Bob hasn't really, properly been touched in awhile. A few lame bro hugs here and there. A handshake from the cab driver in Malaysia. A physical from a doctor's cold hands, before undergoing the medical trial that would change his life. But his childhood lacked so much in affection. So much.
And forget about skin to skin contact. He's had a few brief encounters while high that he doesn't care to remember, and he's never been in love. It was always about getting the next fix.
When Yelena touches him, it's like she touches his soul. Like he's clean, not damaged by his past. She reaches for him like it's the easiest thing in the world. And she touches him often, like she wants to.
The first time they made contact - her fingertips against his - he chalked it up to the randomness of the moment. Surely this woman wasn't actually trying to reach for him in the explosion, let alone hold his hand. He's disgusted with himself afterward - why had he caused her to relive such an awful memory? Always making it worse...always.
But Yelena touches him again. "Are you hurt?" A gentle grip on the shoulder, traveling up his neck. When he feels her - ruffling the soft baby hair on the back of his head - he freezes instantly. It takes every effort to give her a stiff nod. To look her in the eye. To not fall to his knees, overwhelmed with her warmth. "No, I'm fine, m'fine," he manages, his voice so thin it's barely there. But what he means is, "Oh, god. Please don't stop, Yelena. Ever again."
ok boblena healings because yelena and bob are gonna have to split up because bob has to stay back to prevent the sentry/void from coming back and yelena gets really badly injured and bob loses control and Can anyone hear me hello ? Hey guys
So if Bob ran away freshman year of high school and the Thunderbolts* takes place when he’s in his early 30s, that means he’s been homeless for around 20 years. I’m sure he’s crashed at ppls houses, lived in homeless shelters, maybe rented a shitty apartment somewhere, etc. so it hasn’t been 20 years straight on the streets but still it would’ve had a significant effect on him.
Give me Bob who can sleep anywhere but can’t sleep deeply because his body is ready to pick up and move at a moment’s notice.
Give me Bob who has a permanent scarcity mindset. He obsessively holds onto food, clothes, and other resources, even past their usefulness, because he’s not sure when he’ll be able to get more.
Give me Bob with long term health complications from not being able to see a doctor for decades.
Give me Bob whose entire earthly possessions can fit into a backpack. He protects them with his life because he’s so used to people trying to take them away.
Give me Bob who is used to being invisible and ignored. He’s so incredibly starved of social connection that he’ll do anything for attention.
Give me Bob who is used to having his worst moments in public. No privacy, no being able to break down away from prying eyes, only being morally judged when he’s at his worst.
Ah Bob, you're such a sweet Cleric of Light but you know Yelena is a Rogue Assassin, there's not much you can do. As if you also don't absolutely obliterate your enemies with Radiant spells anyway 🤸♀️ (or Necrotic, whenever your Fallen Aasimar self decides to wake up)
"Boblena Reimagined" for Boblena week 2026 🥰💕
Please do not repost! Reblogs and comments are welcomed! 💜
After more than a year of reading Bob-related fanfics, I have to say I don't really like it when they portray him as just some poor, innocent guy. That man signed up for a shady medical study in some random country, and his first reaction to seeing a dead body was to run—not to mention the whole chicken incident. That man lived a batshit crazy life pre-Thunderbolts—like, *Shameless* or *Euphoria* levels of insanity.
Can you imagine a team made up of trained assassins, and the person with the craziest experiences is the civilian? Because I know Bob drops random lore that leaves them jaw-dropped, wondering how on earth he survived so long.
I also love the idea of his past coming back to haunt him, and the team having to help him deal with someone he pissed off—because let's be honest, judging by how he reacted to Walker in the vault, there are plenty.
Another summer, another Boblena one-shot born from a spicy heatwave prompt. Featuring thigh riding, hand jobs, and of course ice play.
New York was in the throes of a heatwave, and the AC in the Avengers Tower was broken.
The question was not, in fact, why didn't the power outage seem to affect greater Manhattan? Not, why did it seem specifically isolated to the Tower? Nor was it, why didn't the Tower itself have a high tech backup generator? It did.
No, the question was, who was causing the outage?
Unbeknownst to anyone, including himself, that person was Bob.
Ever since training to "get a handle" on his newly developed powers, Bob had a habit of making things happen with his mind without meaning to. It was a work in progress.
And right now, in this sweltering heat, he didn't really know how to make it cooler.
While the others had left long ago to find their own ways to cool down, ever since he sees Yelena, he can't help it.
She had just woken up from a long nap, her blonde hair damp and mussed, dressed in a pair of black boxers and matching zip up hoodie.
Bob had just woken up from his own slumber, already sprawled on the couch in basketball shorts and a muscle tee, sweat running in rivulets down his body. Sipping lemonade with a straw and reading a book, he's not sure she notices him as she strides into the common room.
"Jesus, it's hot as balls in here," Yelena moans, and with a quick zip begins stripping off the hoodie. The fluid motion reveals a cropped, clingy white tank top. Bob freezes, lowering his book slightly. She's not wearing a bra underneath, judging by the shapely outline of her breasts, and her skin is gleaming with sweat. "Is the ice maker on?"
Bob finally realizes the question is directed at him. Because something very distracting is happening in his shorts. "Oh, uh, I think so, yeah."
Yelena makes a beeline for the freezer, scooping up a handful of ice in her bare palm. She flops on the couch across from him, unflinchingly holding the cool ice cubes to her neck and clavicle with a long sigh.
Bob sucks in a breath, placing a splayed hand on his thigh in front of his tented pants in a way he hopes is discreet. He swallows as Yelena moans again, this time in satisfaction as the melting ice leaves a wet trail between her cleavage.
He tries not to ogle as he glances up from an unread page. He really does. But she doesn't seem to be aware that he's watching, or maybe she doesn't care. She's all too focused on the sweet, cool relief on her skin. Her nipples peak under the fabric of her tank top, and he finds himself licking his lips.
It's that exact moment that Yelena's gaze flickers to him.
"You're the color of borscht, Bob," she says in a husky tone, tilting her head back to allow more of the cold water to drip down her throat and chest. "Are you staying hydrated enough?"
Bob sets his book down, looking at his nearly empty lemonade glass, feeling sweat bead on his brow. "I don't know," he admits. For someone who should be able to regulate his own body temperature easily, it's not coming easily to him now.
Yelena inclines her head. "You have got to get some of this ice, at least," she insists. "In a glass, or on you. Can you die of heatstroke?"
Doubt it, but probably from embarrassment, Bob thinks as he shifts in his seat, wishing away his uncomfortably solid erection. "Um, I'll, I'll take some ice. Looks really nice," he says before thinking. He wants to bite his tongue off.
With her free hand, Yelena slicks back the cropped blonde hair plastered to her forehead, rising to approach him. The partially melted ice cubes in her other hand drip steadily between her fingers. For a moment that feels like forever, she just stands there observing him. He struggles to meet her hazel eyes.
"I can help with that, you know," she says, and her tone has changed to something...different. Smooth, soft as velvet.
"With, uh, the ice?" Bob demurs. God, he can smell her this close. The salt tang of her sweat, a seductive note of diesel-like fragrance, and - if he could dare to believe it - a musky, warm wetness between her thighs.
That just makes him even harder.
"I can help you," she repeats, lower and slower, "with that."
Her gaze trails down his navel, meeting the place where his hand covers his dick. Only then does he understand what a poor job he was doing of hiding it the whole time. Because, well, it's huge.
Yelena's eyes meet his. Her mouth is parted just slightly, as if to say something else, but she waits for him.
"Ohh, I..." The moan that emerges from him feels obscene. Sweat rolls down his face now, as he struggles to form words. "Yes, Yelena. Yes, fuck. Please."
"Take off your shirt," she murmurs at once.
Bob obliges without question, rolling the fabric over his head, freeing his toned arms. His body laid bare is slick with sweat, and he's shocked to see her staring unashamedly at his physique. Drinking in his broad chest, taut abs, and the trail of hair leading to the edge of his boxers.
She moves in closer, bending down so her breasts are at eye level. Holds out the ice, watching it drip cool droplets on his naked skin. "Feel good?"
"So good," he says through a tight throat, aching.
Yelena stops teasing, then. Leans over him, sliding the ice down the length of his torso, then back up to his neck. Bob lets out another moan, and he catches her smile out of the corner of his eye.
"How long have you wanted me?" she whispers against the shell of his ear.
"Since we met," he manages, his cock straining to be free from his shorts. "God, since I barely touched you."
The ice fully melted now, Yelena slides her cool hand down, breaching the waistband of his boxers.
"Me too," she exhales, and slips her fingers around his cock.
Bob goes rigid, gasping in pleasure as she palms him, slow and steady. The soft pressure of her fingertips alone is almost too much to take, but then she deftly straddles his thigh, her other hand joining in. Cradling, stroking his balls.
And Bob can feel the slickness of her pussy, pooling on his thigh as - ever so gently - she starts to ride it.
He's about to fucking lose it.
"You can touch me, Bob," she urges him in that deep, accented undertone.
With that permission, Bob's trembling hands find her ribcage, sliding under her shirt until his sweating palms cup her full, supple breasts. Yelena's breath flutters, soft and sensual.
"L-Lena," he rasps through gritted teeth. "You're so..."
She bears down on his length, pumping him in her grip now. "Say it," she commands.
"So gorgeous," he half-slurs, tilting his head back open-mouthed, his pulsing cock practically begging for relief. "So good at this. At everything."
"Good boy." Yelena smiles, savoring every bit of this. Knowing he's close already, and can't last much longer. "Say my name when you come."
At those words, Bob's cock spasms. Waves of pleasure consume him as he writhes under her, coming thick and fast in his shorts, keening her name on his lips over and over.
Yelena gasps, her hips bucking through her own orgasm, letting the friction of his thigh rock against her clit, soaking her panties.
They end up drenched in sweat, breathless and hotter than ever. Staying there for awhile, skin sticky and slick, panting in the intensity of the afterglow. Instinctively, Bob slides his hands around Yelena's hips, holding her there so he can feel her. Dripping just like icemelt on his thigh.
"That was hot as fuck," she says with a chuckle against his neck.
Bob grins in stunned satisfaction, squeezing her. "We're gonna need a lot more ice."
Alright I know every Doomsday leak has to be taken with a huge grain of salt but I keep thinking about Bob only using his powers when Yelena specifically asks him to, and her being the reason he can finally control them because she trusts him and believes in him (and thanks to her, he starts to believe in himself). It just moves something deep inside my soul?????? These two are the epitome of the sun/moon dynamic I swear. Yelena is the sun and Bob is the moon because HE REFLECTS HER LIGHT I AM NOT OKAY -
