Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x reader
Summary: Y/N and Bob had a life before he disappear, full of love, hope, and a lot of chaos, but they managed each other, she was the only one who truly could make him avoid the void inside his mind. How could he turn his only light into a shadow in his mind ?
Word count: 11.4k
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Y/N's pov
Y/N woke with a jolt.
The pavement beneath her was cold, even through her coat. For a moment, her vision spun—bright lights above, blurred figures running, shouting. Her lungs burned like she'd just surfaced from deep underwater, and her ears rang with the echo of something… distant. Something awful.
She sat up slowly, disoriented. This was New York. The same street she’d been on before everything turned. The clinic was gone from sight now, swallowed up in the chaos of the crowd. People were rising to their feet, groaning, dusting themselves off, confused like her. Some cried. Some screamed. Others simply wandered aimlessly, eyes blank.
Where was Bobby?
Her head turned frantically, searching for his face, scanning over strangers and shadows. “Bobby?” she croaked, but her voice was swallowed by the noise. She stood up too fast, staggered, and her hand flew to her stomach instinctively.
The baby.
Her heart thudded. She reached into her coat pocket with shaking hands—and her fingers brushed glossy paper. The sonogram. It was still there. She pulled it out and held it tightly in both hands like it was the only thing grounding her to the earth. The tiny smudge in the picture—the tiny life she was fighting for—was safe.
She let out a breath that was halfway to a sob. Then, as if sensing her distress, her baby kicked—just once, firm and clear—and her hand flew to the spot, cradling her stomach.
“I know, baby,” she whispered, voice cracked and full of ache. “I know. I’m here.”
But was he?
Where was Bob?
She spun around again, more desperately this time, her hair falling into her eyes. “BOBBY?” she yelled now, throat raw. “BUCKY? YELENA? ANYONE?”
No one answered.
No one familiar.
Just the blaring of distant sirens, the hum of helicopters somewhere overhead, the sound of feet on pavement and confusion bleeding through the city.
Her body moved on its own, staggering toward the sidewalk. Her legs felt like jelly. Everything felt heavy. The smell of smoke and dust lingered in the air, and the ground vibrated faintly under her feet, like the world was still shaking from whatever had happened.
She reached a low wall and sank down slowly, curling in on herself. The sonogram fluttered in her fingers like a fragile leaf. She ran her hands over her stomach again, more gently this time, as if to reassure herself for the hundredth time that her baby was still okay. The thought of losing him, especially after everything… It was too much.
Her hand slipped into her coat pocket again and pulled out her phone. Cracked, screen flickering with life. She stared at it, willing it to work. Willing someone—anyone—to call. But there was nothing. No messages. No Bob.
Was it even real?
Her mind flashed back—violent and disjointed.
Bob’s face twisted with pain, his tears, the blood on his knuckles as he beat the Void senseless. The sound of Yelena’s voice calling out. The feel of Bob’s hand in hers. His voice: "You are… everything." The sudden pull, the blinding light—and then waking up here.
Was it just another illusion?
Was he really there, or had her mind played the cruelest trick yet?
Her lips trembled, and she buried her face in her hands. She tried to stay strong—for the baby, for herself—but the silence was deafening. The uncertainty unbearable.
A whimper escaped her throat.
Her back pressed to the wall, her arms curled protectively around her belly, and she let the grief unravel. Grief for the confusion, the fear, the loss, the aching not knowing. Grief for Bobby—if he was even real—if she had ever really had him back.
The baby kicked again. She smiled through tears.
“I’m still here,” she whispered. "I’m still here.”
Her breathing slowed, just enough to hear the trembling silence in her chest.
Y/N wiped at her cheeks with the sleeves of her coat, rough fabric against soft skin, not that she noticed. Her eyes burned.
The people around her had mostly cleared out. Sirens were growing distant. Police were trying to direct people away from the chaos, medics calling out for injured civilians. But none of them were for her. No one looked for her. Not even the team.
Maybe they were never really there, a part of her whispered, cruel and quiet.
But then she remembered—Mr. Cooper.
He had called her, right before the world turned inside out. She had never called him back.
With a shaky breath, she reached into her pocket again, pulling out her battered phone. She turned the brightness down just enough to keep it from shorting out. A thin crack ran through the middle like a scar, but thankfully, the phone still worked.
She tapped on his name and lifted the phone to her ear.
It rang only once.
“Y/N?” His voice came in a rush—tight, worried, breathless. “God, kid—are you okay? I tried calling you back, but then the phones went dead, and.. I don't what happened—Jesus, are you hurt? Where are you?”
The tightness in her throat returned immediately.
She swallowed it down.
“Yeah,” she croaked, trying to make her voice sound normal. Normal. “I’m okay, I—I’m fine, Mr. Cooper. Just… caught up in all that mess. Something happened downtown. I think it affected a lot of people.”
There was a pause on the other end. She could almost picture him—standing in his kitchen, hand bracing the edge of the counter, brow furrowed behind his thick glasses. His worry was palpable, stretching across the line like a tether.
“You don’t sound fine,” he said softly. “Are you sure you’re alright? Where are you now? I can come get you.”
She almost said yes. Her body screamed for safety—for someone to take the weight from her, just for a moment. For someone to look at her and tell her she didn’t have to carry all of this alone.
But she couldn’t.
She needed to be alone. To think. To break. To cry.
“No,” she replied, quietly. “No, it’s okay. I’m walking back now. I just need to be home. I just… I need a little time, that’s all.”
He hesitated. She could hear it—his need to say more, to offer help, to insist.
But he knew her. He’d known her for long enough to hear what she wasn’t saying.
“Alright,” he said finally, with a gentleness only someone like him could offer. “But if you need me—even in the middle of the night—you call. I mean it.”
She nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “Thanks,” she murmured. “I will.”
They hung up.
She stood there for a few more seconds, clutching her phone like it was an anchor.
Then, slowly, she turned and started walking.
The streets felt emptier than usual. The shadows felt taller. Her feet carried her forward on autopilot. She passed broken traffic lights, turned-over garbage bins, a restaurant window blown open from the pressure of whatever had hit the city. There was a scratch on her arm she hadn’t noticed until now, and her boots were scuffed from the fall.
Everything felt surreal. Like the city had been turned slightly inside out and then sewn back together in the wrong order.
Her apartment came into view.
As soon as she stepped inside and locked the door behind her, the silence swallowed her.
No more voices.
No Bobby.
No team.
No Void.
Just her.
She slipped her coat off and dropped it on the floor. Her body ached. Her back throbbed. Her eyes burned. She shuffled to the couch and sat down, curling her legs beneath her.
Her hand moved again to her stomach—her constant reminder that she wasn’t completely alone. He was still there. Still safe.
The sonogram sat on the coffee table where she placed it gently, her fingers lingering on the image.
She stared at it.
The tears came without warning.
She cried without sound at first, tears streaking down her cheeks and chin. Then came the hiccuped breaths, the full-body ache, the sobs she couldn’t swallow back. She buried her face in her hands and let it come. All of it. The fear. The loss. The impossible pain of seeing Bobby again—really seeing him—and not knowing what part of that had been real. Of hearing his voice. Of holding him. She felt like she had him again just to lost him minutes after. Just when things were moving for the better and her grief was getting easier, this thing appears, gives her her Bobby, made her relieve everything, and went away.
She cried for her younger self.
She cried for her baby.
And when she couldn’t cry anymore, she sat in silence, her palms resting on her belly.
“…What the hell happened?” she whispered into the dark.
There was no answer.
But her baby kicked again—soft this time, like a gentle reassurance.
And somehow, despite everything… it helped. Nothing was making sense. If was leaving her past, Bobby appeared as punishment, but how come those people that she never knew, or encountered before, made an appearence. Was it real ? Then where are they ?
Exhausted physically and emotionally, she falls asleep without noticing. No dreams, no faces, just an exhausting sleep in hopes of waking up better and half forgetting. Go on with the rest of her day, and restart her grief.
But a call came. Mr. Cooper was calling her. Which made her jump from her sleep, unaware that she had even fallen asleep. Scared of the sudden call, she picks up and answer as fast as her brain could process.
"Mr. Cooper, hi! what's...?"
"You turn the TV on, right now" He said in a raspy firm tone.
Confusing her even more. "What ? Mr.Cooper, why are you calling me to watch the news ? I'm resting, I will meet you later and tell what happened, everything fine plea..."
"I said, turn.on.the.TV.now Y/N.", as a dad scolding her, Y/N just does as he says, still not understand the urgency to watch whatever that she do later when she's fully rested.
Turning the TV, the news appeared, being splashed in every channel possible, doing a piece on what seemed to be a new team that were now the New Avengers.
"Oh...hell no, what the actual fuck."
--
Bob's pov
The press had a field day.
“Thunderbolts Save New York!” “Shadow Anomaly Contained by New Avengers!” “Sentry: Hero or Weapon?”
Everyone suddenly had opinions about them, but no one seemed to have answers. Inside the compound, though, it was just them—no press, no chaos, just post-mission exhaustion and a growing sense of what the hell just happened?
Alexei was already in celebration mode, sitting backward on a chair like a kid in detention. “They called us the New Avengers! I told you, didn’t I? All it took was a little global disaster, and boom—we’re legitimate!”
Yelena snorted. “You screamed ‘Thunderbolts assemble!’ like an idiot.”
“I wanted a moment, Yelena!”
Walker shook his head. “Next time, yell it before we get thrown through a building.”
Ava mumbled from the corner, rubbing her temple, “At least they spelled my name right on one headline. That’s a win.”
Bob was the only one still standing, leaning by the window, arms crossed but a weird energy in his posture. He had a faint smile, like he was too buzzed to come down from whatever adrenaline rush he’d been riding since they landed back in reality.
He turned toward them. “I mean, that wasn’t nothing, right? We did it. Whatever it was. I blacked out after that Void-whatever showed up and now I’m back in New York with a press badge taped to my ass.”
Yelena raised an eyebrow. “You don’t remember?”
Bob shrugged, almost chipper. “Bits and pieces. Some wild dream stuff. Did we fight something? Did I do anything embarrassing? Don’t say crying, I’m emotionally evolved.”
“Define evolved,” Ava said dryly.
Walker, who’d been quiet for a second too long, finally turned toward Bob and asked, “Hey. You… remember anything about Y/N?”
Bob blinked. “Y/N?”
“Yeah,” Walker said, more pointed now. “Your girlfriend.”
Bob gave a crooked smile. “You guys know about her now? Valentina told you, didn’t she? Let me guess—she used that to recruit me. ‘Tragic story, guy ditched his pregnant girlfriend, big ol’ redemption arc.’ Classic spy move.”
He laughed, but no one laughed with him.
He looked around. The mood had shifted. Everyone was staring—not accusatory, but... odd. Sympathetic. Guarded.
“What?”
Ava tilted her head. “Bob, do you really not remember anything? In the Void?”
“Just flashes. Feelings, mostly. Stuff that didn’t make sense. Shadows. Screaming. A... woman. But I figured it was all in my head.”
Yelena walked toward him, gently. “It wasn’t. She was real. We saw her.”
Bob’s laugh faltered. “No, I mean—she’s a memory. That’s how it works, right?”
Alexei shook his head slowly. “No, Bob. We met her.”
Walker leaned forward, eyes serious. “She was with us. We were in some kind of mind trap or construct, sure, but it wasn’t just you. She was there. Talking to you. Touching you. Holding you.”
Bob looked between them, heartbeat rising. “You guys are messing with me.”
“We’re not,” Yelena said. “You held her. Told her you were sorry. Told her you loved her.”
Bob’s face fell. “No, that… that’s not possible. I would’ve remembered.”
“You don’t remember her saying to you you’d finish the baby's crib?” Ava asked softly.
Bob sat down slowly, as if the weight in his chest had just become too much. “I… I thought that was a dream.”
Walker’s voice was quieter now. “She was real, Bob. And when we came back… she wasn’t with us.”
He stared at the floor.
The room was quiet again.
Bob looked up slowly, eyes wide but full of dread. “Where is she?”
Yelena swallowed hard. “We don’t know.”
Bob sat there, stunned. His brain was still trying to catch up, to rewind through fragmented shadows, memories half-formed, a scream, a soft laugh, her hands on his face. It hadn’t been just a dream. She was there.
“She’s probably in the city,” he said suddenly, voice dry, eyes distant. “She lived here. We—we lived here. Small apartment just above a laundromat off 36th, near the bridge. The kind of place you don’t show your parents but you make it work because it’s yours. She hated how the window leaked in the winter. Always shoved towels under it to keep the cold out.”
He chuckled for a second. It was hollow.
“She might be there. Or around. She never liked going too far out of the neighborhood.”
The others exchanged a look. Alexei leaned forward a bit, resting his elbows on his knees, watching Bob like he was defusing a bomb with his words.
Bob’s shoulders began to rise and fall unevenly. The smile had drained, replaced by a creeping realization behind his eyes. His mouth opened like he might speak again, but nothing came out—just a short breath, almost like a hiccup from the back of his throat.
Then the panic hit.
His hands gripped his knees, hard.
“Oh God,” he whispered. “What the hell do I do?”
“Go to her,” Yelena said softly.
“No—no, you don’t understand,” he muttered, shaking his head, palms pressing into his temples. “I left. I left her—knowing she was pregnant. I walked away. I just left. And then I got grabbed by Valentina like some stupid lab rat for some twisted ‘fix-the-golden-boy’ science project, and I thought I was going to die there.”
He looked up, eyes glassy, chest heaving like the weight of everything he ran from had finally caught up with him.
“I never thought I’d make it out. I didn’t think I’d have to face any of this again. I told myself I was saving her from me. That if I just disappeared, maybe she’d have a better shot. Maybe she'd forget the mess I was and move on. And then… then I survived.”
He looked around the room at their faces. “And I don’t know what the hell to do with that.”
Ava spoke gently. “You go to her.”
Bob let out a tight, bitter laugh. “And say what? ‘Hey, sorry I vanished, missed half the pregnancy, ditched you in the worst moment of your life—mind if I come back and finish building the crib?’”
His voice cracked halfway through, and he rubbed a hand down his face, hard.
“She probably hates me. She should hate me.”
“You don’t know that,” Walker said, his tone oddly soft for once. “You don’t know anything until you see her again. But I’ll tell you what’s worse than facing her? Never trying.”
Bob swallowed thickly.
“She looked at you like you were still hers,” Yelena added. “In there, whatever the Void made, it was twisted, sure. But she still looked at you with love. With pain, yeah. But love, too.”
Bob went quiet. For a few seconds, no one said a word.
Then—he exhaled shakily and whispered something, like it had only just re-entered his mind.
“Guys…”
They looked over at him.
He blinked, stunned again by the weight of it.
“I’m going to be a dad.”
His voice cracked, and it wasn’t just shock this time—it was awe. Dread. Hope. Regret. All of it.
“I missed five months,” he said. “I missed appointments. Her cravings. Her first checkup. I wasn’t there when she probably cried herself to sleep because I most probably put her through hell. I missed everything.”
“But you’re here now,” Alexei said, gently but firm. “You still have time.”
Bob looked down at his hands, noticing for the first time how badly they trembled.
“I know I’m not the same person I was when I left. I’ve been clean since Malaysia. The withdrawal nearly killed me. I’ve been through hell trying to be better… but I never once thought about how I’d come back. What I’d say. What I’d do if I ever saw her again. And how will I even tell her that, how will that even sound ? Hi baby, I wasn't good so I left the country and found new friends, I'm so much better know, which would be impossible if I stayed here, by your side, taking care of you, in our home. Yeah, that sounds great. You know what that sounds like? I'll be blaming her for not being better!"
Walker crossed his arms. “We'll figure it out. Together. If she knows she knows that what you did was not the way, but was more desperation than being a deadbeat.”
Yelena nodded. “And he knows what that is like.”
Walker just looks at her, a shoked expression slap on his face. "What the hell did I do to you? Jesus."
“She might not want to see me,” Bob said, barely above a whisper.
“She might not,” Ava agreed. “But she deserves the choice. And you deserve to say it to her face.”
Bob finally stood, slowly, like the weight of his guilt was a physical thing slung across his shoulders.
“I need to find her,” he said quietly. “I need to see her. Even if it’s just to hear her say it’s too late.”
--
Y/N's pov
The scent of fries and charbroiled beef did nothing to ease the twist in Y/N’s stomach.
She sat at a booth by the window in a corner of the burger place, her cheek pressed against the cold faux-wood table. Outside, the neon lights of the city flickered with life, completely unaware that her world had been flipped upside down. Again.
Mr. Cooper sat across from her, silent, drumming his fingers lightly against his milkshake cup. Their number was still being called up at the counter—order 68—but neither of them moved. No appetite. Just tension and confusion and the low buzz of the news still replaying in her mind.
“The New Avengers—unofficially named, of course—have emerged after a battle outside Manhattan’s southern district. The team includes the U.S. Agent, Russian super-soldier, Red Guardian, Black Widow’s sister, and… a man we’re still learning about. A man who, eyewitnesses claim, flew and tore through solid steel. They’re calling him ‘The Sentry.’”
She flinched again at the title. It didn’t fit. Not with the man who used to sneak an extra shake into her takeout bags just to see her smile. The one who got nosebleeds too easily and talked in his sleep. The one who vanished five months ago and hadn’t left behind anything but a phantom of what used to be.
Mr. Cooper finally broke the silence with a gentle throat-clear and a hesitant voice.
“So… this is awkward,” he said, looking at her sideways. “You never mentioned him being a superhero. Or a super soldier.”
Y/N groaned, lifting her head off the table and glaring at him as if it were his fault.
“He’s not. I don’t even know what the hell is happening. We met because we worked together—he used to spin a sign to promote the restaurant's food.” Her voice cracked somewhere between disbelief and exhausted sarcasm. “Does that sound like a super soldier to you?”
Mr. Cooper leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “Jezz! He spins a sign for a living and you let him date you and get you pregnant?” He gave her a crooked smile. “Kid, you’re a pretty lady. You kno—"
“Can you focus on the dead man I’ve been looking for four goddamn months who just reappeared out of nowhere as a freaking avenger?” she snapped, louder than she intended.
The people in the next booth looked over briefly.
Mr. Cooper coughed into his fist and looked away. “Yeah. Sorry. Right.”
Y/N folded her arms across her chest and leaned back into the booth, trying to breathe. Trying to think. But the noise in her head was deafening. Bobby. Bob. Alive. Right there on TV. Eyes glowing. Smiling like he belonged there. Like he’d always belonged there.
"He sure looks happy as hell." She said letting out a heavy breath.
And he never called. Not once. No text. No note. Nothing.
Her fingers curled around the sonogram still tucked inside her coat pocket.
“He just… left,” she murmured, eyes trained on the linoleum floor. “Didn’t say a word. Not one. And he was in New York this whole damn time?”
“I mean…” Mr. Cooper’s voice was cautious. “For what it’s worth, we don’t know that. There hasn’t been any official word on when he got back. Maybe he wasn’t in the States until now.”
“He had to see the posters,” she whispered, fury rising in her chest like a slow boil. “I plastered them everywhere. I went to every station, every hospital. He was all I thought about. And now he just shows up on the news with some dumb hero name, fighting like he’s Superman and pretending like he didn’t leave me behind?”
Her voice trembled by the end of it, rage and grief all tangled into one.
Mr. Cooper leaned forward, speaking softer now. “I know you’re hurting, kid. I know this feels like some cosmic slap to the face. But there has to be an explanation. People don’t come back from the dead just to pretend nothing happened.”
She looked at him, eyes glistening, but her jaw locked tight.
He added, “As far as we know, there’s no record of him even coming back from Malaysia. If that lady Valentina had anything to do with this, and he was part of one of her experiments, you know she was on trial for those sketchy projects.” He trailed off, grim. “They probably kept him buried in some black site until now, he had to gain some kind of power.”
Y/N didn’t say anything for a long time.
Her food number was called again. Still no movement.
“I just…” She exhaled, pressing a hand against her belly, where the baby gave a soft kick, as if responding to her heartache. “If he’s been here… If he knew... Why hasn’t he come back? Why isn’t he banging down my door? Why isn’t he groveling on his knees, begging me to forgive him for leaving me?”
Her throat clenched around the words. She hated how small they sounded. How hurt.
“Is he with someone else?” she asked suddenly, the words tumbling out like they had a mind of their own. “Did he just move on? Decide the whole father thing wasn’t for him, and now he’s flying around in spandex trying to save the world instead?”
Mr. Cooper reached out, placed a hand over hers gently. “He didn’t look like a man who moved on. Not to me.”
Y/N blinked down at the table. "How do you even know that? Let's recap, I tell I'm pregnant after a huge fight about his addiction, because I was scared of losing him, days later I wake up, he left without trace, I look after him, he's in Malaysia, now he's a super hero. Oh yeah! It doesn't sound likke he moved on and built a new life, without me."
Her heart ached. Not just because he was alive. But because now she had something even worse than grief to wrestle with.
"Mr. Cooper. I give up. I can't take anymore, I...when that thingy came I had this dream, nightmare, hallucination, whatever, he was there. I thought that it was real, those people were there, I'm having a hard time figuring out what's happening, but...if it was real than he saw me too, why isn't him here? He.moved.on." Tears blink in her eyes, she looks away.
"I can't take the stress anymore, I'm just getting myself together, and I just putting all this anxiety and stress on the baby, I can't keep going in a path without a destiny." She picks up a napkin that rested on the table to wipe her tears, and looks at Mr.Cooper. "There's always other people, other women, he's a hero, and he's going to be rich now, bet ther-"
“Y/N.” Mr. Cooper’s voice was sharp, firm, cutting her spiral like a blade.
She stopped, her eyes snapping up to meet his. He wasn’t angry, not really. But there was something frustrated, protective in the way his brows drew together.
“Why do you always go there?” he asked. “Why do you keep acting like him leaving, or cheating, is the only explanation?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
“You’ve been so damn strong these past months,” he continued, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “I watched you tear up half the city looking for him. I watched you yell at cops who wouldn’t listen. You made those missing posters by hand. You begged strangers to keep an eye out. You didn’t let anyone talk shit about him—not even me. You told everyone who doubted him to go to hell, because you knew he wasn’t the kind of man who’d walk out. You believed in him.”
He paused, voice softening.
“So why is seeing him now—alive—turning into this total collapse?”
She shook her head, overwhelmed, trembling with exhaustion and rage and heartache.
“I don’t know,” she choked. “Because it’s easier to believe he left on purpose than to admit that maybe... maybe he’s been back and just didn’t want to come home.”
“No.” Mr. Cooper shook his head slowly. “You don’t believe that. You’re scared of that. There’s a difference.”
Y/N looked down at her stomach.
“I spent so long hoping. Waking up at night thinking maybe I heard the door. Every time the phone rang, I jumped like it was him. I let people call me delusional because I just knew he wouldn’t leave me like that. And now that he’s alive, I feel like... like I can’t breathe. He never made me feel like he didn't want me, or once made me doubt him.”
“Because hope is dangerous,” Cooper said gently. “But it’s still yours. And you don’t have to throw it away just to protect yourself. You don’t have to build a worst-case story in your head just so it hurts less if it’s true.”
She looked at him then, fully, eyes glassy and tired. “You really think he’s not out there forgetting me?”
“I think if Bob Reynolds is even half the man you made him out to be... then he’s out there panicking. Terrified. Not sure how to come back. Because maybe he thinks you moved on. Or that he hurt you too badly. Or that you’ll slam the door in his face.”
Silence stretched between them.
The burger order had been ready for fifteen minutes. No one cared.
Y/N leaned back slowly, wiped under her eyes with her sleeve. She exhaled shakily.
“I don’t want to be angry anymore,” she whispered.
“Then don’t be. Be ready.” Mr. Cooper smiled gently. “Because I don’t think this story’s over. Not even close.”
The footage of the Thunderbolts—no, the New Avengers—flashed across the screen again. Images of chaos, the sky cracking open, then the clean-up crews, and finally a group photo: grainy, chaotic, half-captured mid-motion—but there he was.
Bob.
Looking so different and yet unmistakably him. Taller somehow. Stronger. Almost glowing.
Y/N’s eyes were glued to the screen, her burger untouched.
“Do you really think that woman—Valentina, whatever—could have something to do with all this?” she asked suddenly, her voice low, cautious, like speaking the name might summon something.
Mr. Cooper blinked, caught a little off guard by the shift. “Valentina de Fontaine?”
She nodded. “They said she was behind the team, right? And now all this... stuff happens. And Bob’s with them. So I’ve been trying to piece it together, but it doesn’t make any sense.”
Mr. Cooper sighed, taking a bite of his fries before answering, reluctantly. “She’s in trial right now. Big federal investigation. No full details, but... I heard she’s being charged for working with the OXE Group.”
Y/N’s heart skipped a beat.
“What’s the OXE Group?” she asked slowly.
He didn’t look at her at first. Just watched the news crawl at the bottom of the screen as if he were still deciding whether to tell her the truth.
“They’re a private military research firm. The kind of people who used to do black site work. Off-the-record stuff. Real shady.”
“Okay...” Y/N pressed, her voice tightening. “But what does that mean? What is she actually in trial for?”
Mr. Cooper finally turned to look at her, his expression sobering. “Illegal human experimentation. Enhancement trials. Word is, they were trying to recreate the super soldier program without oversight.”
The booth felt colder all of a sudden. Y/N’s eyes widened, her breath catching.
“Human experiments?” she repeated. “You mean like...”
He nodded, grim. “Like testing on people without consent. Drug trials. Mutation injections. Splicing DNA with alien tech. You name it.”
She slumped back in her seat, her hand going to her stomach again like second nature, like she needed the grounding.
Her voice cracked. “What if... What if she did something to him?”
Mr. Cooper frowned. “Y/N...”
“No, I’m serious!” she shot back, panic bubbling up. “What if he didn’t just leave? What if he was taken? Or experimented on? What if he got—changed—and that’s why he didn’t come back? What if they hurt him and wiped his memory, or used him like a weapon?”
“Y/N, we don’t know any of that,” he said gently, but her mind was already spiraling.
“It would make sense!” she snapped. “I saw him. I saw him in that facility, and he didn’t look like himself. Not just stronger or taller or whatever. He looked wrong. Like he was fighting something inside of him. And what if it wasn’t just him fighting—what if it was something they put in him?”
Mr. Cooper rubbed his temple slowly. “It’s a stretch, but... honestly? With people like Valentina? I wouldn’t rule it out.”
Y/N covered her face with both hands, overwhelmed by the thought.
“He always hated being weak,” she whispered. “He never said it out loud, but I could see it in how hard he tried.”
“And now maybe someone used that, maybe someone other then you saw what he had to give.” Cooper added grimly.
She dropped her hands and looked up at the screen again, the soft glow of the TV painting her worried face. Bob’s image flickered again—his silhouette standing strong beside the others, like he belonged there. But there was something distant in his expression. Something hollow. Something that didn’t look like the man she fell in love with.
“I’m not even pissed anymore,” she whispered. “I’m scared. What if he doesn’t come back because... he can’t?”
Mr. Cooper reached across the table and placed his hand gently over hers. “Then maybe it’s time someone went and got him.”
Y/N didn’t respond right away.
But her eyes, still glassy from earlier tears, were now clear with something else.
Determination.
"You think I should go there ?"
Mr.Cooper just smiles softly. "Maybe. You already went everywhere for him. This looks like a last trip."
--
The Next day - Bob's pov
The watchowerbuzzed with movement and low chatter as the Thunderbolts prepared for something that felt more serious than any mission they’d been on: Bob’s return.
Alexei was in his element—straightening a collar, wiping nonexistent dust from a navy-blue suit jacket, inspecting the polish on Bob’s shoes like a proud older brother sending a kid off to prom.
“You see this? This is what redemption looks like,” Alexei said, stepping back to admire Bob. “This says: ‘I am responsible man who has fought gods and folded laundry.’”
Bob stood stiffly in front of the mirror, hands tugging at the uncomfortable sleeves. “It says I’m about to ask for a job at a bank.”
“You look good,” Ava said simply from across the room. “It’s clean. Grown. It says you took this seriously. That matters.”
“She liked me messy,” Bob muttered under his breath, glancing down at the crisp fabric, the sleek hair combed back. “She said I looked more like me that way.”
Yelena, seated on the couch, rolled her eyes. “That was before you got sucked into a lab, exploded in the sky, and became some walking nuclear sunrise. You’re not just the guy that was struggle to keep yourselve together anymore, Bob. You’ve changed.”
Bob frowned. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Walker stepped in then, arms crossed, voice blunt but not unkind. “Look. You go there looking like you haven’t slept since 2019, she’ll think you’re still spiraling. But you show up like this? It says you’ve been trying. You want her back, right? Then show her you didn’t just survive — you got your shit together.”
Bob sighed and looked at himself again. The suit was neat, dark, serious. The tie Alexei picked was a shade too bright, but he let it be. His hair, slicked back, made his features sharper, more intense — and somehow older.
“Do I really look like… me? Do you think she will like this?” he asked, quieter this time.
Ava shrugged. “You look like someone who fought to come back.”
“And is about to cry,” Yelena said, deadpan. “But that’s your brand.”
Alexei grinned, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Trust us, this is the version of you she’ll want to see. Not the one who left, the one who chose to come back.”
Bob didn’t say anything for a moment. He took one last look at himself and nodded—just slightly.
Alexei, walking beside Bob, leaned in and whispered, “If she cries, cry with her. If she yells, nod wisely. If she hugs you… propose.”
Bob laughed for the first time all day, nerves still twisting deep in his chest. “Noted.”
He didn’t feel ready—not even close.
Alexei was fussing over Bob’s lapels like a proud uncle before prom, squinting critically at the clean lines of the suit. “You look strong. You look professional.”
“Fashion is how we prepare for emotional battle,” Alexei declared, adjusting Bob’s cuffs. “You must dress like the man you want her to believe in. Smell good. Stand tall. Speak deeply.”
“Alexei, you sound like a shampoo commercial,” Ava said from her spot near the mission board, clearly unimpressed.
Yelena rolled her eyes. “He’s not seducing her. He’s trying to apologize. Just tell her the truth, idiot.”
“Tell her the truth?” Alexei scoffed. “Fine. Tell her: ‘Hello. I have become golden space god now. I will protect you and make you rich. Also, I will buy you several dogs. Jewels. Maybe matching capes.’ Boom. Proposal.”
“Yeah,” Yelena muttered, “you just described a sugar daddy.”
“Is that not good?” Alexei blinked.
“That’s not great,” Ava shot back.
Walker leaned forward, trying to restore order. “Can we all just stop arguing about sugar daddies for one second?”
But that second was long gone. Ava was now arguing with Alexei about power dynamics in relationships, Yelena was threatening to punch someone if they didn’t shut up, and Walker looked like he was about five seconds from walking out.
Amid the chaos, Bob slowly sat down on the edge of the chair by the wide Watchtower window. He didn’t say anything. Just stared out at the distant lights of the city. A city she might be somewhere in. Alone.
They kept bickering around him, their voices overlapping, but Bob wasn’t listening anymore.
Then, softly, without looking at them, he spoke.
“I’m really scared.”
Silence fell, thick and immediate.
The team turned to look at him. Even Alexei’s big grin faded a little.
Bob kept his eyes on the skyline, his voice low and honest.
“She’s been abandoned her whole life. By people who were supposed to stay. Family. Friends. Even strangers who promised better and never meant it. And now I just—” he swallowed hard—“I went and added myself to that list.”
He clasped his hands, fingers threading and unthreading like his nerves were on a loop. He finally looked at them, eyes wide with something between guilt and fear and rawness that none of them had ever seen from him.
“I don’t know what to say to her. I don’t know if she even wants to see me. But she deserves the truth. And the choice.”
Yelena blinked a few times, her voice quieter when she spoke. “Then that’s what you give her.”
Alexei stepped closer, this time without a joke. He reached out and straightened Bob’s jacket collar.
“You wear the suit,” he said, firm but kind. “Because you are not just scared man anymore. You are also someone who came back. Someone who shows up. And sometimes... that is everything.”
Bob looked down at his shoes. The suit didn’t feel like him—but maybe it didn’t have to. Maybe it wasn’t about who he used to be.
Maybe it was about who he wanted to become.
Just as the room began to settle—after the shouting, the sarcastic digs, and the tail end of Alexei offering to re-style Bob’s hair himself if it meant calming him down—the doors to the Watchtower meeting room hissed open.
Mel stepped inside. She had that look of someone about to drop a grenade in the middle of the room and then walk away.
“Hey, uh—sorry to break up whatever group therapy session this is,” she said, tapping her tablet nervously, “but you’ve got a situation downstairs.”
Everyone turned.
Bob stood near the window, still fidgeting with his collar, his mind halfway between meltdown and autopilot.
Mel glanced at her screen. “There’s a woman and a guy asking for you. She’s being very... insistent.”
Bob blinked. “For me?”
“Yeah,” Mel said, nodding. “She says her name is Y/N L/N.”
The name hit him like a punch to the ribs. He froze. The breath left his lungs in one swift exhale.
“She’s here?” he said, barely audible.
Mel gave a wide-eyed shrug. “And some guy with her—says his name is George Cooper.”
Bob’s brows furrowed. “Who?”
Walker squinted. “You don’t know him?”
Bob shook his head. “No. Never heard of him.”
“Probably someone helping her,” Ava muttered. “Friend? Neighbor?”
“Or he’s just muscle,” Alexei offered. “In case she decides to throw you out a window.”
Bob swallowed thickly.
“She’s here?” he repeated, almost like he didn’t believe it. “In this building?”
Mel nodded. “Refusing to leave. She said if you don’t come down, she’s coming up. I told her that wasn’t exactly allowed without clearance and she said—and I quote—‘He’ll want to see me. Tell him I’m here. He’ll come.’”
Silence dropped over the room.
Alexei stood, clapping once. “WELL! This is very romantic. She crossed enemy lines to see you.”
Yelena looked at Bob. “You gonna faint or do something useful?”
Bob’s heart was racing. He glanced at Mel again. “She’s okay? I mean... she looks okay?”
“She looks pissed,” Mel said, matter-of-fact. “But yeah. Alive. Loud. Standing on both feet.”
Walker leaned back in his chair. “So. What’s the move?”
Bob licked his lips, nervous. “I... I don’t know what to say.”
Ava gave a soft exhale. “Start with 'Hi, I’m sorry,' and work your way up.”
“Do not start with ‘I’m a superhero now,’” Yelena added, arms crossed. “She might hit you.”
Alexei looked far too excited. “Tell her you’re going to take care of her forever and buy her a houseboat.”
“Guys,” Bob muttered, pressing his fingers to his temple. “I don’t even know who that guy is. What if she moved on? What if he’s her—God, I don’t know—boyfriend?”
“Then she wouldn’t be here, asking for you by name,” Yelena said calmly.
He was shaking.
Not with fear exactly—but something deeper. The kind of anxiety you only feel when you know you're about to come face to face with the thing you both miss and broke.
Bob whispered, “I’m really scared.”
That was enough to quiet the room.
He looked down at his hands. “She deserves better. And now... I don’t know what she’s going to see when she looks at me.”
Walker leaned forward on the table, his voice low. “Give her the choice, Reynolds. That’s all you can do.”
Mel stood awkwardly in the doorway. “So... what do you want me to tell them?”
Bob took one breath. Then two. Then forced himself upright.
“Tell them to come up.”
Yelena gave a small smirk. “About damn time.”
Mel nodded, giving him a soft, understanding look. “Got it.”
And with that, she stepped out, letting the doors seal shut behind her.
Bob stared at the floor.
“She’s really here.”
“Yeah,” Ava said. “She is.”
He swallowed.
Bob immediately turned to the rest of the team, his chest rising and falling too fast, hands shaking.
“I can’t do this. I seriously cannot do this. She’s here. She saw me on TV, and now she’s here, and I have no idea what she’s going to say—what if she just wants to scream at me? What if she’s already moved on and she’s just here for closure or to give me back my things—oh God, what if she brought a box of my stuff? That’s what people do, right? Boxes?”
Alexei clapped him hard on the back, nearly sending Bob stumbling forward.
“Relax, golden boy,” he said with a grin. “At least she came when you look good. If this was five hours ago, you’d still have pizza sauce on your shirt and look like a wet rat. Now you look like a gentleman. Hair all slicked back. Like James Bond but sad.”
“Very sad,” Yelena added, dryly. “Like James Bond who’s been crying in a Denny’s parking lot.”
Walker grunted. “Real supportive, guys.”
Ava leaned forward, her tone softer. “Bob. You’re spiraling.”
“I should be spiraling,” Bob huffed. “She’s probably been through hell and I left her—what do I even say? ‘Hi, sorry I ghosted you and joined a black-ops team and maybe died a little bit in Malaysia, and now I have godlike powers but still can’t hold a normal conversation’?”
“Yeah,” Yelena said with a shrug. “That, but slower.”
Alexei was still grinning. “What if she’s just here to take you back? Huh? Ever thought of that?”
Bob blinked at him, confused.
“I mean,” Alexei continued, “she saw you on the news, looking heroic, cape blowing in the wind—metaphorically speaking—and she thought, ‘That’s my idiot.’ Maybe she’s just here because she wants you back.”
“Exactly,” Ava chimed in. “You don’t know what she’s thinking. You’re panicking over something that hasn’t happened yet.”
“She came, man,” Walker added. “She didn’t send a letter. She didn’t text. She showed up.”
Bob ran a shaky hand through his hair—well, tried to, forgetting it was slicked back with gel now and recoiling in horror. “God, it’s so crispy.”
“Don’t touch it!” Alexei scolded, slapping his hand away. “You ruin that hair, and all this is for nothing.”
Everyone turned as the elevator down the hall gave a soft ding.
Bob went pale.
“They’re coming up,” he whispered. “Oh God. They’re coming up.”
Yelena gave him a nudge. “You don’t have to be perfect. Just be honest. And breathe. In through the nose. Out through the dramatic monologue.”
He looked to them, chest rising and falling, eyes wide.
Then he nodded. Slowly.
“Okay,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Okay.”
And Bob—dressed like a gentleman, scared out of his mind—stood facing the door, waiting for her
The elevator let out a soft chime, and the doors slid open with a mechanical hum.
Y/N stood there like a storm held in a glass bottle. Hair a little windblown, eyes sharp and already glossed with too much unshed emotion. Her coat hung off one shoulder, and beside her stood Mr. Cooper, arms crossed, watching with the protective stiffness of a man about to throw someone through a wall if needed.
The moment her eyes locked on Bob, she froze. Just for a second. Because what she saw was so jarringly not what she expected.
He stood across the room in a suit. Hair combed back, posture stiff as if he were pretending to be someone else. A mock version of composure. And yet—beneath it, she could still see him. Still Bob. Still the same guy who used to burn toast and tell jokes that didn’t land, who once danced in the living room holding a broom like a microphone.
Her mouth fell open.
“Bobby…” she began, voice strained, “What the fuck?”
Bob flinched. She hadn’t even raised her voice, but it hit him like a slap. Still, without thinking, without breathing, he moved forward, arms open.
“I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I know—I just need to—”
He embraced her.
Y/N’s breath hitched sharply against his chest. He was warm. Real. Solid. And for the briefest of seconds—less than a heartbeat—she didn’t push him away. Her hands even hovered, as if they didn’t know what to do.
He smelled the same. Felt the same. She hated that her body remembered.
Then she came to.
“No—no!” she gasped, shoving him back with both palms against his chest. “Don’t you dare. You don’t get to hug me like that, like nothing happened!”
Tears spilled from her eyes now, but her jaw clenched with fury. “Where the hell have you been?! What was this, Bobby? What was this?! You disappeared, and now you’re in a goddamn suit, on the news like everything’s fine? You left me! You left me!”
Bob stumbled back, hands raised, chest heaving. “I know. I know I did—please, I—I swear I’ll explain, just—can we… can we talk? Alone?”
He looked past her to Mr. Cooper, then the rest of the team hovering awkwardly in the background. They were trying not to look like they were watching, but they definitely were.
Yelena was half-tucked behind Ava, who was subtly gripping Alexei’s arm to stop him from chiming in. Even Walker looked frozen mid-step, unsure if he should intervene or back off.
Bob turned to them with a shaky exhale. “Can we have a minute? Please?”
Mr. Cooper looked to Y/N. “That what you want?”
Y/N glanced around the room, then back at Bob. She wiped the corner of her eye with the sleeve of her jacket.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Yeah… please.”
The tension in the air shifted as the others nodded and slowly made their exit. Alexei gave Bob a small, reassuring pat on the shoulder as he passed—though it was more like a seismic jolt.
“I’m watching you,” Yelena muttered under her breath as she followed the others out.
Walker pointed a finger at Bob.
The doors shut behind them.
Now it was just Bob and Y/N, the silence closing in like walls. The city glowed faintly through the tall windows. The room suddenly felt too big. Too quiet.
Bob took a tentative step toward her. “I—don’t know where to start.”
Y/N folded her arms, brows pulled tight. “Try the part where you vanished into thin air.”
His throat tightened. His hands trembled.
“Okay,” he whispered, eyes locked on her. “Okay.”
“I didn’t think I’d get to say any of this,” he started, his voice dry and cracking. “I didn’t plan on saying anything at all.”
He finally looked up at her, his eyes red-rimmed, breathing uneven. “When I left, I didn’t just leave because of the pregnancy, Y/N. I’d already… been thinking about leaving. About… disappearing. I’d been thinking about it long before I knew. That test—God, it broke me. Not because of the baby. Not because of you. Because I knew right then I wasn’t the person you needed me to be.”
He swallowed hard and stepped forward slowly, careful not to spook her.
“You know how bad it got. I—I thought I had it under control, the meth, the withdrawals, the spirals, all of it. But I didn’t. I relapsed again two days before you told me. I—I’d been hiding it. I was so ashamed. I couldn’t even look you in the eyes some nights. I’d lie awake next to you and think about how much I was failing. How I was just—burning your life down with mine.”
He rubbed his face roughly, eyes shining as his breathing caught. “And then the test. And you. You looked so happy. And I—I felt like I was standing in front of this life, this beautiful life you wanted, and I was the wreckage in the way. I thought… if I stayed, I’d keep failing. That I’d be angry all the time. That I’d scream, or break things, or—God—for the first time in my life, I was scared of myself.”
He looked at her now. Fully. Face open and wounded, stripped of anything but his truth.
“So I did what cowards do. I ran. And I didn’t just run—I collapsed. I went to Malaysia because it was dangerous. Because I thought I’d die out there. Because dying felt easier than telling you I was broken. I thought I was doing you a favor. That you'd be better off. That the baby would have a clean slate, and you’d hate me, sure—but you’d survive. You’d thrive without me.”
Silence.
A few seconds passed, and he saw it—her breathing uneven, her hands curled tight at her sides.
And then she broke.
“You know me, Bobby,” she cried, voice trembling but laced with fire. “You know me.”
He barely had time to brace himself before the words poured out of her in sobs and gasps and fists clenched in grief.
“I love you so much I could feel death creeping into my chest every night you didn’t come back. I stopped eating. I couldn’t sleep. I would scream into my pillow until I passed out. I waited for hours by the door every time it rained, thinking you’d be cold and coming home. I sat in hospitals and police stations—God—I put up flyers, Bobby. I looked in every building, every alley, every damn street like a maniac because I knew something had to be wrong!”
Her hands trembled as she wiped her face with her sleeve, but the tears kept coming. Her voice broke again, smaller now.
“All I ever wanted was for you to come home. To have you here. I—I would’ve moved with you. To anywhere. Anywhere. You could’ve said the word and we would’ve started over. Just me and you. I would’ve helped you through everything. I wanted to help. But you didn’t give me the chance. You didn’t even give me a choice.”
She was sobbing now, her chest heaving, and Bob could only stare at her, broken open.
“I want our kid to know you. To love you. I wanted him to have what I never had. You keep thinking you’re some monster—that you ruin everything, that nobody gives a shit. But you leaving took my whole life with you. You took my happiness and left me to hold the pieces!”
Bob stepped closer, slow and trembling. His voice came out hoarse.
“I never wanted to hurt you. I thought I was saving you.”
She laughed bitterly through her tears, shaking her head. “Well, you didn’t save me. You wrecked me.”
Bob nodded, lips pressed together as tears welled in his eyes. He looked down at her—then unconsciously, his eyes dropped to her stomach. She was showing now. Just enough.
“I missed everything,” he whispered, his hand trembling like it wanted to reach out but didn’t dare.
Y/N nodded silently, wiping her cheek.
“You did,” she said.
“Bobby…” she exhaled slowly. “You’re on the damn news. The Avengers, the Watchtower, all of this? You’re dressed like a damn wedding crasher—how the hell are you a superhero now?”
Her voice cracked. Confusion, disbelief, anger still curling in her chest like smoke.
“You don’t have powers. I know you. You had bad knees and a caffeine addiction and you used to pull your back lifting grocery bags. What the hell happened to you? What—what was that thing in the sky that took over the city? I saw you in it. I thought I was losing my mind.”
Bob blinked, lips parted like he’d been caught off guard. He looked down at the floor, then back up at her with a deep, ashamed breath.
“I wasn’t supposed to make it,” he said softly. “When I left for Malaysia… it wasn’t just to run. I signed up for something. Something I knew was dangerous.”
Y/N’s brows furrowed, a pang of dread in her gut.
“What kind of something?” she asked carefully.
Bob clenched his jaw. “Human experimentation.”
Her eyes widened, horror flashing across her face. He rushed to keep speaking before she could spiral.
“It was Valentina. She was… recruiting people. Not for the Avengers, not at first. For something else. I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t want answers. I thought—if it worked, maybe I’d be someone. If it didn’t… I’d just disappear like I always meant to.”
Y/N shook her head, horrified. “Bob—Jesus Christ.”
He nodded, shame deepening his voice. “It worked. Somehow. I don’t know how to explain it. They gave me something. It rewired everything. My body, my mind. I’m not… me anymore. I’m something else now. I can fly. I can tear steel apart. I can hear a pin drop from across the city. I don’t get tired. I don’t bleed. But…”
His voice wavered. He looked up at her with eyes that were begging to be understood.
“There’s something inside me. Something that came with the powers. A shadow. A presence. They call it The Void.”
Y/N stiffened at the name. Her breath caught.
Bob swallowed hard, nodding slowly.
“It’s real. That… thing that covered New York? That was me. Or, part of me. I don’t remember all of it—I black out when he comes. But it’s like… he waits. Like he watches from behind my eyes, waiting for a moment to crawl out.”
Tears pricked the corners of his eyes again.
“I didn’t know what I’d done until I woke up in that lab. Until I saw what was left behind. It wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t even know I could do something like that. I—”
He broke off, breath shaky.
“I don’t want these powers. Not if they come with him. I’m scared, Y/N. Every second. Because if I lose focus for one moment, if I get too angry, too desperate, too… weak—he gets out again. And next time, he might not leave anything standing.”
Y/N’s face had softened now. Her arms weren’t crossed anymore. She was just… standing there. Listening. Absorbing it all.
Bob stepped forward, a hand to his chest like he was trying to ground himself.
“But if I have to… if I have to… I’ll use it. Because I’ve seen what he can do. And I’ve seen what I can do when I keep him under. I think I was meant to help. Meant to protect people. Even if I’m scared.”
He met her gaze again, with more resolve this time.
“I don’t want to run anymore. From you, from what I’ve done, from what I am. I just want to… figure out how to live with it. With him. With the powers. And I want to do it with you.”
Y/N stared at him in stunned silence for a moment.
Then she took a trembling step forward.
“Do you really want to be that guy?” she whispered. “Or are you still trying to disappear, just in a different uniform?”
Bob flinched like she’d slapped him—but he didn’t deny it.
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I’m trying.”
Y/N stood in front of him, arms limp at her sides, staring down at the floor. The silence was no longer sharp—it was dull, thick, almost protective. She was processing. Still trying to stitch everything together, the pain and confusion and love all colliding at once inside her chest like a storm without direction.
Bobby shifted, watching her with quiet, careful eyes.
“…Are you able to forgive me?” he asked, his voice a near whisper, almost afraid the sound might shatter whatever moment this was.
She didn’t answer. Not yet.
“I mean… we don’t have to be anything. Not if you don’t want to. I don’t want to force you into something just because we—because this happened,” he continued, motioning vaguely to her belly, to the air between them, to everything. “But I want to be there. I want to be there for you. And for the baby.”
His voice cracked.
“And I want you. I love you. I never stopped. Not for a second. But… you went through hell. And I was the one who lit the match. I didn’t protect you. I hurt you.”
That last part hung in the air like a confession he was ashamed to even say out loud.
Y/N still didn’t say anything. Her eyes flicked upward for only a second before she turned her head to the side, blinking hard. Her heart was racing, her head was buzzing. All of it was too much. The powers. The Void. The abandonment. The hug. The apology. The love. The ache. She loved him. God, she loved him—but what if love wasn’t enough? What if it never had been?
And then… she felt it.
A soft, unmistakable push from within her. Tiny.
She looked back at Bobby, the emotion behind her eyes unreadable—but deep.
Without saying a word, she stepped forward and gently took his hand in hers.
Then, she guided it to her belly.
His fingers spread over the fabric of her shirt, and at first, he just looked at her, confused—until he felt it.
A kick. Strong. Rhythmic.
His eyes widened. A stunned breath fell out of him.
And then… his knees buckled, slowly, reverently, until he was crouched in front of her, both hands now resting on her belly, forehead pressing softly against it like he was praying. His eyes fluttered closed, and he tilted his head ever so slightly, as if listening with his whole soul.
And he heard it.
A heartbeat.
Steady. Fierce. Alive.
Bob’s breath hitched. His lips parted in disbelief, awe folding into tears.
“We made that,” he whispered.
Y/N’s hand lifted, slow and gentle, resting on top of his head—his hair stiff with gel, slicked back against the version of him someone else dressed up to be a man who looked like he had it all together. But beneath it… she missed the curls. The mess. Him.
She let her fingers slip through what little softness she could find, her thumb brushing the nape of his neck.
“We can take it slow,” she said, voice raw, almost hoarse from holding back too much for too long. “We can do it.”
His head tilted up to look at her, his eyes glassy, his whole world held between her hands and the heartbeat beneath them.
“I just need to… readjust,” she said, inhaling shakily. “I don’t know what to do just yet. But… I can do it.”
A small, sad smile tugged at her lips as her gaze met his.
“I want you.”
Bob blinked, breath caught in his throat.
She nodded gently, her hand still cradling the side of his head.
“He wants you, too.”
Bob closed his eyes again, pulling in a breath like he’d been underwater all this time and finally came up for air.
And for the first time in months, everything stopped hurting—just for a moment.
Bob stood slowly, eyes never leaving hers. He looked unsure, reverent almost, as if standing in front of something holy.
This time, when he moved to embrace her, it wasn’t frantic or desperate—it was gentle. Careful. A silent apology. A prayer wrapped in human warmth. His arms curled around her back as hers slid around his waist, and they just held each other for a moment, feeling every tremble and heartbeat, the months of pain melting into skin-on-skin comfort.
He pulled back just slightly, enough to see her face. His hands cradled her waist, thumbs brushing slow circles against her sides. His voice was low, a little hoarse.
“Can I… please kiss you?” he asked, breath shaky. “I really need it.”
Y/N looked up at him, eyes still glassy with leftover tears—but softer now. Open. She nodded, slow.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Me too.”
Their lips met in a kiss that wasn’t rushed or polished—it was real. It was raw—it all came crashing together in that one, perfect kiss.
And it felt like him. Like Bobby. Like home.
She tasted salt—his tears, or hers, she couldn’t tell. One of her hands moved to his jaw, fingers curling against the line of it, while the other gripped the back of his neck, pulling him closer, needing him. His arms wrapped tight around her, and he let out a low sound—half-laugh, half-sob—into her mouth as their kiss deepened.
They could almost feel the ghost of another version of them—laughing in the kitchen of their tiny old apartment, dancing in their socks, sneaking kisses between burnt grilled cheese and a mattress on the floor. That old life flickered like a film reel behind their eyes.
He kissed her like he was trying to memorize her again.
She kissed him like she’d never let him disappear again.
When they finally pulled back for air, they were both breathless, foreheads touching. Their hands lingered—on waists, on cheeks, on the edges of clothing. Like letting go might mean waking up.
Y/N looked at him through her lashes, still catching her breath. Her voice cracked with a laugh.
“…Is this how you dress now?”
Bob blinked, then glanced down at himself—the stiff suit, the buttoned collar, the slicked-back hair.
Y/N made a face. “I hate it. You look so… ew.”
He burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking. “What?!”
She nodded, pointing dramatically at his head. “That’s not my Bobby. That’s a… stockbroker.”
“A what?” he said, grinning.
“Messy Bobby. Large hoodie Bobby. Hair-like-you-just-woke-up Bobby. That guy?” She grinned through the teasing, stepping closer, fingers already mussing his gelled-back hair with playful aggression. “That guy was hot. This guy looks like he’s about to lecture me about my Roth IRA.”
Bob chuckled, letting her mess it all up, curls flopping forward again. “Okay, okay. I’ll ditch the suit. Alexei’s gonna cry, though. He made me wear it.”
“Why?” she asked, still smoothing his hair out to her liking.
He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “We were… planning on coming to see you. The team thought I should look… presentable. Impressive.”
She raised a brow. “Well, you failed. Miserably.”
He laughed again, and for a moment, it was just joy. Simple, real joy.
Then his smile softened. “Still worth it, though. You’re here. You kissed me. Twice.”
She smirked, a glimmer of playfulness flashing through the exhaustion in her eyes.
“That was charity.”
“Oh, yeah?”
She grabbed the collar of his too-stiff suit jacket, pulled him forward, and kissed him again—slow and deliberate.
“Still charity,” she whispered against his lips.
And Bobby just laughed into the kiss, his arms tightening around her.
The elevator doors slid open again with a soft ding. Bob straightened, still holding Y/N’s hand, only to freeze when a man stepped into view behind her.
Middle-aged. Slightly rumpled jacket. The kind of no-nonsense posture that screamed authority with too much paperwork. Bob blinked. So did the rest of the team.
Alexei leaned in and stage-whispered, “Who’s the guy? Is that your dad? Did you bring your dad?”
Y/N shot him a look. “No.”
Bob tilted his head, confused. “Uh… sorry, who…?”
The man extended a casual, unimpressed nod toward Bob. “Name’s Cooper. George Cooper. I work at the precinct downtown.”
Bob blinked again. “Wait—like… a cop?”
Walker narrowed his eyes. “Why is a cop here?”
Cooper kept his arms crossed. “Because I’ve been the one picking up the pieces while your golden boy here ghosted the entire tri-state area.”
Yelena raised her eyebrows and turned to Bob with a snort. “Ooooh, I like him already.”
Bob looked at Y/N, still processing. “You brought a cop with you?”
“He’s not just a cop,” she replied, gently but firmly. “He’s my friend. The only one who gave a damn when you disappeared. When nobody took my reports seriously, when they called me crazy—he helped. Every step.”
Mr. Cooper glanced sideways at her, not showing much emotion, but his voice softened. “She didn’t have anyone else, man. I’m not here to cause problems. Just had to make sure she was okay. That you were actually here and not another hallucination.”
Bob rubbed the back of his neck, heart squeezing in his chest. “Right. Yeah. Okay… sorry, I just… wasn’t expecting…”
Alexei interrupted with a grin. “It is okay, Bobby. She brought backup. Like real soldier. I respect it.”
Yelena nodded. “Honestly? After everything, he should’ve come with more backup.”
Walker crossed his arms. “So what now, cop? You sticking around?”
Cooper held up his hands. “Nope. I’ve done my part. She wanted to talk, I made sure she got here safe. That’s all.”
Y/N looked over at him, smiling faintly. “Thanks, Mr.Cooper.”
He gave her a brief nod and headed for the elevator. “You know how to reach me, kid.”
As the doors closed behind him, Bob turned to Y/N again, still wrapping his head around it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t know you had to go through all that.”
Y/N met his eyes. “That’s because you weren’t there.”
Silence lingered for a beat—one heavy with mutual understanding and all the things they still had to say.
Alexei, ever the mood-breaker, clapped Bob on the back. “Well, at least she showed up while you still looked dashing. I told you—hair slicked back, suit crisp. You’re like billionaire crime-fighter now.”
Y/N squinted at Bob. “God, you still look ridiculous.”
Bob gave her a sheepish grin. “I know. I was trying to impress you.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. “Like that would work on me.”
Hey, recently read your writing on your other account and was wondering if you were going to post another edition of "Don't be Afraid of the Dark", on fnaf? Just curious and wanted to go ahead and ask. It was a great read!
Hi! Seen this recently pop into my notifs!
Currently this is how things are going !
- finishing up school
- moving back to this account !
- reworking on Chapter One and starting chapter two now!!!
But yes I'm gonna work on it! ^^ it's been awhile since I've done some writing and with so many people enjoying the story, it's surprised me a ton! And has a motivated me!
Without this anonymous ask, I probably wouldn't have been doing this now !! Since I rarely checked Tumblr!
But hope that answers everything!
Hey hey first things first ! On here I would like to be referred to a Beau! I’m a fanfic writer for a few fandoms in which you can find on my masterlist as well!
Down Below the cut is my MasterList to the things I write! So far there’s only COD stuff cause majority of my friends enjoy that 😅
I do want to put a trigger warning on here! And I will also put trigger warnings on the writing themselves! I tend to write a lot of angst and smut because I’m very bad at coming up with full fledged out plots sometimes but aha! Oh well—
- John Price
LOVERS CREEK ; click here !
- Simon Ghost Riley
- Kyle Gaz Garrick
- Johnny Soap MacTavish
MORE TO COME..
Ask box is open!
Tw: cussing, angst, choking, bruises
Part 2
The lights in Stark Tower dim on a gentle cycle—cool and golden like a fading sunset. You rub your eyes as the hallway stretches quiet and long before you, socks sliding soft over polished floors.
It’s late.
And you're exhausted.
You offer a tired goodnight to Steve, who nods with a warm smile from the common room couch, book half-forgotten in his lap.
Behind you… Bucky follows.
Silently. Footsteps so soft for a man made of steel and shadows.
You glance back at him. “You don’t have to follow me now,” you murmur, voice laced with sleep.
He tilts his head.
“Protection” he says simply.
Not a question.
A statement.
You bite your lip and nod—too tired to argue, too soft-hearted to tell him no. Still, anxiety coils in your gut.
You grab your Stark Phone and speed-dial Tony.
He answers after three rings, voice groggy and annoyed. “If this is about him eating toothpaste, I swear to God—”
“Tony,” you whisper. “He’s following me. Into my room.”
Pause.
“...Okay, that’s less funny. Still not my problem. Give him a blanket or something.”
“I don’t think he knows what blankets are, let alone boundaries,” you say, glancing at the man shadowing your every move like a silent sentinel.
“Yeah, well—RoboCop's not getting his own room until you've got him fully housetrained—Congrats, Thumbelina. You’re now the proud owner of a six-foot trauma-soaked heat-seeking murder puppy. Mazel tov.”
You sigh.
He hangs up.
You push open your bedroom door and slip inside, flicking on the lamp with a soft click.
The light spills across the room in a warm wash—cream walls, soft bedding, a shelf of books you haven’t had time to finish. It’s a safe space. Your space.
The Soldier follows.
And pauses.
Like an animal entering unfamiliar territory.
You move to the dresser, trying not to act weird. “I’m just getting ready for bed. You can—um… you can sit? Over there?”
He stands by the door. Watching.
Every mirror, every shadow, every flicker of movement, he tracks it all. Head snapping slightly, expression unreadable.
And then JARVIS speaks.
“Good evening, Miss. Shall I dim the—”
CLANG.
You whip around just in time to see him move—smooth and deadly, like a switch flipped inside his skull.
Arm raised, metal hand snapping toward a wall panel like he’s going to actually rip JARVIS straight out of the drywall.
“Shit—No!” you squeak, rushing forward.
He throws a glance over his shoulder—tense, locked in—but the moment his eyes meet yours, the storm stalls. His breathing is shallow. Pupils blown wide. JARVIS had startled him.
“Room compromised,” he says, clipped.
You place a hand on his arm—his flesh arm—and slowly ease him back.
“That’s just JARVIS. He’s… he’s like a ghost that lives in the walls, okay?”
He blinks. “...Ghost?”
You smile nervously. “He won’t hurt anyone.”
Slowly… so slowly… he lowers his arm.
But his eyes never stop moving.
You set your clothes down for the morning and glance over to find him standing in the corner, half-shadowed, metal hand flexing subtly at his side. Not speaking. Not relaxing.
Just watching.
“Do you… do you want to sleep?” you offer gently. “I could make a spot—on the wee couch, or…”
He doesn’t answer. But when you climb into bed, turn off the lamp, and settle under your blanket, you hear the smallest creak of the floor.
He moves.
He sits in the corner.
Back against the wall.
Facing the door.
Soldier on guard.
Watching.
Protecting.
Sometime in the night, you wake to a strange stillness.
The room is dark, but you can feel his presence.
Eyes heavy with sleep, you lift your head and see him still there—knees drawn up, eyes open.
He hasn’t moved.
Not once.
You whisper, “You can rest, too, you know…”
He says nothing.
But for the first time, his head tilts.
The soft hum of Stark Tower fills the silence like a heartbeat in a hollow chest. The skyline glows faint behind your blackout curtains, and somewhere distant, JARVIS murmurs about internal diagnostics.
But inside your room, there’s stillness.
You’ve long since drifted off to sleep, curled beneath layers of blankets, your breathing steady and quiet.
Across the room, seated in the corner where he’s kept watch for hours, Bucky or 'Soldat' is also asleep.
Or… trying.
His back is pressed against the wall, legs drawn in tight, arms rigid across his lap. He hadn’t meant to sleep. Hadn’t wanted to.
A whimper broke the silence. Bucky's head thrashed from side to side, his long hair flicking across his face with the movement. His metal fingers twitched and clenched.
But the moment his eyes had closed, the nightmare came.
His breath hitches.
It starts in his chest like a tremor, then takes hold—harder, faster. Metal fingers twitch. His jaw tightens. In the dark, his eyes move behind closed lids.
Russian words tumbled from his lips as his movements grew more agitated. Sweat beaded on his forehead as whatever nightmare has him in its grip tightened its hold.
Restraints.
Cold.
Hands.
Falling.
Needles.
The chair.
Pain.
The voice.
Pain.
That voice.
Pain.
"missiya" mission.
He jerks upright with a sudden violent inhale, like he’s surfacing from deep underwater. For a heartbeat, he’s not in Stark Tower.
He’s not in your bedroom.
He’s back in Siberia.
You jolt awake instantly—some part of your brain registering the shift in energy before your eyes even open.
But it’s too late.
The weight of a body is over you, the cold wrap of vibranium fingers tight around your throat.
He’s straddled you before his eyes even fully focus, breath ragged and guttural like a wolf mid-attack. There’s no recognition in his face—just movement.
You can’t breathe.
Your hands claw instinctively at his wrist—not to hurt him, just to get air.
Your voice comes out as a whisper, a desperate plea.
“Soldat—!”
The grip loosens instantly.
His eyes go wide.
Recognition blooms like a bomb going off in his chest.
He scrambles backward, nearly falling off the bed as his breath hitches and catches.
You swear for a second he looks at you like he’s seen a ghost.
“Handler,” he breathes, voice hollow.
A beat.
Then—
"Awaiting instructions, doll."
Ok—that's new—what the fuc—
The endearment slipped out, seemingly without his awareness.
Wait.
His voice.
You freeze.
The accent—it’s... lessened.
Still there, still faint, but there’s a tremor of something else beneath it. Something almost American. Like muscle memory from a past self is bleeding back in.
You massaged your throat, watching him warily. "What did you just call me?" you managed, your voice raspy.
You look at him—he’s curled into himself now, pressed against the far edge of your bed like he wants to disappear into the wall.
“Cryostasis?” he mutters.
A tremor starting in his flesh hand.
You frowned, confused by the unfamiliar term. "Cryostasis? What's that?" you asked cautiously.
His eyes darted to your face, then away, as though even acknowledging the question might be a violation of protocol.
"Cold comes. Then nothing." His odd new accent stumbled over the clinical description.
You whisper, “It’s okay.”
His head shakes—once, hard. “No.”
“That is not going to happen,” you say softly.
He doesn’t answer.
You reach for him—not fast, not aggressive. Just enough to brush your fingers against his sleeve. You’re shaking. So is he.
“I shouldn’t have woken you like that,” you whisper.
His eyes flash to yours.
“You shouldn’t come near me.”
He says it like a warning. Like he’s dangerous. A loaded weapon without a safety.
The morning light leaks into Stark Tower through sleek glass panels, catching dust motes in golden slants. The smell of coffee and toast drifts from the communal kitchen as the Avengers mill around in various states of half-awake bickering.
Tony is already three steps ahead, tapping away at a holographic interface while bemoaning someone using his milk.
You step inside, shoulders pulled in, your oversized hoodie swallowing your frame. Your neck is artfully concealed—layers of makeup, your hair tucked to one side, collar tugged high. You don’t want them to see.
Behind you, Bucky moves like a shadow—soundless but ever-present. His eyes never leave you. He doesn’t acknowledge the others.
“Jesus,” Clint mutters under his breath, low enough that only Natasha hears. “He’s still glued to her.”
Natasha doesn’t respond. Her eyes are locked on Bucky. Calculating.
Steve is seated at the far end of the room, newspaper in one hand, coffee in the other—but when you walk in, his eyes lift over the rim of the mug. They soften. Then narrow.
Then shift to the Soldier.
Something is off.
Tony glances up from his projections.
“Morning, Thumbelina,” he greets, in that usual teasing voice he uses when pretending not to care too much. Then his gaze flicks to you again—and he stills.
You’re not quite fast enough with your coffee mug.
His eyes catch the edge of discoloration peeking beneath your concealer—faint, but unmistakable. A handprint, forming from throat to jaw. Not quite healed. Not quite hidden.
His expression drops.
“What the hell is that?”
You freeze mid-sip.
The room goes quiet.
Tony’s voice cuts the air like a blade. “That better not be what I think it is.”
Your throat closes. “Tony—”
“I knew it. I knew the 'silent Soviet scarecrow' routine was just a breath away from having a full-on Hulk-themed episode!”
Bucky reacts instantly.
The tension in his shoulders coils tight like a sprung trap. His jaw clenches, head snapping toward Stark like a weapon finding a target.
One step forward—fast. Direct.
“Back down.”
His voice is low, cold. His accent is faded but not gone—words flatter, more clipped. American ghosts clinging to Russian steel.
Steve’s head tilts.
Tony lifts his hands, mockingly. “Oh, look at that! RoboRambo speaks. Did they teach you that in murder school or is that the accent of a guy trying to remember who he used to be?”
Bucky’s fist tightens. Metal groaning.
Your hand shoots out, placing it on his chest.
“Doll,” he says instantly, like the word grounds him.
"Stand Down ... Please"
He nods.
But his attention doesn’t leave you.
Not for one second.
Steve stands slowly. Not threatening. Just observing.
“You hear that?” he says quietly to the room, gaze on Stark but words aimed at Bucky. “His voice. It’s… changing.”
“Changing into what?” Tony mutters, pacing slightly now. “The warm tones of someone who nearly crushed her windpipe in her sleep?”
Bucky flinches. It’s subtle—but it’s there.
“Tony, please,” you whisper. “It wasn’t his fault.”
“Oh, no, I forgot—brainwashing, programming, whatever. But forgive me if I don’t want my employees being used as a therapy animal for the man who can snap necks like breadsticks!”
Bucky stares blankly.
None of the names or faces mean anything to him.
But the tension rising in you—that registers.
He steps protectively between you and Tony.
“Neutralize the threat,” he says coldly.
“No, no—” Your hands are shaking. “Don’t do that. There’s no threat. Tony’s just… being Tony.”
“Irritating?” Clint offers, trying to diffuse the moment. “Yeah, he’s great at that.”
Steve crosses the room slowly.
“Bucky,” he tries.
The Soldier’s gaze doesn’t flicker. His expression doesn’t change.
There’s no flicker of recognition in those eyes. Only patience. Obedience. A mind made of shattered glass slowly piecing itself back together.
You guide him gently to the table. He lets you. When you move, he follows. When you speak, he listens.
But when others speak?
He blinks. No comprehension.
“Why doesn’t he know us?” Natasha asks softly. Her words are for Steve.
“I don’t know,” Steve murmurs. “But the accent fading… that’s gotta be memory. It means someone’s still in there.”
Tony crosses his arms, looking you dead in the eye. “You need to be honest with us. If you’re in danger—”
“I’m not.”
“You could’ve died.”
“But I didn’t,” you say. Your voice is small. “And he stopped the second he realized.”
“And then went right back to calling you ‘Handler,’” Tony snaps.
REALLLL
me, a veteran top gun maverick fan and Bob girlie, seeing the Lewis Pullman/Bob character renaissance coming before my eyes:
(the fics have return)
okay but can we talk about the struggle that is obsessing over a character that doesn’t have fanfics??? because i’m over here scrubbing the internet for any crumbs…
can you do bob x reader where he sees us interacting with a child and it makes him want to be a father so bad?
Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/ The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolt!Fem!Reader
Summary: Valentina organizes a PR event for the Thunderbolts and during the event Bob realizes that he may want more out of life than just saving the world.
Warnings: Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts because of Bob’s involvement and because some events are mentioned in passing. Fluff, a hint of Angst and an Established Relationship is at the forefront here.
Author's Note: Surprise, it’s double update day…Because I had this in my drafts and forgot to post it…YIKES. I found this to be so fluffy and cute to write! Thank you so much for the request! I loved writing this a lot!
Word Count: 3,805
Valentina had called it a “Visibility Effort,” which–as far as Bob was concerned–was just a polished way of saying: “I need people to stop thinking you guys are monsters, so go smile for the cameras and pretend you guys didn’t almost destroy New York City a year ago.”
The Thunderbolts had only just begun to scrape their way back into the public’s good graces after the Void. If grace could even be applied to a team that, not long ago, had been seen as volatile assets in containment rather than heroes in recovery. But Valentina didn’t care about semantics–she cared about optics. And what better way to scrub down their image than to host a carefully staged, feel-good community day in a public park–complete with banners, press kits, and security briefings disguised as media rundowns.
The day before, you and the rest of the team had been sweating under the sun, assembling the layout from the ground up. Tent poles groaned in the wind, tarps snapped against knuckles, and the oversized bouncy castle–more akin to a pop-up cathedral–took three hours to stabilize. It loomed over the field like a surreal monument to liability.
By sundown, the park had been transformed.
Face-painting booths stretched along the paved path like an art market in miniature, each tent hung with paper lanterns and garlands of plastic ivy. A ring toss area had been set up beside a small prize table, its wares still barcoded and smelling faintly of plastic and lemon cleaner. Further down, a row of food trucks idled along the lot’s edge, the air thick with fried batter and roasted peanuts, preparing for the next day. A banner, bold and hopeful, rippled above the main walkway: THUNDERBOLTS COMMUNITY GIVEBACK DAY!
The park was bustling before noon the next day.
Children darted between booths with faces half-painted and shoes untied. Parents loitered on benches, plastic cups of lemonade in hand, cautiously optimistic about letting their kids near a group of enhanced individuals who, six months ago, were being referred to as national liabilities. Still, smiles came easier than expected. The air smelled like kettle corn, sun-warmed vinyl, and freshly cut grass.
Valentina had positioned her pawns with precision, each member of the team slotted into a role meant to soften their image–familiar, friendly, safe.
Yelena was stationed at the face-painting table. She didn’t argue when she was assigned to it, though she rolled her eyes hard enough that everyone could basically hear it. Now, seated with a paintbrush balanced between her fingers, she looked…Focused. Delicate even. She painted dragons, daisies, and one incredibly accurate depiction of Bucky’s old Winter Soldier face paint layout. She didn’t say much unless spoken to, but the kids flocked to her. Her bluntness came off as hilarious to them. Her gentleness? Earned in silence.
Walker manned the obstacle course–one of the only areas Valentina trusted him not to overcomplicate. With his sleeves rolled up and clipboard tucked under his arm, he barked out encouragements that sounded suspiciously like bootcamp commands. But he was patient. He let kids redo the course as many times as they wanted. And when one boy tripped near the finish line, Walker helped him up without hesitation and whispered something that made the kid’s chest puff with pride.
Ava floated between stations like an unofficial supervisor. She had no designated role, but her presence was felt and it was heavy. She hovered near the cotton candy vendor long enough to be offered a free sample, then spent ten minutes helping a little girl reattach the wheel to her toy stroller. Ava didn’t smile often, but she kept her sunglasses off today. It mattered more than anyone would admit.
Alexei had placed himself right in the center of the park’s open lawn, surrounded by children wielding foam swords. He was absolutely in his element. Towering, loud, enthusiastic. He let them “ambush” him over and over again, dramatically collapsing onto the grass as they tackled him, crying out in mock defeat with every fall. When one kid asked if he was Santa, Alexei laughed so hard he nearly swallowed a whistle. He’d fashioned a red Thunderbolts cap to resemble something almost festive. No one stopped him.
Bucky was at the photo booth. Not because Valentina assigned it to him–but because he asked. Quietly. Just once. And when she raised a brow, he explained:
“Kids like the arm. Makes them feel like they’re meeting a real superhero.”
No one argued with that.
He stood beside the printed backdrop of a Thunderbolts mural, his vibranium arm resting lightly at his side. At first, only a few families came by. Then word got around. By midday, there was a line curling around the booth. Bucky posed with toddlers who clung to his leg, tweens who wanted to see if he could lift them with his arm alone, and teens who just wanted proof they’d stood next to him. He let them. All of them.
And you–you’d been running the craft tent since the gates opened. Low folding tables filled with paper crowns, pipe cleaners, sticker sheets, and markers with their caps long lost to time. You moved between projects with practiced ease, coaxing confidence out of even the shyest children. One girl in a purple tutu had stuck to your side all morning, proudly referring to you as “Miss Thunderbolt” like it was an official title.
Bob on the other hand…Wasn’t assigned a booth.
Valentina had called it a “strategic decision”–which meant don’t scare the kids. She hadn’t said it outright, of course, but Bob understood the subtext. The others had made peace with their reputations, learned how to bend their edges into something palatable. Bob’s problem wasn’t sharpness. It was scale. People didn’t look at him and see a man. They saw The Void. A storm in a body. The thing that turned Manhattan’s sky black almost a year ago. Or they saw him as Golden Boy Sentry, which he rarely presented himself as now because all of that was dormant since the incident, so he was just Bob, and unfortunately nobody was really interested in just Bob.
Except you of course.
You had grown extremely close to him throughout the time he was recovering from the incident. You would stay back from missions just to keep him company, and within those small moments, the two of you grew a bond and became inseparable.
It wasn’t dramatic. There was no big declaration, no kiss in the rain, no sweeping hand grab before battle. It was subtle–gentle, even. A shared quiet. The way you waited for him to speak on his own terms. The way you handed him warm drinks without comment and sat beside him on the floor of his room during the worst days, and just held him or smoothed his hair down. The way you always reached for his hand under the table when Valentina debriefed the team about “public image,” like you were grounding yourself in him, not the other way around.
It started with one date. A walk. A drink from the local coffee shop that you used two straws for. A movie you barely paid attention to because Bob had cried halfway through and apologized for it, and you’d told him, “I’d rather watch you feel something than watch the movie anyway.”
Now it had been nearly a year.
A quiet year. A healing one. A year where Bob–somehow–had begun to believe that maybe he wasn’t made just for disaster. Maybe he was allowed to want softness. Warmth. You.
So he stayed near you now, just like he always did. Even in the middle of this pastel-bright circus of a public relations stunt, even with the buzzing press cameras and the thunder of kids’ shoes over packed grass–he stood a few feet behind your tent. Watching quietly like he always did.
You didn’t need him to be part of the event. You didn’t ask him to engage. You just wanted him to be close and hover around you. And every so often, you’d glance over your shoulder and give him a little smile–soft, unhurried, like a tether that reminded him that he was still on your mind.
That’s what he was doing when it happened.
You were helping a child–maybe four, maybe five–cut out the outline of a star from glitter paper. She was sitting in your lap, legs swinging off the edge of the bench, her small fingers clumsy around the safety scissors. You guided her hands with your own, gentle and patient, your chin tucked down as you murmured something too soft for him to hear. The girl giggled. You smiled. And Bob felt something in his chest fracture.
It bloomed sharp and sudden, like a crack in glass that spiderwebbed behind his ribs before he could stop it. A low, aching pressure that pulsed under his skin and settled into his throat. He couldn’t look away from you. From the way the little girl leaned back against your chest, utterly content, while you helped her snip the edges of her glittery star. Your voice was low, your hand steady on hers, and when she got frustrated, you smiled and told her it was perfect just the way it was.
And the little girl–she believed you.
Bob watched her beam like she’d just won a medal, then twist to throw her arms around your neck. You hugged her back instinctively, without missing a beat, without needing to think about it.
And just like that, Bob saw it.
Not as a fantasy. Not as a warm, fuzzy, distant dream.
He saw you. Sitting in a living room. Soft lamplight across your shoulders. A child curled into your lap with a crayon clutched in one hand and a juice box in the other. Your hair a mess from the day, a blanket half-draped over both of you. And him in the doorway. Holding a book in his hand that he’d forgotten to read, too caught up in the simple, breathtaking fact that this was his life. That somehow, impossibly, he’d made it here.
His throat tightened.
The thought came quietly, like breath fogging glass:
He wanted this.
He wanted you. A child. A family. Not someday, not maybe. Just–yes. He wanted tiny shoes in the hallway. A swing set in a yard. A sleepy voice calling him Dad. He wanted your laughter in a kitchen filled with baby wipes and half-assembled toys. He wanted something that was his and yours and no one else’s.
But right on the heels of that beautiful, terrifying longing came something cold and heavy.
Fear.
He swallowed, hard.
His father’s voice echoed somewhere in the dark part of his memory–low, sharp, filled with the kind of disgust that was harder to forget than fists. He could still hear the way the floor creaked before a bad night. The sting of being told he was nothing. How love only showed up with bruises attached.
Bob’s stomach twisted.
What if I turn into him? He thought.
He didn’t think he would. He knew–rationally–that he wasn’t the same. He didn’t drink. He didn’t shout. He couldn’t even raise his voice without wincing at the echo. He loved gently. He loved softly. But fear didn’t care about facts. It sunk into his lungs anyway.
What if something in him broke? What if the Void came back and he couldn’t stop it? What if one day he opened his eyes and the sky was black again, and the only thing he’d ever loved was looking up at him, afraid?
He could never live with that.
Never.
And yet–
You turned slightly, and caught Bob’s eyes across the grass. You smiled at him–something so simple, so safe–and in that moment, the fear didn’t disappear, but it softened.
Because you weren’t afraid of him.
You’d never been.
Even on the days he didn’t like himself, you liked him. Even when he flinched at his own reflection, you reached for his hand and rested your chin on his shoulder. You didn’t see The Void. You didn’t see the Sentry. You just saw Bob–the man who carried your snacks in his hoodie pocket just in case you got hungry when you went out, who still got bashful when you looked at him for too long, who curled into you at night like you were the only thing that had ever made sense in his life.
Bob’s hand gripped the edge of the canopy pole beside him, just to ground himself.
He wanted to go to you right then and there just to say it. To whisper something clumsy like, “I want to build a life with you. A whole one. With glue-stained paper crowns and messy bedrooms and bedtime songs.”
But he stayed still.
Too scared to break the moment.
Too scared it might not be his to want.
—————————
Later, when the event was winding down, and the sky had shifted to gold and mauve and soft watercolor blues, Bob found you sitting on the grass alone near the now-abandoned craft table, peeling dried glue off your fingers and watching a few leftover kids chase bubbles across the park. He moved towards you slowly, and his looming presence immediately got your attention.
You stopped picking at the glue on your fingers and looked up at him instantly.
”Well, hey stranger.” Bob gave a quiet huff of a laugh at the greeting and smiled down at you, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets, “You gonna sit down or are you going to just stand there and stare?” You joked, patting the patch of open grass beside you. He hesitated for a second before lowering himself beside you, knees folding awkwardly in the grass. You watched him for a moment, then leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek–light, and lingering, your lips warm against the wind-chilled skin just below his eye.
“I haven’t been able to do that all day,” You said softly, almost teasing, but the affection behind it was unmistakable.
Before Bob could even respond, you leaned in and pressed another kiss to the corner of his jaw, then to his temple, and then one right between his brows where they had scrunched up, each kiss softer and slower than the last.
By the time you pulled back, Bob’s cheeks were as red as a rose, and they had become warm, and his smile had curled wide and helpless across his face, because to him your affections were always welcome.
”Y-You’re gonna make me explode,” He mumbled, voice thick with love as he turned to hide his burning face against the shoulder of his hoodie, “This is h-how I die.” He stumbled, looking over at you with those big blue eyes you couldn’t help but stare into every night.
“Death by affection sounds like a dream to me.” You laughed, slipping your hand up to cup his cheek, to turn his face towards yours so he was looking at you directly.
“Y-You know I’m a fragile m-man.” You snorted at his comment.
”I know Sentry is dormant but you’re technically the strongest person on Earth.” You said, giving him a knowing look. “I don’t think you’re fragile.” Bob gave a breathy little laugh, his pupils blown out from how close you were.
”Y-Yeah, well…D-Don’t flatter me too much…You’ll make me f-fall in love with you or s-something.” You raised your brows at him, seeing his cheeks go an even deeper red, “I-I mean–more. Like…More in love with you.” You smiled, so warmly it made his breath catch in his throat, you could hear it.
”Almost a year in,” You whispered, brushing your nose gently against his, “And you still get all flustered with me…I love it.”
And you kissed him–gently, fully, your mouth warm and sure on his. Bob melted. His whole body slackened like your kiss had pulled all the tension right out of him. He groaned quietly and let himself fall back into the grass with a helpless thump, hoodie riding up slightly at the hem, his eyes fluttering closed like he was physically overwhelmed. You laughed lightly and laid down beside him, turning your head so you were looking at him and all his glory, feeling his hand find yours, lacing his fingers between yours instantly.
The sky above you was dimming into deeper blues now, streaked with soft brushstrokes of pink and violet. The hum of the event had finally died out completely. You could still hear the occasional giggle of a child somewhere off in the distance, but for the most part, it felt like you two were the last ones left in the park. Like the whole day had been waiting to exhale.
Bob stared up at the clouds for a moment, before letting out a small sigh.
”C-Can I ask you something…Kind of b-big?” Your eyes studied him for a moment, tracing the way his brows furrowed gently, like he was already halfway to apologizing for whatever he was about to say. Like he was bracing himself to ruin something just by saying it.
“Of course,” You replied, your voice just above a whisper, slowly growing more and more concerned with each moment that passed in silence.
Bob just kept looking up at the sky like the words were written somewhere in the clouds and he just had to find them. His thumb rubbed slow circles against your knuckles.
”Have you ever thought about…Us?” He swallowed, “I mean–not just us, b-but more like…A family.” You raised your eyebrows slowly, turning onto your side so you could face him fully, still holding his hand, waiting for him to elaborate.
“I–I watched you today,” He whispered. “With that little girl in your lap. And it didn’t feel far away…It didn’t feel like someone else’s life. It felt like something I could…Want.”
Your heart gave a soft, aching pull at that.
“I want it,” He admitted, voice trembling. “I want it so bad it scares me. You, a kid–us. A home. Not perfect. Not polished. Just ours. Something warm. Something safe.”
You reached up and gently tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, your fingertips trailing along his temple. He leaned into the touch like it soothed something he couldn’t name.
“I want that too,” You said. “Not tomorrow. Not next week. But one day. When things are a little quieter, when the world doesn’t need us to carry it. I want that with you, Bob.” He nodded, like he was trying to let the hope settle in–but his eyes were still stormy at the edges.
“But what if…” He swallowed. “What if I’m not good at it? What if I…Mess it up l–like I always do? What if I hurt them? What if something in me snaps and I—”
“Hey,” You cut in gently, reaching up to cradle his cheek. “Look at me.”
He did, reluctantly, his blue eyes wide and full of unshed fear, tears filling up in the corners threatening to spill at any moment.
“You’re not like your father at all Bob, you’re not him.” You said, your voice steady and firm.
”Y-You don’t know that,” He whispered, his eyes glancing away at you, making you chase his gaze a bit so he could look at you.
”I do know that…Because I know you. Because I’ve watched you fall asleep holding my hand. Because you carry two different granola bar options in your hoodie pocket in case I want a choice. Because you always refill the toothpaste without me asking. Because when I’m upset, you don’t try to fix it–you just stay with me. Quietly. Constantly.” Bob blinked, his lip trembling ever so slightly.
“You don’t lash out, Bob. You lean in,” You said. “You don’t shut down. You open up, even when it scares you. You feel everything so deeply, and you never make anyone pay for it.” His brow furrowed and he looked down, overwhelmed, like he didn’t know what to do with the weight of that truth.
You brought his hand up to your lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, then whispered into the space between you:
“You already take care of me in a thousand tiny ways. You love gently. That’s why I trust you with my soul.”
He let out a shaky breath, and the hand that held yours tightened just a little more. He nodded faintly, like he was still catching up to the truth you’d handed him–like he wasn’t sure if he deserved it, but he was holding it anyway.
You reached up, your thumb brushing delicately at the corners of his eyes, wiping away the tears that had gathered without pressure or embarrassment. Just care.
“You cry so pretty, you know that?” You whispered, a little playful, attempting to lift the mood just a bit.
Bob let out a short, breathy laugh–surprised and soft. “Th-That’s not a real thing.”
“It is when you do it,” You smiled, leaning closer, your voice light but laced with everything you meant. “You’re beautiful when you feel things.”
He looked at you like you’d just handed him a future and told him it already belonged to him. Like no one had ever said that to him before–and he wasn’t sure he’d ever recover from it.
You leaned in and kissed him, slow and sure, lips pressed to his like you had time. Like you weren’t afraid to show him just how loved he was.
And when you pulled back, your forehead stayed pressed against his, your breath brushing his lips as you whispered:
“You’d be the safest place a little soul could ever grow.”
Bob let out another shaky breath, and this time he smiled–full, unguarded, like something inside him had just settled for the first time.
“Only if it’s with you,” He said quietly.
You nodded, your fingers lacing tighter with his.
“Then we’ll build it,” You whispered. “Slow and messy and ours.”
And beneath a darkening sky painted with stars and leftover laughter, you lay together in the grass, your future unfolding between your palms like something sacred.
Just warm.
Just real.
Just home.
Okay so— I’m writing this right?
And like I’m using “ you “ instead of “ I “ and it feels a bit awkward 😭
Are y’all okay that I use like— both I and You? Like POV switches in a way? Idk
Omg,,, that shit with graves ,,,
imagine you, a recently divorced person and Graves is working your case or whatever and feelings get caught in between 😩😩
I kinda wanna write this up now 🗣️🗣️
Edit ; it’s in the wips LMAO
LOVERS CREEK
John Price x chubby Reader // prologue
A/N; this is my first time actually writing a story for any fandom really. And I’m gonna try and be consistent as possible! This story will have multiple parts—so please be warned of that! The story also switches from past to present a lot and I don’t usually use first person so! This will also be uploaded on my AO3 !
Please note I do not allow my writing to be translated, published anywhere else that isn’t me uploading it, and I would not like it on any Poe AI or any of the sort without my permission, or acknowledgment ! I’m still learning as I go about c.ai and Poe so! Also I do not own any of the call of duty characters used in this story! I really “own” the y/n ( reader ) !
Story Summary: You and Price are childhood best friends, and almost Highschool sweethearts. But unlike a cliche, you both hold feelings in for years, even after graduating. Communication between you too soon diminishes as life after graduation gets busy. Price has succeeded in hiding his feelings, until he gets a letter at base. It’s a letter from you. And it’s about your wedding..
Dear John,
I hope this letter finds you well! It was hard finding anyone in the area that was still mutual with us to know where you were. But I took a trip to see your mother and she filled me in plenty. I didn’t know you were still doing that military job of yours, figured you’d find a steady life after. You always talked about a lake house you wanted to buy after your military duty.
But enough with miscellaneous talk—I plan to do that later with you— I’m inviting you, John Price, My best friend, to my wedding which will be hosted at the Saint Crossroads Church. The same church our mothers would force us to go to on Sundays. I remember how you always itched to take that tie you always wore off, but your mom would slap your hand away just in time. You’d sit next to me in the first row as the pastor would preach his word.
But now, on September 17th of this year—and next week!—, he will be my officiant, marrying me off to my soon to be husband. And I hope to see you there, in the front row like old times.
Sincerely,
Your Best Friend
His eyes read over the letter multiple times. His rough hands held the delicate letter with such softness that he barely touched it.
He wasn’t expecting this. John could feel his heart race, pounding and trying to leap out his chest. You. His best friend that he hasn’t forgotten was getting married. There was denial sprouting in his head. You can’t be getting married right? He thought to himself, but the fancy yet simple letter that laid softly in his head showed him more than the truth. It showed him the harsh reality. He remembered how your mom and his bonded—making you guys best friends as well. He remembered how the both of you would stick together around primary school, all the way to secondary school. He could remember his hidden feelings for you—he hid them so he wouldn’t ruin the friendship.
A conflicted sigh left his mouth. His rough hand put the letter down on his desk as his other hand shagged through his hair. He knew he had to go. A no show would break you.
And he’d love to see you again..
A/N ; just the prologue! Nothing too big but a bit short! I’m really just testing if anyone wants to read this aside from my friends aha!!
TagList ; @jenniferpendragon
Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)
Status: In Progress
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
LOVERS CREEK
John Price x chubby Reader // prologue
A/N; this is my first time actually writing a story for any fandom really. And I’m gonna try and be consistent as possible! This story will have multiple parts—so please be warned of that! The story also switches from past to present a lot and I don’t usually use first person so! This will also be uploaded on my AO3 !
Please note I do not allow my writing to be translated, published anywhere else that isn’t me uploading it, and I would not like it on any Poe AI or any of the sort without my permission, or acknowledgment ! I’m still learning as I go about c.ai and Poe so! Also I do not own any of the call of duty characters used in this story! I really “own” the y/n ( reader ) !
Story Summary: You and Price are childhood best friends, and almost Highschool sweethearts. But unlike a cliche, you both hold feelings in for years, even after graduating. Communication between you too soon diminishes as life after graduation gets busy. Price has succeeded in hiding his feelings, until he gets a letter at base. It’s a letter from you. And it’s about your wedding..
Dear John,
I hope this letter finds you well! It was hard finding anyone in the area that was still mutual with us to know where you were. But I took a trip to see your mother and she filled me in plenty. I didn’t know you were still doing that military job of yours, figured you’d find a steady life after. You always talked about a lake house you wanted to buy after your military duty.
But enough with miscellaneous talk—I plan to do that later with you— I’m inviting you, John Price, My best friend, to my wedding which will be hosted at the Saint Crossroads Church. The same church our mothers would force us to go to on Sundays. I remember how you always itched to take that tie you always wore off, but your mom would slap your hand away just in time. You’d sit next to me in the first row as the pastor would preach his word.
But now, on September 17th of this year—and next week!—, he will be my officiant, marrying me off to my soon to be husband. And I hope to see you there, in the front row like old times.
Sincerely,
Your Best Friend
His eyes read over the letter multiple times. His rough hands held the delicate letter with such softness that he barely touched it.
He wasn’t expecting this. John could feel his heart race, pounding and trying to leap out his chest. You. His best friend that he hasn’t forgotten was getting married. There was denial sprouting in his head. You can’t be getting married right? He thought to himself, but the fancy yet simple letter that laid softly in his head showed him more than the truth. It showed him the harsh reality. He remembered how your mom and his bonded—making you guys best friends as well. He remembered how the both of you would stick together around primary school, all the way to secondary school. He could remember his hidden feelings for you—he hid them so he wouldn’t ruin the friendship.
A conflicted sigh left his mouth. His rough hand put the letter down on his desk as his other hand shagged through his hair. He knew he had to go. A no show would break you.
And he’d love to see you again..
A/N ; just the prologue! Nothing too big but a bit short! I’m really just testing if anyone wants to read this aside from my friends aha!!
TagList ; @jenniferpendragon