The Ghost I Left Behind

remember when.. I had this exact tea set growing up and miss it terribly

nothing, and i mean NOTHING, compares to joining a new fandom and reading through all the ____ x reader tags. it’s akin to opening gifts on christmas or recieving a package in the mail. actually, scratch that; it’s th equivalent of ascending to the heavens

Looking for FIC help! Trying to find a fic that’s a Jake Seresin x reader(?) one ! My friend read it and recommended it to me but they can’t find it anywhere so— 🧎🧎🧎

They said it was obvi a Jake x reader where the dagger squad made the reader feel a bit scared/insecure! And there’s a moment where they break down in the hospital cause Jake got in an accident ! Making the daggers feel bad!

Loving it so far 🫶🏽✨

Lost & Found

Parental!DogDay & Child!Reader

A/N: Hey there! First post, I know, but I couldn’t help but share this. A friend of mine encouraged me to, so I hope other people like it as well! This is only the first part and I have much more planned for this story, I hope you enjoy! I know this ends on a bit of a cliffhanger, but that may or may not be intentional.

Spoilers for Poppy Playtime Chapter 3: Deep Sleep!

Warnings: Mentions of character death, blood, gore, and the like. Child experimentation will also be mentioned. This story will contain references to the information in the game as well, if uncomfortable with any of those topics then please proceed with caution.

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DogDay and the others knew well that something was amiss in the building, several of the Smiling Critters had sought him out due to the fact that he was the leader. CatNap was the only one that had been distant for a long time now, becoming something that he couldn’t recognize.

And then it happened. The Hour of Joy. The metallic scent of blood was something he could never rid his nose of, his ears still rang from the sound of screaming from both children and adults. The Prototype had clearly been convincing the cat of the Smiling Critters, for nothing but praises fell out for the creature amongst that dreaded red gas that poured out of his perpetually gaping maw.

DogDay had been able to reach the others first, encouraging them to not stand idly by and follow something as monstrous as The Prototype and his newly fashioned pawn.

It ended poorly, their rebellion was met with nightmarish hallucinations and a set of claws that sliced their bodies to ribbons.

Even they were not impervious to the red gas that covered the ground like a dense fog, announcing CatNap’s presence before he could be seen. Few of them remained, far less than what once was. They rotated hideouts regularly, knowing well that they had to keep moving to avoid CatNap’s patrols.

Currently, the place they had sought refuge in was some long abandoned room of the orphanage. Those that remained were silent.

CraftyCorn was frantically drawing something on a dirtied sheet of paper, the colors bleeding against her hooves as she struggled to keep a steady grip.

Bobby BearHug was huddled in a corner, clutching a blanket that was shredded in places and nearly fell apart as she held it to her chest, her body shook from silent sobs or perhaps fear of what would come.

DogDay himself was solemn, resting on the floor with his back pressed against the wall. They had just lost Hoppy days prior, or at least it had seemed like days. Any semblance of a concept of time was lost in this pit of despair, the inability to even catch a glimpse of light that wasn’t artificial was disheartening and disorienting. The others in the room were in no state to actively patrol, their minds in shambles and in various states of decay.

There was no optimism to be found, he knew that. Any attempt to even lighten the mood would be met with dismay and the kind of disgust that caused nausea to wash over oneself and clouded any other senses. They had lost far too many for any form of joy to be found.

CatNap may have been the one to end their lives, following the guiding hand of The Prototype, but their blood was also on his hands. Their screams kept him awake, the fear in their voices as they called out and weeped for help kept him going.

Slowly, he rose from his seated position to his feet, the sun pendant that hung from his zipper clinked against the metal with the motion and swung gently before resting against his chest. It was enough of a sound to draw the eyes of CraftyCorn, to which DogDay gave a dip of his head. “I’m sorry to startle you, that wasn’t my intention,” he started, voice rough and scratchy from disuse as he met the eyes of the other.

“I’ll take the first watch, be safe and try to get some rest, please.” The please sounded pathetic in his own ears, a sign that despite his attempts to remain strong for the other survivors, he was suffering from the grief and loss of their shared companions.

The idea of losing them too was something he refused to linger on, a small sliver of hope remained in his heart despite the horrors that threatened their very lives.

CraftyCorn didn’t seem to mind the interruption, even going as far as lowering her hooves as she looked over at him, the red crayon in her grasp rolled to the floor with a quiet thump. “Be careful, DogDay.” Her voice was soft, it was a comfort in this trying time. As gentle as the very petals of the flower she once smelled like, an extension of her kind yet hardy nature.

He wanted to reassure her, to give her some hope that he might return. But that wasn’t a guarantee, he knew that.

Regardless, he nodded before approaching the door, opening it slightly before listening carefully for any sounds. Relieved to have been met with relative silence, he crept through the door before shutting it behind him. Complete silence was impossible for him to achieve, given his size and the overall state of the orphanage itself.

His movements were slow and deliberate, each placement of his hand or foot was mindful of the debris that lined the halls. Shattered picture frames with glass littering the floor and various toys that had once belonged to the children here were a common item to stumble across. There had been moments when the odd toy activated or some rotting piece of wood snapped under the pressure of a bed that rested upon it, but it was silent other than that.

His ears were active in keeping note of his surroundings, as his nose focused on the horrible scent of lavender and the intensity of it. It stuck to every crack and crevice of this building, yet it was relatively faint at the given moment, a positive in an otherwise grim situation. His eyes swept every open door that he passed by, peering into the room for several moments before moving on. To say he was tense and alert was an understatement, every fiber of his being stood on edge as he patrolled the halls.

He froze in his tracks as a sound caught his attention, a sound that he hadn’t been expecting to come across. It had been a sob, a shuddering and weak sound that left from an open door in front of him. Had he not been focused as intently as he was, he could’ve missed it. DogDay stayed in that position as he listened further, making sure that he hadn’t been imagining such a sound. His doubts were shattered as he heard the sound repeat, the fear in the weeping was unmistakable.

The thought didn’t even cross his mind that it could potentially be a trap, that some sick monster would be willing to mimic such a heartbreaking sound.

Personal Space

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x reader

Summary: you love your personal space. Unfortunately, Bradley also loves your personal space.

Pt. 2

You never understood why Bradley stuck around. Since the academy you’d preferred to stick to yourself; get your head down and get the job done. Especially with a surname like Mitchell. You didn’t want your father and grandfather’s reputation to negatively proceed you, and by the time people had put two and two together as to whom loins you came from: you’d made your own reputation so Maverick never made much of a difference to it.

But still, having dinner in the mess you’d sat down, when someone came and thudded down next to you and began eating themselves. “I’m Bradley” he said when you finally looked up at him. You raised a brow “Bradshaw?” You ask and he nods: you recognise him from the photos your dad pinned up in your two’s hanger. You hum “and you are?” He asks “not important.” You reply, deciding you’d lost your appetite and stood to clear your plate “good talk!” Bradley said, but you were already walking away.

He’d next encountered you when you were running around the academy, early morning; before any naval training would take place. He hummed and decided it was perfectly acceptable to interrupt your jaunt with his presence. “Hey! Up so early?” He asks as he tries to match your pace from a standstill “could ask you the same.” You reply bluntly “well I wanted to get a run in before-” “well there’s your answer.” You reply, cutting him off. “You run really quick.” He says as you try to keep your pace increasing to shake him off “goodbye, Bradshaw.” You say, pulling your sunglasses over your eyes and taking off at a pace he couldn’t sustain. He just stops and shakes his head smiling, you were funny.

Eventually, you’d both gotten up in the air and were quick to earn your callsigns “Rooster” and “Hen”. Bradley earned his because he was up before the chickens, you’d earned yours because the chicken kept fucking following you around like you were his mother. You were sat on the aircraft carrier, your trainee group learning how to land on a ship deck and you’d finally gotten a moment of peace that evening. You sat on the edge of the deck, feet dangling over the edge as you watched the sunset, not moving when you hear someone slip into the space between the barriers beside you.

“Oh look my chick is back.” You mumble sarcastically and Bradley laughs loudly at you. “You love me really” he says, looking at you as if he wanted to you agree with him “you seem to keep telling yourself that, don’t you?” You hum, turning to watch the sea lap against the grey metal. You can feel him fidgeting beside you, as if antsy to say something. “What?” You ask, finally turning to look at him. “What?” He repeats, looking at you with raised brows “you want to ask me something. You’re fidgeting.” You point out “so ask me or fuck off” you say, turning away again. “Your last name is Mitchell” he says and you roll your eyes “you can read and hear. Two things I’ve learnt today.” You huff, again, with sarcasm. “Are you related to Pete Mitchell?” He asks, looking at you and nearly holding his breath “you finally put two and two together?” You ask and he lets out the breath.

“Yeah, he’s my dad.” You say after a while “I was a whoopsie baby my mother didn’t want anything to do with” you tell him. “He used to fly with my dad.” Bradley almost whispers, voice just a few octaves above. “I know” you nod “he’s practically wallpapered all over our hanger.” You say “so are you” you eye him. “He pulled my papers” he says, again after a few moments of silence “I know” you say “do you know why?” He asks “yes.” You reply, and he could tell you weren’t going to elaborate. “Y’know I’m not a fan of your dad, but I really like you.” He says and you just look at him with a blank face. “Yup” you hum to yourself and he raises a brow “just as Mother Goose was described” you say, and Bradley’s face immediately lights up with a huge grin, stretching and arm around you and pulling you into his side.

“Get off me.” “Yup, yep, sorry.”

For your first deployment, the academy set it up that you’d at least be with one person from your training squadron, and today the list of names were coming out; they were scribbled on the back of a napkin and pinned to a notice board.

“1. Haywood & Solomons, 2. Hughes & Shelley & Omaha, 3. Cooper & Parker & Cromwell & Smith, 4. Bradshaw,” you crossed your fingers as someone read out the names, then yours was read alongside Bradley’s “oh for god’s sake” you grumble, turning to see Bradley practically jumping for joy. “This is great! Me and you, Hen!” Rooster cheers and you just stare at him “should’ve called you leech cause you’re acting like one. Calm down.” You instruct and he tries to chill out, but the cheeky smile on his face was indiminishagble.

He only became more unbearable then, with you every working hour, your wingman on the missions you’d fly, inseparable despite your complaints. “Where’s your boyfriend?” Hawk asked you, as he came to sit with you for lunch. You shush him loudly. “Woah woah I only asked where he was.” “Speak his name and he shows up. I’m trying to hide.” you say in a hushed voice “plus he isn’t my boyfriend” “sure” he scoffs but the daggers being shot into his head silenced him easily.

“Hey Hen! Hawk” Bradley greets as he sits down. You grunt and point an accusatory finger at Hawk “this is your fault, jackass” you say and he laughs at you, him and Bradley engage in conversation as you just eat, having learnt the skill of drowning him out. “What about you, Hen?” Hawk asked, drawing your attention away from your plate and up to the two men alongside you, you raise an eyebrow - letting them know you were insinuating that you weren’t listening to their conversation.

“Do you want a family?” He ask and you just nod “really?” Hawk asks “that’s cute, didn’t take you for a family gal” he jokes and you harshly kick his leg under the table “kids and everything?” He asks after the pain subsides. “Yup.” You say and Bradley hums “I didn’t know that” he says and you just look at him “you never asked.” You reply simply, and that was true: he hadn’t. He was quite prepared to spend the rest of existence chasing after you, whether that meant giving you your first kiss on your deathbeds.

The two of you even went to Top Gun together, training to be the finest naval aviators of them all. And boy, you two fought to be the best; tongue and teeth, blood sweat and tears, everything. The decision came down to one final dogfight. “May the best aviator win” Rooster jokes, sticking out a hand to you. You eye it and internally question if you were insane, before leaning up to peck his cheek. “Prepare to loose, chicken.” You say, leaving him frozen in his place while you head to your plane. That day, Bradley was seriously off his A-game, and you came out on top.

A Mitchell finally Top Gun.

“Congratulations!” Bradley says excitedly on graduation day when you victoriously lifted the trophy above your head. You turned to him and he leant down slightly - you weren’t stupid, you knew what he was intending to do. “Thank you, Brad.” You say, turning to walk over to where your father was stood - knowing that was probably the only time Bradley wouldn’t follow you. That was the first time you’d ever called him anything short of Bradley Bradshaw.

“I’m so proud of you honey” your dad says, hugging you tightly and you embrace him back, smiling widely “thank you, dad” you respond and he looks behind you where Bradley was stood a while back, watching the ordeal. “Is that-” “yes” you tell him and your dad just looks at you “I wouldn’t get all teary he follows me like a lost puppy” you grumble but he just grins “he’s a good kid, hon.” He says and you shake your head “he’s definitely something”

“So how does their relationship work?” Bob asks Hangman, watching Bradley talk your ear off and you just staring ahead into space, blankly. “You see Bobby my boy,” Jake begins “Hen loves her personal space” Bob nods “Rooster also loves Hen’s personal space.” Bob nods again, now understanding. “Haven’t they done everything together though?” He asks “I think it’s more the fact that Hen does something and Rooster just kinda goes with it” Phoenix said and Bob hums, as Bradley continues to converse one-sidedly with you.

“He means well” you hear from beside you as you stare out from the hanger, turning to see your honorary uncle Tom walking towards you, you run towards him as he embraces you tightly “hey Ice” you smile, sweetly. “Hey sweetheart” he croaks. “I mean what I said.” He states and you raise a brow “he means well” he nods towards the man doing his required push ups on the ground with Hondo. “I know, Ice.” You tell him. “No, I don’t think you do” he hums and you raise your eyebrows at him. “The kids in love with you. You’ve either got to let him in or tell him to get out.” He says, “you’re living together for goodness sake”. “It was cheaper” you argue “we both know the accommodation is subsidised.” He states, matter-of-factly, patting your shoulder as he turns to go talk to your dad when he walks into the room.

It was true, you and Bradley were sharing accommodation. “Hey Hen, they’ve offered us shared accommodation back in Miramar” Bradley says, coming over with a pamphlet. “Why?” You ask, taking it out of his hands. ‘Married couple accommodation’ it states and you raise your brows “you getting ahead of yourself, Bradshaw?” You ask and he shakes his head “the guy assumed our callsigns were cause we’re a couple” he tells you and you just hum. “Well I’d rather stay there than in an apartment.” You say simply, giving him back the leaflet and refocusing on the plane you were working on repairing. “Seriously?” He asks, voice overly hopeful. You look at him and shrug “just go get the damn house, Bradshaw. Before I change my mind!” You say and he grins, turning and breaking out into almost a jog to head to confirm your living situation.

You take a moment of hesitation, before loudly groaning and heading out onto the tarmac, getting down and doing push ups alongside Rooster. He turns his head and looks at you and you just raise your brows at him. “Hey honey” he grins “hello Bradley” he nudges your hip with his own. “I’ll drive us home.” You tell him, and he raises his eyebrows “Home?” He asks and you huff “okay, Bradley I will drive the two of us back to our shared accommodation that we accidentally got given.” You say and he laughs loudly “home sounded better.”

Then after the mission, the whole Dagger squad got permanently stationed in San Diego, other than deployment, so they urged the new additions to the base to buy their own properties closer to base rather than on it. You and Bradley were sat in the Hard Deck, a long time before it was open, the rest of the Daggers spending time on the beach while the two of you were scouring Bradley’s laptop for a property. Well, Bradley was.

How about this one? He turns his screen to you. You shake your head “I want grass in the garden. I want to plant flowers” you say as you point at the paved back of the house, explaining that it’s a waste of money to have it ripped out. Bradley nods “Mkay, garden” he says, moving back to look again.

“How about this one? Beach front, close to the running track for you. Only a walk from the Hard Deck. White picket fence, really” he hums, turning the laptop again “garden?” You ask and he nods “garden.” He nods with a grin. “Shall we go look?” You ask and he raises a brow at you. “You said it’s a walk from the hard deck. Let’s go.” You say, putting the address into your phone and immediately recognising the street name, Bradley quickly falling into step with you as you walk towards the property.

You look at it and place your hands on your hips. Bradley was right. Pretty damn perfect. “Can I help you?” A lady asks, walking outside of the house, clipboard in hand. “Oh no, we’d just seen this property online and wanted to take a look.” Bradley tells her. “Well I’ve had a no-show on a viewing. How’d you like to take a look?” She suggests, motioning to the open door. “Okay” you nod, following her into the house.

“Obviously the kitchen, living room, even a deck out back with a huge garden and high fences” she says nodding out the window and you hum. “Out the side there’s an entrance straight to the beach” she motions, then starts heading up the stairs “three bedrooms, attic space, bathroom” she says “I’m guessing it’s just you two at the moment?” She asks “oh we’re not-” Bradley begins “yes, just us.” You confirm, shutting him up. “Okay, so there’s a large room for your bed and then if any new additions are to join, you have the space for them” she smiles and leads you back out front.

“It’s not cheap, it’s California. So I understand if you’re not prepared to pay that much money, do you mind me asking what you do?” She asks “we’re naval aviators.” Bradley says “stationed here?” She asks and you both nod “ah! I get why you’re looking for a property here!” She says and Bradley looks at you. “I really like it, Roo.” You say, and Bradley has to stop his jaw hitting the floor at your nickname. “It’s your call, honey” he says and you look at the lady and smile as she offers her hand “we’ll take it.”

“How shall we split the payment?” You ask Bradley as you walk back to the Hard Deck after organising a meeting with the realtor to actually finalise all the kinks and bumps. “I don’t mind doing the down payment then we’ll take it in turn paying the loan” he suggests “we can get a joint bank account and do it that way” you say and he agrees as you settle back into your seats at the Hard Deck. “Where’ve you two been?” Hangman asks “we bought a house.”

One evening, after you were all moved in and were hanging out at the Hard Deck after a long day or routine flying, you were sat outside with Rooster; watching the sunset. “When are we getting married then?” You ask and he spits out his beer “what?” He asks, eyes wide and getting progressively more giddy. “Well we live together, we have a joint bank account, and Jake keeps telling me we’re practically married. So when are we getting married?” You ask as he hugs you tightly “whenever you want, baby” he says, kissing the top of your head and pulling a ring out of his pocket to get on his knee. “Will you marry me?” He asks and you raise a brow “didn’t I just say that?” You ask bluntly “just say yes, please” he begs and you nod “yes. Yes I will marry you, Bradley Bradshaw.” You confirm as he kisses your lips gently.

“Okay get off of me now.”

Pt. 2

The ghost I left behind - V

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x reader

Summary: Y/N and Bob had a life before he disappear, full of love, hope, and a lot of chaos, but they managed each other, she was the only one who truly could make him avoid the void inside his mind. How could he turn his only light into a shadow in his mind ?

Word count: 11.4k

--

Y/N's pov

Y/N woke with a jolt.

The pavement beneath her was cold, even through her coat. For a moment, her vision spun—bright lights above, blurred figures running, shouting. Her lungs burned like she'd just surfaced from deep underwater, and her ears rang with the echo of something… distant. Something awful.

She sat up slowly, disoriented. This was New York. The same street she’d been on before everything turned. The clinic was gone from sight now, swallowed up in the chaos of the crowd. People were rising to their feet, groaning, dusting themselves off, confused like her. Some cried. Some screamed. Others simply wandered aimlessly, eyes blank.

Where was Bobby?

Her head turned frantically, searching for his face, scanning over strangers and shadows. “Bobby?” she croaked, but her voice was swallowed by the noise. She stood up too fast, staggered, and her hand flew to her stomach instinctively.

The baby.

Her heart thudded. She reached into her coat pocket with shaking hands—and her fingers brushed glossy paper. The sonogram. It was still there. She pulled it out and held it tightly in both hands like it was the only thing grounding her to the earth. The tiny smudge in the picture—the tiny life she was fighting for—was safe.

She let out a breath that was halfway to a sob. Then, as if sensing her distress, her baby kicked—just once, firm and clear—and her hand flew to the spot, cradling her stomach.

“I know, baby,” she whispered, voice cracked and full of ache. “I know. I’m here.”

But was he?

Where was Bob?

She spun around again, more desperately this time, her hair falling into her eyes. “BOBBY?” she yelled now, throat raw. “BUCKY? YELENA? ANYONE?”

No one answered.

No one familiar.

Just the blaring of distant sirens, the hum of helicopters somewhere overhead, the sound of feet on pavement and confusion bleeding through the city.

Her body moved on its own, staggering toward the sidewalk. Her legs felt like jelly. Everything felt heavy. The smell of smoke and dust lingered in the air, and the ground vibrated faintly under her feet, like the world was still shaking from whatever had happened.

She reached a low wall and sank down slowly, curling in on herself. The sonogram fluttered in her fingers like a fragile leaf. She ran her hands over her stomach again, more gently this time, as if to reassure herself for the hundredth time that her baby was still okay. The thought of losing him, especially after everything… It was too much.

Her hand slipped into her coat pocket again and pulled out her phone. Cracked, screen flickering with life. She stared at it, willing it to work. Willing someone—anyone—to call. But there was nothing. No messages. No Bob.

Was it even real?

Her mind flashed back—violent and disjointed.

Bob’s face twisted with pain, his tears, the blood on his knuckles as he beat the Void senseless. The sound of Yelena’s voice calling out. The feel of Bob’s hand in hers. His voice: "You are… everything." The sudden pull, the blinding light—and then waking up here.

Was it just another illusion?

Was he really there, or had her mind played the cruelest trick yet?

Her lips trembled, and she buried her face in her hands. She tried to stay strong—for the baby, for herself—but the silence was deafening. The uncertainty unbearable.

A whimper escaped her throat.

Her back pressed to the wall, her arms curled protectively around her belly, and she let the grief unravel. Grief for the confusion, the fear, the loss, the aching not knowing. Grief for Bobby—if he was even real—if she had ever really had him back.

The baby kicked again. She smiled through tears.

“I’m still here,” she whispered. "I’m still here.”

Her breathing slowed, just enough to hear the trembling silence in her chest.

Y/N wiped at her cheeks with the sleeves of her coat, rough fabric against soft skin, not that she noticed. Her eyes burned.

The people around her had mostly cleared out. Sirens were growing distant. Police were trying to direct people away from the chaos, medics calling out for injured civilians. But none of them were for her. No one looked for her. Not even the team.

Maybe they were never really there, a part of her whispered, cruel and quiet.

But then she remembered—Mr. Cooper.

He had called her, right before the world turned inside out. She had never called him back.

With a shaky breath, she reached into her pocket again, pulling out her battered phone. She turned the brightness down just enough to keep it from shorting out. A thin crack ran through the middle like a scar, but thankfully, the phone still worked.

She tapped on his name and lifted the phone to her ear.

It rang only once.

“Y/N?” His voice came in a rush—tight, worried, breathless. “God, kid—are you okay? I tried calling you back, but then the phones went dead, and.. I don't what happened—Jesus, are you hurt? Where are you?”

The tightness in her throat returned immediately.

She swallowed it down.

“Yeah,” she croaked, trying to make her voice sound normal. Normal. “I’m okay, I—I’m fine, Mr. Cooper. Just… caught up in all that mess. Something happened downtown. I think it affected a lot of people.”

There was a pause on the other end. She could almost picture him—standing in his kitchen, hand bracing the edge of the counter, brow furrowed behind his thick glasses. His worry was palpable, stretching across the line like a tether.

“You don’t sound fine,” he said softly. “Are you sure you’re alright? Where are you now? I can come get you.”

She almost said yes. Her body screamed for safety—for someone to take the weight from her, just for a moment. For someone to look at her and tell her she didn’t have to carry all of this alone.

But she couldn’t.

She needed to be alone. To think. To break. To cry.

“No,” she replied, quietly. “No, it’s okay. I’m walking back now. I just need to be home. I just… I need a little time, that’s all.”

He hesitated. She could hear it—his need to say more, to offer help, to insist.

But he knew her. He’d known her for long enough to hear what she wasn’t saying.

“Alright,” he said finally, with a gentleness only someone like him could offer. “But if you need me—even in the middle of the night—you call. I mean it.”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “Thanks,” she murmured. “I will.”

They hung up.

She stood there for a few more seconds, clutching her phone like it was an anchor.

Then, slowly, she turned and started walking.

The streets felt emptier than usual. The shadows felt taller. Her feet carried her forward on autopilot. She passed broken traffic lights, turned-over garbage bins, a restaurant window blown open from the pressure of whatever had hit the city. There was a scratch on her arm she hadn’t noticed until now, and her boots were scuffed from the fall.

Everything felt surreal. Like the city had been turned slightly inside out and then sewn back together in the wrong order.

Her apartment came into view.

As soon as she stepped inside and locked the door behind her, the silence swallowed her.

No more voices.

No Bobby.

No team.

No Void.

Just her.

She slipped her coat off and dropped it on the floor. Her body ached. Her back throbbed. Her eyes burned. She shuffled to the couch and sat down, curling her legs beneath her.

Her hand moved again to her stomach—her constant reminder that she wasn’t completely alone. He was still there. Still safe.

The sonogram sat on the coffee table where she placed it gently, her fingers lingering on the image.

She stared at it.

The tears came without warning.

She cried without sound at first, tears streaking down her cheeks and chin. Then came the hiccuped breaths, the full-body ache, the sobs she couldn’t swallow back. She buried her face in her hands and let it come. All of it. The fear. The loss. The impossible pain of seeing Bobby again—really seeing him—and not knowing what part of that had been real. Of hearing his voice. Of holding him. She felt like she had him again just to lost him minutes after. Just when things were moving for the better and her grief was getting easier, this thing appears, gives her her Bobby, made her relieve everything, and went away.

She cried for her younger self.

She cried for her baby.

And when she couldn’t cry anymore, she sat in silence, her palms resting on her belly.

“…What the hell happened?” she whispered into the dark.

There was no answer.

But her baby kicked again—soft this time, like a gentle reassurance.

And somehow, despite everything… it helped. Nothing was making sense. If was leaving her past, Bobby appeared as punishment, but how come those people that she never knew, or encountered before, made an appearence. Was it real ? Then where are they ?

Exhausted physically and emotionally, she falls asleep without noticing. No dreams, no faces, just an exhausting sleep in hopes of waking up better and half forgetting. Go on with the rest of her day, and restart her grief.

But a call came. Mr. Cooper was calling her. Which made her jump from her sleep, unaware that she had even fallen asleep. Scared of the sudden call, she picks up and answer as fast as her brain could process.

"Mr. Cooper, hi! what's...?"

"You turn the TV on, right now" He said in a raspy firm tone.

Confusing her even more. "What ? Mr.Cooper, why are you calling me to watch the news ? I'm resting, I will meet you later and tell what happened, everything fine plea..."

"I said, turn.on.the.TV.now Y/N.", as a dad scolding her, Y/N just does as he says, still not understand the urgency to watch whatever that she do later when she's fully rested.

Turning the TV, the news appeared, being splashed in every channel possible, doing a piece on what seemed to be a new team that were now the New Avengers.

"Oh...hell no, what the actual fuck."

--

Bob's pov

The press had a field day.

“Thunderbolts Save New York!” “Shadow Anomaly Contained by New Avengers!” “Sentry: Hero or Weapon?”

Everyone suddenly had opinions about them, but no one seemed to have answers. Inside the compound, though, it was just them—no press, no chaos, just post-mission exhaustion and a growing sense of what the hell just happened?

Alexei was already in celebration mode, sitting backward on a chair like a kid in detention. “They called us the New Avengers! I told you, didn’t I? All it took was a little global disaster, and boom—we’re legitimate!”

Yelena snorted. “You screamed ‘Thunderbolts assemble!’ like an idiot.”

“I wanted a moment, Yelena!”

Walker shook his head. “Next time, yell it before we get thrown through a building.”

Ava mumbled from the corner, rubbing her temple, “At least they spelled my name right on one headline. That’s a win.”

Bob was the only one still standing, leaning by the window, arms crossed but a weird energy in his posture. He had a faint smile, like he was too buzzed to come down from whatever adrenaline rush he’d been riding since they landed back in reality.

He turned toward them. “I mean, that wasn’t nothing, right? We did it. Whatever it was. I blacked out after that Void-whatever showed up and now I’m back in New York with a press badge taped to my ass.”

Yelena raised an eyebrow. “You don’t remember?”

Bob shrugged, almost chipper. “Bits and pieces. Some wild dream stuff. Did we fight something? Did I do anything embarrassing? Don’t say crying, I’m emotionally evolved.”

“Define evolved,” Ava said dryly.

Walker, who’d been quiet for a second too long, finally turned toward Bob and asked, “Hey. You… remember anything about Y/N?”

Bob blinked. “Y/N?”

“Yeah,” Walker said, more pointed now. “Your girlfriend.”

Bob gave a crooked smile. “You guys know about her now? Valentina told you, didn’t she? Let me guess—she used that to recruit me. ‘Tragic story, guy ditched his pregnant girlfriend, big ol’ redemption arc.’ Classic spy move.”

He laughed, but no one laughed with him.

He looked around. The mood had shifted. Everyone was staring—not accusatory, but... odd. Sympathetic. Guarded.

“What?”

Ava tilted her head. “Bob, do you really not remember anything? In the Void?”

“Just flashes. Feelings, mostly. Stuff that didn’t make sense. Shadows. Screaming. A... woman. But I figured it was all in my head.”

Yelena walked toward him, gently. “It wasn’t. She was real. We saw her.”

Bob’s laugh faltered. “No, I mean—she’s a memory. That’s how it works, right?”

Alexei shook his head slowly. “No, Bob. We met her.”

Walker leaned forward, eyes serious. “She was with us. We were in some kind of mind trap or construct, sure, but it wasn’t just you. She was there. Talking to you. Touching you. Holding you.”

Bob looked between them, heartbeat rising. “You guys are messing with me.”

“We’re not,” Yelena said. “You held her. Told her you were sorry. Told her you loved her.”

Bob’s face fell. “No, that… that’s not possible. I would’ve remembered.”

“You don’t remember her saying to you you’d finish the baby's crib?” Ava asked softly.

Bob sat down slowly, as if the weight in his chest had just become too much. “I… I thought that was a dream.”

Walker’s voice was quieter now. “She was real, Bob. And when we came back… she wasn’t with us.”

He stared at the floor.

The room was quiet again.

Bob looked up slowly, eyes wide but full of dread. “Where is she?”

Yelena swallowed hard. “We don’t know.”

Bob sat there, stunned. His brain was still trying to catch up, to rewind through fragmented shadows, memories half-formed, a scream, a soft laugh, her hands on his face. It hadn’t been just a dream. She was there.

“She’s probably in the city,” he said suddenly, voice dry, eyes distant. “She lived here. We—we lived here. Small apartment just above a laundromat off 36th, near the bridge. The kind of place you don’t show your parents but you make it work because it’s yours. She hated how the window leaked in the winter. Always shoved towels under it to keep the cold out.”

He chuckled for a second. It was hollow.

“She might be there. Or around. She never liked going too far out of the neighborhood.”

The others exchanged a look. Alexei leaned forward a bit, resting his elbows on his knees, watching Bob like he was defusing a bomb with his words.

Bob’s shoulders began to rise and fall unevenly. The smile had drained, replaced by a creeping realization behind his eyes. His mouth opened like he might speak again, but nothing came out—just a short breath, almost like a hiccup from the back of his throat.

Then the panic hit.

His hands gripped his knees, hard.

“Oh God,” he whispered. “What the hell do I do?”

“Go to her,” Yelena said softly.

“No—no, you don’t understand,” he muttered, shaking his head, palms pressing into his temples. “I left. I left her—knowing she was pregnant. I walked away. I just left. And then I got grabbed by Valentina like some stupid lab rat for some twisted ‘fix-the-golden-boy’ science project, and I thought I was going to die there.”

He looked up, eyes glassy, chest heaving like the weight of everything he ran from had finally caught up with him.

“I never thought I’d make it out. I didn’t think I’d have to face any of this again. I told myself I was saving her from me. That if I just disappeared, maybe she’d have a better shot. Maybe she'd forget the mess I was and move on. And then… then I survived.”

He looked around the room at their faces. “And I don’t know what the hell to do with that.”

Ava spoke gently. “You go to her.”

Bob let out a tight, bitter laugh. “And say what? ‘Hey, sorry I vanished, missed half the pregnancy, ditched you in the worst moment of your life—mind if I come back and finish building the crib?’”

His voice cracked halfway through, and he rubbed a hand down his face, hard.

“She probably hates me. She should hate me.”

“You don’t know that,” Walker said, his tone oddly soft for once. “You don’t know anything until you see her again. But I’ll tell you what’s worse than facing her? Never trying.”

Bob swallowed thickly.

“She looked at you like you were still hers,” Yelena added. “In there, whatever the Void made, it was twisted, sure. But she still looked at you with love. With pain, yeah. But love, too.”

Bob went quiet. For a few seconds, no one said a word.

Then—he exhaled shakily and whispered something, like it had only just re-entered his mind.

“Guys…”

They looked over at him.

He blinked, stunned again by the weight of it.

“I’m going to be a dad.”

His voice cracked, and it wasn’t just shock this time—it was awe. Dread. Hope. Regret. All of it.

“I missed five months,” he said. “I missed appointments. Her cravings. Her first checkup. I wasn’t there when she probably cried herself to sleep because I most probably put her through hell. I missed everything.”

“But you’re here now,” Alexei said, gently but firm. “You still have time.”

Bob looked down at his hands, noticing for the first time how badly they trembled.

“I know I’m not the same person I was when I left. I’ve been clean since Malaysia. The withdrawal nearly killed me. I’ve been through hell trying to be better… but I never once thought about how I’d come back. What I’d say. What I’d do if I ever saw her again. And how will I even tell her that, how will that even sound ? Hi baby, I wasn't good so I left the country and found new friends, I'm so much better know, which would be impossible if I stayed here, by your side, taking care of you, in our home. Yeah, that sounds great. You know what that sounds like? I'll be blaming her for not being better!"

Walker crossed his arms. “We'll figure it out. Together. If she knows she knows that what you did was not the way, but was more desperation than being a deadbeat.”

Yelena nodded. “And he knows what that is like.”

Walker just looks at her, a shoked expression slap on his face. "What the hell did I do to you? Jesus."

“She might not want to see me,” Bob said, barely above a whisper.

“She might not,” Ava agreed. “But she deserves the choice. And you deserve to say it to her face.”

Bob finally stood, slowly, like the weight of his guilt was a physical thing slung across his shoulders.

“I need to find her,” he said quietly. “I need to see her. Even if it’s just to hear her say it’s too late.”

--

Y/N's pov

The scent of fries and charbroiled beef did nothing to ease the twist in Y/N’s stomach.

She sat at a booth by the window in a corner of the burger place, her cheek pressed against the cold faux-wood table. Outside, the neon lights of the city flickered with life, completely unaware that her world had been flipped upside down. Again.

Mr. Cooper sat across from her, silent, drumming his fingers lightly against his milkshake cup. Their number was still being called up at the counter—order 68—but neither of them moved. No appetite. Just tension and confusion and the low buzz of the news still replaying in her mind.

“The New Avengers—unofficially named, of course—have emerged after a battle outside Manhattan’s southern district. The team includes the U.S. Agent, Russian super-soldier, Red Guardian, Black Widow’s sister, and… a man we’re still learning about. A man who, eyewitnesses claim, flew and tore through solid steel. They’re calling him ‘The Sentry.’”

She flinched again at the title. It didn’t fit. Not with the man who used to sneak an extra shake into her takeout bags just to see her smile. The one who got nosebleeds too easily and talked in his sleep. The one who vanished five months ago and hadn’t left behind anything but a phantom of what used to be.

Mr. Cooper finally broke the silence with a gentle throat-clear and a hesitant voice.

“So… this is awkward,” he said, looking at her sideways. “You never mentioned him being a superhero. Or a super soldier.”

Y/N groaned, lifting her head off the table and glaring at him as if it were his fault.

“He’s not. I don’t even know what the hell is happening. We met because we worked together—he used to spin a sign to promote the restaurant's food.” Her voice cracked somewhere between disbelief and exhausted sarcasm. “Does that sound like a super soldier to you?”

Mr. Cooper leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “Jezz! He spins a sign for a living and you let him date you and get you pregnant?” He gave her a crooked smile. “Kid, you’re a pretty lady. You kno—"

“Can you focus on the dead man I’ve been looking for four goddamn months who just reappeared out of nowhere as a freaking avenger?” she snapped, louder than she intended.

The people in the next booth looked over briefly.

Mr. Cooper coughed into his fist and looked away. “Yeah. Sorry. Right.”

Y/N folded her arms across her chest and leaned back into the booth, trying to breathe. Trying to think. But the noise in her head was deafening. Bobby. Bob. Alive. Right there on TV. Eyes glowing. Smiling like he belonged there. Like he’d always belonged there.

"He sure looks happy as hell." She said letting out a heavy breath.

And he never called. Not once. No text. No note. Nothing.

Her fingers curled around the sonogram still tucked inside her coat pocket.

“He just… left,” she murmured, eyes trained on the linoleum floor. “Didn’t say a word. Not one. And he was in New York this whole damn time?”

“I mean…” Mr. Cooper’s voice was cautious. “For what it’s worth, we don’t know that. There hasn’t been any official word on when he got back. Maybe he wasn’t in the States until now.”

“He had to see the posters,” she whispered, fury rising in her chest like a slow boil. “I plastered them everywhere. I went to every station, every hospital. He was all I thought about. And now he just shows up on the news with some dumb hero name, fighting like he’s Superman and pretending like he didn’t leave me behind?”

Her voice trembled by the end of it, rage and grief all tangled into one.

Mr. Cooper leaned forward, speaking softer now. “I know you’re hurting, kid. I know this feels like some cosmic slap to the face. But there has to be an explanation. People don’t come back from the dead just to pretend nothing happened.”

She looked at him, eyes glistening, but her jaw locked tight.

He added, “As far as we know, there’s no record of him even coming back from Malaysia. If that lady Valentina had anything to do with this, and he was part of one of her experiments, you know she was on trial for those sketchy projects.” He trailed off, grim. “They probably kept him buried in some black site until now, he had to gain some kind of power.”

Y/N didn’t say anything for a long time.

Her food number was called again. Still no movement.

“I just…” She exhaled, pressing a hand against her belly, where the baby gave a soft kick, as if responding to her heartache. “If he’s been here… If he knew... Why hasn’t he come back? Why isn’t he banging down my door? Why isn’t he groveling on his knees, begging me to forgive him for leaving me?”

Her throat clenched around the words. She hated how small they sounded. How hurt.

“Is he with someone else?” she asked suddenly, the words tumbling out like they had a mind of their own. “Did he just move on? Decide the whole father thing wasn’t for him, and now he’s flying around in spandex trying to save the world instead?”

Mr. Cooper reached out, placed a hand over hers gently. “He didn’t look like a man who moved on. Not to me.”

Y/N blinked down at the table. "How do you even know that? Let's recap, I tell I'm pregnant after a huge fight about his addiction, because I was scared of losing him, days later I wake up, he left without trace, I look after him, he's in Malaysia, now he's a super hero. Oh yeah! It doesn't sound likke he moved on and built a new life, without me."

Her heart ached. Not just because he was alive. But because now she had something even worse than grief to wrestle with.

"Mr. Cooper. I give up. I can't take anymore, I...when that thingy came I had this dream, nightmare, hallucination, whatever, he was there. I thought that it was real, those people were there, I'm having a hard time figuring out what's happening, but...if it was real than he saw me too, why isn't him here? He.moved.on." Tears blink in her eyes, she looks away.

"I can't take the stress anymore, I'm just getting myself together, and I just putting all this anxiety and stress on the baby, I can't keep going in a path without a destiny." She picks up a napkin that rested on the table to wipe her tears, and looks at Mr.Cooper. "There's always other people, other women, he's a hero, and he's going to be rich now, bet ther-"

“Y/N.” Mr. Cooper’s voice was sharp, firm, cutting her spiral like a blade.

She stopped, her eyes snapping up to meet his. He wasn’t angry, not really. But there was something frustrated, protective in the way his brows drew together.

“Why do you always go there?” he asked. “Why do you keep acting like him leaving, or cheating, is the only explanation?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“You’ve been so damn strong these past months,” he continued, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “I watched you tear up half the city looking for him. I watched you yell at cops who wouldn’t listen. You made those missing posters by hand. You begged strangers to keep an eye out. You didn’t let anyone talk shit about him—not even me. You told everyone who doubted him to go to hell, because you knew he wasn’t the kind of man who’d walk out. You believed in him.”

He paused, voice softening.

“So why is seeing him now—alive—turning into this total collapse?”

She shook her head, overwhelmed, trembling with exhaustion and rage and heartache.

“I don’t know,” she choked. “Because it’s easier to believe he left on purpose than to admit that maybe... maybe he’s been back and just didn’t want to come home.”

“No.” Mr. Cooper shook his head slowly. “You don’t believe that. You’re scared of that. There’s a difference.”

Y/N looked down at her stomach.

“I spent so long hoping. Waking up at night thinking maybe I heard the door. Every time the phone rang, I jumped like it was him. I let people call me delusional because I just knew he wouldn’t leave me like that. And now that he’s alive, I feel like... like I can’t breathe. He never made me feel like he didn't want me, or once made me doubt him.”

“Because hope is dangerous,” Cooper said gently. “But it’s still yours. And you don’t have to throw it away just to protect yourself. You don’t have to build a worst-case story in your head just so it hurts less if it’s true.”

She looked at him then, fully, eyes glassy and tired. “You really think he’s not out there forgetting me?”

“I think if Bob Reynolds is even half the man you made him out to be... then he’s out there panicking. Terrified. Not sure how to come back. Because maybe he thinks you moved on. Or that he hurt you too badly. Or that you’ll slam the door in his face.”

Silence stretched between them.

The burger order had been ready for fifteen minutes. No one cared.

Y/N leaned back slowly, wiped under her eyes with her sleeve. She exhaled shakily.

“I don’t want to be angry anymore,” she whispered.

“Then don’t be. Be ready.” Mr. Cooper smiled gently. “Because I don’t think this story’s over. Not even close.”

The footage of the Thunderbolts—no, the New Avengers—flashed across the screen again. Images of chaos, the sky cracking open, then the clean-up crews, and finally a group photo: grainy, chaotic, half-captured mid-motion—but there he was.

Bob.

Looking so different and yet unmistakably him. Taller somehow. Stronger. Almost glowing.

Y/N’s eyes were glued to the screen, her burger untouched.

“Do you really think that woman—Valentina, whatever—could have something to do with all this?” she asked suddenly, her voice low, cautious, like speaking the name might summon something.

Mr. Cooper blinked, caught a little off guard by the shift. “Valentina de Fontaine?”

She nodded. “They said she was behind the team, right? And now all this... stuff happens. And Bob’s with them. So I’ve been trying to piece it together, but it doesn’t make any sense.”

Mr. Cooper sighed, taking a bite of his fries before answering, reluctantly. “She’s in trial right now. Big federal investigation. No full details, but... I heard she’s being charged for working with the OXE Group.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat.

“What’s the OXE Group?” she asked slowly.

He didn’t look at her at first. Just watched the news crawl at the bottom of the screen as if he were still deciding whether to tell her the truth.

“They’re a private military research firm. The kind of people who used to do black site work. Off-the-record stuff. Real shady.”

“Okay...” Y/N pressed, her voice tightening. “But what does that mean? What is she actually in trial for?”

Mr. Cooper finally turned to look at her, his expression sobering. “Illegal human experimentation. Enhancement trials. Word is, they were trying to recreate the super soldier program without oversight.”

The booth felt colder all of a sudden. Y/N’s eyes widened, her breath catching.

“Human experiments?” she repeated. “You mean like...”

He nodded, grim. “Like testing on people without consent. Drug trials. Mutation injections. Splicing DNA with alien tech. You name it.”

She slumped back in her seat, her hand going to her stomach again like second nature, like she needed the grounding.

Her voice cracked. “What if... What if she did something to him?”

Mr. Cooper frowned. “Y/N...”

“No, I’m serious!” she shot back, panic bubbling up. “What if he didn’t just leave? What if he was taken? Or experimented on? What if he got—changed—and that’s why he didn’t come back? What if they hurt him and wiped his memory, or used him like a weapon?”

“Y/N, we don’t know any of that,” he said gently, but her mind was already spiraling.

“It would make sense!” she snapped. “I saw him. I saw him in that facility, and he didn’t look like himself. Not just stronger or taller or whatever. He looked wrong. Like he was fighting something inside of him. And what if it wasn’t just him fighting—what if it was something they put in him?”

Mr. Cooper rubbed his temple slowly. “It’s a stretch, but... honestly? With people like Valentina? I wouldn’t rule it out.”

Y/N covered her face with both hands, overwhelmed by the thought.

“He always hated being weak,” she whispered. “He never said it out loud, but I could see it in how hard he tried.”

“And now maybe someone used that, maybe someone other then you saw what he had to give.” Cooper added grimly.

She dropped her hands and looked up at the screen again, the soft glow of the TV painting her worried face. Bob’s image flickered again—his silhouette standing strong beside the others, like he belonged there. But there was something distant in his expression. Something hollow. Something that didn’t look like the man she fell in love with.

“I’m not even pissed anymore,” she whispered. “I’m scared. What if he doesn’t come back because... he can’t?”

Mr. Cooper reached across the table and placed his hand gently over hers. “Then maybe it’s time someone went and got him.”

Y/N didn’t respond right away.

But her eyes, still glassy from earlier tears, were now clear with something else.

Determination.

"You think I should go there ?"

Mr.Cooper just smiles softly. "Maybe. You already went everywhere for him. This looks like a last trip."

--

The Next day - Bob's pov

The watchowerbuzzed with movement and low chatter as the Thunderbolts prepared for something that felt more serious than any mission they’d been on: Bob’s return.

Alexei was in his element—straightening a collar, wiping nonexistent dust from a navy-blue suit jacket, inspecting the polish on Bob’s shoes like a proud older brother sending a kid off to prom.

“You see this? This is what redemption looks like,” Alexei said, stepping back to admire Bob. “This says: ‘I am responsible man who has fought gods and folded laundry.’”

Bob stood stiffly in front of the mirror, hands tugging at the uncomfortable sleeves. “It says I’m about to ask for a job at a bank.”

“You look good,” Ava said simply from across the room. “It’s clean. Grown. It says you took this seriously. That matters.”

“She liked me messy,” Bob muttered under his breath, glancing down at the crisp fabric, the sleek hair combed back. “She said I looked more like me that way.”

Yelena, seated on the couch, rolled her eyes. “That was before you got sucked into a lab, exploded in the sky, and became some walking nuclear sunrise. You’re not just the guy that was struggle to keep yourselve together anymore, Bob. You’ve changed.”

Bob frowned. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Walker stepped in then, arms crossed, voice blunt but not unkind. “Look. You go there looking like you haven’t slept since 2019, she’ll think you’re still spiraling. But you show up like this? It says you’ve been trying. You want her back, right? Then show her you didn’t just survive — you got your shit together.”

Bob sighed and looked at himself again. The suit was neat, dark, serious. The tie Alexei picked was a shade too bright, but he let it be. His hair, slicked back, made his features sharper, more intense — and somehow older.

“Do I really look like… me? Do you think she will like this?” he asked, quieter this time.

Ava shrugged. “You look like someone who fought to come back.”

“And is about to cry,” Yelena said, deadpan. “But that’s your brand.”

Alexei grinned, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Trust us, this is the version of you she’ll want to see. Not the one who left, the one who chose to come back.”

Bob didn’t say anything for a moment. He took one last look at himself and nodded—just slightly.

Alexei, walking beside Bob, leaned in and whispered, “If she cries, cry with her. If she yells, nod wisely. If she hugs you… propose.”

Bob laughed for the first time all day, nerves still twisting deep in his chest. “Noted.”

He didn’t feel ready—not even close.

Alexei was fussing over Bob’s lapels like a proud uncle before prom, squinting critically at the clean lines of the suit. “You look strong. You look professional.”

“Fashion is how we prepare for emotional battle,” Alexei declared, adjusting Bob’s cuffs. “You must dress like the man you want her to believe in. Smell good. Stand tall. Speak deeply.”

“Alexei, you sound like a shampoo commercial,” Ava said from her spot near the mission board, clearly unimpressed.

Yelena rolled her eyes. “He’s not seducing her. He’s trying to apologize. Just tell her the truth, idiot.”

“Tell her the truth?” Alexei scoffed. “Fine. Tell her: ‘Hello. I have become golden space god now. I will protect you and make you rich. Also, I will buy you several dogs. Jewels. Maybe matching capes.’ Boom. Proposal.”

“Yeah,” Yelena muttered, “you just described a sugar daddy.”

“Is that not good?” Alexei blinked.

“That’s not great,” Ava shot back.

Walker leaned forward, trying to restore order. “Can we all just stop arguing about sugar daddies for one second?”

But that second was long gone. Ava was now arguing with Alexei about power dynamics in relationships, Yelena was threatening to punch someone if they didn’t shut up, and Walker looked like he was about five seconds from walking out.

Amid the chaos, Bob slowly sat down on the edge of the chair by the wide Watchtower window. He didn’t say anything. Just stared out at the distant lights of the city. A city she might be somewhere in. Alone.

They kept bickering around him, their voices overlapping, but Bob wasn’t listening anymore.

Then, softly, without looking at them, he spoke.

“I’m really scared.”

Silence fell, thick and immediate.

The team turned to look at him. Even Alexei’s big grin faded a little.

Bob kept his eyes on the skyline, his voice low and honest.

“She’s been abandoned her whole life. By people who were supposed to stay. Family. Friends. Even strangers who promised better and never meant it. And now I just—” he swallowed hard—“I went and added myself to that list.”

He clasped his hands, fingers threading and unthreading like his nerves were on a loop. He finally looked at them, eyes wide with something between guilt and fear and rawness that none of them had ever seen from him.

“I don’t know what to say to her. I don’t know if she even wants to see me. But she deserves the truth. And the choice.”

Yelena blinked a few times, her voice quieter when she spoke. “Then that’s what you give her.”

Alexei stepped closer, this time without a joke. He reached out and straightened Bob’s jacket collar.

“You wear the suit,” he said, firm but kind. “Because you are not just scared man anymore. You are also someone who came back. Someone who shows up. And sometimes... that is everything.”

Bob looked down at his shoes. The suit didn’t feel like him—but maybe it didn’t have to. Maybe it wasn’t about who he used to be.

Maybe it was about who he wanted to become.

Just as the room began to settle—after the shouting, the sarcastic digs, and the tail end of Alexei offering to re-style Bob’s hair himself if it meant calming him down—the doors to the Watchtower meeting room hissed open.

Mel stepped inside. She had that look of someone about to drop a grenade in the middle of the room and then walk away.

“Hey, uh—sorry to break up whatever group therapy session this is,” she said, tapping her tablet nervously, “but you’ve got a situation downstairs.”

Everyone turned.

Bob stood near the window, still fidgeting with his collar, his mind halfway between meltdown and autopilot.

Mel glanced at her screen. “There’s a woman and a guy asking for you. She’s being very... insistent.”

Bob blinked. “For me?”

“Yeah,” Mel said, nodding. “She says her name is Y/N L/N.”

The name hit him like a punch to the ribs. He froze. The breath left his lungs in one swift exhale.

“She’s here?” he said, barely audible.

Mel gave a wide-eyed shrug. “And some guy with her—says his name is George Cooper.”

Bob’s brows furrowed. “Who?”

Walker squinted. “You don’t know him?”

Bob shook his head. “No. Never heard of him.”

“Probably someone helping her,” Ava muttered. “Friend? Neighbor?”

“Or he’s just muscle,” Alexei offered. “In case she decides to throw you out a window.”

Bob swallowed thickly.

“She’s here?” he repeated, almost like he didn’t believe it. “In this building?”

Mel nodded. “Refusing to leave. She said if you don’t come down, she’s coming up. I told her that wasn’t exactly allowed without clearance and she said—and I quote—‘He’ll want to see me. Tell him I’m here. He’ll come.’”

Silence dropped over the room.

Alexei stood, clapping once. “WELL! This is very romantic. She crossed enemy lines to see you.”

Yelena looked at Bob. “You gonna faint or do something useful?”

Bob’s heart was racing. He glanced at Mel again. “She’s okay? I mean... she looks okay?”

“She looks pissed,” Mel said, matter-of-fact. “But yeah. Alive. Loud. Standing on both feet.”

Walker leaned back in his chair. “So. What’s the move?”

Bob licked his lips, nervous. “I... I don’t know what to say.”

Ava gave a soft exhale. “Start with 'Hi, I’m sorry,' and work your way up.”

“Do not start with ‘I’m a superhero now,’” Yelena added, arms crossed. “She might hit you.”

Alexei looked far too excited. “Tell her you’re going to take care of her forever and buy her a houseboat.”

“Guys,” Bob muttered, pressing his fingers to his temple. “I don’t even know who that guy is. What if she moved on? What if he’s her—God, I don’t know—boyfriend?”

“Then she wouldn’t be here, asking for you by name,” Yelena said calmly.

He was shaking.

Not with fear exactly—but something deeper. The kind of anxiety you only feel when you know you're about to come face to face with the thing you both miss and broke.

Bob whispered, “I’m really scared.”

That was enough to quiet the room.

He looked down at his hands. “She deserves better. And now... I don’t know what she’s going to see when she looks at me.”

Walker leaned forward on the table, his voice low. “Give her the choice, Reynolds. That’s all you can do.”

Mel stood awkwardly in the doorway. “So... what do you want me to tell them?”

Bob took one breath. Then two. Then forced himself upright.

“Tell them to come up.”

Yelena gave a small smirk. “About damn time.”

Mel nodded, giving him a soft, understanding look. “Got it.”

And with that, she stepped out, letting the doors seal shut behind her.

Bob stared at the floor.

“She’s really here.”

“Yeah,” Ava said. “She is.”

He swallowed.

Bob immediately turned to the rest of the team, his chest rising and falling too fast, hands shaking.

“I can’t do this. I seriously cannot do this. She’s here. She saw me on TV, and now she’s here, and I have no idea what she’s going to say—what if she just wants to scream at me? What if she’s already moved on and she’s just here for closure or to give me back my things—oh God, what if she brought a box of my stuff? That’s what people do, right? Boxes?”

Alexei clapped him hard on the back, nearly sending Bob stumbling forward.

“Relax, golden boy,” he said with a grin. “At least she came when you look good. If this was five hours ago, you’d still have pizza sauce on your shirt and look like a wet rat. Now you look like a gentleman. Hair all slicked back. Like James Bond but sad.”

“Very sad,” Yelena added, dryly. “Like James Bond who’s been crying in a Denny’s parking lot.”

Walker grunted. “Real supportive, guys.”

Ava leaned forward, her tone softer. “Bob. You’re spiraling.”

“I should be spiraling,” Bob huffed. “She’s probably been through hell and I left her—what do I even say? ‘Hi, sorry I ghosted you and joined a black-ops team and maybe died a little bit in Malaysia, and now I have godlike powers but still can’t hold a normal conversation’?”

“Yeah,” Yelena said with a shrug. “That, but slower.”

Alexei was still grinning. “What if she’s just here to take you back? Huh? Ever thought of that?”

Bob blinked at him, confused.

“I mean,” Alexei continued, “she saw you on the news, looking heroic, cape blowing in the wind—metaphorically speaking—and she thought, ‘That’s my idiot.’ Maybe she’s just here because she wants you back.”

“Exactly,” Ava chimed in. “You don’t know what she’s thinking. You’re panicking over something that hasn’t happened yet.”

“She came, man,” Walker added. “She didn’t send a letter. She didn’t text. She showed up.”

Bob ran a shaky hand through his hair—well, tried to, forgetting it was slicked back with gel now and recoiling in horror. “God, it’s so crispy.”

“Don’t touch it!” Alexei scolded, slapping his hand away. “You ruin that hair, and all this is for nothing.”

Everyone turned as the elevator down the hall gave a soft ding.

Bob went pale.

“They’re coming up,” he whispered. “Oh God. They’re coming up.”

Yelena gave him a nudge. “You don’t have to be perfect. Just be honest. And breathe. In through the nose. Out through the dramatic monologue.”

He looked to them, chest rising and falling, eyes wide.

Then he nodded. Slowly.

“Okay,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

And Bob—dressed like a gentleman, scared out of his mind—stood facing the door, waiting for her

The elevator let out a soft chime, and the doors slid open with a mechanical hum.

Y/N stood there like a storm held in a glass bottle. Hair a little windblown, eyes sharp and already glossed with too much unshed emotion. Her coat hung off one shoulder, and beside her stood Mr. Cooper, arms crossed, watching with the protective stiffness of a man about to throw someone through a wall if needed.

The moment her eyes locked on Bob, she froze. Just for a second. Because what she saw was so jarringly not what she expected.

He stood across the room in a suit. Hair combed back, posture stiff as if he were pretending to be someone else. A mock version of composure. And yet—beneath it, she could still see him. Still Bob. Still the same guy who used to burn toast and tell jokes that didn’t land, who once danced in the living room holding a broom like a microphone.

Her mouth fell open.

“Bobby…” she began, voice strained, “What the fuck?”

Bob flinched. She hadn’t even raised her voice, but it hit him like a slap. Still, without thinking, without breathing, he moved forward, arms open.

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I know—I just need to—”

He embraced her.

Y/N’s breath hitched sharply against his chest. He was warm. Real. Solid. And for the briefest of seconds—less than a heartbeat—she didn’t push him away. Her hands even hovered, as if they didn’t know what to do.

He smelled the same. Felt the same. She hated that her body remembered.

Then she came to.

“No—no!” she gasped, shoving him back with both palms against his chest. “Don’t you dare. You don’t get to hug me like that, like nothing happened!”

Tears spilled from her eyes now, but her jaw clenched with fury. “Where the hell have you been?! What was this, Bobby? What was this?! You disappeared, and now you’re in a goddamn suit, on the news like everything’s fine? You left me! You left me!”

Bob stumbled back, hands raised, chest heaving. “I know. I know I did—please, I—I swear I’ll explain, just—can we… can we talk? Alone?”

He looked past her to Mr. Cooper, then the rest of the team hovering awkwardly in the background. They were trying not to look like they were watching, but they definitely were.

Yelena was half-tucked behind Ava, who was subtly gripping Alexei’s arm to stop him from chiming in. Even Walker looked frozen mid-step, unsure if he should intervene or back off.

Bob turned to them with a shaky exhale. “Can we have a minute? Please?”

Mr. Cooper looked to Y/N. “That what you want?”

Y/N glanced around the room, then back at Bob. She wiped the corner of her eye with the sleeve of her jacket.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Yeah… please.”

The tension in the air shifted as the others nodded and slowly made their exit. Alexei gave Bob a small, reassuring pat on the shoulder as he passed—though it was more like a seismic jolt.

“I’m watching you,” Yelena muttered under her breath as she followed the others out.

Walker pointed a finger at Bob.

The doors shut behind them.

Now it was just Bob and Y/N, the silence closing in like walls. The city glowed faintly through the tall windows. The room suddenly felt too big. Too quiet.

Bob took a tentative step toward her. “I—don’t know where to start.”

Y/N folded her arms, brows pulled tight. “Try the part where you vanished into thin air.”

His throat tightened. His hands trembled.

“Okay,” he whispered, eyes locked on her. “Okay.”

“I didn’t think I’d get to say any of this,” he started, his voice dry and cracking. “I didn’t plan on saying anything at all.”

He finally looked up at her, his eyes red-rimmed, breathing uneven. “When I left, I didn’t just leave because of the pregnancy, Y/N. I’d already… been thinking about leaving. About… disappearing. I’d been thinking about it long before I knew. That test—God, it broke me. Not because of the baby. Not because of you. Because I knew right then I wasn’t the person you needed me to be.”

He swallowed hard and stepped forward slowly, careful not to spook her.

“You know how bad it got. I—I thought I had it under control, the meth, the withdrawals, the spirals, all of it. But I didn’t. I relapsed again two days before you told me. I—I’d been hiding it. I was so ashamed. I couldn’t even look you in the eyes some nights. I’d lie awake next to you and think about how much I was failing. How I was just—burning your life down with mine.”

He rubbed his face roughly, eyes shining as his breathing caught. “And then the test. And you. You looked so happy. And I—I felt like I was standing in front of this life, this beautiful life you wanted, and I was the wreckage in the way. I thought… if I stayed, I’d keep failing. That I’d be angry all the time. That I’d scream, or break things, or—God—for the first time in my life, I was scared of myself.”

He looked at her now. Fully. Face open and wounded, stripped of anything but his truth.

“So I did what cowards do. I ran. And I didn’t just run—I collapsed. I went to Malaysia because it was dangerous. Because I thought I’d die out there. Because dying felt easier than telling you I was broken. I thought I was doing you a favor. That you'd be better off. That the baby would have a clean slate, and you’d hate me, sure—but you’d survive. You’d thrive without me.”

Silence.

A few seconds passed, and he saw it—her breathing uneven, her hands curled tight at her sides.

And then she broke.

“You know me, Bobby,” she cried, voice trembling but laced with fire. “You know me.”

He barely had time to brace himself before the words poured out of her in sobs and gasps and fists clenched in grief.

“I love you so much I could feel death creeping into my chest every night you didn’t come back. I stopped eating. I couldn’t sleep. I would scream into my pillow until I passed out. I waited for hours by the door every time it rained, thinking you’d be cold and coming home. I sat in hospitals and police stations—God—I put up flyers, Bobby. I looked in every building, every alley, every damn street like a maniac because I knew something had to be wrong!”

Her hands trembled as she wiped her face with her sleeve, but the tears kept coming. Her voice broke again, smaller now.

“All I ever wanted was for you to come home. To have you here. I—I would’ve moved with you. To anywhere. Anywhere. You could’ve said the word and we would’ve started over. Just me and you. I would’ve helped you through everything. I wanted to help. But you didn’t give me the chance. You didn’t even give me a choice.”

She was sobbing now, her chest heaving, and Bob could only stare at her, broken open.

“I want our kid to know you. To love you. I wanted him to have what I never had. You keep thinking you’re some monster—that you ruin everything, that nobody gives a shit. But you leaving took my whole life with you. You took my happiness and left me to hold the pieces!”

Bob stepped closer, slow and trembling. His voice came out hoarse.

“I never wanted to hurt you. I thought I was saving you.”

She laughed bitterly through her tears, shaking her head. “Well, you didn’t save me. You wrecked me.”

Bob nodded, lips pressed together as tears welled in his eyes. He looked down at her—then unconsciously, his eyes dropped to her stomach. She was showing now. Just enough.

“I missed everything,” he whispered, his hand trembling like it wanted to reach out but didn’t dare.

Y/N nodded silently, wiping her cheek.

“You did,” she said.

“Bobby…” she exhaled slowly. “You’re on the damn news. The Avengers, the Watchtower, all of this? You’re dressed like a damn wedding crasher—how the hell are you a superhero now?”

Her voice cracked. Confusion, disbelief, anger still curling in her chest like smoke.

“You don’t have powers. I know you. You had bad knees and a caffeine addiction and you used to pull your back lifting grocery bags. What the hell happened to you? What—what was that thing in the sky that took over the city? I saw you in it. I thought I was losing my mind.”

Bob blinked, lips parted like he’d been caught off guard. He looked down at the floor, then back up at her with a deep, ashamed breath.

“I wasn’t supposed to make it,” he said softly. “When I left for Malaysia… it wasn’t just to run. I signed up for something. Something I knew was dangerous.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed, a pang of dread in her gut.

“What kind of something?” she asked carefully.

Bob clenched his jaw. “Human experimentation.”

Her eyes widened, horror flashing across her face. He rushed to keep speaking before she could spiral.

“It was Valentina. She was… recruiting people. Not for the Avengers, not at first. For something else. I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t want answers. I thought—if it worked, maybe I’d be someone. If it didn’t… I’d just disappear like I always meant to.”

Y/N shook her head, horrified. “Bob—Jesus Christ.”

He nodded, shame deepening his voice. “It worked. Somehow. I don’t know how to explain it. They gave me something. It rewired everything. My body, my mind. I’m not… me anymore. I’m something else now. I can fly. I can tear steel apart. I can hear a pin drop from across the city. I don’t get tired. I don’t bleed. But…”

His voice wavered. He looked up at her with eyes that were begging to be understood.

“There’s something inside me. Something that came with the powers. A shadow. A presence. They call it The Void.”

Y/N stiffened at the name. Her breath caught.

Bob swallowed hard, nodding slowly.

“It’s real. That… thing that covered New York? That was me. Or, part of me. I don’t remember all of it—I black out when he comes. But it’s like… he waits. Like he watches from behind my eyes, waiting for a moment to crawl out.”

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes again.

“I didn’t know what I’d done until I woke up in that lab. Until I saw what was left behind. It wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t even know I could do something like that. I—”

He broke off, breath shaky.

“I don’t want these powers. Not if they come with him. I’m scared, Y/N. Every second. Because if I lose focus for one moment, if I get too angry, too desperate, too… weak—he gets out again. And next time, he might not leave anything standing.”

Y/N’s face had softened now. Her arms weren’t crossed anymore. She was just… standing there. Listening. Absorbing it all.

Bob stepped forward, a hand to his chest like he was trying to ground himself.

“But if I have to… if I have to… I’ll use it. Because I’ve seen what he can do. And I’ve seen what I can do when I keep him under. I think I was meant to help. Meant to protect people. Even if I’m scared.”

He met her gaze again, with more resolve this time.

“I don’t want to run anymore. From you, from what I’ve done, from what I am. I just want to… figure out how to live with it. With him. With the powers. And I want to do it with you.”

Y/N stared at him in stunned silence for a moment.

Then she took a trembling step forward.

“Do you really want to be that guy?” she whispered. “Or are you still trying to disappear, just in a different uniform?”

Bob flinched like she’d slapped him—but he didn’t deny it.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I’m trying.”

Y/N stood in front of him, arms limp at her sides, staring down at the floor. The silence was no longer sharp—it was dull, thick, almost protective. She was processing. Still trying to stitch everything together, the pain and confusion and love all colliding at once inside her chest like a storm without direction.

Bobby shifted, watching her with quiet, careful eyes.

“…Are you able to forgive me?” he asked, his voice a near whisper, almost afraid the sound might shatter whatever moment this was.

She didn’t answer. Not yet.

“I mean… we don’t have to be anything. Not if you don’t want to. I don’t want to force you into something just because we—because this happened,” he continued, motioning vaguely to her belly, to the air between them, to everything. “But I want to be there. I want to be there for you. And for the baby.”

His voice cracked.

“And I want you. I love you. I never stopped. Not for a second. But… you went through hell. And I was the one who lit the match. I didn’t protect you. I hurt you.”

That last part hung in the air like a confession he was ashamed to even say out loud.

Y/N still didn’t say anything. Her eyes flicked upward for only a second before she turned her head to the side, blinking hard. Her heart was racing, her head was buzzing. All of it was too much. The powers. The Void. The abandonment. The hug. The apology. The love. The ache. She loved him. God, she loved him—but what if love wasn’t enough? What if it never had been?

And then… she felt it.

A soft, unmistakable push from within her. Tiny.

She looked back at Bobby, the emotion behind her eyes unreadable—but deep.

Without saying a word, she stepped forward and gently took his hand in hers.

Then, she guided it to her belly.

His fingers spread over the fabric of her shirt, and at first, he just looked at her, confused—until he felt it.

A kick. Strong. Rhythmic.

His eyes widened. A stunned breath fell out of him.

And then… his knees buckled, slowly, reverently, until he was crouched in front of her, both hands now resting on her belly, forehead pressing softly against it like he was praying. His eyes fluttered closed, and he tilted his head ever so slightly, as if listening with his whole soul.

And he heard it.

A heartbeat.

Steady. Fierce. Alive.

Bob’s breath hitched. His lips parted in disbelief, awe folding into tears.

“We made that,” he whispered.

Y/N’s hand lifted, slow and gentle, resting on top of his head—his hair stiff with gel, slicked back against the version of him someone else dressed up to be a man who looked like he had it all together. But beneath it… she missed the curls. The mess. Him.

She let her fingers slip through what little softness she could find, her thumb brushing the nape of his neck.

“We can take it slow,” she said, voice raw, almost hoarse from holding back too much for too long. “We can do it.”

His head tilted up to look at her, his eyes glassy, his whole world held between her hands and the heartbeat beneath them.

“I just need to… readjust,” she said, inhaling shakily. “I don’t know what to do just yet. But… I can do it.”

A small, sad smile tugged at her lips as her gaze met his.

“I want you.”

Bob blinked, breath caught in his throat.

She nodded gently, her hand still cradling the side of his head.

“He wants you, too.”

Bob closed his eyes again, pulling in a breath like he’d been underwater all this time and finally came up for air.

And for the first time in months, everything stopped hurting—just for a moment.

Bob stood slowly, eyes never leaving hers. He looked unsure, reverent almost, as if standing in front of something holy.

This time, when he moved to embrace her, it wasn’t frantic or desperate—it was gentle. Careful. A silent apology. A prayer wrapped in human warmth. His arms curled around her back as hers slid around his waist, and they just held each other for a moment, feeling every tremble and heartbeat, the months of pain melting into skin-on-skin comfort.

He pulled back just slightly, enough to see her face. His hands cradled her waist, thumbs brushing slow circles against her sides. His voice was low, a little hoarse.

“Can I… please kiss you?” he asked, breath shaky. “I really need it.”

Y/N looked up at him, eyes still glassy with leftover tears—but softer now. Open. She nodded, slow.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Me too.”

Their lips met in a kiss that wasn’t rushed or polished—it was real. It was raw—it all came crashing together in that one, perfect kiss.

And it felt like him. Like Bobby. Like home.

She tasted salt—his tears, or hers, she couldn’t tell. One of her hands moved to his jaw, fingers curling against the line of it, while the other gripped the back of his neck, pulling him closer, needing him. His arms wrapped tight around her, and he let out a low sound—half-laugh, half-sob—into her mouth as their kiss deepened.

They could almost feel the ghost of another version of them—laughing in the kitchen of their tiny old apartment, dancing in their socks, sneaking kisses between burnt grilled cheese and a mattress on the floor. That old life flickered like a film reel behind their eyes.

He kissed her like he was trying to memorize her again.

She kissed him like she’d never let him disappear again.

When they finally pulled back for air, they were both breathless, foreheads touching. Their hands lingered—on waists, on cheeks, on the edges of clothing. Like letting go might mean waking up.

Y/N looked at him through her lashes, still catching her breath. Her voice cracked with a laugh.

“…Is this how you dress now?”

Bob blinked, then glanced down at himself—the stiff suit, the buttoned collar, the slicked-back hair.

Y/N made a face. “I hate it. You look so… ew.”

He burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking. “What?!”

She nodded, pointing dramatically at his head. “That’s not my Bobby. That’s a… stockbroker.”

“A what?” he said, grinning.

“Messy Bobby. Large hoodie Bobby. Hair-like-you-just-woke-up Bobby. That guy?” She grinned through the teasing, stepping closer, fingers already mussing his gelled-back hair with playful aggression. “That guy was hot. This guy looks like he’s about to lecture me about my Roth IRA.”

Bob chuckled, letting her mess it all up, curls flopping forward again. “Okay, okay. I’ll ditch the suit. Alexei’s gonna cry, though. He made me wear it.”

“Why?” she asked, still smoothing his hair out to her liking.

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “We were… planning on coming to see you. The team thought I should look… presentable. Impressive.”

She raised a brow. “Well, you failed. Miserably.”

He laughed again, and for a moment, it was just joy. Simple, real joy.

Then his smile softened. “Still worth it, though. You’re here. You kissed me. Twice.”

She smirked, a glimmer of playfulness flashing through the exhaustion in her eyes.

“That was charity.”

“Oh, yeah?”

She grabbed the collar of his too-stiff suit jacket, pulled him forward, and kissed him again—slow and deliberate.

“Still charity,” she whispered against his lips.

And Bobby just laughed into the kiss, his arms tightening around her.

The elevator doors slid open again with a soft ding. Bob straightened, still holding Y/N’s hand, only to freeze when a man stepped into view behind her.

Middle-aged. Slightly rumpled jacket. The kind of no-nonsense posture that screamed authority with too much paperwork. Bob blinked. So did the rest of the team.

Alexei leaned in and stage-whispered, “Who’s the guy? Is that your dad? Did you bring your dad?”

Y/N shot him a look. “No.”

Bob tilted his head, confused. “Uh… sorry, who…?”

The man extended a casual, unimpressed nod toward Bob. “Name’s Cooper. George Cooper. I work at the precinct downtown.”

Bob blinked again. “Wait—like… a cop?”

Walker narrowed his eyes. “Why is a cop here?”

Cooper kept his arms crossed. “Because I’ve been the one picking up the pieces while your golden boy here ghosted the entire tri-state area.”

Yelena raised her eyebrows and turned to Bob with a snort. “Ooooh, I like him already.”

Bob looked at Y/N, still processing. “You brought a cop with you?”

“He’s not just a cop,” she replied, gently but firmly. “He’s my friend. The only one who gave a damn when you disappeared. When nobody took my reports seriously, when they called me crazy—he helped. Every step.”

Mr. Cooper glanced sideways at her, not showing much emotion, but his voice softened. “She didn’t have anyone else, man. I’m not here to cause problems. Just had to make sure she was okay. That you were actually here and not another hallucination.”

Bob rubbed the back of his neck, heart squeezing in his chest. “Right. Yeah. Okay… sorry, I just… wasn’t expecting…”

Alexei interrupted with a grin. “It is okay, Bobby. She brought backup. Like real soldier. I respect it.”

Yelena nodded. “Honestly? After everything, he should’ve come with more backup.”

Walker crossed his arms. “So what now, cop? You sticking around?”

Cooper held up his hands. “Nope. I’ve done my part. She wanted to talk, I made sure she got here safe. That’s all.”

Y/N looked over at him, smiling faintly. “Thanks, Mr.Cooper.”

He gave her a brief nod and headed for the elevator. “You know how to reach me, kid.”

As the doors closed behind him, Bob turned to Y/N again, still wrapping his head around it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t know you had to go through all that.”

Y/N met his eyes. “That’s because you weren’t there.”

Silence lingered for a beat—one heavy with mutual understanding and all the things they still had to say.

Alexei, ever the mood-breaker, clapped Bob on the back. “Well, at least she showed up while you still looked dashing. I told you—hair slicked back, suit crisp. You’re like billionaire crime-fighter now.”

Y/N squinted at Bob. “God, you still look ridiculous.”

Bob gave her a sheepish grin. “I know. I was trying to impress you.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. “Like that would work on me.”

The ghost I left behind - II

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x reader

Summary: Y/N and Bob had a life before he disappear, full of love, hope, and a lot of chaos, but they managed each other, she was the only one who truly could make him avoid the void inside his mind. How could he turn his only light into a shadow in his mind ?

Words: 7,03k

Chapter I , III

--

18 months ago

The dinner rush had slowed to a crawl.

It was one of those mid-week slumps where time dragged its feet, and the only people who came in were either regulars who knew the staff by name or wanderers with nowhere better to be. Y/N moved between tables with practiced rhythm, balancing plates and coffee refills like second nature, her back sore and her feet aching in shoes she’d long worn past comfort.

The little bell above the entrance jingled.

A man walked in—mid-fifties, pinched face, suit slightly wrinkled like it had seen better years. He looked around with thinly veiled disgust before huffing and plopping himself into the booth by the window—Table 9. The corner one. The one nobody liked serving because the light always flickered overhead and the booth’s cushion was partially split.

Y/N forced a smile and approached, flipping open her notepad.

“Good evening, sir. Welcome to Cluckin’ Bucket. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

He didn’t look up. Just waved his hand in the air like she was a gnat.

“Coffee. Black. And make sure it’s fresh.”

“Of course,” she said gently, tucking the pen behind her ear.

A few minutes later, she returned with a mug, carefully setting it in front of him.

“I’ll give you a moment with the menu—”

He cut her off without lifting his eyes. “Jesus, you’re slow. Do you people even train here, or just pick up anyone who needs cigarette money?”

She blinked, caught off guard.

“I… I’m sorry?”

He finally looked at her, and his smile wasn’t kind. “You should be. You’re lucky anyone even eats here with the way this place is run. What are you, twenty? You going to be slinging grease until you hit thirty? Classy.”

She stiffened, drawing a steadying breath. Her fingers clenched slightly around her notepad.

“Sir, I’m doing my best. If there’s something wrong with the service, I can ask someone else to take your—”

“Don’t get huffy with me, sweetheart. Just bring me a two-piece meal. And none of that soggy crap you people usually serve. If I find a hair in it again like last time, I swear to God…”

Y/N’s jaw tightened, and something heavy pulled at her chest.

“I’ll put in your order,” she said, voice quiet, calm—but the burn in her throat was rising fast.

As she turned, he muttered just loud enough to hear, “No wonder your kind ends up in jobs like this.”

She froze, mid-step.

No scene. No yelling. Just a single breath, then another. Her hands were shaking now, and she didn’t want to let them see.

“I’m taking five,” she murmured to the shift manager, barely audible as she walked past the kitchen.

She pushed through the back door that led into the alley behind the restaurant, where the dumpster smell mixed with exhaust and the quiet hum of city traffic. The cold air hit her like a slap. She pressed her back to the brick wall, closed her eyes, and finally let out the breath she’d been holding.

The burn in her chest wouldn’t go away.

She hated how easily people like that could unravel you. How fast kindness could be swallowed up by cruelty. She’d been so tired lately. Not just in her body but deep in her bones.

She wiped her eyes quickly. No tears, not here, not for that man. Just five minutes. That’s all she needed.

Then, just as she stepped away from the wall, she heard movement.

Around the corner of the building—behind the employee entrance—was a dim alcove where the employees usually went to smoke or cool off in costume. She walked quietly toward the sound, expecting maybe someone to be hiding out like her.

Then she saw him.

Bobby.

Still half in his chicken suit, the headpiece sitting on the crate beside him. His back was to her, hunched over something in his hands. The foil glinted faintly. A tiny click. The smell hit her first, acrid and chemical and sharp. The pipe. The lighter. The slow drag.

She stopped cold.

He turned his head slightly—just enough to catch her from the corner of his eye.

And froze.

They didn’t speak.

He looked at her like a child caught red-handed—eyes wide, mouth parting with some silent, unspoken apology already dying in his throat. His shoulders drooped, the weight of shame dragging him down like a stone.

Y/N didn’t move. She just stood there, staring at him. Everything in her face was quiet—but inside, it cracked.

She had always known, somewhere. The strange mood swings. The occasional vacant look in his eyes. The way he’d sometimes vanish after work and come back different.

But she told herself it wasn’t often. That he was better now. That he was trying.

And now, here it was. Not suspicion. Not a maybe. A truth, in sharp relief.

She blinked slowly. Her chest rising and falling like she’d just been punched there.

Bob didn’t speak. He didn’t run. He didn’t even look away.

She did.

Y/N turned and walked back inside without a word, the door swinging shut behind her.

She didn’t cry. She didn't say anything. Not yet.

She had a shift to finish.

The conversation would come later.

But in that moment, something inside her was already breaking.

--

The walk back to her place was drowned in silence.

The city buzzed around them — car horns, laughter, the occasional bark of a street vendor — but between Y/N and Bob, there was a vacuum. Her steps were steady, controlled, but her jaw was tight, eyes forward. Bob trailed a little behind, hands buried in his jacket pockets, shrinking into himself like a child expecting punishment. Shame clung to him like smoke.

They reached her apartment. It had become a second home to him — familiar, warm, soft in the corners where his own life was harsh. He’d left extra clothes in her drawers, knew how her kitchen light flickered when the microwave was running, had memorized the scent of her shampoo from the pillowcases.

He watched her unlock the door. She didn’t speak, just moved to the bathroom, turned the shower on. Steam soon crept under the crack in the door.

Bob stood there, frozen. A picture frame on the wall caught his eye — the two of them at the park, that first sunny date. She was kissing his cheek, laughing. He looked dazed, goofy, stunned by her affection. He still felt like that. Always stunned.

The door to the bathroom opened a while later. She came out in clean clothes, her damp hair pulled back in a loose bun. Wordlessly, she moved to the kitchen, pulling out ingredients like muscle memory. The rhythm of chopping vegetables, setting the water to boil, flipping something in a pan — it was too normal. Too quiet. It was the kind of silence that screamed.

Bob sat on the couch. His leg bounced. His palms were sweaty. The sound of a spoon clinking against a pan made his chest tighten.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

"Y/N," he croaked.

She didn’t turn.

He stood up slowly, walked a few steps toward the kitchen. "Please. Just say something."

The chopping stopped. She placed the knife down and leaned her hands on the counter, head bowed.

“Why?” she asked, barely above a whisper. “Why do you do it?”

Her voice wasn’t angry. It wasn’t accusing. It was sad. It was tired.

Bob swallowed hard. His throat burned. He opened his mouth, but for a moment, nothing came out.

Then he spoke, slowly, quietly. A confession years in the making.

“I was sixteen the first time I tried it,” he said. “It was just supposed to be for fun. Some kids in my neighborhood — we were bored, angry, messed up. I didn’t think it’d be a thing. But it stuck.”

He looked down at his hands like they weren’t his own.

“My brain… it’s not right. Hasn’t been for a long time. There’s this weight I carry every day. Like the world is pressing down on my chest, and everyone’s expecting me to breathe like it’s nothing. Some mornings I don’t even want to get up. Some nights I wish I wouldn’t wake up.”

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing now.

“The meth — it made it quiet. Just for a while. It made me feel like I could do things. Like I wasn’t a loser, a disappointment. It tricked me into thinking I was normal.”

He stopped and turned to face her. His eyes were glassy, his voice breaking.

“But then I met you. And for the first time, I didn’t need it to feel okay. You made me want to stay clean. You made me believe I could. And I was trying, I swear, I was trying so fucking hard.”

He stepped closer, his voice desperate.

“I didn’t want you to see me like that. I didn’t want to lose this — lose you. You’re the only good thing that’s ever really been mine.”

His knees buckled slightly as he dropped down to them in front of her.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so sorry. I hate that I messed this up. I hate that I let you down. Please… please don’t give up on me. I swear I’ll get clean. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll go to meetings, therapy, rehab — anything. Just don’t walk away.”

Tears streamed down his face now, dripping onto the floor.

“I know I’ve got a thousand reasons to hate myself. I know I’m broken and messy and hard to love. But you… you make me want to be better. And I will. I promise. Just… don’t let this be the end.”

Y/N stood still for a moment, frozen, her hands still gripping the counter behind her.

And the only sound in the room was his quiet, wracked sobbing, and the distant clatter of boiling water on the stove, as dinner burned, untouched.

Bob stayed on his knees, eyes red and rimmed with shame, when his voice returned — quieter now, like a wound being exposed.

“My dad used to hit me,” he said. “Not just when he was mad — sometimes, I think, just because he didn’t know how else to talk. Or maybe he did, and he just liked watching me flinch.”

His eyes weren’t focused on her now. They stared past her, through her, into a corner of memory he rarely let himself go back to.

“He was a drunk. A real mean one. He’d come home and if the dishes weren’t done, or the TV was too loud, or I looked at him the wrong way — that was it. And my mom… she didn’t stop him. She just… endured. Like it was normal. Like it was just what families were.”

Y/N’s hands had gone still behind her on the countertop.

“I used to hide under my bed, back when I was little. I’d count the cracks in the floorboards, try to breathe as quietly as I could so he wouldn’t hear me. I remember thinking if I could just disappear for long enough, maybe he’d forget I existed.”

He laughed once — a low, broken sound that barely resembled laughter. “I used to wish I could disappear entirely.”

A tear slipped down Y/N’s cheek, but she said nothing yet. Let him speak.

“When I got older, I fought back. Not well. But I tried. And when I was seventeen, I left. Packed a trash bag with clothes and took a bus out. Thought I’d figure it out. Be free.”

He looked up at her then — just barely.

“But the thing is… when someone teaches you your whole life that you’re worthless, it doesn’t go away just because you leave the house. It follows you. It lives in you.”

His hands shook now, resting on his knees.

“I’ve spent my whole life feeling like I’m seconds away from falling apart. Like no matter how good something feels, I’m gonna ruin it. And I thought— I thought maybe if I numbed it, if I buried it, I could be normal.”

He exhaled, tears slipping freely now.

“But then you showed up. You, with your stupid coffee orders and your sweet laugh and the way you looked at me like I wasn’t a fucking disaster.”

His voice cracked, almost too much to continue.

“And now you know. Everything. The drugs. The lies. The damage. You know it all. So if you want me to leave, I will. I won’t fight it.”

Y/N moved then, slowly, quietly kneeling down in front of him. She reached for his face — her touch soft, careful — and wiped the tears from his cheeks, her own still silently falling.

“You’re not leaving,” she whispered, her voice firm despite its softness. “You don’t get to push me away, Bobby. Not tonight.”

He blinked at her like he couldn’t believe she was real.

“I’m gonna help you,” she said. “Not because I think I can fix you, or save you, or any of that hero complex bullshit. But because I see you. I see who you really are underneath all of it.”

She gave him a small, fragile smile. “And I know what it’s like. To fight temptation. To almost fall. You think I don’t get it? That I didn’t come close to things I don’t even like to think about now?”

Her thumb stroked his cheekbone, gently.

“The only difference is, I didn’t fall. Not back then. But you— Bobby, you got up. You got up today. You came home. That counts for something.”

She leaned in and kissed him, soft, slow — not fiery or frantic, but grounding. A tether to the world he was convinced he didn’t deserve.

And when she pulled back, his arms wrapped around her like a man clinging to the last piece of a life raft. His grip was tight, desperate. His body trembled against hers.

“Why…” he whispered, breath shaky against her shoulder. “Why do you love me?”

She pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. Her own were glassy, full of heartbreak and something stronger — belief.

“Because I see the man you’re trying to be,” she said. “Because even when you’re at your lowest, you still try to protect me. Because you never looked at me like I was broken, even when I told you all the reasons I could be.”

He shook his head slightly, disbelief etched across every inch of his face.

“How…” he whispered. “How can someone have so much love for me?”

And she didn’t answer right away. She just kissed his forehead, brushing the damp hair from his face, and pulled him close again.

In the quiet of that little apartment — with the burnt dinner on the stove, with their photograph still crooked on the wall — Bob let himself cry like a child for the first time in years.

They forgot about their surroundings and just laid against the couch, and Y/N held him through it all, her love a quiet, unshakeable force wrapped around him like armor.

Still. Steady. Like she wasn’t afraid of what he’d just shown her.

He couldn’t even look at her when she said, softly, “You’re not the only one with ghosts, Bobby.”

He glanced at her. She wasn’t looking for sympathy — just understanding. Her voice didn’t shake. It was tired, but honest. Worn down from years of holding things in.

“I’ve never told anyone everything. Not like this,” she said. “But… did I ever mentioned to you about Jordan? He was my first love.”

Bob turned toward her, the lump in his throat tightening again.

“I wasn’t always like this. Quiet. Careful,” she said, a hollow laugh passing her lips. “I used to be… wild. Not in the good way.”

She looked down at her hands. Her fingers were shaking.

“My mom — she’s the kind of woman who never wanted a daughter. Especially not one who reminded her how much time she’d lost. She was beautiful once. And she hated that I got told the same thing. She treated me like I was competition in her own house. Constantly picking at me. My clothes. My body. My laugh. Everything I was, she hated. It’s like I walked into a room and reminded her of all the choices she didn’t make.”

Bob’s brows drew in, his mouth a tight line of hurt on her behalf.

“And my dad?” she scoffed. “He was a college professor. Brilliant. Poised. Married to appearances. When I turned twelve, he started spending more nights in his office than at home. Eventually, he ran off with one of his grad students. Left a sticky note on the fridge. ‘Don’t let your mother go crazy.’ That was it.”

She blinked hard, not wanting to cry again. Not for them.

“I became the adult in the house before I hit puberty. My mom drank. Screamed. Slept through entire weekends. I cleaned. I cooked. I learned how to smile and make it look real. I still loved her tho, I never really blamed her for being the way she was, maybe she had reasons and I just… came in the wrong timing.”

She leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling like it might hold something safer than the past.

“By the time I was sixteen, I was going out every night with older friends. We used fake IDs, got into clubs. I was… reckless. Desperate to feel like someone wanted me. Like I wasn’t invisible unless I was being yelled at.”

She turned to Bob, finally, her eyes watery.

“That’s how I met Jordan.”

Even saying his name made her stomach twist.

“He owned the club. Rich. Handsome. Wore these stupid expensive suits like he was always playing dress-up for some fantasy life. And he noticed me. Like… noticed me.”

She laughed bitterly. “I thought I’d won the lottery. I was seventeen, and he was thirty-two, and I felt like I was starring in some tragic love song. He gave me everything. Drove me around in his sports car. Bought me designer dresses. Called me ‘his girl’ in front of everyone.”

Bob stayed completely still, listening with his whole soul.

“But it wasn’t love,” she said. “It was manipulation. Control. He liked that I was pretty and broken. Liked that I thought being chosen by him meant I was worth something.”

Her hands tightened in her lap.

“Then one night… he took me home after a club party. I’d said no. I remember saying it. I was tired. I didn’t want to stay over. He gave me a drink, just so “ we could relax”— I didn’t know something was in it. I passed out in his bed.”

Her voice cracked then, finally.

“When I woke up, I wasn’t wearing my dress anymore. Just a sheet. He was in the kitchen making coffee like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.”

She looked at Bob, her voice hoarse.

“I didn’t do anything. I just… laid there. Crying. Because I realized right then — I wasn’t looking for love. I was looking for someone to lie to me sweetly enough that I could pretend it was real.”

A long pause followed. Bob’s hand found hers, trembling but firm.

“He never went to jail. Of course not. I didn’t tell anyone. Who was gonna believe me? I was just some ‘party girl’ sneaking into clubs with an older man.”

Tears finally spilled down her cheeks.

“So I went numb. For a time, I just thought that dating would lead me to the same path my mother went into. I told myself I deserved it for being stupid. For needing love too much. Life stopped being colorfull, and just went with the whatever the wind took me, and it was not far. I got out of the house, never truly cared to repair the relationship with my parents, but going with no money wasn't very smart, didn't even got the education I desired, got away from my friends. And when I realized I was stuck in a loop, always stagnant, never really improving, and I just accepted it.”

She wiped her face with the sleeve of her shirt, breath shaky.

“But then… you.”

Bob’s eyes locked with hers, wide and wet and full of disbelief.

“You came into that stupid fast food place in a chicken suit. Nervous. Sad. So fucking awkward. But you were kind. And you made me feel… safe.”

She smiled through the tears.

“And every day, even on your worst days, you looked at me like I was something worth staying sober for. And that meant everything, Bobby. It still does.”

She moved closer to him, took his face gently in her hands.

“I know what it’s like to carry pain that eats at you. I know what it’s like to feel like your story’s already been written — and it ends with you broken. I don’t judge for the path you took, sometimes I…I thought about it, I hang out with the wrong people, of course I have done it before, I didn’t rely on it but…I just I don’t know, I was lucky I guess.”

Bob was crying now, hard, his face buried against her shoulder.

“But it’s not over,” she whispered. “We’re not done.”

He looked up, shaking.

She brushed a tear from his cheek and smiled through her own.

"I see you. Not the addiction. Not the mistakes. You. And I love you… even the parts you hide.”

Bob let out a trembling breath and held her tighter, like he’d never let go again.

And in that moment — surrounded by all the wreckage, the shadows of what they'd both survived — two broken souls found something whole.

--

Present day

The days bled into each other now.

She moved like a shadow through the fluorescent-lit diner, apron tied tight around her waist, sneakers dragging just a little more than usual. The name tag still read Y/N, though the letters were beginning to smudge. No one commented. No one really looked.

“Welcome to Cluckin’ Bucket. What can I get you?” “Refill’s free. I’ll be right back.” “Fries come with that. You want ranch or ketchup?”

Her voice didn’t change. Not cheerful, not cold—just flat. A practiced cadence with just enough inflection to pass as human. The kind of tone that no one questioned. That no one cared enough to dig beneath.

Her coworkers passed by in a quiet shuffle. No jokes. No checking in. Just nods and tray exchanges. Maybe they could sense it—the weight around her like a storm cloud that never lifted. Or maybe they were used to it by now.

She stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom during her ten-minute break and didn’t recognize her own face. The bump beneath her uniform was unmistakable now. She didn’t bother trying to hide it anymore. There was nothing left to hide behind. No more stories. No more pretending that he might show up mid-shift and scoop her into his arms like it was all some misunderstanding.

The clock ticked by. Her shift ended without fanfare.

She changed in the back room, put on her coat, wrapped her scarf around her neck. No goodbyes. Just the squeak of the door as it closed behind her.

The night was cold but clear. A rare calm in the chaos of the city.

She walked with her earbuds in, phone buried deep in her coat pocket, letting the random shuffle take over. Whatever came on, came on. She didn’t care anymore. She didn’t have preferences. She just needed something to drown out the silence.

Halfway home, her feet started to ache. She spotted a bench tucked beside an empty bus stop, under a flickering streetlight. It wasn’t much, but it was empty. And it was still.

She sat down slowly, one hand instinctively resting on her stomach.

The music kept playing.

And then, like fate—like punishment—their song came on. That stupid song, that she could not stop listenning. "Yours" - maye.

That one he used to hum under his breath while frying chicken in the kitchen. The one they danced to once in the middle of their living room at midnight, barefoot and grinning, cheap wine on the counter and nothing but love between them.

Her throat tightened.

She stared down at the cracked pavement beneath her feet, the light above humming faintly as it flickered.

He loved me, she thought. He really did.

That was the cruelest part. He hadn’t been faking it. She’d felt it in his touch, in the way he held her in the mornings, the way he kissed her forehead when she cried after a long shift. It wasn’t pretend. He loved her.

But he left anyway.

He loved her, and he left.

The thought came like a stormcloud, suffocating the warmth before it could grow.

He had made a choice. She knew that now. The police confirmed it. He had planned it. Saved up. Booked a ticket. Crossed oceans not to be found. She spent her free time removing the flyers she had put up for him.

She wanted to scream at him. Why wasn’t I enough? Why wasn’t the baby enough? But screaming wouldn't help. It never did. It only made her feel hollow afterward.

Still, her mind wandered—always back to him.

Maybe he regrets it, she thought. Maybe he’s out there, wishing he could come back. Maybe he thinks about her. About this child.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Every hopeful thought fought against the brutal weight of reality like a war inside her skull.

She was tired of the battle. Hope hurt almost as much as the truth.

She lowered her head into her hands and let the music keep playing. The baby shifted inside her, a small, fluttering reminder that she wasn’t completely alone.

But she felt like she was.

She lived in limbo now. Between memory and disappointment. Between what they had and what was left behind.

The bench was cold. The city was loud. But she stayed there for a long time, because going home meant facing the silence of their apartment again.

And she wasn’t ready for that yet.

--

Meanwhile, in Malaysia- 2 months ago

The air in Malaysia was thick — not just with humidity, but with something heavier. Guilt didn’t have a scent, but if it did, Bob imagined it would smell like the sweat-drenched room he was holed up in. Ceiling fan rattling overhead. One bare light bulb swaying from a cracked ceiling. A single mattress on the floor. A half-empty bottle of water at his feet.

He hadn't spoken more than a few words to anyone in days.

The job they’d given him was temporary, meaningless. He moved crates from one side of a warehouse to the other. A ghost with hands. No one asked his name. He didn’t offer it.

Every night, he collapsed onto the mattress like a dying star — heavy, slow, and silent. And every night, her face found him again.

Y/N.

He could still see the way her hair fell across her face in the morning when she leaned over the stove, cooking eggs in his worn-out T-shirt. The way she would hum softly under her breath while drying dishes. The way her fingers curled instinctively over the swell of her belly the day she told him they were going to be parents.

He had kissed that hand.

And then he left.

Because he was a coward. Because the drugs were easier. Because he’d convinced himself she was better off without him.

But the truth was uglier than that.

He missed her so much it made him physically ache. Not just her body, her warmth — but the space she created around him. Safe, forgiving, real. She was the first person in his life who hadn’t looked at him like a lost cause.

And he’d proven them all right.

He rubbed at his face, scrubbing tears away before they could fall. But it was useless. They came anyway.

He reached under the mattress and pulled out the photo.

It was wrinkled, faded from being handled so many times. It showed the two of them sitting in the park on their first date — the one where she packed the entire meal and insisted he try her potato salad. He hated eggs, but he ate it anyway because she’d made it with so much love.

She was laughing in the photo. He remembered that moment. He'd just made some dumb joke about the squirrel trying to steal her sandwich. She had leaned into him, eyes crinkling, and he thought, I’m never letting go of this.

He traced the edge of her face with his finger.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

He’d whispered it every night since he left. Sometimes louder. Sometimes choked out between sobs. But she couldn’t hear him. She would never hear him.

He imagined her now — back in that little apartment. Alone. Tired. Maybe crying. Maybe angry. Maybe both. Maybe she hated him. He wouldn’t blame her.

But maybe… just maybe, some part of her still believed in him.

And that was the cruelest hope of all.

Because he didn’t deserve it.

He stared at the ceiling, hands trembling. The meth wasn’t hitting like it used to. The numbness didn’t come fast enough anymore.

And still, in his mind, her voice lingered.

"You’re stronger than this, Bobby. You’re not your worst day."

He closed his eyes and clutched the photo to his chest.

But in this place, across oceans and guilt, those words felt like they belonged to someone else. Someone better than him.

Still, he held onto them.

Because it was all he had left.

--

Night came early in this part of the city.

Not because the sun set any quicker — but because the shadows here swallowed light before it could settle. The alleyways twisted like veins, pulsing with neon flickers and muffled shouting from nearby vendors. The street smelled like oil and rot and burning sugar. Bob barely noticed anymore.

He hadn’t slept. Not really. Just nodded off in strange places — under stairwells, on benches, wherever his body finally gave in. He was five days clean and forty-eight hours high. Maybe more. Time didn't work right anymore.

His hands shook as he walked. Sweat stuck his shirt to his back. His mouth was dry. Eyes too wide. He was running low — the last dose hadn’t been enough. Not by a long shot. The pain crept in again. The ache behind his eyes, the guilt in his ribs. Her voice in his head.

"Bobby, don’t lie to me." "We can get through this." "I love you, even when you don’t love yourself."

He gritted his teeth and shoved her voice aside.

She wasn’t here. She wasn’t real anymore.

He needed to make her go away.

He ducked down a narrow side street, where dealers sometimes drifted like ghosts, offering plastic baggies with eyes too old for their faces. But tonight, no one was there. Just the hum of faulty streetlights and the sting of desperation in his chest.

“Looking for something?”

Bob stopped.

The voice was smooth — too smooth. Like glass over ice. It came from a man leaning against a rusted metal door, half-shrouded in shadow. White shirt, dark blazer, not a bead of sweat on him despite the thick air. He looked out of place here. Clean. Controlled. Dangerous.

Bob didn’t answer. Just stared with hollow, half-blown pupils.

The man stepped forward slowly, like he already knew the answer.

“You’re not from here. You don’t belong. You’re just trying to disappear, aren’t you?” His smile was thin. “I know that look. Like you’re trying to burn every part of yourself out so there’s nothing left.”

Bob blinked, confused. Agitated. “You got something or not?”

“I have something,” the man said. “But it’s not what you’re expecting.”

That should’ve been a red flag. Maybe it was. But Bob had walked past every red flag he’d ever seen without blinking. His curiosity was frayed, his caution dulled. The man held out a card.

“Come with me. Right now. We’re looking for volunteers. People like you — no strings, no questions. You let us do what we need, and in return...you won’t feel a thing ever again.”

Bob stared at the card. It was black. No writing. Just a silver symbol — something sharp and angular, like a thunderbolt wrapped in a serpent. "O.X.E"

“What is this?”

“A way out,” the man said simply. “You’ve tried everything else. Let this be your last door.”

Bob hesitated.

His skin itched. His teeth clenched. His knees ached. His chest hurt. Not from withdrawal — but from remembering her. From remembering what he left behind. The girl with stars in her eyes who made him believe, for a little while, that he could be worth something. That he could be whole.

He swallowed hard.

“Will it make me better? Like... a better person? Useful?” he whispered.

The man’s smile didn’t change. “Eventually.”

Bob nodded once.

That’s all it took.

And just like that, he followed the man into the dark, down a corridor lined with flickering lights and metal doors — unaware that the choice he just made wouldn’t numb his pain.

It would unleash it.

--

Present day, 7a.m- New York

The weak morning sun slanted through the café windows in narrow ribbons, cutting through the steam rising from two mismatched coffee mugs. The air smelled faintly of burnt toast and the overworked espresso machine. It was too early for the place to be busy, and too quiet for comfort. A tiny bell chimed each time the door opened, but no one came in. Not yet.

Y/N sat across from Officer Cooper, her hands wrapped tightly around a chipped mug like it was the only thing anchoring her in place. Her eyes were tired. Dark crescents hung beneath them, untouched by makeup. Her hair was tied back in a messy bun, a few strands falling loose across her face. She looked thin — too thin — except for the roundness of her belly, which pushed gently against the edge of the table.

She stirred her coffee slowly, even though she hadn’t added sugar. Or cream. Just for something to do with her hands.

“I’m sorry I called,” she said, her voice quiet. “I just didn’t know who else…”

Cooper, across from her, shook his head. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. I told you before — if you need something, you call. That wasn’t just some empty promise.”

She offered him a small, broken smile. It didn’t last.

“I didn’t sleep last night,” she admitted, barely above a whisper. “Been thinking about things I shouldn’t. Options.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What kind of options?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her fingers moved to the base of her belly, holding it gently, protectively. Her gaze dropped to the table, then shifted to the window. She didn’t want to see his face when she said it.

“I’ve been looking into adoption,” she said finally. “Private. Families who… who can’t have kids. People who want this. Who have homes. Stability. Money. Things I don’t.”

Cooper leaned back, visibly stunned. His coffee mug clinked softly against the table as he set it down, forgotten. “That’s a serious thing to say, Y/N.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s why I’m saying it.”

He studied her. The deep-set sadness in her eyes. The stiffness in her shoulders. The fragility in her voice that she was trying so hard to hide.

“Do you want to give the baby up,” he asked gently, “or is this the last thing on a long list of desperate maybes?”

She didn’t answer right away.

Her lips trembled, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek to stop it. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back. She turned her face toward the window, where early morning joggers passed by, carefree. Laughing. Living.

“I love this baby,” she said, her voice breaking. “So much it makes me sick. But I don’t know how to do this. I don’t even have enough money for rent next month. My job’s cutting my hours ‘cause I’m showing too much. I can't stand on my feet that long anymore. I’ve sold half our stuff just to make it through. And every time I think I’m crawling forward, I just— I slide back.”

Cooper reached across the table and placed a weathered hand over hers. It was warm. Solid. Like a rock in a storm.

“You’re not alone,” he said quietly. “Not anymore.”

She laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “Feels like I am.”

“You don’t have to make this decision today. Or alone. There’s help out there. I can pull some strings — get you in touch with someone who can offer a better job. Something safer, something that won’t drain the life out of you. Hell, I’ll drive you myself if I have to. In the meantime, I can help, I told you I'm a grandfather, I can give you stuff for the baby, stuff that my granddaughter outgrown, I don't know, I can give you some money, help you get on you feet.”

She finally looked at him, eyes shimmering.

“You’d do that?”

He nodded, serious. “I would. I told you I have a daughter like you, I know my help would be for a good outcome.” He let out a deep breath. "I know you're just a good person with unresolved past damaged, and I could I look at someone who resembles my babygirl and let them suffer the consequences of other people's actions Y/N."

Y/N looked back out the window, her shoulders shaking slightly as the tears finally came. But she didn’t sob. She cried quietly, like she’d gotten good at it. Like it was part of her morning routine.

“I keep thinking about him,” she whispered. “Not the one that left. The one before. The one who came home with flowers after a long shift. The one who said I made him feel like maybe he wasn’t broken.”

She wiped her cheeks, her hand trembling.

“I have the photos. And this baby. And some dumb song we used to play every Sunday morning while cooking pancakes. That’s all I have left of him.”

She exhaled shakily, resting a hand over her bump again.

Cooper was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, but firm.

“What was it about him, Y/N?” he asked. “What made him worth all this pain?”

She looked at him, startled.

“I mean it,” he said. “You’re holding onto something that’s dragging you down so far, I’m afraid you’ll never come back up. What was so special about Bob Reynolds that even your love for this baby’s not enough to let him go? You spent months knocking at my door every single day, demading those lazy bastards to do something, persisting, looking for him. Losing yourself for a guy who planned leaving while sleeping by your side.”

Y/N didn’t answer, not right away.

Y/N didn’t look at Cooper when she spoke.

Her gaze stayed pinned to the window, as if the right answer might walk by, wearing Bobby’s face.

“I know him,” she said quietly. “That’s why I can’t let go. Not because I’m stupid or weak or in denial. I know Bobby.”

Cooper leaned forward slightly, listening.

“I know how dark his thoughts can get. How he used to wake up some mornings and just… sit there. Quiet. Staring at the floor like the weight of being alive was too much. And he’d smile at me, pretend everything was okay, but I could see it. That hollow look in his eyes. I know how much he hated himself for the things he did. How ashamed he was of the drugs. Of needing them.”

Her voice cracked, but she pushed through.

“He thought I didn’t know how deep it went. But I did. I always did. And I never once judged him. I just wanted him to stop because I loved him. Not because I was angry. Not because I wanted to fix him. Because I wanted him alive. And he tried, God, he tried. Even when he failed, he tried again.”

She paused, drawing a shaky breath.

“You’re asking me why I can’t let him go?” she said, finally turning to Cooper, eyes brimming with exhausted pain. “Because he never let go of me. Even when he was breaking, even when the drugs were louder than my voice — he’d still look at me like I was the only good thing he had left. He knew everything about me, Cooper. The ugly things. The things I never told anyone.”

She looked down at her hands, as if the secrets were written in her palms.

“I told him how I used to be, I was really a bad person for myself, specially in my teeangers years. God... So much shit that I don't even understand how I let all of it happen, but you know what?”

Her voice softened to a whisper.

“He kissed me. Just kissed me, and said, ‘That doesn’t change a thing.’ Like none of it made me less. And I know it did, that's how I ended up here, not pregnant and alone, but here. And was doomed before him, anyway, we were eachothers only light.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks now, freely, silently.

“I didn’t have to pretend with him. I didn’t have to be strong every second of the day. He’d remind me — every single day — how far I’d come. Even on the days I couldn’t see it. Even when he couldn’t see it in himself.”

She pressed a hand to her belly, as if grounding herself.

“That’s why I can’t stop loving him. That’s why I keep hoping. Because the man I knew wasn’t just an addict. He was kind. And scared. And trying. And maybe… maybe he left because he thought I deserved better. Maybe he thought disappearing was mercy.”

Her voice was almost gone now. Just a whisper, like she was talking more to herself than to Cooper.

“But I didn’t need better. I just needed him.”

The silence between them settled like dust.

Cooper said nothing. What could he say? There was no law or logic that could dismantle the truth of what she'd just laid bare. No policy, no report, no advice to hold against the unshakable bond she'd painted with her words.

So he just sat there, eyes on her, while she stared through the glass at a world that kept moving without her.

ch.1: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1, chapter five pt 2,

read until the end for an author's note.

if there was one thing you hated more than the crime-filled streets of gotham, it would be empty promises.

when was the last time they attended your birthday? or your school ceremonies? or any special event that meant for you to be the center of attention?

plot twist, there was no last time, or a time before that or any day that they were there for you.

not your eldest brother, dick, not your dead brother, jason, of course tim wouldn't be there for you, damian's absence is a given, not even your sisters would come, and most especially not your father, bruce wayne.

you never wrote wayne as your last name. in every test, it would always be your mother's last name. in every document that you had to fill, you would violently scratch in the name of your father, wishing it wasn't required at all so you wouldn't have to hang your head in shame everytime someone looks at you incredulously for having the bruce wayne as your father but never once appearing to be with you.

you can't recall a time you had called him your dad, or even considered him as one.

if you could count the times you have seen him in person, it wouldn't even fill ten fingers. even interviewers and paparazzi have more luck in coming across him than you would, his child.

it sucks, really, how despite having nearly sharing the same age as tim, you never once saw him outside of his room. you thought you would've been the closest to him, but the most you have seen him was when you were watching the news with the "new" robin popping up, or worse; when bruce would be seen guiding tim through the paparazzi and not you. alfred had to drag you away from the tv that day because you were already suffering through a panic attack just seeing those two act so close; ripping your hair out just from watching the news wasn't a good way to cope.

you remember being so jealous of him, of how bruce would always spend time with him and not you. it made you wonder, were you special enough? tim is so brilliant, you could admit. and you were, too, having enough comprehensibility as a child to find out they were vigilantes a year or two after living in the manor— but you weren't good enough like tim. you weren't cut out to be like a detective or a fighter.

it was no wonder why bruce chose them over you.

it came to you in the form of talking to tim that had you discovering that no one ever mentions your name inside the house, proving it to be true when tim had hesitated calling your name and even stuttered through pronouncing it. and then he left after finding you were of no use to help him. alfred had to stifle your sobbing after tim left the room, allowing you to cry on his chest whilst you sat beside him.

(name) wayne was so, so lonely.

you would've accepted their absence long ago, but you were a stupid child who needed care and reassurance because your mother left you for good at the age of five. you were too naive into thinking you would receive the same love from your family just like the other kids in elementary would. you were a child who expected too highly of your father, thinking that he would pick you up from school with that picture perfect photographed smile of his and kiss your forehead and tell you that you did a great job at school today.

it was your teachers who would be the one having to walk you up the stage whenever you achieved an award. alfred would be too busy sometimes to attend your school ceremonies because he had to assist bruce with missions. of course, you understood his priorities. after all, he tried his hardest to make you feel less lonely inside the mansion, it wasn't enough but he was there at least.

it was long ago that you stopped praying for your family to attend at least one of your birthdays.

it's ironic, really, for a child to prep and plan for their own celebration just to hope that a single member of their family to even walk by the kitchen and join them in on their already lonesome celebration.

too bad everybody only goes to the kitchen when alfred cooks for them. who would want to taste sadness in a sloppily made birthday cake, right? nobody, not even you would have the appetite to eat your cake with the knowledge that it was you who had to put all the effort to bake it because you didn't want alfred to feel obligated to. knowing nobody would celebrate birthdays with you, save for alfred, it was expected that you started to prefer cupcakes.

because then you wouldn't be scolded for making such a mess.

you never cooked family meals after the incident where nobody came and to not waste food, you had to bring in large containers to bring to school so you could celebrate your birthday there.

it was there that you find more solace in your small group of friends compared to the desolate rooms of the mansion. your family celebrates holidays together as a whole, but you never once attended after that one time where everybody had forgotten to get you a gift for christmas, save for alfred who gave you a bracelet (one that you cherished deeply). you only smiled weakly and hopelessly, sneaking into your room before the family dinner.

it was alfred again who bought you leftovers and sat on your bed for an hour to encourage you that there's still more christmas's to go.

you never believed what he said. not anymore.

there was a period of time where you hated them more than anything, blamed them for everything and became more rebellious, purposely failing tests, fighting your classmates and disrespecting teachers in hopes that for once your father would bat an eye on you. that only resulted in you being taken out of the school and being transferred into another, for a behavioral reform is what alfred stated to you when you annoyed him for answers.

damian started to bully you a bit more harder after that incident, calling you immature and childish, a weakling, an attention seeker. how someone at your age should've known better. you were convinced that he was relishing in the heartbroken glare you gave him, ignoring the way his eyes widened momentarily at your reaction before sneering and walking away.

alfred gently scolded you, but you were too choked up and instead you almost tripped running inside your bedroom, locking yourself in for what seems like hours.

you don't want to remember the immense breakdown you had that evening too, screaming on your blankets and destroying your things and hurting yourself because... because you had lost your old friends for nothing! your caring teachers, your academic progress, everything! every single thing for an ounce of attention! because he didn't have enough energy to come with you to the guidance counselor and he only had you transfer out so you wouldn't ruin the wayne's reputation!

you hate him, you hate bruce fucking wayne so much and you hate clinging onto their empty promises and sorry's to make it up for you. you hate how their promises were never even said directly to you, you hate how alfred was your only source of hope for a medium of communication.

you hate them all.

and worst of all, you hate yourself for drowning in hope. for wishing you were physically stronger so you could at least bond with them through training. for dreaming about a day where they could surprise you and told you they were just testing you and that you actually had worth inside this manor. for praying nightly that they'll smile at you like the heroes you see in tv rather than that of pity.

you wished there was a universe where gotham was safer, more protected with no criminals littering the streets. maybe then they would have more time to notice you crying every night, writing self destructive entries in your diary, sketching what would've been a happy family. they wouldn't have to wear their silly costumes to fight crime and instead would save you from your own demons.

if...

if you were brutally tortured and killed by the joker, or forced to choke on the fear toxin by the scarecrow— hell, even beaten to near death by some random goons; would they have given you a sliver of their love? would they finally look at you and save you from yourself?

because despite your resentment, you would never lie and say you didn't feel blessed that you were thrown to a family of talented individuals.

your drawings of a complete and happy family holding hands together and a diary filled with rants and fantasies of spending time with them proved just that.

you were blessed with them yet cursed at the same time to never reach the same level to be even considered part of their lives.

you were hopeless. you never amounted to anything. you were just, you.

thirteen years have passed by then, and in those years you were proud to say your development as a person, albeit slow, transformed you from a child that succumbed to neglect to an independent person who managed to maintain a comfortable circle of friends, a scholarship for a college far away from gotham, and an apartment of your own (you were a bit in debt due to having to pay for your own because no way in hell would you ask for your father for financial support).

allowance was scarce, your food supplies weren't infinite compared to back when you were living at the wayne manor, and you weren't greeted to michelin star restaurant meals cooked by alfred— but you were content, and that was enough.

though content translated to nightly breakdowns whilst finishing projects or writing essays, the point still stands! at least you had celebrated your eighteenth birthday with drunk smiles and your friends spoiling you to death when you had opened up about your first lonely years of life. everything was going well for you, truly.

you were so, so happy for the nice turn of events. and you wouldn't have made it so far if you hadn't slapped yourself out of the delusion that they actually cared for you.

look at you now! independent and with a life of your own! you'd give yourself a pat in the back.

you hadn't blocked them at all, but their contacts were empty (save for a few desperate messages that date back years ago) and you were fine with that. it's not like tim or bruce or barbara considered you important enough to be stalked. hah, as if!

alfred communicates with you time to time, reminding you to eat a complete meal rather than those one dollar priced noodles that tasted like pure salt. he told you he misses you a lot, you and your annoying, daily rants about life and school. he misses your awkward smile and when you would help him cook whenever the others aren't around. he misses it when you imitate his posh accent when you taste test his food and give commentary about it.

you miss him, too. growing up, you realized just how much effort alfred would exert just to spend a lot of his time on you.

now, he told you that you are still welcome to the manor whenever, and how he cleans your room weekly in case you'll visit him.

whenever you audio call with him, you'd tear up just a bit at the realization that alfred was more of a father figure than your own biological father. because he at least attended your graduation to make up for the other times he was unable to join you.

what's even better was that he gifted you something you had always wanted for your birthday. despite it being delivered to your door rather than him giving it to you face to face (since you had refused to give him your location and him respecting that decision at least), the heartfelt letter he left you was more than enough to let you cling onto pieces of your past. after all, it was him who greeted you by the door when you were first introduced into the family, bruce being too busy with paperwork that day when you were a measly five year old.

you had started to teasingly call him 'alfie' and a few more nickname after that, which results with a chuckle over the phone every time you had come up with a cheesy name for him whenever you get a wee bit irritated at his own way of making fun of you.

if only this was your life years ago, then maybe you wouldn't have been jealous of all your other friends and pushed them away that day, maybe you would learn that sometimes, family comes in the form of the people outside of your house rather than inside.

that reminds you, maybe you should reconnect with your old friends back in elementary and apologized for your sudden explosive behavior.

you were laying on your bed, phone in hand and opened your inst*gram app to stalk through the names you could remember. well... that was what you should've done, if not for the fact that a notification popped up the very moment you pressed on the search bar and you had accidentally opened a chat with your oldest brother, dick.

you would've ignored the desperate messages you have sent him from the past which all varied from inviting him to eat dinner with you or to at least join you to play in an arcade or anything to convince him to talk to you, all of which were unseen, if not for the fact that it was him who sent you a sudden "hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!" message, alongside a few more replies that spammed through your phone...

oh!

... that was enough to make you sit up and want to hurl.

dick grayson was a man of many talents. the mature eldest child, the ideal good leader despite his anger issues from time to time, and the same guy who set the standards high for the future robins. he is bruce's greatest achievement.

it was safe to say that if not for the support of many, then he would've suffered so many falls and would've never been strong enough to stand up despite the pain and continue his fights. nightwing was what many superheroes strive to be, an image of light in a grove of darkness such as gotham.

so why was it that he felt like he has failed so deeply right now?

inside your room, dick stands with furrowed brows. it felt too clean to look used. your furniture was polished and look untouched, the lights were too bright and the windows were bolted shut. there were no signs of life other than the notebooks and sketchbooks that were neatly tucked on the middle of the bed and the trinkets that scatter through your desk.

dick stalks through the room, careful to not make a noise as he walks over to the closet, opening it and finding nothing.

he bites his lips at the implication that this was probably the second time he visited your room and how it was also the longest time he remained here. compared to his other siblings, you were the one he noticed the least and... now he feels bad for dismissing you.

didn't he promise to take you out for dinner months ago?

damn it, he was way too focused on his mission that night and ended up ditching and forgetting you! oh god, dick facepalmed and clenched his teeth, seething in some air because no fucking way did he actually remember to feed damian's dog, titus, the same day but forgot to take you out for an important event...

it occurred to him that that was the same day you scored a perfect on "the hardest test of my life!" you had bragged to him awkwardly when he wasn't listening nor looking and you, wanting to celebrate what was a small achievement for dick, chose him to spend time with you!

dick had to carefully breath through his mouth then gulp down the shame he feels right now. he- he has no time to focus on the past but rather the present. he has to find out why the hell is your room so lifeless, yeah... then he'll make it up to you today, definitely.

huh?

is it just him, but why does the room seem so small? it looked like it was meant to be for a kid. clearly, there wasn't enough space for a growing individual like you... did bruce not provide you with a bigger bedroom? ah, dick would definitely tell bruce to relocate you to a bigger room, the current one is too small for even a dog in a manor to sleep in.

dick doesn't want to admit it at all, but... he hasn't seen you for the past few months, or not all, really. sure, he had only recently visited the manor since he's bludhaven's vigilante now, but even through his time in gotham he had never seen you other than the times you pulled his sleeves from back when you were a child.

back when you were a child.

how old are you now? you were so small back then, innocent too. he can recall your curious eyes, your chubby cheeks and the way you stutter through your words as you try to talk to him.

you were significantly younger than jason, and was adopted a week before tim was introduced to the family. he remembers you peeking through alfred's back, gleaming with curiousity and whispering to the butler if it was really the dick grayson. he smiled fondly at your dumbfounded expression, the way your mouth shaped into an "ohh," when he was the one who answered that, yes, it was him. then you whispered again if you can take have an autograph from him, to which he chuckled and told alfred that he'll help accompany you to your room.

when your five year old body tried to waddle closer to his body for an ounce of warmth when he had been guiding you up the stairs, that was also the first time he called you baby bird, with the way you coddled him so closely. his hands find itself patting your head, ruffling your hair and grinning as you both make your path through the halls.

he comes to immediately regret leaving you alone after he had introduced you to your room, remembering his duties as a vigilante than that of a brother.

but despite his early memories of you, he wants to see his baby sibling all grown up now.

had it really been years?

when was the last time you ever had a full-on conversation with him?

was there even a time that he had approached you by himself?

he had always called you baby bird after the first time you meet because of the age gap you two shared. the rare times he acknowledges you, you gave him that look filled with such adoration, like you were proud of him for being your older brother. why did he not notice you?

oh, his baby bird...

dick gulped, trying to ease his shivering by sitting on your neatly folded blankets and taking a worn diary in his hand, one at the bottom stack of books. well, if it was a personal diary then maybe you would've hidden it better, right? he figures since it was all placed on the center of the bed like a piece of treasure that... it would be alright to take just a glimpse.

to confirm if you still see him as your favorite brother.

dick's heartbeat spiked, hoping your entries would be filled with, he doesn't know, anything that didn't implicate some sort of hatred for the family, for him. hoping that despite his lack of attention towards you, that there would still be a spark of love for him. if what he thinks was actually true then... he doesn't know what to do with himself.

he flips through the first page, noting how it was bulkier than the others. the paper was filled with glittery decorations, sequence beads and cheap stickers sparkling at every angle the light hits. it was meant to be a design for the 'front cover' of the notebook, colors blended in a cacophony of rainbows and butterflies and flowers beyond the messy calligraphy that merely states "(name)'s diary!"

dick stifles a grin just from skimming through at the amount of mistakes and erasures, clearly written by the the younger version of you; naive to the world and its cruelty. he commends your creativity, his eyes softening at the few doodles that were written on the corners of the pages.

you're just too adorable for your own good, so much so that the thumping in dick's heart beats louder and louder, ears wringing uncomfortable inside your unventilated bedroom. but he just couldn't rip his eyes away from the diary, daydreaming about how proud you must've been when designing your own diary. he could picture your wide eyes, shy and harmless, and your feet kicking back and forth whilst you decorate your stuff.

everything was what he expected it to be on the first few pages of the diary. all your little rants about your daily life, your eargerness to meet your entire family from your father's side, and the hurt you experienced from your mother's sudden abandonment.

he would've skipped through another diary, one that lacked design and color, save for the name plastered on the front, if not for the grim undertones at every end of your entries despite the child-like manner it was written in.

it all started with "i wish to see my father soon and my big brother dick again!", "alfred told me my father can't come to the parent-teacher conference, he says he's in a veryyy important meeting :( but alfred would come!", "dick told me he can't help me with my science project but he promise he'll help me with something else later!" which halfway through the diary, your style fluctuates and lesser effort was exhausted on the writing.

one entry in particular, written on the last page of your diary, shattered a sliver of hope within dick, his breathing momentarily ceased from reading through your sentences; uncharacteristic of you, too mature for someone at the age of ten to write.

"XX/XX/XXXX.

dear diary, it's my tenth birthday today. i celebrated with my friends at school. they told me i always look down whenever it's my birthday. they think that bruce would throw a fancy celebration for me. i tried to hide my laughter from them. it's a really funny joke. i haven't seen him for months. i told dick that he was invited but i don't think he remembers it's my birthday today. alfred told me to come out of my room, he said he cooked my favorite dinner, that he's sorry he got my present late, but i don't want get out of my room. i heard dick is gonna watch a movie with tim later. i don't feel so good, my chest hurts, but i don't want to get out right now.

i'll eat the cupcake tomorrow."

it had been nearly two hours since dick had sat on your bed, eyes dilating whilst reading through your first diary. the cold season had already pricked his skin, but his entire body felt so unnaturally warm, a warmth that scorches him, searing deep into flesh. a lump had form in his throat, accompanying the hellish throbbing of his heart.

"fuck..." he brought his fingers to his head, carefully massaging his forehead but it relieves nothing. he wants to see you right now— he needs to talk to you. god, he has to apologize, he needs to see what you look like right now, needs to know if you're alright.

you're clearly not.

he has to oppress the urge to punch the walls, reminding himself that it's your room he's in and if he damages your already delicate property, then he's proving himself worse than he already is.

he rushes to grab another diary, the one at the top of the pile, skipping to the end of the page.

nothing. all the entries were months ago, all written in vague detail like you were starting to hide secrets. his teeth grinds against each other, frustration seeping through his veins.

he needs to— shit, he needs to find you right now. he needs to find his baby bird and make up for the all bullshit him and his family had done. if you were gone for months, even years; he doesn't even want to think about it.

but how?!

there were no signs of you. anything written your diary, your drawings, the trinkets on your bedside table— they signal no clues whatsoever, all dating back to months, even years. it's not possible at all, for nobody to notice your disappearance. dick would've noticed sooner. he should've noticed sooner. oh, he doesn't even want to think about the dangers that await you outside the mansion. with how naive you were about the outside world, you wouldn't last at all.

his baby bird wouldn't survive gotham's streets, especially not when winter was nearing.

think, grayson, think...

his phone!

he immediately reaches into his pockets to grab his phone, clammy fingers swifly encoding his password and opening his contacts.

your number was the quickest to find, it was the only one without an icon of you and an endearing nickname. he makes a mental note to change that soon and replaced your default name to your nickname.

then, without hesitation, he typed, "hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!" sending the message without rereading, foot tapping impatiently against the floor as he scrolls through all your previous messages.

messages that he should've replied to with the same level of enthusiasm as you. skimming through the past, unseen texts as your motivation began to dwindle the further he refused to reply back. he promises he'll never make you feel invisible again.

seconds feel like hours for him, as he blows raspberries to pass the time, too concentrated an ounce of a reply to even notice the entirely new presence inside the room.

it's alright to call you, yes? after all, dick just wanted to check in with his baby bird and see if you're doing swell and dandy and... safe without him...!

his thumbs pressed on the call button before he could think through his actions, his other hand runs through his hair, sweat running down his forehead as if he had ran a marathon.

he waited, and waited, and waited until the call beeped and provided its automated response. he calls you again but the line immediately cuts off, he tries to spam you with more messages but they weren't delivered.

you blocked him.

fuck, he messed up big time. he needs to get to the batcave. he needs to find your fucking location before it's too late. dick needs to see you again before he loses it.

but before he could carefully place your sketchbooks back to its rightful place, he sees a silhouette at the corner of his eyes; short figure, arms crossed, and a sneer on his eyes already tells him who it was.

damian wayne.

he forgot to train with damian today.

but it doesn't matter, damian has to see it for himself— what made dick so disheveled, so delirious. damian has to finally see just how much of a wonderful sibling you are.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: this was 4,600+ words and it drained the energy out of me. it was supposed to be posted tomorrow but i was too motivated !! i'm also quite proud of this chapter. it was a pain characterizing dick grayson and the reader. i really hope this is as good as the prequel because it's 3am right now and writing dick's part was a pain in the ass ^^' as always, please do comment or send asks if you like it for quicker updates!!!

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @alishii, @ruiroku, @okaybutfullhomo, @trasshy-artist, @obsessedwithromance, @deadinside-09, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa (shoutout to her specifically because i got motivated from their comment!)

Ddakji Man

summery - you were always struggling to make ends meet, despite having three separate jobs and you doubted that that would ever change. it felt like you were working out of your own casket and it would probably be more sustainable to invest in one at this point.

pairing: (gong yoo/ji-cheol) the salesman x fem. reader

word count: 1,5k

contains: slight arguing, cursing but nothing too graphic tbh

"Are you sure that you don't want to come?" One of your friends asked you a little sadly since you were about to leave the group. They rarely got to see you anyway, did you have to leave so early? "You never come with us when we go out for a drink, we miss you there, you know?"

You smiled a little tiredly as you strolled casually through the streets. "I'm sorry guys, I just have to work tonight." you tried to explain. Besides, I'm fucking tired and just want to get some sleep before then. I miss my bed.

Your best friend pouted as she hugged you from the side and you welcomed it, even if it made walking a little more difficult. "It's always work this work that. Live a little for once, all this stress is not good for you. You need a break." she spoke up before a thought came into her mind that made her a little furious. "Don't tell me that you're using work as an excuse to cancel on us. We can do something else if you want to. I'll even invite you, come on!"

You took a tired breath. I don't have any energy for this. "Trust me, I'd love nothing more than to get drunk with you and I'm not being sarcastic or anything." you clarified. Besides, I wouldn't work this much if I didn't have to.

"All right." she gave in unhappy. "We'll catch you one of these days, I can feel it..."

You laughed softly. "Please do," you replied and stopped in front of the stairs that led to the subway. This was the place where you had to say goodbye to your friends and you did with a few more hugs. You enjoyed spending time with them and loved your friends with all your heart, but you were still happy to be a bit on your own now.

So you plugged in your cable headphones and played your current favorite song at the loudest volume before checking when the next train was going to arrive. Another twenty minutes? The last one must have just left. You decided to just sit down on a bench and wait while staring blankly around and quietly mumbling the lyrics to yourself.

A few minutes later, a person sat down next to you and you could see out of the corner of your eye that it was probably some kind of businessman or something. You didn't look closely out of politeness and turned your gaze somewhere else after checking the time on your phone.

"Excuse me." the unknown man tried to get your attention, but as expected, you could barely hear him over the booming music. He placed his briefcase in the space between you before leaning closer to your figure and looking towards you with a smile and finally, you seemed to notice his stare and turned in his direction. You took out one of your earbuds as you met his gaze. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

The man leaned back again. "I haven't said anything yet. I wanted to ask if I could talk to you, do you have a moment?"

You looked around a little uncomfortably as he maintained uninterrupted eye contact with you. "Ehm, well..." you stumbled slightly over your words. "I'm not religious or anything, sorry," you replied, having no patience for another discourse about Jesus and the church. This is the fourth time this week, lucky me. You thought to yourself as you were about to put your earplug back in.

The salesman held a hand in the air to stop you from doing that to keep your attention. You just looked at him uninterestedly and waited, it was going to be a while before your train arrived anyway. A smile graced his face after you were willing to listen to him again. "That's not what I wanted to talk about, I just want to offer you a chance."

Your face tightened a little in disgust and you were quite irritated by now. He seemed to be waiting for some kind of answer and didn't say anything else, so you had no choice but to interpret his words. He doesn't look like that kind of guy, but I guess it's always the ones who look the most decent. "Listen to me asshole," you said openly this time, all politeness gone as you pointed at his chest with your index finger. "I don't know you, maybe you're one of those men who try to talk in riddles to seem mysterious or something, but right now it just sounds like you're looking for someone cheap to fuck." you replied as you tapped his tie with each syllable and leaned a little closer to him as you whispered. "And I'm not cheap, so you might want to look elsewhere."

This time it was you who grinned as he looked at you in surprise and he let out a small grunt after you finished your sentence. The salesman straightened his tie while watching your figure before reaching for his briefcase and revealing its contents, "That's too bad, but also not what I was talking about," he replied as you looked at the money and colored paper in confusion. "Have you ever played Ddakji?" He asked you as he took out the red and blue paper. You just shook your head. "That's no problem at all, we can still play it if you're up for it." 

Your gaze alternated from his hand to his face. Oh, so he's crazy. You finally concluded. I guess he is too handsome to be just a normal guy, huh. You turned your head away from him, something about the whole thing just seemed perverse to you. "No thanks, I'll pass."

"You sure?" He asked again, knowing he'd convinced you as soon as he brought the money into it. These people are all the same, she'll snatch the paper right out of my hands after I start talking a language she understands. "Every time you win, you get 100,000 won from me." He began, watching the look on your face. "But if I win, you owe me 100,000 won and -"

You sighed and interrupted him. "Yes, I'm sure. I still don't want to play with you, okay?"

This time the man looked at you with a cold, icy stare. A few minutes passed like this and you just tried to ignore his gaze, but then he started talking again. "All right. 200,000 won." he finally said, but couldn't seem to get your attention back. He tried again. "Is it because you've never played the game before? We can have a practice round if that would make you feel more comfortable." he tried again and got irritated when you continued to ignore him. He looked around the area as he considered his next move. Is she waiting for me to increase the prize money further? These people usually jump up happily at the first amount since they're so desperate. He tried to collect himself again. "500,000 won." he finally said. "I've got the money right here, you just have to go for it."

When is this stupid train coming. "Look, I don't want your fucking money, understand? I'm not a gambling addict or -"

"You may not want it, but you need it," he said, annoyed. This has never happened before, is she stupid? He then spoke out your name and described your miserable living situation as if you didn't already know about it yourself. "You also have quite a lot of debt for someone who is still relatively young, are you seriously going to turn down the money I'm offering you? For what, to prove a point or something?"

You didn't know what this man's fucking problem was, he should be glad that you didn't want to take his money, and how did he even know all this? You got up from your seat next to him when the train finally arrived and turned to face him one last time. "Fuck you," you told him and then went to the doors. You even looked out of the window at him as soon as they closed before you, to show him your the middle finger.

The man in the suit watched your figure irritated until it was gone and then, took the little card out of the inside pocket of his suit, that was meant for you. He turned it over a few times in his hand before closing the open briefcase with his other one. He had already played and lost a few Ddakji games in his life, which was the point of the whole thing - to recruit players for the actual game. However, the thought of what awaited them there meant that he was still in control of the situation. He was always in control of the situation. "I didn't loose, we haven't even played." he tried to reassure himself.

And yet the whole conversation with you left him feeling like he was utterly defeated.

LMAOOOO

i still can’t get over this like how is the huge ass gay rainbow between their heads just a coincidence?? also they’re in their own little world here and it’s just really funny.