one day i am gonna grow wings • b.r.
pairing: bob reynolds/sentry x ex-avenger f!reader
synopsis: the forced move back into the new avengers tower is hard. good thing you have bob.
content: angst, grief, fluff, napping with bob, maybe ooc bob (only saw thunderbolts once), smidge of plot, they get together in this one, inaccurate and liberal use of the em dash
note: i’m back don’t look at me!!! idk what came over me it’s like i was possessed by the horny demon watching this movie! i decided to split this into two (perhaps more) so the next part will have smut only bc if i stare at this google doc any longer my eyes will explode. this did not have to be 7k words long but im a yapper and i loved badly waxing poetic about bob :) just wanted to write soft and shy bob what can i say
words: 7k
read part two here!
this blog contains 18+ content, minors dni!
since the blip, every day has been spent trying to find your footing, but the ground keeps on moving out from under you.
when you had returned, along with half the population, disoriented and fucking confused at why there was a screaming child in your apartment, you never thought this is where you’d end up, four years down the line.
with half the team gone and the surviving avengers split up six ways to sunday, your home had effectively been shattered.
the world stayed spinning all the same, and that was the thought that sent you off the rails a little. you’d gone after the worst, stopped pulling your punches. broke the promises you’d made to yourself the day you’d been given the serum.
it’s shameful to admit, but it worked for a while — the hollowness inside tempered with each hit that landed. the coping mechanism did its job—until it didn’t.
you bit off more than you could chew, pissed off the wrong people and landed yourself in a shitshow of a bind with valentina allegra de fontaine that led to you locked in a vault with four losers like you.
now, those losers are your roommates. not by choice — valentina had reamed you over the phone for threatening her PR team when you’d refused to move into the new tower for optics.
but you’re an avenger again, even when you have to swallow the sting in your throat every time alexei reminds you of the fact. (he means well.)
you’re roommates. friends on occasion.
things are weird with bucky. your shared history weighs heavy and it’s much easier right now to avoid it than address it. even when the team have to ‘pretend’ they don’t notice how your eyes snap away from him like you’ve been slapped. they don’t argue much when he makes up increasingly elaborate excuses to not be in the tower. he comes and goes, you stay.
and then there’s bob. the stray that followed you home, the team jokes. you think they’re being mean (they never take it too far, not after everything, but it still makes you bristle when he casts his eyes downwards at their teasing).
though you can’t deny that you like the way he does follow you around— always hovering within earshot, waiting for you to notice and invite him into your space.
you always do, smiling softly as you pat the spot next to you. some days he’ll sit with you, basking in your company while you work beside him. you hum to fill the silence, glancing over at him only to find blue eyes quickly darting away.
other days, he talks and you listen. you learn about his childhood, who he was before malaysia, slowly filling in the gaps of what you’d seen in his rooms. he always backtracks afterwards, plastering over the heaviness with a sheepish huff of laughter.
each time, you nudge him, get him to look at you. time and time again, he’ll swallow hard and wrench his gaze up to yours.
your voice is soft, but the words are firm, finite and so certain, he can’t find it in himself to argue.
“hey,” you hum, poking at his arm, “that sucks. you didn’t deserve that.”
at first, bob finds himself nodding mostly because he wants you to like him, and he wants you to know he listens to you — he pays attention, never takes your time for granted. eventually he’ll start to believe your words, too.
but for now, it’s easier to let your words wash over him.
so if anyone asks, you and bob are friends. even when everyone can see the something growing between you.
when you cuss out walker for bulldozing over bob in conversation, yelena and alexei exchange a look, hiding their smirks over the lip of a beer bottle.
there’s probably a bet going — how long it’ll take for you and bob to happen, and who will make the first move. everyone thinks it’ll be you, but alexei has really good money riding on bob. bucky sits this one out, acting like he’s too mature for it, when he also thinks bob’s got a solid shot.
(it’s anyone’s guess for ‘when’, but john thinks it’s already happened.)
you try to ignore the blatant, expectant stares whenever you and bob step out of the elevator together, back from running errands. some days if he feels up to it, you teach him hand-to-hand combat. (even though you remember very clearly being absolutely bodied by the sentry that one time.)
the laugh dies in your throat as you side-eye john who’s checking pointedly between your bodies as if he’ll catch you with your hands joined, or god forbid, your pants down.
the hazy thought sours in your mouth and you shove past the super soldier hard. bob watches you go, clueless as john studies him with narrowed eyes.
•
for all their meddling, you think maybe half the blame lies with you. you know how it looks, and it looks that way because it’s true.
you do like bob, and sure, you can be a little protective of him. but that’s because he’s good, and he’s kind and you really can’t be blamed for your feelings — anyone would be the same if they had bob reynolds looking down at you with his big, blue eyes and a shy smile pulling at his lips.
at the end of the end of the day, bob is your friend who you care about deeply. (more than you should.)
your friend who waits for you to wake up with your coffee ready. made the way you like it, handing it to you before you go on your walk together. yes, you walk together. both with your hoods up, and always taking the quiet way.
a great friend who stops by the bodega way out of the way home just to pick up that snack you like.
he knows your orders, saves you a portion of your favourite takeout before the team starts circling like vultures.
and when you can’t sleep at night, somehow he’s already awake outside on the couch, like he knew and was already waiting for you.
bob can be a little shy and maybe you want to be the only one who gets to tease him. but the last thing you want is for him to feel pressured, or to feel like he’s unwanted again when it’s the farthest thing from the truth, so you’re okay with just being his mean guard dog, sticking up for him even when he thinks he’s not worth the trouble.
so you’re happy to be bob’s friend, and friends have their thing — that thing they share with only each other and no one else. your thing with yelena is sparring until your bodies give out, so you don’t think it’s weird when you and bob get your own thing.
the first time it happens, bob shuffles into the living room, finds you clad in your usual pyjamas — giant hoodie, shorts and fuzzy socks halfway up your calves. there’s a cushion hugged to your chest, eyes trained on the screen that’s playing a black-and-white film he doesn’t recognise.
he waits for your peripheral to pick up on him, and maybe he feels a zap when he notes you don’t jump at his sudden appearance.
“hi bob!” you say, smiling up at him. the movie is paused without a second though, your whole body pivoting to face him.
he pauses from the pleasant weight of all your attention, now directed to him.
it’s been months since you had pulled him away from the void with the rest of the team. one after another, most of them had taken their pick of the rooms on the residential floors of the tower.
bob’s always lived by himself. it’s an odd feeling to wake up and find people existing in the same space as him. for them to not fear him, use him or leave the second he enters the room.
he’s still trying to figure things out, and he thinks he can get used to the banter and jabs traded lazily across the dining table, until you enter stage left and steal his literal breath away.
bob thinks it’s embarrassing — he’s embarrassing, every time he clams up when you actively choose to talk to him, go out of your way to be kind to him.
when you offer a “good morning” and slide over his usual brand of cereal before he even thinks of reaching for it. when he fumbles the catch so hard the cereal spills across the table and onto the floor.
in that moment, bob half-heartedly wishes they had just let the void take him, if only to avoid the mortification that he thinks will kill him anyway.
but then you’re smacking john upside the head for his snort, telling him to put his super soldier serum to use and “find a dustpan in this minimalist hellscape”. bob forgets why he’d been so nervous in the first place.
“hi.”
“i was just starting a movie, did you want to use the tv for something?” you ask, handing him the remote control without a second thought, when you both know you’ve fought ava over your treasured screen time.
he shakes his head and works up the courage to ask this time, instead of being invited. “is it okay if i sit?”
the look you shoot him is incredulous.
“duh! come on,” you fling aside the cushion, opting to pat the spot beside you. he goes immediately, plopping down a safe distance away, hands resting awkwardly on his knees.
your brow raises, gaze flicking between him and the gap between you. wordlessly and with an eye-roll too exaggerated to be anything but fond, you scoot closer. close enough that your thigh brushes the top of his as you sit cross-legged.
he clears his throat, tearing his eyes away from your bare skin when you lay the throw blanket over both of your laps. “so, um, what are we watching?”
“now, voyager. y’ever seen it?”
bob shakes his head, a little embarrassed, because maybe he should have seen it.
“it’s one of my favourites,” you tell him as you press play, “steve put it on once for movie night, the sap, but then i rewatched it, like, four times that week in secret.”
you tell him about the way steve would recall fun facts about the film even when everyone would shush him after the fourth “did you know that…”.
bob hangs onto every word, barely blinking because he wants to make sure he catches every detail as you speak quietly so he can still hear the tv.
he feels a little guilty, because he’s barely paying attention to the movie that you love so much, but he thinks it’s silly to imagine he’d be looking anywhere else when you’re right there.
you don’t seem to mind, the stories tumbling out like each one lightens the weight a little.
and bob, bless him, he really tries. but something about the way you have the curtains drawn halfway and how he watches your lips move while your gentle voice blends with bette davis’ has his eyes fluttering shut not even thirty minutes later.
you catch on quickly, when bob’s attentive responses shorten to hums. you’d watched out of the corner of your eye as his lids got heavier and heavier, breathing steady.
the tv volume gets turned down and you pull the blanket up from where it’s slid down his legs. the thought to wake him gently and coax him back to his room occurs briefly and gets thrown out just as quick.
it’s hard to miss the dark circles under his eyes, kissed by his lashes. you decide to let him nap while you finish the film, reasoning that it’s totally normal for roommates and friends to hang out in this capacity.
even when he shifts, head falling against your shoulder and tickling your neck with his wavy hair.
you freeze when he mumbles to himself, worried that he’ll pull away and apologise like he always does. those times you want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he realises he doesn’t have to.
instead, he does the opposite, melting into you. you almost laugh at yourself, heart stuttering while your arm carefully raises to make space for him. like having a puppy fall asleep in your lap for the first time. for all intents, it is exactly like that.
now he’s knocked the hell out as your hand draws circles on his shoulder.
like a god of impeccably horrible timing, the moment is interrupted by alexei barging into the room, loudly announcing his return. you have half the mind to tell him to shut the fuck up, but you’re still hoping against all odds that bob will stay asleep.
alexei hollers your name, brandishing the tape in his hand that he waves around manically. “no more hogging the tv!”
the bearded man pauses, eyes darting from you, to the tv, to bob.
“and… bob?”
you hold your breath, finding it miraculous that bob still hasn’t moved from your shoulder. you shoot alexei a warning glare, but the quiver in his lip is enough to make you muffle a groan.
an obnoxiously loud laugh rips from alexei’s throat, and with that, bob’s head lifts, bleary eyes blinking at the burly man, confused.
then he turns, sees your face awfully close to his and he’s lucky this time, since you’re too busy lobbing the remote control at alexei’s head to see how he blushes all the way to his ears.
“that was so adorable, devochka! i’m sorry for interrupting, hm?” alexei continues, folding at the waist as he wheezes. “yelena is going to love this—“
you stand with a huff, taking the blanket with you, “i’m changing the netflix password, asshole.”
alexei already has his phone out texting his daughter as you hold a hand out to bob.
his throat jumps for a second before he thinks “fuck it” and takes your hand, letting you pull him up with a strength that always catches him off guard. he holds his breath, worrying that if he blinks, he’ll be in a room of his making in your mind.
so it should say something that you don’t let go of his hand, tightening your hold even, as you pull him away from the couch and down the hall.
alexei shrieks in glee when you disappear from view.
bob follows obediently, focused on the feel of your hand in his. in front of your door, you turn back to him and find his eyes glued to your joined hands.
“hey, you don’t have to come in if you don’t want to,” you say, pulling your hand back. you try to pretend you don’t miss the feeling already. bob hides his hand that twitches by his side.
you eyes narrow as you peer down the hall, “i just wanted to finish the movie without alexei recounting his glory days for the thousandth time today.”
bob blinks at you, mouth slightly agape and cheeks tinged in a residual flush. his silence chips at your already-dwindling confidence.
“you’d probably want to sleep in your room anyway, i can finish the movie myself, it’s okay—“
bob’s protest leaves his lips with more enthusiasm than either of you would expect. “no! no, i mean uh— i do want to finish the movie. with you.”
the way your face brightens as you smile up at him makes his heart tighten in his chest. he tells himself to stop staring, but he doesn’t want to forget how it feels to have you looking at him like that.
this time you do end up finishing the film, laid against your pillows with your laptop propped between your bodies. bob valiantly battles sleep again (even after you tell him he doesn’t have to) until he goes under right at the end of the second act. you spend the third act with your hand running through his hair.
the credits roll, and you’re shutting the laptop and tucking it away before the website can bombard you with trashy trailers. bob’s soft breathing fills the silence. when you look at him again, there’s a furrow between his brows.
you wonder if he’s dreaming, knowing that if he is, it’s more than likely unpleasant. without thinking, your hand lifts to smooth over the crease, running over it with a finger as if that could chase the darkness from the edges of his dreams.
asleep, bob chases your touch again, burrowing further into your side. you can feel his warmth seeping through his sweatshirt and there’s a moment of clarity where you wonder if this is crossing the line, if you get to touch him like this. if he wants you to.
in the split second that you pull away, bob is stirring, frowning twice as deep as his hand reaches out, half-asleep and blindly searching.
his big palm encircles your wrist and draws it to his chest, hugging your hand to his heart that thumps steadily beneath your fingers.
his face is smushed against your pillows, lips parted on breath that sounded almost like your name.
the frown is gone, his features slack and he looks so soft. you wish you could keep him in this bubble where nothing hurts.
it’s in your bed on this night where you swear into the silence, because if you hadn’t known it before, it’s undeniable now — you’re in too deep.
when bob wakes later, it’s to you perched on the edge of the bed, leaning over him as you poke at his cheek.
for the second time that day, he blinks, dazed, at the city lights pouring in from your window. it’s night now, and he doesn’t know how long exactly he was out for, just that it was the best sleep he’s had in… ever.
he pushes his face back into the pillow, breathing in as your scent envelops him. his arms raise in a stretch, and you have to look away when his sweatshirt hikes above his lower stomach.
“yelena got takeout,” you say with a cough, pretending to busy yourself with tidying your desk — your very spotless desk.
“okay,” bob says and his voice is raspy with sleep, leaning against the headboard with his eyes half-lidded, hair wild from your fingers running through it.
you hope he’s still too groggy to notice how hard you’ve been chewing on your bottom lip.
he looks so at-peace, buried amongst the pillows and covers. there’s a small, content smile on his lips as he regards you sleepily.
your stomach dips at the fact that he’s like this, in your room, in your bed, and how right it feels.
it’s comical, the speed with which you bolt out of there. (if bob or anyone asks later, you’ll say it’s because you didn’t want walker hogging the pad thai.)
•
that was the first time. it’s become an unspoken thing where he’ll knock on your door under the guise of watching a movie together, when you both know he’ll be out cold the second you settle in beside him.
the something between you is bigger now. enough for both of you to notice how it gets harder to act like you don’t fucking love waking from a nap with bob’s legs tangled between yours and his arm slung over your waist.
he can’t lie and say he doesn’t sleep better than he ever has only when he’s with you. the one time he’d tried dozing in his own bed while you were out with yelena and ava, he’d felt the aching absence of you, the comfort of being surrounded by your scent and your steady breaths against him.
he’s been spoiled, the bitter voice in his head spits. so he’d tried it, slipped under his cool covers alone, only to wake up gasping for air when he’d felt the cold wisps of shadows caressing his unconscious.
and then you’d knocked, offering up a pretzel you’d picked up on your outing — promptly tossed to the side when you take in the fear in his eyes and the sweat beading at his collar.
he lets you crowd into his room then, guiding him back to his bed as the door slides shut. you notice the bedside lamp is off, when you know he doesn’t ever sleep in the dark. it’s on before his legs even hit the mattress.
you sit there with him, at the side of his unmade bed, knees touching. just enough to give him space, but it reminds him you’re there with him, that he’s not alone anymore.
he’ll tell you, then, that he’d listened to the voice, the doubt that you’d even wanted him near you in the first place.
dark lashes still wet as he avoids your eyes, staunchly staring at his lap. he doesn’t see your face crumble when you hear that he thinks you don’t want him.
his heart plummets when you stand without a word, thinking he’s gone and fucked it up — that the voice was right all along.
but you’re standing in front of him, tapping his chin to get him to lift his head. there’s something fiery in your eyes, and he still thinks he’s messed up a little, even when your fingers linger, splayed against his jaw.
he closes his eyes, thinking, she’s done with me.
whatever apology he has prepared dies on his tongue when you bend at the waist, hands on his shoulders as you place yourself directly in his line of sight.
“get your stuff. you’re crashing with me tonight.”
that was the last time he slept alone. you don’t offer again, and he doesn’t come up with an excuse to fall asleep beside you anymore. like clockwork, you’ll emerge from the bathroom with your skin dewy, climb into bed and leave the side next to you open. always leaving the lamp on.
bob will slip under the covers, always after you, and unfailingly careful with his movements so as to not wake you. he thinks you’re asleep, and you let him believe that, because he falls asleep with his lips ghosting between your shoulder blades when he thinks you won’t remember.
alexei nearly has an aneurysm when he bumps into you and bob emerging from your bedroom one morning. you barely afford him a glance, sidestepping him into the hall while bob offers a “morning!”
(alexei spams the groupchat, texts unintelligible.)
still, the bet is ongoing. everyone can tell, because even though you and bob may disappear into the same room night after night, you’re no less tense about the whispering and winks, and bob still blushes like he’s on fire every time you look at him.
(bucky’s glad he sat this one out.)
alexei decides enough is enough, and announces a housewarming party one morning at the table. ava groans into her toast. bucky winces, yelena following his gaze until they land on you.
you’re alone this morning, bob still snoring with his head under the covers. (his cheeks were rosy and a little clammy, so you’d pushed them down. a human furnace — snug in your bed.)
your expression is blank even though your hand freezes halfway to your mug.
alexei turns to you expectantly.
“you will come, yes?”
a housewarming party.
bucky’s eyes haven’t left you since the stupid idea came out of alexei’s stupid mouth. he’s waiting for a reaction he knows is coming, shoulders tense.
you bite your tongue, eyes trained on the table. glass, like everything else here. the heat behind your eyes gets to be burning, and the urge to break something makes you wring your hands in your lap.
you can’t stand bucky watching you like a fucking timebomb and you might actually throw up if you have to listen to alexei ramble on about being a new avenger living in the new avenger tower.
your chair is pushed back quietly as you stand, coffee gone stale on your tongue. your eyes brush over bucky when you go and he recognises the look.
“bring your little boy-toy too, okay?” alexei calls out over his shoulder.
and like the red guardian himself summoned the man, bob enters the kitchen just as your body barrels past him.
he falters slightly as you all but brush off his gentle greeting, and then you’re gone in the split second it takes him to blink. part of him thinks he imagined you there.
bob shuffles to the table where the team miserably fail at feigning nonchalance. all he can think about is what he could’ve done to upset you.
yelena chews slowly, studying bob. everyone at the table shares a look as bob stares into his bowl like it’ll give him the answers he seeks.
“trouble in paradise?”
bob’s head tilts as he genuinely considers john’s dig, mouth falling open as he racks his brain. maybe he’d hogged the blanket last night? or you’ve finally gotten sick of him.
john is surprisingly only half-amused by bob’s helpless shrug as he looks increasingly distressed by the minute.
“i wouldn’t worry about it,” john reassures bob, leaning back in his chair, “you know how girls are—“
“and that’s a clear example of why you’re sitting here with us on a saturday morning instead of with your wife and child,” ava says, her smile scathing.
john rolls his eyes, flicks a piece of fruit at her.
bob tunes out the ensuing chaos as ava attempts to wring john’s neck from across the table, because in fact, he doesn’t know how girls are.
the morning comes and goes without even a glimpse of you, and it eats at him the whole time. the last thing he wants to do is upset his favourite person in the tower, not when you’ve only ever been kind to him. and also because he’s certain he’s long past just falling for you — he’s done for, and he knows that.
(he’ll think it’s silly, months from now when he’s grown used to having you in his arms whenever he wants, that he’d been holding out hope that you’d make the first move because he respects you so much and would never want to make you uncomfortable. you’ll laugh then, too, because maybe you’re both idiots.)
bob decides to go to yelena first — figures that girls probably do talk, right?
the blonde narrows her eyes like she already knows what he’s about to ask.
yelena, who had looked after him like an annoying little brother since they’d first met, admonishes him for listening to “walker’s bullshit advice”.
“i know, i know,” bob’s hands raise in surrender because he hears it too and it makes him cringe a little. “c’mon, help me out here. please?”
yelena wrinkles her nose at his kicked-puppy eyes. if she wasn’t so invested, she’d shoo him away and tell him to sort out his girl problems himself. but it’s bob, who does the dishes even when it’s not his turn on the chore chart and never complains about buying the communal dish soap.
“alright, alright,” yelena groans, “but you need to talk to her about your feelings! this ‘will-they-won’t-they’ thing you have going on is driving me crazy.”
“tell me about it,” bob mumbles under his breath, as heat pricks at the back of his neck, but he looks at her expectantly. “so, did she say anything to you?”
she shrugs, gesturing to ava sprawled out on the couch on her phone.
“i mean, she did get into it with ava over the water filter yesterday.”
“so i forgot to change it one time!”
no dice, he thinks. he thanks them anyway, even though he leaves knowing less about girls than he had going in. doesn’t even bother going to alexei, and john’s probably in the gym working off the sting of ava’s earlier comment.
as a last resort, he approaches bucky in the kitchen just as he’s loading up the dishwasher, vibranium arm nestled in its usual spot.
bob does his best not to stare, but he still thinks the arm is really fucking cool.
bucky heaves a great sigh when bob appears, like he knew this day would come. but bob is earnest when he asks whether bucky knows what’s bothering you, so bucky goes along with it this time instead of telling him to mind his own business.
“she used to live here.”
“like… new york?”
“the tower,” bucky says, strained — but he’s trying. “she was fresh out of high school when she first got here, used to help out stark and banner in the labs and stuff. only started fighting when shit hit the fan with the accords.” because of me.
“oh,” bob says. you’d never gone into detail, but you had mentioned how you’d fought against your friends, for your friends. he knows how you never stopped blaming yourself, still question if you chose the right side. what would’ve happened if you‘d chosen differently.
“you knew her? back then?”
“i did,” bucky chews on the inside of his cheek, “for a while.”
bob doesn’t ask about now — understands it’s something that’s not for him to poke at. but he does wonder what you used to be like, if you had been softer than you are now. (even though he’s gathered that you’re only nice to him on purpose and you’re nowhere as sweet to john when he drinks out of your orange juice carton. but he reasons that no one is sweet to john, anyway.)
his mind conjures an image of you, bright eyed and bushy tailed, trailing around in a lab coat.
“—not as well as you, apparently,” bucky smirks, giving bob a knowing look over the counter.
bob chokes, “did alexei say something—“
“alexei’s always saying something,” bucky says, clapping bob on the shoulder as he makes his way out, “she used to hang out higher up, from what i was told.”
bob is left in the kitchen. restless fingers drum against the counter as he looks out the window.
higher up.
he winces, but he’s already halfway to the elevator.
•
bob spends the short elevator ride up to the top floor practicing what he’ll say to you. the last thing he wants is to be a stuttering mess in front of you. he doesn’t know that those are your favourite moments of his.
he picks at his cuticles as he bypasses the bar with a growing awareness of the heartbeat in his ears.
the walk across the room feels like it takes forever, especially when he spots the familiar figure of your back out on the landing pad. something courses through him, relief maybe, now that he’s found you. his steps quicken.
he lets out a stuttered breath when the glass door slides open, from the cold but more from where your legs dangle over the edge of the platform.
the wind whips around him violently, makes him feel like he’s swaying on his feet. he murmurs a curse under his breath as he steels himself, tells himself slow and steady.
it’s enough to make you turn your head, meeting his wide eyes.
“aren’t you afraid of heights?” you call out, head tilting teasingly as bob very, very slowly crosses the distance.
“yeah!” it comes out more breathless than he’d intended and then you’re standing before you even realise you’re doing it.
bob holds his breath — you’re right at the edge now, and he worries one strong gust would send you over. his hands flex at the thought.
“what are you doing here?”
“well, i was looking for you,” he says, rooted to his spot, “but now i’m trying not to pass out?”
his eyes stay on you the whole time, because he doesn’t trust himself enough to look over the edge. he reminds himself that technically, he can fly, but that offers little comfort.
you smile, easily making your way over. something in you wants to mention the time he’d climbed up a thousand-foot chute, but when you take him by the hand to lead him back, he squeezes tighter than you expect.
settling with your back against the heavy landing bay doors that shield against the gusts, you sit shoulder-to-shoulder with bob who’s still got your hand in a death grip.
your knees are tucked into your chest, cheek pressed to one as you turn to look at bob. his hair is messy and falling in his eyes but his breathing slows. he puffs out his cheeks and runs a hand through his hair.
“better?” you ask, eyes twinkling the way they do when you’re poking fun at him. he doesn’t mind — likes it even, because you’re always gentle with him. you never tease him in front of the others, even when it’s warranted. always ready to bite whenever john calls him “bobby” in that condescending john walker-way.
when you laugh, it’s with him, like a secret only the two of you share. your cheeky grin that you never manage to hide, no matter how much you bite your lip, and how that grin turns satisfied when bob’s ears tinge red. yeah, he likes it. likes you.
bob nods, eyes flickering over your face before he looks back out at the city from a comfortable distance.
“you didn’t have to come all the way out here,” you tell him, voice quiet as you follow his gaze out.
“did you want to be alone?” the question is genuine, and he’s ready to leave if that’s what you want from him.
you inhale sharply, and he thinks you’re considering telling him to go, but really, you’re just reminded of how well he already knows you.
you shake your head.
“okay,” bob says and you can feel him looking at you, his eyes warming the side of your face (suddenly it doesn’t feel freezing outside anymore).
“we can just stay here,” he murmurs, “i’m here, if you want to talk about it.”
for a while, you both sit in silence. it feels familiar, comforting — you’ve both been in this position more than a few times since the whole roommate/friend situation started.
his hand is still loosely wrapped around yours, lax enough for you to pull back if you wanted to. (you don’t.)
finally, you break the silence. it comes out so small that the wind almost steals it away but bob catches it, never one to miss a thing when it comes to you.
“i just…” you start, hoarsely, “being here again… i see them everywhere, y’know? and i keep thinking, how am i the only one left here?” your voice wavers, “it shouldn’t be me.” or it should’ve been me, instead.
bob nods. doesn’t offer any words of advice and for that you’re glad. instead, his thumb strokes over your knuckles.
he listens as you tell him that this was their home, and it only became yours because they took you in. that you don’t deserve to be here after what you’ve done. he squeezes your hand, and you squeeze him back almost painfully, but he can take it.
bob knows nothing he says will soothe the ache right now — that comes later. for now, he’ll let you clutch his hand and say everything that’s been bubbling under the surface since the day you stepped foot back into the former (and new) avengers tower.
“i wish i could’ve made them proud.”
“how do you know they’re not?” bob asks. it’s simple, but your head turns to him to find he’s already watching you. he sees how your lips twitch downwards, a sad smile as you think.
then you’re shaking your head with a quiet laugh, and it’s tinged with a familiar bitterness that bob can’t help but think he passed onto you.
“i wouldn’t be, if i were them.”
bob hums, nodding thoughtfully. lets the silence blanket you both again, then he leans in just before you sink any deeper. whispers conspiratorially.
“good thing you’re not.”
you do laugh then, real and genuine, ringing out loud. the sound sends a jolt to bob’s heart like an electrical current, and he can’t help his own smile. he knows he wants to hear it again, wants to be the reason for it.
immediately, your hand is slapping over your mouth and only a little embarrassed. when you catch him staring at you again, expression soft, it’s replaced by a flutter in your chest.
his eyes are charged with something, and when his hand comes up to move yours down, you go willingly, the ghost of a laugh still on your lips.
“has anyone told you that you kind of stare a lot?” you whisper, biting your lower lip in habit as you can’t help but tease him even now. it backfires, your breath hitching when bob’s eyes dip down to where you’ve got your lip caught between your teeth, dragging back up to meet your gaze.
“‘m sorry,” he murmurs, and whatever quip you have prepared is long-forgotten when he leans in, still searching your eyes.
he stops halfway, close enough to share your breath, but just not close enough.
“bob,” a whispered plea.
“can i?” he asks, his voice low and rough around the edges with want, but he waits for you nevertheless.
your nod is urgent, wrapping your arms around his neck as he finally closes the distance.
it’s a pleasant surprise to finally know his lips are warm like the rest of him, and it might be the bite of the winter air that makes you tug him flush against you. or maybe you just need to feel him, something to ground you as his lips move with yours.
bob’s hand finds its place on your cheek, cupping the entire side of your face. his other finds its place on the small of your back, keeping you as close as he can get.
his kisses are farthest from timid, like now that he has you, he’s pouring everything into this one kiss as if it’s the only one he’ll ever get.
when his tongue swipes your lower lip, you have to pull away reluctantly because you know your resolve to not have him on the roof of the New Avengers Tower is nearing non-existent.
and when bob whines, chasing your kiss, eyes still closed and half-drunk off the taste of your lips, you have to inhale deeply and pray to everything good for self control.
“bob,” you giggle, pushing him gently by the chest. he leans back then, panting and running a hand through his hair.
the cold seems to break him out of his fog, because he’s looking at you in awe and there’s that blush that drives you crazy creeping past his collar.
now, he’s shy. bob avoids your eyes, fidgets with his fingers in his lap.
“i—uh, sorry,” he says, closing in on himself and you just can’t have that, not when he just kissed you within an inch of your life.
“hey,” you say, taking his chin between your fingers as you tilt his head up to meet you, “why are you sorry?”
he blinks quickly, eyes glassy. “you, uh, you were being vulnerable and i kind of… took advantage of you, i guess?”
your heart explodes in your chest, you’re sure of it.
“oh, baby,” you say with a pout, tucking his hair behind his ear, “you think that was taking advantage of me?”
bob’s breath hitches at the sound of the pet name rolling off your tongue. he shivers and knows for sure, he wants to hear you call him that again. many more times.
you really don’t mean to tease, but you really can’t help it. he’s just so… perfect, you can’t wrap your head around it without getting a little giggly.
“bobby, i’ve been wanting you to do that for a long time, okay?” you place a quick kiss to his cheek, “you didn’t take advantage of me, i promise.”
he nods, pretty eyes fluttering shut at the feel of your lips on his skin.
“now, how exactly did you know i was up here?”
bob’s eyes shoot open and the entire past hour comes rushing back to him.
“oh! alexei mentioned something about a housewarming dinner or something. says he wants everyone down there by seven,” bob watches you make a face.
“but we don’t have to go if you don’t want to, and you’d be totally justified—“
“we?” you say, a grin slowly spreading on your face. bob rolls his eyes, nudging your shoulder with his as he hides his own giddy smile.
“yeah,” he hums.
“i guess that sounds not too bad,” you sigh, exaggerated and dragged out. bob laughs into your hair and when you try to resist leaning into him, you remember you don’t have to pretend anymore.
“i meant what i said,” he says after a moment, “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
he’s so sincere, blue eyes shining with it, that this time you actually do have to hold back because you know if you kiss him again, you’ll be up there until you both freeze to death.
so you stand, and bob loses his train of thought, too caught up in how you look amidst the backdrop of the new york city night. to you, the reflection of the lights makes it look like he has stars in his eyes.
you reach out a hand to pull him up, like all the other times. you make sure he doesn’t look over the edge with a hand cupping his jaw.
“i’m sorry about earlier, by the way,” you murmur, “thank you for coming to find me.”
he doesn’t need to think twice about his answer. leans in, presses his lips to your forehead, the way he’s been wanting to for so long.
“always.”
