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The team knowing makes it all so real it’s terrifying. As one who’s never experienced any sort of softness or at least some condescension, Bob is shocked by the way everything changes around him.
It’s not really a family if they don’t want you here, he guesses, so he can’t compare any of his teammates to his, well, biological one.
It’s nothing drastic – perhaps not for any normal person – but for Bob, it makes him feel lost because he just doesn’t know how to react. They were kind before, excusing his sick mind and need to burrow into his nest and go no-contact for days, and his almost aggressively intense scent that followed his heats now that he was something…entirely different. But after he revealed he’s expecting, it’s a gentle care that makes him emotional, like he could get any more emotional considering all the ways this pregnancy has reduced him to a fragile, childlike level of self-control. It takes, like, a plate of washed and carefully cut fruit that Bucky silently brings him when he’s hanging out in the living room, watching TV, to form a lump of tears in his throat; or the way they scent him, mostly by walking close past him, brushing their arms together, or stroking his hair. Yelena and Alexei both go as far as hugging him until their scent settles into his clothes and onto the bits of skin that he shows. It’s embarrassing. And sweet. And it makes him feel like home. When Alexei brings the tiniest New Avengers two-piece that could ever exist to the tower, rambling about how it was made specifically for the team baby out of the softest fabric, Bob can’t hold it back anymore.
Well, no, enjoying the scenting was fine. That’s embarrassing.
He covers his face with his hands and sobs, shoulders trembling from the strain of trying to hold it in, trying not to fall apart completely. But then warm hands slip around him, steady and sure, and he can’t help but lean in.
“Hey, Bob, what is it?” Yelena’s gentle voice touches his ear with the warmth of her breath as she presses close.
“You don’t like it?” Alexei sounds a bit upset but still with that optimistic flow of his. “No tears needed, we’ll throw it away, son-“
“No!” He raises his head sharply, eyes red-rimmed and glistening with tears. The gazes he feels on himself are mildly confused and concerned. He wipes at his face, sniffing.
“I love it, it’s just…just the hormones a-and mood swings,” he feels tears welling up again and huffs out a frustrated laugh, breathing in and out heavily. “I’m sorry. Sorry. I’m okay. I like the suit…”
Alexei looks between him and Yelena, then lowers himself on his other side and hands him a paper bag. Bob smiles, pressing it close. It’s really, really nice to be seen and cared for, and he loves his future son or daughter, and everyone on the team seems to be very excited about the baby too, but it overwhelms him more often than not and makes him want to crawl into his room, into the nest, and curl under the blankets for hours. Even better if John finds him there and slides in beside him, encompassing him in his arms, the sound of him breathing, the warmth of his body, his thick and catchy alpha scent.
That’s not happening today, though, because John is away, visiting his son, and Bob is here, alone, wrapped in John’s sweatshirt, a book in his hands. He’s read the same page for, like, fifteen minutes, thoughts interrupting him again and again. He wanted to go with John but didn’t dare to ask because John was so excited to have a father-son day with Mikey, and Bob didn’t want to ruin it for him. He knew he would because pregnancy made him so whiny and he’d probably cry just because. Because Mikey’s a child, so small, smelling soft and sweet like any other pup, and faintly of John, and Bob loves those scents. And he has tiny hands and always hugs Bob when he sees him, and…
“Fuck,” he mumbles, breath hitching, sniffling and sobbing as he lays the book aside to press his palms to his face, wiping tears from his cheeks. They’re warm and salty, burning on his bitten lips, and Bob hates how his whole body shakes as he weeps. And for what? Because John’s son is so cute, and their baby together will probably be just as cute and so tiny too! He literally chokes on tears, sliding down the headboard he was leaning on and under the blanket, pressing his face into the pillow. It gets disgustingly wet fast. Bob hopes that it will end soon, that thing with him tearing up over anything, or subside at the very least because right now he feels absolutely ridiculous, and fragile, and lonely, because John doesn’t get it at all.
He tries to, of course. He’s not a bad partner or anything, but John’s reaction to tears is awkward silence or, worse, a hand on Bob’s arm or between his shoulder blades, like Bob is his buddy and not his… Well, that thought gives him another reason to drown himself in tears, and Bob lets out a cry, grabbing the pillow he’s pressed his face into and hugging it. Because… because who is he even, to John? They’re having a whole damn baby together and there’s still no mating bite on Bob’s neck. He doesn’t smell like a taken omega, like John’s, because he isn’t, not really. Now he’s just hurt and sad, and he feels like John doesn’t really want him. It’s stupid. John always makes sure to show how much he loves Bob and needs him, and Bob wants to believe in it – he should – but he’s in such a vulnerable position, and it’s not his logic leading now, it’s his feelings. And what he feels is that John isn’t sure that Bob is his forever. Not that he has to. Right, who would want Bob, of all people, to build a life with? Bob whimpers as he curls in on himself, pressing a hand to his neck, over the scent gland where the mark should be.
John returns later than he’d originally planned. His day with Mikey stretches into the evening with Olivia after he tucks Mikey in and reads him a bedtime story until he falls asleep. They talk about Mikey, about what custody might look like down the line, when he’s a bit older, and about when John can visit next time, or whether it’d be better to bring him to the tower instead. They catch up a little too, and it feels like talking to an old friend – easy and comforting.
By the time John finally makes it back, it’s long past when Bob would usually be asleep. He’s been resting more these days, often dozing off before midnight, so John expects to find him already out.
But Bob’s still awake, propped up against a pile of pillows, the TV playing softly.
“Hey, baby,” John says as he leans down to kiss Bob’s temple.
“Hey…” Bob’s voice is quiet, and up close, John can see the faint puffiness around his eyes. He must have been crying again. It happens a lot lately because of hormones, mostly, so John doesn’t mention it.
“How was your day? Anything interesting happen?” John asks, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Alexei gave me a new Avengers suit for the baby,” Bob says, leaning over to retrieve a small paper bag from the bedside table.
“Wow,” John breathes, fingertips brushing the fabric as Bob holds it up. It’s incredibly soft – a tiny two-piece set in deep navy, nearly black, with slim red stripes running along the sleeves and a bold ‘A’ stamped across the chest. It looks a lot like John’s own suit, and it’s surprisingly cute. “We probably need to start thinking about the nursery, huh?”
“Probably,” Bob replies flatly, shrugging, his expression closed off as his fingers fiddle with the edges of his sleeves.
“Okay.” John puts the clothing aside and tilts his head, trying to catch Bob’s gaze, fruitlessly. “What’s going on?”
Bob just sighs and shakes his head, refusing to look at him or answer, and John feels a pang of annoyance because he can’t think of anything he did wrong to upset him. And he hates being met with silence for something he doesn’t even understand.
“Are you mad at me for something?” he tries to ask, thinking for a moment about touching Bob’s hand to attract his attention but dropping the idea.
There’s nothing for a minute or two, then Bob finally looks at him, his eyes glistening suspiciously.
“No,” he finally says, swallowing audibly and letting out just one sob. “No, I- I’m not mad at you.”
“Then what is it?” John feels even more confused, but he also feels the need to comfort Bob hitting him, his scent growing thicker on instinct as he releases calming pheromones. John inches closer, trailing his fingers lightly down Bob’s arm before gently lacing their hands together. Bob doesn’t pull away. Good.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” John asks, thumb brushing over his knuckles.
“No, yes, I’m okay,” Bob assures him quickly. “I think I am, at least. It’s just-“
“Yeah?” John encourages, looking at him expectantly.
“I was thinking about you and us and…” Bob’s breath hitches, he pauses, and John kinda feels everything crumbling inside of him because it sounds too much like his last conversation with Olivia before they… He stops himself from spiraling and squeezes Bob’s hand tighter, waiting for him to continue.
“I wonder if you’ll ever bite me,” Bob finally pushes out, dropping his gaze.
John feels something twist inside him, a strange, unsettled warmth tinged with nerves. Of course, he thought about the whole mating thing from time to time. It was, like, sewn into his instincts to feel the need to mark his partner, to make sure the world knows the omega is taken. But it was barbaric in a way, some people considered it barbaric these days despite many pros of being mated through bites. Even Olivia, after all those years together, never really wanted to be marked. Owned. So John assumed it would be the same for Bob. Maybe he shouldn’t have assumed.
“You mean,” he says carefully, tightening his hold on Bob’s hand as if grounding them both, “a mating bite? Like, you want me to mark you?”
“Is it wrong?” Bob asks more quietly, his shoulders slumping a bit. “I mean, I get that you probably don’t want to tie yourself to me permanently…”
“Okay, Bobby, no.” John leans in, his free hand coming up to gently catch Bob’s chin, lifting it so their eyes meet. “Tone it down, babe. Why would you even say that?”
“Because you never even mentioned mating with me?” Bob bites back, and John has to suppress the urge to pull away at the golden flicker in his irises.
“You can’t act like you don’t understand it’s not as common these days,” John replies, a touch of frustration threading into his voice. “I didn’t want you to feel cornered or like I was trying to own you.”
“Maybe I want you to own me,” Bob continues, and he radiates a power in a way John can feel as a warmth seeping into his hand where he holds Bob’s. “Maybe I want to own you.”
John frowns, breath catching as a darker thought rises up.
“What if I die?” Of course he knows anyone can die at any time, but being a soldier then and the fucked-up kind of superhero now? The odds are higher. “Or better yet – when I die. What will you do? It will take years for the mark to wear off. You’ll be stuck with the hollowness, the hurt doubled-“
“You won’t,” Bob snaps, eyes glowing with that golden light again. “I won’t let it happen.”
“Bob.”
“John.”
John lets out a frustrated laugh, dragging a hand over his face, feeling exhausted by the talk. He knows Bob has this tendency to think he’s like a god or something, and maybe he is, but even he isn’t above dying, so it’s just stupid.
“Okay,” he breathes, squeezing Bob’s fingers in his, his eyes scattering over Bob’s face. “Let’s not do this tonight, baby. Not now.”
“Then when?” Bob asks, his face falling, tears welling up in his eyes once more, and John wants to stop it. To do whatever to make him stop crying, but he can’t rush into things like this, it just doesn’t feel right. And it hurts even more when Bob pulls his hand back, hugging himself tightly.
“I…” John is lost for words for a moment. He sighs, then nods to himself before shifting closer on the bed carefully, reaching out to tug Bob into his arms. Bob comes, even if stiffly, and John brushes a kiss across his forehead, murmuring, “When it’s not just because you’re hurting and need reassurance, Bobby. Same for me, okay?”
Bob’s breath hitches, and John can feel him start to tremble again, but Bob clutches at the arms wrapped around him, so it’s… something.