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jazziejax · 11 days ago

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𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Bob Reynolds x OC!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - The beginning of a new chapter for the lost soul of the white assassin.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Graphic violence, mentions of torture, blood, murder, dark themes, body horror (mimicry), fire/burning, language (Russian with translations and in italics, sorry!)

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - ….i caved. And I’ve been in a marvel hole my entire life, but Brave New World and Thunderbolts* has made that hole…deeper. Hope you guys like it. I plan to follow some of the themes of the movie and this might become a series (one that I hope I could finish…) Hope you guys like it and please go easy on me, I’ve never written a fight scene before. Sorry for any spelling errors or grammar mistakes.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 3, 343+

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - ᯓ★

The hard winds in the tundra whisper as they whipped past, but cold never touched her. It wasn’t because she was immune to it, no—her body could still feel the brining chill. She would still catch herself tightening with each wind-shear gust rolling off the Siberian flats. But it never touched her because she had trained herself not to flinch in it. To never show a face to weakness, no matter how much one was suffering. She had long since learned that pain, discomfort, even blood, were things to ignore until the job was done. And she was only at the beginning.

She crouched in the snowy ridge overlooking the isolated blacksite, its edges cloaked in pine trees and gunmetal fencing. Frost collected on her lashes, wind biting at where her mask didn’t cover. The lower half of her face was hidden behind a metal plated fabric, matte black and smooth like the rest of the sleek suit clinging to her body.

There was then a subtle click that sounded in her arms over the raging wind. The mechanical sound emitted when she twisted her wrist once, and the black against her skin rippled outward, transforming in seconds into a ghost-white camouflage, a seamless shift of color and texture. The material adapted to almost reflect a mimic the icy surroundings—her body now a phantom in snow. With a low hum, she put on her hood, casting a shadow over the stark white braids that were on either side of her head. The sight of the compound ahead shimmered in her lenses that moved to cover her eyes when she pressed behind her ear, tagged with red infrared silhouettes and biometric markers.

There were guards waiting outside, just as she predicted.

She watched the place like a predator watches a prey. Her pulse remained steady, eyes narrowed, gloved fingers flexing only once before she moved. There was not a single disturbance on the ground as she dashed through the rather open field. No sound, not a crunch of boots on snow. It was almost like she slid from the ridge her she was perched upon, her hood low, blending into the terrain.

She noted that four guards stood in front of the entrance, unaware that death had already been marked upon them for hours from the woman gazing at the from the trees.

She approached from behind the tree line, darting between thick trunks, eyes calculating wind speed, line of sight, and stance of each of them. She could read the weight of their steps, the nervous tap of a finger near a trigger, the tension in their shoulders, all revealing how ready they weren’t. It made her job all too easy. She then closed her eyes briefly.

Four shots before the fifth step. Inhale. Exhale.

She exploded from the shadows, making her way to them in an unimaginable speed. Before the first guard could reach for his comm, she drove a short blade into the soft space under his jaw. His blood hissed against the dagger before it was yanked out, more spurting from his wound and tainting the white snow as he fell.

The second guard raised his gun, but a flash of white and an elbow to his trachea dropped him, before the same blade went into the side of his neck.

She caught his rifle before it clattered, spun it like a baton, and cracked the third guard across the temple. The last one barely got out a shout before her hand pressed against his chest, an electric like fire sparking through his sternum. His body seized, then dropped in silence.

All before a single alarm could sound.

She stepped over bodies with clinical detachment, eyes glowing faintly as she approached the wall panel beside the door. A twitch of her hand sent a burst of electromagnetic feedback through the nearby circuit board, blacking out the feed in one hiss of static.

She tore the ID card from one of the fallen and the doors slid open with a soft beep before a hiss.

It was dark inside, dim lights hanging far from the high ceiling. Her nanotech suit rippled again, shifting back to obsidian-black in a single fluid transition, as she lowered her hood just enough to let the dim hallway light flash over her pale brow. Her fingers traced the hallway wall as she moved deeper into the facility, steps soundless and her heart steady.

But then she heard voices, causing her to pause as her ears enhanced. They were from down the corridor. Deep, male and Russian. She could hear two, maybe three, and the light footsteps of one pacing. She pressed to the wall, just before the intersection, and tilted her head to listen.

“Did you hear something outside?”

“You’re paranoid, Michael. We’re on lock down.”

“Still…my radio is static—”

She peeked around the corner to see three guards. All of them armed as they stood in front of a reinforced door.

Her eyes narrowed as she absorbed every detail with a simple glance.The one on the left had a slight limp—which told her it was an old injury, and probably favors the right by the way he stands. The one in the middle was twitchy—younger than the others and his naïveté was apparent. Paranoia meant quick reflexes, but poor aim. The last one was quiet and relaxed, confident and skilled.

She pulled back, placing her back against the wall and took a breath.

Then her body began to split.

A second version of her peeled away from her spine, identical save for a slightly darker shade to her hair. It was braided the same but now shadow-touched. The copy looked at her, and no words were shared. Just a nod before the copy pulled on her hood.

The white haired woman nodded back, watching as the double moved, striding slowly around the corner and into the open. Her appearance caught one of the guards attention, causing him to step forward.

“Hey!” The first guard shouted, alerting the other and their rifles lifted. “Who the hell are you?” He demanded.

“You can’t be back here!” Another shouted.

She simply kept walking, her hood low and her face hidden. No answer.

“Shoot her!” The third guard yelled, causing the youngest to fire.

The copy dove sideways, twisting mid-air as flames erupted from her arms, lighting up the corridor in a blaze of firelight and ash.

The men panicked.

The all opened fire. Bullets tore through her side, some reflecting off the metal plate that covered her abdomen, others piercing skin, blood hitting the floor in small drops. But she didn’t stop—she stormed forward, fire blooming behind every footstep. One man raised his rifle higher the closer she got. She caught the barrel with one hand, the metal sizzling in her grasp, warping into slag as his eyes went wide with horror.

She yanked him close by the grip she had on the nose and seized his throat, flames licking up her wrist and onto his neck. His scream echoed through the corridor before she hurled him over the side of the railing like mere garbage.

The other two didn’t stand a chance.

She leapt forward, using their panic like momentum. Her foot hit the wall before she dropped into their midst, sending a kick to the knee, watching as the man crumbled under the shattered bone. A sweep of her arm sent another sprawling, their armor singed and steaming.

One tried to run.

She caught him mid-turn, ducked under his wild swing, and rammed her elbow into his gut, then delivered a brutal kick to the chest, sending him flying over the edge with a crack of broken railing when his head hit the corner.

And as quick as there was chaos, there was silence. Ash and smoke.

Only one guard remained.

He stood near the door, gun raised but as stoic as ever.

But then, with an odd turn of his neck, his face began to morph.

The doppelgänger’s features shifted, bone realigning, eyes flickering. The hair lightened, the build softened, and in a moment… it wasn’t the guard at all. It was her. Tedres. Brown skin and pale haired, eye shallow as ever. She didn’t even get time to recover before the copy moved over and they morphed back into one.

The transformation rippled over her like a muscle cramp, ugly and involuntary. She shuddered violently, nearly doubling over from the psychic weight of reclaiming her own skin.

It didn’t hurt. Not in a long time, not in a long time, but it was still uncomfortable. But she rose. Picked up a fallen rifle, wiped the blood from her lip, and without pausing, mimicked another fallen guard. Taking everything from his build, his walk, his face. Only difference was that he was now dead.

She then turned toward the door they had guarded, card in hand, expression blank.

The automatic steel door hissed open with a low mechanical whoosh after she went through a series of passcodes, expelling a burst of warm, recycled air into the corridor. She stepped in slowly, boots heavy against the cold metallic floor. Her senses sharp as ever as she took in the stale air, the hum of dormant servers, and the glitchy glow of the wall-mounted monitors flickering with green strings of corrupted code.

The control center was mostly empty. Swivel chairs were left askew, like their occupants had fled mid-task. The monitors short-circuited the moment she stepped in, static hissing across their screens, code twitching like dying nerves. Her presence—her power—was already warping the systems around her.

And then, ahead of her, a single man sat.

HIs hair was thinning, spine hunched, and hands trembling over a glowing console. He hadn’t turned around to face her.

“Я знаю, что это ты, Димитриова.” I know it is you, Dimitriov. He uttered shakily. His voice was cracked, but familiar. She paused at the sound, something in her chest tensing. But she said nothing at first. She let the illusion drop—the nanotech suit pulled itself back over her form like a tide receding, her face and hair fading into view. The rifle she’d held clattered to the floor behind her with a loud clang.

The man flinched at the sound.

Still, he didn’t face her. But she saw the slight tremble in his lab coat covered shoulders. She saw the way his knuckles gripped something in his palms.

“Тогда ты знаешь, зачем я здесь, Ковальский.” Then you know why I’m here, Kowalski. Her voice, now in his native tongue, was like static. It carried an eerie softness but was still raspy. Their air was thick and still, like the humidity before a monsoon.

She stepped forward, not as silent this time.

Her footsteps were heavier now, deliberately. The predator making herself known to her prey, sticking a fear deep within them when they know they couldn’t escape.

He still didn’t move.

She stood behind him for a moment, watching the soft tremble of his shoulders with mild amusement. Then, with a sharp twist, she grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

His face was already wet with sweat and tears.

“Пожалуйста! Пожалуйста, не убивай меня!” Please! Please, don’t kill me!

“Сыворотка не работает, клянусь! Я пытался! Я переписывал ДНК, но тесты устарели…” The serum won’t work, I swear! I’ve tried! I rewrote the DNA, but the testing equipment here—it’s all outdated…

She stared at him blankly, eyes unblinking.

“Но ты знал это, когда взял мою кровь.” But you knew that when you took my blood.

Her voice dropped, becoming venom, but her face never changed.

“И потом ты передал его каким-то ублюдкам в Америке. Ты не изменился ни капли.” And then you gave it to some scum in the states. You haven’t changed a bit. She spat.

His lips trembled. His hands lifted in surrender.

“Я… у меня теперь семья. Я изменился, клянусь. Мне жаль за все эти годы… Я никогда не хотел никому навредить! Я всегда хотел остановить тесты!” I have a family now. I’ve changed, I swear! I’m sorry for all those years… I never wanted to hurt anyone! I always wanted the testing to stop!

She said nothing.

She simply watched him pleased for his life as her gaze dragged over him like cold steel.

Then—she saw it. A flash drive clutched in his shaking hand that he held up in defense.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“Ты хотя бы выполнил другую задачу, которую я тебе дала?” Did you at least complete the other task I gave you?

His voice came fast and eager.

“Да, да, я старался! У меня есть всё по поводу твоей сестры! Вот, пожалуйста…” Yes, yes, I tried! I have everything on your sister! Right here, please…

He extended the drive toward her. It was shaped like SpongeBob, childish and absurd in contrast to the tension around them. She stared at it for a moment, lips curling with disgusted amusement as her eyes flickered back up to his terrified gaze. She then snatched it from his hands, her sudden movement causing the man to yell, all while she crossed to the nearest terminal.

The computer buzzed as she jammed the drive in, twisting off the little sponge’s cartoon butt and revealing the USB tip. She stepped around the desk and stood before the glitching screen, her fingers flexing with growing tension as the files loaded.

It wasn’t long before an image appeared.

On of her. And younger version of her. Raw and scarred. It was a profile from a government record she thought was buried.

She simply blinked at the version of herself he had long forgotten before scrolling.

Then there was another picture, under all the words in her file came another photo. A photo of a girl that was older than the one above, similar features and a white patch of hair on her right side.

Lyra.

Two of her sister’s image appeared. One being older, her now, and her profile was outlined. Her last location pinged on the small map next to the photo, and Tedres’ breath hitched for a second, anticipating her location. But before she could fully take it in—

Crack.

Something slammed into the back of her skull.

White exploded behind her eyes. Pain surged. She barely staggered forward at the unexpected hit, but her jaw clenched to hold in the pain, shoulders tensing. Then she heard it.

Click.

The sound of a gun cocking. She blinked before raising her head to the back of her head, touching the searing pain to feel the warm wetness coat her finger tips. She brought her hand back to her line of sight, looking at the red that drenched her finger tips. She let out a short breath, almost like a tried sigh.

She turned around slowly, blood dripping from her scalp, bubble in her white tresses.

Kowalski stood there, hands shaking, wore framed glasses slipping down his sweaty nose. He held the rifle she’d dropped earlier, pointing it squarely at her. She eyed him as she stood up, her stature taller than the old man. Her eyes didn’t leave his as he gripped the weapon tightly.

“Не подходи!” Don’t come any closer! He shouted.

She stared at him.

“Ты из всех должен знать, что я не люблю, когда мне угрожают.” You of all people should know I don’t like being threatened. She deadpanned with a cold glare and took a step forward.

He fired.

The bullet ripped through the side of her right arm—burning hot metal tearing into muscle and flesh. She winced but didn’t scream. Blood dripped steadily from her bicep, the sound of the blood hitting the metal floors echoing in the silent room. She watched the blood for a bit before her gaze flicked to the monitor behind her.

The bullet had grazed her and shattered the screen—right through Lyra’s face. A slight frown etched onto her face before she looked back to him, her expression darkening more.

“Ты не можешь убить меня, Ковальский.” You can’t kill me, Kowalski. She stated, her voice dropping an octave.

“Оставайся на месте!” Stay back!

She tilted her head, calm and cold as ever.

“И это по твоему дизайну.” And that was by your design.

Her hands began to crackle. Blue-white energy gathered in her palms—rippling up her forearms like plasma fire building behind a reactor coil. It churned and surged beneath the nanotech like magma trapped under glass, the sound of the building radiation sending a chill down his back. The air vibrated, pulsing with escalating sound and charge.

His eyes widened.

“Что это?.. Что ты делаешь…?” What is that… What are you doing…?

Without taking another step, she punched the air.

The energy burst from her fist in a concussive shockwave—the blast flew from her body with a shriek of heat and force, smashing into his chest and sending him flying across the room. He hit the steel doors behind him hard—hard enough to dent them—then slumped to the floor in a broken heap.

Surprisingly enough, he didn’t scream. All that came from his was a stained cry as he tried to recover.

She paused, eyes narrowing on his slimmed form. Her boots echoed softly as she walked over and crouched down. His chest smoked, but he didn’t bleed. Instead… something shimmered under his torn lab coat.

She tore it open and saw veins glowing a light green, skin shifting slightly like it was reinforced from within. She tilted her head at that.

“Значит, ты игрался в лаборатории.” It seems you’ve been playing around in the lab. She said, watching as his eyes cracked open… glowing faint lime green through the shards of his glasses.

She smiled, low and bitter.

“Или, наконец, кто-то начал играть с тобой.” Or, someone has finally begun playing with you.

She stood and turned away from him, moving over to the monitor and yanking the drive from the smoking terminal. The screen fizzled out, her sister’s face frozen in glitching pixels.

She capped the device and popped the little sponge toy back into her hand.

Then she walked back to him, palms buzzing again. The wound on her arm burned, but she ignored it.

This part… this part she needed to feel.

A small orb of concentrated energy built up in her palm, trembling softly with unstable, cracking light. She crouched down, ignoring the man the bang to panic as best he could in his crippled state. Her other hand reached out and grabbed his jaw—forcing his mouth open, his fingers clawing weakly at her wrist.

“Молись быстро, пока у тебя ещё есть шанс.” Pray quickly while you still have the chance.

“Потому что смерть придёт раньше, чем ты сделаешь свой последний вдох.” Because death will come sooner than your last breath.

He shook, panic overtaking him, and she simply watched as he tried to break free from her iron grip, giving him a few seconds.

She shoved the orb down into his mouth. Then placed her hand over it. Not to keep the energy in—he had no choice—but to copy the torture she had endured at his hand for years. To silence him like she had been silenced . She covered his nose too, watching him panic, whimper and writhe. Whatever he’d taken prolong his torture, and she wasn’t going to stick around just to see the light leave his eyes.

She stood, no expression gracing her features as she moved like a breath in the dark.

She hit the door release and stepped over his body without a care.

Back through the halls, she trekked over the blood.

Her suit shimmered white again as she meet the snow. This time she didn’t bother with the hood. The chill kissed her almond-brown skin, stark against the white tundra. Her long white braids whipped in the wind, blending into the snowfall.

She didn’t take a single look back. Didn’t have the urge to.

The building behind her exploded seconds later, fire ripping through steel, smoke blackening the sky.

But she just kept walking—toward the cold, toward whatever came next.

#jazziejaxwriting #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds x black reader #bob reynolds x reader #bob thunderbolts #bob reynolds #robert reynolds #lewis pullman x black reader #lewis pullman x y/n #lewis pullman characters #lewis pullman fanfic #lewis pullman x you #lewis pullman smut #lewis pullman x reader #lewis pullman #marvel #mcu imagine #marvel mcu #mcu

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jazziejax · 12 days ago

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Cute!!

⋆˚꩜｡ 𝐁𝐨𝐛 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭?

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢs - ʙᴏʙ ʀᴇʏɴᴏʟᴅs x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ғᴛ. ᴘʙ&ᴊᴊ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ - ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴘᴇᴛᴇʀ, ᴊᴏᴀǫᴜɪɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴏʜɴɴʏ ғɪɴᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʙᴏʙ ᴡᴀs ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴡᴇɪʀᴅ. ʜᴇ ᴡᴀsɴ’ᴛ ʟʏɪɴɢ. ʜᴇ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴀᴅ ᴀ ɢɪʀʟғʀɪᴇɴᴅ.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs - ғʟᴜғғ, ᴅᴏᴍᴇsᴛɪᴄ ᴄʜᴀᴏs, ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀᴛɪᴄ ʙᴏʏ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ. ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴏs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ǫᴜᴀᴅ.

ᴍᴀʏᴏʀ ᴍᴀɴᴅʏ’s ɴᴇᴡs ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ 📮- ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ғᴏʀ ʙᴏʙ ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴏᴀǫᴜɪɴ sᴇᴘᴀʀᴀᴛᴇʟʏ, ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴅᴏ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ sᴏᴍᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ ɪɴᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴜᴀʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇs ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴀss ᴀᴛᴇ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ғᴀɴᴛᴀsᴛɪᴄ ɢʀᴏᴜᴘ ɴᴀᴍᴇᴅ ᴘʙ&ᴊᴊ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ sᴀɪᴅ, “ᴡʜʏ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇʟʟ ɴᴏᴛ?” ᴇxᴄᴜsᴇ ᴍᴇ ɪғ ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ sᴘᴇʟʟɪɴɢ ᴇʀʀᴏʀs ᴏʀ ɢʀᴀᴍᴍᴀʀ ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇs. ɪ’ᴍ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʀᴜsᴛʏ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴀʟsᴏ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪs ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴀᴅ sᴇʟғ ɪɴᴅᴜʟɢᴇɴᴛ ɪ ᴀssᴜᴍᴇ. ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪғ ᴛʜɪs ᴀʙsᴏʟᴜᴛᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ɪs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴜᴘ ᴏғ ᴄᴏғғᴇᴇ.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ - 𝟹,𝟶𝟻𝟶+

sᴜɴɴʏʙʀᴏᴏᴋ ʟɪʙʀᴀʀʏ ⛅️

For a man who glowed gold was and one of the most powerful beings on earth, Bob Reynolds had an exceptional talent for going unnoticed.

It wasn’t that the others didn’t care—Peter, Joaquin, and Johnny were deeply invested in the man’s life, if only because they lived with him, breathed the same air, and occasionally panicked when he muttered to himself or some out, hoping he was still holding on to his sanity. But Bob had always been a bit of a mystery. He’d drift in and out of rooms in silent patters, bud in conversations, half-listening and half-lost in thought, his eyes always a few seconds slower than his smile.

So when he said—offhandedly, between bites of cereal one Wednesday morning—that he might be seeing someone, none of the boys really heard him. Or, paid attention rather.

Peter was fiddling with a malfunctioning gadget of his that he made out of an old toaster. Joaquin was working the blender, making his morning protein shake and doing that thing where he whisper-sang reggaetón lyrics. And Johnny was shirtless, eating flaming hot Cheetos puffs from the family size bag, his fingers beat red while the other hands scrolled his phone.

“I think I have a girlfriend now.” Bob had said, blinking once, spoon halfway to his mouth.

Peter, without looking up, mumbled. “That’s great, man.” But he was barely heard over the sound of the blender at Joaquin didn’t stop, and they weren’t even sure if he heard the conversation happening.

“Is she physically real or, like, some celestial being in your mind?” Johnny asked, wiggling his fingers around his head before wiping Cheeto dust on a dish towel that very much did not belong to him.

“Ha ha, funny.” Bob monotoned, glaring over at the man across from him. “She’s very real, if you must know. And it feels celestial.” Bob said firmly.

Joaquin simply smirked but didn’t take it seriously, more satisfied with the fact that he got under Bob’s skin. And then the conversation ended there, all the men going back to their shared task within the kitchen.

It’s not that the men didn’t believe that such a thing could happen to their friend. It was simply something none of them have just thought about. Bob soent his free time, which was all the time since the guy was unemployed, dressed in flannel pajama pants and an oversized hoodie, buried under a weighted blanket. He loved messy reality tv and sometimes stared out the window at birds that would land on the fire escape. Joaquin even slightly remembers a story of the man befriend a crow or something through animal crackers.

But they adored him. He was their roommate. Their teammate. Their unique and lovable Bob. Their Bob.

And according to Bob himself — he was now someone’s boyfriend.

About a week after that, he stood before them in the kitchen again, dressed in grey sweats and hoodie, nothing new from his usual wear, besides his tennis shoes. “I won’t be home tonight.” He mumbled, spooning Cap’n Crunch into his mouth with unbothered serenity.

Peter, eyes still crusty with sleep, had looked up as he scratched his bottom through his boxer briefs. “What? Where are you going?” Be grumbled in his morning voice.

“Out.” The man answered simply. He didn’t even have time to register his own response and how rude it kind of sounded, before Johnny, who was making himself some sunny side up eggs, shirtless behind an apron with a skillet in his inflamed hand, turned to him. “Out?” He questioned.

“With my girlfriend.” Bob said, looking over at him.

The room had then gone quiet. Peter pausing with his nana halfway out of his mouth while Joaquin raised his head from his laid position on the couch.

Johnny had snorted loud enough to shake the pan, almost dropping it from his hand. “Okay, sure, Bob. Your girlfriend. The same way I’ve got a pet unicorn and Joaquin’s got a gluten allergy.”

“…I actually do have a gluten allergy.” Joaquin mumbled, flipping through the channels on the television with a dull look of interest.

Bob just blinked at them as he finished eating. “Her name’s Y/N.” He stated, moving over to place his dishes in the sink. “She’s actually really cool. We met in the park where she was walking her cat.”

This only caused the boys to not believe him more, squinting at him. “Who walks a cat?” Peter questioned, which was a bit muffled due to the banana he was chewing. He then looked down at the empty peel in his hand, before simply tossing it behind him, the moist peel hitting the wall before sliding into the trash can.

“A lot of people, actually.” Bob stated a bit enthusiastically, turning back around to look at them, as if he was ecstatic to tell a new piece of information he’s recently learned. “But it’s her grandma’s fat calico. He needs a daily trek.” He said with a nod, looking between them all.

And they gave Bob their usual stares of a look that was a mix between pity and slight confusion before mumbling words of simple acknowledgement and moving about their day.

And that was that.

But now it had been weeks of him mentioning her every now and then. And Bob kept disappearing.

It started innocently enough. Jaquan was the first to notice.

“Bob?” He called, walking through the loft with a mug in hand, still bleary-eyed. “Have you seen my—wait. Where’s Bob?” He questioned, stopping in the open floor between the kitchenette and the living room.

Johnny, stretched across the couch in pajama pants and nothing else, barely opened one eye. “Bedroom?”

Joaquin checked the room on the other side of the loft, up the stairs and in the first room on the right. Empty, with a bed that was perfectly made. Too perfectly. Meaning he was either in a chipper mood or angry. Which was hard to tell if he wasn’t here.

Peter came in next, hoodie slung over his shoulder as he waked out of his room, looking down the hall at Johnny. “What’s up?” He questioned the slightly confused man.

“Bob’s gone.” He said, a subtle frown on his face. “Like, not here gone.” He emphasized as they walked back downstairs.

“He’s probably on the roof.” Johnny shrugged. “Somebody needs to use the perks of this penthouse.” He mumbled.

“But he didn’t say anything.” Joaquin muttered, concern tugging at his brow. “He always leaves a note. Or, like, sends a text.”

“Bob texts you?” Peter stopped at, turning to the man from the kitchen pantry, coming out with an adornment of snacks in his hands. “He doesn’t even have my number saved.”

“Bob has a phone?” Johnny questioned, raising his head from the couch. “Is that the number that’s been sending memes in the group chat?”

Joaquin ignored them as he walked into the kitchen and sat down his mug on the island. “Maybe he just went to get coffee.” He shrugged, not wanting to dive into his friend’s unnecessarily convoluted patterns.

And it continued, the celestial like altered man would shuffle out of the penthouse apartment in his usual hoodie, a dreamy twinkle in his eye, smelling faintly of lavender and something else that was spicy and warm — not his usual scent of floral laundry detergent. Hers, maybe?

Peter raised the question gently over tea that Joaquin made after training, and Johnny refused to entertain the idea at all.

“Bob can barely open the front door without panicking.” He insisted. “He’s either lying or she’s some sort of chatbot at an Internet cafe.”

And then, one Sunday morning, the universe answered all their questions that…weren’t really weighing on them, to be quite honest.

The apartment was quiet, too quiet, which was rare in a household where Joaquin never stopped dribbling a soccer ball and Johnny did everything loudly on purpose. Peter wandered into the kitchen mid-yawn, looking for Bob, only to find an empty table. No cereal. No discarded slippers left in the middle of the floor. No soft humming of ’70s soul music coming from the hallway.

“Huh.” Peter mumbled. “Bob’s not here.”

Johnny looked up from where he was organizing and cleaning his rings, while the baseball game played loudly. “Maybe he went to the corner bodega again to feel the oranges before he buys them.” He said, his eyes bouncing between the tv and his roommate. “Remember that phase? Man loves a citrus, I guess.”

Joaquin poked his head out from the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. “Didn’t he say something about a picnic?”

Johnny groaned. “Right, the girlfriend. Again. Sure. He’s been dating this mystery woman for, what, a month now? Never brings her around? Doesn’t, I don’t know, spend the night at her place?” He listed dramatically, waving his hands.

Peter shrugged. “He might just be private.”

Johnny scoffed. “Bob tells me his dreams every morning over breakfast. He’s not private, he’s just weird.”

Then they heard it — laughter — muffled, through the front windows and the sound of fans yelling and commentators on the tv.

The three of them froze.

It wasn’t their laughter. Or that of anyone they knew. It was light, feminine, soft and genuine. It was then followed by the soft thud of a bag, the click of a door, and another laugh, deeper this time, unmistakably Bob’s.

They ran to the window next to the door like nosy neighbors in a sitcom, scattering across the hardwood floor in their socks.

Outside, in the sun lit hall from the window down the hall of the penthouse building, was Bob.

And a woman.

She had her hand in his — fingers laced tight — and was laughing at something he said as she leaned into his shoulder. Her smile was wide and radiant, the kind that made you feel warm just looking at her. Mauve cheeks with a matching lip shade. Her curly hair was pulled into a loose pony at the back of her head, some pieces hanging to frame her frame, gold diamond earrings flashing in the sun, and she was wearing a ‘Coolsville’ hoodie far too large to be hers.

Bob’s hoodie.

Their Bob.

Johnny dropped the curtain like it burned him, which was a bit ironic considering he was the Human Torch™️. “No. Freakin’. Way.”

Peter’s mouth was slightly open. “That’s her?” He asked, his eyes glazing over as he gazed at the woman his roommate had on his arm.

Joaquin was still pressed to the glass. “She’s hot.” he breathed out, breath fogging the glass.

“I know!” Peter exclaimed.

“She’s holding his hand! Like she likes him!” Johnny added, an excited and almost proud smile on his face.

“He’s smiling!” Joaquin cried. “Look at him! He’s, like, glowing!” He grinned. And they gave themselves a millisecond more to celebrate before they scattered like roaches when the doorknob turned.

Bob walked in with a dreamy expression, cheeks slightly pink, hoodie hood pulled halfway over his curls. And he wore jeans, with sneakers. Behind him, she entered too, her gaze bouncing around the shared space with casual curiosity.

The guys stood in a weird line, shoulder to shoulder, each one with a matching look of disbelief that they were trying to mask.

Bob blinked. “Hey.” His gaze burning between them.

Y/N smiled, cheeks still glowing from the walk. “Hi.” She said, giving them a wave.

Johnny pointed an accusing finger. “You have a girlfriend.” He stated bluntly, not even trying to beat around the bush. Bob’s face heated more, red risking up his neck while both Joaquin and Peter winced at their friend’s words.

“Johnny.” They hissed.

“It’s fine.” The girl spoke up, a bashful smile on her face. And her voice was as beautiful as she looked, gentle but deep and sultry. She glanced over at Bob, who was already looking at her. Her eyes seemed to shined, his the same as they made eye contact, before he looked back over at them. “Uh… yes?” He answered.

Peter pointed dramatically. “When were you going to tell us?”

“I did tell you.”Bob replied mildly, sipping his drink. “Over cereal. Weeks ago. And again last Wednesday.”

“You said you might be seeing someone!” Johnny accused, pacing. “You didn’t say you were dating a daughter of Aphrodite!”

“Oh, stop it.” The girl said, her smile widening a bit as she waved him off. Bob tightened his hand around hers, eyes the blonde across from him. “Yeah, stop it.” He said, glancing between the girl and his friends.

Joaquin then stepped forward, gaze flicking between her and Bob. “You’re really with him?” He questioned, crossing his arms, and neither of the pair could tell if he was posting fun or trying to be intimidating.

She nodded, still holding Bob’s hand. “Six months now.”

Joaquin audibly choked. “SIX MONTHS?!”

Peter, who had moved over to the kitchen, nearly dropped his mug. “Bob! You’ve been sneaking out?!”

“I do not sneak out!” The man was quick to add, sparking a glance with the woman next to him. “I am a grown man.”

“Yeah, well, you forgot to do the dishes before you left, grown man.” Johnny sassed, giving Bob as look as he placed his hands on his hips. “Now, come, you almost missed the game.” He said, not wanting before he turned around, waving them over to the couch he was walking towards.

Bob stepped beside her and gently touched her waist, a quiet gesture that said she’s with me, and be nice.

Y/N leaned into him, easy and unbothered. “You must be Peter, right? And you”—she pointed at Joaquin—“Joaquin, are the one who puts socks in the freezer?”

Joaquin flushed. “How did—?”

“Bob talks.”

“My feet run hot, okay.”

She then looked at Johnny last. Her eyes glinted. “And you must be the one who thought I was some chatbot.” She said, amusement clear in her tone.

Johnny almost turned crimson at the smile he gave him, but it didn’t show, because he was always one to keep things cool. Which was funny consideri— “I mean, I just didn’t—he’s—you know—Bob.”

Bob just raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“It means we didn’t think you could pull.” Peter blurted out. “Sorry.”

To everyone’s surprise, Bob just smiled, though there was still a slight look of confusion on his face.

Y/N leaned over and kissed his cheek, lips brushing warm and soft over stubble. “I told you they wouldn’t believe me.” Bob said, turning his head towards her, their nose brushing.

“Well, I’m here now.” She shrugged, looking Bob in his deep blue eyes. They stood there, smiling and giggling like two people wrapped in their own little world, completely at ease.

Joaquin crossed his arms. “Six months you say?”

“Yup.” Y/N nodded.

Johnny blinked. “That’s way longer than when Peter dated the girl down at the bodega.”

Peter mumbled, “Let it die, Johnny.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried about this Amber story?” She asked, looking between them all.

Bob, very seriously, said “Not even a little.” And the guys couldn’t help but notice that there was something different about him now — almost softer and more grounded. He wasn’t floating in space within his own mind, or mumbling about the void. He looked like a man who had somewhere to be, something to hold. Someone.

“So.” She said, glancing around. “Is anyone gonna show me the lizard I keep hearing about?”

Peter pointed. “That’s Picante. He lives in Joaquin’s room but has no respect for guests. Or anyone besides Joaquin.”

“Oh, great.” She muttered. “I was surprised to hear you guys had a beaded dragon considering Bob’s afraid of geckos and such”

“I’m not—okay, I screamed once.” The shaggy hairs man insisted.

“You climbed onto the clinic table.”

“It startled me!”

The guys just stared at them, still stunned, still processing, still watching Bob — their Bob — fall in love right in front of them like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Y/N caught their expressions and smiled. “I’m a vet.” She explained, gaining subtle nods from them. “And when I gave Bob a tour of the black and showed him some of our office animals, he freaked out.” She said. “But he was good with the horses.” She nodded, and Joaquin’s eyes widened a bit.

“Horses?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “They loved the guy. Don’t look so surprised.” She uttered before looking back over at him, connecting eyes once again, a favorite pastime of hers. “He’s kind of incredible once you get past the sleep-talking and thirty-seven pairs of gray sweatpants.”

“Forty,” Bob muttered.

“And now.” She said brightly, “I’m stealing your boy. For picnic plans and all.”

“Speaking of, we have reservations.” Bob said, standing with her hands in his, and that shocked his roommates more, their eyes watching his every move they began to walk back to the door.

“You guys have reservations? You have reservations?” Johnny cut in, causing the pair to stop, particularly eyeing his friend. “Bob, you tried garlic bread for the first time last week.” He said, and she let out a small chuckle at that while Bob sent Johnny a deadpanned look. “We’re having dinner at her grandparents house on their ranch, so don’t wait up. Her grandfathers a really great cook. And funnily enough, he’s an Italian man who loves garlic.” He explained, his tone a bit firm, causing their heads to jerk back in slight shock at the man putting his foot down.

She grabbed Bob’s hand again and led him toward the door, pausing only to flash a dazzling smile at the three stunned men left behind.

“Bye, boys.”

The door closed behind them, laughter echoing down the hallway.

Johnny blinked. “Bob’s got a girlfriend.”

Peter nodded. “Bob’s got a girlfriend.”

Joaquin flopped onto the couch, dazed. “We’ve entered a new timeline.” He breathed out.

Johnny only scratched his head. “I feel weirdly… proud. And a bit betrayed.”

“She really is out of his league.” Peter said, crossing his arms as he propped his feet up on the couch, leaning further into the cushions.

Joaquin frowned. “Hey. Maybe we’re the problem.”

They sat there in silence for a long beat.

“…Nah.” They said in unison.