasting every inch like he’d waited years for this. He flattened his tongue and dragged it from your entrance to your clit, groaning like you were feeding him something forbidden.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “You taste so good—I knew it—I knew you’d taste like this—so fucking sweet.”

And then he lost it.

His mouth closed around your clit and he sucked, licked, devoured. One of his arms wrapped around your thigh to hold you there while he pressed in deeper, messier, louder.

You cried out—your legs shook—and Bob whimpered and groaned against you like it made him harder.

“Want you to come,” he gasped between licks. “Please, I need you to come—need to feel it—please, Y/N—please.”

And you did.

You came so hard against his mouth, your knees buckled.

Your whole body jerked, muscles clenching, your hands fisting his curls as the world dissolved behind your eyelids. You moaned his name—half-chant, half-cry—and your legs started to give out.

But Bob didn’t let you fall.

His hands were iron around your thighs, keeping you upright, anchored, his mouth still on you, licking, tasting, fucking devouring you through it. He whimpered into your pussy like he couldn’t get enough, moaned like he was coming from the taste alone.

And even as you trembled, even as your knees went soft and your breath hitched and your body shook, he didn’t stop.

“Y-You—Bob—too much—” you gasped.

He moaned in response, lapping at your clit again, messy now, licking through your arousal like he’d never tasted anything better.

“You’re so perfect,” he mumbled against your cunt. “So fucking sweet—can’t stop—don’t want to stop—please, give me one more—just one more—”

“Bob—”

“You come like you’re made for it,” he groaned. “You come like my mouth was meant to be here.”

Your vision blurred.

You screamed as another orgasm rocked through you, your thighs clamping around his head, hips grinding into his face—and he just held you tighter, moaned louder, shook from how hard he was eating you out, absolutely feral from your taste.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until he pulled back, panting, mouth glistening, cheeks flushed.

And his eyes—fuck.

They were wild. Desperate. Like he was clinging to reality by a thread made of you.

“I can’t,” he gasped, pressing his forehead to your thigh, still kneeling. “I can’t—I was gonna go slow, I wanted to—fuck, I wanted to make love to you but I can’t—I’m so fucking hard, Y/N, I need to be inside you—please—please.”

You slid your fingers into his hair, tilting his face up.

“I don’t want slow,” you said. “I want you ruined. I want you rough. I’ve always wanted you.”

That snapped him. He surged to his feet in one motion, grabbed you by the waist like you were weightless, and carried you to the bed.

You didn’t even register how fast he moved. You just hit the mattress with a gasp, thighs spread, already arching as he fumbled with his sweats, pulled them off, and—Oh god.

You whimpered.

He was huge. Flushed, leaking, thick and veined and so fucking hard it looked painful.

“Birth control?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded fast, breathless. “Yeah—yes—on it—”

His eyes darkened. And then he was on you. He pushed your legs open with hands that trembled, lined himself up with your soaked entrance, and paused—just for a second, just to take a look at you underneath him, his eyes softened for a second.

Then he slammed in.

You both screamed. Bob’s voice cracked into a moan so deep, so wrecked, it felt like it went straight to your core.

“Oh—fuck—” he gasped. “You’re—fuck, you’re so wet—so tight—I’m not gonna last—I’m gonna fucking die—”

He pulled out and thrust back in hard—deep—and you both sobbed. You were already shaking from the overstimulation, but your pussy clamped around him like it needed him, like it had been waiting for this. Bob braced over you, driving in again and again, hips snapping, every thrust brutal and perfect.

“Made for me,” he groaned. “You were made for me—taking me so good—look at you—fuck, look at your face—”

You cried out, clutching at his back, nails raking down as he pounded into you. “Harder,” you begged. “Please—harder—need it—”

Bob whimpered, hips snapping faster, his whole body jerking with effort. “You feel so good,” he gasped. “So fucking good—I’m gonna make you come again—I have to feel it—please—please—”

He reached between you, rubbing your clit, fingers slippery, lips brushing your cheek.

“You gonna come again?” he whispered, panting. “Gonna soak my cock, baby? Come all over me?”

You nodded frantically.

Then it hit.

Your orgasm slammed through you and Bob felt it—his cock pulsing deep inside you, your pussy clenching around him so tight he choked on a moan.

“Fuck—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” you gasped. “Come inside me.”

He cried out. And came. Hard.

You felt it—hot, deep, endless—his hips twitching, his body shaking above you as he gasped your name over and over again.

He collapsed over you, still inside, panting, trembling. You both lay there in a haze of sweat and come and ruin, bodies tangled, hearts racing.

“…Yelena’s never gonna let me live this down,” you muttered.

Bob snorted into your neck, leaving a soft kiss.

“I’ll thank her later," he chuckled. "That chocolate was insane.”

You laughed, voice hoarse. “I might buy more,” you whispered.

He lifted his head. Smiled. Kissed you like it was the only truth that mattered.

The room smelled like sex and sweat and victory.

Bob lay sprawled over you, a gloriously ruined golden weight, his curls damp with sweat, his breath brushing your neck in soft, contented huffs. One of his arms was slung around your waist like he was afraid you'd float away. The other was buried beneath your back, holding you close, chest to chest.

You blinked up at the ceiling, your brain still trying to reboot after… whatever the fuck that had been.

“Okay,” you mumbled, voice scratchy, “note to self… never eat the whole chocolate. Also, never let Yelena but anything off the internet again."

Bob laughed—a real one, low and breathy and wrecked. “I blacked out for, like… a third of that. I’m not convinced I’m still alive.”

You turned your head slowly to look at him. “You died and came back with your tongue inside me.”

His groan vibrated against your ribs. “Best afterlife ever.”

You giggled, rolling into his chest, letting your leg fall over his hip. He gathered you closer, skin-on-skin, soft and safe and sore in the best way imaginable.

Then he pulled back slightly to look at you—really look at you.

And his expression changed.

Gone was the desperation, the heat. What remained was just… Bob. Open. Unshielded. Soft and sweet in a way that made your chest ache.

“I meant it,” he said softly.

You blinked. “Meant what?”

He tucked your hair behind your ear. His thumb brushed your cheek with an almost reverent tenderness. “That I’ve always wanted you.”

Your heart cracked open.

You let out a breathless laugh. “I meant it too. I just… didn’t think it would happen after you ate a sex chocolate meant for Bucky Barnes.”

He grinned. “Plot twist.”

You both broke into breathless laughter, arms tangling, legs still wrapped together like puzzle pieces. The kind of post-orgasmic delirium that made everything feel warm and stupid and safe.

Then—

BANG.

The door slammed open with the force of a SWAT raid.

Bob yelped and curled into the fetal position against you like a traumatized golden retriever. You yanked the sheet up so fast it nearly decapitated him, clutching it to your chest as if cotton was a force field against chaos.

Yelena stood in the doorway like a storm god.

Messy hair. Fuzzy socks. An iced coffee in one hand that probably had more vodka than caffeine, and a half-eaten toaster pastry in the other. Glitter still dusted the side of her face from some unspeakable prank she’d either initiated or survived.

She looked unhinged.

“OH. MY. GOD,” she announced. “YOU DID IT.”

“YELENA—WHAT THE FUCK?” you shrieked. "You were here when it happened!”

“Yes,” she said, stepping inside like she owned the place, “but then I left. Because I told you to lock Bob in his room, keep him quiet, and not ruin my very expensive, very evil prank against Bucky. And guess what I heard ten minutes later?”

She pointed at Bob like she was naming a suspect.

“Moaning.”

Bob made a noise like a dying ghost and disappeared back under the covers.

“Then I hear thumping,” she continued, now pacing. “Groaning. Screaming. Furniture moving. Bucky comes out of the gym for his post-workout fridge raid and he goes, ‘Is Bob okay? It sounds like he’s dying.’”

You slapped your own forehead.

“And I—” Yelena pointed dramatically at her chest “—had to tell him, and I quote, ‘Bob accidentally ate a sex chocolate and is now experiencing heightened symptoms of horny distress. DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR.’”

She turned to Bob, deadpan.

“You cockblocked my prank.”

“I didn’t know!” Bob cried from under the sheets.

“I told her to lock you up!” she snapped. “You were not supposed to be the sacrifice!”

“You literally told me to take him to his room and ‘lock the door until he’s fully wrecked!’" you shrieked.

Yelena paused. Blinked.

“…Yeah, okay, I said that. But I meant emotionally! I didn’t think you were gonna split him in half!”

Bob groaned again.

Yelena took a long sip of her drink. Stared at both of you. Then sighed deeply, dramatically, like a sitcom dad staring into the void.

“Anyway. I’m mad. Obviously. Bucky didn’t eat the chocolate. He’s not going to get horny and embarrassed and cause a week-long war of retaliatory chaos. My prank is ruined. I'm officially a loser, thanks to you pair of losers.”

Then she smiled. Big and wicked.

“But…” She nodded toward the bed. “You two? Finally fucked. And judging by the sound barrier violations I heard through two walls, it was great.”

You buried your face in your hands.

Bob let out a weak, “It was transcendent.”

Yelena nodded solemnly. “Good. If anyone deserved transcendence, it’s Bob.” She sipped again. “Anyway. Don’t mind me. Just here to bask in the unholy bed vibes and emotionally process the death of my prank.”

She turned to leave—then paused in the doorway.

“Oh. You're welcome, both of you. You're gonna have to buy me some expensive gift as a thank you for," she pointed at both of you dramatically," whatever this was. Also, you’re gonna want to clean the headboard and change the bedsheets. There's uh… yeah. Carry on, sluts.”

Then she vanished.

You groaned into the mattress.

“…I’m gonna change my name,” Bob mumbled into your shoulder. “Move to Canada. Grow a beard. Dye my hair black. Never speak again. She's the reason why I will never be able to eat chocolate ever again.”

You wheezed. Then burst into laughter. Full-body, head-thrown-back laughter that made your ribs ache.

Bob blinked at you, then smiled. And when you looked at him—really looked—you saw it. Not just the sex. Not just the heat. But the way his gaze softened when you smiled. The way he looked like he belonged here. In this bed. Wrapped in your arms.

“I’m glad it was you,” he whispered. He leaned in. Kissed your forehead.

“Me too," you smiled.

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this is SO fun, i'm already sprinting to the next part

more bob smut please!!!!!

Sweet Treats and Side Effects ✩ Bob Reynolds pt. 1

Pairings: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolt!Reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. use of y/n, bob reynolds x fem!reader, found family, accidental aphodisiac, chaotic prank war, slow-burn, mutual pining, thunderbolts frat house energy, dubious influence (consensual but under a magical substance), yelena’s chaotic best friend energy, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, rough sex, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving), praise kink, slight dom!bob, bob whimpering!!! (yes godddddd)

Summary: When Yelena kicks off her next move in the Thunderbolts prank war with a bag of questionable aphrodisiac chocolates, you agree to help her “prank” Bucky Barnes into a very inconvenient eight-hour erection.Unfortunately, Bob Reynolds gets there first. Now the most powerful man in the tower is red-faced, sweating, and very, very desperate for one thing—and it’s not chocolate. It’s you. And when the side effects kick in full-force, you’ll have to decide if you’re helping your friend… or completely, shamelessly indulging his deepest, filthiest desires. Chaos. Horny chocolate. Yelena being the worst. And Bob being the sweetest, softest, most absolutely feral man alive.

Author's Note: you ask, i deliver. here's another one 'cause i really can't get enough of bob. i love him so much it hurttttsssss. i had this idea while I was showering and I kid you not I jumped out off the shower and grabbed my phone sooooo fast to start typing on my notes cause I have adhd and I forget things so fast LOL. also thank you soooooo so much from the bottom of my little heart for all the love and support in don’t let go and ruined <33 i appreciate all of your comments and messages and screams in the reblogs, it really warms my heart<3 i hope you guys like this first part. yelena my beloved my beautiful girl i cant i love her so much!!!!!! if you want to be added to the taglist just comment below<3 part 2 is posted!!!

masterlist. part 1. part 2.

The Thunderbolts Tower wasn't built for this kind of chaos.

At least, not this kind. The late Stark Tower—once a monument to genius, ambition—had now been refitted as the New Avengers' headquarters. High ceilings, soundproofed rooms, high-tech gadgets, sleek black interiors, furniture that probably cost more than all of their salaries combined, and reinforced windows that could withstand a helicarrier crash—it all screamed “elite modern high-tech paramilitary chic."

But then Yelena moved in, and the whole place became a "deranged prank way frat house battlefield." Everything went to hell. In a good way, though. In a really good way.

She brought with her 17 leather jackets, around twenty pairs of brass knuckles, an entire crate of Bulgarian wine, and a feral grin that had everyone—Valentina especially—deeply concerned. Yelena had called Bucky “grandpa,” told Walker his jaw looked like it was Photoshopped, and challenged Alexei to a sparring match while doing vodka shots.

By week two, she had both Bucky and Walker in such a vicious prank war that Valentina personally installed panic buttons in every room and a 24-hour hotline staffed by two overworked interns.

"Listen," she'd said to Bob one evening, slouched across the common room couch holding a vodka cranberry in one hand and a glitter bomb in the other, "if you're not part of the prank war, you're part of the problem."

You, curled in the armchair with your Cosmopolitan, just snorted and shook your head. “Don’t engage,” you whispered. “That’s how it starts.”

But it was already too late.

By week four, someone—probably Yelena—had rigged the gym's ceiling vents to explode with glitter every single time music was played. It looked like an ABBA concert every time anyone tried to work out. Walker was victim number one. It took him two weeks to clean out all the vents. He was still finding glitter in places no man should.

By week six, Bucky's protein powder was replaced with powdered sugar—Walker's doing. The next day, Walker's toothbrush was swapped for a hot pepper-infused prank toothbrush so strong he almost wanted to rip his tongue out—Bucky's doing. Yelena claimed no responsibility, but laughed out loud until her tummy hurt. Alexei said nothing, but looked immensely pleased. Ava just walked away every time, muttering "children" and "imbeciles" in every single language.

And you? You opted out of everything.

So did Bob.

You were the “normal” ones—if “normal” meant tired, trauma-bonded, and one missed therapy session away from losing it. You liked your body not covered in glitter. You liked your food unsabotaged. You liked your showers dye-free. You liked your clothes not sewn together by a super-soldier with a grudge. You liked peace. Quiet.

Bob, too, had retreated from the chaos the moment it started. He was quiet, nervous, so polite. The Sentry—the most powerful being in several galaxies—was also the one who carried I <3 New York mugs with two hands, murmured “sorry” when he sneezed too loudly, and apologized to furniture when he bumped into them.

You once caught him whispering "sorry" to the coffee machine. You hadn't recovered since.

And then there was Yelena—your best friend, your platonic soulmate, your disaster twin, your ride-or-die with a taser in her boot and a flask in one of the many pockets on her vest. She thrived in these situations. Like a vengeful little chaos gremlin.

You loved her like family. Like a sister. You also wanted to strangle her at least once a day.

You’d lost count of how many times you’d bailed her out of prank-related disasters. You had a permanent, invisible sign that read “Yelena’s Damage Control” stamped on your forehead. Once, you caught her trying to set up a trap involving a pulley system, three buckets of Jell-O, and a pressure sensor under Walker’s mattress.

“Yelena,” you had deadpanned, “this is a war crime.”

“I know,” she’d whispered, eyes gleaming.

You couldn’t stop her. But you could try to contain the fallout.

She'd always been the troublemaker, and you'd always been the one holding the broomstick, ready to clean up after every single mess.

Which is how you found yourself curled up on the couch one lazy, peaceful evening, blanket over your legs, a movie playing quietly. Peaceful, until it wasn't.

Yelena burst into the common area with the chaotic glare of a feral racoon who had just tried McDonalds for the first time.

She had a pouch in one hand, and that look in her eye. The one that meant she was either going to kill someone, or make them cry. The look of someone who had Googled "legal prank weapons" and actually found something.

You didn't look up from your phone. "If that's another glitter bomb, I swear to God Yelena I—"

She grinned, flopped on the couch beside you, and dropped the pouch in your lap.

You frowned. "You bought chocolate?"

"Yes and no," she said, vibrating with excitement. "It's not regular chocolate, silly. It's special chocolate."

You narrowed your eyes. "So... you bought weed chocolate?"

"What? No!" she scoffed. "Not weed. They're sex chocolates.

You stared. “I’m sorry—”

“I found them online,” she said proudly, holding up the tiny pouch like she was unveiling a horcrux. “Not technically illegal. Just... wildly inappropriate.”

Your mouth had opened and closed a few times before you got a full sentence out. "You bought aphrodisiac chocolate."

“Yes,” she continued nonchalantly, as she dramatically placed it in your palm, like this was completely normal and not a felony, “chocolates that make you horny. The bag said you should only eat half of one ‘cause otherwise—" she wiggled her eyebrows, "side effects. And it might make you horny as hell.”

You sighed.

"You're going to poison Bucky Barnes with horny candy? Jesus Christ, Yelena."

“It’s not poison,” she snapped, snatching the bag back. “It’s hilarious. He put fucking green dye in my shampoo, I looked like Shrek’s third cousin for three weeks. Like a fucking radioactive lizard. That shit didn't come out for three weeks. This is justice.”

“You looked adorable with green hair,” you offered.

“Not the point.” She held up a wrapped chocolate. “The point is this—” she pressed it against your cheek “—is going to drive him insane. I leave this out. He eats it. Gets inconveniently boned for eight hours. I laugh. You laugh. We all laugh. Valentina cries. Justice is served. The universe realigns.”

“Or,” you offered, “he kills you.”

“Worth it.”

You sighed, already in too deep. “Okay fine, I approve.”

“Good, ’cause I’m giving it to him right now.”

You frowned. “Isn’t it too suspicious for you to give him the chocolate? He’s gonna suspect you’re up to something.”

“You’re right…” Her eyes lit up again. “I’ll leave it on the kitchen island. The man can’t resist abandoned snacks.”

“Okay… but—”

“No no buts. This is gonna be fun.”

“Yelena…”

“Shush. He’s gonna come back any minute.”

You leaned back onto the couch again as she bolted to the kitchen, dropped the chocolate in plain sight like bait in a trap, then sprinted back and threw herself dramatically onto the couch beside you, both of you pretending to watch the movie playing on the screen.

You started giggling.

“Shut it!” she hissed, elbowing you. “He’s gonna suspect if you giggle like that.”

“I can’t help it,” you wheezed. “I just— I can’t wait to see his face.”

You tried to calm down, but you couldn’t stop picturing it: Bucky, scowling and always so suspicious, wandering into the kitchen, finding the lone piece of chocolate on the island like a bear stumbling across a candy bar in the woods, sniffing it, probably poking it, and then—against all logic—eating it.

And fifteen minutes later? Uncontrollably, catastrophically horny.

It was horrible. It was perfect.

And yet… the common room stayed quiet except for the hum of the TV. The chocolate remained untouched. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. Still no Bucky.

“Where the fuck is he?” Yelena hissed under her breath, peeking over the back of the couch. “He’s usually sniffing around by now. Post-workout fridge raid is like, a sacred ritual.”

“Maybe he’s actually working for once,” you offered, scrolling lazily through your phone. “You know. Doing his job.”

Yelena groaned like you'd personally insulted her. “Ugh. What a nerd.”

She flopped sideways dramatically, letting her head land on your thigh with a little oof. You chuckled and absentmindedly ran your fingers through her hair, brushing it out of her face while she mumbled something about "uselessly punctual super-soldiers" and “flirting with dietary supplements.”

Eventually, her mumbling trailed off. Her breathing evened out. She fell asleep in your lap, curled like a cat, snoring softly.

You stayed like that, warm and peaceful, letting the TV flicker in the background while your thumb scrolled mindlessly over your screen. The prank chocolate glinted under the kitchen light.

And then—

“Oh. Hi, Y/N.”

You looked up.

Bob Reynolds stood in the doorway, backlit by the hallway light, soft curls slightly tousled, wearing a black T-shirt that read sorry I’m late, I didn’t want to come in lowercase comic sans, and his usual grey sweatpants that hung low on his waist.

Your stomach dipped.

"Hey, Bob," you said, smiling.

He gave you a soft smile—shy, unsure, always like he was surprised you were still happy to see him. “Hi.”

His eyes flickered to Yelena, then back to you. He lingered there—just long enough to make your heart flutter.

It wasn’t the first time.

He always did that—like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to greet you. Like saying your name out loud made something flutter in his chest.

And God, he had no idea how obvious he was. At first, you thought it was just nerves. Bob was quiet, thoughtful, shy. But then you started noticing the patterns.

How he always looked for your laugh when the room was loud. How his eyes lingered on your mouth when you were focused on something. How he watched you when he thought you weren’t watching, gaze soft, warm, wanting—not greedy or possessive, just… curious. If you spoke, he listened—not just politely, but curiously, like your words mattered more than anyone else's in the room.

There was always a slight delay when he smiled at a joke—like he waited to see if you were laughing first.

And when you caught him watching? He looked away so fast it was like his thoughts had been yanked straight out of his brain.

You’d noticed. Of course you had.

Yelena noticed it too.

"I—uh—I just came to grab a snack," he said softly, motioning toward the kitchen.

"Sure," you smiled, turning your attention back to scrolling on your phone, trying so hard not to think about him.

A moment later, Yelena stirred, mumbling into your thigh, “He’s so into you.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s not.”

“He is.”

“He is not, Yelena.”

“Babe. You’re so blind,” she mumbled. “I say this with love. Wake me up when Bucky eats the chocolate.”

She was out again within seconds.

You resumed your doom scrolling, ocasionally chuckling at stupid videos on the internet. A minute passed. Then another. Then you heard soft footsteps.

You looked up—and froze.

Bob was back. Glass of milk in one hand. Torn silver wrapper in the other. And—oh no.

Oh no.

A smear of chocolate at the corner of his mouth.

“Uh, Bob… where did you…?”

He blinked, startled. “Oh—this?” He held up the wrapper. “I, uh, found it on the kitchen island. Was it… was that yours?”

You stared.

“Oh god.”

“What?” he said, confused. “Was it like, fancy chocolate? I didn’t mean to—was it yours, Y/N? I’m so sorry—”

You slapped Yelena awake. “Wake up. Wake up right now.”

She groaned, glaring at you. “What the fuck, Y/N! Why would you—”

“He ate the chocolate.”

She blinked and puffed. “What? Ugh, Y/N! I told you to wake me up when Bucky came!"

You stood up, grabbing her chin and physically turning her toward Bob like you were revealing a murder suspect. “He ate the chocolate.”

Her jaw dropped. A full gasp escaped her. “Oh my god. BOB.”

Bob backed up. “I’m sorry! I just— I saw it— I thought it was for everyone—was it yours, Y/N? I didn’t mean to—”

Yelena stomped over and grabbed his face with both hands like she was inspecting a crime scene. “How much did you eat?”

His eyes darted between you and her. “I—what’s happening?”

“Answer the question, Bob.”

“I… I ate all of it?”

“WHAT?!” you shrieked, vaulting to your feet.

“I didn’t know!” Bob said quickly. “I thought it was just normal chocolate—I was hungry—”

“Oh my god,” you whispered.

Yelena spun toward you. “Get the bag. Read the label.”

You fumbled with the pouch, hands shaking, and scanned the fine print.

Recommended dose: HALF a chocolate. Effects last 6-8 hours depending on metabolisim. Fast-acting, onset in 10-15 minutes. Possible side effects: increased sweating (short-lived), spontanous arousal, inability to regulare desire, increased physical sensitivity, touch dependency, increased stamina, vocalization, elevated body temperature, hypersensitivity, desire fixation and obsessive focus on most recent object of desire.

You looked up. Your throat went dry.

Bob was already sweating.

He stood in the middle of the room like he’d just wandered out of a sauna, shirt clinging to his chest, breath coming in short little bursts. He tugged at his collar, blinking rapidly like he was trying to remember how air worked.

"Oh fuck," you whispered.

“Uh…” Bob said, weakly. “Is it… is it warm in here?”

Yelena clapped her hands. “We’re so fucked.”

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