sailingintothenight

[sailingintothenight]

“WHERE THE SHADOWS MEET THE LIGHT.”

Chapter 1: Golden like daylight, blue like hope.

Story Summary: Too dangerous to fly high, you remain on the ground, trying not to unleash your true power and turn everything to ashes while protecting a village that fearlessly embraced you. But the world you built around you is threatened when Bob stumbles one evening within the sacred forest, feeling you like a memory you two are sure never happened, too vivid to let go easily. Time stands still when you are together, until you go in a different direction, losing him for a moment. Now, the goal is to find each other again where the shadows meet the light, and finally, decide where to stand to have the life you both long for.

(Read a more detailed summary here)

BOB REYNOLDS X FEMALE!READER (platonic!Bucky Barnes x platonic!female reader)

Warnings: This story will have some plot holes and grammatical errors, i'm sure, (I'm from Peru) the timeline isn't exactly the same as the movies, and I will write about Bob's struggle with his mental health (typical stuff you've seen before, but I won't go into too much depth about it, cause, even though I want to portray it well, I'm still struggling with my disorder and sometimes it's triggering to write about it). To those of you struggling with these things too, I hope you find peace, a light, a reason to stay🫶🏼💕

A/N: Hi. I'm here after almost a month of posting the summary of this fic. Long story short, after two days of that my computer turned off forever (rest in peace my 8 year old warrior) and I just lost it. And since I have little tolerance, like when I can't plug in my phone charger on the first try, I crossed my arms like a child. Then I wrote this story on paper that is similar to the version of the reader as Loki's daughter, because the idea of ​​​​not being able to write that story again exactly the same drove me crazy, so I made this similar, almost with the same plot but changing its direction a bit. And I really, really hope you like this. That's it, thank u so much!

“If one of your chickens decides to take another nap in my basil plant again, I’m going to make it my dinner. And I’m not talking about the herbs, you hear me, Aisyah?”

Aisyah—barely eight years old, but more perceptive than many older adults in the neighborhood—disappears from the edge of the cabin, smiling disinterestedly at your mocking threat, (always hiding a sweet, older-sister tone) all the way to her own home, her long skirt in one hand while her chicken pet (upside down now, once white before splashing through mud puddles) is carried in the other, squawking indignantly.

In the distance, you hear the bird that always scampered faster than its owner and never flinches, continuing to protest even in defeat, always unconcerned, possibly the only animal that ran straight toward danger instead of the opposite direction.

The afternoon sun still takes its place after the morning's heavy rain, shedding its golden light over the village nestled in the center of a dense forest, hidden in its natural magic—turning it into a colorful landscape. A swollen river meanders nearby, its form like that of a mystical animal from ages past. The air is thick this day, laden with the kind of silence that precedes something breaking, the kind that lasts only in the seconds of shock before the crash.

One of the healers, wrapped in woven shawls and strands of clinking amulets, sits cross-legged on the porch of her wooden house on stilts, her eyes squinting toward the hidden river on the other side of the village.

“It's not rain.” She murmurs, her statement heavy with her usual confidence.

Your gaze moves to hers, kneeling down to hear her better, the train of your skirt falling between your boots.

“Is the river gonna rise again? I can reinforce the dike even more.”

“No, love…” The old woman says softly, contemplating the invisible signs of what was to come. “The Earth is hungry.”

You frown with the weight of your attempt to understand the mystery behind her words, the one you could almost never decipher in the instant she speaks.

In the background, circling the edge of the house, a gruff voice laughs at you two.

“Old bones and ancient riddles, that's what you are.” The self-proclaimed village watchdog snorts in irritation: he is the grumpy old man (not as wise as the rest) who had already lit three incense sticks and barked at two chickens for running too fast, all before sunset. “The only thing hungry is your imagination.”

You roll your eyes in amusement, already accustomed to his bad mood, an irritability as common as Aisyah's hen's obsession with walking outside the forest, through the tall grass, toward your cabin.

“Nice to see you, Mr. Nahir. Always as warm as the sun that accompanies us this season.”

He gives you a mocking bow as he walks away, barefoot, always in touch with the holy ground.

But somehow, you feel it too: it's a throbbing rhythm beneath the soles of your feet, a tremor faint enough to be ignored by the rest of the inhabitants, but deep enough to warn you that something is approaching, giving no clue as to whether it's good or not.

You stand slowly, observing the edge of the forest, the dense trees that protect the village but camouflage the danger if it decides to approach, a double-edged knife, working in your favor and at the same time, against you. Your gaze shifts to the hills, taking shape of backs, like sleeping giants. The villagers had refused to leave after the last landslide, rebuilding their home with sandbags and their unwavering faith. They were stubborn, brave, like true heroes. And you respect them, love them for it.

So you stayed, to hold the sharp pieces that threatened to end their lives, even if they cut you. To keep them safe as best you could, but far enough away, always in your own home to protect them from the other part of you.

“Go home, my child, you can't hide from your destiny forever.”

You look down at her, at her hand lovingly holding the hem of your skirt—those fingers that knew the weight of village babies, the weight of freshly baked bread and the work tools to build what they had now. The weight of grief as well.

“I've hidden myself pretty well all this time, haven't I? No one's found me yet. I don't think destiny can either.”

“It's because you don't want to be found, and they respect that: but this is different. He doesn't know it, but his heart seeks you out, right now.”

You frown, smiling mockingly.

“I'll only let destiny find me if it has gentle eyes, Grandma. That's all I ask. And somehow attractive—not much, but something. Let's face it, you and I, and everyone, have certain expectations.”

She laughs, amused by the way you could be serious about the protection you offered them, playful when you joked with the others, when you let the walls of your fears fall for a moment, before quickly building them back up again when that fear pulsing in your body reminded you of the things you could do if you were not careful.

But her gaze is as warm as her love for you.

“They are gentle, blue like hope.”

The walk back to your cabin is as peaceful as the forest can be.

The rain, which had stopped at dawn, giving a respite for a few hours, makes the place vibrate with a drizzle now. It's light, the kind that falls with melancholy and lingers, the kind that penetrates the bones, the kind that brings news, surfing on the wind. Sunlight reflects off some surfaces, drawing shapes, golden light that crosses the air and floats there, as if hung there solely by a higher power, like telekinesis, or by an invisible thread.

The tiny drops fall at a steady pace like the beat of a song, a melody strictly written to move in absolute perfection. They fall to the dirt forming small puddles, to the leafy roofs of the homes of birds seeking refuge, to the grass to feed the earth and keep it alive.

Everything around you hums—not shrill, but a sound that makes itself felt, as if wanting to be heard and at the same time to say, I'm here, you're not alone.

You keep walking, your hearing as sharp as the edge of your mind after the serum injected into your veins years ago. The feeling of an approaching event stays within you and pulses within you, unfolding a new kind of tingling, an anxiety of the unknown—a kind of deja vu of something you know has never happened... yet.

Sometimes the air just changed: in direction and rhythm, it took on meaning, ceasing to be just rain and becoming the lullaby that sang you to sleep or gave you sleepless nights, like a reminder of the past.

However, something doesn't add up this afternoon.

The strange sensation rolls down your spine—it's not scary, just strange, different, the tingling like electricity that runs through your entire body and makes you vibrate with a certain unease and a hint of excitement at the same time. The wind through the trees is like a strange omen that isn't bad, but feels too good to make sense of, to accept with open arms, or to feel deserving of it. As the minutes pass, the sunlight starts to succumb slowly to the power of a storm of shadows, beginning to disappear to shed its light on the other half of the world, to which you once belonged. But for a single instant, the forest sinks into absolute silence, the kind that takes place before something breaks, as if someone is holding all the air around it, waiting for that break to really happen.

And the magic of the place stops smiling, because there is something else, something shattering its peace.

A heartbeat passes, then another.

You feel it long before the first rumble and that loud crack: it's in the pit of your stomach, in the pulse of your body, and in the earth beneath your feet. It's in your mind too, talking, and that something becomes someone, and you feel the world shake.

Then you hear labored breathing, the beating of her tiny heart.

“Lina?!”

Calling her name, you run to the left, boots heavy from the half-dried morning mud that came alive again in the drizzle. You feel the pull of the earth's power on your soles, imprisoning you, as if trying to drag you down, but you don't give up until you find her, you don't use your powers to reach her faster.

The pounding of her heart, you hear it in your ears for a few seconds, until the motionless landscape in front of you shatters when Lina enters the scene, calling your name as if it were a sacred word. Your kneeling legs on the ground supports her small body, strong but never like a prison. She's breathless and struggling to speak, her dress ripped at the hem, missing a sandal. Mud stains her arms and legs with brown splashes, and her little face is red with panic and adrenaline.

“What happened? Are you hurt, Lina?”

She shakes her head sharply, her throat burning with pain from inhaling so much air violently.

“N-no, no, not me. I was... I went too far, I'm sorry. I was going down the forest and... and the hill and the rocks... almost... there was a branch... but I fell...”

Her words make no sense, they have no direction to something that makes sense.

You pull away, gently cupping her face.

“It's okay. Just breathe, Lina.”

The girl takes a deep breath, tears in her eyes; not from pain, but from something else.

Astonishment.

“He caught me.”

“Who?”

“A man. In the forest. He just... just appeared. He saved me! He pulled me out before the rocks fell on me.”

Your brow furrows even deeper, eyes wide in astonishment too, just like hers.

“Where is he?”

“He’s still there where Aisyah and I played. He told me to run home and leave him, but he’s hurt. Please, please, he helped me, kakak. Can you help him now, please?”

You nod, and your telekinesis protests when you tell her to go to the village for help. But as you head there, the tapping in your mind no longer feels like the gentle plucking of strings, tamed over time and practice. Now, it's wild, stubborn, and pulls you towards something like a magnet toward a source of power.

The wind changes drastically, as violent as a slap from the past that still lingers on your skin.

You keep running, stepping through puddles and the soft earth. Until you catch your first glimpse of him.

The man is slumped against the roots of a thick fig tree, clutching his side with one arm, where a cut bleeds through his long-sleeved gray shirt, also torn in tatters, as if the branches too had made those for having stepped into the forest without permission. His knuckles are red, and his chest is rising and falling too fast, at an alarming rate. His head is bowed, admiring with some surprise and terror the wound on his soft stomach, the one that protrudes from beneath the hem of his slightly rolled-up clothing.

Raindrops trickle down the edges of his long, untidy hair.

He groans in pain, and his body shrinks even further, a tremor passing through his fingers to every nerve ending in his entire being.

You blink, perhaps hoping he's just another serum-induced dream, but no. He's still there. He doesn't fade into the selfish, mocking shadows of your mind.

The wind slows as you approach, footsteps so light he doesn't hear them, feeling the change in everything around you on your skin: the trees stilling in anticipation of your encounter, the time that stood still like a gift.

“Are you...?” Your voice trembles, weak legs sinking into the ground as you kneel before him.

He looks at you then, lifting his head to follow a voice he recognizes from somewhere.

And a lifetime passes in a single second.

There's something in his gaze: a hint of recognition and relief because of you, like looking at a stranger who somehow knew his name before you even spoke it. His summer-sky blue eyes are like broken glass, but bright as stars that refuse to let their light die and fade into the void forever—and then, he blinks. His ragged breathing mingles with yours, wild in the tiny space inside your lungs and his. Two hearts beating so fast they feel like a caged animal ramming its body against the steel bars, seeking freedom even though it's never tasted it before.

Something clicks, something pulls.

And despite everything—the confusion, the madness and pain, the exhaustion—he smiles. Just a little, weak with the wound on his lip, with the surprise of the unreal moment pulsing in his veins.

“Hi.”

But as if Bob had deliberately decided, even on the verge of collapse, to use his only remaining energy on that greeting, his body surrenders to exhaustion afterward. All his cramped muscles relax as he finally gives up, only after having accomplished his goal, but unable to continue fighting an enemy he can't see.

Gravity pulls him to the side and your hands catch him before his resounding fall, forcing a sound of protest from between your lips. His skin runs too hot, burning beneath your fingers.

He feels like an unexperienced memory, trying to happen at any cost.

His body is welcomed by the earth, one hand still behind him to cradle his head, the other pushing that wavy chocolate-brown lock of hair away from his face, but your gaze never leaves his eyes, blinking heavily as he tries to keep his eyelids open. He tries to capture everything of you with a softness that life had never allowed Bob to feel and that you had never experienced.

He films everything with his bluest gaze, even though the semi-darkness of the forest doesn't allow him to clearly visualize you: only the edge of your lips, the bridge of your nose, and your soft eyes, always gentle, even in your confusion and surprise.

“I found you.” He whispers, softer than the wind.

You freeze, but Grandma's words make noise in your mind, and for the first time in a long time, the chaos inside stops, receding to make room for that one new thought, as if the rest were afraid of it when you'd always been the one who feared them.

His heart seeks you out.

I found you.

You try to speak, unable to say anything coherent, but wanting to say something, to respond to his honesty or confusion. However, the distant call of your name robs you of the opportunity and silences you, making you turn away. The villagers' silhouettes are blurry in the darkness, but the light from their lamps glows like dancing fireflies, showing them the way to you.

“Stay.” He whispers, barely audible again.

You turn, staring at him.

“What?”

The moonlight struggles to filter between the treetops, armor so hard they were difficult to break, but now, the same ones seem to bloom sideways to give you a glimmer that is reflected faintly in his gaze, part sad, part relieved.

“Please stay.” His eyes close, still awake but exhausted. “I'm so tired of always waking up alone.”

He faints.

You feel it in the way his body no longer resists his internal struggle, no longer clings to anything, and lets go, perhaps trusting in you in his last second of consciousness, perhaps just hoping for the best.

A few villagers gather around you, behind the elders who always guided their people with wise hands, now watching you with cautious but loving hope, silently asking for guidance in the face of something as strange as this. They had stopped calling you “the forest witch” months ago, and now you were simply “the sister of the wind”, the supposed daughter of Mother Nature made flesh, the one who spoke to the earth to appease its power, its attempt at liberation that sometimes turned to anger.

Some of them swore you kept the mountain from swallowing them up.

In a way, they weren't wrong.

“Grandma, please...”

She knows it, she feels it in her heart, which seemed connected to yours now, (a connection beyond reason and understanding) that flicker of light in your mind that sometimes became an impetuous predator, a shadow in its attempt to extinguish your light—but there, it always lingers in a corner: the thought, the desire, the burning longing to help.

She nods quickly.

“We trust you, my child.”

The older woman instructs the group to help the stranger, lifting him with hands calloused and rough after years of work, holding him as gently as if he were levitating with the power of your mind, and when they walk away first, you look back at Grandma, hearing the soft question in her lips.

“Is he magical like you?”

“I don’t know.” You whisper, incredulous, because the time imposed between a magical being and you had stretched so much that the thought of meeting another seemed impossible to believe now.

She and you walk back down the path, the villagers ahead, murmuring to each other, to themselves. Grandma takes a step forward, her bracelets clinking softly as she raises the lamp so the light shines on a part of him, catching a glimpse of his almost golden skin, and the shadow within him.

“He fell into this forest for a reason.” She says, her voice soothing yet promising something.

You look at her, confused.

“What do you mean?”

She narrows her eyes, as if seeing something no one else could, but shaking her head at the end, when she's made up her mind about what had just happened.

“No. He didn't fall, child. He came back.”

Each word confuses you more, as if they're pushing you away, rather than bringing you closer to the truth.

“He came back... here?”

“Now that the light has called the shadows home... we'll see which remembers first.” The old woman answers in a whisper, but there's a latent fear in her eyes as she turns to look at you, clear as day even among the dark the fire tries to fight. “He has something attached to him, and now it's looking in your direction... intrigued that you're not afraid.”

You tense, so sharply that your muscles protest for an instant. Her words weigh like lead in a sack, sinking heavily into your stomach all the way to the village, all the sleepless night.

The day that follows is long and silent inside, noisy outside with chickens crowing in disharmony, with children chasing the cats and dogs, with people moving around and going about their normal lives.

Inside the cabin, four walls seem to block out the rest of the world, which tirelessly, always seems to pursue him, trying to hunt him down. Bob blinks awake, his gaze blurred, listening to the birdsong and the soft creaking of the wood above him, the remains of rain still lazily pattering on the roof of the place. The small room has one window slightly open, and the flowers Lina had placed around to help him sleep still emanate a scent of familiarity, of home. The bed is low, softer than the last one he had. His boots, covered in dried mud, are carefully placed nearby. Lying on his back, Bob winces at the throbbing beneath his ribs, the reminder of a wound that never healed, not properly, not completely.

His thoughts are a mess, but they've always been. And only sometimes, grateful for feeling numb, Bob lingers there, speaking softly to himself, resigned to a supposed truth that someone else has seared into his mind.

“God, you really aren't done being pathetic.”

“I don't think you're pathetic.”

His body jerks in surprise, trembling arms raised reflexively and directed toward you, his only means of protection. Across the room, with a ceramic mug in your hands, you stand in the doorway, somewhat still like him, your gaze soft, but full of relief mingling with your still confusion, just like his.

“That's because you don't know me.” He laughs, soft, lowering his arms, but you can see he's trying to hide the pain it causes him, all with that small sound.

It takes him a few seconds to compose himself, ignoring the pounding of his heart. Bob pauses, wishing the world would stop, rising himself slowly to sit on the bed, his aching body covered by clean clothes and bandages on his wounds, a sheet slipping onto his lap.

With nowhere to hide, his eyes, filled with a certain innocence—the same ones that hide the shadow within—rest on yours, scared, but soft, as if he trusts you.

“I don’t, it’s true. The only thing I know about you is that you’re brave: you saved Lina.”

Bob sighs, but yesterday's events flash before his eyes like out-of-focus photographs, except for one.

“Yeah, I don’t remember that part well, or that I’ve ever been brave. Just dirt, trees, and then your face.”

You tilt your head, curious, but decide to ignore that last part.

“Still, you didn’t run.”

“I guess not.” He smiles, so fleeting that the fact is imperceptible, as if it had never happened—but the confidence in your words, the certainty in them, they settle in his chest, powerful enough to push up the corners of his lips. “Which is funny because that’s my thing: running away.”

His heartbeat slows; you can feel it in yours.

Your walk is calm, never threatening, his gaze fixed on you the entire way, half surprised, but half dreamy, and it is as if the blue of his eyes were the paradise you always wanted to have even after your atrocious past, knowing it would never come, because that was your punishment.

You hand him the cup, and Bob takes it, the tips of his fingers sliding over yours until only his hands cling to the warmth of the drink.

“I’m… I’m Bob.” He stammers, as if your closeness has awakened a desire to be known, to be seen, only by you. “Just Bob.”

You nod, softly, not responding to his name with yours.

“Can I ask what you were doing in the forest?”

He nods back, automatically.

“I was running away… from something I agreed to and wasn’t ready for.” You wait, and Bob, without any difficulty, continues. “There’s something, a program a man told me about. The Sentry Project. He told me they could help me, and I signed up because I wanted to be better, you know… less broken.”

You swallow, but you sense the direction his story is going.

“So?”

Bob shrugs casually, as if what follows is meaningless.

“Turns out... injecting a super serum into someone with unresolved trauma might not be the best idea.” Again, Bob cracks a hollow sound, trying to laugh at himself, but you can see it between the layers of his joke, the pain beneath that he apparently had a habit of masking with humor. “They said it might give me powers, something new, something that would make me feel better. But really? If I had powers?” He taps his temple. “This mess right here would probably turn the entire planet to dust.”

But unlike him, unlike his attempt to ease the pain with a fake laugh, you can't find it laughable, not when there's already a mocking sound, coming from a man you used to know, right in the back of your mind. Uncomfortably, you look down at your hands, taking a step back as the memories try to pile up inside you. And Bob notices it, the way you want to walk away, from him, and the senseless pain that it causes him.

“Hey. I'm joking. Please, don't go.” He says quickly, and he stops his hand move, the instinct to want to stop you. “I mean, sort of. I'm not that unstable.”

You can see, clear as day, his desperate desire to be cured, so much so that he would do anything for it, so your words almost cut through his with the tone of an order, speaking almost above him.

“Don't let them do this to you.”

Bob blinks.

“Do what?”

You raise a hand, not looking directly at him, palm up, as you concentrate all your power in a single point, always behind the line of your orders, preventing it all from spilling over. And then... a soft golden light blooms above it, weightless, flickering like a heatless flame. It dances gently in the air, as if held by an invisible string, pulsing with the life you gave it. Until you extinguish it, fingers closing around it, as if it had never been there.

Bob stares, even after there's nothing there. And in the seconds that follow, his blank mind fails to formulate anything coherent, anything that makes sense when everything seemed like a fairy tale, something impossible, a myth, something extinct, something just impossible.

“Wow. That's great...” Bob chokes back his next words, pressing his lips together, swallowing the lump in his throat caused by the frown on your face, and he tries to fix his mistake, not so gracefully. “No, sorry! I mean, it's great to know I'm not the weird one here.”

You roll your eyes, but there's a gentle smile on your face when you hear him laugh softly, without cruel mockery because he didn't seem to have been created to be cruel, the corners of your lips turning. And Bob stare at them, a second longer than he should.

“Don't flatter yourself: you are weird, I'm just beating you with this thing in me.” He laughs of your words, relieved this time, nervous as you take the seat next to him. “But you're not the only one who thinks powers, in us, are a mistake.”

“Did you choose it?”

You shake your head.

“No, I didn't choose it. It happened when someone tried to cure me of something and broke everything else.”

The silence lingers, but it's not dense, rather shared, understood between two souls that seemed united by a similar tragedy.

And although his soul was shattered, a part of Bob's mind still clung, with the little strength of his fighting spirit that hadn't been completely defeated (even though his head convinced him that there was nothing left of him), to the belief that one day he would be okay again.

That perhaps someone would arrive to guide his way, too.

He had walked through life with that silent conviction, but carrying the weight of past betrayals like shadows sewn to his heels. Every wound had taught him that trust was dangerous, something fragile, easily broken by careless hands eager to break. And yet, deep in the silence of his solitude, a tenacious hope still fluttered, refusing to let itself be extinguished forever: a longing to believe that one day someone would arrive, who would see his heart not as a battlefield, but as a home. Although every lesson had urged him to always remain on guard, to remain alone where he was safe, something in him refused to die.

Life had beaten him to convince him that it would never happen, and yet, he longed for it. Bob longed to see the golden light of day in his life again, to feel worthy of living. And suddenly, that peace is golden like your powers, like the light that filters through the cracks of your past to shine on him, so he can finally be seen, so he can be someone.

“Have you ever had that feeling...?” You say slowly, buying time to gather your scattered thoughts.

But it's he who finishes your sentence.

“Like you are a memory that hasn't happened yet, right?” You looked up, soft eyes meeting his. “That's how I feel about you. You, sitting next to me makes me feel as if I should be here.”

You don't say anything, you don't know what is the right answer. Outside, the jungle continues to sing, but inside, the heat seems to enter through the window, so stifling it clouds your clear vision.

You look away, and Bob's expression falls with sadness, with guilt, so slowly it hurts all the way down.

“I'm sorry... I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.” He looks away too, feeling in an instant those old, cruel words inhabiting his mind one more time, so heavy they force his gaze downward, squeezing his chest so painfully that his voice comes out in a constricting whisper. “I'm sorry. I always make things worse.”

You frown when his violent sincerity hits you hard, because he believes that, he truly does.

“No you don't, Bob, I promise. It's me, I'm the one that don’t let people in, not anymore, at least. It’s easier that way.”

He nods, looking back at you.

“Clever. People are exhausting.”

“Yeah." You chuckle. "Like you.”

You’re teasing him, gently, without malice, and Bob laughs, a sound short but real.

But it’s comforting what you can see in his eyes—in the way his gaze remains sincere, almost innocent—how Bob had filed down the sharp, cutting edges of his broken heart so no one would get hurt in there, just in case someone dared to be brave and make that place a home, because from his side, the doors always seemed open, always eager to welcome others, even when a part of him always seemed to be on guard, expecting the worst. Always considerate of others, even when the rest weren’t so considerate of him.

“Can I…?”

Bob doesn't finish the sentence, hoping you know what he wants without having to say it, completely unable to ask.

“No.”

He blinks.

“No?”

Your gaze deepens a little, on him, on the pieces of yesterday falling into place right now. What lived inside him was what shattered the peace of the forest, not him.

“You have a shadow that haunts you, you know that, don't you?”

He nods once.

“It doesn't haunt me. It's inside me.”

“Does it make you dangerous? Are you dangerous?”

“I can be, but I don't want to be.” His answer is low and harsh, but sincere, painfully so.

“Did they do something to you when you were there?”

Bob shakes his head.

“No. They took blood samples, but I left before the treatment began.”

You nod slowly, searching his face for something—a lie, a crack, a flicker of darkness—but you find nothing, for now.

Finally, you sigh, standing up.

“You can stay.”

“With you?”

His slightly overenthusiastic voice makes you frown, stopping you, and makes him lean back.

“Sorry.”

You chuckle, shaking your head gently.

“You can stay here in the village.”

Bob holds your gaze, startled for several reasons.

“But I said—”

“I know, but people with shadows need to go out and see the sun. And they need someone to hold the door open for them when they’re ready to come back in.”

Bob is silent for a moment, then he chuckles softly.

“I like your poetic riddles.”

You roll your eyes.

“I’ve lived with the healer of this village for too long. It’s contagious.”

Bob smiles, nervously, but after a long time, something inside him glimmers with hope, colorful.

“Keeping me here is a bad decision.”

“Guess we match then.” You shrug for a second, but the next one, your voice turns serious, as gruff as your intention to make it clear that the people’s safety was paramount to you. “But if you do something that endangers the people here... you'll stop being afraid of that thing inside you to be afraid of me instead.”

With that, you walk out the door, the warm daylight now filtering through the window behind him, following your path, leaving Bob alone with the light shining down on him too, like a divine sign. And something, somewhere inside him, whispers for the first time with affection, without hatred or mockery: “You are now part of her story.”

Bob smiles, slightly after having forgotten how to do so, feeling the silence like a friend, feeling what he hasn't had in a long time: the feeling that maybe... he wasn't doomed to live in the darkness forever.

This is the end of the first chapter, and if you made it this far, thank you very, very much 🫶🏼💕

[sailingintothenight]

“WHERE THE SHADOWS MEET THE LIGHT.”

Bob longs to find peace in the chaos of his own mind, to silence the voice that whispers cruel lies that he began to believe since he was a child. And always wandering, feeling numb (because it's better to feel nothing than to feel everything and burn the world in its wake), Bob clings to the promise that an experiment in Malaysia will fulfill his most fervent wish: just to be normal, just to be okay…

Only to run away, again.

After the Blip, you continue walking with the pain of an event that made you live and kill on your shoulders, but trying to keep your light shining, more intense when the shadows lurk. You help a village, trying to give your second chance a purpose, and one day, you meet him: just Bob, who is lost and fragile, but powerful and dangerous at the same time.

You feel it: inside him, there's a sleeping void that speaks in whispers, hidden in the shadows. For the other, you feel like deja vu of something that never happened… yet, like an unexperienced memory trying to happen at any cost. And for the first time, Bob finds a person who wants to stay by his side, even when his mind and world becomes unstable. Not with pity, offering a calm he so desperately sought. And together, you two learn to grow like roots, sowing proof of an endless love.

When Sentry and the Void rise and Bob is stuck in the middle, his blurred mind still remembers fragments of you, of the starry nights outside your cabin, of your voice, and the unbreakable promises.

Between a village and the city that never sleeps, Bob finally fights against his own darkness to shine by himself and be who he always wanted to be, because now, standing there where the shadows meet the light, he knows which way to lean.

Bob Reynolds x female!reader

(platonic!Bucky Barnes x platonic!female reader)

Hi! Yeah... I'm aiming too high with this story, haha 😅 I know I'm new here and I've only written a couple of Bob stories, but this was on my mind since I saw the movie. Anyway, I hope you like this. That’s it: thank you very much in advance! 🫶🏼💕

[sailingintothenight]

“The only one.” Bob Reynolds Imagine.

Summary: Between the intimate night and the bright morning, your conversations and Bob’s go from random to deep words that you'll always carry in your heart—while in his, Bob knows you'll always be the only one.

A/N: I had to briefly mention Rhett here somehow because I watched Outer Range when it first came out and I think Lewis deserved more screen time, or for the show to be solely about him lol. Well, as always, I hope you like this. Thank you!

Warnings: Vague mention of scars (we all know how Bob got them), his past, but nothing detailed. Just a short imagine of about 2,7k words.

2:15 a.m.

Night has finally put the world on pause, silencing the blaring sounds of horns in a chaotic city, bringing with it only the distant whir of a couple of cars still traversing the road on their way home, replacing the sun with the moon, its light spilling onto your bedroom floor through your partially open curtains. Across the place, behind you but a little far away, the lights hanging around your wall shine (at their lowest setting) with a faint golden color in the darkness, making you glow in an almost heavenly way, like something angelic fallen from the sky to find its way towards him—at least that's how Bob sees you.

Your bedroom always felt like entering a new world, a good one, a perfect one. Meeting you, for Bob, felt like entering that world, like crossing the gates of heaven. And tonight, and like every night, you're like the melody of a lullaby that helps him sleep, bringing peace to his chaotic mind, with legs touching and sometimes hands resting on each other's, a warm reminder that you're real when the tiredness of the day finally overcame him and everything disappeared, only to see you again behind his closed eyes.

By day, you were the light of his sky.

It was everything about you that brought peace to Bob's life and that he loved deeply: your laugh that sounded like hope, the way your eyes smiled first, a second away before your lips did, and the simplest, somewhat random conversations that turned into fervent wishes (or perhaps plans for a future together, that sounded better) that maybe, in a near future, would come true.

“We should live in a cabin somewhere far away from here…” With a deep concentration in his relaxed expression, his gaze returns to you, bright as a star. “We would wake up slowly, and we could drink freshly brewed coffee on the porch of our house with you in my arms. And just let the world be silent for a while.”

“That’s sounds perfect." Your cheek is still warm with it against your pillow, laying down on your stomach, and you smile softly, your hand in a loose fist near your lips because that was a habit of yours. "And I can totally see you as a cowboy, you know?”

Bob laughs softly at your words, a low but honest sound, and lying on his side with his arm under his own pillow, his hand under your shirt continues to slide up and down the arch of your back, sometimes tracing shapes on your skin.

“Aren't you reading a book about that? The rebellious cowboy who falls for the single mother who just arrived in town?"

The mocking tone in his voice isn't lost on you.

"For your information, Rhett is charming, and he's not rebellious, he’s just misunderstood."

Bob narrows his eyes, a little sarcastically.

"He calls the woman's daughter little terrorist."

You shrug.

"She kind of is, though."

He laughs again, amused, but Bob is waiting for you to finish the book so he can read it too and see why it makes you smile so much. And for a short while, the silence lingers without discomfort between the two of you, just two bodies lying in each other's company because there was no longer any need to be alone anymore, until you speak again.

“Tell me something you haven't told anyone, something you haven’t told me.”

Bob blinks, silently taking a ragged breath.

“That's a rather dangerous request at 2 in the morning.”

You chuckle.

“I'm not going to tell anyone. You can trust me.”

He knows he can, he's done it before: he does it every day.

“Well...” Trusting you like he's never been able to trust anyone before was so easy for him, but when Bob speaks, his voice is a little lower than before. “When I was a kid and my parents were arguing, I promised myself that when I found you, I'd never be like them. I promised I would love you properly.”

Although exposed, with nowhere to hide your emotions suddenly awake at such a late hour, you remain calm, even though your heart began to beat at a different pace, faster upon hearing him say when, not if, because maybe, just maybe, the one thing Bob never doubted, or didn't let his mind convince him otherwise, was that one day he would find you. He had never felt what love was, and yet Bob knew what it must be like, he longed to show it to you.

Your fist still covers part of your nervous smile, but nothing stands between the sparkle in your eyes that his words created and the one Bob watches with joy, still somewhat nervous, too.

"At first, I used to imagine this girl who wouldn't back down if I was too quiet, or who wouldn't look at me like a crazy person if I said things that didn't always make sense. She'd just listen, even if she didn't always know what to say, or she would just sit with me." His gaze lowers a little, nowhere in particular, but as if Bob needed to focus somewhere to say the right words in his mind. “I know it wouldn't have been fair of me to ask her to stay when everything was so ugly, but maybe, with someone by my side, things wouldn't have been so bad, maybe I wouldn't have fallen so deep.”

You respect the silence that follows, that brief moment Bob needs to gather his thoughts, short seconds that end when his gaze returns to you.

“I wish I could have found you sooner, you know?” His warm hand leaves your back, only to search for the skin of your cheek until he finds it, slightly calloused fingers resting on you, his thumb moving so gently that you feel nothing but his love. “But the day you showed up, I realized the wait was finally worth it cause you were exactly how I imagined you. So kind, so patient, so beautiful. A little angel with the perfect amount of sarcasm.”

Even through the tiny sound of your laughter, your hand clutches his, searching for something to hold onto when sadness threatens to spill over in the form of a tear. His past had turned into scars crisscrossing parts of his golden skin, and yet, it didn’t surprise you how caring Bob could be, how he’d learned to be so even when no one had been caring to him.

“Are you zoning out, honey?”

His mocking voice brings you back to the present, noticing that you, too, had shifted your gaze away from him to reflect a bit. Now, however, his mocking (but never cruel) smile makes you frown as you hit his arm, so lightly that Bob doesn't feel anything at all, but it makes him pull away with a laugh, only a couple of seconds away before his clingy hand returns to search for some part of your body to cling to: your back again.

Velcro boyfriend, that's what Lena calls him.

“That's my thing, you know?” He’s teasing you, but at the same time, a peaceful happiness suddenly floods him, and it's big but gentle, like waves on the shore as Bob pulls you up toward him. “If you steal it from me, I have nothing to contribute to this relationship.”

You chuckle, but you also feel full with peace and happiness, as if they fill every space in your body until you forget that you felt so empty before, too.

“For your information: the way you dissociate and make witty comments as you call them are your only contributions to this relationship.”

Bob smiles, letting out another chuckle.

“I practically heard you say I’m hilarious and, according to you, a little sweet from time to time, so I'm the complete package. Very hard to find.”

Underneath his arm that crosses to your body, you slide yours until it meets the warmth of his face, your fingertips caressing his cheek and the side of his chin.

“Somewhat unbearable from time to time I would say, but you’re wrong: it wouldn't be hard, it would be impossible to find another you.”

His smile remains, but somehow, it becomes only peaceful when Bob realizes that he has everything in the world right there with him because you are his whole world, the only thing that mattered, the only thing that made sense, protected in his arms, giving you that feeling of protection he desperately wanted to give you and that no one else could. And suddenly, the euphoria of his desire to be for you what you were for him had finally faded when Bob knew that he too was irreplaceable in your life, that you had chosen to stay with him even without saying it out loud. Because it was your eyes that spoke for you, as clear as the stars in the dark sky of his gaze. The emotional roller coaster had finally come to an end, and now, it’s just calm the moment Bob knew his soul is fused with yours.

There, Bob pulls you a little closer, bodies meeting completely this time, his leg finding the space between yours, and somehow, he buries his face between yours and the pillow, eyes closed and unafraid of the dark. His arm holds you against him, firm (until Bob falls asleep and his grip loses strength), but it never feels like a prison or a cage, but rather like a small nest, a small home.

“You are the only one that keeps me grounded, honey. The only one that makes me feel like Bob, not the other parts of me. With you here, they can't frighten me.”

It was beautiful how love felt next to Bob, in the way he made you smile so easily, but also in the way he could make you breathe out a peaceful sigh because nothing else existed in that little world created for just the two of you. It was a unique kind of love that made you see things more colorful, as if the clouds seemed fluffier, resting in a daytime sky painted in watercolors. Or maybe it was that the lonely times were gone forever and a better one had arrived to exist for the rest of your life together, that finally the flames of his mental hell had been extinguished and Bob was no longer trapped in the middle.

And when you hold on to him too, you know that the rest, what will come tomorrow or in a more distant time, can wait for now.

“Then stay here with me. You can be just Bob with me. Just be mine.”

Bob exhales, relaxing his body completely, his mind following suit as sleep begins to take over.

“I’m all yours, sunbeam, completely. I will always be yours.”

For the rest of the night (and for the rest of his life and yours), your words and his linger in each other's hearts, floating in the warm air as if hanging from an invisible thread. And just before morning arrives, long minutes before the dawn breaks the darkness of the dark sky, Bob, still somewhat sleepy, his mind halfway awake, takes some time for himself when you are there but you're not present, because sometimes, your lively gaze on his made him feel weak too (in a good way), as if your true superpowers were making him nervous, and at the same time, making him feel human, a real person, and not like a failed experiment or just a guy struggling with a mental illness.

Your hand is again a loose fist against your face, a habit that makes him chuckle before Bob gently pulls away, only to put a finger under your nose, just to check that you're still breathing. Yes, there you are, real, the one responsible for making his fractured world whole again, breaking that silence that used to drive him crazy, painting with color that place that used to be pitch black.

Now, Bob wouldn't trade those awakenings for anything, those peaceful moments where he can admire you with a calm smile, all the way until you start to wake up too.

"Have I told you that sometimes you talk in your sleep?"

You bury your face in your pillow, letting out a slight groan.

"I don't."

"Oh, but you do. Sometimes you have entire conversations with yourself where you ask yourself questions and you answer them. I don't know why Val pays a therapist for the team when we have you."

You frown in confusion, but mingling it with your own amusement as you turn your face to look at him through half–closed eyes.

"You're making that up, you liar."

Bob chuckles.

"Do you want to know what you said last night?"

"No."

“Too bad.” Bob shrugs, ready to continue the mockery as dawn finally begins to break. “At some point during the night you turned to me and took my arm not too kind before saying, ‘The dragon just stole your wallet.’ Which was kind of terrifying because the only important thing I have in my wallet is a picture of you.”

You snort a laugh that comes out without permission, only because you’ve just learned that Bob has a picture of you that he carried with him the few times you two went out.

“Is that true?”

“About your picture or about the dragon? Because both are true.” Bob nods solemnly, feigning absolute seriousness for a moment. “But it felt like a life–or–death situation considering I was half asleep.”

“And you answered me?”

“Always. ‘Thank you, brave knight.’ I said, and then all I had to do was scratch your back and in a second you were fast asleep again. But it was adorable, you know? Like, I was halfway convinced we were in some weird medieval dream together. I was even about to go grab my Dungeons and Dragons game in case you challenged me to a duel.”

You narrow your eyes.

“You don’t have a D&D game.”

Bob sighs.

“I know; the Amazon people are taking a long time with my order.”

You chuckle.

“Well, I kinda saved you from that dragon. As I see it, you should thank me for keep you safe.”

Bob chuckles, playfully.

“And I am eternally grateful, my lady. For rescuing me, and for declaring your most deep and honest love for waffles in your sleep.”

“Oh, God.” You whine. “Did I say that too?”

“Yes, you did. You said—and I quote—If he brings me waffles, I’ll marry him. I honestly don’t know exactly who he is, if you were talking about me or the dragon, but it gave me a very clear mission. I’m gonna start keeping an emergency waffle stash just in case you try to propose to the delivery guy that brings the breakfast to the team from time to time.”

You chuckle again.

“Well, that guy is pretty cute, you know?”

Bob smiles, letting out a laugh as he leans in close to you, voice lower, load with the usual teasing from his part.

“So all this time… all I needed was waffles to win your heart for real?”

You smile, brushing that piece of hair out of his face, that untamable curl that sometimes covers part of his vision.

“You need the waffles, and to look at me like I hung the moon in your sky. That helps too. Guess I don’t ask much, do I?”

Suddenly, a little softer, Bob’s eyes get that warm twinkle.

“You do hang the moon in the sky of my life, honey. And occasionally fight off dragon–wallet thieves in your sleep just to keep me safe: that’s why I love you so much.”

You laugh, a short, somewhat sharp sound as he and his words catch you off guard.

“You’re ridiculous.”

But Bob, still smiling, kiss your temple before pulling away a little bit.

“Only for you, my brave lady.” But he lingers there for a moment that feels like an eternity, something beautiful frozen in time, until after a beat, he’s playful again. “But seriously… if I brought waffles right now, would I get a ring or what? We need something to bind you to me forever before Ryan the–cute–delivery–guy steals you away from me with his fancy breakfast.”

You laugh, content, so full and just at peace, before closing your eyes to sleep a little longer.

“Bring the waffles and I'll make you a paper ring right now, Reynolds.”

[sailingintothenight]

“Light of my life.” Bob Reynolds Imagine.

Summary: You and Bob must pretend to be a married couple at a millionaire's party to complete a mission. The instructions: hand over the USB flash drive (with a virus inside), maybe say how many years you've been married, and get out of there. It's easy, but between Yelena's voice in Bob's ear telling him where to put his hands on you, Walker's mocking voice encouraging you to respond, and a confidence that Bob has cultivated within himself all this time, it's still easy, right?

A/N: The dress is just to give an idea of ​​what you're wearing, but feel free to imagine it differently, of course. The reader's skin color is never mentioned, nor is anything too specific about your body. And yes, it's Miss Jennie from Blackpink. Again, I'm using the image for the dress, not the body. I think this imagine came out kinda funny hehe, I hope you like it. The Bob here is a bit confident, although it still feels weird writing him that way. If I forgot to add something more, sorry!

Warning: none(?) But words in bold/italics are the voices of Yelena and Walker.

“Make eye contact, Bob, touch only appropriate places—waist, hands, face—and keep a goofy smile whenever you look at your wife because you do love her. Remember, loving husband.”

Bob sighs, a little tired of hearing the same instructions, again.

The lobby of the luxurious hotel really looks like something out of a fairy tale—green plants, brown ceilings and doors, vintage furniture like a picture from the last century—but everything is just a backdrop created to highlight you.

Everything around is lifeless, except for you. You look like part of that aesthetic, but standing out at the same time.

When the night has swallowed the sun and everything shines with artificial lights, Bob takes a look at you in the distance and steals the image to keep it in his memory forever (even when he knows you are the only thing no one could erase from his mind). But this time, he's unapologetic in the way he looks you up and down, admiring the short ethereal blue dress you're wearing now, a delicate and subtly striking color like the captivating beauty of the daytime sky that always catches people's eyes and that they immortalize in photographs. Tight enough at the top and bottom, defining every curve of you, turning you into a lethal weapon, ready to kill in any way you want. And Bob smiles, softly but confident through his nervousness, because you're such a perfect sight before his beautiful eyes that seemed to reflect only you.

You look dangerous (in a way, you are because of your powers) but you are such an angel with that peaceful light on you, tender eyes full of life, and yet, Bob never stopped wondering what it would feel like to kiss that angel's sinful lips, ever since he met you. It was your light Bob fell for, and the way you wouldn't let the shadows of your past enter that sacred circle, you protecting it bravely and calmly, but never in a hurry.

“You ready, honey?”

Even through the layers of clothing, the blue on you, and the black of his suit, the arm Bob snakes around your waist burns your skin like the sun on the hottest day of your life, his hand gentle but firm, so determined in his actions, without a nervous tremor, and you can almost feel his fake wedding ring on your flesh, playing the role of your beloved husband so perfectly that you knew that everyone would be in tears hearing the story of your first meeting and your eternal love.

His touch stirs the nervous tingle in your tight stomach and in your heart, yet at the same time, his protectiveness gives you peace, because Bob feels like your home, as if his body surrounding you was a refuge to block out all the bad from the outside. His hand on your body is supposed to make you feel nothing in the inside, but it does, because he makes you feel everything.

“This way please, Mr. and Mrs. Daniels.”

The manager of the hotel guides you and him down the aisle, clay–colored tiles complementing the entrance of one of the most exclusive places in New York City.

Your black boots carry you calmly, steps confident as Bob keeps you by his side, steady, keeping pace with you. He’s tall, impeccable in a black suit that seemed perfect for his physique, monochromatic with his white shirt, and his golden skin seems to glow. His usually unruly hair is slicked back, except for that single untamed strand that now frames one side of his contoured and handsome face, as if life or God had taken its sweet time carving him to make him look perfect.

The plan is to look intimate, in sync and harmony.

Perhaps it was an imperceptible glimmer of the Sentry, Bob's own confidence built over time with the support of his (sometimes) dysfunctional family, or the therapy, or maybe it was a mixture of everything what makes Bob walk now, tall and strong, just confident. He keeps his head high, his ocean–colored gaze does not waver, and there is a tiny hint of intimidation coming from his eyes and toward the fleeting glances from people around that stop on you, but the strangers can feel Bob’s entire aura spreading out like a calm but deathly ocean, so they look away.

The pairing between you hadn't been accidental.

Bob's fresh, youthful, and even nerdy appearance was the perfect mask for the role of the young creator—a visionary and talented innovator—of an innocent but powerful app for controlling military and nuclear weapons with catastrophic results if they fell into the wrong hands. And Jeffrey C. Durand wanted that more than anything, so much that he wouldn't mind dancing on the bodies that would perish along the way if it guaranteed him more power, more control, and more money.

A touch of expressive aggression: the men in the tower had it in them at first glance, too obvious sometimes, but Bob's was subtle, almost nonexistent to the human eye until someone lit a spark. Bucky and John's faces—not counting Alexei, who was just a little bit adorable, but too old for the mission—could be threatening for no reason, their expressive aggression capable of burning the world down without needing a fire to light the fuse, so totally inappropriate for a plan like this.

Jeffrey Durand was charming, with a sweet smile that masked his heartless chest, so attractive and dangerous like a lion behind a cage, and like any predator, he needed his prey submissive, or rather terrified of him—he wanted someone defenseless, easy to manipulate at will. But Jeffrey was just another fool who underestimated the power inside Bob.

Now, the doors of the steel cage open in front of the two of you, and the manager steps aside to let you in first, his hand extended to guide the way for the party's most important guests.

“Have a lovely evening, Mr. and Mrs. Daniels.”

The man smiles, pressing button 40 on the side wall, and when the doors close again, your bodies relax, but still so close to each other you can feel the heat radiating from Bob.

“Gross.” John was having a little too much fun, speaking quietly into the intercom in your ear. “Although I could have done a better job as your husband than Bob, darling.”

Bob clears his throat, ignoring his own teaser whispering to him. Yelena.

“You remember our history, don’t you, honey?”

You nod, breathing calmly, though his hand hasn’t moved an inch.

“Yeah. We’ve been married for six years. No kids, but we have a dog who’s like our baby. We met right after college and have been together ever since. Pretty romantic.”

“Quite a love story.” Bob smiles, reserving a little happiness for himself only as his voice drops, just a little. “But it could be our story.”

"Bob, I can hear you clearly, so don't act too weird, okay?” Yelena's voice crackles through his own earpiece, with a knack for sounding both expressionless and mocking at the same time. “Just remember: loving husband. A lot of eye contact, touch only appropriate places, and keep always a goofy smile whenever you see your wife, but don't get all gloomy, the weather's bad enough today.”

Bob frowns.

“What do you mean?”

You glance over at him, even though you know each of you is having your own conversation with your guides, so Bob just shrugs.

“Nothing, lover boy, relax. Just act like you love her… a job that won't be too difficult.”

Bob sighs, letting go of any doubts as the number 40 finally appears in red above the metallic doors, accompanied by a ding, before announcing your and his arrival at the party. The fresh air from the terrace caresses your face at that height (and every bit of skin exposed) and as you two step outside, a symphony of violin music is released, a harmonious sound that marches to the rhythm of the refined laughter of important people, with the murmur of glasses clinking to celebrate their status and their unbridled, almost maniacal joy—always hidden of course—from always being on top, feeling untouchable.

“Is there anyone besides Durand we should be wary of?” You ask, filling the silence.

“No one to fear. But maybe just the man at the bar who’s staring at you too much.” Durand’s bodyguard, you know him from the file. Bob’s brow furrows, his more gentlemanly side coming out, offended and deeply disgusted by the way you were being used as an object to slake a disgusting thirst, but he tries to play it cool, so hard his body seems to vibrate. “I think I should unleash the beast just a little bit and defend my wife from lustful glances. Just give me the order, honey. Anything for you.”

“Release the beast AFTER you hand over the USB, Bob.” Yelena grunts, a sound of frustration.

You chuckle, hiding your distaste for being objectified, and in response, you seek refuge with him, lovingly, but if you try to move a little closer, you would merge your body with his as if you two were one. Bob chuckles beneath his breath, a low sound that drifts in the wind, but he uses his arm to hold you against him, just a little more tighter, pressing his face into your hair and breathing in the scent of your shampoo to calm himself when the show is about to begin.

Only he can do that, and he loves that—only he can have the privilege of being in a place no one else had access to: being next to you, that close, making you feel protected. Finally, Bob was beginning to burn a word into his head, one that his fears and insecurities (his depression and the personalities that materialized from that illness) had taken from him since he was just a child: worthy, worthy of feeling great, beautiful things, worthy of being next to the person he loves.

“The target’s coming this way.” You murmur and Bob straightens, shoulders firm, body alert but relaxed.

Wrapped in a white suit that gleams expensive even in the dull weather, Durand approaches you two with open arms as a sign of a warm welcome, holding a glass of whiskey in a hand that held several rings. His walking is elegant, like a lion, gracefully, with the kind of smile of a man who was used to always winning, masking his perversity and even sadistic soul, according to rumors.

“Mr. and Mrs. Daniels, I’m so glad you could join us for my little party.” There it was, the false modesty, but Bob takes the hand Jeffrey offers anyway. However, the host of the party squeezes it a little harder to make his dominance clear, oblivious to Bob’s real strength. And Bob shows a tiny smile, calm and about to break the host’s fingers, but he lets them go. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Robert. And thank you for feasting our eyes on your wife’s beauty.”

You were the contingency plan, just in case something went wrong. But never losing his charm or sinking too deeply into his own lust, Durand smiles acting innocent and Bob mimic his action with a calm rhythm, though inwardly, the idea of ​​grabbing him by the neck is more tempting now.

“Please don’t look at my wife for too long, Jeffrey, or I’ll have to hurt you really bad.” Bob chuckles.

And there is a bit of aggressiveness in the joke, just the right touch to make Jeffrey laugh to hide the pang of his awakening concern, the survival instinct that tells him Bob isn’t entirely joking, but one that comes and goes instantly when your husband relaxes, as if it were all a sophisticated joke by powerful people, those who thought money made them invincible, untouchable if they harmed others without regard.

“But tell me, please, how long have you been together?”

“6 years.” You say, at the same time Bob speaks.

“10 years.”

Durand frowns, confused, as the two of you stare at each other for a moment.

“What?!” Yelena's voice fills the void, followed by Walker's murmur, full of annoyance.

“Oh God. We're dead.”

“No, sorry.” Bob laughs, a little nervous, but he hides his fear perfectly with a peaceful, almost cheesy expression as he follows Yelena's advice, looking at you with so much love that he seems unable to think straight. “We've been together for 10 years and officially married for 6.”

Durand smiles again, unsuspecting anything.

“Children?”

Bob smiles back, a new kind of smile, one he discovers for the first time in that second, but trying not to overdo it as the idea of ​​starting a real family, one he would know how to protect with his own life, threatens to pull the corners of his mouth too much and make him smile a little more than necessary.

“Not yet. We still want to continue loving each other a little longer before sharing that love with our first baby.”

The man in front of you smiles, enchanted by Bob's convincing voice professing his love for you and now for a nonexistent baby, and uncontrollably, as if it has a mind of its own, you could feel in your heart that absurd happiness at something you knew wasn't going to happen. You didn't even know if you wanted children, and there you are now, smiling to make this fantasy story more believable, but one that you knew, if it came true, would be a beautiful one to live in.

“I love that thought. And after so many years together, you two seem just as in love as you were the first day, I see it. How lucky you both are to have found each other.” Jeffrey nods, taking in all the information with joy. “But let’s talk business later, okay? Now, please enjoy the party.”

His important persona is called from the other side of the venue, and he leaves with the sole mission of entertaining his other guests. Bob lets out a sigh, a second before his arm slides off of your waistline, his playful fingers feeling the thin fabric of your dress all the way.

“Acting in love with you is so easy that, if he kept asking, I could have written him a whole book about our life together.” Bob chuckles, his nervousness cutting short his courage when his words leave his mind and now belong to the wind, only for a millisecond when he composes himself and his hand catches yours. “Will you dance with me, honey?”

He leads you to the dance floor, people moving to a slow rhythm around.

“You don’t dance.”

With a nervous thump that shakes his heart and a little laugh that he lets out, Bob presses you against him, respecting your boundaries but closing the space between you two, his hands on your waist as yours rest on his shoulders.

With nowhere else to look, his deep gaze and yours hold each other in pure love, even when sometimes the shadows wanted to attack, but your hearts are now smiling with a new kind of happiness that spoke volumes in the silence—and even if there are people listening on the other side, everywhere, you dare to speak.

“Did you ever want all that? I don’t know, maybe you picture yourself in a marriage and a life with another person.” You shrug, a little on the verge of fear of an unflattering response—even if you’re not quite sure what kind of response you’re looking for exactly. “I know life has been so unfair to you, but…”

But you're surprised by the way Bob smiles softly, with a certain peace, even though the past and the experiences are still present, but with him learning not to let them continue to hurt him and leaving him as a passive spectator, unable to protect himself and the future he really wanted to have—only with you—and it's as if he could dive into a new kind of ocean, an oasis that promised only happiness if he could ever make all those crazy dreams come true with you.

Once again, only with you. Because Bob couldn't see himself taking that step with someone else. If not, it was better to be alone.

“For some nights, I did think about it…” There's a chuckle from him, a sound that hides a certain melancholy. “I… I convinced myself that no one would love me and the broken parts, all of me, the good, the bad, the ugly. And that it would be selfish of me to expose anyone to all of that, too. But as a very smart girl once told me: I'm not a bad person, I'm just a person who went through bad things, so now I'm just trying to be okay so I'm worthy of you.”

“Damn, Bob.” Yelena raises her eyebrows, surprised but proud. “I didn’t think you were so straightforward.”

“Bob kicked the ball into your court, darling.” John laughs, but he's unable to hide his own surprise. “What will you do now?”

“I hate you.”

“What?”

Bob’s face transforms into an expression of true pain, sadness in his innocent eyes, his eyebrows furrowing in fear, forgetting for a second that you and he aren’t alone.

“No, no, that was for Walker.” Your right hand slides from his shoulder to his arm, squeezing him gently so he’ll believe your words, but now, you can no longer sustain the deep friendship you’d formed with him. It hurt being just a friend, but having that was better than not having someone like Bob in your life—so cute, sweet and funny. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen you so… brave to say what you actually feel.”

Bob chuckles.

“Walker gave me a sip of alcohol.”

“What?!” With eyes slightly widening in surprise, you are wordlessly as Walker’s desperation nearly ruptures your eardrum.

“No! I did not! Yelena, I swear to God I didn’t do it!”

At that moment, Bob laughs for real—not loud, not raucous—real and calm like his life since he started finding the balance so his emotions wouldn't spill over dangerously, and his eyes crinkle adorably.

“I'm joking, Lena. Walker deserved it, tho.” Bob nods at the small earpiece in you, knowing John will hear it, but not caring at all about the confrontation that awaits him at home after that. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to corner you like that with my feelings, but I think I'm tired of just hiding everything I feel, y'know? Especially since the things I feel for you aren't bad at all.”

You nod slowly, taking a few seconds that feel like a lifetime.

But when Durand's bodyguard asks Bob to meet him in his office, you assure him you'll be fine, and he walks away.

Aware of his own power, Bob had always lived without feeling great emotions, without freedom, flying solo and close to the ground so as not to unleash his true nature and turn everything to ashes. But from the first encounter with you, Bob felt it in his heart, and knew later through living together, that he went from never having had anything to feeling fulfilled, complete, to feeling like he had it all and deserved every piece of that happiness he made with you.

You walk to the bar, to a discreet spot that covers the movement of your lips.

“Shut up.”

Walker laughs.

“I didn't say anything.”

“But you're thinking it. I feel the weight of your idiocy up to here.”

From across town, Walker is sitting in a spot on the tower, agreeing with you with a nod, even though you can't see him.

“Though I must applaud Bob, that was pretty brave of him. I mean, pretty obvious if you ask me becau—”

“No one asked you.”

Walker keeps talking anyway.

“Because it's something we all already know, very yesterday's news, but I don't think you should be afraid of that future, darling. Bob's good, he's broken, and he's trying to fix those parts so he doesn't hurt anyone else... just like you and like everyone else here.”

You take a moment to consider his words, with a slight raise of your eyebrows as you realize this all came from John Walker himself, the one who suggested pushing Bob into the cremation vault when they first met.

“You sound ridiculous as a matchmaker.”

“Screw you.” But he laughs. “That's what I get for being supportive in a charming way.”

You hum a response, contemplating your entire existence, the rainy days and lonely nights before, the devastating past, the present glowing with latent possibilities, and a future that it hurt to think about, wondering before if life would continue that sad way—but that was before you met Bob—because now, everything, even through soul–gnawing anxiety, seems to have more meaning, a significance finally.

On the other side of the party, walking down a red–walled hallway, Bob continues talking to urge Jeffrey to do the same, someone in the tower recording the whole conversation, with the USB—and the virus inside that will decode his entire computer—finally in Durand's hand.

“Let me ask you a question, Robert. When did you know you wanted to marry your wife?”

The right curve on Bob's lips rises a little bit, and his blue gaze becomes peaceful, soft with a created memory that never actually happened, but that feels real in his mind and heart. You may say no to his unspoken proposal, and that's okay with him, (even if it hurts) because at least now, Bob knows that his mind isn't making anything up, that every smile and touch from you is real, that it has been real from the beginning.

“I don't know for sure, maybe I knew it from the beginning, since she said hello to me. I only know that she is the light of my life. We married young, yes, but when you know, you just know.”

Bob shrugs casually, but as they turn the corner and the walls disappear, replaced by the terrace, he can see you a few feet away from him, standing at the bar, your bored gaze fixed on the man in front of you, (Durand's bodyguard) and your expert hand finding a butter knife from among the cutlery, so slow and imperceptible the man doesn't notice it, but Bob does, and he swallows hard.

“Oh, no…” He whispers under his breath, his heart pounding with a new kind of fear, and with a nervous smile, Bob catches Durand’s eye to say a quick goodbye. “I'm so sorry! I forgot my wife and I have to pick up Bucky today before it gets too dark.”

“Bucky?”

Bob blinks: in a moment of panic, it's the only name that came to mind.

“Our dog. If I don't take him back to his mom by now, he'll start chewing on my shoes. And my wife is his mom. I'm just the spare.”

Durand laughs, openly, enjoying the conversation, as if they're lifelong friends.

“Okay, I'll call you tomorrow with more details.” He shows the USB, the closing of two weeks’ deal. “Say goodbye to your wife for me.”

Nodding, not showing the terror on his face and his almost anxious gait, Bob walks away.

“Bucky? Really?”

“Can you delete it?”

Yelena laughs.

“It's already gone, you big idiot.”

Bob reaches you in a few seconds, the knife touching the cold bar again as his hand closes on yours from behind, casually, the other snaking around your body again, pressing you against him. At the same time, Bob pulls you away, almost hastily, barely giving the man anything resembling a nod, not bothering to fully acknowledge his existence.

“Son of a…” You swallow the insult you were about to let out as you back away, Bob’s chest so hard behind you it’s like steel, feeling something hot about it as if it had been forced over fire. “I was two seconds away from stabbing him in the eye.”

“What?!” There are voices on the intercoms, but you don’t respond.

“Why do you think I pulled you out of there?” Bob laughs, calm, but with his heart and lungs on fire, as if he’d run a marathon, guiding you into the elevator as another hotel employee steps out.

The doors close as he presses the number 1 button, and for a second, he stares at his blurred reflection in the steel, but he knows now that from that second forward, he won't be just another blurry, shapeless blob anymore. Never again now that there is only light in his life to show him who he really is, and taking a deep breath, Bob turns to you.

“Push me if you want me to stop, or pull me closer if you want me to continue. Whatever you choose, there are no hard feelings, never for you because all I have is thanks to you. Only happiness since the moment I met you.”

Bob wants to say love, but he replaces the word, his hands cradling your face before he closes the gap between you, uniting his entire being with yours as he presses his lips against yours, barely moving, eyes closed and hearts pounding, holding you there, softly, never demanding. Yet, you don't push him away when the confusion fades away and the adrenaline of the moment intensifies as your heart spills over with every feeling hidden inside, only for him, and your hands clutch the sides of his body, the fabric of his suit creasing against your fingers.

You want to pull him and press yourself against him, all at the same time, and Bob does it, pushing you gently with his own body against the elevator wall to kiss you for real. It's a little messy and inexperienced because life robbed you two of those early years where a person discovers the mysteries of a kiss, but the starting line for learning together is drawn right there. His hands, eager to feel more, slide down your back, fingers burning every inch of exposed skin, stopping at your waist, yours traveling in response towards his face.

Hands touching, lips moving, and one of you lets out something resembling a sigh, something warm and tiny, maybe even like a low whimper.

You don't even remember or care there are agents listening on the other end of the headset until Bob pulls away, his fingers finding the device in your ear and his own with one hand before shove them deep into his pocket, breathing through parted lips close to yours.

“Do you want to go on a date with me?” He asks, light but serious.

He means it, and you chuckle sarcastically anyway, shaking your head gently, but holding him close, and he doesn't move away.

“No thanks.”

Bob chuckles because you are joking, he knows it. However, at that moment, he can see a light shining on a beautiful future together.

“You are the light of my life, honey. You really are.”

Then, Bob dives back into the addictive sweetness your lips give him, knowing his love for you would never die, no matter after being together for 6 years, 10 years, or however long he has left with you.

[sailingintothenight]

“Heart to heart.” Bob Reynolds Imagine.

Summary: You two are good, best friends, but you're also two hearts yearning to be something more. And between the small fears and the big ones inside Bob, there's a confession of love on his part, in an attempt not to lose you—not angry, not frustrated, just scared.

A/N: Hi. Thanks again for the love you've shown my other images; it means a lot! Sorry if this is not very good (about 4.5k words) I can't write constantly, and even though I feel like I'm not making progress, I like writing these stories for myself and for whoever wants to read them. English isn't my first language, so I'll correct any mistakes I find in the morning, as it's almost 5 a.m. in Peru. Thank you! Warnings: fluff with a little bit of angst. The word "addiction," "death" and "weapons," though I don't specify which ones I think(?) Sorry if I'm missing something!

[The heart monitor drew a flat line on the screen.

Everyone left, and no one bothered to turn it off when the annoying sound announcing a death filled the void.

A lifeless body remained on the stretcher in the middle of a laboratory, just an empty shell protecting a heart that didn't beat anymore, skin getting cold as some time went by. And on the other side, there was no white welcoming light, no angels singing, no more but an infinite nothing.

Until you woke up with a sharp beep whistling in your ears.]  

For some reason, the elevator's loud ding makes you shudder with memories of yesterday that threaten to cloud your mind, like a high fever pushing up painfully, but the suffocating sensation only lasts a second and is gone the next when the doors open in front of you. You take a deep breath for all the time you stopped breathing that night, your heart racing for all the time it stopped beating and that it's free now, a little wild with all the new feelings it keeps building up inside, taking them all in with cowardly bravery, especially those you're experiencing for the first time next to Bob.

“Why does a love confession have to be dramatic? The rain is almost drowning them but they are focused on their hate–love moment.”

You laugh, but the small sound is lost as you step out of the elevator, a female voice announcing through the supermarket's loudspeakers that cheeses are half their price today.

People come and go in the corridors, the air conditioning blows chilly, and the shopping cart you push out of that steel cage is half–full with kitchen utensils and some ingredients for different meals for different people and their daily struggle for a healthy coexistence, sometimes with weapons on the table next to the meat or threats to make explode their heads before the occasional dessert.

Behind you, like a colorful shadow with the loose clothes Bob wears, (navy blue and mustard) his youthful, present–day image contrasts with the hardcover of your "Pride & Prejudice" book in his hands—vintage green, delicate and elegant, with a peacock on the cover spreading its tail in a boastful yet majestic manner.

Like a connection or an experience already lived, his hand reaches forward and you push yours back, fingers recognizing each other once more before intertwining, his warmth enveloping yours in a single heartbeat. As if you were the compass of his life, (you kinda were) Bob allows himself to be guided completely blindly, staying close to you and just a step away, always just a step away but never able to close that gap.

So short, and yet, sometimes it seems infinite.

“They’re not about to drown, Bob.”

He shrugs.

“Though I must admit, the marriage proposal in the book is more intense than the one in the movie. But, I mean... would it be okay for me to confess my love for you when I’m that angry?”

My love for you. For you.

"I think they are just frustrated with each other. Maybe just scared?" You try to be calm, but like an imperceptible electric shock that is born from your bodies and is lost in the center where your hand and his remain joined, (or perhaps it is born from that nucleus and expands through every fiber of your being and Bob's) it forces you to squeeze his hand, with him doing the same at the same time. You glance over your shoulder, but his face is still hidden behind the book, deeply immersed in it. “And by the way, you're ruining my hopes of ever experiencing something like that with that question. It doesn't always have to make perfect sense, you know?”

His slowing heartbeat loses control again and starts beating fast one more time under the sound of your desire to want to experience something like that, and Bob gulps as he takes a look at you over the book.

The scene spilled out love filled with frustration, a frustration that was born in the male protagonist when he could no longer hide his desire to always, always be by Elizabeth's side. And yes, Bob knew that desire really well, so alive within him that it sometimes suffocated him when another day passed without becoming reality.

“Would you really want to experience something like this?”

You chuckle.

“Nah. In novels, you get the love of your life under the rain. In real life, you just get the flu. But for someone who doesn't understand the passion of a romance from that era, you seem pretty absorbed in it.”

Bob shrugs again, but in an act of bravery, he dares to slide his fingers through yours in a gentle caress before stilling them again—another subtle way of professing his love, even if he felt that you didn't notice it at all.

“You love this novel, and I just want to know more about the things you love.”

Bob was good, too good and nice and kind, because he cared about the team (even when his head told him no one cared about him) and you. You could see the kindness in his eyes when he really got to know the others—after he stopped to frown in confusion every time someone on the team complimented him. Then, Bob really understood that he was important to the rest—in that moment, you knew Bob would go to war without a weapon for them, his body like a human shield, even if it cost him his own life.

Because behind his fears and insecurities lay his undeniable and indelible desire to protect people, his people.

You among them. Especially you.

With the violence of a hurricane, his affection for you and the way he tried to take care of you slipped through his fingers like sand, impossible to stop it from becoming something more, something bigger and more meaningful.

You tried to convince yourself that you were nothing more than a piece of calm for him when his world became harrowing, but there was something in his gaze that screamed into the silence, because suddenly, you were no longer just that calm in the sad moments: you were his happiness when everything was fine, too. And like a magnetic force, useless to resist, Bob leaned toward you, and you mimicked his action in a soft way.

You were the one he sought out first during meals, two hours during movies just to see you, just to steal glances from you when you weren't looking at him.

Like two parallel lines, you and Bob never seemed to meet in a deep way until you did for the first time, just to get to know each other slowly, and you filled the empty space with an invitation. Do you want to do something maybe? Read, play board games, learn how to make those 5–minute recipes from the internet that didn't always turn out well. Not pretty to look at, but edible. You showed him kindness, a certain sweetness that always surrounded you like an aura, painted in some cheerful color that he began to reflect even in the clothes he wore.

You were kind, or at least you always tried to be. And living together only deepened that affection, transforming it into something stronger, more lasting, but just as silent.

Now, the book is put down when you stop, side by side with him as his face turns into an expression of true confusion.

“What are we doing in the stuffed animal section?”

The corridor is tinged with colors, the shapes of different animal figures on each floor of the shelves.

“Remember I told you I was going to give you a gift?”

His shrewd gaze shifts from you to the huge pile of smiling, colorful stuffed octopuses in front of him, then back to you.

“I don’t like where this is going.”

“Hey. Don't worry, I’m just going to buy one of these for you.” You pick one up at random, a blue octopus with a round head and short tentacles. “They’re reversible plushies, see? There are only happy slash angry ones, but we can make them work with the me–so–sad Bob that comes around sometimes. How about that? Don’t you think they’re adorable?”

Bob keeps his lips together, a flat expression in his incandescent attempt not to be defeated by you and your cuteness. He really loved the way you teased him (never cruel) but always with some silly joke that made him smile.

Your jokes always lightened the weight that came with his emotional exhaustion, the one that used to come suddenly but that seemed ready to settle inside him forever, until you arrived and brought with you a warmth that drove away the cold in his mind and body.

“I don't like you.”

He’s joking now, you know it: you know he likes you, that he loves the way you always stay with him, never leaving because Bob doesn’t want you to leave him, never. The problem was that that love had already settled in his chest and found every empty corner of his body to fill it with your laughter and the happiness in your eyes.

Bob didn’t feel like falling in love with you, but rather like feeling high, in a good way, finally, with overwhelming nerves and also with the calm you made him feel, next to the butterflies and the electricity on his skin everytime he touched you.

A new kind of addiction. A good one.

Every day, he continued crossing a bumpy road in his path to heal, and although no one knew how to look at the stars for the exact moment of his fall, Bob knows now that, by your side, everything would be just a stumble, a small slip before keep going.

“What do you say, love?”

Silence again, a little longer as his body, which had been inert, shudders with that word he had forgotten, love, the one he had banished from his life when he declared he would never experience anything like that.

For you, he was that word full of meaning, and for him, you were that love that Bob wanted to give back to you. Even without having anything, Bob knows that he would give you the whole world without you asking for it, just in exchange for being your only love. The only one, just like that endless love hidden between the pages of the book.

Now, you gently push the stuffed animal across his face, the fabric tickling his nose.

“I’m not saying yes.” Bob laughs, a little as he pulls himself away, and the sound is light like the joy he continues to experience every day, and somewhat deep like his voice. “But will they have one in purple?”

And you laugh, openly, the sound filling his ears and his entire body, soul, and heart.

Love, something Bob had lacked for so long that he couldn’t even remember what it felt like, and suddenly, so quickly that it destabilized his poor attempt at keeping his world on balance, you had come to his life with that feeling in your hands to fill those blanks inside him, every empty space.

“Let’s get one for Yelena, Ava, and the others. Let’s bet on who destroys theirs first.”

Bob laughs with you before heading to the register to pay, and with two bags in his hand when everything is done, you receive a text from Yelena.

Could you please bring your butts back here? 🙄 I'm tired of hearing Dad ramble on about the 'importance' of having the talk with his kids, especially since the only ones in this house eating each other with their eyes are you and Bob.

“Who's eating what?”

You press the phone to your chest, your heart cruelly skipping a few beats in fright.

“Nothing. Let's go.”

Bob frowns, blinking in confusion as he opens the front door for you, mingling with the people coming and going on the street.

Everyone knows it, everyone in the team could see the love in Bob's and your nervous gazes, and how that nervousness would transform into absolute calm when you finally lock eyes with the other. A type calmness that resembles the wild waves of the sea only after they reached the shore to become a gentle caress.

You two were like a tangible confirmation that love really existed (that perhaps the wait in the shadows had been worth it because after a lifetime of painful experiences, it had all culminated in knowing each other), with a scorching heat in his golden cheeks as a result, which you usually soothed with a clumsy agility before the others noticed.

“So... about the love confession in the rain...” Bob clears his throat, voice threatening to crack with an emotion that, somehow, without ever having experienced it before, sets his soul alight as well.

“Well, I think sometimes we associate rain with an emotional release where you're able to let out everything you feel, you know? Like in the book, Mr. Darcy can't hold his feelings for Elizabeth anymore, and those feelings kept building up over time until he had to pour them out because they couldn't fit in his chest by then, although that didn't turn out so well for him…” You chuckle, staring straight ahead as your mind projects the words from the book and the scene from the movie, moments you remember too well. But so immersed in yourself, you miss the way Bob looks at you, eyes fixed on you as he can clearly see, even in the gray weather, a glimmer of happiness on your face. “The rain makes it dramatic…passionate, I guess. But it's just a scene in a book, Bob, it's not that big a deal.”

With that same magnetic force that always draws his eyes to you, Bob follows your every move, the tiny furrow of your brows under the weight of your concentration, the twist of your lips, and everything in between before you look back at him.

In an instant, he looks away fast so as not to drown in his own feelings for you, which also threaten to spill over the edge of his heart every time you two talked about love.

“Do you think that... maybe a broken person can also love without hurting?”

A sad expression tries to spread across your face, but you fight bravely to maintain an encouraging one instead.

Life had been a nightmare for Bob, so unfair that it was hard to believe such things had happened to a child (like something out of fiction, from the most twisted mind), but they were real and they happened, and all the experiences he had lived through forged him and broke him at the same time. Bob was wounded, both physically and emotionally, so battered that now he was still terrified of feeling good, big things. Of feeling how simple (complex too) and beautiful love was.

Bob was summer, and he was winter too, different versions of every season, all at the same time sometimes. He could be like a storm of nature that threatened to devastate everything in its path, but amidst that destructive force, there always lay some kind of warmth and a fervent desire to stop everything before he hurts, just to be good, kind, a true gentleman amidst his occasional clumsiness and his sass to laugh at you and the others—Bob knew how to love, and he deserved to be loved deeply, too.

He deserved the world, only the good version of it.

“We're all a little broken, or so I think. Of course, some much more than others unfortunately, but maybe, over time, some people just learned to smooth the sharp edges inside them so they don't cut themselves or those they love, you know what I mean? So they can love without fear of hurting.”

Bob glances at you, eyes narrowed thoughtfully, but there's a genuine smile plastered across his face.

He felt it, clear as day, deep in his broken soul (sometimes sharp as glass) a deep love for you, exactly like in the stories of yesteryear trapped in the books that you love and that Bob read to continue memorizing you. He felt that love for you in the way his wounded heart still beat for a chance, in the way his whole body vibrated when he was by your side, and though he didn't dare call it by its true name out loud, Bob knew what it was—it was love.

It came with some adrenaline, yes, with some anxiety even, but instead of crushing his heart, that love caressed his soul so gentle that he wanted more and more of it every day. More of you, all of you.

“Why are you so smart, huh?”

“I have my moments of immense wisdom.” You chuckle, making him laugh with you.

But just for a second, either of you looks away from the other. Why do you threaten to lose yourself in his eyes and in all the beauty you can see in them? Bob always looks at you with adoration, always has since he met you, as if you were a part of him, as if you were the most important thing in his life. Everything that actually matters for him.

Now, Bob opens the building's door for you, letting you in first, walking beside you through the luxurious, polished tile lobby.

“Do you want to watch your favorite movie again? It's my turn to choose anyway.”

You laugh, somewhat mischievously.

“You're going to make the others leave the room.”

Bob smiles to himself, a nervous feeling tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Doesn't sound bad at all.”

However, his timid response is overwhelmed beneath the confidence of Patrick, one of Val's associates, who calls your name while walking from the lobby’s sofa and toward you.

“(Y/N), hi.” He smiles.

Blonde, with green eyes like the cat you once had, and dressed in a shiny, satin–like gray suit that looks too expensive and kinda slippery. He’s handsome, but his flirting is too direct, and during the few times you spoke to him, it was like dodging a slap that would eventually hit you hard. His self–confidence was endearing at times, but sometimes it was overpowering and not at all subtle.

Behind you, Bob tenses when their eyes meet, his shoulders so stiff it hurts, just like his frown.

“Hi, Bobby.”

“Just Bob.” You and he say at the same time, your voices mingling with a hint of bitterness, but Patrick nimbly ignores your protest.

For a moment, you hear him ramble on as well.

Between words fired at the speed of bullets, you manage to hear about his promotion, well–deserved, though it’s only an attempt at boasting, and it flashes before your eyes and splatters a little in Bob’s direction. Seconds pass quickly, but the sound of his voice becomes impossible to understand when, for an instant, it is abruptly cut off when something breaks in the evening sky with an intense emotion and the rain starts falling, so resounding and raw that it scares you.

Your body shakes slightly, something that only Bob notices, but like instinct, or like a force that pushes him towards you, his hand finds yours and he holds it to calm the surprise that crossed your body.

Maybe that emotional release was true after all.

You say goodbye to Patrick after a short while, letting go of Bob's hand, and stepping into the elevator that he holds open for you.

“Can we pretend that never happened?” You ask when the doors close, but he lets out a laugh, a hollow sound.

“What never happened exactly?”

You can feel it right there, that chasm that used to separate you by a step, now yawning wide in the floor.

Bob has to swallow the lump in his dry throat as he feels a stabbing pain settle in the center of his body, a sensation so violent it brought him to the brink of nausea, like the memory of another needle sinking into his skin and injecting a kind of serum that promised to make him invincible—a cruel joke because right now, he feels as the weakest, like he is about to lose everything again, to lose you forever.

The possibilities of losing you always came down to one thing: to a person who would take you away from him, someone better, someone steady, normal, not just another shadow on the ground like he felt sometimes.

Bob rises higher and higher in the elevator, but sinking into that world of pain that was always cold and wild, dark and terrifying that threatens to drown him in waves of hatred and self–loathing for never being enough, nor to have the courage to fight for you. But remaining in the void—there was something addictive about it, too, simpler than trying and fail, because sometimes, lingering in the same place was easier than starting over again on that too–steep hill to reach even a glimmer of a mirage, a mockery of the life Bob could have next to you, before pushing him back to the bottom to start over.

His spirit falters, because the enemy in his mind still speaks in whispers that could sometimes be deafening.

The elevator opens, but the abyss has already split the earth in two by the time he leaves that steel box first.

“I’m going to… wash my hands.”

Bob drops the bags on the dining room table, small under the confused stares of the others as he walks away.

“What the hell happened to him?” Walker frowns, Bob so painfully small that everyone can see it clearly.

Yelena mimics John’s action, her gaze settling on you, but the unflattering expressions on the faces of the group scattered around the dining room are a new kind of pang in your heart the moment you stop there, and it’s like a needle going straight in, so violently you feel your skin breaking.

“He’s not coming back, is he?”

You shake your head, not because you’re saying yes to Yelena's question, but because your exhaustion and frustration are about to spill over and you try to keep them inside.

“Give us a minute.”

You follow him.

Life, sometimes, happens in a single second. And for Bob and you, falling in love, too—it blossomed suddenly with the first blink, in a warm first look, with a special glow, finding a kind of magic that you had never seen before. Falling in love was as beautiful as not knowing that you are actually doing it, like navigating through unknown waters, walking through a world never before explored by anyone, an emotion that caught you two, that grew until it no longer fit in the other's body, which grew to fill the void of your worlds.

But that didn't mean you two were going to be together.

You turn down the hallway and the wall on your right turns to glass, the building so high it makes you think you can fly, but not when it's raining so heavily from the other side that you can't see the path beyond.

Love is not always a game for two: sometimes, it comes with wild waves, blizzards and storms, perhaps to test your fighting spirit, feelings and courage. How badly do you want to be with him? How badly does he want to be with you? The tests of love make you wonder if it is worth fighting for, or if it all comes down to nipping it in the bud for your peace of mind, and his.

“Bob, hey…”

The heat of your hand on his arm, covered by a navy–blue fabric, seems to burn until it leaves a searing mark, but Bob turns anyway, first on the battlefield, without a weapon to protect him from what's imminent.

For a second, his blue eyes are like an ocean too dangerous to swim in as they stare at you relentlessly for only a heartbeat, a clear warning to stay away, like crystal–clear waters but fill with sharks on the prowl. Only for a second, though, until his eyes really focus on you, his mind sending out the command that the person in front of him is really you, and in that instant, the wall of protection falls and his gaze softens, it becomes kind, and somewhat bright—not because he's happy—but because of his constant fight against tears.

“I'm sorry. Can we just... please forget this ever happened and go back to who we are?”

Panic hits you in a different way, with the impact of a bullet from a gun someone fired at you that night after you technically died and came back, emitting a sound like an explosion, and then all you hear is a ringing that echoes in your ears, again, an old sound from a past life you didn't want to relive.

“Okay. But what are we, Bob? Give it a name, and I promise you we'll be exactly that again.”

But Bob shakes his head, because that word, friends, is a cruel lie, and the locks of his hair fall rebelliously on each side of his forehead. In that instant, Bob feels like sinking into a blue ocean of terror as he feels his own fears behind him, next to his own guilt for always keeping quiet and never saying the things he really felt, a painful feeling in his little heart.

“I can’t. If I say that, I know I’ll really lose you.”

You swallow, but there’s no hope in your eyes as you sink into the imminent separation to come, too.

“It’s okay, Bob, really… I just think I’m tired of all this. Of the glances and the way we hold hands. Maybe being friends won’t work for us either. Not when it hurts you this much and wears me down this badly.” And right there, Bob sees you’re about to cut the subject short as if it never happened, and a light chuckle escapes from between your closed lips, a tired sound, as if you’re so exhausted from just existing next to him. A humorless laugh, just to soothe the pain that mingles with how ironic and selfish life can be. “I’ll be here, Bob, I promise I won’t leave you, ever, but I will be just at the other end, okay? because you are the one who can’t meet me halfway in this and I’m tired.”

Bob knows that a life without you would be lonely, for real this time, whether he's surrounded by a sea of ​​people or just a few others. And in a split second, he comes to the conclusion that everything else is optional: choosing to live in the void or fight even harder to break out of it and finally be free. The fate of his whole life, and what remained of it, was all a matter of choice. But losing you was not an option, because after you, there is really nothing.

“No, no, no, hey, please don’t leave.” His hands cup your face, firm but gentle, and though your first instinct is to pull away as your hands clutch at his arms, it’s Bob who moves closer, not to hold you like a prisoner, but to let you see a plea in his eyes, so heartbreaking it makes your heart race even faster. “I want to be with you, okay? I want you to be okay, and I want you to be okay with me. I want you to be happy, and I want you to be happy with me. I'm selfish, I know, and I love you. And I’m scared, too, because I never had anything, honey, and now I have you and you’re the only real and the most meaningful thing I’ve ever had my whole life. I… I’m scared of hurting you in some way, but I’m more scared of you never let me looking into your pretty eyes again or hearing your funny laugh. You’re the only one who can pull me out of this void, but I promise I’ll fight harder to get out of there on my own, okay? Just don’t leave me. Please, don’t go.”

You gulp the knot in your throat, unable to breath correctly, and the time it takes you to decide seems for Bob like a lifetime away from you.

Questions and doubts pile up in your mind, so jumbled you can't understand them all, but you've always believed that the serum in your veins wouldn't let you go that night for a reason, just because perhaps that second chance at living life to the fullest was always in Bob's soul, in his heart where his love for you rested, waiting for you during the years you were apart from each other, making you fight a little harder to be finally together.

Until it all came down to this moment.

So you nod slowly, and it takes Bob a second to know that what he has before his eyes isn't an illusion induced by a drug or a serum—that, finally, everything is real.

It's tenderly awkward, the way he gets closer to you to taste the love on your lips with a brush of his against them, closed eyes but full of hope, eager to enjoy this new type of freedom, because at this very moment, a door that will guide you to a new world has opened and you’re excited to discover more, a new stage when you two can hold hands freely, kissing every time you feel like it.

At one point, in a new slow but meaningful rhythm, Bob's hands move away from your face to snake his arms around your waist, your hands on his cheeks now, with him pulling you toward him as he presses against you at the same time.

There's no space between you now, finally face to face, chest to chest, heart to heart.

The way his lips moves on yours is gentle but intense after a few seconds later, a somewhat desperate attempt to recover all the time and opportunities lost because of fear. There is a low sound from the back of his throat, a tiny sound containing a hint of frustration that he finally let’s go after having kept his feelings quiet for so long, maybe even with a touch of lust too.

Time stops, but the rain and you two don't.

At least until Alexei's voice, coming from the dining room, interrupts the moment and makes you two chuckle.

“Who bought therapeutic stuffed animals?! Kids, bring your best weapons, it's time for a family contest!”

[sailingintothenight]

“The girl in his eyes.” Bob Reynolds Imagine.

Summary: Time together created feelings in the two of you. One night, the group tries to get him and you to talk about them, with John urging Bob to talk about "the girl in his eyes." And that creates a big misunderstanding.

A/N: Just a kind of short imagine (around 4K words) cause I'm new here and I don't want to go on too long and bore you all in case this is boring. I'm sorry if there are any grammatical errors. But something I always knew but I accepted today is that some of us write the kind of love we'd like to receive, right? The kind we sometimes can't find, though other did find, I hope. However, in the meantime, don't forget to love yourself please. As a warning, a little angst(?) but with a happy ending! and the word "drug." I think that's all, thanks!

“Lena, did you see (Y/N)—”

The last letter of your name drops to a whisper as Bob stops in front of the long couch, Yelena’s finger pressed against her own lips to silence him, a potato chip sandwiched between her other two before she pops it into her mouth, the bag in her lap, and her full attention back on the phone in her other hand.

She’s sitting diagonally, her back between the cushion behind her and the armrest, her left knee bent down as it falls off the edge to the floor, but it’s the other one that has Bob pressing his lips together as he films this version of you with his bluest gaze, the memory searing itself into his mind. You’re there, asleep, lying sideways on the comfy, fluffy cushions, part of your head on the outside of Yelena’s right thigh, a front strand of your hair now falling over your closed eyelids and the border of your nose.

And it's soft for Bob, that image of you, and overwhelming only in the way it forces him to swallow the lump forming in his throat as his feelings pile up inside.

“You need anything, Bob?” Yelena's pointed gaze moves from the paused TikTok video (a cat staring at the camera, looking like a flashbulb fired in right in its face), chuckling as the animal's expression still lingers in her mind, and frozen on her phone—the white feline silhouette and wide–open eyes—she shows it to him. “Have you watched this video?”

Bob nods, and the sound of him trying to clear his throat (so his words don't falter mid–sentence as he knows they will) accompanies the action.

“Yeah, (Y/N) sent it to me a few days ago.”

“It's so funny.” She laughs softly, and her full attention is on to the device again, finger sliding across the screen after saving it to favorites, bringing another chip to her mouth. “That cat is so silly.”

But like a cry, Bob whimpers softly, the tiniest sound in the silence.

“You’re dropping crumbs in her hair, Lena.”

Yelena stops, her gaze sliding from her phone to him and then back down to you, and her slightly oily hand catches the crispy piece that had gotten caught in the strands.

“Relax, Bob. This is the price (Y/N) is paying for using me. She knows it. We shook hands. Now, do you need anything? Or someone, maybe?”

There’s a hint of healthy mockery in her smile, a silent challenge in her tone of voice that’s urging him to answer only with the truth everyone already sees, but the featherweight of her joke feels like lead in his chest and in his nervous hands, covered by a layer of clothing one size too big for Bob.

“No, just… I finished reading a book and thought (Y/N) would be here ready to—”

But there was nothing afterward, just lying there together, in the same bed before sleeping, (on extreme sides so as not to cross boundaries but to keep each other company before loneliness settled in every room, when it sometimes forced Bob to wake up with a gasp and a foggy mind filled with traumatic experiences) talking about books or things.  

But perhaps it was the words left unspoken between you two before sleeping (hidden among the ones you did say: goodnight and sleep well), the ones you two avoided saying and pushed aside, along with the feelings that lived dormant in the darkness and accumulated inside each other—the things you both were dying to say but neither of you dared for fear that the already solid pillars of your friendship would crumble because of something as unstable as love.

Yelena waits a second longer for him to say something, but there is no response from the other end.

“The team and I were talking about you tw—”

Bob knows perfectly what it is, the favorite topic on everyone's mouths.

“You guys talk a lot, maybe you should shut up for a while. Silence is good sometimes.”

She rolls her eyes, an exasperated look following her action.

“Help me out here for a while, will you? I have a cramp and need to stretch.”

Bob swallows, eyes slightly wide at the idea of feeling that kind of closeness with you, the kind that comes so quickly it makes him dizzy and ignites the heat in his cheeks sharply. The warmth of your hand, he felt it before, many times, a casual or intentional touch, and it was scorching (like when the supermarket was crowded and the crush of people unnerved him sometimes, for example, so your fingers would close around his and his hand would squeeze yours), it was as if it could ignite a forest fire inside him, so wild it seemed it could burn everything… but everything bad, of course—like the enemy in his thoughts, his insecurities, his fears, his nightmares.

He didn't even want to think about what it would feel like to feel the heat of your cheek.

But he did.

Bob had imagined it several times already. In a burst of bravery, with his heart beating faster than a drug high, his thumb would slide down your soft cheek, fingers hooking gently around the edge of your jaw.

“Bob?”

“What?”

Yelena drops her things into the armrest, her hand cupping the bottom of your head.

“Put your leg here, Bob.”

He shakes his head fast, his own heartbeat increasing with the fear and excitement that mix, so close that the line between them blurs, and his somewhat messy, wild hair moves with him.

“I don’t think—”

“Three…”

“What are you—?”

“Two…”

“Lena—”

“One.”

Bob takes a step forward, hands outstretched to stop her without a word, a silent plea in his eyes for her to do nothing, even though Yelena hadn't moved an inch and wasn't planning to either. And with a deep inhalation and exhalation, a failed attempt to fill his lungs with cold air and soothe the heat settling in his chest, Bob switches places with her, even more gentle as you shift in your sleep, your hands close to your face and your cheek now on his leg, covered by his gray sleep pants, but which seem like the finest fabric in the world when Bob feels your heat radiate through your skin until it meets his, every nerve ending.

"You're adorable, Bob." Yelena laughs quietly, but there's not a hint of cruel mockery in her words—never with him—and she leans back on the second–long sofa, phone in her hand again. "Like those boys in her books. Such a gentleman. I know why she likes you so much."

Likes you, being in love—two different scenarios if the feelings on either side were unequal. Either a chasm separated those two feelings, or the first could be the path to get to the other.

“Did I do something wrong to make (Y/N) not like me anymore then?”

The weight of self–doubt about a topic as distant and still foreign to him as love (next to his insecurities) try to bring down the confidence Bob was still trying to build little by little, day by day, and Yelena can see them shining clearly in his gaze as he finally holds hers, even in the dim living room light at night, searching for an answer he can't find within himself, not when there's a thick fog between the truth and him.

“What do you mean?”

Bob shrugs.

“(Y/N) is always here with me, but absent at the same time, as if something has suddenly changed between us.”

“You’re overthinking things, Bob.”

There’s affection in Yelena’s words, and they are warm in their attempt to reassure him of a truth hidden among his fears, but he lets out a small sound, something like a laugh without a hint of humor. Just an empty noise.

“Overthinking sometimes allows you to see the smallest things.”

“Like what?”

Bob can see it in his sometimes fragmented mind, every moment together and the way you changed, slowly, with him always next to you but finding a bit of solitude where there was only company, a little touch of emptiness when there was always only life in your eyes everytime you looked at him.

He doesn't know exactly how to explain any of that, and Yelena nods thoughtfully.

"Why don't you try to think about what exactly you did then? We have a while until the losers arrive with dinner. I'm going to be here with you, but ignoring you at the same time, okay?"

Catching his slight nod, Yelena turns on the couch, face close to the cushion and her phone in between, indistinct sounds from the videos, set to low volume, floating around him so the absolute silence doesn't completely consume him with the severity of his thoughts.

Bob lowers his head and his gaze rests on you, listening to the sound of your slow breathing as, in your sleep, your body relaxed, at peace. The curve of your lips is tempting, and he lifts the hand resting in his lap to push that strand of hair away from your face and place it where it belongs.

There, above your eyebrow and with nothing covering it now, Bob can see the only physical reminder of the fall of a whole building when your self–control overflowed at the edge of your anger. And like a tiny crack in a surface, the small scar has a slightly different hue than your skin, but it was an imperfection that only makes you even more perfect, more real, a whole person and not a cruel dream from which Bob always wakes up before reaching.

Just like that, your presence in his life became a need.

You were the proof that he was still alive after the unbearable pain, (knowing all have been worth it because he met you) and that his heart hadn't turned to tin. He was still breathing, his heart was still beating, and for the first time, he'd finally felt the nervous tingle, the fluttering of being in love.

Love, so silent you don't even know you have it until you're full of it.

Love, a silent feeling in a room full of euphoria, and at the same time, it's like an alarm that goes off and no one but him and you can hear.

To be close to you, with you, every day, that’s all Bob wanted at the beginning. But almost selfishly, the passage of time together made him greedy, wanting more from you, a different smile than you had for others, a new kind of laugh, escalating until all his thoughts were about you, daydreaming about how to shake off his title of friend and crown himself with a different one.

It was a silent plea, a hope. It became a desire that made him company through his sleepless nights…

“You need to be direct with her.” Alexei had said a few weeks ago in the kitchen, when the hands of the clock showed it was very late at night. “Your words must be deep enough to cut like a knife in the heart.”

Bob didn’t even know how he’d ended up in that secret meeting, when all he’d wanted to do was grab a late–night snack from the fridge to leave on your nightstand after you’d joked, somewhat embarrassingly, that you did that sometimes. But, confused and slightly scared, his eyebrows furrowed in surprise as the rest of the men stared at the red guardian and his constantly failing attempt to explain himself properly.

“Maybe not so direct.” Walker shook his head, the usual mocking tone in his voice. “How about you just tell her in small hints instead of trying to draw blood? You can hint that you like her, but without actually saying I like you.”

Bob blinked, confused, the information coming in too fast as he tried to take it all in.

“Like what?”

Bucky wag his head softly.

“Ask her to teach you how to do things you know she likes. She will feel that you are interested in her.”

And that was exactly what Bob did.

Now, when the doors of the elevator open and some really loud voices pierce the room, Bob’s natural protective instinct, (the one that was born in him the first time he took care of his father after witnessing his first blackout) makes his hand, a second after the resounding sound, move fast to press it against your ear, blocking out the laugh coming from the men.

As a reflex, your body moves in your sleep, but your awakening is less abrupt with his help.

You get up slowly, your mind and gaze blurred as Yelena leaves the living room, patting Bob on the shoulder on her way to the dining room. The edges of your gaze darken after rubbing your eyes with the palms of your hands, the pleasant sting creeping around as you chuckle.

“Did I sleep so much I forgot I was lying on your leg?”

Bob chuckles too, and an invisible thread pulls the corner of his lip upward.

“You slept so long that Lena’s leg went numb. Just like mine.”

You let out a surprised laugh, your body slumping back against the backrest.

“Sorry.”

Bob shrugs, casually, as if the contact with your warmth hadn't just destabilized his heartbeat.

“It’s okay, you know I’m always here for you.”

“Kids, dinner!”

Alexei’s voice fills the room.

At the same time, as a reflection that you both can’t avoid in time when instinct wins, Bob and you move your bodies to look over your shoulders, heads turning in the same direction, finding yourselves at what your mother used to call, at the perfect distance of a kiss. Bob is so close you can almost drink his breath, stopping yours when his blue gaze holds yours for an eternal second that finish too quickly but that feels endless too, watching each other's eyes before you both separate, looking forward as a nervous feeling fills your heart.

You walk away first, finding an empty spot next to Ava.

“Dad, will you stop calling us to the table like we’re real kids?” Yelena complains, sitting at one of the heads of the food–laden table as Bob sits in the chair across from you. “Someone here is older than life.”

The rest chuckle, not too loudly.

“But you’re my kids. Now, let’s have dinner like family.”

At some point, there is a back—and—forth conversation around, about a past relationship for some of them, somehow empty, never too deep because talking once about the future they hoped and never got to feel is enough for everybody, but always accompanied by soft laughter that makes the tower feel like a real home after some lost their love or never had it in the first place.

“So… what’s your type of man, (Y/N)?” Yelena chuckles, and the sound is full of her genuine affection for you, but it hides too her desire to steer the conversation in a way that Bob can be somehow included in your words. “You’re always reading so much, so you must have a type. Maybe someone here is just like that.”

The others feign innocence, but the possibility stirs in Bob’s body with a heartbeat that’s too fast, eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion, in expectation, and with a certain weight of worry about not hearing a promising answer.

“Who?” Ava laughs also knowingly, with a certain disdain too at thinking of the others and you that way, and her finger points at Alexei. “Too old.” Then at Bucky. “Way too old.” Finally, at John. “Too much of an idiot. That leaves just Bob.”

Bob swallows at the sound of his name, so abruptly that the food in his mouth makes his expression twist slightly in pain.

The others, expectant, continue waiting.

You clear your throat, your heart pounding against your chest as if it were seeking its own freedom and a way out of a situation that seems unlikely to end well.

“The usual, I guess, just… a nice guy.”

“Oh, come on, that’s not fun.” John grins, malice bubbling up like he needs to embarrass someone at least once a day to survive. “You could be more specific, like Bob. Right now there is a girl in his eyes so he could tell us what she’s like, describe her so much until we’re bored.”

Bob's gaze meets yours, barely a second before you look away when Bucky speaks.

“I think that’s enough with the jokes, huh?”

But then, to everyone’s surprise and his own, Bob speaks, and with a touch of nervousness in his voice bordering on anxiety, he starts talking about her. Just a little, not a lot, not quite to the point of boring the rest of you.

And you listen, your heart a little cold around the edges. Like a brutal change in the season, the tempest of his words threatens to hurt you without hesitation or guilt, but you listen, because you always tried to be a good friend to Bob, a person he could trust when he didn't even trust his own shadow. And even when he was always full of doubt about himself, about the truth, he seemed to trust your voice more than the enemy within, the one that whispered only cruelty. Even when he became cloudy, Bob would always pull the blanket off his head when you asked him to, because your mere presence was always a promise for him that the sadness would all end eventually.

For all those long months together, it had been you, and between heartbeats, it had always been him. Until you confused things, apparently.

Until the girl in his eyes arrived.

And it hurts, it burns to think about it, that reality that creeps up on you, that of always being just a friend. And it's like having an empty stomach, an empty mind, an empty heart.

When he's finished, you excuse yourself to leave the room with a smile and your head held high, leaving the deathly silence behind and missing the way Bob follows you with his eyes, even after you disappear.

“I think we blew this.” Ava lets out a small sound, like a worried laugh at possible defeat as she looks at the rest.

“Did you have to go on so long, genius?” A semi–hard object hits the side of Bob's head and bounces off it, but without erasing his terrified and now confused expression as he looks at Bucky. “We told you you had to flatter her a little, not write her a whole Shakespearean sonnet.”

Yelena frowns.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Bucky looks away from Bob, his brow still deep furrowed as he stares at Yelena.

“Nothing. Some weeks ago we told Bob to try to hint to (Y/N) that he likes her without telling her he likes her.”

“And?”

“And nothing else. (Y/N) came into the kitchen that night to get something from the fridge, and the conversation ended there.”

“Did she hear you talking about this ingenious plan?” Ava’s hard gaze landed on Bob, and he blinked, innocent eyes set in a look of terror. “Did (Y/N) hear you talking about her? or did she hear you being told by the smartest men in this place how to get a random girl?”

As night fell and sent the rest of the team to sleep, the endless talk finished when you had entered the kitchen, a soft sound from your throat announcing your presence first.

“What are you doing up so late, darling?”

“Just came to get something to eat.” You replied to Bucky, and Bucky’s gaze rested on you all the way until you closed the fridge door. “Sorry to interrupt your boys’ sleepover.”

“It’s not a boys’ sleepover, (Y/N), please.” John whined softly, deeply offended.

“Men’ sleepover is better.” Alexei smiled, and you laughed with him, his innocence fluttering as the others sighed in defeat.

“Of course, my mistake. Sleep well, everybody.”

“You too.”

The others' voices were an echo, except for Bob's, lips closed as your eyes fell on him in your farewell, just for a second.

He never said your name, and neither did the others. But from then on, there was only half a life in your eyes, whereas before they had always been full of it every time you looked at him.

And the seconds of understanding end when Bob stands up, so fast he pushes his chair back with a dry sound against the polished floor. His own breathing becomes labored, but he tries to calm his anxious heart all the way down the hall as he understood your change—You had taken a step back, trying to respect the boundaries between your friendship (that sometimes threatened with overflow) and his affection for that girl.

“You always have to ruin things—”

“Not this time. Not with her.” Bob murmurs softly, and when he finally reaches your room, your door is always open for anyone who wants to enter and exist, and that's a mixed relief for him. “(Y/N)?”

You look over your shoulder, your body facing away from him as you continue to sit in front of your laptop on the desk.

“Yes?”

“Can I come in?”

“Of course.”

Bob closes the door behind him, barely making a noise as he ventures inside, but feeling the place like untapped territory even though he's been there since his life merged with yours. The sound of his sneakers on the floor is almost nonexistent, but it feels heavy like lead in his pockets as Bob sits next to you, listening to the almost ghostly volume of the video playing in front of you.

“You okay, Bob?”

Your attention is on the screen and your voice is a whisper, but it is an overwhelming force that hits his chest, even harder than bullets in the past.

“Are you?”

You chuckle.

“I asked you first.”

Bob hums a reply.

“You wanna lie down for a while before going to bed? I finished a new book today and I know I can convince you to read it.”

You shake your head, but there's a slight, honest smile on your lips.

“I'm not sleepy yet. Maybe later or tomorrow.”

Neither of you says anything for a moment, your eyes straight ahead like Bob's gaze lingers on your profile. Bright eyes, soft skin.

But Bob knew that you too were still learning to use your voice just like him, to find the right words—those always hidden—so scattered across different galaxies, so far from each other that you two still struggled to put them together to say something eloquent, to say what you both truly wanted to say, what you two truly felt. Silence had always been your ally and an imposition for him. And that had been his curse throughout his life, always in solitude, until it created his inability to say what he really wanted to say.

But not today, not ever again.

“We’re feeling a little much apathetic today, huh?”

It’s not an accusation, but his tone tinges with his sassiness, the kind he used to make direct comments and respond to other people’s jokes, to John’s sarcasm and sometimes Bucky’s condescension. Today, however, his words make you frown sharply as you turn to look at him.

“Excuse me?” His gaze threatens to falter and leave yours when you narrow your eyes at him, but Bob stands firm when what he's said is free to the world, saying out loud what he wants to say instead of letting it perish inside and ducking his head to pretend it never happened. “You're quite bold sometimes, Bob.”

“And you’re quite clueless.” He smiles, softly, nervous but firmly planted on the floor, his heart pounding in his chest. The electricity, the tingling at his fingertips as the result of this brave act is addictive, like a drug, but ultimately a healthy one, one he wants to get hooked on. “I was talking about you, silly. How can you be so smart and not realize that every word I said was about you, (Y/N)?”

Your frown relaxes more, and the gnawing feeling of annoyance at his forwardness is replaced by confusion. His hands cup the sides of your chair, and Bob pulls you closer, gently, not roughly, taking in the way your body has stopped tensing, being brave when he sees your eyes light up with affection again, completely—a little scared around the edges, but finally not halfway.

“When I asked you to teach me how to braid your hair, it was for you—for that loose braid you always have. Your mom did it for you, didn’t she? Every day. You told me.” You nod, feeling the heat from his knees radiating against yours. “When I asked you to teach me how to dance to those old ballads Bucky loves so much, I didn’t do it to dance with someone else. I did it because I saw the way he spun you around one night and saw you laugh, and I wanted so badly to be him that I could feel my body vibrate. The things I said in the kitchen, about her hair and her laugh and everything—it was all about you, okay? Can you believe me? Please?”

You nod again, and Bob can see hope in your eyes, right next to that desire of a soul crying out for the exact same thing as his, silent but fervent.

There, his hands cup your face, soft skin over slightly calloused fingers on your cheeks and the underside, thumbs gliding to make his dreams (asleep and awake) come true, a touch so tender you feel nothing but warmth—his face so close his breath mingles with yours.

Your own hands clutch at his arms, searching for something to hold you steady as well.

“I’m sorry. I… I got scared. This is my first time feeling like this.”

“I know. And I’m so sorry, I never meant to make you feel like there was someone else because ever since I met you, it’s always been you. But if you still have any doubt, you are the girl in my eyes.”

Bob leans forward, closing finally that small space between his existence and yours.

And behind his closed eyelids, just like yours, the darkness ceases to be terrifying and becomes pleasurable, for the first time in his life, a place where Bob would stay if that means he can keep kissing you like this. Time, life itself, the past and future are suspended, unimportant and in an eternal pause in the long seconds his lips linger and move with yours. It’s like an unspoken conversation between you two, a confession of love without even having to say those three magical words. It’s a connection, strength and gentleness, melting away any fear or doubt. The kiss is soft like him, a little shy like you, but real and perfect after every moment you imagined him in your head.

And in a synchronized movement, the two of you separate, breathing in each other's air.

“I'll be back, okay? I won't be long.” He whispers, his lips touch yours with the promise of many more shared kisses, before Bob stands.

You nod automatically, a second before you understand his words.

“Where are you going?”

Bob stops halfway across the room and turns around, those strands of hair on either side of his face bouncing with the movement.

“I'm going to get you some midnight snacks so you won't have to get up later, and get that book I was talking about.”

You laugh softly.

“And you're going to tell the others, aren't you?”

“No.” His shoulders slump. “Yes. I have to, honey. Lena and Ava were about to hurt me really bad.”

A nervous but genuine smile appears on that sweet face of him before Bob turns away.

[sailingintothenight]

“Love now, forever.” Bob Reynolds Imagine.

Summary: On a peaceful night between calm breaths, and a kiss before you fall asleep, Bob dares to ask you the question that has been on his mind for a while.

A/N: Don't give me any time cause I could write thousands and thousands of words about this sweet baby until I bore you all, so instead I'm leaving you this short, cheesy imagine I wrote some weeks ago. Hope you like it and excuse my bad English, please. Thank you.

The main lights are off, replaced only by the lamp on one side of the bed shedding a dark red one. The room is dark red and the world quiet. His extended arm is your pillow, a nest for your head. Bob’s chin rests on your shoulder, the bluest of his eyes filming the profile of your face. The tip of your nose, the shape of your soft lips, and the star twinkling in your eye as the two of you dive into the silence.

Love is gentle. Like his hand drawing circles on your stomach, and under your loose sweatshirt, it’s warm, it tickles you, and it makes you flex your muscles with intoxicating nerves.

Before, for Bob, there were endless nights wondering if it will ever get better? Life.

The emptiness in his uncomfortable mattress, laying in the same position, counting the non–existent cracks in the perfect ceiling in that facility. Insomnia, alert all the time, no matter how late it was, waiting still for the screams from the other side of the door and everything that it brought, even if the perpetrator of his pain as a kid became a ghost a long time ago. Memories of his desecrated childhood, they turned into nightmares in his failed attempts to fall asleep, alone, until eventually boredom and tiredness forced Bob to close his eyes, only to then repeat the cycle in which he lived for many years.

But now, love exists, and is always gentle with him.

Like the way you look at him when you turn around, with eyes full of affection, of love, as if he were a real person after having been just another object in a laboratory with empty walls. Your hand flexed up, reaching his face to caress his rosy cheek. Bob smiles softly, sweet and beautiful, a little tiredness in his eyes because it's past 1 in the morning, but always with a deep gaze as this reflects the blue of your love—light at the same time, just happy—because now Bob understands that love makes him feel lighter than a feather, and not as if he was made of lead while drowning into the sea.

Finally, his heart is at peace, because you are there, next to him, alive, a person destined to find him before he perished, finally for him not to be alone never again.

Only a slight incline separates you two, the perfect distance of a kiss away. You read that somewhere.

Then, you move forward just a little bit, gentle, his lips pursing softly to welcome yours. Bob expects a kiss every time he sees you, he hopes for it every minute of the day: when he wakes up, when he goes to sleep, and all the hours in between. And like that child who hugs his stuffed animal to his chest, determined never to let it go, he holds you in his arms, his nose brushing yours, earning a tired, soft chuckle from you that vibrates in his chest as you close your eyes.

There is always a bedtime story from your childhood before you two fall sleep, endless stories he's collected in his memory, moments he'd like to see with his own eyes, but at the same time, Bob wants nothing but to able to stop time in this new, better present to remain by your side, all night or a lifetime.

Right there, and for a while now, Bob finds himself wishing that forever with you, craving it so desperately he could feel it in his bones and flesh.

Would you say yes?

Walker calls you Mrs. Reynolds, his voice thick with mockery. But hidden among the sarcasm, John does that to nudge Bob to stop him from being so afraid to ask.

He was not a visionary, no dreamer, lacking the strength to project a future when his past was too heavy and saying tomorrow felt uncertain, so Bob always lingered in the void, with the inclement air conditioning of that secret place where he was blowing cold, like a blizzard determined to freeze his empty body. And although it’s still scary to lose you somehow, terrifying, it’s worse for him not to live by your side, a full life this time, like never before. Bob never thought about being someone’s something after hearing that he was nothing for so long, and now, he just wants to ask you if you want to marry him.

He just wants to be your husband so badly, almost greedily.

Alone, the world seemed fractured in so many parts that the pieces have no shape and no way to fit together to rejoin themselves, but with a glance from his person, a touch of your hand, a laugh, a word, a kiss, he rebuilt himself until he felt whole again. Bob is not perfect, he knows well, half–healed and still with a long way to go, but now the desire to live in the present is latent, vibrant, and Bob wanted it so much that he managed to take that desired and transform it into peace, making his nightmares disappear when he went to bed with you.

Love worked like that, because love is peace, and you are that love.

“Darling?”

Bob pulls away slightly, just enough to see your peaceful expression—eyes closed, relaxed, a calm breath.

“Uh?”

The sound between your closed lips is low but kind of pitchy, affectionate. You are far away, yet, somehow, you always linger close, present, and that small act has him smiling. Bob wants it all: the ring on your finger, his last name being yours too, so that it finally takes value and means something to him—and because it sounds just perfect next to your beautiful name—and to take the pride he’ll feel knowing you two are married.

“Will you marry me?”

Bob swallows his fear, which inevitably closes his throat, remaining in the same position, breathing slowly so as not to faint while waiting.

But the wait that seems like a lifetime only lasts one, two seconds.

“Of course.”

Your lips barely part, but the words are clear and concise, an answer to his nightly, silent prayers.

His expression falters with the overwhelming emotions that come to him, all at once, but stronger than ever, Bob breathes a nervous smile as he cradles you in his arms again and feels yours around him, knowing that eventually, faster than he thinks, his fears will go away until there is nothing left but love and happiness.

[sailingintothenight]

“Starlight.” Bob Reynolds Imagine.

Summary: Following John Walker's advice, Bob decides to confess his feelings for you… to you.

A/N: Hi. First of all, thanks for the love on my first Bob imagine "A safe heaven". Secondly, I'm still getting to know Taylor Swift's music so I can't really call myself a fan, but like Jake Peralta said: she makes me feel things. She makes all of us feel things, Jake! So I quoted one of her songs here :) My first language is Spanish and I'm still learning English, so please excuse me if there are any grammatical errors. Thank you! And I think I messed up saying you were an Avenger, but the timeline is confusing so let's pretend it's okay, please?

Warning: nothing, just Bob being a cutie, the usual hehe

“Is (Y/N) back yet, Lena?”

“You mean (Y/N) and Bucky?”

“Yeah, right. Them.”

“No. Not yet—”

“Oh...”

Bob slumps down onto the couch, pulling his disappointed look away from Yelena and her emotion detector within her gaze, which could detect his emotions in a heartbeat.

“I just know they’re about to. In 10 minutes, I think.”

But it was the talented Taylor Swift that once said: you’ve got a smile that can light up this whole town, and now, Bob’s smile behind the milkshake he holds with two hands (not a big one, just adorable and shy), fighting his own nerves, could light up the whole world. Through small but significant moments, pieces of happiness that he has been collecting with you, Bob had begun to regain his own light, little by little, with them making his eyes bright again, like tiny twinkling stars after his life had been darker than an undiscovered galaxy—still and silent, without a light source, nonexistent until someone notices its presence.

And that's what you'd done from the beginning: seeing him and his warm personality.

Always warm like the edge of his heart even in the midst of his storms, with you managing to look directly into the core of his overwhelming fears, the most hidden and the most obvious ones. And without meaning to, without seeking it, Bob had found himself leaning toward you, finding refuge in your inexhaustible source of love when he felt a little down, a love that you always showered upon him in many ways, with a word of empathy or a physical display of affection, like the loving way you pushed a lock of his hair aside, (one of his rebellious locks that sometimes rested in front of his eyes) even though it always fell back almost into place, making you laugh.  

But when everything was alright, life was even better between back–and–forth conversations or the deepest ones, like the days and nights you two spent together to decipher if ghosts were real or solving the unsolved mysteries that lingered, and there, Bob could see the way even your eyes smiled every time your lips curved upward. You smiled and laughed a lot with him, and with the group, Bob paid full attention to your expression more than to other's, learning to differentiate your sound from the rest in a second.

“Yeah, Bob, your little girlfriend is coming back soon. You must be so excited.”

John's voice is flat, his back on the couch, directing his attention to the TV, but so full of mockery that Bob can feel it in the way his cheeks and the tips of his ears burn.

“(Y/N) is not my girlfriend.”

“But you want her to be. I can see you dying to hold her, to hug her, and to kiss her. I bet you dream about it every day.”

Yelena gives a long sigh, sinking deeper into the comfort of the other long couch, but her bored expression is just as threatening as when her eyes flared at any sign of danger.

“Why do you always have to be such a jerk, Walker?”

“I'm just being supportive!” John looks slightly surprised, as if his support system actually comes with sarcasm inevitably, lowering the arms he used to emphasize his protest. “I'll give you some advice, Bob—”

“I didn't ask for your advice.”

“Well, I’ll give it to you anyway. Tell (Y/N) how you feel, that you care a little too much for her or that you’re in love in her, I don’t know, but do it today, don’t wait for tomorrow because tomorrow is a bitch sometimes and who knows? Maybe we could get attacked by some alien and die.”

“That sounds fun, actually.”

Bob frowns, eyes a little more open, confused and slightly terrified, looking for some trace of sarcasm in Yelena’s deadpan voice, but when the elevator dings announcing your arrival, and Bucky’s, his head turns in your direction, meeting your gaze as you smile back when he does it first, feeling his own joy of seeing you again beating within him.

Bob wondered sometimes if stars also existed in the eyes, not only in the night sky.

“It’s so great to have you back, guys.” John sits down, fighting his own smirk. “We’re very happy to see you, aren’t we, Bob?”

Making his existence smaller, Bob nods, his body shrinking a little, but as Bucky recounts the events of the successful mission that lasted less than the expected number of days, you take your backpack from him and head towards your room. Yet it's your gaze that catches the way Walker continues to drag his mocking eyes between Bob and you, a second before looking away.

Messy minds tended to be the noisiest, you knew this well as you found a way to coexist peacefully with outside noises, building a wall around yourself and your mind so you wouldn't hear them even in your sleep, but as you disappear down the hallway, Walker leans forward, his brow furrowing deeply at the pain that begins to throb in the front of his head, like a hammer hitting a nail.

“Another headache, Walker?” Yelena asks.

“Yeah, maybe I should see a doctor.”

Yelena maintains a flat expression, though it amuses her to tears the way John hadn't realized that it was you who caused them, but she remains determined not to give herself away even when her gaze meets Bucky's, (who wants to laugh too) while she coughs softly to hide Bob's chuckle as he stands up.

“Maybe you should just stop being such a jerk.”

“What, Bob?”

“Nothing.”

But Walker had a point, Bob thinks sadly, all the time it takes him to make a milkshake for you. Between the sips of coffee that left a bitter taste on the tip of your tongue when you finished it, he knew you also enjoyed something just sweet, a drink that was like a remnant of a past life, a memory of your childhood, a whole journey that made you smile.

Bob didn't seek you out, and before you, he was just existing with empty hands and a mind full of dark thoughts, until things took a turn, and then his hand was always full with yours holding it, and a mind occupied as Bob began to replace the unwanted memories with something better, stopping living on autopilot, answering that question of whether things would ever get better.

Now, Bob turns the corner and enters the long corridor of rooms, and his sharp hearing registers the song playing in the distance, which grows slightly louder as he approaches the half–open door, a second voice providing the backing vocals, your voice, coming to him like a soft breeze. And he doesn't mean to spy, but shy as he usually is, Bob leans a little bit over the frame, his nervous hand still holding the glass to his chest.

You are there, your back to him, singing at the same level as the voice in your phone, walking around the room, fixing your already made bed or rearranging your desk—Your space after losing your place in your house, your new little home.

With a glass window on the other side, it lets in the golden autumn light of the sunset and it shines and reflects on your head, and Bob feels a heat rise in his stomach that creep through his body, ending up on his cheeks (the ones that had managed to rest from Walker's teasing) with a violent thud that makes him swallow.

You're wearing loose jeans and an oversized light blue sweater with sunflowers woven into it in haphazard patterns, light blue as the sky when dawn is breaking and the darkness finally fades away, because nothing last forever, not even the absence of light—and with you looking like everything Bob never could dream of finding—a nervous, childlike smile, one of those full of innocence, like the warm feeling of first love, spreads across his face.

Not in a garish way, you are colorful, just like your soul and your clothes and your words. And right there, time seems suddenly frozen as he films everything about you in his gaze, as if a single second feels like a lifetime together through all those months living in the same place.

However, when you turn around and like a domino effect, his body jerks a second after yours when you see him there, with Bob holding the glass slightly away from his body so the tide inside doesn't splash him.

“Jesus, Bob, you scared me!” You laugh, a little nervous, and he's fast to apologize.

“I'm sorry! I was here a second ago, I promise.” He swallows the lump in his throat when your sharp gaze seems to pierce through him, but you are not upset, just mocking him silently. “I just came to bring you this.”

There are many things you'd learned to over–feel after your mind expanded with your powers, like the noise in other people's heads, like the slight vibration of Bob's hand when he gives you the milkshake, with you holding the glass with both hands too.

“Thank you.” A gentle smile is drawn on your face. “This is so sweet of you, but you shouldn't have bothered, though, you know?”

He shakes his head.

“It's no bother.”

Bob pushes his hands into his pockets, almost rocking back and forth, lingering there for a moment as you take the first sip, and when you tell him it tastes great, he just smiles.

Bob is beautiful on the outside too, adorable with his casual style, (clothes he carefully selects just to sit on the couch with you, or go to the few places you frequent together) with his angelic face and his eyes looking at you now as you two talk, sitting side by side on the floor while working together on your new 1,000–piece puzzle, but not meeting your eyes for more than two, maybe three consecutive seconds before he looks away.

With your attention on the ground, you feel the warmth of his body radiating like waves nearby, like the power of that fiery star that hangs between the warmest days. Life moves like a whisper beside him, soft after a storm, quiet like when calm comes after chaos, and you love that.  

“Bob, do you know who Stitch is?”

He looks up from the piece in his hand and nods, those two unruly chocolate strands of hair at each side bouncing with the movement, only to frame his face and that nervous look reflected in his warm blue eyes, but they can never hide the joy Bob feels when he sees the happiness in yours, and now, in that very moment, there is an overflowing, almost childlike thrill in them. Like finding a sapphire among a pile of faded rocks, the light in your eyes always shone no matter the season, like the sparkling autumn that paints the city now—and Bob Reynolds loves autumn.

“Great. You're coming to the movies with me tomorrow then.”

“L–like a date?”

Yet the sound of the silent autumn breeze blowing leaves down on the main street is even louder than his mental whisper, even though no one hears him in there. His heart beats under his own anxiety, but Bob smiles with the possibility of only you and him in the cinema for the first time.

“Are the others coming with us?”

You feel it: the disappointment in his voice at a positive response.

“Well, no: Lena didn't have a real childhood, so she doesn't know about those kinds of movies. Walker is a walking insult machine. Ava would somehow make kids cry if they get too loud. And I'm pretty sure Bucky's older than that radioactive cheese living in the fridge that no one dares throw away, so he only watches classics.”

Bob chuckles with a small, nervous but colorful sound.

“That cheese scares me. Kinda looks at me funny.”

“Isn’t that right?! I feel like it could give us even worse powers than we already have.”

He nods, frowning, but maintaining an amused expression as he holds your gaze.

“Yeah. It’s been there for a suspicious amount of time now. Maybe it’s a spy.”

You laugh in surprise.

“When I asked Alexei if he wanted to come, I tried to explain that Stitch was an alien, and the poor man started hyperventilating. An alien?! We should prepare for invasion, yeah?” You do your best to imitate his accent, and the joy of Bob’s deep laugh is adorable, warm, even when it falters because of his constant nervousness. “It was my fault. Maybe I shouldn’t have started talking about an alien after the Chitauri tried to invade the city and then others kept coming.”

Bob swallows, considering whether his next words might cross the line, hurting you even though he'd never do it on purpose. He knew a bit about your history and your brief stint with the Avengers, about your lab–gained powers, but all that little information was just scratching the surface of a life that so drastically changed the course of your path.

“Can I ask you a question?”

You can see Bob's gaze fixed on the puzzle out of the corner of your eye, but you nod anyway.

“Of course you can.”

“Are you angry about what happened to you?”

Your gentle gaze rests on him, even though Bob does his best to focus his full attention on the pieces. You always knew and felt it (since you two started living together) that Bob was trying hard every day and with all his might to feel normal again too, not just to act it, fighting to return to what he was before the drugs and his depression, before his alter egos and his memory loss that kept him from living a full life when there were pieces hidden in the darkness that made him feel incomplete.

No one can live a full life if they always feel like something is missing, you had once told him.

And maybe his attempt to be who he was again made him beautiful too, so beautiful it hurts, even though Yelena's words still echo in your mind and chest: he's in love with you. Because Bob looks like literature written by a feminine hand, sweet like the male protagonist of the most romantic book in the world, the dream of those who read and dream of finding someone like him, with him never realizing his own virtues, always oblivious to all that beauty in him, inside and out, which only made him even more beautiful.

You and he were still young, young adults whose years of your lives were snatched away by selfish people who only sought their own benefit—but being in love still scared you more, even when you were already completely immersed in that feeling.

“No. Not anymore. I spent so much time angry that it wore me down, but I think I found again that something that kept me going when all seemed lost.”

Bob blinks, confused, but he looks up and keeps his eyes fixed on your face until yours meet his again, so he doesn't miss a single bit of your answer.

“And what was it?”

“Love.”

You laugh at the way his face contorts in surprise, angelic eyes (even after having seen hell) a little wide open, blending with his radiant innocence as Bob tries to take in your entire expression, looking in search of a hint of lie.

“I mean love in general, Bob.”

He calms down fast with your voice, and listens closely.

Those 4 letters seemed simple, but hid such a profound undertone. You were still discovering new things to love, but love made you feel as if after the wild waves, the water on the shore once again felt like a lullaby, soothing your life until they became nothing more than a delicate whisper on the sand.

“I spent so much time hating myself that I forgot my parents and my older brother taught me to love myself properly, deeply. But then I felt again the love I had for people and things, the one I had before waking up on a gurney in that secret facility: my love for my family, for books, animals, for movies, for the few but good friends I had, and even for that boy with ocean–colored eyes I was getting to know in a sunny Los Angeles.”

Not everything was perfect, but Bob feels you are in the right path to find peace with the bad things that happened to you and the things you had to leave unfinished, and as he weighs your words, he knows they are like the first breath of fresh air after feeling scorching heat in your lungs, or like a light in the darkness.

“I was so close to you and didn't know it.” He chuckles, with a hint of melancholy as Bob wonders what it would have been like to know you in another life, before the catastrophe, though now, he is happy he can feel a connection with you, as if he'd actually met you before. “I wish I could have met you back there.”

“Yeah, me too. But everything I've been through has led me to this moment with you, so I wouldn't trade it for anything.”

Your gaze returns to the puzzle when his gaze moves away from you for a moment, but coming back in the next second to admire what you're letting him see—the profile of your face, the soft smile on your lips, and a new kind of peace he never felt before.

Bob confidently trusts that you're still the same despite past events, with the same laughter, the same desire to remain good, plus a power that spread through your mind. And everything still seems like a cozy autumn dream, with sensations so vivid that Bob can feel them on his skin, deep in his shy heart, wanting to live in it forever.

However, in a more selfish sense, like he never was, Bob wonders what it would feel like to be loved by you, in a romantic, deep, and real way like he's never experienced. Because now Bob understands that your laughter and your smile and your happiness hid so much feeling, so much so that he could compare you to a romantic movie—the kind that has you in tears mid–act but has always a happy ending, and when the credits roll, there's always a soulful ballad sung and a high note at the end that makes you tremble.

Surely, your love for things and people was just as beautiful as that.  

Your hand rests on your leg, empty, and Bob wants to take it, hold it while you lead the way, because he knows that he would follow you wherever you went, and that in a crowd, he would always find you. It's like an invisible light around you only he can see, like a thread tied to his pinky finger connected to yours.  

“I’m in love with you.” His whisper threatens to fade into the void again, even when your nervous gaze catches his, but Bob knows he has to tell you his feelings now before he stops being brave and his words die a cruel death inside him. “You were the first person who told me I wasn’t invisible, that you wouldn’t leave me behind even when I told you I was a threat. And I really tried to stop thinking of you this way because I know we’re friends, but every time I close my eyes I can see you, and when I sleep I can hear you in my mind, and that’s so much nicer…” Bob’s little smile is shy, him watching yours, which is somewhat saddened by the weight of his past, fragments of it he shared with you during your time together. “When I’m alone I want to see you, and when we are together I wish we could be together all day. I know I have nothing to offer you, and that sometimes I’m a little cloudy like Lena calls me, but you are confident, and you are smart, and it’s okay if you don’t feel the same—”

“I do feel the same.” A small, shy chuckle past by between your lips, feeling a heat in your cheeks, watching your fingers as you gather the courage to look him in the eye, followed by a sigh that seems to let go of a piece of your own past. “And that’s what scares me, but not enough to make me not want to be with you.”

Then, his hand envelops yours, calming you and your fears, steadying your whole world as your eyes return to his. Your vision of him is clearer, nervous but receptive, open to new sensations, and even with his own fears and insecurities piercing his heart, Bob leans forward, with you mirroring the gesture, the image of the other in yours and his closed eyelids, allowing yourself to be felt on each other's lips.

And the kiss is soft like his whole existence, bright in the dark, like the starlight that lingered in your gaze all the time.

Your hand squeezes his gently as his lips move against yours, just a little bit, soft and cautious as he calmly acknowledges this new part of you, but after living numb for so long, feeling this moment feels so good.

Bob pulls away, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes still closed.

“Walker told me to tell you how I felt... today.” He chuckles, speaking softly so as not to clash with the new environment, which is more welcoming than the last ten seconds. “Can't believe he was right.”

You pull away a little more, opening your eyes again as he does too, chuckling with him at John's expense, and you push back that curly strand of hair of his with your free hand, which moves back almost into place, but as Bob leans forward again, you two know that from now on, life would be even brighter.

[sailingintothenight]

“A safe heaven.” Bob Reynolds Imagine.

Summary: Little Bob was led to believe heaven didn't exist, but now, with you, he knows it's real.

A/N: Hii. This is my first imagine about Bob. My page used to be about Tom Holland and Peter Parker but I haven't written about them in a while for personal reasons. I wasn't sure whether to keep using this account or create a new one, but I'll wait to see how my failed attempt to write about this little ray of light called Bob goes. I've been following Lewis' work for a while, but I saw him in the Marvel universe and his character is so adorable–almost everyone fell in love with him, I'm sure hehe–so I hope you like this. Thank you so much!

Warnings: just fluff.

“Can we… uh… sleep together again tonight, (Y/N)? Please?”

When the night swallowed the sun and New York City shone with artificial lights, as fictitious as his courage (still small, like a baby plant) to face those hours alone in the darkness of his room, Bob would appear in the tower's living room or kitchen, ready to sleep but waiting for you two to be alone or just with Yelena present, almost buried in clothes that were a size or two too big for him (considering he was quite large), on his gray sweatpants, and his nervous hands tucked into the sleeves of his blue sweatshirt with the letters I ♡ Los Angeles printed on it.

His timid request would be lost in the noise of life that followed its course outside the place, his voice loud enough only for you to hear it. That nocturnal dynamic between you two started innocently and stayed that way after one night when your mind expanded in your sleep and sank beyond the walls, capturing his nightmares as yours, feeling the violent beat of his heart inside your own, visualizing his expression behind your closed eyelids, and the pain and confusion when he woke up not knowing where he was.

And somehow, you found a way for him to see your fear of a lonely room, speaking to him in your warm voice, and Bob, who always tried to do good despite doubting his own goodness all the time, suggested timidly that maybe sleeping with someone else would be a temporary solution until you two find a permanent one. It was supposed to be a matter of one or two nights together, a week maybe, (so Bob would find peace in sleeping, without feeling the terror of his past materializing in his dreams if he woke up, realizing he wasn't alone anymore) but then he started asking you that question, day after day.

You always said yes, and Bob would smile to himself before walking away first.

“You adopted a puppy and didn't tell me.” Yelena chuckles that night, sitting in one of the high chairs around the granite table as she finishes her dinner, speaking softly so as not to disturb the peace that was beginning to build in the place, between different people who sometimes coexisted amidst so much chaos. “Bob is in love with you, you know? that's why he follows you around like he's a stray dog ​​and you his home.”

You laugh softly.

“I can be your home too, my love.”

Yelena grimaces in disgust, as if an unpleasant smell has reached her nose.

“Don't make me throw up my dinner.”

“Hey, I made that dinner.”

“And that’s why I love you.” She smiles, pretending to be cute as she wrinkles her nose, a failed plan because she is cute, with her beautiful face and her daily attempt to put the past behind her. “I mean, you are perfect, baby, with your amazing cooking skills, your cute little face, and the way you threaten to blow Walker’s head off when he starts acting like a jerk. It’s so funny he still hasn’t figured out why he gets migraines. So I understand why Bob likes you so much.”

Perfect, because that’s how they intended you to be, giving you powers that you didn't ask for. They made a weapon out of you, discovered in the middle of nowhere and without instructions, one that destroyed an entire complex.

When you close the door to your room, the warmth expands and stays there like a golden light, always present whenever you are present. Or at least that's how Bob sees you, with his blue eyes that once again had the brilliance of a star and always tried to hold your gaze, with you comparing the color to a new kind of ocean, safe and peaceful.

Like a force of nature, but one created in a laboratory, you arrived to destroy the little peace Bob had managed to find in his solitude, shaking his world with your magnetic presence. But Bob also loved the way your deep gaze could rest when life became routine, that little white dot that shone in the corner of your pupil disappearing when there was no threat, turning you almost into an angel when he saw the tenderness in your dreamy eyes when things looked a little better.

Now, sitting against the headboard of your bed, one leg tucked under the other, Bob shows you the book in his hand, a nervous smile on his lips.

Pride & prejudice.

“I finished it.”

“At an alarming rate.” You chuckle as you sit on your side of the bed: and Bob, who liked to stop and look at the flowers in the park near the tower, pet the cats in the front yards of the houses and read poetry, smiles with the compliment. “How long did it take you?”

“About 9 hours.”

“I’m impressed, Bob.” You smile proudly, and Bob will be able to see that sweet image of you clearly in his mind for the rest of his life, even when his head becomes foggy.

Then, a thought that was meant to stay inside, finds its way out from between the cracks of his own shyness.

“You smile pretty.” With him near to your lamp on the nightstand, the amber light makes his hair and messy locks shine, especially when his sweet smile disappears from his lips and Bob lowers his head for a moment, revealing the profile of his defined face and a glimpse of his flushed cheek. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Only one of your fingers makes contact with his chin, pushing it upward as soft as a feather, but with enough determination for him to meet your smile and hold it, though his gaze falters, nervous, but always warm and sincere. “We can watch the movie tomorrow if you want.”

“Is there a movie too?”

His eyes widen slightly, eyebrows rising.

“There are several, actually.”

His surprise doesn’t seem to fit in his expression, and it’s adorable and amusing until you both lie down under the thick blanket.

It doesn't take long for Bob to fall asleep after a long day (too tired from always overthinking about everything) lying on his left side, burying half his face in the pillow that smells like you, making him feel as if you were a memory from his childhood that he knows never happened, but one that he does want to remember and not erase from his fragmented mind.

However, there's a moment that breaks the peacefulness of his night with the noise from the other side of the big glass window, in a world rebuilding itself after the horrors experienced by his darkest side.

You're lying on another pillow, half sitting, back against the headboard of the bed with the same book in your hands, now looking at him. There, with no intention of overstepping his boundaries, your own fingers, the ones you once raised so that an entire building would crack and collapse, slide across his forehead, softly pushing back that brown lock of hair that frames one side of his lovely face—but you can see, you can feel, that this dream is less terrifying, less painful.

“Bob…”

Like a whisper that finds every dark corner of his mind, disappearing every shadow of that future nightmare forming in his head, your soft voice makes Bob wake up with a slight, barely audible gasp. He opens his eyes, looking lost just for a second, but he instantly recognizes where he is, the lavender scent of the place caressing his heart until it calms his confusion.

His gaze searches yours, head still on the pillow.

“I’m sorry. I dreamed 'bout that chicken costume again.”

You chuckle softly, a warm sound like that ray of sunshine on his skin during his time in Los Angeles. Bob looks like a tiny caterpillar in the safety of his little house—or that’s what your mom used to say about you—when he pulls the blanket closer to him, his body making a slight movement to scoot closer to you.

“Don’t worry, Bob, we can do this until you feel better.”

“Thanks, (Y/N). You are so nice.” But when reason stumbles for a moment, Bob finds the strength to speak, in a whisper so as not to clash with the peaceful surroundings, closing his eyes because there with you, the darkness behind his closed eyelids isn’t an endless pit trying to swallow him up. “Can we do this forever?”

Your hand strokes one side of his hair, and a soft smile appears on his lips.

You can almost see the iron blows from his father's fists that sank into his body, that played cruel tricks on his mind until that little brown–haired, blue–eyed angel had his tiny wings ripped off and was convinced that heaven never existed.

But now, for Bob, it is real. At least with you, it is.

“Sounds perfect to me.”

[sailingintothenight]

"A night in New York." P.P.

SUMMARY: Peter Parker and (y/n) Laufeyson spend a couple of hours together after the events of the end game.

A:N: Hello! It's been over a year since I posted my last story. I thought I was getting better from my illness, but this year helped me realize that I still have a lot to heal, but I hope this story is the push I need to continue writing because I really like writing about Tom and Peter, so, I hope you like this even though it's not very good hehehe but I had fun writing it so… thank you so much! - V.

The knife hits its mark.

The dummy's head in the compound's training room swings back and forth a few times and snaps back into place with a knife embedded in its fictional skull, while you, with a knot in your stomach, conjure up another one in your left hand with a bit of magic, a small white mist that transforms into a deadly weapon like your dad taught you to do before dying before a purple villain who lay standing under the cold night, merciless.

“Hi–” Peter Parker leans to the right as the knife embeds itself in the wall, an inch from his ear. “Holy cow! If you hadn't missed you would have cut off my ear.”

Your implacable expression doesn't change at his words.

“Do you think I missed?”

Peter stands there, eyes wide like a deer about to get hit by a car in the middle of the road when he realizes you hit exactly where you wanted to hit.

“Am I interrupting you?”

“Actually, yes…” Turning around, you play with the knife in your hand, like a well-executed magic trick as Uncle Thor likes to say. “I’m not done with him yet.”

“Well… he looks pretty dead to me.” Peter Parker laughs sweetly because he’s sweet, he’s sweet and innocent in the way he smiles, or tries to, like he hasn’t lost someone in the middle of an endgame battle, too. “I was just passing by on my way home, and I was wondering, do you want to do something?”

Your hand stops before you throw the knife, at the same time your brow furrows as you turn to look at him.

“What?”

Peter blushes, he can’t help it when your gazes meet because your eyes are strong, but he forces himself not to let himself be defeated.

“Yeah, uh, do you want to do something? I thought it would be a nice distraction from all this.”

"From all this.” You emphasize those words, poisonous like the snakes your dad used to turn into to scare your uncle. For a second, you think about how to be rude to him, how to say that all this involved suffering for your dad’s death, but something in his gaze is captivating, endearing and even honest with his own pain because he doesn’t hide it unlike you. “Like what?”

He blinks in surprise, because, although he came to you with the desire to help, Peter didn’t think you would accept that help.

“I don’t know… Do you want to take a walk around the city? I don’t think you’ve seen anything of it since you arrived in New York.”

“It’s not that I was really interested.” You answer honestly, brutally, but honestly. But before you answer, you think carefully about your next words, because in the depths of your mind, being alone doesn’t seem so tempting now that he’s there. “Okay, but I want the full Spider-man superhero experience.”

Peter is confused.

“Everything? You mean swinging through the city and stuff?”

You nod.

“Okay.” Peter nods back, and you can’t help but compare him to a little kid learning the first day of class, shy and a little bit scared. “Do you mind if we use the window and not the door? I heard Thor say you weren’t allowed to go outside until… you know.”

“I don’t mind.” You say confidently and walk over to him, because respecting rules isn’t something that runs in your family.

“Okay, cool, cool…” He says to himself, while his spider-sense makes his skin crawl at the closeness of your presence.

The two of you walk silently through the halls of the huge compound, empty halls now that their leader is no longer present. You turn right and right again, left through the lab until you find a window facing the city. Peter jumps up and stands on the edge as his superpowers help him keep his balance.

“You like burgers?”

“What?” You ask in surprise.

“Burgers, there’s this cool place that’s open all night – the cheeseburgers are my favorite.”

You frown as the image forms in your head.

“I guess I can try.”

“Great! Now I’m going to…” Peter tries to get you to come to him, but freezes up at not knowing how to tell you that you have to be against him so you can both jump out of the window. “You have to be against me so we can swing.”

He reaches out his hand for you to take, and for a second, a tingle spreads from your joined hands all the way to the bottom of your stomach as Peter lifts you up and helps you keep your balance. His hand on your waist is awkward, but he’s tender in the way he steals glances at you because you’re so close to him. And it’s the first time he’s been this close to a girl.

Throwing his web towards the nearest lighthouse, you both swing down to the city.

DELI burgers is open all night, and as you take your order, and unseen by anyone, even though the street is empty at that time of the night, Peter leads you to the edge of a two-story building to sit there, and you take your first bite of the bun that almost spills creams of different colors and flavors all over the paper bag. Peter looks at you curiously, waiting with those soft, bright eyes for you to tell him what it tastes like, what the verdict is for someone who comes from another world.

“It’s good.” You say with your mouth full. “It’s very good.”

Peter smiles as he eats his own burger, enjoying the silence between you that for some reason isn’t awkward.

“Burgers are really good, bad for your health, but good.”

You swallow before speaking again.

“I’ve never tried them before.”

Peter smiles shyly.

“I guess you didn’t have this in Asgard.”

You shake your head.

“No, but we should have.” You laugh. And for a few seconds that seem like an eternity, Peter threatens to lose himself in that sound, so sweet and free at the same time. But it is at that moment that he realizes that since you came to Earth and fought together, he had never heard you laugh. “Are you okay, Peter?”

“Uh?” He looks at you, surprised, because that is the first time you call him by his name. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.”

In your voice, his name sounds nice, and he blushes at that thought.

“So… do you like living here?”

Peter looks at you, but you are focused on the night view, which is very different from the world you used to live in.

“Yes, despite the noise and the occasional crime, I like this city.” He smiles. “You… do you plan to stay and live in New York?”

For some reason, Peter is worried to hear your answer.

“I don’t really know…” you shrug. “Now that dad’s not here, Uncle Thor is in charge of me, although sometimes it feels like I’m in charge of him…” you laugh, and Peter laughs with you. “But dad asked him to take care of me, so it’s all up to him. Uh, I guess we’ll be moving to Norway soon to start fresh with our people.”

Peter looks down for a moment, because suddenly he doesn’t want you to go away, and at the same time, he’s sad because he knows well what it’s like to lose a father. Although Loki never considered himself a hero, it was heroic what he did to protect his brother and his daughter.

“I’m so sorry about your dad.”

You smile at him for a moment before looking away.

“Thank you, Peter. I know dad wasn’t… the best role model, but he was always a good dad, loving, protective, and very funny when we were together. I know he loved my mother very much and he loved me very much.”

Peter hesitates his next question.

“And your mom… is she still alive?”

You shake your head, and although sadness threatens to flood your heart, you manage to smile at the memory of her.

“No. She was a force of nature, the queen of her own world, so when Thanos came to her planet first, she gave her life for her people. I lived with her and Dad for many years, so I grew up in a very loving home.”

Your words made Peter wonder how you didn’t seem sad when talking about the people you lost, because you seem the complete opposite of him.

“My parents died too…” unlike you, Peter can’t manage to smile at the memory. “My Aunt May raised me like I was her own son.”

Because you don’t know what to say, because you never learned to put your feelings into words, because in that you were very similar to your dad, your warm hand gently closes around his arm, making Peter look into your eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Peter.”

Your gaze is honest, and he threatens to get lost in the color of your eyes, which, for some reason, look at him fondly.

“Thank you, (y/n).”

His voice is so sincere, that your heart races as you pull your hand away. You clear your throat softly before speaking again, just so your words don’t falter.

“So… Do you have a girlfriend?”

Peter’s eyes widen as he looks at you in surprise, and you laugh.

“Sorry, was that too personal?”

Peter manages to snap out of his stupor in time.

“No–” His voice cracks, and he laughs at how embarrassed he feels, but it’s a funny embarrassment. “I mean; I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Do you want to?”

Peter didn’t understand the question.

“Are you offering to be?” He asks suddenly, so fast that it takes you by surprise.

“I…” you laugh nervously, but suddenly, you’re asking yourself if you want to be. “I was asking you if you wanted to have a girlfriend.”

“Oh…” Peter, sweet Peter Parker, couldn’t help but blush as he tells himself how clumsy he is. “Well… I guess it would be great to have someone to share moments with. Did you… have a boyfriend?”

“No…” you shake your head, but at peace with yourself, even though deep down, you wanted to feel a love like your parents. “Uncle Thor says I’m still too young for that.”

Peter blinks.

“Can I ask how old you are?”

You chuckle.

“A lot older than you.” You give him an amused smile. “A lot more. So, it would be weird if you had a girlfriend who is much older than you.”

At your words, Peter’s heart races. Were you flirting with him? Because it seems that way.

“Well…” Peter doesn’t know how to flirt, but he finds a clever way to do it. “You don’t look like it. You actually look really young.”

And then, you both look at each other and burst out laughing.

The conversation continues for a while longer, until, you know it’s time to go back to the solitude of your room. A little less uncomfortable with his closeness, as if a burger and a few words could bring you closer to him, you cling to Peter for a ride back. The moment you’re standing on the floor near the window as he holds onto the frame before leaving, it feels strange for you to say goodbye to each other, considering that soon, you would have to leave, forever.

The thought makes Peter’s chest tighten painfully.

“Thanks, Peter. I had a lot of fun with you.” You say sincerely.

“I had a lot of fun with you too, (y/n)…” your name, on his lips, tickles your stomach. “…I really hope you don’t leave so soon.”

For some reason, the momentary goodbye is sad.

“Goodnight, Peter.” You smile before turning around, just so he doesn’t see the expression on your face.

“Goodnight, (y/n)…” He whispers, limply, watching you leave.

The moment you’re out of sight, Peter heads back home. After walking for a moment through the compound, a hand flies up to your heart as you see your uncle, arms crossed, standing outside your room.

“What are you doing up so late, sir?” you laugh, casually, because like your dad, you weren’t worried about being reprimanded.

“I saw you.” Thor looks at you with narrowed eyes, giving you an accusatory look that didn’t cause anything in you. “I saw you leave with that boy.”

“Relax, uncle, Peter was just showing me the city.”

“Did you kiss him?” he asks, not missing a beat.

“No.” You shake your head, surprised.

“Do you want to?”

You stare at him in silence, because it’s the same question you asked Peter.

“That’s a very personal question.” You laugh, but as you open the door to your room, he follows you inside.

“(y/n), darling…” Thor says your name softly, lovingly, making you turn to look at him. “Do you want to stay in New York?”

For a moment, you consider his words.

“Are you thinking of staying here?”

Thor sighs.

“You know we have to go back to Norway soon to lead our people in this new world, but if you want to stay here, with the Spider-Boy, you could… start going to school like him and make a life here.”

Your heart beats rapidly. Would you do it?

[sailingintothenight]

“To you, with love.”

SUMMARY: You and Tom do the interview with puppies, and at the end of it, a truth is revealed.

“Tickle, tickle, tickle.”

“Get in there, guys.”

“Hello beautiful.”

“You can go to sleep and come to live with (Y/N) and I to our apartment. Darling, there is no other option but to get married and adopt these puppies.” Tom teases you, winking at you as he plays with the puppies in front of him. 

You look away after a while of looking at him, but every minute, every second your heart is ahead of you and makes you think and wonder what is that exciting feeling that you have every time you look into his eyes full of love.

The stage is set for you two as you sit in front of the cameras, in a pink background.

“Hello everyone, my name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and I play Avery in Spiderman: no way home and Anna in the film adaptation of the book Anna and the French kiss.”

"I love those." Tom says and shoots you a flirtatious look, making you laugh as he points in your direction before saying the next words, full of pride. “Hi, I'm Tom Holland, I’m her boyfriend and we are going to get married to adopt these puppies."

"Stop it." You say shyly, holding back a smile, although if you and Tom Holland could choose your favorite place in the world, to live in an eternity, it would be next to each other, no matter where you two were, but, as best friends, as everyone in the world knows you two for.

“I play Peter Parker and Étienne St. Clair and we're here with Buzzfeed Celeb to play with these puppies while answering questions, so let’s get started and please bring the puppies!"

What is the best part of playing Avery and Peter?

“Well… For me one of the best parts was to work with…” You leave the answer half-hearted as Tom raises his eyebrows playing with the puppies, sweetly waiting for you to say his name and not that of another great actor or actress with whom you had the opportunity to share screen during that time. "Tom Holland of course.”

"Yes!" Tom sings victory when he hears his name, and he smiles beautifully, because Tom has the most beautiful smile you have ever seen, with those autumn-colored eyes and semi-long hair that make him look like an angel or a dream that you would never want to wake up from, and in that moment, you wonder how he is still a silent and unattainable love even when you had him by your side, so close, yet, so unreachable. "She loves me very much."

"I could say other great names, but... well." You feign seriousness as he shoots you a doubtful look, making you laugh when he looks hurt for a second as you hold a puppy. “The best thing about playing Avery is that we see how her personality evolves throughout these three movies, her starting out as someone closed and tough to someone you can trust with your life because you know she will protect you, because she learned to trust in those who showed her sincerity, like Peter.”

"Yeah, you're right, I mean... for me the best thing was seeing these two characters grow." Tom says, following the thread of the conversation. “I loved the fight sequences that we had that we got to do ourselves. We both trained hard to be able to play the characters that we dream of at some point in our lives so that's great. And I think what makes it so special is that there was real chemistry between us, which is why you can see Peter and Avery so close in the movie. The same with Anna and Étienne."

Is it true that on the poster for Spider-man: No Way Home, isn't that Tom Holland?

"I'm not." Tom laughs.

"It's definitely not, that's not his body."

"Aw, look at her how she knows my body so well." Tom wags his eyebrows at the camera, earning a smack on the arm from you making him laugh. “But no, it's not really me. Also, when have you seen me do that pose on camera? It's strange!"

"Now I'm curious to know who is the person behind that pose. Right, baby?" You say to the puppy in your arms.

“Right, darling.” Tom answer.

Wasn't it strange to have kissed several times in the movies considering that they are best friends?

You and Tom look at each other for a moment, your cheeks turning pink from the question you both silently asked yourselves.

“We try to be as professional as possible.” Tom says, scratching the belly of another puppy. “I think the kisses we gave each other came out naturally because of the love we have for each other. It wasn't uncomfortable at all."

In a certain part it was true. You've known each other since you were kids, but your feelings for him got in the way every time you had to do a romantic scene, yet you were as professional as possible.

If you could be in any other series or movie, what would it be?

“I would like to participate in temptation. (Y/N) is doing super well there and it's a great story. I would like to be a part or at least do a cameo.”

"I can make some calls." You laugh, though you're also serious if it means having him around for months again.

If you weren't a movie star, what profession would you have chosen?

"Tom would definitely have been a carpenter." You joke.

"I think so." He laughs. “I'm not good at math but I'm good at putting things together. I think (Y/N) would have been a doctor or a vet, she loves animals. That's why she doesn't eat meat, although she doesn't know what she's missing."

Could it be possible that there is a relationship between you not told to the public?

You and Tom laugh awkwardly.

“We've been friends pretty much since we were born,” says Tom. “Our moms have been best friends since college and when they both got pregnant the same year it was like: our kids have to be best friends too. But with us it happened naturally, we grew up together, we like the same things and we are united. (Y/N) knows that I love her with all my heart.”

With a puppy in his arms, Tom lies in your lap and gives the camera a sweet smile.

Do you know that fans ship you two together?

“I've seen a lot of that online." You reply. “We have seen a lot of fan art about us, we have seen requests for us to participate together in different book-to-film adaptations because they say we would do a great job together. I think it's lucky that the fans like us so much.”

Have you practiced kissing scenes in private or is it something that comes naturally?

Tom chuckles.

“I will leave that question to the public imagination. Since we even won an MTV award for best kiss, 2 times, I'll leave the fans curious."

As the interview flows, you innocently play and flirt a little from time to time, just to soothe that pain of not being able to be together, although neither of you knows exactly why.

Sometimes, life happens in a second, and for Tom Holland and you, falling in love, too.

And even if you don't know it, Tom hates that you're his best friend in the world, because under the starry nights when you can't sleep and you sneak into each other's room to talk, wherever you two are, or just to exist in each other's company. You look like an angel, his angel, his darling as he usually calls you with the appropriate tone of best friend, because no one can know about his love for you. Except everyone knows, that's for sure, except you, but that's fine as long as you don't discover the secret that lies deep in his heart where his love for you will last forever. Tom is selfish, he knows it, because he went out with some girls to try to erase all traces of you, because he knows that one day soon you will fall in love with someone other than him, and even though that hurts his soul.

Tom secretly hates his love for you, but the secret of his hate is for your beauty, for the way you see the world through your eyes, as beautiful and deep as the uncharted ocean itself, for your free heart when you do things so that everyone is happy, for your tender smile that you give to everyone equally without thinking about their weak and fragile heart, and for that blessed dimple that forms on your left cheek when you smile and your eyes do too.

As you two both reach the limo that will take them back to your hotel, you both smile at each other now that the adrenaline has passed and only calm remains in the solitude of the car.

"I think we did great, didn't we, darling?"

"I think so." You say with a certain sadness, because sometimes, you do want to be his darling, but you know that everything had a limit, but you know too that one day you would cross the line that divided friendship from love, and that day, with the force with which you lied saying that there was nothing between you, you decide to tell the truth. "Oh, by the way, I'm going to adopt one of the puppies so we can get married and live happily ever after."

Tom looks at you in astonishment, but his stupor only lasts a few seconds, because for he, brave this time and armed only with the truth of the love he felt for you for half his life, leans down to kiss you softly on the lips before talk.

"I can not wait."

[sailingintothenight]

“The ABC of life and love.” T.H

Summary: On your escape to what you hope will be a better life, you meet a famous actor who offers you a new and better one.

AN: trigger warning!!! Based on the girl who met Tom on the plane. Just a short imagine. Not my gif!!! I don’t know why the tittle but I think it sounds cute :P

The night is dark and filled with your fears when you wake up after midnight.

As you get out of bed without making a single sound, it squeaks under your weight and forces you to hold your breath. The world is black under your eyes as you see the world through them, but you go on slipping on your converse in silence, still drawing thorns from deep in your heart for every wound the man sleeping next to you has done to you throughout your life. That's why you know it's time to spread your wings and fly against the wind despite the terrors that may exist in the sky, or plummet into the void if what you're about to do doesn't work.

In the next room your 4-year-old baby sleeps peacefully, his light brown hair shines under the starry night through his small window. The backpack under his bed hides the most important things you need, and you carry it on your shoulders as you remove the blanket that covers Noah, taking him in your arms to carry him against your chest and waist before leaving the house.

"Mommy?"

His voice is like a broken and a poorly written lullaby, but you keep going, taking him with you to the car as he holds his favorite captain America figure, repeatedly telling him that everything will be alright in a fervent wish that it is. Your heart is like a hammer as you start the car and drive, pounding and pounding on your chest incessantly, like a drumming that will never stop until you're far, far away where no one can hurt you anymore.

Fear washes over you and fills you with terror, feeling the nausea to rise from deep in your stomach to the corner of your throat. It's nasty and raw the way your world keeps spinning but you keep breathing and keeping your son safe is the only thing replaying in your head, like those old vinyl records your grandfather used to listen to.

When you finally arrive at the airport, it's cold and it soaks into your bones like fear when you see the hundreds of messages coming in from Nathan.

You park the car and take what you need before getting out of it, opening the door where your son is still sleeping despite the noise around him, as if he were able to block out everything like the blows and the screams he suffered in that house that was never yours. Like a ghost that no one sees, you take your backpack and your son in your arms before closing the door and leaving the car behind, placing the wool cap on his small head before entering through the double doors.

"I need a ticket for any plane that's about to leave." You tell the nice lady behind the window.

The young woman sees you strange because they are strange words, but she, smiling gently, although worried, types on her computer until she finds the words that are born on her lips.

“Right now there is a fly for London, England.”

"Perfect." You smile through the nerves.

Your phone keeps vibrating as you do all the paraphernalia before you get on the plane.

The nerves don't subside even when you're in your designated middle seat, Noah next to you in the window one as he plays superheroes with his only toy. The tap of your converse against the ground follows a steady rhythm as you glance at the few passengers on the plane that hasn't taken off yet, but none of them have the face you hope to never see again. Waiting seems like an ordeal, your breath shortening and uneven at the thought of him looking for you two.

"Good night, miss..." A male voice and a thick accent makes you jump in your seat, and when you look up you can see a young man hiding his face behind a black surgical mask and a knit cap the same color as he sits next to you. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's not your fault, I'm a little nervous..." You laugh to yourself, not paying close attention to the fact that the boy next to you is taking off his mask to breathe in the fresh air of the plane.

“Damn, this thing makes my face burn. Shit! Sorry! I mean, sorry again." He apologizes more times than he should when he realizes that there is a little boy who can hear everything and will surely absorb what he heard like a sponge, but you laugh, because Noah had heard worse things without leaving the house and those words he repels them as if they didn't exist.

“It's okay, no prob–” But the words die on your lips as you realize that the young man next to you bears an exact resemblance to the actor, Tom Holland, although a part of your mind tells you that would be impossible, because, the probability of that happening would be one in a million, and life had already proven to you that you were the least fortunate of all. "Problem."

“It was not my intention. Hi champion! My name is Tom.” He greets politely, smiling even more as he watches the baby play with an action figure of a superhero he fought in fiction. "Do you like captain america?"

Noah is shy, a side effect of the damage his father's behavior did to him in the first and only years of his life, so he looks at you with his big brown eyes before he speaks.

"It's ok babe." You say, even though you're dying of curiosity to know.

"He is my favorite superhero." Noah says, and his voice is like sweet honey spilling out of the corner of Tom's heart. "Do you like him?"

"Yeah, I like him, but I'm actually Team Spider-Man." Tom winks at him. “But he's great too. Can I tell you a secret?"

Tom waits a second, and Noah leans over you to listen more carefully.

"I know him." Noah flinches back in surprise, and while that settles your doubts and feeds you the truth and a newfound nervousness, you can't help but smile at the way your little one reacts. "He is my friend. We fight together against the bad guys.”

“Would you fight my dad too–?” Before he can finish the sentence, your hand closes around his rosy lips to shut him up, laughing uncomfortably, hoping Tom is as innocent as he seems on TV to not realize the meaning behind it.

"He sometimes plays with his dad and he plays the villain." You chuckle.

"I see." Tom laughs with you. "Sorry I didn't introduce myself, my name is Tom, Tom Holland."

You swallow before you speak.

"This is Noah, I'm (Y/N) (Y/L/N), nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine." Tom smiles, just as the captain announces takeoff, ending your conversation.

Life has been capricious to you, selfish to a fault, but it has also been generous, and you can finally breathe as the plane takes flight like a bird in the dark sky of your life, away from your hometown to take you far, far like a flock that travels to find new winds that are better for its family. That is what you want, to find a wind that moves your life in the right direction, like a ship that has wandered aimlessly until it finds better lands. But without money and without a home to land on, you sincerely hope that the hours of flight will be infinite until you come up with a plan, or find a way to protect your baby from the new storms that are to come.

"Excuse me? Do you want something to drink or eat?” The stewardess asks politely, watching with curious eyes as a boy Noah's age is awake late at night.

“Well, I–” How would you say it? There is no way to explain that you have a few dollars in your pocket, that you cannot feed your child properly.

"Please bring us some snacks and a juice for the little one." Tom cuts you off, giving the stewardess a warm smile.

She smiles, nods, and leaves.

“I can pay you–” You try to say by the time you're alone again.

“Please…” Tom smiles up at you, and the corners of his eyes crinkle adorably.

As you look away, with a small smile as cordiality, Tom can admire you better. The first thing he notices is the profile of your angelic face, the line of your eyebrows, your nose, and your lips. The truth is that Tom Holland is naive at times, clumsy at other times, hot and tender in the eyes of all who love him, but Tom is smart too, and he can see the truth in your eyes, because love in a soul old, thinks is forever young. Tom is not stupid, he knows how to admire beauty and intelligence, and you seemed to have both, but you also kept in the depths of your heart a pain as deep as the love that one day you swore to feel for the wrong man, which was nailed in your chest like thorns that you're still trying to remove.

"How old is he?" Tom asks, just as the stewardess places the things on the flag in front of him.

Tom is warm as a spring afternoon, his eyes are the color of autumn, and although he has suffered like a winter night, he has learned to distinguish people, he has learned to see the truth in the eyes of others.

"4." You say, as Noah shows him the same number of fingers.

Tom smiles, and even though he's done a lot of it since you met a few minutes ago, he's happy to do it as he dips the straw into the berry juice and hands it to Noah, then does the same with yours, and finally with his. Laughter lingers on your sealed lips as you watch the two men sip the contents of the boxes, as if nothing is wrong with the world, as if they are lifelong comrades.

“Do you have anywhere to go?”

You almost spill the juice when you lean forward, watching the serious way he looks at you. As you look back at him, you notice that strands of his semi-long hair are escaping from his beanie, framing his face like an angel that God himself carved.

"What are you talking about?"

"I can see the mark on your wrist." He whispers, so Noah doesn't hear or pay attention to the bruise on your left wrist that shows through from your sweater. "Hey, it's fine."

"This is crazy." You laugh and look at him, because it makes you laugh that you have run into a celebrity who asks about your well-being on board a plane that you use as an escape. Why do you threaten to lose yourself in his gaze, with his brown hair fluffy as a cloud on a hot spring day, or his fall-colored eyes that are as sweet as honey in the way he sees the world, the world and it seems that he sees you too through them, resplendent, with the brilliance of a diamond every time he smiles with them while speaking through a warm, almost childlike voice? Tom Holland is sweet and attractive at first glance, his face seems carved from God himself, but he is still a warning.

"I think so." Tom laughs.

When reality hits you hard, he forces you to close your eyes for a moment as you struggle to keep the tears where they belong, inside.

"We have nowhere to go."

Tom nods and wonders what he's doing.

"Now you have a place to stay, darling."

Maybe Tom Holland knew it the moment you first locked eyes: Tom didn't know you and you didn't know him yet, but he would love you as much as you would love him, in the not-too-distant future while, in the now, Tom watches you in silence being by your side, always by your side to protect you as he will in the future, and a childish smile spreads across his beautiful face and his bright eyes also smile at the thought of you while you, who, dressed in casual with a simple sweater on top, shine like a diamond among a lot of sapphires.

By the time the plane lands, the sky is as clear as it can get in London, England, and Tom instructs you to meet him at the far end of the airport where a car will pick you up. So, with your backpack on your shoulders and your little one in your arms, breathing the London air is as hard as you hope that one of the most famous celebrities will not let you down. Your heart pounds like a hammer again, but you wait uneasily as Noah sleeps in your arms and you shield his dreams.

Finally, in what seems like an eternity, a huge black car pulls up in front of you and the door opens, revealing the face of the young man about your age who came to save you without his superhero suit. With nowhere to go but up ahead, and armed with nothing but your love for your son, you get in the car and close the door, settling Noah on your lap to sleep all the way to his new home.

"Let's go home, Patrick." Tom tells the driver, and without asking any questions, he starts the car and it drives away from the airport in seconds.

[sailingintothenight]

“Forever You.”

Tom Holland/Peter Parker x reader :))

Hi! This is an idea I came up with as a follow up to NWH with the reader as Peter's romantic interest. If you haven't seen the movie, would it be better not to read it? I stole Sersi's powers in Eternals. (Memories are in italics)

If you like it, I hope I can make a continuation.

(Not my gif)

"Hey, don't do it!"

Your breath quickly vanishes in the endless cold of a New York winter night as you open your eyes to that male voice yelling for you to stop, staring into space as you seem about to slip off the ledge from that tall building. The thunderous sound of a city that never sleeps hits you with the speed of a bullet, impacting in your pounding heart as you realize you're one step off the ground. The wind around you blows your hair in all directions as you turn around and face that voice, staring through parted lips at the strangely clad person in a spider suit who has one hand raised in a heroic action to stop you from falling, to stop the madness you are about to commit.

"Don't get close!" You say, nearly tripping over your boots and your next words. "Stay away."

"Please don't do it." Says that person, almost in a prayer as if he knows you all his life. In the next second, he uses his upraised hand to remove the strange mask he wears, revealing the face of a young man who appears to be your age, with semi-long brown hair and fluffy like a spring cloud, eyes the same color as he looks at you with terror through them. “Please, everything will be fine. I promise."

“Please forgive me, let me go…”

"I asked you to let me go first."

As your hand gripped the man's neck and lifted him up into the air, a single thought intoxicated your mind.

From the very beginning of time and at an early age you understood that you saw the world differently from others. Your father used to say that unlike others, including your mother, his queen and himself, you expressed, from a very young age, your courage with your heart and the strength of your mind, all at the same time, which made you the most powerful person in the entire universe.

"Please, I'm sorry…"

In New York City, snowflakes fall endlessly on the cold winter night, and your breath disappears into space as you exhale, losing yourself in the infinity as your face twisted into an angry expression, like the lion trapped in a cage that is disturbed before going out to act. Life had been monotonous these past few months, without a shred of freedom or wind in your wings to take you further than you've ever been, never far from home. The stories from the romance books you used to read that encapsulated the growing nerves and overflowing emotions you hoped to feel sometime in your life were the only thing that seemed to keep you alive, but they seemed further and further from reality. You longed for a story, an adventure that wasn't yours and that didn't belong to you, an emotion that would set your frozen heart on fire, a call that would echo through the towering buildings that formed a great maze from which you never seemed to escape.

Your deepest thoughts were interrupted, however, by a large hand closing over your mouth, imprisoning your senses and your body as he dragged you into the empty alley on the snow leaving a swaying trail. The brick wall was cold against your back even over your coat, freezing your actions as you stared in terror at the grinning face in front of you, which exuded the smell of heavy drink through his pores. But, during the seconds the fear that was born inside you lasted, it was as if that same fear had turned on a switch that gave way to anger, a resplendent feeling that blinded you like trying to see the sun when it was at its highest point. It was then that your hand that was squeezing against your stomach was filled with courage until it found the neck of that unpleasant man until he was lifted into the air and imprisoned in the same way that he had done with you. The man begged for forgiveness so fast, but it was already too late for him, and the freedom of the force within you directed through your body in his direction, turning him into snow that was rocked by the incessant wind of a stormy night, right before your unbelieving eyes.

"You don't know what I did."

"No matter what you did, I don't want you to die."

The young man's eyes beg for you to change your mind, you can see it in the fear of his gaze. As if he had known you all his life, the feeling is electricity traveling through your deepest senses, but bumping into the invisible wall of reason because there's nothing about him inside you.

"I don't know you."

"I'm Spider-man, but you can call me Peter."

"Peter?" His name is like cotton candy melting on your trembling lips.

For young Peter Parker, the roof of that building feels unstable, or maybe it's the fear in his heart and throughout his body that makes the world tilt to one side, it seems. His breath is lost in the noise of the city, making him smaller than he already felt since he lost you to a spell. His eyes have not stopped looking at you, losing themselves in a look without memories of him. His hand is down, but he's always ready to do what he has to do in case you succumb to whatever got you to this point, though Peter isn't quite sure why. You were always so meticulous, so sure of yourself with your powers, so beautiful and so free with them in the palm of your hand.

But Peter Parker only knows that he has just found you in the least expected place in the world, and that this time, without a spell involved and with the memories of him buried in the darkness of your memory, he never intends to let you go from now on.

[sailingintothenight]

“Thirsty tweets.” T.H. Imagine.

(Not my gif)

Summary: The one where you and Tom read thirsty tweets from fans.

A/N: Bad jokes but I hope you like it. Make a compilation of the best tweets I saw on YouTube. No warning, just a few bad words I guess. Resquest are open!!!

"Hi guys. I am (Y/N) (Y/L/N)." You say when the recording officially starts, the multiple cameras in the studio focusing on Tom and you.

"And I don't agree with this." Says Tom next to you, who is sitting cross-legged in a blue-painted studio. "I'm Tom Holland and we're here at BuzzFeed Celeb to read some thirsty tweets."

"Oh hush, this will be fun." You laugh, holding the vase of tweets in your hands and then tipping it towards him, so that Tom can pull out the first piece of paper. "Let's get this party started."

Tom reads the first tweet.

“I’d let Tom Holland father every SINGLE egg of my nonexistent uterus. Laaaaaawd! Oh my goodness." Tom says, slightly embarrassed. "Thanks?"

"What is it? Some kind of alien?" You chuckle as you pull out the second piece of paper. "I want someone look at me the way Tom Holland and (Y/N) (Y/L/N) look at each other."

"Oh." You both look into each other's eyes with love as you smile at those words.

“I literally want Tom Holland to SMASH my skull between his massive thighs of him. Goodnight." You chucke. “I told you to wear pants for your interview with Jimmy Fallon. But I guess that's the kind of content that fans want. Wow.” 

"I only give them what they ask for, darling." Tom says, this time, smugly.

"Get out of here." You laugh as you playfully push him making him laugh before continuing to read. ”(Y/N) (Y/L/N) can chocke me any holy day. Into chocking, uh? Makes two of us." You say before folding the paper and putting it inside your clothes.

"Hey. Hey, hey, take that off your clothes." Tom lunges at you playfully, ready to search for that piece of paper anywhere on your body. Literally.

"Sit on my face and suffocate me, Tom Holland." You read the following tweet for him. "Wow."

"(Y/N) (Y/L/N) is one thicc b-i-h." Tom frowns as he looks at the piece of paper and then looks at you confused. "What does that mean?"

"It means bitch, honey." You say instructing him, then look at the camera acting serious, an eyebrow raised to show that you mean it. "Yes, yes I am."

“Tom Holland’s ass is the REAL LONDON’s ass. Ow, thank you, darling. In fact, I am very proud of my ass. It's great, there's no need to deny that. And I think it showed in Spider-man homecoming and Far from home."

"Ow, thanks to the thong." You say laughing, although you also share the idea that Tom has a good butt. “I have to admit that Tom has a good butt. Really firm. I kind of like to slap him from time to time."

"Yes, and that hurts." Tom complains, a hand on his butt. “Thinking about Tom Holland sleeping in (Y/N) (Y/L/N) belly doesn’t bothers me at all. You go, girl. Take him to the moon for me.” 

"Owwww." You smile, loving that they quoted a line from the movie inside out. "You guys are the sweetest."

"Her belly is very comfortable." Tom says, nodding thoughtfully. “Dear Tom, I literally want to set myself on fire with your immense sexiness. Thanks, love." Tom flexes his arm muscles casually as he pretends to scratch his hair. "Now let's move on to the next one before (Y/N) throws up because of me."

"Thanks for your consideration." You laugh sarcastically before clearing your throat to read the following tweet in all caps. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N) WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO BE HOT AND LETHAL. EMOTICON FIRE, EMOTICON FIRE."

"Why are you screaming?!" Tom asks raising his voice, laughing. “Look at my queen (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I swear to God she is the baddest bitch in the universe! I wanna be like her. She is the baddest in my opinion."

You chuckle. 

"Ow, thank you. I believe I’m very bad, I don’t think I’m the baddest in the universe, maybe in some countries. But thank you."

"I want Tom Holland to play the guitar and sing to me to sleep." Tom reads the following Tweet, getting shy about talking about his voice. "Thanks love. I'm still learning to play guitar and I'm not the best singer, but I'll give it a try when you guys want it. Now we go to the next one. (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and Tom Holland own my ass GOODBYE!"

You and Tom look into each other's eyes before chuckling.

“I am now the proud owner of your BACK-SIDE. YEAH." You say, making a fist with your hand as if you had achieved something great.

"Yikes. That is intense." Tom says before moving on to the next one. “My ideal weight is Tom Holland on top on me. Guys! My mum is gonna see this!"

"What about me?! My parents told me not to do this!" You chuckle. “Can I say that I will let Tom Holland slit my throat with his jawline any day? Well Tom's jaw is very sharp, rumor has it that he can cut anything with it."

“Yes, but why did I want to cut a throat. I don't want to go to jail." 

You laugh. 

“Yo guys listen to me, I would literally buy a thousand front row tickets just to see Tom Holland and (Y/N) (Y/L/N) have a hot make-out session. Point. Goodbye."

"Guys, come on, we only do that in private." Tom jokes, although the truth is that it is true. 

You roll your eyes before reading the following tweet.

"Me: I am thirsty. Mom: have a glass of water. Me: the thirst for (Y/N) (Y/L/N) never stops." 

"That's true." Tom says looking at the camera, as serious as never in his life. “I want the government to create a law where Tom Holland cannot wear a T-shirt. He has to be shirtless 24/7."

"That's what everyone would like, right bitches?" You laugh, although the truth is something that you would not care.

“I'm not sure everyone would agree with that, and I don't want to, you know, be responsible for some heart attacks because of me. Now we go with another tweet." Tom crumples the paper before moving on to the next one. "Tom Holland in glasses owns my ass!"

"Being part blind is hot? I didn't know." You joke as Tom gives you a look. “Tom Holland fu*k me in the ear with your English accent. How is that possible???!!! You know what, I'm out. Peace."

You joke, getting out of the seat to end the segment.

"Darling come on. You know I only love you!" Says Tom, following you out of the cameras where you two both meet to laugh.

[sailingintothenight]

Imagine Peter meeting Loki's daughter, (Y/N) Laufeyson:

(Not my gift)

A/N: I was planning on doing a story on this imagine but I'm not sure yet. Maybe i will or maybe not. Romanoff is alive here because yeah.

Just a short imagine about how I think Peter would meet Loki's daughter:

After Tony's death, Peter knew nothing about a new initiative that included other little future avengers: The Romanian twins Nica & Alexandre and the daughter of the God of Mischief.

For young Peter Parker, the same one who had fought an infinity war and an endgame alongside the greatest and most honorable avengers, the thought of spending his days caring for small avengers and large social misfits, was the least tempting idea of the world, but when he learned that Tony himself had asked him to do it before he died, he had no choice but to accept.

"Okay... so you want me to be friends with them." Peter trailed the sound of the O between his lips as he narrowed his eyes, because a part of him collided with an invisible, metaphorical wall that did not allow him to understand everything correctly. “One question first: what about the music through the speakers? It's a piano."

Happy sighed, so long and heavy as if his soul no longer fit in his body and he needed to expel it. "It is to know where (Y/N) is. She teaches Morgan 2 times a week."

(Y/N)?"

“(Y/N) Laufeyson."

It was then that Peter's eyes widened and his mouth suddenly went dry upon hearing the last name that was born from someone else with a kinship to the god of mischief, the same one who once wanted to end the earth in his alliance with Ultron during combat in NY.

"Are you talking about Laufeyson, like Loki Laufeyson?" Peter blinked, losing sense of the world around him.

"Yes. He was my daddy, but not in a dirty way of course." Peter was startled by the sound of an angelic voice that pierced his ears like sweet honey, staring with puzzled eyes at the young woman, who could be his age, standing behind him, arms folded as he shot Peter a suspicious look. “Don't be scared by the last name. You should be more afraid of the person behind it. Excuse me."

On your way to the chairs that were placed in a circle in the center of the room, Peter followed you with his gaze the whole way, catching inside his eyes the daisy you were wearing behind your ear and the way your hair was fluttering with your walk. Your Led Zepelin t-shirt was slightly bigger than you, making you look like those vintage girls MJ used to see on a page called Tumblr.

"Wake up boy, I didn't bring you here to daydream." Happy said, giving Peter a warning look that wouldn't scare even Morgan. "Help us Tony, I see this was a bad idea."

"Well kids, thanks for coming." Said Romanoff, whom the children did respect enough to keep silent every time she spoke. “I think we've had a very progressive week in terms of controlling your powers and knowing how to use them when it's due. I've worked a lot with the twins, as well as (Y/N), who has come a long way these weeks. (Y/N) Would you like to share with us?"

"Uh, okay... Hello." You said, changing position in your chair. “I am (Y/N) Laufeyson, daughter of the god of mischief. Uh… I can blow things up with my mind, including heads, although this device on my arm minimizes the power of my telekinesis. Thanks to Tony. I'm good with knifes too, courtesy of my dad, so stabbing you would be the easiest thing in the world. And sometimes I have the urge to burn this place to the ground, but then I say, Nah. What for? I like it here." You chuckled, making everyone else uncomfortable. "I think that's all. Thank you."

“At least she said thank you.” Said Happy quietly, fixing the perfect knot in his tie, and fighting the urge to wipe the silent sweat that begins to collect on his face. Peter is more than surprised, but he is able to hear Happy's next words. "(Y/N) will be in your class next week, so good luck kid, you'll need it."

I know this probably sucks but hey, a little bit is better than nothing. Thank you for reading!

[sailingintothenight]

“Darling, U.” T. H. Imagine.

(Not my picture)

Summary: Tom plays the guitar for you and your baby.

A/N: Just a short imagine, hope you like it. (You can send some requests, my inbox is always open) Thank you♥ You can read this imagine first if you want “My everything” or you can just read this one.

Autumn Rose Holland was one year and two months old now.

Her voice was sweet to your ears every time she spoke the words Daddy and Mommy or discovered a bit of the new world with each day that came, but when night arrived and it was time to sleep, you knew that the warmth of her little body against yours could melt any frozen season, especially that cold London winter. On that wonderful night, you hoped that Autumn would have a good dream, perhaps being in your arms that protected her like a shield, with her head on your right arm and the weight of her body being supported by your left one. You held her tight with your warmth, hoping that the emotion that filled the night would help her fall asleep, but nothing had worked in the last hour.

"It's your turn, Tom… Tom!" Harry exclaims from the first floor, watching his older brother find himself lost in time and space when he should be playing the next game of pool.

But Tom removes the air pod that was connected to the baby's radio from his ear at the same time that he puts the pole on the table.

"Sorry guys. My ladies require my help."

And without saying more, Tom picks up the guitar that is in the corner of his home's game room and hurries out of the place, turning down the hall to go up the stairs to where his wife and daughter are. The scene in front of him is tender and fills his heart with joy, feeling like the luckiest man in the world when he realizes that he has a family that he can love without limits, and that they love him back too.

"Don't worry, darling." He says to you, because he reserves the darling for you while the little darling is for his baby since he started practicing that song. "I'm here armed and ready to put this baby of ours to sleep."

You raise an eyebrow.

"Hadn't I asked you to stop spying on us on the monitor?"

"Hehe - Sorry."

With that said, Tom sits on the corner of the bed and places the guitar on his knee, playing with the strings for a few seconds before finding the right ones to play the song that he thinks will serve as a lullaby to sleep for Autumn, who doesn't stop moving in your arms.

"I'm not very good at this so don't laugh at me." He says, honestly nervous.

"She is too young to laugh at someone and I don't promise anything." You chuckled.

"You’re funny." Tom smiles. "Okay, here we go..."

His face turned serious as he began to play, his expert fingers strumming the strings in the right places, surprising you with the hard effort of his hours of practice that had produced beautiful results. You smiled to yourself when Tom began to sing lightly, shy about showing his voice in public, but sure that if he would, he would do it with you two.

“Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter. Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here. Here comes the sun do, do, do. Here comes the sun. And I say it's all right.”

You know Tom was sensitive about singing, so you stay in your place like he's done it a thousand times already, like it's no big deal, even though you were dying to give him a round of applause and congratulate him on his beautiful voice and huge effort to learn to play just for her, but silence on your part reigned as you watch in peace as Autumn began to close her eyes and stop moving against you, until finally, she fell asleep peacefully.

In silence and as Tom puts the guitar aside and collapses on the bed, you place your daughter in the crib, letting her rest after a day of freedom and discovery. Following in her footsteps, you lie on the bed next to Tom, who has an outstretched arm ready to take you in his arms, just to enjoy a moment in each other's company.

"You did very well, love." You say, closing your eyes when the fatigue of a long day begins to overcome you.

"Thanks, my darling." Tom responds, leaving a soft kiss on your forehead before closing his eyes as well, forgetting the whole world to rest in your warm embrace until the next day.

[sailingintothenight]

Please take 5 to read me

Hello angels! I can finally say that I’m back after a long break of exactly 5 months. I know you probably don't care where I went xd but I was in a therapeutic center because of my depression. It is not my intention to air my personal problems here, I just would like to heartily advise those who have this disease not to ignore it. Depression is a very serious mental illness if it is not treated in time and if you don’t give it the necessary care. I say this from my own experience. I overlooked it too long until it got too deep. I know that there are many people here dealing with this, and if I can give you some advice please get help. That is the most important thing. 

I didn’t do it and I had to almost be in a car accident with my family to realize how bad I was. Please do it. Your life is so precious. learned many things in that center and I know it was the best decision of my life, like that my only purpose in this life is to be happy, that i have to live my day and not to worry so much about the future, and That God's times are always perfect (if you believe in God of course) but now I am back to continue with my life where I left it, continuing with my therapy and my medications. Now I know that one day I may no longer have depression or I may live with it for a lifetime, but one day I will learn to live with it in peace without hurting myself or hurting my loved ones. Cheer up, my darlings, I know we can do it! And Well, having said that, I am back on this platform so I hope to upload some stories like I did in the past, if you want you can send some requests and I will write them as fast as I can. If you want to talk, I’m here. Thank you very much for taking the time to read me. I hope everyone is strong in this internal struggle, I know we will live well. I love you all. XOXO — V.