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Valentina's PR galas, which you were forced to attend, were undoubtedly your least favorite events.
You could even argue that the rest of the Thunderbolts —now known as ‘The New Avengers’— agreed with you.
Dressing up in your finest attire, putting up a polished facade for investors and the press, while congressmen charmed their way through speeches, smiles carefully crafted for the cameras, and photo ops meticulously staged. Everything felt like an elaborate performance, a meticulously curated show designed to impress and persuade. Nonetheless, you understood it was part of the job — part of the game Valentina played so expertly.
“Can’t we just stay here and watch a movie?”
Bob had the worst time at these events. In the early months and at the first gatherings you were invited to, you managed to persuade Valentina to let him stay back at the tower. But your coaxing didn’t last forever.
“It’ll be over before you know it,” you assured him, offering a comforting smile, though both of you knew the truth.
“I just wish I could skip the whole thing sometimes.”
You reached out, giving him a warm smile, and gently took his hand in yours. “I know, babe.”
He squeezed your hand tenderly, his eyes shining with affection. “You look beautiful,” he mumbled softly. His eyes flickered up and down, appreciation evident on his face. “Red really suits you.”
Heat flooded your cheeks, and you gazed at him with a small, satisfied smile on your lips, smoothing a few strands of hair out of your face.
“Thank you, baby.” You stepped closer, narrowing the gap between you and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “It would look even better on the floor of your bedroom later tonight,” your voice lowering to a sultry whisper as you pressed your lips against his ear.
You drew back just enough to gauge the reaction your words provoked in him — his eyes widened, cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red.
The grin on your face grew broader.
He was adorable.
Bob's cheeks reddened further, and he let out a shy laugh that made your heart flutter. “You’re terrible,” he mumbled, his arm instinctively enveloping your waist in a firm but gentle embrace, holding you close.
“You love it,” you teased lightly, leaning in to give him a quick kiss.
Another thing you didn’t like about these galas was the necessity of hiding your relationship with Bob. Not being able to kiss him or hold his hand all night was the toughest part.
It was not a secret that you two were dating — at least for the rest of the team. But in Valentina’s and the government’s lexicon, “It’s not good press that there’s a romance within the team.” Whatever that meant, neither of you understood. The implication sat thick in the air, a silent judgment of your affection.
A very long night lay ahead of you.
***
You hated Valentina’s new assistant.
Since Mel had finally received the promotion she had deserved—and had worked for—Valentina decided to bring someone new onboard to fill her old position.
And that someone was Gretchen.
Gretchen was everything Mel wasn’t — and not in the way that was admirable. But that wasn’t the basis for your dislike; it was her unhealthy fixation with Bob, which began the moment she stepped out of the Watchtower elevator.
From that first glance, her infatuation was painfully obvious. She watched him with an intense, almost obsessed expression, making up excuses to get close to him, to touch him, and to be near him.
And that made your blood boil.
No, it wasn’t jealousy.
You trusted Bob more than anyone else. Gretchen was fighting a lost battle; she couldn't compete with what you shared with him. However, seeing her deliberately seek opportunities to get close to him, her persistence crossing boundaries, wore thin on your patience.
Like tonight, since arriving at the gala, she hasn't stopped seeking him out. Every time he moved across the room, Gretchen's eyes followed him, tracking his every movement.
“Look at the floor, or the ceiling. Anyone else here, if you’re feeling it. Just keep your eyes off him,” you warned, your voice steady yet low, attempting to maintain your composure.
“Aw, are you scared that he’s gonna realize that he can do better than a misfit with blood on her hands?” she taunted, her tone mocking.
“Listen, I’ll be nice, up until I’m not,” you responded firmly. “Some fights you’re never going to win; the sooner you realize it, the better.”
She smirked, lips curving into a defiant smirk. “Ohh, I’m so scared,” she mocked, feigning that her hand was shaking.
“Last warning. Back off, or I’ll make you regret crossing me.”
Her smile grew even more confident, and a hint of danger sparkled in her gaze. “Or what? You’ll threaten me again? Been there, done that. But maybe you’re just all talk.”
The air grew heavier, the tension boiling just beneath the surface. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice urged patience, but instinct had already taken control. You took a measured step forward, your voice calm and unwavering. “Bitch, you haven’t seen the side of me when I’m two drinks in and you can’t leave my man alone.”
She seemed unfazed by your words, shrugging with a smug smile as she backed away. “May the best one win.” With a final scowl, she turned and walked off toward where Valentina and Bob were standing, chatting with a New York Times reporter. Well, Valentina and the reporter were doing the talking, while your boyfriend was just standing there, bouncing one leg and the other, clearly wishing he was anywhere else but here.
‘May the best one win.’ What the hell was that supposed to mean? He was neither a trophy to be claimed nor a prize to be won.
She was pushing it too far.
You should’ve slapped her right there. Instead, you clenched your fists, feeling that simmering frustration boiled over.
How dare she act like she had a chance? As if she owned him? She knew nothing about him; she was just interested in the superhero propaganda Valentina was feeding the press—The Sentry.
But not Robert Reynolds. Bob.
Sweet, respectful Bob, who valued genuine connection.
“You're better than me,” Mel remarked, appearing behind you with a drink in her hand. “I’d have slapped the shit out of her already.”
“Trust me, I’m very tempted. But I don’t think that would do any favors for the positive image Valentina is trying to craft for ‘The New Avengers.’”
From your vantage point, you saw Gretchen placing her hand on Bob’s bicep, leaning in just enough to invade his space. Her eyes glittered with that same intensity. Bob’s smile was polite but strained, and you could see the underlying tension in his stance.
Your grip on the glass tightened as you resisted the impulse to march over and pull her away from him. Every second she lingered near him, she was eroding what little patience you had left.
Mel leaned in slightly, voice hoarse with resolve. “You want me to do something? ‘Cause I will. I’m not about to stand here and watch her shitshow.”
You shook your head subtly, your eyes never leaving the scene. “No. Let her have her moment. It’s not worth the fight. But if she crosses the line again, I swear, I will not hold back.”
Bob glanced toward the crowd, probably wishing he could vanish into thin air. Then, she leaned in even closer, whispering something to him — the action a little too intimate for a professional conversation where there were investors at stake. Bob took a step back, but she brushed into him again, not seeming to notice or care.
That was the last straw.
“She’s not even trying to be subtle,” Mel muttered. “Can she be more pathetic?”
You swallowed the last of your drink in one gulp, hastily passing the glass to Mel before striding over there with determination.
Valentina was the first to notice your approach, tilting her head in confusion. The press lady nearby shimmered with excitement, her gaze flickering with anticipation, convinced she was about to land an exclusive interview. But what was about to unfold was something even more compelling — something that would make tomorrow’s front page.
Gretchen’s eyes darted to you as she sensed your approach, a flicker of defiance crossing her face. Bob looked up, and you could see the tension in his shoulders ease slightly when he spotted you.
Without hesitation, you reached out and gripped her wrist. “I told you to keep your hands off my man,” you snarled, pushing her aside with firm resolve.
In the background, you caught the faint murmur of Mel saying, “Set her straight, girl,” and Yelena’s thick Russian accent, “Oh shit.”
Then, gently, you placed your hand on Bob’s neck and pulled him down, pressing your lips against his. Though he was caught off guard, he quickly realized what was happening. His hands landed on your waist, drawing you in even closer as he kissed you back.
You didn’t care about the impact or the ramifications, because you were weary of being a puppet and being told what you could do and couldn’t do. And although under other circumstances, you might never have acted so boldly, Gretchen’s provocations had pushed you past your limit.
Yelena let out a low whistle, clearly impressed, while Mel’s cheers echoed softly in the background. You could even hear Alexei's obnoxiously loud voice clapping. “What a show. Young love. So beautiful.”
Gretchen, regaining some composure, tried to muster a cutting remark, but it fell flat. She spun on her heel and stormed off, muttering profanities under her breath.
“Well, I’d say that’s one for the history books. Tomorrow’s front page just got a lot more interesting.”
You pulled back just enough to look into Valentina’s eyes. “I’m sure Gretchen would be delighted to deal with the situation,” you replied sarcastically. “Now, if you excuse us.” Taking Bob’s hand, you guided him away from the turmoil and toward the exit.
You were done with tonight’s gala.
***
You were back at the Watchtower, the strain from the gala finally dissipating, but instead, a heavy wave of awareness washed over you, reminding you of the upcoming consequences.
“I’m sorry.” You looked down, a bit sheepish, breaking the silence that had settled between you.
Bob tilted his head, his brow furrowing. “Why?”
You took a slow, deep breath. “For acting so impulsively. Now, we're probably going to be on all the front pages — people will talk about this.” You looked up, eyes earnest. “I didn’t want it to go down like that, but Gretchen pushed me too far.”
Bob was smart, so you knew he had figured out what she had been doing tonight and every day since she was hired.
“Yeah, she wasn’t very subtle about it… but I, uh – I promise I wasn’t interested.”
Bless his heart.
“I know, baby. But she was really getting on my nerves. Especially after I already warned her to back off before, and she hurled a challenge at me as if she even had a chance with you.”
A grin tugged at Bob’s lips, growing wider.
“Why are you smiling?” you inquired in confusion.
Why wasn’t he mad that you outed your relationship in such a possessive way?
His eyes were bright with mirth as he leaned in. “Honestly? I liked it. It was kinda hot,” he admitted, a little breathless. “No one’s ever gone so feral over me before… It’s a real turn-on.”
You blinked in astonishment. Bob's confidence grew only on rare occasions, allowing him to speak such things.
A smile curved on your lips. “Oh, really? Well, if you think that was hot, you haven’t seen half of what I can do, baby.”
Without warning, Bob reached out, cradling your face in his hands and pulling your lips into his. It started slow but gradually escalated as his tongue pressed between your parted lips, seeking access that you willingly granted.
His hand on your face cupped your jaw, fingers curling gently as he held you steady. Your hands instinctively reached his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his tailored suit jacket, grounding yourself.
As the kiss deepened, his lips got more demanding. One of his hands slid from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you even closer — if it was possible — kindling a flame that spread through both of you. Your hands traveled to his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart beneath your fingertips.
When you finally pulled back slightly, your foreheads resting together, both of you out of breath. Bob’s gaze lingered on yours, a sly smile playing on his lips.
“Still think that dress would look better on my floor?”