Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“I have waited a millennia to see my justice sowed throughout this land; if you would not ally yourself with me so that I might take it willingly, you are nothing more than obstacles from the gods sent to test me on this path!” Their villain of the week—some woman named Ran? Rian, maybe—chants something dramatically and shoots a ball of green lightning two feet away from where John’s standing.

“When Val told us to check out this compound, she never mentioned anything about Shakespeare in the park.” John rolls his eyes, while ducking out of the way.

“God, tell me about it. This is worse than Lang’s daughter’s middle school performance of Hamlet.” Ava disappears from nearby, and reappears at the top of the semi-collapsed building Ran/Rian is standing on top of to dropkick the witch lady straight in the chest. The witch lady slips along a tilted sheet of concrete, but not before stabbing Ava in the leg with her weird glowing staff-thingy. She then hits the ground with a surprisingly human noise of pain, while Ava clutches at her now bleeding calf with a scowl.

“Can you two please focus? It’s Bucky’s turn to pay for after-mission pizza, and I missed lunch today!” Yelena rappels down from her mark on top of the building to meet the bad guy on the ground, initiating hand-to-hand combat between the two, in order to draw her attention away from where Ava is limping off to the side to regroup.

“Maybe It’d be easier to focus if Lady Macbeth over here was a little bit more of a challenge.” John huffs, shooting off a few rounds after Yelena gets blasted a few feet back.

“How dare you?” Ran/Rian hisses, blonde hair flying as she whips around to throw another Disney-esque flameball in his direction.

“Look, lady, I’m just callin’ it how I see it. And right now it looks like maybe you made a mistake when it came to counting. See, there’s five of us, and only one of you.” John shrugs and moves behind a nearby tree to reload.

“I am beyond error, mortal!” Her voice booms throughout the surrounding forest. “You, however, struggle beneath the heavy mantle of failure! I see the mistakes that grasp your heart, the ones which haunt your every waking moment, and I relish in their taste like the sweetest of wines! I-”

“Alright, alright, we get it! You’re Miss Sunshine and Rainbows, and I’m a fuck-up. You wanna criticize me, get in line.” John pops back out to aim for the hand clutching the staff. He misses by just a hair and swears, ducking back behind cover.

“The audaciousness!”

Eh, John’s heard worse.

Just as he’s debating on whether or not Yelena was pushed back far enough that he can start using explosives, Alexei hits the ground from the plane circling above with an earth-shattering thump, sending rocks and debris flying.

“Do not be worrying, West Chesapeake Valley Thunderbolts! Red Guardian is here to save you!” Alexei lifts a nearby slab of rock and slings it towards Ran/Rian like a javelin.

It actually manages to catch her off guard, pinning her to the ground. Maybe they’d tired her out with their full-frontal assault, maybe they’d just dealt with worse over the past 14 months, but either way, John isn’t going to waste any time. He takes off at a sprint to where the woman is attempting to free herself, and reels back to punch her right in the face.

Unfortunately, that’s kind of when everything goes to shit.

His fist is about halfway down, full-weight behind the swing, when Ran/Rian gets her arm free enough to slam her staff against his jaw, sending his head snapping to the side, while the rest of his body stumbles back.

God, he hopes Yelena wasn’t looking just now. If she saw the way he had to windmill his arms to keep himself from eating it, she’d never let him live it down. With his luck, there’d be memes taped up around the tower before nightfall.

“Ugh.” He grunts, shaking his head to try and clear his swimming vision, and then stops. Just- freezes in place like an idiot.

His body feels…weird all of a sudden. Hot and tingly, like an egg cooking on the sidewalk. But he doesn’t have time to think about it too much, before Ava appears between him and the witch just in time to shoot her point blank between the eyes.

Silence. And then-

“Woohoo! Yes! That is how we Thunderbolts do it, huh?” Alexei roars triumphantly and shakes his fists in the air, despite having been dropped in once the fight was already almost over.

“Yes, yes, we’re all heroes, job well done, and all that. Can we go now? I want deep dish.” Yelena presses a hand to a tenderspot on her side and tiredly hustles over to pick up the witch lady’s staff. The government expects them to hand it over as soon as they land, and if they leave it behind, Val’s gonna chew them out for hours, which is the last thing any of them want to put up with after the day they’ve had.

“Right behind you.” John takes a deep breath, tries to ignore that lingering hot feeling, and falls into step beside the rest of the team, as they make their way towards the plane Bucky is slowly landing on the ground.

Considering how big of a deal Mel had made this woman seem during their briefing, this mission was a fucking breeze. Fast, almost no casualties, and they got the weapon they were after.

He should have known it was too easy.

~~~

Six weeks later, John has to sprint out of movie night in the living room to go hurl his guts up in the bathroom.

He’s curled over the cold porcelain of the toilet, holding onto the side of the bowl with enough force to make the material creak, when the rest of the team shuffles into the doorway making grossed-out, sympathetic noises.

“Can super soldiers even get sick?” Ava asks, ignoring his grumbles from the floor, as she wets a washcloth, slapping it against his sweaty face.

“I got the flu once.” Bucky offers up with crossed arms.

“And?” Yelena asks.

“...It was pretty ugly. Sam made me go to the hospital for an IV.” Bucky admits reluctantly. “Sorry, John.”

“Bah, Captain Walker will be fine! He just needs rest, vodka, maybe- oh! Or I can make soup. Family recipe, cures everything—even tetanus." Alexei offers.

“No!” Everyone seems to shout at the same time.

John opens his mouth to tell them he’s fine, but before he can, he’s leaning over and puking up the rest of his dinner with a long, drawn-out groan.

“Sorry, but I-I really think maybe it’d be a good idea to take you down to the infirmary to get checked out.” Bob says with that little, annoyingly soft smile of his.

“I do not need to get checked out!” John snarls back.

“Uh. No offense, Walker, but you look like shit. Bob is right, we’re taking you to a doctor.” Yelena rolls her eyes, threads her way around the others, and hooks a surprisingly strong arm under his armpit to lift him up.

He struggles out of her grip, only stumbling a little as he straightens up. “Jesus, alright! Look, I'll go see someone, but I don’t need all of this- y’know- babying, okay? I can handle it on my own.”

“God, whatever! It’s not like we’re trying to help you because we’re your friends or anything.” Yelena gently smacks him upside the head. “But no, we get it. You’re a big, strong man who doesn’t need any help. Just…go get prescribed whatever it is Stark kept around this place for Nyquil and tell us once you know you’re not dying, asshole.”

“Uuuuugh, fine. Fine! I’m going, okay?” John stops next to Ava to rinse his mouth out at the sink, and then shuffles out the door towards the elevator that’ll take him to the infirmary downstairs.

“...You sure you don’t need any help getting there, Walker?” Bob asks, following a few steps behind with his eyebrows creased in worry. His soft, deep voice is pitched even lower than usual—as if he actually cares whether John’s okay or not.

“I don’t actually need a doctor, I don’t need help getting down there, and I don’t need you checking in on me, Bobby! I’m fine.” And with one last noise of frustration, he stomps out of the living room, off to go have some quack scientist on Val’s payroll tell him he’s got food poisoning or something, before prescribing him a fistful of ibuprofen that won’t do shit with his magic new immune system.

He’s sure it’ll only be mildly less annoying than the rest of the team hounding him if he keeps refusing to go, but whatever. It’s fine. Everything is totally, completely-

~~~

-Everything is not fucking fine. Everything is the exact opposite of fine, actually.

John grabs the doctor standing over him by the lapel of his jacket, dragging his face down, until the two men are inches apart. “Are you messing with me right now?”

“N- No, Mr. Walker! According to all of our tests, it seems that you’re- well, that somehow, you’re-”

“-Pregnant.” John repeats the diagnosis they’d given him after an hour of poking and prodding, his voice dripping with disbelief.

“Right. Yes, that.” The doctor clears his throat and gently tries to pull away, not that John lets him get far.

“But I’m a guy, so…that’s not really possible.”

“...Our current hypothesis is that it might have something to do with your previous exposure to the test subject Rhiannon.” The doctor once again tries to tug himself free, and this time, John’s just surprised enough to let him go.

Ran/Rian. The weird lady monologuing in the woods. She’d hit him in the face with her staff during their fight. “Rhiannon?”

“Yes. Her weapon of choice has often been associated with…well, we in the science community don’t typically like to use this word, but I think it’s safe to call them curses in this specific context.” The man looks extremely apologetic.

And a little curious, which John does not care for at all. “So, what? She hits me with a stick and knocks me up somehow?”

“Exactly.”

John’s jaw twitches in anger. “Okay, say I believe you…how do we reverse it?”

“That seems to be the problem.” The man pulls out a chart and holds it for John to see from his place on the examination table. “We don’t think we can.”

“You. Don’t. What?” His voice is deceptively calm for how pissed and freaked out he is on the inside.

“We…We can’t reverse it. And…based on the information we parsed from your blood tests, the results of your ultrasound imaging, and the particular super serum you ingested, Mr. Walker, there are no termination possibilities at this time.” The guy really does seem apologetic.

Too bad Walker feels like he’s five seconds away from committing a murder.

“...No. No, this is bullshit. I’m out of here.” He shakes his head violently, and moves for the exit, ignoring the several members of the medical staff who try to slow him down, as panic begins to thrum through his blood, sharp and all-consuming.

~~~

Two pink lines stare up at him. He takes a slow, deep breath, and adds this one to the line of pregnancy tests stretching across his bathroom counter. “Fuck.”

Okay, so…he was pregnant. Like, for real. Now what?

He couldn’t tell anyone—although, on the other hand, one of those narc doctors has probably already called Val by this point, and who knows what she’s going to do with this information. She’s probably gonna lock him up, run some- some fucked-up tests, and after all’s said and done, if he really does…you know…manage to have a- a baby, she’s probably gonna have them taken away the second they’re born, whisked away to one of her undocumented labs, never to be seen again.

Well, not on his watch, okay?

He’s gotta do something. He’s gotta make a game plan. Which means, unfortunately, he’s probably gonna need some help.

As if reading his mind, there’s a knock on his door.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” He doesn’t have time to think about this anymore. Running a hand down his face, he makes his way over, and tries to psych himself up for whichever one of his teammates is about to get roped into this whole mess.

“Hey, Walker. I know you said you didn’t want me checking on you, but I was- I was just a little worried, I guess.” Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding him. “I- uh- I brought you a gatorade, for your stomach. Yelena drank the last red one, so- so we just had lime, I hope that’s okay?”

John sighs, low and long-sufferingly, and rips the door open, dragging Bob into his bedroom by the sleeve of his hoodie, only to slam the door closed again the second he’s got him through.

“So-”

“-I’m only going to say this once; you tell anyone about what I’m about to show you, and I’ll spend the rest of my life coming up with ways to get around that magic bubblewrap of yours, you understand me?” John points threateningly and Bob raises both hands in surrender.

“Y- Yeah, got it. Understood!” He nods fast, gatorade still clutched in one hand.

John stares at him, just for a second, before snatching the drink, and stomping back towards the bathroom.

After only a moment’s hesitation, Bob follows meekly, stopping just in the doorframe to stare down at what has to be 12 different kinds of pee sticks. “Oh. Uuuuuuh.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“That’s- I didn’t know you were-” Bob swallows hard, dark blue eyes flickering down to John’s stomach. “-congrats?”

“Don’t be an idiot. It’s some stupid curse that witch lady put on me in Peru, okay? I didn’t-” His throat clicks as he tries to shove down the sour embarrassment rising up in the back of his throat.

“-You got hit with a pregnancy curse.” Bob stops. Blinks a lot. “How’s- How’s that even supposed to work? Aren’t you-?”

“-Yes. Bob. I don’t exactly have the right equipment, okay?” He hisses, face going hot.

“Right…” Bob nods quickly again and goes back to staring at his stomach, which makes John snap in front of his face. “Right.”

“Look. The guys down in medical have probably already told Valentina, and who knows what she’s planning to do about it. I just- I need…” You, he stops himself from saying. Sentry. The power of a thousand suns. Something, anything to guarantee he makes it out of this with some kind of say.

Bob seems to get it. Or at least, some of it. Enough. His usually goofy face goes serious, and he crosses his arms over his chest, leaning forward from the doorframe. “What can I do?”

“...I don’t know.” His eyes slid shut in frustration. “I don’t know, okay? I just needed to tell someone, I guess, and you’re- kind of the best option.”

It sounds lame, even to his ears. But it’s most of the truth, and at least he can trust Bob not to be a dick about this. The guy’s basically the personification of a scented candle or one of those squishy stuffed animals shaped like food. If he can’t keep this to himself, if someone has to know about it, it makes sense for it to be the one person in the Watchtower with a conscience and god-like super powers.

“Me?” Bob gives him a look that’s a little too sappy for his tastes. “I’m- I’m honored, John. Seriously, whatever you need, I’ll try my-”

“Don’t go making this into some big deal, alright? I don’t think I could handle that right now, if I’m being honest.” He hates having to admit it, but if he doesn’t say anything, Bob’s whole emotional deal is gonna send him spiraling.

“Yup. Got it. This is me, totally not making this a big deal...even if it kind of is?” The look on John’s face has his hands going up again in surrender. “Or it’s not! Who even cares if you’re pregnant? Not me, I couldn’t give a shit.”

That gets a reluctant laugh out of him. “...Jesus, Bob.”

Bob chuckles back, soft and nervously. But eventually, everything slides back into that serious, tense place from before. “I hate to ask but…just to double check, you’re asking me to keep this a secret from the team, aren’t you?”

“Is that gonna be a problem?” John raises an eyebrow, half-afraid to hear the answer.

Bob looks at him for a long time, searching for…something, although John’s not really sure what. Whatever it is, though, he must come to a decision, because he clears his throat, and replies, “...No. Not a problem. I said whatever you needed, remember?”

Huh…maybe Bob knowing about this won’t be the third worst thing to ever happen to him. “Thanks, Bobby. I…I really appreciate this.”

“Hey, what are teammates for?” He cracks a smile and nods one more time, before stepping back. “I’ll just- uh- go tell everyone you’re feeling better then, if that’s okay?”

“Fine.” John’s voice comes out light, but the words feel heavy on his tongue.

“Cool.” Bob looks at him one last time and heads back out through his bedroom. But not before stopping with his hand just on the doorknob. “Hey, Walker?”

“Yeah?”

“Everything’s going to be okay.” And then he’s gone, just like that. Like he didn’t say exactly what John needed to hear, even when he doesn’t really believe it.

Still, he holds the assurance close to his chest, and cracks open the gatorade, feeling a little less like shit for the first time all night.

It’s good to have a game plan.

Chapter Text

A month passes and very little changes around the tower. He still trains with the others, still struggles to sleep at night, still shows up to PR events like he doesn't hate them with a burning passion.

But that doesn’t mean everything stays the same.

John keeps throwing up at inconvenient times, hiding it as best as he can. He starts eating more—like, a lot more—like, even enough for Alexei to start commenting on it (which makes him want to stab the guy's eyes out). He starts getting tired more easily, which is starting to earn him a few concerned looks from Bucky that he could do without.

And Bob…Bob starts treating him differently.

He doesn't baby him. At least, not too much. It’s more like caution that keeps him from snapping back when John’s teasing goes a little too far. That has him sliding his last piece of pizza across the table in John's direction, like he knows the one and a half whole pies the soldier had already eaten hadn't been enough. That has him refilling John's water bottle in the training room when he thinks Walker isn't looking.

It's honestly kind of…nice. Being taken care of, a little.

And then another month passes after that, and that's when things start to get weird. Or weirder, he should say.

For starters, he wakes up to the skin of his stomach suddenly feeling like a water balloon stretched too tight. He doesn't have an actual bump yet (thank God), but there's definitely a softness to his middle that hadn't been there before. And now his feet have started to swell a little throughout the day, which has really started to bum him out, especially seeing as he can't exactly complain about it to anyone other than Bob. He's got no idea how Olivia managed to put up with this for the whole extra month Danny had decided to stay in while she was pregnant.

He's constantly hungry, and tired, and nauseous, and achey, and it's starting to become a capital ‘P’ Problem, especially since Bob keeps fucking staring at him.

“Can I help you?” He grits out from his side of the couch.

“What?” Bob replies guilty from the other end, eyes snapping forward to the TV like John hadn't just caught him staring for the tenth time tonight.

Thankfully, everyone else had already gone to bed. “You keep looking over here like you want to say something, so just spit it out.”

“It's nothing, I just-” He runs a hand through his curls, and peeks back over with a weird look on his face. “-I- um- I think I can hear it. You know, its- its heartbeat.”

He nods towards John's covered stomach, before turning away again.

“Wait, seriously?” For some reason, that has him straightening up in his seat. “Does it…I mean, does it sound okay?”

“I don't know, actually. I've- uh- never listened to a baby’s heartbeat before, so I'm not really sure what they're supposed to sound like.” He shrugs.

30 seconds later, and they're sitting side-by-side with a YouTube video compilation pulled up on John's phone, and Bob's head carefully pressed against his stomach over the material of his favorite sleep shirt. “Do they sound the same?”

“Ssh, I'm trying to listen.” Bob whispers back.

“But does it-”

“Ssh!” Bob scolds him, laughing. He then moves a big, warm hand to rest beside his ear.

It makes John very suddenly aware of the position they're in, and of the fact that this is the closest anyone’s been to him in a non-violent context in over a year. Which is deeply embarrassing and has him coughing to cover up the wistful sigh that tries to crawl its way out of his mouth.

“It sounds good, I think.” Bob eventually mumbles, cheeks squishing a little bit harder against John's stomach in a way that could almost be mistaken for a nuzzle.

“Yeah?” He can't help but perk up hearing that. “It sounds, like, healthy compared to those other babies?”

“Oh, way better than those other babies. Your baby's heartbeat could kick all those other baby's heartbeat's asses.”

“Shut up, freak.” John rolls his eyes and shoves Bob off, although without any real heat behind it. They're too busy grinning and giggling at each other, both of them giddy from the late hour, combined with the total insanity of this situation.

“No, I'm serious! It really sounds strong, like-” His hand hesitantly returns to John’s stomach to tap out a steady rhythm against the white cotton.

It’s fast, like a hummingbird. And the gentle, quick beat of Bob’s fingertips sends a crazy thrill through his gut that he tries to tell himself is just from having evidence of a real life actual human growing inside his body, and not the floppy-haired cartoon character he’s forced to share this moment with.

“Cool.” John manages dumbly. “That’s cool…Um- look, Bobby…can I ask you something stupid without you making it a whole thing?”

“You mean more of a whole thing than it already is?” One of the corners of Bob's lips twitches up in a half-smile.

John scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Yes, more than it already is.”

“Shoot.”

“Am I…doing enough? You think?”

Bob hums thoughtful and stops his tapping, although he doesn’t remove his fingers from John’s covered skin, just starts rubbing these little circles near the man’s bellybutton that secretly feel amazing. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” John shrugs, face going hot. “...Olivia went to all these doctors when she was pregnant with Daniel. Took a ton of vitamins, went to- fucking mommy yoga, or whatever. And all I’ve got is my mutant co-worker with his head on my stomach, you know?”

“Gee, thanks.” Bob snorts.

“C’mon, you know I'm- grateful, or whatever. I just- I don't know what I'm doing, and now the baby has a fucking heartbeat, and it's all real, and I'm probably gonna screw this up even worse than I did the first time.” He lets his head fall back against the couch and turns his eyes to the ceiling so he doesn't have to look at Bob's face.

There's a long silence, with just the low hum of the TV still playing in the background. And then Bob goes back to tapping, fingers so fucking fast and careful where they drum along his stretched shirt. He kind of wishes there wasn't a layer still between them, but there’s no real explanation for why, and so he aggressively shoves the thought to the back of his mind.

“I know you don't want to tell anyone else yet, and that's- that's fine! Really, but…you know the others are gonna have your back, right? You're not alone in this, Walker. You've got your team. And we'll, y'know, figure this out together, okay?”

“Because we're all such excellent role models, right?” John snarks bitterly.

“Because we're a family.” Bob shoots back.

John takes it in, the raw honesty painted across the other man's face, even half-hidden by shadows—how much he seems to mean it. “...You really believe that, don't you?”

“I kind of have to, right?” He straightens up, hands falling to his lap, and John tries not to feel lost without the warmth of someone else anchoring him into his unfamiliar skin.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.” He manages, thinking back to the Void, and how they were only able to save the day through the power of friendship (which he still thinks is ridiculous, but that doesn’t make it any less true).

“Then believe me when I say we're in this together, okay? I know I'm not exactly your favorite person on the team, but you- you trusted me enough to let me be here for this, right? So just…trust me to stay, I guess.” Bob picks at a hangnail and peeks over at him again when he thinks he's not looking. “We're gonna get through this.”

They fall into comfortable silence again for a long time after that, just breathing together, and pretending like everything isn't a huge, terrifying mess. And then John, still avoiding eye contact, grabs his drink off the floor nearby and mutters, “...You're not not my favorite person on the team.”

Bob whips around, letting out a surprised chuckle. “Oh, yeah?...I think I can live with that.”

John snorts, warmth flooding his chest, and settles deeper into his seat, letting the weight of everything finally pull him under, until there’s nothing left but shadows and heartbeats.

~~~

When he wakes up at dawn, there’s a fuzzy green blanket thrown over his shoulders that hadn’t been there when he fell asleep. It smells like vanilla coffee creamer, and a certain someone’s Axe bodyspray, and if he traces little, mindless circles against it for a while, that’s nobody’s business but his.

~~~

One week later, he comes back from a morning bagel run to find a stack of parenting books poking out from under his bed. There’s a neon post-it note stuck to the top one with nothing written on it but a dumb little smiley face, and the letter ‘B’. It makes him smile, even as his eyebrows crease together in confusion, and he whips out his phone to send a quick text.

Sent 8:01am -

you got me books?????

Received 8:03am -

I thought they might help with the whole feeling more prepared thing.

Received 8:04am -

…Is that okay?

Sent 8:05am -

i guess so. thanks, bobby

Received 8:06am -

Whatever you need, remember?

Huh…maybe picking Bob to be the one person in this with him wasn’t so bad after all. The guy was an ex-meth addict from Florida, and Walker’s, like, 90% positive he saw him eating a box of girl scout cookies for lunch the other day, but he’s also been doing a hell of a job making good on his promise to be there for him lately. Honestly, if he wasn’t also 90% positive Bob was only being nice to him out of obligation, he’d almost think they were starting to become friends.

Like, real ones, not just ones forced together out of necessity and loneliness like the rest of them.

John flips through the first book for a while, eventually landing on a random chapter about early first foods. Flopping backwards onto his bed, he settles in to start reading, quickly becoming absorbed with things like allergy detection and how babies can’t break down enzymes in legumes. It’s weirdly interesting stuff, and before he knows it, the sun's starting to slink down, he’s halfway through the stack of books, and his stomach is starting to growl. So he marks his spot with Bob’s sticky note, and makes his way to the kitchen to whip up an early dinner.

They’re having burgers. Maybe with bacon, definitely with fried eggs. Do they still have any chili oil or did Ava use the last of it on Wednesday? He mumbles to himself, while digging through the spice cabinets in search of the right jar.

And then he notices it. The tapping.

Slowly closing the cabinet (without any chili oil, thank you, Ava), John turns to spot Bob sitting in his favorite arm chair across the room, half of a twizzler poking out of his mouth, the end of an ink pen rhythmically tapping against his sketchbook in a beat John could recognize in his sleep.

It’s the baby’s heartbeat. Bob’s just…projecting it. Making it so that John can hear it, too, even though he’s not doing it on purpose.

John stands there frozen for a moment, letting the sound fill him up, wrapping him in its heavy, comforting presence, until it’s cut off by a loud clap.

He jumps, and spins around to face Yelena. “Helloooo, earth to J-ohn! Can you hear me in that big head of yours?”

“Jesus, what?” He huffs in embarrassment.

“I just wanted to know what you were making for dinner. It looks good, this stuff you’ve got here.” She waves a hand towards the pile of ingredients neatly stacked nearby.

“Oh…right…” He knows he's probably blinking too fast and even though he tries not to, his mind starts to drift again as Bob’s tapping resumes.

“Are you okay?” Yelena interrupts again, reaching over the marble countertop to press the back of her hand to his forehead. “You’re not feeling sick again are you?”

He brushes her off and goes back to cooking, trying to appear as casual as possible, even as Bob and his stupid tapping makes him feel all warm and gooey inside. “I’m fine, Yelena.”

“...If you say so.” Lucky for him, she drops it, snags an orange off the counter, and scurries away to pester somebody else (probably Ava, who’s downstairs practicing her shooting).

“You sure you’re okay?” Bob’s voice is soft, as it carries all the way through the living room, and into the kitchen.

“I’m fine, Bobby.” He means it a little bit more this time, and Bob must be able to tell, because he lets it go with only a slight downturn to his lips to show his lingering concern. “Fries or tater tots?”

Bob straightens up in his seat with a hopeful, puppy dog look. “Will there be cheese?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions.” John snorts, while chopping up onions to caramelize.

“Fries, then, definitely.” The curly-haired man nods sagely and abandons his things to bound over. “Can I help?”

Usually, no one’s allowed in the kitchen, but John. But he’s in an unusually good mood, and so he points a knife towards the veggies sitting nearby. “Chop.”

“Yes, chef.” Bob gives him a cheesy salute and sets to work making uneven slices of tomatoes and lettuce.

This is the point where John’s supposed to yell at him for his shitty knife skills, but for some reason, he just can’t work up the energy to feel anything other than a zen-like calm. It’s worrying. Or it would be, if he could even feel worried right now.

Eventually, Bob hums and tosses him a side-eye. “You’re in a good mood today.”

“Am I not allowed to be?”

“No, you are…it's just- different, I guess.” He puts a hand on John’s hip to slide past him on the way to the fridge for a bottled water. It makes John’s skin feel hot. “Not bad different, though.”

“Yeah, well…” He clears his throat and turns to the sink to wash his hands. “It helped. The books.”

“They did?” Bob sounds like someone just told him Christmas is coming twice this year and it makes John groan.

“Don’t.” He barks warningly, hating the way it makes the other man flinch. Taking a deep breath, he tries again, but softer this time. “Just- I appreciate them. It's giving me some clue as to what to do about all this, or…something, so…yeah. They're good. The books are good.”

“And you're good?” Bob double-checks.

“I would be if Ava could remember to replace the chili oil after she uses it all up on scrambled eggs.” John huffs, trying to diffuse the lingering tension with a joke.

It works well enough. Bob goes back to grinning that thin, silly smile, as he (badly) slices up a block of sharp cheddar cheese. “That sucks, man. Guess we’ll just have to add it to the grocery list.”

“I’m in charge of the grocery list.” John reminds him.

“Better make it two next time, then.” Bob sticks his tongue out, laughing, and has to lunge sideways to avoid the towel John snaps at his ass.

“Keep it up, wiseguy, and I’m giving your cheese fries to somebody else.”

“You wouldn’t do that...” Bob turns his big blue eyes on him, not sounding too sure about it, even as he’s saying it.

He’s right. John wouldn’t. But he can’t let Bob know that. So he keeps up his totally empty threats, and Bob tries begging mournfully, and they both keep fucking around in the kitchen for a while until everything’s done, and the whole team is rounded up to consume a truly unsettling amount of burgers, and in the end, John is good.

He is, which is a surprise, but not an unwelcome one.

~~~

When he goes to make a mug of green tea the next morning (he isn’t allowed to have coffee anymore, according to the baby books), there are two jars of chili oil waiting on the counter.

Chapter Text

He makes it another two weeks, just two, before hitting the first snag in this whole don’t let anyone find out he’s pregnant plan.

His jeans don’t fit. Like, at all.

He stands in the center of his room in nothing but his boxers and stares down at the jeans currently clutched between both of his hands like they’ve personally fucked him over.

Which they have, obviously.

He’s now tried on every pair he owns, dragging them one after another from the bottom of his massive dresser, and none of them fit, not even the buttery, worn-out ones from his football days.

And then, to make matters worse, he realizes with a sudden clarity that he’s cold. It’s summer time, and his A/C has been on full blast for weeks, but now—now he’s standing there like an idiot shivering all over and feeling sorry for himself as his feet go numb against the hardwood floor.

He clears his throat, and swallows down a sob, rubbing at his burning eyes in frustration. He tells himself this is stupid, that he shouldn’t be getting so emotional over clothes, but he can’t help it. He didn’t ask for any of this, and now he doesn’t even get a say in what his body looks like anymore, and his clothes are all wrong, and everything feels like shit.

So he just keeps on standing there, feeling cold, and sad, and fat, and fails to stop the tears that eventually slip hot and salty down his cheeks.

The whole team is waiting for him in the living room. They were supposed to be going out for Thai tonight—it’s why he’d gone to his bedroom to change in the first place. But now he doesn’t have anything to wear (all of his joggers are still in the wash), and he doesn’t know what to do about it. His stomach had finally started to curve, enough for silvery stretchmarks to start spiderwebbing between his bellybutton and pelvis, and paired with the blonde hair that covers his chest, he just feels…gross.

Gross, and cold, and sad, and fat.

He tries wiping his eyes again, but that just makes the tears come faster, and so he stops trying; just drops his jeans on the floor and goes to sit on the edge of his bed, while distantly searching for an excuse he can give the others as to why he can’t go out tonight.

There’s a knock, and then-

“Hey, Walker?” Calls a familiar, worried voice from outside his door. “You okay?”

John doesn’t reply. Just sniffles a little and stares blankly at the ground.

“Walker- John…I’m gonna come in now, okay?”

“Wait, don’t-” His voice cracks in desperation, head shooting up, but he’s not fast enough. All he can do is sit there, red-eyed and mostly naked, as the other man pushes his way inside, locking the door as he goes, before coming to take a seat beside him.

“...Hey.” He keeps his eyes forward respectfully.

“Hey.” John nods, really appreciating the fact that Bob isn’t commenting on the whole crying like a baby thing.

“Did- uh- Did something happen?” He asks carefully.

“...Mypantsdon’tfit.” John mumbles, jaw clicking from the force with which he’s grinding his teeth.

“Um…what? I didn’t- I didn’t really catch that, sorry.”

“I said. My pants. Don’t. Fit.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” He scowls, even as tears start to drip down his chin. “...It’s so stupid.”

“Hey, no.” Bob breathes out earnestly, finally giving in to the urge to turn and look at John’s wet face. “No, it’s not stupid.”

“It is, though! It is stupid, because they’re just pants, and it shouldn’t be that big of a big deal, but it is, because it means I’m getting fat. And I’m getting fat because I’m a pregnant dude!” And then John laughs, but it’s the ugly sound of twisting metal, instead of anything close to pleasant.

Bob sits there in silence until the laughter peters out, and then he plops his head against John’s shoulder, and pulls him into a one-armed hug. “You didn’t get a choice in this. That’s fucked up on, like, so many levels. But it’s not stupid, okay?”

“...Yeah, okay.” His voice comes out kinda snotty sounding muffled against Bob’s curls. It’s pretty embarrassing, but he lets himself enjoy being held anyways, because if he’s being honest, he could really fucking use this right about now.

And also, Bob gives really good hugs.

“I know this probably doesn’t help, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with how you look.” Bob eventually whispers back into the silence of his room.

“Dude, get out, I’m a total freak show.” He replies thickly.

“Nah. You just look…” The guy trails off searching for the right words.

“Like that marshmallow guy from the Ghostbusters movie?”

“...I was gonna say soft.” He shrugs, tilting his head back to look at John through his eyelashes.

“Oh. Huh.” For some reason, that really gets to him, and then he starts crying even harder, and then he has to try and hide behind Bob’s hair, which is not how he expected this evening to go when he woke up this morning.

Bob panics and pulls back to wipe at John’s cheeks with his thumbs. “Shit. Fuck. I’m- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“-That’s really nice, man.” John manages to choke out.

Bob laughs a little and keeps wiping at his face, until it’s just fingertips soothingly petting at his overheated skin. Then he clears his throat and offers him a crooked half-smile. “Hey John…if I tell you something, you have to promise not to get mad at me, alright?”

“What’d you do now?” He sniffs.

“Uh uh. Promise.”

John just rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Fine, I promise.”

“...I totally stole your West Point sweats, like, 6 months ago. They’re in the clean laundry basket in my bedroom.” Bob admits sheepishly, hands dropping to his side when John throws a pissy frown his way in response. “I can go grab them for you, if you want?”

“You stole my favorite workout pants.”

Bob’s hands go flying in a little helpless gesture. “They looked so comfortable!”

“That’s why they’re my favorite workout pants!” He shoots back.

“Look, I’m sorry, just- let me go grab them, okay?” The dark-eyed man pleads, already moving for the door. “Please?”

“Well, they’re my pants, so I guess it’s cool if you return them.” He says, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“Awesome.” Bob nods quickly and makes his escape, returning only a few minutes later, slightly out of breath. “I told the guys that your jeans ripped, so they’d stop asking questions.”

“Aw, man.” John groans and holds out a hand for his sweatpants. “Now Yelena’s gonna be making fun of me all night.”

“Yeah, looking back at it, that wasn’t my best call. Sorry, I- I panicked.” He nods, blowing out a little puff of air, while running his fingers through his hair once he’s tossed over the wadded up ball of clothing.

“It’s fine.” John rolls his eyes and slides the sweats on over his huge thighs, missing the way Bob’s eyes dart down and away. “Thanks. For, y’know, everything. The pants, and the hugging, and all that…nice shit you said about me back there.”

“Yeah, well…anytime.” He tucks his hands into his pockets, face going all cute and pink.

Cute? John stops, narrows his eyes in the direction of his dresser, and tries to get his brain to stop blue-screening.

“Hey, John…why do you have a poster of yourself?”

He snaps out of it and turns towards where Bob is pointing at the framed poster hanging by his closet. “It’s Sports Illustrated, Bobby.”

“Right…okay, but do you think that’s maybe…the healthiest thing in the world? When you’re, y’know, not feeling super great about yourself?” Bob doesn’t seem the least bit impressed by the fact that John was asked to model for one of the top men’s magazines in the world.

Not that John cares about what Bob thinks. “Uh- I feel like shit ‘cause I’m gaining baby weight, and it’s making me look like a cupcake on steroids, not because I still have pics lying around from when I used to be hot.”

“Stop- Stop doing that!” Bob shouts unexpectedly, and then sighs, rubbing at his eyes for a second in frustration. “Sorry, I shouldn’t yell, just- when your ex-wife was pregnant, did you think she was fat and ugly?”

That’s totally different. “That’s totally different.”

“How?” He pushes, crossing his arms over his chest.

“...No, okay, no I did not think Olivia was fat and ugly! For starters, I’m the one who did that to her. How could I think badly of the person carrying my kid? And second of all…” At this point, John’s face is also a little pink, and he’s not sure how to keep going without getting some serious side-eye from the other man. But he needs Bob to understand, so that he’ll fucking drop it. “...I liked it. How she looked…‘probably would have knocked her up twice if I could have.”

Bob chuckles a little, and raises an eyebrow, giving him an appraising look. “Oh, yeah?”

“Can it.” John points warningly and stands to start hunting down a loose top. “You get why these are two totally different situations, though, right?”

“No, not really.”

“Dude.” John scoffs, tugging a warm blue sweater over his gently curving stomach. “Nobody is out here trying to knock me up twice, alright? I haven’t even kissed anyone in a year and a half.”

His back is turned to Bob at this point, so he misses how that cute pink deepens into splotchy red. By the time he’s turned back around, Bob seems to be psyching himself up for something, face just a little too casual to be anything other than calculated. It sets off alarm bells ringing in John’s head. “I mean…I could kiss you?”

There goes all his progress on getting his brain back online. “Uh…what?”

“Unless that’s weird. Is that weird? That’s probably weird.” Bob laughs self-consciously and scratches the back of his neck. “I just thought…well, I said there’s nothing wrong with how you look, which- which I totally meant, by the way! And I just thought- I mean, you’re the one who keeps saying none of this is a big deal, so- uh- this could just, y’know, be something to help with- with your- um- body…stuff…”

“You wanna kiss me…to help with my ‘body stuff’?” John repeats blandly.

“...Okay, it- it sounds bad when you say it like that.” He admits with a wince. “I’ll just shut up now.”

Except now John has a whole new problem, which is that he doesn’t actually want Bob to shut up. Or…maybe he does want him to shut up, but only so he can put his money where his mouth is.

The idea of kissing Bob four months ago would have been laughable. Seriously, John would probably have cracked up, right before punching whoever suggested it in the face. The guy has all of the personality and mannerisms of an abandoned shelter dog made out of pool noodles, and John's never been able to handle all of his…niceness without being a dick about it, ‘cause it always reminds him a little too much of how not nice John is.

But then he got four months of all that niceness turned in his direction, and it's been…it’s been nice. To have someone treat him like a person, instead of a villain. To have someone say they're gonna stick around and then mean it.

And maybe he’s been feeling a little lonely lately, too, ‘cause he’s found himself more than once picturing the weight of Bob’s hands on his skin, and the sound of his voice promising him everything’s going to be alright. Which has also led to a series of very confusing dreams featuring thin smiles and bottomless blue eyes pinning him in place that result in waking up to ruined boxers and a mess between his legs that he prays no one ever finds out about, ‘cause he doesn’t think he could ever live it down, especially with how inexperienced he already feels having only ever been with one person before.

This whole kiss thing might be a good way to untangle some of these invasive thoughts and (ugh) feelings that have been hounding him non-stop lately. Or at the very least, to put an end to his dry spell. “...Okay.”

“Wait, what?” Bob swallows, eyes widening in disbelief.

“You backing out on me already, Bobby?” John taunts, hopefully sounding much more confident than he feels.

The other guy stares for a second, open mouthed, before scrambling to close the distance between them. He then lifts a hand (and he’s shaking, and John notices, and it makes something low in his gut tighten), and cups Walker’s jaw, fingers threading through his beard, before dragging him down that last inch.

It’s…holy shit, it’s awesome. Bob kisses him long and deep, gently prying his mouth open, and sucking on John’s tongue—just a little. It’s hot, and wet, and tastes like a combination of Zyns and those brightly colored energy drinks Bob’s always carrying around the tower.

It’s also not at all what he expected from a kiss between two dudes just…doing whatever it is the two of them are doing. It’s more like the kind of kiss you give someone when you’re seconds away from fucking, and that’s a thought that has his dick twitching in his sweats, and embarrassment crawling across his cheeks. Bob doesn’t seem to notice, though. He’s too busy sucking, and licking, and biting at every inch of John’s open mouth, and the soldier maybe makes a sound deep in his throat at how good it all feels that he desperately hopes Bob will ignore.

But he’s not that lucky. Bob grins into the kiss at the sound without pulling away, corners of his lips curling as he continues to drag John closer and closer. They’re now standing with their fronts pressed flush together, and he doesn’t even have time to feel self-conscious about it, because Bob’s hand is dropping down to spread wide and possessive over the curve of his stomach.

John gasps like a freaking girl, jerking forward into the touch, and Bob kisses him one last time, short and sweet, before stepping back.

“...Was that okay?” He breathes out, voice all low, and gravely, and admittedly pretty sexy.

John blinks back dumbly. “Uh…yeah. Yeah, it was- that was okay.”

Bob gives him a look that says he knows exactly how ‘okay’ John thinks the kiss was and he’s feeling pretty fucking smug about it. “You feeling any better?”

Oh. Right. The reason they were kissing in the first place. Because he was having self-confidence issues and Bob wants him to believe he likes how John looks. Wait, does Bob like how he looks? Like, for real? He said he did. He kissed him like he did. This maybe did not help him figure anything out, sexually or romantically speaking. If anything, things are starting to get more and more complicated by the minute. “Uh huh.”

“Cool. We should probably go join the others. They’ve been waiting for a while.” Bob tosses a thumb over his shoulder towards the door.

“Uh huh.”

“Oh, and John?”

“Uh huh?”

“You look good in those pants.” Blue eyes look him over slowly, sending syrupy heat down his spine.

“Thanks, Bobby.”

John is so fucked.

Chapter Text

One fun fact John recently learned in one of his handy dandy new mommy books is that many pregnant women experience an increased libido during their second trimester.

This apparently also applies to pregnant super soldiers, because he can't stop jerking off.

He's been haunted by wet dreams every single night this week, waking up shaking, sweat rolling off of him in waves, just to helplessly grind against his too-soft mattress, until he shoots hot and messy between his t-shirt and the sheets. He jerks off again in the privacy of his own shower every morning after his daily run, and again later in the afternoon if it’s a training day.

And yes, every single time, it's to the memory of Bob's tongue down his throat and his stupid, big hand on John’s stomach like it had every right to be there. Like he was claiming him.

No one had ever touched John like that before. No one had ever held him in a way that made him feel…small.

Precious, maybe.

It still makes him shiver to think about.

Which means he's no longer able to sit next to Bob on the couch when the rest of the team is watching TV together without getting a half-chub just from the heat of the other guy's thigh seeping through his joggers.

It's fucking embarrassing, and he doesn't know what to do about it.

It's not like he and Bob have talked much since the whole…kissing each other thing last week. At least, not unless you count mind-numbingly normal conversations about what he's cooking for breakfast or secret daily check-ins from Bob that don’t seem to come with any sort of hidden agenda outside of genuinely wanting to make sure he’s okay.

And the thing is, John is absolutely not okay. He’s going out of his mind, actually.

Especially now that he's decided, yeah, he kind of wants to have sex with a dude. One dude, in particular. A dude who always talks like he's just rolled out of bed, and smells like a jock with a Starbucks addiction (it's that dollar store vanilla coffee creamer he's also putting way too much of in his mug every morning, Jesus Christ, the guy has a sugar addiction).

And John has no idea how to do anything about it, because he’s pretty sure the kiss thing was a fluke. Maybe Bob only offered to kiss him out of pity, maybe it was out of a weird sense of duty being the one person entrusted with John’s secret, but either way, he’s almost positive at this point that there won’t be any repeat performances on the horizon for him, and it blows.

Like, so bad.

Plus, all of this sexual energy has really started to build up, which is making him lash out even more than usual. Alexei drank the last of the orange juice in the fridge and John nearly tore his head off. Yelena had to drag him out of the kitchen by the scruff of his neck like a misbehaving dog.

Now, as they’re finishing up a reconnaissance mission (the worst, most boring kind of mission), John is about two seconds away from giving up, and hunting down a security guard to beat up on the off chance it might help get rid of some of this awful fucking tension.

“Alright, we’re a go for extraction.” Ava points forward with a gun and one hand, and Yelena and John fall into formation behind her. “Alexei should be securing the roof for Bucky and Bob.”

“Wait, he brought Bob? No one told me he was bringing Bob, why is he bringing Bob?” Yelena’s whisper goes sharp with concern. “He hasn’t been cleared for fieldwork yet.”

“Something about Bucky teaching him how to pilot, I think? That way someone else can fly on drop-off missions, which would free up our Winter Soldier for when things start to go tits up.” Ava whispers back, eyes still scanning their surroundings as they quietly sprint up several flights of stairs. “And I think Barnes wants him to feel more…you know…helpful.”

She doesn’t even sound out of breath, unlike John, who’s barely hiding the drowning-quality to his breathing.

“And he thinks teaching Bob to fly an aircraft is the best way to make him feel helpful?” Yelena huffs. “Wow. That is a terrible plan. Seriously, just…so, so bad. I love him, but I don’t think he even has a driver’s license, a plane is like- so much bigger than that."

“He got his license last year. Alexei taught him stick shift.” John interrupts the two just as they burst out onto the rooftop.

“He learned how to drive from Alexei?! And they actually gave him a license?” The blonde shoots him a wide-eyed look of disbelief, picking up speed as their chopper begins a surprisingly smooth descent.

“Hey, it’s New York. They’ll give a license to pretty much anybody.” John shrugs back.

Alexei is already there waiting at the helipad when the door slides open, and he’s first inside, followed by Ava, then Yelena, and then John, who notices a huge, glaring issue the second he forces his body inside the small space. Two issues, actually.

The first issue is that there are only five seats; pilot, co-pilot, one backwards facing, two forward. The second issue is that the reason the descent was so smooth is that Bucky is back behind the wheel, with Alexei sitting co-pilot, and Bob sitting green-faced in one of the backseats.

“Motion sickness?” John asks over the sound of the blades loudly whirring.

“Heights.” Bob corrects shakily.

Fuck.

Yelena and Ava hadn’t waited to take their own seats, so now it looks like they're all waiting on him for take off.

“Where am I supposed to sit?” He shouts up to the extremely tired pilot, dread already swirling in his gut.

“I don’t give a shit, just- sit down!” Bucky yells back, uncaringly.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He has to make the call; deal with awkward, sibling-style bitching for the three hours they’re in the air, or maybe, potentially get a boner for a guy who looks like he’s about to hurl.

“Walker!” Ava shouts.

He also has to take into consideration that whoever he picks is going to be able to feel his stomach; his suit only barely fits, and barely manages to cover up the obviously exaggerated roundness to his stomach under its bulky armor, but there’ll be no hiding it once he’s all up in their business.

Either way, he’s totally screwed.

“Ugh!” He scowls and swings himself onto Bob’s lap, one hand going to his waist, the other to the handstrap overhead. The vaguely nauseous-looking brunette lets out a little oof at the sudden weight being redistributed across his thighs, but otherwise, doesn’t seem too bothered. He just looks up at John with those big dark eyes and a weak, nervous looking smile that makes Walker’s chest go all hot and tingly.

“You’re going to squish him into a pancake.” Yelena deadpans from the backwards facing seat.

“You have been getting a little…soft there lately, John.” Soft doesn’t sound as nice coming from Ava as it had coming from Bob. When she says it, it kind of makes him want to bare his teeth and growl.

But before he can think of a nice way to tell her to go fuck herself, those long, warm hands he’s been thinking about all week go to the vee of his hips and squeeze. “I think you look good, Walker. Healthy.”

I think you look good, loops through his head on repeat. He slowly turns to stare down into Bob’s open face, lips parted in surprise.

“...Thanks, Bobby.” He eventually replies, trying desperately to stop thinking about how soft Bob’s voice had sounded, or how the wind is whipping his brown curls into a freaking halo, or how strong his thighs feel under his ass.

He’s not doing too good of a job at it, though. Or maybe it’s just that having someone finally have his back, plus the baby hormones, is making him all emotional again. It’s been a really long time since anyone’s defended him—since he even deserved it. But Bob knows all about how hard it’s been for John, having his body slowly becoming unrecognizable with every day that passes. The new feelings of insecurity that he's never had to deal with before growing up looking the way he did (which isn't a brag, just the God's honest truth); and yet, even thousands of feet up in the year, Bob easily puts a stop to the shame spiral that had been tugging at the edges of John’s brain from the moment he’d sat on the guy’s lap.

“Anything.” Bob breathes out, barely audible over the sound of the chopper. Those pretty eyes stare, and stare, and stare at him, making him feel…a lot of something he can’t name, until he seems to realize what he’d said. “I mean, any-anytime, man.”

Wow. Bob can be such a little shit sometimes, teasing John about his workout routine, or hiding the last of the brown sugar poptarts from the rest of the team, or doodling dicks on people’s ankles when they fall asleep on the couch (that last one really only ever happens to Alexei and John), that he forgets about this side to him sometimes—just for a second. The side that reminds Walker again and again that Bob’s sweeter than any of them.

Sweeter than John, at the very least.

John clears his throat and tugs at his collar.

After that, it’s fine. Or at least, as fine as it can be. John keeps himself from doing anything embarrassing, nobody speaks to one another, and everyone stays firmly inside the helicopter, so overall, it’s a win. When they land back at the tower, everyone splits up with the agreement that they’ll do the debriefing first thing in the morning, and then it’s over; he gets to trudge back to his room, stumble into a scalding hot shower, and slip into bed two hours earlier than usual.

This is the part where he’s supposed to fall asleep. Or maybe read a little bit more from those parenting books to kill time until he’s exhausted enough to pass out. But instead, his temporary reprieve from being constantly horny finally runs out, and he has to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration when he realizes, yeah, he’s kind of hard again. Only now he’s got post-mission adrenaline pumping through his veins and the ghost of Bob’s waist between his legs to make it a thousand times worse.

Better to just get it over with now—maybe it’ll even make him tired enough to fall asleep afterwards. He slips a hand into his boxers, sighing the second he wraps his fingers around himself, and starts slowly jerking his fist up and down (even though it’s honestly a little drier than he'd prefer it). He keeps his grip tight, twisting a little on the upstrokes, and thumbs at the place just beneath the tip that usually gets him off at the speed of light.

And it feels good, just like it always does, but it’s not enough—not really.

He wants somebody else’s fingers around his cock, or maybe someone’s pretty, crooked mouth sucking him off nice and slow. God, he hasn't gotten a blowjob in over two years, at this point, it might just kill him.

Just picturing Bob being the one to touch him helps get him a little bit closer to the edge, which he'll probably feel ashamed about later, but for right now, he’s been so fucking wound up all day that all he can do is chase after it, bright new thoughts bubbling to the surface; thoughts of Bob holding him down, using that Sentry strength to move him exactly where he wants him. Getting him nice and wet, before-

-Does John want Bob to fuck him? He’s pretty sure he does. He knows he wants something from him, but this is all uncharted territory.

He whines and thrusts up a little faster.

It's just…he's never tried anything like that before. John’s always had a vague awareness about his own sexuality, the knowledge that he finds just as many men hot as women, but it never really mattered before, not when he’d been with the same person since high school. And even after the divorce, when he’d thought about it late at night, it never crossed his mind that he’d be the one on the receiving end. Not when he was always so much bigger and stronger than everyone around him. Not when he’d been told his whole life that he was the one who was supposed to be in charge, just based on how he looks and the string of medals they’d put across his chest.

With Bob, he doesn’t want to be in charge.

His hand stills around his cock, and he debates with himself for a second, before stretching towards his bedside nightstand for the bottle of lube he keeps in the top drawer. Once he’s got it in his hand, he just stares at it, nerves and embarrassment burning across his skin. Then, before he can change his mind, he takes a short, fast breath, clicks the lid open, and pours it across his fingers in a sticky, cold mess. Pale eyes dart around the room, half-scared out of his mind that someone’s about to burst in and accuse him of doing something he shouldn’t be, which is super dumb, especially since he’s not actually doing anything wrong, but it still feels just a little too real for comfort (especially with Alexei’s affinity for just walking into people’s rooms without knocking).

But the thought of finally getting something inside him eventually wins out against any lingering anxiety. He bends his knees, and experimentally touches a slick fingertip to his entrance, just barely pressing without pushing inside—at least, not right away. For now, he just…keeps it there, and goes back to trying to jerk off with his free hand.

But it’s still not enough.

Gritting his teeth, he gives in, and slides the tip of his pointer finger in, and that’s- that’s better. It makes him reckless. Impatient. He slides in deeper, down to the first knuckle, and groans, thrusting it in and out in a pantomime of what he really wants. Which, yeah, is fucking Boy-Next-Door Bob. He wants the guy’s cock inside him and he wants it badly enough to add a second finger after only another few minutes. It burns, causing an unfamiliar ache to build low in his core, different from anything else he’d ever experienced before, but it’s also so fucking good.

And once he finally hits his prostate? Any confusion about whether or not he’d like this sort of thing is out the window. All he can do is grunt, and arch up off the bed to try and take more. He gets up to three, his own cock weeping from the pressure, but he still can’t reach the finish line. It’s just…not enough. Not what he needs.

He could always just ask. Bob’s been so willing to take care of him lately, he’d probably be more than willing to let him crawl into his bed, if he thought for even a second it would make John happy.

But that’s the problem; John only wants it if Bob wants it, too, and he’s too ashamed to ask. ‘Cause what if he’s wrong? What if Bob gets grossed out and stops wanting to hang out with him? Or worse, what if he hates him afterwards? He’s not sure he can get through this pregnancy by himself, not after knowing what it’s like to not do it alone.

Bob promised he would stay, a small voice reminds him in the back of his head. Which is technically true, but…he can’t honestly be expected to hold him to it. Bob doesn’t owe him anything, even if he has been really cool about all of this curse stuff.

I think you look good. He hears it again, Bob’s voice, dark and honest in the cramped space of the helicopter.

That’s it. He’s had enough. John rips his hands out of his boxers, and sits up with an annoyed huff. “Ugh.”

A few minutes pass where he continues to debate internally about how astronomically bad of an idea this is, but John Walker’s never been accused of being the brightest New Avenger, so he gets out of bed and throws on a shirt, before stomping down the hallway to a familiar wooden door.

He knocks. “Hey, Bobby?”

There’s no answer.

Maybe he’s asleep? Fuck, he hadn’t really thought this through; it’s late, everyone’s tired, he just dealt with being suspended in the air for three hours. The last thing Bob needs is desperate, whiney Walker waking him up because he wants to know if he'd be willing to lend him his dick for an hour or two.

This is fucking ridiculous.

“You are looking for our Solnishko, eh, Captain Walker?” Says someone from close by.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Alexei! Don’t- Don’t do that!” John spins around, throwing his hand out, as he tries to get his heart rate back under control.

“My apologies.” Alexei chuckles and takes a big drink of- is that milk and ice? God, the guy is weird. “I just thought you would be wanting to know that he is on the helipad.”

“...What? Why is he on the helipad?”

“Why ask me? I just see him go to kitchen, then scurry away like little mouse.” The older man shrugs. “What are you needing him for? Perhaps Red Guardian could be of some assistance, instead?”

The thought makes his stomach roll. “No thanks, Alexei. I- uh- appreciate the offer, though.”

“Anytime, Captain.” With a bear-like salute, Alexei ambles away, milk in hand, to do whatever the fuck it is he does at 2am.

John shakes his head fondly and takes off for the elevator.

It’s warm out, despite how late it is, and the sky stretches on clear and endless. The tower is so high up, even New York City's signature brand of smog can't ruin the view (one of the few perks of their totally not mandatory living arrangement), and he lets himself take a good long look, before continuing on his search for a familiar head of curls.

It doesn’t take him too much longer. He finds Bob sitting on the ground with his back pressed against the raised ledge, head tilted up towards the light of the stars.

“Can’t sleep?” He calls out, smirking when it makes the other guy jump.

Big eyes swivel around to stare at him in surprise. “John? What are you doing up here?”

Oh. Right. He hadn’t thought about what he was going to say once he made it this far. “Just- uh- looking for you, I guess. You weren’t in your room.”

“Nah...” Bob shoots him that funny little half-smile of his and goes back to staring up at the sky. “It’s quieter up here.”

“Mind if I join you?” John asks, already making his way over.

“Be my guest.” Bob shrugs, before his head jerks back around again. “Wait, should you be sitting on the ground when you’re…y’know…like that? I can- I can go find you a chair, if you want? I think I saw one-”

“Bobby. I’ll be fine.” John rolls his eyes, and slowly, carefully, slides himself to the ground, trying to hide how much of a struggle it is to maintain his center of gravity. Once it looks like he made it without pulling anything important, though, he reluctantly mumbles, “...but I might need some help getting back up later.”

He nods his head and chuckles quietly, scootching over a little, until their sides are almost touching. “Okay. Yeah, I can help with that.”

“So…did you really just come up here to look at the stars?” Without meaning to, his voice drops down into a whisper, like they're sharing secrets at a sleepover, instead of hanging out on a multi-million dollar helipad.

Bob thinks about it for a minute, letting the silence settle over them heavy and soft, until his eyes seem to narrow in on something in the distance. “...Sometimes, when everything in my head gets real loud, I come up here and try to find as many constellations as I can, like it’s a- a game or something…it- uh- helps pass the time, I guess.”

John snorts. “You know your constellations?”

“Wow. That’s kind of offensive, man.” He doesn’t seem too hurt, though; he’s smiling, even as he shakes his head playfully.

“Sorry…you just don’t exactly seem like a space guy, what with the whole- heights thing.” He waves a hand around, realizing in that moment that there's probably a lot about the other man that he still doesn't know.

Which annoys him.

“I’m not. Not really.” Bob clears his throat, and lolls his head to the side to take in John’s profile. It’s only then that the soldier notices the can of Budlight sitting warm and mostly untouched in his other hand. “There was this time when I was a kid, my dad- he- uh- he signed me up for boy scouts for a few weeks. I'd gotten into this real bad car accident, broke a lot of bones, and I- I think it scared him into shaping up for a while.”

Bob laughs darkly. John just frowns, letting his knees fall open a little bit to rest against Bob's thigh in silent support.

“Honestly, I didn't go for all that long. And the whole time, they were just teaching us about constellations, right? So…I don't know, it stuck—not the navigation stuff, or anything, just the…sorting out the chaos part, I guess. Is that cheesy? It- It feels cheesy.”

“There’s nothing wrong with cheesy.” He can definitely understand wanting to uncomplicate complicated things. “...Show me one?”

“Really?” Bob beams, going all squinty with happiness, those little crinkles by his eyes making John feel about ten feet tall.

“Sure. It's not like I have anywhere else to be.” He shrugs.

“Great! Okay, so look…you see that?” Bob takes his hand in his, lining their fingers up together front to back, and points with them a little to the right. “It's late July, so we can see Aldebaran- that- uh- red dot? That's a part of Taurus, the Bull, so if you follow it this way-”

More tracing happens that John only half-pays attention to, too busy trying to dislodge the breath caught in his throat.

“-You get the rest of it. See?”

They're fully pressed together now, shoulder to thigh, and when Bob turns his head, only a few inches remain between their faces. “Yeah…I see it.”

John's not even pretending to look. He's too busy straining to see through the dark of the rooftop to get any glimpse of that dark blue from his dreams.

A thoughtful, sighing sort of noise slips past Bob's lips. “...John?”

“Yeah, Bobby?” His voice comes out a rasp.

“...Why were you looking for me? Earlier, I mean.”

John freezes, suddenly feeling too-warm, and so far out of his depths that he's drowning in it. He shakes his head instead, and tries to brush it off. “Oh. Uh. It was- It was nothing.”

“-John.” Bob quietly interrupts, still holding Walker’s hand in his, now cradled together in his lap. “C’mon…tell me?”

But unlike Bob, John's a fucking coward, and even though he was the one to come searching for him, he's too scared to stay. Instead, he scrambles to try and push himself up off the ground. “I- uh- I have to go. It was cool hanging out or whatever, but I'm pretty beat, so-”

“Why- Why do you always do that?” Bob whispers, voice thick with hurt and frustration. “You’re always pulling away...why are you so scared of letting things be a big deal, Walker? Is it because it's me? Am I- Am I pushing too much or-”

“No.” John spits out, giving up when it's clear he's not going to be able to get up by himself. He desperately jerks his hand free, and turns his face away, instead. “Not everything is about you, Bob!”

Except it is. All of it is.

“...Wait, seriously? You're really gonna sit there and give me the whole it's not you, it's me speech?” Bob huffs and wipes a hand over his eyes in exhaustion. “God, you really are unbelievable, you-”

“-Have you ever thought about it?” He hadn't meant to be so honest, and now it's too late to take it back. The words are already out there, half-formed, and clumsy, hanging in the air between them. “Have you ever…you know…thought about me?”

There's silence. And then regret immediately knifing its way through his stomach as he sits trapped on top of the highest building in New York, unable to run away, even if he wanted to.

“What?” Bob looks at him and sounds…he sounds fucking wrecked.

“...Jesus, I swear this shit wasn’t so hard 20 years ago.” He covers his face with both hands and groans long and loud, before throwing them out again in frustration, eyes trained forward. ”I just meant…”

His mouth opens and closes a few times.

God, he’s not even sure what he meant. Or he is, but all of that courage he’d felt earlier is gone, leaving him to deal with the damage it left behind.

“John…are you asking me if I like you?” Bob’s voice pitches up incredulously.

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” He answers dully. “Would you just- help me up, so I can go to sleep and pretend that this never happened?”

“No. No way.” Bob shakes his head slowly and sets his can on the ground without looking, too busy fully turning his whole body to the side to look him straight on. “I didn’t spend the last week driving myself crazy trying to figure out whether or not that kiss meant anything to you, just to have you say something like that and then try to take it back, okay?”

“...You were driving yourself crazy about it?” God, he sounds childish. Sulky and hopeful all at once. Plus, his face is stop light red, he can feel the heat radiating off of it in waves, even without looking in a mirror to confirm it.

“Oh man, like you wouldn’t believe.” Bob gives him a strained, high pitch chuckle and touches a hand to his scratchy cheek. It’s enough to make him finally give in and look over, and when he does, all of the tension that’s been building up in his body over this past week finally drains away.

He gives Bob’s hand a nervous squeeze.

“John…I think about you all the time. I saw you flip Alexei in the training room the other day and I- I walked into a treadmill. Anytime we hang out, I end up having these super vivid dreams about us doing old people stuff together, like sharing a drink at Shake Shack or walking around those tenement buildings on the lower east side you're always talking to Bucky about. I’m keeping a secret from Yelena for you- do you- do you understand how hard that is? I only came up here in the first place because I felt like a piece of shit for objectifying you on our flight back, and-”

“-You were objectifying me?” Oh, he’s gonna be riding this high for the next month.

“Shut up.” Bob gently shoves him and grins, and although John can’t really see it in the dark, he’s pretty sure he’s blushing, too. “Yeah, yeah I was. But- um- in my defense…you were kind of sitting on my dick for a minute there? When we were flying over the Atlantic?”

“Dude. Oh my God.” John shoves him back and laughs, feeling a little delirious.

“Hey, I’m being really brave, admitting that to you!” He jokes, arms going wide.

“Uh huh. Right.” He raises an eyebrow skeptically.

“You’re supposed to be going easy on me, seeing as we’re doing this whole confessions thing.” Bob’s smile falters. “We are doing a confessions thing…right?”

John’s eyes dart down to their clasped hands and back up again. “...Yeah, we’re doing a confessions thing.”

“Oh…that’s nice.” Bob sighs in relief.

“And seeing as we’re- um- confessing things.” He coughs. “...You should probably know that I was coming to find you earlier to see if you’d maybe be interested in fucking me. Preferably tonight. Just- thought I'd shoot my shot.”

Bob chokes on spit, hacking for a minute as he tries to catch his breath. It untucks the curls from behind his ears, and makes him look kinda sexy and tousled for someone in the middle of dying (okay, a lot sexy and tousled for someone in the middle of dying). His palms eventually fall to his knees, back curving as he leans forwards to try and get control of himself, before his head snaps back up to stare at John in open-mouthed shock. “You were going to do what?”

“I haven’t asked someone out in over two decades, sorry if I don’t really know what the rules are for this kind of thing!” He shouts back defensively.

“You’re insane.” Bob rakes a hand through his messed up hair and sits back on his calves, still breathing a little hard. “Seriously, you’d really just let me-”

“Jesus, okay, I get it. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He frowns, shame prickling across his skin.

“No, no, no, wait- don’t-” Bob lunges forward to press a handful of featherlight kisses to his warm cheeks, chasing after every inch of tense skin he can reach. “-I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I swear, I didn’t mean to make you feel weird about asking. I’m- I’m glad you’re asking! Seriously, so, so glad you’re asking. I was just- surprised. But- um- I’d really like to try again, if you’d let me?”

“...Seriously?” He huffs, still unconvinced that he’s not being made fun of.

“I've never been more serious about something in my life.” He says it all puppy-eyed and earnest, and John reluctantly believes him, still feeling pretty embarrassed about this whole thing. “Ask me again.”

He's never had to work this hard to get something he wanted before, and he used to be Captain America. “Okay, so then…would you?”

Bob returns his hand to John's cheek and strokes the skin there with the pad of his thumb. “C'mon, Walker, you can do better than that.”

“Bob-” He groans, eyes sliding shut

“I want to hear you say it.” His usually rain-soft voice goes rough and clipped. “I need to know you mean it.”

John’s scared. He’s scared, and humiliated, and so fucking turned on, it’s insane. “...Please…God, Bobby, I really need you to fuck me.”

Bob lets out a big, whooshing sigh and leans down from where he’s still kneeling above to guide John into a proper kiss, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, and licking across the spit-slick skin there. John helpfully opens up for him, humming around the taste of shitty beer, while swiping his own tongue out to catch against Bob’s.

It’s really hot, and Bob’s a good kisser.

But John’s waited long enough, and now that he knows he can have this, he doesn’t see any point in messing around. He puts a hand flat against Bob’s chest and pushes him backwards onto the ground, fluidly sliding himself back onto the guy’s lap like he’d never left in the first place.

It gives him a serious case of deja vu. Only this time, Bob’s staring up at him like John’s the greatest thing he’s ever seen, and those hands on the vee of his hips aren’t squeezing, just resting warm and reverent against the strip of skin that his shirt had ridden up to reveal.

“Shouldn’t we go back inside? For- um- lube and stuff?” Bob asks, sounding a little breathless.

“Well, I can’t catch any diseases, and I’m already four months pregnant, so I’m not too worried about condoms. As for the other stuff…” John clears his throat. “I- uh- might have already taken care of that part.”

“You-” The other man’s eyes go dark and hungry with understanding. “-were you thinking of me?”

“Yeah.” There’s no point in lying, so he just shrugs, rocking down to feel the hard line of Bob’s dick slide between his covered ass cheeks. “Thought all night about getting you inside me…I was thinking about it that whole flight back, too.”

“Holy shit.” Bob groans, thrusting up to meet John’s grinding motion.

“You’re gonna take care of me, right, Bobby?” He flashes Bob a wicked grin and moves his hand to cup the other man through his jeans.

Bob mindlessly bucks up again, before taking a shaky, deep breath, and stilling John by the hips. He then guides him onto his knees to tug his boxers down and off, which is a little trickier than either of them probably expected it to be, and ends up making his t-shirt ride up even more, exposing his belly to the warm night air.

A wave of self-consciousness rolls over him when he looks down to see the swell of his stomach blocking where they’re touching from sight.

“Dont.” Bob whispers sharply, reaching up with one hand to touch John’s cheek again, even as he fumbles to undo his belt with the other. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. You have no idea what you do to me.”

“Oh, yeah?” John huffs, secretly pleased (and also, not lifting a finger to help, too busy enjoying how desperate Bob seems beneath him).

“Oh, yeah. I’d knock you up twice if I could.” He pauses to echo John’s sentiments from a lifetime ago, face softening as they both remember the night this had all become real. The night John had started to feel like maybe he wasn’t alone in this.

And then he goes back to taking his cock out, which, in this moment, is much more pressing.

“You could always try.”

Bob snorts, and carefully lifts John by the back of his thighs to get him raised up enough to hover over where he’s hard and waiting. This also happens to allow John to finally see the guy’s cock for the first time, and- “Oh my God, you’re freaking huge.”

“You can take it, though. Can’t you, baby?” He murmurs, a rim of gold burning into life around his blown out pupils.

John freezes, makes an embarrassingly whinny sort of noise, and lowers himself just enough for Bob’s massive fucking cock to start nudging its way inside him.

It’s…slow going. He has to breathe through the initial stretch, pushing past the unfamiliar burn in order to keep taking it little-by-little. And honestly…it doesn’t feel as good as he was hoping it would. He’s just starting to feel a little bit disappointed about the situation when Bob suddenly lets out this guttural moan that makes his own cock twitch, encouraging John enough to drop down the rest of the way all at once, stealing the air from his lungs.

There it is. The feeling of being so completely full that he can’t focus on anything else. That’s what he was looking for, and Nice Guy Bob is giving it to him with every inch currently rearranging his insides. “Oh, fuck.”

“Is that good, baby?” Bob gasps, using his super strength to immediately start bouncing John’s full weight up and down.

“Hnng.” He manages stupidly, brain trying to catch up with the sudden change.

“Yeah, I knew you could take it. Knew you’d feel so fucking good around my cock.” Bob picks up speed, hips snapping loud and hard against his ass. “‘M gonna cum inside you, Walker. Fill you up just how you wanted it.”

Jesus Christ. The ground beneath them is hard, and the asphalt is creating little indents on his knees, but there’s no room left in his head to care. Not when Bob reaches back and spreads his cheeks apart, stomach flexing as he drives up into him even harder, shifting that last little bit needed to start slamming against John’s prostate. The soldier whimpers as his heavy body gets moved around like it’s nothing—like it’s easy to manually slide him on and off Bob’s steadily leaking dick. “Fuck, Bobby, please.”

“Sometimes, when I’m jerking off, I like to pretend I’m the one who got you like this.” A hand goes to his stomach. “Would you like that? Getting all pretty and round from letting me finish inside you? Showing everyone on the team how good I gave it to you?”

There’s no time to feel ashamed with the absolute filth pouring past the shyest Thunderbolt’s lips.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes.” He chants, head tipping back to the sky.

“I’m gonna breed you full, John. I’m gonna make sure everyone knows that you’re mine.” And then the hand not possessively cradling the curve of his stomach wraps around his cock, making him spill immediately into the tight, perfect grip of Bob’s fingers.

Cum spills warm down the guy’s wrist, but he doesn’t stop pumping his fist, not even when tears start to form in John’s eyes, and he weakly tries to push him away. Instead, Bob sits up in a crunch that would probably have been impossible pre-Sentry project, and forces John’s sleep shirt all the way up to his armpits, so that he can duck forward and suck one of his newly tender nipples into his mouth.

“Oh shit. Oh shit, Bobby, wait-” Despite how sensitive he is, he can’t help the way his hips continue to meet Bob’s thrusts in stuttery little jolts, and now? His body feels like it’s on fire. He can’t fucking stop. Everything feels too good—it’s too much. The way Bob’s mouth pulls at his chest, tongue flicking out, before chasing after his nipples with his teeth.

And then, in a sudden moment of clarity, he realizes that he’s wet.

Not his lower half (although that half of him is wet with sweat and cum), but higher up. It’s- It’s coming from his chest, which had started hurting two weeks ago, getting softer and heavier along with the rest of him. Now, he looks down and sees that milk is dribbling down Bob’s chin, spilling out of the mouth that continues to lap and suck at him without seeming to care.

“Bob?” His eyebrows scrunch together in confusion.

The man in question doesn’t seem to hear him, too focused on the task in front of him.

“Bob!” He gets a handful of Bob’s curls and tugs, pulling him off, although it takes more than a little of his super strength to get him to let go.

“Wh-at? What is it?” He sounds drunk, and his face is a mess, curls sticking to his forehead, milk smeared around his lips. The hand around John’s dick stills, and he tries to ignore the voice in his brain yelling at him for fucking this up.

“How are you…How are you not grossed out right now?” His voice comes out too small and anxious for a man of his size.

Christ, he’s gotta pull himself together.

“Uh…should I be grossed out right now?” Bob replies in confusion.

“I mean...I guess not.” He shifts, still rolling his hips a little against his will. “I just thought…y’know…you wouldn’t…”

“I wouldn’t what?” Bob tilts his head and grins slowly, before leaning forward and flattening his tongue to lick up the breastmilk still spilling down his chest. “I wouldn’t be into this?”

John huffs, nods and looks away.

“Oh, baby…I’m into all of you.” He hums and nuzzles his face against warm, sensitive skin. “Especially these sweet, perfect tits of yours.”

It should be emasculating, having them called tits. And in a way, it totally is. But he maybe doesn’t have as much of a problem with it as he should. In fact, it’s sort of the opposite. Something syrupy shoots down his spine at the word, making him clench down hard around Bob’s cock, who groans and goes back to jerking him off while suckling on one of his nipples.

…And weirdly enough, this is the first time in weeks he’s felt like his body is normal. Like it’s not messed up or freaky or wrong. He feels good about how he looks, and Bob made him feel that way with his massive dick and his unexpectedly impressive dirty talk game. “Bobby, I think I’m- I think I’m close again.”

The smaller man pulls off with a pleased noise and rests his cheek against John’s heart, rutting into him frantically now, without stopping his occupied hand. “ ‘S okay. You just take whatever you want. And once you’ve cum all over yourself again like a good girl, I’m gonna put another baby in you.”

The words shock him enough to tip him into his second orgasm, body shaking almost painfully on top of Bob’s lap, while his dick spills between their stomachs just like he was told to.

“That’s it. That’s it, baby.” Bob talks him through it, messily petting at his cock until it softens in his grip. “So good for me.”

He sucks down air like he’s dying. Bob just plants his feet and fucks up into him for a few more minutes, until he finishes with a long, shivery moan, warm cum painting the inside of John’s thighs white.

“...God damn.” John eventually breathes out, plopping his sweaty, flushed head down into the crook of Bob’s neck.

The curly-haired man laughs and touches a clean hand to his side. “Was that okay?

His head shoots back up to give Bob a look of disbelief. “Are you shitting me right now, Bobby? That was awesome.”

“You weren't too bad yourself, Captain Walker.” He smiles, and there are those crinkles again, just as beautiful as before.

John snorts and presses a wondering kiss to Bob’s temple, before reluctantly pulling away to drag his boxers back on over the mess he’d made, wincing a little when this means Bob has to pull out. Oh, he’s so gonna be feeling that until his super serum healing kicks in. “You know what’s not awesome, though? Having to do the walk of shame in my underwear. At 3am.”

“...Is it?” Bob rubs the back of his neck, all of that confidence from before carefully tucked away, replaced with his usual air of awkwardness. When John just looks at him in confusion, he reaches over to pick up his can of beer, rolling the metal between his hands to avoid making eye contact. “...A walk of shame?”

“No.” He corrects himself firmly, tugging the drink from Bob and setting it back down again, so that he can reach out and snag one of his hands. “No, I didn’t mean- that was just a stupid joke. I’m not, like…ashamed of you, or anything. Alright?”

“...You’re not?”

“I’m not.” He kisses the back of his fingers. “I liked it. Doing that stuff with you. If you wanted to- I don’t know, do it again or maybe…other stuff, too, that would be cool with me.”

Bob sighs in relief and nods. “Yeah, I’d- I’d really like that. Doing other stuff with you.”

“Cool. Then it’s settled. We’ll start doing other stuff.” John gives him a half grin and holds out his other hand. “Now, help me up.”

They share a laugh, and both of them make their way back to the elevator, warm and content, while the stars continue to fill the sky above them in a blanket of confusing light that neither of the men pay any attention to, too busy enjoying the feeling of not being alone for the first time in a long time.

Chapter Text

“No.”

“John-”

“No.”

“Would you just-”

“I am not telling Bucky Barnes that I’m pregnant, Bob.” John scowls, aggressively stabbing a spoon into his bowl of greek yogurt. “You can’t make me.”

“Hey.” Bob sighs and reaches over from the end of the bed to pick up one of John’s feet, moving it to his lap to rub at his swollen ankles. “I’m not trying to make you do anything, okay? It’s just- we both know you need a new suit, right? And- And Bucky has friends in Wakanda that might be able to help, so if you don’t want Val asking questions-”

“I know! I know, okay? I just…” He gently bangs his head against the headboard. “...I’m not ready for anyone else to know. Not yet.”

Bob’s face twists into a pitying grimace. “...I hate to say this, but I don’t really think we have a choice here, Walker. You’re five months along now and you’re still going on missions- which is fine! I mean, it- it totally scares the shit out of me, but it’s your choice, and I know I can’t talk you out of it. But if you’re going to keep putting yourself in danger, you need to start being more careful, starting with having a suit that can, y’know, actually protect you. So please? Please, consider telling him?…For me?”

John lifts his head and stares down at his…well, they haven’t really discussed what they are yet. So far they’ve mostly just been having eye-opening sex and hanging out around the tower whenever he’s not going on missions that have been getting harder and harder with each passing week.

And it’s been nice, being able to wake up next to someone again. Having someone to cook for in the morning, and shower with after his runs. His favorite moments, though, are when it’s just the two of them in bed; Bob playing with his hair, John laying with his back to Bob’s chest, while the other man reads out loud to him from one of the many paperback novels he keeps tucked around the building. It always manages to wrap him up in these sleepy, feel-good emotions that have started to make him more comfortable in this…relationship thing than he’d like to admit.

Which just goes to say that, no, he has no idea what the two of them are doing together, but he sure as hell doesn’t want it to stop. And…he trusts him. Bob. So if he says that they should tell Bucky, he should probably do it, even if the idea kind of makes him want to rip his face off. “...Can’t you just do it for me?”

“You…want me…to tell Bucky that you’re pregnant?” Bob gives him a look like he’s crazy. “And you think he’s just going to believe me?!”

“What, you think he’d believe me?”

“That’s-” Bob breaks off, before nodding reluctantly. “-Okay, that’s fair.”

He perks up hopefully. “So you’ll do it?”

“Uh…” Bob blows out a big puff of air and scrunches his face up adorably, before sighing and running the hand on John’s ankle up to his calf, where he starts to play with his soft blonde leg hair. “Yeah, okay. I mean, if you’re really sure?”

“I’m sure.” He’s not. But if this makes Bob happy, and keeps him from having to have one more deeply uncomfortable conversation, then he’ll take it. “Just…could you maybe mention to him the whole needing time thing? So that maybe he doesn’t, like, try to have a whole heart-to-heart moment right off the bat?”

Bob rolls his eyes, and laughs quietly. “Sure, I’ll tell him to leave you alone, you big baby.”

John gently kicks at him and picks his yogurt back up from where it had fallen to the side. “Thanks…I appreciate it.”

“You so owe me.”

~~~

A week passes, and it almost looks like he’s going to get away with it; letting someone else know about the baby, without actually having to talk about it.

Bucky doesn’t talk to him any more or less than he did before, and he doesn’t start staring at him like some people had (thank fuck). An unmarked box just shows up outside his door a few days in with a new suit that looks like a futuristic, scaled-down version of one of those drones from the Hammer tech fiasco during Stark’s expo days; heavy, bulky pieces to hide the shape of his body, made up of these dark grey panels connected by lines of glowing, red-colored vibranium in a design reminiscent of the second version of John’s suit. When he puts it on, the metal actually flexes with him, moving with the rise and fall of his stomach, rather than making him feel like he’s being squeezed like a GoGurt.

There’s no helmet or beret, but other than that, it’s pretty awesome. Someone had even thrown in a set of iridescent knives that strap to his thighs with holsters (Bob clearly thinks this is super hot when John tries it on for him in private later that night, because he makes him keep them on while he rides the guy’s face).

And then, everything kind of falls to shit.

It’s a little too late in the afternoon for him to be napping, but he’s pregnant and exhausted, so he’s pretty sure he gets a pass; especially since it’d been raining all day, the sky dark and heavy with thunder that vibrates against the windows of the tower, turning everything shadowy and cool as it cut through the heat of the summer.

That’s when his bedroom door slams open, jolting him back into the land of the living.

“We’ve got a problem.” Bucky Barnes is standing in his doorway, his usually stoic face creased with panic, which is a pretty good sign that the world is ending.

John sits up with a groan and groggily rubs at his eyes. “What the fuck, man?”

“It’s possible that I messed up. Maybe.” Barnes clears his throat and finally shuts the door behind him, eyes guiltily shifting around the room without settling on Walker.

John cocks his head to the side as his brain fully reboots, dread already pooling low in his stomach, as he takes in the nervous way the other soldier is holding himself. “...What did you do?”

“I…might have been on the phone with Sam. And I might have…mentioned your condition. And it’s entirely possible that Ava…possibly…phased onto the balcony without me noticing. And heard every word.” Cool, calm, collected Bucky, unofficial co-leader of the Thunderbolts, and United States fucking Senator, actually looks scared shitless, arms crossed tightly over his chest in a defensive pose.

“You fucking what?” John hisses and pushes himself out of bed. His hand protectively falls to his stomach on instinct, and Bucky’s eyes flicker down to the exposed curve, blue eyes widening almost imperceptibly at the sight. The feeling of those eyes on him makes him feel vulnerable, off-balance, which only adds to how totally pissed off he is right now. “How does the Winter Soldier not realize he’s being watched? And why the fuck would you think it’s okay to tell your stupid, perfect boyfriend — who, oh, by the way, is in the middle of suing us — that I’m pregnant?! Are you freaking kidding me?!”

“Look, I didn’t have a choice, alright-”

“You had a choice, and you made it.” John bites out, closing the distance between them to stab a finger at his chest. “You had no right.”

“I was trying to help!” Bucky whisper-yells back, but doesn’t move to defend himself.

“Right. Like I’m just supposed to believe you after you basically sold me out.” John scoffs meanly and shakes his head, bile rising at the back of his throat. “I told Bob this was a bad idea, I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you-”

“-They wanted to kick a mission down to you. Three months in the rainforest, solo. Bob didn’t mention how long you’d been…like this, but I did the math, and figured that three months wouldn’t put you in a great position for when things…y’know…happen. With the baby.” He sounds sorry, and his eyes are softer than they’ve ever been when turned John’s way. But Walker still hates it. Hates his pity. Hates having someone making decisions for him. Hates feeling…helpless.

“...You should have asked.” He finally manages, jaw working.

Bucky stares at him for a long beat and then nods slowly. “...You’re right. You’re right, I should have told Sam I’d get back to him. I just…I panicked, alright? I know we haven’t always been on the best of terms, but…we’re a team now, John. I didn’t exactly love the idea of you stuck somewhere alone when this stuff goes down. You should have someone with you. At least have Bob there or- I don’t know- me, just- one of us. Hell, make Alexei your doula, I just…I couldn’t let you try and do this one alone, man.”

Just like that, all of the anger in his body is replaced with an unnamed touchy-feely sort of emotion that he prays Barnes can’t make out on his face. Instead, he buries it under a frown, unwilling to let go of his anger just yet.

The guy can deal with feeling bad for a little bit longer. “...Well, what am I supposed to do now? The whole point of me not wanting to talk to you guys about this was not having to talk to you guys about this.”

“I mean…I could try talking to Ava for you? If that would…help.” He sounds like he would literally rather do anything else, which John takes a vicious sort of enjoyment in.

“No, thanks. I think you’ve done enough.” He sighs, noticing the way the man’s mouth tightens at the corners with guilt. It makes him feel like the one who did something wrong, which is so not fair. “...But thanks. For, you know…wanting to be there. Or whatever.”

This softens some of the tension in the room, dropping Bucky’s shoulders down a little from where they’d been locked halfway up his neck. “Right. No, of course. Whatever you need, man.”

Whatever he needs. It makes John think of his conversation with Bob: the one where he’d insisted that the Thunderbolts were a family. Just like that, a warmth begins to replace the anxiety in his stomach, and he has to hold back the urge to do something ridiculous like cry or try and hug the guy.

“I really hate to interrupt, but I feel like now is a good time to admit that I was eavesdropping. Like, pretty much this whole time.” Ava slides in, having appeared on the edge of his bed out of nowhere.

“Jesus fucking Christ, doesn’t anyone around here knock?” John complains, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, while trying to get his heartbeat under control.

“No, not really. It’s not exactly our style.” She shrugs, and gives him a small, genuine smile. Which is something she’s never done before, not even after he saved her life in that limo. “...If it helps, I really am sorry, John. I get that you probably didn’t want me to find out this way.”

“...No. I didn’t.” He huffs, looking away in embarrassment.

“You know we don’t think badly of you, though…right?” Her accent is gentle and rounding, careful as it washes over his tense form. “I know we can give you a hard time every now and again — which is totally within our rights as your friends — but…none of us would ever make fun of you for something like this.”

“Even if it is a whole new level of crazy.” Bucky adds, backtracking when Ava shoots him a glare. “Right. Sorry. It’s not crazy. Totally normal compared to some of the other stuff we’ve dealt with. Remember that time with the flying monkeys?”

Okay, so maybe holding back tears is going to be a little bit harder than he thought.

“Thanks, guys.” He might be sniffling a little. So sue him. “I probably would have had to tell you soon, anyways. I’m- um- pretty far along, actually.”

“You’re, what, 22- maybe 23 weeks now?” Ava guesses accurately.

He blinks back in surprise. “Uh- Yeah. How’d you know?”

“I’m good with this kind of thing.” She shrugs. “You should see me do people’s ages.”

The three of them share a laugh, quiet and vaguely optimistic. It’s nice. Makes him feel like maybe Bob was right all along. Maybe them knowing doesn’t have to be such a bad thing.

“You know you’re going to have to tell Yelena now, right?” And just like that, his good mood plummets. Ava offers him an apologetic grin. “If she finds out last, I think she’ll literally murder you once the baby’s born.”

John just groans and regrets about half of the life choices that got him here.

…Okay, maybe three-fourths.

~~~

What’s that quote? Send not to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee?

Yeah, John can relate to the feeling of looking down into an open grave as he raps a clenched fist against Yelena’s door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s- uh- me. John.” He calls back.

“I’m a liiiittle busy right now, come back later, okay? Okay, thank you.”

He sighs and leans forward to rest his forehead against the cold wood. “It’s…kind of important. Would you just- let me in? Please?”

There’s a long beat of silence and then the door swings open, making him stumble a bit.

“Alright, fine, but if you’re coming in, you have to help.” She picks up one of his hands, plops a full, leafy stalk of celery into this palm, and turns to walk back into the room.

“Uh. What?” He gapes, eyebrows squishing together in confusion.

“Are you coming in or what?”

He’s tempted to chicken out, but instead, he clings to the scraps of courage given to him by his conversation with Ava and Bucky, and steps inside.

The room is…weird, to say the least.

He’s never been in here before. The majority of the floor is taken up by an intricate maze, filled with all sorts of stairs and tubes and levers. Everything is lit up by bright, glowing colors, and there’s all these little piles of hay/grass dusting the floor that adds a slightly sweet smell to the air. The only thing that makes sense in the space is a small cot that’s been pushed against the far right wall, with piles and piles of big blankets spilling over the top, and two pillows with matching rubber duck print pillow cases.

“Dude. What is up with your room?”

“Hmm? What do you mean?” Yelena shoots back blandly, navigating around the maze like it’s muscle memory.

“Uuuuh you’ve kind of got a whole Dexter’s Laboratory thing going on here.”

“Oh! You are talking about Cucumber’s little enclosure thingy!” She brightens up and scoops a big ball of fluff off the ground. “You like it? I made it myself. Well, Mel helped a little. And Kate Bishop. Do you know Kate Bishop?”

He stares at her like she’s crazy. “...I don’t think so.”

“Maybe I’ll invite her over sometime- oh, we could throw a sleepover! And if you’re not a complete asshole, maybe we’ll let you hang out with us. Just for a little bit.” She teases, while taking a seat on her cot. Then, patting the space next to her, she grabs a real life, actual cucumber out of thin air, and holds it out of reach of the guinea pig still cradled in her other hand.

John snorts, shakes his head, and carefully makes his way over to sit down next to his smallest teammate. “Sooo…you plan on making a salad in here or what?”

“I’m trying to figure out which one Cucumber likes more. He can be so picky, you know? So I figure; I hold out the cucumber, you hold out the celery, and we see which one he goes to first.” She gently sets her pet directly between them and holds out the produce like this is just a normal Tuesday for her. Honestly, it probably is. “I just hope your face isn’t too much of a deterrent.”

He rolls his eyes, but does as instructed. Cucumber twitches, scents the air for a second, and then waddles his fat, little body over to John’s thigh, tiny hands propping himself up to reach the outstretched vegetable. “Huh…doesn’t seem like he minds my face too much.”

“That makes one of us.” Yelena grins impishly and tilts her head to the side. “You said you had something important to tell me?”

“Oh. Right.” John swallows hard and focuses back on the admittedly cute animal still happily munching at his side. “I mean, it’s not actually that important. I can totally come back later. Maybe once you’re done with running an underground farmer’s market on the top floor of the Watchtower.”

He nods towards the steadily disappearing celery in his hand and tries not to feel like too much of a coward, even as he tries to back out.

“Eh. I can make time now.” Her face goes all serious and thoughtful, something it always does when she’s seeing too much.

“Look…it’s stupid. We’re sort of having a nice moment here, I don’t wanna ruin it.” He tries to laugh it off, but the sound falls flat between them.

And then she reaches over to awkwardly rest a hand on his forearm. “You won’t.”

“...I won’t what?” He asks, throat feeling thick.

“Ruin it.” She replies simply.

“Oh.” God, this is so embarrassing. Why is everyone being so patient with him all of a sudden? “Okay…so…so the thing is, I’m kind of-”

“-You’re pregnant.”

John stops. Looks up into grey eyes and stares with parted lips.

“Walker, I’ve known for weeks. I saw you pouring pickle juice into an ice tray at, like, four a.m. last month. Plus, the gross throwing up thing. And Bob keeps touching your belly when he thinks no one’s looking.” She shrugs, not moving her hand. “You two really aren’t that subtle.”

“It’s not- It’s not his.” John clears his throat and blushes, feeling like an idiot. “He doesn’t have, like, magic sperm or anything. It happened after-”

“-Rhiannon.” Yelena nods sagely. “I know. Also, please do not ever say the words ‘magic sperm’ to me ever again.”

“Wait, how did you know about Rhiannon?” He asks in shock.

“Uuuh…you mean the lady who’s bad guy power is fertility magic?” She raises both eyebrows judgingly.

“Fertility magic? Hold up, no one told me anything about fertility magic!” His voice pitches up in outrage.

“I literally told you about the fertility magic during our mission briefing. You weren’t listening, you were too busy doomscrolling on your phone, Мудак.” She very gently smacks him upside the head.

“Oh.” He coughs abashedly and picks Cucumber up to gently scratch at the top of the little guy’s head. “...I should- uh- probably switch to a flip phone, huh?”

“You think?” Yelena snorts and scootches a little bit closer to shoulder check him, without jostling her guinea pig. “...I’m just glad you told me. It must have been hard.”

“Yeah, well, I kind of didn’t really have a choice.” John admits honestly. “But…if it makes it any better…it feels kind of nice, having people know.”

“Good. That’s good.” She gives him a small smile. “If it makes you feel any better, I think you’re going to be a great mommy.”

He rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“No, I am serious!” She insists. “You have come a long way! I don’t even think about punching you all that much anymore!”

“Wow. Thanks.” John says sarcastically.

“You’re welcome.” She shoots back. “Hey…you’re trying. I’ve seen it. You work hard. You call your son every week. You make sure all of us eat lots of proteins and vitamins and things like that. You’ve got this.”

“...And if I don’t? If I have absolutely no fucking clue what I’m doing?”

“Then…you get to include all of us in your Norman Rockwell painting life, and we do this together. It’s just a baby, how hard could it be?” The last part is said with a curve to her lips and a glance down at his stomach. “It’s not like all of us are ex-mercenaries or anything.”

John chuckles and nods. “Yeah, that’d probably make this way more complicated.”

“Uh huh. Exactly.” They share a look and then dissolve into giggles.

John then passes Cucumber back to his owner and sighs, resting a hand over the top of his stomach. He catches Yelena sneaking a look at him again, and it gives him a sudden thought. “You…uh…want to feel it?”

“What, you mean- the baby?” She asks with wide, surprised eyes.

“No, the guinea pig- yes, the baby.” He snorts. “They just started kicking this morning. Makes my guts feel like they’re getting drop-kicked.”

She stares for a moment, face unreadable, and then nods only once, as if preparing for some huge ordeal. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

She sounds like someone’s just assigned her a top-level mission, and if it wasn’t so touching, he’d probably be laughing his ass off about it. As it is, he’s feeling pretty good after having everyone be so nice to him, so he decides not to call her out on it. He just gently takes her hand in his, and presses three of her fingers right over a spot a few inches away from his bellybutton.

It takes a few seconds, but then-

“Oh my God, you’ve got a person inside you! That’s, like, so scary!” She gasps in delight. “Wow, this is just like that movie you made us watch on Halloween! Alien, right?”

“Jesus, you’re the worst.” He’s rolling his eyes as he says it, but it comes out fond anyways.

Her small smile has stretched into something impossibly big and bright, making her look years younger, and twice as giddy. “Walker. John. Trust me, you can do this.”

“...You really think so?” He tilts his head, while giving her a hopeful look.

“I do, actually. And not to brag, but I’m pretty smart. Smarter than you, at least.” She gives him a teeny tiny little pat, and then moves her hand away to help carefully drop Cucumber back into his maze. “I also think it’s time you tell me exactly when this whole secret touches thing started between you and Bob, huh?”

He sits up a little too fast, making himself light-headed in the process, and tosses a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve gotta go, actually. There’s- um- somewhere I’ve gotta be. Literally anywhere other than here.”

“Uh huh, right.” She grabs him by the back of his shirt and hauls him back down. “Sit.”

“Yeeep.”

Chapter Text

John Walker is a morning person — has been all his life

Before this whole baby situation, he'd roll out of bed by 5am at the latest (5:20 if he'd just returned from a mission the night before), throw on a pot of dark-roast coffee, and start in on some standard static stretches right there in the middle of the kitchen while whipping up a plate of egg whites and spinach, along with a side of whatever fruit he'd managed to hide away from Ava in the back of the fridge.

He'd then head to the training room for his morning run, maybe throw in a couple sets of leg presses and core work, then hit the showers, before joining the rest of the team upstairs to start in on the rest of their day.

And then a Disney witch had knocked him up and he actually had to start taking naps. He started falling asleep partway through movie nights, drifting off during mission debriefings, and waking up later, and later, until he was trailing into the living room at the same time as Yelena, for God sake.

The whole thing was throwing off the same perfectly crafted routine he'd been following every morning since leaving the military, and he kind of hated it with every fiber of his being.

…Except for right now, though. Right now, it maybe wasn’t so bad.

He'd woken up bleary-eyed and vaguely fuzzy to see the numbers 10:12am blinking back at him from the alarm clock on his bedside, and before the usual annoyance even had time to set in, a big, soft hand had slipped down to tug him closer by the hip.

It's Bob laying curled up on his side, mouth-breathing against the material of John's sleep shirt. His hair is a fucking mess, ‘cause he'd fallen into bed right after a midnight shower, and his right arm is draped possessively across John's ribs.

The weight is good. Comforting. Makes him feel safer than he has in a while. And then the guy's even breathing skips into something a little bit faster, and his long fingers begin to tap a familiar pattern against the skin of John’s side that has him settling even deeper into the mattress.

“ ‘Morning.” God, Bob’s morning voice is so hot — to be fair, it's always hot, but John loves listening to him when he's still sleepy, when it comes pouring out all soft and grumbly, and it gets paired with a little kiss to John’s shoulder that has the soldier smiling up at the ceiling like an idiot.

“Hey.” John murmurs back, hiding his pleased grin by burying a kiss of his own in Bob's curls.

“You been awake long?” Bob asks quietly.

“Nah. Just a few minutes.” He shrugs, careful not to jostle the other.

“Really?” Bob hums in surprise. “...I thought you hated waking up late. Aren't you the one always giving the rest of us some dad speech about wasting daylight?”

“What, a guy's not allowed to change his mind?” John rolls his eyes.

“Uh huh.” Bob raises an eyebrow doubtfully and tries not to laugh. “Any reason for the sudden change?”

“...It's a little early to be fishin’ for compliments, isn't it, Bobby?”

“Not that early.” Bob shoots back with a shit-eating grin.

“Jesus, you're the worst.” John groans, even as he hauls Bob impossibly closer, adjusting them both until Bob's front is flush with his side, and their legs are all tangled up together beneath the sheets. “Okay, fine, this is nice. I like seeing you in my bed. Are you happy?”

“Very.” Bob chuckles, and John gets all wrapped up in the sound, ducking down to nuzzle against the other's cheek in search of a real kiss.

They both have morning breath, and he's honestly a little sweaty from their combined higher-than-average body heat, but it’s nice anyway, having Bob's lips moving against his, mouth catching and parting for his tongue.

They stay like that for a while, trading clumsy kisses, until his lips are tingling, and Bob's mouth is all red from John's beard, and then he pulls away, propping his forehead against the smaller man's. “I really do like it. Having you here. Like, a lot.”

He feels dumb saying it, but it's worth it for the way Bob's dark eyes light-up. “I like it, too. Like, a lot.”

And so what if his eyes light up, too, hearing Bob say it back like it means something?

“...We should go out for breakfast. Maybe try out that crepe place Alexei's so obsessed with in Manhattan.” John suggests, reaching an arm up above his head in a big, joint-popping stretch.

“Oh.” Bob blinks up at him, lips parting in surprise. “I thought…you said you were gonna try not to leave the tower for a while.”

They'd discussed it exactly three days ago, when John had stumbled in from a mission covered in ceiling tile dust, and a cut across the collarbone from a fall through an air duct that had been a close enough call to scare him. Like, actually scare him, something that almost never happened anymore. It had healed fast, especially with the serum, but the look of pained concern on Bob's face when he'd dragged himself into the man's room had been enough to convince him to stop accepting assignments, at least for a little while.

The rest of the team didn’t push him on it when he quietly told them the next morning. If anything, they were relieved, happy he was actually taking care of himself for once, instead of continuing to act like a human shield for the others. No one said anything to Mel or Val, and it was a recent enough change that they haven’t had to, not with no new assignments coming down the line.

But it would happen. The two of them would find out, and all John could do was pray that he’d done enough to be ready for them when it all goes down.

Part of these preparations included hiding out from the press, which was another reason he wasn’t supposed to be leaving the tower. He was fucking massive now, over halfway there, with a stomach too big to be explained away as a post-divorce beer gut. If any news outlets got a hold of this story, it’d be all over for the New Avengerz. No way the public accepts them with a pregnant guy on the team, not when the pregnant guy in question consistently polls in as America’s least favorite.

So he’d been locked up in his room, slowly going out of his mind with the need to get out and do something. He hated feeling trapped, hated not even being able to push his body in the training room in order to get out some of this excess energy. Bob helped, which was nice and all, but he needed more.

He needed to see a tree or something, or else he was going to explode. “C’mon, we’ll wear baseball caps and sunglasses like Bucky on the run. No one will even know it’s us.”

“I want to…really, I- I do. But I just…I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Bob frowns helplessly.

John untangles himself jerkily, and swings his legs over the side of the bed, running a hand down his face in frustration. “Yeah, well- I’m pretty sure it’s not up to you. You wanna stay here, that’s fine, but I’m going out.”

“Hey. That’s not fair.” Bob sighs and tries to reach for his arm, but he brushes him off and stands, making sure to keep his eyes trained forward, so that he doesn’t have to see the pity waiting in those bottomless blue eyes.

Instead, he focuses on hunting down some clothes and trying not to fall head first into a panic attack. “No, you know what’s not fair? Everyone else deciding what I can and can’t do. Bucky says I can’t do a solo mission? Fine, he’s probably right. Those stupid baby books tell me I shouldn’t be drinking coffee? Whatever, it’s not like it’s one of the only normal parts of my day. The fucking- universe telling me I have to stop going on missions? Why not! It’s not like I’m already dragging the team down or anything!”

He’s practically shouting now, chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggles to find anything to put on over his sleep shirt, hands shaking as they rummage through his drawers. “I can accept all that. You know what I can’t accept, though, Bobby? Not being able to walk outside without blowing my whole life up for the second time in two years. You know what else I can’t accept? The fact that we’ve been fucking for over a month, and we still haven’t even gone on a date yet.”

That last part lands like a blow, he can tell by the sharp sound of air getting sucked down too fast. “...You want to go on a date with me?”

That’s it. John spins around, hands flying. “Oh my God, of course I want to go on a date with you! Do I really seem like the kind of guy who’s built for casual sex? Look, I’m sorry you got stuck with boring, vanilla John Walker, who’s only been with one other person, and asked her to marry him at their high school graduation, I’m sure it’s a huge joke you can laugh about with the rest of these guys while I’m gone.”

He huffs, yanks his phone off the bedside table, along with a Georgia Bulldogs baseball cap that he shoves onto his blonde head, and storms out before Bob has time to reply, slamming the door behind him as he goes.

John heads for the stairs, even though it’s probably a bit more cardio than he should be doing in this condition, and pauses about halfway down when the sound of an incoming text chips from his backpocket.

He hesitates. It’s probably Bob, reaching out with an unnecessary apology, or something else equally too nice for how restless and pissed off he is. But one quick glance at the screen brings his thinking to a grinding halt.

Received 10:26am -

I’m ready to talk about visitations.

He stares. He stares, and stares, and stares, and then stares a little bit more, ‘cause his life is a fucking joke.

Liv’s been letting him FaceTime Danny ever since the divorce papers went through about a year ago, but he hasn’t been allowed at the house — not with how dangerous his job is, or how angry he’d been in the beginning. Which he never tried to fight her on, ‘cause she wasn’t exactly wrong. But he also misses his fucking kid, and now he’s finally getting the chance to maybe see him again in person, and he has to deal with the fact that he still hasn’t told Olivia about the whole pregnancy thing.

He probably should have done it sooner, but…she already thought he was a mess. Absent, violent, unfit. And now he has a baby on the way, when he hasn't even hugged his son since he was in diapers. Plus, he has this whole unnamed thing going on with Bob (that might have just gotten shot to hell and back), and none of the other Thunderbolts are exactly ideal babysitters, so for a while there, it’d just made sense to pretend like none of it was happening.

He’s kind of regretting it now, though.

Liv used to be his best friend, even when Lemar was still alive. They told each other everything, always had each other’s back, always supported one another. And then he’d checked out. Left her to raise their first baby on her own, and it wasn’t fair, he knew that. But there’s still always going to be a part of him that wants to go to her when something’s wrong. When he doesn’t know what to do next.

It makes sense that some things never change.

Sent 10:28am -

Okay. You eaten yet?

~~~

John hates admitting when Alexei’s right about something, he’s always so smug about it. Thankfully, it doesn’t happen too often.

These crepes, though? Yeah, even he can concede that they fucking rock.

“Jesus.” He takes another massive bite of blueberry-lemon curd deliciousness and tries not to sweat at the familiar brown eyes boring a hole through his head.

“So…a witch?” His ex-wife asks, taking a much more reasonably-sized bite of her own strawberry nutella concoction.

“A witch.” John nods and pushes his food around, while chewing.

“You guys got her in the end though, right?”

“Yeah, we got her. Ava’s a good shot.” John clears his throat and finally glances up, shoulders curling in at the soft, thoughtful expression on Olivia’s face.

“I’m glad.” She hesitates for a beat, before reaching across the sticky, peeling linoleum table to rest a hand on his wrist. “...This is super fucked up. You get that, right?”

“Oh, so fucked up.” He nods, and flashes her a weak smile, chased by a big gulp of scalding hot chocolate that he desperately wishes was caffeinated.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She finally asks, lips curling down.

He sighs. “...C’mon…you know why, Liv.”

“John…this is bigger than what happened between us. You have to know that.” She takes her hand back and sets it on her lap. “I would have understood. I- I do understand. This is huge- lifechanging! I would never want you to go through this alone.”

“I mean, I’m not really alone.” He grumbles, feeling a little silly, even as he says it.

“Because of them? The ‘New Avengerz?'" She puts the stupid name Val and Alexei gave them in air quotes.

“Yes, because of the New Avengerz, okay? They’re-” He breaks off, eyes sliding shut. “-They’re important. To me.”

“Okay, well then...I’m glad you’ve got people looking out for you.” Olivia nods slowly, and he opens his eyes to see her smiling, just a little. “They are, right? Looking out for you?”

“Yeah, Liv. They’re looking out for me.” He whispers. And then, taking a huge breath, he tries to prepare himself for this next part. “I’m- uh- seeing someone, actually. They’ve- um- They’ve been helping with all this…baby stuff, or whatever.”

“Really?” Her eyes widen in surprise for just a second, before she covers it up with an even bigger grin. “That’s…That’s good news, John. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks.” Why does this whole thing feel about as easy as pulling teeth? “His name’s Bob. He’s- uh- kind of weird, but nice. Way too nice to be putting up with a guy like me, and…I think you’d really like him.”

“I bet I will.”

It startles him, how easy she says it. How he knows her well enough to know that she means it. “You don’t think it’s weird? That he’s-?”

“-A guy?” Liv raises an eyebrow. “John, I almost said no that day you asked me out after Chemistry, because pretty much everyone at school thought you and Lemar were secretly dating — including me.”

John chokes. And then he starts to laugh, and then she starts to laugh, and people start to look over, so they both try to tamp it down, but they can’t. The whole situation’s just too ridiculous. So they sit there, hucking it up like a pair of clowns, until tears are streaming down Liv’s face, and his cheeks are aching from the force of his smile. It’s the nicest, more normal interaction they’ve had in years, and he’s just-

-he’s really happy.

“I want to meet him.” She eventually says, once they’ve both gotten a hold of themselves again.

The thought of introducing Bob to his ex-wife probably would have scared him shitless a few hours ago, but now it just feels…right. Both of the most important people in his life coming together. “Okay.”

“And I want you to see Danny again.” She says firmly, before stabbing another bite of her crepes. “Maybe we just…start small.”

“That sounds…” He opens and closes his mouth a few times, searching for the right word to sum up all of the feelings sweeping through him at the moment. “That sounds great.”

It wasn’t enough to describe it all. Not really.

But it was a start.

~~~

By the time he makes it back to the tower, it’s already almost dinner time, and it’s starting to get kind of cold out now that the days are getting shorter. He kind of wishes he’d thought to bring a jacket, but he’d left in such a rush, that he hadn’t had time.

Speaking of how he’d left, John tries to stay calm as the elevator rises, hoping against all odds that Bob isn’t completely, justifiably pissed at him for being such a dick this morning.

God, what if he scared him off with all that talk about dating? It was probably selfish to ask for more, especially for people like them. Plus, Bob's never said anything about being interested in…something else with him, so what if he goes back in there, and has to deal with getting turned down by a walking, talking Build-A-Bear?

It's almost enough to make him turn around and leave again.

Instead, he sucks it up, and walks through the parting steel doors to bee-line it for Bob's bedroom, keeping his eyes forward to avoid getting roped into a conversation with one of the others.

Surprisingly, it works. He makes it all the way to the other guy's room without any issues, except for his own mounting anxiety.

All that's left to do is knock. He raps his knuckle against the wood. “Uh- Hey, Bobby? You got a sec?”

No reply.

He quietly groans and takes off the baseball cap on his head to run fingers through his sweaty hair. “C'mon, would you just- talk to me, please?”

Still no answer. And then he hears the sound of a shower running in the distance, and he realizes Bob probably can't hear him over the sound of falling water.

It's a tough call to make; does he bust in there and ask to talk, or does he wait until the guy isn't naked? On the one hand, he's not used to groveling, but for Bob, it’d be worth it. Plus, as mentioned, if he goes in, he gets to see Bob naked. On the other hand, it might make the other man feel trapped, having John storm in when he's vulnerable like that.

In the end, he’s always been more impatient than he is considerate. The soldier gives himself one more second to feel like shit about it, and then turns the handle, making his way into the dark of the bedroom.

He quietly shuts the door without looking back, and crosses the thickly carpeted floor to the bathroom, not even bothering to knock this time, before stepping into a brightly-lit wall of fog. It's so hard to see at first, that he almost trips over the figure sitting on the tiled floor in front of the door with their knees propped up to their chest.

“John? Whaaat are you doing here?” Bob looks miserable. All puppy-eyed and frizzy from the humidity. Unfortunately, John finds it endearing as hell, which is just more evidence that he likes this guy even more than he’d originally thought.

“What are you doing on the floor?” He deflects.

“I was- um- gonna shower, but then I…needed a second.” His eyes slid shut and he huffs out what might be a laugh. “Just- a rough day, I guess.”

…God, could John be any more of an asshole? Why doesn’t he ever think before doing things? Here he was, barely a month into his second relationship ever, and he’s already fucking it up. To make it even worse, he’s seeing a guy who’s capable of dragging the entire world into a series of interconnected shame rooms if he gets too sad. So. It looks like he’s gonna have to man up and fix things. “...Was it- uh- because of this morning?”

“What? I- No, why would you-” Bob stammers.

“-You’re such a bad liar.” He crosses the bathroom to take a seat on a closed toilet seat and reaches forward with only a little awkward maneuvering to press his thumb to Bob’s cheekbone. “And I’m bad at apologies, but I’m gonna do it anyway.”

Bob blinks up at him in confusion and leans into the touch. “...Why?”

“‘Cause I was acting like an idiot.” He sighs. “...I was going stir crazy, and instead of admitting that something was wrong sooner, I just- I snapped.”

“Oh. You don’t have to apologize for that.” Bob frowns, pulling back from John’s hand. “I totally get it- or, I mean, I guess I don’t really get it. I’ve never been in your situation, or anything. But- But I’m sure it must be hard, having all these rules you’ve gotta follow now, and having everyone be so overprotected, and-”

“-Cut it out.” John rolls his eyes and gently kicks one of Bob’s ankles. “What’s Ava always calling me these days? That thing that makes her sound, like, twelve?”

“...A butthead?” Bob offers, a smile reluctantly tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Right. I was being a total butthead.” He nods. “And I didn’t even bring you back any crepes! They had this gross peanut butter, banana, potato chip thing on their menu that- uh- made me think of you, actually. You know, ‘cause you’re a weirdo.”

“That does sound pretty awesome.” Bob shrugs and looks over at him from beneath his eyelashes. “But I think…well, you said some stuff before you left that I- I’d really like to talk about. Important stuff.”

Fuck. He was kind of hoping to avoid the more embarrassing portion of this apology. “...Not the- uh- crepe stuff?”

“Dude, you’ve gotta stop talking about the crepes.” Bob laughs and runs a hand down his face. “John, I…”

He trails off, blinking rapidly, while trying to find the words.

“...Yeah, Bobby?”

Bob glances over, and away again. Then, with a short, frustrated breath, he hauls himself to his knees, and crawls across the tile to kneel between John’s legs, eyes glued on some distant point behind his head. Those perfect, strong hands fall to John’s spread thighs, thumbs swishing back and forth in comforting circles that make his throat so dry, it clicks when he swallows.

“I’d take you out to breakfast every day if I could. If I’d known it was something you- y’know- wanted. With me.” He clears his throat, face burning hot and splotchy red. “No one’s ever asked me to do the whole…going on dates part. It was mostly just about sex for a while there, and then I wasn’t seeing anyone in Malaysia, and then I met you in the vault, and- and I wanted anything you’d give me. Even all that dumb stuff you kept saying to piss me off felt like a win, because at least it meant I had your attention, you know?”

“Bobby, I-” He tries to interrupt, but two of Bob’s fingers slide up to gently cover his mouth.

“No. No, it’s your turn to listen now, Walker. You’ve gotta understand that I- I want that. To date you. To tell everyone in the world I’m with you.” He half-smiles wistfully and steals another glance John’s way. “I’m proud of our team, seriously, I am, but with you, it’s…different. The work you’ve done to be who you are, what you represent now, it matters to people. It matters to me. So if you want to be boring, vanilla boyfriends, I’m- I’m all in. Because I think you’re strong, and determined, and incredible, and if someone no one believes in can turn everything around to become all that, maybe I can, too…is that- is that selfish?”

“I don’t think so.” John whispers back fiercely, feeling a little overwhelmed all of a sudden. He reaches up and cups Bob’s jaw. “I think it’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. And that the second this kid pops out, we’re gonna go on so many dates, you’ll be sick of seein’ my face. And also, that you should probably kiss me now, before I have another meltdown.”

Bob laughs, soft and happy, before eagerly closing the distance between them to give him what he’d asked for.

At first, it’s a perfect reflection of this morning; slow, sweet, and uncoordinated. More enthusiastic than anything, their mouths chasing after one other, all swiping tongues and careful teeth tugging on lower lips.

It’s nice. And it makes that anxiety and doubt that had been building up in his gut dissipate in the blink of an eye, leaving no room behind for him to keep stressing about whether or not Bob really likes likes him when he’s kissing him like this; like he never wants to stop. Like he’s got something to prove.

John knows all about having something to prove, but it’s never tasted as good as this. Bob kisses him with an honesty that steals the breath from his lungs, and makes him want to fight to keep whatever this is they’re doing. This kind of kissing, the kind full of promises, makes him want to be something better than he’d been before.

Something worth this kind of softness.

He sighs, and moves the hand on Bob’s jaw to the nape of his neck, where he threads his fingers through the pretty curls there. Once he’s got a fistful, he tugs, dragging the other man off, so that he can try and catch his breath. “You know that thing you said about being boring, vanilla boyfriends?”

“Uh huh?” Bob pants back, mouth all shiny and swollen.

“Maybe we don’t have to be that boring and vanilla.”

Bob shakes his head and laughs for real this time. And then he steals another quick peck on the lips, before pulling back to stare at John through half-lidded eyes. “What do you want, baby?”

“I was thinking, maybe-” John looks away, feeling stupid and shy. “-Your mouth?”

“...Oh, yeah?” The pitch of Bob’s voice dips, turning as deep and dark as a lake at night. “You think about my mouth a lot?”

He does. But he’s too embarrassed to answer right away, and so Bob takes another kiss, letting this one linger for a bit. He tongues a mindless pattern against the seam of his lips, until John opens up for him, and then he licks along the roof of his mouth, before slipping away again, grinning when John grumbles about the loss. “C’mon, Walker. You can tell me.”

“...Yes, okay? Yes, I think about your stupid mouth.” He scowls, hands twitching where they’d fallen to his side.

“Do you think about me blowing you when you touch yourself?” Bob’s voice is a weird, hot mixture of mocking and encouraging, and it’s going straight to John’s dick.

“Yeah.” He says truthfully, while shoving his hand back in Bob’s hair, just to have something to hold onto that isn’t breakable.

Bob rewards him with another kiss, this time to the column of his neck, and then another one directly over his heart, then down, down trailing kisses across his round stomach, and his knees, and his jean-clad inner thighs. Careful, fleeting things that make his skin break out into goosebumps.

“You’re so sweet for me, Walker.” Bob hums thoughtfully, and pulls John’s hips forward, while guiding his upper body backwards, leaving him half-laying across the seat. It should probably be kind of gross, doing this in the bathroom, but John can’t really think about that right now with Bob ducking down to lick a long line up his covered cock. “My perfect, little soldier.”

“Je-sus.” He gasps, head falling backwards against the cold porcelain with a loud crack.

“Does that feel good, baby?” Bob chuckles and playfully fiddles with the button on his jeans for a second, before finally getting him undone and pulled out, pink, weeping cock already slick from where he’d been trapped inside his boxers. “Look at you; I haven’t even started sucking you off yet, and you’re already making a mess for me.”

John blushes and bites down a whine, hips jerking up against nothing.

In his defense, until last month, he’d gone over two years without getting any action, and now he’s dating a guy who’s got the mouth of a pornstar. So yeah, maybe he’s got a little bit of a hairpin trigger, alright? “Bobby, please.”

“Please, what?” He breathes against John’s tip, lips just barely brushing against the sensitive skin there.

“Wouldyoujustpleaseblowmeplease.” John grits out and tries to stay still, but it’s- it’s hard. The hand in Bob’s hair tightens.

It’s enough to make Bob’s eyes lock on his, face all weirdly intense and serious now, as he trails just the tip of his tongue up John’s length, right before sucking him all the way down in one go.

There’s no if’s, ands, or buts about it; he fucking shouts, and sends out a quick, silent thanks to Mel for soundproofing their rooms after the Alexei Incident.

No matter how many times they do this, he never gets more prepared for how good it feels, bucking into the tight, warm heat of Bob’s mouth. ‘Cause Bob always takes it all, every inch he has, and seems to enjoy every second of it, even though he’s not the one currently getting his brain sucked out of his dick.

He told John once that he liked the weight of it, having a cock in his mouth, and although the soldier didn’t really understand at the time, he sure as shit wasn’t complaining. Not when it meant he got to have Bob’s long fingers digging into his thighs hard enough to bruise, and a flat tongue running up the length of him, while using the perfect amount of suction.

No, he’s practically sobbing, as he thrusts hard and fast down Bob’s throat.

It doesn’t take too long. He’s still pretty sensitive thanks to being in his second trimester, and he’s a little emotional from all the nice stuff the other man said about him, and his dick is fucking throbbing where Bob’s pausing to drag his lips along his shaft. All it takes is a few deceptively sweet kitten licks to his slit, and he’s trembling his way through an orgasm, cum splashing warm and messy across Bob’s face.

He breathes. He breathes, and breathes, and breathes in the humidity of the room, and then glances down, just to have all that breath get caught in his lungs at the sight that’s waiting for him; Bob’s blue eyes are glassy and blown, his curls are sticking to his cheeks in pretty little half-loops, and the front of his sweatpants is covered in a large, telling damp spot that makes John’s mouth water just a little bit.

He might be starting to get the whole wanting to put someone’s cock in your mouth thing.

Something hot and possessive fizzles down his spine. It has him reaching down to swipe up the cum that landed just under Bob’s eye, and lazily pushing it past the guy’s lips, rubbing it against his tongue.

Bob closes his eyes and wraps his tongue around John’s fingers, happily licking up everything he has to offer, until most of it’s gone, and he can lean back on his calves with a grin. “...You’re kind of easy, Walker.”

“‘Easy’?” His mouth drops in indignation.

“Mhmm.” Bob nods and laughs, while standing up and holding out a hand to help John up. “I like how worked up you get for me.”

He rolls his eyes and allows himself to be tugged into standing. “Yeah, well, I’m not the only one.”

He reaches between them to lay a hand on Bob’s now softening dick, but instead of getting embarrassed about cumming in his pants, Bob just sways forward and gives John a kiss on the jaw. “No. You’re not.”

Oh, he is so gone. John clears his throat and reaches up to scratch at his beard awkwardly, feeling a little bashful. “...We’re, like, boyfriends now…right?”

“Yeah, John.” Bob smiles and grabs the hem of the blonde’s shirt to tug it up over his head. “We’re boyfriends now.”

Chapter Text

Danny and Liv visit the tower for the first time halfway through October.

It took a while to get them the proper clearance, and John was crawling up the walls throughout the entire process, but now the day is finally here, and he’s sweating bullets while pacing the lobby, waiting for the two of them to show up.

The others had wanted to give the Walkers some space for this first part, and he appreciated it — really, he did. Only, with no one around to keep him distracted, all of his worst fears about today start to build up in his head; what if Olivia decides this place isn’t safe enough for their son? What if Danny has a bad time and never wants to come back? What if no one gets along?

What if they don’t like Bob?

He tells himself that the chances of that last one happening are slim to none; everyone likes Bob. Even their freaking mailman likes Bob, and this is New York, where all government employees are about 5 seconds away from having a nervous breakdown on any given day.

But there’s a chance, right? And what’s he supposed to do then, huh? ‘Cause he really, really, really likes Bob. He doesn’t want to have to worry about separating those two parts of his life, especially not when it’s been hard enough just for John to be a part of them both.

But before he can freak out for too long, teeny tiny feet pitter patter across the freshly-waxed marble floors.

“Daddy!” Daniel screeches, toddle-running over to hug his knees.

“There’s my Little Man!” John goes to scoop him up, realizes he can’t, and then pivots at the last second to carefully lean down and wrap him up in a big squeeze. “Wow, you got so big! You must be, what, a thousand feet tall now?”

Danny giggles and shakes his head against John’s legs without replying.

“He has something he wants to show you.” Olivia’s amused voice cuts in from a few feet away. “A new shirt he picked out this morning.”

“Is that right?” John shoots his ex-wife a small smile from over the top of his son’s head, and then puts both hands on his knees to straighten up with a loud groan. “Well, let’s see it.”

Daniel pulls on the bottom of his t-shirt with one hand, and points with the chubby little fingers of the other at the graphic on the front. “You!”

And it is him, along with the others. Olivia had actually gotten him a bright yellow t-shirt with cartoon versions of the whole team in action; Bucky with his hands on his hips, Ava half-particalized off to the side, Yelena in one of those crazy Black Widow poses of hers, Alexei lifting a car over his head with one hand, and even a goofy little doodle of Bob waving in his now iconic blue sweater.

And right there in between Bucky and Yelena is John, taco shield in hand, smiling heroically like something off the cover of a comic book.

“Wow, that’s…that’s pretty awesome, man.” He clears his throat, feeling a little sappy about his son wearing stuff repping the team. Of Danny maybe, possibly, finally being able to be proud of his dad again. Or whatever. “Did Mommy get that for you?”

“Uh huh.” The boy agrees nonchalantly, already distracted by something new. Which turns out to be splaying a small hand over John’s big belly, giving it a single, soft pat. “Baby.”

John blinks down in surprise, and then glances over at Olivia, who gives him a supportive nod. “Uh- yeah, bud. There’s a baby in there.”

“Why?” He asks, little face scrunching adorably.

“Oh…I…uh…thought you might like having a little brother or sister to play with.” He clears his throat and tries to keep his face neutral. “Does that sound okay to you?”

“Uh huh.” Danny says again, this time much more happily. “My baby.”

John laughs and shakes his head, warmth pooling in his gut as he reaches down to take his son’s hand in his. “Yeah, Danny, they’ll be your baby, too.”

“Go see?” The toddler asks, tugging with all of his baby strength towards the shiny elevators nearby.

“You wanna go check this place out?” John asks him, letting himself be led over, with Liv already falling into step behind them.

“See Lan!”

John’s head swivels around to stare at his ex-wife, while they wait for the elevator to open up. “What did he say?”

“Okay. So. I wasn’t going to tell you this, but…he might be a little bit obsessed with your co-worker, Yelena. He can’t quite get all of the syllables just yet, but he’s been trying.” She’s clearly holding back laughter as they all pile in to head to the next floor.

John stares down at his son in slack-jawed betrayal. “Yelena’s your favorite, huh?”

Jesus, he was never going to hear the end of this.

“Yes! I see Lan!”

“She’s pretty big with the other kids at Danny’s daycare, too, apparently.” Liv adds.

“You think this is funny.” He says to her, voice still thick with shock.

“Oh, I think it’s hilarious.” She nods in agreement.

“Do you know how much grief she’s gonna give me over this, Liv?” John groans and covers his face with his free hand.

“I imagine you’ve probably done something to deserve it.”

“See Lan?” Danny interrupts them with his mother’s brown eyes staring up all big and hopeful.

“...Sure, buddy, we’ll go see Lan.” He sighs and guides them out the doors into the training room. “Tour first though, ‘kay?”

“‘Kay!” He agrees easily, looking around the massive gym with open curiosity.

“Well, who do we have here?” Calls a voice from the weighted squats.

It’s Bucky, strolling away from the rack to greet his son with a soft smile.

Danny makes a gasping sort of noise and drops John’s hand to sprint over, halting just a few steps away with a bashfully little sway. He then pauses for a second, stares up at him with his mouth open, and points to the guy’s arm. “Arm!”

John winces.

“Yeah, man. That’s my arm.” Bucky nods, thankfully not looking too offended. The man then crouches down to look John’s son head-on. “...You wanna see a magic trick?”

Danny nods, and the soldier flexes his arm in a way that makes all the components light up, thin, glowing rings of vibranium shining from all of the joints. For some reason, it makes the little boy crack up, before sticking a finger out to gently trace one of the colorful spaces. “Rain-bow!”

“You’re right, it is kind of like a rainbow.” Bucky nods and stands again. “...Your name is Daniel, right?”

He pokes his own chest. “Danny.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Danny. My name’s Bucky. I work with your dad.” He grins again and then turns to John with his hands propped on his hips just like the cartoon version of himself on the little boy’s shirt. “He’s a cute kid, John.”

“I can’t take the credit, he sure as h- heck didn’t get it from me.” John shrugs, catching himself at the last minute.

“Oh, I already knew that.” Buck teases and looks past John’s shoulder. “Olivia.”

“Senator Barnes.” She nods back.

“If it’s alright with you, Bucky’s just fine, ma’am.” He smiles, and looks back down at the little boy standing by his feet to toss a thumb over his shoulder towards the ring. “You think you can show me who’s boss, kid?”

Danny giggles again and sprints over to try and crawl up under the ropes. John steps forward to help, but before he can make it too far, the boy’s already succeeded in dragging himself onto the center platform, where he immediately begins to bounce up and down like a miniature kangaroo. Bucky, shooting one last amused look John and Olivia’s way, joins him and proceeds to allow himself to be play-tackled within the first five seconds, dramatic noises of defeat ringing throughout the cavernous room.

“Okay, that’s pretty sweet.” Liv grins, eyes never leaving their son. “I didn’t picture the Winter Soldier being so…friendly.”

John chuckles, also keeping a close eye on the two wrestlers. “I don’t know if I’d say friendly, but…yeah, I guess Barnes has always been good with kids. You should see him visit the Children’s Hospital in Queens; they love him there, Liv. So do the nurses — not that he notices.”

The two of them snort and continue to watch in silence for another five minutes, until it looks like Danny’s just about all worn out. Bucky, who isn’t even sweating, grabs the kid a water bottle from the well-stocked mini-fridge nearby that the boy has to hold with both hands (but only after getting the lid unscrewed for him by his new best friend).

Once he’s chugged part of it, he gives it back to Bucky and runs over to John. “You watch, Daddy?”

“Yeah, I watched you, champ.” John nods and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “We should probably get going, though if we want to make it upstairs in time for lunch.”

“See Lan?” Danny pants out, still breathing messily from his brief wrestling match.

“What’s that?” Bucky asks, passing the kid’s water bottle to Olivia to hold onto.

“Don’t ask.” John snorts and rolls his eyes, taking his son’s hand again to head back towards the elevator.

“You comin’ with us, Bucky?” Olivia calls back politely.

“Only if that’s alright with you, ma’am. I wouldn’t want to intrude.” Times like this remind John that Bucky was born in 1917, that old-fashioned accent slipping out every time he lets his guard down.

“It’s no intrusion at all, I’m sure Danny would love it if you joined us, right, baby?” She asks the sweaty boy.

Danny nods slowly and rests his little head against John’s side. “Uh huh. Buck go see Lan, too.”

“...No, seriously, who’s Lan?” Bucky leans over to whisper as the elevator rises.

~~~

They stop on the floor with the pool, the one with the obstacle course, the one with the flight simulation deck. They skip the shooting range, armory, and digital design quarters (that last one only because the 3 year old doesn’t have much of an interest in photography just yet). There are a good few stories of nothing but windows and empty corridors that they ignore, huge swaths of the building that are still awaiting future construction. And then suddenly they’re there, steel doors opening onto the residential area shared by the team.

In the beginning, Val had offered to build them each their own floor, but they’d all agreed that it felt safer to have a single bedroom separated by thick walls and a few feet of distance, rather than useless space none of them would even know what to do with in the first place. And yeah, it was kind of nice wandering into the living room in the morning to find people milling around, rather than waking up alone each day. And so what if the sound of Alexei humming in the hallway has started to fill him with a sense of comfort every time he leaves his bedroom door open late in the afternoon? And maybe John kind of loved their family dinners, even if it meant having to cook enough for twenty.

They were a family, just like Bob said. Now it was time for them to meet the rest of his.

“Well, hello there.” Ava says from the couch.

“...Hi.” Danny seems much more shy now than he had with Barnes, but that was probably due to how many grown ups he was meeting today, and not anything she’d done on her part.

“You’re Danny, right? Your father’s told us so much about you.” John’s so used to hearing Ava bitching at him, that he’d kind of never realized she could be polite.

It’s giving him whiplash.

“You.” The little boy says, pointing timidly at the cartoon Ghost on his shirt.

“Wow! You’re right…that is me! Is that a Thunderbolts t-shirt? I didn’t know they made those.” She says, softly, standing up to make her way over. “It’s really cool, Danny. I should get one, too; then you and I could match.”

He doesn’t reply, but he does smile a little, still hiding behind John’s body with those big ol’ eyes blinking up at everyone.

“Alexei! Wake up, we have company!” A voice shouts in exasperation from the hallway, followed by the sound of a hand banging against a door. Then, blonde hair bobs into the living room. “Oh, hellooo.”

“Lan! Daddy, Lan!” Danny whispers loudly, tugging on the end of John’s shirt.

“Yeah, bud, it’s Lan.” John forces himself to smile, and tries to remind himself he’s doing this for his son. “Hey, Yelena. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

“Cool. I love meeting people.” She says, ignoring the snort Ava tries to cover up with her hand. The widow comes to squat in front of the kid, holding out a hand for him to shake. “My name’s Yelena. What’s yours?”

“...Danny.” He says in awe, slowly inching his way out from behind his dad to take her hand. “Lan.”

“Uuuuh…what?” She says, looking up to his parents for help.

“That’s you. Lan. It’s what he calls you.” Better to rip it off like a bandaid. “...You’re practically all he’s talked about since getting here.”

“Oh, really?” The smile she gives John is big, and smug, and delighted. It promises that there will be jokes made in the future, once there’s not a toddler within earshot. “You wanted to meet me, Danny?”

He nods, and then, after thinking about it for a second, rushes forward to hug her with his little baby arms.

All of the amusement on her face drains away, replaced by something quiet and real. She slowly, cautiously hugs him back, and looks to John with the same soft look she’d given him when he’d been trying to tell her about the baby.

Bucky is good with kids. Ava, Ava is awkward, but can definitely win over anyone under the age of 17. Babies love tugging on Alexei’s beard and getting tossed in the air by the big man who looks like Santa. Even Bob knows how to pull out coloring pages and playdough when doing PR trips to the afterschool center downtown. And John, when he’s not being a depressed fuck up, is usually pretty good at hanging out with any non-teenage child.

Yelena, though? Yelena is bad with kids. She tries her best, but she usually never knows what to say to them or what activities they’re physically capable of at any given age. She once tried to get a group of five year olds to play military dodgeball. Ten months ago, she accidentally encouraged a trio of Juniors to commit light arson. It was a hilarious, glorious trainwreck to witness, and usually left him feeling much, much better about his own parenting skills afterwards.

This, though? This moment between her and his son? It softens the edges of John’s annoyance, and has him smiling back for real, letting her know that, yeah, okay, he can admit that this is pretty sweet.

Danny pulls back unsteadily and points at her chest. “You flip?”

“I flip?” She repeats with raised eyebrows. “You…want to see superhero trick?”

“Lan flip!”

“...Okay. I’ll do this for you, малыш.” She nods decisively and straightens up, walking backwards most of the way across the living space to give herself room to build up, before taking off at a sprint, and leaping into a double-flip. She lands just a little to the side of them and turns around to give his son a big smile. “Ey, was that cool or what?”

Danny bursts into delighted giggles, clapping loudly for her, before taking off to try and do a little flip of his own (which is more him flopping sideways onto the couch than anything, but hey, he’s tryin’ his best).

“Lunch is ready.” Bob sticks his curly-head out of the kitchen and jumps when he sees how many people have turned to look his way. “Oh. Uh- hey. I’m- I’m Bob.”

“Bob!” Danny repeats, facedown on the couch.

“...I made pizza waffles?” He smiles weakly.

“Pizza waffles?” John asks with a raised eyebrow and a soft smile. He chances a glance at Liv, but she’s too busy looking at Bob to notice, a curious, gentle light forming in her eyes.

“Yeah. They’re- uh- something my mom used to make me on the weekends. You take a frozen personal pizza, fold it in half, and stick it in a waffle maker, so it turns into this weird, shi- uh- cheap calzone type-thing.” He shrugs and blushes, looking down at the floor. “Sorry. Sorry, I can- I can make something else. I can do PB&J’s, or maybe someone else can-”

“-Thanks for making lunch, Bobby.” John shuts down his boyfriend’s spiraling, and closes the distance between them to press a quick, nervous kiss to his cheek, ignoring how the tips of his ears go hot knowing everyone can see them. “Even though I never authorized my waffle maker for this.”

Danny frees himself from the couch, toddles over to the two of them, and takes Bob’s hand to pull back back towards the kitchen. “Pizza?”

Bob’s eyes go huge, and he stares for a second at John’s son’s tiny hand in his, before nodding slowly. “Yeah, buddy. Pizza waffles. You want one?”

“Uh huh.” He nods back and then uses his free hand to tap on Bob’s arm. When the dark-haired man smiles encouragingly, the boy points around the room. “They pizza, too?”

“Okay. You wanna help me put some pizzas on plates for them, too?” Bob asks him seriously. It makes John’s heart melt a little bit, which is totally cheesy and embarrassing, but that’s okay.

Danny nods.

“Awesome. C’mon, I’ll show you.” Hand-in-hand, the two of them walk away to start plating lunch, and John stands behind, frozen as something huge begins to form in his chest.

“You were right, John.” Liv says, startling him with how much closer she is than before.

“Shit, Liv.” He puts a hand to his chest to slow his heart. “Obviously, I was right…what was I right about?”

She nudges his arm with hers and grins. “I like him. He seems sweet.”

“He’s like a puppy. Or a dumpling. Or a dumpling shaped like a puppy. Do they make those, you think?” Yelena asks from where she’s now leaning against a wall.

“I hear company!” Alexei from somewhere down the hallway.

“I told you we had company!” Yelena shouts back, before turning to give Liv a tired look. “He never listens.”

“I listen, I listen!” He shakes his head, while strolling in. “You talk too quiet! I can’t hear, even with my highly-trained listening capabilities.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever listened a day in your life.” Ava pipes up from back on the couch.

“Bah, so unfair.” He grumbles and then brightens up when he notices Olivia. “Ah ha! Missus Walker! It’s so good to finally meet you.”

He joins their little circle and gives her a huge, over-the-top grin. “You are a truly beautiful woman. I see now why you two choose to have child together.”

“Oh my God, kill me now.” John groans, covering his eyes.

“While I’d love to, I think they’re expecting us at the table.” Bucky jerks a head towards the opening dining room nearby now covered in eight plastic plates piled high with weird, steaming waffle-printed calzones.

Everyone shuffles over and takes a seat just as Danny comes running by with a stack of solo cups clutched between his hands, Bob following close behind with an orange juice carton and a jug of milk. “Alright everybody. Dig in.”

Liv grabs her son as he passes and scoops him up into the seat between her and John, settling the cups down on the table for people to grab as they please. She then pours the water from the water bottle she’d been handed earlier into a cup for him, and helps cut his pizza amalgamation into pieces. “Thank you, Bob. Really, this looks wonderful.”

“I help!” Danny chirps, already reaching out to grab a square with his hands.

“Yeah you did. You were such a super helper, bud.” Bob nods in agreement, and fiddles with moving things around a bit on the table for a second, before stepping back to awkwardly look around at the setting arrangement, uncertainty creeping up along the edges of his face. Without even pausing to ask, John just snags him by the back of his shirt as easily as Olivia had grabbed Danny, and pushes him into the chair on his other side. “Oof.”

“Hey.” John says easily.

“...Hey.” Bob replies with a dopey little smile.

“How is this actually good?” Ava asks from across the table, halfway through her pizza waffle already.

“Bob. This is culinary genius. We must market this as Thunderbolts specialty immediately. Just imagine seeing our Solnishko’s dashing face in every frozen aisle in America, huh?” Alexei announces through a massive mouthful.

“Jesus, Alexei, we do not need to copyright everything any one of us has ever touched, alright?” John rolls his eyes and takes a bite. “...Although, this is pretty awesome, Bobby.”

“Yeah? You really think so?” The brunette beams, pouring himself some juice.

“Hey. It’s cleaner than regular pizza, so I’m all for it.” Liv chuckles, and helps scoot some of the further pizza cubes on Danny’s plates closer to him.

“Great. That’s just- That’s great.” Bob takes a bite of his own pizza waffle, and John snags his right hand under the table, giving it a little, reassuring squeeze that the other man returns.

And it’s perfect. Even with Alexei being himself, and Ava and Yelena teasing him, and his son being more entertained by Bucky’s arm than he is his dad, it’s perfect. And as he looks around at everyone’s grinning faces, pizza sauce covering people’s cheeks, he can’t help but think that all that worry from before was for nothing. That maybe, just maybe, he can have this.

Maybe he can have more than two separate lives. Maybe he can have one life; messy, and noisy, and filled with all the different people who love him, but more importantly, who all care about each other.

Maybe John F. Walker, America’s least favorite Captain America, can have a family again, even after all his failures and mistakes. He’s not sure if he believes it just yet, but it’s like Olivia said;

Maybe they just have to start small.

Chapter Text

Most people don’t expect it, but John likes to consider himself a romantic.

It comes from growing up getting roped into watching rom-coms on the couch with his mom every Friday after school. From his father teaching him to hold doors and pay for dates. From the handwritten love letters he’d tucked in Olivia’s locker every day of their senior year.

He might not always show it in public — not with the weight of everyone’s eyes beating down on him — but he felt things all the same. Big, capital letter emotions. And with Bob, it’s kind of exciting doing nice stuff for him anytime he gets the chance. ‘Cause John’s the first person to ever get to do it for him, and he already knows he’s going to be the last.

So with Ava’s help (after only twenty minutes of razzing), he gets Bob sunflowers from the bodega down the block. He makes him grilled cheeses cut diagonally on those days when he can’t get out of bed to join the others for lunch. He washes his hair for him in the shower, even though he doesn’t really need the help, just so he has an excuse to play with those dark, pretty curls.

And every single time, without fail, Bob gives him this look; like he’s not really sure what’s going on. His blue eyes get all soft and confused, and he gives John that little smile that’s still driving him crazy, even a month into their new relationship. It’s usually paired with a kiss, or a shaky hug, or fingers brushed through his short, blonde hair. And it makes John’s stomach go all warm and gooey with pride, being able to take care of someone again — having someone who wants him to.

Bob, on the other hand, is still figuring all this boyfriend stuff out — not that John minds. They’ve been taking it slow, learning how to do the whole dating thing right, what with both of their fucked up romantic histories (or in Bob’s case, lack of one). So yeah, maybe it’s kind of awkward sometimes, and there have been a few moments where they’ve pissed each other off trying to figure out how to communicate (especially with John’s tendency to storm off during arguments), but they’re doing it, okay? They’re trying. And John really doesn’t want to fuck up this second chance he’s been given at having something good.

Which is why he’s currently laying on his back on Bob’s bed, staring up at the ceiling, while running through a mental catalogue of all of his recent mistakes to try and figure out where he went wrong, before his boyfriend gets back from running secret errands with Ava, Bucky, and Alexei.

Bob has been acting…off, these past two weeks. Ever since Danny and Liv’s visit earlier in the month. He’s gotten quiet- distant. He’s started leaving the room to check his phone if it goes off when John’s nearby.

It’s driving him insane.

He knows the guy isn’t cheating on him, Bob doesn’t really have any other friends outside of the Thunderbolts. And despite his recent skittish behavior, they’ve still been pretty much attached at the hip ever since their bathroom heart-to-heart, so it’s not like he has time to sneak out of the tower without John noticing.

Maybe- Maybe he’s been coming on too strong with all his little gestures? Maybe he’s been doing too much too fast, and it’s freaking the other man out? It’s the only explanation he can come up with, and the thought makes his throat go tight with panic.

God, what if he accidentally pushes Bob away? They live together, so if this whole relationship thing blows up in their faces, he’s totally fucked.

Should he have thought this thing through more before just rushing into it?

John tries to take a few steadying breaths, but they don’t help much, especially since he can’t stop thinking. Over-analyzing. His soldier’s training kicks in, forcing him to pour over details again and again, until something — anything — pops out at him.

John groans and scrubs at his face with both hands.

“Uh- you okay?” Bob’s voice suddenly cuts in, his gangly body frozen in the doorway.

Fuck.

“I’m fine.” It comes out just a little too fast, and they both know it. He winces.

Bob raises his eyebrows, slowly shuts the door, and kicks off his shoes, before climbing into bed beside him. He then props himself up on one arm, and drapes the other one over John’s side, easing a little of the anxiety tearing through him. “...You sure about that?”

“Yeah…yeah, I’m just- gettin’ my ass kicked by the little ninja I’ve got cookin’ up in here.” He lies, gesturing down at his stomach without looking. It’s partly true. Ever since the baby started kicking, it’s barely stopped. It just keeps pushing up against his bladder, night and day, forcing him to constantly have to sprint to the bathroom or risk embarrassing the shit out of himself. It’s definitely not not contributing to his overall crankiness factor, even if it isn’t the only thing that’s been bugging him lately.

Bob hums sympathetically and scooches himself down the bed to press his cheek against the curve of John’s belly.

He huffs, eyebrows scrunching together. “Dude. What are you-?”

“Hi, sweetheart.” Bob murmurs, lips gently brushing against the material of his henley. John’s mouth falls open as he realizes too late what’s happening. “I hear you’ve been giving your Daddy a hell of a time, huh?”

Something catches in his throat, making it hard to speak; to do anything other than stare wide-eyed at the man laying against him.

Long fingers begin rubbing gentle circles on the other side of his bellybutton. “I bet you’re gonna be so strong when you come out- stronger than any of the rest of us losers.”

He lets out a little wet laugh, and tries to ignore how his eyes are starting to burn, while Bob’s dark eyes flicker up to give him a crooked, half-smile, before going back to what he’s doing.

“But you’ve gotta take it easy on us for now, so that your Daddy can get some rest, okay?” The curly-haired man tugs up John’s shirt to press a sweet kiss to his overwarm skin.

And then he starts to sing. Real quiet, and soft, and low;

“Where’s the fire, what’s the hurry about? You’d better cool it off before you burn it out. You’ve got so much to do, and only so many hours in the day.”

“...I didn’t peg you for a Billy Joel kinda guy.” John whispers thickly.

“I read somewhere that babies like listening to music in the womb. It’s supposed to have a soothing influence on them, or something.” Bob insists, giving his stomach another kiss, followed by another. “Slow down, you’re doin’ fine, you can’t be everything you wanna be before your time, although it’s so romantic on the borderline tonight…tonight.”

“You skipped the chorus.” He points out, trying to keep his cool, even while dropping a hand down to rest on Bob’s curls, so that he has something to ground him. Otherwise, he might just fall apart, and that’s the last thing any of them need.

“Yeah, well, the baby doesn’t know that.” Bob chuckles. “...Too bad, but it’s the life you lead. You’re so ahead of yourself, that you forgot what you need. Though you can see when you’re wrong, you know you can’t always see when you’re right, your ri-ight.”

“Kind of a weird song to sing to a baby.” John adds, still aiming for nonchalant and missing by a mile.

“Man, your Daddy is so picky.” Bob finally stops to whisper against his belly in faux-outrage. “I can’t wait until you’re big enough to help me gang up on him.”

“Uh, who says they’re gonna take your side?” John snorts.

“Oh. Well, it’s the right side, so…”

“Uh huh. Because you’re always right?”

“Exactly.” Bob nods, chuckles again, and starts to tip-tap away with the barest touch of his fingertips.

For the first time in hours, the rocking in his stomach goes quiet. So…maybe Bob is right, at least about the music thing. It would make sense that his kid would be just as enamoured with the sound of the guy’s voice as he is.

“...Christ, you’re gonna kill me.” He sighs, wiping his free hand over his eyes. “I don’t know if I can handle you when you’re like this.”

“Like what?” Bob asks innocently.

“You know what.” John points a finger at him. “All…cute, or whatever.”

Bob shrugs and wiggles his way back up the bed to plop his head on the same pillow as John. “You like it.”

“Yeah…I guess I do.” John admits, finally allowing some of the emotion filling him up to shine from his eyes. And it gets him that look again, all big and wondering, like Bob’s just discovered a whole new species. If he’s not careful, John could get addicted to being looked at like that. “You- uh- wanna come watch me train? Yelena says she found me this whole ‘pregnant lady’ regiment that’s supposed to help with my timing — whatever that fucking means.”

That look on Bob’s face flickers, morphing into something guarded that sets alarm bells ringing in John’s head. “Oh. Um. I can’t, actually. I’m…supposed to help Ava with something later.”

“...Weren’t you guys just running errands together, like, ten minutes ago?” John replies pissily, tamping down the frustration threatening to spill from his edges.

“Yeah, but that was for a different thing. This is for something else.” He says shiftily.

“Aaand let me guess, you’re not gonna tell me what it is.”

Bob sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “John-”

“-No, it’s fine. Go hang out with Starr. We can just hang out later, when you’re not too busy keeping secrets from me.” He pulls himself up with a grunt, and climbs out of bed to head for his closet.

“John, c’mon, don’t- it’s nothing bad, I swear.” Bob sits up, too, watching him get dressed for the gym with pleading eyes. “Can’t you just- trust me on this?”

And the thing is, John does trust him. He trusts him more than anyone. And so he bites down on his insecurities, and the million and one bad feelings he has about this, and forces himself to give his boyfriend a weak smile instead. “Bobby. I said it’s fine. I’m just…still crampy. Go hang out with Ava. I’ll see you at dinner.”

“...Okay. Okay, yeah, I’ll- I’ll see you then.” Bob’s voice is small and unsure, so John gives in and ducks down to kiss him on the cheek, before sliding on his running shoes, and heading for the door. “Have fun with training.” He adds at the last minute.

“Oh, I'm sure it’s gonna be a blast.” The soldier rolls his eyes sarcastically and tosses the guy a salute, before turning around, careful not to look back as he goes.

~~~

“I think Bob’s hiding something from me.” John says bluntly.

“Oh. So we are doing the whole talking about boys thing now, huh?” Yelena replies blandly, one arm stretched over her head.

He huffs and shifts the angle of his crossed legs to better mimic the small woman to his left. “Listen, do you think I’d be willingly talking to you about this if it wasn’t serious? I think I’d literally rather chew my own arm off than keep having to get freaking- Hallmark movie relationship advice from an ex-widow. But…I don’t know, he’s always running off to do shit he won’t tell me about now, and- and acting weird about stuff on his phone, and now there’s this thing with Ava-”

She interrupts him with a raised eyebrow. “-Have you considered that it could be maybe not so bad? Whatever this secret is of his?”

John frowns thoughtfully and copies her as she gently pushes herself forward into the downward dog pose.

‘Cause yeah, Yelena can rebrand it however she wants, but they’re doing mommy yoga together. He’s trying not to feel too weird about it. “I mean…I guess. But I just don’t get it. Why hide something if it’s not bad?”

“Maybe he’s planning some big date. Or getting you a pony.” She jokes, falling back into what she’d told him earlier was called a yogi squat.

Who came up with these names? “Ha ha. Laugh it up, but if he breaks up with me, our whole- family of misfits routine is totally over.”

She groans and collapses backwards onto her butt. “Oh my God, is that what you’re so freaked out about? You think Bob, our Bob, the same Bob who spent ten dollars in quarters trying to win you a stuffed animal from that claw machine outside the grocery store last week, is going to dump you?”

John blushes and sits down as well, staring at the tops of his knees to avoid eye contact. “...Don’t say it like it couldn’t happen.”

“Walker. Look at me.” She says forcefully, waiting until she has his attention to keep going. “I say it that way, because it couldn’t happen. There is no universe where the guy made of marshmallow fluff ends things first. If anything, he should be afraid of you, you’re the one who’s divorced.”

“Gee, thanks.” He says flatly. “That’s super helpful.”

“I am serious! I may not…you know…get it. Him liking you. You’re kind of the worst, you know?” She pauses to chuckle and gesture around. “But he does. Like you, okay? So I think you should let it go, this worry you have, and just- focus on being disgustingly sweet together. You’re both already so good at it. Seriously, I feel like puking every time I see you doing that- that snuggly thing you do on the couch. Blegh.”

Her face screws up in exaggerated disgust and John shoves her over playfully, both of them breaking into matching grins.

“Okay, fine, you think I shouldn’t be worried, then I won't be." Oh, he's totally gonna be worried. But at least ignoring the problem for now might take off some of the edge.

“God, you are such a liar.” Yelena laughs, rolls her eyes, and rocks back forward onto her hands and knees. “Come on. We’ve still got thirty minutes left of this, and I’m already feeling it in my pelvic floor.”

“That…is disturbing.” He shakes his head, but follows her lead, pushing this whole Bob thing to the back of his mind for now.

It’s not like the problem’s going away anytime soon.

~~~

Half an hour of prenatal yoga with Belova, followed by a careful mile walk, and a long shower downstairs brings him to now, standing in the living room of the tower wondering where the hell everybody has gone off to.

It’s way too quiet.

After realizing how empty the place had felt, he’d checked the bedrooms. The bathrooms, the leisure floors, the extra training facilities. He’d sent out a series of increasingly worried texts, and was about five seconds away from trying his luck getting Wilson on the line when he'd heard the sound of heavy footsteps coming from the elevator.

Alexei. He’s the only one besides Bob with any kind of tread, and Bob’s is about ten times lighter.

“There you are, my friend!” Oh, thank God. He’s never been so happy to see the Russian man before. “I have been sent to retrieve you!”

“.. ‘Retrieve me?’” John repeats doubtfully, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yes! You must join me for top secret mission- it will be very quick, I promise.” The big man places a hand over his heart with an earnest expression.

“I’m not gonna lie, man. I’m pretty tired, and you’re acting super shady.” He sighs. “C’mon, out with it. What’s going on?”

“Uh uh uh! Red Guardian’s lips are sealed.” Alexei wags a finger dramatically. “But all shall be revealed in time, Captain Walker. Off we go!”

John groans and looks up at the ceiling. “...Would you at least tell me if I need a jacket?”

“Off! We!! Go!”

How did this become his life?

~~~

When the elevator doors slide open onto the roof, John expects them to make their way to the helipad.

What he isn’t expecting is this;

Twinkling outdoor fairy lights strung up over the square bushes that line the stacked platforms of the Watchtower. Cozy raised heat lamps somebody must have hauled up from the basement storage. Tables on tables of all of the teeny tiny appetizers John’s not-so-secretly obsessed with (hey, everyone loves pigs in a blanket, okay?), with several different towers of multi-colored drinks in pretty glasses.

And all of his friends and family mingling together, turning to look his way.

“What.” John’s jaw drops.

“Daddy!” A giggling voice shouts, sprinting across the asphalt to hug his hip, before wiggling away again.

“Hey, buddy…what are you doing here?” John blinks in awe at his son, who’d been shoved into an oversized puffy blue coat, with fuzzy little earmuffs plopped over his ears that make the boy look like a cartoon bear.

“Bob invited us.” Olivia pipes up, making her way over with a wool jacket tossed over her arm, a mini-quiche held aloft in one hand. “I hope that’s okay?”

“No, of course it’s…of course it’s okay. Uh…why, though?” He asks, dumbly.

“Baby shower, man.” A hand falls on his shoulder, making him jump, and reach for a gun he thankfully doesn’t have strapped to his side. “Woah! Easy there, Walker! It’s just me.”

It’s Joaquin, both hands raised in surrender. Why the fuck is Joaquin here? “Why are you here?”

“Sorry, I couldn’t get a babysitter on such short notice.” Sam jokes, making his way over, followed by Bucky, who’s looking at Captain America like a love-sick puppy, and-

Bob. Threading his way around everybody with his hands tucked deep into the pockets of his jeans. “Hey.”

“Hi…” John takes it all in. The rest of the Thunderbolts hanging back, so as to not overcrowd him. The pile of gifts shoved against the railing of the main platform. The look of genuine warmth on everyone’s faces being directed his way. It’s…a little overwhelming, if he’s being honest. “You threw me a baby shower?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, I figured it might be nice, giving everyone the chance to come together to…you know, support you.” Bob seems nervous as hell, face all flushed and twitchy. “I- I know you probably wouldn’t want it to be a whole big thing, so I really just planned on inviting Olivia and Danny, but then Bucky asked if he could bring Sam, and- and then Joaquin wanted to come, too, and-”

“Bobby.” John cuts him off. “This is…great. Seriously, thank you. I- I don’t really know what to say.”

“So…you like it?” He asks with big, hopeful eyes.

John looks around some more. Lets his chest fill up with all the love he has for the people around him…including the man in front of him. And then he leans forward to press a kiss to Bob’s temple. “It’s perfect.”

Bob sighs in relief and captures one of John’s hands in his. “It was really hard trying to keep it from you. I almost fucked up and ruined the surprise, like, a thousand times.”

“...It probably didn’t help that I was breathing down your neck about it, huh?” John huffs in embarrassment.

“ ‘S not your fault. I wasn’t exactly being subtle about it.” The other man shrugs, swinging their hands a little. “I just…wanted to do something nice for you. You’re always taking care of everyone else, of…of me. I figured it was my turn.”

John clears his throat, trying to hide how moved he is with everyone’s eyes still on him. “You- uh- You didn’t have to, you know.”

Bob just shrugs again and starts pulling him towards the stack of presents, a little smile tugging on his face. “I know.”

It’s the nicest night he’s had in a while. He ends up opening about forty boxes of diapers, a set of resealable glass baby food jars (they say making your own food is way better for infants than that garbage they sell at the grocery store, Ava informs him proudly), a teddy bear the size of the empire state building, and a U.S. Agent patterned onesie in three different sizes. He packs away a whole tray of pigs in a blanket Bob had squirreled away just for him, three cupcakes, and a plateful of fancy puff pastry things that taste just like a bougie ass pizza roll. And he plays with his son, stomping after him on the steadily darkening roof pretending to be an evil robot, while Danny shoots at him with imaginary lasers.

The whole thing makes him feel…kind of peaceful. Like he’s finally getting the chance to just- enjoy being with everyone, without having to worry about secrets, or bad guys, or past mistakes.

He eventually winds up sitting on a loveseat from the living room someone had dragged outside, soaking in the heat from a nearby lamp, while his son lets out the loudest snores known to man against his side. He’s just taken a sip of the ginger ale Yelena had shoved into his hands half an hour ago, when he feels the cushions dip down beside him.

“You two look pretty cute.” Bob whispers.

“Don’t be fooled, he’s doing most of the heavy lifting.” John jokes, letting his head fall to the side to take in the shadowy profile of his boyfriend. “You havin’ a nice time?”

“Mhm.” Bob nods and carefully reaches over to rest a hand on the back of his neck. They sit in silence for a while, just breathing in the slightly cold night air, and letting the sound of everyone eating, and laughing, and spending time together wash over the three of them, until Bob suddenly shifts a little at his side. “...Hey...I- um- well, I just wanted to say that…do you remember how we- how we talked about going on a date? Once you’re, you know, no longer under house arrest?”

“Oh…uh- yeah.” He nods slowly. “Why?”

“...I kind of had this…big idea in my head, when I was planning, of somehow making this good enough to count.” Bob admits, turning his eyes to the stars. “I know I can’t- I can’t fix everything for you, and I can’t understand what it’s like, being cooped up here all the time. But I figured…maybe I could bring the outside to you? And then maybe…maybe you wouldn’t have to worry about hiding how stir-crazing you’ve been feeling lately. We could just- do something normal for once. I know it’s probably not the most romantic first date ever, but- but you’re always…trying so hard for me. No one’s ever done that before. And I really- I really want to try for you, too. Because…well, because I-”

“-I love you.” John beats him to the punch, the realization settling bright and honest on his tongue.

“You- what?” Bob jerks his head to the side to stare at him.

“I love you. A lot. And I know it’s only been a month, but-”

“-No, no, I- I love you, too. Like, so much.” He stammers, face falling back into that dumbfounded little grin. “You’re kind of…the first person I’ve ever felt this way about before.”

“Yeah, well, this has been the best, weirdest first date I’ve ever been on, so I guess we’re both having some new experiences.” John laughs and tilts his head to the side, before turning thoughtful and serious. “...Thank you. For everything. For…taking care of me. I’m not used to people doing that.”

“Somebody has to. Especially with this one on the way.” Bob gestures towards John’s stomach.

John stares for a long minute at how open and vulnerable Bob looks sitting there under the dim glow of the outdoor heaters, the sharp lines of his face softened by shadows, and then he whispers thickly, “...They’re gonna love you, too, you know.”

Bob swallows audibly and turns his face down towards the sleeping boy still carefully nestled between them. “...Is it okay for me to be a little scared?”

“Sure, why not?” John brings one hand down to rest on Danny’s back, and leans down to set his ginger ale on the ground, before reaching with his free hand for one of Bob’s. “We can be scared together.”

“...Okay.” Bob’s dark blue eyes have never been so full of light, even in the dark of the New York sky. “Together.”

Yeah, together sounded pretty good to him.

Chapter Text

What they don’t tell you about being in your final trimester is how heavy everything starts to feel.

Even before the serum, John had always been strong — always been fast. But at 36 weeks, he’s exhausted just walking from his bedroom to the kitchen. Everything he does has a cost, pulling him down into a constant state of needing to sit down or risk ending up dead on his feet. His training gets put on hold, and his morning walk time gets cut in half, which makes him even grumpier than usual.

And to top it off, his libido, which had previously been through the freaking roof, is now at the bottom of the Atlantic. He’s too big, too sleepy, too fragile to keep having hot, athletic, supersoldier sex and it sucks big time.

Which is why he’s currently curled up around the weird pregnancy pillow thing Ava had ordered him a few months back with one hand lazily wrapped around his cock, trying his best to get hard, even as every cell in his body fights him on it. He might also possibly be wearing the sweater Bob had left on his floor the night before, guilty huffing in the spicy vanilla scent of him that lingers on the neckline.

He just…he wants to cum, wants the relief that comes from an orgasm, and it helps, pretending to have Bob close by. And while he could always just walk to the reading nook in the living room to find the guy, he can’t help but burrow deeper into the bed instead, unwilling to leave his room on the off-chance that he humiliates himself.

‘Cause, like…what if he ends up not being able to get it up for him, and it hurts Bob’s feelings? What if it actually makes him start to consider the downsides to this whole dating a pregnant guy thing? What if it makes him feel like John doesn't actually want him?

John always wants him! He is deeply, painfully aware of how out of his league Bob is, so the idea that he could somehow not be into him is fucking ridiculous. If he’s being honest, it’s only thanks to thoughts of Bob's perfect dick, and hands, and mouth that he’s able to get past a half-chub at this point. He’s just…scared of looking stupid during sex, okay? Of dealing with performance issues when he hasn’t even hit forty yet. Which he knows is irrational, especially since they’ve done the whole I-love-you’s part already, but still. He isn’t willing to stick his neck out if there’s a possibility of his stupid cock deciding to wilt in front of his demigod boyfriend.

So he grunts and tightens his grip.

At least he's feeling pretty cozy, all wrapped up in his favorite blanket, the soft material of the pregnancy pillow tucked between his legs offering pressure he desperately craves. His chest hurts a little today, sensitive nipples aching just from the light pressure of Bob’s sweatshirt, and he’s not really sure what to do about it. It’s kind of distracting, the tenderness, and when he gently presses three fingers to one of them, it causes him to hiss in pain.

Fuck. This whole thing is so inconvenient.

John continues to hitch his hips down in small, awkward grinding motions that rub the tip of his dick against the weird pillow filling the space between his thighs, but he’s still not fully hard, and he’s about five seconds away from giving up when the sound of the door opening fills his ears, followed by a dry swallowing sound.

“...Hey, baby.” Bob’s voice is low and breathy as he steps into the room and locks the door.

John immediately freezes. He ignores the way his cock twitches in his grip and tries to fight off a blush, while clearing his throat. “Uh. Hey.”

Bob cocks his head to the side and steps closer, stopping just at the end of their bed (well, it’s technically John’s bed, but seeing as neither of them have slept without the other in weeks, there’s really no point in fighting over semantics). “You started without me?”

“...I was just-”

“ ‘t’s okay, I get it.” The other guy just keeps on standing there — staring — without making any further moves. “You’ve been pretty tired lately, huh?”

John debates with himself for a second, before sagging in reluctant relief. “...Yeah.”

“I thought maybe you needed a break. At least…until after the baby.” Bob’s blue eyes narrow and the corner of his lips twitch up. “But I guess I was wrong. Maybe you just wanted your own greedy hands, instead.”

“Bob…” John starts, voice jagged with embarrassment.

“Ssh...just be good and keep going for me.” He moves to the side of the bed, and brushes a sweaty lock of John’s blonde hair away from his eyes, before leaning down to press a firm kiss to his temple. “Okay?”

John makes a gurgling noise in the back of his throat, and nods again, self-consciously. Then, he takes a deep breath, and goes back to jerking himself off, the pressure to not be a disappointment already creeping back into the edge of his thoughts.

But Bob must sense…something. Some of his anxiety, maybe. Because he makes a sympathetic noise and straightens up, reaching down to touch two fingers to John’s bottom lip, silently asking him to open. Which he does, sucking the digits into his mouth after only a moment’s hesitation, laving his tongue over the rough pads of the man’s fingertips. The pressure in his mouth feels surprisingly good. It makes him feel filled up, and seeing as he hasn’t had Bob’s cock in him in a while, the feeling of having someone else inside is enough to finally get him all the way hard in his palm.

“Try closing your eyes.” Bob whispers encouragingly.

Okay, so he definitely knows, John’s not even gonna ask how. Still, he listens, obediently shutting his eyes to the too-revealing light of his room. And it does help — a little. His hand picks up speed.

“Look at you…curled up all sweet.” Bob huffs out a soft laugh and starts gently thrusting his fingers in and out of John’s mouth. “Makin’ a mess of my sweater.”

Oh, shit. He’d forgotten about that part.

John whines around the fingers in his mouth, drool sliding down his chin. The material of Bob’s sweatshirt now feels a little too hot, too heavy against his aching body, but he can’t stop to take it off. Can’t stand the idea of not being wrapped up in something, anything, that belongs to the other man.

“You look so pretty wearin’ my clothes.” Bob starts to rub little circles against John’s tongue. “...Does that hurt?”

His eyes fly open to try and figure out what the guy’s referring to, because what could possibly hurt right now, when he realizes his boyfriend is staring down at his chest, where dark patches of breast milk have bled through the well-worn cotton of the top.

Fuck. He tries to apologize, but the sorry comes out garbled around the fingers still thrusting in and out of his mouth.

“Show me?” The brunette slips a free hand under the sweater, pressing hot fingers to the tight skin of John’s stomach.

He thinks about it for a second, and then shakily drags the hem up all the way up and over his pecs, revealing the slick, ruddy skin hidden below. He then sucks harder on the fingers working in his mouth, nipping on the tips just a little as he does to distract himself from the weight of Bob’s stare.

It’s not really working, but you can’t blame a guy for trying.

“Holy shit, baby.” Bob sighs, and moves the hand on John’s stomach further up to gently pinch one of his sore nipples, rolling the nub between his fingers, until a warm rivulet slips down the curve of his chest.

It makes his back arch up off the bed and a pained whine crawl past his lips.

Bob freezes in place. “Too much?”

“Nnnnn.” John manages. When it looks like his boyfriend might need some encouragement to keep going, he takes over sliding his mouth up and down the fingers still resting against his tongue, snapping his hips down hard against the pillow and his hand. His cock is weeping now, precum steadily beading from his tip, until everything under the blankets is a mess, and — Christ, things are looking a whole lot less bleak than they had been about five minutes ago.

“Okay. Okay, I got you.” Bob pinches harder — just once — and then cups the blonde’s heavy, soft tits like he’s holding something precious. “Can I- I don’t mean to pressure you or anything, but do you think I could-”

John pulls his mouth off to roll his eyes. “Jesus, Bobby, just say it.”

“Can I fuck your mouth?”

All of the blood in John’s body rushes to his dick.

They haven’t done that before. Bob has never asked, and John has never offered, and it hasn’t really come up until now, most likely because Bob was trying not to rush him, or whatever. And yeah, maybe they both knew this was only the second relationship John had ever been in, and yeah, maybe John had never touched a guy’s cock before Bob, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to do…y’know…new stuff.

Not to make it weird, but he’d always liked going down on Olivia. It had always made him feel proud, finding the different things he could do with his mouth to make her feel good. So why should this be any different? Just ‘cause he’s heard horror stories of people choking, and that it’s harder to keep your teeth away from the delicate parts, and how the entire fucking concept of lockjaw exists?

It’s not like he’s going to do such a bad job of it that Bob never asks him to do it again, or anything…right?

“Sure. Why not?” He’s aiming for casual, but it comes out a little more nervous than he’d like.

“Hey…you know we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, right?” Bob asks in that sweet, always-patient voice of his, mindlessly kneading John’s breast with one hand like he doesn’t even realize that it’s driving him crazy. “I’d be happy just doing this — getting to watch you touch yourself…seein’ you cum all over my sweater. I just- I think it’d be pretty hot, you know? Having you blow me, while you’re jerking off.”

The brunette chuckles awkwardly and rubs the back of his neck with his spit-slick hand.

It’s ridiculous how endearing the soldier finds it.

Psyching himself up, John sucks in a sharp breath and leans forward to rub his face against the front of Bob’s sweatpants, mouthing at the hard line of his cock through the material, and grinning shark-like when it makes the guy groan. When he pulls back to look up, Bob’s pupils are already blown wide, and his pretty mouth is dropped open in surprise.

“I want to suck your dick.”

“...Uh huh, right, okay.” Bob nods quickly, and fumbles around for a second, until he can get his pants and boxers shoved halfway down his thighs, that wet hand dropping down to grip his gorgeous, pink cock.

From where he’s standing beside the bed, this also happens to put his dick at about eye-level, and John tries (again) not to be intimidated by just how big Bob is. Instead, he focuses on the nice, tingling feeling in his blood that lets him know he’s gonna make it to the finish line, and the slick slide of precum now coating his fist.

Clearing his throat again, Bob shuffles forward — thighs pressing into the mattress — and tentatively brushes the wet tip of his dick against John’s lower lip. On instinct, John’s tongue swipes out and catches on the guy’s slit, flooding his mouth with the salty taste of precum, and something else; something warm and masculine.

It’s not bad.

Bob lets out a broken, deep noise from low in his stomach and jerks forward another inch, before forcing himself to go still. “Fuck.”

He’s clearly trying to give him time to adjust, and that’s sweet and all, but John’s not exactly trying to draw this out long enough for his boner to flag again. So he pushes down his anxiety and goes all in for enthusiasm, hoping it wins him a few points in the end. Mostly, he just tries his best to remember what he’s liked done to him in the past; sucking on just the head a little, dragging his tongue down the vein that runs along the underside of his cock, collecting enough spit in his mouth to ease the way as he takes him further and further.

It must be a pretty okay strategy, ‘cause Bob moans above him, and rocks his hips forward again before catching himself. When John opens his eyes from where they’d fallen shut, he notices the tremors in Bob’s stomach from holding himself back, and it’s strangely appealing — seeing how badly he wants it.

Might as well give it to him, seein’ as he’s been so patient.

John ignores the pressure on his jaw, and the slight discomfort at the back of his throat, to finally take him all the way, nuzzling forward until his lips are flush with Bob’s base. And then he swallows around him, and tries not to look too smug when it makes the guy whimper and twitch against his tongue.

After that, it’s not too hard to fall into a rhythm of up and down, sucking and licking at anything he can fit into his mouth, swallowing around the weight hitting the back of his throat, all while jerking off so fast and rough it turns his fist into a blur, hips still rutting against the pillow between his legs.

It’s pretty fucking incredible, actually. He totally gets what Bob meant before, about liking giving blow jobs. If this is what it’s like every time, he can definitely see himself offering this again — maybe when they have a little more time to enjoy it.

Right now, though, John wants to cum, and he wants to cum, like, yesterday. So he slips off Bob’s cock with a lewd pop and wipes his wet mouth off on his boyfriend’s solid inner thigh, before looking up at him from under his eyelashes. “Thought you said you were gonna fuck my mouth, Bobby?”

“You know…you’re pretty bratty for someone who used to be Captain America.” Bob teases, his dark blue eyes going molten, with veins of gold spilling across the ocean-colored irises. He then reaches down to lovingly rake the fingers of one hand through John’s blonde hair, collecting a fistful at the back of his head, before tugging him back onto his dick. John happily lets himself get guided forward, only choking a little when the other man finally, finally starts to fuck his mouth, hips roughly snapping forward into the tight, eager heat of him. “Do you think the others would believe me if I told them? If they knew how much you liked being pushed around like this?”

John just whines and tries to remember how to breathe through his nose. The vibrations around Bob’s dick must feel good, though, ‘cause the brunette tips his head back and squeezes his eyes shut. “Sh-it, you feel so good. Always so good for me, baby. Oh my God, I think I’m gonna cum.”

John sucks even harder at that, and swaps which hand he’s ruthlessly shoving his cock into in order to grip Bob’s hip.

“Oh, I see. You gonna be a good girl and swallow for me, Walker?” Bob’s laugh is breathless by the time he goes back to pinching and rubbing at John’s nipples, making a mess of the man’s exposed chest.

“Uh huh.” He manages. At this point, Bob’s fucking his mouth too fast for him to do too much besides sloppily lick at his length every time it passes his lips. It makes him feel kinda wrung out, and — used — and it’s so freaking hot, he doesn’t even get any warning, before his whole body stutters to a stop, locking up as cum warmly shoots across his chest.

And then he keeps cumming. It’s- It’s a lot of cum, honestly. He’d probably be embarrassed by the mess, if his boyfriend wasn’t staring down at him like he’d just witnessed an honest-to-God miracle, right before following him over. Bob’s hips thrust forward two more times, and then cum fills John’s mouth, forcing him to swallow it down or risk choking on the man’s steadily softening cock.

Not that he wants to give any of it up anyways. No, he swallows as much of it as he can, relieved to finally feel his body start to unwind, even if the feeling of someone else’s cum spilling past the corners of his lips isn’t something he’s used to quite yet.

And eventually, once Bob’s pulled out and they’ve both had time to catch their breaths, the curly-haired man gently lifts his sweater over John’s head, and uses it to wipe them both down, paying special attention to his weirdly less-sore tits.

“Was that- Was that okay?” Bob asks, already crossing to the other side of the bed to join him in the slightly sticky sheets.

“I mean…it was pretty good, I guess.” John teases, untangling himself from the (now gross) pregnancy pillow, and tossing it to the floor, before rolling over onto his back.

“Oh, you guess, huh?” Bob shakes his head and chuckles. “I didn’t hear you complaining five seconds ago.”

“My mouth was a little occupied.” Bob reaches out and lightly flicks one of John’s nipples, making the blonde hiss, and shove him away with a laugh. “Fine! Yes, I liked having your dick in my mouth! Happy? It was really fucking good, and if you don’t do it again sometime sometime, I think I might just have to kill you.”

“Brat.” Bob repeats, shoving an arm under John’s neck, and pulling him closer to press a kiss to the side of his head. “But seriously, that’s- that’s good to hear. I’m glad it was good for you. And me! Obviously, it was good for me, I just meant-”

“-Calm down, Bobby. You’re good, I’m good, we’re all good here, okay?” He then lets out a happy little sigh and presses a kiss of his own to Bob’s jaw. “Just relax and enjoy the afterglow a little, alright?”

“...Yeah, alright.” Bob nods his head and buries his face against the crook of John’s neck.

The afternoon sunlight that fills his room makes the butter-colored walls glow, and pours wave after wave of calm over his heavy, exhausted body. After a few minutes of comfortable silence have passed, though, John decides to ruin it by clearing his throat, and muttering, “Hey. Uh. Sorry if I've been a little…off my game lately.”

Bob frowns and snuggles him harder in response (he knows how much John loves to cuddle after sex, even if he’ll never admit it out loud). “...What do you mean?”

“Just- You know, ‘cause I’ve been- too tired, or whatever. For stuff like this.”

“John.” Bob’s warm breath tickles the side of his throat. “Baby…you’re pregnant.”

“I know! I know I’m pregnant, it’s just-” He groans and tugs on his messed up hair. “-There’s no way this can be fun for you! Me being way too…bloated and sleepy for sex. So. I’m sorry.”

“Nuh uh. Don’t do that.” Bob props himself up on one arm to look down at him with a serious expression on his face. “You know that’s not why I’m with you…right? I don’t- I don’t just want you for blowjobs. So if you’re too tired for sex, we can- we can do other stuff! I mean…I can read to you, or we can go for a swim downstairs, or maybe we can watch a movie with the guys. Whatever it is, as long as I’m with you, I’m happy. Okay?”

“Okay…but…you know it-” He squirms in embarrassment. “-You know I still want you, right? Even if I can’t do anything about it?”

“Yeah, John. I know.” The brunette nods slowly and shoots him a thin, crooked smile. “I want you, too. I’m gonna knock you up twice, remember?”

“Shut up.” He laughs reluctantly, before smiling back. “...thanks, Bobby.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” He peppers a few more kisses across John’s temple and cheekbone. “Seriously. Anytime. You just say the word, and I’m happy to try my-”

John rips his pillow out from under his head and uses it to smack Bob in the face, both of them cracking up instantly. “Alright, nerd. I’ve got a missouri- mont- montsouri? A freaking hippy Daddy book with your name on it.”

“Um- I’m pretty sure it’s Montessori?” Bob plops back down into a pleased pile. “But that sounds nice.”

And it did. Sound nice, that is.

Chapter Text

John was used to things blowing up in his face; his marriage, his military career, Lemar.

But things had been good lately. He had a team now, and Bobby, and a freaking baby on the way. He got to spend last week teaching Ava how to bake sugar cookies, and helping Yelena pick out a Christmas tree for the tower, and secretly buying gifts for everyone (including a Nerf set for Danny that Liv’s sure to chew him out for later). He had his veteran’s benefits renewed thanks to the whole New Avengerz thing, and friends who cared about whether he lived or died, and someone to wake up next to each and every day.

Things were good. Too good. Good enough for him to let his guard down.

Which is probably how they managed to grab him.

One second, he’d been heaving himself out of his pickup to walk into the Whole Foods off Columbus Circle, and the next, he’d felt a tingle on the back of his neck, a pinch above the jut of his collar bone, and an endless, all-consuming black that came crashing down as he lost consciousness.

When he woke up, the first thing he noticed was how bright everything was. It was like the fluorescence in the place was hooked up to the freaking sun. The second thing he noticed was that there were way too many tubes coming out of his body. And the third thing he noticed was that he couldn't move.

Oh, he could squirm. He could throw his weight forwards, and strain against the silver cuffs pinning him to a white table, and use every ounce of his super soldier strength to push up against the restraints.

But he couldn’t free himself. And that was about when the panic started.

It flooded his whole body with adrenaline, pulsing sharp and metallic inside his blood. He grit his teeth to it, and tried to remember how to breathe, but he fucking couldn’t. Suddenly, he couldn’t get any air in, and black spots began to dance along the edges of his vision just as a crisp American accent cut through the air;

“Please, Mr. Walker, you need to calm down. Everything is going to be alright.” A skinny white man with buzzed blonde hair stepped into view carrying a clipboard thick with papers, and a little paper cup held aloft in one gloved hand. “Can I offer you some water?”

John stared for a beat as violence began to surge up in the back of his throat. And then it took another long second of working his throat to force any words past his lips. “...Are you fucking kidding me right now? Uh- I’m pretty sure you people kidnapped me. You can take your water and shove it up your-”

“Sir, I would hate to put you under again, it’s bad for the babies. But if you won’t calm down, I’ll have no other choice.” The man set the paper cup down on a nearby white stool, and paused to look at something in his stack of paperwork, before glancing up again with cold brown eyes.

“...Babies?” Fuck. Fuck, he couldn’t cry. He couldn’t let this evil twerp see him fall apart.

“You didn’t know?” Both of the man’s eyebrows jump up in genuine surprise. “You’re carrying twins. Believe me, it caused quite the stir around here.”

“Oh, yeah? And where is here?” God, let him get some information on who’d taken him, or where he was, or how long he’d been out. Fucking anything. “Did Valentina send you?”

“That, Mr. Walker, is none of your concern. Just know that you’ll be working one-on-one with me for the duration of your visit, but that I will be doing everything in my power to see to it that you’re kept as comfortable as possible.” He said it like it was supposed to be a comfort, but all John could see was red.

He took a slow breath. And then another. And then one more, just to make sure he didn’t throw up all over himself. “...You’re going to try to take them. Right?”

At least the man had the decency to look apologetic, even if it didn’t make John want to cave the guy’s skull in any less. “We aren’t going to try to do anything.”

“You can’t have my fucking kids.” John gathered a wad of spit in his mouth, and aimed for the man’s face.

It landed on the guy’s cheek, and John got to take primal satisfaction in watching his face twist in fury, before falling back into a detached, serene mask as he wiped it away with the sleeve of his lab coat. “To be fair, Mr. Walker, they aren’t really yours. You’re just…the incubator. The children themselves are a by-product of magic produced by one of our lab’s test subjects, and therefore, they belong to us, not you or Miss Starr.”

Why do all bad guys have to talk in freaking riddles? “...What the fuck does Ava have to do with this?”

The man grinned then, slow and vicious. “You really don’t know anything, do you, U.S. Agent?”

John pretended to think about it for a second. “I know that either I’m going to kill you, or one of my teammates will.”

“Your teammates are being kept busy with a mission they’ve been assigned off-continent. They should be gone long enough for our business here to be completed, and then you’ll be returned home, safe and sound.” The man pulled a pen out of his pocket and began to scribble something down.

“That’s bullshit!” John strained against the cuffs again, just to see if he could find any give. But there was nothing. Whatever these things were made out of, they were designed with someone like him in mind. “All of this, whatever your plan is here, it’s not gonna happen, alright?!”

The man hummed, walked somewhere out of John’s line of sight, and returned with a needle filled with something yellow. “...Oh, I like our odds.”

And just like that, everything went black again.

~~~

When he woke up for the second time, the room they had him in was still bright enough to hurt his eyes, making his head throb painfully. “Fuck…”

“Ah, you’re awake! That’s good.” The man was back, only this time he was wearing a medical mask, and there were two women behind him wearing paper surgical gowns. He couldn’t make out much of their features beneath all the stuff they had on, but he didn’t have to to have a pretty good idea about what was going to go down next.

It was enough to make him crack, face splitting open in fear and panic. John sucked in a sharp, scared breath, and tried so fucking hard to speak without crying. His heart ached with how hard drummed against his ribcage. “Don’t do this. Don’t- Don’t fucking do this.”

“Ssh, just relax. It’s going to be over before you even know it.” The man began to open packages of gleaming tools that he set on a little tray one by one. “And then you get to go home. Everyone wins.”

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no.” Johns jerked and writhed, desperation crawling beneath his skin. “You can’t. You can’t have them. They’re mine!”

“Are we ready for the epidural, Doctor?” One of the women asked, ignoring the way he scrambled to get away.

“No.” The man slowly turned his face to John and stared dispassionately. “I don’t think anesthesia will be necessary.”

Bile rose up and flooded his mouth, making him choke on the acid.

John was a soldier. He’d seen terrible things during his time overseas, been shot more times than he could count, held people as they died in his arms. None of it, none of it, compared to this. This was his worst nightmare come to life, and he felt so fucking weak. He was weak. He couldn’t do anything to stop it, and he still didn’t know what their plan was, but he knew they wanted to take his babies, and he couldn’t- he couldn’t handle it. “Please, please, please, please.”

“This is for the best, Mr. Walker. You’ll see.” The man lifted the paper dress they must have put on him while he was asleep. “Razor.”

The smaller of the two women handed over a cheap, disposable shaving razor, which the man used to clear his stomach of fine, strawberry blonde fuzz. John continued to wiggle. They continued to ignore him.

The man passed the razor back and held out a flat palm. “Antiseptic.”

A cold wipe hit his skin and the temperature difference against his burning skin almost hurt.

“Vitals are good.” The taller woman announced from behind.

“Please, stop.” John squeezed his eyes shut and breathed in and out too rapidly for it to make much of a difference to his aching lungs. “Stop.”

No one was listening. A weird buzzing sound filled the air, and then his back arched up as a sharp, overwhelming pain began at his pubic bone. John screamed. He screamed, and tried not to choke on his own spit as he sobbed around the raw noises they were pulling from his throat.

“The vertical tissue incision is closing up too fast for me to reach the amniotic sac. The patient’s healing abilities are hindering the process, despite the electrocauterization. I’m gonna need you to go in behind me and keep the muscle open.” The man, blood up to the middle of his forearms, directed one of the women to a set of clamps, and then turned back to a hyperventilating John. “You may feel some pressure or a pulling sensation.”

"Vitals rising." The taller nurse said.

The shorter nurse jumped forward and stuck her hands into his abdomen, fiddling around with something for a second, before his body gave. He could feel the serum trying to close him up around their fingers, but now there were metal tools propping him open, and holy shit, holy shit-

There had been a concerning amount of times in John’s life where he’d thought about dying, but being in that too-bright room took the cake. What they were doing to him was- it was inhumane. It was pain on a scale he’d never experienced before. It was his body making wet, squelching sounds, and the awful buzzing that he distantly realized was them attempting to cauterize the bleeding, even while forcing him open.

To make it worse, he was pretty sure he pissed himself, but they must have put a catheter in, ‘cause the only thing wet down there was blood. Too much blood. Could he survive that much blood loss? Would the serum let him? Or would it just keep pouring out, never ending, always healing, even as he lost more and more of himself on that table.

He couldn’t even speak at that point — it hurt too much.

And then a high-pitched cry cut through the air, quickly followed by a second.

“Both are female. Subject A is seven pounds, six ounces. Subject B is…seven pounds, two ounces.” The taller woman announced. “It’s too early to test for paternal endurance levels, but there are some signs that they may carry the mother’s quantum genes.”

Mother? Quantum genes?

Two girls.

It was the last thought he had, before his eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he passed out, sinking down into merciful, cool darkness.

Chapter Text

Bob stares down at the IKEA instruction manual in betrayal, frown tugging on the edges of his lips.

Everyone online said that this specific crib was supposed to be an easy, one person job, but fuck him if he knows what half of these steps mean. And there’s too many screws! Why would they include pieces you don’t need?

Jesus, he’s bad at this.

There’s no way he’s getting this done, before John gets back from the grocery store. He groans, runs a hand over his face, and tries not to jump when he realizes there’s someone standing in the doorway.

“Boo.” Yelena says flatly.

“Oh my God.” He gasps and clutches his chest. “That’s not funny.”

“Oh, it is hilarious.” She smirks back. “Admit it, you love me.”

“Uh huh, right, whatever you say.” He chuckles and shakes his head fondly. “...Did you- uh- need something?”

“Just saying bye before we leave.” She inspects something on the tablet in her hands. “The mission shouldn’t take too long. We should be back in a few days, so long as Alexei doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Oh, you’re doomed then.” Bob jokes.

“Now who’s being funny?” She points a finger in his direction.

“I’m kidding.” His smile softens and he fiddles with the screwdriver in his hands to keep himself busy. “...Promise me you guys will be safe?”

Yelena looks at him for a long moment, and then nods, all of her usual humor dropping away. She can always tell when he needs her to take him seriously; It’s part of why she’s the best. “Of course.”

“And have fun.” He adds.

“Okay, Dad, we will. Pinkie promise.” She steps over the half-finished, cornflower blue wood scattered across the ground to ruffle his hair, before turning to leave. “Good luck with- whatever this is.”

“Thanks, Lena.”

When she leaves, the Tower settles into an uncomfortable silence, like an office building that’s been up for sale for too long. There are no footsteps in the hallway, or the reassuring sound of someone using the TV in the distance, or voices slipping under doorways.

Just Bob, all alone with his thoughts, and the best Swedish furniture someone else’s money can buy.

And then, a sort of…awareness prickles into life at the back of his head. A heartbeat in the distance that ratches up, just before plummeting down. It makes something buried deep inside his bones…click, right before tendrils of black blanket his skin.

He doesn’t even notice the screwdriver in his hand hitting the floor. By then, he’s already gone.

~~~

It’s the end of December, and there’s the sharp taste of future ice in the air, but the cold never registers on his skin. All that can reach him is that heartbeat.

It’s fast now. Too fast. Something is wrong.

The darkness around him deepens, threatening to swallow him whole.

~~~

A curly-haired woman at the front desk sees him first. It’s actually surprisingly easy to throw her into the opposite wall. Without any super-serum pumping in her veins, or physical training to help her roll into the fall, her neck snaps on impact. A few guards come out after that, and all it takes is squeezing his fist to make their spines crackle inside their fragile, human bodies.

They look like dolls when they hit the ground.

~~~

A few interns try to run. They don’t even make it to the door.

~~~

Twin heartbeats stop him in his tracks. They’re…familiar, even if finding two separate rhythms is unexpected. He pauses in his hunt for the other heart to follow it to a room. A big, bright, metal room filled with all sorts of blinking machines and fancy looking scientists.

The scientists (or doctors, maybe?) are doing something to a pair of chubby babies, injecting them with things and writing stuff down. The sight of a needle going into such little arms (arms the color of Georgia peaches) stops him in his tracks, and floods his system with adrenaline, violence thumping hard against the inside of his skull.

“Who are you? How’d you get in here?” A blonde man shouts. “Someone call security!”

He doesn’t have time to drag this out. He still hasn’t found the other heart. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know who let you in here, but-” Bob doesn’t give the man time to finish. He just raises a hand, and lifts the man into the air, followed by the nurses when they turn to flee. It takes no effort at all to reach for the power tingling in his fingertips and press down on their windpipes, making their mouths open and close, open and close, a trio of red faced fish floundering around on a dock.

He’s happy when they struggle. When they kick.

And once they stop, he leaves them there, bumping around on the ceiling, to walk over to the two hospital cribs in the center of the room.

They’re gorgeous, just like their father. And safe now, thank fuck.

“Hello.” Bob reaches down into the closest bed and strokes a dark finger across one soft cheek, smiling when the baby turns towards him in her sleep. “...I’ll be right back for you. I promise.”

~~~

Time passes. John’s not sure how much. But eventually, he wakes up feeling sore and empty, with a cold feeling in his gut that threatens to overwhelm him.

…Until he realizes that there’s something off about the room.

Something different.

It’s dark. And not a normal, off-switch kind of dark. It’s a swirling, heavy, moving kind of dark that brushes against his skin like wind coming off of a lake. It’s also silent, no evil doctors in sight waiting to slice him back open.

This helps with the headache still pounding behind his eyelids, but not by much.

His head lolls to the side as he tries to get his bearings, but every small movement is kind of like swimming through molasses at this point, and so he quickly falls back against the examination table in exhaustion, giving up, despite how much it kills him.

This is about when the weird door nearby opens from the floor up with a quiet swooshing sound.

He lifts his heavy, cotton-y head to try and see who it is, and grunts when he realizes he can’t make out anything from this angle. Still, it doesn’t seem like there’s anybody in the doorway. Actually, there doesn’t seem to be any light coming in from the hallway at all, which is…super fucking weird.

“John.”

His breath catches in his throat. When he tries to speak around it, it takes swallowing down a sharp sob to get anything to come out at all. “...Bob?”

Fuck, he sounds so broken.

“There you are, baby.” Bob’s murmuring voice has an echoing quality to it that John’s too tired and grateful to worry about. Instead, he shuts his eyes again, and swallows thickly as his boyfriend moves through the black of the room. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“...They took them, Bobby.” God, his throat hurts.

“No. No, no, no.” The restraints around his wrists and ankles glow orange like embers for just a second, before shattering into pieces. And then gentle, strong arms lift him up, cradling him against a familiar chest. He plops his head down into the crook of Bob’s neck and slowly breathes in the comforting smell of his bodywash, forcing it into his lungs, until he feels a bit more steady. “I would never let anyone take the babies.”

“...You found them?” The words shake their way out of his mouth, hope pulsing hot and nervous in his chest.

“Mhm. We’re gonna go get them now. How does that sound?” His voice pours over John in soft waves.

“Good. ‘T sounds good.” He nods tiredly and lets himself be carried from the room into the dark hallway outside. It’s tough to make anything out, but when he blinks past the dizziness creeping up on him, he notices the piles of bodies scattered across the ground like trampled confetti.

Huh. Okay, so, maybe he’s lagging a bit, what with just experiencing the most violent birth known to man, but cut him some slack — he’s starting to put things together. Like all the dead people. Or the ominous streaks of fluid coating the walls. Or how Bobby’s whole body is made of shadows. It’s…uh…kind of a big deal. Probably. And he should be worried. Or at least a little bit scared. But mostly, he’s just so relieved tears begin to burn again at the edges of his eyes. “...How’d you know where to find me?”

“Don’t be silly.” Bob sighs and presses a firm kiss to his temple. “I’ll always find you.”

It’s a nice thought. He wraps himself up in it, fills himself up with the safety in his words, and presses a sloppy, close-mouthed kiss to Bob’s voided shoulder. “Thanks f’r coming.”

“Always.”

As they wind their way through the endless maze that is this fucked up (probably OXE incorporated) lab, John’s eyebrows raise as he realizes just how many bodies they’re passing. Like. It’s an excessive amount of bodies. Every time they enter a new room, at least a dozen more people lay at awkward angles, bones jutting out in a way that makes him consider how much strength it would take to break this many people down to spare parts. “Um…hey, Bobby…can I- can I ask you something?”

“Of course, baby, what is it?” Bob whispers, nuzzling his head against the top of John’s.

“...Why didn’t you just…y’now…put them in shame rooms?”

The other man pauses for a second to think about it, before continuing on with quick, even steps. “When I stopped using my powers last time…all of those people came back…I didn’t want these ones coming back.”

It goes quiet again, and then John slowly nods his head against the shadowy space where Bob’s shirt should be. “...Cool.”

Bob huffs out a surprised laugh, and kisses the side of his face again, and again, and — so maybe John isn’t the only one barely keeping it together right now. Those long fingers dig into his body, and there’s a reverence behind each kiss pressed into his skin.

It’s good. Makes him feel a little closer to whole.

After a while, they end up outside a heavy, sealed door that Bob crumbles and rips away as easily as someone taking down a curtain. The two of them step inside, and when John looks up, he has to take a second to process what he’s seeing;

Three bodies slowly drifting in a circle on the ceiling, bodies limp, faces frozen in fear. An invisible force pushes them along like a fucked up, horror movie baby mobile.

“Christ, Bobby.” He breathes out.

“They- They took you from me. And they hurt you.” The Void-like quality to his voice drops a little, replaced by shaky defensiveness.

John just reaches up and runs a hand through Bob’s dark hair. It’s cool. It kinda feels like sticking your hand outside a car window while driving down the highway. “I’m not mad.”

“...Oh. Okay.” He sighs in relief and carries the soldier over to the pair of plastic beds sitting in the center of the room. “So…twins?”

“Yeah.” His throat goes thick again as he looks down at the shadowy shape of their tiny bodies. “Girls. I think they might be Ava’s, too, but I’m not really sure how that works.”

“...It’s probably time to take you to a scientist not on Val’s payroll, huh?” Bob adjusts his hold on John to free up a hand, using his telekinesis to carefully lift the girls one at a time into the tired, blonde’s arms.

Fuck. He wishes he could see them better. But still, at least he gets to feel them. They’re both asleep, unbothered by all the death and darkness happening around them. They just breathe, slow and sweet, and lay with their delicate baby cheeks smooshed against John’s chest. He breathes in their milky baby smell and closes his eyes. “Holy shit…Bobby, do you see them?”

“Yeah, sweetheart, I see them.”

“They’re perfect.”

“Of course they are. They’re yours, remember?” Bob walks them back out and heads presumably in the direction of the exit.

It reminds him of what that man had said before, about John just being an incubator. “Damn right, they are. And…you know, yours, too. I’d- uh- ask if that’s alright, or whatever, but I think you just about leveled a city for us, so…”

He can’t make out the other guy’s face through the heavy shadows of his skin, but John’s pretty sure he’s beaming. “...Ours, then.”

It sounds good, hearing him say it. “So…can we go home now? I’m- I’m really freaking tired.”

“Not yet, baby. I should probably look around a little, see if I can’t figure out who’s in charge of this place.” Bob hefts him up a little and starts to wind his way through the room towards a wall of computers. “You just rest now, okay?”

“Bobby…look, I can help. If we both carry one of the girls, and split the work, we can-”

“No.” His voice is doing that creepy/cool echoing thing again and his arm under John’s butt tightens. “I’m not- John…I don’t…I don’t think I can put you down right now.”

“...Okay. Hey, hey, that’s okay.” He rubs his forehead against Bob’s collarbone, and distantly wishes he could be more useful — wishes he felt a little less pathetic, so he could convince even one of them that he’s fine. “Just…let me know if I can help. Alright?”

“Alright.”

…Yeah, John doesn’t believe him for a second, but there doesn’t seem to be any point in arguing. Not when Bob’s already flicking his wrist to type around on keyboards and move pieces of paper into the air, official-looking sheets drifting around on an invisible string, golden eyes scanning everything.

It doesn’t take him too much longer, just another few minutes of zooming things around the room, before a single stamped paper drifts into view. John squints blearily in the document’s direction to try and figure out what’s caught Bob’s attention, but before he can, it disintegrates into dust, fine, white specks raining to the ground. “Okay. We can leave now.”

“What is it? What did you find?” He asks a little too loudly. The volume makes one of the girls twitch in his arms, and he silently swears.

“I know how Ava fits into all this.” Bob’s practically marching now, as they make their way out of the facility. “And I know who ordered these guys to take you.”

“...And?” John pushes.

“...We can talk about it after you’ve gotten some sleep, okay?”

“Uh- no, not okay. You can’t just- keep information from me, I’m not a freaking kid.” He whisper-yells back through gritted teeth.

“John. I need to get you home first.” Bob glances down meaningfully at his own shadowy form. “...I don’t know how much longer I can keep holding this.”

It’s possible that he’d gotten so wrapped up in his relief at being rescued that he’d forgotten the huge issue that was his boyfriend being Voided out for the first time since he’d sent half of New York into a series of shame rooms. “Oh…right.”

“Uh huh. Right.” Cutting out of a bay area (also filled with scattered corpses), they finally make it outside, cool night air washing over his sore body. “Hey Walker, I’m gonna need you to hold on tight to the girls for this next part.”

Why does he have a bad feeling about this? “Wait, what are you-”

A yelp bursts out of his chest as they shoot into the sky, waking up the baby on his right, who yawns, and slowly blinks opens the biggest green eyes he’s ever seen. She doesn’t cry. Doesn’t squirm. Just…looks up at him, like she knows exactly who he is. Some strong, unnamable emotion rises up in his stomach as the light of the moon pours over her tiny face, and he clears his throat to hide a sniffle as he peers down at the most beautiful little person in the whole world.

“She’s got your hair.” Bob notes, voice rumbling against John’s side.

“...I dunno. I think it’s a little more red, like my momma’s.” He disagrees.

Secretly, though, he likes the idea of them carrying some of his features. He can still remember the giddy joy he’d felt when Olivia’s dad had pointed out that Danny had inherited his ears. Even now, when he looks at his son, it’s nice seeing the ways in which they carry a part of each other.

“Nah, your hair does that, too. Ever since you’ve been stuck inside more, it’s gotten all- all strawberry-colored.” Bob chuckles as they swoop around sparkling, wet clouds. “It’s cute.”

“Oh, yeah?” John’s smile is small, but pleased. “You- uh- You really think so?”

“Mhm.”

“Thanks, Bobby…seriously, thank you.” Everything is starting to hit him all at once now. The burning sensation still cutting down his stomach, the ghost of dead bodies lingering behind his eyelids, the two carbon copies of his teammates eyes cradled against his chest. The questions, and cold, and exhaustion.

The fierce love radiating off of the man who came for them. “I told you…everything’s going to be okay.”

John doesn’t fall asleep, not hundreds of feet in the air over what looks like…maybe New Jersey? But he does sink down into the unbending arms around him, Bob’s promise beating in time with his heart.

Chapter Text

When they make it back to the Tower, John takes one look at the half-built crib taking up most of the rug in Bob’s room, and starts to cry. The darkness around the other man had slipped away once his feet had hit the roof, leaving behind just Bob — shy, thoughtful Bob — who continued to clutch John to his chest like he was afraid someone was going to try and take him away again. One look at John’s gross, red face was enough to have him herding the soldier towards the shower, easily taking the girls to watch from the doorway in concern as John half collapsed against the steamy tiles.

After a deeply unsteady shower that leaves him more lightheaded than anything, John finally collapses onto the other man's bed, clean skin swishing against fresh sheets, as he takes the girls back and cradles them to his chest. Only, one of them immediately begins to flail her little arms around, while the other girl's face scrunches up like she's tasted something sour. “...Shit. You think they need to be fed?”

“Huh?” Bob murmurs distractedly, while hunting for a clean hoodie to change into. After another second, he seems to process what John's just said, and his head shoots up in panic. “Oh no. We don't have any, y'know…pumping equipment or- or formula, I guess? How are you supposed to…?”

“I guess we just…get them to latch?” John grimaces, feeling more clueless than he ever has before in his entire 39 years of existence (and that’s saying a lot, considering the past 40 weeks).

“Right, so…do they just…know how to do it? Like, instinctually or something?” Bob asks, crawling over onto the bed to sit beside the three of them.

“I don’t know. Olivia didn’t want to breastfeed, so we never…” John trails off and sighs, before plopping the screeching girls back to their…Father? Papa? Shit, they should probably decide on names sooner, rather than later.

Oh, God. Names. They needed to name the babies.

Okay. One step at a time. “Alright. Pull up YouTube.”

Just like with checking the babies heartbeats, the two men find themselves huddled together over a shared phone screen, watching a woman with stylish hair clips instruct them on things like breast tissue and how to hold yourself right to increase flow. Slowly, with a lot of fumbling and embarrassment, they manage to feed both of the girls, and eventually, all four members of their strange little family are laying together with their eyes half-closed, their arms tiredly looped around each other. “...We make a good team.”

“Yeah, we do.” Bob sighs, tilting his messy head against the top of John’s.

“I call dibs on being Daddy, though.”

Bob’s head pops back up again, face scrunched in confusion. “Uh...what?”

“I get to be Daddy. You’ve gotta pick something else, man.” His closes his eyes.

“...You mean…”

When Bob doesn’t continue, John’s eyes flutter back open, and he tilts his chin to look up at the speechless man beside him. What he finds in the other’s face makes his heart melt right out of his chest; big, shocked blue eyes shining with love and lips parted around a soft, vulnerable noise that catches somewhere low in the guy’s throat. “...Dad.”

“Hmm?” He murmurs, distracted by the wateriness to his boyfriend’s voice.

“I wanna be Dad.” Bob says it nervously, like he’s scared John’s gonna take it back.

And they can’t have that. John nods, and presses a kiss to the man’s shoulder. Then one more, just ‘cause he can. “Dad it is, then.”

Bob clears his throat and goes back to looking down at the babies. And after a few seconds have passed, he carefully lifts one of their teeny, tiny, chubby fists, and presses a kiss of his own to their little fingers. “...I didn’t think I’d ever have this.”

“Yeah, well, you’re stuck with us now.” There’s not a force on this planet strong enough to get John to let go of Bob now that he’s got him.

“That’s nice.” He laughs thickly and closes his own dark eyes, the weight of everything that had happened these past few days finally settling over all of them.

It’s probably not safe to fall asleep with the babies between them on the bed, but the crib isn’t finished yet, and neither of the adults have any strength to take care of it tonight. So for now, they arrange themselves as best as they can, and within minutes, fall asleep with the warmth of four heartbeats filling the room.

~~~

When John wakes up, it’s to one of the girls grumbling near his ear, and the sound of furious whispering voices in the hallway. He grunts, rubs at his eyes, and turns to the clock; only six hours have passed. Which, in his opinion, is totally not enough time for sleep after everything he went through. Still, he scooches himself into sitting and checks on the babies. One of them is still sleeping on her back, little limbs curled close against her body. The other one is blinking at him slowly with her big green eyes and making gurgling noises that either means she’s hungry again, or the diaper they’d found her in needs to be changed.

God, he hopes it’s the first one.

Sighing, John scoops her up, bouncing her gently, and beelines it for the hallway to check out what’s going on first. When he opens the door, he finds the entire team being blocked from entering the room by an adorably puffed up Bob, who’s standing with his arms covering the doorway.

“Uh. Hey.” He says casually, pretending like he doesn’t notice the way everyone else’s eyes zero in on the little girl in his arms.

“Ohmygod, she’s adorable.” Ava breathes out.

“No, seriously, how did something that cute come out of your body?” Yelena tries to push her way forward, but Bob continues to keep everyone back through sheer force of will, and the 8 inches it’s easy to forget he has over the blonde woman.

Which — hey, is totally appreciated, but unnecessary. They’ve gotta meet his daughters eventually, might as well be while one of them’s got a poopy diaper. “Ha ha, very funny. Did Bob tell you about the buy one, get one free discount?”

“What?” Bucky and Ava both say at the same time, at varying volumes.

“Yup. Twins. The other one’s still sleeping, though, so if y’all could keep it down a little, I’d appreciate it.” He peeks down at the one still wiggling in his hold, and grins when she lets out a teeny squeak.

“Two babies?” Alexei whisper-shouts, both hands rising with emotion. “But this is best possible news! They will be strong, and handsome, just like their father. Oh! And we can get them little matching New Avengerz onesies — so cute.”

John shakes his head and tries not to laugh. “Thanks, man. That’s…thoughtful, I guess. But- uh- there’s probably a lot of sh- stuff we need to talk about, so…you guys wanna come in?”

“Really?” Yelena asks with that full upside down ‘u’ frown of hers that she makes anytime she experiences an emotion other than gremlin-like joy.

“Sure, just- quietly. Also, I’ve gotta change this one’s diaper, so if someone could grab the stuff from my room for that, that’d be great.”

“I’ll go.” Bucky volunteers with a brief wave. “Just don’t start without me.”

With that, everyone else pushes past Bob’s arms (which he drops in defeat) to file into the bedroom, finding different spots to settle down on. There are a few awe-filled glances at the sleeping girl on the bed, but other than that, everyone does a pretty good job of being respectful with their volume — even Alexei.

Once Bucky’s back, and the baby in his arm is changed (with only a few disgusted noises from the peanut gallery behind him), he sits back down on the bed and looks around at their curious faces, unsure where to start. “So. I might have been kidnapped.”

“You what-”

“-John, you can’t be serious-”

“-I knew it! I knew we never should have gone on that mission-”

“-Who took you? I will find them and I will crush their skulls like little bugs!” That last one is from Alexei, whose big face is stormy with rage.

“Easy, guys. I’m okay. I’m gonna probably be having nightmares for the rest of my life, but hey, what’s new?” John shrugs, while trying not to jostle the baby. “Besides…Bobby got us out okay.”

He looks towards his boyfriend, who’s already staring back from his seat on the floor, face sharp and fiercely protective. Bob’s jaw is tight with emotion, and he has to take a shaky breath, as he reaches up to rest a hand on John’s ankle for support, before speaking. “...It was Oxe, or- Val, I guess. She’s the one who paid the doctors that took John.”

Yeah, he could have guessed that. Oh, wait, he totally did. “You saw something in those papers at the lab?”

“What lab? Where was it located?” Bucky cuts in.

“They had him in New Jersey, near Lakehurst.” Bob informs them.

“Well, we should go back! Do reconnaissance, torture some guys — something!” Yelena whispers loudly.

“Uh. Right. About that…” Bob runs his free hand through his curls bashfully. “There’s not…really any guys to torture…anymore.”

Everyone’s face goes blank. The room is completely silent, until Ava pipes up from where she’s leaning against the wall. “Good. That saves us a step.”

“...Did you get any other information while you were there?” Bucky asks.

“Mhm. Yeah- um…” Bob takes a deep breath and looks directly into John’s eyes. “I’m pretty sure Ava’s the mom.”

More silence. And then Yelena begins to giggle, which turns into a snort, and finally a too-loud cackle that makes the baby laying beside him start to squirm. “That is hilarious, Bob. Seriously. That is very good! You almost got me with that one.”

Ava holds herself very still. She does not seem to find this as funny as Yelena. “I’m sorry- do you mean me, Ava?”

Bob nods earnestly and goes on to explain, “It has something to do with the fight. I- I guess you were the last person to get hit with Rhiannon’s staff, before she hit John with whatever curse she’d been brewing up? She must have taken your…you know…uh- gene stuff, maybe? Either way, that’s why I couldn’t tell there were twins at first. They were shifting back and forth between quantum states the whole time. Honestly, I- I just thought they had a freaky fast heartbeat.”

The curly-haired man laughs sheepishly.

Quantum states. His daughters can shift between quantum states. And with his luck, they might even inherit some of his super serum traits. God, he is not looking forward to their terrible twos.

“No offense, John, but I’m…not really mommy material.” Ava’s face has gone wobbly and pale. Still, her eyes remain glued to the babies, tracing over her own features being reflected back at her.

Yeah, that’s fair. Once he’d realized there was a chance she was involved, he sort of expected this kind of reaction. He’d also prepared what to say, hoping it didn’t sound as cheesy as it did in his head. “...What about…y’know…aunt material? You seem to have the whole- positive female role model thing down.”

“‘Positive female role model?’” She parrots back, lips curling into something small and pleased. “...I suppose that doesn’t sound too bad to me. I’m not paying child support, though.”

“Wow. That makes, what, half of our team dead beat dads? No wonder people don’t like us.” Yelena jokes, reaching out to pinch John’s cheek to show him she doesn’t mean it. “And what about me, huh? If Ava is an aunt, I want to be an aunt, too.”

“And me! I will be grandpa! Or maybe very cool uncle, yes?” Alexei beams.

“I could be an uncle. I’d be a great uncle.” Bucky pitches in with a wry grin.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, fine! Whatever, you’re all aunts and uncles.” John rolls his eyes, but secretly enjoys the warm feeling filling his guts. It dims a little, though, once he remembers the unresolved issue on the table. “...Now what are we going to do about Val?”

Everyone looks around at each other, and then Alexei raises his hand. “I vote we kill her now, yes?”

“Oh, I’m totally down with killing her.” Yelena nods.

“Sounds good to me.” Ava adds.

“If she’d been at the lab when I found John…I’m not sure what I would’ve done.” Bob says quietly.

All of the eyes in the room turn to Bucky, who looks around at everyone and raises his eyebrows. “What? You think I’m gonna say no?”

Yelena turns forward again with a satisfied glint in her eyes. “Okay, it’s settled then. We kill Val. Maybe we do it after breakfast, though, because I’m starving.”

“Guys…what are we going to do afterwards? Val runs the team. If she’s gone-” John can’t even finish the sentence, images of their little fucked up family disbanded already running through his head.

“-Mel will take over. And I trust her a lot more than I trust Valentina.” Bucky says.

“Aren’t you supposed to be against violent retribution now?” John shoots back.

“Eh.” Bucky shrugs. “I think these are extenuating circumstances.”

John snorts. “Well, I’m not gonna be the only one not on team murder. They turned me into a high school dissection project.”

“Do we even know where she is right now?” Bob asks.

Bucky pulls out a smart phone that takes him an eternity to get unlocked (his technology skills have not improved since joining this century). “I’ve got a man on the inside. Shouldn’t be too hard to do a basic snatch and grab.”

“Then it’s settled. Family outing after breakfast. John, you will stay here.” Yelena points at him in warning.

He lifts his free hand in surrender. “Hey, I’m not fighting you on this one. I still feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

Bob frowns at the reminder, thumb digging in a bit where he’s still gripping John’s leg. He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, Ava cuts in. “Wait, what are they called? You know…the babies.”

Right. Names. John stares down into his little girl’s face. Her full cheeks are pink and fuzzy, and she smells a little like warm milk. “This little goblin is…Mara. Mara Grace. That way she’s got a little bit of my momma, and a little bit of…of Lemar.”

He clears his throat, and sniffs manfully, trying to shove down the emotions threatening to rise up within him.

“That’s beautiful, John.” Bucky says with a small smile. “What about sleeping beauty over there?”

“Don’t look at me, ask her dad.” John nudges Bob’s hand with his foot, and grins when the other man’s mouth drops open.

“Huh? Me? You want- You want me to name her?” He points to himself dumbly, dark blue eyes going a little shiny.

“Why not? Saves me from having to come up with another one.”

Bob takes a shaky breath, and pushes himself into standing, slowly moves to sit at the foot of the bed, so that he can look at the strawberry blonde currently huffing in her sleep. He takes a minute to think about it, chewing on his lip in concentration, before one corner of his mouth tilts up in a half-smile. “...What about Lana Theodora? Theodora was the name of this old lady who lived next door to us growing up — she was always real nice to me. And then, I figure Lana, because-”

“-Lan.” John shakes his head and gives his boyfriend a fond look. “Traitor.”

“Wait, are you serious? You’re going to-” Yelena laughs once in disbelief, and looks between them with steadily widening eyes. “-After me?”

“Might as well. You’re half the reason we have a team to begin with.” He lets out an exaggerated put-upon noise. “Besides, one of my kids is already obsessed with you. This one probably will be, too.”

“That’s really sweet, you guys.” Now she’s the one sniffling.

Ava, however, scoffs in outrage. “They got half of my genetic material, and you name one after Yelena? I didn’t think favoritism was your style, Bob.”

“Shit. I mean, shoot. I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t even think-” He stammers out.

“-I’m kidding. It’s a good name.” She walks over and squeezes his shoulder reassuringly. “Mara and Lana…very pretty.”

“They’re gonna be a handful.” John feels the need to remind everyone.

Yelena tilts her head towards him in response. “Yes, but we’ll handle it.”

“Together.” Bob adds, reaching across the blankets for John’s free hand.

The soldier intertwines their fingers, and looks around the room at the love shining out of everyone’s faces. The giddy relief at having the team together. The easy support being offered to him here in this moment, surrounded by his family. He looks at his daughters, the safety in their chubby faces, and sees the second chance he never thought he’d have. And when he turns back to Bob, the man who promised to stay with him, he finally feels like he can do this. They’re ready. “Together.”