A/N: I have a new love. Bob with a girlfriend (or partner in general) with black cat energy! Obviously this man is such a puppy, either golden retriever or rottweiler depending on the day, so if you have request for this idea please send me some <3
xoxoxo
Void doesn’t understand her.
She’s not afraid of him. She should be. Most people are.
Hell Bob is. Bob flinches when he feels Void swell inside his bones—when his shadow gets too long, when his breath comes too fast, when the static hum of his skin begins to split at the seams.
But she doesn’t move. She doesn’t scream when the walls go black or when her vision blurs around the edges with that unnatural, oily ripple of him arriving.
She doesn’t fall to her knees or weep or pray.
She just tilts her head. Blinks once. Like a cat watching something shift on the floorboards.
Void coils around her slowly, deliberately. Not in the air—not exactly. He’s in the room. In her head. In the way the light bends around her and doesn’t touch her.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he hisses, voice not a voice, a thousand radio signals tangled in barbed wire. “You don’t belong to him.”
She smiles—softly...Cruelly.
“Maybe he belongs to me.”
Void surges. The floor buckles. The lights flicker. Her ears ring with the scream of galaxies imploding in a vacuum no one can survive.
Void tries to crawl beneath her skin, sink into her spine, make her bend, make her see what he is. The undoing of gods. He wants her to shatter under the weight of him.
But when he presses against her mind, she doesn’t crack.
She presses back.
It startles him. Shocks him. For the first time in… ever, maybe, he feels contained. Stilled. Stucked. Pinned under the weight of her gaze like a moth under glass.
“I know what you are,” she says, quiet and sharp as the edge of a scalpel. “And I know what Bob is. You have to wear him like a skin—but he bleeds. He feels. And he chose me.”
She takes a step forward—and Void recoils.
“I’m not afraid of the dark,” she whispers, stepping into the space where he isn’t but could be. “I’ve lived in it. I've thrived in it bud. I became it. You think I won’t tear you apart if you hurt him?”
Void growls. A soundless, world-ending frequency. “You can’t hurt me.”
She smiles again.
This time it's mean.
“No. But I can make Bob want to lock you away so deep, you’ll never breathe again.” The Void flinches as if he was electrocuted then; the darkness pulses and fades. The room stills.
And there—slumped on the floor—is Bob. Wide-eyed, sweating, breath ragged, looking up at her like she’s something holy and terrifying all at once.
“You came back,” he whispers.
She kneels beside him and cradles his face, brushing sweat-damp hair from his brow.
“I'll always come back,” she says. “He doesn’t scare me.”
Bob shakes. Not from fear—but from relief. From awe.
And from the quiet, impossible truth that maybe—for the first time in his life—the thing inside him is more afraid of someone else than he is of it.
If you like my work please let me know! Reblogging, commenting and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Request are open <3
Pairing: The Void x Witch!Reader (Main for this one, now...calm down), Earth-828 Johnny Storm x Witch!Earth-616 Reader (Sub, sorry)
Synopsis: Dealing with grief and lost lead you to a life you never knew could continue.
Genre & warnings: Angst and angst, mentions of blood, Marvel level violence, follows the timeline of after DS:MoM and Thunderbolts. SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS + POST CREDIT(its been months, do I still need to put warning?). And like Marvel, we never get full explanation of what happened. <3
Word count: 8.5k | masterlist
a/n: this is a rework of a previous Void x witch!reader, but I liked it a lot so I'm using it okay? Okay. Enjoy my lovelies & THANK YOU FOR 222 followers as I type this <3
Prologue
It’s been a year since—
Since what?
You stand in the Sanctum’s library, fingers paused against the spine of a book you don’t remember reading. The title is in a language you shouldn’t understand, but the words come too easily. Like you’ve said them before.
The silence is heavier here lately. Wong is rarely around. Sorcerer Supreme business, you assume, and Stephen… Stephen is long gone. Kamar-Taj reclaimed him after the mess he made of the multiverse.
He left quietly. No ceremony. No goodbyes.
Only a glance.
And a promise you made, though you can’t quite remember what it was.
You live alone now in a house full of echoes. Watered plants, swept floors, sigils checked and wards redrawn. You eat your meals in the same quiet kitchen where he once conjured coffee just the way you liked it. You sleep in a room that still smells faintly of smoke and cedar. You dream of things that feel real. Too real. But they slip away by morning, leaving nothing but your heart racing and a sense of wrongness in your skin.
There are gaps you’ve learned not to chase.
Strange never told you why.
Wong never asks.
And you’ve stopped asking yourself.
Until today.
A knock at the door. Sharp. Purposeful.
You pause halfway down the staircase, fingers curled slightly like a ward’s trigger. You don’t recognize the signature behind the door, but there’s no malice, only intent. Precise. Cold.
You open it.
She stands with a tilted head and a knowing smile. Black coat, gloves, the faintest glint of violet in her eyeshadow, and something darker behind her gaze.
“Long time,” she says, eyes scanning you like she’s trying to decide which version of you she’s looking at. “I hear you’re between supervisors.”
You don't answer. Not yet.
She steps inside without permission, like she already knows you’ll let her. Like she’s been here before.
“Wong’s busy,” Valentina says, running a hand over the edge of a relic without really seeing it. “Stephen’s… elsewhere. And you—” she glances back at you, half-amused, “—seem like someone who's been left behind.”
You don’t deny it.
“One job,” she says, her voice calm. “Maybe two. Off the books. Help clean up some of the chaos others won’t touch. I think you’ll find it satisfying.”
Her offer is simple. Dangerous.
Familiar in a way that leaves something cold at the base of your skull.
You tilt your head. “And what do I get?”
She smiles like she’s already won. “A purpose. Autonomy. A way out.”
You hold her gaze for a moment too long.
A way out.
You glance at the Sanctum behind you. The staircase still dim in early evening light, the scent of old paper and sigils lingering in the air. You think about the months you’ve spent here. Waiting. Obeying. Trying to forget what you didn’t even know you’d lost.
“What kind of mess?” you ask.
Valentina shrugs. “The kind that leaves bodies. The kind no Avenger wants their hands on. The kind you’re good at.”
You flinch at that — just a fraction. She notices. Doesn’t comment.
You tell yourself it’s just a job. A temporary thing. Something to remind your hands how to move, your body how to act. But there’s a part of you, quiet and deeper, that already knows this is a beginning, not a detour.
Because these walls were never meant to hold you.
And no matter how many times you rewrote your story inside them, eventually, you were always going to leave.
You nod.
Still, your feet hesitate on the first step up the stairs. The Sanctum is still behind you, still watching.
Still silent.
You go upstairs anyway.
Grab only what you need. Your coat, your rings, a blade you don’t remember forging but that fits perfectly in your hand. As if it waited for you.
You don’t leave a note.
You don’t seal the wards.
You don’t look back.
Just a soft click of the door closing behind you.
And with it, the Sanctum Sanctorum exhales — as if it knows, this isn’t the first time you’ve walked away.
But it might be the last.
Upstairs, on the edge of your dresser, you’d left a strange little toy.
You found it while packing — tucked into the bottom of a drawer you never remember using. A tiny figure in white and blue, plastic and cheap, probably from a cereal box. When you pressed the button, it lit up and shouted in a bright, tinny voice.
"Flame on!"
You stared at it for a long time. Something tugged at your chest. A feeling you didn’t have a name for.
Recognition without memory. Like a dream that slips away the moment you open your eyes.
You left it there.
You don’t know why.
It didn’t matter now.
All you knew was this: something inside you didn’t feel whole.
Like pages torn from a book you’d never finished reading.
And even now, even as you step back into the world — you don’t remember ever crossing the threshold.
But something in you still yearns for an empty space.
⌞══════════════════════════════════════════⌝
The first time you felt it, it wasn’t a whisper — it was a lurch.
It happened in the middle of bullets flying, fists clashing, metal groaning under brute force. A shockwave cracked through the vault, rattling your bones. You felt it not in your skin, but in your mind — a tug, like fingers brushing the edge of your consciousness. So soft it could’ve been imagined. But you still turned your head, searching the space behind you.
Nothing.
Then a bullet skimmed past your shoulder, ripping into the wall behind you. Walker’s bullet. You shook it off. You had to.
The vault’s runes rendered your magic inert. The crude glyphs carved with intent to suppress, not protect. You had felt wards like that before. Stephen had made you memorize their structure once, in Kamar-Taj, warning you they were not for learning — only for understanding what to avoid.
You never stopped your studying and reading on understanding your magic even after a year of doing commissions for Val.
But now here you were, surrounded by them.
Your magic buzzed faintly beneath your skin, clawing for release. But the pain that bloomed every time you reached inward made you flinch. Like something inside you recoiled from the wards with a hiss. You could still fight — not with spells, but with instincts. You remembered the basic forms, the way Wong taught you to read body language, anticipate attacks and your previous past that you had cleaned yourself from.
John Walker had been the mission. Valentina's mission. You hadn’t trusted her fully — Strange had warned you about people who smiled too widely when offering freedom. But you said yes anyway.
And in the end, the plan fell apart. You weren't surprised.
And then he showed up.
Not with power. Not with purpose. Just a man in a hospital wear, barefoot and breathless. Wild-eyed and unsure.
The pull came again.
Stronger now. More specific.
You locked eyes. A flash of recognition — not of the man, but of the thing inside him. It pressed up against your thoughts, insistent but vague. Like a dream you forget just before waking.
His name was Bob. No surname mentioned. No memory beyond vague pieces of being a volunteer for a medical project in Malaysia, he said.
You'd seen enough of the world behind Sanctum walls to know that wasn’t the whole truth.
You longed to reach into his mind, peel back the veil and see what writhed behind the amnesia. But the runes burned against your senses. Every time you so much as focused your will, your veins sang with warning. Like holding onto something too hot.
Still, you felt it.
Whatever Bob was, whatever he had inside him — it wasn’t dormant.
Because now, above a decaying Manhattan skyline, Bob wasn’t stumbling anymore like in the vault.
He was floating.
A man unmade. Or maybe remade into something else.
People vanished mid-step. No cries. No struggle. Just… gone. Shadows burned into sidewalks. Skyscrapers flickered at the edges. He was unmaking the city in slow motion — like light being swallowed by static.
And you remembered.
Back in the vault.
He had reached for your hand, pulled you through the narrowing wall. Skin met skin. The moment contact sparked, something slammed against your mind — a weight, an ancient force pressing down. You staggered. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.
You didn’t process it then. You didn’t have the time.
Then came the explosion.
Your head hit stone. Darkness folded around you. His hand still wrapped around yours like a fuse refusing to burn out.
And the pressure grew worse.
When you came to, everything ached. Your temples throbbed, like your magic was screaming behind a locked door. And Bob… Bob stood nearby, strangely still, watching you.
You kept your distance after that.
But you still felt it. The way the air around him warped. The subtle shiver in shadowed corners. Like something watching you from inside him, and smiling.
And then there was the way he looked at you.
It wasn’t malicious. Wasn’t leering. Just… long.
Too long.
You wanted to meet his eyes. Challenge it. But part of you hesitated. Because something in him was pulling. And part of you didn’t want to pull back.
That part scared you.
You don’t think he even realized he was doing it. Because the pull wasn’t coming from Bob. It came from what had settled in him. The thing that hadn’t quite hatched.
Walker knew it too.
You found him standing at the edge of the vault hole, staring down like something was still in there.
His voice shook.
“When I was in the vault,” he said, “I… I saw something. I went somewhere. I can’t explain it, but…”
He didn’t finish.
Because you already knew.
Here you are now.
Black tendrils of smoke flowed from your fingertips as you moved between the crumbling street and fleeing civilians, shielding them with the last of your will. You cast illusions, redirected sightlines, placed cloaking wards on alleys — anything to keep the Void from seeing them.
But it saw everything.
The shadow crept toward you, blanketing every surface, swallowing every light. The Void was spreading — not in haste, but with intent. Like a predator circling something it had already caught.
And dread followed your steps.
You watched your new teammates, those you'd fought beside, trusted, learned to hope in — slip into the dark, one by one.
Was this even the plan?
Did any of you ever have a real plan?
Your breathing was ragged, each inhale scraping your tightening ribs like a blade. You had overdrawn your reservoirs of power — the kind you were trained to regulate, not expend. Your veins slowly turning dark against your skin. Strange taught restraint. But restraint wasn't going to save anyone now.
Your legs ached, your hands trembled, and your wards were faltering.
But you kept going. Because there were still people. And that meant you had to try.
“Give up.”
The voice crawled into your skull like a spider nearing its trapped prey on the web.
“Give yourself to me.”
It caressed your mind with smoke and honey. Tempting. Reassuring.
“Surrender.”
“No.” You pressed your hand against a panicked woman’s temple, breathing uneven. Your eyes flickered with silver-blue light, and her mind calmed just enough for clarity. “Run. Now.” Your voice held the weight of command.
She ran.
And then — she didn’t.
She was gone.
Not just lost. Erased.
You turned, and another was missing. Then another. You reached in, stabilized minds, sent them through escape sigils, protective thresholds — and still, they vanished. One by one. Pulled into a void you could not see, only feel.
You were losing them. Faster now.
“You can’t save them,” the voice whispered again, coiled in your thoughts.
You stood there, staring at a scorched silhouette of the woman burned into the pavement.
“How long do you think you can keep them from me?” it asked. “Give up.”
You stumbled a step, teeth gritted, your wards cracking with the strain. You didn’t want to believe him. But you’d seen the truth, in real time — every person you fought to protect disappeared the moment your attention moved on.
“No—” you rasped. But your voice cracked. You surged forward, reaching for a couple in the distance, but they were gone before your second step.
Gone.
You staggered backward, arms slack at your sides. Your barrier broke like glass. You could feel it. His presence tapping your mind like water over stone, every drop widening the fracture.
You were alone.
Dust swirled around you like ash. There was no sound. No life.
Only him.
“I felt you… down there. When I was first released.”
His voice arrived before his form. Then the darkness thickened, and he descended. Not with grandeur, but with gravity. Like the world reshaped itself around him.
You looked up. And there he was. Cloaked in shadow, his form too fluid for a body, too solid for smoke. Lights bent around him. Space bent.
And his voice—
It scraped against your mind like velvet knives.
You tensed.
“So much grief. So loud.” He stepped closer, until the two pale points of his eyes caught yours. White. Empty. Piercing.
“You burn like a flare in the dark,” he said, tone almost reverent. “And I am nothing but a moth to flame.”
He reached for you. Slowly. Fingers of dusk trailing from his outstretched hand. The air chilled.
But before he could touch you, your voice cut through.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
Your hands balled at your sides. A pulse of heat flared in your palms.
He paused.
Then retracted his arm, expression unreadable. Shadows around him shifted like thoughts. He almost tilted his head.
“No,” he agreed softly. “But I want to.”
He leaned forward slightly. “Your mind… it doesn’t bend like the others. You keep it locked. Tight. Why?”
You said nothing.
He smiled — or something like it rippled across his form. “Do you even know what you are?”
The words slithered past your ears and burrowed inward, curling into your deepest thoughts.
“That power inside you… it calls for me,” he said. “Don’t you feel it too?.”
Your body screamed in protest. Or was it in desire? Your magic, raw and furious, writhed inside you. You could feel it spiraling like a vortex in your veins, stirred by his nearness.
You did feel it.
But it was out of sync. Off-beat. Like something dancing to the wrong rhythm.
He was the disturbance.
"You can’t fight forever," he whispered, his voice now beside your ear.
Every breath you took hurt.
"Let me in, and I’ll show you what you really are."
Cold seeped into your bones. You staggered. Heart thudding.
“I’m nothing like you.”
“No,” he answered without pause. “But you could be.”
He took Bob’s shape again. The human you thought you’d saved. The face, the frame — familiar. But now warped by the echo of something far older. Flickering like bad signal, unstable.
You weren’t sure whether to recoil or reach out.
Still, your feet stayed where they were.
“You’re tired,” he said. His presence pressed against your barriers — not slamming into them, but whispering through the cracks. “You want answers. Let me in… I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
His arms rose, hovering near you. Not touching. Not yet.
Your fists trembled, black and white magic swirling like smoke and light. The pressure nearly split your ribs apart.
Be in control.
You looked up, slow and deliberate.
“This is manipulation. I know who I am.”
His voice dropped to a near-silent breath.
“This is honesty. And I don’t think you really do.”
The world stilled.
You could still turn away.
But you didn’t.
Your powers surged toward him, responding — or obeying. You took one step forward.
And the Void opened its arms.
The void welcomed you with a cold nothingness. Weightless, endless. A slow, spiraling descent into black. Your body wasn’t falling, no not really, but your mind was. Clinging to the edges of itself, holding on tightly, terrified of shattering.
It felt like one of those dreams — the kind where you fall off a building. Heart lurching. Breath stolen.
But this time, you didn’t wake up.
You kept falling.
Over and over, you braced for impact. Waited to hit the ground. Waited to open your eyes and find yourself in bed, safe and alone. Maybe none of it had happened. Maybe you never accepted that final mission from Val. Never boarded that plane. Never got trapped in the vault. Never met Bob. Never met the others. Never met the Void.
A quiet laugh caught in your throat. There was no waking up. There was no ground. Just this. The weightless, freezing dark.
Your eyes slipped closed, ready or pretending to be ready for the end.
Then you heard them. Whispered voices. Not outside you, but inside. Sliding beneath your skin. Curling around your ribs. Ancient and patient and inevitable.
“May I enter?”
It wasn’t a question. It only sounded like one. It wanted permission, but didn’t need it. The presence loomed, pressing at the gates of your mind, waiting for the word to step through.
You hesitated. Your thoughts pulled tight like fraying rope, on the edge of unraveling.
But you had no choice.
Your voice barely broke the silence.
“…Yes.”
The void shifted.
Not warmer. Not brighter. But aware. The darkness folded in on itself. No sound, no wind, just the unbearable gravity of something other arriving.
Suddenly, the void fractured.
You landed hard on polished hardwood. Cold seeped into your limbs from the floor, and you gasped as breath returned to your lungs in a rush.
It was the Red Room’s training hall.
You knew it before you saw it—before your eyes even caught up with your brain. The distant echo of metronomic ballet taps, the too-familiar scent of sweat and disinfectant. A memory too deep to forget. You pushed yourself upright, heart already pounding as your gaze snapped to the center of the room.
Young girls moved in choreographed silence across the floor, limbs trembling in precision. Shadows clung to them like parasites—living smoke slithering around their ankles, their wrists, the base of their necks.
And standing near the front, her posture straight and severe—
There you were.
Smaller. Thinner. Face a blank mask, eyes sharp like cut glass. Next to her. The Mistress. Cold and commanding. She didn’t need to shout. Her presence alone demanded perfection.
One girl faltered. She was new. You remembered that. Her arms shook as she stumbled out of rhythm. A small, strangled cry slipped from her lips, and that alone was enough to bring silence crashing over the room.
The Mistress turned her head.
Your younger self stepped forward. No hesitation. You watched, frozen by the doorway, as your hand reached out and with invisible force, the shadows tightened.
A flicker of telepathy. One you hadn’t yet mastered, but already powerful enough.
The girl’s fear vanished. Her eyes dulled. She moved back into formation, her limbs suddenly mechanical. Empty. Compliant.
It had been your task. The Mistress had trained you for this since the day your parents let you go to them. But back then they didn't understand the extent of your powers. Of what was contained inside of your bloodstream.
Your breath caught. A weight pressed behind you again, that suffocating presence like someone breathing down your neck, but you refused to turn.
And before you could, the room rippled.
The training hall distorted at the edges. Floorboards curling, dancers fading into smoke and your body lurched forward into darkness again, propelled through time and memory.
You hit the ground harder this time.
The sterile white of the next room blinded you. It reeked of antiseptic and blood.
Rows of beds lined the chamber, each occupied by young Widows. Needles pierced their arms, thin wires connected to machines that hissed and beeped. You knew this place. You’d spent months here.
Your eyes locked on your younger self again, standing stiff near the far end, clipboard in hand, expression unreadable.
Monitoring. Observing.
A girl screamed, ragged and raw. You turned toward the sound just as she thrashed beneath leather straps. A needle plunged into her arm. Her back arched. Blood burst from her lips as her eyes rolled back.
And still, your younger self didn’t move.
You reached out—impulse, instinct, guilt, all tangled into one—but your hand passed through air. You couldn’t change it.
You remembered now.
The collar around your neck. The blinking red light. One wrong move and your body could be dust.
You had been so young.
You clenched your jaw as the girl’s cries warped into static. She gurgled something unintelligible. Or maybe you just didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to admit she might have been calling your name.
Then—
Silence.
You turned your head, slow and reluctant.
There was blood everywhere. On the bed. On the ceiling. On the pristine white coats of the scientists.
And still, your younger self stood motionless. Eyes locked on the wall ahead.
Dissociating. Just to survive.
The fluorescent light above you flickered and with a soft click, a door appeared. Not a steel one this time, but something darker. Heavier. It creaked open on its own as the scene around you rewind again.
You didn’t want to go through it.
But something pulled at you again—not a command, not instinct. Something older. A guilt that never left.
You stepped inside.
And the air changed.
Gone was the cold brutality of the Red Room. No white coats or flickering lights. This corridor was different. This was yours.
The walls pulsed with red. Not metaphorically—literally. They were wet. They breathed. You walked forward, boots echoing against slick tile that grew darker with every step.
Then the faces appeared.
Beneath your feet, through the floor, blurry and flickering like poor reception on a screen. Eyes wide. Mouths frozen mid-plea. People you had killed. People whose names you didn’t remember. Couldn’t.
Then—
The alleyway.
It slammed into you like a wave.
Rain soaked the air, cold and heavy. You stood under a flickering streetlamp, blood trailing down your wrists. Your blade was still wet.
Three bodies. One gasping. One twitching. One already gone.
Your hands didn’t shake.
You breathed out like you’d just been released. Like it was a relief.
It had been your first time working for Val. Not under control. Not coerced.
You’d said yes.
You’d promised Stephen once—no killing. Not unless there was no other way. You’d told him you could hold the line. That you wouldn’t become what they made you.
But that night…
You didn’t just kill them.
You enjoyed it.
Efficient. Precise. Like a switch had flipped. And it terrified you of how easy it was.
Across the alley, your past self looked back at you. No remorse. No hesitation. Just the flat calm of someone built for violence.
“How long can you pretend you’re better now?”
His voice slithered around you, echoing off the blood-slick walls of the corridor. You froze.
“Even when no one was holding your leash… you kept going.”
Your throat closed.
“Your mind is strong,” he whispered, closer now. “But your hands? Always eager.”
You looked down.
Blood. Coating you. Soaking up to your elbows, warm, thick, and familiar. You hadn’t noticed it return.
“You liked the way they begged.”
“No,” you breathed, the denial weak in your throat, already too late.
“You liked the silence after.”
The final blow wasn’t physical—but it cracked something in you.
A fault line that had been holding for too long.
You broke.
And you screamed—but it wasn’t vocal. It couldn’t be. There was no breath left for it. What erupted from you was power. A surge of unfiltered, untamed chaos magic, a fraction of the ones of Wanda Maximoff, ripped through the ground beneath you. The floor shattered like glass underfoot, memories exploding into the air in jagged, flickering shards. The mist of blood spiraled around you, orbiting like a storm, suspended by grief, rage, and raw instinct.
You reached for him.
For the Void.
For his throat. For his voice. For anything that would make this end.
But he was already gone.
He never stayed long after the damage was done.
And in his absence, there was only the echo.
The memory.
The scene didn’t fade. It calcified.
Rain still fell.
Faces still watched.
You stood alone in the wreckage of your own mind, chest heaving, heart punching against your ribs. Somewhere behind you, thunder cracked.
But the real sound was softer.
A slither.
A whisper beneath the static hum in your mindscape.
Because when you broke—when your defenses fractured and your shields collapsed under the weight of old wounds—the Void didn’t hesitate.
He slid into the breach like smoke under a door, insidious and patient. Into the quietest corners. Into the cracks you didn’t know were there. Into the dying flickers of memory that spells had been trying to erase. The things you weren’t meant to hold onto.
Your last tether to who you had been before the separation. Before the erasure. Before the silence.
The Void found it.
That flickering piece of you—fading, dissolving under the spell’s slow banishing. Like an unraveling tapestry, each moment came loose, thread by thread.
And he stole it.
Wrapped his hands around it like a prize. Claimed it like leverage. Something to hold until later.
You didn’t feel it go. Not then.
The storm you had unleashed blinded you to the theft.
But in the wreckage, something felt hollower.
And when you reached for your rage again just to keep standing, you noticed:
It took a little longer to remember who you were angry for.
He was still there.
Watching. Feeding. Enjoying every crack in your armor.
Enough.
Your fists clenched.
You weren’t a puppet anymore.
Not here.
Not ever again.
You close your eyes.
You shut the noise off. Shut him off. That voice that slithered under your skin and peeled open your wounds with surgical precision. Letting the Void see what he wanted. The blood-drenched history, the warped compliance, the echoes of screams. But not everything.
Not the part you swore would never see daylight.
You bury it. Deeper than deep. You layer it behind blank walls, fractured mirrors, a silence so heavy not even the Void dares follow.
And then, you focus.
Draw a breath that doesn’t belong to you. Inhale past the pain. Reach beyond the wreckage. Past your own splintered psyche.
Until you feel it.
A thread. Quiet. Off-beat. Gentle in a way this place hasn’t allowed since the beginning.
Not yours.
Bob’s.
Fractured but present. A heartbeat trying not to be heard. Faint, flickering. But not gone.
You anchor to it.
And follow.
⌞══════════════════════════════════════════⌝
The world around you shifts without ceremony.
You blink, and the corridor is gone. The slick marble. The shadows. The blood on your boots.
Now, it’s frost.
Your breath fogs in front of you, air sharp with cold. A street stretches out ahead, quiet and unreal. Wrong in the way that dreams are wrong. No traffic. No noise. Only a single streetlight buzzing overhead, flickering like a dying thought.
In the shop window beside you, a tall mirror looms.
Its surface is smeared with condensation, but even through the blur you see them. Dim outlines reflected in the glass. The team.
You don’t think.
You raise your hand, and without summoning rage or command, just intention and the mirror shudders.
Then fractures like water.
You step through.
⌞══════════════════════════════════════════⌝
You land on wood.
The creak beneath your boots is immediate. Personal.
Dust spirals in the low attic air, thick and slow-moving like smoke from a long-dead fire. Cobwebs twitch in the corners. Light filters through the slats, silver and sickly, as though moonlight’s been stretched too thin.
Toys are scattered across the floor. Plastic soldiers missing limbs, puzzle pieces warped with age. An old record player churns in the corner, skipping endlessly on a broken loop. A single rocking horse sways gently though nothing touches it.
Everything smells like forgotten time. Mold and childhood.
You take one step forward—
And chaos unfolds around you.
⌞══════════════════════════════════════════⌝
The center of the attic thrashes with activity.
Chairs lift themselves and hurl toward walls with howling velocity. Books launch open, pages flipping and screaming as if the words are alive. Curtains snap like whips. Shadows crawl along the walls, wrong-shaped and hungry.
You see them.
Your team.
Yelena rolls as a drawer explodes beside her, wood splinters grazing her cheek.
Ava phased just in time to avoid a chair that smashes where she stood.
Walker has both arms up, shield-less, deflecting a shattered dresser raining down from above. Behind him, Alexei is swinging a jagged table leg like a club, smashing at an armchair with teeth.
You lift your hand.
Not out of panic.
But purpose.
The moment stills.
Mid-violence.
A clock mid-fall floats in the air. The rocking horse pauses. Pages freeze, mid-scream. Even the shadows recoil, as if tasting something unfamiliar.
Your power threads through the room like smoke, soft and invisible but undeniable.
You bring peace.
If only for a moment.
They turn to you.
Not with surprise, but something quieter.
Relief.
“Lena,” Alexei exhales his daughter’s name like a lifeline. He’s covered in dust, pillow stuffing stuck to his hair. He looks like hell. Still smiles.
“You came for us,” Yelena murmurs. Her voice is hoarse. The curtain that had wrapped itself around her throat now drapes down her shoulders like a shroud. She’s still breathless, but her eyes are on you, steady and searching.
“Glad you finally decided to join the party,” John says, wiping a smear of blood from his cheek, trying to sound flippant. The corner of his mouth twitches into something like a grin. It doesn’t hold.
The tension softens. Slightly.
Ava lowers her stance. Her camouflage flickers off, revealing her pale, scratched-up face. Even she looks like she’s been through a blender.
“I thought we lost you,” she says, her voice oddly small.
You blink. The words strike somewhere deep, though you don’t let them show.
Yelena steps toward you. Hesitates. Then steps closer again.
“What did you see?” she addressed everyone, but her eyes were trained on you. “Are you okay?”
You smirk.
That same old mask.
“Oh, I’m fine. Had a great past, so I’m totally fine,” Bucky cuts in before you can answer, tone dry as ash.
You follow his lead.
“Yeah,” you add, brushing invisible dust from your sleeve. “Just a lovely walk down memory lane.”
It lands like a joke—but tastes like bile.
Yelena gives you a small smile. It's sad. Too knowing. She doesn't push. Just watches you chew your lip again, caught in that nervous habit you thought you'd buried.
A beat passes.
Then two.
“Yeah,” John mutters, surveying the room again. The hovering chaos. The shadows frozen mid-reach. The cold.
“This place is messed up.”
And for once, you agree with him.
"We're here together. That's what matters," Alexei said, nodding at you, his voice low and tired.
"Thank you, guys. Really."
Bob fidgeted with the sleeves of his blue sweater, eyes flicking around the group. When they landed on you, he couldn’t hold your gaze. Your stare was heavy, brimming with sorrow and it made him feel the weight of everything he’d dragged you through. Dragged all of them through.
"Of course," Ava replied curtly, still wary of another chair flying in her direction.
"Here we are: Shane’s Elite Electronic Thunderbolts."
Alexei waved his arm in disapproval. “It’s not Shane.”
"Okay, okay." Walker stepped in, sensing a banter brewing. "Just—how do we get out of here?"
Everyone turned to Bob. He was the one who brought them here. Technically.
"I mean… as far as I know, it’s just endless rooms," he said, sounding unsure—like a kid caught doing something wrong. Was this his fault?
"Wait," Yelena cut in, "you said this was the nicest room you found. The others were worse, right?"
"Yeah..."
"Okay, well—show us the worst."
⌞══════════════════════════════════════════⌝
Outside, New York City was rapidly being swallowed by the Void.
⌞══════════════════════════════════════════⌝
The team moved down the hallway of Bob’s house when a voice barked out.
"Where do you think you’re going, Roberts?"
His father.
A tall figure stepped into view, angry and looming.
Walker didn’t hesitate. He rushed him and slammed his taco-shaped shield into the man's face. The older man crumpled to the floor.
"Well, he seems nice," Ava muttered, stepping over the unconscious body in search of an exit.
"The strangest mission I’ve ever been part of," Alexei muttered as objects began to move on their own. A picture frame shattered on the floor beside him.
"This way!"
"Go, go, go!" Walker called, ushering the team through a closet door.
You stumbled through, falling hard onto a pile of clothes. As you pushed up on your elbows—
Thwack.
A wooden sign smacked you in the face. You yelped, collapsing back in pain as a sharp laugh echoed above you.
"Oh no," Bob said, horrified, staring at the thing that hit you.
A chicken. Holding a sign.
“You okay?”
Bucky was at your side in seconds, hands hovering over your shoulders to steady you.
"Not really," you muttered, rubbing your face. "Is that… a chicken?"
The chicken attacked again. Feathers flew. Grunts and thuds filled the room as the team tried to subdue the mutant poultry.
"Bob, if you hit me with that sign one more time—"
Alexei grabbed Bob by the collar, but before he could finish, the chicken struck him squarely in the head again.
"I was on meth!" Bob shouted, fists clenched at his chest, watching the Red Guardian get bested by a drugged-up version of himself.
The chicken charged again—but before it could strike, Bucky decked it with his vibranium arm.
It dropped with a final cluck.
While the others regrouped, you and Alexei scanned the room, searching for another exit. A doorway—the basement—stood ajar.
"This way!" you called.
"Come on, come on—go!" Alexei brought up the rear, ushering everyone through.
You landed hard again. This time, on cold linoleum. Pill bottles rattled across the floor.
The room was silent, save for the collective breath of the team.
And there he was.
Slouched in a medical chair under harsh white light. The Void. Two faint silhouettes burned like shadows on the wall behind him.
You held back behind the others, hoping to stay out of his view. But you felt it—you knew he saw you.
“I’ve been here before,” Yelena whispered.
"This is where it started."
His voice came out thin as you looked at Bob. Even without seeing his face, you felt the weight collapse onto him. He recognized the room too.
"I was roaming Southeast Asia," Bob said quietly. "Thought I’d figure something out—or at least find more drugs."
The door hissed shut behind you, making you flinch. The group stepped forward, following Bob’s voice.
"Then this guy shows up. Talking about some medical study. A trial drug that could make me stronger."
You stayed frozen, your body locked in place. Your veins glowed faintly beneath your skin. The familiar mental tug-of-war returned. The Void pulling at you.
"Felt like a miracle," Bob continued.
He stopped walking.
You considered turning back. Your heart pounded. The air was thick. John caught your eye. He didn’t speak, but his face asked the question.
Are you okay?
You couldn’t answer. Couldn’t risk interrupting. You just clenched your fists.
"I finally thought I’d be something. More than just...me," Bob said, voice shaking. "That I was...something."
The Void’s voice cut through the silence.
Low. Deep. Almost calm.
"And look what you unleashed."
He stood. Slowly. Stepping around the chair, his black form fully visible now.
The team shifted uneasily.
"The most shameful thing of all," the Void said, now facing you, head tilted, "was thinking you could ever be more than—"
The silence that followed stretched thin, like a wire waiting to snap.
Finally, the Void replied. One word. Final.
"No."
The moment the Void looked up, he instantly caught your eyes.
It was as if every atom of your being was being swallowed by something ancient—vast, unknowable, and older than time itself.
You were taken. Pulled backward.
One moment, the lab was erupting in chaos. Void roaring through cracked reality, John shouting your name, and the next, the world splintered like glass. A rush of wind. A scream from somewhere far away. Then silence.
And now, you're alone.
Stone walls stretch around you, but there are no doors. No windows. Just a hollow, echoing space lit by candlelight that doesn’t flicker. The floor beneath your boots hums faintly, like the Sanctum itself remembers this place. Deep in its bones. Deep in yours.
Your breath fogs in the cold.
You know this room. You swore never to return.
But ahead—there you are.
A version of yourself, suspended in memory. Back hunched, fingers trembling just inches above an ancient spellbook held open by invisible magic. The air thrums with power. Familiar. Dangerous. A golden light pulses from the pages like a heartbeat, illuminating the room in waves.
She doesn’t see you—
But she’s speaking.
“I said I wouldn’t cross another line,” she says, her voice raw with grief and lost. “I said I would move on.”
Her hands curl into trembling fists. Her shoulders quake. But still, she doesn’t cry.
“It’s been a year,” she breathes. But you still feel like a corpse walking. A carrion.
You take a step closer. The light swells.
The spell has already begun.
It rises, slow and solemn, drawing golden strands from somewhere deep within her—within you. Smoke-like tendrils of memory unfurl into the air, suspended above the book like constellations stitched across a void. You watch, helpless, as your own pain comes alive in front of you. Not as a ghost, but as a confession you’d long buried.
The first shows a narrow alley bathed in twilight. The air smells of rain on warm stone. A tall figure leans in—blond hair tousled, blue eyes catching the last of the light, a smirk playing on his lips. He speaks low, his voice a secret pressed between the bricks.
“Meet me here tomorrow,” he says. “Midnight. No one will find us.”
You remember the slip of paper in your hand. The way your pulse stuttered. The way his eyes never left yours.
Johnny. The name screamed in your mind. You nearly doubled over at the weight of it.
The vanishes in flame, curling inward like burned parchment, the edges turning to ash before you can even blink.
You were erasing your own memory.
Then comes another.
A rooftop. City lights far below. Ice cream melting between laughter. He wiped a drip from your thumb, his fingers lingering too long. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything, but you remember the way your skin remembered him.
Gone. Swallowed by the fire before you can hold it.
You watched in horror as your past self, bloodshot eyes blurred by tears as she let her grief be taken by the spell. Her chest felt lighter, relieved of the burden of memories while yours grows heavy with the weight of remembrance.
“No…” It came out helpless.
The third is quieter. Music spilling from a distant window. Bare feet on warm stone. String lights above. You dancing slowly, your hand in his, his voice humming something half-remembered.
Your body remembered peace that night. Your heart remembered danger.
The memory burns slower. Like even the spell doesn’t want to let go.
But it does.
And then the final one appears, flickering brighter than the rest.
A kiss. Simple. Soft. Not a declaration, but a moment. One you both leaned into without hesitation. His breath on yours, the heat of his hand at your jaw. That single moment where everything stopped—grief, duty, time—and you were consumed in each other.
You almost say his name aloud.
But it, too, is taken.
You watch her—yourself—collapse to her knees. Head bowed. Eyes closed. Her hands fall to her sides, empty.
“If I forget him, I won’t go back,” she says, voice hoarse. “If I forget… I won’t break my promise.”
You close your eyes, your chest aching like something has been torn loose. Because now, finally, you understand what you did.
And why.
The ancient walls of the Sanctorium groaned as the book closed and the tendrils of magic seeped into you and into the wall. Settling and weaving itself into your mind, sewing close to what you had chosen to close.
And then the room rewinds.
A sound ripples through the chamber. Low. Slick. Too smooth to be human.
You turn as the shadows shift. The walls bleed into something darker, the air thickening. And then, from the far edge of the room, he emerges.
The Void doesn’t walk. He drips into existence. Formless one moment, humanoid the next.
“All that pain,” he purrs, voice curling around your spine. “And for what?”
You don’t move. You don’t speak.
He circles you, slow and confident.
“A broken promise of obligation to duty to a man who never truly understood what you lost.”
The shadows pulse with him, bending the light.
“Stephen let you tear your soul apart,” he says. “Let you erase love in service of an idea. Of a timeline.”
You say nothing.
“But I,” he continues, stepping closer, “I can give it back. Johnny. The rooftop. The dance. The kiss.”
His voice is silk now. Sweet. Dangerous.
“You could wake up tomorrow, and he’ll be there. Waiting for you. Arms open. No rules. No Strange. No guilt. No consequences of Timeline unraveling.”
He tilts his head.
“Just say yes.”
You can feel it. The pull. The hunger. That deep, aching desire to go back. To undo.
But then… you remember a voice. Not his.
Stephen. Just before you found the book. His hand had hovered over the shelf but never touched it.
“The cost of remembrance,” he said softly, “is a fracture too deep to mend.”
You remember how he looked at you that night. Like he already knew what you were going to do.
You lift your gaze now.
“I am fractured,” you whisper.
The Void stills.
You take a breath.
“And I chose it.”
Light builds behind your sternum. A flicker. Then a flame.
“I chose to protect the timeline. I chose my promise. I chose to let him go.”
The Void begins to hiss, form twisting, unraveling.
“Your judgement is clouded and swayed.”
“No.” Your voice grows stronger. “I’m grieving. And I still chose right.”
He lunges, jagged and sharp, but your hands are already rising, the air around you roaring to life.
The chamber shakes as light explodes from your body, tearing through the illusion, ripping into the dark. You scream—not from fear, but from resolve. From release. The Void cracks apart in a blast of energy, splintering into fragments of smoke and shadow, howling as he disappears.
You fall.
And the world falls with you.
The floor vanishes beneath your feet—no sound, no wind, just a sudden collapse into nothing. The chamber dissolves into fragments of smoke and gold. The spell. The memory. The Void. All breaking apart in a storm of light.
Then—impact.
You hit solid ground. Hard. The breath leaves your body in a gasp that never makes it to sound. Your limbs are limp. Vision, black.
You don't feel the others landing nearby.
But they are.
A dozen meters away, they’re spat out of the void one by one like ragdolls—scraped, bloodied, their bodies colliding with the ruined remains of a Manhattan intersection. The asphalt is split down the middle like a scar. Rubble clings to twisted metal and shattered windows. Overhead, the sky churns a pale gray, empty now of shadow.
The darkness has lifted. But New York is still broken.
Ava is the first to move. She pushes herself up from the debris, coughing hard. Then Bucky, one hand pressed to his temple, dragging John to his feet.
Lying motionless in the cracked street. Dust settling across your coat. A faint stream of energy still flickering at your fingertips, dying embers from a fight no one else could see.
Bucky sees you first.
“There!” he shouts, already running.
The rest follow. Yelena sprinting hard, Alexei stumbling close behind, John, Bob and Ava a beat behind them, covered in ash and exhaustion.
“Hey—” Bucky drops to his knees beside you. “Hey, look at me.”
Your body doesn’t respond at first. Your eyes are shut, lashes powdered with dust. A trickle of blood darkens your temple.
They call your name. Once. Twice. Again.
And then—
Your fingers twitch.
A broken breath escapes your lungs.
You stir, blinking against the sharp white haze overhead. The city is blurred behind their faces, voices muffled and overlapping as your hearing returns in fragments.
“Come on, come on, stay with us—”
“You’re okay. You’re back—”
“Talk to us—please—”
You gasp. A sudden inhale like drowning in reverse. And you sit up too quickly.
The world spins.
Pain lashes through your skull, fast and electric, and then… memory follows.
All of it.
Johnny’s voice. Earth-828. The rooftop. The kiss. The spell. The choice. The Void’s temptation. Your promise to your duty. Your own trembling voice saying: I chose this.
Your hands grip the pavement, your nails scraping the cracked lines in the asphalt.
You’re still on your knees.
Eyes wide. Chest heaving.
Because you remember everything.
And you’re still here.
It’s not peace that greets you. It’s pain. Sharp and sudden and immense. But beneath it, something deeper and anchored. Solid.
You chose to forget. You chose to honor the timeline.
You tore away the one thing that ever made you feel whole after half of the universe vanished.
And now, it’s all come back. Every moment. Every word. Every touch.
And you’re still breathing.
You raise your head slowly, meeting Bucky’s eyes.
Yelena is at your side. Ava touches your arm.
Alexei’s hand rests carefully on your shoulder, grounding you back into your body.
You feel the weight of what you did.
And what you endured.
And still, you’re here.
Not whole. But not lost.
You sit back slowly, letting the silence hold you for just a second longer.
The city is still broken. But the sky is clearing.
You exhale, not because the pain is gone, but because you know now. You can bear it.
You flew too close to the sun, burned for longing, fell for duty.
And still, what remains of you endures.
You. Still breathing.
Still becoming.
I, carrion.And I carry on.
⌞══════════════════════════════════════════⌝
Epilogue
14 months later
The metal doors hissed open and in walked what the world now called the Thunderbolts. Or, as Valentina liked to say, Earth’s “new heroes.” You weren’t sure when that title stopped sounding absurd. You just knew it was yours now. Like it or not.
You never thought it would go this far.
“But we are the Avengers,” Yelena declared, arms swinging confidently as they spilled into the common room. A tangle of boots and sarcasm and mismatched weapons. “The government said so.”
You were already there. Sitting at the far edge of the lounge, legs tucked beneath you in a too-big armchair. Bob sat nearby but not close but always within your sightline, always quiet. Watching. Or pretending not to. Ever since they put you on rotation with him, babysitting duty really, it had been like this. Watching the man. Watching the thing inside the man. Making sure it stayed where it belonged.
You didn’t mind. It gave you space.
Space to think.
To grieve, quietly, over memories that had come back too fast, too full. The ache was there, but dulled now. Like a scar healing in the dark. You could sit with it.
“How does Sam Wilson not understand that?” Yelena asked, annoyed in the way only Yelena could be.
“He has the shield,” Bucky replied dryly, sinking into the couch beside her.
John raised his half-dented one as if on cue. “I have a shield too.”
“It’s not a shield,” Bucky muttered.
“Yeah, it is,” John pushed back.
“It’s a shitty shield.”
“It’s a great shield, Bucky.”
Bucky rolled his eyes and dropped into his seat like gravity had finally won. You felt a strange kind of sympathy for him, having to exist in the same building as John Walker.
“If Sam puts together a team and his team is called the Avengers,” Yelena asked, waving her arms, “then who are the real Avengers?”
“That’s what the Internet’s asking,” Bucky said with a sigh. “Judging by the memes, it’s not us.”
“Didn’t you say you’d talk to him?” Yelena said.
“I did talk to him,” Bucky replied.
“And?”
“It went… poorly.”
The silence that followed said more than words. You looked up briefly, even you couldn’t believe that. That wasn’t the Sam Wilson you remembered.
And then, you drifted again.
Voices blurred into background static. Your focus slipped like water through fingers. There was a pull, gentle but insistent, somewhere behind your ribs. A tug in your veins. Your powers were tied to the multiverse, after all. You were made of it. And lately, something had been… off. Warped. Slanted, like gravity shifting sideways. You told yourself it wasn’t your concern anymore. Not your weight to carry. That was for Strange and Clea now.
Still, the pull didn’t stop.
They kept talking. Somewhere between Yelena launching into a rant about space crises and Walker arguing that the building was too big to be out of space, you tuned most of it out. Bucky looked like he wanted to evaporate when Alexei strutted in with a ridiculous neon suit and a new plan to rename the team Avengerz with a Z, apparently for copyright reasons.
It was chaos in small doses. Familiar. Loud. Alive. But all of it floated around you like white noise, your mind caught in that faint pull again, like your blood was threaded to something unraveling just outside your perception.
But then the computer voice pulled you back.
Flat. Mechanical.
A.I. from the command station.
“Satellite image populating.”
“Extradimensional ship entering atmosphere.”
The air sucked out of your lungs.
Yelena turned sharply to look at you. Bucky too.
You hadn’t meant to react. But you did. A sharp gasp, like ice down your spine.
“…It’s a…” John stammered. “It’s a cool ship.”
A blue circular logo with a ‘4’ in it came into view as it turned.
Behind you, the air shimmered. A low hum crackled through the room. The scent of ozone, faint but sharp.
All of you turned just as the ring of sparks began to carve a circle into the air behind you.
A portal bloomed open.
a/n: So... how are we feeling, divas? Also, Hozier reference? Aye? Lets discuss pt 3
SUMMARY ➤ You've been longing for Robert Reynolds for seven years now. No matter how hard you try to let him go, your heart refuse to do so but after a weird moment of being trapped in your own nightmare, you finally found Robert. On a local news along side with the new Avengers.
PAIRING ➤ Robert (Bob) Reynolds x fem! reader
GENRES ➤ Angsty with happy ending
WARNINGS ➤ THUNDERBOLTS* spoiler ahead A tiny part of suicidal scene, reader is in deression but no one's helping, and mention of drugs
WORDS COUNT ➤ 4k words
NOTES ➤ it took so long for one fic and i'm sorry about it!!! i thought i was ready to be back but i was so insecure of my writing to the point i've had to disregard my two enha's fic )): also it's so obvious that i already watched thunderbolts* ^^ the movie was so good i had to write for bob's character.
Soon after Robert announced that he is going somewhere to get himself on a track– nobody would even guess he would volunteer himself to an untrusted medical research. Presumming the naive man would surrender himself as soon as the doctor said it would turn him into a better man– he must have signed whatever papers given without having second thoughts.
Robert tries to be better, but at the end of the day, he cannot escape the household he’d been living in. You’re the only one who can truly see how hard it is to avoid all the drugs, lean into a healthy life, and live a life without any disturbing surroundings. But he keeps coming back to square one.
He always asked you to leave him once he relapsed, but you stood there, firmly. He was so sure you’re here because of sympathy and not because of him. He wants to believe in you but it’s not that easy because at the end of the day, he always ended up alone.
In late 2020– three years before The Avengers found a way to bring back half of the population, he had enough of this shit. He slowly began to realize that you’re here because you want to. The hopeful feeling slowly began to rise inside of him after so long. With his parents having been blipped, he finally can breathe. No more fights, screaming and sounds of hitting. He is lowkey on Thanos’s side in this war but keeps his mouth shut, you lost half of your family in the blip and he simply does not want to hurt you; the person whom he cares most about.
But he only works on his plan, seven years later. Thinking he cannot leave you like this, not when your emotional state is not stable. And the other reason— he is broke and needs more than his ‘savings’ to change himself.
He landed in Malaysia after hours on the air, his smiles wide, thinking of how he can be a better person after this project and how he can finally prove to everyone that he isn’t just a useless human being. Ah. the thoughts of your ‘I’m so proud of you, Robert” lingers in his mind. He would text you if his phone wasn't confiscated by the researcher, he assumes it would be hours of research and everything will change after that.
Robert soon curses at himself as soon as he hears that he is not the only volunteer they had, they all died during the trial but it is too late for him. He is trapped in the metal coffin that they put him in. He tried to scream and punch everything but it was all useless. Soon he feels the temperature slowly rising up and his body feels tense all of sudden scares him. At this moment he thought that staying alive would be the ideal prayer he can utter right now. He couldn’t die now, not with your face still haunting his thoughts.
His whole body started to ache, his energy slowed down and his scream got slower. His body can’t take whatever they gave him right now, but it looks like the thing is being forced down inside of his body. He cannot even wriggle in pain due to limited space, the only words he could utter at that moment was “Stop…”
The void left by Robert’s absence weighs heavily on you as you grapple with uncertainty of his fate.
“You’re wasting yourself waiting for him”
You try your best to move on. Your friends told you that a meth addict was better off without you anyway, you tried to ignore them but the pain of longing is much worse than you think. For seven months you couldn’t meet anyone to replace Robert, you can’t understand the exact reasons why your heart still longing for him, the probability of him died in some foreign country is high and you are ready to accept the fact that Robert is gone but your heart still couldn't fathom this ‘statement’.
“Maybe he was there somewhere…” is the only excuse you can give to your friends although deep down, you don’t even know what to expect anymore.
Your high hope of Robert make you all alone, your friends start to keep of their distances on you, your siblings seems to give up to support your stance of ‘Robert is there somewhere’ and your parents seems to accept that their daughter might suffers from some mental health problem but do nothing to help– they thought paying for psychiatrist and medications are waste of money if you still hoping for the man.
And that’s when you decided you are better alone anyways. Starting your day in your rented apartment with leftover food from last night, settling into the couch that your sister handed down to you when she’s decided to move from New York and suddenly your surroundings turning black all of sudden.
Your breathing unsteady at first, thinking that this is a dream– or did you depress enough to start hallucinating things? You gulped down your saliva, nonetheless you start walking– very slowly, searching for a starting point but all of the sudden the black scenery quickly turns into an airport. The day was sunny and there’s a lot of cars parked at the waiting area; it felt like a deja vu for a moment before you spotted two familiar figures hugging outside of your parents car.
It was you and Robert.
You walk closely with the two of you hugging. You tried to hold your tears but failed when you saw Robert’s face when he broke the hug.
“I’ll be back better than before, then we can talk about us. I promise you this time” Robert said with a gentle touch to your cheek before you both parted ways.
“Please don’t go…” you sobbed. Your voice trembling with desperation. But it was clear– you were invisible to them. As Robert’s figure grew smaller and smaller in the distance, the scene suddenly reset. Again, he turned to leave and once again your tears went unheard. You shook your head, whatever this was, it seems like you’re trapped in your own nightmare.
The repeated scene in front of you causes you to feel light headed, you walk away from the scene, hoping for a way out and suddenly you’re in your own bedroom. You sigh in relief, your heart still pounding fast from the strange experience you felt. You’re about to land on your bed before a sound of cries could be heard. You brows furrowed, searching for the source of the sound around the bedroom.
You gasped in silence when you saw yourself on the floor, on the other side of the bed. Staring blankly at the pills on your palm.
You remember this moment, it was months after everyone returns from being a dust but not your Robert. It was tough for a few weeks, you can’t accept fate. There’s no news or phone call from him. You are tired of waiting for him after years of praying for him to come back in one piece. The pills on your palm was the answer, your soul is nowhere to be found, and maybe taking your own life would be ideal.
“This is not the way…” you sobbed.
The old version of yourself slowly turned to face you. A faint, almost bittersweet smile played on her lips as she raised the pills to her mouth and swallowed them in one gulp
“We are always alone” she whispered, the words echoing through the room like a curse carved into time.
You stood frozen, powerless. Watching yourself spiral, watching the weight of silent suffering crush someone who was—still is—you. It was unbearable. The isolation, the desperation, the quiet resignation etched in her face—it made you feel small, fragile. Pathetic.
You screamed every name you could think of, mom, dad, your sister and even Robert. Hoping if anyone could hear your desperate hoarse voice even if it is a faint sound but to your dismay, there’s no answer. You ran through the endless corridors, searching, pleading for a way out just to find every door you opened led to another nightmares of your past.
All of the painful memories greet you at every turn– echoes of moments you tried so hard to bury deep down in your head. It felt like you’d been running for hours, maybe even longer, your legs seemed to give out but you can’t give up just yet. The last thing you want is to die in the maze of your own sorrow and regret.
Then without warning, the darkness began to dissolve, the screams faded, the air lightened and the oppressive weight lifted.
And suddenly– you were back. Sitting on your couch, in your living room. Silence.
Everything looks the same… but you weren’t.
It wasn’t long enough for the news of the New Avengers broke, soon after the chaos of ‘the Void’ (according to the news) ended, Valentina Allegra de Fontaine; the director of CIA immediately announce of the new Avengers including Bucky Barnes, the former Winter Soldier and John Walker, the second Captain America that killed a civilian in public eyes. You don’t even trust the new group she formed, hell you couldn't care less at this point. You almost choked on your water as your eyes glued on the man on the right side of the group. A man who wears a blue crewneck sweater with light brown corduroy pants with curly hair that goes unnoticed.
The glass slipped from your hand and shattered the moment it hit the floor. You instinctively covered your mouth, eyes wide. Your breathing grew unsteady again. You froze in front of the television for a moment before a sudden phone call jolted you into reality.
Still shaken from the shock, you answered the call from your sister. A shaky hello is all you could manage at the moment.
“Am I seeing this right? Bob is on the television? Bob joining the Avengers?” she asked. Her voice was laced with impatience and disbelief.
“I- I don’t know… You see him too?” you asked her. It’s hard to confirm what you’ve been seeing after the ‘episode’ you had earlier.
“Duh! Everyone can see it! He disappeared for seven years just to be an Avengers? He looks so uncool with that ordinary outfit. Maybe I can help with his out–”
You ended the call, her ranting was more than enough to prove that you’re not hallucinating. The person on the television was Robert. Your Robert.
If you followed your instincts you'd drive to the Watchtower right now to confront him. But you stopped yourself. You need to be ready. If you’re going to face Robert, you have to be prepared– both physically and mentally. At the very least, you needed to look presentable to meet him after so long.
Your outfit wasn’t terrible and the makeup you’d applied to make you look presentable wasn’t bad either. Everything seemed fine– on the surface. But you couldn’t bring yourself to step out of the car. Your grip on the steering wheel was so tight to the point your knuckle turned white. It has been so long waiting for Robert. You should at least be excited to meet him right?
But in this case, you couldn't pinpoint exactly what you’re currently feeling right at the moment. Anger, Sadness, Anxious, Happy. It’s all blended into one.
A knock on your window pulled you out of your thoughts. A police officer stood outside, gesturing for you to roll it down. You did so without hesitation, your fingers still trembling slightly.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but you can’t park here,” he said politely but firmly. At that moment you realized that your car stopped near the building– which is crowded with cranes and construction workers.
“Oh... right. I’m sorry,” you murmured, trying to gather yourself. “I didn’t mean to stay long.”
He nodded, not pressing further. “Alright. Just be sure to move along soon.”
As he walked away, the pressure in your chest returned. You looked back at the looming Watchtower building for a few seconds. You decided to park a little further away from the building. A big sigh escapes from your mouth. You’re here. You waited seven years for him. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for.
This is it, you thought. No more stalling.
Your hand reached for the door handle, it is now or never.
“Where’s Bob?” Alexei asked, both of his hands carrying four bags of heavy grocery as if it's nothing.
“In his new room I guess” a man with blonde hair answered lazily, he was about to leave the pantry, his eyes glued on a foreign person behind Alexei.
“Ah, great. Does Valentina send us a new PR manager so her reputation is untouchable? Cause let me tell you, we owner her now, one bad decision she ended up with President Ross in the raft” the blond whinged.
“Ah no no… Valentina does not send her here. I am” Alexei clarified.
“You want us to have a PR Manager?” he asked, one brow lifted in confusion.
“No, fool. This is our number one fan!” Alexei chirped. A huge and wide smile could be seen from his face. He put the groceries down, and gently pushed you forward to properly introduce you to the man.
You recognized the man standing in front of you—he was the second Captain America after Steve Rogers. You were sure of it; the day he was announced, his face had been everywhere.
Walker’s confused expression quickly shifted to one of disapproval. He shook his head as he looked between you and Alexei.
“No… no… Alexei you can’t bring some random people in here! She could be some secret agent or something or just some creep!” he grumbled.
You’re about to open your mouth to defend yourself but Alexei cuts you off immediately.
“She is harmless. We’re going through security seven times, no guns and knives on her, I guarantee that”
Walker rolls his eyes back, first day as the new Avengers, Alexei already does so much work in marketing their team. The blonde let out a small sigh while the older male still trying to reassure him. Seeing the tense in the room, you clear your throats to gain their attention which is a success.
“I’m not a secret agent or some creep, I just want to meet Robert. I’m his friend” you speak up
“Bob got another friend?” Walker asked
You nodded your head slowly. Seems like Robert still uses the nickname ‘Bob’ to introduce himself to others. You dropped the nickname a long time ago, you thought the name Robert sounds too good not to use, besides he also likes being called Robert by you.
“I met her in the lobby. She begging to meet Bob, I thought she is a fan”
“Fans or friends. She cannot be in here. I’ll call the security–”
“Please! I’m begging you, I need to meet him, even for a minute.” you pleaded, the sound of desperation in your voice is noticeable which makes the stern Walker having second thoughts.
“Okay sure. But under one condition”
You expect the usual would be; having almost thirty guards surrounding you, security check for the nth time and you need to talk to him in the visiting area but your assumptions went straight out of the window when they ask a girl with platinum blonde hair or they called her as Yelena to accompany you to meet Robert.
You trailed along behind her silently to Robert’s room, the walk from the pantry isn’t that far, but on each step, your hand grew colder. You glance at Yelena, you’ve seen her once– on the news yesterday but even from that brief impression, she seemed confident, brave and a kind of person who genuinely cares for others. You could tell by how cautious she is before allowing you to meet Robert.
You didn’t even know what kind of relationship she had with him but you can’t help but feel slightly insecure. You used to be Robert’s safe place. You were always there for him, through every hell he endured. But now, it was Yelena the others trusted with him.
Was she really trustworthy?
You knew how naive Robert could be. That’s what worries you most—that this “new Avengers” crew might be filling his head with promises, just to turn him into their next lab rat.
“Well, Bob doesn’t mention he has a friend” Yelena spoke up, breaking the silence between the two of you.
You frowned slightly, a sharp pang tightening in your chest.
“He hasn’t?” Seven years—seven long years—you waited for him like a fool, and he hadn’t even mentioned you to his new friends?
A slow wave of regret crept over you. Maybe coming here was a mistake.
“Well, it’s only fair. We just met 48 hours ago and his memory is still hazy after the incident” Yelena answered.
You stop in your tracks and so does Yelena, the blonde girl turned around to face you with a confused face.
“I– is he okay?” you asked, the news hasn’t covered much about him, they only talk about the other superheroes hence you don’t even know why they took Robert as well. Does the medical research he went to seven years ago link into this chaos?
“Yeah, he’s fine. But just don’t pressure him into remembering things, he can’t control it yet” Yelena said.
“It?” you asked in confusion. What exactly happened to him?
“Uh, the thing yesterday, it was him– not entirely him but his dark side I would say”
You fell silent, a chill spreading through you. Had they already made him into their lab rat? For seven years, he has been suffering alone all these years?
Your steps grew heavier as you followed her through the quiet corridor. The sterile lights overhead flickered slightly, casting shadows that seemed to dance with your thoughts. Every footstep echoed your anxiety.
“Bob?” Yelena knocks on his door once before Robert opens it up, with a wide smile plastered on his face.
“They gave me a good bed!” he exclaims
“Uh yeah, good for you…” Yelena smiles at him, she hasn’t checked her room yet, too busy dealing with the superiors with Bucky. She took a look at Robert's room, it was huge and comfortable, much better than her old room.
“I think I want to request some books, vinyl records and oh! Maybe a huge TV–”
“Uh, Bob?” Yelena cut him off gently.
Robert turned, eyebrows raised—until Yelena stepped slightly to the side, revealing the girl who had been standing quietly behind her.
Robert froze, stunned into silence. It took him a few seconds to fully register the woman standing in front of him. But when recognition finally clicked into place, his eyes welled with tears, and his breath caught in his throat.
“Y/N”
Without another words you ran towards him and he caught you in a warm hug. It was surreal, almost unbelievable to feel Robert’s arms around your waist again. You had dreamt of this moment for so long and now it was all real, the realization broke you into tears as you clung tightly to him.
On the other side of the room, Yelena let a small smile form on her lips. It felt good to see people reunited, wrapped in each other’s arms, finding happiness again. She dreamed of that too—especially on the days that felt heavier than most.
Her found family meant everything to her. And now, with her sister Natasha gone, all she could do was keep moving forward. Still, deeply inside she longed for the same kind of peace the two of you had just found in each other.
“Seven years… I’ve waited for you for seven years, Robert” you speak up after a moment being in each other's embrace.
Robert wipes the tears off from your cheek while nodding his head.
“I’m sorry– everything happened so fast, one moment I was in a metal coffin and the next thing I knew I was in a vault and met them” he explained. From the moment Robert regained his consciousness inside the OXE Vault, everything felt like a blur to him. The sight of four strangers in cool suits locked in a deadly battle made him nauseous.
He can’t remember the details but he remembered the tension in his body and when he turned into the Sentry, it felt good. For the first time in forever, everything felt right. He wanted to fly straight to you and show how powerful he became but then again he suddenly collapsed after feeling a buzzing from his new costume and waking up once again not remembering anything.
He got a little too excited with the news of the new Avengers and the fact that he had a room of his own again. It was a lot to take in after everything. He hated that it distracted him, even for a second.
“I’m sorry” he added
You shook your head, this time it is your turn to wipe the tears off his cheek.
“I’m just glad that you’re okay. Everyday I pray for you to come back to me.” you snivelled.
“I’m here now, I will not leave you again. No more volunteer to any medical researchers shit” he slightly chuckle
You scoff at his banter, slowly removing your arms from his waist.
“You have a lot to tell me, Robert. I can’t wait for us to go back home and–”
“Um, not trying to ruin the moment here but he cannot go back home” Yelena cuts your word. You turn your face to her with a confused expression.
“What? Why? He is just civilian like me”
“Uh no… Apparently Bob is one of us now, the thing about medical research make him powerful” Yelena explained
You glance at Robert for a moment, then shift your gaze back to Yelena.
“So about the ‘It’ thing you said earlier–”
“Yup” Yelena Yelena answered before you could even finish your question—already anticipating it. She was worried Robert might try to force the memories back too soon.
“So, can I stay?” you asked her
Yelena seems caught off guard with your question, it tooks a second for her to make a decision.
“Just don’t let Bucky see you,” she said and left the room.
You turn to Robert again, now his face mirroring your facial just now– the confused look. You let out a small laugh and held both of his warm hands.
“She cares for you a lot, I can tell. I need to beat her in this one-sided competition” you joked. Robert smiles at you and caresses your cheek– the things that he always does to you, it was more like a habit when the two of you are close like this.
“She feels like a sister to me. A sister that I never had, I don’t know why though, but you… You’re the most special person ever in my heart. The person who trusts me the most. Thank you for waiting for me, I really appreciate you. I really do”
“I think I love you a little too much to the point that no one in earth can replace you”
“My girl, I love you too. So much! Gonna spend all of this moment with you forever!” He pulled you into a tight hug and spun you around, making you let out a small shriek in protest, laughing as you begged him to stop.
“I’m glad you found friends that truly care for you, Robert. Me and your other friends are always on your side, through thick and thin”
Robert’s heart is getting warm hearing your words. He grew so used to the word alone, he nearly forgot what it felt like to be surrounded by people who truly cared. His memories are still foggy, but after meeting the others yesterday, he knew one thing for sure. He is not alone anymore.
For the first time in forever, the void is finally filled with something beautiful.
Now what about a blurb of giving him a dandelion crown👀
Pairing: The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader
Summary: After the Quinjet malfunctions, you and The Void find yourselves trying to kill time while the rest of the team attempts to fix the problem.
Warnings: Pure Fluff!
A/N: I found this to be such a cute little blurb request, and it definitely got out of hand. I love the picture too! :)
Word Count: 4,221
“It feels like my body is being set on fire,” The Void murmured, his voice a low, resonant rumble that seemed to vibrate through the warm earth beneath you both. He eased back against the lush expanse of the dandelion field with an exhausted huff, the sound escaping like a sigh from the depths of his shadowy form. The air around you was thick with the sweet, naturally earthy perfume of wildflowers in full bloom–notes of fresh pollen mingling with the crisp, verdant tang of crushed grass blades, all underscored by the faint, herbal sharpness of the dandelions themselves, their golden heads releasing tiny bursts of yellow dust with every gentle stir of the heavy breeze. The field stretched endlessly in all directions, a sea of swaying stems under the relentless sun, which soaked everything in a golden haze, radiating heat that rose from the ground in invisible, hazy waves, warming your skin and seeping into your bones like it was holding you down.
It was peak summertime–when humidity clung to everything, making the air feel heavy and alive, buzzing with the distant hum of insects and the occasional whisper of wind rustling through the tall grasses, but even the wind wasn’t one that would cool, it would just surround, and suffocate. Nobody on the team had dressed for this unexpected detour–the Quinjet’s sudden breakdown that had stranded you all in this remote, sun-drenched meadow far from any shade or civilization–but even if The Void had opted for lighter attire, you suspected his complaints would echo just the same. His natural form, that enigmatic blend of shadow and substance, seemed to amplify the discomfort, drawing in the heat like a dark canvas.
A subtle smirk tugged at your lips as you absentmindedly plucked dandelions from the carpet of green, their slender stems yielding with a soft snap, the humid air causing their fluffy heads to bob lazily back and forth like tiny suns on fragile stalks. You didn’t glance over at him just yet, too focused on adding more of the blooming flowers to the growing pile nestled in your lap. Their stark yellow contrasting vividly against the matte black fabric of your tactical gear, the fine pollen from their centers dusting off in delicate clouds, settling like golden specks on the material and leaving shimmering trails where your fingers brushed.
“You could go where the Quinjet is…There’s plenty of shade beneath the wings.” You pointed out, hearing The Void shifting against the thick, cushioning layer of grass that cradled him, the blades bending and springing back with a faint rustle, releasing more of the fresh, green scent into the air.
”I don’t think the team wants me over there…I’m only going to distract them cause they’ll be looking over their shoulders every ten seconds to see if I’m doing something I’m not supposed to.” His words carried a hint of wry resignation, finally drawing your attention to him. Your eyes roamed over his reclined form, a striking inversion of the bright, lively field around you. His obsidian silhouette stood out sharply against the vibrant greenery, the pollen from the dandelions he’d carelessly sprawled upon clinging to his skin like scattered stardust, creating a soft, glittery sheen that interplayed with the countless pinpoint white freckles dotting his body–like stars that had presently embedded into his skin.
Unlike you, he had shed most of his gear in a bid to combat the overheating, stripping down to the essential that left his form unobstructed: broad shoulders that tapered into his built torso, the outlines of lean muscles that were slightly visible where the sunlight caught the edges of his shadowy contours. His hair, a cascade of wispy, flowing strands that typically framed his face in loose waves, shifted slightly with his movements, catching the light in faint, ethereal glimmers. The sight stirred something warm and unspoken within you, a quiet enamourment that you masked behind casual glances, though if pressed, you’d deny it with every excuse imaginable–anything to avoid admitting how his presence pulled at you like the two of you were tethered to one another.
He had his eyes closed against the sun’s piercing brightness, completely oblivious–or so you thought–to your lingering, admiring gaze. Little did you know, he was acutely aware, his senses attuned to every shift in your attention, even when he wished they weren’t.
”I guess you’re right…” You replied quietly, your voice softening in the humid air as you reached out to pluck one of the dandelions sprouting right beside his leg. He felt the gentle tug, heard the hollow stem snap with a crisp pop, and it prompted him to peek through his lashes–unnoticed by you–as you added the flower to your pile, utterly absorbed in the simple task. He couldn’t help but feel his heart swell at the sight, at the way you appreciated the beauty of the little things, and seeing you in such a calm state made him want to be closer to you, but he couldn’t grant himself that grace, not right now at least.
”And anyways…They call you my keeper for a reason, do they not? You’re technically supposed to be deterring me from going over there.” His reminder carried a teasing edge, and you felt a heat creep up your cheeks, warmer than the sun’s embrace, your throat closing just enough that you needed to cough to loosen it.
”I’m not your keeper, we just get along well enough that you actually listen to me.” You corrected, keeping your tone light, as you selected two dandelions from the overflowing pile in your lap–their stems cool and slightly damp from the field’s moisture–and with practiced ease, you wove one over the other, the green fibers coming together smoothly, releasing a faint, fresh milky, sappy scent that mingled with the powdery pollen.
”Same difference…It’s also why they always send me off with you when we have to split up during missions.” He retorted, his gaze flicking to your hands as you plucked another flower, repeating the motion–wrapping the stem around the two already intertwined, building a chain of sorts.
”I think you’ve got selective hearing because I actually volunteer to be your partner.” Your words held a hint of defensiveness, the intimate admission slipping out amid the warmth, and he scoffed lightly, lifting a hand to push his flowing hair back from his face. The motion smeared some of the pollen from his palm across his forehead and cheeks, adding a soft, golden haze to his shadowed features.
”Great, thank you for saving me from being the last person on the team without a partner.” His sarcasm dripped like honey, drawing a huff of laughter from you, the sound light and genuine, cutting through the stillness.
”If you don’t want me to do it anymore I can always let you be paired off with one of the others, I’m sure they’d really appreciate that…” You shot back, a touch of mock irritation colouring your voice, as if the idea of him with someone else pricked at you more than you’d admit. You grabbed another flower, weaving it into the growing chain, the stems now forming a sturdy base for the rest of the flowers.
”I didn’t say I wanted you to do that, I was just stating the obvious…You don’t have to go supernova and threaten to make me partner with people I don’t get along with.” He murmured, his tone softening, diffusing the banter before it escalated. Just as you opened your mouth to retort, Yelena’s voice pierced the air, echoing across the vast field like a sharp crack.
“ALEXEI YOU’RE MAKING IT WORSE!” She exclaimed, followed by the shrill wail of an alarm bell and a cacophony of chaotic nosies–metallic banging, frantic clacking, and muffled shouts blending into a distract symphony of frustration. You glanced toward the Quinjet, spotting tendrils of dark smoke curling upward from the top of it, coiling lazily into the clear blue sky. Shaking your head with a resigned sigh, you returned to your weaving, the chain lengthening in your hands, its yellow blooms standing out completely against the green stems perfectly. The Void let out a deep groan.
”God we’re gonna be here forever.” He whispered under his breath, shifting once more against the grass, this time pushing himself up onto his hands. His hair fell into place around his face, the strands messy and thick, framing him with an untamed elegance that caught the sunlight, shining through the strands.
”Yeah…With our luck we won’t be getting home till tomorrow morning, and that’s if Valentina realizes we’re not back from the mission.” You picked up another dandelion, twirling its stem between your fingers, feeling the slight stickiness of sap on your skin before incorporating it into the chain.
A few moments of companionable silence settled over you, broken only by the warm breeze that swept through, carrying with it the mingled scents of earth and floral tones, brushing against your skin, but doing nothing to cool you down.
The Void watched you work, his gaze lingering on your nimble fingers as they adjusted the flowers, adding layers to thicken the chain, the motions precise and mesmerizing in the meticulous way you organized them.
“What are you doing?” He asked finally, inching closer, his movement stirring the grass, the rustling of his body dragging against it echoing through your ears. He motioned down to the woven dandelions–how they aligned in perfect symmetry, holding together as if it was bound by invisible threads, the overlapping blooms creating a tapestry of gold that seemed almost luminous in the sunlight.
”Making a dandelion chain…” You replied, glancing up at him, noting how his pupils had dilated just a fraction, as if absorbing more of the scene, more of you. Your eyes traced over his face, the pollen clinging to his shadowed contours, softening the enigmatic darkness and lending a depth to the pinpoint freckles that glowed faintly beneath the yellow tint.
”A dandelion chain?” He repeated, his voice laced with curiosity, lifting his eyes to meet yours, the white specks within his obsidian depths catching the light, inviting further explanation even as the concept remained disarmingly simple.
”Yeah…It’s just weaving the stems around each other basically…” You said, parting the chain slightly to reveal the intricate braid of green stems beneath, sturdy and intertwined. “See?” He nodded slowly, and you selected another flower, deftly adding it to the end, the motion quick and fluid.
”And what’s the end goal?” He pressed, his interest prompting a soft laugh from you–a sound that surprised even him, sending a warmth through his already heated form, though he masked it behind his steady gaze.
”There isn’t one, it’s just supposed to be something that passes the time…Want to give it a try?” You offered, extending the chain toward him, the blooms swaying gently in the breeze. He leaned back slightly, eyeing it warily before meeting your gaze again, shaking his head.
”I don’t know how to do it, I’ll end up messing it up.” His murmur held a rare vulnerability, the words hanging in the humid air between you, like he had been told several times, on multiple different occasions, that messing things up was all he was capable of doing. You bit the inside of your cheek.
”I can always undo it if you mess it up…But I doubt that’ll happen.” You assured, scooting closer to him, being mindful of the dwindling pile of flowers in your lap, before picking one and handing it to him, “Just use the stem of this one and loop it around the others, make sure you wrap it between the tops rather than the empty space so it’ll look a little more fuller.” He hesitated for a moment, before reaching out, his thick fingers brushing yours in a fleeting contact that sent a spark of awareness through you both–warm skin against the heat of a shadow, a lingering contrast of soft against softer. Taking the flower, he brought the chain into focus, following your instructions with careful precision, wrapping the stem slowly, aligning it as best he could.
The result was slightly crooked, a charming imperfection amid the uniformity you had created, and he hummed in mild satisfaction.
”Guess it’s as good as it can be…” He commented.
”Keep going,” You encouraged, leaning back on one hand to grant yourself a better view, your gaze racing the broad expanse of his shoulder, the scattered white freckles reflecting the sun like flecks of light on dark water. The urge to touch them–to see if they were raised or felt like braille beneath your fingertips–tugged at you, but you resisted, content for now to watch him and admire from afar.
”You know…It’s very fascinating how you humans are so easily entertained.” He commented, adjusting his posture to hunch over the chain more, his hair falling forward in loose waves that obscured his eyes and part of his face. You arched an eyebrow as he plucked a flower from your lap, adding it slowly, his fingers surprisingly gentle despite their size and potential for harm.
“It’s a bit hypocritical of you to say that when it sure looks like you’re enjoying yourself.” You shot back with a smirk, watching his motions falter briefly, his eyes flicking up to yours for an instant–the freckles across his features glowing brighter under the sun–before dropping back to the task.
“…I’m not enjoying myself…” He murmured under his breath, the words so faint they nearly dissolved into the breeze, yet you caught them, the denial laced with uncertainty.
”Then why are you still doing it?” You retorted, observing as he reached for another dandelion from your lap, his hand brushing your thigh–whether it was on purpose or by accident was left to your imagination–sending a shiver through you. He sighed.
”Because you asked me to…And like you said…I listen to you…” He said simply, and your gaze lifted to his face, catching a fleeting grin in the shadowed depths–a rare glimpse of lightness that made your heart stutter. You let out a small laugh.
”Touché…” You whispered, shifting closer without conscious thought, your knees pressing against his, the warmth of the connection grounding the both of you. He flinched at the touch, a subtle tension rippling through him, but he didn’t retreat; instead, he leaned into it ever so slightly, silently acknowledging it. Clearing his throat, he reached up to scratch his nose, inadvertently smearing a trail of yellow pollen across the bridge, which drew another soft laugh from you. His eyes widened at your reaction, suddenly growing self conscious of what you could’ve been doing that to.
”What?” He asked, his voice hushed.
”You’ve got a bunch of pollen on your face,” You replied, lifting your hand into view, “Is it okay if I…” You trailed off, gesturing in a brushing motion with your outstretched fingers, and he nodded.
”Sure,” He whispered, leaning forward a fraction, closing the distance slightly. The Void rarely let anyone touch him, a self-imposed boundary forged from caution–he couldn’t afford another ‘shame room’ incident, not with the team’s trust hanging by a thread. Yet with you, the calculus shifted; he trusted his own control within your presence, enough to grant this fleeting indulgence, swiping away harmless pollen. Though, in the hidden recesses of his thoughts, it was more than that–a quiet yearning to feel the warmth of your hands against him, even in the most innocuous way, a brush of connection that would pierce through the isolation of his shadowy existence.
You reached toward him slowly, giving him every chance to pull back, your soft fingertips grazing the bridge of his nose where the pollen clustered thickest. His skin felt like shadowed silk, velvety and unexpectedly yielding, warmed through by the sun’s relentless gaze, as if the heat had infused it with a subtle pliancy that invited deeper exploration. The fine powder lifted away with ease, dusting your fingers in a faint yellow veil, but you allowed your touch to linger, tracing the gentle contour of his noseºthe slight flare, the rounded tip that dipped under the pressure. Beneath it all though, you felt the raised texture of his freckles, like tiny embossed stars scattered across him, each one a pinpoint of elevation that caught under your nails with a delicate rasp.
You heard him gulp, his lashes fluttering as if stirred by an invisible breeze. The luminosity of those white specks across his face intensified, glowing a fraction brighter, as though your proximity ignited them from within, a silent response to your closeness. A little smile curved your lips, unbidden as you trailed your fingers to his cheeks, swiping away the lingering pollen there too–the motion slow, savouring the cool undercurrent beneath the sun-kissed surface, the way his form seemed to hum under your touch.
Finally, you broke the spell, pulling your fingers away with a reluctance you hoped he didn’t notice, the air between you cooling slightly in the absence.
”All better,” You announced softly, your voice a whisper that blended with the rustle of grass. He managed only a small hum in response, words eluding him in the wake of that charged contact, before shifting in his spot. He redirected his attention to the chain in his hands, his movements now more assured, fingers weaving with a newfound confidence that added crooked but earnest links to your precise work, the collaboration evident in the blend of styles–your symmetry meeting his organic twists, a visual metaphor for the unspoken harmony between you.
As the chain elongated under his guidance, you offered gentle directives, your voices intertwining in a tapestry of quiet instructions and shared chuckles that floated on the breeze.
“Try looping that one a little tighter–see how it holds?” You’d suggest, your tone encouraging, and he’d nod, his focus sharpening like a blade, brow furrowing faintly beneath the wispy fall of his hair as he adjusted, the sunlight tracing the edges of his shoulders in golden outlines, highlighting the subtle play of muscles shifting beneath his obsidian skin.
The pile in your lap dwindled steadily, each flower a stolen moment, until only one solitary dandelion remained, its head bobbing forlornly amid the remnants of pollen on your gear. He wove it in at the end with careful deliberation, then held the chain up, confusion etching his shadowed features as he examined the length, his eyes–those depths speckled with starlight–lifting to meet yours in silent query.
“So what do we do now?” He asked, his voice low and curious, handing the creation over as if it were fragile glass.
Slowly, you took it from him, your fingers brushing his palm in another spark of contact, feeling the residual warmth and faint stickiness of sap. His gaze remained fixed on you, unwavering, as you formed a loop, deftly intertwining the ends into a seamless circle, the stems locking with a soft, satisfying twist.
“You make a crown,” You replied simply, holding the makeshift halo aloft, its golden blooms catching the light like a ring of captured sunshine, a smile draping your lips with effortless warmth.
“Now you just need to model it,” you added playfully, and before he could voice a protest–his mouth parting in mild surprise–you shifted up onto your knees, the grass yielding softly under you with a fresh release of verdant scent. Leaning close, the humid air between you compressing into something electric, you placed the dandelion crown atop his head with reverent care. The blooms nestled against his flowing hair, their petals brushing the loose waves, while stray pollen dusted the strands, weaving golden highlights into the dark cascade. The sight transformed him–softening the sharp enigma of his form into something whimsically approachable, the white freckles on his cheeks flaring brighter under your appreciative gaze, as if blushing in their own ethereal way.
“You look pretty with this…” You commented, the words slipping out softer than intended, laced with an affection that hovered on the edge of confession. Your hands lingered, sliding down from the crown to caress his face with the lightest tips of your fingers–a featherlight trail along his jaw, feeling the subtle firmness there, the way his skin seemed to yield just enough to invite more. It could have been dismissed as nothing, a casual adjustment, but the air thickened with truth: this was deliberate, a bridge across the unspoken chasm between teammates and something deeper, a tension that simmered like the summer heat, pulling you both inexorably closer.
Before he could respond–his breath catching, eyes darkening with a mix of surprise and reciprocated want–a sudden tickle assaulted his nose, building like an insistent itch. His features twitched, eyes watering at the edges, lashes dampening, and then he sneezed–a sharp, explosive burst that propelled pollen into the air like glittering confetti, the sound reverberating softly across the open field, startling a nearby cluster of insects into flight. He sniffled, rubbing the back of his hand across his nose, a sheepish flicker crossing his shadowed eyes, the crown now tilted askew atop his head.
“As much as I would love to continue modeling your work…I think I’m slowly starting to realize that I may be allergic to pollen,” He admitted quietly, his voice muffled and edged with reluctant humor, the admission vulnerability wrapped in lightness, his freckles still aglow amid the lingering dust. A small laugh bubbled from your lips, light and affectionate, as you noted the faint sheen of moisture in his eyes.
“Alright…I better take it off your head then before it gets worse…And maybe we should move out of this area too, we don’t want to add onto the situation we’re in right now with an allergic reaction.” You reached back up, fingers grazing the crown’s edges, the petals soft and yielding under your touch. As you lifted it free, a slight imbalance caught you–perhaps from the uneven grass or the lingering haze of intimacy–and you teetered forward, off-kilter.
In an instant, The Void’s hands rose to steady you, palms settling firmly on your hips, his grip strong yet gentle, thumbs pressing into the fabric of your gear with a warmth that seeped through, anchoring you. The contact sent a jolt through your body, his touch like cooled embers against your heated skin, the subtle pressure drawing you nearer until your faces were mere inches apart. Time stretched, the field fading to a distant hum as you looked down at him, your gaze drifting to his lips–shadowed curves that parted slightly, inviting, the faint pollen residue adding a golden allure. Then up to his eyes, those obsidian depths flecked with starlight, holding yours with an intensity that spoke volumes unspoken: desire, hesitation, the precipice of admission.
The tension coiled, thick and palpable, your breaths mingling in the humid space, hearts syncing in a silent rhythm. His fingers flexed minutely on your hips, pulling you fractionally closer, the air charged with the promise of a kiss, of crossing that invisible line–
“Thank God! Guys! I got it!” Bucky’s voice shattered the moment, booming from the direction of the quinjet, laced with triumphant relief as the alarm’s wail cut off abruptly.
You both recoiled as if scorched, his hands slipping away, the sudden absence leaving your skin tingling with phantom warmth. You opened your mouth to speak, words tumbling out in a rush, only for him to start simultaneously, creating a brief, awkward overlap of half-formed syllables.
“We better get to the jet before they leave us,” You managed first, your voice steadier than you felt, cheeks burning with the near-miss.
He nodded, swallowing visibly, his hair shifting as he averted his gaze briefly. “Yeah…Yeah you’re right.”
Rising fluidly, he dusted himself off, grass and pollen cascading from his form in a soft shower, then reached for the discarded shirt nearby, slipping it over his head with a smooth motion that rippled the fabric across his torso, the material clinging slightly to his sweat-dampened skin. You remained kneeled on the grass for a beat longer, the earth’s warmth pressing up through your knees, grounding you amid the whirlwind of almosts. He turned back, silhouetted against the sun, his flowing hair catching the light like a dark halo.
“You coming?” He asked, his tone casual but laced with a subtle concern, eyes searching yours.
“Yeah, you go ahead, I’ll catch up, just gotta make sure I don’t leave anything behind,” You replied, forcing a nod and a small smile.
“Alright,” He hummed, lingering for a fraction before turning and striding toward the quinjet, his form cutting a striking path through the swaying dandelions.
Once alone, you let out a quiet sigh, the exhale carrying the weight of unspoken longing. Your fingers found the dandelion crown where it lay abandoned on the grass, its blooms still vibrant but wilting at the edges. With a gentle snap, you broke it apart, folding the chain carefully into a compact bundle, the stems’ sap sticky on your palms, before shoving it into your pocket–a secret memento of the moment, pressed close like a promise deferred.
Summary: The Void is not just a power or an alternate form. It’s Bob's darkest self, an entity that feeds on fear, destruction, and chaos. But the Void desires something different with you. Not to destroy...he wants to claim.
A/N: Ik this isn't really how void works, but it is fanfiction lol, I hope you enjoy my work regardless. I am enjoying writing for Void and Bob so if you have ideas for either please let me know :) As always if you like my work, please let me know! Reblogging, commenting, and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work, and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Requests are open <3
At first, it’s just a whisper.
When Bob’s overwhelmed, exhausted, burning at both ends he sees the shadows curl in the corners of the room. Not moving. Just...watching. Waiting.
Waiting for you.
Bob noticed that it has been showing itself more when you’re around. “Don’t get close to me,” he tells you one night. His voice is flat, too calm. “You don’t know what I am.” You smile softly, too sweet, too trusting. “I know who you are.” His jaw clenched, he wants to believe you. If he was honest with himself though… he doesn’t even know who he is right now. Because The Void knows you. And it’s waiting for you. What it wants with you Bob doesn’t know, but it can’t be something wholesome, can’t be something pure and those are the only things you deserved.
It starts with little moments…albeit they were very strange moments. You wake up with your apartment window open though you swore it was locked. You feel eyes on you when no one’s there. A shadow flickers across the hallway mirror, but when you turn, it’s just you. And when Bob shows up the next day exhausted, stubble unshaven, trembling you don’t ask why he doesn’t remember talking to you last night. Because you already know.
It wasn’t Bob. It was him.
“You smell like sunlight, like the spring” the thing wearing Bob’s face says one night, voice too smooth, too full of hunger. He’s not quite touching you. Not yet. “You don’t understand what that does to something like me.” You back up instinctively. But something stops you. Not fear. Not exactly. It was more of a curiosity. "We don't get soft. Never been worthy of such softness." He leans closer, voice silk, deep, and ruined. “Bob wants to keep you safe,” The Void murmurs. “But I think I want to keep you...That we want to keep you.” He smiles a twisted smile that was completely different from the one you fell in love with. “And I don’t let go of what’s mine. Not without a war."
Bob hasn't been sleeping much anymore. He knows the signs too well, knows how it starts. The way the shadows cling to him a little longer than they should. How his reflection lingers in the mirror a moment too long after he’s already walked away. How the voice in his head isn't quite his own. The Void is circling again. And it’s trying to circle not only him but you.
<><><><><>
The two of you always had a date night planned for two nights a week. Tonight was the stay at home date night, you had planned a dinner the two of you could try and make and he picked a movie that you hadn’t seen but was one of his favorites. Bob was excited for tonight, he hadn’t seen you a lot lately with work and just life but as he was getting things prepared he heard a familiar whisper. She’ll be mine… A shiver ran down his spine as if the words traveled through his body.
“Don’t come by tonight,” Bob says over the phone. His voice is low, raw like he’s been screaming into the wind. “I’m not… I’m not doing...the best. We’ll just reschedule date night.” You seemed to perk up over the phone hearing that he was struggling. “I mean that's exactly why I should come by.”
“No.” It’s firm. But underneath that is panic. Fear. “Please. Just. Just not tonight.” You hear him breathe in sharply. Then, softer, cracking around the edges: “He’s too close. He likes you. He…he wants you.”
You don’t understand at first. Not really. You’ve never been afraid of Bob. Even when the news whispers about "what he could become." Even when people look at him like he’s a bomb that was in the middle of ticking. But when you stopped by the tower the next day and got to his room, you could see that one of his walls has a hole punched in it as did the mirror, windows cracked inward from the inside and the lights shattered, you finally realized…He wasn’t protecting himself from you. He was protecting you from him.
“I would never hurt you, I god I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I ever hurt you” Bob says, pacing, running a shaking hand through his hair. “But he-he doesn’t care. He sees something soft and good and pure, and he wants it. He ruins it. He can’t—” Bob cut himself off with dragging his hands down his face. “I can’t have him ruining you.”
You step toward him, quiet but steady. “I’m not afraid of you.” He stops and looks at you. Something flickers behind his eyes—gold and endless, but underneath it,was something darker. Something grasping. “You should be,” he breathes. “Because I don’t know how much longer I can hold him back.”
That night, while you sleep on his bed, Bob sits just out of sight. Eyes glowing faintly in the dark. Hands clenching hard enough to crack bone. The Void purrs beneath his skin like a beast under glass. Let me see her, it whispers. She’s warm. She’s kind. She doesn’t flinch. She wants us. We could keep her. Bob presses his forehead to the wall, jaw clenched. “You don’t get to touch her.” The entity just laughs, his laugh, twisted and low echoes through Bob’s bones.
Summary: When The Void feels you sinking into your own darkness due to hateful comments he promises to handle it for you. Because angels shouldn't fight demons, especially not when you have one who'd do anything for you.
Warnings: cruel comments about the reader, insecurities, mention of violence but nothing detailed
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The silence in the apartment was heavy—too heavy.
You sat curled on the couch, legs pulled to your chest, fingers twisting the hem of your sleeve. The words still rang in your ears, even though the person who said them had long since walked away. Cruel. Thoughtless. Weaponized truths made to wound.
“You make everything worse.”......“You’re too much.”......“No one could ever love something so broken.”.......
Your breathing hitched. You hated how much those words worked. How much they sank their teeth into the softest parts of you.
You didn’t notice the flicker in the air, the way the shadows stretched unnaturally across the hardwood. Not until the room dimmed like dusk had swallowed the sun and the air grew still—watching.
“I can feel it,” came a voice, velvet wrapped around something jagged.
Your heart jumped. “Bob?”
Silence.
No. Not Bob.
Void.
He didn’t bother stepping out of the shadows. They coiled around your body like dark silk, curling around your legs and waist, gentle and possessive. Protective.
“I felt the pain, its seeping out of you my angel,” he said, his voice echoing from everywhere and nowhere. “Like a scream across a thousand miles of nothing.”
You stayed silent, too ashamed to speak.
“They said things to you they should not have,” he continued, and though his voice was still calm, something rumbled beneath it, like a beast pacing behind a cage made of willpower.
“Don’t,” you whispered. “I--I don’t want you to do anything reckless.”
“Oh, my sweet angel” he said, and you felt the couch dip slightly behind you—he was there. Close. Closer than your next breath. His arms weren’t solid exactly, but they wrapped around you anyway—made of shadow and heat and wrath restrained by your presence alone.
“You don’t fight demons with angels…” he murmured into your ear, voice low, intimate, deadly. “Let your demon fight for you.”
Your throat caught. “Void—”
“They don’t get to speak to you like that,” he snarled, lips brushing your neck. “Not when you are mine. Not when you carry my shadow inside you like a second heartbeat.”
Your eyes burned. “Why does it hurt so much?”
“Because you believed them,” he whispered, with something that almost sounded like heartbreak. “But I don’t. And I never will.”
You closed your eyes as the darkness around you pulsed like a heartbeat. Safe. Warm. Vicious.
“Let me take care of them,” he said simply. “Let me hurt them, I'll unmake them for you my angel"
You shook your head, but leaned back into him anyway. “No… just stay. Just… make it stop.”
His shadows wrapped tighter.
“You don’t have to fight alone anymore. You never have to be soft for them again.”
You felt a kiss brush the back of your shoulder, warm and cold all at once.
“Let me be your monster. I was made for this.”
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
He hadn’t slept, he just couldn't find the sleep that kept escaping him. The sunrise bled pale gold across the ruined skyline, but Bob didn’t move from where he sat. On the edge of your bathtub, hunched over with blood on his hands not his and not yours—not yours, never yours—his hands were shaking so badly, fuck they were nearly uncontrollably shaking at that point as he’d scraped them raw trying to scrub himself clean.
That's where you found him just as the sun began to truly rise. The door had been open. The lights off. The shadows thin and brittle. Bob didn’t look at you when you stepped into the room. He couldn’t.
“I told him no,” you said gently, dropping to your knees in front of him. “I-I told Void I didn’t want him to hurt anyone for me.”
“I know,” Bob croaked. “He didn’t care.”
You reached out. He flinched—not from you, but from himself. Your touch was too gentle for someone so rough to handle. “Did you let him take over?”
A long, unwelcome pause lingered between the two of you. A war was clearly waging in his silence.
“No,” he rasped. “But...I didn’t exactly stop him either.”
His voice cracked on the last word. He finally looked up at you, and his eyes were red-rimmed, exhausted, but still glowing faintly gold. The glow always lingered after the Void came out--like something burned behind the surface of him.
“I can’t keep pretending he’s not part of me,” he said. “But every time he does something like this, I feel myself slipping further away from who I was. From who I'm supposed to be.”
You cupped his jaw gently. “Bob—”
“He hurt people, it-it was for you to...to protect you, to love you.” His voice was sharp. Self-loathing. “And there's...there's a big fucking part of me that thinks they deserved it, and that terrifies me. Because that’s not—normal. That’s not human. I want to protect you, but this thing inside me, he doesn’t know where the line is. And the worst part?” He broke off, looking down, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I don’t think I want him to find that line.”
That confession shattered something in you—and you weren’t sure it was fear. You leaned closer, thumb brushing his cheekbone.
“You think that makes you a monster?”
“I am one,” he whispered. “I’m not safe. Not even for you, especially not for you..you need a man not a shadow. ”
You leaned in until your forehead touched his.
“You’re wrong.”
His breath caught.
You spoke softly, but with a weight that made the shadows around him stir.
“You are not just those dark moments. And Void didn’t do it without reason. He did it because I was hurting. Because someone broke me down and he knew you wouldn’t survive watching me break.”
Bob’s jaw clenched.
You continued, voice gentle but unwavering: “He’s not separate from you, Bob. He is you. The part that refuses to let the world hurt you again. The part that wants to burn it all down if anyone touches what’s his.”
“And you’re okay with that?” Bob asked, broken and disbelieving. “You’re okay with him?”
“I didn’t fall in love with just half of you,” you whispered. “I fell for all of it. Even the part that howls. Even the part that bleeds shadows.”
His eyes filled again, but this time, he didn’t look away. His hands rose slowly, trembling, framing your face like he was afraid he’d stain you just by holding on. “I don’t deserve you.” You hummed “Maybe not,” with a soft smile blooming across your face, “but you have me always.”
He let out a shuddered breath. Then, in the quiet aftermath, a familiar voice slithered into the back of your mind:
She gets it, the Void purred. She understands. And she doesn’t run.
You didn't flinch. But this time neither did Bob.
And for the first time in a long time… neither of you tried to shut the darkness out.
If you like my work please let me know! Reblogging, commenting and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Request are open <3
Warnings: Emotional instability, intense jealousy, Bob nearly loses control, brief violence (interrupted), possessive behavior, psychological intensity, soft yandere vibes, comfort after anger, change in void image (he comforts bob???)
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It was supposed to be a quiet day.
Just a routine check-in at the compound. You’d stopped to grab coffee in the break room. You’d smiled—awkwardly, politely —at someone’s dumb joke, and that had been enough.
You didn’t even notice Bob when he walked in.
But he noticed everything. The guy--new, cocky, stupid--who standing too close, leaning against the counter like he belonged in your space. Saying something low, something just shy of disgusting, and laughing when your polite rejection wasn’t loud enough to stop him.
And then suddenly—Crash.
The coffee mug shattered against the floor at your feet. You turned just quick enough to see Bob wrap his hand around the guy’s throat, pressing him flat against the wall.
Not choking... not yet. But damn close to it.
The glow was already rising behind his eyes like a sun about to burn everything down.
“Bob—”
He didn’t hear you at first. Couldn't hear the softness over how shallow his breathing was, his heart beating in his ears, fingers twitching, shadows starting to creep in from the corners of the room like they’d been summoned.
“I’m going to give you one chance,” he muttered, low and terrifyingly calm. “To walk out of here conscious.”
“Bob—baby stop,” you said more sharply now, stepping forward. His jaw flexed. The random Joe made a panicked noise. And that was enough. Bob dropped him. Just let him fall at his feet.
The guy scrambled and ran without looking back.
Silence fell again, heavy and hot.
Bob stood there staring at the wall, hands shaking, chest heaving. You touched his wrist. He didn’t pull away—but he didn’t look at you either. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, hoarse. “You shouldn’t have to see that side of me.”
“You stopped,” you whispered. He just shook his head, “I almost didn’t.” You slid your fingers between his, grounding him. “But you did.”
Bob finally turned his eyes to you—lit, golden, with something deeper beneath the surface, something broken and furious and yours.
And then, just under his breath, as if confessing something holy he started laughing nearly emotionless as he confesses:
“No, it’s sweet, really… because it means you care. You care because you know I don’t.”
The way he said it-so tired, so bare-made your chest ache.“Bob--”
“I’m not soft,” he said. “Not for anyone. Not since every--” He cut himself off, voice cracking slightly. “But you…” His hand rose to your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone with the same gentleness he refused the world. “You’re my softness.”
And that, he knew, was the most dangerous part of all.
Because if anyone ever took you from him?
He’d let the Void come through. And there’d be no one left to stop him.
But until then—until you told him to stop—he’d fight it. For you.
He always would.
♡♡♡♡♡♡
The world was still again.
You were asleep beside him—warm, breathing softly, curled into his chest like you’d never doubted him. Like you hadn’t watched him nearly rip someone apart hours ago. Like you weren’t afraid. He couldn't stop think about how you should’ve been.
Bob lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, eyes wide open. The glow behind his eyelids pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat. He could still feel the pressure of the Void… watching. Not rising. Just there, coiled around his ribs like smoke. Waiting.
He tried to focus on your breathing. Tried to memorize the soft weight of your arm across his stomach.
But the voice still came. Low. Velvet. Echoing from a place beneath thought.
> >"You didn’t kill him."
Bob didn’t respond.
> >"You wanted to.He looked at her like she was a thing he could have. Like she wasn’t already claimed. But you stopped yourself. For her."
A shiver crawled down Bob’s spine.
>>"I’m proud of you Robert."
That—that—made Bob’s throat tighten.
“You’re not real,” he whispered. “You’re just me. You’re what I become when I fall apart.”
>>"Then fall apart the right way. Let me through only when it counts. Let me protect what you love the way no one ever protected you."
Bob closed his eyes and focused on matching his breathing with yours before mumbling “She thinks I’m strong enough to hold you back.”
>>"She’s right...But she’s wrong. Because she doesn’t know yet that she doesn’t have to hold you back.She only has to stand there—and we will kneel gratefully."
Bob exhaled shakily.
“She’s the only good thing left in me.”
> "No, Bob. She’s the only good thing worth us keeping."
There was silence again.
Almost.
And then, so low he wasn’t sure he even heard it:
>"She’s your softness. She’s my sanctuary. Ours."
Bob finally turned his head, looked at you sleeping beside him, face pressed to his shirt, trusting him with every inch of herself. And for once… he didn’t feel like a monster. Not because Void was gone. But because Void wasn’t.
And still--you stayed.
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If you like my work please let me know! Reblogging, commenting and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Request are open <3
Hi friend !! I love your writing so much, it’s so good.
I have a request if you’d be down ?? Bob / Sentry / Void x y/n. Bob was married before the events of Thunderbolts. Like maybe they got married out of high school or something. Valentina finds out about his wife & uses her as leverage to get him to agree to the Sentry project. It doesn’t go quite as well as she’d hoped because she doesn’t realize Sentry & Void love y/n as well because they can see Bob’s memories with her & understand how he feels. Val & her helpers haven’t been very nice to y/n, like hitting her & stuff, so that sets Sentry off & y/n is the only one who can talk him or Void down without it being a fight.
Just a random thought I had for a story I thought you might enjoy 🫶🏻
I absolutely love this idea!!! Thank you so much for sharing this and letting me being the one to write this for you I hope I did it justice <3
>>>><<<<
The worst part was how she was using you.
Bob hadn’t seen you in years. Not because he didn’t want to. But because the world made him believe that he was too dangerous to love anything. Especially you. You, with your soft laugh and stormy temper, the girl he knew he had to spend the rest of his life with even at just fifteen when the two of you started dating, the girl who he married straight out of high school. You were all fire and loyalty, too loud for small dreams and too real for a man who believed he’d be nothing but an addict. So, he decided to get clean. He knew he wasn’t getting many good things in this life, that you were by far the best thing to ever walk into his life and he refused to let you slip away.
He took notice during his small moments of clarity that his addictions were taking a toll on you, you weren’t sleeping, you were skinnier than before, the way your eyes would light up when he would just stumble into your shared apartment broke his heart every time. He had a hard time believing he was the man you wanted, he knew he sure as hell wasn’t the man you deserved, but he was determined to become that man for you.
He promised he’d be back in just a few months, “It’s-it’s like a spiritual awakening type thing babe…I-I don’t know I think it’ll help…I mean how can I not get clean if the shit isn’t around me anymore, right?”
So he disappeared.
And then they took you.
When Val found Bob once again, she realized she needed him. However, he just wouldn’t corroborate.
Then she had a brilliant idea of finding you, it was easy to track you honestly, you hadn’t moved out of the apartment the two of you shared from high school, Pathetic really, she scoffed, after all this time you still hadn't left? She waved her hand and sent the information to one of her assistants to take you to make sure Bob would start behaving.
He didn’t remember much about agreeing to the Sentry Project. Not really. Valentina smiled too sharply. The others stood so stiffly in black suits and said words like containment, protocol, oversight. And then she dropped the photo on the table like it meant nothing.
Seventeen-year-old you, in the random white dress you found at a thrift store outside of the courthouse holding the marriage certificate, your smile shined brightly even through the creases and worn edges from being folded too many times. Seeing the picture made his heart stop, his breath got caught in his throat and his head spined with questions. How the hell did she find you?
“Sign the papers, Bob. Or she disappears.”
He tried to hold it together. For you. He let them drug him all over again. Chain him. Train him. Mold him into something that they deemed “manageable.” But Valentina made a mistake. She thought she could control him. She forgot who was watching.
Sentry knew your name. The Void knew your name.
They could feel it – something soft and bright in the back of Bob’s mind. Neither of them had a good understanding of what love was supposed to be. But they knew you. You were warm hands over trembling shoulders. You were the taste of sunlight. You were the one memory that made Bob feel human again, that Bob clinged to. And so Sentry loved you too, in his own confused, possessive way.
Void didn’t love easily. He destroyed.
But even he curled protectively around your name in Bob’s head. He hated everything. But not you. Never you.
Val didn’t expect it to matter. Her entire team thought you were just leverage. By the time Bob found you–through layers of classified files, locked doors, and “not your concern” responses–you were bloodied and bruised. Dried cuts across your cheekbone. A limp in your step. You didn’t scream. You did cry, you did smile when you saw him.
That broke him. The scream that tore from his throat shook the entire facility. They tried to sedate him. Too late.
They always talked about the Sentry’s power like a scale. But they couldn’t truly understand all that he was capable of. It wasn’t Bob that scared them. It wasn’t even the Sentry.
It was the Void.
And now the Void was wide awake and alert.
Everything was red.
Walls crumbled like paper. Screams ringed loudly through the background– every member of security was scrambling. Someone begged for a tranquilizer. The glass melted from the hallway cameras as the lights stuttered and died.
He didn’t even look human anymore. Gold eyes. Black smoke curling from his skin like tar. He wasn’t walking–he was gliding forward, radiating fury. A voice like thunder cracked the silence:
“Who touched her?”
You coughed from where you were curled on the cot. Blood on your lip. You tried to stand, but stumbled. The moment your knees hit the floor, Bob shattered. Or maybe that’s when Sentry took over fully–no longer able to be held back by human guilt, no longer softened by protocol. He didn’t stop at the door. It exploded open with a blinding flash, heat searing the air. A trembling agent fired.
Bad choice.
Sentry caught the bullet mid-air and snapped his fingers. The gun evaporated. The man screamed as his arm bent the wrong way, suspended by nothing.
The Void was rising–blotting out all reason.
“Bob,” you rasped. “Stop. I’m okay--”
But he wasn’t Bob anymore. Not fully. He turned toward you–crackling energy rolling off him. Void and Sentry both trying to surface, pulling at the same body, eyes blazing gold then blinking and glowing black.
“They hurt you,” he growled, low and guttural. “They will die for that.”
You stumbled toward him, dragging your broken leg. “Hey,” you whispered, touching his chest. His heat nearly burned–but you didn’t pull away. “I’m here. I’m okay.”
He flinched.
The Void’s rage twisted, but Sentry’s light pulsed under the surface. Torn in two.
“Don’t make me watch you become something you’ll hate knowing I witnessed,” you breathed, leaning into him. “You found me. That’s--that’s what matters.”
He dropped to his knees like a falling star. The energy hissed and died around him. His shoulders shook as tears fell down his face. You touched his jaw, guiding his face to yours. “Come back to me, Bobby.” He was crying. Quiet and broken, breath ragged. “I thought you were gone,” he whispered. You wrapped your arms around him. His frame trembled like a dying sun. “I thought you were gone. You’re mine, my husband, my love,” you murmured into his neck. “I’m not going anywhere.”
>>>><<<<
Valentina survived.
Barely.
She limps now. She constantly looks over her shoulder, when the lights flicker her breathing stops until they go back to normal.
Because while the world still calls him “Sentry” and prays he’s contained–She knows better. She knows you are the only thing that keeps him human. The only thing that can control him. And if they ever try to take you again? There won’t be anyone left to stop the Void.
>>>><<<<
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