How To Lose 'Bob' In 10 Days

NAVIGATION

ABOUT ME

ETC

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—

MasterList

Call of Duty

- John Price

LOVERS CREEK ; click here !

- Simon Ghost Riley

- Kyle Gaz Garrick

- Johnny Soap MacTavish

MORE TO COME..

Ask box is open!

The ghost I left behind

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 ?

Note: I wrote this with Sunshine & Rain.. By Kali Uchis, feel free to enjoy this with that on repeat to really feel it burn. Also please somebody give me HD gifs asap. Also if you hadn't read the preview yet, I recommend it!

Word count: 4,7k

Preview

--

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting an ugly green tinge over the already-drab walls of the 23rd Precinct. Y/N pushed the door open with her elbow, hands full—one holding a stack of wrinkled flyers with Bob’s photo on them, the other clutching the hem of her coat closed.

The front desk officer didn’t even look up.

The bell above the door had long since stopped ringing for her.

She shuffled to the counter. She was wearing the same hoodie she always wore—his hoodie, oversized and faintly smelling of old laundry detergent and smoke. Her stomach was just beginning to curve outward, subtle but undeniable beneath the fabric. Four months.

“Hey, Ms. Y/L/N,” the desk sergeant mumbled without meeting her eyes. “You’re back.”

She placed the flyers down with quiet urgency. “I printed new ones. Better quality. I added a note about the reward this time, in case someone’s seen him.”

The sergeant sighed, his pen clinking on the desk as he leaned back.

“I told you last time. No new leads.”

“I’m not asking for a miracle,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Just—please check if anything came in since last week. A tip. A sighting. A… a body, no, not that, but anything really.”

A uniformed officer behind the counter—young, smug, cruel in that casual way people are when they forget you’re human—snorted. “Lady, you know the guy was a junkie, right? Odds are he got tired of playing house and ran off when the stick turned pink.”

Y/N’s heart splintered. Her hands clenched the flyers. “Don’t—don’t you dare say that about him.”

He shrugged. “C’mon. You don’t have to be a detective to figure it out. He got high and vanished. People like that don’t come back. Especially not to play Daddy.”

“He’s not like that!” she shouted, her voice cracking.

The room went quiet.

A throat cleared gently behind her.

“Y/N?” came the familiar rasp of Officer Cooper, stepping out from a side hallway. Silver-haired and weathered, he’d been on the force longer than most of the others had been alive. He always spoke softly, like he didn’t want to scare away whatever kindness he still believed in.

Y/N blinked back tears and turned.

“Let’s take a walk,” Cooper said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get some air.”

--

Outside, the sky was overcast. Cold. Cooper lit a cigarette but didn’t offer her one.

They stood in silence next to the station’s rusted bench. She stared down at the pavement, at her frayed shoelaces, at the grey world around her.

Then she broke.

“I can’t sleep, Mr. Cooper,” she whispered, voice small. “I dream about him every night. I wake up thinking maybe he’s home, maybe I missed a call. But then it’s just me. Just me and this baby. I don’t know what I’m doing—I don’t have money, I don’t have family. He was my family.”

Cooper nodded slowly, his expression unreadable.

“I know you’ve been kind,” she said, her voice rising. “You’ve listened. But I need more. I need you to put more people on this. I need you to look for him like he’s not just some addict you all gave up on.”

She wiped her face with her sleeve. Her tears soaked through it instantly.

“Please. Just… just try. For me. For him. For our child. Bobby wouldn’t leave me. Not like this. Not without a word. Not him.”

Cooper took a long drag from his cigarette. Then sighed.

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

She froze.

His eyes softened, like he wished he could lie. Like he hated what he was about to do.

“We finally traced a lead. Someone matching Bob’s description was seen boarding a flight out of the country.”

She couldn’t breathe.

“Where?”

“Malaysia,” he said quietly.

The word hit her like a sledgehammer.

“No,” she whispered. “That’s… no, he wouldn’t… He didn’t have money. He didn’t have a passport.”

“He did,” Cooper said, sadly. “We checked. It was valid. Bought the ticket in cash. No forwarding contact. No signs of foul play.”

She staggered back, her body suddenly too heavy. Her hand flew to her belly as if to anchor herself.

“So… you’re saying he left me.”

“I’m saying,” Cooper murmured, “that we don’t believe he vanished. We believe he made a choice.”

“No,” she choked. “No, he didn’t. He loved me. We were building a life. He called me his miracle. We were deciding on a name. He cried when I told him. He held me all night and said he’d never leave.”

Cooper looked down at his shoes.

“I know, kid.”

Tears streamed down her face now, silent and relentless.

“I waited. Every day, I waited,” she sobbed. “I believed in him. I still do. He’s sick, not a monster. You’re telling me he abandoned his child before the baby was even born?”

Cooper said nothing. There was nothing to say.

Finally, she whispered, “Is he coming back ? Did he buy two tickets? He did, right, to come back to me, to us?”

Cooper crushed the cigarette beneath his boot.

“One way ticket. Maybe it's better if u go home, take a breath, and just... you can call me, ok ? I have a daughter just like you and she's an amzing mother, you will be too. You have to go to work, just rest.”

She just looked at the flyers in her hand. For months he just disappear, all her money spent in paper, organizing searches, paying potential dealers for a tip of his whereabouts.

"So this is it?"

--

2 years ago

The Cluckin’ Bucket wasn’t exactly a place dreams were made of.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like a swarm of angry flies, flickering over cracked linoleum tiles and chipped yellow walls. The scent of fried oil hung in the air like a second skin, clinging to every surface. It was 11:43 PM, just seventeen minutes before closing, and the only two souls left inside were Y/N, wiping down tables, and Bob, in the back room, peeling off the heavy, foam-rubber chicken costume that had been slowly cooking him alive for eight hours.

He winced as he pulled the beak off his head, his sweat-damp hair sticking up in odd places. His T-shirt clung to his back, his jeans sagged slightly on his hips, and his bones ached in that weird, chemically induced way that only came from a cocktail of meth and shame.

He hadn’t wanted this job.

He sure as hell hadn’t wanted the chicken suit.

But here he was—twenty-something, barely scraping by, dancing on a street corner in 95-degree heat to try and convince people to buy discount wings.

He tucked the suit away in its plastic bag, sighing, and padded into the dining area, rubbing the back of his neck.

And then he saw her.

Y/N.

The new waitress.

She was crouched in front of the soda machine, elbow-deep in the syrup line, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, earbuds dangling from her neck. She was humming something—Fleetwood Mac, he thought—but he couldn’t be sure.

She wore her name tag crooked on her chest, and there was a smudge of sauce on her cheek.

But to him? She looked like she belonged in a painting.

He froze for a second too long, just staring.

God, she was pretty. And he was in a chicken suit just minutes ago. And probably still smelled like sweat and fryer grease. Cool. Real smooth.

She glanced up—and caught him.

Her eyebrows rose a little. Her mouth quirked.

“Robert, right?” she asked, tilting her head. Her voice was warm, amused, like she already knew the answer.

His throat caught. “Uh. Yeah. Bob, actually.”

“Bob,” she repeated, like she was trying it on. “Can you help me with something?”

“Sure,” he said too quickly.

She straightened, gesturing toward a box at her feet. “I’m trying to get this up to the top shelf, but it’s heavier than it looks and my arms are, like, noodles right now.”

He nodded and stepped forward, kneeling to lift the box without much effort. He was wiry, but stronger than he looked. She watched him, subtly biting the corner of her lip.

“Thanks,” she said as he set the box down on the shelf. “You’re stronger than you look.”

He gave a sheepish laugh, rubbing his arm. “Yeah, well… spinning a giant arrow for eight hours a day builds muscles, I guess.”

She smiled. “Don’t sell yourself short. That costume? Kinda iconic.”

He turned bright red. “Oh, God.”

“What?” she teased. “I think it’s cute.”

“Cute?”

“Yeah,” she said, wiping her hands on a rag. “I mean, it takes a certain kind of confidence to dance in a chicken suit and not die of embarrassment.”

He snorted. “More like a lack of options.”

There was a pause—just a second too long.

“Still,” she said, voice softer now, “You’ve got a good smile, Bob.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I said, you’ve got a good smile.”

He swallowed, heart hammering for no reason he could explain. She was looking at him. Not through him. Not with pity. Just… seeing him. And it had been a long time since someone had done that.

They started talking more after that.

Little things. Jokes during their shifts. Late-night scraps of conversation while wiping down counters or restocking sauces. She’d bring him a free soda when she noticed him flagging. He’d sweep her section when her feet were too tired to move. Neither of them said it out loud, but it became something—a rhythm, a comfort.

He never told her about the drugs.

But she saw the shadows under his eyes. The way his hands shook sometimes. The way he chewed his inner cheek when he thought no one was looking. She didn’t ask, and he was grateful.

Until that one night.

They were walking out together. The parking lot was empty, bathed in yellow streetlight. The air was thick with humidity. Bob carried his bag over his shoulder, still fidgeting with the zipper.

Y/N was quiet beside him, arms crossed over her chest.

They reached the edge of the lot. Her car was parked beneath the flickering sign.

He stopped. She didn’t.

Then, she turned back.

“Hey,” she said. “Can I ask you something?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

He blinked. “Uh. No. Why?”

She smiled—and it knocked the air out of him.

“Just wondering,” she said, stepping a little closer. “Because if you don’t… I was wondering when you were going to ask me out.”

He stared at her, stunned.

“I—I mean—I didn’t think you’d—why would you—” he stammered.

She laughed, shaking her head. “Bob. I like you.”

He swallowed. “You do?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Even with the chicken suit.”

And then, because his body moved before his fear could stop him, he smiled—wide and real.

“I… would really like that.”

“Good,” she said, walking backwards toward her car, grinning. “Then don’t keep me waiting.”

He stood in the parking lot long after she drove away, heart pounding, a dumb grin on his face.

For the first time in years, the night didn’t feel so heavy.

--

Central Park in the early evening was dipped in gold.

The last fingers of sunlight threaded through the leaves like warm lace, casting dappled shadows on the grass. It was one of those rare New York days—cool but not cold, the air kissed with early autumn, the sky a watercolor blend of lavender and peach.

Bob stood awkwardly near a bench beneath a sycamore tree, tugging at the hem of his second-best flannel. His fingers twitched in his jacket pocket, where he kept the meth pipe he hadn’t touched in two days.

He was sweating.

Not from the weather.

From her.

Because Y/N was there, spreading out a gingham blanket on the grass near the edge of a pond, her hair tucked behind her ears, a small cooler bag next to her feet.

She looked like someone who belonged in the light.

He still wasn’t convinced he deserved to be sitting beside her in it.

“Okay,” she said, brushing imaginary dust from the blanket. “Don’t laugh. I made too much.”

Bob walked over slowly, hands in his pockets, watching as she pulled out a series of plastic containers and neatly wrapped foil packets. Sandwiches. Potato salad. Tiny cupcakes with blue frosting that had clearly been made with care. Even folded napkins.

“Holy crap,” he said, blinking. “Did you raid a deli or something?”

She grinned. “No, I made it. I… I like cooking.”

“For me?”

She looked at him like it was obvious. “Yeah. Who else would I be trying to impress, Bob?”

He knelt on the blanket, legs crossed, still a little stiff, watching her with barely restrained disbelief. “I just… I’ve never had anyone… you know. Do something like this. For me.”

She shrugged, setting a container between them. “Well, now you have.”

He picked up a sandwich, still stunned. “You made all this… for a guy who dresses like a poultry mascot?”

She chuckled. “I happen to like that guy.”

Bob opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He just smiled—a shy, crooked thing—and took a bite.

Bob sat on the edge of the picnic blanket, chewing slowly, trying not to look too shocked by how good the sandwich in his hand was. “Okay,” he said between bites, “you’re going to have to explain to me how you made this taste like something from an actual restaurant. What’s in this?”

Y/N grinned, tucking a napkin under her leg to keep it from blowing away. “Nothing fancy. Chicken, basil, a little Dijon, homemade aioli—”

“H-homemade? Who even makes aioli? That’s, like, elite-level cooking.”

“I like cooking,” she said simply, with a shrug. “It calms me down. Helps me feel like I’ve got control over something, you know?”

He nodded slowly, finishing the last of the sandwich. “Yeah, I get that. It’s like spinning that dumb arrow—kinda zen, if you ignore the back pain.”

She laughed. “That’s tragic. I cook to relax, and you give yourself arthritis.”

“Hey, I’m not proud.”

She passed him a small container of fruit salad, their knees brushing slightly under the blanket. There was a breeze picking up, threading through the grass, fluttering the corners of the gingham cloth. In the distance, a dog barked, and somewhere near the pond a violinist had started playing faintly.

“You live with roommates? Alone?” Bob asked suddenly, trying to picture what her place might look like. “Your kitchen’s probably better than mine. Mine’s got, like, one working burner and a fridge that sounds like it’s dying.”

She hesitated, then looked down at her hands. “Actually… I live alone now.”

His brows lifted slightly, sensing the shift in her voice.

“I didn’t always,” she continued. “My ex boyfriend and I used to live together, in this little apartment off Bedford. It was cramped, noisy, walls were paper-thin… but it was kind of cozy. It felt like ours.”

Bob stayed quiet, letting her speak.

“He left about nine months ago,” she said. “For someone else. Someone with shinier hair and a ‘real’ job, probably. I don’t know. One day he said he didn’t love me anymore, and that was that.”

Bob’s chest tightened.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

She waved a hand, but her smile was tinged with something older than the moment. “It sucked. But if he hadn’t left, I wouldn’t have taken the job at Cluckin’ Bucket. Wouldn’t have ended up on night shifts. Wouldn’t have met you.”

He blinked, thrown. “That’s… wow. You really think that’s a good trade?”

She shrugged again, but this time with a little smile. “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

Bob looked down at the cupcakes, the homemade food, the folded napkins. All for him.

He cleared his throat. “I just don’t get it. How someone could be with you and let you slip through their fingers. That guy had the f—freaking lottery ticket and he just… walked away?”

She glanced at him, visibly surprised by the fire in his voice.

“I mean it,” Bob said, quieter now. “If it were me… I’d never let you go.”

The moment stretched between them, warm and tender.

She looked at him for a long time, something soft and wounded behind her eyes.

“You’re sweet, Bob,” she said quietly.

“I’m not,” he replied without thinking. “Not really. But I want to be.”

Her lips parted like she wanted to say something else, but instead she reached for another sandwich.

They sat in silence again, this time heavier.

Then Bob spoke, his voice rough.

“I don’t have anyone either,” he said. “No family. No ties. Just a bunch of mistakes and a backpack that smells like old socks.”

She looked at him. “No one at all?”

He shrugged. “Not since my mom passed. My dad was… not really in the picture. I’ve kinda just been floating since then.”

“Me too,” she said. “It’s like… we’re both ghosts in a city full of people who have somewhere to be.”

That hit him harder than he expected.

He nodded slowly, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“I always thought,” he murmured, “that maybe I was just built to be alone. Like I was meant to burn out early. Some people are just… too messed up to fit.”

She leaned toward him, brushing a thumb gently against his hand.

“You’re not messed up,” she whispered. “You’re just… lost. And that’s not the same thing.”

His heart nearly stopped.

“You’re the first person who’s ever said that,” he admitted.

“Then everyone else was wrong.”

He didn’t know what came over him then—maybe it was the sunset or the food or the warmth of her fingers against his—but he turned toward her, and for once, he didn’t feel ashamed.

“Can I… see you again?” he asked.

Her eyes crinkled with a smile.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

--

present day

The apartment was still.

Still in the way a place only gets after someone is gone—not just physically, but really gone. Like the soul of the place had followed them out the door and taken all the warmth with it.

The late afternoon sun filtered weakly through the dusty blinds, casting long stripes across the bed where Y/N lay curled on her side. Their bed. His side still had the indent of his body, even after months. She hadn’t brought herself to sleep on it, like maybe the dip in the mattress could hold his shape long enough for him to come back and fill it.

Her hand cradled the curve of her growing belly. Just past four months. She was showing now. Her body knew, even if the world didn’t care.

Across from her on the nightstand were the pictures—cheap Polaroids and one dog-eared photo booth strip from Coney Island, taped crookedly to the wall. Bob’s stupid half-smile grinned back at her in every frame. The one where he was pretending to flex with a corndog in hand. The one where he looked away, caught off-guard, cheeks red from laughing at something she said.

Her thumb brushed the edge of the picture. Her throat burned.

“God, Bobby…” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

A fresh wave of tears pressed from behind her eyes and spilled freely down her cheek, soaking into the pillow. She clutched the blanket tighter with one hand and her belly with the other.

“You left,” she murmured. “You really left.”

She bit her lip so hard it nearly split, the ache in her chest unbearable.

“I defended you. I told them you’d never run. I called every hospital, every shelter. Put up posters with your face in every goddamn corner of this city. I begged the police to keep looking because I knew something was wrong. I thought maybe you were in trouble, or hurt… or…”

Her voice broke, raw and low.

“Turns out you were just gone. Just—just done.”

She sat up slowly, wiping her face with the sleeve of Bob’s old hoodie—still too big on her, still faintly smelling like him, like cologne and smoke and something warmer.

“You saved up that money. You actually planned this,” she whispered, hollow. “You looked me in the eye… kissed me goodnight, touched our baby, and you already knew you weren’t coming back.”

Her breath hitched as her hand moved over the swell of her belly, as if trying to protect the child from the truth pressing in.

“You knew I was pregnant. And you still left. That’s what makes it worse. Not the addiction. Not the lies. That. You knew, and it didn’t stop you.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“I gave up everything trying to find you, Bobby,” she said, louder now, choking on the grief. “I drained what little savings I had. Every cent I scraped together went to flyers, gas, private search sites. I even hired some guy off Craigslist who said he could ‘track people down for a price.’ That was three hundred dollars I’ll never get back.”

She laughed bitterly through her tears.

“I work double shifts now just to stay afloat. Still serving greasy food to assholes who think I’m invisible—coming home to this empty fucking apartment, sleeping in a bed that feels like a coffin.”

She fell back onto the pillow and stared up at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling in short, shallow breaths.

“I really thought you were different,” she whispered. “I did. I thought… maybe this time, it wouldn’t end with someone leaving. I really get left for everything else at this point, not good enough, prettier women, drugs. And maybe that’s worse. Because at least he looked me in the eye and said goodbye. Or maybe…did you find a better woman Bobby?”

Her lips trembled as another sob escaped.

“You said you loved me. You said we were in this together. We made something together, Bobby. We made a life. And you just… vanished.”

She reached for the ultrasound photo tucked into the drawer and held it to her chest.

“I swear he moves and grows everytime I cry,” she whispered. “Like he knows I need a distraction.”

She ran her hand down her belly again, slower this time.

“But I won’t let them grow up thinking he or she was a mistake. Or unworth staying for.”

The room felt unbearably quiet now. Still, again. But this time, colder.

She closed her eyes and curled tighter around herself, the photos, the baby. Everything she had left.

“I’ll do this without you,” she said softly. “Even if it breaks me.”

And in the stillness, in the tiny home they had built, she stares at the ceiling. Thinking. Doubting. Is this all that life can be ? How would she be able to take care of a little human? Maybe this baby wasn't meant for her. Maybe it was someone else's place to be their mom.

Maybe that's it.

Then I will wait. Just until the baby comes.

❝ 𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗽. ❞ .⊹˖ᯓ★. ݁₊ stalker; bob Reynolds.

you're just like an angel.

His hands, gently calloused, cradled your face—admiring every feature sculpted in your peaceful slumber. Your room was cloaked in darkness, the somber night resting quietly—yet the moon peeked through your curtains, casting silver light upon you like brushstrokes on a canvas. You were the universe’s muse, his muse.

He knelt at the side of your bed, not out of mere admiration, but reverence. As if you were a Goddess—because to him, you were. From your words, your voice, your beauty, your soul—everything. You had this uncanny way of pulling him from the void and into something gentle. Something hopeful.

But who could have known—Bob Reynolds was a nobody. The world never gave him space to breathe. He was overlooked, shoved aside like a ghost wandering in daylight. His life whispered that he was no-good, a mistake, forgotten. All but you—you looked at him like he mattered. You spoke to him like he was seen. You made him believe that perhaps, for once, he wasn't broken. You were the light in the pitch. His clarity. His pulse.

His eyes roamed over you, not with hunger—but with awe, tracing the poetry in your stillness. Fingers brushed from your cheek to your hand. Your skin—soft, celestial. And in his mind bloomed the tender dream of you and him, where affection was mutual, and love was allowed. He longed to kiss you gently, to gift you with a thousand small devotions.

His eyes never sought anyone else. The first time you said his name, he memorized it like a hymn. It nestled in his memory like warm verses. Others said his name like it was a burden—but you, you spoke it like a song. Like it meant something. Your voice was heaven’s echo, even in sorrow. Especially in sorrow. Even when tears painted your cheeks and you trembled against him—he swore your voice could calm storms.

But truly, everything about you was like that—extraordinary.

And he wished—no, prayed—that maybe he could be special too.

But hell—who was he kidding? He was just a ghost in your orbit. The moon never shone for him. Even so close to you, light refused to grace him. And maybe that’s why his longing turned sharp, desperate. Because if he could not have the sun, he would become the night that holds it. If he could not bask in your light—maybe, just maybe—he could be the eclipse to your moon.

Creep, radiohead.

First time making a blurb, kinda nervous

I don't like the way I made this, not used to this kind of writing (which I believe is called blurb?? Educate me chat) and this was so rushed istg, I'm a really slow writer as u can see guys, so apologies in advance if this isn't good!!

After random disappearances and unmade promises, I'm back and will probably disappear again !! Feel free to critique me or give me ideas, I'll tryyyyyy my bestest to do it bbs.

Ugh I need some good fic recs of Bucky being winter soldier PLEASE!!! I am BEGGING 😭

The ghost I left behind- IV

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: 8,6k

Trigger Warning: Descriptions of abuse, non-consensual acts, and dv

--

Y/N's pov

The sonogram was warm in her hands, fresh from the printer, the paper still curled slightly at the edges. The tiny, blurry figure in the middle of the grainy image was the clearest thing she’d seen all day. Her boy. Her baby boy.

Y/N cradled the picture like it was something sacred, held close to her chest as she stepped out of the clinic’s sliding doors. The sun was high, but it wasn’t hot — the breeze was soft, like it had waited for her to come outside. She blinked up at the sky, trying to steady her breath. It should’ve been a good day. She wanted it to be a good day.

Her hand slipped into her coat pocket to find her phone, fingers moving from habit more than excitement. She scrolled to Mr. Cooper’s contact and hit dial. It rang once, then twice, and then his gentle, gruff voice came through the line.

"Hey, kid. You alright?"

A small smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah, I’m… I just got out. The appointment.”

A pause on the other end, before his voice softened. “And?”

Y/N bit her bottom lip, holding up the sonogram again as if he could see it through the phone.

“It’s a boy,” she said. Her voice cracked just slightly. “I’m having a boy.”

There was a breath from Cooper, a quiet joy. “A boy, huh? Well, I’ll be damned. That little guy’s gonna have my old sheriff hat whether he likes it or not.”

She laughed through her nose, a brittle sound, eyes stinging. “Thanks for helping me get there. I know it’s not much, but—”

“You don’t owe me a thing. You hear me? Not one thing.”

Y/N smiled again, starting to cross the street, her fingers wrapped around the phone with one hand and the sonogram with the other. She wanted to keep them both close, like maybe this moment could make up for everything.

But then the air shifted.

The warmth of the sun dimmed in an instant, as if the light itself had been swallowed. A gust of wind pushed through the street, sudden and bitter cold, making her jacket whip around her. And then — screams.

It started as a murmur, then exploded like glass shattering. A crowd of people came sprinting down the sidewalk, faces twisted in panic, some pushing, others crying.

She turned instinctively, heart stalling.

“What the hell—?” Cooper’s voice still echoed through the phone in her ear.

“I—I don’t know,” she stammered.

Then she saw it.

An enormous wave of darkness rolling down the street like ink pouring from the sky. No source. No center. Just shadow, alive and hunting. It crawled over buildings and lampposts, swallowing cars like they were made of air. People disappeared into it without a sound.

“No. No, no, no—”

Y/N turned, trying to run. Her legs ached. Her lungs already burning. She was so tired. Every step was a war her body wasn’t ready for. Her hands instinctively wrapped over her belly, shielding the baby.

The shadow caught her.

A pulse of cold gripped her spine. She collapsed, knees hitting pavement, the phone clattering out of her hand. She curled around herself, shaking. Her eyes squeezed shut.

“Please,” she whispered, to no one. “Please, not my baby.”

Silence.

For a moment, all she could hear was her heartbeat and the wind. No screams. No rush of air. Just stillness.

Slowly, she opened her eyes—

And the world was wrong.

The pavement was gone, replaced with pink carpet and posters of teen idols peeling off pastel-colored walls. She blinked fast. The smell hit her next — old perfume, cheap foundation, the ghost of tears. Her childhood room.

No. No, no, no, no—

She stood slowly, the sonogram still clutched in her hand, now crumpled. Her throat was dry, too dry to scream. Her fingers trembled.

And then she heard it — soft sniffles behind her.

Y/N turned.

There she was. Sitting in front of the vanity mirror, makeup streaking down her cheeks. Her eyeliner smudged, lips bitten raw from trying not to cry. She was wiping her face with trembling hands, muttering something to herself over and over.

She was alone.

Y/N took a step forward, mouth agape. Her voice barely came out.

“…no.”

The younger version of her didn’t turn. She just kept crying, wiping, trying to make herself invisible. Her tiny shoulders shook with the weight of years to come. The pain hadn’t even begun yet, but it lived in her eyes already — that hollow ache of being forgotten.

Y/N’s knees buckled.

She knelt on the floor, watching her past unravel in front of her like a cruel memory she never asked to revisit. Her chest burned. She knew this night. She remembered what came next — the door slamming, the silence afterward, the lie she told herself that she deserved it.

She remembered how broken she felt.

And now she was here, again, somehow — years later, a different woman, with a baby boy growing inside her — being forced to relive the origin of all the hurt.

Tears fell freely now. She reached toward her younger self, but her hand caressed her hair.

“Don’t believe him,” she whispered. “You’re not unlovable. You didn’t deserve it.”

The girl didn’t hear her.

--

30 min's ago - WatchTower

The Thunderbolts had failed to contain what Valentina had hidden in the bowels of the compound — Bob, or what he had become.

The Watchtower’s holding area was in ruins now, its steel walls torn and warped like foil. Sentry hovered in the aftermath, bathed in eerie sunlight that seemed to dim as he rose higher. His eyes were gold-white, glowing like small stars. The team below — Yelena, Bucky, Alexei, Ava — all stood bruised and stunned after the encounter. They hadn’t stood a chance.

They just run, holding together in the elevator to their way out.

Valentina stood in the observation deck, fists clenched against the railing, watching as her most powerful asset simply hovered, silent, still. She snapped the comm open, voice coiled with venom.

“You were supposed to finish them, Sentry,” she hissed. “That was the deal. Loose ends are dangerous.”

Inside his helmet, Bob’s jaw tightened.

“They weren’t a threat to me, there's no reason to kill them,” he said softly, his voice laced with something unplaceable. “They wanted to help.”

“They were going to contain you. Chain you up,” she snapped. “Like they always will. Like she will, if you ever go back.”

Bob’s breathing quickened. He felt it again — that slow unraveling of clarity, like silk tearing at the seams. The image of Y/N crossed his mind, soft and shimmering like a memory soaked in sun.

Valentina’s voice dragged him back.

“You think she’ll still want you? After all this? After what you’ve done?” Her voice softened, almost mocking. “You’re not him anymore. You’re not the man she loved. You're a little freak now, not her sweet Bobby.” She said smirking. "You follow my orders, you're my employee."

He turned slowly.

"First of all, why would I...a God... follow you're orders. Do you know what I'm capable of?... Maybe I need to show you."

She barely flinched when he appeared. His hand wrapped around her throat and lifted her off the floor, pinning agasint the nearst wall, her eyes widened.

“And second of all. You don’t get to say her name, or even talk about her in way anymore.” he growled.

And then—click.

A sharp, deliberate sound echoed in the room. Mel. Silent and ghostlike, standing in the shadows, holding the black device in one gloved hand. A button pressed.

It was their failsafe. A synthetic trigger engineered into his bloodstream.

Bob gasped, light crackling from his skin, golden energy fracturing into black tendrils. His eyes flickered — from gold, to nothingness. To void.

Valentina just smirks at the scene. "Well well, looks like you resolve your loyalty issue".

Mel just give her the switch and dismiss her words, "I want a raise."

--

It wasn’t a kill switch. It was a collapse switch.

Bob didn’t scream. He didn’t fall. He just changed.

The light inside him flickered — gold flaring once, then warping into sickening black. His hands curled inward, his veins pulsing dark. The suit clung to him like oil as his feet lifted from the ground, and then—

He was no longer Bob.

He was no longer Sentry.

He was Void.

A shadow the size of a god rose into the air, its edges tearing against the clouds. Its shape was man-like only in suggestion — too fluid, too monstrous. Wings like smoke, teeth like glass, eyes like stars dying out.

The wind changed. The sky darkened. Even Valentina, hardened as she was, took an unconscious step back.

The Void circled the tower once, slow and deliberate. Watching. Waiting.

For what, no one knew.

Yelena stared up, her breath catching in her throat. Bucky’s jaw was locked, unreadable. Ava barely kept her form solid, whispering that they had to leave — now. Even Walker stood silent, hand frozen halfway to his now bend shield.

They had failed the mission.

Worse — they had released something far beyond what they were meant to contain.

Valentina didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Her eyes never left the sky.

The Void hovered above them, an eclipse in motion.

And then, without warning, it vanished into the clouds, a streak of darkness slipping into the stratosphere — fast as light, and twice as cold.

Silence returned. The mission was over.

But something much worse had just begun. Covering New York in a shallow darkness, and taking everyone else with it.

--

Y/N’s pov

The room around her hadn’t faded — not like she hoped it would. Y/N remained frozen, her body heavy like she was sinking into the carpet of her childhood bedroom. The quiet crying of her younger self continued at the vanity, face streaked with smeared mascara and glitter that clung to her skin like bruises she didn’t know how to name.

“Please,” she whispered again, louder this time, trying to reach her past self. “Don’t cry. Please—”

She knew what came next.

SLAM.

The door burst open with a thunderous crack against the wall, rattling the frames, making both versions of her flinch. Her mother stood in the doorway — tall, beautiful, cruel in the way only someone who knew your deepest insecurities could be. She had a cigarette hanging from her red lipstick-stained mouth, purse slung carelessly over her shoulder, already halfway out the door even as she entered.

“Y/N!” she barked, eyes narrowing at the sight in front of her. “Jesus Christ, look at you. Is that what you’re wearing?”

Young Y/N snapped to attention like a soldier caught out of uniform. She stood shakily from her stool, wiping her face more frantically now, trying to erase the shame, the night, the truth.

“Mom…” Her voice broke around the word like it was glass in her throat. “Mom, I— I need help.”

She moved forward, arms outstretched, like the little girl she was under all the eyeliner and attitude. Just a child begging for her mother.

“I don’t feel good, I think something happened— I think— I’m scared—”

But her mother took a step back like she’d been slapped. “Get your hands off me.”

Y/N watched — helpless — as her mother’s eyes scanned the too-short dress, the swollen, tear-rimmed eyes, the trembling hands, and curled her lip like she’d found something rotten in the fridge.

“You look like a little whore,” she snapped, adjusting her purse strap. “You want attention? Congratulations, you look like you got it.”

The younger Y/N’s face shattered.

“No— No, I didn’t want— I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, don’t start with the dramatics,” her mother cut her off coldly, heading back toward the door. “I’m going out. Your dad’s not coming this weekend, by the way — surprise, surprise. There’s leftovers in the fridge. Make yourself useful for once and clean up that mess you call a face. I don’t want to see it when I get back.”

“Mom— Mom, please. Please just stay—” the girl sobbed, trying again to move toward her, to just touch her sleeve, to be heard—

The woman turned and shoved her daughter back, hard enough to make her stumble.

“Don’t touch me!” she shrieked. “God, why couldn’t I have had a normal daughter?! Just one night without you ruining it, that’s all I ever ask!”

And then she was gone.

Just like that.

The door slammed again. The walls shook with the echo. Silence bloomed.

Young Y/N dropped to her knees and finally screamed, a raw, broken sound that twisted through the air and made the older Y/N’s stomach flip. The sound wasn’t loud — not like it should’ve been — it was muffled by time, memory, shame. But it cut like glass all the same.

Older Y/N stood frozen in the corner, her hands clutching the sonogram against her chest. Tears streamed down her face, hot and fast. Her mouth opened but no words came. She felt helpless. Useless.

She hadn’t remembered it this vividly in years. Not like this. Not the smell of her mother’s perfume, or the exact way the light hit the silver vanity tray. Not the sound of her own younger voice cracking under desperation.

She backed away, heart pounding.

“No,” she whispered, over and over. “No. No, I don’t want to be here. This isn’t real. It’s not real.”

But it was. Her younger self had collapsed on the floor now, sobbing into her knees. And there was no one to help her.

Y/N reached for the door. It didn’t open. She tried again, harder — nothing. Her fingers clawed at the knob, breath heaving now, the walls of the room beginning to bend and tilt, as though the house was a memory starting to melt.

“Let me out— please, I can’t— I can’t do this again!”

The walls whispered.

She heard her own voice — her younger self was now looking at her.

"You deserved it, didn’t you? That’s what he said. That’s what you believed."

“No—”

"You still believe it sometimes."

“Stop it!”

"If you were stronger, you’d have left sooner. If you were smarter, you’d have seen it coming. If you were worthy, he’d have stayed."

“Stop it!”

She turned and screamed at the room. She looked at the mirror on the wall, another room, without making any sense of what's the racional reasons of this happening, she jumps into falling into the room. Jordan's room.

Oh no, no,no,no, not this...this can't be...

--

Bob's pov

The Void had no shape.

It breathed around him — slow, cold, and endless. A black sea without water. A sky without stars. Bob floated in it, weightless and drowning all at once.

The silence pressed against his ears like pressure at the bottom of the ocean.

Then came the first room.

He didn’t walk into it. It unfolded around him — one blink and he was standing in the middle of it. A small bathroom. White tiles stained yellow. Fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like angry bees.

He stared at himself in the mirror.

Younger. Gaunt. Bruised knuckles, a bloody nose that wouldn’t stop dripping. His eyes red from crying, from the needle still swinging in the sink beside him.

The door burst open — the version of himself sitting in the memory didn’t flinch.

It was his mother.

“I can’t do this with you anymore, Robert!” she screamed. Her mascara ran. “You make everything worse.”

Bob tried to speak — to reach out — but his voice didn’t work here.

The past couldn’t hear him.

The next room swallowed the last.

Second room. A military facility. Stark. A flickering overhead light buzzed like a dying insect. Soldiers screamed in the distance — training exercises. Gunshots.

Bob was 19. Sitting in the corner of a locker room, shaking, knuckles split open from punching a wall.

"You're unstable, Reynolds. You lash out and break things. I don't want you on my team if I can't trust you."

Captain Hunt’s voice. Firm. Tired. Disgusted.

And then—

Third room. A hospital. Late night. Sterile smell. Fluorescent white.

He sat alone in a plastic chair, watching a heart monitor go flatline.

His first serious attempt. His own heartbeat crawling back into his chest with a kind of shame no one teaches you how to carry.

The nurses hadn’t asked questions. No one had called anyone.

Not one person showed up.

Fourth room. A motel.

Dim. Stained sheets. Cracked mirror. The bag of meth still sitting on the nightstand. He stared at it, then at his reflection.

His voice finally returned — not strong, but tired.

“I’m trying,” he whispered to himself. “I’m trying.”

His reflection didn’t believe him.

Then the fifth room swallowed him whole.

And this one was different.

Warm.

He looked around — disoriented, blinking.

The wallpaper was pale blue with hand-drawn spaceships and stars. A night light still glowed in the corner. A box of toys sat against the wall — old and worn but loved. There were crayon drawings taped haphazardly to the closet door. In the middle of it all was a twin-sized bed with dinosaur covers.

Bob took a shaky breath. His chest rose and fell like it hadn’t in hours.

This was his room.

His real one. From before things fell apart.

Before the shouting. Before the needle. Before the screaming void.

So he sat, down. It was quiet. Perfect for a place like the void. Peacefull.

He doesn't know how long he stayed there until Yelena came, he doesn't know how he still had the strengh to get up, to overpower the void.

It was a power that came from them. His new friends. His new..'team'?

He doesn't recollect it all, but for the first time in months, he didn't feel like he was alone. They made their way out of the room,out of this house out of the memory, and back into the storming present — where the real war still waited.

Together they went through several rooms from his and other people's memories. Fighting their traumas' into a way out.

He doesn't now when. But they ended up here.

The world around them was not the real one — they knew that much.

The walls breathed. The air crackled with an unnatural hum, and gravity shifted with moods, not science. Inside the Void’s domain, nothing obeyed logic. The Thunderbolts stood huddled, silent and alert, their eyes scanning the horizon of an endless black that shimmered like oil under a dim sky. This was the mind — or madness — of Sentry.

Of Bob.

Yelena’s fingers tightened around her weapon, though it was useless here. Ava moved like a whisper behind her, while Walker stood with hands slightly raised, reading the tension, always waiting. Even Bucky, hardened by war and grief, looked visibly unsettled.

Then something shifted.

A tear in the air — like a crack in glass — split open ahead of them. Shadows poured through the breach, not menacing this time, but familiar. Like memories. Like ghosts.

Suddenly, they weren’t in the abyss anymore.

They were in a small apartment kitchen — dim, quiet, but worn with the comfort of being lived in.

And then — voices.

Bob’s own voice, worn down with shame, cracked through the space like thunder.

“You went through my things?”

They turned toward the source.

There he was — Bob — standing just a few feet away, the projection of him caught in a moment past. And across from him, her.

Y/N.

She was standing in their small living room, trembling hands clutching a small plastic bag, holding crushed pills and powder. Her eyes were puffy from crying, voice shaking.

“I was doing laundry, Bob. It fell out of your jacket.”

Real Bob — the one standing in the shadows with the Thunderbolts — went completely still. His breath caught in his throat. This was a memory he hadn't thought about in what felt like years. Maybe he’d buried it on purpose.

“You said you stopped,” she whispered in the memory, voice small but cutting. “You told me you wanted to get clean. For us.”

“I do” Bob said. “I just— I needed it, just once more. I’ve been good, haven’t I?”

Y/N shook her head in disbelief, hugging herself like she was trying to keep from unraveling.

“You lied to me. And what scares me most is that I keep forgiving you because I think maybe you hate yourself enough already.”

The room spun. The Thunderbolts watched in stunned silence, not quite understanding what they were witnessing — it felt too intimate, too raw to be for them. A woman they’d never seen, spilling tears for a version of Bob they'd never known.

Ghost shifted her stance uncomfortably. Even Yelena’s brow furrowed — the name Y/N flickering in her mind now like a question. The weight in the air was different than anything they’d faced. This wasn’t a villain. This wasn’t a fight.

This was a wound.

The memory played on.

“I’m not enough, am I?” Y/N asked, voice cracking. “Not enough to make you stop. Not enough to love without condition. I’m tired, Bobby. I can't live for you, I love you, but this has to stop, please.”

He didn’t respond. He looked like he wanted to — lips parted, hands shaking — but no words came.

Everyone turned to look at the real Bob, who had fallen to his knees, eyes wide with horror, tears brimming at the edges.

“She’s real,” he whispered.

Yelena blinked, stepping forward gently. “Who is she, Bob?”

He didn’t answer right away. He stared at the frozen image of Y/N like it had torn his ribs open.

“She’s... she's my girlfriend, my child's mother,” he said finally, voice hoarse. “My girl. I loved her more than anything. And I left her.”

No one spoke.

“She found out she was pregnant days before I left,” Bob added, as though confessing to a grave sin. “I never saw the bump. I never got to feel the baby kick. I don’t even know how it's going if they're healthy…”

His voice broke, and he covered his face with a trembling hand.

“I wanted to be better. I swear to God, I did. But I was afraid I’d hurt her again. That I’d ruin the only good thing I ever had. So I disappeared. Told myself it was protection. Told myself I’d come back. For her, be a good, healthy father for our baby.But it’s been… so long.”

Yelena approached quietly, crouching beside him.

“She’s alive?”

He nodded. “Valentina told me so. She's pregnant. Five months now.”

A silence fell again — but not the cold kind. This time, it was heavy with understanding. They all had blood on their hands. But this was different. This was grief. Regret. A man torn in half by his own guilt.

Ava spoke up, voice strangely soft through her modulator.

“Let's get out of here, this is not the way out come on”

Bob’s gaze lifted to the suspended image of Y/N — frozen in time, crying, still holding the drugs like they were the last piece of him she could trust. He just runs along with the others, jumping into another room.

The world shimmered again.

The corridor they’d just been standing in melted into dim velvet walls, low golden lighting, and pulsing bass vibrating faintly beneath their feet. A private lounge. Exclusive. Sleek. Quietly decadent.

Bob turned slowly, gaze sweeping over the room. It was too elegant to be one of his memories. And it didn’t feel like his. Not the way the others had. There was no anxiety prickling under his skin, no familiarity clawing at the edges of his mind.

The couches were velvet, the tables sleek marble. Laughter echoed from a corner—high-pitched, sugar-coated and sharp. A group of girls lounged around a bottle-service table, glittering dresses and tired smiles, eyes heavy with intoxication and mascara.

Then Bob saw her.

Y/N. Young.

God, she was so young.

Seventeen, maybe. Dressed in a short black dress with silver accents, legs crossed tightly at the ankle. Her hair was curled and pinned half-up like she was trying to mimic a movie star, but her eyes told another story—she looked nervous, small, out of place.

Next to her sat a man. Clean-cut. Older—definitely older. Late thirties, maybe. He wore a sharp blazer over a white shirt, no tie, just casual enough to seem approachable. He had his arm resting behind her shoulders, fingers brushing lightly against her hair. Possessive without looking it.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, his voice smooth like polished mahogany. “Just a little. You’ll feel better, I promise.”

“I don’t know...” Young Y/N laughed lightly, clearly uncertain. “I’ve never really done that stuff.”

“That’s okay,” he said, smiling, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to be anyone but yourself. I like you just like this.”

She blinked. Something about the way he looked at her—it was like he saw her. Like she mattered. Bob’s heart clenched painfully watching it.

“I just think you’re incredible,” Jordan continued. “The way you walk into a room like you’re not trying to impress anyone. You’ve got this... spark. It kills me.”

Y/N looked down, shy. “You really think that?”

“Of course I do,” he said, resting his hand gently on her thigh. “You’re nothing like these other girls. You’re thoughtful. Real. Not just some pretty thing. You’ve got depth, baby. And I see that. I see you.”

Bob could barely breathe.

“He’s grooming her,” Ava muttered under her breath.

Yelena glanced at her, then at Bob. “Is this her memory?”

Bob’s jaw was tight. “Yeah,” he said. His voice cracked. “It is.”

On the couch, one of the girls passed a thin line of powder to Jordan, who declined with a polite shake of his head. Instead, he passed it to Y/N. “Only if you want to,” he said gently. “No pressure. I’d never make you do anything. But I want you to feel good tonight. You deserve to feel loved.”

Y/N hesitated. The edges of her smile were starting to quiver. She stared at the powder. Then at Jordan. “You really think I’m... special?”

“I don’t waste time on girls who aren’t,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss her cheek, feather-light. “You’ve got a heart bigger than anyone in this room. I just want to take care of it.”

She closed her eyes, almost swayed by it.

Bob couldn’t look away. His hands were shaking. “She thought he loved her,” he said softly, more to himself than anyone else. “She told me... once. That for a while, she believed every word. That she was lucky to have someone love her that much.”

“She was a child,” Yelena growled.

“She didn’t know,” Bob whispered. “She didn’t know what she deserved. She thought this was it—someone older, who gave her attention. That was enough.”

Y/N ends up taking the drugs. She handed the little plate back with a quiet after taking the powder “uff, that's ahm..weird?” She said smiling at Jordan.

Jordan smiled like she’d just told him a secret. “See? That’s what I like about you. You’re strong. Classy. You didn't even make a face pretty girl.”

Then he kissed her and whispered, “That’s why I love you.”

And Y/N believed it. "And I love you too."

You could see it—the way her shoulders relaxed, the way she leaned into him slightly. Desperate for comfort. For a promise that someone in the world wanted her.

The team stood there in silence.

Bob’s eyes were glassy. He swallowed hard. “She just wanted someone to choose her. To protect her. And instead... she got him.”

Ava’s face was grim. “And then she got you.”

Bob flinched.

But Yelena shook her head gently. “You loved her. You didn’t want anything from her but to be loved back. That matters.”

Bob said nothing for a long while. He just stood there, staring at the younger version of her—wide-eyed, smiling faintly, still foolish enough to believe that this man would be different.

That he would be safe.

“God,” he muttered, voice breaking, “I hope she knows she’s more than this.”

“That wasn’t yours,” Bucky finally said, his voice low, like he was afraid of scaring something away. “That memory. It wasn’t from you.”

Bob shook his head slowly. “No. That was hers.”

Yelena’s brow furrowed. “How the hell are we seeing her memories?”

“Maybe...” Ava started, then hesitated. She glanced around at the endless dark edges of the Void as if searching for a crack. “Maybe because she’s here.”

The weight of her words hit like a bomb.

Bob turned to her sharply. “What?”

“If the Void is showing her memories,” she said, “then it’s not just pulling from you anymore. It’s pulling from someone else too. That only happens when someone’s inside.”

Yelena’s eyes narrowed. “You think the Void got her?”

“I don’t think,” Ava said. “I know.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “So she’s trapped in this thing.”

Bob’s breath caught in his throat. The walls seemed to close in around him as the meaning sunk in—Y/N, his Y/N, alone somewhere in this abyss, reliving the worst parts of her life, again and again, without even knowing why.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped. “No... no, no—she can’t be here. She can’t be.”

“She is,” Ava said softly. “We’ve all been stuck in this thing long enough to know how it works. It latches onto trauma. It feeds on it. Memories, shame, fear—it twists it all into a prison.”

“But she’s not like us,” Bob said, his voice cracking. “She didn’t sign up for this. She didn’t even do anything.”

“That doesn’t matter to the Void,” Bucky said grimly. “It doesn’t care who you are. If it senses pain, if it senses broken pieces... it pulls you in.”

Bob’s knees buckled slightly, and he sank to a low stool at the edge of the room, head in his hands.

“She’s pregnant,” he whispered. “She’s alone. She’s scared. And now she’s trapped in this fucking nightmare.”

Yelena knelt in front of him. “Then we find her. Before this place tears her apart.”

“How?” he asked, voice hoarse. “How the hell do we find her in all this?”

Ava stepped forward. “We follow the memories. The further in we go, the more pieces we see. If she’s really here, then the Void is using her too. Pulling her pain to the surface. If we find the source—if we find the most vivid parts—we find her.”

Bucky nodded. “And we pull her out.”

“But she doesn’t even know what this is,” Bob said, lifting his head. His eyes were red, desperate. “She won’t understand. She’ll think it’s real. She’ll feel it all like it’s happening again.”

“She’s strong,” Yelena said. “We’ve seen that.”

Bob shook his head. “Not like this. Not this kind of pain. She spent her whole life thinking she wasn’t worth loving, and now she’s in a place that’s built to prove her right.”

He clenched his fists, jaw tightening. “She’s not just some damsel in distress. She’s better than me. Smarter. Braver. But I left her. I abandoned her when she needed me most, and now she’s paying the price for my broken mind.”

Bucky took a step closer, his voice steady. “Then don’t waste time wallowing in guilt. Use it. Channel it. Because if we don’t get to her soon, this place will bury her alive in her own pain.”

Bob stood slowly, the weight of resolve settling over him like armor. “Then we go deeper. Into the worst of it.”

He turned to Ava. “You said it feeds on trauma. So we find the worst of her memories. The ones it would never let go of. She has to be somewhere here."

--

Y/N's pov

The air was thick. Too warm. Still.

Y/N stood barefoot on the cold hardwood floor of his penthouse apartment—Jordan’s.

The bedroom was dim, the curtains drawn. The city lights barely peeked through the thin cracks. She heard rustling behind her. Her breath caught.

There—on the bed—her younger self, stirring under crumpled sheets, the silk blanket clinging to damp, bare skin.

The girl woke slowly, confusion in her eyes before she blinked into the dark. She moved, groggily at first… then winced. Her body recoiled, the pain sharp and unignorable. Her fingers clutched the sheet closer to her chest. She looked down.

Y/N—the older one—stood frozen. Watching. Remembering.

“No, no, no,” she whispered to herself, shaking her head. Her hands trembled at her sides. “Please don’t do this. Don’t make me see this again.”

But the Void was cruel. It always had been.

Young Y/N stood slowly, wobbling on weak legs. The sheet wrapped around her like a lifeline, like it could protect her from what her mind already knew but refused to say out loud.

She stepped into the hallway, bare feet silent, breath uneven. She turned toward the kitchen.

And there he was.

Jordan.

Dressed casually—sweatpants, t-shirt—like he hadn’t just stolen something sacred. He was humming. Cheerful. Making coffee. His hair was damp like he’d just showered. Like it was just another morning.

The older Y/N followed behind, nearly tripping over her own breath, like she could somehow get in front of this. Stop it.

Jordan turned at the sound of movement, his smile stretching effortlessly across his smug, handsome face.

“Well, good morning, sleepyhead,” he said, his voice chipper, as if they were a normal couple waking up after a beautiful night. “You were out cold last night. Want some breakfast? I make a killer omelet.”

The younger Y/N stopped in her tracks. Her lips parted, her face pale, horrified. “What... what did you do to me?” Her voice was so quiet at first, but it shook.

Jordan’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“You...” She clutched the sheet tighter, eyes blinking rapidly, on the verge of spiraling. “You gave me something. I didn’t want to sleep with you. I—I said no. I remember saying no. And then—then nothing.”

The smile on Jordan’s face flickered. Then vanished.

He stepped forward, casual in that way predators often are. “Woah, woah. Babe. Don’t be like that. You were into it. Trust me—you wanted it. I just gave you a little something to relax, that’s all. You were stressed out.”

“I didn’t want to relax,” she said, her voice cracking. “I said no. You said we’d just hang out. I thought—” Her voice broke. “I thought you loved me.”

Jordan’s face changed entirely. The warmth drained out of his expression, replaced with cold irritation.

“Are you seriously doing this right now?” he said, voice darkening. “After everything I’ve done for you? I brought you into my home, gave you everything, and now you’re acting like some fucking victim?”

Older Y/N stepped forward, voice raised. “Stop it. Please. Stop it!”

Young Y/N was sobbing now, inching backward. “You drugged me, Jordan. You used me.”

Jordan’s eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched.

“You better watch how you talk to me.”

And then—he moved.

It happened so fast.

His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. She yelped, trying to pull away, but he yanked her forward and slammed her to the ground. The sheet slipped off her shoulder. She screamed, trying to crawl back, but he was already on top of her.

“You ungrateful little bitch,” he spat. “I loved you. I treated you like a goddamn queen.”

“You're hurting me!” she screamed.

“You don’t even know what the real world is like,” he hissed. “You’re just a sad little girl who needs daddy figures to fix you. Well guess what? No one else wanted you. You were mine.”

His hand wrapped around her throat.

“STOP IT!” older Y/N screamed, throwing herself at him. She crashed into him—but passed right through. She hit the floor hard, helpless. Her hands clawed the ground. “GET OFF HER!”

But he didn’t even notice. Because this wasn’t real. Not to him. But to her—it was everything.

Younger Y/N thrashed beneath him, choking, sobbing. “Please... Jordan, please...”

He leaned in close, voice low. “You don’t get to say no now.” And just like that, he let her go. He picked up his coffe mug and went to the sofa, turning on the news. "When you're ready to apologize, come here, okay sweetheart? You were really cruel to me, I didn't appreciate that."

Older Y/N crawled to her younger self who was sobbing, tears blinding her vision. She pressed her palms to the memory’s shoulders, trying to hold her, trying to shield her, desperate to end this.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered through tears. “I’m so sorry I didn’t know what love was supposed to look like.”

--

Bob was the first one to step inside.

Then they saw her.

Y/N.

Curled on the floor in the kitchen, holding someone tight—herself. A younger version of her, wrapped in a silk sheet, face buried in her own shoulder, both of them trembling, as if clutching one another was the only thing keeping them from falling apart completely.

Her hair was a mess. Her arms covered in scratches from trying to claw her way out of this hell. Her face streaked with tears and smeared makeup. But even broken, she looked like something Bob had forgotten how to breathe around.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Not yet.

It was Walker who whispered, “That’s her... That’s Y/N.”

But it was Yelena who understood first. “She’s not just a memory.”

“No,” Ava murmured. “She’s here. Trapped like we are.”

Y/N hadn’t noticed them yet. She was holding her younger self so tightly, whispering into her hair, soothing words and broken apologies.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry... I should’ve seen it. I should’ve never loved him. I should’ve known this would happen. I just wanted to be seen. Just once. Just wanted to be enough for someone. I didn’t know it would hurt like this... I didn’t know I was gonna hate myself this much.”

Bob stepped forward. Slowly. Carefully. “Y/N.”

Her head didn’t move. She didn’t hear him. Or maybe she was too deep in the memory to want to.

He tried again, his voice cracking, tears already building in his eyes. “Y/N, it’s me.”

At that, her shoulders tensed.

Still holding the younger version of herself, she slowly turned her head.

She saw him.

And everything stopped.

She blinked—once, twice, trying to clear her eyes. But he didn’t vanish. He stayed. Standing there, in his suit, his hair wild and eyes filled with tears, chest heaving like he hadn’t taken a full breath since he last saw her.

Behind him stood strangers—faces she didn’t recognize. A blonde girl with cold, sharp eyes. A man with a metal arm. A ghost of a woman in black. But she didn’t care.

Her eyes locked on Bob.

Her Bob.

But she didn’t smile.

She flinched.

“No...” Her voice came out hoarse. “No. Not like this.”

Bob’s face fell. “Y/N, it’s really me.”

“No, no, you don’t get to do that,” she whispered, hugging her younger self tighter, closing her eyes like she could shut him out. “Not here. Not now. You’re not real. This place is evil, it shows me things just to break me. I’m done falling for that. I won’t let it take you, too.”

“It’s me,” he repeated, stepping closer. “I swear to you. I’m not an illusion. I found you—I found you.”

She shook her head violently. “No! You left me. You left before I even showed, before I even started to show! I waited and I waited and I screamed into a pillow every night, telling myself you’d come back—but you didn’t. And now I’m here, trapped in hell, and it’s using your face to punish me!”

Her breathing picked up. She stood up.

She stepped toward him, shaking.

“Don’t you dare look like him,” she said, her voice breaking. “Don’t you dare sound like him. Don’t pretend you care—don’t pretend you know what I’ve been through.”

Bob tried to reach out but she slapped his hand away.

She started hitting him. Soft at first—then harder. Fists against his chest, weak and desperate.

“You’re not him. You’re not him. You’re not my Bobby. He’s gone. He left me. He left me with a baby and no one to love me. He promised he'd never go and he fucking went!”

“I know,” he whispered, not even defending himself. “I know I did. I know I failed you.”

She hit him again and again until she couldn’t stand anymore.

Her knees gave out and she collapsed.

Bob caught her before she hit the floor. Held her like he had the first night she let him into her apartment, sobbing into his shirt, clutching him like he might disappear if she blinked.

“I don’t know what’s real anymore,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I just wanted you to be real. I needed it to be you. I needed it to matter.”

“It does,” he choked out. “You matter. More than anything. And I swear to you, this isn’t a trick. I’m here. And I’m not leaving again. I swear to God, I’m not leaving again.”

She trembled in his arms, crying so hard her body shook. Her arms wrapped around his neck, afraid to believe it.

But for the first time in months, she let herself hope.

Because even in the heart of the Void—he came back for her.

It was heavy, fragile—like glass balancing on a thread. No one dared speak at first. Even Yelena, who had a dozen biting questions on the tip of her tongue, kept quiet. The sound of Y/N’s quiet sobs was all that filled the space, broken occasionally by Bob whispering apologies into her hair.

Walker finally stepped forward, his hands on his hips. “Okay, someone tell me how the hell we’re getting out of here now that we’ve got her.”

“We’re still in the Void,” Ava murmured, her voice echoing faintly in the strange, warped dimensions of the room. “Just because we found her doesn’t mean the exit’s magically going to open. We need a way to break it.”

Y/N blinked, still dazed, still shaking. She looked up at Bob with red-rimmed eyes. “How are you here?” she whispered, voice hoarse. “Is this real? I don’t understand. You left. You weren’t there. And now you are and everyone keeps saying Void and team and... what is happening, Bobby?”

Bob looked at her like he didn’t know how to start. “I... I will explain everything my love I promise you, it's a very very long story.”

Y/N swallowed hard. “How do I know this isn’t just another trick? How do I know you’re not just... another part of this nightmare?”

Bob grabbed her hand gently and pressed it to his chest. “Because you’re here, and I feel it. I feel you. And I don’t know how this place works, but I think the Void... it’s connected to all the pain we carry. All the things we can’t let go of. That’s how it traps us. With the worst parts of ourselves.”

Yelena crouched nearby, eyes on Y/N. “When the Void manifests a memory, it means the person’s in here. Alive. Which means we can all get out, if we stay together.”

Y/N glanced between them—these strangers standing like soldiers in her deepest trauma. “Who are you people?”

Bob chuckled softly through his tears. “They’re... complicated. But they’re helping me. Helping us. I promise.”

Before anyone could say more, a noise cut through the quiet—a voice.

"You look ugly when you cry, little one."

Everyone turned.

Jordan.

Still present, still part of the memory, casually walking across the kitchen to put his coffee mug in the sink. He hadn’t seen them—not really. He was part of the memory loop, the trauma replaying on a cruel cycle. But the voice, the condescension, the way it dripped like acid through the air—

Bob’s body moved before his brain could catch up.

He stormed across the room in two long strides and drove his fist into Jordan’s face so hard the man was lifted off his feet and crashed into the counter, crumpling like wet paper.

The room went silent again.

No one moved.

Not even younger Y/N, who had been curled on the floor, frozen in horror. Her form flickered slightly now, destabilizing. The memory unraveling at last.

Bob stood over Jordan’s unconscious form, fists still clenched, breath ragged. Then he looked back at Y/N—his Y/N—and gave her a sad smile. “You’ve always been beautiful,” he said gently. “And if our baby’s a girl... I hope she looks just like you.”

Y/N looked down, lips trembling. Her fingers reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out the crumpled sonogram. She stared at it for a long moment, then looked back at him, her voice barely more than a breath.

“It’s a boy, Bobby... I just found out. Before everything... before this.”

Bob’s eyes widened, filling with tears all over again. “A boy...?”

She nodded, swallowing hard.

He stepped to her slowly, arms open, as if afraid she’d disappear again. She let him wrap his arms around her, and they clung to each other like survivors in the wreckage.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Y/N closed her eyes and clutched the sonogram between them, resting her forehead against his chest. “I don’t understand what’s happening,” she admitted. “I don’t know where I am.”

Bob looked at her, then the team. “We’re getting out. All of us. Together.”

He reached down and gently helped her to her feet.

But before anyone could move, the walls of the apartment began to blur. The shadows of the kitchen twisted like liquid. The floor rumbled.

“It’s shifting again,” Ava warned, backing toward the group.

The room peeled apart like old wallpaper, revealing something new behind it—white fluorescent lights, steel walls, cold tiled floors.

Yelena’s eyes went wide. “This... this is the lab.”

“O.X.E.,” Bucky confirmed, stepping forward cautiously. “Where they were creating you.”

Bob held Y/N close as she looked around, now standing in the middle of a sterile hallway. Her head spun from the sudden shift, her mind reeling.

“I was here,” Bob murmured. “This is where they made me a weapon.”

Y/N clung to his arm, "Made you? What?", heart pounding. “Why did it bring us here now?”

And Walker, grim as ever, finally answered.

“Because it wants us to remember how the hell this all began.”

The room had grown impossibly still. Shadows danced across the cracked floor as the broken lights flickered overhead. By the lab window, seated a figure—tall, cloaked in flickering tendrils of smoke and malice. The Void.

He stood motionless, his gaze fixed beyond the glass as if watching something only he could see. Two figures, twisted and half-consumed by darkness, slumped beneath the window—doctors perhaps, or memories of victims long lost. Their stillness was chilling.

Then he turned.

Darkness poured from him like a second skin, his golden eyes burning through the room like embers in the night.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice smooth, haunting, laced with venomous sweetness. “I finally found you.”

Y/N clutched Bob’s arm tightly, stepping back instinctively as her eyes searched the figure in front of her. The voice. That voice. It was him—but it wasn’t.

“What's happening?” she whispered, clutching her belly protectively. “Who are you?”

The Void took a step forward, the floor creaking with his weight. He tilted his head with an expression almost tender. “You’re tired, aren’t you?” he said gently. “Alone. Carrying life inside of you. And for what? Struggling to stay afloat, with no one to catch you when you fall?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m not alone anymore.”

“But you are” he pressed, taking another step. “You always have been. Your mother. Your father. That man who used you like a plaything. And where is your love now? The one who left you when you needed him most?”

Bob flinched beside her.

“Come to me,” the Void whispered, his voice like velvet, spreading through the room like smoke. “I will make you happy. I will give you peace. I will give your son a life no one else can. No pain. No fear.”

The room shifted. Metal groaned. Then everything exploded at once—shards of glass, twisted steel, broken furniture—all lifted violently by an unseen force and slammed the team against the walls like rag dolls. Bob was thrown back, shielding himself from the debris.

Y/N staggered forward.

“Y/N! NO!” Bob screamed, reaching out.

But she couldn’t hear him—not through the drumming in her ears, not through the pull in her chest. Something was calling her. And in her heart… a terrible ache. A fear. What if this was the only way?

She walked forward in a daze, her hand outstretched.

“Come to me,” the Void whispered, his voice shaking the air like thunder. “You’re mine. You’ve always been meant to be mine.”

Just as her fingertips neared the swirling darkness of his hand, Bobby’s grip caught her wrist and yanked her back. She stumbled into his arms as the Void snarled.

“She’s not yours!” Bob shouted, his voice hoarse with fury.

The Void’s face twisted into a smile. “And who are you to claim her? A failure? The man who left her alone in a world that chews her up? You are and will always be alone in this world. That's because no one cares about you. You don’t matter.”

Bob’s face went pale. Then rage exploded from his chest like a scream from his soul. He lunged forward and struck the Void with a crushing punch. Then another. And another.

“You don’t get to trick her!” Bob roared, his knuckles bleeding, the darkness seeping up his arms like ink.

“You don’t get to speak her name! You don't to lore her to you!”

But the Void didn’t fight back. He smiled, letting Bob hit him again and again, until the shadow began to wrap tighter around Bob’s body, crawling up his spine, whispering poison into his ears.

“Stop!” Y/N screamed, running to him. “Bobby, stop!”

Yelena was at her side in seconds. “This is what he wants, Bob! He’s feeding on you!”

“Bobby, look at me!” Y/N cried, grabbing his hand, tears pouring down her face. “Bobby—please! You have to stop, I need you to stop!”

Walker came running holding onto them, and so did Ava and Bucky. A reminder of how loneliness was no longer invinted.

His eyes flickered toward her. The rage wavered.

“Please,” she whispered. “Mr. Cooper left the crib unfinished. We need to go home. We need to finish it. Okay?”

His breath caught. His fists fell limp.

He looked at her—really looked—and it was like coming back to the surface after nearly drowning.

“You…” he choked. “You are… everything.”

There was a burst of light. A rush of wind. And then—

They were back.

The pavement beneath them was solid. Cold. Familiar. People around them were screaming, running, but the team… they were just there. Alive. In one piece.

Yelena coughed and looked up, confused. “What the hell just happened?Wait...Where's Y/N?”

Bob blinked slowly, his vision returning. “Thanks guys… what happened by the way?” He said smiling. The it hit him. "Yelena. How do you know that name?"

This is your boyfriend, Mom? | Beefy!Bucky Barnes x f!reader.

Pairings: Beefy Bucky Barnes x Single Mom reader. Themes: Bucky getting absolutely roasted by a six and half year old baby boy. Summary: Bucky comes over and meets your very protective son for the very first time. A/N: I'm in a phase where I like Bucky interacting with kids. . .🥲

The doorbell chimes, and you pull open the door, coming face to face with a broad-shouldered figure that fills the entire doorway. Bucky’s piercing blue eyes twinkle with humor, but there’s a hint of uncertainty in his posture, as if he’s unsure whether to step inside or bolt.

“You’re here!” you exclaim with a warm smile, stepping aside to let him in.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Bucky murmurs, leaning in for a brief kiss before glancing around your living room nervously. “So, where’s the little guy?”

A shuffle of small feet behind you catches your attention. You turn to see your son peeking out from behind the couch, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he sizes up the man who just entered his territory.

“There he is!” You wave your hand toward your son encouragingly. “Come say hi.”

Your son doesn’t budge, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Bucky like a miniature security guard. “So, this is your boyfriend?”

You can hear the disdain dripping from each word, and Bucky’s lips twitch into an amused smile. “I guess I am.”

“Mom,” your son deadpans, his eyes never leaving Bucky’s. “This is what you’ve been hyping up? He looks like he just rolled out of bed.”

“Hey, kid, I put in a lot of effort today.” Bucky gestures to his dark leather jacket, perfectly disheveled hair, and rugged stubble. “This is my ‘I’m totally put together but still approachable’ look.”

“Approachable?” your son snorts. “With that hair? You look like a drowned dog who’s been through a tornado and then zapped by lightning.”

Bucky blinks, surprised. He looks at you, then back at your son, and his mouth quirks up in a grin. “A drowned dog, huh? That’s original. So, what’s your excuse for your hair?”

Your son’s small hands shoot up defensively to his carefully combed locks. “My hair looks great, thank you very much. I didn’t put all this mousse in for you.”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a laugh. “Be nice,” you whisper to your son, who rolls his eyes dramatically before turning his attention back to Bucky.

“Alright, old man—”

“Old?” Bucky interjects, eyebrows lifting. “I’m still in my prime, kid. What are you, five?”

“I’m six and a half.” Your son’s voice drips with indignation, as if Bucky has committed an unforgivable crime by getting his age wrong. “And you’re still old. You probably creak when you sit down.”

Bucky shakes his head, chuckling. “I don’t creak, but your mom might tell you I’ve got a few squeaky joints, yeah.”

“Ew, don’t—don’t tell me stuff like that.” Your son makes a gagging noise and then glares up at you. “Why is he even here, Mom? You know I’m supposed to have final say.”

“You have final say?” Bucky repeats, clearly intrigued. He shifts his weight, giving the boy a once-over. “What’s your name, anyway, kid?”

“Lucas.” He squares his shoulders, a defiant lift to his chin. “Got it memorized, old man?”

Bucky nods slowly, a glint of amusement in his gaze. “Lucas, huh? Alright, Lucas, I’ll try not to forget it.”

“You better not.” Lucas looks Bucky up and down, his brow furrowing in concentration. “Mom, this guy looks like one of those 90s action figures. You know, the kind where the legs don’t bend, and they’re so top-heavy they keep falling over.”

You snort loudly, unable to hold it in, and Bucky shoots you a betrayed look.

“Kid’s got a point,” you manage to say between laughs, and Bucky shakes his head, feigning exasperation.

“Oh, really?” Bucky folds his arms across his chest, staring down at Lucas. “Well, you look like a baby duck that wandered into a windstorm. All fluffed up and ready to pick a fight, huh?”

Lucas blinks, startled for a moment before narrowing his eyes, a grin forming on his face. “Better than looking like a grumpy cat that hasn’t had its coffee yet.”

You cough to hide your laughter, and Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Grumpy cat?”

“Yeah, with all those lines between your eyebrows.” Lucas steps closer, squinting as if he’s examining a rare species. “I bet you frown at the sun, too.”

You stifle a giggle, and Bucky sighs dramatically, placing his hands on his hips. “I’m starting to think you don’t like me, Lucas.”

“Starting?” Lucas tilts his head mockingly. “I’m basically giving you a head start, ‘cause if I really didn’t like you, you’d know.”

Bucky chuckles, glancing at you. “I like him. He’s got guts.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get too comfy, Gramps.” Lucas gestures to the couch with a flourish. “The only reason you’re even here is ‘cause Mom seems to think you’re ‘cute’ or whatever.”

“I am cute,” Bucky agrees seriously, causing Lucas’s mouth to drop open in disbelief.

“No. Way. You’ve got metal bits, and your beard is all scratchy, and—” Lucas cuts himself off, his gaze dropping to Bucky’s stomach. “And a jelly belly! Mom, did you know your boyfriend has a jelly belly?”

“What?” Bucky sputters, glancing down at himself with wide eyes. “I don’t have a jelly belly—Also this beard?” He strokes it like he’s pondering life’s great mysteries. “Your mom likes it.”

“Yes, you do!” Lucas insists, poking at Bucky’s midsection with a tiny finger. “Superheroes are supposed to be all muscle, but you’re hiding a squishy balloon in there.”

“Squishy balloon?” Bucky repeats, looking thoroughly betrayed as he turns to you.

“Lucas,” you chide gently, but your son’s eyes are wide and innocent. “Don’t be mean,” you add, fighting back laughter.

Bucky sighs and looks down at Lucas with a mock serious expression. “You know, I’m part super-soldier, part robot, and part… dad bod. It’s a package deal, kid.”

Lucas narrows his eyes, scrutinizing Bucky’s face. “I guess that makes you a little cooler, but you’re still a metal-armed grumpy pants.”

“Metal-armed grumpy pants?” Bucky echoes, eyebrows lifting. “Wow, we’re just racking up the nicknames today, huh?”

“Yup.” Lucas grins, then frowns again, cocking his head thoughtfully. “You’re also kinda like a… metal mop. All hair up top and a shiny stick arm.”

“A metal mop?” Bucky asks, his voice filled with mock offense as he raises his eyebrows. “You’re really on a roll.”

Lucas shrugs, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “I think it suits you.”

“Well, you’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” Bucky says with a chuckle.

Lucas scowls, but there’s no real heat behind it. “You’re lucky, you know.”

“Oh?” Bucky leans down, hands on his knees to get on eye level with Lucas. “And why’s that?”

“‘Cause Mom likes you,” Lucas mutters, eyes flickering to you and back to Bucky, a hint of protectiveness in his tone. “But if you hurt her, I’ll tell everyone you still sleep with a nightlight.”

Bucky’s eyes widen in shock. “What? I don’t—”

“Yeah, okay,” Lucas interrupts, holding up a finger. “But I’ll tell everyone you do. Including all the Avengers.”

Bucky’s mouth opens, and then he shuts it, clearly struggling for a response. “You wouldn’t.”

Lucas just stares at him, completely unblinking. “You wanna test me, Mr. Metal Mop?”

Bucky glances at you, looking for support, but you just raise your hands innocently. “He’s tougher than he looks.”

After a long pause, Bucky leans down, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Alright, kid, name your terms.”

Lucas pretends to think for a moment, tapping his chin. “You have to play video games with me… three times. No complaints. And no quitting when I beat you.”

Bucky looks horrified. “I—”

“Deal?” Lucas extends his tiny hand with a sly grin.

Bucky glances between you and Lucas, then sighs dramatically. “Deal.”

Lucas’s grin widens. “Oh, and one more thing—if I catch you throwing the controller in frustration, I’ll know you can’t handle losing.”

Bucky stares at him, completely lost for words.

“Just a fair warning.” Lucas pats Bucky’s arm as if he’s the one doing Bucky a favor. “Welcome to the family, Mr. Jelly Belly who’s gonna get his butt kicked at Mario Kart.”

You burst out laughing, and Bucky groans, running a hand down his face. “You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Nope.” Lucas shakes his head with a grin. “Better practice up, Grumpy Pants.”

“Practice? Against you?” Bucky scoffs, but the smile pulling at his lips betrays him. “Kid, I’m gonna wipe the floor with you.”

“Sure, Mr. Nightlight,” Lucas replies smoothly. “Sure.”

Bucky glances at you and then back at Lucas, a mischievous look in his eye. “You know, at this rate, you’re gonna start calling me Dad.”

Lucas pauses, then tilts his head with a confused look. “Why would I call you Dad?”

Bucky smirks. “Because you know I’ll beat you so bad at those video games, you’re gonna need a parental figure to console you.”

“Right, I can call you Dad,” Lucas’s eyes light up, and he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “Only if you pay me twenty bucks a week, Dad.”

Bucky’s jaw drops. “Twenty bucks?!”

“Yeah,” Lucas shrugs nonchalantly. “Think of it as a ‘dad fee.’ I’m expensive. Mom’s got good taste.”

Bucky looks at you, baffled. “Did he just—?”

“Oh, and I’ll need a ride to school every morning,” Lucas continues, holding up his fingers as he lists his demands. “And ice cream. Twice a week. But no toppings. I’m not greedy.”

Bucky bursts out laughing, shaking his head. “You really thought this through, huh?”

“Business is business,” Lucas says with a serious nod. “So, what’s it gonna be, Dad?”

Bucky blinks, then leans back and sighs dramatically. “Sorry, buddy, but I think I’ll just stick with Mr. Metal Mop.”

Lucas crosses his arms, a sly grin forming on his lips. “Your loss. Could’ve been Dad. Now you’re just gonna be the guy who cried during Shrek.”

Bucky’s shoulders slump as he glances at you, utterly defeated. “I’m doomed.”

“Yup,” you say with a grin. “But hey, at least you didn’t agree to the ‘dad fee.’”

“True,” Bucky mutters, then he turns back to Lucas, raising an eyebrow. “But for the record, I did not cry during Shrek.”

“Sure, Mr. Nightlight,” Lucas deadpans. “Sure.”

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

Actual footage of me patently waiting for my favorite author to upload😫😫😫

Secrets out

Summary: The daggers know now...that's good....right?

Warning: Contains alcohol, cursing, teasing, mentions of labour, postpartum, mentions of smut, not detailed smut, nudity.

Word count: 3918 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader

English is not my first language so I apologies for mistakes

Could be read alone or as part 5 of the little life universe

Three weeks later, Jake was sprawled out on the couch in the apartment he shared with Javy, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. The lazy afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow across the room. His mind was wandering, somewhere between half-asleep and awake, when a loud knock echoed through the apartment.

Frowning, Jake pushed himself up, glancing at the door. Javy wasn’t home, so he wasn’t expecting anyone. Another knock, this time more insistent. He stood up, running a hand through his hair as he padded across the floor, pulling open the door without much thought.

Standing in the doorway was Y/N.

For a moment, Jake blinked, his brain not fully processing the sight of her standing there in front of him. She was dressed casually, a light jacket over her shoulders, her hair loose around her face, and a suitcase by her side. She smiled at him, that familiar spark in her eyes, and it was only then that it hit him—she was here.

“Y/N?” he asked, completely shocked. “What… what are you doing here?”

Y/N leaned against the doorframe, her smile widening as she took in the sight of him standing there in just his boxers. “Nice to see you too, Jakey,” she teased, but there was a warmth in her tone that softened the surprise of her sudden arrival.

Jake ran a hand over his face, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. “I mean—God, it’s good to see you, but what are you doing here? You didn’t say anything about coming to San Diego.”

Y/N tilted her head, her smile turning sly. “I have a meeting here about my book.” She paused, watching his expression shift. “They’re talking about a movie adaptation.”

That stopped him cold. Jake stared at her, his eyes widening in disbelief. “A movie adaptation? You’re serious?”

Y/N nodded, a soft laugh escaping her. “Yeah, pretty big deal, right?”

He was speechless for a moment, his mind racing. He had known she was an incredible writer, but the idea of her work being turned into a movie? That was huge. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asked, still processing the news.

Y/N shrugged, her gaze flickering over his face. “Well, I haven’t exactly heard from you in a while.” Her voice was playful, but there was an edge of teasing accusation there.

Jake rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling guilty. “I’ve been… busy,” he muttered, though he knew it was a weak excuse. He hadn’t been great about calling as often as he should have, between missions and keeping up appearances at the base.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I noticed. So, I figured I’d come see you in person.”

Still reeling from her unexpected arrival, Jake’s eyes narrowed as he looked around, half-expecting Ellie to pop up from behind her. “Wait… where’s Ellie?”

Y/N smiled softly, stepping inside the apartment and shutting the door behind her. “She’s with your parents. I left her in Texas.”

Jake let out a breath, feeling a mix of relief and disappointment wash over him. “Oh… okay.” As much as he missed Ellie, there was a part of him that was glad to have Y/N here, just the two of them, even if only for a short time.

Y/N stepped closer to him, her hands sliding around his waist as she looked up at him with that knowing smile. “I missed you,” she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of the distance that had grown between them over the last few weeks.

Jake wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer, feeling the warmth of her body against his. “I missed you too,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

As Jake held Y/N close, feeling the familiar warmth of her body, something shifted. The weeks of separation, the missed calls, the teasing pictures—all of it came rushing back. His grip tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against him, and before he could think twice, his lips were on hers, kissing her more deeply, more passionately than he had in weeks.

Y/N responded instantly, her fingers threading through his hair as she pressed herself closer, the tension between them melting away. His hands roamed down her back, sliding over the curve of her hips, gripping her tighter, but as he started to guide her toward the couch, Y/N pulled back slightly, her breath a little ragged as she smiled against his lips.

“You can touch me everywhere, Jake,” she whispered, her voice low and filled with a playful heat. “I’m past the postpartum weeks. Doctor gave the all-clear.”

Her words sent a thrill through him, and Jake’s heart pounded as his eyes darkened with desire. He met her gaze, that familiar smirk spreading across his face. “You sure about that, darlin’?” he asked, his hands already moving to slide underneath her shirt, feeling the warmth of her skin against his palms.

Y/N nodded, her lips brushing against his. “I’m sure. So, stop holding back.”

That was all the permission Jake needed.

With a low growl, he scooped her up in his arms, lifting her off the ground as he carried her over to the couch. Y/N let out a soft laugh, wrapping her arms around his neck as he laid her down, his hands already exploring her body with a renewed urgency. Every touch, every kiss felt like a reconnection, a way to make up for all the lost time between them.

His fingers traced over her skin, moving with a confidence that came from years of knowing exactly how to make her melt beneath him. And Y/N, for her part, didn’t hold back either—her hands roamed over his chest, down his back, her lips following the path of her hands as she revelled in the closeness they hadn’t had in weeks.

As Jake’s hands found their way under her shirt, pushing it up to reveal more of her skin, Y/N’s breath hitched. She arched into his touch, her body alive with anticipation, and Jake couldn’t help but smirk at the way she responded to him, the way she always did.

"You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?" he murmured against her neck, his voice rough with desire.

Y/N let out a breathless laugh, her hands sliding down to the waistband of his boxers. "You have no idea," she whispered, tugging him closer.

And with that, all the space, all the time between them disappeared as Jake gave in completely, losing himself in the moment with her, finally able to let go of everything except the woman in his arms.

---

Jake lay on the couch with Y/N curled up against his chest, their bodies tangled together under the sheets. The warm glow from the setting sun filtered through the blinds, casting a soft light across the room. His fingers traced lazy patterns along her back, and she sighed contentedly, resting her head on his shoulder. It had been weeks since they had this kind of time alone, and the silence between them was comfortable.

Just as he was about to close his eyes, fully content, his phone buzzed loudly on the coffee table, breaking the peaceful moment. He groaned, reluctant to leave the warmth of her body, but reached over to grab the phone anyway. Unlocking it, he was met with a flood of texts—messages from the squad and one from Javy.

The first message was from Phoenix: Phoenix: Hangman, where the hell are you? We’ve been at the Hard Deck for over an hour. Don’t tell me you bailed again. Then Rooster chimed in: Rooster: Man, this better be good. You keep dodging us. Fanboy followed: Fanboy: If you don’t show, you’re buying all the drinks next time. And Bob, the most polite of them all: Bob: Everything okay?

Finally, a message from Javy: Coyote: Bro, where you at? You’re supposed to be here. You better not be pulling that “family business” excuse again.

Jake chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. Y/N stirred slightly beside him, her head lifting from his chest as she looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. “What’s so funny?” she asked, her voice still soft from the afterglow.

He turned the phone toward her. “The squad. I was supposed to meet them at the Hard Deck tonight.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow as she read the texts. “The squad?” She leaned back a little, curious. “You mean, the ones you barely ever talk about?”

Jake scratched the back of his head, a sheepish grin forming on his face. “Yeah, those guys. Phoenix, Rooster, Fanboy… They give me hell for not showing up to things.”

Y/N smirked. “I’m guessing they don’t know about me either?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Only Javy knows, and even he doesn’t know you flew down here today.”

Y/N chuckled, her fingers brushing lightly against his chest. “You’re keeping me a secret from your friends, huh?”

Jake sighed, running his hand through her hair. “It’s not like that, babe. I just… I like keeping things between us for now. Less drama, less questions.” He paused, glancing down at her with a grin. “Besides, you’re my best-kept secret.”

She rolled her eyes playfully but didn’t press him further. She knew Jake valued his privacy, especially when it came to their relationship. Still, she couldn’t help but be a little curious about the people he spent so much time with. “What do they think you’re doing all the time? You’ve bailed on them a lot.”

Jake chuckled again, locking his phone and setting it aside. “They’ve got their theories. I just tell them I’ve got family business. They think it’s something serious, but I’m not giving them any details.”

Y/N propped herself up on her elbow, looking down at him. “You know, one day they’re gonna figure it out.”

Jake met her gaze, his smile softening. “Maybe. But for now, I’m enjoying having you to myself.” He slid his hand down to her waist, pulling her closer as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

As she settled back against him, Jake’s phone buzzed again, and he reluctantly glanced at it.

Phoenix: Hangman, last chance. If you’re not here in 20 minutes, you’re buying every round next time.

Y/N laughed softly, her breath warm against his skin. “I think they’re serious.”

Jake groaned, shaking his head. “Yeah, they’re not letting this go.” He looked back at her, mischief in his eyes. “But I’d rather stay right here.”

Y/N grinned, tracing her fingers over his chest. “Well, when you do go back, you better buy them all those drinks. You can’t keep ditching them forever.”

Jake sighed dramatically, pulling her even closer. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll deal with that later. Right now, I’m exactly where I want to be.”

Y/N shifted slightly in Jake’s arms, resting her chin on his chest as she gazed up at him. A playful smile tugged at her lips, her fingers tracing slow circles on his skin. “You know,” she began, her voice teasing, “if you’re so worried about them being curious… why don’t I just meet them?”

Jake blinked, caught off guard by her suggestion. He tilted his head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “Meet them?” he repeated, as if testing the idea out loud.

“Yeah,” Y/N continued, her smile widening. “I mean, it’s not like I’m some big secret. We’ve been married for a year, Jake. Maybe it’s time they knew about me.”

Jake looked down at her, his expression thoughtful. “You want to meet the Daggers?” He asked, half-amused, half-serious. “You know they’re a lot to handle, right?”

Y/N laughed softly, the sound light and warm. “I think I can handle them. I’ve heard enough about Phoenix, Rooster, and the others to feel like I know them already… even if you don’t talk about them much.” She teased him, poking his chest gently. “And besides, it’s better than you making up excuses every time you disappear.”

Jake chuckled, running his hand through his hair as he considered her words. He hadn’t introduced her to his squad, not because he was hiding her, but because he liked the privacy their relationship afforded. The idea of his squad knowing about Y/N and Ellie-Mae felt like crossing into uncharted territory. But looking into her eyes now, with that familiar warmth and playfulness, he realized she was right. They had been married for years, and there was no reason to keep her separate from this part of his life.

“Well,” he said slowly, a grin forming on his face, “if you’re sure about it, I’m not against it.” He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. They’ll grill you about everything—and once Phoenix gets going, there’s no stopping her.”

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. “Please, I think I can handle Phoenix.”

Jake laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Alright, darlin’. We’ll make it happen. I’ll figure out a way to get everyone together without causing a scene.”

She smiled, resting her head back on his chest, feeling a little thrill at the thought of finally meeting the people Jake spent so much time with. “Good,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “I’ll look forward to it.”

Jake held her close, his mind already spinning with how he’d make the introduction. It wasn’t just a casual meet-and-greet with the squad; it was Y/N stepping into his other world, and the thought of it made his heart race with excitement—and just a little bit of nerves.

-----

The next day, Jake stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his shirt as he got ready to head out to the Hard Deck. The plan was set: the Daggers would meet up for drinks, and for the first time, Y/N was going to join them. He felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness about how it would all go down.

As he finished fixing his shirt, Jake could hear the low hum of conversation coming from the living room. Y/N and Javy had been chatting for the last ten minutes, laughing like old friends. He couldn’t help but smirk to himself as he listened in on their conversation from the bedroom.

Walking into the room, he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. “Y’all are getting way too close,” Jake teased, eyeing the two of them. “What are you gossiping about this time?”

Javy grinned from where he sat on the couch, leaning back comfortably with one arm slung over the backrest. “Oh, nothing too serious, man. Just giving Y/N the inside scoop on your time with the squad,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N chuckled, turning to look at Jake with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Javy’s been very informative. Apparently, you’ve been quite the pain in everyone’s ass lately.”

Jake rolled his eyes playfully, shaking his head as he walked over to grab his keys off the table. “Yeah, yeah, don’t believe everything he says.” He pointed at Javy, narrowing his eyes in mock warning. “And you, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

Javy raised his hands in surrender, grinning. “I am! But I’ve also gotta prepare her for Phoenix and Rooster’s questions, man. They’re gonna want to know everything.”

Jake groaned, knowing Javy wasn’t wrong. Phoenix and Rooster wouldn’t hold back once they found out Y/N was his wife. They’d dig for every little detail. “You two are trouble,” he muttered, shaking his head as he pocketed his phone. “Remind me why I invited both of you into my life?”

Y/N stood up, smiling sweetly as she walked over to him. “Because you love me and because my best friend crashed into your wall,” she said, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “And you need Javy to keep you grounded.”

Jake smirked, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Fair point. And that wall took ages to fix.” He looked between her and Javy, shaking his head in amusement. “But I swear, the two of you are like a couple of old ladies when you get together. Gossiping about everything.”

Javy laughed, standing up and grabbing his jacket. “Hey, it’s not my fault your wife’s cool to hang with. You’re just jealous.”

“Damn right, I am,” Jake shot back with a grin, giving Y/N a quick squeeze before letting her go. “Anyway, we should get going. Don’t wanna keep the Daggers waiting. They’ll start texting me again if we’re late.”

Y/N smiled, grabbing her bag and giving Javy a quick wink. “Let’s do this. I’m ready to meet your friends—and give them something to gossip about.”

-

As Jake and Y/N walked into the Hard Deck, the familiar buzz of voices and the clatter of drinks greeted them. Almost instantly, the Daggers spotted them, and the teasing began before Jake could even find a seat.

“Well, look who finally showed up!” Rooster called out from his spot by the pool table, spinning a cue stick with a mischievous grin.

Phoenix’s eyes landed on Y/N, standing close to Jake, and a smirk crept onto her face. “What’s this? Your younger sister, Hangman?” she teased, clearly sizing up Y/N with curiosity.

Fanboy and Bob exchanged confused glances, while Coyote tried to stifle a chuckle, knowing exactly what was coming. Jake rolled his eyes, keeping his arm casually wrapped around Y/N’s waist as they approached the group.

Phoenix’s gaze lingered on Y/N. “Wait, hold on a second…” she started, squinting as if she recognized her from somewhere but couldn’t place it. “You’re Y/N Y/L/N, aren’t you? The author of Eclipsed?”

Y/N smiled, nodding politely. “That’s me.”

Phoenix’s eyes widened, excitement bubbling in her voice. “No way! I love that series! I can’t believe this! Hangman, how do you know her? Are you her bodyguard or something?”

Jake let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Not quite, Phoenix,” he said, his voice thick with amusement. He glanced at Y/N, then back at the group. “She’s not my sister or just some author I know. This is my wife.”

The room went silent, the group of Daggers collectively staring at Jake in shock.

“Wait, wife?!” Rooster exclaimed, looking between Jake and Y/N with wide eyes. “You’re married to her?”

Jake grinned, looking down at Y/N with a hint of pride. “That’s right. We’ve been married for a while now.”

Fanboy’s jaw practically hit the floor. “You’ve been married this whole time and didn’t tell us?”

Bob pushed his glasses up his nose, looking bewildered. “I mean, we thought you were dealing with some mysterious ‘family business,’ but we never thought you were hiding a whole wife!”

Phoenix, still in shock, finally found her voice. “Hold on. You’re telling me that you’ve been married to Y/N Y/L/N, the author of Eclipsed—the same series I’ve read a thousand times—and you never mentioned it? How did you keep that under wraps?”

Before Jake could reply, Javy stepped forward with a wide grin, clapping Jake on the back. “Oh, trust me, I’ve known for a while,” Javy said, clearly enjoying the moment. “Y/N’s my bestie. We’ve been tight for years.”

Y/N laughed softly, shooting Javy a playful look. “Javy’s been great. He’s known about us since day one and has kept Jake in check.”

Jake groaned in mock frustration. “Alright, alright, you two are ganging up on me now,” he said, shaking his head.

Javy laughed, shrugging his shoulders. “Hey, someone’s gotta keep you in line, man.”

Phoenix, still staring in disbelief, slowly shook her head. “This is insane. I can’t believe you managed to keep this a secret. And Y/N, I mean—Eclipsed is one of my favorite series! I’m going to need the full story on how you two met.”

Rooster, still leaning on his pool cue, shook his head with a grin. “I gotta hand it to you, Hangman. You talk a big game, but I didn’t think you had this level of stealth in you.”

Jake smirked, pulling Y/N a little closer. “What can I say? Some things are worth keeping private.”

The group erupted into more laughter and teasing, with Phoenix diving headfirst into questions about Y/N’s books and the rest of the squad buzzing with curiosity about how Jake had kept this secret for so long.

As the lively chatter filled the Hard Deck, Jake leaned in close to Y/N, a playful grin tugging at his lips. His arm stayed comfortably around her waist, and he lowered his voice so only she could hear.

“I can’t wait to see their faces when they meet Ellie,” he whispered, his tone filled with excitement. “They’re barely handling the fact that we’re married. Wait ‘til they find out we’ve got a daughter.”

Y/N chuckled softly, her hand resting on Jake’s chest. “They’ll never see it coming. We might break them,” she teased.

Jake smirked, shaking his head. “They’ll lose it.”

But just as they exchanged those words, Rooster, who had been standing closer than either of them realized, froze. His eyes widened as he processed what he’d just heard.

“Wait—daughter?” Rooster blurted out, his voice cutting through the noise around them.

The rest of the Daggers turned toward Jake and Y/N, their shocked expressions slowly forming.

Phoenix’s eyebrows shot up. “Hold up. You’ve got a daughter?” she asked, blinking in disbelief.

Fanboy let out a low whistle. “Hangman with a kid? Now I’ve heard it all.”

Jake sighed, realizing they’d been overheard, and gave a half-shrug. “Yeah. We have a daughter—Ellie-Mae. She’s almost four months old now.”

The reactions were immediate. The group exploded with shock, questions, and disbelief, their voices overlapping.

“You’re telling me you’ve been married and had a baby this whole time?” Rooster asked, shaking his head like he was trying to piece it all together.

Bob stared wide-eyed. “You’ve been living this secret life? With a kid?”

Phoenix crossed her arms, still processing it. “This is insane. First, you’re married to Y/N Y/L/N, who writes Eclipsed, and now you’re a dad? I can’t keep up.”

Jake chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah. I wanted to keep things private. Ellie’s been our little secret.”

Coyote, who had been standing back watching it all unfold, finally spoke up, clapping Jake on the shoulder with a laugh. “Jake here couldn’t hide something like that from me. Best friends don’t keep secrets.”

Phoenix’s jaw dropped. “Javy, you knew all this and didn’t say anything?”

Javy shrugged, grinning. “Hey, it’s not my secret to spill. Plus, I’ve met Ellie—she’s the cutest little thing you’ll ever see.”

The rest of the squad stared at Jake and Javy, dumbfounded. Rooster finally shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know whether to be mad or impressed.”

Fanboy pointed between them. “So you’ve been plotting this whole time, just waiting for us to figure it out?”

Jake smirked. “Something like that. I had to keep a few cards close to my chest.”

Phoenix sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “Well, now I need to meet this kid. And hear the full story about how you managed to hide a wife and a baby from us.”

Jake shrugged again, a satisfied grin on his face. “Hey, what can I say? I like to keep things interesting.”

As the Daggers laughed and continued throwing questions at him, Jake glanced at Y/N, relieved that the secret was out. Meanwhile, Javy was practically glowing with pride, having kept his best friend’s secret under wraps the whole time.

So I feel like this is the end of the main series in order but I will continue in one-shots so If you'd like to be tagged let me know!