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websterss · 2 months ago

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THE WOES OF BOWTIES AND MISSING PUZZLE PIECES — ROBERT REYNOLDS

REQUEST: reemoony asked: loveeee your writing and I hope this request reach you. Can you make Bob and y/n are liking each other but they never say it but everyone is well aware of their feelings. One day Bob having a rough day and void jumps out, creating quite a chaos. She tries to talk him through it but void being void thinking she’s a liability for them, he “consumed” her. Few moments after that he turns back into Bob & other people came back from void but not her. Angsty angsty but with happy ending please. Sorry if this complicated, just change it into what you feel right and easier.

WARNING(S): SPOILERS?? me trauma dumping on page 24 for the plot (google doc verified) ANGST AND MORE ANGST, mentions of toxic relationship, someone dies, Bob needs a hug, and a kiss, and lots of reassurance, and probably therapy, happy ending I swear!! I don’t know what I was thinking when I wrote this one, folks. I hope I hit everything, this should've been two parts lmfao. I am not responsible for your therapy bills.

WORD COUNT: 18,593 (don't kill me I was on the roll)

PAIRING: Robert Reynolds (Sentry/The Void) x fem!reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! :) Feedback is always welcome! I was truly second-guessing posting this. I’m starting to feel like I don’t have the writing means to handle Bob with such care like some of y'all do.😭 but here we are. This took me a week y’all, ya girls tired <3

MASTERLIST

The evening had come around the corner faster than Bob could grasp. Alexei was making last-minute calls to use their time wisely so that they might show up to the event at a cordial time. He would have if he could get his hair to cooperate with him.

"Knock. Knock." Yelena announces, tapping on Bob's ajar door. He stands in front of the floor-length mirror in the corner of his room. His black tie attire contrasts with the baggy, loose-fitting hoodie and sweats he wears around the place. The fitted tux does nothing to hide his trained physique.

Yelena exclaims with earnestness. "Wow! Look at you!" She's whistling for effect. Impressed by how well he cleaned up. "Do I smell cologne on you, sir?" Her smile grows.

He stood straight, his eyes widening in the mirror as he turned to face her. His gaze softened, taking in her all dolled up and out of her usual tactical gear. The green was different from the black she wore. He thought then and there that she should wear more colorful outfits. He nods once, dipping his chin to nuzzle his nose into the collar. He inhales deeply.

"It's the one you gifted me for my birthday…Thought I’d give it a try…Thanks…You're not so bad yourself. You...You look beautiful." He smiles sheepishly as he spares her another once-over, bashful.

Yelena grins, thoroughly pleased to hear Bob’s compliment. In the best of ways, it was pleasant to have her efforts noticed.

“Why, thank you,” She responds with genuine gratitude. She spins in place, the skirt of her emerald green dress flowing flawlessly with the motion. She sits on the edge of the bed, flopping down, grabbing one of Bob’s pillows to hold onto. “You look good in a suit, bud. Almost ready?"

"Yeah...Yeah, just need to finish up with my hair. That's all. It’s not...responding well to the hairspray you lent me, though." He pulls at a strand. Bob’s hair was relatively problematic. No order, flow, or movement that made sense to the careful eye.

Bob turns back to the mirror. Messing up his hair, parting it to the left, before parting it to the right, trying to maintain its order, but he’s made no progress, thus far.

She smirks, amused by his struggle. "Ah, the woes of getting ready. I should have given you gel; it works miracles better than that stuff. Why don’t I take a look, huh? Maybe I can offer my expertise. We do share the same hairstyle, after all." She rises from the bed, approaches him, and notes the tousled locks that stick out at various angles.

“I don’t wanna take up more of your time…”

“Nonsense.” She motions for him to come here to begin her work. "So….trying to impress anyone?"

Bob glances down at her before focusing back on himself. He tilts his head, feeling the way the suit hugs him. The jacket stops at his waist, not swallowing him whole like his hoodies, which secure him like a blanket. Everything fits justly. He feels exposed. Yelena pauses her movements, watching the uncertainty take over his frown, as though he’s weighing something significant. The tension is all in his shoulders.

"No...not really…Just–trying to make myself look the part." His response was vague, not giving away the reason for his meticulous grooming.

Yelena quirks an eyebrow. She’s perceptive. Nothing gets past her, especially when it comes to her teammates. She hums as she moves behind him, scrutinizing his hair from a new angle. "Really? Just trying to look the part?" She questions, her tone filled with skepticism. She playfully runs her fingers through his hair, testing its resistant nature. "So, you're not trying to impress a special someone? Not even the pretty lady getting ready across the hall from us?"

Bob pauses momentarily, caught off guard by her direct assumption. He turns his head towards her, a slight flush appearing on his cheeks. He can't completely mask his surprise at her astute comment.

"N-No." He shakes his head a bit too quickly.

Yelena smirks, her keen insight confirmed. She can see right through Bob's attempts at nonchalance. His sudden denial made it even more apparent that he was trying to hide his infatuation. There was no hiding behind it though. They all knew.

She steps closer to him, her gaze never wavering. "So you got all dressed up and started messing with your hair for an hour, just for the sake of looking the part?" Yelena cocks her head slightly to one side.

"Yes." He nods his head stubbornly. "Just trying to look the part..." He swallows nervously before he fixes his attention back to his appearance.

Yelena lets out a faint laugh at his repeated insistence. Her eyes narrow playfully; she ruffles spots of hair here and there. She moves over to the other side of him before continuing her touch-ups. "Y'know, Bob..." She starts, her voice low and light. "You're not a very good liar." She places a hand gently on his shoulder, leaning in slightly. “I’ve thought you better than that, sir.”

"I'm sorry…" Bob releases a sigh.

Yelena continues to fiddle with his hair from the new angle. Her touch is gentle. "S’alright… You try to hide it, she tries to hide it. You both are not very good at this thing. But we all see the way you look at each other." She speaks with a soft but knowing tone. As if she's been patiently waiting for him to acknowledge his feelings. "You see her like she’s the quiet that fills the void inside you, all the noise goes out and she’s there, bringing you that peace, and she sees you like you’re the sunrise she’s always been eager to see after she’s been living in the dark her whole life."

Bob laughs, the sound nervous, mixed in with a scoff. He's in denial. "I…I don't know what you're talking about."

Yelena chuckles at this, her smirk growing. "Oh, come on, Bob." She moves around him again, standing before him, her eyes meeting his gaze pointedly. "You think we haven't noticed how your eyes light up whenever she enters a room? She stumbles over her words when you ask her a simple question. Your gross motor skills somehow fail you when you see the tiniest hint of her smile? And she spews weird little facts that no one can make sense of." She shakes her head slightly, amused. "You're in love, as is she, and we can all see it. Last week, you fumbled a book when she spoke to you in the kitchen."

"I slipped..." Bob looked down, shrugging his shoulders, feigning indifference to your past interactions.

"You were sitting down. The book was closed."

Bob begins to teeter back and forth to try to calm himself. "Are…Are you done?" He meets her gaze through the glass. His eyes flitted up to his now messily but organized hairdo. His eyes crinkle at the sight. "It looks the same."

Yelena chuckled, her eyes gleaming. His words felt like a cover, a desperate attempt to deflect from the truth. She playfully patted his shoulder before moving closer, standing directly behind him again. She perched her chin on his shoulder. "You shouldn't fuss so much, you look great. As for your unruly hair, I only messed with it a tiny bit." Yelena pinched her fingers. "Figured some part of yourself should remain true tonight..." Yelena reached up to tousle it for show. "Also, I have it on good authority that a certain birdy has told me she likes it when it resembles a bird's nest." He doesn't miss her wink through the glass.

He still can't help but release his doubts to the widow. The way his self-esteem remains low. “I don’t feel great, Yelena. This…This isn’t me. This suit, my hair, and the nice shoes. It feels like I’m putting on a mask.”

"Bob, listen to me," She says, squeezing his shoulder. "I know it might feel weird. It is a bit weird. You're wearing a fancy suit with your hair slightly combed and shoes that aren't sneakers." She lets out a faint laugh. "But you're not hiding yourself away. Putting yourself into a box approved by Valentina." Yelena gently turns him around to face her. "You're just allowing yourself to be seen in a different light.” She squeezes his shoulder again, reassuringly. "You deserve to feel great about yourself."

"I feel good in sweatpants."

Yelena laughs heartedly this time; she loves how adamant he can be. "We all do." She gives him a light, playful nudge. "But that's not going to fly tonight. You're going to wear the suit, you're going to go out with your friends, have a great time, all while looking good." She grins, her tone light.

"I don't feel good though..."

Yelena senses his unease. She meets his gaze again, her expression serious yet compassionate. "You are incredibly good looking, Bob. You're just not used to feeling that way, seeing yourself in that way. We've all had these moments. Hell, I've had my share," She admitted, her smile briefly fading. She quickly catches herself and tries to uplift the mood again. "It's just one party. How bad can it be?" She nudges him again, this time laying a playful punch to his chest. "Just this once, humor me. Let yourself experience something out of your normal routine." She reaches up to fix a strand playing stubborn. "Also, the little birdie has told me she loves the sight of a man in a crisp suit, too." She nudges him twice with her elbow.

"Okay." He laughs at her incredulous antics and light teasing. A beat passes before his brow furrows. "We have a bird?"

Yelena bursts into laughter at his question. "Oh my god- No." She grabs him on the arm to ground herself. Her voice filled with mirth. “Bob, no. We...We don't have a bird." She shakes her hands and head. "It's just a figure of speech. It means I have inside information. It's- Oh Bob." Yelena's shoulders slump in defeat. Bob offers a timid grin before he laughs lightly with her, finally understanding what she meant.

"Oh right...Y/n’s the bird. I-I get it now." Bob rocks back and forth with a solid nod.

Yelena playfully rolls her eyes but can't help but smile at Bob's delayed reaction. "Yes, she's the bird.”

Bob glances back at his reflection, still weighing his options. "Is it too late to change into my robe?"

Yelena chuckles at his attempt to escape the situation. “Well, you certainly can’t show up to a gala in pajamas. Sorry, buddy. No PJs tonight. You're stuck in the suit until the party's over." She grins at him, her tone playful but filled with determination. "And I'm also eighty-eight percent sure Valentina will kill you if you set foot into the venue looking like you just rolled out of bed, so the tux stays on."

“It wouldn’t be the first time…” He avoids her gaze, his cheeks still dusted with a slight tint, a mixture of embarrassment and reluctance. A bit of his inner turmoil was still cracking through the surface. "I… I should stay home tonight."

Yelena's eyes soften once more as he suggests excluding himself from the event tonight. "No, no. You're going, Bob. Don't even think about backing out now." She steps closer to him, her gaze steady and firm. "You look great! Listen to me; we want you to get out of your robes and that blue sweater you always wear. Take you out for once since you're always here at the tower. Bob, surely you wouldn't want to miss the chance to see how stunning Y/n looks in her evening gown, would you? Gorgeous." She emphasizes.

Bob falls quiet for a moment, contemplating her words. His mind drifts, picturing how you might look all dressed up. Your hair done all nice, maybe some jewelry, nothing too flashy, since you preferred decorating your fingers and ears with simplistic pieces. He can't help but wonder what color might adorn your perfect smile. Red, maybe orange, perhaps that color you told him was called mauve, with your lips lined.

I...I bet you look pretty. He thinks.

Yelena grins, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. She can see the thought of you in his mind, the vivid image of you dressed to the nines igniting a spark in his expression. She catches his brief moment of daydreaming before he catches himself, his gaze snapping away from the pillow to meet hers.

"Bob..." Yelena's voice edges amused.

"I just..." Bob starts, then lets out a frustrated exhale. "I'm not really... I'm not the party type, you know. I always stayed indoors growing up. I never went out much. I never had this. Friends who wanted to be around me. This gala is far from my normal routine. I don’t think letting me go out so soon would be a good idea. It’s been a year. You guys said it yourself, you don't want to risk Void getting out again. You...You guys would be better off going without me. I can stay behind…I don’t mind."

She understands that he harbors doubts and fears about his place among them.

"Bob..." Yelena tilts her head, staring at him pointedly, her voice gentle yet firm. "We aren't keeping you locked up to contain 'Void'. It's not about that. Not anymore." She reaches up to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You're not a ticking time bomb, you never have been. We want you there with us. Even Y/n, alright? If it puts your mind at ease, even for just one second. She was the one who suggested we bring you along with us. Not because we feel it’s our obligation, and no one can watch you. But because we genuinely want to see you out of this place, cleaned up! We don't want to see you holed up in this tower forever, okay?"

Bob's heart skips at the mention of you wanting him there, too. He fidgets momentarily, avoiding eye contact by looking down at his shoes. The polished shine on them reminded him that he could have these things now. The privilege of owning nice things.

Nice things never last long. In his life at least.

“Okay…” His mind whirls with the never-ending feeling of being a bother and a burden. He's hesitant, torn between his desire to attend and his habitual tendency to keep to himself. He bites his lip, the urge to decline the invitation was tempting against the subtle want of not wanting to be stuck at the tower…alone. "I just..." His hands lingers over his naked collar.

Her voice is gentle with a hint of encouragement. “You what, Bob?” She waits for him to verbalize his concerns; she’s patient.

"No...It's stupid." He brushes it off with a laugh.

"No, say it!" She encourages.

"No. I should stay home-"

"Bob, tell me." Yelena dipped her head to meet his eyes. He gives in after a moment.

"...I don't know how to put a tie on." He laments, lamely gesturing to the fabric he had tossed on his bed moments earlier, having given up on trying to do it himself. His father was absent from teaching him how to put one one. He never did get to bond over a silly thing, such as a tie with him. The rite of passage, or whatever they call it. The transition into becoming a man, knowing how to tie one yourself.

Yelena chuckles softly at his confession, her amusement tinged with empathy. Her eyes flicker towards the abandoned tie on the bed.

"Oh, Bob..." She gently pats his shoulder this time. "Don't worry; we can sort it out, alright." She takes his hand and guides him to sit on the edge of the bed. She picks up the tie, draping it around his neck. "You know... You could have just asked me." She says gently, wrapping the tie around his neck.

"You already helped with my hair." He shakes his head.

Yelena playfully rolls her eyes at his stubbornness, carefully ensuring one end is slightly longer. This difference would account for the tie’s eventual knot later. Yelena crossed the longer end over the shorter one, then pulled it under the shorter end and through the loop around Bob's neck. She continued folding the shorter end at the widest part to create a bow shape.

"Yes, but that's no excuse. You could have asked. Nothing wrong with asking for more help." With the bow shape firmly in place, she brought the longer end directly over it. Pinching the bow shape and the longer end together, carefully threading the longer end through a loop she had opened in the back of the bow. She then pulled both ends to tighten them in place.

"See? Sorted out." She pats his chest, stepping back to look over her handiwork and adjusting the fabric until she is satisfied with how it sits at his neck.

"Thanks...I was never taught how." Bob trails off, not wanting to bring forth thoughts of his father. They were never pleasant.

She notices the hint of melancholy in his voice upon mentioning not being able to put on a tie, but she chooses to move past it, not wanting to dampen the moment. Instead, she pats his chest once more, grinning. "Don't worry, Alexei doesn’t either." She winks at him once more.

He nods out of curiosity before he even registers what he's asking. "Does…Does Y/n know how to tie a tie?"

Yelena raises her eyebrow at his question. She tries to hide a smirk, realizing where his mind is currently at. "Hmm...You know, I'm not entirely sure. But..." She pauses, enjoying the moment. "If I had to guess, I'd bet she would. She's got an endless amount of skills hidden beneath the surface. Surely tying ties is a secret she has, wouldn’t hurt to ask her about it."

"I-I wouldn't put it past her…She's great at everything." His admiration was not lost on her.

"That she is..." Yelena smirks. “You should tell her you know. That you’re in love with her.” She nudges his foot with her heel.

He wrings his hands together, leaning onto his elbows placed on his knees. As tempting as it sounds, he wouldn't be able to gain the confidence to execute it. Confessing to you how he felt. The feelings he harbored. "No…It’s better this way. If I keep it to myself."

Yelena's expression softens at his reluctance. She sits next to him, considering his words. "Bob, listen to me. Life…it’s too short to keep something like that to yourself. I've seen you around her, the way your worries fade. That sense of security that she brings you. That you bring to her. It’s all in the risk worth taking." Yelena continues, choosing her words with care. "Don't let fear keep you from telling her how you feel. You'll never know what might happen if you don’t take that chance."

He meets her gaze. His locks falling over his eyes, hiding him. "What if I mess it all up?”

“I don’t think you could.”

“And if I do…I don’t want to hurt Y/n.”

“Relationships get messy, Bob, it’s part of growing together. Do you think we’d be here today, as the new avengers if we continued to butt heads every time?”

“No…”

“You have nothing to lose.” Yelena encourages. “Trust me. Just be yourself. Tell her how you feel, and before it’s too late, alright.”

“I'll think about it…" Bob stands up as Alexei's voice rings out from the hall, indicating it was time to head out. With a sigh, Bob steps out of the door frame, ready to face whatever the evening has in store.

Bob had a completely different idea about how the night would go. Surely, there would have been busybodies intrigued by his presence and would approach him. Possibly ask him about his powers, his involvement, and what he brought to the table, but that was not the case as he continued to stand in the corner of the venue. Alone. His hands were messing with his cuff links to help pass the time. He raised his hand occasionally, sparing a timid greeting to the passersby who gave him a side eye. He wasn’t aware how much of a wallflower he was being, but he was nonetheless immune to the judgeful stares. He might've guessed that his longing gaze also made people whisper and gesture towards him. The fact that he was staring in one particular direction caught everyone’s curiosity.

He was looking at you, mingling and laughing with people he didn’t know. He couldn’t stop staring at you since you met the group in the living room. Yelena wasn’t lying when she said you looked gorgeous.

It felt like time itself stopped and nothing else moved, nor mattered, except you. Walker didn’t fight the shit eating grin on his face when he heard Bob’s sharp intake. The kid was so far gone that he had to nudge the man after you had complimented his appearance.

“And here I thought you were reluctant to go out with us. You look good.” Your sweet grin was making him visibly malfunction. You gave a nervous laugh, looking down as the minutes passed without him saying anything. Heat warms your cheeks. “Did I say something wrong?” Your eyes crinkle with embarrassment.

“No, he–“

“–Oh!” Bob stumbles to the right from Walker’s nudge. “T-Thank you! You don’t look nice- No you do! You look nice…I meant to say you look nice. You’re beautiful…You look beautiful!” Bob grows flustered. “T-Thank you.”

“Geezus.” Walker scoffed, walking away from you both.

“You know you can take your eyes off her for a second, right? She’ll still be there, I promise.” Bucky comes up to him from his peripheral vision. Bob’s face flushed with embarrassment, having been caught. He dips his chin before he locks eyes with the soldier. “Here.” He offers a rounded glass—a golden liquid swirling in its confinement.

“Thanks…” He carefully encircles his hand around the glass and takes a sip. A loud cough erupts from his chest, making him lean over. Bucky chuckles briefly before helping him back upright and patting his chest.

“Scotch on the rocks. Thought you could use some liquid courage. Get some hair on your chest.” Bucky pulls away. Bob watches as the man’s eyes avert, inspecting the room. He blended in well, unlike himself. No one looks twice at Bucky. No one suspects him of anything bad.

“F-For what?” Bob cleared his throat, trying to get over the burn.

“You’re gonna ask her to dance.” Bucky declares.

“I’m…I’m what?” Bob whips his head to peer at him. Then, back to you, you hit a man with your hand across his chest, throwing your head back. How could he ask you to dance when you looked to have been having a swell time across the room?

“Gentlemen…What are we talking about over here?” Walker chimes over. A hand in his pocket, a rounded glass tucked into his palm, faced down.

“I told Bob here to go ask Y/n to dance.”

“No wait- I wasn’t-“ He protests.

“Ha– That I want to see. Do you even know how to dance? Can you dance?”

“Well, no… I can do the Charlie Brown in the cha-cha slide though…”

“You don’t say…” Walker closes his mouth. He shakes his head at Bob’s enthusiastic confirmation. “Maybe teach the kid a step…or two.” Walker lifts his drink to his lips. Bucky pats Bob comfortably against his back, his chin face down, embarrassed that he admitted his lack of dance skills. “Before he asks her.”

“I should’ve stayed home…” Bob muttered to himself.

“No you shouldn’t have. You just need a wingman.”

“A wingman?” Bob’s brows crease.

“Yeah, someone who can help you get the girl. That gives you advice on how to look good in front of her.” Bucky's words cause Bob to look down at himself.

“What more could I do to look okay? Y-Yelena already helped me do my hair and tie.”

“This will have nothing to do with your appearance. You already got the face and the build, kid, don’t worry about that. I just meant more of teaching you how to hold yourself confidently and how you speak to a woman.”

“But Yelena told me to just be my-“

“Forget everything Yelena has told you. Let us help you, alright.” Walker butts in. Bob wrings his hands, he wasn’t too sure about the whole ordeal. Yelena told him to take the chance, to tell you how he felt before it was too late, to be himself, because that’s who you were drawn to. Now the guys were telling him he had to work on himself, on their way to giving him tips on how to bring out his confidence, it didn’t make sense.

“I don’t know…I wanted to do it on my own terms. N-Not right now…She’s busy.”

“She’s networking.”

“I don’t want to pull her away to tell her how I feel…” The idea felt selfish. He didn’t want to be the one to tamper your fun night.

“Trust me, kid. You’d be doing her a favor. She’s miserable.” Bob turns, inspecting your joyous body language. If your discontent looked like you were happy, then so was he.

“Maybe we should wait-“

“Oh.” Walker draws their attention. Bob turns to him before looking back at you. “Trouble in paradise.” Walker quips, gesturing to the new fellow that caught their attention. Your smile disappears when you turn around to face the hand that tapped your shoulder.

“Who’s that?” Bob glances back at the troubled expression of his teammates. He rocks back and forth on his heels. Nervously waiting to know of the man, who brought you displeasure from what he could tell. He watches you shake your head no, turning and walking away from him and the group you mingled with. An unsettling torment rumbles in his chest, when the guy grabs your upper forearm, halting your retreat.

You quickly turn your head around; a quiet disagreement begins. A few other guests glance over at you both.

"Sadly that is Y/n's former partner. His name is Ryker Stride.” Bucky reveals the information about your ex-boyfriend that you failed to talk about. To him at least.

"I had no idea she was with someone…" Despite the fact that he didn't look like your ex, Bob couldn't help but let his wandering thoughts get the better of him. He felt insignificant compared to how Ryker held himself.

“They weren’t together for long, they hit month six before she ended things with him.”

“Is it ‘cause he’s an asshole?” He didn’t like the way he grabbed you. You pulled your hand back, before you walked away, Turning a corner out of sight.

“Unfortunately.” Bucky sighed. Walker watched the scene unfold, before an idea struck him.

“Go save her.” Walker urges, noticing Ryker following after you.

“What?”

“I didn’t stutter. Go!” Walker nudged him a few steps forward, but Bob only shakes his head.

“I-I don’t think it's a good idea…Walker, Yelena told me to not get into trouble before she left me here. I-“

“Oh my god! It’s not like you’re gonna kill the dude, you're just gonna follow them, make sure she’s okay. And if he so much lays a hand on her, then you slightly intervene, use a bit of that strength of yours to show him you don’t mess around when it comes to her. It’s completely harmless dominance. Show how much of a gentleman you are. Trust me, she’ll be kissing you by midnight, you’ll thank me later. Promise.“ Walker steps up to him, pats him on the chest.

“I don’t know…I think we should get Yelena. Get her opinion on this.” He reels into himself, not believing he could carry it all out. He was a gentleman, he thought so, so did Yelena and you, why would possibly getting a man’s hands off you further highlight the fact he’d never do such a thing as lay a hand on a woman. It felt risky…but was this the risk Yelena encouraged him to take things with you further?

“I think it could work.” Now Bucky, mauled it over.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone. It’s risky…” Bob kept insisting.

“No. It’s not. You should go save her.” Walker persisted. “This is your chance and you’re seriously not gonna take it?” He scoffs. “If you’re not gonna do it, then I will. The guy’s a prick anyway.”

Bob couldn’t believe what he was hearing. First, the guys suggested he should ask you to dance, and now they want him to barge in like some knight in shining armor? Did they seriously expect him to just waltz over to you, interrupt your conversation with your ex, and play the hero? But what really caught him off guard was the fact that he actually considered it. Sure, he didn't think much of your ex when he saw his hand on you, but to intervene?

Walker and Bucky continue to implore him, emphasizing the importance of this moment. Telling him to man up. He knew this was the opportunity to act, but as usual, his nerves get a hold of him. With a hesitant look at the super soldiers, he nods once and moves with small steps in the direction he saw you go.

Bob felt nervous when he came to a stop around the corner. Your anger evident with every grit of your teeth. It was daunting to see you so worked up. His brows furrow as he saw Ryker hold you in the exact same position.

You wished you hadn’t walked away from the crowd. Crowds kept you safe, they granted you witnesses if something were to happen to you. Much like so.

"Let go." You grit your teeth at the man preventing your exit.

"Let's talk about this-"

"There's nothing to talk about. I gave you your answer. I ended things with you for this exact reason. Your aggressive, abusive, and right now a real pain in my ass. If you can't be a grown-up about it, that's a personal issue. Not mine. Let go." Your voice lowers, firm in your conviction.

“No come on, give me a chance to explain myself. I told you I was going to work on myself-”

"Ryker if you don't take your goddamn hand off me so help me-"

Bob was torn from the sidelines. He understood it wasn’t his place to interfere, but his heart began to beat faster as the conversation between you and your ex grew more heated. He clenched and unclenched his hands, taking a few steps towards the altercation. He had to say something, but he also didn’t have a clue how to approach.

"She...She said let her go." A dark, low rumble emits behind you. The rasp in Bob's voice usually sent a tingling sensation down your spine, but upon seeing how intensely he glared at your ex, and the way his shoulders curled in around himself. It did nothing but give you goosebumps. Bob's gaze settled on his hand, the one currently leaving impressions of his fingers on your skin. Your gaze stays on him as you catch a flicker of amber in his eyes. No.

"She said, let go." Bob’s gestures with a pointed finger. A nervous laugh emits past his lips. It does nothing to ease the tension.

Ryker's hold on you tightens at Bob's words. The defiance in the man's demeanor only fueled his determination to maintain his grip. "Mind your business, freak. This doesn't concern you."

Your heart hammers as Bob’s eyes go full gold. “She said let go…”

You turn back to the stubborn fool with cogs and nuts for brains. "Ryker, let go of me now." You push against his hand, which doesn't let up at all. "Terco! Suéltame!" You curse at him. "You have a death wish. Surely, that’s the case!" You feign sudden revelation to his unrelenting grip. You shove against his chest, before looking back at Bob, exclaiming frantically. "Bob, I'm fine. Go find Yelena!"

"He's bruising you..." His gaze was unmoving from Ryker's grip. “He shouldn’t be hurting you.”

Bob steps to move closer, but your desperate attempt to keep him away from the impending situation stops him in place. His gaze flicks rapidly between Ryker’s tight hand on you and the sight of your growing distress.

"Bob, it's fine!" You curse under your breath, as you try to hide the pain you begin feeling, etching your features. "Ryker!" A disheartened chuckle slips past your lips, but it's not joyous. Bob didn't misplace your whine. "You're drunk, go home. You're making things worse-"

Ryker's grip on you persisted, his drunken state only fueling his stubbornness even more so. He ignored your attempt to diffuse the situation; a scoff left him. "The only one making things worse is this pri—" His words were slurred and then interrupted. Bob stuck a hand out before Ryker's grip lifted off of you, and then he flew towards Bob.

Bob didn't hesitate to grip the intoxicated man's neck.

"You were saying?" Bob's raspy growl was not missed.

Ryker croaks, his airway being cut off by Bob's hand around his throat. He tries to form words, but only a strangled gasp leaves him.

"Bob..." You step closer to them. His cerulean eyes meet yours, and a speck of hope fills you, thinking he's not far from being helped. "Bob, can we talk about this?"

His grip doesn't loosen on the guy. Bob's eyes are locked onto yours for a split second before returning to Ryker, the grip on his neck more harsh than what is necessary. His demeanor had changed; his usually soft-spoken words and timidness were gone. He stands straight, shoulders squared. A subtle but commanding aura emanated from him. He was losing an eternal fight that the eye couldn't see, but you saw the signs. His lack of empathy, dissolving, a rugged exterior slamming down like a shutdown protocol. You didn't like the man who wanted to take over.

"Bob?" Your heels click softly with each approaching step. "Listen I know Ryker's a piece of shit okay. It's why I broke up with him..." You put your hands out to show him you mean no harm. "I thought I wanted him gone at one point in my life too, but contemplating about the asshole in such a way didn't feel worth it anymore." Ryker pays you a glare. "Bob, he doesn't deserve one second of your time." Bob clenches his jaw as he peers down at your darkened marks. He twitches as he tries to think through his inner turmoil.

"No, no. He shouldn't have hurt you. He put his hands on you." Bob's voice cracks. "I don't like it when people hurt you..."

"Yeah, well, people do stupid things when they're drunk. He's an idiot." You give Bob a pained smile. "I'm fine. Nothing serious." He still had Ryker in his grip. The man was turning red.

"He-He deserves it." With one final tightening of his grip, Ryker falls limp. You barely register the crack, surely his neck. The sound haunts you as the hairs on your arms rise again.

You watch as Bob releases Ryker. The man flops to the ground, unmoving. Your heart picks up as you realize what he's done. Your eyes go wide before you swallow the lump in your throat. "Bob, you...Did you-"

Bob's gaze was locked on Ryker's unconscious form, and he finally turned to look at you, noticing you had backed up. A flicker of realisation passes across his expression at your reaction and withdrawal. Bob's gaze remains steady, his eyes devoid of the softness you're used to, replaced by something else. Hatred.

"He had it coming." Bob's tone is firm, his voice still hinting at his usual timidness, but tinged with a hardened edge. "He hurt you. What gives him the right to do that to you? To anyone? I did him a favor." He nods more to himself.

"You didn't need to kill him."

Bob's gaze intensifies as he keeps your gaze, the look unyielding. The gold in his eyes is more prominent now. The tension was dense, the moment hanging in the air, thick like fog. "He deserved it." Bob's tone, confident and cold. No remorse. "He hurt you."

"Oh my god…No it wasn’t necessary.." You release a sigh.. "H-He just held my wrist."

Bob's eyes narrow. He scoffs in disbelief. "And you were wincing, were you not?" He steps closer to you, closing the distance. You never liked his gold eyes. Not when he was looming over you.

You hold your head high, trying not to let your gaze waver from his intimidation. "I'm fine. Killing shouldn't have been your first choice. It never should result in death unless the situation requires it. I could have knocked him out, Bob..."

"Maybe you're too kind." The intensity in his gaze was unbroken. "Sometimes, people like him don't understand anything but violence."

"I don't think you do either..." You wished you could have taken it back the second the words fell past your lips. "I didn't mean that-" You close your eyes. Regret hitting you.

Bob recoils at your words, flinching as though you hit him. "I think you did." His gaze sharpens, hurt and confusion flashing across his features.

"No." You insist.

The intensity in his gaze doesn't let up, even as you try to retract your statement. "No. You did mean it." His tone is stern. Grim. It cuts through the air like a knife. "You think I'm as violent as him, is that it?"

You only keep shaking your head, even as he corners you against an adjacent wall. "No. I think-"

The weight of his body is imposing, shadows slowly casting over him starting from his shoes as he corrals you into the wall. His hands find the space beside your head, trapping you in as he leans in close, his voice low and sharp. “Why shouldn't I use my full potential, especially when a damsel is distressed? I'm strong, so why wouldn't I try to help someone in need? Though I'm starting to think this damsel wasn't worth the time or energy anymore. Since she's yet to thank me. I came here to save you from that asshole.”

Your lip trembles as you reach for your gun. You act fast on impulse. Switching the safety off your weapon with precision and speed before a shot rings out. Surely someone's heard it go off.

Bob's reaction was instantaneous as pure adrenaline surged through his veins. He acted on instinct, seizing your wrist in a firm grip. He holds your gun-wielding hand steady. The weapon was aimed at a spot just past his right ear. His voice is eerily calm. “You missed.”

Your outcry was real this time as the gun slipped out of your hand. Out of reach now. Bob held your wrist, much like Ryker had. Only this grip was severely cruel, whereas Ryker's was bruising you, Bob could easily break your wrist with slightly more pressure applied. "Y-You're hurting me-" You shove against his chest. He was unfazed by your attempts.

"And you were going to shoot me....God, why do we even keep you around?" Your eyes widen as the shadows reach up to his torso.

"'Cause I'm one of you..." You arguably strain.

He doesn't allow himself to give in to your words; he doesn't soften or falter. You press the left side of your face into the wall as he sneers and breaths heavily into your cheek. "You sure about that?" His tone was condescending. He pulls you into his chest, dragging you away before you know it.

A yell breaks out when you're thrown across the venue’s dance floor. Your body hits the ground roughly, sending you rolling before you stop face down into the ground. You lay there trying to gather your bearings.

He threw me! Your thoughts alert you.

"T-That hurt..." You mutter to yourself as you take note of the crowd, stepping back and away from the center. Separating a path as Bob, halfway transformed into Void, approaches with steady, slow footsteps.

"Y/n!" Yelena makes for you, but you shake your head.

"No, no, don't." You held your hand out, halting Walker and Yelena from approaching you. Your face fell when you noticed them reach for specific spots on their attire. Weapons. Hidden from wandering gazes. Had they anticipated this to happen? "Stay back!" You warn, pushing off the ground with shaken legs. Your chest rises and falls heavily, trying to push through the pain of being thrown like a rag doll.

"B-Bob stop!" You cry out, a rasp to your voice.

Bob's eyes remained fixed. Golden. The shadow within him, consuming his being. His expression was almost feral. He stops in front of you. He had no hesitation and no mercy. No, not for you. No more.

Bob watches you stumble forward with an unsettling lack of regard. Even though he had been rougher with you than he'd like, his demeanor didn't soften. He begins stepping towards you. "You're a drawback." His tone is harsh, lacking the usual warmth he holds towards you.

Your head falls into your shoulder, defeated and solemn, as Bob's demeanor doesn’t change. Black overshadows his delicate features. He is no longer the timid and awkward man you thought you knew. Now, he is Void—a twisted, broken force to be reckoned with. The two white dots for eyes stare back at you hauntingly.

No trace of warmth or familiarity in his eyes. Just a tormenting, head tilt directed at your vulnerable state. "A liability." His head tilts to the other side now.

Yelena steps closer to you. A hand was held out in front of her, ready to shove you behind her. She was all too familiar with the Void's dislike for you. He hadn't been too kind to you in your shame rooms. Giving you hell the most when the group rejoined in the attic. He hated you, hated how you made things quiet for Bob. You provided a sense of comfort and a safeguard for him to fall back on. Void wanted you gone. Now more so than ever.

"Bob?" Yelena gives it a go before she reaches for you.

Instantly, you're yanked by your wrist, slamming into his chest, forcing you to meet his menacing stare. You watch his wickened grin grace you, the white dots for his eyes reflecting the sliver of hope within him. Barely there.

"No!"

"Let her go!"

"Bob, let her go!"

"Bob, if you can hear me. Stop this!"

Multiple safety clicks are echoed all around the room. You turn briefly, locking eyes with Ava, Yelena, and Walker, directing their pistols' ends towards the shadow man. Bucky is on standby with his weapon of choice. You lock eyes with him, shaking your head. Their hesitance to shoot is noticeably painful.

"You can't be trusted." Void continues speaking slowly, calculatingly, each word falling heavy and deliberate, as the shadows consume you from your heels. "You act impulsively based on your emotions. You're a waste of time. You're only making him weaker."

The shadows wrap around your ankles, coiling around them, consuming them in darkness. You feel the shadows creep up your legs, snaking their way up your body, now to the halfway point of your waist. It didn't take a genius to know what was happening. "Then get it over with already..."

He chuckles darkly before you see your friends and various guests begin being turned into shadows. Void's gaze flickers around the room. People start to scream and flee, while others begin to try to fight back. He remains unfazed by the panic as he lifts you to his eye level, the shadows reaching your chest now. "You don't matter...you never will." You release a gasp, your eyes closing as the shadows curl over your head like a hoodie. Then your body's gone from his grasp. No shadow in sight.

Bob sat up, startled. His eyes snapped open, his breathing heavy and ragged as he shook his head and ran frantic fingers through his now messy curls. His heart raced in his chest. "What..." He muttered, trying to shake the remnants of the horrid nightmare from his mind.

"Bob?" He whips his head up fast, causing him a sudden dizzy spell, before he locks eyes with Yelena on the ground. He begins to register not only her disheveled state but also various other bodies, sitting up from the ground as well.

"What the hell..." Ava curses as she goes to stand. Yelena followed suit, as shadows started to disperse from each figure that had stood in the room a while ago.

"What happened here?" Bob, nervous, stood up, trying to find his bearings.

"Great, you don't remember."

Bob's confusion grows as he takes in the sight of everyone around him. He rubs his temples, trying to make sense of what's happening. "I...I don't know..." He shakes his head, feeling dazed and disoriented. "I was... dreaming, I think. It was a nightmare. But, I can't remember much."

"It's fine, Bob." Yelena waves him off.

Bob rubs his hands over his face, trying to shake off the remnants of his nightmare. The group is gathered in the venue, their surroundings in disarray. Chairs toppled, tables were knocked over, and the floor was littered with shattered glass. "What happened here?" He asks again, taking in the state of the room.

"Void." Bucky sighed.

Bob's heart sinks at the mention of Void. He knew all too well the damage and chaos the other guy brought with him. "Void did this?"

"Yeah..." Walker nods. "But from the looks of it, you only maintained it here, so I call progress." Bob was lost.

"I did? I don't remember anything. I only remember seeing Y/n talking to that Ryker guy, before everything got fuzzy again."

The mention of your name had them freezing. Yelena looked to him before her body swirled around in search of you. Yelena's eyes widen with realization.

"Y/n... Where's Y/n?" The room falls silent as they begin to realize the absence of your presence in the venue.

"What's with the long faces?" Bob wrings his hands together, not understanding the concerned glances everyone threw his way. He turns his head like they do, eyes darting around, falling onto multiple strange faces, searching but never really finding what they looked for. "What's wrong?... Where's Y/n?" His body tenses, dread seeping in.

"What do you mean, where is she?" Yelena's heart plunges. "Bob?" She inched closer, trying to get a read on him. "D-Do you remember anything?"

"No, I told you all that I know. I saw Ryker with Y/n before everything got dark." Bob glanced over to Walker and Ava's hardened gazes. He curled in on himself. He didn't need to be a genius to know something was wrong and that he was at fault. "W-What do you mean? Where is she?"

"Alright, kid, quit messing around. Where'd she go? We all came back, so why didn't she?" Walker rolled his eyes, not in the mood for his oblivious antics. "Where is she, Bob?"

"I-I don't know where Y/n is? What did I do?" Bob frantically shrugs his shoulders.

"No." Dread fell over Yelena's face. "No, no, no." Yelena cupped her stomach.

Bob noticed Yelena's expression, confusion etched on his face, "W-What's going on? What did I do?"

The group looked at him in pity, their faces riddled with worry, fear, and confusion—all except Bucky, who remained silent and stoic. Everyone waited for Yelena to speak. Yelena's voice was shaky, her words softly spoken.

"You didn't do anything." Yelena's eyes started to water, her body trembling. "No..." She looked around the room once more. Nothing. "Okay...Okay. How do we get her back?" She highlighted.

"Get her back?" Bob shook his head.

"You're asking us?" Bucky pointed to himself. "How would we know?" He perplexes.

"I...I don't know!" Yelena's breathing grew ragged, on the verge of tears. She blew raspberries. "She can't be gone...we all came back, there's that!"

"Yeah, but she didn't." Walker voiced everyone's dread. His tone grew sharp and impatient. He pointed to Bob, "Why is that Bob? Why didn't she return like the rest of us?"

"Surely there's some reasonable explanation for this-" Ava tried leveling the situation.

Bob's expression turned somber, his eyes darting to each person searching for an answer. He stuttered, "I...I don't know why. I swear, I don't know. I...I'd never ever hurt her, I promise. I'd never hurt her."

Yelena's voice was shaky, her words barely above a whisper. "We know you wouldn't, but she's gone. Maybe still in the Void, and we need to get her back."

"The question is how, though?" Walker queried.

Yelena shrugged, her eyes reddened and puffy. "I got nothing...." Everyone remained quiet.

Bob wrung his hands together before a suggestion conjured up in his mind. "W-What if you knock me out?"

The group froze, all turning to look at him in disbelief.

"What?" Yelena furrowed her brows, confused by his reasoning.

Ava chimes in, disagreeing. "That doesn't even sound plausible."

Walker let out a scoff. "Knock you out? Are you out of your mind? What good would that do for us?"

"We risk the Void escaping again!" Alexei voiced his concern. "It is a no from me!"

"Sorry, it was just an idea. I thought it could work- Sorry." Bob shakes his head, letting his head fall to the ground again. Bucky, the more level-headed of the group, weighs the idea before speaking.

"Bob..." Bucky steps forward, his gaze fixed on the distressed male. "What do you mean by that? Why do you suggest that we knock you out?"

A spark of hope ignites behind his eyes. Someone's taking a chance on his idea. Bob nods before saying, "Maybe if you guys knock me out. I could find her...in here." He peers up through his lashes at the soldier, gesturing to his temple. "It was just an idea..."

Bucky's gaze remains locked on Bob, contemplating his proposal. Yelena moves from her spot, placing her hand on Bucky's arm. "Bucky, you can't be serious."

"You got a better plan… We don't have anything to go from. It's better than nothing. It could work..." Bucky shrugs at Bob, who straightens. Bob stares at Bucky, surprised that he was on board with it. He turned to the others, waiting for their opinions.

"But how can you know for certain... that it will work?" Yelena counters.

"It's a stupid idea," Ava mutters, shaking her head.

"Alright, how hard do I have to hit him?" Walker begins removing his blazer, rolling his white dress shirt up to his elbows.

"Woah woah woah! Let's think this through, there are other ways we can do this!" Yelena cuts in frantically.

"She's right, punching him won't phase him."

"Then how the hell are we supposed to knock him out?" Walker complained.

"You could..." Bob swallowed back a lump. "You could choke me..."

Ava whips her head over to Walker's baffled gaze. She nudges him with a shit eating grin. "Choke him!" She urges.

Bucky places his hands on his hips, and a heavy sigh leaves him. "You sure about this, Bob?"

A mixture of nervousness and determination washes over Bob's face. Bob nods, trying to seem brave. "Yeah...I'm sure. I have to try…For her. I wouldn't be able to live with myself, you know?" He lets out a faint laugh, but his smile only lasts a few seconds.

A grimace is on Yelena's face as she watches the scene begin to unfold. Bucky places a firm hand on Bob's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Don’t kill him, Walker. Do it quickly, just enough to make him unconscious. Got it?”

Walker shakes his head. "I can't believe I'm doing this." He approaches Bob, hesitant about his decision. He grabs Bob’s forearm before making him turn around. His back now faces him. "Sorry in advance, kid..." Walker swallows hard before he wraps his arms around Bob’s shoulders. It's not long before his arms tighten around his neck. Bob protests, raising his hands to where Walker's hold reduces his oxygen. He knew he had to give in, for your sake, but he'd be lying if he said the whole plan was terrifying.

Bob tries to resist even as he meets Yelena's pained expression. Bucky's head turns away so as not to look, but he thinks twice before looking back, to be there as his source of comfort as he starts tapping against Walker’s arms.

"You'll be fine, kid. Just relax, alright? Don’t fight it." Bucky tries to reassure him. Bob feels the pressure build up in his head and lets out a gasp before he nods. His eyes flicker back and forth between gold and blue. His throat feels like it's being crushed, not the most pleasant thing he's experienced, but what's worse is the way Yelena is watching him. Not at all okay with this. She never liked seeing him hurt.

His eyes meet Yelena's, and her eyes are filled with dread. He manages to mouth his words with a weak smile. I’ll. Find. Her.

Bob's eyes start fluttering. His expression starts drooping as he's on the verge of passing out.

The world blurs as he starts to feel the rush; his head starts pounding. Then his surroundings turn dark. The pressure becomes too intense, and he goes limp. His body falls into Walker’s arms. Walker sighs, letting his arms unravel from his neck before he walks backwards, gently laying the man on the floor. He stays crouched next to him, hating this more than anything. “Now what?”

"We wait." Yelena chimes in solemnly. Grabbing a discarded chair, planting it before her unconscious friend, and plopping herself down on it. “And hope this work.”

Bob didn’t know how long he had been roaming through his shame rooms before a particular doorway appeared. The brown door, sticking out like a sore thumb from the white walls of his childhood home, his shame room, where his dad was screaming at him, asking him where he was going. He gave his father one more glance before he rushed towards it. Opening and slamming it shut behind it. But as he put his force behind the shove. The door itself caught on the doorframe. He tried again, but it wouldn’t budge, leaving behind the hope that it would close, but a thin space between the doorframe and the door prevented its enclosure.

“It doesn’t close…The floor is sunken there.” A high-pitched voice raises the hairs on the back of his neck. He pushes himself from the door before he swivels in place. A small child greets him on the floor.

"Y/n?" Bob inched closer to what he presumed to be your younger self. You were donning a pink and purple sweater, a sequined puppy plastered on the front of it. A few sequins turned over like you had run your hand across them. Black leggings worn out and fuzzy purple socks on your feet. A mirror of your adolescence.

Your younger self looks up as he approachs. He met her gaze before she pointed to the other end of the room. “She’s over there.”

He swiveled around, scoping the room's entirety, until his gaze settled on his goal. His search concluded as he saw you curled underneath a desk. His shoulders slumped at the sight. Your face was dazed, staring straight ahead. Eyes barely blinking. You, too, donned the puppy sweater and leggings. Different from your dress, which you looked lovely in tonight.

You hadn't even bothered to acknowledge his presence as your younger self kept trying to build a puzzle laid out before her. An image of a snowman, in a forest surrounded by trees. A few pieces were chipped, and one, unbeknownst to him, was missing, lost, meaning you'd never fully complete it over the years of trying to, in this room.

"Y-Y/n." He reveled in saying your name out loud.

"I don't want to talk to anyone." Bob turned to look back at the child, placing another piece in its correct spot.

Bob crouched down to be eye level with you under the desk. He held his breath, waiting for any sort of reaction. For a flash of recognition, but there was nothing. No response.

"I-I didn't mean for you to be trapped in here." His voice shook.

Bob's expression twisted into one of deep regret. He reached out to touch your knee but stopped himself, his hand hovering a few inches above as it trembled. His gaze flitted to your younger self. She seemed focused on the puzzle piece in her hand, utterly oblivious to his internal torment. The sight only intensified his agony.

"I–" He opened his mouth to reply, perhaps to reassure you, but no words were forthcoming. "C-Can I join you?" Bob fell back on his bottom and gestured gently to the center. Your younger self looked up.

"Sure." She barely peers up at him, unbothered by his request, but holds out a piece to include him all same.

Bob accepts the piece, his fingers lightly brushing against hers as he takes it. He turns it over in his grasp, examining the surface of it before looking back at the puzzle. He slides his piece into place, his movements careful but precise, ensuring a perfect fit.

"Thanks." He murmurs, his gaze drifting back to your younger self. He swallows hard, his jaw clenching as if chewing on words he couldn’t quite muster. He lets something out for now. "I've never been good at these..." Bob confesses, "Could never finish them. Sit still."

"It's okay...We've never finished this one, but we keep trying to." The child's disheartened smile makes him want to break down.

Bob nods curtly, his throat tight. The sight of your indifference nearly unravels him. He turns his attention back to the puzzle, trying to ground himself in its simple but comforting task. He picks up another piece, turns it over.

"I’m... I can't-" Bob stops short, clearing his throat as it threatened to close up. He tries again. "I can't believe I did this to you." He whispers, more to himself than anything. "I wish I had more control over my powers. I could have saved you the pain."

"We're not mad at you for it. We promise." Your younger self reassures. Handing him another piece after placing another perfect fit down.

Bob's breath hitches in his chest. Your reassurance is like a balm to his wounded soul. Hearing those simple words from you, from her, eases some of the guilt that has been consuming him. He accepts another piece from you, gently placing it into the puzzle again.

"You… You should be." He mutters, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper. "I put you in here." His gaze flicks back to her face, taking in her innocence, how calm she remains. It's infuriating. Why are you not raging at him? Shouting? He deserves it.

"The Void put us here." You corrected him. "What's being upset over it gonna accomplish?" Your younger self hovers her hand over a certain area; uncertainty flashes behind her eyes. You're hesitant. Bob, conflicted, reaches forward and guides her small hand over to a spot he thinks it will fit. It does. "Thanks." She’s appreciative before enthusiastically grabbing another, ready to advance in the puzzle's completion.

Bob's heart clenches as you respond rationally. It's eerily shocking how mature you are for your age. The way you forgive so easily is at odds with the guilt he feels. Yet, somehow, your words have an undeniable power over him. He can feel the grip of the Void's hold on him loosen ever so slightly. He helps you slide in the next piece as it clicks into place. Your giggle warms his heart. The corners of his lips curl up at the sound.

"How can…. How can you be so calm about this?" Bob can't help but ask, his voice tinged with disbelief mixed with awe.

"I-I have to..." Your younger self falters. Her composure glitched before she blinked and continued as if nothing had happened. She avoided his gaze, looking back down at the puzzle. "We have to be. Otherwise, what comes next would be unbearable."

Bob's brow creases with concern at the glitch. A ripple in your memory, the imposed calmness that he couldn't miss, faltering. The way you had been referring to yourselves as we, never as I. He was getting somewhere. At least he hoped he was.

"What…" He hesitates, but curiosity gets the better of him. "What's coming next?"

"Ya estoy harta!" Your younger self flinches as a glass breaks in the distance. "Vete con tus pinche putas! Ya no me importa! Largarte! Largarte!"

"Ya no puedo! Ya basta. Pinche loca ya no puedo!"

Bob immediately tenses, ready to protect you and your younger self from whatever threat looms, but as the shouting continues in the distance, he recognises something familiar in the language. Spanish.

"Is... Is that...?" He whispers, knowing the answer but hoping he's wrong.

"S-Spanish." Your body convulses and twitches as the vulgar language is spoken. Feeling gross. You try to block them out, pausing your puzzle making, your hands harshly slammed against your ears. Tears form in your eyes as the screams only continue. You run over to the door, banging and kicking it. The kick makes the door widen, before you push against it.

"Shut up!" Bob flinches as your small body screeches. "Shut up! Ya cállate!" Your outcry only intensified. Your body shaking with sobs. "Shut up! Shut up!" You turn the lock, knowing it serves no real purpose. Your bedroom door barely closed. The doorframe stopped it from entirely shutting. You've never been able to lock it, not once. You turned and walked over to a corner where a dresser sat. You go to push it until it starts sliding across the floor. Pushing with everything you had in your tiny body, until it sat in front of the door. Blocking them from entering. You didn't want them near you. You kick the wall next to it in anger. To have them hear just how upset they made you. Hoping your meltdown would cause them to stop, to see how much they’re hurting you. You go far as to grab something heavy launching it into the wall too. The bang as agressive as your parents anger.

It's not long before you move to where you remain under the desk. Your younger self crawls underneath with you. Scooting herself next to you as your older self ticks and shivers at the language exchanged. Your younger self cups her ears and lets out an ear-piercing scream. All the while, yourself sheds a tear. It's only then that he finally gets a real reaction from you. You turn to your younger self wanting to save her the pain. You wrap an arm around her and tuck her in close to your side.

Bob is frozen in place as the scene unfolds before him. The sheer desperation in your voice is gut-wrenching; you just want it to stop. He watches with staggered breaths as your younger self curls into you. The shouting and screaming continue in the background.

He wants to move, to grab the dresser and shove it through the wall, to put an end to the shouting and the pain taking place on the other side of that door. But he remains where he is, watching yourself try to help your younger self find solace. His eyes dart to the blocked door, listening to the muffled yelling from outside. He grits his teeth, anger bubbling within him.

When he turns back to look at you both. Your younger self is nowhere to be found beside you. "Here!" His head turns to the child sitting before him again on the floor. Another puzzle piece was offered to him once again.

How long did you relive this before he got here? The memory had reset again, he realized.

Bob's hands tremble as he gradually accepts the puzzle piece. Peering down at the upright face, snow-like texture painted on the piece to help him determine where it could go. He stares at it, guilt slowly seeping into his bones as he lifts his head to watch your younger self concentrate on the image the pieces were curating.

"How...How many times has she-you-" Bob can't even fathom how long you've been sitting under your desk, to appear so numb to everything. "How long have you been in here?"

"This is loop ten." Younger you, spares him a pinched grin. It doesn't reach her eyes.

Bob's stomach churns at the revelation. Loop ten? You've had to face this same scene ten times over, stuck in an endless cycle. He wants to scream, to tear everything apart, to make it stop. But he can't. He's just a participant in this twisted nightmare. His eyes shift between the puzzle and your younger self, his guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders, but he'd be damned if he didn't try. He had to try; this was you he was talking about. You'd done so much for him; he owed you that much. To push past how scared he was of screwing things up even more.

Your younger self looks up, halting her movements. "I-I can't finish it." You finally refer to yourself in first person. You look down at the puzzle. "I just wanna finish it."

"You want to finish the puzzle?" Bob questions, his words tinged with both confusion and understanding. He glances at the puzzle, taking in the incomplete image. It's beautiful in its own way, even without all the pieces. But the thought of you stuck in this repetitive loop, trying to complete it, it's unbearable. "You... You don't have to finish it." He says softly, his hand hovering over yours, unsure if he can even change your mind within the confines of this memory.

"I want to." Hope. A small spark ignites within Bob as your younger self expresses her determination. He picks up on the subtle changes in your expressions, the way your younger self glitches and gives way to glimpses of your older self. He clings onto this as a sign of change, that he can somehow alter this loop.

His back straightens. He looks back at you under the desk. You were still there, but a sliver of hope had him realizing you wanted to crawl from underneath there. "I... I get close, and then I never do. There's always a piece missing." The child's brows furrow with frustration. You go to place the remaining six pieces before pulling your hands into your lap.

"Missing piece?" His eyes flick back to the puzzle, taking in the image, searching for what could be amiss. Then there it is, the center spot, vacant. His gaze darts around the room. "Maybe it's somewhere else? In a drawer? Or under the bed?" He muses, his mind racing with possibilities, until the screams of your parents have him glancing at the door. He glances down at you, then at you under the desk.

"Hey!" You peer up at him. "Just... Just focus on me. Listen to my voice…not theirs. Okay?" With labored breaths, his grin grows as he tries to reassure you from the shouting behind the door. "Where would you look first?" Your younger self gets up and heads for the door, when suddenly you appear criss-crossed before him. His eyes widened, trying to gain your attention this time. "Y/n? Hey!" He exclaims, reaching forward, touching your shoulders. "Hey. Hi, oh my god hi!" You turn back to face him after having peered over at the door.

"B-Bob?" Your voice croaks.

"Yes!" Bob lets out a sigh of relief. He can't help the small laugh that escapes his lips. "Yes, it's me. Me Bob. That's me!" He gives a firm nod, still holding onto your shoulders. He leans down to meet your gaze. "I'm so sorry. The team told me what happened and how Void got out and ruined everything. How everyone came back, but you never did. I... I should've stayed home. I knew it was a bad idea to go to that gala, but the team insisted, you insisted, on getting me out of the tower, and...I screwed everything up again. Like I always do. But I'm here. I'm here and I want to make things right. I'm gonna get you out of here." His conviction bled through.

Your eyes glisten. You looked so small compared to the confidence you carried around him and the others earlier in the evening. You flinch, glancing over your shoulder as another vulgar word reaches your ears. "D-Don't listen to them." Bob turns your chin back over to him.

Bob forces a pinched smile as your attention returns to him. He squeezes your shoulders, his fingers gently kneading into your flesh, trying to ground you. "You want to finish this puzzle…We'll finish it." He says firmly, his eyes never leaving your face.

You muster a nod before looking at the blank spot, mocking you from its completion. Bob pulls back. Your younger self begins screaming and pushing the dresser towards the door. Your eyes close as a tick rakes through you. Bob takes note of your reaction, how the side of your ear hit your shoulder blade. Your younger self finishes under the desk, before she appears beside you and Bob. The puzzle resets back to its previous state of incompleteness once again.

Loop eleven.

He shifts his eyes down to your hands, something you twirled around mindlessly, catching his attention. His brows furrow as he reels in the object you acquired, the thing you fiddle with, it was the piece you needed to finish the puzzle.

You had it this whole time. His eyes soften.

"It seems almost selfish..." You concur.

His mouth parts as the realization dawns on him. "You..." Bob whispers, his words lost in awe. "You had it this whole time?" His gaze switches from the piece in your hand back to your face.

Your younger self's determination and stubbornness faded, replaced by the realization that you were holding onto the very thing you sought all along. He's struck by the simplicity yet irony of it all. You were so close to finishing the puzzle, but blinded by what was literally in your hands to do it. He shifts and turns to your younger self, peering up at you, expression expectant, waiting, filled with melancholy. She goes back to adding the six final pieces again.

"This stupid piece…That I could never find. I threw the puzzle away when I couldn’t finish it. It’s so stupid…"

Bob looks at the puzzle piece, a mix of emotions roiling within him. He feels a pang of guilt, knowing how long you'd been trapped here, the endless loop of trying to finish the puzzle without realizing you possessed the very thing needed to complete it. Your younger sits back, wringing her hands together, a mirror of his timidness. It brought him a sense familiarity, something he weighed on now, that you both had something in common. He reaches out, gingerly taking your younger self's hand, before looking back at you.

"It's not stupid." He reassures you. "Sometimes… we search for things so hard we forget to look in simple places." He pauses, his gaze lingering.

Your inner turmoil was evident. You dig a hand into a side pocket of your sweater, he hadn't known was there. "It was in my pocket..." You scoff. Shaking your head. "This whole time!"

Bob watches you, the realization settling in for both your younger and older selves. Younger you then mirrors your actions, stuffing her hand in the pockets, only to pull them out and be left empty handed. It was a poignant moment. "You-" Bob can't even finish the sentence, words momentarily lost on him. It was so simple.

Bob couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, a bittersweet sound. The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on him. You had been carrying the solution to your problem all along, hidden in your pocket. He shook his head, his expression a mix of disbelief and amazement. "I-I once lost my phone…It was in my hand the entire time." A lopsided grin took over his features. ”Though I’m pretty sure it was the meth that hindered my senses from realizing it was there the whole time...” He trails off, noting that his attempt to offer a similar experience did nothing to comfort you.

"It’s not the same…" You shake your head.

Bob breathes a faint laugh at your pouting, the sound of it reverberating across the room, a stark contrast to the ongoing shouting and aggression outside the room. "I think...I think you'll be okay." He chides gently, trying to bring light to the situation.

“How do you know that?”

“‘Cause you guys helped me…Help me still.” He corrects

Your hesitance was not lost on him. You peer up through your eyelashes, then back down to the piece. "What if this doesn't fix anything?"

Bob pauses as he takes in your question. The weight of it hangs in the air, his earlier optimism faltering for a moment. Hearing your apprehension only solidified the concern. Bob's smile fades into a serious expression. He takes in your younger self’s small form, then to you, the way your shoulders are slumped, and the anxiety settled in your eyes. "I don't know if it will." He admits earnestly, his voice soft. "I just...I just really, really hope it does. It has to."

"Is this all it takes…To just fix it?" You twirl the piece around mindlessly. "This single piece my ticket to getting out of here?"

Bob looks at you, really looks at you. The piece of paper board between your fingers spinning in a rhythmic motion, your eyes filled with a mix of peace and anguish. He sees the way your breathing picks up and the way your eyes dart around the room. He can see how much this effects you, the battle between your logical side and the part of you that's been trapped here for who knows how long, trying to meet in the middle. Conclude a final resolution.

"I...I don't know." He replies eventually. He tries. "I...I mean, you all saved me with a hug." He laughs, its nervous but light, then lets it die out. Bob wants to reassure you, to tell you that this piece will fix everything, but he can't because he's never been great at it. You were the one always putting him back together. You always had the right thing to say and knew when to apply it in your heart to hearts. "So what's to say you can't be fixed by a puzzle piece?"

"Just like that?"

Bob nodded. "Just like that." He affirmed. He knows the simplicity of it, the absurdity, the notion of such a simple thing being the key to your liberation, could probably be seen as laughable. But he didn't see it as such, it might’ve been laughable—yes, but it wasn’t to him. Hope flared in him, a spark of optimism that the solution was so simple, so ridiculously easy. "Yeah…just like that." He repeated, his voice resolute, putting your worries and fears to rest.

"Just like that..." You shed a tear, echoing his words. You take a deep breath, hearing your parents argue once more before you reach forward and place the piece in the center. Your body convulses as you begin to sob hysterically, your younger self sighing as you finish it for once. Bob's lip trembles as he pulls you into his chest.

He holds you tightly, your body trembling against his. His grip is firm yet gentle, a silent reassurance that he's there. His heart aches as he listens to your sobs. The sobs wrack your frame as your emotions come out, a tidal wave of relief and frustration breaking through the surface after what feels like a lifetime. He rubs small circles on your back, whispering soothing words into your hair, as his own eyes glisten with unshed tears.

"I’m sorry I put you in here. I’m sorry." He whispers into your hair. "It's okay. I've got you. I-I got you."

“Guys.” Walker alerted the team as a shadow appeared beside Bob’s body—a dark silhouette, mirroring your form.

The team looked over, frozen at the shadow's sudden appearance. Bucky took a cautious step forward, and Yelena rose from her chair.

It felt like you had woken up from a deep slumber when you came to. Everyone watched as your tar-like self was slowly revealing itself, like a sheet unveiling you. The shadows released you, shedding away from your form down to your heels. A sigh escaped from you as you pushed against the floor. Your dress draped around you like a blanket as you peered up at your team and the guest who lay witness. You hear a grunt to your right, you turn and watch Bob come to as well. His eyes were trying to settle amongst the warm lighting surrounding the gala. His suit was wrinkled and left in disarray as he sat up. Yelena's heels clicked closer as she reached down to help you stand. "Oh my god!" She pulled you in closer for a hug. You were still finding your bearings. "Thank god. I thought we lost you!" You peer over to see Bob take Bucky's arms appreciatively.

Bucky pulls Bob to his feet, and a sigh of relief leaves him as he sees him finally become aware of his surroundings. He pats Bob on the back a few times, his grip on his palm tight.

"I knew you could do it, buddy." Bucky greets him with a small smile, his expression slightly worried as he observes his disheveled appearance.

"Thank you?" Bob blinks a couple of times, a forced smile on his face, before it fades. "Do what exactly?"

"You don't remember-" Bucky confirms. "You brought Y/n back from the-" Bucky's words were interrupted by the touch of Alexei's grasp on his upper arm and the sound of Walker's words.

"Bucky...Let's debrief him later. Not right now." He suggested. "She's back and safe. We'll deal with it at home. Not here."

"Is everything okay?" Bob's gaze flickers over to see you surrounded by Yelena and Ava. They were checking you over, making sure everything was okay.

Were you hurt?

He looks back at Bucky, his expression hardening. "I brought Y/n back from what?"

"Not here, kid." Walker reached forward to pat his shoulder. "You did great, that's all that matters-" Walker inhales deeply as Bob's hand tightened around his wrist.

"Don't- Don't call me kid." Bob closes his eyes, his irritation getting the better of him as his eyes glow amber for a split second. He gestures a pointed finger at Walker. "From what?"

Alexei steps forward, placing a gentle hand on Bob’s tense shoulders. "Easy there." He cautiously speaks. "Everything is fine now."

Bob's face remains stern, his gaze steady, irritation clear in his expression. "Tell me."

Walker and Bucky exchanged a worried look, both of them noticing the change in Bob's demeanor. "Not now," Walker repeated, his voice firmer this time, his grip on Bob's hand that held his wrist, not letting up either. Bob sensed the clear indication that Walker wasn't going to elaborate, not in the middle of this venue. The commotion from earlier was probable cause for them to high-tail it out of there. Bob’s stubbornness didn’t help their favor.

Bucky leaned in, his tone low, hoping to diffuse the situation. He closed his eyes before giving in. "Look, Void got loose, okay? Something happened. Everyone came back, Y/n didn't." Bob's grip falters, his eyes softening at the information. "Later, okay? We'll explain everything later. But we should probably leave, head home."

"What do you mean she didn't come back?" Bob's confusion only grows. His eyes shifted over to where you were reassuring people that you were fine, who asked if you needed a doctor.

"No, no. I'm okay. Really." He heard your voice bellow out from the short distance between you.

Bob couldn't help but watch as you shook your head, waving off any worried busybodies, and he found himself torn. Part of him wanted to let it go, to leave it be as Bucky and the others insisted. But there was another part of him that yearned to understand. He couldn't leave without answers. He pushed against Bucky's arm, which was trying to ground him.

"Yelena-Yelena!" He called out to her. She waved off another guest, who couldn't mind their business.

“Yes, yes, fine. All is good and well now.”

"Oh my god, what a mess! Is she okay?" Valentina's voice became apparent. Where did she come from? "Y/n, dear, the second you don't feel like yourself, say when. I got medical on call, alright."

"Oh no, I'm fine. I don't need a medic to come-"

"Oh my god, Valentina. She's fine. I promise. Don't intervene." She grew annoyed with Valentina's facade of sudden concern. She wasn't worried about your well-being, just worried about maintaining your image in the public's eye. Valentina continued with her rambling about how much she cared and would prefer it if you were checked over. "Oh my god, we don't need a medic here, ТЫ УПРЯМЫЙ МУЛ!" Yelena cursed. Who knows how Valentina would settle this mess with the press? She double-takes at the sound of her name being called before her attention settles on Bob's concerned one.

"Is she okay?" He mouths.

"She's fine," She waves him off. "Promise." She then nods before rolling her eyes as Valentina rants about having let him out of the house. He reciprocates her nod before his shoulders relax briefly at her assurance, his worry slightly lessened. But something still gnawes at him. His gaze drifts over to you again, his expression turning solemn as he sees the fake smiles and the feigned concern that some are displaying. You didn’t need their fake niceties.

His gaze lingers on you, trying to garner any sign that you weren't fine, but it wasn’t long before you locked eyes.

You catch his gaze, then begin excusing yourself from the small crowd, as a sense of anxiety overcomes you.

"Excuse me-" You politely muttered as you made your way toward him. It was as if a gravitational pull was urging you to him. The room, the people, everything else faded into the background as your focus solely centered on him.

Bob straightens at your approach, taken aback as you nestle yourself into his chest, your arms wrapping around him.

Startled, he initially freezes for a few seconds before his body relaxes, molding into you. His arms naturally encircle your form, pulling you into a tight embrace, his chin perched on top of your head. Your scent and warmth enveloped him, a sense of comfort washing over him. You felt like home.

"Hi…" Bob's voice, a soft whisper, reached your ears as he greeted you. You feel his hands mold more firmly around your waist, a gesture that makes your heart skip.

"Hi..." You return the greeting, your own voice just as soft, finding solace in the familiar sound of his breaths. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah..." His response short. “Are you okay?" He emphasizes, a hand gently stroking your exposed back.

"I'm fine." You wave it off.

Bob's eyebrow raises, his expression doubtful as he peers down at you. "You sure...?" He questions further, knowing you're prone to downplaying. But so was he.

“Yes and no.” A nervous laugh resounded from you.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He offers, even though he’s not sure what he’s saving you from. He’s caught glimpses of your past before, not that you’d ever truly forego the idea of talking to him about it. He was much alike you in the manner of only giving surface levels of his ugly past. You both only knew what you allowed to be seen.

“You did. You helped me.” Your words, their simplicity, but all the more effective, affectionate, sure. He helped you? How could he have helped you, but have no recollection of it? You smile sweetly as you reach to place a kiss on his cheek. Was this your thankfulness wrapped up in an act of endearment? “You might not remember it, but you were enough, and you were there." You nod suringly.

He looks at the way you're molded against his chest. How his hands fit and embrace your figure like he's ready to protect and shield you from harm's way. The way your softened eyes perceive him in this lightheartedness. Like he's somehow hung the stars in your night sky. He can't help but wonder what he's done. What he's done to be truly worth being perceived delicately. You look like you're scared he'll disappear right before your eyes, when he's the scared one, thinking you'll break under his touch.

"Bucky’s saying Void got out again..." He looks down between your bodies. "I should have stayed home- I made everything worse-"

"You did nothing wrong, okay." You reach up, cupping his face gently, lifting his chin so he'd meet your gaze. "You did nothing wrong." You insist. He places his palms over your hands. Leaning into the warmth your touch brings him.

“I remember him..." He nods at his sudden recollection. It comes to him in bits and pieces. "Ryker." His hands slide up your wrist to the purple indentations marring your wrist, contrasting your skin's original shade. He opens his eyes, hoping he's wrong when he peers at the discoloration. But your hurt wrist only brings forth the truth. Telling him everything he didn’t want to be true. He feels guilty for even letting the asshole execute the action, he tries to conjure up ways he can make the injury vanish. Would a kiss heal your wounds? Take away his mistakes? He opted not to, but he was tempted to do so. "He bruised you." He nods, firm and sure.

"Bruises fade, Bob." There you go again, downplaying someone's unforgiving behavior.

"A bruise might...The memories won't." You shake your head at his trepidation. "Why didn't you fight him? You...You're capable of defending yourself?" Bob looks into your eyes.

"I didn't want to escalate the situation..." You shrug dismissively..

"But he hurt you? He hurt you, and I couldn't stop him in time, I-" He pauses, when it hits him like a tidal wave. The way various shouts echo through his head. Your voice bellowing in anguish. A flash of your face painted with pain.

You had been thrown across the center of the venue's dance floor. You rolled and then landed awkwardly on your stomach. Your once neat hairdo was disheveled in your sudden state. You pushed up with your heels and palms.

"Y/n!" Yelena made for you, but you shook your head.

"No, no, don't." You held your hand out, halting Walker and Yelena from approaching you. "Stay back!" You warned.

"B-Bob stop!" You cry out, a rasp to your voice.

"I hurt you..." Bob's eyes widen in fear. He tries to pull your hands away from his face. It was as though he were the Flint Striker and you were the one caught on fire. He was burning you. "No, no, no..." His eyes close as he gently grips your palms and lowers them to your waist. You didn't want to let him go. "I make everything worse. I should have stayed home- I didn't mean to hurt you-"

"Bob." You begin your reasoning. “No, I’m fine. You saved me! You got me out of there, everything’s better now.” You reach for him when he flinches. He hates how your face falls, even more so, when he denies you proximity.

“I-I should’ve stayed home.” He accepts before making his way back to Bucky, asking if they could leave.

“B-Bob!” You call after him, your dam cracking, hearing faint clicks approach your form from behind, you look up.

“Come on. Let’s get you both home before Valentina makes an ever bigger show.”

Yelena.

You peer at her, eyes glistening. She tilts her head, an apologetic smile on her face.

“Come on.” She wraps a blazer around your shoulders. One that smelled oddly like the shaggy-haired man. You were dreading the car ride home, that much certain.

“So you instigated him?” The drive back to the watch tower was nothing short of an unbearable experience. Your scowl and crossed arms giving way to how pissed off you were. Bucky and Walker avoided your harsh, directed stare. Bob had sat to your side, curling in on himself as the tension only intensified. His hands were warm, a mock of how close your skin was to touching, but he’d more than likely pull away.

Dreadful.

Now you all had made it out of the elevator with the team hot on your trail. Your heels clicked heavily against the floors. Bob stood off to the side slowly discarding the tie Yelena had done for him. He looked down at the fabric. Messing with it idly to distract himself from the fight he knew would break out. His shoulders reflected that of a small child anticipating his parent’s anger, slumped over on his tall frame.

“I wouldn’t say that? It was more of a friendly bit of teasing. All we did was give him the nudge he needed to confess the undying love he has for you.” Walker sighed as he went over to the bar. “We saw how pissed Ryker was making you…told the kid to go save you or to stop bitching about how much he wants to be with you.”

Asshole.

“So you hazed him and made Void come out.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Walker trails off.

“You’re unbelievable!”

“Look, we didn’t mean for it to happen-“

“Didn’t mean-“ You laugh incredulously. “Spare me, Walker. No one can function properly, when you’re down everyone’s throat with childish antics. What were you even thinking?”

“Y/n, you don’t need to stick up for me-” Bob tried to create space between you and the Soldier.

“He wasn’t.” Bucky stepped in. Running a hand down his face tiredly. “We thought it’d be harmless, Y/n. Why would we ever intentionally put him through that sort of thing?”

“I told you we were gonna get him out of the house so he good have a fun night. Did I not tell you I wanted no weapons for tonight? To not wound him up to the point of his other self being unleashed. I was gonna come back after I handled Ryker. I had it handled.” You sneer at the man. Tears forming in your eyes, shaking your head at his ignorance.

A scoff to your left makes everyone’s head turn. Bob fiddles with his tie, his head shaking, a half smile settled over his face. “He bruised you…that’s not handling it.”

“Bob-“ You sigh.

“It…It wasn’t their fault, Y/n. If anyone’s to blame, blame it on me. I went after you…”

“No-“ You protest.

“Bucky and Walker only brought the idea up to me...It was my choice alone. I made the decision…to check on you. But now…I-I should have stayed home-“ Bob shakes his head. “Valentina was right…I shouldn’t have been let out.”

“Valentina can dig her grave and lie in it. I’m tired of her trying to keep you locked up here. You’re allowed to go outside when you feel like it! You’re not under house arrest, she can’t confine you to this place-”

“I just make everything worse.” Bob's brows pinch together. You cup your stomach as tears begin to spill down your face.

“No. You don’t. Don’t think like that. You don’t, I promise.” Your protest further escalated his self-loathing.

“Void took hold of you from what everyone is saying, and for whatever reason, felt the need to keep you from getting back to us. He hurt you, I hurt you.“

“But that’s not on you! That wasn’t your fault! It was mine. For thinking I could somehow bring you back down from in there.” Your eyes meet his temple. “I made things worse. I mean—I shot a bullet at you! I could have knocked him on his ass, but I didn’t and it wasn’t the right call for me to make.” You argue.

“We’re one whole. How is it not my fault?” His shoulders slumped, looking at the team’s conflicted expressions. “Am I wrong?” He breathes a laugh out. “Nothing ever turns out great when I’m around.” He slowly retreats towards the stairs. “I told you guys I should’ve stayed home...”

“Bob please…” You call after him.

“Let him go.” Bucky orders. You turn back to look at your teammates.

“D-Did I just ruin this things between us?” You let your arms flop down to your sides.

“No…it’s not your fault. This isn’t your fault at all.” Bucky reassures you. He walks over to you and squeezes your shoulder.

“Why didn’t you knock him on his ass?” Walker questions.

“I was going to,” You snapped back at him. “-but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I don't know...It felt like I was back there again, enduring his abuse when he grabbed me...I guess I froze." You shrug nonchalantly. "Then Bob showed up...and I couldn't think straight. Couldn't think of a way not to escalate things further, but I only made it worse, and it cost Ryker his life in the end...Cost Bob a fun night."

"He killed him?" Walker closes his eyes; your turmoil didn't do anything to hide it. He didn't miss the coms from the authorities either, claiming one casualty earlier on their way out of the venue.

You looked at the floor. "He did...and he doesn't need that put on him. So don't fucking tell him." You warn.

"I think Bob should decide that for himself, no?" Bucky raised a brow at you. "What happened to letting him make his own choices from now on?"

“Well, he wanted to stay home, but we all kept insisting he go out with us. So I don’t know anymore! And I'm not deciding for him..." Your hands were balled into a tight fist. "He should decide, yes, but when he's ready. He doesn't need to know about it right now...It just happened and a part of me isn’t too upset with him about it, but he's in such a vulnerable state right now...I feel like it’ll only do more harm than good...It'll be another thing for him to hate himself over...He doesn’t need that right now.” You say softly. “You guys should have seen him when we were in the void…He’s so capable and we take his gifts for granted.”

“We never thought he was incapable, it's why we agreed to allow him to make his own choices, decide what he eats for dinner, allow him to find his own hobbies. Tonight was just a one-time incident where we peer pressured him into leaving his room, when he didn't want to."

“Well, that peer pressure backfired, didn’t it?” You said under your breath. You run a hand down your face in frustration. “God, he didn’t even want to leave his room...Did you see how uncomfortable he was at dinner? You said it yourself, we coerced him. And I’ve never seen him more upset about it...” You turn your head, peering at the staircase. "Was it stupid of me to think we could show him a fun night out?"

"No. We all wanted the same for him." Yelena shakes her head. "It's not stupid."

"Then why does it feel like it is? He's probably up in his room beating himself up for even stepping outside."

"'Cause you love him..." Yelena gave you a pinched tired grin.

You look away from her. Your shoulders slumped as your eyes burned with unshed tears. It was quiet. No one was sure of what to say. You closed your eyes as that familiar pain in your chest returned. "I do. I love him..." Your voice broke. "But this isn't about how I feel. It's about him." You shake your head. "He was just starting to feel a little more secure with himself in public...He's gonna hate himself for thinking he ruined everyone's night. I could see it in his eyes...The last thing he needs is to feel guilty over something he has no control over." You continue.

"It's not fair to him...He's had it rough for so long, and every time there's progress, something bad happens that takes him thirty steps back." You let out a small scoff. "Maybe I never should have brought up the idea of a night out in the first place...How can he forgive me after a night like tonight?"

"'Cause he loves you too." Yelena tilts her head at your self-deprecation.

You look at her. Your body stiffens, and your chest tightens as you let her words sink in. "But what good is it to love me if it only brings him pain? How long before that love fades to nothing because of my negligence?"

Yelena shakes her head, taking your hands in hers. "You can't doubt yourself, or his feelings for you. I know it's difficult, but the last thing you need to do is start putting yourself down and feeling sorry about tonight." She squeezes your hands.

Bucky stood next to you, his arms crossed over his chest as he nodded in agreement. "You know that you mean a lot to him right?"

“And he only agreed to go out because you wanted him there with us.” Yelena admits.

“Also, we might’ve encouraged him to confess his feelings for you, but he wanted to do it at his own time…I should have stopped then and there, kid. I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s admission only added to the weight that sat heavy in your chest. You look over at him and nod slowly, unable to form words.

Yelena gently rubbed you on the back. “You know he can’t stay inside that room forever. You both need each other." Yelena chimed in. “Plus he can’t go a day without his cereal so there’s that…”

"He'll come to his senses..." Walker gives you a faint grin. “He’d be stupid not to.”

“T-Thanks guys…” You step back from Yelena’s hands. “I’m gonna be outside if you need me…gonna clear my head.”

“Want some company?” Ava offers surprisingly.

“N-No I’m okay.” You brush her off before you head out to the roof.

“Take the time you need, little one.” Alexei chimes after you. You raises a thumb in the air in your exit.

When you're out of sight, Walker asks. "What time is it?"

Bucky checks his watch. "Just a quarter till midnight. Why?"

At the realization, Walker takes off towards the staircase. "Walker, what are you doing?" Yelena called after him.

"Keeping my promise!" He called from over his shoulder. “You'll see!” Bucky, Yelena, Ava shared a look as he ran up the stairs and disappeared.

"What the hell is that about?" Yelena gapes before shaking her head. “Whatever, I’m going to bed. Someone make sure Y/n doesn’t jump off the roof.”

“I don’t think we have to worry about that…” Bucky shakes his head.

You hadn't fully registered how the cold breeze stung you until you felt a jacket fall over your shoulders. You had been so caught by New York's optics that you missed the metal door creak open. You jump at the sudden contact, thinking you'd see someone beside you, but you had to turn further around to see the man of the hour, who had been running through your mind, stood at the door. You take note of the hand he lowers back down to his side. Putting two and two together about how the jacket made it to you. He made it float. "Bob..."

“Walker said you might be cold…” He said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Right…I-I was...thank you." You turn your head, nuzzle your nose into the fabric as you insert your arms through the arm holes.

He nods his head. “Welcome…” His chest feels tight watching you snuggle into his jacket. His gaze settled down in front of him. Neither of you say anything. The sounds of New York City echo throughout the night air. Car engines, taxi cabs, faint horns in the distance. Time did seem to stop up here, whereas life continued down on the streets. It was oddly comforting. "C-Could I join you?"

You look back at him, surprised by his suddenness. "Yeah...Yeah of course."

He nods then takes the spot next to you; awkwardly fidgets with his fingers in his lap. He turns his head, looking at you in his jacket. It was a sight for sure...He tried to ignore the way his heart palpitated in his chest.

He tries to focus on the sound of the wind and the city in the distance. But his eyes linger on you, taking in your form. How the evening sky envelopes you in its darkness, distant lights from neighboring buildings causing a warm hue to make your face visible to him, the way the wind nipped at your nose, and your sniffles took over you...He couldn't deny it...You looked beautiful, so carefree.

You turn at the right time and catch him gazing at you. Your eyes crinkle with a hint of heat that rushes up to warm your cheeks. You both emit a nervous laugh, settling your eyes onto your laps. His hands wring together, yours fiddling with the jacket's sleeves.

The silence continued, but this time, there was an obvious tension in the air. The both of you were hyper-aware of it. His eyes continued to dart between you and the city lights. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything..."

His heart stutters in his chest. He takes a shaky breath, his nervousness building. He looks back at you. You look at him reassuringly, like you genuinely meant that one word...Anything.

It makes it difficult for him to get the next words out. "...It’s a stupid question." He rubs the back of his neck.

“That’s okay.”

"I-I just-" He sighs, his jaw clenching as he looks out at the city again. "This might sound weird...But do you know how to tie a tie?" He swallows down any anxiety, forcing his gaze back on you.

“Oh.” Your eyes widen at the peculiar question. “Do I know how to tie a tie?” You ask again to ensure you heard him right. Bob nods yes.

“Sorry...I warned you it was a stupid question. Just...Forget I asked, okay?" He rubs the back of his neck again, looking away.

"No, No...It's okay. If you really want to know. I do."

His eyes flicker with curiosity, meeting your gaze. "You...You do?" He quirks an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Why do you ask?"

He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but there was an underlying hint of something in his eyes. "Oh, I was just...I was just curious, that's all...I can’t put one on myself...Yelena did it for me, but I…" He trails off, looking back at the city. "I just thought maybe...You could-" His words die in his throat, cutting himself off before he lets any more words slip. He shakes his head, his hands continuing to fidget in his lap.

You register the implication. "Teach you?" You try.

His breath hitches in his throat as you finish his sentence. He looks back at you, his eyes a mix of vulnerability and relief. He could sense the anticipation in your gaze, waiting for him to respond. "Y-Yeah...Teach me." He finally manages to rasp out. "So Yelena won't have to anymore..."

"Yeah, I can. Tell me when okay." You grip his hand. He nods.

"O-Okay..." He looks down at his lap. Your touch is soft and warm. He can't help letting the guilt eat at him. You were being so gentle with him when he was anything but. "I'm sorry I hurt you..."

"Don't-” You shake your head. “Don't do that. Don't apologize." You squeeze his hand gently. "It wasn't your fault...You weren't in control."

"But that doesn't change the fact that my other half hurt you!" He snaps back, his grip on your hand momentarily tightening. You both look down at his hold, his shoulders lose their tension before he's holding you like you're made out of porcelain.

"Look at me, please." You request softly. He raises his head, trying to avoid eye contact. His chest tightens, knowing he can’t hold your gaze for too long. "It wasn't you."

His jaw clenches, his eyes stinging. "I should've stayed here...Then I wouldn't have ruined the night." His breath shakes, the words leaving him in a broken whisper. His eyes meet yours, tears blurring his vision. He hated this—all of this.

Tears sting your eyes as well. Your free hand reaches up, brushing his cheek gently. His eyes flutter at your touch. "You didn't ruin anything..."

He shakes his head, refusing to accept the comfort you try to offer him. The guilt is too heavy, weighing him down like a thousand-pound weight. He feels so undeserving. "I did...I always do. I-I..." His voice trails off, tears spilling down his cheeks.

"No-" Your hand cups his face, forcing him to look at you. "No, you don't. You might make mistakes, but you don't always screw things up. You're a good man, Bob. You're so much more than what you think of yourself..." You lean your forehead against his. “You’re good.”

He tries not to melt at the way you say his name. His face falls forward, leaning his forehead into yours. He closes his eyes, savoring the feeling of your touch, your words. "How can you say that? Especially after tonight..."

"Because it’s true.” You softly run your thumb over his cheek, catching another tear that slips down. “You are such a good man.” You take a shaky breath, trying to find the right words. “You’ve been through a lot…You’ve been beaten down many times…but you keep bouncing back up.” He’s still against you, his breathing ragged as he lets the comfort of your proximity soothe him. “You brought me back from the Void, you didn’t leave me…You’re so good!” You breathe out a laugh. "I wish you'd see it yourself."

He can’t speak, the lump in his throat preventing him from doing so. Instead, he closes his eyes tighter, relishing in the sound of your voice. He’s desperate to soak up every word you say, to have them sink in, become second skin. He’s been deprived of something so simple for so long, to hear the one person he cares about say those words…It’s making him unravel at the seams. When he finally speaks, it’s barely above a whisper. “Do you love me?”

The question hangs in the air like the sound of a church bell. You take note of how he’s looking at you. The way he leans into your touch, seeking the comfort of human contact that he’s been deprived of. Your hand gently cups his chin, your other moving to rest over his heart. His gaze is fixed on yours like an anchor, waiting for you to respond. You can read the desperation and need in his eyes, the vulnerability that he's trying so hard to conceal.

You see a man wanting, no, begging to be loved. To be told that he's worthy of it despite believing otherwise. You look at the way he's clutching your hand, desperate for some kind of reassurance. He's hurting, still so damn broken, but not loving him with every fiber in your being would hurt you more. "Yes…God, I’d be stupid not to." You breathe a laugh.

Your words hit him like a tidal wave. His heart stutters in his chest, the grip he has on your hand clenching involuntarily. His eyes search yours again, looking for any sign of deception, anything to tell him you don't really mean it. But all he sees is complete honesty looking right back at him. He shakes his head; a broken laugh escapes his lips as his chest tightens at the confession. "Yeah…You really mean that?"

His questioning. It only hurts you further. So you cup his face, bringing him closer so you could look into his eyes. “I do. I mean it...I love you.” He flinches. He’s frozen, eyes searching your face, waiting for you to take it back. You don’t.

You run your thumb over his skin, gently brushing your nose against his. You see tears form in his eyes again, and suddenly, his hands are on your waist. Gripping the material of the jacket he gave to you, pulling you close. “Can you repeat it?” He finally croaks out.

“I love you…” You’d tell him three thousand times if he asked.

He shivers; the tremble of his chin is barely noticeable. “Again?” You’re suddenly pulled into his lap with a soft force. The grip he has on you is tight, not rough, as though he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

"I love you." You trace his jawline. He lets out a shaky breath. It's not long till you're leaning in to capture his lips with yours.

The first touch of your lips against his has him releasing a low groan. His eyes flutter as he melts into it before he suddenly pulls you flush against him, desperately trying to savor it—savor your touch. His lips move against yours in a frenzy, his hands gripping you tighter on your hips. The kiss is filled with need, a longing he can barely contain.

He can’t get enough. The taste of you was so sweet and warm. He’s been deprived of such a simple thing that now his body screams for it. His heart beats wildly in his chest, his hands exploring every part of you he can reach. He can feel your body against his, its heat, that only adds fuel to the fire. The kiss deepens, becoming more passionate and desperate than you expected from him. When you pull back to gather your bearings, to allow oxygen back into your lungs, you can’t help but cry. Bob, already second-guessing the little make-out session, feeling he's done something wrong, was relieved when your words deterred his troubled thoughts.

“You're good, you're worthy, and you are so loved…” You wipe the remaining tears with the back of your hand. "If you ever take anything from this conversation, Bob, let it be those three words. You deserve to be wanted. To be happy, to be loved…"

#bob reynolds imagine #bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds imagines #bob reynolds x fem!reader #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x fem!reader #robert reynolds imagine #robert reynolds imagines #bob reynolds x you #sentry x reader #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts fanfic #writings by juls #writings by juls: robert reynolds #my gif

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c1nnamxniris · 2 months ago

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How I used Psych-k to reprogram my limiting beliefs

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What is Psych-k?

͏˚˖𓍢��໋☕️ Psych-k is a process which changes subconscious beliefs that limits a person’s potential. It involves reshaping your beliefs into thoughts that can positively impact your life.

͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ This relates to manifestation because psych-k can help you identify limiting beliefs and reprogram these into thoughts that will benefit you.

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Affirmations I used

͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ Some of the affirmations that I’ve used include:

I let go of every limiting belief I have that no longer serves me

I let go of every doubt I have that no longer serves me

I do not identify with struggle anymore

I’m allowed to believe new things about myself now

Circumstances don’t matter to me, I’ll still manifest anything I want

I manifest instantly

͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ I do want to mention that a few of these affirmations came from @princessaffirms's why are you DEFENDING your LIMITING beliefs post. It's really insightful and I do recommend reading this if you want more information about limiting beliefs.

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My personal experience

͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ First and foremost, before we go into the psych-k sessions and what to expect, I really recommend you do a test to see where you fall.

͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ There is many different tests you could do, but me personally I have done the o-ring test. Basically, you form a “O” with your thumb and the other finger, you should use your non-dominant hand with this. Then you would form a ring with your dominant hand and gently pull on the “O-ring.” Then say a limiting belief that you have out loud and do the test.

͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ Here’s a video that details this -> ☕️

͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ If it’s a strong response, the ring would not break apart. However, a weak response means the ring would break apart. If you produced a weak response, do this test again and ask your subconscious mind if you can integrate a new belief into them. If you have a weak response, I recommend you write it out using a journal or any writing program like Google Docs or Notes app. Basically with how I did it, I would write down a limiting belief but then I would provide a counterargument for that limiting belief.

͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ Here's an example: "Manifesting takes forever for me." -> "Manifesting is instant for me."

͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ Then I would write down all of my limiting beliefs and provide counterarguments for each one. Afterwards, I would do the test again and ask your subconscious mind if you can integrate a new belief. If you get a weak response, keep going and write out limiting beliefs that you have. If you have a strong response, you can test proceed to the session.

͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ Now here's how I approach my psych-k sessions. First, I would create affirmations that I can use, these affirmations will basically be what you use during your sessions. Then I would record these affirmations using the Parrot app. Although I primarily use the Parrot app, you can also say these affirmations out loud. Then afterwards, I would find somewhere that is calm and you know there wouldn't be any distractions. Next, establish a position you would use, I personally did this position (here) but I crossed my legs instead of my ankles. I would want to add that you should do all 4 combinations to reach all the different parts of the brain. Then set a time limit, I personally reach for 5 minutes per combination but you can do more than that if you choose. Then after setting a time limit, I would start the session, whether that's looping your affirmations on Parrot or say them out loud.

͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ After the session, First I would do this, that way you are saving the belief, Then I would do the O-ring test again and move on with your day. Now even with one session, you can produce a strong response, but you can do more sessions to solidify your beliefs if you choose to.

͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ In my experience, after doing this, I noticed that manifestation wasn't a struggle for me anymore. I allowed myself to integrate this new belief into my subconscious mind and ever since I have gotten amazing results. So, please if you want to reprogram your beliefs, try this out and you will never look back!

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Resources I’ve used

͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ Here is some resources I've personally used when starting my journey.

͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ Rewire Your Brain: PSYCH K Explained

͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ PSYCH-K by @chaisshitposts

͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ 4 MINTUE Reprogramming of the 'SUBCONSCIOUS MIND"

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#psych k #psych-k #manifestation #loablr #loa tumblr #loa blog #master manifestor #loa success #law of assumption #loassumption #subliminals #limiting beliefs #c1nnamxniris

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littlegrapejuice · 6 months ago

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A Side Of Your Number | FC43

Pairing: Franco Colapinto x Reader

Summary: You work as a waitress at the restaurant where the grid is having their 2024 drivers' dinner, during which you catch the attention of a rookie.

Author's Note: y'all can't imagine how much i love this one like i was so inspired when i saw the pics of the drivers' dinner that i immediately ran to my f1 google docs🤭 i hope y'all enjoy, this is my 1st time writing for franco!!

F1 MASTERLIST🏎

“Good evening and welcome!” You exclaimed as you smiled at the drivers entering the room.

Everyone walked past you with a smile and went to get seated. The last one of the lot was Lewis Hamilton, who had organised the dinner.

“Hey, thanks for having us.” Lewis put his hand on your shoulder with a grateful look in his eyes.

“No problem, sir.”

“How many times have I told you to stop that?” Lewis sighed as he shook his head. “I’ve known you for years, and I have to remind you of that every time I see you.”

“Usually I do it just to annoy you,” you explained with a teasing smile. “Tonight however, it’s my job to be polite and professional so you don’t really have a choice. It’s the restaurant’s policy.”

“Fine. But don’t abuse the title please.”

“Of course,” you replied with a nod. “Sir.” You almost laughed as Lewis’s lips twitched. “Okay, sorry. I’ll just let you join the others then I’ll come give y’all the menus.”

Lewis did as you said and walked to the table where everyone was already sitting, before taking a seat with his current teammate George on his right while his future teammate Charles was on his left.

True to your words, you were bringing a menu for everyone a couple minutes later.

“I’ll let you make your choices and come back soon”, you told them before going back to the counter to get your notepad and pen.

As the drivers were deciding what to get, the atmosphere was light-hearted and cheerful. Everyone was exchanging their doubts about what to eat tonight, while others were giving advice on the food they were already familiar with. Having eaten there several times in the past – hence why he was friendly with you, Lewis was able to share his knowledge with the people around him. While George and Carlos were listening to his every word, Charles and Pierre were debating about how to approach the recent drama that had been occurring. On the opposite side of the table, another world champion had captured his friends’ attention. Franco, ever the fanboy, was nodding at everything Max was saying while Lando and Oscar had a similar goal as the French speakers on the other side.

As it had been deliberate to have Max and George sitting at opposite ends, the majority of drivers were hoping to get some new comments on the situation without being too obvious. The two protagonists of this feud were honestly aware of that, but didn’t let it show on their respective faces and decided on having a peaceful night.

When you saw that most of them had put their menu down and heard the chatter getting a bit louder, you took that as your cue to get everyone’s order. You felt lucky that some drinks and meals had been chosen several times, meaning that you didn’t have to write too many things. Your way of organising your notes was pretty simple: next to each item, you were just writing the number of the drivers as you knew them all by heart. Soon enough, you were bringing everyone their drinks after you had sent the food orders to the kitchen. Even though almost all the grid was there, you didn’t have any issue in navigating around the huge table that was accommodating seventeen drivers. Starting from the furthest side away from the counter, you made your way up to the other side of the table. Everyone was being really nice to you and thankful for your service, which made Lewis smile as he was glad that your work was being appreciated.

Almost done, you now only had four drinks left to bring to Max, Lando, Oscar, and Franco. Although you were a big Mclaren fan – more of the drivers than the team nowadays, you managed to remain professional. Lewis knew about your preference, but never took it the wrong way because you had once told him that you became a Mclaren fan when he was still with them. Therefore, he had no right to judge you for playing favourites when he was the original reason for that. Moreover, he knew that you were supporting him as an individual driver, whatever team he was on.

You had to admit that you were also nervous to serve Max as the Dutch was really intimidating. However, the smile he gave you when you set down his drink was the most genuine you had ever seen and all your worries went away in less than a second. Finally, you gave his drink to Franco. You didn’t have a strong opinion on him yet. Sure he was cute and had a certain charm to him from what you had seen in interviews, but you still had a hard time judging his racing as he hadn’t been in Formula One for long and had probably been pulled from Formula Two way too early. And despite the points he had scored during his first races, he had crashed several times recently so you’d need to see him do a full season one day in order to rank him as a driver and not only as a person. Safe to say, you were quite neutral to face him compared to the others. Still, you offered him your kindest smile when you put down the glass on the table.

“And this is for you, enjoy!” Despite using your customer service bubbly personality, you were truly happy to do your job tonight and no one could deny it.

Turns out that someone else was now also very happy that you were doing this job. See, as you barely had time to remove your hand from the drink you had set down, someone else’s was grabbing it. You didn’t really register the physical touch as you honestly didn’t mind – it didn’t happen that often, but the other person was surprisingly perturbed. So while you were waiting for them to remove their hand from yours, it seemed that they hadn’t even realised it. Franco, who was the one with his hand around the glass and around your hand, was looking up at you. He blinked a couple times and opened his mouth to speak before following your gaze that was focused on the drink.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Franco apologised as he immediately retracted his hand, letting you put yours back to your side.

“No problem, don’t worry!” You smiled at the young driver before taking a look around the table. “I’ll be back with the first dishes soon guys, enjoy your drinks in the meanwhile!”

Everyone thanked you before they began clinking their glasses together, and once again the chatter got louder. The drivers were comparing drink choices and their tastes, as they shared souvenirs of past dinners. One driver, though, was a bit more silent than others. Franco was currently nodding along to whatever story Yuki was telling about one of his trips, and just quietly sipped his drink. Easy to say that he wasn’t going to remember anything as it seemed that his mind was occupied with something else – or rather someone else. His eyes kept drifting back to you, back facing the drivers as you were organising some shelves behind the counter. If one wasn’t really paying to where Franco’s gaze was directed, they could’ve just thought him overwhelmed from the setting. That was what Esteban had assumed.

“Hey man,” he called out to catch Franco’s attention. “Are you okay?”

“Hmm, yeah, yeah…” Franco mindlessly replied. “All good, don’t worry.”

Esteban didn’t have much time to wonder about whether to drop the subject or not due to Franco’s lack of convincing, that someone else had picked up on the short conversation.

“Franco, mate, everything alright?” Lando questioned, keeping a low voice as to not alert the whole table.

Now realising that he was worrying the others and catching too much attention, Franco sat up before repeating his previous words:

“I’m good, yeah. Sorry, I got a little bit distracted there. Just need to eat and I’ll be energised again, no worries!”

“I see,” Lando replied. “I get you, you’re young and still growing! You’re absolutely not distracted because you got a crush on our waitress.”

“Exactly,” Franco agreed before he processed the last sentence. “Wait– what did you say?”

“Lando said that you definitely need food while you’re still growing,” Oscar repeated. “Even though he’s barely a couple centimetres taller than you.”

“I meant growing as in growing up”, Lando retorted.

“Well, you’re not that much older than him anyways.” Oscar shrugged before going back to his conversation with Liam and Yuki who were sitting on his right.

While Max was quick to replace Oscar in teasing Lando, Franco was experiencing an entire life crisis regarding the conversation that had just happened. Did he imagine Lando’s words? Did no one else hear that? He wondered as he looked around: Esteban appeared to have stopped caring as he was talking with Nico about Haas, and the other drivers sitting across Franco didn’t seem to have paid any attention to him as they all deemed him fine. Franco truly thought he had gone crazy – he probably had. First, he loses all ability to speak because a pretty girl is serving him. And now, he can’t even differentiate his imagination from reality? He really wasn’t acting like himself. Franco was usually the one to flirt and make people nervous, never the opposite – except that one time when Oscar said he was funny in his interviews and that he needed to learn Spanish. He had to fix the situation, no more getting flustered because of eye contact with you.

Safe to say: it was easier said than done, because it was happening again.

As you started to bring everyone’s food, Franco couldn’t help his gaze following your every move. He had to think of something to make you nervous, not him! And now that he was remembering the moment from ten minutes ago, he realised that you hadn’t even done anything special for him to act like that. You were just doing your job and were as nice as the next person, so why was Franco already smitten from a thirty second interaction? He sighed as he tried to find a way to reverse the roles, which was a difficult task for him and proved impossible when you were once again in front of him.

“There you go, Franco!”

Your smile didn’t fully reach your eyes, but Franco could tell it was sincere; and how he was loving it! And did his name ever sound as good as when you were the one to say it? Was he the only one whom you had addressed by their first name? He wouldn’t be able to tell, Franco had kinda muted everything around him until you had reached him. Realising he hadn’t even replied after you had set down his plate, he quickly tried to thank you before you would be leaving the table as you had just given Oscar his food.

“Excuse me!” He called, albeit loudly which made him cringe that he would catch the other drivers’ attention, and waited for you to turn to him. When you did so and looked at him, he talked again. “Just forgot to thank you for the food, sorry.”

“Oh, that's no problem. Don’t worry about it, enjoy!”

“Thanks, again.”

Oh God, why was he so nervous to speak to you? Franco wanted to facepalm at how badly he had handled the situation. You would never be able to take him seriously after that, would you? Not wanting to keep embarrassing himself, Franco decided to start eating before someone would call him out on his actions. However, it didn’t take long as he felt someone nudging his leg from under the table. Franco looked up and his eyes met Liam’s.

“So,” Liam began. “I forgot to thank you for the food, sorry!” The blonde laughed at his own imitation of Franco, which amused the other drivers that had watched the interaction between you and the Argentinian.

“Oh my God…” Franco sighed and put his head in his hands. It was over for him, everyone would tease him and he would have to find a job in another racing category to be left alone.

“I don’t blame you,” Lando said. “She’s nice and she has a sweet smile. Is she your type?”

“She doesn’t need to be his type for him to like her”, Nico added. He turned slightly to be able to face Franco before continuing. “You should shoot your shot as you kids say nowadays, can’t hurt to try.”

“Agreed,” Yuki nodded. “We’ll make you look good in front of her, don’t worry.”

The other drivers confirmed and Franco thought it would be over for now, before someone kept the conversation going:

“Who are we making look good for whom?” Alex asked as he hadn’t been listening, having been talking with his future teammate Carlos.

“Franco”, Esteban replied. “He likes the waitress.”

“Hey!” Franco exclaimed. “Can we not air my business like that? I’m pretty sure we could be discussing other gossip.”

“But you’re not denying it,” Valtteri pointed out.

To that, Franco had nothing to reply for a good minute.

“I don’t like her, I barely know her.”

“Then get to know her,” Liam said as if it was obvious before he took a piece of food to eat.

“The kid is right,” Valtteri agreed.

“Thank you!” Liam was grateful to be supported.

“Lewis,” Valtteri eventually called to his friend who was a couple seats away. “What can you tell us about her?”

“Hmm?” The eight seven-times world champion looked up from his plate, fork in his mouth. He was confused about what he was gonna get involved in as he had spent the last half hour talking with Charles and George, the three of them having been in their own little bubble. He swallowed his food before wiping his mouth. “What’d I miss?”

“The waitress, what can you tell us about her?” Valtteri repeated.

“Why?” Lewis raised an eyebrow, confused as to why you were the topic of the table.

“I think little Franco over here wants to ask her out”, Carlos replied. He hadn’t given his opinion on the discussion yet, happy to just be a spectator and listen.

“I never said tha–” Franco began to argue.

“You want to date her?” Lewis asked, the serious tone obvious in his voice. At that, everyone around the table fell silent.

“I don’t know!” Franco desperately answered, stressed by the fact that Lewis was now getting involved.

“So you don’t like her?” Lewis rested his chin on his hands, to better focus on and assess Franco’s reactions. “She’s not to your liking? Not kind enough perhaps? Not hardworking enough?”

“I–” Franco was at a loss for words. He was truly about to shit himself and disappear from the face of the earth. Right now, he was almost glad to not have a seat next year because he didn’t think he would be able to handle facing the drivers anymore after this whole chaos. “She seems really nice, yeah.”

“She is,” Lewis simply stated.

“And yeah, she’s pretty.” His gaze landed once again on you. Fortunately for him, you were far enough from the table to not hear anything, but he was still able to look at your profile while you were chatting with some of the cooks. To his luck – really? – you had decided right at this moment to turn back to quickly check on how the drivers’ dinner was going and your eyes met his for a split second. Just a smile from you was enough to make Franco flustered again, making him drop the eye contact immediately. You went back to your conversation, completely unaware of what was happening barely ten metres away from you. When Franco realised that everyone was looking at him, waiting for him to keep going, he gulped. “I guess I wouldn’t mind being friends with her.”

“Just friends?”

“That’d be the main goal indeed”. Franco decided to be more confident in himself, and even though he was facing his idol, he had to be tough. “But becoming more could eventually be a great bonus.”

As Lewis kept asking questions about Franco’s intentions for another minute, which the young driver didn’t hesitate in answering, the rest of the drivers were still silent. They were all absolutely invested in the conversation unfolding before them, their heads turning left and right as if they were watching a tennis match. If the drama between George and Max had been the most interesting thing at the beginning of the night, it was now the least of their worries. Finally, the exchange between Lewis and Franco was coming to an end – almost to everyone’s disappointment as the entertainment would stop.

“Fine”, Lewis said as he let his hands drop back to his side and got more relaxed in his seat.

“Fine?” Franco repeated.

“I’ll give you a chance,” he explained. ‘Can’t say yet that she’ll do the same, but I guess you wouldn’t be too bad for her if anything were to happen.”

“Thanks…” Franco mumbled as he scratched his neck. He was still embarrassed that he had to have this conversation about you with the Sir Lewis Hamilton. At least, it was safe to shoot his shot now.

Not expecting it, you suddenly heard the whole table erupt in cheers and got startled as they were probably the loudest clients you’d ever heard in the restaurant. Looking at the cooks in confusion, you then let out a laugh at the drivers’ happiness. You had no idea what was happening, but you were glad that they were having fun. You knew from Lewis that the relations between drivers weren’t always rainbows and sunshines, but it warmed your heart to see them all getting along for one evening.

Debating if it was your cue to go up to the table when the cheers got quieter, you got a confirmation when Lewis called out your name. You excused yourself to the cooks – telling them to maybe expect orders soon enough – and walked up to the drivers with the same smile you had harboured since the beginning of the evening. At first, you had stopped at the table end that had been closest to you, but Lewis actually made you sign to join him at the other end where he was.

“How’re you doing?” He asked you when you were beside him.

“Good, good. What about you, guys? I heard a pretty nice celebration there.”

“We are indeed celebrating”, Lewis confirmed as he stood up next to you. “Toast with us?”

“I’m working Lewis”, you replied with a sigh. You had abandoned your smile and opted for a straight face that you hoped would remind your friend of your actual duties here.

“Just one drink?” He almost pleaded. “We’ll be very disappointed if you refuse.”

You reluctantly agreed – to which Lewis grinned – and quickly got yourself a drink before you came back to stand by the Brit. Thinking that you could treat yourself, you had taken a beer that you were definitely planning on charging Lewis for.

“So, what are we toasting to?” You wondered as you swirled your drink.

“To us: the 2024 grid. To the new drivers, and to the drivers that have been there for years and will still be there next year. But most importantly…” Lewis took his time glancing at his former partner at Mercedes, before his glance drifted to the others that had limited time left in Formula One. “We toast to the ones that won’t be here with us anymore starting next season. We’ll remember them to have been amongst the twenty best drivers in the world, and we’ll remember their meaningful careers. To us!” Lewis repeated, which was echoed by everyone else around the table.

To say you got chills was an understatement. Lewis’s speech was short, but enough for everyone listening to understand the weight of his words. No matter how long they had been in Formula One for, no matter how long they’ll still be here, no matter their achievements: there will always be someone to tell the stories of the drivers that had once reached the pinnacle of motorsport.

You knew Lewis had never taken his position for granted. He had fought to get to it, fought to stay there for the past seventeen years, and kept fighting to keep his place for the future. You had always admired him for his resilience, and you were always one to admire someone whenever they would reach the top step that was Formula One. Therefore, you were soaking in this moment. A moment shared with the seventeen people around you, whom you would never forget.

Your eyes, once again, met Franco’s. You gave him a discreet nod with a smile and slightly tipped your beer in his direction, as a way to tell him that yes, you would remember even him amongst the greatest. He shyly smiled back, and took a sip of his drink to distract himself from the way your eyes were softly looking at him from afar. After a moment of silence during when everyone had stayed quiet as a way of honouring those around them, you decided to fall back into your work persona.

“Not that I hate getting involved in this little get-together, but I am actually employed to serve y’all and not drink with the clients. Someone,” you emphasised with a look to Lewis, “better remember that.”

“Alright, blame it all on me.” Lewis raised his hands in defence. “I guess it’s time for some desserts then, right?”

The other drivers all agreed with the offer, and you took their plates to bring them back to the kitchen. After you had cleaned the table – except for the drinks that weren’t done yet, you gave everyone a dessert menu and let them make their choices. You came back to the table a couple minutes later to take the final orders, and wrote everything down. When you double-checked that you had seventeen desserts noted, you told the table that you’d be back soon and turned away. However, someone called out to you.

“Excuse me!” You recognised the voice as Lando’s. “You didn’t get Franco’s full order.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” You immediately apologised, wondering what you had missed as you clicked your pen, ready to add anything else.

“What are you doing?” Franco asked the Brit. Although he was whispering, everyone could hear the stress in his voice as he had no idea what to expect.

“So what can I get you?” You looked at Franco and smiled, waiting for him to tell you what he wanted.

Absolutely panicking, Franco didn’t know what to answer. His only option was to look at Lando for an explanation as to what he was expecting him to say, but it turned out to be his biggest mistake. Your gaze followed the direction in which Franco had glanced, and your eyes met Lando’s. He had already been looking at you, a grin on his face as he rested his cheek on his palm.

“He’ll just have whatever he had ordered with a side of your number.”

The entire room – which was honestly just you and the drivers – fell silent. As cringe and embarrassing it was for Lando to say that, he knew it was for the greater good. The dinner would be soon over, everyone would go back to their hotels and immediately go to sleep, due to the busy day waiting for them. So who knows if and when Franco would’ve actually talked to you.

Not knowing what to reply for a few seconds, you then processed Lando’s words and chuckled.

“I’ll see what I can do, we have a very limited stock.” Your eyes went back to looking at Franco, who was blushing. “Can you confirm to me that Lando got your order right, Franco?”

“Y–yeah, that’s what I’d like.” Franco wanted nothing more than to disappear six feet underground right now. “If that’s okay… I would understand if you can’t accommodate that.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem, don’t worry. I’ll get back to you soon.”

When you left the drivers to their antics to go relay the orders to the kitchen, you couldn’t help the giddy smile that appeared on your face. It wasn’t everyday that a cute driver was interested in you. Hell! It wasn’t everyday that someone was interested in you, period. You thought about quickly texting Lewis to ask him for his opinion, but decided otherwise when you remembered him telling you about the ‘promising Argentinian who definitely deserved a full-time seat in the future’. You tried to find a way to give Franco your number, which could let you avoid doing so in front of all the drivers. You figured they had already teased him about it if Lando was as involved as he seemed to be, and kept thinking about a solution while you waited for the desserts to be ready.

Eventually, you had found the perfect idea. So when you brought the desserts to the drivers, you put your plan in motion. As you put Franco’s plate in front of him, you managed your best customer service voice along with an apologetic tone:

“I’m truly sorry, but your added request is actually impossible to fulfill at the moment.” You did your best not to laugh at your poor acting, and almost stopped pretending when you saw Franco’s dejected expression. “But, I found another solution to accommodate your needs.”

Confused, Franco tilted his head at you. You then gave him a piece of paper that was folded in two, and he wondered if your number was actually written on it or if it was all an act to reject him nicely. He truly thought you could have been interested too, but maybe the other drivers’ involvement along with him hitting on you at your workplace had been a complete ick. However, when you gave him one last glance before telling everyone to enjoy their food, he could swear you had winked at him. This was a good sign then, right?

As you left the drivers one more time, Franco debated unfolding the paper to read what was written on it. But when he saw that everyone was staring at him, expecting him to read out loud the content of the paper, he actually put it in his pocket. This led to the drivers all sighing of disappointment before they chose to focus on their food.

The rest of the dinner went well. When everyone was done eating, they simply chatted about the upcoming grand prix before it was time to pay and leave the restaurant. The drivers called you back for the bill, which you brought a few minutes later. Not thinking twice, you set it down in front of Lewis.

“I’m actually the one paying,” Valtteri pointed out.

“That’s so nice of you,” you replied. “I honestly think that the oldest should pay, but that’s just my opinion.”

“You wanna bankrupt me or what?” Lewis asked you.

“As if it would do harm to your bank account”, you retorted. “I’m pretty sure the world champion titles paid really well.”

“I can confirm”, Max shouted from the other end of the table.

“We’re settled, don’t worry. It’s my goodbye gift to them”, Valtteri assured you before you gave him the card terminal so that he could pay.

You thanked him and gave him his receipt before putting the terminal back in your pocket. You were about to start cleaning the table and bid the drivers good night when they asked you to take pictures for them. As an amateur photographer, you couldn’t refuse the request and even offered to use the digital camera you always had on you. They gladly accepted and you found yourself taking a dozen pictures of the drivers. You told Lewis that you would send the digitals later tonight, and he thanked you in advance.

It was now time for the drivers to actually leave and get ready for a good night's sleep before their last grand prix of the season. Telling them goodbye one by one and wishing them luck for the race, each driver sent you one last smile before thanking you once again for your wonderful service. The last two left were Franco and Lewis. You felt happy for Franco to be able to hang out so easily with his idol as you could relate to that surreal experience. They approached you while Lewis had his arm around Franco’s shoulders, and a smile was present on both their faces.

“We had a great night”, Lewis told you. “Right, Franco?” The young driver eagerly nodded and Lewis chuckled.

“Glad to know I did my job well. I’ll see you guys soon, yeah? Maybe for next year’s dinner?” You suggested.

“Why not tomorrow?” Lewis countered.

“You wanna have dinner here tomorrow as well?” You asked, confused as to why he hadn’t notified you sooner.

“I meant tomorrow at the track”, Lewis clarified. “And the day after that, and on Sunday for the race.”

“I didn’t buy tickets for this year. I’ll see well enough on my TV, don’t worry.”

“I have tickets for you though. Paddock passes and all”, he explained. “I sent them to you by email earlier during dinner. You’ll come say hi to us, yeah?”

“Oh! Well, yes! Oh my God, thank you so much!” You were absolutely ecstatic to be able to attend the grand prix. Usually, you would watch it from home, especially when you were working that day and didn't have any days off left to use.

“Everything has been arranged with your employer by the way; so you only need to show up every day, tour our garages, and look pretty to watch us race. Sounds good?”

“Sounds absolutely perfect, thank you Lewis.” You were beaming with happiness. “That means I’ll see you tomorrow as well Franco, will I?”

“Yeah of course,” he nodded. “You’ll have to come to me yourself though, I don’t have a way of contacting you.”

“Yet”, you teased with a smile. “Well, not like I don’t appreciate your company, but I need to close and go back home so I’ll have to ask you to leave guys.”

“Sorry,” Lewis and Franco both apologised before they finally left the restaurant.

You waved at them and closed the door as you got ready to finish cleaning up everything. On the other side of the door, the two drivers were now alone as they started making their way outside.

“You’re still not checking her note?” Lewis wondered after a few minutes of silence.

“I don’t know… I’m a bit nervous to read it,” Franco admitted.

“And I’m actually a bit curious to know what it says.”

Knowing that you trusted the Brit, Franco deemed it fine to open your note in front of him as he imagined that you hadn’t written anything indecent. However, when he finally revealed its content, Franco’s eyes widened with surprise and Lewis got even more interested in what it said.

“Ask the seven times world champion”, Lewis started reading out loud over Franco's shoulder. “He should give you my number if he thinks you deserve it (I certainly think you do)”.

While Lewis was laughing at your words, Franco was looking at him expectantly. If he wasn’t stressed enough about asking you out, he was now even more as he realised he had to go through Lewis – again.

“So… hmm…” Franco hesitated for a few seconds. “Is it actually okay if I ask you for her number? I swear I won’t do anything wrong!”

“Don’t worry kid, I trust you on that. Give me a top ten in free practice tomorrow and you got yourself a deal.”

“Okay!” Franco agreed, sudden determination in his voice. “I’ll do my best!”

“I don’t doubt it”, Lewis replied with a proud smile on his face. “Have a good night, Franco. See you tomorrow,” he added as they would be going different ways to their respective hotels.

“Thanks, you too!”

Excited for the next day, Franco had harboured a huge grin while going back to his hotel room. He was confident in his skills. And despite having to drive an old version of his car, half taped-up, he knew he was able to achieve good times tomorrow. He had a pretty good motivation to do so.

…..

“P7 Lewis!” Franco shouted as he walked towards his idol after the first free practice, phone in hand, and a smile on his face.

“Nice job kid,” Lewis congratulated. “Give me your phone then.” Franco immediately obeyed and Lewis finally put your number in the Argentinian’s contacts. “There you go,” he told him while giving back the phone.

“Thanks! I’ll see you later, bye!” Franco waved while he went back to the direction of his garage, already drafting up a text to send you.

He wasted no time in sending you the message he had spent all night thinking of. He hoped you wouldn’t take too much time to reply as he didn’t know if he could handle the wait. Luckily, his wish had been granted one way or another: as soon as he arrived in front of his garage, you were there. Looking down at your phone, you were quickly typing until your thumb was hovering over the send button. When you sensed someone watching you, you looked up and your eyes met Franco’s. So as you were exchanging eye contact with him, you finally decided on sending your text before putting your phone back into your pocket and walking towards Franco.

However, it hadn’t been Franco that you had texted. The Argentinian had only sent you a short message telling you that he would wait for you at the Williams hospitality, to which you hadn’t thought it necessary to reply as you had already been there. No, the person you had texted was none other than Lewis as you felt like he deserved a thank you for going along with your plan.

Thanks for being a great wingman, I’ll buy you a drink<3

You wouldn’t see it immediately as Franco had just offered you to have lunch with him – which you obviously accepted, but Lewis had answered you shortly after:

Save me a seat at the wedding and we’ll be even

(also lewis makes for a great baby name if you have a boy)

..........

I hope y'all liked this as much as i liked writing it🫶🏻 don't hesitate to comment or reblog if you appreciate my work, it always means a lot to me!!

Side note: I've been extremely unwell since the season ended😭 despite 2024 being my 1st season, I've grown attached to f1 sooo quickly that i missed it every time there was only a two weeks break and now we're acc gonna starve for 3 months🧍🏻‍♀️ and the fact that dts is being released in march is insane bc wdym we can't even have that during the off season

Anywayyys see you next time, take care of yourselves, and happy holidays🤍

#franco colapinto #franco colapinto x reader #f1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #franco colapinto x you #f1 x you #formula 1 x you #fc43 #fc43 x reader #fc43 x you

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thanksbutno98 · 13 days ago

Text

MIA

John Price x girlfriend!reader OC

Summary: Your boyfriend John Price goes MIA on his latest deployment.

Warnings: Sexual themes, Violence, PTSD, injury.

Authors note: A huge thank you to @somebodyelse-yk for editing this fic for me! They are the reason this is being posted because I haven’t had any time to edit! The formatting might be off because it had to be written on google docs.

——————

Creaky floors, fogged bathroom mirror and a cool draft you weren’t sure where it came from. Looking from your blurry reflection of messy hair and smudged makeup you glanced down at your bright powder blue painted toes. You wiggled them and pondered about what color you should paint them next; your lover always liked this color blue on you. A tiny smirk spread across your mouth as you brought your toothbrush to your lips. You could hear him speaking.

“How long?” Your voice was muffled around your toothbrush.

You and your long time boyfriend, John Price had been chatting in the dim light of your apartment. It was early morning, 4 am to be exact. John and you had just gotten home from camping before he was deployed in two weeks. He lovingly told you it was one of the best nights he had ever spent with you and you felt the same.

Usually you stayed the entire next day to fish, swim, and kick a football around. It was different today. You needed to be at your flat, having to let the maintenance guy in to fix the stove since the pilot light kept going out.

“Said about three months. So pretty short, considering.” John was now behind you, putting back his own toothbrush. He had just used it by the kitchen sink to give you some space. It was a tiny bathroom and John took up a lot of space. He used the opportunity of putting his toothbrush away to press himself up against your back and wrap his arms around your shoulders. Bowing his head he nuzzled his stubbled face against your cheek and left a kiss there.

“Gonna have to live up these two weeks. Fatten you up and suck you dry.” The cheeky joke made John snort out a laugh not expecting such crass humor from you.

“I’ll take you up on the “sucking me dry” part.” Palming your breasts John was now glued to your back with wandering hands and his crotch pressed firmly against your ass.

Before John could get his hands under your top, a loud knock sounded on the front door. You shared a curious look, surprised maintenance was here so early and then John quickly disappeared from the bathroom. He always told you to make sure he was home when the maintenance guy stopped by. John said he had wandering eyes and didn’t trust him around you. You saw it as John’s overprotective side but you did like having him around to help, since you could be naïve at times.

Peaking your head out of the bathroom, you could see John, shirtless and in sweatpants talking to someone. The words were hushed, as if you weren’t supposed to hear. So you creeped up slowly, trying to listen in. Your fingers curled around the hem of your tank top, a sinking feeling filling your stomach.

“Yes sir, you have to report to base immediately.” You heard an unfamiliar voice talking with John.

That was all you caught before you stepped into view behind him and the stranger's lips snapped shut. He was a young man with dirty blonde hair and a handsome freckled face. His wide brown eyes flickered down to your tiny shorts and then up to your eyes.

“Oh, uh. Lieutenant, I didn’t realize you had uh- a-“ The sergeant began to sputter.

You watched John stiffen. You didn’t notice the accompanying sergeants wandering eyes but your boyfriend sure did. You tried to ask John what was going on but he shushed you. His thick eyebrows raised, lips parted, while giving you an expecting look, as if you could tell what was on his mind. And you could. John wanted you to scurry away, out of sight, out of mind, so he was able to handle whatever was going on.

“Go on, I’ll chat with you in a moment.” John guided you back towards the bedroom and shooed you away, with an unseen pat to your bottom. You heard him snap for the two men to keep their eyes at a respectful level. Then their chatter went back to hushed and almost inaudible.

You were at a loss for words and mindlessly listened. The mumbling between the men stopped and was followed by the clicking sound of the flats front door shutting. Sitting on the edge of your bed waiting, John was in your shared bedroom not too long after. You silently watched him strip down to his boxers in what felt like seconds and was pulling on his camouflage cargo pants, a green fitted t-shirt and his military button up shirt. His thick fingers worked to fasten each button as he spoke and he checked himself in the mirror to make sure everything was nice and neat. You couldn’t find your tongue but it became obvious what was going on.

John was leaving.

“I’m sorry darling, but I’m needed now.” John walked right past you as he spoke. Grabbing his duffle bag from under the bed, he began to methodically and speedily pack his belongings.

“Wait, they can do that? Show up out of the blue and whisk you away?” You watched, stunned, as John seamlessly moved around the bedroom.

His faded bag with his last name embroidered on it filled with shirts, trousers, socks, underwear, and toiletries. John’s diligence infected you for a second and you were up, grabbing the chapstick he liked, then his dog tags.

“Yeah, they can.” John shrugged, nodding at you in thanks as he slipped his dog tags over his head and around his neck. He then took the chapstick and shoved it in his toiletries bag.

“But I don’t want you to go.” It came out as a whisper, lacking the confidence you normally possessed.

“I don’t have a choice. So neither do you.” As John spoke he waved around the Polaroid picture of you two he had stuck between the wood and glass of your dresser's mirror. It was taken a few months ago on a fishing trip. It made your blood pump faster seeing how he tucked the photo into his chest pocket of his fatigues. Like it could stop a bullet if it so found its way there.

“Don’t be like that.” You complained not liking how John had become so serious.

“I love you. I’ll be safe and all the rest. Now, you’ve got to let me leave.” Taking your face between his calloused hand John kissed your forehead once, then your cheek, then laid three kisses to your lips. The last one was much longer than the first two pecks. It told you he loved you.

“Please be safe and-“ You cut yourself off at the sight of John’s eyebrow quirking at you.

“-and all the rest.” You sighed.

You didn’t like not being able to give him all your well wishes and ask him to be smart and come home to you in one piece. There were so many other things you usually said - but there was no time for that now.

You hugged John tight, kissed him deeply and told him you’d be waiting for him when he returned. In typical John fashion, he slipped you some tongue on that kiss and grabbed your ass during the hug.

“I’ll be back sooner than you know. I’m gonna cash in you sucking me dry when I get back.” With a final wink and slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder, John was off.

His hips swayed confidently and he shut the door behind him so softly it made his departure feel fake. That he would turn around in a minute or two, crawl into bed beside you and sleep until noon like you two had planned.

——————

It was a bright Saturday morning by yourself in your flat. You had your music going, windows open, hair tied back and wore a tight grey tank top with no bra and a pair of teal cotton shorts. It was the same outfit you had on when John left.You loved wearing it since he loved these tiny shorts and the way your nipples could be seen through the sheer fabric. Breakfast was cooking on the stove while you danced around with a piece of toast. John would be home tomorrow so you were enjoying the last day of strutting around like this without being groped and serenaded. You were hoping he’d bring out his guitar and play it for you. It had been awhile since he had done that.

A loud knock startled you, causing you to lightly shriek and almost choke on your toast. You quickly turned down your music and tossed your half eaten toast on your plate. Opening the door, you weren’t sure who would be here. You were half expecting your friends to charge into your flat and drag you out to have some fun. They knew how John’s return always consumed you and you’d go missing for a week or two - wrapped up in young love.

With a bright smile and a cute pose, you threw up a peace sign, expecting your best friend Lena to jump on you and wrap her legs around you. You two would squeal and she would eat half your breakfast as your other friend raided your cupboards. You would all watch Trash TV while they smoked in your living room and you planned what pub you would go to tonight. Soon you all would be raiding your closet, doing makeup, taking shots, and Lena would make sure to take pictures with your Polaroid.

Striking your cute pose, you realized it wasn’t your friends. On the other side were two soldiers staring at you stoney faced.

You felt like an idiot. It was mortifying to answer your door like this, when there could only be one reason for the military to be at your door.

This was a gut punch.

There was a painful twist in your stomach that made you feel like you might be sick. It was always so embarrassing, when being under tremendous stress, you emptied your guts.

Your world came to a screeching halt. A breath left your body and the room went cold. It felt like somebody dimmed the summer sun and flooded your veins with ice. This was your worst nightmare. John had been killed, you just knew it. You didn’t cry, you didn’t scream, your deepest fear came blurting out of your mouth instead.

“Please tell me he didn’t suffer, that he wasn’t in any pain.” Saying that was like getting hit by a Mack-Truck.

Because you didn’t want John to be gone, but if he was, you wanted him to not have suffered and to have gone easy. He deserved to rest easy because he had already been through enough trauma for one lifetime.

“Ma’am, take a deep breath.” One of the soldiers stepped forward as if you were hysterical. His hand came to touch your shoulder but he hesitated for a second.

That’s when you noticed you were hyperventilating. Stepping back into your flat you stumbled and found one of the kitchen chairs. Sitting down you tried to gather yourself but you were becoming lightheaded.

“Ma’am, we don’t know where he is. He’s missing. That doesn’t mean he’s dead.” The soldier said it like it would comfort you as he entered your flat, knelt down and placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Oh, so he’s most likely a prisoner of war or his body has been dumped somewhere we’ll never find or it’s been blown to pieces.” You snapped back. The words were like acid on your tongue. In your grief you spoke in a way you couldn’t imagine and said something you wished would never happen.

“He’s left instructions if anything is to happen. We weren’t sure if he communicated these to you since you’re not married.” The other soldier spoke.

Picking your head up from your hands you gave him a look of utter confusion.

“What do you mean? Does his mom know?” You asked, feeling flooded and overwhelmed. The sturdiness of the floor seemed to wobble beneath your bare feet as your world started to crash down on you.

“Normally a soldier’s family members are the ones to be notified first, but for him it was you. We will be heading to his mother’s after this. Lieutenant Price has also given you all medical rights so if he is found and incapacitated you will be the one making his medical decisions.” The man kneeling in front of you informed you.

“What am I supposed to do until he’s found?”

“Pray.”

——————

You weren’t sure how to function with the news John was “Missing in Action”.

Getting out of bed became harder and you found yourself watching the news whenever you could. Food lost its flavor, alcohol lost its punch, but what came as the biggest blow - music forgot its tune. It reminded you of when you were young and how you used to drag your finger against your mother’s records while she did her makeup. How the dark tacky vinyl would whine and warp under your touch and chipped painted nail. But now you had no control of the way it sounded. Now, in your mind you imagined John’s finger dragging against your records. Only his was limp and lifeless, leaving a broken tune for you to carry.

Life carried on, out of beat. You still needed to go grocery shopping, pay bills, do the dishes, take the trash out, go to work, all while carrying the pain of the unknown. No one ever talked about that. How grief didn’t make everyday life go away. That it carried on like it had somewhere to be.

Life felt like dust. Something that settled over its surroundings. It collected, leaving imprints behind when you picked up a forgotten book. The shapes of things you once used regularly would leave rings of dust behind. Soft, fuzzy, annoying little tufts that collected with your hair. You said you would pick it up, but you never did. It was a strange game you started to play with yourself. How thick will the dust settle? How thick? How thick will it be when you find out John’s gone? Actually gone, not just missing? Hopefully, it will be thick enough to smother you and allow you to die alongside him.

At first it was the kettle. That was a thin layer of dust on your stove top. John did always love his early morning tea with a few too many biscuits. He would double tap his mug with a spoon and promise to start having a proper breakfast soon. Soon hardly came.

Now, soon never came. But the dust still did.

In the darkness of your room you could see the outline of John - left in the dust that had settled. Somehow, being gone for so long, the shape of him had never left. He still filled the empty space in your bed, the seat across from yours at the kitchen table, the space that hovered behind you, where he would settle and wrap his arms around you. But. He was nothing more than dust. The memory of him, carrying no more weight - than dust.

Sometimes in the early morning, right before the sun began to rise, you sat on your fire escape, where dust couldn’t gather, smoking, and pretending John was home and still asleep. You would shiver in the crisp air, wrapped up in his hoodie and mull over what to do for breakfast. Would it be biscuits again? Or maybe you should finally learn how to cook a proper breakfast? Maybe he wanted eggs and toast or would suggest going out to eat.

The fantasy had gone so far that each morning you made two cups of tea and left John’s at his seat at the kitchen table, only for it to be replaced the following morning when you made him a fresh cup that he would never drink. It was the only spot that never collected dust.

The days bled into one another and soon March had turned into June.

On the first of June you received the phone call you had been holding your breath for. It came in from an unknown number while you sat on your fire escape, gazing at the stars in the night sky with a cigarette to your lips.

“If you’re selling something I’m not interested.” You spoke plainly, feeling as numb as you did the day you found out John was missing. Telemarketers' calls annoyed you but sometimes the sound of another person helped you not feel so desperately alone.

“Ma’am, this is Sergeant Holloway. We’ve found Lieutenant Price and he’s being airlifted to your local hospital. Please get ready and pack a small bag. we will have a car on the way to come get you in the next hour or two.” The sergeant spoke.

“Yes. Are you okay?”

“He’s alive?”

“He’s alive.” You whispered fearing that if you spoke too loud, you would somehow be John’s undoing.

“Yes, but we need you at the hospital to make medical decisions for him. I’m sorry to say- but it is serious, ma’am.” Once you were off the phone you were up and feeling like your nerves had been fried.

John’s voice echoed through your flat telling you to stay calm. You spoke to him, although he wasn’t there and promised you would make sure he was okay.

You showered, packed a bag, and sat on the stoop of your apartment building in under a half hour. There was nothing else you could manage to do, other than wait out by the curb so you didn’t waste even a second. Each car that passed and splashed through puddles, you wondered if it was your ride. A few passersby made similar jokes asking if you were waiting for the school bus. You ignored them and gripped the straps of your backpack tighter and counted the minutes until you were finally picked up.

——————

Thick auburn chest hair covered in bandages with splotches of brown marks. Burnt coffee, bleach and coughing that echoed down the halls became your everyday. John was battered, beaten, almost unrecognizable. The state of him was so horrific, you ended up rushing to the bathroom in his room to be sick. He was laid up in his hospital bed, left leg bandaged, and the rest of him covered in dark bruises. John had bandages wrapped around his chest, arms and right leg. Some were from burn wounds, while others were stitches that were healing from being sliced by, what you were told, different sized blades. His face was swollen around the cheek bones from being beaten bloody.

The staff quickly realized visiting hours didn’t apply to you. You slept in the chair by John’s bed, collecting dust. You only left when you needed to go home to shower and even then you were right back at the hospital with coffee in hand. The surgery for John’s leg continued to be pushed back day after day. Somehow in all the madness, he had pneumonia of all things, leaving him to recover from that in order to have his surgery.

John’s siblings brought you meals to eat and without them you probably would’ve starved. Even John’s mom, who disliked you greatly, didn’t make a dig or give you trouble. She called everyday she couldn’t be there to check on John. There was even a moment where she hugged you, more like clung to you and thanked you for loving him so much.

John had moments where his eyes fluttered open, icy blues visible for seconds, he would groan in pain but there was no point where he was truly conscious. You were told it was from the severe case of pneumonia and sedation for pain management.

You saw John’s injuries and the horrific state he was in when you first walked into the hospital room. Somehow your mind could never remember it. When you weren’t looking at him, somehow you pictured him in a t-shirt and sweatpants laid out in a hospital bed. Then when you saw him bandaged all over his bare chest and arms, leg elevated, stitches running across his left hip, burn marks on his feet - it faded. Like it was nothing in your mind. You could not comprehend the extent of his injuries when you didn’t have your eyes on him. And that was the main reason why you refused to leave.

It was unspoken but John’s entire family allowed you to be his caretaker and they responded by trying to take care of you. Maybe they realized that you weren’t going to leave his side. That there was a reason John left you as his medical proxy.

In the time that passed, what happened to John came to light. He had been held in a prison of war. When you were informed he had been tortured for information that he didn’t give, there was this odd pang in your chest. One that told you, John was far more admirable than you could ever be and could endure horrors worse than you could conjure up in your imagination. If you dwelled on what happened for too long, you would wind up getting sick so you kept your mind busy. It was also apparent he wasn’t alone in what he faced, another soldier had been there. Knowing that made you relieved that John wasn’t all by himself but then you would feel disgusting for thinking that way. No one deserved to join in on such atrocities for the sake of John not being lonely.

Tonight felt like any other night in John’s hospital room. Only, he had finally had his surgery. From what you were told it all went well and he would hopefully wake up soon. Time ticked by in the steady rhythm of the hospital monitors whirring and beeping. Hearing John was alive and in stable condition helped lull you to sleep. So you curled up in the uncomfortable hospital chair and closed your eyes, the setting sun warming the room in an orange glow.

“You look beautiful.” The raspy tone you dreamt of felt so real, it sounded distant.

“Darling?” This time John sounded as if he were right in front of you and your eyes fluttered open to see him looking back at you.

It was dark now with only a dim light casting dark shadows across the hospital room. John’s blue eyes were tired yet relieved. You didn’t know it but he too had thought he was dreaming when he first saw you by his side. The girl of his dreams, love of his life, his world, was here in the flesh. You had been what kept him sane - you saved his life and you didn’t even know it. So when John awoke to see who he had been picturing during the worst of his experiences, he wanted you to crawl under his skin, sink your teeth into him and not let go.

“You’re awake.” You spoke softly.

The way your heavy eyes fluttered at him, with your messy hair and chapped lips almost made John’s eyes roll to the back of his head. Those bright eyes were his saving grace and at the same time the death of him. Either way looking into those bright eyes he loved so dearly he would die a happy man knowing you loved him.

It felt like you dropped 50 pounds in that single moment. Nothing compared to those icy blue eyes staring back at you. You laughed in disbelief and then smiled hurt. You had feared you and John may never get to gaze into each other’s eyes again.

“I love you. Why do I feel so fuzzy?” John coughed after he spoke. Without thinking you reached toward and scratched his overgrown beard that reached over an inch off his chin.

“I love you too, here have some water. You’re probably high from all the medication.” You helped John drink from the straw. His Adam's apples dipped and binged as he gulped down the water. He then scrunched his nose and shook his head in disapproval.

“Fuck water, I want whiskey and a wank. You can help me with that, right? Promised to suck me dry, if memory serves.” John hadn’t been awake for long but was already flirting with you.

John was even shocked by the words that flowed from his lips. There was something about you that evoked him to be charming, pleasing, soft with you. Even in the roughest state he had experienced, you drew that out of him. Brought out his flirtation in the darkest of moments, love in loveless times, hope when he had felt so hopeless.

“Don’t be cheeky, you’ve only been conscious for sixty seconds.” There you were, sweet, loving, his everything. John, although high, knew you had to be tired at the very least. He had no idea of the turmoil that ran through your veins. In his drugged out mind, he was convinced you would be nothing but happy to see him.

“Fuuuuck, everything hurts.” John groaned. His good hand ran through his hair and he went wide eyed at how long it was. It was at least an inch longer than he allowed it to get at its longest. John looked at you and tugged his hair.

“Think I need a trim?” John tugged at his hair then his beard.

“Beard looks nice. Definitely need some off the top.” You couldn’t help but fall into his charming nature and joke back.

Kissing his burning forehead you quickly made your way to the nurses station. Your skin was hot, yet you felt cold from the adrenaline. The nurses seemed happy for you, after all you’d become friends with them over the weeks.

Your eyes barely worked but you could hear the way your flip flops clapped against the tiled floor. In fact that sound would sear into your memory. You couldn’t wear flip flops without thinking of hospital rooms and John laid up in pain. They would always evoke this memory for the rest of your days.

“Lieutenant Price, welcome to the land of the living.” The nurse on duty smiled warmly. She had dark brown hair pulled back in a bright yellow clip. Her scrubs were teal and she had a kind expression on her tan features.

“We aren’t at a military hospital, why do you sound military?” John stared at her with his teeth bared.

It was clear to you he was in pain. John in pain was a rare sight. You had seen him in different states of recovery through your entire relationship. But this was a completely different type of pain, if he wasn’t on pain killers you knew he’d be screaming in pain.

“My husband’s in the military too. Captain Devereau, if you’ve heard the name. I’m going to give you some more medication to dull the pain.” The nurse then broke out a syringe of something from her pocket and administered it.

“Is that being logged?” You asked out of curiosity. She looked at you as if to tell you to shut up and your lips clamped shut.

In that moment you realized John was not going to feel an ounce of pain while a military wife was around. She knew better than you and you would not challenge that. In fact you took it as a moment of learning that in this moment, maybe, personal judgment outweighed protocol. You knew John would agree with that.

“So I better be on my best behavior.” By John’s tone you were suspecting he wasn’t a fan of the nurse's husband. Yet there was a hint of admiration. In fact it was the way you knew John hoped people spoke about him. With a little bit of fear but an undying respect.

“Whoa.” John's breath hitched and you watched his pupils dilate.

You knew John never dabbled in drugs, even as a teen. So whenever he was given pain killers he usually asked for a half dose or cut his pills in half. John being high usually turned him into a menace. His tight lips became loose, hands became grabby, and he shamelessly would stare at your tits. The last time he was on strong pain killers after knee surgery he asked you for a strip tease in front of his brothers. They got a good laugh out of it while you were mortified.

“What’d you give him?” Running your finger through John’s thick overgrown hair you looked at the nurse. You felt his finger drawing hearts on your inner wrist but ignored it.

“OxyContin. From what my husband has said, you’re not one for following rules but a ‘tough bastard who even the devil can’t catch’. But that’s why your wife here will be caring for you.” Nurse Devereau smiled at you sweetly and you felt a hot flush light up your cheeks.

“She’s not my wife. . . yet.” John sounded drunk as he spoke and pointed his finger in the nurse's face.

“Yet?” Your head snapped back to look at John. He looked like a caveman with his chest hair out, hair so long it was almost a mullet, and beard so long it began to curl.

“We about to have a proposal?” The nurse laughed. Looked at you with the sweetest expression like she knew something you didn’t.

“Still trying to figure out her ring size without her noticing.” John was slurring and chuckling to himself.

“Seriously?” You then blurted out your ring size and John shook his head, then put his finger over his lips as if it were a secret.

“Darling, I’m high off my ass. Can you get me something that’s not water.” John’s hands were grabbing at anything. You started to laugh and stood out of his reach.

“Yeah, Diet Coke work?” You smiled so brightly John and you forgot it was the dead of night. It felt like it was just you two here. You felt as high as him; both high off love. Off missing the other, dreaming of each other, loving each other.

“Whiskey.” John practically ordered playfully. It was the same way when you joked around in your flat. When things were normal.

“I’m getting you a coke.” The fondness you spoke to John with made the blood in your veins run hot. You felt giddy. What happened to him hadn’t reared its head due to the drugs and you wanted to ride it out for as long as possible.

“You can’t have alcohol.” The nurse chuckled at John as she checked his vitals and set him up for fluids.

Leaving John with a kiss, his lips were chapped but the sensation took over your mind. You quickly went to get him something to drink while tasting the taste John left behind. Looking at the option in the vending machine you noticed the Diet Coke and regular coke were both sold out. The mundane action of picking John out a different soda seemed to be the final crack in your resolve. It made you shatter like glass.

With your eyes closed you rested your forehead against the cool window of the vending machine - you swore you heard it splinter. The creaking, crackle of glass about to shatter whining in your ears until it gave way in one clean shatter of your broken and choked sob.

You cried painfully with your forehead pressed against the sturdy glass.

You cried until you felt your chest about to give out. It was the type of cry where your nose runs wildly and you sputter like a child. You cried until you heard the shuffle of feet coming down the hall and snapping you back into focus. Wiping your swollen eyes, then the spittle from the vending machine glass, you quickly pressed the button for a Dr. Pepper. You didn’t want John to see you emotional. You didn’t know what he had been through but the last thing he needed was to worry about you.

The shuffle of feet became louder and you noticed a few male nurses running down the hall. You got out of their way and let them hurry along and then quickly walked to John’s hospital room with the ice cold soda in hand.

It was chaos when you entered John’s room. Yelling, orders, medicine being administered. You watched John’s limbs flying like he was being tortured and strapped down. His leg that had just had surgery on moving around like he was healthy. It made you wonder how hard he fought off the abuse he endured. Once in there the male nurses were strapping down John’s hands and fastening them to the plastic railing of his bed.

John, in his injured state, looked to be fighting for his life.

That wasn’t your John. That was a deeply wounded man, with damage far deeper and any physical injury.

In shock you watched the male nurses struggle to get John under control.

“JOHN!” You yelled.

In a haze the soda you bought fell to the floor and you walked up to John like no one was in the room.

The shouts for you to step away, and give the nurses room fell on deaf ears. Someone tried to grab your wrist but you pushed them off and came close to the man everyone else was afraid of. Stroking your fingers through John’s hair you said the only thing you could think of.

“It’s alright. I’m right here. No one’s going to hurt you, while I’m right here, John. I promise.” Somehow the softness in which you spoke broke through to John at the volume a cannon could go off.

John’s eyes darted around looking for you, until they met yours. He looked exhausted. Then the pain set in, an emotional kind that didn’t compare to his injuries. John’s head lulled to the side and fell into your chest, his arms came up and clung on to you in hopes to keep him tethered to earth.

“Thank god, you’re real and not just in my head anymore.” John sounded desperate as he breathed you in. He shoved his face into your chest, using your breasts as a soft place to lay his head, and a few seconds later he was slumped against you.

“He’s already asleep?” You were perplexed seeing John passed out in his bed.

You watched as his wrists were strapped into restraints.

“We had to sedate him.”

“What happened?” You asked.

“He tried to attack the doctor.”

“He didn’t mean to. Clearly something happened to him. He’s not a dangerous person-“ The doctor cut you off before you could finish defending John.

“It’s okay. We will get someone in here to help him. PTSD can be normal in soldiers, especially ones who’ve been held as prisoners of war.”

“PTSD? How do I help him with that?” You asked.

——————

“How the hell are you going to get him up and down the stairs without a lift?” Harrison, John's oldest brother, sounded perplexed and you didn’t have an answer. The two of you were walking to John’s hospital room.

“I really don’t know. But I have to figure it out by tomorrow when he’s discharged.” You shrugged more interested in getting to John than having a try in this conversation.

Your dad had offered to have you and John stay with him since there was an elevator in his gilding unlike yours. You didn’t want John’s family to feel as if they were imposing. You knew them and how they would be uncomfortable with John being taken care of by anyone who wasn’t family. But you and your dad knew better than anyone, family meant the people who love you are more than just blood. Your mom taught you that.

“Until he’s more stable you two should stay with me, alright? I’ve got a spare room and I’m on the first floor.” Harrison wrapped his arm around you and squeezed you close. You returned the side hug with a small laugh.

“I don’t want to impose and you know how John feels about charity.” You said it as an excuse already knowing your plan of action.

“Fuck what John feels. It’s not even charity, he's my baby brother. You’ll both be staying with me until he’s fit to go up to and down stairs on his own. I changed his diapers, I can house him now. . . Let me help him.” Harrison stopped right outside John’s room. There was a deep sorrow in his eyes. One that told you even though John was the love of your life, sibling love can’t be compared with in certain ways.

“Don’t let him hear you calling him a baby.” Your head fell and you swallowed the lump in your throat. Reaching out you took Harrison’s hand.

“We’ll help him. Together.” You nodded at Harrison.

“Considering you have to wipe his ass-“ He laughed and shook your hand away to wipe the tears from your eyes.

“Harrison, I mean it. John’s gone through enough and I know you two take the piss out of one another like it’s your goddamn job but it’s not happening while I’m around. You fuck with him you’ll be dealing with me.” You laughed and started to cry. Wiping your eyes you laughed breathlessly.

“John better hurry up and marry you, you’re already part of the family.” Harrison joked and you nodded knowingly.

“Let’s get him healthy before we get on his case about that. But I expect you to put in a good word for me.” You were blushing and rushing into John’s room to get the conversation to stop.

“Don’t you worry. My money’s on you two having your first kid within the first year of being married.” Harrison chuckled.

“No chance in hell!” You laughed and smiled brightly seeing John lying in his hospital bed looking healthier. He was sitting up straight, a paper coffee cup to his lips and a tray of food half eaten in front of him.

“Johnny boy!” Harrison bellowed as he walked into his brother’s room.

John reacted viscerally. It took you blinking once to miss the cheap paper coffee cup to go flying across the room and hit Harrison square on the chin. You gasped and he shrieked at the burning liquid. It instantly caused you to panic and do damage control. You grabbed the cup and started to mop up the liquid off the floor with a nearby pillow case.

“Don’t clean it up! Help me!” Harrison snapped at you.

“Don’t fucking speak to her that way.” John was wild eyed and trying to get up from his hospital bed.

You dashed over to him, hands pressing on his bare chest and pushing him into the thin mattress. John didn't push hard against you, he didn’t fight you at all. It had become apparent John would never barrel through you and you worked better than any restraint could. It had also come to light that John was extremely reactive towards men entering his hospital room when he wasn’t expecting it. He hadn’t seen a psychologist yet but you knew it was PTSD.

“Shhh, shhh. It’s okay. It’s okay.” You whispered, running your finger through John’s hair and tilting his head so he would look up at only you.

Harrison paused for a brief moment watching how his brother calmed in your hands. The anger left John as quick as it came and was now replaced by bitter sobs as he began to cry into your chest. As you held John you were beginning to realize his physical injuries would be easier for him to heal from than the mental wounds that had been left behind.

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drowsinginspace · 1 year ago

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Speaking of boycotting Eurovision, after my latest reblog (linked), I need to express my thoughts, since this morning I've read the worst takes ever.

Some people saying "I just won't watch the Israeli entry" or "Actually boycotting doesn't work, just let us have this fun thing when the world is so awful right now" or "Boycotting from your sofa is just performative activism".

My gosh. Get educated.

The Palestinian Call for Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions (BDS) against Israel asked for a boycott of the whole contest. A quote from the linked article says:

Participating in Eurovision for Israel is “a dream, in particular this year, when it has even more meaning.” Since October 2023, Israel has murdered more than 30,000 Palestinians in Gaza, including at least 12,300 children, and injured a further 70,000. Understanding the contest’s propaganda value, particularly in the time of genocide, the Israeli president Isaac Herzog says, “it’s important for Israel to appear in Eurovision.”

So, "just watching anything but the Israeli entry" does not count as boycotting.

"The world is awful right now" because awful people try to make propaganda out of "this fun thing", participating in a grandiose festival while people are still being killed and attacked every day.

This is exactly the right moment to think about Palestinian people! (Or the Armenian people who were killed and displaced by Azerbaijan during the recent Nagorno-Karabakh conflict.)

I am tired too, but I live in a privileged nation, where nobody is trying to actively harm me. I have a choice to watch the fun and the glitter and listen to silly songs or I can try to think of someone else who is getting attacked on the daily.

Mind you, you can still find a way to boycott the contest and listen to the songs, if you can't LIVE without them. Just don't add views or interactions to official channels who make money out of it, and don't use the hashtags. Talk to your buddies in DM and don't make it trend! How is that complicated??

And if this is still too much of a "performative activism", here's something else less passive that you can do, without even standing up from your sofa:

This google doc has a list of Palestinian people who need donations right now:

Donate hygiene kits:

Donate eSims:

Daily clicks:

And now you can block me if my post on your Eurovision tag is clouding your fun.

Please do not be antisemitic or islamophobic in the notes of this post and be respectful.

#eurovision #boycott eurovision #eurovision 2024 #my post i guess #edit: this is all i'm going to say any more on the matter bc i have nothing else to add so keep your anon preachings to yourselves thank yo #you say that the tag is trending because of this? no it's not. and if it is let it.#if the esc tag is trending bc of ppl highlighting the important issues why not?#bye now

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cosmicalily · 6 months ago

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"till you tell me to leave" - a bangchan oneshot by @cosmicalily

author's note: i found a half-written draft for this in my old google docs with my other email account and immediately knew i needed to do a rewrite.

warnings: angst (breakup, exes to lovers)

Three days, twenty-three hours and fifty-nine minutes.

Four days.

Four days and one minute.

Another sleepless night. You didn’t mean to count the minutes, but your eyes remained fixated on your phone, half watching the clock, half staring at the lock screen you’d neglected to change.

Everything around you brought back floods of memories that you didn’t want to deal with. Pictures from photo booths, his arm slung around your shoulder, his hand on your cheek, his lips pressed to your forehead. The one hoodie you’d managed to hold onto, even after he’d packed all his other belongings up when he left. The pre-workout he kept in the back of your pantry. His toothbrush in your bathroom drawer.

He’d been yours in every way, and you’d been his.

Maybe this was why you’d been so scared to love your best friend; you knew that more came with risk, chances of slamming doors, crying each other's names, and duffle bags hastily filled.

Even when you’d ended things, why were you still writing pages, when he’d been the one to close the envelope? Why were you spending hours nestled on the couch in his hoodie, staring at a black tv screen, unaware of the world around you?

new message from 'channie'

i think i left my hoodie at yours. you home?

i’m driving over.

A part of you wanted to run into the bathroom, brush your hair, remove the two-day old mascara on your eyes and change into something nice. A part of you remembered he’d seen you in every single form, and he loved you regardless.

He used to tell you how beautiful you were every minute of the day, even when you felt anything but. Did he miss saying those things now? Or did he have another girl to call his angel, his baby, his darling?

Just the thought made you feel sick to your stomach.

new message from 'channie'

outside.

Taking a deep breath and slipping on your sneakers, you began walking down the hallway of your apartment building. Even though the elevator wasn’t broken for once, you wanted to take the stairs. You needed time to think, and time to turn back if you felt the need.

Why were you so easily coming to him? Well, technically you weren’t, were you? He wanted his hoodie back, presumably the one you were currently wearing.

He’d broken your heart. No, not broken. Slowly tugged at it, until nothing that remained was a dull ache and your pulse.

You thought about turning back, about yelling in his face, about simply bursting into tears and curling up into a ball at the bottom of the staircase, until your neighbour came and yelled at you for disturbing everyone’s sleep at 12:29am.

You thought about these things, but you never felt like acting on them.

What was the point, anyway?

You never would have meant it.

You spotted his familiar black car, the scratch on the bottom from when he’d practised parallel parking, the Sharpie stars you’d drawn with him whilst drunk on his windscreen. You felt your heart swell a little, and even more so when the figure inside the vehicle turned his head to look directly into your eyes.

In silence, you walked over and sat down in the passenger seat, doing your best to look at everything but him. He nodded, pressing his lips together in a thin line, and started the engine. He looked down at your torso, noticing his hoodie, but didn’t make a move to retrieve it. You didn’t attempt to take it off.

“I miss you,” you whispered, barely audibly.

“Hm?”

“Your seatbelt isn’t on,” you replied.

“I was in a rush.”

There was a sudden quiet. The click of his seatbelt, then yours, then the gentle hum of the car as he began to drive.

“You’re wearing the hoodie I left,” Chris finally said softly, eyes focused on the road ahead.

You ignored him. You didn’t really know where he was taking you, and you honestly couldn’t care less. He almost felt like a stranger. A stranger you’d poured your heart out to, and spent hours with, pressing kisses to each other's faces whilst watching movies, watching work out in the gym, cooking food for and dancing while doing the dishes with. A stranger who had been the vast majority of your firsts, who knew your body like the back of his hand, and spent long minutes in the latest and earliest hours loving you, worshipping you.

A stranger who’d been your everything.

As you drove in silence, apart from the soft rhythm of his playlist in the background, his hand found its way to yours, and gently caressed your fingers, as if asking for permission.

You allowed your palm to open.

His fingers tucked into yours, and his thumb brushed against your hand.

His hand felt warm, familiar. His fingertips were calloused; a result of the way he gripped his pen when he frantically wrote his lyrics late at night.

The car slowed down, then stopped completely. He’d pulled over on the side of a road, in the middle of nowhere. It was ghostly silent, and the trees cast shadows through the headlights.

It was oddly comforting.

“I fucked up.”

“I know you did, Chris.”

He covered his face in his hands in frustration, letting go of yours in the process. Your hand felt a sudden coldness.

“I didn’t . . . I don’t know why I left you. I nearly called you, right after I left. I thought . . . I thought you’d want space, thought I shouldn’t have to put you through anymore. And you were getting fed up with me, I didn’t think you wanted me anymore.”

“I was still in love with you.”

“Was? Past tense?”

“I still love you. I didn’t necessarily fall out of love, Chris, I just . . . I felt like I lost a part of me. Everything felt familiar and distant at the same time, and there were traces of you everywhere. I couldn’t sleep.”

“I can never sleep.”

“I know.”

“I’ve been sleeping even less since I left. The bed’s cold.”

“Same with mine.”

You paused, staring at each other. Chris faced you properly.

“I’m still in love with you. And I’ll try forever if it means I can make you fall again.”

You smiled a little, letting your hand trail up his arm and wrap around his shoulders, resting your face in his warm neck. His hands moved to your waist, moving under his hoodie and settling on your bare skin. “We should probably get some sleep,” you mumbled into him.

“Your place?”

“Our place. I still have your toothbrush, I think. And more than one of your hoodies.”

“Even if you don't, it doesn't matter,” Chris replied, clasping your hand in his again and gesturing to the backseat. His duffle bag sat there, zipped up, seemingly untouched since he’d left. “I’m coming home. If you’ll let me, of course.”

“You won’t leave?”

“Not unless you say so.”

“So never?”

“Never.”

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff - comment, dm or send an ask to be added

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damiamor · 16 days ago

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end game

genre: strickland!au | exes! outlaw!seonghwa x nurse!fem!reader

length: 10,584 words

summary: your injured ex-boyfriend breaks into your apartment in search of your healing touch, unintentionally dragging you back into the life you thought you’d left behind.

content warnings: angst with a happy ending, smut mdni, descriptions of violence/gore/blood, guns, probably botched medical terms but i tried my best, no use of y/n.

notes: this was way longer than i originally thought it was going to be, but here we are! this also took wayyy too long to write and has actually been sitting in my google docs for months. but anyways! i’m working on my reputation era of the taylor’s version masterlist (because if she doesn’t want to give us reputation, guess i gotta do it myself). likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated!

ateez masterlist | taylor’s version masterlist

nsfw warnings: oral (female receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, gentle/makeup sex

“breaking news: city hall is facing another round of vandalism after the black pirates set fire to the front steps. this is the gang’s third successful attempt at defacing government, following a fire at the municipal hall and staging a riot outside the courthouse. despite three months of investigation, the police still have not been able to locate and capture the group’s leaders known as-”

you turned off the television before the newscaster could continue. you weren’t sure how many more images of your city driven to chaos and flames you could take, or how many more mentions of their name you could stomach.

for as long as you’d lived in strickland, you remembered hearing about rebellion. in a society of suppression and fear, resistance brewed. there was always talk of a coup, but no one ever dared to try until the black pirates came. the leaders of the movement plundered the rich and stood atop the highest buildings to protest, advocating for control from the evil central government. they’d avoided arrest for years and served as the the figureheads for the rebellion, clad in black leather and masked so the world would never know their true identities lest their loved ones face a desolate end. some people preferred them to remain nameless; they grouped them in with the rest of the black pirates, afraid that putting a name to their devious acts would only give them more power. but the rest of the world spoke the name that set dread into the government’s bones: ateez.

it had gotten worse lately. infrequent riots became a weekly occurrence, and crime was at an all-time high. sector one was littered with flyers, and you heard more occurrences of music blaring through every alley to incite crowds and draw them in. the streets had more patrols now than ever before, controlled by iron-clad police with batons and bulletproof armour. you watched innocent civilians who tried to become freedom fighters be wheeled into the trauma centre you worked in with broken bones, bleeding from various wounds while they whispered about the new world they were fighting for. every day you felt another life leave your skilled hands, you feared it would never get better.

“come on, karuma. let’s go to bed.”

you sighed and stood up from the couch, your empty glass of wine in hand. the black cat curled up by your feet suddenly stretched and came to life, hopping off of the couch and padding into the kitchen on soft, silent paws. you weren’t far behind.

your apartment drifted into silence as you washed out your glass. the sirens roared outside felt like a soothing lullaby, willing you to leave your dishes behind and fall upon the soft, silk sheets of your bed, but you resisted the call.

a year ago, it wouldn’t have been like this. your home had always been filled with so much light and laughter. it was always spun into chaos, somehow becoming the social hub for your friends—friends you hadn’t seen since the day everything fell apart, since the government debut their special guardians in an attempt to deal with the black pirates. since you broke up with him.

karuma swiped her paw at your arm. your hands had gone still, running beneath lukewarm water as your mind spun with the memories your home used to share. you blinked a few times, then shut off the water and dried your hands on the towel.

“sorry,” you apologised, scratching behind the feline’s ears. karuma immediately careened into your touch, nuzzling her head into your hand.

you took the kitten in your arms, and she curled her head into the crook of your neck as you gently stroked her furred back. when you turned off the kitchen light, your apartment was plunged into darkness, save for the little plug-in light in the hallway, giving you just enough light to begin your trek to your bedroom.

as you turned on the lamp next to your bed, karuma jumped out of your arms in favour of curling up on your sheets, comfortably resting against the second pillow on the opposite nearest of the bed—the side closest to the door, the side you never slept on. he never wanted you to be too close to danger if anyone dared to break in.

with a sad smile, you shook your head as the cat stretched out to occupy as much space on the bed as possible.

“spoiled brat,” you teased karuma, who mewled pathetically at the comment as though she understood, her yellow eyes wide and innocent.

you would’ve crawled into the bed beside her had your phone not buzzed on your bedside table, blaring loudly though the discordant symphony of sirens with the government notification. karuma jumped up from the bed, her tail raised high, and you gently scratched behind her ears to calm her as you silenced your phone.

public safety alert: fugitives have been spotted in your area. stay in your homes.

crash!

there was a shatter from the living room, too noisy to be a simple vase falling. every nerve in your body burned in fear as you froze, karuma’s meows becoming piercingly loud. you stared at your open bedroom door like you were expecting someone to breach the doorway.

if it was the government sending their guardians, there would have been more chaos. you would’ve heard dozens of footsteps and low chatter. the more likely scenario was that someone was trying to break into your home, making you the next victim of the crime riddling strickland.

but you lived on the third fucking floor.

a few thundering footsteps and a thud made you snap out of your trance. you knew how to protect yourself—you’d been taught what to do if something like this ever happened. it repeated in your head like a mantra. his voice, though distant, was still in your head.

“if anyone ever tries to come in, don’t fight them. go to the closet. behind the shelf. push it, it’ll slide open. stay there. do not come out until i find you.”

you opened the second drawer of your bedside table. a gun stared back at you, one you’d been sworn to only use in emergencies. you remembered learning how to shoot it, the feeling of him behind you as he guided your hands towards the proper placement. gathering the weapon in your hand, you silently scooped karuma under your opposite arm and carried her to the closet, noiselessly shutting the door and trapping you both inside.

your heart thundered in your chest, the noise so deafeningly loud you could hear it in your ears. the closet was void of any light, but you knew your way around. blind hands searched for the shelf and when you found it, you pressed against the panel. a soft click! let you know that it opened to your will, and you silently slipped inside, dragging karuma with you.

the gun felt silly in your hand as you pulled the panel closed. the cramped space hardly fit you both, but you let the kitten curl up in your lap, silently shushing her with careful strokes down her back. you shakily held the weapon in your other hand, making sure the safety was off. you’d never shot anyone before, but there was a first time for everything.

one breath. two breaths. if this was how you died, you’d be a little disappointed; you thought it would’ve been a grander display.

he’ll come and get me, you thought to yourself. but the harsh reality was that he wasn’t here anymore.

the panel slid open, and in a panic, you fired the gun. karuma yeowled and jumped off your lap, sprinting out the closet despite the figure looming over the shelves.

“jesus, sweetheart. we gotta work on your aim.”

the string to the overhead light was pulled, and it took your eyes a few seconds to adjust. when you finally saw the man standing in front of you without black spots dotting your vision, your eyes went wide.

“seonghwa?”

only his face was lit in a golden glow from the light. his black hair was slicked back, though a few sweaty strands managed to fall across his forehead. sculpted jawline and sharp cheekbones were framed by deep-set eyes—eyes that have seen too much of the city’s worst, of experiencing the world’s cruelty. his skin was shade-kissed by the sun from long rides on his bike. usually, you saw him with a sleek, red-and-black leather jacket that hugged his lean frame, but it must have been tossed somewhere in the apartment. he was clutching his side, his black tank-top sticking to his skin.

he reached a hand out, grimacing at the movement. “give me the gun.”

you clutched the weapon tighter, flinching back from his upwards palm. you should’ve been thrilled that it was him in your apartment and not some stranger, but your mind raced. he shouldn’t be here.

seonghwa’s stare seemed to soften, eyes examining your expression as though reading your fear. “baby, it’s just me,” he cooed. “now, give me the gun. you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

he didn’t wait for you to comply. a gentle hand slowly gripped yours, pulling the gun out of your grasp. you didn’t resist him, too busy watching him hide his pain through a carefully-masked visual. he never wanted you to worry about him, to fear for his life despite everything he did; and yet, even now, your were tempted to care.

“you’re hurt,” you said bluntly. you crawled out of your hiding spot, swatting away seonghwa’s hand when he offered to help you.

once you were settled on your feet, rather than spare his face a second glance, you stepped forward, your fingers reached towards his hand clutching his side, and he instinctively flinched back; but the longer your hand lingered in the air, the more relaxed he became, until finally, he let your fingertips brush his top.

the gnarly wound had clearly been from a bullet. it had burn across his side, grazing his skin deep enough to tear flesh. he was lucky the impact seemed to have cauterised the wound enough to keep it from bleeding uncontrollably, but coagulated blood still covered the wound. you were impressed he hadn’t passed out on the way here. your mind raced with memories of him limping home, of you coming back to the apartment still dressed in your bloodied scrubs and nursing him back to health. you thought your days of attending to his bedside were over.

“i didn’t know where else to go,” he admitted quietly. you looked up to find him staring at you, his eyes filled with unspoken worries.

you removed your hand and pushed past him to exit the closet. “go sit on the bed.”

he called your name, trying to reach out for your wrist, but it only proved too painful. “wait—”

“seonghwa, sit your ass down on the bed. i’m getting the kit.”

you didn’t hear an argument after that. instead, seonghwa sulked out of the closet and sat down on the end of the bed while you grabbed the medical kit from beneath your bathroom sink. when you and seonghwa were together, it saw much more use. you’d pull it out to stitch up his latest bullet wound, or you’d have one of his friends sprawled out half-dead on your dining room table (you vividly remembered patching up wooyoung one night after he’d been shot through the thigh). now, the kit was barely holding itself together, and it was far emptier than you remembered.

snagging a towel from your bathroom, you silently walked back to your bedroom. seonghwa had certainly made himself comfortable there, sitting with karuma curled on his lap. the cat purred with delight as he scratched behind her ear, a soft grin on his lips.

“she misses you,” you said as you walked back into the room. karuma, who usually perked her ears up whenever you arrived, didn’t budge from seonghwa’s lap. you’d never seen her so content with someone who should have been a stranger.

who would have been if he hadn’t come back tonight.

“i remember when i brought her home,” seonghwa said quietly, like he was afraid of waking up the resting cat. “fresh out of a gutter. you were so scared i was hurt that you didn’t blink twice about bringing a kitten into the house.”

you would never forget that day either. the black pirates had raided the courthouse, freeing those arrested for expressing themselves through song and dance. when the central government sent soldiers to subdue them, chaos ensued. there were more innocents that died than actual criminals. you’d spent the entire day so worried seonghwa had been amongst the dead or injured that you cried when he crawled through your window, and you didn’t notice the trembling creature beneath his jacket. too overwhelmed by emotion, you didn’t bat an eye when he asked if you could keep the kitten ‘just for a few days’ until he could safely take her to the animal shelter.

over a year later, karuma was still there, and she’d stayed with you even after seonghwa left. but he was always her favourite.

you blinked away your blurry vision, tears pricking your eyes. you didn’t want him to see you cry—he didn’t deserve your tears.

“lay down.” you laid out the towel, the only precaution that he wouldn’t get blood on your sheets. “and take your shirt off.”

seonghwa looked up at you, but you were too busy opening the kit and counting your supplies to notice the sad look in his eyes. he complied with your order, gently moving karuma off his lap and sliding onto the towel. he discarded his bloodied tank top on the floor before laying back, wincing at the sudden stretch.

you kept your gaze clinical as you glanced back at seonghwa under the ruse that you were inspecting his wound. in reality, your eyes dipped down his chest. he’d bulked up a little since you last saw him, his muscles becoming toned and shaped where they were once slender and lean. you remembered the nights you would spend tracing the scars littering his torso, some stitched by you and others from before your time. your eyes traced the beads of sweat there now, likely from his escape to your apartment and the no-doubt painful climb up your fire escape.

to distract yourself, you cleared your throat and snapped your gloves against your wrist. you doused the gauze in your hand with saline before holding the pad against his side. “this is gonna hurt.”

“yeah, i remember.” seonghwa gritted his teeth as you flushed out any dirt remaining in the wound. all he could do was look at you, but you kept your gaze detached.

this felt too familiar, too normal. even the sirens ringing outside reminded you of the past, of being cooped up in the apartment and soothing seonghwa with sterile hands and gentle kisses. he always lulled your worried brow with whispered promises of fighting for a better tomorrow, a dream of liberation hongjoong had planted in their heads. at one point, you believed it, too; now, it was too good to be true.

you grabbed an antiseptic wipe to clean the skin around the wound. “what the fuck happened out there?”

“it’s those fucking guardians,” he breathed out as you tossed the wipe aside and covered his side with gauze. you tore the medical tape with your teeth, sticking the edges to his skin.

“hongjoong thought if we disappeared into the chaos of the crowds trying to escape, they wouldn’t be able to find us. but they just... they started shooting, like they didn’t care about all the innocent people around us.” you could hear the anger in every word. his hand balled into a fist at his side. “i couldn’t just stand there and let that happen.”

“you’re not faster than a bullet,” you scolded him. after checking the wound’s dressing one last time, you snapped off your gloves. “one of these days, you’re gonna get shot, and i’m not gonna be able to stitch you back up.”

seonghwa tried to laugh, but the sudden pain to his side made him wince instead. “i thought i was your favourite patient,” he teased as he slowly sat up.

you rolled your eyes. “don’t push it.”

packing up your medical kit, you set aside the dirty supplies and tossed them in your bedroom trash before taking the box back to the bathroom. the towel, shockingly spared of most of seonghwa’s blood, was discarded in your washing machine, along with his tank top. you walked back to your bedroom, rummaging around one of your drawers. you were sure seonghwa had left some of his things here—clothes you should have thrown out or given back months ago, but you couldn’t part with them.

“here.” you walked back to your bed with a simple black t-shirt, handing it to seonghwa. he didn’t question why you still had any of his things. he knew you didn’t have the heart to throw them out. that would mean forgetting him.

“thanks.” he pulled the shirt over his head. even the smallest movement made his nerves twitch with pain.

you frowned and instinctively moved to help him, tugging on the hem of the t-shirt. maybe if you realised how you were leaning over him now, how your face was only inches away from his when he turned his face upwards, you would have left him to suffer with the clothing.

his lips were so, so close, wind-bitten yet pink and soft and… and you were staring now, remembering how it felt when he kissed you. you always felt like you were floating on air, like the lightest touch could knock you off kilter and send you tumbling into an abyss, if only he wasn’t there to catch you. if you closed your eyes, you could still feel his lips across your skin, when he pressed delicate kisses against the hollow of your neck or nipped his teeth at the cusp of your ear.

no.

you pulled away before you could think better of it. for a moment, you caught a twinge of a pout on seonghwa’s face when he noticed how quickly you’d flinched away from him, but he was quick to steel his expression.

“seonghwa, you can’t keep doing this,” you said, standing up from your bed. “you can’t... you can’t just barge in here after a year.”

“i know-”

“what if someone saw you? do you know what they would do to me?”

“i’d never let them hurt you.”

you scoffed. “yeah, that’s what you said last time, too.”

that’s what he said the night before the guardians raided the hospital in search of the black pirates. the central government agreed that the only way they could have survived this long was if they knew someone who could tend to their injuries. when no evidence was found, they punished the hospital. they limited their supplies, arrested doctors and nurses for treason, and sent the guardians to wreak havoc until the medical facility was only a shell of its former glory.

all you could do without exposing yourself was watch helplessly while those around you suffered. the night the guardians raided through the emergency room, seonghwa nearly convinced hongjoong to set the city ablaze in protest. you told him this was all his fault, that your life was ruined because of him. looking back, you were too harsh; it was just as much your fault, too, for staying with him despite his crimes, but you were too full of anger and grief to see that.

you kicked him out, you told him that you couldn’t do it anymore. you couldn’t be the one he ran to when they needed a doctor, couldn’t risk your life or the lives of the innocent people around you for his sake. he never argued, never pleaded with you to take him back; he just accepted his fate, took his things from your place, and didn’t speak to you for an entire year.

you acted like you didn’t notice the rotation outside your apartment every night of the week as the boys took turns watching over you, protecting you. you didn’t notice how the sirens around your apartment got a little quieter, how for an entire year, the black pirates didn’t seem nearly as reckless as they had in the past. strickland's harshest critics thought they were going soft; you knew they were finally understanding how high their body count was.

“i can’t start doing this again, seonghwa,” you said quietly, sitting next to him on the bed. your gaze was on your hands firmly trapped between your thighs.

you didn’t have to look at him to see that he was hurting. his first time seeing you in a year, and you refused to look at him. all he wanted was to catch your eyes, to see you, to hear your voice. but instead of letting his anguish show, he cracked a smile.

“i wasn’t asking you to, sweetheart.”

you looked up from your hands. his smile did nothing to hide the pain in his eyes. if you looked too long, you knew you would’ve done anything he asked.

“i’ll go get you some painkillers to take with you,” you said as you stood. anything to get out of the suffocating silence of the room, to stop feeling like you were the one to blame.

memories piled one on top of the other in your mind as you rummaged through your medicine cabinet. early mornings spent tangled in sheets, watching the sun crest over the city. breakfast in bed on your birthday. good morning and goodnight kisses. goodbye kisses in the living room, the ones that took your breath away. and nothing would ever make you forget the instant relief you always felt when you saw him come home from the black pirates’ latest escapade in one piece.

you shook your head as though it would make you forget. it wouldn’t, you hadn’t forgotten for the last twelve months.

“here, these should last you until-”

when you got back to your bedroom to give seonghwa the medicine you’d grabbed, he was gone. the sound of sirens echoed further away now, the lights no longer casting shadows into your apartment. it was like he’d been a ghost, with no trace left behind for you to even claim he was there except the faint scent of his cologne.

you dropped the pills on your bed, sitting back down on the edge. karuma hopped up beside you, allowing you to scratch behind her ear and run your hand down her arched spine. you didn’t know you were crying until a salty tear hit your thigh, and you quickly wiped it away.

whether you liked it or not, you did miss him. and somewhere, deep down, you knew you’d see him again soon.

“seonghwa, what the fuck?” you hissed as you opened your apartment door. you hadn’t even been home from your latest shift for more than fifteen minutes before there was frantic knocking at your door. your sweaty, grimy scrubs from work were still sticking to your skin when you opened it to find him.

“please, he’s-”

“get the fuck inside before someone sees you.”

you ushered the four into your apartment. karuma hissed at wooyoung’s feet and fled into your bedroom as the young sharpshooter ran to your window. he peeked outside, cheeks illuminated by red and blue lights. seonghwa gave yeosang’s weight to san as he helped you clear off your dining room table, only returning to his side to help lower their injured friend onto the dark oak.

“what the hell happened?” you asked, grabbing your medical kit.

“those fucking androids,” wooyoung seethed. he had his gun in his hand, the long sniper rifle still hanging from his shoulder and his travel bag heavy at his feet. “they ambushed us at the warehouse.”

“wooyoung, put down the gun and get away from the goddamn window,” you ordered as you reached yeosang on the table. “i’m not gonna have you fucking shooting at people from my living room.”

you didn’t see him grimace, nor did you see him glare at you as he slowly backed away from the window. his gun was forgotten on the couch, but it wasn’t as though he was defenceless; he still had a pistol strapped to his hip.

once he seemed to have calmed, or at least distracted himself from his anger by finally sitting down and bouncing his leg (you would have to just get a new lounge chair with how soaked in dirt and blood wooyoung was), you looked back at yeosang. he was slipping in and out of consciousness, and the only positive was that he didn’t seem to be actively bleeding. you wordlessly handed seonghwa a pair of scissors to cut off yeosang’s top, and he silently complied.

you couldn’t seem to move fast enough. you ran to wash your hands in the kitchen sink.

“i need-”

“i’ve got ‘em.” seonghwa opened the medical kit, as he had hundreds of times before. your box of gloves were sitting on top, and you quickly snapped them onto your hands.

you set aside your supplies. saline. antiseptic. gauze. medical tape.

“where are the-”

“bottom of the box.” he reached into the medical kit, grabbed the box of sutures, and set them down on the table.

maybe if his friend—your friend, too—wasn’t dying on your dining room table, you would’ve taken more time to notice how well he knew you. of course, he knew where all of your supplies were, and of course, he knew your routine. before you broke up, you’d been doing this for years, more than long enough for him to know how these kinds of situations went.

but you didn’t have time, not with yeosang bleeding out on the table.

your fingers pinched the wound to find the blood coagulating enough to stop the bleeding. without the knife still inside him, you had no way of knowing how deep it could have gone, what organs it hit. you know better, you wanted to spit at the boys, who had once listened to your incessant rants on how they needed to take better care of themselves in the field. but with everyone looking so grim, you didn’t think such a lecture had a place here.

“i told them not to take it out, but they didn’t listen,” seonghwa told you quietly. his voice was shaky, like he was scared yeosang might not make it. “i-is he going to be-”

“he’s fine. hand me the bottle of saline and the gauze,” you instructed, already holding out your hand expectantly.

seonghwa nodded and grabbed the supplies, placing them in your gloved hands. you moved with the fluidity of a professional, the clinical grace and experience of a nurse of your stature. every time you asked for something, seonghwa would hand to you. most of the time, you didn’t have to let the word leave your mouth before the next supply was in your hand.

it was nearly twenty minutes later when you were suturing the wound closed, covering the edges in an antibiotic ointment. you applied the dressing, securing the gauze with medical tape seonghwa cut for you. but yeosang was still blinking his eyes warily, his head elevated by san’s hand. the bruiser kept speaking to the getaway driver, whispering something about how he couldn’t die. you just didn’t want to be the one with his blood on your hands.

“he can stay here. he’s in no condition to travel,” you said, and while you were speaking out loud, you knew seonghwa was the only one listening.

you snapped off your gloves, discarding them in the trash and taking your supplies to the sink to be cleaned. in the silence of your kitchen, you took a moment to breathe. the moment you thought you’d finally gotten rid of this part of your past, it came crawling back, exposing you to the dangers you’d been happy to avoid for a year.

your forceps and needle holder clattered into the sink, and you watched the blood on them rinse off into the drain below. self-pity brewed in your chest, but more than that, anger boiled. of course, you’d never get to leave this life. it was selfish of you to ever think that.

“need any help?”

he was the last person you wanted to see right now, but you knew none of them were going anywhere. the four men were stuck in your apartment, at least for the night, and the others would never leave yeosang here to recover by himself.

“i told you i didn’t want this anymore,” you said, picking up the metal supplies from the sink. you hastily washed them off until they were clean in your hands once more. you’d soak them in solution later, but for now, you set them aside on a clean towel.

“i know.” his presence was behind you, and you didn’t need to turn around to know he was hovering uselessly. he always did that whenever he was trying to apologise, always seconds away from wrapping his arms around your waist. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t once find his touch comforting, and some small part of you craved it now, too.

“i’m sorry.”

you scoffed and turned around. if you weren’t so angry, so worried over yeosang, you would’ve noticed the barely-concealed furrow of his brow, the frown on his lips. sweat clinging to his hair.

“yeah, you’re always sorry,” you muttered. “you guys can’t just keep showing up on death’s door asking me to save you. they’re going to find out where you keep running off to.”

“no, they won’t.”

seonghwa shook his head and stook a step forward. his hand slowly raised, instinctively falling upon your jaw. tender, calloused fingers traced your jaw until his thumb rested on your chin. every instinct screamed to pull away, that finding yourself in such a compromising position would only start the repeated cycle of misery and heartbreak you’d just recovered from.

his voice was a whisper. “i’d never let them hurt you.”

i know, you thought, but you’d never say it out loud.

for a moment, the world stood still. you couldn’t hear the sirens outside or the water running in the sink. it was just you and seonghwa, in your kitchen like old times. in your memories, he’d always gently swayed you, soothing your fears with gentle kisses. he was close enough now that he could do the same, and for a moment, you almost let him.

you would have if san hadn’t walked in.

“do you have an air mattress we could borrow?”

you nearly jolted away from seonghwa, your spine stiffening as you turned your face from his hand. kind eyes met san’s weary gaze. he managed a smile, only for you, to hide how exhausted he really was.

“yeah, let me go grab it,” you said. “i only have the one, so someone’s gonna have to take the couch.”

“we’ll make it work.”

you nodded and left the kitchen. the apartment plunged into silence again, with only the echos of sirens heard getting further and further away.

seonghwa stared at the spot where you’d once stood, hand lingering in the air. his fingers curled into a fist as though angry at himself, and he gritted his teeth only briefly before leaning back against the counter. his eyes met san’s, and the man’s expression had changed from the tender, youthful glow that had addressed you. the bruiser’s eyebrows were firm, eyes set in a disapproving glare.

they’d all seen how messily this ended once before. and while seonghwa knew san was right in his silent plea to stay away, he couldn’t bring himself to listen.

“do you have the charts for the patient in room 801 ?” you asked one of the other nurses at the desk. a clipboard was blindly handed to you, and when you leaned back against the wall, you nearly collapsed from the day’s exhaustion.

it’d been nearly a week since yeosang had been brought to your apartment with his stab wound. when you woke up the next morning, everyone was gone, with only a hastily-written note stuck to your fridge in san’s handwriting thanking you for your help. wooyoung was the only one to text you and apologise for barging in, and he updated you on yeosang’s condition a few days later. you never heard from seonghwa.

maybe that was for the best. after your near-moment of weakness in the kitchen, you didn’t want to see or hear from him. you’d broken up for a reason, and you’d be a fool to go crawling back into his arms at first glance.

“you have a patient waiting for you in room 43.” one of the other nurses, a fresh-from-university young woman named tae, sat down a clipboard on the desk and hurried to your side. she’d always been attached to you by the hip, and you became her mentor of sorts while she got her footing in the hospital.

you furrowed your brows. “i don’t have any other patients.”

tae shrugged her shoulders. “just relaying the message. said he was your boyfriend or something.”

you weren’t sure whether your body tensed from panic or anger, but your skin paled at her words. the clipboard in your hands clattered on the ground, and your sneakers squealed against the floor as you raced down the hall.

the worst thoughts ran through your mind. he’d finally gone too far, had tried to do a mission with the boys and gotten himself seriously injured. was he dying? he was, wasn’t he? the boys had left him behind—god, you’d give hongjoong a piece of your mind whenever you saw him next, even if you had to drive to find him yourself.

you threw the door open, expecting to find the worst inside. but there was no chatter of doctors, no gaggle of nurses hovering around a patient. you pulled back the curtain, only to see seonghwa sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, blood trickling down the side of his face from a cut just under his eyebrow.

alive. he was alive.

when seonghwa noticed you, he stood up from the bed, eyes wide as he looked at your panicked expression. but the worry morphed into anger, your jaw tensing and your hands balling into fists at your side as you quickly approached the opposite side of the bed.

“wait, i can explain-”

his head snapped to the side when your hand made contact with his cheek. he didn’t make a sound, his jaw clenching as he slowly turned his face back to you. you wished he would have said something, would have done anything except look at you with eyes that let you know he knew he deserved it.

“what the fuck are you doing here?” you made sure the door closed on the other side of the room before returning to the bed. there was a fury burning in your eyes, replacing your previous panic. at least he was alive enough for you to yell at him. “are you trying to get caught?!”

“i wasn’t followed, i swear!” he insisted, but he, too, was raising his voice. anyone in the hall would know they were inside.

“but you can’t know that for sure!” you yelled. but in contrast to your words, you reached for the gloves on the wall and pulled them over your hands. you dragged the small cart by the door over to the bed and pushed back on seonghwa’s shoulder with one hand, effectively making him sit back down on the edge of the bed.

“this is just fucking like you,” you spat as you tilted his head back, inspecting the cut above his eye. not deep enough to cause lasting damage, but it would still need stitches. “putting everyone else in danger without a second thought.”

“stop.”

“no, seonghwa! i’m tired of it!” you wet a gauze with saline and pressed it against the wound, cleaning the side of his face. “you can’t just waltz in here where anyone can see you. you’re lucky tae came straight to me. what if she told someone else?”

“but she didn’t,” he countered.

“but she could have,” you hissed. “she’s never met you before. she’s young and naive, but you’re lucky she trusts me.”

seonghwa winced as you cleaned off the wound, but there was no warmth in your gaze. there didn’t seem to be any tenderness in your touch either as you pierced his skin with a needle, suturing the wound beneath his brow and knotting the end.

you retreated back to your supply cart, tossing off your gloves and pressing your palms into your eyes. don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, you repeated to yourself like a mantra, because you swore you wouldn’t ever shed any more tears over seonghwa. but emotions clawed up your throat, begging to be felt and expressed. you nearly choked on a sob.

“i thought you were dead.”

the sound of shuffling filled your ears, of seonghwa getting off the bed. you didn’t see the way his face twitched into sorrow, but there was no time wasted as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. soothing hands rubbed your back as you let our another cry, your hands moving to clutch the zipper of his leather jacket.

“i’m okay,” he whispered, lips nearly brushing against your ear. “i’m okay, i promise.”

“but you’re not okay, seonghwa.”

you pulled your head up from his chest, but you didn’t dare back away from his arms. whether you wanted to admit it or not, this was what you’d been craving, what you’d missed most this past year—because as much as you hated it, there was no safer place than his arms.

“this was why we broke up,” you said sadly, voice hoarse and tear-filled. “because you keep pulling shit like this. you keep throwing yourself into danger, keep getting yourself hurt, because you think it’ll mean something. it doesn’t, seonghwa, and you’re not bulletproof.”

he raised his hand, thumb brushing over your jaw. he didn’t dare interrupt you, only tenderly caressing your cheek as you spoke.

“every day, i sit here and wonder when it’s gonna be you coming out of the ambulance. or wooyoung, or yunho, or any of the boys,” you sniffled, and he wiped away your tear with the pad of his thumb. “and i can never get over that feeling of dread whenever i see that you’ve all pissed someone off again, that there’s another riot or break-out. because what if you don’t come back from that?”

seonghwa let his fingers fall beneath your chin, tilting your head up so you were forced to meet his eye.

“i will always come back to you.”

he’d promised it before, but it was a promise he’d always kept. no matter what, seonghwa always came back to you, even when it seemed like the world was burning outside your window.

you saw him dip his head, the subtle shift as he brought his face closer to yours. you felt your lungs constrict as your breath got held in your throat. his lips brushed against yours, wind-bitten from the miles he drove through strickland's streets on his bike. you used to tell him he needed to keep chapstick in his jacket, and he always made sure he wore strawberry—your favourite, you liked the taste.

he was gentle with you, like he was scared you’d break beneath him. and after a year apart, you just might have. you nearly melted beneath his touch. he brought the kind of comfort only a partner could, savouring the moment as best as he could as his thumb stroked your cheek. no words needed to be shared; you could feel every ounce of emotion bleeding from his lips and into yours, reminding you of all the promises he’d made—how even now, even after so long, he wouldn’t break them.

you only jumped away from him when you heard your name being called. the door opened, and tae’s pink hair popped in. the loud noise in the hall let you know there were patients that urgently needed your attention.

“hate to ruin the moment, but the ambulance just dropped off patients from a car accident.”

“no, no, it’s okay,” you muttered. you took a reluctant step away from seonghwa, fingertips wiping over your mouth as though trying to hide what had just transpired—as if she didn’t already know. “i’ll be there in a second.”

tae nodded and left the room.

seonghwa stared down at you with love and affection, and you hated it. you hated it because you felt it through. despite your hardships, despite being apart for a year, you weren’t over him, and he knew it.

“you should go,” you whispered. “before someone finds you here.”

seonghwa nodded. “yeah,” he agreed, adjusting his jacket. “yeah, i should.”

you pushed the supply cart back to the wall, discarding the supplies you’d used in the container on the wall. your heart was racing, your skin feverish to the touch where his hands had been. you couldn’t let him leave, not again.

“seonghwa-”

but when you turned around, the window was open, and he was gone.

it rained two days later. storms had been plaguing the city since you saw seonghwa at the hospital—since you’d kissed him. you still dreamt about the butterflies in your stomach, like you were falling in love with him all over again. it was a bad path to go back down, you knew; it would only lead to more heartache.

you were curled up on your couch now, your small television playing whatever recent news the government was trying to shove down your throat, but your mind was elsewhere. you stared out your window, watching the rain hit your window. a steaming mug of tea sat between your hands. for a moment, you wondered if seonghwa would try to crawl through again, needing his next injury tended to or dragging another friend for you to patch up.

was it bad you wanted to see him again?

a knock at your door startled you. karuma jumped off the far end of the couch, loudly meowing at the new presence.

“shut up,” you seethed, setting your mug down. you scooped up the cat in your hands so she wouldn’t bolt out the door into the downpour (it wouldn’t be the first time she tried, though seonghwa was usually the one who chased after her and held the shivering cat afterwards).

you didn’t look through the peephole before opening the door, but you didn’t have to. somehow, you knew who was on the other side.

seonghwa was soaked from head-to-toe from the rain. droplets fell off his leather jacket and onto the concrete beneath his feet. your eyes scanned every inch of his body that you could see, but you didn’t find any injuries. still, anything could have been hiding beneath his rain-soaked clothes.

you stepped back, allowing him to walk inside your apartment. karuma wrestled in your grasp, and you only let the cat go once you closed and locked the front door.

“i don’t see any injuries, so-”

you didn’t have the chance to completely turn around before you felt seonghwa’s lips on yours. he was more insistent than at the hospital, gently taking your head in his hands and tilting your face up towards his.

he was impatient now, desperate to take your breath away. you fell into a familiar rhythm as your hands instinctively fell onto his shoulders. he’d bought strawberry chapstick since he kissed you last, the taste heavy on your tongue. his hands were greedy, moving from your face, tickling down your sides and gripping your hips as he backed you against the wall. calloused fingers explored your bare thighs, barely covered by your shorts, until he pulled both up around his waist.

“hwa-”

“don’t,” he gasped against your lips, breathless from the kiss. he kept your back against the wall, holding you up with your legs resting on his hips. his mouth hovered over yours now, tempted to steal another kiss. “please, don’t tell me to stop.”

your lips twitched up into a miniscule smile. “i was gonna tell you to take off your shoes before you get mud on my carpet.”

seonghwa grinned, but kicked off his shoes beneath you. he balanced you against the wall, pinning you there with his hips so he could take off his jacket and throw it across the room. his lips devoured yours again in seconds, and you ran your fingers through his hair. you didn’t feel the wall leave your back, but you could vaguely hear seonghwa carrying you down the hall to your bedroom.

he unceremoniously dropped you on your bed, your lips parting only for a moment before he crawled over you. he littered your neck with wet kisses, teeth grazing your skin. any sound he could pull from you—any delighted sigh or encouraging gasp—was music to his ears. his hands stayed on your shorts, thumbs running beneath the waistband to play with the lacy hem of your panties.

you felt another light pressure against the bed and turned your head when you felt a wet nose nuzzle against your cheek.

“karuma,” you hissed.

seonghwa, lifting his head from your neck. “relax,” he soothed, placing another quick kiss against your lips. he scooped up the cat with one hand and lifted himself up off the bed, quickly depositing the pet outside your bedroom door.

“sorry, sweetie,” he cooed at the cat, scratching behind her ears before shutting the door.

when he turned back to see you splayed out on your bed, lips kiss-bruised and cheeks flushed, he nearly let out a moan. god, he was so fucking stupid for letting you stay away for so long, for not trying harder to make you stay. he should have been there to smooth every worried brow, to wipe every frown off your perfect lips.

“you like her more than me,” you pouted teasingly.

seonghwa laughed, the sound quiet and low. as he stalked back to the bed, he gripped his shirt and pulled it over his head. it fell to the floor, where you knew it would be long forgotten for the rest of the night.

“impossible,” he whispered as he kissed your shoulder, collarbone, then your lips.

his hands pulled at the hem of your tank top, pushing it up your stomach and over the swell of your breasts. his mouth wandered across your newly-revealed skin, his hand cupping just below your breast and rolling your nipple between his nimble fingers. your hand found his hair, gently pushing through the strands until you could tug at the ends. his other hand slid down your side, gathering the thin material of your shorts and tugging it down your legs. his lips soon followed his hands, planting soft kisses across your stomach. both hands tugged down your shorts, taking your panties with them. you heard them drop to the floor, but you didn’t pay attention to where they landed.

“should’ve tried harder,” he murmured, voice muffled by your skin. he shifted so he was between your thighs. you instinctively spread your legs, and he began kissing the soft skin of your inner thighs. he ran his lips up the right, then the left, whispering against your trembling flesh between every touch. “should’ve done better, baby. i’m sorry.”

“h-hwa,” your voice was shaky now, your body desperate for pleasure.

“shh, shh, shh.” seonghwa’s voice was soft, the exact opposite of his actions as he inched closer and closer to your wet folds. “let me apologise.”

if this was his way of apologising, you hoped he fucked up more often.

you cried out as his teeth grazed your clit before he wrapped his lips around it, gently suckling on the tender bundle of nerves. pleasure consumed you as his tongue darted out, lapping over your slickened folds. your eyes flutter shut, body relaxing back against the bed as you let seonghwa devour as though he was a man starved, deprived of you. his arms were wrapped around your thighs as though he feared you would try to squirm away from him.

he was gentle, reverent, and if the muffled groan you heard was any indication, he enjoyed this just as much as you did. every sound that spilled from your lips only spurred him on more, echoed by a groan against your cunt that made you shudder. it been so long, too long, that you knew you wouldn’t last under his touch. not with how greedily he devoured you.

seonghwa pulled back for only a moment, and you barely opened your eyes enough to see him run his tongue over his lips. his hands pushed your thighs back until they were pressed against your chest, and you took the sign to grasp them in your trembling hands. he looked at you with lidded eyes heavy with lust, his pants tightening merely at the sight of you teetering on the edge of bliss.

“fuck, i missed you,” he murmered, voice rasped with desire. he didn’t give you the chance to answer before his fingers dug into your thighs and he dipped his head back down. he slid his tongue between your folds again, then traced it up and caressed your clit as gently as he could.

his fingers danced across your inner thighs before he slid a slender finger between your folds, then inserted two inside you. he curled them, and when you gasped and tugged on his hair, you could’ve sworn you heard him let out a quiet whimper. you couldn’t rock your hips, not with your thighs up against your chest, but you didn’t have to. seonghwa wasn’t leaving the heaven between your thighs anytime soon, not for all the money, riots, and rebellions in the world. now that he was here, he was home.

he savoured every mewl and gasp that left your lips as he thrust his fingers inside you, watching your face twist in pleasure as he dragged them until the pads of his fingers barely grazed your folds, then plunged them back inside you. he wasn’t trying to rush things between you, not how he usually did—how could he after so long? every touch was reverent, an act of worship. he wanted to remember every detail he could, knowing he’d never go this long without you again.

you moaned and arched your back, toes curling as your nails dug into your skin where you held your legs. as if he knew you were close, seonghwa started moving a little faster. his teeth nipped at your clit again, and you felt every muscle in your body tense. the familiar feeling of pleasure consumed you as your thighs quivered and you orgasmed over his fingers and tongue, and you lost your grip on your legs in favour of tangling your fingers in seonghwa’s hair to push his head away from your clit before the stimulation became too much.

his fingers worked you through the aftershocks of your orgasm, but he didn’t try to overwhelm you. his thumb rubbed quick, tight circles over your clit, drawing out your pleasure as he cooed down at you with words you barely heard.

“there you go, baby. that’s it,” he soothed. slowly, seonghwa slipped his fingers out from between your thighs and brought them to his lips. you nearly moaned again when you saw him lick the glistening wetness off each finger. he kept eye contact with you until, watching your flushed face as you came down from the peak of ecstasy.

the fire in his bloodstream was lit, his heart beating furiously against his ribs as he looked down at you. you looked like an angel, naked and chest heaving as you caught your breath. it was a sight he’d almost forgotten, and one he dared himself to never forsake again.

seonghwa crawled up the bed, and his lips were back on yours. you could taste yourself on his tongue through each shuddered breath, your body still buzzing in delight. even though his hands weren’t on you—they were too busy trying to frantically undo his pants—you could feel him everywhere. the memories of him rushed back in furious, flashing frames across your mind, of how he felt, how gentle he was with you, how he loved you.

he pushed his pants down just enough to free his aching cock, erect and leaking with arousal, flushed and angry with desperate desire. one hand guided your legs around his hips while the other took himself in his hand, giving his cock a few strokes before lining up with your weeping cunt. you whimpered as you felt the tip dip between your folds, the head catching on your slit.

his hand moved to grip your hip as he slowly pushed inside you. his lips left yours, his head falling into the crook of your neck. seonghwa gritted his teeth to keep silent, to only hear your sweet moans and curses of pleasure as he sunk inch after inch of his cock into your warm, welcoming heat. it had been too long, and if he tried to move any faster, he was sure he’d lose himself too quickly.

his grip on your waist was firm, even as he hilted inside you. he noticed you’d fallen silent, and your body was still.

“you okay, sweetheart?” he asked, barely lifting his head from your shoulder to try and catch your gaze.

you frantically nodded. his hand moved to your cheek, his thumb running over your smooth skin to try and bring you back to earth. your body was still trying to adjust.

“i’m fine,” you reassured him. “it’s just... it’s been a while.”

seonghwa gave you a tender smile. “yeah, me too.”

neither of you needed to say it. there’d been no one else since the day you broke up. you’d tried dating, you really did, but no one made you feel like seonghwa did, and seonghwa’s heart was too hung up on you and his life was too busy to even entertain the idea of finding another girl.

his head dipped back down to your neck. he placed soft kisses there, from the underside of your jaw down to your collarbone. “can i move, baby?”

you nodded your head, and seonghwa finally moved inside you. the city lights spilled in from the window, painting the room in shades of silver and blue as he thrust into you slow but steady, his cock dragging along your walls before slowly sinking back in. your sweet sounds of pleasure spurred him on. every thrust was careful, as though you were glass that might suddenly shatter beneath him, but he wanted to savour the moment. he wanted to cherish you, his hands mapping your body in a lover’s caress, fingers trailing the valleys of your skin that he’d been without for so long.

he placed a reverent kiss to the soft swell of your breast, lips ghosting over your skin like a prayer with each deep thrust. one of your hands still rested on his head, fingers tangled in his hair, while your other gripped his side, nails lightly digging into his skin. when you finally managed to open your eyes and see him, you nearly came.

he was quiet, listening to every little sound you made, to the sound of your bodies as his hips met yours. but under the glow of the city lights, he was breathtakingly beautiful. the sweat over his forehead plastered his hair to his skin as he brought your left breast into his mouth, gently suckling on your nipple. you pushed back the sweaty strands of hair, moving it out of his eyes until you could meet his gaze filled with adoration. with love.

you loved him. after everything, you still loved him.

you tugged on his hair until his lips were back on yours, silencing your whimpers and soft moans of pleasure. his hand left your hip to rub your clit instead, drawing you closer to your orgasm. he didn’t think he’d last much longer, not with how your pussy gripped him with every thrust.

“i love you.”

the words were whispered against your lips like a prayer, his voice quiet like he almost didn’t want you to hear it. you shuddered at the sound, and tears pricked your eyes because you knew it was true. he loved you, he always loved you; fucking you now didn’t make any difference.

your breath was sparse as he rubbed his fingers over your clit a little harsher, determined to bring you to the peak of pleasure again. you were going to speak, your mouth open to reply, but a sharp moan left instead as his head fell to kiss at your neck, and he snapped his hips against yours. the sudden move made you tense beneath him, hands scrambling for a better hold of his body as though he would ever let you go.

“seonghwa—”

“i know, baby,” he whispered huskily into your ear. your hips bucked up to meet his, and he looked up from neck for a moment to see your eyes pinched closed in pleasure. it won’t be much longer, that much he knew.

your back arched, and you bit your bottom lip to try and contain your moans. you didn’t hear the soft praises that he whispered such sweet nothings against your ear. he gripped your hips tighter, surely leaving bruises as he fucked you towards your orgasm with deep, languid strokes. you heard the choked sound he made as he tried not to spill inside you before you came. all his quiet moans were reduced to whimpers as you tightened around him.

your body fell back into the mattress as you came, head hitting the pillow. the electric zing of pleasure tickled down your spine, made your toes curl and your eyes roll into the back of your head. your moans were louder now, mouth open as you cursed his name over and over again. seonghwa had a tight grip on your hip, placing a kiss against your neck before you felt him spill inside you.

his breath was heavy against your throat, and the two of you simply laid there, basking in the stillness. the sirens outside, the brief flashes of light—it meant nothing, not when you were back in his arms. not when you felt him laying on top of you, his warmth consuming you. you didn’t want him to move, you didn’t want him to leave again.

“don’t leave me.” you didn’t realise you’d said it, that you’d whispered it loud enough for him to hear. he raised his head from the crook of your neck, his lips now hovering over yours.

“i won’t,” he replied, his words ghosting over your lips. “not again. never again.”

you didn’t care if it was the truth or not. it was what you needed to hear now.

seonghwa hissed through gritted teeth as he pulled his softened cock from your dripping, and you winced a little at the loss of his warmth. he crawled up the bed beside you until he laid back against the headboard, and his arms reached out to take you will him. he pulled you up against his chest, running his fingers through your hair as you relaxed back against him.

your eyes closed, and you felt his breath by your ear. he kissed your temple, your cheek, then buried his head back into the crook of your neck. he said nothing—which seemed rare, since he used to whisper praises in your ear until you fell asleep in his arms, but the silence now was nice. you caught your breath, letting him hold you, letting him feel you back in his arms after so long apart.

“seonghwa?” you finally whispered, though you were beginning to feel tired.

“yeah, baby?” he whispered into your neck.

“i love you, too.”

the sun was what woke you up the next morning. it bled through your curtains and tempted your eyes with warm sunlight, basking your room in a golden glow. it was maybe the first true stream of daylight you’d seen in the city in years, especially with the smog that usually sat just below the tallest skyscrapers.

the ache between your thighs helped you remember everything. losing yourself in seonghwa’s arms, him being back, being here. you thought you’d regret your actions in the morning, but the longer you reminisced, the more you knew you needed him with you. the year spent without him was hell, and you couldn’t survive without him.

you stretched your arms and turned in your bed, expecting to find him laying behind you, but he wasn’t there. you realised how empty the bed was, that his side had been perfectly made, and there was no warmth there. wherever he was, he’d left early, had to have if the sheets were so cold. karuma slept there instead, curled up on his pillow where the memory of his scent remained.

he wasn’t anywhere else in the apartment, you would’ve heard him moving around through your open bedroom door. the regret you refused to feel turned into frustration, then sadness. of course, he hadn’t stayed. why would he? there was always the next mission, the next chance to stand on the tallest building and build the rebellion against the central government.

you sat up, pressing your palms into your eyes to stem any tears. you refused to cry over him. your tears were better spent on other things. but you could still feel him, feel his presence everywhere around you.

when you opened your eyes again, you grabbed yourself a shirt from the closet and a fresh pair of panties, then walked down the hallway to the rest of your apartment. you flicked on the lights for your kitchen, hoping to find something small for breakfast. maybe if you continued with your daily activities, you would forget he had been there (a lie, you knew, but it was nice to feel a little delusional every now and then).

your feet stopped when you saw what waited for you on your counter. a little box of your favourite tea bags and a small pastry box from the bakery down the street. there was a sticky note against the box of tea bags, with a hastily-written letter in seonghwa’s neat handwriting.

sorry i couldn’t be here this morning. hongjoong called an emergency meeting. i’ll be back after lunch. i hope these are still your favourite <3

you stuck the note on the counter and picked up the box of pastries: coffee cake, blueberry scones, and a cinnamon muffin. all things you loved, little snacks seonghwa used to pick up for you when he knew he’d be gone for the day, but he wanted you to know he was still thinking about you. it made butterflies kick up in your heart to know he still remembered all the little things you swore he would’ve forgotten.

because he still loved you, and you loved him.

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #seonghwa x reader #ateez x female reader #seonghwa smut #seonghwa x y/n #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfic #atz

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tragedynoir · 1 year ago

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— introducing 015: PRIVATE EYE + [ link ]

a warm, nostalgic google doc template inspired by private detectives, and crime investigation! this template follows the collection of information on your muse from the lens of a private detective, through things such as letters, newspapers and official medical documents. this template features space for long writing as well! this premium template and a full page-by-page preview can be found in the link above or in the source link.

features:

8 unique 14" x 8.5" pages, all with hand-crafted full-page background images

short and long sections, an extra long backstory section, and multiple spaces for pictures

a large array of thematic page types and elements — letters, post-it notes, newspaper clippings, and evidence sheet which can be used to include ooc information or give more atmospheric depth to the template

some elements (muse pictures, text on backing post-it notes, date on envelope, and items in evidence ziploc bag) that can be customized in google drawings

you may edit to your heart’s desire. Change the colours, replace, add or remove elements and images etc.

you may remix pages with pages from my other templates.

you may not remove the credit from the templates.

you may not copy, sell or redistribute my templates whether wholesale, in part (i.e. taking out certain pages) or remixed (i.e. modified).

you will also receive an additional guide with images on how to use and edit google doc templates! if you have any problems or issues, feel free to leave an ask or join our discord server.

this was so much fun to make, but took so much time to put together. I'm really proud of it so I I hope you like it! as always, I appreciate all your likes + reblogs. ♡

#google doc template #muse template #google docs template #muse doc #rp doc template #character template #rp resource #rph #m pr #m #fave

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azzifudd · 4 months ago

Text

as long as i live

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: inspired by jensen mcrae's massachusetts

rated: teen

4.9k words

disclaimer: fictional!

notes: well! i'm not exactly coming out of retirement, but according to google docs i started writing this in june 2024 which seems wild to me. i pushed myself to finish it up so i could post it for you guys, if anyone's even still interested in reading my stuff. it's a bit different from stuff i've written before but i hope you guys like it anyways. listen to the song while you read, it's great :)

[AO3 LINK]

When someone tells me they're from Massachusetts, now I always ask, "What part?"

“So, where are you from?”

Part of Azzi cringes inside as she asks such a cliche and boring question, but this is the second blind date she’s been on in the past month, and her social battery is at an all time low. At this point, her date is lucky that she isn’t talking about the weather.

“Born and raised in Minnesota, but I moved out here after college for work.” Her date, Savannah, takes a sip of water, tongue darting out to catch a stray drop that hangs off the corner of full lips.

Minnesota. Azzi feels her heart stutter at the word.

“Oh, where in Minnesota?”

“It’s a small town, you’ve probably never heard of it.”

It doesn’t even matter, but Azzi wants to know, needs to know.

“Falcon Heights. It’s where the-“

“The State Fair.” Azzi interrupts. “That’s where the State Fair is held.”

“You’ve heard of it?”

“I’ve been before, I had a…” Azzi hesitates for just a moment too long. “A friend from Minnesota. We used to go every year.”

“Maybe I can take you back someday.” Savannah smiles flirtatiously, but it drops when she sees how Azzi is staring off into the distance, unresponsive and trapped in a memory long since passed.

Azzi gags as she watches Jose bend over a trash can, emptying the contents of his stomach after a clearly too intense roller coaster.

Their mom rubs a hand along his back as he finally straightens up, face pale and sweaty.

“I guess this is a good time to finish up our night.”

They’ve been at the State Fair for over 12 hours at this point, and even though the place is still fairly packed, Jose and Jon have been visibly flagging for a while, and Jose’s sickness is a clear sign for them to start heading home.

“But we haven’t even gone on the ferris wheel yet.” Azzi complains, pouting.

“The line looks long, honey. I’m not sure your brothers will make it.”

“I’ll stay with her.” Paige pipes up. “And my dad can pick us up after we’re done.”

Azzi bounces excitedly on her heels, gripping Paige’s arm with both hands.

“Please, please, please?”

Tim and Katie exchange a look, clearly having an unspoken discussion. Soon Tim shrugs, leaving the decision up to his wife.

“She’ll be safe with me, Mrs. Fudd.” Paige says, so sweetly earnest in the way only a 16 year old can be. She still hasn’t gotten used to calling Azzi’s parents by their first names.

“Oh, I know that, sweetheart. I’m just worried about what sorts of trouble she might get you into.”

Katie laughs as Azzi sticks her tongue at her.

“Okay, fine. Just keep an eye on your phones in case we need to get a hold of you.”

“Thank you!” Azzi gives her parents kisses goodbye and hugs her little brothers before grabbing Paige by the hand and dragging her over to the ferris wheel.

She’s so excited to ride that she doesn’t notice how quiet Paige is. Her friend normally hardly shuts up, but Azzi doesn’t realize how unlike herself Paige is acting until they’re being ushered into the gondola.

The metal car creaks loudly as it moves, sending them slowly up into the sky.

“Paige? Are you okay?”

Paige’s hands are tight around the metal lap bar, fingers pale as she squeezes it tight.

“Yeah!” She says, squeaking when they jolt to a sudden stop, about halfway to the top.

“Are you afraid of heights?” Azzi asks, almost incredulously. Paige isn’t afraid of anything. She’s always ready to jump in head first, with hardly a thought to the consequences. They’d already ridden most of the roller coasters here without a problem.

“Hell no!”

Azzi might be more convinced if her eyes weren’t squeezed shut as they started moving again.

“Why’d you agree to come on if you’re so scared?”

“You wanted to.”

Azzi feels blood rush to her face. She smiles shyly in response. No one has ever made her feel as special as Paige does, like everything she says matters. She presses close to Paige’s side as the ferris wheel screeches to a stop at the top.

The view is spectacular. The lights from the rides, nothing compared to the brightness of the stars above them. But Azzi doesn’t look.

“Hey.”

She reaches over and grabs Paige’s hand with her left hand, pulling it from the bar and intertwining their fingers. With her right hand, she reaches up to gently grasp Paige’s chin.

“Don’t look out there. Just look at me.”

Paige’s eyes flutter open. Azzi’s mouth feels dry suddenly. She licks her lips watching as Paige’s gaze darts from Azzi’s eyes to her lips and back again.

Her eyes shine under the light of the moon. They’re beautiful. Paige is so beautiful. Azzi’s heart pounds in her chest. This moment feels more dangerous than sitting hundreds of feet in the air with only a bar of metal keeping you safe.

Paige leans in, so slow that Azzi knows she could pull away if she wanted to. She doesn’t. She leans in the rest of the way instead, and puts her heart in Paige Bueckers’ hands.

I wonder if you kept the pilgrim ashtray if it's still propped up on your bar cart

“You’re home pretty early, how was it?”

Colleen had called Azzi almost as soon as she had stepped through the door, which told Azzi that she had likely been checking her location through the night. She had been encouraging about it when Azzi had told her that a teammate was setting her up with a friend of theirs, someone from outside the basketball world.

But Azzi knows Colleen is still holding out hope that she and Paige are meant to be. She hasn’t mentioned her to Azzi in months, not since the last time she’d had to comfort a drunk Azzi who had broken down just from hearing her name.

“It was fine. I fucked it up, the usual.”

Azzi pops the fridge open, pulling out a bottle of wine and grabbing the bottle opener on the door. The bottle opens with a pop and Azzi pours a full glass, takes a few big sips from it, before filling it again.

“Oh, babe. What happened?”

How can she explain that the mere mention of Paige’s home state had sent her into a spiral and that she’d had to make a stupid excuse to leave and now probably wouldn’t be able to face her teammate without making a fool of herself.

“No biggie. We just weren’t compatible.” She takes another swig of wine. “I’m just gonna take a bath and go to bed.”

“Okay, Azzi. I love you. You know I’m always here if you wanna talk.”

“Love you too.” Azzi doesn’t know how she would have gotten through these past two years without her.

Azzi heads into the bathroom, running the faucet to fill the tub. She goes to light one of the many scented candles she’s been gifted over the years, this one that claims to release a relaxing scent, just what she needs tonight.

The lighter sputters weakly and doesn’t ignite. With a sigh, she heads back into the kitchen, digging into the junk drawer where she knows she has seen a box of matches.

She finally finds it under a pile of old charging cables, but stops short when she sees what’s printed on it. It’s faded and worn, but the word Ted’s is still visible.

She rubs her thumb over it. This pack of matches has somehow made the journey from Storrs all the way to her home in San Francisco.

Azzi slides the cover off. There’s only one match left inside.

The candle goes unlit. The match untouched.

“Who wants shots!” Paige’s voice echoes through the bar.

It’s Azzi’s first time at Ted’s as an official member of the team, and Paige is clearly dedicating herself to making sure she has the best possible time.

Azzi isn’t sure she’s seen Paige stop smiling since she moved into the dorms, and it must be infectious, because the butterflies in her stomach haven’t rested since the moment Paige showed up at her door to help move her in.

“Paige, relax!” Christyn says, patting Paige on the head and laughing when Paige swats her away to fix her displaced hair.

“Here we go!” Liv comes back to the table holding a tray full of shots.

The team gathers around, each taking a hold of one of the glasses.

“To our new teammates. Welcome to UConn, and let’s win a national championship. Go Huskies!” They all throw back their shots at once.

A few hours later, as Azzi dances with Caroline and Amari, Paige comes bouncing up to them, slipping her arms around Azzi’s waist and swaying behind her.

She presses her face into the side of Azzi’s neck. “Come outside with me for a sec. Nika gave me a lil’ somethin’ if you wanna try.”

Azzi nods and lets Paige lead her outside by the hand. It’s a lot less crowded outside, and the light breeze feels good against her sweat slicked skin.

Paige guides her to a more secluded corner where a lone picnic table sits underneath some fairy lights strung along the patio. Paige sits with the bench between her legs, pulling Azzi to sit next to her.

She pulls out a joint and wiggles her eyebrows at Azzi.

“You wanna?”

Azzi had never dared to try it in high school with her parents always around, but she wants to now. The season doesn’t start for months, and practice not for another week. She nods, eagerly. She knows that there’s no safer person for her to try this with than Paige, who would never let her get hurt.

Paige passes the joint over. “Hold this for me for a sec.”

She pulls out a fresh box of matches, pulling one out and lighting it with a quick flick of her wrist. She holds it to the tip until it glows.

“Go ahead.”

Azzi hesitates for a moment. “I just breathe in?”

“Mmhm.” Paige nods, watching with rapt attention as Azzi brings the joint up to her lips and inhales.

A hacking cough bursts out of her throat before the smoke can even hit her lungs.

Paige laughs as she rubs Azzi’s back.

“Don’t laugh at me,” she chokes out when she can finally breathe.

“Okay, okay,” Paige holds up her hands in apology. “Here, let’s try another way.”

She takes hold of the joint, sliding closer until their legs are touching. She brings it to her lips, inhaling deeply and holding the smoke in her chest. Then she leans in, giving Azzi a chance to pull away. When she edges just a bit closer instead, Paige seals their lips together, exhaling when Azzi’s mouth opens against hers.

She keeps them pressed together until she feels Azzi breathe in deep. When she pulls back, Paige keeps their foreheads pressed together.

“How was that?” She asks, voice raspy.

In response, Azzi just hooks a hand around Paige’s neck and kisses her again.

Could make a grand off of the chain you bought me, but goddamn, it's not for sale

“Azzi!”

Azzi barely has a moment to steel herself before Nika nearly bowls her over in a hug.

“I’ve missed you so much.” Azzi says, returning the hug. They hadn’t seen each other since the last time their teams had matched up, but with both teams now out of playoff contention, they had decided to get dinner while Nika was in town.

They spend the night catching up, telling stories and reminiscing about old times, both often changing the subject when it approached the elephant in the room.

When they’re both three cocktails deep, Nika finally asks, “Do you think you’ll go to the Finals?”

Azzi knows that the girls have been planning a reunion to see Paige play in her first Finals. She’s sure that it hasn’t gone unnoticed that she hasn’t said anything in the group chat.

“Of course.”

She hadn’t told anyone, but she’d booked the ticket the minute the Lynx had clinched their series. Nothing could keep her away. Her hand goes up to fiddle with her necklace subconsciously.

“That’s great, Azzi. I know she wants you there, more than anything.”

Nika’s eyes flicker down to where her fingers are toying with the chain. She drops her hand. The charm bounces against her chest. To this day, she can’t explain why she still wears it, just that it’s become like a part of her.

The first thing that Azzi notices when she wakes up, is that there’s someone asleep beside her. It isn’t the strangest occurrence in this house. Sometimes one of her brothers will fall asleep next to her, or one of the dogs will come in seeking her warmth.

But this body is pressed against her back, a heavy arm slung around her waist. Even the way their breath puffs against her neck is familiar. But the only person Azzi wants to be sharing a bed with is hundreds of miles away, so Azzi turns to lay on her back, her wrapped leg only protesting a little. A wave of blonde hair covers her face.

“What?” She whispers, because this shouldn’t be possible. She swears she had just fallen asleep talking with Paige about the team’s resounding victory in Aaliyah’s home country.

Her phone still rests next to her head. When she wakes the screen up, there’s one unread message from the night before.

Paige💗

See you soon, baby 💗😘

She nudges at Paige’s side, suddenly too impatient to wait for her to wake up. Paige groans, but she opens her eyes, blinking blearily and clearly exhausted. She smiles wide when she sees Azzi.

“Hey.”

“What the fuck?” Azzi murmurs, still a little bit stunned, and presses close to kiss Paige deeply.

“Never been happier to miss a night of sleep.” Paige says when they part, smirking.

Azzi whacks her on the shoulder, but gives her another light peck. “What are you doing here?”

“I missed you. Merry Christmas.”

Azzi is leaning in to kiss her again when her dad’s voice comes echoing down the stairs. “If y’all are awake, breakfast is almost ready.”

“Okay!”

Azzi throws the blanket off of her body, sitting up.

“Hold on a sec.” Paige walks over to where her duffel bag has been dumped by the door, digging through it.

She walks back and sits down next to Azzi, holding onto a black box.

“I know Christmas isn’t actually for a few days, but I can’t wait any longer.”

Azzi takes the box in her hands, feeling the softness of the velvet under her fingers. She opens it to reveal a silver heart encrusted with diamonds dangling from a delicate chain. It looks a lot like a necklace that already sits in her jewelry box, except this one has an infinity symbol embedded within the heart.

Azzi feels choked up all of a sudden. The meaning of the symbol is not lost on her. She puts the box down on her lap and raises a hand to cup Paige’s cheek.

“I love it. I love you.”

Paige leans their foreheads together. “It’s a forever kinda thing. Just like us.”

You broke me to pieces, but I root for you even though everything went up in flames

The buzzer sounds, and the Minnesota crowd is silent. It’s the end of the third quarter, and the Liberty are leading the Lynx by seventeen. Even from up in the suite, Azzi can see how bad Paige’s body language is, how she’s already beating herself up for the loss even though there’s still ten minutes left in the game.

The camera focuses on Paige, seated at the bench, staring off into the distance even as her coach speaks in the huddle. Azzi stands suddenly, startling KK.

“Where are you going?”

“I have to get down there.” She’s not quite sure how she’ll get to the bench, but she’ll figure it out when she gets there.

Luckily when she makes it down there, she bumps into Paige’s agent Lindsay, who greets her with a hug.

“Azzi!” She looks surprised to see Azzi. “What are you doing down here? I thought you and the other girls were up in one of the boxes.”

“Hey.” She replies, distractedly. “Do you think you could get me courtside?”

Lindsay gives her a slightly pitying look. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I know it is.” Azzi says, absolutely certain. She knows, at least, that she has to try.

Lindsay leads her to her seat, just a few rows behind the home bench. The Lynx have cut the lead to thirteen, but there’s still a steep hill to climb with less than half a quarter of the game left. When one of the Liberty passes skips out of bounds, the Paige’s coach calls a timeout to steady the team.

Paige stomps back to the bench, clearly frustrated and lifts her jersey to wipe the sweat from her face. As she reaches the bench, she finally looks up, eyes locking with Azzi’s. She freezes.

Azzi smiles at her, and taps a hand on her chest where the number 5 rests proudly on her chest.

“Breathe.” She mouths. “You got this.”

Paige finally blinks. Azzi sees her take a deep breath, and then another. She nods at Azzi before taking a seat on the bench and listening as her coach speaks. Then she’s sticking her head in the huddle and taking charge.

Her teammates all watch with attention, swept up in her emotions. Azzi misses it sometimes, the way Paige could make you believe you could accomplish anything just because she believed in you.

The buzzer goes off, signaling the end of the timeout. As she heads back onto the floor, Paige turns back toward Azzi. She rests a hand over her heart and then points back to Azzi. Her teammate inbounds the ball to her.

In the remaining minutes, Paige outscores the Liberty all by herself, and the Lynx come back to win game one.

“Congratulations, Ms. Rookie of the Year.”

Azzi steps up to Paige, wrapping her arms around her neck and leaning in to kiss her. Paige has been talking with the press all day, and Azzi hasn’t seen her since she left the apartment this morning.

Paige turns her head, and Azzi’s lips land on her cheek as she turns her head to check one end of the hallway, and then the other. They can hear the sound of a door opening in the distance, and Paige flinches minutely.

Azzi drops her arms and steps back, eyes focusing on the ground.

“Hey.” Paige looks down, making eye contact with her. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” And Azzi does know. She knows Paige really is sorry, and that it’s not just something she’s saying to appease her. It doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Still, she throws a smile on her face. “You ready to head out?” She’d made a reservation, at one of Paige’s favorite restaurants, a few weeks ago for them to celebrate.

Paige’s expression shifts again, just barely, but Azzi knows every inch of her.

“What is it?”

“The team invited me out to celebrate. Phee got a hook up at a restaurant. You’ll get to hang with Dorka.” Paige says, like it’s a consolation prize.

Azzi feels that familiar disappointment swell within her, but she pushes it down. They’re going to celebrate Paige, so Azzi will go along with a smile on her face.

It’s not even 11 PM when Azzi decides that it’s time for her to go. Her head is pounding and she’s barely spent even five minutes with Paige since they got to the club. She finds Paige by the bar, grabbing another round for the team.

“I’m going home,” Azzi says, trying to avoid looking into Paige’s hazy, glazed over eyes.

“What?” Paige frowns. “We barely just got here.”

“I know, you should stay and celebrate, but I’m going.” Azzi pushes past, not letting Paige talk, she can’t have this conversation, not here.

She pushes out the door, breathing in cool air. A quick peek at her phone shows that her Uber will be here in just a few minutes. She jumps when a hand clasps her shoulder and turns to find Paige.

“What’s the matter? You’re upset.” Paige looks so worried, and it makes Azzi almost want to laugh, if it didn’t hurt, just how clueless Paige could be sometimes.

“I’m fine. Go back inside,” she replies, voice short.

“What happened? You barely talked to anyone the whole night.”

“I’m tired, Paige.” Azzi blinks furiously as tears fill her eyes. “Sometimes, I just want to be able to hold your hand, and I can’t, and I can’t even be mad at you about it. I’m so tired, so please, just let me go home.”

Paige freezes. Her hand is outstretched, but she’s stopped short of making contact. For a moment, Azzi wishes Paige would just grab her, hold on, tell her to stay. But she doesn’t, and Azzi just gets into the Uber and drives off, leaving Paige behind on the sidewalk.

When Azzi wakes up the next morning, she feels hungover, even though she had barely drank the night before. Her eyes feel swollen from crying and her body sore from being curled up in a ball all night. Paige isn’t asleep beside her, but that’s no surprise. Sometimes the blonde will sleep on the couch when she gets home late because she doesn’t want to disrupt Azzi’s sleep.

She finally drags herself out of bed, heading toward the kitchen in search of caffeine. She stops short when she sees Paige sitting at the counter, nursing a cup of coffee.

“I’m surprised you’re awake already.” Azzi offers, feeling regretful at her harsh tone from the night before as she looks at Paige’s drawn, tired face.

“Haven’t slept.” Paige takes a sip of her coffee.

She finally looks up, into Azzi’s eyes, and before she can even speak, Azzi knows.

“Paige…” She starts, voice already wobbling. She sits gingerly in the chair next to Paige.

“Azzi.” Paige responds, sounding so steady Azzi shouldn’t be able to suspect that she is about to break Azzi’s heart. But Azzi knows Paige, and can see the pain in her expression.

“Don’t do this.”

“I’m doing this for you.” Paige reaches out for Azzi’s hand, and when she holds it gently, they’re both shaking.

“Don’t.” Azzi chokes out again.

“You deserve so much more than what I can give you.” Azzi notices how Paige stares behind her head, unable to even make eye contact with her.

“I know you are a lot of things Paige Bueckers, but I never thought you were a coward.” Azzi jerks her hand away, wrapping her arms around herself.

“I’m sorry.”

The fire in my gut that I've chased ever since

“Azzi! Wait!”

Azzi almost doesn’t hear her over the constant hum of people moving about the arena. But she’s always had a sense for Paige, from the moment they met, like a thread connecting them no matter where they were. She stops in the hallway where she had fled after the final buzzer had sounded.

“Congratulations, Paige.”

“Thank you.” Paige pants, still catching her breath.

There’s a beat of silence, but it’s almost comfortable, in a way the space between them hasn’t been for years.

“Azzi-”

“Paige-”

They laugh when they both speak in unison. Azzi puts a hand out, gesturing for Paige to talk.

Paige steps forward, reaching her hand out, a question in her eyes.

Azzi almost says yes, almost reaches out to answer. But she’s been burned before, and it’s not always easy to be brave. So she takes the easy way out.

“Win this thing, and then we can talk.”

“‘Win this thing?’ The championship?” Paige asks, almost incredulous.

“Yeah.” Azzi smirks at her, already drawn back into a familiar banter. “Unless you don’t think you can do it.”

Paige scoffs immediately. “I’ll see you when I lift that trophy.”

Paige had already known she was going to play her heart out, but nothing gets her competitive spirit going more than Azzi challenging her.

Paige stares at Azzi for a moment, just drinking in the sight of her with her number on her chest, knowing that when Azzi turned from her that she would see her name stretched across her back.

She smiles at Azzi, and it feels almost unfamiliar, smiling and knowing it’s true and sincere.

Azzi smiles back, and Paige knows this championship is hers.

“Azzi! Hold up!” Azzi freezes in place, recognizing that voice. She rubs a hand over her forehead. She almost wants to keep going, just jog down the hallway and right out of the arena.

Instead, she just takes a deep breath and then another, and turns around. Her traitorous heart still quickens at the sight of Paige Bueckers smiling at her.

“Hey,” Paige says, voice soft as she runs her eyes down Azzi’s chest, lingering on the purple logo and #35 bold on her chest.

“Hi.” Azzi replies, eyes darting to and from Paige’s face. There have been a few unanswered and clearly drunk texts, from both sides, and a huge bouquet at her doorstep after she had been drafted, but this is the closest they’ve been in nearly a year.

“You kicked our asses huh?”

It had been Azzi’s first time matching up against the Lynx, but it’s just their luck that Paige hadn’t even been able to play, a hand injury keeping her out of the line up. It had been a hard fought game, with Azzi’s Valkyries coming out on top, but it hadn’t been what Azzi had wanted.

“I missed you out there.”

It’s the truth. Despite their distance, Azzi has long dreamed of the moment she and Paige would face off in the WNBA, and it was disappointing that it had been delayed like so many of their on the court moments.

Paige gives her that crooked smile. “I’m so proud of you.”

Every emotion floods through Azzi at that moment. Anger, sadness, joy, hope, love. This is what she’d wanted. Just her and Paige and the game they loved so much.

But then she remembers why she’s been miserable for nearly an entire year despite achieving her biggest dreams. She remembers why she hasn’t been able to share her proudest moments with the person she loves the most.

“What do you want, Paige?”

Paige steps closer, until they’re within arms reach.

“I just- I had to talk to you; tell you how happy I am for you.”

Azzi feels herself softening, like she always has around Paige.

“Thank you.” Somehow the hallway seems quiet, even though Azzi knows there are thousands of people beyond these walls.

“I-”

Paige is interrupted when a voice calls down the hall for Azzi. The team’s PR person is looking for her, and Azzi’s late for media.

Paige takes a big step back, and Azzi is brought back to that day a year ago, and the heartbreak feels almost as fresh. But she decides then and there that she’s cried enough over Paige Bueckers, and so she just smiles, wistfully.

“I’ll see you around, Paige,” she says, and then she walks away.

You set the bar, you're gonna stick

“And for the first time since 2017, the Lynx have done it! Minnesota, your Lynx are WNBA Champions once more!”

The cheers of the fans is near deafening. The Liberty players leave the court in stunned silence as the Lynx players pile on top of each other with joy.

Azzi whoops, voice hoarse from hours of non stop cheering. She knows it might be a bad look, as a member of another team, to be this excited, but she can’t help it.

Suddenly there’s a loud swell of noise, and the crowd on the court parts. Paige is pushing her way through the throng of people, and a mob of cameras is following her. She finally makes her way to where Azzi is standing, a few rows up from the court.

She smiles at the fans, who all clamor for her attention, but Paige is on a mission. She pushes her way through the crowd, ignoring how the team’s security is nearly begging her to come back down.

“Paige! What are you doing?”

“I did it!” Paige beams, blue eyes brimming with joyful tears.

Azzi throws her arms around her, barely registering the noise around them.

“I love you!” Paige cups her hand around Azzi’s ear as she speaks, and Azzi feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“What?” Azzi laughs, in disbelief. “Paige, you just won a championship! They’re about to announce you as Finals MVP.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Paige pulls back and presses their foreheads together. “All of this is empty without you with me.”

Cameras flash all around them. The entire world is watching, and Azzi knows that this is impulsive and that they have so much they need to talk about, but in this moment, it feels like they’re just kids again, sitting atop a creaky ferris wheel with their whole future ahead of them.

This time, Azzi leans in first, lets Paige decide.

This time, she doesn’t hesitate.

#pazzi #azzi fudd #paige bueckers

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