#Get another one to make it easier to... Train

[websterss]

THE WOES OF BOWTIES AND MISSING PUZZLE PIECES — ROBERT REYNOLDS

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

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

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

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

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

MASTERLIST

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm sorry…" Bob releases a sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I feel good in sweatpants." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, say it!" She encourages.

"No. I should stay home-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t think you could.” 

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

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

“No…”

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

“No, he–“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No wait- I wasn’t-“ He protests. 

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

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

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

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

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

“A wingman?” Bob’s brows crease. 

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

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

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

“But Yelena told me to just be my-“

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

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

“She’s networking.” 

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

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

“Maybe we should wait-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

"Let's talk about this-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You didn't need to kill him."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No." You insist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

He threw me! Your thoughts alert you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No!"

"Let her go!"

"Bob, let her go!"

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

"Great, you don't remember."

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

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

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

"Void." Bucky sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Get her back?" Bob shook his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"B-Bob?" Your voice croaks.

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

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

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

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

Loop eleven.

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

You had it this whole time. His eyes soften.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just like that?"

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Were you hurt?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is she okay?" He mouths.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yelena.

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

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

-

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

Dreadful.

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

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

Asshole.

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

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

“You’re unbelievable!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bob-“ You sigh.

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

“No-“ You protest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bob please…” You call after him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Want some company?” Ava offers surprisingly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Anything..."

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

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

“That’s okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah. Why do you ask?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

This type of condescending post is why the LGBT is losing acceptance.

I just want that to be understood. Because let's break this down.

OP's picture compares "Flamboyance" to Joy. These things are not the same.

"Gay joy reminds the straight man of what he has suffocated himself in exchange for social acceptance or power". Ok this is another one of those "Gay is ackchewally the default" arguments. Or one of those, "men loving other men is normal but you are just giving that up for power and acceptance". No they aren't giving up jack shit. THEY ARE JUST STRAIGHT. Wtf. And you people claim you are born gay but straight people aren't real? Please justify the double standard.

"He folds himself into whatever shape looks like" Yeah. Men generally do that regardless. Unless you are telling me that gay men are incapable of being "Proper men" because they are gay. The funniest bit about this argument is that you think you are pointing out that straight men don't know what real men are when historically, men help foster the next generation. They help train the next generation to protect and defend. They hunt for the settlements and explore the world around them to keep the village safe. This has always been true. Men FOLD themselves into whatever they need to be in order to keep life going forward. That "Folding" isn't "stopping myself from being gay and happy".

Also just to point out this last bit-

#and remember you've contorted yourself into the shape of a Real Woman in exchange for soc acceptance & power#and denied yourself the gentle acceptance of doing what is comfortable on this earth

People opt for whatever standards they want. If not enough people care about those standards, they fade away. That's how society works. You are making a jab at the idea of "Real woman" when often the term historically I've heard is "Proper". Real and Proper have two different meanings. And what's more, earlier before this line, you act like, condescendingly so, that "society has created a bad standard for what a real woman is and women mindlessly go along with it." <Paraphrasing here. Even more, you posit this-

#similar w straight women hating butch lesbians#you see a woman not shaving not wearing make up wearing comfy clothes and still being loved and desired

And let me mention something here. 1. Butch Lesbians are a very small minority in the Lesbian community. 2. The way you say this is almost the same condescending way that top post implied that "Gay" is ACTUALLY the way to be a "real man". Except here it's "growing out your body hair is how you be a "real woman". Except I'd be willing to bet FemLesbians do not agree with you. Especially not Fem for Fem.

Posts like this are often fucking stupid, made with possibly good intent but fall short as they only go, "WOW STRAIGHT PEOPLE ARE SO MAD". YEAH. I've been pissed for years that gay men have targeted me, a red head, and tried to get me to do sexual acts with them. And have tried to force their lifestyles on me.

SO YES. A little pissed off. But not for the reasons you claim. I don't care if a person is flamboyant. Unless they are really obnoxious about it. Because after a point, you are just putting on a performance so that everyone around you has to see you. And it's actually fucking annoying. What's more, misery and joy can't be quantified by whether or not you shave. A lot of people actually prefer to groom themselves by shaving because it's easier to keep themselves clean and make them sweat less. Take it from me as the fucking missing link, I'm the embodiment of wishing I could afford laser hair removal. And if I hate my own body hair as much as I do, color me shocked that as many women willingly shave for just themselves as do.

Posts like this are actually quite demeaning. And very condescending. Now to punt this over to my gay ally -> @theconstitutionisgayculture

EXACTLY!

[purplereina11]

In a match where the scoreboard tells only half the story, a fierce on-pitch rivalry between you and football royalty, Alexia Putellas, evolves into something electric — something unspoken, but deeply felt. Between the lines two players lock eyes, trade touches, and blur the line between competition and connection. What begins as a game becomes a gravity neither can resist.

Part 8 Other Parts

Word Count: 7.5K

You knew it was coming but it didn’t hurt any less when the list dropped. You saw the names. Scanned slowly, as if your own would appear if you blinked enough times, but it didn’t.

Not selected for this England camp.

Your phone buzzes with the group chat a stream of heart emojis and for the first time in years, you don’t have a reply, because you’re not going. Not even close.

You’re at home, sat on the corner of your bed, thumb resting on your screen like it might undo the post if you hold it long enough. You’d known something was wrong weeks ago.

Your club coach hadn’t looked at you the same since the injury. Since the press focused more on your recovery than the team after a must win game the team won. The minutes dried up, then the starts, then the glances.

You kept your head down, you trained harder, you didn’t say a word, you worked to prove every day you were recovered fit and ready to go.

But now because you weren't playing for club, you’ve been benched into invisibility.

You lock your phone. Stare ahead. Try not to let it sting more than it already does, but the spiral is already happening not fast, but deep. Your body’s healthy, but your mind was slipping, because if you’re not on the pitch… who are you?

You had no idea, and the comments of your move to Germany was career suicide were all coming back and proving themselves right.

The list isn’t haunting your inbox. It’s haunting your silence.

You think about training the way the coaches don’t speak to you unless it’s procedural. The way they praise others. The way your name never leaves their mouth, unless it’s followed by 'off the pace; or 'needs to be sharper', despite in your opinion you were doing a lot of drills better than some that were getting on the bench if not starting.

You think about your body. How it’s fine now, fully fit. Working hard. You’ve done everything right. And still nothing. The frustration sits hot in your ribs. Your jaw clenches. You want to scream. You want to cry. You do neither. You just sit. And the spiral deepens.

Am I not good enough anymore?

Did the injury change how they see me?

Or did it just make it easier for them to forget me?

You rub your eyes with the heel of your palms. They burn, the ache behind your cheekbone old bruising still echoes in your face like a shadow of that night. The night you won, and bled, and mattered.

You haven’t felt like that player since.

Your phone buzzes once. You don’t check it. Then again. And again. You still don’t look.

Because it might be Georgia. Or Beth. Or Sarina, with something generic and clinical like 'Keep working hard, we’re watching.' And you’re not sure which would hurt more, their concern, or their silence.

So you lie back on your bed. Eyes on the ceiling, and let yourself feel nothing, because that’s worse than anger and right now, it’s all you’ve got.

The buzz comes again not a notification from socials, not news, not group chat noise.

Just one name.

Alexia

You stare at the screen. It’s not a meme. Not a casual thinking of you. Not a selfie she wants to know if was ok for an Instagram dump she was doing.

It’s a message that makes your chest pull tight.

You haven’t said anything about the call-up list.

You read it once. Twice.

The simplicity of it hits harder than anything else, because she knows you would have said something, because she’s read your silence perfectly.

Then, another one, quickly after:

I’m not asking if you’re okay. I know you’re not. Do you want to talk or do you want me to distract you?

You don’t answer right away. You just stare at the messages, fingers hovering over the screen, throat tight, because it’s not pity. It’s just her. Knowing the exact right way to stand next to you when everything feels like it’s slipping.

Your reply takes a minute to type, but you send it.

I don’t know what I want. I just feel like I’m disappearing.

Her typing bubble appears almost immediately.

You’re not. I see you. Even from here.

You stare at those words. Let them sink in. Let yourself feel them and for the first time all day, the spiral pauses.

The call comes less than a minute after her last message. Your screen lights up with her name and you hesitate for half a breath then answer.

“Hola,” she says gently. “Hi.” You don’t speak right away. She fills the space, soft and steady. “I’ve booked you a flight.”

You blink. “What?”

“I’ve booked you a flight,” she repeats, firmer now. “To Barcelona. Two nights, maybe three. Before I leave for camp.”

You sit up slowly on the edge of the bed, one hand against your temple. “Alexia…”

“Not taking no for an answer,” she says, cutting off your protest before it starts. “No plans. No expectations. Just you, me, and my sofa.”

You exhale, heavy. “I can’t just leave Teddy—”

“He has a ticket.”

You freeze. “What?”

“I booked him a pet fare,” she says casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Cabin-approved. I looked it up.”

Your lips part, silence stretching between you. “You’re serious,” you finally murmur.

“Of course I am.”

You run a hand down your face. “You didn’t even ask—”

“You wouldn’t have said yes.”

You lean forward, forehead against your knee. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not,” she says immediately.

The line goes quiet for a second, your heart stutters, then she adds, softer now “And I’m not letting you spiral alone.”

You wipe at your eye nothing’s fallen yet, but the pressure is building. You whisper, “When?”

“Morning. 10:15. Pack comfortable things. Teddy’s allowed a blanket and treats.”

You let out a breathless, broken laugh. “Of course you looked up dog policy.”

“You needed something to hold onto,” she replies. “So I made the space.”

You swallow hard. “You’re going to ruin me.”

Her voice breaks just a little when she says, “Maybe I’m just finally showing you what not being alone looks like.”

You nod, even though she can’t see. “I’ll be there.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

⚽️

You wake to your alarm barely slept, eyes gritty, the weight of yesterday still clinging to your ribs, but something is different.

There’s movement. A tail thumping.

Teddy’s already pacing by the door, ears alert, head cocked like he knows. Like Alexia texted him the plan.

You stretch gently, wincing just a little, and mutter, “You’re too smart.”

He just wags harder. You pack slow only what you need. Soft clothes. A hoodie that smells like your flat. His lead. His travel harness. You pause once, staring at the mirror. You decide to pack a few nice outfits just incase Alexia does an impromptu lunch again.

At the airport, everything is controlled chaos.

Teddy is beside you, full of tail wags and leash tangles, drawing smiles from half the check-in staff as he tries to lick the counter agent’s sleeve.

"He's a beautiful dog,” the woman behind the desk says with a warm smile, watching you fumble with his paperwork.

You open your mouth, then close it. Smile, soft. “Yeah. He is.”

Security is a mess, Teddy insists on sniffing everything, whines none stop when his emotional support elephant plush toy had to go through the scanner and lays dramatically on the scanner floor when asked to wait but eventually, you're through.

On the plane, he lies quietly at your feet, head on your shoes, gaze flicking up at you every few minutes like he’s checking you’re still here.

You reach down, fingers brushing his fur, the plane hums, clouds roll past the window, Teddy is the best of boys and your heart picks up, because you’re almost there and she’ll be waiting.

⚽️

You stand just inside the arrivals hall, trying not to look like you’re searching, even though you are.

You’re holding Teddy’s lead in one hand, your travel bag looped over your shoulder, hoodie pulled up slightly despite the warmth of the Spanish afternoon light filtering through the glass walls.

Teddy pants beside you calm, tail swaying, already earning smiles from strangers. You don’t notice. You’re too busy scanning faces.

Your fingers twitch around the strap of your bag, heart thudding, that soft, fragile voice inside your head asking, What if she’s not here yet? What if this was too much?.

Down the corridor, behind the sea of people, moving toward you with that familiar, grounded walk, calm, steady, head high.

No hoodie this time. No low-key disguise. Just Alexia. In soft denim, white tee, hair tied back in a low twist, sunglasses pushed up into it like she forgot they were there and the moment her eyes land on you, everything else slows.

No smile yet just her gaze, fixed. Sure. Certain.

You don’t move, because you can’t, but Teddy does.

The second he sees her, he lunges forward with the full weight of 35 kilos of devotion, dragging you a step before you catch him, breathless “Teddy!”

But Alexia laughs. Full, bright, and relieved.

She drops into a crouch as she reaches you, arms open without hesitation, Teddy barrels into her, tail thumping, nose pressing into her shoulder like she’s his, too and she takes it. All of it.

Then she looks up at you from where she kneels hair half-loose now, eyes shining and says, softly “Bon Dia.”

Your breath catches “Hi,” you whisper back.

She rises slowly, one hand steadying Teddy, the other brushing against yours as she stands.

You should say something clever. Something casual. But all you manage is “You came.”

And she just smiles. “No,” she says. “You did.”

⚽️

The trunk closes with a soft thud.

Teddy’s curled in the backseat already, head resting against the window like he owns the car. His breath fogs the glass in soft huffs. He’s content. He always is.

You slide into the passenger seat just as Alexia settles behind the wheel, adjusting her sunglasses and glancing your way.

“You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

She starts the car, shifts smoothly into gear. “Hungry?”

“A little.”

“I’ll make something.”

You glance out the window. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” she says. She always says it like that simple, no weight. Just truth. The first few minutes on the road pass in easy quiet.

Barcelona blurs past the windows palm trees, red-tiled rooftops, the hum of city midday. The kind of sun you forgot existed when you’d been stuck inside so long. Her music plays through the speakers mellow, not English. Soft vocals and layered guitar. You don’t know the song, but you don’t want to ask. You just want to listen.

At a red light, she glances sideways. “You didn’t pack much.”

You shrug, eyes still on the road ahead. “Didn’t feel like I needed to.”

She nods slowly, as if that answer is good enough. Maybe it is. “I’m glad you came,” she says, finally.

You rest your head against the window, let the cool glass anchor you. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Me too.”

The sun shifts on your skin as the car turns, her hand stays on the wheel, yours rests in your lap and there’s nothing else to say.

Not yet, not when being here, next to her, finally feels like the most normal thing you’ve done in weeks.

The city softens as you leave the airport zone the buildings lower, the roads narrower, every other corner bursting with flowering trees and motorbikes tucked in at angles only locals understand.

Alexia slows at a small plaza. There’s a corner shop old, sun-faded signage, a line of crates outside stacked with oranges and glossy tomatoes. “I’m stopping here,” she says.

You glance sideways. “Need something?”

She eases the car to the curb, cuts the engine. “You’ll want snacks later. I’m not risking you staring at me in hunger like I’m your next meal.”

You huff a tired laugh. “No faith.”

She unclips her seatbelt but doesn’t move right away. “I’ll be two minutes. You good?”

You nod. “Teddy’ll protect me.”

Her mouth curves, amused. “He’ll sell you out for a breadstick.”

You lean your head back as she steps out. The door closes gently, and through the window, you watch her walking in that quiet, purposeful way she always does. Not hurrying, not hiding.

Inside the shop, she grabs a basket, you can see her from the car, not watching you. Just knowing you’re there.

You glance at the backseat Teddy asleep, one paw twitching like he’s chasing something in his dreams. The car smells like warm air, her cologne, a bit of dog fur.

You sink into your seat, let yourself breathe. A few minutes later, she returns. One small bag. Two bottles of something fizzy. A box of those pretzels you always get when you travel.

She gets back in, hands you the bag wordlessly. You peek in, your favourite chocolate is there too.

You look at her, “You remembered?”

She doesn’t answer, just starts the car again and says softly, “I never forgot.”

⚽️

The car crunches up the short gravel drive, your legs are stiff Teddy’s tail is already thumping, his nose pressed against the window as if he can’t wait to get out and explore.

Alexia hops out first, moving fluidly. She’s already pushing open the door as you round the car, unclipping Teddy’s harness before you even reach the door.

“Wait, wait—” you mutter, but it’s too late.

She opens the front door and Teddy is gone. A streak of gold. His paws thunder across the smooth tile, nails clicking like a percussion line as he slides around the corner and out through the wide living space, paws thundering on the tile like a small horse who’s just discovered freedom.

“Wait— Teddy—” you half-yell, already regretting unclipping his lead too early, but he’s gone.

“Jesús,” Alexia laughs, stepping in behind you. “He’s been here two minutes.”

Teddy’s zooming around through the hall, into the open-plan living room, and straight for the glass bi-folding doors Alexia’s just finished sliding open to the backyard.

He doesn’t pause, doesn’t look back. “TED—”

He launches. Golden limbs splayed. Tongue out and then SPLASH. Water erupts from the pool like he just landed a cannonball in a silent library. Your stomach drops. Face flushes hot. You blink hard, hands rising like you might somehow rewind time.

“Oh my god, I’m— Alexia, I’m so—” She just laughs. Not politely, not politely at your expense. It’s real. Full. Bright.

“¿Pero qué…?” she manages through her laughter, hand to her chest as she watches him resurface and immediately start paddling laps with the grace of a floating rug.

You’re frozen, halfway into her house, shoes still on, mouth open in mortification. “I swear he’s not usually like this. He’s— he’s never jumped in a pool before. He’s not even— he’s not allowed on furniture when we go to peoples houses he knows that, I don’t— I’m so sorry—”

Alexia holds up a hand, eyes still on Teddy, who is now trying to climb out the shallow end and failing gloriously. “You think this is the worst thing that’s happened in this house?” she says, grinning. You blink. She nods toward the soaked paw prints already tracking along the tile. “He’s fine. The pool’s fine. The floor’s waterproof. Breathe.”

You exhale shakily, rubbing a hand over your face. “He does this now?” you mumble.

“I like that he feels comfortable.”

You glance at her the way she’s still smiling, watching Teddy with something closer to fondness than frustration. “You’re… weirdly chill about this.”

She shrugs. “You came here. You brought him. He likes the pool who wouldn’t”

You shake your head. “You’re too calm. I’m panicking.”

“I know,” she says. “It’s cute.” You groan, half-turning away. She walks past you, grabbing a towel off the laundry rack near the garden door. “Come on. Let’s get your idiot son out of the pool before he drinks it dry.”

You’re still red in the face when she hands you the towel, but her hand brushes yours, steady, warm and when your eyes meet, the embarrassment softens.

Because somehow she’s not laughing at you, she’s welcoming all of it. Even the soggy, soaking, zoom-prone parts.

⚽️

She didn’t make it a thing, just started chopping. Tomatoes. A bit of fresh bread. Cheese. Olive oil. Nothing complicated but it smells like someone meant it.

You hover near the edge of the kitchen, Teddy’s passed out across the tiled floor, tongue out, legs twitching. You don’t speak for a while, neither does she. The quiet isn’t awkward.

Finally, you push your hands into the pocket of your hoodie and ask, “Did you know I wasn’t called up before I said it?”

Alexia doesn’t look up. “Yeah.”

You nod slowly. “Thought so.”

“I saw the list. Checked it twice.”

“Right.”

She finishes arranging the food on two small plates, then sets them gently on the island before finally looking at you. “I waited to see if you’d tell me.”

You nod again, “I didn’t know how. Saying it out loud makes it feel real.. yanno?”

She moves around the counter and sits on one of the stools, keeping the other one beside her empty. Not pushing. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to,” she says.

You swallow. “I wasn’t picked. Not even a standby.”

“I know.”

“And I’ve been benched at club. Barely starting. I don’t think I’ve even had a full match since the injury. Not one.” She nods. “It’s like…” you exhale, leaning your hip against the counter, “I’m healthy. I’m trying. I’m still me. But nobody’s looking.”

Her voice is soft. Steady. “I am.”

You blink down at the wood grain of the countertop. “I don’t even know why it’s hitting me this hard. I’ve had setbacks before. I’ve been dropped. It’s part of the job.”

Alexia watches you. Quiet. Hands resting lightly on the rim of her plate.

“But this time,” you continue, “it feels like I got hurt and they were… relieved. Like it was the excuse they were waiting for to justify not playing me.”

Alexia nods once. Then finally speaks, “I’ve felt that too.”

You look at her sharply, surprised.

“I know what it’s like to be the golden one until you’re not useful. Until your body doesn’t move the way they need it to. Until they stop calling. Stop asking.”

You sit slowly, not saying a word. She presses her thumb to the edge of her plate.

“But you know what matters?”

You meet her eyes. She smiles, just a little.

“That you’re still trying. That you showed up everyday anyway”

Your throat catches. You don’t speak and then, like it’s nothing at all, she nudges your plate toward you.

“Now eat something. You can spiral again after lunch.”

You huff a laugh through your nose, pick up a slice of tomato, still quiet, but steadier. Not fixed. But held.

You take a bite, not because you’re hungry, because she asked, because she listened. It tastes better than you expected. Tomato sweet. Cheese soft. Bread with a crisp edge. All so ordinary. And maybe that’s why it makes you feel like crying.

She watches you gently. Not pressing. Just present. You chew slowly, eyes down. Then, without looking at her “Did you ever think you wouldn’t come back?”

A breath, “Yes.”

You look up. She nods, no hesitation.

“After the surgery,” she says, voice steady, “I couldn’t imagine myself moving the same. Playing the same. Being the same.”

You rest your elbow on the counter, leaning into it, “What did you do with that?”

“I let it break me. Quietly.” Her voice doesn’t waver. “Then I got bored of being broken. And remembered how much i love playing football and i wasn’t about to give up on it so easily”

You blink.

She half-smiles. “So I let myself change instead.”

You sit with that. Let it land and then your voice comes low. “I’m scared it’s not a phase.” She nods. Doesn’t interrupt. “That this isn’t temporary. That the version of me I keep waiting to feel again… just isn’t coming back.”

You meet her eyes, finally and she gets it. Not with a pep talk. Not with stats or promises, just with her gaze. “Maybe you don’t need her back.”

You freeze. “What?”

She says it again, slower. “Maybe you don’t need the old version. Maybe this one now, hurting, rebuilding, here is the version who gets to decide who she becomes.”

You don’t know what to say. Not right away, but your chest eases just slightly and after a pause, you whisper, “I want to believe that.”

Alexia tilts her head, watching you with such soft certainty it burns. “I already do.” The silence after that isn’t heavy, itholds you both, then she nudges your plate again.

“Finish that. You need fuel for reinvention.”

You smirk faintly. “You sound like a self-help podcast.”

She grins. “I’m bilingual.”

And just like that the weight doesn’t vanish but it shifts.

⚽️

The sun’s slanting warm across the tiled floor when Alexia tugs her training top over her head. Hair pulled into a braid, she moves around the house with the quiet focus of someone who’s done this a thousand times but she still glances over at you twice in five minutes.

You’re leaning against the doorframe with Teddy at your feet watching curiously, arms crossed, hoodie sleeves shoved up.

“You sure you’re okay with Alba picking you up again?” she asks, slipping her watch onto her wrist.

You nod. “I liked her. She didn’t make me feel like a guest.”

Alexia looks up at that and smiles, just a little. “You’re not.” A moment later, the gate buzzer sounds. “Speak of the devil,” she mutters.

You follow her down the short path to the front door Teddy trots beside you like he belongs here and maybe he does.

Alexia opens the door and there she is Alba, leaning against her car, sunglasses on, already waving when she sees you.

She beams when you come down the steps. “Hola! Look at you, and look at this guy,” she adds, crouching immediately to give Teddy a proper greeting, which he accepts like she’s his long-lost best friend.

Alexia watches the reunion for a second before turning back to you, “You good?” You nod, adjusting the bag on your shoulder. “Text me when you get there,” she says.

“I will.”

She leans in, no hesitation, and kisses you once, quick and warm, just a little longer than necessary and then she’s jogging toward her car uncharacteristically late for her own game, braid swinging, focused now.

You slide into Alba’s passenger seat, after taking Teddy back inside and giving him a treat to distract him.

As you pull away, Alba glances over, her voice light. “You’re not nervous this time.”

You shrug, watching the road ahead. “No,” you say softly. “We've done this before, I'm not nervous”

She smiles. “Good.”

The city slips past the windows in shades of soft yellow and sun-dusted stone. Warm air filters through the cracked window, Alba drives with one hand on the wheel, sunglasses still perched high, her elbow resting against the edge of the window.

Music plays low Spanish indie-pop you don’t know, but don’t mind. She glances over once you’re clear of the tighter city roads, “You’ve been quieter than last time.”

You huff a faint laugh. “That bad, huh?”

“No. Just different.”

You nod slowly, watching a couple cross a narrow street holding cones of ice cream. “I guess I feel different,” you admit.

She doesn’t respond right away. Just lets it hang for a few blocks. You like that about her the patience. Then, softly, “Alexia said you weren’t called up.”

You glance at her not sharply, but it still surprises you. “She told you?”

“She didn’t need to,” Alba says. “I’ve known her long enough to know when she’s holding someone a little closer than usual.” You look back to the window. Alba adds gently, “And I’ve seen her try to hold herself together after an injury. She wasn’t okay then, either.” You swallow. The words settle deep. “You don’t have to say anything,” she continues. “But I figured I’d say I see it too, your quite obviously sad, but if you want to off load, you can to me to”

You nod. Quiet. A bit glassy-eyed now. “Thanks,” you say after a second. “I’m not great at talking about stuff.”

“I didn’t ask you to be.” She smiles. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

You glance over at her again, and this time, your smile breaks through. “So, what, are you the secret emotional support sibling?”

Alba grins. “God, no. That would require emotional growth.” You both laugh. “I just care about people who care about my sister.”

You sit back, letting it hold you.

Alba chuckles. “You’re going to be alright, you know.”

You nod because you know it was just a set back and you had heard and witnessed people come back from a lot worse than a coach who didn't particularly like them.

The car eases into the reserved lot, and Alba navigates the back entrance, there’s a warmth in the familiarity not VIP treatment, not arrogance, just belonging.

Alba nudges your elbow, “Come on, star guest. You’ve got a front-row view and zero excuses.”

She leads you through the short hallways, the buzz of the stadium starting to build just outside crowd noise like the sea. Distant but growing.

The players' families and friends section is fuller than last time you were here, you settle in beside Alba until she nudges you again, subtle this time, tilting her head toward the pair approaching from the left aisle.

Lucía, graceful, sharp eyes and warm smile waves gently as she walks up, her son in tow.

“Hola,” she greets, reaching for a hug Alba returns easily. Then she turns to you.

“I’m Lucía. I’ve heard… a little about you.”

There’s a playful tone in her voice. Enough to make you blush. Enough to make you laugh too. “Hopefully the good parts,” you say.

“Oh no, just the dramatic parts,” she teases.

Then Mateo maybe three, maybe four peeks around her side, wide-eyed and shy at first.

You crouch slightly, resting your hands on your knees. “Hey, bud,” you say. “I like your boots.” They’re bright green, one lace already untied.

He squints at you. “Are you the football player who’s friends with Ale?”

You blink. “Yes,” you say slowly. “That’s… exactly right.”

“Good,” he says, and without another word, plops into the empty seat beside you like he’s claimed it for himself.

Lucía sighs fondly. “I guess you’ve been approved.”

You glance sideways. Mateo’s already tugging lightly at your sleeve. “She says you have a doggy” he asks, very serious.

Your lips twitch. “I do"

He suddenly looks away and points instantly at the pitch. “Thats my mami”

You follow his finger, and there she is Irene jogging across the pitch, all ready to go. You smile, soft and full, even before you realise you’re doing it. “Yeah,” you say. “Your mami makes my job a lot harder when I've played against her”

He nods, satisfied, Lucía sits beside her son, folding her hands with a glance toward the pitch.

The anthem fades. The whistle blows, and football begins. Not chaos. Not frenzy. Just the steady rhythm of the ball and the crowd and the heat of the early evening pressing into the concrete stands.

You’ve got your legs crossed, and Mateo beside you, his feet barely reaching the edge of the seat, arms crossed dramatically. Alba returns from the small concession line, slipping past Lucía with practiced ease.

She hands you a drink first something cold and fizzy then grins and produces a tiny tub of chocolate ice cream with a plastic spoon.

You lift an eyebrow. “We said no churros.”

“This isn’t churros,” she replies, smug. “It’s Ice cream.”

Mateo’s eyes are locked on the tub before it’s even fully in your hand. “I like ice cream,” he says gravely.

You glance at Lucía just a quick, discreet check. She gives you a soft nod. “One bite won’t kill him.”

Mateo immediately shuffles closer, then closer, then just leans, his shoulder bumping gently against your thigh as you peel the lid back.

You hand him the first spoonful.

He eats it with the exaggerated focus only a child can summon, one slow blink, a moment of stillness, then immediately declares, “That’s the best one.”

You smile, keeping your voice light. “Best flavour?”

“Chocolate,” he says. “Then strawberry. Then chocolate again.”

You hum thoughtfully, scooping a small bite for yourself before offering him another. “Strong list.”

He accepts the spoon, tilting his head dramatically as he eats it like a critic.

Alba leans closer from the other side. “You’re spoiling him.”

You grin without looking away from the pitch. “You bought it.”

“And you’re letting him lean on you like a puppy.”

You glance down, Mateo is half-resting against your hip now, eyes still fixed on the game.

You look at Lucía, half-apologetic, but she just smiles soft, real. “He’s comfortable with you.”

That hits you somewhere deep, because this isn’t a press conference. It’s not a stat line or a minutes report. It’s a child, trusting you. It’s this moment, so simple, earned.

You offer him another bite, and when he takes it, he sighs like he’s lived a life already. On the field, Alexia touches the ball for the first time clean, calm, confident.

Mateo points. “Auntie Ale kicked it really far”

You nod. “Yeah,” you murmur. “She’s something else.”

⚽️

The crowd has thinned. The sun’s dipped low behind the buildings, but the air’s still warm, humming with leftover energy the kind that lingers long after the final whistle.

You’re standing by Alba’s car, chatting lazily, Mateo propped on your hip. His cheek rests against your shoulder now, but his mouth is still going, hands gesturing like a proper little pundit.

“And then she kicked it so fast,” he says, wide-eyed. “Did you see that?”

“I saw,” you say with a laugh. “She does that sometimes.”

Lucía’s beside you, sipping a bottle of water, half-listening. Alba leans back against the car, sunglasses perched on her head, watching the whole thing like it’s better than any post-match analysis.

“Will you come play at my house sometime?,” Mateo adds suddenly.

You smile at him as he went a little shy, "Mr Paredes are you asking me on a play date?"

"I have super cool toys.. I promise"

"Well when you put it like that" you smile, "I'm not here for very long, maybe next time I come to barcelona?"

"Where do you live?"

"Munich"

"Munich?" Mateo's brows furrowed testing the word

"Yeah it's in Germany" You pull your phone out and show him on a map, "We're here, and I live all... the way over here"

"Wow" Mateo looks as Lucia takes a step closer, "I asked coco on a play date.. she said not now but another time"

“That’s because you were perfect,” Lucía replies, pressing a kiss to the top of his hair.

“I think she’s perfect,” Mateo announces, looking at you with all the sincerity in the world.

You blink. “Me?”

He nods seriously.

“Oh no,” Alba says, hands on her hips, turning just in time, “Irene,” she calls, spotting her and Alexia stepping out of the players exit, bags slung over their shoulders. “Your son just asked someone on a date.”

Irene lifts a brow. “¿Perdón?”

Lucía laughs, catching Irene’s eye. “He asked Y/N over for a play date” You and Irene smile politely at each other, you were not very aware you'd barely said a word to the defender and you were holding her son being invited into her home.

You glance up at movement and there Alexia is, hair damp from her post-match shower, sleeves rolled to her elbows, boots in hand. She slows when she spots you.

You don’t miss it. That little flicker in her expression, her eyes go to Mateo, then to your arms around him, then back to your face. "Did you her that Alexia? Mateo asked Y/N on a date"

It’s subtle, the shift in her jaw, the way her eyebrows pull ever so slightly together, the bite at the inside of her cheek. Jealousy, of a child. Soft. Undeniable. Ridiculous, but real.

You almost laugh but you’re too delighted, you offer her a perfectly neutral smile. Keep one arm snug around Mateo and say absolutely nothing.

Alexia recovers quickly, switching on a pleasant nod as she looks to the group and Mateo. Irene scoops Mateo from your arms, he grumbles but goes, eventually.

Alexia gives you a brief once-over. “You good?” she asks.

You nod, lips twitching. “Perfect,” you say, because you’ve seen it now and she’s never living this down.

⚽️

The house is quiet when you step through the door. Still warm with leftover sun. Teddy stretches on the cool tile as soon as he’s woken up, immediately rolling onto his back like the day hasn’t been long enough getting belly scratches from you.

Alexia walks ahead of you, keys jingling once before she tosses them into the bowl by the door. She says nothing as she slips off her shoes, sets her boots by the mat. Still cool. Still collected, nut you’ve seen it.

You’ve absolutely seen it and now that the front door clicks shut, you turn slowly, leaning your shoulder against the wall.

“Mateo asked me on a date.”

Alexia doesn’t look up right away. Just slides her fingers through her hair, tying it into a loose knot at the nape of her neck. “I heard.”

You hum, watching her carefully. “Said he had super cool toys. He promised.” A pause, still no reaction. You push just a little more “Really sweet, actually. Polite. Just adorably cute.”

Alexia lifts a brow. “He’s three.”

“He’s got good instincts.”

She meets your eyes now level, unreadable. But you see it: the way her jaw ticks, just once, the faintest narrowing of her gaze. “And are you… tempted?”

You grin. “Little bit.”

That does it, she closes the distance in two slow steps. Not urgent but purposeful. “You’re lucky I like you,” she murmurs.

You tilt your head. “I must be. I’m very popular lately.”

She narrows her eyes, eyes dropping to your mouth for a heartbeat too long, and then soft, sharp, teasing right back “Maybe I should’ve asked first.”

You hummed pressing your finger to your lips, "Maybe you should have, but I'm a one person kind of girl, so maybe next time" You blink. “Are you jealous of a three year old?”

“No.” Beat. “I’m jealous he got to lean on you like that.”

The words land like heat across your collarbone. You stare at her, caught just enough off guard to go quiet for a second.

Then, softly “You could’ve.”

Alexia shrugs one shoulder. “I was sweaty.”

You laugh, breathless. She grins. You move toward her now, not fast, not heavy, just there. Your hand brushing her waist as you pass her into the kitchen. She turns with you, following. You open the freezer, still smiling to yourself. “Ice cream?” you ask.

“You’re not seriously going to let him win.”

“I mean…” You glance over your shoulder. “He made a pretty good case.”

Alexia shakes her head, stepping close enough that her voice is practically in your ear. “I’ll make a better one.”

You blink. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

She places a hand on each side of your waist spinning you to face her “Both.”

You’re standing a little too close now, her in front of you, hands resting on the counters edge either side like she’s keeping you in place. Not trapping. Just… there. Present. Intentional.

She doesn’t step back. Instead, Alexia watches you carefully, her eyes darkening in the dim kitchen light cautious but certain. Waiting.

“You’re not usually this forward,” you tease softly, one finger brushing the hem of her T-shirt.

She holds your gaze, her voice low. “Maybe I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to be.”

That hits you low and warm. You shift ever so slightly, a deliberate tilt of your head. “Then don’t.”

She exhales slowly, shaky, barely controlled and that’s all you need.

She moves first, hands finding your waist, gentle at first, then firmer. Your breath hitches again as she presses you slowly backward until your back meets the cool edge of the countertop. It grounds you, the contrast sharp against the warmth of her body.

Her mouth finds yours careful at first. Testing. Soft and slow, until you shift closer, your hand sliding into her hair, pulling her gently deeper. The kiss goes hotter, heavier, the weeks of careful tension breaking open in a heartbeat.

Her fingers slip beneath your hoodie, tracing carefully along your waist, respectful of the lingering tenderness but barely. She’s warm, sure, and somehow exactly what you need.

She breaks the kiss just long enough to whisper against your mouth, “I’ve been thinking about doing that since the airport.”

You grin, breathless. “Not since Mateo asked me on a date?”

She groans softly, her head dropping forward onto your shoulder. “You’re really going to ruin this moment?”

“I’m improving it,” you whisper back, your thumb brushing along the edge of her jaw.

She lifts her head, eyes meeting yours with a kind of soft intensity that makes your stomach flip. “Just kiss me again.”

You smile, gentle, teasing, even as your chest tightens. “Ask nicely.”

Alexia’s eyes narrow but she’s already leaning in again, mouth brushing yours. “Please.”

And you do. Slow, deep, your body melting into hers, losing track of time, space everything except the feeling of her hands sliding along your waist, hips pressing yours into the counter.

It’s too much. And it’s perfect.

Then Teddy chooses exactly this moment to pad into the kitchen big paws clicking on the tiles, pausing to sit with an exaggerated sigh right next to you both, staring upward like he’s waiting patiently for an explanation.

Alexia breaks the kiss with a quiet laugh, leaning her forehead against yours. “He has your timing.”

You grin, lips brushing hers lightly once more. “Consider it payback”

She smiles into your mouth, stepping back just slightly, one hand still lingering at your side not daring to ask what the payback was for.

You breathe out slowly, your heartbeat eases, but the warmth lingers. Neither of you moves. Neither needs to. She hasn’t moved far just one step back, enough space to breathe but not enough to forget what just happened.

Teddy is sitting between you both now, looking from one of you to the other like he’s waiting for someone to acknowledge that he, too, is emotionally involved in all of this. You smile down at Teddy, "You're so clever Ted, you know it's time for your walk"

Alexia breaks the silence first between you both, nudging your hip lightly with hers. “Are you always this smug when you win?”

You glance over at her. “Only when I know you hated losing.”

She scoffs, but her smile betrays her. “He’s three.”

“He’s got vision.”

“He ate all your ice cream”

“And still had a better chance with me than anyone else tonight.”

Alexia rolls her eyes, steps in close again, and taps your lower lip with her thumb. “You’re getting cocky.”

You smirk. “You started it.”

She huffs a quiet laugh and presses a final kiss to your mouth slower this time. Not playful. Just certain. Her hand rests on your waist, fingers curling through your hoodie fabric. You lean into it, eyes slipping shut, letting the moment stretch.

When she finally pulls back, she rests her forehead against yours again. “Come on,” she murmurs. “Sit down.”

“I’m going to—”

“Let me walk Teddy.”

You blink. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” she says simply.

You glance down. He’s still staring up at her like he’s been waiting for just one of you to go towards his lead by the door, “He likes you.”

She shrugs, smiling. “He has good taste.” You groan into her shoulder, and she laughs. “I’ll be fifteen minutes,” she says, already moving toward the lead. “Sit on the sofa. Be a good girl.”

You call after her, teasing, “You’re very bossy for someone who was just kissing me against a counter.”

She stops in the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder with one eyebrow raised. “You liked it.”

You grin. “That’s the problem.”

She disappears around the corner, and Teddy follows obediently tail wagging, as if the evening hadn’t just shifted something real between you.

You’re left standing in the kitchen, breath still a little unsteady, pulse still slow and deep, but you’re smiling, because she kissed you like she meant it and walked your dog.

Alexia’s steps are slow. Not lazy. Just unhurried.

The leash hangs loose in her hand, her fingers brushing the woven thread absently as Teddy trots a half-step ahead tail swaying, head occasionally turning like he’s checking she’s still following.

She rounds a corner, her hoodie sleeves pushed up, the night air clinging warm to her skin. There's a breeze now, just enough to brush loose strands of hair across her cheek. She doesn't fix it.

“Alright,” she says aloud, glancing at the dog beside her. “So... what do we think?”

Teddy huffs, not stopping.

She chuckles, gaze drifting over shuttered windows and balconies heavy with vines. “She likes simple things. But also… she’s dramatic. Low-key dramatic, if that’s a thing.”

Teddy glances up at her like everything is a thing if you say it like that.

“Something yellow?” she wonders, tilting her head. “Or maybe white.”

They keep walking. She hasn’t meant to go this far. Not really, but her feet led her here and when she glances up again, there it is.

A little flower shop.

The bell above the door rings softly as she pushes it open.

Warm air greets her earthy and full of cut stems and something citrus-sharp. Inside, the space is narrow but layered: vases on every surface, bundles of flowers waiting to be wrapped, the faint hum of a small radio playing quietly in the corner.

Teddy pauses in the doorway, looking up like he knows this isn’t exactly his kind of place.

Alexia glances down at him. “Behave.”

The florist an older woman with silver-streaked hair in a loose bun and hands stained green at the fingertips smiles from behind the counter.

“Still open?” Alexia asks softly, motioning toward the door.

“For you? Sure,” the woman replies with a wink. “But I’ll be closing soon.”

Alexia offers a soft smile, nods her thanks, then moves slowly through the small space eyes flicking over blooms without touching them. Her fingers brush her own wrist, thumb running circles like she’s thinking too much and trying not to.

Teddy follows, nose twitching near a bucket of baby’s breath before deciding it’s not edible and sitting with a huff.

“Looking for something special?” the woman asks from behind the counter.

Alexia doesn’t answer right away.

She stops in front of a low wooden shelf lined with single stems in narrow glass jars. Her gaze lands on a cluster of pale butter-yellow ranunculus, soft and round like layered silk.

She nods slowly to herself.

“Yes,” she murmurs. “But not loud. Something… kind.”

The florist doesn’t ask more questions. She just starts pulling blooms together with quiet expertise.

Ranunculus. Small sprigs of waxflower. A few pieces of soft eucalyptus, pale green and curling at the edges. A single white freesia tucked into the middle simple, elegant, unassuming.

Alexia watches it come together, arms crossed lightly, the corner of her mouth twitching up just once.

“She’s been having a hard time,” she offers quietly.

The florist ties the stems gently, like the arrangement’s not just for decoration like it’s a message.

“She’s lucky to have someone who notices.”

Alexia doesn’t answer. She just nods, as the bouquet is wrapped in brown paper and tied with a loose ribbon, she glances down at Teddy. He thumps his tail exactly once.

“You’re making me look good,” she tells him.

He yawns dramatically, the florist hands the bouquet over with a smile that doesn’t pry.

“Here,” she says. “Take care of her.”

Alexia takes it carefully, fingers closing around the paper. “I’m trying.”

[motthe]

there's no death here | robert "bob" reynolds [part iii]

ཐིཋྀ wrote this part very late and half asleep so bear with any mistakes or things that could've been written better

warnings: child abuse and threat of death, mental health crisis, heavy mentions of sexual assault, lots of violence and panic, one moment where this feels a bit like a crack fic but shock does weird things so yeah

masterlist | ao3

A week and a half went by.

The mental training wasn't easy by any means. Every shame room you had to coerce Bob to drag you into was not without its own consequences to your own mental health, but each time you were able to show Bob how to detach. How to accept the pain, understand it, and ultimately let it pass.

The problem was, you had steps ingrained in you from years of therapy. Bob had nothing but his own hands holding him together.

Bringing him into your psyche with a firm grip, you allowed him to see your own broken days of youth. There was a time you'd both lived on the streets. But where he fell into drugs, you were tangled up in petty thievery and coercion of strangers giving you a place to stay and warm food.

“By fifteen I could insert memories or mess with them,” you'd told him over lunch. “It was enough to get people to trust me.”

“Better than a meth-crazed chicken,” he grumbled, still very much beside himself that you had managed to slip you both into that particular memory. 

“Yeah, wasn't too bad until I screwed with the wrong person.” The cold tone had surprised both of you. It took a moment to wave the dark cloud out from over you—a story for another time. “Look we all have shit days, but we can outgrow them.”

You allowed him to walk through some old therapy sessions to get a taste of the environment. Dr. Arlington had been of monumental help to you and you hoped, with Bob's consent, she could be the same for him. While it had been some time since you'd seen her, you knew she could be trusted around super people and their psychological problems.

“I can't help you with the underlying issues. I wish I could,” you sighed, making sure to keep pace with Bob as you walked. It had been a nice day and as much as the man was a homebody, you pushed him to get some fresh air at least once a day. The public gardens nearby were usually peaceful in the earlier hours and he'd agreed to have easier lessons here for today, which mainly meant building up walls and you breaking them down.

“I know I need therapy,” he murmured, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “But what if we start talking about something and I snap?”

That's the part I'm helping you with, you assured, smiling as he blinked and worked to shake you out of his head. “Better,” you said. A little light came back into his eyes.

“I can section off pieces of your powers,” you continued, “but only the psychic parts and not for long given your strength.”

His slate blue gaze skated the grooves in the sidewalk, tongue working inside his cheek. It popped as he sighed, a breeze sending little hairs across his forehead. “Everything feels like a risk.”

“Life is a risk, constantly,” you huffed, both of you pausing as a flock of pigeons flew by to land in the center green. Perfect timing.

You shouldered your bag around to grab the bag of cooked rice within, guiding Bob towards the nearest bench. It wasn't until he was watching the birds eat that you finished your earlier statement.

“The best part is when you don't have to take risks alone. Little less scary.” A jogger going by scattered the birds but they quickly swarmed your feet again. “And you can trust your team for that. And hopefully me too with a bit more time.”

You caught Bob staring as you scattered another handful of rice. He didn't turn away even when you hummed in question.

“How can you be so nice?” he mumbled.

You just laughed because he made it easy to be kind, but that part he didn't see.

By the end of the first month, Bob was scheduled and going to therapy twice a week. You drove him there and back, always in the next room with a gentle presence at the border of his consciousness in case he grew to be too stressed. If he ever felt out of control, you were there to shield him.

Better yet, Dr. Arlington adored him, but that she told you in confidence as you caught up over the phone.

“You're calming,” Bob told you, looking cozy in the corner of your favorite café.

It was a lazy Tuesday afternoon after his fourth therapy session. He'd been a man of few words today when you picked him up. You hadn't pushed, noticing the dark circles under his eyes and a new sweater adorning him. It was all muted stripes and fall tones. The weather had gotten colder and while you hated to be chilly the aesthetic fit him alarmingly well.

“Am I?” you asked, setting his tea in front of him. “It’s still a little hot. Be careful.”

“You don't think so?” He was getting a lot better at holding eye contact in these quiet conversations between lessons.

“I dunno,” you hummed, popping the cap off your drink. The steam left your chin sticky as you blew into it. “I'm happy you find me calming. I feel like a mess most days.”

“You're really put together from where I'm standing,” he mumbled through a smile and the soft jab at himself left you brave enough to nudge his foot under the table, passing looks that would've felt too much at the Watchtower. Too big.

He grabbed the door on your way out, your arms brushing. Even through your clothes, you felt his warmth and the sudden need to inch a bit closer. A bit deeper. 

Don't. The warning was distant. A ripple in the ocean of your mind. Don't do that. You have to be an anchor.

You shut your eyes and took a breath before thanking him, keeping space between you as you returned to the car.

It was late when you shot up in bed, every hair on your body singing at the sense of wrongness in the air. There hadn't been a nightmare and reaching out with your mind, you found no others in the vicinity of your apartment.

Focus. You gripped the bedsheets under you, slowing your breath and closing your eyes. Something was wavering at the edge of your consciousness, whipping like a red flag at the coast. You tried to pinpoint it, but the problem was too far away. Just on the horizon. 

Your eyes snapped open.

“Bob,” you whispered, springing from bed.

Your phone blared against your bedside table as your feet touched the floor. Buchanan trailed across the screen.

“Bucky? I'm on the way,” you said, grabbing your bag and shoving your feet into sneakers by the door.

“Damn, you feel it from there?” Bucky scoffed.

“Give me a report,” you demanded, scaling the stairs to the ground floor. Thank God you were only on the second level. “What happened?”

“Not sure. Walker was up and found a wall of black where Bob reads. Yelena already tried to go in.”

“Tried?”

“Tell her to fucking hurry!”

That sounded like her.

“Usually we get transported in the weird memory room things, but it's not pulling us in. On the bright side—”

“Don't talk about a ‘bright side’ when there's literally an entire part of the room blacked out!”

That sounded like Ava.

“—it's not spreading,” Bucky finished as a roar broke through the speaker. “Don't throw a fucking chair at it!”

“I break through darkness to save Bob!”

“We don't need to be breaking anything! You’re gonna piss it off!”

“You just throw shield at it, why not chair?!”

Shit, you'd just ran a red light. Well, whatever. This was more important than—you glanced at the dashboard clock—4AM traffic laws.

“I'll be there as fast as I can. In the car now.”

“Okay. I'll unlock the elevator for you. Alexei quit—!”

The call went dead. You tossed your phone into the passenger seat and floored it.

The minutes went by in flashes. You didn't stop to find a parking space or grab your purse. You shoulder checked one of the sliding glass doors when they failed to open fast enough off and slammed into the elevator that was open and waiting.

Panting up a storm, the floor had barely begun to rise when something kicked against your mental barrier. The psychic blow had you careening back against the wall, gasping as you fought to hold them intact.

“Hurts. Hurts. I don't want to be here. Stop yelling. Please. Don't hurt them. I always ruin everything. Stop. Please.”

“Oh, Bob,” you choked, hand going straight to your chest. Even through your shield you could hear his thoughts screaming out of the void. Every word was distraught, beating against you like armored fists. You wanted to let him in, open your arms and wrap them around him and show him he wasn't alone. Whatever he was seeing wasn't real.

Hearing the ding of the elevator, you ran head first as the doors opened and about crashed into Ava.

“Sorry!” you gasped out, scanning the room. It took less than a second to spot the clouds of ink seeping from Bob's book nook. The rest of the team was huddled on the outskirts, arguing before they turned at your entrance.

“I thought you were helping him!” Yelena yelled at you as you approached.

“I'm doing my best. Healing isn't linear!” you yelled right back, sweating through your tee and moving towards the darkness.

Bucky intercepted before you could reach out for it. He wore the wartorn look of a leader as his metal fingers clutched your elbow.

“Let's stop and think about this for a sec,” he grunted.

“If you can't get in I can try to force my way in.” You looked at him, eyes watering, “Please. I can feel him. He's in pain.”

“What, we're supposed to just send her in there alone?” Walker snapped. “It took all of us to pull him out last time.”

“Last time it snatched us, but this? This is different,” Yelena hissed, running her hands back over her hair. Her piercing eyes landed on you. “If you can figure out a way to get us in, we can help him.”

“I'll try, but I can't just pull you all into his psyche. Your minds—they don't move the same,” you explained in a rush.

“What the fuck is a sigh-key?” Walker grumbled.

Bucky let go, pointing a harsh finger over your shoulder. You turned to find Alexei rolling his eyes and letting go of the couch.

“Whatever, just do what you can,” Yelena said and maybe you made a face or maybe she noticed herself how cruel her tone was becoming but she added, softer, “please.”

Nodding, you ushered them back towards the elevator and double checked your mental shields as you stood at the precipice of the darkness. There was nothing beyond it, just a wall of rippling smoke.

“Okay,” you whispered, listening to the stream of thoughts pouring out. “I’m coming, Bob.”

One slip of your shield was all it took. There was a resounding THUMP as your physical body was wrenched out of reality. Your feet hit a new floor, knees buckling as you crashed down breathless.

Okay, guess that's letting me in. You'd been in numerous shame rooms, had felt the mental landscape like any other space you would create for yourself in meditation. This was one step further as your heartbeat rose to your throat. He brought all of me into his psyche.

The amount of energy that would take—it was far more similar to Ava with how she could phase out of one room and into another. You could link someone to your mind, show them everything, speak to them but you couldn't bring them in, not like this.

You knew Bob was powerful, but this was on a whole other level.

A door opened, lighting up the space you occupied. The figure of your mother was backlit as the hall light stretched into your childhood bedroom.

No. Fuck, not this one again. She walked straight by you, humming a song that had chills breaking down your spine. You tried to mute the scene and found you had no control as you had once had before. Now it blocks me.

Your toddler-self turned over in her bed, blinking wearily as your mother sat down next to her. “Mama?”

You shook your head, hating how hard the floor was against your hands and knees as you pushed off it and towards the door. Your body crashed against it, hands smacking over the fake hallway.

“Bob?” you called loudly, reaching out with your mind and wincing at the onslaught. His voices echoed and bounced every which way here. Bob, it's me. Where are you?

“I'm sorry, baby, it's time to go,” your mother whispered and you refused to turn around, but you could feel the phantom touch of her hand brushing back your hair.

“Go where?”

Bob! Can you hear me? Where are you?

You turned from the fake hall and sprinted towards the window, attempting to open it. Out of the corner of your eye you could see your mother's hand settle over your little self's throat.

“It'll be better, I promise,” she whispered, sniffling.

“Bob!” you screamed, banging on the glass.

“(Name)?”

You jerked your head up at the sound of him in your head and noticed movement in the window's reflection. You recognized that sweater.

Whipping your head around, you found that same fake hall before turning back. You could just make out his horrified expression as he found you through the window. Bob! I'm here!

You blocked out the sounds of little legs thrashing against a bed and the hysterical crying of your mother as you backed up a couple of steps.

This wasn't real anymore. You were done with this place.

Yelling, you ran and threw yourself into the window. The wooden frame splintered as glass shattered. Halfway through, gravity shifted as your body ripped backwards. You saw your legs above you a split second before your upper back hit cold, wet ground.

A crumpled mess, you whimpered at the aches building in your body before noticing your old bedroom hanging above you. The door opened to your mother's outline once more.

“Come back,” she called, hands reaching out. “It'll be better, baby. I promise.”

“Fuck you,” you spit, turning over broken glass shards. “Oh God dammit. No.”

Metal bars greeted you a few feet away, the door opening into another poster board hall as a familiar uniform stepped over you, ignoring your presence completely.

“Nothing without your little mind tricks, huh?”

This was the one shame room Bob hadn't encountered with you, yet, and by far the worst.

I knew it was coming. I can get past it. You refused to look behind you, taking deep breaths as you pushed off your shoulder to get upright. Glass was embedded in too many places—you instantly blocked the pain out. All receptors shut away into a little corner for later.

While you couldn't affect the landscape around you anymore, you still had your own mind to control. That was something.

Bob, where are you? you called.

“You're getting closer. Hold on, let me get try this way.”

“Don't…touch me.”

You covered your ears, hating to recognize your own slurred speech as you kicked at the fake wall. I'm out of here. That prick is dead. I'm free.

“They call you a witch. Do you look like one under there, too?”

You kicked harder, eyes watering as the voices slipped in. It was like someone had turned up the volume as the jangling of handcuffs echoed against stone and your tired, pleading voice swarmed your head.

You let out an ear-piercing scream as you flung yourself away from the wall and dove at the uniformed man, ripping him away from your teen self and slamming him against the ground.

“Don't touch her!” you yelled, split flying as those cold eyes stared up at you.

“Finally,” a voice reiterated from his mouth, echoing into your mind. “A way to break you.”

You froze, nails digging into the neck of your tormentor. This wasn't the man you remembered anymore, but that voice was one you recognized now tinged with hatred.

“Void,” you whispered.

The man lunged up at you, darkness settling over his skin as a hand grabbed your throat and threw you to the side. You wheezed, grabbing at his arm as a man made of darkness settled over you, eyes pinpricks of molten silver staring down into your very soul.

The sound of your name caught your attention as well as his. There was a hole in the wall of the jail cell, hands ripping chunks of stone out as flashes of Bob's face came and went.

“Let her go!” he yelled, halfway through before you felt the ground around you sink. You couldn't take a breath as you went under, Void's hand squeezing.

“See what happens when you ask for help?” You thrashed, attempting to bring your legs out from under him but his weight pinned you into the dark liquid. “You ruin everything, Robert.”

Don't listen to him! You projected, grunting as the pressure. You still couldn't feel any pain, but not being able to breathe was never comfortable. You can take control of this, Bob. Pull yourself out!

“You keep trying to teach him, but he'll never learn.” Void's fingers dug between the tendons of your neck. “Give up. Go back to your worthless job and pretend to be the hero you will never become.”

Bob's yell was muffled through the water you were half under as he landed on top of Void. He punched and kicked and pulled, but the darkness wasn't letting you go. “Fuck. How do I fix this? She's helped me and I'm hurting her. Figure this out. Do something! Come on!”

Fear crept in as you saw the ink of Void bleeding into Bob. It wanted to overtake him. Control him.

Weeks ago, he had told you the one thing Void wanted above all else was for him to end up alone. He'd tried everything that day in New York to make as many people as possible suffer the same fate.

“You don't die there,” he had explained. “You're just…stuck. Stuck with the pain and it gets worse and worse.”

“He didn't try to kill any of you?” you'd asked and Bob's tired eyes had found yours, empty of hope.

“I think death would be too easy for him.”

He wants us to suffer. You reminded yourself. He won't end it.

Focusing your direction on your mind, you rammed it against Void above you, imagining your thoughts—fine needles digging into his head.

“That won't work here, mind reader.”

Panic was overwhelming you, but you’d trained for these situations. You could hear Nat yelling instructions, remember Wanda's soft guidance at the back of your mind. If landing hits on him, physical or mental, wasn't going to work you needed a new angle.

You dug your mind into Void's mass, meat hooks into skin and felt your heart thunder as those pinprick eyes shuddered and shock crowded the consciousness around you all. Even Bob stopped fighting behind him.

Got you.

His entire upper half flew down over you, sending all three of you into a sea of black. You continued to drag him into yourself as you sank, gathering the darkness like bundles of clothes slipping from your arms and holding it close to your core. Bob was caught up in it, that sweater brushing your hands as you dug your fingers into it.

You felt all of Bob's terror and hatred, every negative emotion bubbling up and held it tight.

Its okay, you told him. I'm right here. Everyone's waiting for you.

“I messed up again. He took over.”

Then take it back. You've done it before, so do it again. That angry mass fought against your hooks. Panic licked up your consciousness. Grab him by the scruff and put him in the corner or something!

Your words shocked Bob enough that everything went blank. You took the chance to hold tight and slam your shields up and over, crowding over that endless pit stuck between the two of you.

Void struggled, slipping through your fingers like congealed oil before another pair of hands encompassed yours helping you drag it somewhere deeper, somewhere safer. A door closed, or maybe a lid sealed and there was a flash before reality split open.

Both of you were panting, your arms between each other and hands tangled. Bob's face was close enough your noses skimmed and your weight settled in his lap, your legs tense around his waist as his folded around you.

“S-scruff?” he choked through a breath, blue eyes wide. “Like a kitten's scruff?”

You tried to nod but you were too close and far too tense. “Uh, yeah. I think so?”

Bob sucked in a breath and tumbled into hysterics, tears slipping down his cheeks. It was fine until his tune changed and the sobs took on the sadder variety, leaving you to pull from his hands and wrap your arms around him.

You noticed the city through the windows a few feet away as he bawled into your shoulder. The reflections of the New Avengers lay behind you, all of them different types of disbelief.

“Was he laughing?” Walker whispered as you rubbed Bob's back.

“He's crying now,” Ava murmured.

“Hugs are really best weapon against Void,” Alexei stated, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I'm sorry,” Bob gasped out, pulling back and wiping at his cheeks as your arms fell away. “That came out of nowhere and I was hurting you, but then you made a joke and I'm still in shock I think.”

“I told you I'm messy,” you mumbled, rolling off his lap and checking over your body. Your pajamas weren't ripped anywhere and there was no blood. Releasing your pain receptors only had aches surfacing. Okay. No actual injuries, noted.

“What happened in there?” Yelena asked, careful as she approached. “Bob, you okay?”

He nodded, the backs of his hands smoothing over his eyes. He blinked a few times before he frowned at you, taking something in.

“Uh, there was… What happened again?” he mumbled, eyes going distant.

Walker groaned in the background as Bucky sighed out, “Figures.”

“It's okay. It'll come back to you when you're ready,” you said, grunting as you got to your feet. The amnesia you'd heard about and it was a very logical reaction to trauma. Seeing it happen in real time was a bit overwhelming on your side of things, but easy enough to handle.

“You good?” Bucky stepped forward to help you up, steadying you as the world swayed a bit.

“That was…a lot,” you admitted, glancing at Bob as Yelena pulled him to his feet. “But we learned some stuff and we made it out.”

“Did I do it again?” Bob murmured, guilt weighing on his features.

“You did amazing,” you swore to him, offering a smile when he looked at you.

“Why are you in your pajamas?” he questioned, eyes lowering to your half-shoved on sneakers.

“Oh shit, my car!” you gasped, darting towards the elevator before Bucky wrapped his prosthetic arm around your waist and dragged you back.

“I'll handle it. Just stay with him for now.”

“Maybe it's best you stay here tonight,” Yelena suggested, eyes shifting between you and Bob. “You're sure you both are okay?”

“Nothing therapy can't fix,” you promised, trailing after Bucky. “I think I parked on the curb. My purse and phone are somewhere in there.”

“Got it.”

“I help as well,” Alexei said, winking at you as he went by. “As thanks for your help. Also to see the car. I hear it's nice model.”

“Yeah, well, might have some bumps now after that drive,” you sighed, thanking them again as the elevator doors closed on the men.

“Are we good now?” Ava sighed. Everyone left in the room remained silent. Yelena shrugged. “I'll take that as a yes. Good night.”

You watched her phase out of the room, the weight of your body beginning to take a toll. Sleep sounded nice.

“So,” trailed Walker, easing up next to you, “you two seem close.”

You sidestepped away from him, assuming he meant Bucky. “Yeah, we were around the same people. I've known him for a few years now so it would be a little weird if we weren't.”

“No, I meant Bob,” he said.

“What?” Both of you turned as Bob shuffled down from the book nook. He ducked his head at the attention. “Sorry, I thought I heard my name.”

“Let's get you back to bed, Bob,” Yelena advised, a hand on his back. He didn't argue, but you'd be blind to miss the countless glances he took of you over his shoulder as she guided him away.

Your mind crossed the distance, smoothing over his. It's okay. I won't be far.

“He hurt you didn't he? I hurt you.”

Technically, no. I shut my pain receptors off.

“Wait, you can do that?”

I can do a lot of things, but they're not very superhero based.

“I think you'd be a great hero.”

Your heart skipped. Thanks. Try to get some sleep. I'm here if you need me.

You retreated a bit, crossing your arms and sighing. A clearing of the throat had you looking at Walker who had a knowing look on his face.

“Word of advice,” he murmured, nose scrunching, “you could do better.”

“Word of warning,” you replied, eyes narrowing, “I can make you shit your pants.”

He nodded slowly, raising his hands in surrender before heading off.

Left alone in the living room of the New Avengers, you let your head fall into your hands with a quiet groan.

[sparrows4bats]

Another Damian as Selinas Sidekick AU

I love the idea that Damian becomes a doctor so much, but I am also aware that he is a little adrenaline junkie and would be bored and miss vigilantism.

So, instead of going to his father and asking for the occasional patrol or spar. Damian decides to go to Selina with his boredom.

Selina and he have bonded over the years. Their shared love of cats, their rough past, and their very different yet complicated relationship to the batman. So Damian meets her for coffee every couple of weeks to vent.

It's therapeutic, and Damian quite likes having someone who listens to his side of things without rushing to defend everyone else. Selina has been around a long time and is well aware of the flaws of his father and siblings. She understands his frustration and the fact that it doesn't change how much he loves his family.

Selina has a soft spot for the boy who was so hurt and angry when she first met him but decided his own path to helping people. So when Damian tells her how he misses the adrenaline, the adventure, but can't hurt people anymore. (He took an oath, and he doesn't want to anymore, never again if he can help it.) Selina has a wonderful idea.

If he won't be a vigilante anymore, why not a thief?

Damian protests when she suggests it. At first.

Then Selina mentions how an awful lot of the money she takes ends up in the hands of the community and that she is not active nearly as much as Batman. A good heist takes quite a bit of planning after all.

The thing that really sold him is when Selina said she needed back up anyway to steal this artifact from a private collector and return it to its country of origin.

Doctor Damian Wayne sits across from her, a cat in his lap, and smiles as she outlines the plan and agrees easier than she thought he would.

Now Damian is highly trained, turned into a weapon from birth, but Selina insists on showing him some of her own moves. Damian excels in flexibility and the more arobatic elements. He picks pockets and exploits alarm systems like he's done it for years. He grins as he tells her exactly how he got around his father. No one wise ever lets anyone know all of their skills, even allies.

Selina delights in teaching him social exploitation, how to use his looks and charm to convince marks to just let him in. She laughs at the disgisted face he makes as she describes how to flirt and distract. Selina is actually a little impressed with how well he does at it after a bit of practice on regular people.

They melt at his accent and pretty green eyes, tripping over themselves to give Damian anything he wants if only to have his attention a moment longer.

Selina giggles at the thought of Bruce's and the other bats' reaction to their baby becoming the object of admirers. She reminds herself to get him to use his new skills at the next Wayne Gala so she can watch the chaos.

Finally, Selina declares him ready and hands him his new costume. Which happens to be a skintight black catsuit made from what he guesses is reinforced material, complete with a mask to cover his mouth and a hood with cat ears sewn on top.

"No."

"But you'll look so cute kitten!"

"I'll look like an idiot!"

"You need a suit, I altered one of mine, so unless you're going to rob this guy wearing the Robin outfit, it'll have to do."

"Fine!"

"Do you have a name? Or am I calling you kitten all night?"

Damian sighs and thinks, "You can call me Stray."

The job goes extremely well. Catwoman and Stray get in, grab the artifacts and a few extras that catch their eye, and get out without anyone noticing. It's the most fun Damian has had in ages, flitting across rooftops once again.

After that, Stray makes regular appearances, robbing the corrupt and returning culturally significant objects and wealth to where they belong. Afterwards, he goes to work and saves lives.

Damian and Selina don't tell the others about their escapades. Damian doesn't want the hassle of explaining his choices to them, and ever since he hung up the cape, his father and brothers have been overprotective to the extreme. Silena is waiting until the world's greatest detective figure out his civilian son is now her sidekick.

Batman notices Strays existence months after Damian starts his new hobby. He meets his father in the house of a mob boss Catwoman had been targeting for years.

"Catwoman, whose your friend?" Batman grunts

"Oh, Batsy, meet my kitten, Stray."

Damian pitches his voice a little lower and carefully imitates a Gotham accent.

"Great to finally meet you Batman, my mentor has told me so much about you." Damian offers a clawed hand. His father doesn't take it.

"Get out of here. This guy is involved in a human trafficking ring I'm tracking down."

"All the more reason to liberate his ill gotten gains, don't cha think?" Damian asks with a smirk.

Batman glares at him but let's them leave with a few nice paintings and doesn't bother giving chase. Damian ignores Selina winking at the Bat and whispering in his ear for his own sanity.

It goes on like this for weeks. When he sees his father outside the mask, the man is doting and worried if he's eating enough. When he he meets Batman, the man is cold and standoffish.

The other bats enjoy his humour but are thoroughly confused at his ability to evade them.

(Bruce is losing it because the last time a masked figure showed in Gotham with vaguely familiar moves, it was Jason on a revenge mission. At least, Stray isn't beheading people, but Bruce needs to know who he is, like yesterday.)

Silena says nothing but laughs at their confusion. Her kitten is having fun for the first time in years, and not even the bats are going to ruin that.

It works well, Damian helps Silena while he keeps his new life as a doctor without his family knowing his secret. He enjoys the adrenaline and sleeps better with some sort of outlet.

Then, all of the Batfamily are kidnapped.

Damian doesn't know how it happened or why he is the only one left to deal with it, but Silena called, and now he has to go rescue his idiots. Silena is with the sirens out of town, so Stray goes in solo. (he doesn't have time to find a robin suit.)

He finds his family tied up and mildly drugged in a large basement.

"Why are you here?!" Nightwing asks as he is untied.

"Because apparently you all are incapable of keeping yourselves out of trouble without my help!"

"We've never needed your help before?" Red Robin interjects, looking at him like a puzzle.

"Yes, take that tone! Agent A is waiting at the cave for you all, and God help me if any of you patrol again without me clearing you!"

"Wait-" Batman starts. "Damian!"

Every other bat looks at him in shock.

"No names in the suit, Father!"

All of the vigilantes start to talk over each other as Damian sighs. He has a shift in 5 hours and probably won't be able to sleep before it now.

Just as Damian has untied the last of his siblings, the door to the basement busts open to reveal a very serious looking Jon Kent. Tim had apparently activated the distress beacon.

Stray holds his face in his hand. "Bit late there, Superman." As he turns to a hovering Jon Kent.

"Damian?!" The Super gapes at him.

"No names in the suit, Hayseed!" Damian crosses his arms, his glare visible even if his scowl is hidden. Jon immediately turns bright red. Damians family look on in dread.

"I didn't know you even had a suit anymore!"

"It wasn't important!"

"Looks pretty important to me! What? Trade in the bird theme for... Are those cat ears??"

Damian glares harder. "They weren't my choice."

"Yeah, I got that. This is very different from your old Robin get-up." Jon looks him up and down. "Suits you, though."

Damian hopes his heartbeat doesn't give away how that comment affects him, but going by the smirk on Jons face, he already knows.

"NO!" Damians brothers shout from beside him.

"Stray, you are coming back to the cave." Batman orders

"But Father-"

"Now."

Damian really just wants to sleep, but his father isn't giving him a choice in the matter. He looks towards Jon and has a wonderful idea.

"Superman, I could use an evac." Jon takes a moment, smiles, and grabs the cat themed thief and flies them both away. They both ignore the other heroes yelling behind them.

After a few minutes of flying, Jon sets him down in the middle of a field.

"So you're Stray now?"

"I needed an outlet that didn't hurt people, Silena suggested it." Damian says while taking down his mask and hood. "Thank you for the escape."

Jon chuckles. "Anytime." He steps closer. "If you want to repay the favour, you could take me to dinner?" He flirts.

Damian raises a brow. "Really?"

"I'll even pay."

"How is that repayment?"

"Was thinking more of a date, actually?" Jon looks at his lips as he says this.

"The Cat Costume really does it for you, huh?" Damian teases.

"No, you do it for me. I've been trying to ask you out for ages, but seeing you in skintight leather is definitely a hell of a motivation."

Damian hums. "Tommorrow then, you can pick me up after my shift. If you let me sleep before I have to work in the morning"

"Deal."

His family eventually interrogate him about being Stray, but not before they find Jonathan Kent waiting for him with flowers and a kiss.

Needless to say, Selina is highly entertained when she returns.

[witchygagirlwrites]

How Dare You-Part 3

Jay Halstead x Reader (nicknamed Deuce/surnamed Barlowe no first name used)

Once the first mission is over successfully, you make it clear to Jay that you two are nothing to each other off the field. Will he hold to that? Your team stands strong to your side regardless and aren't going anywhere.

Warnings: Violence, use of explosives, killings, drugs, gun violence, I think that's it?

You were standing, looking over the layout of the house. You’d managed to get your hands on blueprints from about five years ago when the city had forced a renovation of the house, thanks to Roxie. Next to it you had an aerial view map laid out to try to plan how the fuck you were supposed to get your people in without getting slaughtered before you made it to the front door.

The La Mano de Sangre owned the entire damn neighborhood. A solid ten block radius around the stash house was their eyes and ears. You wouldn’t be able to have a hummingbird land on a windowsill without them knowing.   “What ya thinking?” Marcel asked and you scrubbed a hand down your face “I’m thinking we need to get their eyes somewhere else. Set off timed charges here” you pointed to an area of the map “And here” then pointed to another area of the map. 

“Draw 'em out and take' em down?” he asked and you nodded “Exactly. Remember that time in Moscow? When we had to play by the locals' rules and it turned out they had pretty decent ideas?” he grinned “Yeah I remember”  You turned to face him “Talk to Morrison, he’s the explosives expert on Halstead’s Squadron” he nodded, started to walk out then stopped. You raised an eyebrow “Something wrong Cel?” he shook his head “Are you sure you’re up to using explosives electively?” you smiled slightly, thankful for having people who cared enough to ask. “I’m good Everson, really”

“Ok Deuce, I’ll go find Morrison and see what he can get his hands on as far as timed charges go” you nodded and he walked out of the room.  

You were spending so much time between your office and the base, they’d issued temporary ids to you, Marcel, Travis and Samantha just to make coming and going easier and it’d only been about a week. This would be the first mission of the op. Your stomach was knotted up.  It would be fine, you had three highly trained agents at your back and no matter how badly he’d ripped you apart Jay was competent when it came to shit like this. That much you could trust and you’d ran his team. They were all solid choices, they could hold their own in the field. If this was pulled off without a hitch it would hopefully be the first domino falling. That’s what you needed, that first little push to actually hit the ground running. That would calm your nerves and push Jay’s presence to the back of your mind. 

“Deuce” you heard Travis’ voice as he walked into the conference room that Nolan had basically given you the run of. You looked over your shoulder at him and smiled slightly. “Hey, did you talk to him about the fact that you’ll be with him?” he nodded “Yeah, he didn’t seem too happy about it but I reminded him that his squadron is second tier to our team and that you’re SSA. Your call goes and that I support your call one hundred percent” 

“Thank you, I know I’ve got to woman up and face him but I want to get this first one under our belt successfully first” why you felt the need to explain yourself to Travis of all people you had no idea. He walked up next to you, looking over the map before he said “You don’t owe him anything. What did he expect? You to run into his arms after what he did?”

You laughed despite yourself “Hell, I don’t even know why he resigned from CPD. I’ve looked over his record, I got Mouse to do a deep dive with Voight. He got someone else to call of course, he was on track to take over intelligence. What the fuck is he even doing here?”

“Show him how you run shit, show him you do this better than anyone. Show him why the army trusted you to step in and have a team at your back” Travis offered and you nodded and held out your fist, he bumped it with his own before you said “Line ‘em up?” he grinned “And knock “em down”

“Halstead, you’re with Bailey” you spoke, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact with Jay considering all of you were prepping to go into this raid. Your team would be waiting at one ambush point, Travis’ team at the other. Jay raised an eyebrow, mainly because that was the first time you’d spoken directly to him since the team was introduced but just said  “Take Davidson with you” you were thankful he didn’t argue or push it.

The forces were divided. Your team consisted of yourself, Marcel and six soldiers. Travis’ team consisted of him, Jay, Samantha and six other soldiers. After the timed charges were detonated you would either take out or incapacitate the guards. You would meet in the middle and move together into the stash house. Morrison had equipped you, Travis, Jay and Davidson with stun grenades as well as a couple other toys you’d brought in your bag of goodies from the fed supplied treats.

“Move smart, if you get in a tight spot let it be known and just push forward do not let them get you cornered. Do not go into any place that has not been cleared by the dogs” you ordered, looking around at the group. They all nodded. “Move out and everyone make it back” “Yes ma’am” was repeated around the room.

_____________________

You stood next to Davidson, your com in to let you know when Travis and Jay were in place. “Trav, you set?” “Waiting on you” you nodded to Davidson “Hit it”

The moment you gave the order both charges went off and within moments you could hear hollering, men’s voices and the clear sounds of vehicles being loaded up to respond “Alright boys and girl, here comes the fun” this was what cleared your head, clarity in the chaos. The cars got closer and you whistled to Marcel, he whistled back and the soldiers got into place. The cartel wanted to see a fucking ambush, they’d get a damn ambush.

_____________________

After incapacitating what guards you could and securing them to ensure they weren’t going anywhere, you moved the bodies of the others to ensure they weren’t found before pushing forward. You hit your com “Trav, talk to me”  “Pushing into the stash house, what about you?” “Heading your way” “Meet you in the middle”

The soldiers fell in step with you and Marcel, half took the west side of the street behind you, half took the east behind him. Franklin, the handler was right on your heels with Rex. A German Shepard. You felt Rex nudge at your leg at every corner. Franklin had told you that meant he didn’t smell anything out of the ordinary when he did that.

You slid around the corner and spotted Travis leading one team along with Jay leading the other. You held up a hand to halt the teams behind you then motioned for them to circle up “Half of you follow me to Bailey, other half follow Davidson to Halstead. We move as one on the stash house. When we get to it, my team will take the front, Halstead’s team will take the back. Are we clear?” they all nodded then moved.

_____________________

When you got to the stash house you nodded to Jay and motioned for him to turn his com on. He clicked it and you hit your own “You copy?” “Copy” he led his team around the back as you got your team in position. “Hit it” 

The knocker and the dogs went in first. Then the rest of you went in. You took out one man as he was aiming for Young, the other dog's handler. She nodded to you as the house was moved through, being cleared room by room. You were zip tying offenders as you went and had them lying throughout the house, some were laying face to face with their dead buddies but not like their dead buddies had cared about trying to kill any of you.

“Headcount” you called out and Travis called back “All accounted for” Davidson cut his eyes at you “Your squad and my team” he nodded “Oh” you saw Jay look your way at that. You weren’t trying to talk to him. “Ok, Someone wanna get the humvees so we can start stacking these assholes up and roll out?” you asked and Travis laughed “That’s her talk for good job”

You were back at the base, finishing up the reports on the op. Nolan walked in “Good reports Barlowe” you looked up “Thank you” he nodded “So, are you still pissed?” you nodded “Oh I’d strangle you bare handed if I was given a chance” he laughed “Remind me to not piss you off when we’re away from the base or your office” you grinned “Oh, of course”

He leaned against the doorframe, despite the fact that it was his own office you’d taken over “Have you spoken to him? Since he is leading the squad and you’re the Agent over this whole damn thing?” “Enough” you replied, signing the bottom of the report and shoved it into his hand “Have a good evening Johnny” “You too”

You shoved past him and stepped out into the hallway. Samantha, Marcel and Travis would be waiting on you in the conference room.  Considering you lived with Samatha and Roxie, all of you just drove the twenty minute commute to the base together most days.

You walked around a corner and slammed into a hard chest, cursing as you dropped your belongings. “Son of a bitch” you hadn’t even looked to see who you’d ran into. You were tired, starving and wanted some sleep. It wasn’t until you squatted down and Jay squatted in front of you that you realized your mistake “Sorry about that, I wasn’t watching where I was going” he spoke, voice low.

He reached to help you gather what you’d dropped and you shook your head “No need Halstead. Continue on your way. I got this” “We worked well together in the field” he tried and you nodded “That’s in the field, when the lives of your soldiers and my team hang in the balance. I won’t risk any lives, no matter who I have to work with”

He moved back as you grabbed your stuff and stood up straight. When you managed to meet his eyes you were proud of yourself. “We have to face each other. We have to work together. Beyond missions, we owe nothing to each other. We are nothing to each other”

“Deuce!” you heard Samantha’s voice and felt your shoulders loosen. She walked up behind Jay and purposely slid between you and him “C’mon. Roxie called, she’s making stuffed mushrooms. Your favorite” 

She slipped her arm through yours and the two of you quickly walked away, leaving Jay standing in the hallway.  

Part 4

@allisonargent144

@nevaehstreater18

@alterna123

@leavemealoneplsandthx

[dark-skin-fem]

I don't think I disagree with your wider argument, but something about the stunt work question still doesn't fit right.

Like, you could use the same reasoning you gave to say: "Stunt work isn't just a performance, you're paying to harm someone's body. Stunt work causes profound physical damage that results in significantly lowered life expectancy. No one would ever consent to have their body thrown 10 feet into the side of a car without the coercive influence of money." And I simply can't fault this hypothetical argument in a way that doesn't allow for sex work.

Well no, you're not paying to harm someone's body in stunt work. You're paying for them to do back flips and crazy jumps. Paying to harm their body would be paying to whip, cane, hit or strangle them.

Also getting hurt in stunt work is more an undesirable side effect that one goes to great lengths to mitigate than it is an expected course of action or a sellable perk. Stunt workers don't sell the director the right to have them hurt on camera. They undergo a great deal of training and take a lot of precautions to make things that look incredible and painful, actually near painless. They wear gear, use foam floors, fake walls, metal that crumples easier. Not to say they don't get hurt, of course like sportsmen and people who work physical jobs, they do get hurt by accident. But the pain caused to their body isn't the point of the service.

And still you're thinking of it from a viewpoint of someone gets (or doesn't get) hurt or harmed. That's important to think about, don't get me wrong. but the physical harm done to individual sex workers wasn't what I was talking about in my previous ask. It was more about building a society where one can buy access to another person's body.

The equivalent for a stunt worker would be getting beaten up for real in fight scenes. No faking, no movie tricks, just deliberately hurting the person (Btw this is a service bought and sold in the sex industry, whipping, caning and hitting women). And that would be deplorable too.

Also, in my previous answer I said there is a spectrum. Some things are clearly on one end, some are in the middle. But in thinking about these topics, I encourage you to think about what the seller is paying for. Directors who hire stunt workers don't pay for pain or access to bodies, they pay for stunts. Movie watchers don't tune in for pain, they tune in for stunts (and there are also radfem critiques about gratuitous female torture and pain on screen for the consumption of male audiences, but I digress). Stunt workers sell a performance of risk.

sex workers are often selling actual access to their bodies in ways that collapse the boundary between person and product. Sex buyers pay for sexual access to bodies, whether that be painful or harmful or not. I know not all sex work looks the same. But the structural issue is what kind of relationship to sex and the body is being bought and sold and whether we want to normalize a society where access to people’s sexual selves is something you can just purchase. That's the crux of my problem with it. It could be as sanitized and gentle as anything and it will still be objectionable because it commodifies women.

Frankly I'm surprised that sex trade acceptance has gained so much traction in mainstream feminism because to me it just looks like patriarchy. In the past men made a one time payment for a woman to have sex with them and clean up after them, and they still hired sex workers for the things they couldn't do with their wives (I have thoughts about how sex workers are essential to perpetuating purity culture but this post is already getting long). Now men get the exact same deal, but it's framed as empowering and a legitimate career for women. Where's the progress? Who is benefitting?

Lastly in all the conversations I've had about sex work and it's similarities and differences to other work, there seems to be the underlying belief that if you can prove that sex work and X kind of work are similar or close enough, then sex work has to be okay just like X is. As I previously stated, it's a spectrum. That 2 things are on the same spectrum does not make the points they occupy on that spectrum any way equivalent. 1 is only 1 unit away from 2, which is only one unit away from 3, into infinity. But you'd look at me crazy if I told you that 1 was basically 10.

But that's kind of where you're going with this. i.e If stunt work is okay, and modelling is okay, then why can't sex work be okay?

And while I do believe they are fundamentally different in terms of what the buyer is paying for, even if you grant the premise that all these kinds of work exist on the same continuum, that doesn’t automatically make them morally or socially equivalent. Like I said, being on a spectrum doesn’t collapse all distinctions. One may be near the middle, another further down. Sex work sits at the far end because it uniquely involves the commodification of intimacy and personhood, things that aren't incidental side effects of the job but the entire product being sold.

You can’t abstract sex from the self the way you can abstract a backflip from a stunt performer. Sex isn't just physical labour, it's intimate access. That’s fundamentally different from paying someone to fall off a roof in a padded suit. Even if they’re on a spectrum of body-involved labor, they’re not adjacent.

[bebx]

Thinking about Inho whump with disordered eating as his unfortunate coping mechanism.

Inho being used to the feeling of hunger from a young age, when money was tight, he would always make his prime focus on getting food onto Malsoon and Junho’s plates first, his own plate always coming second. Skipping meals so Junho could eat.

This isn’t to say that he would purposefully starve himself, not at this point, anyway. He would eat what was necessary to be fit and healthy enough for the academy and training. But I think this unhealthy mindset of his went unchecked, because he was always the provider, never had time to stop, never ‘needed’ to be checked on. He can’t be a burden.

When he becomes the Frontman, I think this behaviour just gets worse. Perhaps, the dull ache of hunger in his stomach feels like a physical translation of the hollowness he feels down to his very core- in his soul, so that feeling being physical makes him feel more in control, and makes his emotional emptiness easier to handle.

Or maybe the constant reminders from the VIPs of the *true* amount of control that he possesses, little to none in the grand scheme of things, him ultimately being just another cog in the well-oiled machine, simple one with a prettier design. Inho is desperate for control in any way, even the seemingly smallest and meaningless ways, through controlling the amount he intakes, it comforts him.

That ache in his stomach being the one constant throughout his life, it brings him a twisted sense of familiarity and a semblance of the life he used to live, one where he could take care of those around him.

Maybe bearing the responsibility of a death game kills the little appetite he did have.

I think going into the games as Youngil was where this caught up to him, it’s one thing managing the games from a chair, just sitting and drinking, and another thing having to fight two people and constantly on the move.

Gihun trying to help Youngil despite not being much better in that regard.

Obviously this would deviate from Inho’s canon physique, but I think it’s an interesting idea to explore.

Inho post-game, living with Gihun and Junho, his habits gone unchecked for so long, mostly unnoticed by the other two, missing the meals dumped in the trash, listening to Inho’s excuses for not eating, until at some point they get a glimpse of Inho’s physical state somehow, and only then they realise how badly Inho’s been suffering alone and for god knows how long.

Inho thinks they must be disgusted by his ‘sickly’ appearance, that must be it, it’s the natural conclusion to reach in Inho’s mind. A dog gone starved for so long it’s better to just kill it so it’s wretched legs don’t tremble trying to hold itself up, because why would anyone bother trying to nurse back to health a wounded, starved mutt like that?

Inho needs to learn that he is more that what he can do for others. Needs to be the one taken care of for a change.

What are your thoughts on this?

I have nothing more to add to this because I feel like everything I could’ve, would’ve said had already been said by you, and it’s on point, it fits perfectly well with how I see In-ho’s character. Him being so used to being the one who cares, the one who provides, that he’s struggling being the one who’s being taken care of. And I think the idea of displaying his own vulnerability, even to the one he knows will never hurt him (aka Jun-ho), terrified him; obviously it’s not because he thinks Jun-ho will take advantage of his weakness, but because he believes he has to always be the strong one. For Jun-ho. It’s been this way their entire lives. In-ho providing, In-ho taking care of Jun-ho and their mom.

So when it becomes the other way around, In-ho fears that this means another failure in his life, especially when, in his belief, he’s already failed his wife and their child by not being able to save them. And now he’s failing Jun-ho, too.

And when confronted (about his eating disorder) by Jun-ho and Gi-hun, In-ho resorts to the only things he learns from years of running the game and witnessing the worst in human’s nature, he resorts to defensiveness and aggression. Anything to “survive”. Because in In-ho’s belief, it’s still about survival even though he’s not in the game anymore, even though he’s now safe with Jun-ho and Gi-hun and is no longer the game’s dog. Even though he can be vulnerable around Jun-ho and Gi-hun and let himself be taken care of.

Looks like I did have a little something to say after all lol. But yes, I love everything you say so much. Thank you for the In-ho whump! I always love it when In-ho’s the one who’s being looked after and taken care of by Jun-ho and Gi-hun

[ghouljams]

I need to confess something but don’t know where else to say it…

But the obsession people have with how others keep their body hair is really starting to annoy me. Especially with the argument “if you shave your pubic hair you’re a pedo” like no babe… like not even taking into account the people who have texture issues or whatever

I’m a little freak who has a shaving kink and gets really turned on by the feeling of that part of your bodies skin being smooshed against another person’s!!! I’m not a fucking disgusting human I just have a KINK!! And the intrusive thoughts I get every time I enjoy said kink is really starting to get to me.

I get it friend. For a long time I was a no shave girlie (gender neutral) because not doing something is about 100% easier than doing something, but I shave now and I like it a lot better. I think it feels better wearing underwear and I like the way it looks with the way my body is shaped. Also makes it easier to wear leotards for ballet but that's neither here nor there.

As with every trend, there are always people pushing back against it as a moral failing and not simply a social trend. Shaving is, by and large, a trend. For years the norm was not to shave, and then porn started shaving to give people a better view of the goods, and people started imitating porn and establishing shaving as the new trend. Even shaving legs is a relatively new trend, we didn't really see women start to shave until 1940-ish because razor companies needed to expand their market. That's so recent!!

People care way too much about how other people style themselves because they've been trained to care. It's the same reason people stare at goth kids in the mall, anyone who is doing something outside the agreed upon social norms is going to be picked out by the general population. Which is why we occasionally see such huge backlashes to these trends. More often than not in order to push back against the norm people will flip it on its head and demonize it. I've already talked about this in terms of giving head (people saying you shouldn't suck dick because it isn't feminist in order to uplift eating out) and I think the same thing is happening with pubic hair tbh

Generally an individual has no problem holding two ideas in their head, shaving is fine but also not shaving is fine, but once you get three or four people together it starts getting really hard. Add in the internet echo chamber and you've got a recipe for people calling things they personally dislike a moral failing of the highest degree. Personally, I ignore it because I'm going to do whatever I want with my body anyway so what do I care what other people think of my private parts? They're not the ones seeing them, I am!

[inkspiredwriting]

Broke the rules

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the sprawling grounds of the Umbrella Academy. Thirteen-year-old Five Hargreeves crept silently through the shadows, his heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. Tonight was another night he would see Y/n, the girl who had captured his heart.

It had all started a few months ago during a rescue mission. Five and his siblings had been dispatched to save a group of hostages from a dangerous situation. Among them was Y/n, a brave and resourceful girl who had caught Five's eye immediately. Despite the chaos and danger, there had been an instant connection between them.

After the mission, Five couldn't get Y/n out of his mind. He had to see her again. So, he began to smuggle her into the Academy every evening. They would spend hours together, talking and laughing, sharing their hopes and dreams. It was the one bright spot in Five's otherwise regimented and controlled life.

Tonight was no different. Five made his way to the hidden entrance he had discovered weeks ago, his mind filled with anticipation. As he approached, he saw Y/n waiting for him, her eyes lighting up when she spotted him.

"Five!" she whispered excitedly, throwing her arms around him.

"Y/n," he replied, hugging her tightly. "I missed you."

They sneaked into the Academy, careful to avoid the surveillance cameras and the ever-watchful eyes of Sir Reginald Hargreeves. They made their way to Five's room, where they could finally relax and be themselves.

"I brought you something," Y/n said, pulling a small, wrapped package from her bag. "It's a book I thought you'd like."

Five's eyes widened with delight as he unwrapped the gift. "Thank you, Y/n. This means a lot to me."

They spent the evening reading and talking, the hours slipping away unnoticed. But unbeknownst to them, Sir Reginald had grown suspicious of Five's nightly disappearances. He had been monitoring the house closely, and tonight, he decided to investigate.

As Five and Y/n laughed softly over a shared joke, the door to Five's room suddenly burst open. Sir Reginald stood in the doorway, his expression stern and disapproving.

"Number Five," he said coldly, his gaze shifting to Y/n. "Who is this, and what is she doing in my house?"

Five jumped to his feet, his heart racing. "Sir, I can explain—"

"There's no need for explanations," Sir Reginald interrupted, his tone icy. "You have broken the rules, Number Five. You know the consequences."

Y/n looked between Five and Sir Reginald, fear and confusion in her eyes. "Five, what's happening?"

Five took Y/n's hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "It's going to be okay, Y/n. I'll handle this."

But Sir Reginald was not in a forgiving mood. "You will never invite anyone to this house again, Number Five. Do you understand? This is not a place for outsiders."

"But she—"

"Do you understand?" Sir Reginald repeated, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Five's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Yes, Sir."

Y/n's eyes filled with tears as she realized what this meant. "Five, I—"

"I'm sorry, Y/n," Five said, his voice choked with emotion. "I wish things were different."

Sir Reginald stepped aside, allowing Y/n to leave. She gave Five one last, longing look before she turned and walked away, disappearing into the night.

Five stood in the doorway, watching her go, his heart breaking. He knew he had to obey Sir Reginald's orders, but that didn't make it any easier. As the door closed, he felt a sense of loss he had never experienced before.

From that night on, Five was never the same. He buried himself in his training, determined to become stronger, to protect those he cared about until the day he finally had enough. The memory of Y/n lingered, a reminder of the young love he had found and lost, and the cost of living under Sir Reginald Hargreeves' iron rule.

[theknifeclown]

Seeing Terrin like this breaks my heart and I just couldn't draw what happened to him just know he's mind broken like Howdy, a husky of his former self, mindlessly follows orders

And yes Wally does call him pumpkin as a sick little joke to himself in reference to Gordy and how hes..... gone

And yes he fought with EVERYTHING in him and so he has a lot of stitches all over himself and I MIGHT draw them all... it broke my heart just drawing these

[helianthus-hellion]

modern-day house m.d. episode where the patient is transmasc and on T, and after house reads his file he goes in and is reading off prescriptions like "estradiol cream, finasteride, prescription face wash, prescription deodorant... god, it's like you don't even want to be a man!" and the patient says "just because i wanna be a man doesn't mean i have to suffer all the shitty side effects" and house goes "it's all shitty side effects! being a man sucks!" before tossing the file down on the little tray table thing and leaving.

chase and cameron exchange A Look in the room and then while they're walking down the hall cameron's like "we should talk to him about it - maybe he'd be... happier? if he transitioned?" and chase rolls his eyes and is like "just because he thinks being a man sucks doesn't mean he's trans, every guy hates being a man at least some of the time" and then cameron gives him Another, Slightly Alarmed Look

we cut to house and wilson and wilson's looking at him like he's insane, going "so you... told the patient that being a man sucks?" and house laughs and says "sure did! i wanna know which will take longer - cameron coming to me concerned about my gender, or chase realizing he should be concerned about his gender. her gender? eh, probably easier to just stick with 'his' for now." wilson accuses him of being a sociopath and house looks fake-wounded and says "you know, if i am a sociopath, you're being ableist by attributing my cruel actions to my sociopathy, and if i'm not a sociopath then it's even worse that you're accusing me of being one just because i'm mean."

cuddy approaches house later and tells him that she heard about what he told the patient, and she is required both to make him take sensitivity training and also to provide him resources on transitioning if he wants to pursue that. house asks if him being a woman would make cuddy bisexual, and she raises and eyebrow and says "that ship sailed long ago" and doesn't elaborate on whether she means she isn't into house anymore so it doesn't matter or that she already is bi. house starts cyberstalking her to try to figure out if she slept with any of the women she's friends with on facebook. the team comes in to tell him about a new symptom and he shows them a photo of cuddy from college with a hot girl at a halloween party and is like "do you think they ever fucked? i think they fucked. even if they didn't, i'm gonna imagine they did." foreman tries to get them back on track but chase leans in to get a better look at the photo and it turns out to be wilson in a costume. there's an awkward beat of silence before cameron goes "SO, back to the patient!" and house makes a sort of dismissive "huh? oh, yeah, go test him for [whatever]" while staring intently at the photo.

he confronts wilson about the photo, wilson admits it's him, house starts by going "oh, yeah, but i'm the one having a gender crisis" but accidentally says "sexuality crisis" instead and wilson is like "house do you... do you think i'm hot in that photo?" and then we cut to chase asking cameron if she thinks he could pull off an outfit like that and they discuss it a little while doing a blood draw or LP or whatever. the patient gives them both A Look and is like "you know, you can get wigs and breast forms pretty cheap these days..." and chase is like "hm? oh, yeah i guess one of those costume supply sites would probably have stuff like that huh," and the patient raises his eyebrows at cameron who just shakes her head a tiny bit.

house accuses cuddy of sleeping with his best friend in the clinic lobby and she drags him into her office to ask what the hell he's talking about and he shows her the photo. she's like "yeah, we were at a halloween party together in college, so what?" and house says that wilson makes a really hot chick and asks if that's what awakened cuddy's "bi side," and cuddy just rolls her eyes and tells him to stop projecting his sexuality crisis onto her just because he thinks his best friend is hot. house asks if wilson was at least a good lay and cuddy says "find out for yourself!" before kicking him out of her office again.

house goes back to his office and cameron is pacing outside the door, and she looks nervous when he walks up to her. she follows him into his office and she has clearly prepared A Speech about how if he doesn't like being a man he doesn't have to be, and he doesn't even have to be a woman either, there's options, and it's never too late to transition no matter what people say, and he cuts her off like "yes yes you're very supportive, you clearly aced sensitivity training" and then he has the episode's Epiphany and it turns out that the patient transitioned too early and there was some (largely made-up and not actually backed by irl medical science) complication from starting his transition as a teenager, and the patient is like "oh so you're saying i did this to myself?" and house says "well legally at least, either your parents or the governor of new jersey did it to you - depends on who approved the hormones."

wilson comes up to him at the end and is like "you know, it's okay if you think i'm hot. and it's also okay if you're a woman. if you... ever need any tips on passing as one, i'm happy to help."

the ending is left ambiguous as to house's actual gender identity and, much like the autism episode, it kinda feels like the writers' room was full of heavy debate about whether house should be trans or not. we also never actually circle back to the fact that chase is definitely trans, it never comes up again, and this move pisses off both trans people and allies who wanted it to become A Story Arc and anti-trans people who are mad it even came up in a single episode, absolutely nobody is happy about how they handled that subplot.

[lordofdestructionm]

Did anyone else feel like Jax was trying to reach out more to the others in this episode?

Before Gangle freaks him out a little with the threat of a punishment he is his usual jerk self

Then he tries to have a very casual and relaxed conversation with Zooble about the situation. No sarcasm and no mean comments.

He tries to downplay the earlier threat, and seems to want them to agree with him that Caine wouldn't actually do anything that bad

Of course Zooble out of everyone in the group has the least patience for Jax so he doesn't get any reassurance from them

Then just before Gangle send him off for his employee training/Clockwork orange torture session, he responds to Gangle's manic behaviour with the comment "I like you better when your sad"

That could just be him being mean and saying that he likes it better when she's like that because its easier to pick on her and stops her standing up to him

But considering he always goes out of his way to break the Comedy Mask at every opportunity, it could be that he simply prefers when she is her authentic self, and not putting on some fake act (a lesson gangle herself seems to learn at the end when she rips off the new mask and smiles despite wearing the Tragedy mask)

Plus look at his face when he's saying it. He isn't grinning or making any other mocking expression, he just looks tired

Then when has encounters drunk Ragatha he asks her if she can move, despite the fact that he could easily walk over her with those long legs, and he does exactly that a moment later. Was he being polite? Or was he asking her literally if she could still move her body in the state she was in?

Either way he get another little blow when the nicest person in the group says outright she hates him

Then he tries to do with Pomni what he attempted with Zooble earlier, have a relaxed casual conversation about things without any signs of sarcasm of mean teasing.

Pomni herself is even taken aback and doesn't know what to make of it, suspecting probably that he is trying to trick her in some way. Again Jax's previous mean behaviour is now a barrier stopping him from connecting with the others even when he actually wants to

He makes one last effort to pretend everything is normal and get back to his usual persona, but the second he is out the door and out of sight of everyone, the frustration and despair are clear

When Gooseworx said that people who want to see Jax "get worse" will "enjoy what they have planned", maybe they didn't mean he would get more evil, maybe they meant his mental health would start sinking as the bully/prankster persona he hides behind starts to break down

Maybe he is starting to realize how isolated he is making himself

[oceantornadoo]

inspired by a dramoine fic i read! simon riley x f!reader

it’s the third time today someone has handed you simon’s paperwork and you’re starting to get confused. in fact, there’s the distinct feeling that you’ve missed a memo.

first, it was the visiting captain, so you couldn’t blame him for confusing lieutenants. but then it was johnny turning in his mission report, muttering something about “cannae be late this time if ah give it ye, lass.” which was odd, considering you weren’t his direct report (you were gaz’s). but what really sent you over the edge was getting called into price’s office and being met with a load of folders addressed to one Lt. Ghost (Confidential).

“sir, i’m a bit confused as to why you can’t just give these to him yourself.” price looked up from his desk, eyes flickering from under his boonie hat. “hav’ you seen ‘im today, lieutenant?” you nodded immediately while trying to scoop all of this paperwork (that was not yours!) into your arms. “yessir, i saw him before breakfast and then during training and then…what?” price had silently quirked an eyebrow, his beard echoing the movement. “i haven’t seen ‘im all day, so i figure it’s faster for you to deliver since you’re more well-versed in his movements than i am.” huh. “i’m sure he’s just doing his ghost thing, y’know? slipping into shadows and…”, price patiently gave you an exasperated look, “but i’ll get these to him, sir. see you later!”

the problem was, you knew exactly where simon was. in your office.

his own had an unfortunate ground level window near the track, so he was always complaining about nosy recruits until you offered to share some office space. temporarily, of course. it’s not like you were using all the empty space anyways and it made it much easier to get the opinion of your fellow lieutenant on a report by walking over to his desk, rather than going up and down stairs. that was the second point he made, and who were you to say no?

after pushing open your office door, you beelined for simon’s desk, dumping the stacks of folders on his desk. “wot’s this?” his mask was off so you could see his eyes widen at the mess of papers. “everyone now thinks i’m a drop off box for your paperwork, so i got burdened with all of this when i was doing my rounds.” he nodded thoughtfully, taking a sip of his tea. “cheers, love.”

“what do you mean, cheers? don’t you think it’s odd for them to give me your paperwork? and why do we even have so much paperwork? i swear im drowning in it this week.” he snorted at your last sentence, opening the first folder in front of him while you rounded your desk, sitting in your comfy chair with a hmpf. “yer out an’ about more than me, tha’s all.” well, that was true. the infamous ghost was not known to be a sociable person on base. “i guess…” you turned to your old radio, passed down by a retired captain, and turned on simon’s favorite classical station.

“ya want mess or the pub tonight, love?” another great thing about being on base with simon - you never had to pay for dinner. “actually, that thai place we like is doing a special tonight.” he gave you a half-smirk, one cheek ticking up. “bloody raccoon. we had thai two nights ago.” you didn’t respond, instead blinking your best impression of puppy dog eyes at him. simon sighed, then shook his head at his desk. “olrigh’. the things i do.” you smiled and winked, dipping your head back down to your desk. “thanks, si.”

-

two weeks later, you were prepping for a duo mission with simon. price had been grilling the two of you for the past three hours, making sure you had everything memorized. satisfied, he leaned back in his office chair and rubbed his temples, the feeling of a headache coming on. “one more thing.” both of you snapped your head up at price, desperate to leave and eat. you’d already missed dinner and your stomach was complaining.

“the safe house is pretty small, basically a shack. one bed, no couch. i assumed ‘s fine since y’r datin-“ “‘s fine, captain.” simon cut him off, an out of character move that had you frowning. “it’s fine, cap. not like ive never slept on a floor before.” now price was frowning at what you said. he turned to simon, who shook his head imperceptibly before becoming still again. price’s brow furrowed but he didn’t push further. he got up from his chair, eyes flitting suspiciously between you two. “i’ll see you at 0600.”

“what was that about?” you whispered to simon after as you walked down the hall. “‘s nothin’.” you were missing something but it was so unclear what. “he thinks that we’re datin-“ “said it’s nothin’, sweetheart. he’s an old man. let’s get some food in you, yeah?” you nodded, letting him guide you to the kitchen. price wasn’t that old. and you were not dating simon riley.

-

the mission was beautiful, your best one in years. it was the first duo mission between you and simon, so the nerves of pulling your own weight had settled in hard. thankfully, your skills balanced each other out and you’d gotten the target in record time. now, all you had to do was wait in the safe house for exfil.

“you were so good.” you whispered once he’d locked the door. he only hummed a response, checking exit and entry points while you set up your packs, scrounging up MREs and testing the shack for electricity. price wasn’t kidding - it was practically a studio apartment. one bed, a bathroom and a decrepit stove. the soldier part of you was fine with it, but that small soft part of you ached for the warmth of your apartment. memories of yelling at simon for using all your shampoo even though he didn’t live there, of him running you a bath after a long day of training.

“you were good too, baby.” he snuck up from behind your spot on the floor and lifted you onto the mattress that had definitely seen better days. you hadn’t even checked it for bed bugs yet. “c’mere.” he pulled you into his lap, unbuckling your tac vest as you pulled off your bandana. you tugged off his mask - the hard shell since you were on a mission - and ran your nails through his short haircut. simon started kissing your neck, wet and sloppy like he couldn’t get enough. the unrestrained want he displayed sometimes scared you. the respective pulsing in both your chest and cunt scared you more.

“so are you sleeping on the floor or am i?” he flipped you over, your back flush with the mattress as simon loomed over you. there was still eyeblack around his eyes, caught on his blonde eyelashes as well, and you couldn’t help the hand that reached up to brush some of it away. “y’r funny, sweetheart.” you grinned at that - a real toothy smile. he bent down to kiss you, scarred lips caressing your own. simon bit your lip and you moaned, sliding your legs out from under him to wrap them around his torso. when you tugged him in he went willingly, grinding into your clothed cunt. his tac vest was still on, scraping against your shirt, hardening your nipples.

“keepin’ you in this bed all night.” cold fingers dipped past the waist of your pants. you were already wet, his fingers sliding easily up and down your slit as they warmed up. that’s when you realized he still had his glove on, his movements harsher than normal. wide eyes met his own, and simon stopped so you could make a decision.

it didn’t take much as you dug your heels into his back harder, meeting him in a sloppy kiss as his gloved thumb played with your clit. “fuckin’ made for me.” he whispered, and you chalked it up to dirty talk because obviously, you weren’t together. he just knew exactly what to do, giving your clit the right amount of pressure as his other fingers teased your hole, the stretch burning more than usual. it only took a few flicks and you were off, your orgasm settling through your bones like a warm cup of tea. “jesus, si.” he grinned, his scarred lips pulling up to show a beautiful smile. “know ya like th’ back of my hand, huh?” you shook your head, capturing the idiot in another kiss.

-

after the mission, after debrief and a hot shower, you made your way back to your base office. thankfully, paperwork had only slightly piled up. one envelope stood out though - a thick card-stock with glossy, swooping letters. an invite to london’s military gala, addressed to a Lieutenant & Lieutenant. simon’s name was next to yours, connected by a singular symbol. you turned to him in disbelief. simon had been going through his own backlog, but his head snapped up under the focus of your glare.

“simon, are we…dating?”

-

this was fun!!! check out the fic i linked it was so good and i couldn’t put it down.

[communistkenobi]

(taken from a post about AI)

speaking as someone who has had to grade virtually every kind of undergraduate assignment you can think of for the past six years (essays, labs, multiple choice tests, oral presentations, class participation, quizzes, field work assignments, etc), it is wild how out-of-touch-with-reality people’s perceptions of university grading schemes are. they are a mass standardised measurement used to prove the legitimacy of your degree, not how much you’ve learned. Those things aren’t completely unrelated to one another of course, but they are very different targets to meet. It is standard practice for professors to have a very clear idea of what the grade distribution for their classes are before each semester begins, and tenure-track assessments (at least some of the ones I’ve seen) are partially judged on a professors classes’ grade distributions - handing out too many A’s is considered a bad thing because it inflates student GPAs relative to other departments, faculties, and universities, and makes classes “too easy,” ie, reduces the legitimate of the degree they earn. I have been instructed many times by professors to grade easier or harder throughout the term to meet those target averages, because those targets are the expected distribution of grades in a standardised educational setting. It is standard practice for teaching assistants to report their grade averages to one another to make sure grade distributions are consistent. there’s a reason profs sometimes curve grades if the class tanks an assignment or test, and it’s generally not because they’re being nice!

this is why AI and chatgpt so quickly expanded into academia - it’s not because this new generation is the laziest, stupidest, most illiterate batch of teenagers the world has ever seen (what an original observation you’ve made there!), it’s because education has a mass standard data format that is very easily replicable by programs trained on, yanno, large volumes of data. And sure the essays generated by chatgpt are vacuous, uncompelling, and full of factual errors, but again, speaking as someone who has graded thousands of essays written by undergrads, that’s not exactly a new phenomenon lol

I think if you want to be productively angry at ChatGPT/AI usage in academia (I saw a recent post complaining that people were using it to write emails of all things, as if emails are some sacred form of communication), your anger needs to be directed at how easily automated many undergraduate assignments are. Or maybe your professors calculating in advance that the class average will be 72% is the single best way to run a university! Who knows. But part of the emotional stakes in this that I think are hard for people to admit to, much less let go of, is that AI reveals how rote, meaningless, and silly a lot of university education is - you are not a special little genius who is better than everyone else for having a Bachelor’s degree, you have succeeded in moving through standardised post-secondary education. This is part of the reason why disabled people are systematically barred from education, because disability accommodations require a break from this standardised format, and that means disabled people are framed as lazy cheaters who “get more time and help than everyone else.” If an AI can spit out a C+ undergraduate essay, that of course threatens your sense of superiority, and we can’t have that, can we?

[3liza]

we underestimate the power of making someone who is trying to victimize us go "oh my god this bitch is crazy" but i really cannot recommend it enough

we need to start training girls to physically attack and brutalize stalkers and harassers. 99% of the time whatever stalking/sexual harassment situation i was in would have been resolved instantly and conclusively by chasing the stalker around with a baton and injuring him as much as possible instead of trying to handle it the "right" ways. and the times where i did actually freak out and physically confront/shout at/strike them (or made a sincere and credible threat to do so) the stalker just stopped being a problem basically immediately. the myth that's told to girls is that you can, as a victim, be responsible for "escalating" a menacing person or situation into the point of violence by fighting back or attacking, and trying to manage the situation politely and quietly is "safer". i really have not observed this to be the case.

i also really believe from experience at this point that publicly acknowledging being scared of people who are trying to harass you in any capacity is always the worst possible decision you can make. they['re relying on you to act Sane and Reasonable and just sit there and take it, making yourself into an immediate and dangerous problem is the better decision in 99% of cases and i wish there was a public health campaign about it. this human social dynamic entirely depends on the freeze and fawn responses by the victim to empower the attacker. creating severe and material consequences for menacing you will instantly disappear the majority of these guys because they're extremely terrified of anyone standing up to them in any capacity

authorities as a rule never help harassment/stalking victims anyway but causing a huge, embarrassing scene is also one of those only ways to force "security guards" and bystanders to step in, because it suddenly becomes impossible to ignore and now it's everyone's problem