#maybe... just maybe she makes it out by some miracle

[brookghaib-blog]

The Dying Love of a Super-Soldier

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x reader

Summary: After moving to Florida to live a normal, Y/N had manage to achieve everything she wanted. Even after Bob and her being a complete failure that made her rot from the inside, making her heartbroken to never fully recover. Only a new unexpected event would make her snap.

Warning: Very angst, depressive thoughts, heartbreak, betrayal, alcoholism, drug addiction, attempt murder, toxic behaviour, past-trauma, toxic relationship, bipolar disorder

Word count: 19,1k

Note: Based on this request!

--

Florida smelled like salt, oranges, and artificial calm — and that’s exactly why she chose it. A place where nobody knew her name. A place where the ghosts might stop clawing at the inside of her skull long enough to let her breathe.

She had a house now. Small. Quiet. White walls, cold tile floors, and a porch that faced the water. She never turned the TV on. Her phone stayed in a drawer. And every morning, like clockwork, she sat with her coffee in trembling hands, watching the sunrise like it might one day burn her clean.

But nothing ever did.

Y/N Ivanov— or whatever name the world gave her now — had once been the Red Room’s most perfected weapon. A ghost in combat boots. Better than Natasha. Sharper than Yelena. Not because she wanted to be — because she had no choice.

They stole her childhood before she could understand what having one meant. And then, when she was still just fourteen, they gave her something else: the serum. A gift, they called it. A reward for her "obedience." She remembered the needles — thick, cold, and shoved deep into her spine. She remembered screaming.

Then… she remembered nothing.

They had taken her memories. Cleaned her mind like a chalkboard. All traces of laughter with Natasha. The warmth of Yelena’s arms after a nightmare. Gone.

In their place, they inserted lies. They told her that Natasha was a traitor. That Yelena had abandoned her. That they had left her to rot. They gave her a mission: kill the defectors. The ones who had run from the cause. And Y/N did what she was told. Not out of hatred — but because she didn’t know any better. Her hands moved like machines. Her eyes didn’t blink. She was their prize soldier. Their wolf in the skin of a girl. But wolves remember.

She wasn’t sure when it started — flashes at first. A laugh she couldn’t place. The scent of blackberries in a dream. Then faces. Yelena’s face when she was seven, scolding her for scraping her knees on the training mat. Natasha holding her after her first kill, whispering “You’re still human.”

She broke the programming the same way she’d always survived: with rage. The Red Room called her a miracle. But miracles don’t scream until their throats bleed or wake up choking from dreams of blood-soaked hands and crying children.

When she escaped — truly escaped — it was with Natasha and Yelena beside her. Not as enemies, but sisters again. Family again. She wept in their arms like the world had ended. Maybe, in some ways, it had.

Natasha died not long after. Y/N still hadn’t forgiven the world for that.

Yelena tried to help her heal. They’d cook together. Laugh sometimes. But it wasn’t long before Y/N realized she was unraveling inside. Every mission was a trigger. Every news broadcast a reminder of how many people she’d hurt. How many she couldn’t remember. So she told Yelena she was done.

“I can’t fight anymore,” she said. “I don’t know who I am when I’m not fighting… but I need to try.”

So Yelena hugged her. Told her she understood. That she loved her.

And Y/N left.

Now she lived by the ocean, where the water could swallow her guilt a little at a time.

But the silence wasn’t kind. It was cruel. Every quiet night was filled with the hum of old nightmares. Her hands still shook when she washed the blood that wasn’t there. She kept a box under her bed: photos of Natasha, a letter from Yelena she couldn’t bring herself to read, and a bullet she had pulled from her own thigh in a mission she couldn’t forget.

She never went to therapy. She didn’t think anyone could fix a brokenness this deep.

Sometimes, on cold nights, she whispered apologies into the wind. To the children she’d left behind. The mothers she’d scared. The sisters she betrayed when she was nothing more than a weapon in someone else’s hands.

And sometimes — when the sun dipped just right over the horizon and everything glowed red — she thought she saw Natasha. Leaning in the doorway. Arms crossed. Smirking.

"You're still human."

Y/N would close her eyes and let the wind sting her cheeks.

Maybe, in another life, she could have believed that.

--

Florida nights could feel like nothingness — humid, slow, like the air itself refused to move forward. Y/N had started drinking again after three months sober. It wasn’t a dramatic fall. Just one glass of cheap whiskey after too many nights spent listening to the waves and her own thoughts crawling like insects under her skin. Then two. Then four. Then not bothering to count anymore.

That night, she didn’t plan to go to the bar. She never did. It just happened, like most things in her life now — accidental, numbing, slow suicide disguised as routine. Her reflection in the bathroom mirror had barely blinked before she slid on jeans, a worn tank top, and pulled her hair back. No makeup. No purpose. Just the quiet ache of needing to be somewhere that wasn’t her own head.

The bar was local. Ugly. Dim. Neon lights humming above tired faces. It smelled like sweat and spilled beer, with just enough silence between the country songs to remind you of how alone you really were. That’s what she liked about it.

She’d taken a booth in the corner. Sat sideways, one leg bent beneath her, the other stretched out like she owned the place. Nobody bothered her. Nobody ever did. Maybe it was the look in her eye — that flat, glassy nothingness she had perfected in the Red Room. The kind that told people not to try.

She had her second drink when she noticed him.

At first, he didn’t look like much. Just a man nursing a beer at the bar, hunched over like the world had cracked his back. Hair a mess, knuckles raw, jeans dirty like he hadn’t cared in a while. But there was something in the way he sat — still, deliberate, as if staying upright took every ounce of energy.

She didn’t remember who looked first. Or who crossed the space between them. It didn’t matter. They were pulled together by something beyond logic — two stars already collapsed, orbiting the same black hole.

He smelled like rain and ash. His voice was quiet. Gentle in a way that didn’t make sense for a man with hands like those — scarred, twitchy, like they wanted to tear something apart.

She didn’t ask for his name.

He didn’t ask for hers.

He said something stupid. She laughed too hard. Slurred her words, then covered her mouth, embarrassed. But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t judge. Just looked at her with eyes so sad she felt like someone had cracked open her ribs.

And for the first time in forever, she didn’t feel watched. She didn’t feel analyzed. She just felt seen.

They didn’t talk about their pasts. People like them didn’t need to. It was all there — in the way they held their drinks too tightly. In the haunted pauses between words. In the way their eyes never stayed in one place for long.

She leaned her head on his shoulder eventually. He let her. His shoulder was strong, but it trembled slightly. She didn’t ask why. She could smell the meth on him — sour, chemical, ugly. But she didn’t flinch. She knew addiction. Knew what it meant to crave something that hurt you more than it helped.

She wasn’t sober either. Her blood was warm and slow, her head swimming. The room tilted. But his arm came around her waist and anchored her. Gently. Like she was something precious. That scared her more than anything.

They ended up back at her place. Not for sex. Not for anything people like to call “normal.” Just... because they didn’t want the night to end. They sat on the porch. Shared a bottle of something she didn’t remember buying. Talked in slurred pieces — about the stars. About what music sounded like when you were high. About what it felt like to lose yourself.

At some point, she turned to him. Really looked at him.

He was beautiful. Not in a clean-cut way. Not like the men she used to seduce and kill on missions. But in a ruined way. Like a statue cracked down the middle but still standing. His smile was sad. His eyes were oceans she didn’t know how to swim.

“You’re a wave,” she murmured.

He blinked. “What?”

“A wave. You came in and just... washed over me. And I didn’t know how much I needed that.”

His smile faltered. “Waves don’t stay.”

She didn’t say anything. She knew that better than anyone.

They fell asleep on the floor. Her curled into his side, like a child. His arm draped over her protectively. She didn’t dream. For the first time in years.

In the morning, he was still there. Hair messier. Shirt crumpled. She found a half-eaten granola bar in his pocket when he dozed off again on the couch. She ate it. It made her laugh.

And then the fear crept in.

She wasn’t supposed to feel this. Not comfort. Not connection. Especially not with someone like him. Someone whose hands shook more than hers. Someone with veins that pulsed with poison and guilt. Someone who looked at her like she was soft — when she knew there was nothing left inside her but steel and scar tissue.

But Bob — that was his name, she learned later — didn’t ask her to be soft. He didn’t ask her to be anything. He just was. A presence. A silence she could rest in. A broken thing that didn’t try to fix her.

And in a world that demanded she keep proving she was worth saving, that was the kindest thing anyone had ever done.

They weren’t lovers. Not then. They were strangers clinging to the same wreckage. Addicted to the quiet between them. Two ruined people who didn’t know what life was supposed to be — only that they didn’t want to spend it alone anymore.

And maybe that’s what made it so dangerous.

She’d built walls her whole life. Bob didn’t knock them down. He just leaned against them with his soft smile and tired eyes, and made her want to open the door.

She didn’t know then what he really was. That he wasn’t just broken — he was shattered beyond human comprehension. That his mind carried monsters. That one day, he’d vanish just like every other good thing.

But that night? That night was theirs.

They never meant for it to happen. Love wasn’t in the cards for people like them — not when your hands remembered blood more than touch, not when your mind was more familiar with silence than comfort. But it happened anyway. Quietly. Slowly. Like water soaking into cracked soil.

It started with the mornings.

Bob stayed over more often. At first, it was an unspoken agreement — neither of them wanted to be alone. Then it became routine. He’d make coffee while she watched him from the couch, her head heavy on the pillow, eyes tracing the curve of his shoulders in the morning light.

“Milk or sugar?” he asked once.

She blinked at him. “Do I look like a sugar-in-coffee kind of girl?”

He chuckled. “You look like someone who’d throw the mug at me if I asked again.”

She smirked. “You’d deserve it.”

There was always something playful in their mornings. Something soft. But beneath it was this ache — a knowing that the warmth they were building had to be temporary. Nothing good ever stayed for people like them. They were waiting for the storm, even when the sky was clear.

Still, they tried.

They went on walks — strange, meandering ones through Florida’s weather-worn streets. Bob would hold her hand, but only when she let him. Y/N wasn’t used to touch that didn’t hurt. But with him, she began to crave it — the grounding warmth of his fingers, the way his thumb would brush against hers without meaning to. Or maybe he meant to. She never asked.

There was a night in late October — humid, still, full of stars. They were lying on a blanket in the back of Bob’s truck. She had snuck a bottle of wine from the gas station. He’d brought a melted bag of marshmallows he found in the pantry.

They didn’t talk much. Just looked up.

“You ever wonder what it would’ve been like… if we were normal?” she asked.

Bob turned his head toward her, slow and careful, like even moving too fast might scare her away. “Yeah. Every day.”

She swallowed. “Do you think… we’d still find each other?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes were so blue, even in the dark. Then: “I don’t think anyone else could understand me like you do.”

Her chest ached. He said things like that without knowing what they did to her — how they broke her open in places still healing.

They kissed that night. Not urgent. Not desperate. Just… full. Heavy with everything they couldn’t say. Her hands in his hair. His hands on her waist, holding her like he thought she might disappear. She almost did.

He whispered her name like a prayer. She let herself fall.

They moved in together two months later.

It wasn’t planned. Bob just… stopped leaving. His toothbrush ended up in her bathroom. His T-shirt in her laundry. He never said he was staying. He just stayed. And she never told him to leave.

They made a home out of chaos. Patching each other up in ways neither of them understood. When Bob had bad nights — when the trembling got worse and the shadows in his mind whispered things he wouldn’t repeat — Y/N would sit on the bathroom floor with him, her legs wrapped around his, whispering back until the voices got tired.

“You’re here,” she’d say. “You’re safe. I’m not going anywhere.”

When she woke up from a nightmare — soaked in sweat, heart racing like she was still dodging bullets in the Red Room — Bob would pull her into his chest, rock her gently, and hum. He wasn’t a good singer. But she never told him to stop.

They were addicted to each other. Not in the toxic, burning way — but in that slow suffocation kind of way. Like if one of them left, the other would forget how to breathe.

Bob started calling her “angel.” Soft, reverent, like she was something divine. Y/N never corrected him, though she knew she was far from it. Every time he said it, she almost believed him.

“You’re the only thing that makes sense,” he told her once, his voice cracking, his pupils blown wide from the edge of another high.

She held his face in her hands. “Then stay with me. Stay clean. Stay here.”

He tried. He tried so hard.

She started cooking. Badly. Burnt eggs. Undercooked pasta. But Bob would eat everything with a grin and a wink. They danced once in the kitchen, barefoot on the cold tile, her hair in a messy bun, his T-shirt hanging off her shoulder.

“I’m gonna marry you one day,” he whispered against her temple.

She laughed. She didn’t believe in marriage. But she believed in him. And that was terrifying enough.

But with love came the cracks.

Bob had dark days — days he’d vanish, or stare at the wall for hours, mumbling about voices, about the Void, about not feeling real. Y/N would shake him sometimes. Cry. Scream. But he’d just look at her, hollowed out, and say, “I don’t know how to stop it.”

She understood. She’d been there too.

There were nights they fought. Nights where the house felt too small and the world too loud. Y/N would slam doors. Bob would disappear down the block with clenched fists and red-rimmed eyes. But they always came back to each other. Always.

One time, after the worst of their fights, Bob returned at 3 a.m., barefoot, shivering, clothes soaked in rain. He collapsed at her doorstep.

“I don’t want to be without you,” he said, voice cracking like porcelain.

She dropped to her knees and kissed his forehead, tasting salt and desperation. “Then don’t be.”

--

It was beautiful, that was the worst part.

Because from the outside, it looked like love. The kind of love you saw in movies where two broken people found comfort in each other, where hands shook but still reached, where silence didn’t mean distance. The kind of love that people romanticized because they didn’t know any better.

But it wasn’t a movie. It wasn’t a poem or a love song or a neatly tied ending.

It was real. And real love — love soaked in addiction — was ugly.

Y/N had been drinking again. Not just the occasional buzz. Not just the glass of wine after dinner.

This was deeper. Darker.

It started with a bottle left on the counter. Then one hidden in the bathroom. Then one in the car, tucked under the seat, clinking when she made a sharp turn. She didn’t mean to spiral. But the mornings came heavier. The days got colder. And Bob…

Bob wasn’t getting better.

He was losing.

Some days, he’d try. He’d sit in front of her and cry, eyes wide and helpless, begging her to hide his stash. “Flush it,” he’d whisper. “Please… please… I don’t want to be this anymore.”

And she would. God, she would. She’d sit with him for hours, cold compress against his burning forehead, whispering stories from her past to distract him from the voices. She’d sing, she’d read, she’d cry with him — do anything just to keep him grounded.

But then there were other days.

Days when he’d vanish for hours. Days when he’d come back shaking, eyes dilated and teeth grinding, too fast, too angry, too loud. He would slam doors. Break plates. Scream into pillows. One night, he punched the wall so hard the plaster caved in and blood ran down his wrist like war paint.

Y/N patched it up with trembling hands.

“You can’t keep doing this,” she whispered, voice hoarse with exhaustion. “You’re killing yourself, Bob.”

He looked at her like a stranger. “You think I don’t know that?”

Then he walked out.

She didn’t follow. Not that time.

Their fights weren’t the kind you could write off. They were wars.

Things were said. Terrible things. Things that clung to the walls like smoke, long after the shouting stopped.

“Maybe you want me to die. That way you don’t have to carry me anymore.”

“Don’t you dare make this about me. You think I like watching you disappear?! I am doing everything I can to keep you here!”

“Then why are you always drunk?!”

Silence. Cold. Crushing. Because he was right, she was slipping, too. And she hated him for noticing.

She had always been the strong one. The weapon. The one who didn’t cry, didn’t break. But Bob unraveled her. Not by hurting her — but by needing her. All the time. Too much. And she was running out of things to give.

Still, she couldn’t let go.

She told herself it was love. That’s what love meant — enduring. Fighting. Staying.

But in truth?

She was scared.

Scared that if she left him, he’d die. And if he died, then she’d have to live knowing she didn’t save him.

She had failed before — failed to stop the Red Room, failed to save the girls who screamed in their cells, failed to run soon enough when her own memories were stolen. She couldn’t fail this, too.

Even if it meant drowning with him.

There was a night — one of the worst — when Bob came home high out of his mind, twitching, muttering nonsense about the Void, eyes unfocused. He looked haunted. Like something inside him had died.

Y/N tried to touch him. He flinched.

“Don’t,” he growled. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re disappointed.”

She didn’t answer. Her hand fell back to her side.

That was all it took.

He stormed past her, knocking a chair to the floor. “You don’t get it,” he snapped. “You never got it. You look at me like I’m this project. Like I’m someone you can fix. But I’m not.”

She followed. “I know you’re not. You think I’m not broken, too? You think I wanted this?”

“You chose this,” he spat. “You stayed.”

That one hit. Hard. She froze.

Bob’s chest was heaving, face red with rage. But even in that moment, she saw it — the way his hands trembled, the shame underneath the fury, the way his mouth quivered like he was about to break down. He hated himself. And she couldn’t save someone who hated themselves more than they loved her.

So, she walked away. This time, she was the one who slammed the door. But they always came back.

No matter how bad the fight. No matter how ugly the words. The mornings still came, and with them came the apologies.

“I didn’t mean it,” he whispered into her hair one morning, voice raw. “I was scared.”

She was still crying. “So was I.”

He kissed her. They held each other. And for a few minutes, they could pretend it would be different this time.

That they wouldn’t fight again, that love would be enough. But it wasn’t. Because the addiction was always louder.

So, she isolated. Drank more. Cried in the shower. Hid bruises — not from violence, but from where Bob had grabbed her too tightly during one of his spirals. He never meant to hurt her. He never knew what she was, he didn't know how she could crush his skull with one kick because no matter how bad she was, Bob was her everything, she would kill herself if it meant he would live safe and happy, and never let her state overtake her to the point of ever hurting him physically. His apologies always came with tears. And she believed him.

Because she had done things she didn’t mean, too. Said things. Chosen the bottle over him.

They were a mess. A beautiful, tragic mess.

They loved each other so much. But that love lived in a house full of ghosts — and they couldn’t keep pretending it wasn’t haunted. Sometimes she looked at him — really looked — and wondered what would’ve happened if they’d met in another life. If Bob had never touched meth. If she had never been turned into a weapon. If they’d both been whole.

Would they have had a house with white curtains and sunflowers in the windowsill? Would she have come home from work to find him reading on the couch, glasses slipping down his nose, telling her about some science article he’d found fascinating? Would she have worn a ring? Would he have remembered her birthday without her having to remind him? Would they have been safe?

But that wasn’t their life.

Their life was stained bedsheets and empty bottles. Screaming matches and shattered plates. Apologies written on sticky notes. Hugs that felt like lifelines. Eyes that couldn’t hide the truth.

Their love was real. But it wasn’t enough.

--

The decision didn’t come like a lightning strike. It wasn’t some grand moment of clarity or a dramatic vow shouted into the night.

It was quieter than that. Softer.

It came one morning, when the apartment was still and heavy, when the sun crept in through the slats in the blinds and painted Bob’s sleeping face in gold. His chest rose and fell slowly. Peacefully.

He looked young when he slept. Gentle. Not the man he’d become — all tremors and tension and muttered voices in the dark — but the man she knew was still in there. The man who used to read to her in bed. Who would trace patterns on her back until she fell asleep. Who told her she made the world feel a little less heavy.

She watched him sleep that morning, her head aching from the night before, and her body screaming for another drink, and she whispered something barely audible to herself.

“I want to stay.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d said it. But it was the first time she meant it like this. She wanted to stay. To be here. To build something. To be better — not just for herself, but for him. For them.

And for the first time in years, she realized she didn’t want to just survive. She wanted a future. A real one.

She wanted to be his wife. She wanted to be the mother of his children. She wanted to build a home that didn’t feel like walking on glass. She wanted morning coffee on the porch and pottery in the backyard. She wanted to live.

And she was ready to try.

The first few days were brutal.

Her body rebelled in every possible way. The migraines were endless. The shakes were unbearable. The craving whispered to her every second, like a ghost wrapped around her spine.

“Just one drink,” it would hiss. “Just to take the edge off.”

But she didn’t.

She journaled instead.

Pages and pages of pain and guilt and hope and anger. She wrote until her fingers cramped, until the ink bled through the pages, until the crying stopped and the silence settled.

She made a list.

Things That Make Me Feel Alive Without Drinking:

The sound of Bob breathing when he sleeps.

Warm coffee in the morning.

Pottery videos on YouTube.

The smell of fresh soap.

The idea of painting a mural in the bedroom.

Buying gifts for Bob. Even small ones.

Imagining a future where we are both okay.

She stuck the list on the fridge with a magnet shaped like a tomato.

--

She started pottery first.

It was messy and frustrating and humbling. The first bowl she made collapsed like wet tissue. But the second one held. And the third one had a little curve, a personality. She started keeping them on the windowsill.

Bob noticed.

“You’re making things,” he said one day, tracing the edge of a misshapen cup with his finger. “Like… actually making things.”

She smiled. “I’m trying.”

He kissed her then. Long. Slow. Like he was proud of her, even if he didn’t know how to say it.

That made her cry in the bathroom later. Not from sadness, but from how good it felt to be seen again.

Whenever she felt herself spiraling, she’d leave the house.

It didn’t matter where she went — a bookstore, the pier, the dusty art supply store run by an old woman named Marta who talked too much but always smiled.

She would walk. Breathe. Touch walls. Smell flowers.

And then she’d come back.

Always with something for Bob.

A pair of socks with Saturns on them. A tiny notebook with gold edges. A cracked keychain in the shape of a star. A ceramic frog that looked so ugly it made her laugh.

Bob collected the gifts without question. He put them all on the bookshelf beside his science journals. He never said “You shouldn’t have.” He never asked why.

He just kissed her on the forehead and told her, “Thank you for coming home.”

--

There were relapses.

One night, after three weeks clean, she had a panic attack so severe she couldn’t breathe. Her hands shook as she unscrewed the bottle of vodka she’d hidden in a sock drawer weeks ago, “just in case.”

She poured it into a cup and stared at it, dumping it down the sink. Then she curled up on the bathroom floor and cried until Bob found her. He didn’t say anything. Just held her. Rubbed her back. Pressed kisses to her neck like prayers. They didn’t talk about it the next day.

But she knew he knew what she’d almost done. And that he was proud she didn’t.

She painted, too, nothing professional, nothing good, but it helped. The colors. The control. The freedom.

She painted skies. Hands. Faces. Things she didn’t remember seeing, but had probably dreamed about. Once, she painted them — her and Bob — in a field full of red poppies. She wasn’t sure why, but it felt right.

She hung it above the bed.

Bob stared at it for a long time. “Do you think that’s where we go when we’re okay?” he asked.

“Maybe,” she whispered. “Maybe we’re already there in another life.”

He didn’t respond. Just squeezed her hand.

She started cooking.

Burned rice. Under-seasoned chicken. Exploding eggs. But there were a lot of improvements.

But she laughed through it all. And Bob, to his credit, always ate whatever she made.

They started having “dinner dates” in the living room with a blanket on the floor and candles in mugs. Sometimes they would pretend they were strangers meeting for the first time.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” she’d say, extending her hand like they hadn’t kissed that morning.

Bob would take her hand. “Hi, I’m Bob. God, do angels just walk around on earth now?”

They’d laugh. But it always ended with tears.

Because underneath it all, they both knew how fragile it was.

And yet… there was peace. Little moments.

Bob planting lavender in a pot on the balcony. Y/N making playlists called “Songs for When We’re Better.” Them dancing slowly to music no one else could hear. Falling asleep with limbs tangled, dreams soft and quiet.

She was doing it.

Not perfectly, but honestly she was staying sober, becoming someone new.

Not for the world. Not for redemption. Not even for her sisters. But for him. Because she wanted to be the woman he could count on. The woman who wouldn’t disappear. The woman who could love him without losing herself. She was becoming better.

And for the first time in her life — really, truly — she believed that maybe, just maybe…

She deserved to be. And so did he.

--

He didn’t know when the cracks started to show again. Maybe they’d never fully healed.

Maybe he was never meant to be whole in the first place.

There were good days. God, there were good days. Days when Y/N came home with paint on her fingers and bright eyes, holding some little treasure in her hand — a rock shaped like a heart, a used book with notes in the margins, a stupid mug that said “World’s Okayest Boyfriend.” Days when she laughed freely, without the weight of yesterday clinging to her voice.

She was healing.

He could see it in the way she carried herself. She was lighter. Braver. Trying.

But he was still stuck in the mud.

Still shackled to the same rot in his brain. Still battling the shadows in the corners of the room. Still waking up sweating and shaking, teeth grinding in his sleep, dreams full of static and whispers and himself — distorted and screaming and hollow.

Bob hadn’t been clean. Not really. He lied. Told her he was “tapering.” Told himself he just needed one more hit to stay steady, one more to keep the void quiet, one more to function.

But the truth was cruel: he was using. Still.

Every few days. Some nights when she was at pottery. Or reading. Or watching the rain through the window like it could forgive her.

He'd stash it in the back of the toilet. Under a floorboard in the closet. In an old book jacket he knew she’d never touch. He wanted to stop. But he didn’t know how to be okay without it. He didn’t know who he was without the numb. The day it all fell apart started like any other.

He woke up before her. Watched her sleep. Touched the edge of her shoulder like a prayer. She looked peaceful — almost girlish in the early morning light. She mumbled something in her sleep and rolled toward him. He smiled. Almost.

But there was a tremor in his jaw. His teeth ached. His skin felt like it didn’t fit. He needed it.

He told himself he’d just take a little. Just enough to stop the noise in his head.

Just enough to get through the day.

So while she made breakfast — humming to herself in the kitchen, the scent of burnt toast curling through the air — he excused himself and went to the closet.

Floorboard. Right corner. Fingernail crack. The pipe was still there. Still calling. And he smoked.

And for a while, everything was quiet.

But the thing about a high is that it ends.

And when it crashes, it burns.

That night, they were watching a movie on the couch. She leaned her head on his shoulder, a blanket tucked around them, her fingers playing with the hem of his shirt.

“You smell like smoke,” she said softly.

He froze, tried to play it off. “Must’ve been from outside.”

But she sat up, looking him in the eye.

“Bob,” she whispered. “Are you using again? You told me that you hadn't use it in weeks.”

And something in him — something small and mean and scared — lashed out.

“I said it was from outside,” he snapped. “Can you back off for one fucking second?”

She blinked. Hurt flaring in her eyes like a matchstick.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” she said, quieter now. “You don’t have to pretend.”

“I’m not pretending!” he barked. He was on his feet now, pacing, hands running through his hair. “Why do you always think I’m lying? Why do you—why do you always look at me like I’m broken?!”

Her voice cracked. “Because you are.”

Silence.

The words hung in the room like a knife between them.

She hadn’t meant it like that. He knew she hadn’t. But it didn’t matter. It had been said. And it landed exactly where it hurt the most.

Bob stormed out of the apartment that night.

He didn’t take his wallet. Just his keys and the leftover rage boiling under his skin.

--

The street was cold. Empty. The kind of lonely that echoes in your bones.

He ended up in a bathroom stall of a gas station off the highway, shivering, crying, using again — harder this time. Deeper. Hoping it would shut everything off.

He didn’t want to feel.

Didn’t want to remember the look on her face. The way her mouth trembled. The tears that welled but never fell.

He hated himself. He hated his addiction.

He hated how he could never be enough for her — not really. Not clean. Not good. Not stable.

She was trying so damn hard. And he was ruining it. Again.

The come-down was a nightmare.

He stumbled home past 3 a.m. — pale, sweating, his hands shaking like leaves in the wind. Y/N was asleep on the couch, phone in her lap, her eyes swollen and red. She’d waited up. Of course she had.

He sat on the floor beside her, and didn’t say a word. He just cried. Ugly, broken sobs that racked his chest, his fingers clutching the hem of her pajama pants like a child begging for forgiveness.

She woke up. Reached for him, pulling him into her lap. “Bob,” she whispered, over and over, like saying his name might save him.

“I’m sorry,” he choked. “I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know who I am without it. I—I’m ruining this. I’m ruining you.”

She kissed his hair, “I’m not ruined. I’m choosing to stay,” she said.

“But why?” he asked, eyes swollen. “Why the hell would you stay with someone like me?”

She didn’t answer right away.

Then she said, “Because I know what it’s like to be poison and still want to be loved. And you loved me through it. Now I’ll love you through this.”

The next morning, she made coffee. They didn’t speak much.

But they sat side by side on the couch, his head on her shoulder, her hand on his knee.

He told her everything.

The stash. The closet. The lies.

She didn’t cry. She just listened. And when he was done, she said, “Let’s start again.”

--

It had been a long day.

The kind of day that crawled under her skin and stayed there, heavy and slow. Y/N had come home in a haze — work had been exhausting, her shoulders stiff, her hair tangled from the wind, the sleeves of her jacket damp from an afternoon rain. All she wanted was to curl into Bob’s chest and fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat — warm and steady, that sacred rhythm she could always trust to be there, even when nothing else was.

She unlocked the door, expecting him.

Expecting to see the flicker of the living room lamp he always forgot to turn off. Expecting his shoes by the couch, that old hoodie of his thrown over the backrest. Maybe he’d be cooking — not well, but trying — or maybe he’d be sprawled out watching some stupid late-night special.

But the house was quiet. Too quiet. No lights. No soft hum of music. No smell of his cologne. Just the tick of the wall clock and the creak of the floor under her shoes.

“Bob?” she called gently, half-smiling, slipping off her coat. “You home?”

No answer.

She wasn’t worried at first. Maybe he went out. Maybe he was grabbing groceries or air or that soda he couldn’t live without. It wasn’t like him to not text, but... he was impulsive. Messy. Chaotic in a way that sometimes made her laugh, sometimes made her sigh. Still, she wasn’t alarmed. Not yet.

She walked to the kitchen.

His mug was gone, the one with the cracked rim that he swore made coffee taste better.

She opened the fridge. His leftovers were missing. So were the beers he said he’d quit.

The couch looked... untouched. Neat. Wrong.

Her stomach tensed.

She moved faster now — checking the bathroom. The closet. The bedroom. It hit her when she opened the dresser. His clothes were gone. All of them. The top drawer that used to overflow with wrinkled t-shirts and rolled-up socks was empty. The hangers that held his jackets were bare. Even the drawer where he kept old receipts and crumpled paper sketches of her face — all gone. Every trace of him, erased.

And then she saw it.

A piece of folded paper, sitting on the center of the bed like a coffin lid.

Y/N’s fingers trembled as she reached for it. Her name was written on the front in his handwriting.

Y/N,

I’m sorry.

God, I’m sorry.

I don’t even know how to write this right. I’ve been trying for days. I rewrite it and burn it and start again and it still doesn’t feel like it says enough. Or maybe it says too much.

I love you. That’s not the lie here. Please don’t ever think it was. I’ve never loved anything the way I love you. Not a person. Not a place. Nothing. You’re the only thing in my whole life that’s ever made me feel like maybe I could be better. Like maybe I could be good.

But I’m not good.

I keep waking up waiting for the moment you realize it. The moment you look at me and see what I see — this thing I keep trying to hide under the smiles and the kisses and the breakfasts in bed. This hole inside me that you can’t fill, no matter how hard you try.

I can’t keep letting you bleed yourself dry trying to fix me.

You deserve a life. A real one. Not one where you have to keep looking over your shoulder to make sure I’m still breathing. Not one where you keep sacrificing your sobriety to catch me when I fall. Not one where love feels like walking on glass.

So I’m leaving.

I don’t want to do this to you anymore.

I don’t have a good reason that’ll make it hurt less. I’m not leaving for someone else. I’m not leaving because I stopped loving you. I’m leaving because you were starting to believe in me more than I ever could. And I was going to drag you down with me.

Please don’t look for me. Don’t waste your time hating me or chasing ghosts. Just live. Please. For both of us.

You were the only light I ever knew. But I wasn’t meant to stay in the light.

I love you.

-Bob

She didn’t move for a long time.

The letter lay in her lap, her fingers frozen around the edges, smudging the ink. Her eyes didn’t even water — not yet. They just stared, blank and aching, like they were trying to make sense of the words over and over again, hoping they might rearrange themselves into something else.

Something kinder.

But they didn’t.

Bob was gone. He’d really gone.

She checked the apartment again — tore it apart, heart thudding, breath ragged. Opened drawers, looked under the bed, clawed through the trash.

Nothing.

Every trace of him — gone. Even the damn mug. Even the sketches.Even the tiny doodle he’d once made on the inside of the pantry door. A stick-figure of the two of them with “Home” written under it.

She crumpled to the floor of the bedroom and screamed.

A sound so broken, so primal, it echoed off the walls and bounced back into her chest like shrapnel.

This was abandonment. Not the kind that slammed doors and yelled cruel things in parting. The quiet kind. The cruelest kind. The kind that left without letting you say please stay.

She lay on the bed that night, curled into herself, clutching his pillow to her chest like it could still hold his warmth. Her eyes stayed open. Her heart beat slower. Numbness began to settle in her limbs.

All those nights she’d held him while he cried. All those mornings she packed his cigarettes with tiny notes to remind him she loved him. All the books she read to understand addiction. All the therapy. The hobbies. The art. The sobriety. All the hope. And he left. No fight. No goodbye. No explanation she could hold onto. Just a letter and a void.

--

The days blurred together.

She didn’t remember what day he left. Thursday? Saturday? It didn’t matter anymore. The clock ticked just the same — relentlessly, mercilessly — dragging her through morning after morning without him.

The letter stayed on the bedside table, folded and unfolding like a wound she couldn’t close. She tried to put it in a drawer once. It felt like betrayal. She brought it back out after twenty minutes and held it again until her hands went numb.

That first night, she didn’t sleep.

She just sat on the bedroom floor, leaning against the nightstand, surrounded by a silence so thick it pressed into her chest like water. It felt like drowning in the dark. She played one of his old voicemails over and over — one where he was teasing her about some movie she hated. He was laughing.

She hadn’t realized how much she missed the sound of his laugh until it was gone.

She told herself she’d be fine. She’d get through it. She had before — through blood, through pain, through war. She was trained for survival. She could take this. She had to.

But heartbreak wasn’t something you could outfight.

It crawled in through the cracks and rotted everything from the inside out.

The second day, she couldn’t get out of bed.

Not because she was tired, but because it felt like she didn’t deserve to move.

What was the point?

She lay there staring at the ceiling, still in her work clothes from the day before, still wearing the necklace he’d given her — the one with the tiny gold charm shaped like a moon.

He used to call her that.

“Moonlight,” he’d whisper, high and trembling and soft in the aftermath of another breakdown. “You’re the only thing that makes the night less scary.”

She ripped it off.

Threw it across the room.

It hit the wall with a dull clink and fell behind the dresser.

By day four, her stomach had shrunk. Nothing stayed down. The coffee turned cold in her hand, untouched. The groceries in the fridge started to rot. She avoided the kitchen entirely. That’s where he used to wrap his arms around her waist and mumble about breakfast even when he didn’t know how to cook.

Everything reminded her of him.

The arm of the couch still had the dent where he’d sit. The bathroom mirror was still streaked from when he shaved in a rush. One of his long hairs was still caught in the corner of her pillow.

She couldn’t breathe.

It felt like he was everywhere — except here.

She started writing him letters.

One a day.

Long, angry, sobbing letters that never got mailed. She’d rip them up afterward, throw the pieces in the trash, only to dig them out again because she couldn’t bear to let go of his name in her handwriting.

"You lied to me." "You promised you’d never leave." "I was getting better for you. I was trying." "Was I not enough?" "Was loving you not enough?"

The worst part was not knowing. Not knowing why. Not knowing if he was safe. If he was even alive. If he still thought of her or if he was high somewhere with someone new, forgetting her name with every hit.

Sobriety became a razor’s edge. She clung to it with bleeding hands. Not because she wanted to — not at first — but because she had to. If she didn’t, she’d fall, and if she fell, there’d be no one left to catch her. Not anymore.

The first real temptation came on a Tuesday. She’d been up for 48 hours, her hands shaking, her head pounding, her eyes so swollen from crying she could barely see. She found an old bottle of wine at the back of the pantry — a gift from a neighbor she never drank. She held it for thirty minutes. Sat on the floor in front of it like it was a bomb she didn’t know how to defuse, her fingers trembled on the cap. Then she screamed. A scream so loud the windows rattled. She hurled it against the wall. Glass exploded. Red liquid ran down the white paint like blood. She collapsed. Sobbing. Screaming. Hating herself. Hating him. Hating this. But she didn’t drink.

She made lists.

Things To Do Instead of Drinking:

Go for a walk

Break something (cheap)

Write a letter you won’t send

Watch the sun set and pretend he’s under the same sky

Count the days you were successful

She found herself doing everything and nothing. She tried pottery again but broke the first three bowls. She picked up painting — made a portrait of him in charcoal, then tore it apart.

She went to a meeting. Once. Sat in the back with her hood up and didn’t speak. She didn’t want pity. She didn’t want advice. She wanted him. And he was gone.

Nights were the worst. Nights stretched like endless black highways — full of memories, full of shadows.

She lay in bed clutching the side where he used to sleep, remembering the way he curled around her like armor. The way he’d breathe out her name like a prayer. The way their broken pieces had once fit like something sacred.

They weren’t perfect. But they were theirs. Now she was just herself.

Just one half of something that would never be whole again.

She passed a man on the street once who had his build — tall, messy hair, broad shoulders — and her heart stopped. She chased him for two blocks before realizing it wasn’t him. She sat on the curb and cried.

People passed. No one stopped.

Three weeks passed. Four.

She started eating again. Lightly. She cleaned the apartment. She threw out the broken glass. She even took down the photos of them on the fridge — not because she wanted to forget him, but because she couldn’t look at them without shattering all over again.

She told herself: This is survival. Not healing. Not moving on. Just surviving. Breathing. Drinking water. Fighting the urge to slip. Some days she still screamed into pillows. Some days she stared at the door hoping he'd walk in and say, “I was wrong. I’m sorry. I’m home.”

But he didn’t. And she didn’t drink. Not once.

--

It had been months since he left.

Time moved like molasses — slow, bitter, sticky. Some mornings were quiet victories: brushing her hair, taking a walk, even smiling at a dog on the street. Others were brutal. Violent. Not in action, but in feeling — the kind of ache that settled behind the ribs and refused to loosen, no matter how much she screamed into her pillow or held herself under scalding water just to feel something different.

She was still sober. Barely. But she was not okay. Every day was a fight. Every night, she’d imagine him walking through the door again. Sometimes she hated him in those fantasies. Other times she fell into his arms, crying, as if nothing had ever gone wrong. That’s what love does when it turns into grief. It confuses you. It colors even your delusions in half-truths and memory. She’d built a life around surviving. Small steps. Walks through downtown. Coffee shops. New routines. She spoke to no one. She was a ghost in a city that never asked questions — which suited her just fine.

Then it happened.

She was standing in front of a bakery window — watching a cake being frosted with delicate roses — when the TV in the corner caught her attention.

The headline read: "America's Newest Avengers — Thunderbolts or Traitors?"

At first, she didn’t care. Heroes. Politics. Marketing. It was always noise in the background.

Until they said his name.

Bob Reynolds.

And then the camera panned. And she froze.

There he was. On TV. Smiling — a smile she hadn’t seen in so long she forgot it had dimples. His hair was shorter. Cleaner. His posture straighter. His arms folded in a suit that looked expensive. He was standing beside a group: U.S. Agent, Ghost, Red Guardian—

And Yelena. Her sister.

Y/N stumbled backward like she’d been shot.

The display behind her toppled, glass shattering across the sidewalk. The bakery staff shouted. A stranger tried to help her stand. She couldn’t even answer. Her ears rang. Her stomach twisted. Her hands trembled so violently she dropped her phone twice before calling a car. She didn’t stop shaking until she was back in her home. And then, she started digging. The internet gave her more than she asked for. Too much, really, there were interviews. Clips. Montage videos with dramatic music posted by fans. Fan edits. Titles like “Yelena x Bob | teammates to lovers” with slow-motion stares and soft lighting. Tweets speculating about their chemistry. Rumors. Jokes. Whole Reddit threads. TikToks.

“I ship them so hard.” “They’re perfect together.” “That smirk Bob gives her in the press tour? Yeah, they’re screwing.”

Y/N wanted to throw up.

Bob — her Bob — the same Bob who once cried in her lap, who carved her name into a tree, who promised he’d marry her someday even if it was in a junkyard — was now being shipped with her sister.

Her. Own. Sister.

The words blurred on the screen as tears burned down her face. She clicked faster. Her heart beat louder. Her breathing grew shallow. She couldn’t stop. She needed to understand. She needed a reason. A why.

Yelena never knew about Bob. That was the most soul-shattering part. Y/N had shut herself off the moment she moved to Florida. She wanted peace. Distance. Space to fall apart in private. She didn’t tell Alexei or Yelena about Bob — not because she didn’t trust them, but because it felt like hers. Like her only thing. Her only secret not born from blood or war. She thought she had time. Time to explain. Time to introduce him one day. Time to tell Yelena about the man who saw her not as an assassin or a weapon, but a woman with bruised knuckles and soft eyes who brought him strawberries when he couldn’t get out of bed.

But now? Now Bob was hers too. Now he smiled beside Yelena at press events. Now fans talked about them like they were the next power couple. Now they shared jokes and missions and inside glances. And Y/N was nothing. Not even a footnote.

She stared at a photo on her screen: Bob and Yelena laughing during an interview. He had his arm around her chair.

That was the moment something in Y/N cracked. Something deep. Something she’d been holding together with tape and whispered promises — the idea that maybe he loved her, that maybe he left because he was sick, or scared, or broken, but not because he didn’t care.

That lie was all she had. And it had just been ripped away.

She didn’t eat for three days.

She sat on the floor of her living room, surrounded by old polaroids, ripped letters, a broken pottery bowl she’d made for him. She stared into space. Sometimes she’d laugh. Sometimes she’d sob until her lungs gave out.

She picked up a bottle of vodka in the back of her cabinet and held it to her lips. It smelled like everything she had fought so hard to kill inside herself. She didn't drink it. But it stayed next to her on the floor. Like a threat.

She wrote Yelena a message. Deleted it. Wrote another. Deleted it. She didn’t know what to say. How do you tell your sister — the one you fought to find again, the one you used to braid hair with on missions, the one you loved with a kind of loyalty deeper than blood — that she was sleeping beside the man who once whispered I’ll never leave you and left you shattered on the floor? How do you tell her, without falling apart?

Y/N crawled back into bed wearing one of Bob’s old shirts. It didn’t smell like him anymore.

She curled into a ball, eyes red, throat sore from silence. Outside her window, the world kept moving. People cheered for Bob Reynolds. They speculated about his romance with the blonde Widow. They painted him as a hero. As a survivor. No one remembered the girl he left behind. No one saw the battlefield she lived on every morning. No one knew what he meant. Not even her sister.

--

Rage was the only thing keeping her alive.

It came in flashes. In silence. In screams so guttural her throat bled. In the shattered plates she forgot she threw. In the heavy breathing she couldn’t calm. In the red-hot visions of Bob — of Yelena — of the life they now shared while she drowned under the weight of their silence.

Y/N had been abandoned before. But this? This wasn’t just abandonment.

This was betrayal.

She paced her apartment like a caged wolf. Fists clenched. Skin slick with sweat. Her heart always pounding — too fast, too loud — like it was trying to break out of her chest.

“I’ll never leave you,” Bob had once whispered.

“You’re my calm,” he said, forehead to hers, one hand over her heart.

Now she couldn’t even touch that part of her chest without feeling a hollow ache.

Every time she thought it couldn’t hurt more, it did. Every day, it hurt differently.

Some days, it was missing the way he used to wake her up with lazy morning kisses and coffee brewed too strong. Other days, it was seeing his name trend on social media beside Yelena’s. Sometimes, it was hearing a stranger laugh the way he used to.

But the worst pain? The worst was not knowing why.

She kept rereading the letter. It was still under her pillow — tear-stained, creased, weak from the number of times her fingers had grasped it in the middle of the night. There was no closure. No reason. Just half-hearted apologies and the kind of love that pretends to be noble.

He left because he loved her? Then why didn’t he say goodbye? Why didn’t he give her the truth?

She screamed into towels until her throat went raw. She hit the walls until her knuckles split open. She sobbed into her bathtub fully clothed, over and over again, the cold porcelain hugging her like a coffin. The world outside kept moving. She didn't. The anger was venomous. It infected everything.

Y/N saw red when she looked at photos of Yelena on missions beside Bob. Red when she heard Alexei talking about how proud he was of the Thunderbolts. Red when she saw their names trending, their faces smiling, their victories applauded.

She ignored their calls. Their messages. Their attempts to reconnect. She blocked Yelena’s number. Left Alexei on read. She couldn’t speak to them. Not without trying to tear their throats out. She wanted to hurt them. She wanted to go back to the assassin she used to be — the version of herself that didn’t care, that could slip into a room and kill without blinking. That girl would’ve handled this.

But that girl died the day she fell in love with Bob. Now she was just... broken. She talked to no one. But in the dark, when the sun dipped below the horizon and the silence crawled in, she whispered to him. To the ghost of him. To the memory.

“Why’d you leave me?” “Was I not enough?” “Did you love me at all?”

Sometimes, she begged. “Please come back.”

Other times, she threatened. “I’ll kill you if I ever see you again.”

And sometimes — most nights — she lay still in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering how many pills it would take. How fast it would be. If it would feel like floating or falling.

The alcohol bottle still sat in the cabinet. Unopened. But it whispered to her like an old friend. Every time she passed it. Every time she survived another day. She didn’t touch it. But she wanted to. There was a moment — one afternoon — when she caught her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t recognize the woman staring back. Hollow cheeks. Red eyes. A face carved in fury. Her fists were clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms. It terrified her.

She whispered, “I want to kill him.” Then she said it louder. “I want to kill him.” Then, “I want to kill all of them.” She wasn’t even crying. She felt numb. There was no shame in her chest. Only fire.

A small part of her wondered what would happen if she let that version of herself loose again — the one trained to kill, bred to obey, sculpted by the Red Room to be vengeance incarnate. She could do it. She knew she could. No hesitation. But another part of her — the part Bob once touched, the part that still remembered what love was supposed to feel like — that part sobbed in the silence.

Because she didn’t want to be this person again. But no one else gave her a choice. She wanted to scream at Yelena. How could you? You’re my sister. You knew I was alone. You saw me go quiet. Did you ever ask why? Did you care?

And Bob? Bob who once held her when her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Bob who used to whisper dreams of marriage and kids and building a life away from the darkness.

He walked away. He joined a team. He built a new life. And he chose Yelena.

--

She never hated her sister before.

Not even during the Red Room years, not when they were pitted against each other like bloodstained chess pieces moved by men who didn’t know their names. Not even when Yelena went to the Avengers and Y/N ran to Florida, trying to disappear into some version of normal.

But now? Now she hated her with every cell in her body. With every scar she’d ever hidden. With every soft part of her heart that used to beat for Bob.

It was irrational. She knew that. Yelena didn’t know. She didn’t do this on purpose. But logic didn’t matter when you were staring down the barrel of your stolen future.

The dreams started as mercy. She would close her eyes and there it was — her life. A house with a wraparound porch, white with green shutters. Flowers spilling from window boxes. Wind chimes dancing in the breeze. The smell of summer and clean laundry. She stood barefoot in the grass, wearing a soft, cream-colored dress. One hand shielding her eyes from the sun, the other holding a baby — their baby. A little boy with his nose. Her eyes. His curls.

And there he was. Bob. Not broken Bob. Not high Bob. Not trembling-in-a-dark-room Bob. But healthy Bob. Sober Bob. Bob in a button-up shirt, sleeves rolled, a tie around his neck, briefcase in hand, laughing as he walked up the driveway.

He kissed her. Kissed their son. Whispered something about traffic, groceries, how he missed her all day. The kind of life they used to whisper about at 2 a.m. when the drugs wore off and the lies were too tired to keep going. She could feel it in the dream. The warmth. The love. The way it was supposed to be.

But right before she woke up — right before the memory could settle in her heart — the image twisted. His face blurred. The baby vanished. And in the mirror hanging by the front door…

Yelena’s reflection stared back at her. Wearing her dress. Holding her son. With Bob kissing her like Y/N had never even existed.

She would wake up drenched in sweat, sheets twisted around her legs like restraints. Her chest would heave. Her nails would dig into the mattress, into her palms, into herself, trying to scrape the image out of her brain. But it never left. It was seared into her.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her dream being lived by someone else. And it broke her.

Because that was the hardest part. Not that he left. Not that he didn’t explain. Not even that he was on TV now, celebrated, loved, powerful.

No. The hardest part was that the Bob she had suffered for — the one she stayed sober for, built a life around, waited up for while he disappeared for nights on end — that Bob was finally better. Just not with her. He was someone else’s now. He became everything she prayed he would be… just too late for her to have him. And it made her sick.

Y/N started to believe something was wrong with her. Truly wrong. Like her soul had rotted somewhere along the way and no one had noticed.

She looked in the mirror and asked herself:

“What is it about me that makes people leave?”, “Why do I only ever get the broken version of things?”,“Why wasn’t I enough?”

She had endured the screaming. The addiction. The hunger. The withdrawals. The nights she held his face and told him he was still human. Still worth saving. She stayed when no one else did. She chose him when he didn’t even choose himself.

And for what? To be replaced. To be erased. To be the ghost haunting the edges of someone else’s happily ever after.

--

There was a knock at the door. It was soft, hesitant — like whoever was on the other side wasn’t sure if they should be there. Y/N barely registered it at first, her thoughts tangled in the thick fog of the day. Her apartment was dark, the curtains drawn tight against the world, and she was still in the oversized hoodie she’d worn three days in a row, curled up on the couch like a bruise that wouldn’t heal.

The knock came again. Slower this time. Careful.

She blinked, staring at the door, her heartbeat stalling. No one came here. No one knocked. She’d made sure of that — avoided neighbors, blocked every number that mattered. No visitors. No reminders.

So who the hell—?

She stood, hesitant, dragging herself up with the weight of a hundred sleepless nights clinging to her spine. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the door. Her nails were bitten down to the quick. Her eyes were hollow. She opened it.

And the last person she ever expected to see was standing there in the hallway.

Yelena.

Y/N didn’t speak. Her throat closed up like a trap.

Yelena smiled gently. “Hey,” she said, her voice light, like this was normal. “Can I come in?”

Y/N blinked. She wasn’t sure if she was dreaming. If her mind had finally cracked under the pressure and this was some sick hallucination. Yelena? Now?

“…What are you doing here?” Her voice was sharp. Dry. She didn’t move.

Yelena’s expression faltered a little. “I… you weren’t answering. Calls, texts. Alexei’s worried. I’m worried. It’s been months, and I thought— I don’t know. I thought maybe you could use some company.”

Y/N stared.

Company. After everything. After everything.

She slowly stepped aside without a word, letting her sister pass into the apartment. Yelena glanced around as she entered — the dishes in the sink, the scattered clothes, the half-empty bottles of energy drinks and untouched food. There was a smell. Not foul, but stale. Like time had stopped moving in here.

“Jesus,” Yelena murmured under her breath, eyes scanning the space. “You’ve really— been hiding, huh?”

Y/N shut the door. And locked it. The click of the deadbolt echoed like a warning. They sat in the silence for a long moment. Yelena took the armchair, her fingers laced nervously in her lap. Y/N sat across from her on the couch, arms crossed, back rigid. The air between them was heavy — not just with time lost, but with something else. Something much darker.

“So,” Yelena said carefully. “How’ve you been?”

Y/N scoffed. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

Yelena blinked. “I just— I don’t know. Trying to start somewhere.”

“You think this is a fucking catch-up?” Her voice cracked at the edges, brittle like glass. “After all this time?”

“I thought you needed space—”

“I didn’t need space, Yelena,” she snapped, sitting forward. “I needed my life. My family. But I guess you were busy on TV, weren’t you? With him.”

Yelena frowned, confused. “With… who?”

“Oh, don’t fucking do that.” Y/N stood now, pacing. Her hands ran through her hair, erratic. “Don’t play dumb. Bob. Sentry. Whatever name he’s going by now.”

Yelena looked taken aback. “You mean— Bob? What about him?”

“You know exactly what,” Y/N hissed.

“I don’t—”

“Don’t lie to me!” she screamed suddenly, turning on her. “Do you think I haven’t seen it? The videos? The interviews? The little side glances, the smiles, the fucking flirting? You think I don’t know how this goes?”

Yelena stood too now, defensive. “Whoa, what the hell are you talking about? I barely know him!”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying!”

“You always do!” Y/N’s voice was feral now, eyes wide with rage and hurt and something so much more raw it didn’t have a name. “You always take. That’s what you do. You take. I got out. I made it out of that hellhole. I found something. Someone. I built a life, Yelena. And then— and then you. You come along, and you fucking take it. Just like everything else.”

Yelena’s expression was horrified. “Wait— you and Bob? You two— you were—?”

Y/N laughed. It was a broken sound. Hysterical. “Of course you didn’t know. Why would you? No one ever sees me. They only see you.”

“Y/N…”

“Don’t Y/N me.” Her voice dropped now, a low growl. “You know what I see every night when I close my eyes? I see the life I should have had. I see a home. A family. Him. And our son. And then right before I wake up, every time, I see you. In my place. Wearing my dress. Holding my baby. With him.”

Yelena was speechless.

“You have everything now,” Y/N whispered, her voice trembling. “Dad’s proud of you. The world loves you. Bob loves you. And I’m nothing. I’m the ghost you all stepped over to get to your perfect little lives.”

“I don’t love him. I don’t— I swear to God, I didn’t know, I didn’t—” Yelena was panicking now, trying to reach her sister through the crackling wildfire of delusion and grief.

But Y/N was too far gone.

“GET OUT,” she screamed. Yelena flinched.

“Get the fuck out of my house. Out of my life. Go back to your team. Go back to him. Just— don’t you dare pity me, Yelena. Don’t you dare.”

Y/N stood in the wreckage of her own living room, chest heaving, knuckles bleeding, rage boiling beneath her skin like lava. The silence after her outburst should have been final—should have signaled the end of this nightmare. But when she turned, Yelena was still there.

She hadn’t left.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

Yelena stood in the doorway, rain-slick light washing over her, a tremble in her voice as she stepped forward, slow and cautious.

“I’m not leaving you like this,” Yelena said softly. “You’re not well. I didn’t know about you and Bob—I swear I didn’t. But if it hurts you, I’ll fix it. Just let me fix it.”

“Fix it?” Y/N’s voice cracked, her laugh manic. “You can’t fix me, Yelena. You broke me.”

“That’s not fair—”

“Fair?” Her head snapped toward her sister, expression twisted. “Fair is for people who didn’t get turned into weapons when they were kids. You think you know what the Red Room did to us? You don’t. I was made into something worse. Something even you couldn’t understand.”

Yelena’s face softened with something like fear now. “I know what they did. We survived it together—”

“No. You survived it.” Y/N took a step forward. “I’m still living in it.”

Something inside her was unraveling.

The rage she’d tried to bury, the grief that rotted her insides—it was rising now, a tsunami crashing past the last crumbling walls of her sanity. And Yelena, standing there in her self-righteous glow, trying to save her like she was some stray animal—

It only made her hate her more.

“You came here to help?” Y/N’s voice dropped low, a growl. “You want to save me? The way you saved Natasha? The way you saved yourself?”

“Y/N—please.”

“You think you’re a hero now, huh?” Her hands were shaking with the need to lash out. “You stole my life. My love. My fucking future. And now you’re here, acting like you’re innocent. You’re not innocent.”

Her eyes locked on Yelena’s, and something ancient and broken ignited behind them.

“You’re dead.” Without warning, Y/N lunged.

Y/N’s fist came like lightning—brutal, fast. It clipped Yelena in the jaw, sending her stumbling back, crashing into a bookshelf. Before Yelena could react, Y/N was on her again, slamming her through drywall like a battering ram.

Yelena rolled as a fist cratered the floor where her head had been.

She barely got her footing before Y/N was there again—she moved like a ghost, faster than Yelena remembered. Her Red Room training hadn’t prepared her for this level of strength.

Y/N had super soldier strength.

Yelena countered with a textbook leg sweep—Y/N leapt over it, caught her mid-spin, and hurled her across the living room into the kitchen counter. Dishes shattered. Yelena groaned, back arching in pain.

“You wanna fix me?” Y/N snarled. “Then bleed for me sister!”

She grabbed a serrated kitchen knife and lunged again.

Yelena blocked with a stool, snapping it in half under Y/N’s force. She ducked the next blow and kicked her sister back into the wall—but it was like trying to stop a freight train with a paper shield.

Y/N’s hand snapped forward, catching Yelena by the throat. She slammed her hard against the window.

Glass cracked.

“Every dream I had,” Y/N whispered, face inches from hers, “You infected it.”

Yelena elbowed her, kicked, used every trick she’d learned from Natasha—but nothing was working. Her sister was stronger. Angrier.

Y/N wasn’t fighting to disable.

She was fighting to kill.

Yelena’s lip bled. “This isn’t you,” she gasped. “You’re not like this.”

“I was always like this,” Y/N hissed. “You just never looked hard enough.”

She headbutted Yelena, then flung her across the apartment. Yelena landed with a crash, coughing, vision blurry. She reached for her belt—threw a flashbang.

Y/N shielded her eyes too late.

Yelena scrambled for the window, kicking it open as rain poured in. She turned back, breath ragged.

“I loved you,” she shouted.

Y/N roared, rage bursting like wildfire, lunging through the smoke and wreckage.

Yelena jumped.

She hit the fire escape, barely catching herself. Her leg twisted on impact, but she moved. Fast. Down the stairs, through the alley, into the night.

Behind her, Y/N stood at the broken window, staring down at her fleeing sister.

Her face was wild. Her knuckles bloody. Her breathing fast and erratic. And yet—tears spilled down her cheeks.

Somewhere, deep down beneath the violence, the child who once idolized Yelena screamed.

But no one heard her.

--

Yelena collapsed behind a dumpster, heart thundering in her chest.

She wiped blood from her lip. Looked down at her trembling hands.

She’d faced monsters. Gods. She’d survived the Red Room.

But nothing in the world had prepared her for the moment her own sister tried to kill her.

Tried to murder her.

She looked up at the rain, swallowed the lump in her throat, and whispered—

“What did they do to you?”

--

Y/N sat alone on the shoreline, salt drying on her cheeks. Not from the sea—she hadn’t been in the water.

She hadn’t been in anything lately.

Just skin and bone. Just barely enough of a person to keep breathing.

Her knees were pulled up to her chest. Bare feet dug into the cold sand. The wind tangled her hair as the tide clawed closer. The sky above her was bruised with clouds, gold and violet smudges painting the horizon, stars trying to pierce through the thick dusk.

Her fingers fidgeted with a small, sharp shell—pressing it into her palm again and again until the skin broke.

Tiny, invisible punishment. Something to make her feel.

Because feeling had become harder than hurting.

"I know you’re not here," she whispered.

The sea answered with a howl.

"Or maybe you are," she said to no one. Her voice was so small. "I see you in my dreams, Nat. You always look so... peaceful."

She pressed the shell deeper. Blood bloomed in her palm, slow and warm.

"I’m not okay," she said to the waves, to her dead sister, to the ghost she could only summon through pain and memory. "You knew how to live through the pain. How to stand. I don’t. I don’t know who I am without it. And now I just want it to stop."

She looked up to the darkening sky. The wind picked up.

“I tried,” she whispered. “I really tried. I stayed clean. I made a life. I fell in love.” Her voice cracked. “And he left me.”

Tears streamed down her face. Her body shook, her chest hiccupping with emotion too big to contain.

“I tried to be good. I really did.”

She hugged her knees tighter, curling into herself.

“And now I dream of a family that’s not mine. A house I’ll never have. A child I won’t get to hold.”

A beat.

Then a whisper.

“Take me with you, Nat.”

A sob escaped.

“I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want to be me anymore.”

The wind howled louder, like something answering.

And then—

A voice.

“Y/N.”

It was rough. Deep. Familiar.

Her heart stopped.

She didn’t even need to look.

She already knew who it was.

She turned slowly, her face stained with salt and blood and sand.

There stood Alexei.

He looked older. Tired. His eyes softened when he saw her, broken and small on the shore. He took a step forward, boots crunching the shells.

“I’m here to help you, dochka,” he said gently.

The word snapped something in her.

She stood.

Suddenly very still.

Very silent.

Her fists clenched.

"You’re here to help me?" she said, her voice eerily calm. “Now?”

Alexei hesitated. “Yelena told me what happened. We didn’t know about Bob. About how much he meant to you. We didn’t know he left you.”

She flinched like he slapped her.

“You. Didn’t. Know.” Her laugh was cold, sharp. “You all didn’t know because you never asked. Because I was the broken one, right? I was the one you kept tucked away like a dirty little secret while you raised your other daughter to be a hero.”

Alexei’s face fell. “That’s not true.”

“It is true!” she screamed, her voice breaking. “You all wanted me gone. Out of sight. Away. You wanted peace, so you sent me away to rot while you played family with Yelena and wore your stupid suit and smiled for interviews.”

He stepped forward again. “I thought you wanted peace—”

“NO!” she roared. “I wanted a life! I wanted someone to love me. And Bob—he was it. He was everything. But now? Now he’s a goddamn Avenger and you’re all just playing pretend like I never existed.”

Her hands were trembling.

“I was there, Dad. I built something real. And you all took it away from me. And now you come here. Acting like you care.”

“I do care—”

“You should’ve cared then!” she shrieked. “You should’ve cared when I was waking up in cold sweats, screaming from the Red Room memories. You should’ve cared when I begged you not to let them inject me. You should’ve cared when I held Bob’s letter and wanted to die.”

Her eyes locked on his. Wild. Ferocious.

“But you didn’t. And you won’t. So now—” she took a breath, trembling “—I’m gonna make you feel what I feel.”

Y/N charged like a shadow breaking free from the night, faster than Alexei expected. Her fist slammed into his gut, lifting him off the ground and sending him crashing into the sand dune behind them.

He groaned. Spit blood.

She was on him again in seconds.

Fists collided. Sand erupted with every hit. Alexei blocked, countered, tried to reason—but she didn’t want to talk.

She wanted to punish.

“You left me to rot!” she screamed between punches.

“You were strong enough!” he shouted back.

“No, I wasn’t!!”

They tumbled toward the shoreline, their silhouettes locked in a dance of blood and violence. Y/N swept his legs, slammed her knee into his chest. Alexei tried to grapple her, but she elbowed him hard—once, twice—broke free.

“You made me a killer,” she seethed. “And then punished me for being one.”

He staggered back, clutching his ribs.

“You’re not a killer,” he said breathlessly. “You’re my daughter.”

Tears mixed with blood on her face. “Then why didn’t you love me like one?”

She rushed him one last time.

He didn’t fight back.

He just stood there, arms half-raised, breathing ragged.

Her fist cracked across his jaw—and he dropped to his knees.

Rain began to fall.

And she just stood there.

Above him.

Hands shaking.

Chest heaving.

Staring down at the man who helped make her, and never came to save her.

Alexei looked up at her, lip bleeding.

“I didn’t know how,” he whispered. “To love you the way you needed. But I do love you.”

Something inside her broke.

She collapsed into the sand, knees buckling.

And screamed.

Screamed until her throat was raw.

The sound of waves crashing was no longer calming.

Not when her heart was screaming louder.

Y/N’s chest heaved from exertion. Blood caked her hands, her knuckles bruised and raw from striking the man who once called her his little girl. She barely felt the cold rain anymore. It soaked her hair, clung to her lashes, blurred the red on her skin as if it could wash away the damage she’d done—but it couldn’t.

Nothing could.

She stared at Alexei crumpled in the sand, breathing but unmoving. Her own father. Another person she’d broken.

She’d barely noticed the shift in air behind her until it was too late.

Footsteps.

Boots, soft on the sand.

She froze.

They were here.

The new team. Valentina’s soldiers. She could sense it in the way the atmosphere tensed. Like the air itself had held its breath. She didn’t turn at first. Her fists clenched, her breath uneven, eyes still on her father. She thought: Of course Yelena brought them. Of course she did.

She imagined them standing behind her, watching like spectators. Come to see the last broken piece of the Red Room project tear herself apart. Maybe they thought it would be entertaining—put her down like a wild animal if needed.

Maybe they came because they didn’t think she could be saved.

Her jaw clenched.

Then—

A voice.

Soft. Familiar.

Shattered.

“Y/N…”

She turned.

Slowly. Hesitantly.

And when she saw him—

Her heart almost stopped.

Bob.

Her Bob.

Her whole world, standing in the rain, drenched like a ghost.

He was dressed in civilian clothes, not the shining uniform of a weapon. He looked nothing like the being of light and power she once saw hovering above the world.

He looked like a man. A broken man.

His eyes were red, tears tracing down his face like rainwater. His lips parted, like he had a hundred things to say but couldn’t force a single one of them past the lump in his throat.

Time stopped.

The beach, the wind, the world—faded.

It was just them.

Two people with shattered dreams and bleeding hearts.

Her arms twitched—part of her wanted to run to him. Bury herself in his chest. Ask him if any of it was real. Ask him why he left. Ask him if he knew how hard she fought to live through it.

But she didn’t move.

Because the rest of her wanted to kill him.

She hated him. She loved him. She hated how much she still loved him.

Her face crumpled. She blinked back tears, every emotion she had shoved down for months roaring back to the surface.

Then she saw the others.

Bucky. Yelena. Walker. Ava.

Weapons.

All ready.

All watching.

She was the target.

Yelena stood behind Bob, her arms at her sides, tense and afraid. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

The message was clear: They weren’t here to help her. They were here to stop her.

She laughed bitterly, her voice hoarse from crying, from screaming.

“So this is what it takes to get you all to care,” she said, not looking at anyone but Bob. “One broken girl on a beach, and now you all show up to ‘fix’ me.”

Bob took a step forward.

“Y/N—”

“Don’t,” she snapped, voice cold. “Don’t say my name like it still belongs to you.”

He flinched. His throat bobbed.

"I—I didn’t know how to come back," he said quietly. "I didn’t know how to look at you after what I did."

Tears welled up in her eyes again.

“You shouldn’t have come back at all,” she whispered. “Not like this. Not with them.”

She took a trembling step toward Alexei’s limp body in the sand. Her fingers curled into fists.

“I should end it here,” she murmured, barely audible over the wind. “End all of this. You, him, me.”

Bob’s eyes widened. “Y/N, please…”

She crouched and pulled the sidearm from Alexei’s holster. Her hands shook as she held it.

Every fiber of her being screamed against what she was doing—but the storm in her chest was stronger. Her tears blinded her, but the hatred lit her up from the inside like wildfire.

“Put it down,” Bucky warned gently. “You don’t want to do this.”

She didn’t even look at him.

“I didn’t want any of this.”

Her eyes stayed locked on Bob. Tears ran freely now. She looked like a woman drowning on dry land.

“I just wanted a life. You know? A stupid little house. A baby. A partner. That’s it. And you took it all away and gave it to her instead.”

Bob shook his head. “Yelena isn’t—”

“SHUT UP!” she screamed, voice cracked and raw. “You think I care what’s true? You think it makes a difference?!”

The grief in her voice silenced them all.

She turned the weapon toward Alexei—arms trembling.

Her finger brushed the trigger.

Then—

They moved.

Bucky lunged. Silent, fast, skilled.

He was on her in an instant, arms wrapping around her from behind like iron.

She screamed, thrashed wildly, her strength unnatural. But Bucky was strong too. Too strong. It was like a cage slamming shut.

“No—NO—LET ME GO!!” she wailed, her voice pure panic now.

She twisted, elbowed him hard—but he didn’t loosen. She could barely breathe. Her eyes locked on Bob’s—desperate and furious.

“HOW DARE YOU COME HERE!” she cried. “YOU DON’T GET TO WATCH ME BREAK!”

Then she felt the sharp sting in her neck.

She froze.

Her pupils dilated.

Bucky held her tighter as the tranquilizer entered her bloodstream.

“No—no—no, no please—please—not again,” she begged, sobbing, her voice cracking into childlike pleas.

Her limbs weakened.

Her legs collapsed.

And the world began to spin.

Bob stepped forward—arms instinctively outstretched—but Bucky held her protectively, shaking his head.

Y/N blinked up at Bob one last time, her vision blurring.

“You were supposed to love me,” she whispered.

Then her eyes rolled back.

Her body went limp in Bucky’s arms.

--

Warm light painted the ceiling above her in soft amber tones, the kind of light that tried too hard to feel like daylight. It flickered gently with the subtle hum of the old overhead fixture, barely audible above the quiet in the room. The air was cool, sterile but not cruel. Soft linen cradled her aching body, and for the first time in what felt like centuries, she didn’t feel the weight of sand, or blood, or rage on her skin. But she felt everything else.

Her eyes fluttered open, lids heavy, lashes damp from sleep or tears—she wasn’t sure. She didn’t move. Just… stared at the ceiling, letting herself breathe in the unfamiliar quiet.

Then it hit her.

Where was she?

Her heart stuttered. Her fingers twitched. She tried to shift, to sit up—but—

She couldn’t. Her wrists were gently restrained. Not tight. Not cruel. The soft fabric cuffs were secured to the bedframe. She wasn’t a guest here. She was a threat.

And then she remembered.

The screaming. The gun. Bob. Yelena. Alexei. Pain speared through her chest as the memory flooded her in a single crushing wave. Her own voice screaming in her ears. The look in Bob’s eyes when she crumbled. The way Yelena flinched. The way Alexei bled into the sand.

“Oh God,” she whispered, her voice cracked and barely recognizable.

Tears stung her eyes, hot and shameful. She let them fall, unable to lift a hand to wipe them away. She had snapped. No—that wasn’t strong enough. She had descended. The side of her that had been carved in the dark halls of the Red Room—the ghost of the girl she used to be—had won. She had become every nightmare she fought so hard to rise from. I’m a monster. She didn’t notice the faint movement at first, the soft rustle of fabric.

Then—

A quiet, theatrical cough. Not aggressive. Not angry. Just… a little awkward.

Yelena.

She sat quietly at the end of the bed, legs crossed at the ankle, arms loosely wrapped around herself. Her green eyes were bloodshot, her face pale and raw. There were faint bruises around her temple—bruises Y/N had left. One eye still a little swollen. But she smiled, slow and tired and heartbreakingly gentle.

“I was wondering when you’d wake up,” Yelena said, her voice hoarse but calm. “You sleep like a rock. That part hasn’t changed.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. Her lips parted in shock. Her breath hitched in her throat, and the words tumbled out before she could stop them—choked, frantic, ashamed. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “Yelena—I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to—I didn’t want to hurt you—I didn’t—God, I’m so sorry—”

Yelena stood and leaned forward, her hands coming to gently cradle her sister’s face, ignoring the restraints, ignoring the tears, ignoring the bruises Y/N had left behind. “No,” Yelena whispered, pulling her into a slow, careful hug.

Y/N froze, her body stiff with guilt, her breath shallow and frantic. She tried to pull back, tried to protest, but Yelena just held her tighter. “No more apologies.”

“I almost killed you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I wanted to,” Y/N cried. “I—I was going to—”

“But you didn’t,” Yelena said again, firm this time. “And I know that wasn’t you. Not the real you.”

Y/N finally broke. Her head dropped forward, her body trembling as she sobbed uncontrollably into her sister’s shoulder.

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” she choked. “I don’t know how to come back from this. I don’t know if I can.”

Yelena pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes.

“You’re my sister,” she said. “That’s who you are. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Y/N’s eyes burned. Her lips trembled. “I’m dangerous.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be.”

Yelena smiled, even through her own tears. “Maybe. But I’m not.”

There was a beat of silence. A moment where the weight of everything—the past, the pain, the blood between them—hung in the air like a ghost. Y/N stared at her hands. Her wrists still bound, like some poetic punishment for the sins she couldn’t undo.

“I don’t deserve this,” she whispered. “Your kindness. Your love. After what I did… after what I became…”

“You became someone who was hurting,” Yelena said gently. “Someone who had everything stolen from her. Again. And again. And again.”

She wiped a tear from Y/N’s cheek.

“You don’t need to deserve my love, Y/N. You already have it.”

Y/N let out a small, broken noise. The kind that wasn’t quite a sob, wasn’t quite a laugh. Just pain, raw and unfiltered.

The sisters stayed there like that, wrapped in a fragile embrace, one restrained but free for the first time in years, and the other covered in bruises but stronger than anyone had given her credit for.

Y/N whispered, “I thought I lost you.”

“You didn’t,” Yelena said. “And now we’re going to fix this. Together.”

She reached for the restraints. Y/N flinched. But Yelena just unbuckled one cuff. Then the other. Slowly. Gently. Like she was undoing chains made of more than just fabric. Y/N’s arms fell to her sides, limp. She didn’t move. She didn’t run. She just let the silence settle again.

The door creaked open gently.

Bob stood in the frame like a ghost afraid to enter its own home, shoulders slouched, hands trembling at his sides. His eyes were bloodshot, not from lack of sleep, but from the weight of sorrow. He didn’t speak right away. He looked at her like she was a piece of glass cracked in too many places to count—terrified that even breathing wrong would shatter her completely. Y/N didn’t look at him.

She sat up in bed slowly, spine hunched, fingers tangled in the bedsheets like she was holding herself together. Her eyes stayed down, unable to meet his. Her chest was heavy with guilt, shame, heartbreak. The silence stretched between them like a bridge they were both too afraid to walk.

“…Can I come in?” Bob finally asked, his voice rough, barely above a whisper.

Yelena, who had been sitting quietly at the edge of the room, glanced at Y/N. Y/N nodded faintly. Yelena stood, gently brushing a hand over her sister’s shoulder before leaving the room without a word. She paused just long enough at Bob’s side to give him one final look — one that said: Please, don’t break her again.

And then it was just them. The door clicked shut behind him.

He stepped forward slowly, like every movement hurt. Like every step was a prayer.

“I’ve been out there,” he said, eyes flicking to the door. “Since they brought you in. I didn’t leave.”

Y/N’s voice was a ghost, barely audible. “Why?”

His breath caught. She finally lifted her eyes to him — and he saw it. The wreckage. The ruin. The pain. All of it, etched into her face, bleeding out of her eyes like ink across fragile paper.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said, voice cracking.

She blinked.

“Okay?” she repeated, a bitter laugh curling into her tone. “You think I’m okay?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he asked, “Can I… hug you?”

For a moment, she just stared at him. Silent. He could see the fight in her. The war. The part of her that wanted to scream, and the part of her that wanted to collapse.

She nodded. Just once. He moved forward slowly, like approaching a wounded animal, and then—he knelt at her side. His arms wrapped around her carefully at first, but then tighter. And tighter. Like he needed to physically hold her together. Like he was trying to keep her from vanishing. Like he had been waiting lifetimes just to feel her heartbeat again. She didn’t move. Then—her body began to tremble. And she broke. A sob ripped through her, raw and sharp and desperate. And then another. And another. She clung to him with everything she had left, burying her face into his shoulder like it was the only place she could hide from the world. He held her through it. Tighter. Always tighter.

“I’m so sorry,” Bob whispered, voice cracking like glass. “Y/N… I’m so sorry. For everything. For leaving. For not asking. For not knowing. For making you go through all of this alone.”

“Why?” she cried. “Why did you leave me?”

His hands were shaking against her back.

“Why did you give up on me?” she sobbed. “I needed you. I needed you to fight for me, Bob…”

“I know.”

“I needed you to love me.”

“I did!” he cried, his voice breaking completely. “I do! I never stopped, not for one second. But I was broken—I was so broken and I didn’t want to take you down with me.”

“You already did,” she whispered, her voice like ashes.

Silence.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her hands curled in the collar of his shirt, her face wet with tears. “I would’ve taken every hit. Every storm. Every goddamn explosion if it meant we got to live that life together. The one I dreamed of. You. Me. A life. That’s all I ever wanted.”

Bob cupped her face like she was the most fragile thing in the universe. “You were everything. I looked at you and saw something pure. Someone good. You had your life together. You had purpose. You had a job, a name, a home. You—” His voice caught again. “You were the kind of person who made people believe in something better.”

“And I loved you. God, I loved you.”

He rested his forehead against hers, both of them shaking now.

“But me?” he whispered. “I was a drug. I was a monster. I was this… this parasite, wrapped in skin and lies. And every day I looked at you, I wondered how long it would take before I ruined you.”

She shook her head.

“No,” she whispered. “You were sick, Bob. You were in pain. I knew that. I stayed because I loved you. And you—you let me love you—and then you ran.”

“I thought I was protecting you,” he whispered. “But I was just protecting myself. From the guilt. From the shame of watching the best thing in my life waste away because of me.”

“I did waste away!” she snapped, crying harder. “I begged for you. I screamed for you. I built a future around a man who disappeared before I could even show him what he meant to me. And you never came back.”

His thumbs brushed her cheeks, catching the tears that wouldn’t stop.

“You deserved someone who could stay,” he said. “And I was still chasing my next high. My escape. You got clean—for me. You faced your demons. But I—” He swallowed. “I let mine eat me alive. I let them turn me into something violent. Something ugly. I would scream. Break things. Scare you. I remember the way you used to flinch and it kills me.”

“I never stopped waiting for you,” she whispered. “Even when I hated you. Even when I blamed you. Even when I hurt everyone because of you.”

He rested his head on her shoulder.

“I’m not the man you deserve.”

“You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted.”

Silence. Only their breathing, tangled and shaky.

“I’m sorry,” Bob whispered again. “I was a burden. A mistake. A nobody.”

She pulled his face up to look at her. “No. You were everything.”

And just like that, they sat together, two broken people clinging to the pieces, sobbing into each other’s arms. No future plans. No promises. Just pain. Just honesty. Just them. And for the first time in what felt like eternity, Y/N wasn’t crying alone. The quiet after the storm hung heavy. Bob hadn’t moved. Not really. His arms still wrapped around her like a shield. As if he thought letting go would mean losing her again. He held her like a man who knew he didn’t deserve to—grateful, reverent, afraid. Y/N’s tears had long since soaked through his shirt. Her voice was hoarse from sobbing. Her body, exhausted. But neither of them could stop holding on. She rested her head against his chest, hearing that familiar heartbeat—steady, slow, alive. Proof that he was really here. That after everything, he was here.

Bob took a breath. Shaky. Hesitant. Then another, deeper one. And then, finally:

“Y/N…” he whispered, voice trembling. “Can I ask you something?”

She nodded against his chest.

His hand gently, shakily brushed through her hair. “Can you ever forgive me?”

She stiffened just slightly—not out of anger, but out of the weight of the question.

“I thought…” he said, voice breaking again, “I thought I was doing you a favor. Letting you go. I thought if I disappeared, I’d… free you from me. From the burden. From my addiction. My anger. Everything.”

He leaned back, just enough to look into her eyes. His were red and swollen, glistening with tears that hadn’t fallen yet.

“I was never good enough for you. Not before. Not during. Not after. You gave me your heart and I… I broke it. I left it bleeding on the floor. You were the only light I had, and I left you in the dark.”

She was quiet, watching him, jaw trembling slightly.

“I never truly understood,” he said, voice raw, “how someone like you… someone strong, brilliant, good… could love someone like me. I always thought there had to be something wrong with you for wanting me.”

Her throat tightened.

“But there wasn’t. God, there wasn’t. You were just kind. And I was a coward.”

He dropped his head, shame rippling off him like heat. “I didn’t realize how much I needed you until you were gone. And even then, I told myself I was doing the right thing. That staying away was noble. That I was protecting you.”

He laughed bitterly. “What bullshit. All I was doing was hiding. And hurting you in the process.”

Y/N blinked hard, her eyes stinging again. But she didn’t cry. Not yet.

She reached out slowly, placing her hand on his cheek. He leaned into it like it was a lifeline.

“I don’t need you to be perfect,” she whispered. “I just need you to stay.”

He nodded, eyes closing under her touch. “I won’t go. Not again. I swear it.”

Her voice cracked. “Don’t let me go.”

“I won’t.”

“Just… hold me. For as long as you can. Just—don’t let me feel alone again.”

“I’m here,” he whispered fiercely. “I’m here. I’ll stay. Always.”

She hesitated. Then: “Can I ask you something now?”

His eyes met hers again, frightened but open. “Anything.”

Her lips parted, voice softer than before. “Were you ever with her?”

He blinked. “Who?”

“…Yelena.”

A silence fell between them. He understood what she meant. Not just with in proximity. But with. As in—did you love her? Did you think of her when you should’ve been thinking of me?

He answered without hesitation.

“No,” he said. “God, no. Never.”

She nodded slightly, swallowing, but the pain was still there.

“Did you ever think about it?” she asked.

He sighed. “Y/N, I thought about you. Every. Day. Every time I woke up. Every time I hit bottom again. Every time I looked at the sky. I never stopped thinking about you.”

“Then why didn’t you come back?”

His voice broke. “Because I didn’t feel like I deserved to. Not after what I did. After what I put you through. I thought… if I came back, it’d be unfair. Like I was asking you to relive all of it. To open those wounds again.”

“But you were all I wanted,” she whispered. “Even when I hated you for leaving. Even when I cursed your name. You were still… home.”

He shook his head, tears finally falling. “I was a monster.”

“You were sick,” she said. “You were hurting.”

“I was dangerous.”

She leaned closer.

“I never wanted safe,” she said. “I wanted you. All of you. Even the broken parts.”

He looked at her, disbelief and awe mingling in his expression. “I only ever loved you, Y/N. I always will.”

Their foreheads came together, slow, breathless. They just stayed like that for a moment. Breathing the same air. Holding the same silence. Two hearts syncing again after too long apart. She looked up at him, her eyes swollen, red, and full of something unspoken.

And then—she kissed him. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t frantic. It was slow. Soft. Gentle.

But underneath it—ache. A deep ache. Like a wound finally closing. Like years of longing finally being answered. Like two souls that had fought wars just to find their way back to each other.

His hands cradled her face. Her fingers clutched his shirt. They kissed like survivors. Like people who’d come too close to the edge and were still afraid of falling.

And when they pulled away, they didn’t speak.

They didn’t have to.

Because that kiss said everything.

They lay there, still wrapped around one another, letting the storm of the past finally settle in the quiet.

His breathing had slowed, but his hands trembled faintly, like the weight of memory refused to leave his bones.

Bob hadn’t spoken for several minutes. He just watched her face. Her swollen eyes. Her tired but steady breaths. The way her lashes fluttered when she blinked, like she was still scared she might wake up and find none of this real.

But then he asked it.

His voice was soft. Almost broken. The kind of question someone asks after holding it back for too long.

“…Why didn’t you stop me?”

Y/N stirred. “What do you mean?”

He sat up slightly, supporting himself on one elbow, and looked at her with a vulnerability that split him wide open.

“All those times,” he said, almost afraid to speak the words. “Back then. When I was sick. When I… when I shouted. When I punched the wall an inch from your head. When I—” He choked. “When I was someone else.”

She didn’t look away. Her eyes softened.

“You just… took it,” he whispered. “You stood there and took it. You never fought back. Not once. You could’ve. You should’ve.”

He swallowed hard. “And today… I saw what you can do. I saw you fight Alexei. You nearly killed him. You could’ve crushed me like I was nothing. You were stronger than me all along.”

He looked down at their intertwined hands, her fingers relaxed against his palm.

“So why didn’t you?”

There was no judgment in his tone. Just pain. Just shame. Just disbelief.

Y/N sat up slowly, pulling her knees to her chest as her gaze drifted upward—past the ceiling, past the walls. Like she was remembering a thousand moments all at once.

“I could’ve,” she said quietly.

“I know,” he whispered.

“But I didn’t.”

“Why?” he asked again, desperate this time.

She took a breath, long and slow.

“Because if I used it… if I let myself use that strength, I knew I wouldn’t stop,” she said. “I knew I could hurt you. Maybe kill you.”

Her voice trembled. “And no matter how much you hurt me… I never wanted to hurt you.”

Bob broke.

The words hit like bullets, each one sharper than the last. His shoulders curled inward. His hands covered his face. And for the first time since the injections, since the lab, since the Void, since everything—he sobbed.

Ugly, gut-wrenching sobs that came from the very center of who he was. He collapsed forward, arms wrapping around her waist, face buried into her lap like a child seeking comfort.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t pull away. She just cradled his head, fingers gently stroking his hair as he cried like a man grieving a version of himself that could’ve loved her better.

“You should’ve run,” he said into her skin. “You should’ve left me. I was… I was horrible to you.”

She didn’t speak.

“I pushed you away. I threw things. I screamed at you. And you—God, Y/N, you stayed. You stayed and loved me when I was poison.”

She closed her eyes, holding back tears of her own.

“I was so weak,” he whispered.

“No,” she said softly, firm. “You were sick.”

“I was a monster.”

“You were lost,” she corrected. “And I loved you. I never stopped.”

He looked up at her, broken, tear-streaked, eyes desperate. “You loved me when I didn’t deserve it.”

“I still do.”

He let out a cry at that—soft, ragged.

And then, as if the truth was finally bursting from inside him, he grabbed both her hands and clutched them to his chest.

“I have so much to tell you,” he said, his voice urgent. “So much I need you to understand. I know it doesn’t erase what happened. I know it doesn’t make me innocent. But I need you to hear it. Everything. Why I disappeared. What I thought I was doing. What I really did. How scared I was. How much I missed you. How I imagined your voice when I was breaking down. How I saw you in every dream and every nightmare.”

She was silent, watching him come undone.

He breathed out, shaky. “I want to start over. With you. With all of it. I want to be the man who’s strong because of you, not in spite of you. I want sobriety, real sobriety, with you by my side. I want the Watchtower to be ours. I want to see you wake up in the morning and smile and know you’re safe. I want a new life. A real life. With you.”

Her throat closed around the lump rising there.

“I need you,” he said. “Not just want. Need. Like breath. Like light.”

He leaned in, his forehead pressed to her chest now.

“I need you to believe I can be better.”

She gently tilted his chin up, her eyes meeting his. Her own expression trembling from holding in her emotion.

“I already do,” she whispered.

He stared at her like she was the sun, like she was the reason he hadn’t disappeared completely.

Then she leaned in, pressing her lips to his temple. A kiss of forgiveness. Of memory. Of salvation.

“I’ll stay,” she murmured. “But you have to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t give up. Not on me. Not on yourself. Not ever again.”

He nodded fervently, tears still falling. “I won’t. I swear, I won’t.”

“And if you slip—”

“I’ll tell you.”

“If you hurt—”

“I’ll let you hold me.”

She smiled sadly. “Then I’ll stay.”

He kissed her then. Gentle, slow. A thank you. A lifeline.

And when they pulled back, he held her tighter than ever, whispering into the quiet.

“I’ll never let you go again.”

--

The Watchtower Common Room – Three Weeks Later

The sun dipped lazily through the tall windows of the communal living room, casting a golden haze over the couch, the mismatched furniture, and the scattered takeout containers from what had turned into a very chaotic brunch-slash-strategy meeting-slash-Alexei-having-an-identity-crisis.

Y/N sat curled into the corner of the oversized couch, practically glued to Bob’s side. Her legs were draped over his lap, arms wrapped around his chest like a koala bear, her head tucked into the crook of his shoulder.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

And, judging by the peaceful look on her face, neither was her need to be close to him at every moment of every day.

Bob, for his part, looked a little... wilted. In a good way. The kind of wilted that comes with someone who’s been deeply loved on all day by a clingy, affectionate, newly-healed girlfriend who had absolutely zero shame about PDA in front of their makeshift team.

He was red in the face. Again.

“I don’t get it,” Alexei grumbled from the floor, half-buried under sketchbooks, empty energy drink cans, and three poorly-sewn prototypes of what might’ve been uniforms. “We’re technically Avengers now, yes? We saved a facility. We stopped a Void. We got a Bob. We have matching trauma. That is qualification.”

Yelena, seated on the arm of the couch, rolled her eyes. “No one said we’re not. But it’s not ‘Avengerz.’ With a Z.”

“But the Z is modern. Youthful,” Alexei insisted, holding up a tattered piece of paper with what looked like a lightning bolt... stabbing a bear. “You have to think branding.”

Y/N snorted into Bob’s chest. He felt it before he heard it—her nose pressed to his shoulder as she tried to muffle the laughter.

Bob glanced around the room, looking mildly panicked. “Can I take back my resurrection and go die again real quick?”

“No,” Y/N said without hesitation, arms tightening around his middle. “I just got you back. You’re not going anywhere.”

He glanced down at her, lips twitching. “Can I at least breathe?”

“Nope.”

Yelena laughed under her breath. “Honestly? You’re lucky. This is the happiest she’s been in years.”

“I can tell,” Bob muttered, turning even redder as Y/N unabashedly kissed his jaw in front of everyone. “She hasn’t let go of me in like, six hours.”

Y/N looked up, mock-offended. “Wow. I cuddle you once for six hours and suddenly I’m clingy?”

He gave her a flat look. “You’ve followed me into the bathroom.”

“I missed you.”

“I was in there for three minutes.”

“Three long, heartbreaking minutes.”

The room burst into laughter—except Alexei, who was too busy measuring Bucky’s shoulders with a tape measure and mumbling about “proportions for aesthetic justice.”

Bucky swatted at him half-heartedly. “Get that thing away from me.”

“You want to be symmetrical or not, soldier boy?”

Y/N giggled and turned her face back into Bob’s neck, inhaling deeply. “You still smell like coffee.”

“Because I made coffee an hour ago.”

“I love coffee.”

“You love me.”

“I do.”

Bob sighed, defeated, though there was nothing in his expression but soft, dazed affection. He leaned back, letting her cling to him like a warm, stubborn barnacle.

“You’re like a weighted blanket,” he muttered. “But emotionally terrifying.”

“Thank you,” she replied proudly.

Across the room, Ghost (Ava) snorted into her drink. “It’s like watching a golden retriever try to date a feral cat.”

“Except the cat’s ex-Red Room and could snap my spine if she wanted,” Walker said, not looking up from polishing his gun.

Y/N’s gaze lifted then, her eyes drifting to Alexei—who was, inexplicably, wearing one of his own design sketches pinned to his chest like a Girl Scout badge.

She hesitated. Then smiled. After everything… after almost killing him, after breaking down in the sand, after being held down by Bucky with a syringe while screaming her regrets—Alexei had forgiven her.

No. He’d understood her. She didn’t have to say anything to him. Not really. Because when he met her gaze, he gave her a single proud nod. Not smug. Not goofy. Just real. Like he knew how hard it had been to unlearn the Red Room. Like he saw her—his daughter—not as what she’d done but what she’d survived. And honestly he was kinda proud of her for beating him so easily. He could brag about it.

She blinked away tears and turned back into Bob’s chest, hiding her face.

“Y’know,” Alexei said suddenly, sitting up straighter, “Y/N would look amazing in one of these suits. Maybe dark red. Gold. With like... a phoenix on the back.”

“No,” Y/N groaned into Bob’s shirt. “I want a normal life. I want grocery shopping and bad TV and laundry and staying in bed.”

“You live in a flying tower with six weapons of mass destruction.”

“And I can where an expensive robe walking around it, with a sexy husband, that's as normal as I can get.”

“Please,” Alexei begged, flopping toward her on his knees. “I will make you leather gloves. Like the ones from Blade!”

“No.”

“A grappling hook arm!”

“Alexei—”

“A grappling bear!”

Yelena chucked a pillow at his face.

“Can we not push her into vigilante work while she’s literally snuggling the man she almost died for?” she said dryly.

“I’m fine,” Bob mumbled, caught between arousal, humiliation, and existential peace. “I’m... warm.”

“You look like she’s draining your soul through osmosis,” Walker muttered.

“She is,” Bob agreed. “Lovingly.”

Y/N pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m happy.” And she meant it.

[cup1dt3a]

Warning: long unfiltered Rambling that turns into who’s the best to get help studying enjoy <3

Honestly it would be disastrous if Yuu ever got sick at NRC. They are just some random human from another world. If they get just a common flu it would lead to a global pandemic in twst. I’d like to believe that in the universe of twisted wonderland and where Yuu comes from while they might have similar illnesses they are very different. Like when Riddle got a cold in his lab wear card. If he were to get Yuu sick it would affect them differently due to Yuu’s body not knowing how to deal with magical germ? Basically since Yuus body is probably trying to adapt to magic it would be dangerous if they ever got any illnesses. Take Luz from TOH she got sick with “The common mold” basically just a cold, but once she got better she literally had mushrooms growing out of her head!!(Probably a side effect since the name of the illness has mold)

So imagine if Yuu ever gets twsts version of a cold they hallucinate, have fevers that constantly drop and rise, effects their skin, hair, eyes, or even how things taste. Once they get better by some miracle they notice that their skin is now tinted blue, hair looks like it’s covered in snow, and are having a hard time eating anything hot.

Or even just with disorders like ADHD, Autisim, dyslexia, OCD, and etc. (Let’s just say disorders in twst are different from the ones we have here or aren’t as common because ✨magic✨)

Let’s say Yuu is one day just trying to get help on an assignment from one of the teachers. And Yuu mentions they have been un-medicated since they’ve been at NRC and assume that’s why they’re doing so bad in class. Let’s say it’s Crewel and he just looks at Yuu confused. So now Yuu has to explain everything about their disorder and why they’re doing have to be medicated for it.

Let’s face it Ace, Deuce, and Grim are useless for any help in class you need. Ace and Deuce are just copying off each other hoping the other has the right answer.(Little do they know both of them forgot to study) Grim decided to try and bring in a cheat sheet that immediately got taken up after it slipped out of his paws. Yuu is left to fend for themself study wise. Anyone outside of their class will be better help than those 3.

If Yuu needs any help studying then Riddle and Trey are their best options. If riddle isn’t busy helping anyone in Heartslabyul he’d for sure help you. If you don’t understand it the 12th time he explains it you’re on your own with the 2 giant text books he gave you to study with. Trey is very patient he will help you out if he isn’t preparing for an unbirthday party. Very patient. Cater it’s honestly a 50/50 he’ll help you if he understands it if he doesn’t you’re once again on your own.

Leona (if you threaten his nap time) might help you. Ruggie will help you for a price. Leona is very smart and probably would be making straight A’s if he actually showed up to classes. He might help you out of pity especially if it’s something that’s commonly known in twst. (WE’RE FROM ANOTHER UNIVERSE YOU MF-) Ruggie is very unhelpful if he’s given money or something in return for helping you. Jack is the best out of these two to ask for help studying. He won’t ask for anything. In fact he’s happy that you want him to help him. (Not that he’d ever admit it but his wagging tail will)

Azul will definitely help you if you sign this contract-. He’s joking. But nothing comes for free so what do you have to offer him for one of his many study guides. Would you look at that he has the perfect study guide for the subject you’re currently on. Jade and Floyd will tell you the same thing “ Azul could help you.” Floyd sleeps in his classes and makes B’s at least. Jade does pay attention, but he’s not going to just give out his help for free either. Honestly why would you even ask them for help?!

Kalim is also trying to understand the subject he’s on in his classes. With Jamil explaining it to him. Maybe you could do a study session with them, but you are a first year so it’s not like you’d be on the same subject. Jamil is very helpful if you do try to study with them(and he has the time to help you). If Kalim remembers and understands the subject you’re on he will try his best to help you.

If it has anything to do with potions Vil might help them. Another person who is very helpful just not patient enough to explain it to you for the 5th time. Yuu is about to give him a pimple from how many times he’s explained this to them. Rook would gladly help Yuu. He’s a bit too happy to help Yuu. They didn’t even tell him what subject it was he just said Yuu looked beautiful and sat Yuu down in his room to explain everything in great detail…. By the end of the (forced) study session he will ask if Yuu wants to have a sleepover. Saying no isn’t an option Yuus bags already there and packed… Yuu would leave, but he’s giving them all the good gossip and brought their favorite snacks. It would be rude to leave. Epel is another lost cause. He does study he just didn’t study the right notes-

It’s a miracle if Yuu even gets Idia to talk to them. He’s another one of the worst people to ask to help with studying… Why would Yuu even ask him!? He just looked over his study guide once or twice called it a day and went back to gaming. Somehow is makes straight A’s and B’s. Ortho on the other hand is a literal walking encyclopedia. If Yuu wants help he will help them and his very patient. Very helpful 20/10! Though now that he’s helped Yuu how about they help him get his brother out of his room?

Malleus would love to help Yuu with homework. Definitely will tease them if it’s simple or basic things they don’t understand. Though he will help Yuu to the best of his abilities. He could never get upset with Yuu even if it’s the 23rd time he had to explain it to them. Lilia is the next best person to ask for help finding it cute Yuu sought him out for help. He’s taught Silver, Malleus, and partially Sebek everything they know… what do you mean that’s not how you do it? It’s been taught that way for centuries. Soon you’re both confused and he just teaches Yuu how he knows how to do it. Won’t be the way Yuu’s teachers want it done, but oh well! Silver will help as long as Yuu helps him stay awake. He records some of his classes and will use others notes to study. (I saw a HC about him recording his classes I love it)Since Yuu is a first year he’ll try his best to remember the subject. He is very patient if Yuu doesn’t understand it if he’s explained it over and over again.

Sebek immediately would say, “Of course you’d want me to help you study human.” He will pull out his notes and a few books. Without a doubt he will tease Yuu if they don’t understand something that basic knowledge in twst. Yuu will never live it down. Anyways Sebek took many very helpful notes if Yuu missed any or wasn’t fast enough to write them down. He has to do his best in his classes if he’s going be one of Malleus’s knights after all! Though he isn’t the most patient so give him a moment to breathe before he raises his voice. They are in the library after all and this is the 7th time he has explained this to Yuu. Honestly these four are the best out of anyone to ask for help 10/10!

[that-sudsy]

Girl Dad Price & the Task Force 141

John Price is a proud "Girl Dad," and sometimes he can't come home. Today, however, his wife and their little princess paid a visit to the base. Price's eyes light up as he spots his family.

"There's my little princess! Been missing you both!" he exclaims, opening his arms for a hug. They both approach him, but his daughter runs towards him, squealing and screaming, "Daaaaaaaaaaaa!" as she jumps into his arms. Price scoops her up with a warm smile, spinning her around gently.

"How's my brave girl been? Look at you, you're a grown-up little lady!" he says, taking in the details of his daughter. She is just three years old, but Price feels like he hasn't seen her in ages. He kisses her forehead while holding her close. The toddler squeals, "Ah, mish you, da!"

Price is the type who has a lot of nicknames for his little girl: "pumpkin, sprout, princess, darling, baby, sweetheart," you name it. He holds her securely against his chest, not letting anyone touch his daughter—not even his teammates—unless he allows it.

He is far more protective of their daughter than anyone else. If someone messes with his girls, expect that you will never hear from that man again. Not even a missing person announcement.

Price kisses her forehead as he carries her, asking, "Sweetheart, want to tell Daddy about your daycare adventures? Or what did you do this weekend?"

Most likely, his teammates don't even know he has a family.

"Price has a family?" one of them asks.

"Yeah, Simon. Been married for six years now. Our little miracle here is three. Not what you expected, right? Family life’s a different beast. But it’s worth it."

Price is one of those dads who quickly moves to steady her before she falls when she stands up on a bench or chair. He says, "Whoa there, little missy" or those says "Inside voice, remember?" giving her a gentle warning look.

He watches his daughter run around the area, but he isn't a helicopter parent; he likes to let his little girl explore. Besides, he has his best teammates to look after her like her personal bodyguards.

Soap and Gaz would shiver in fear when Price assigns them to babysit for a moment because Price's little girl is sly. And would always get them in trouble But the two still love her nonetheless

She giggles as Soap makes silly faces at her. The little girl squeals, "Uncle Johnny!" Soap's face lights up as he crouches down to her level, soap likes to entertain the kiddo, making her giggle and squeal.

"Hey, wee one!" he says, picking her up and tossing her in the air, making Price flinch and go wide-eyed.

Gaz sets out some juice boxes and snacks because he likes to feed her snacks while Price shakes his head, watching Soap. Price chuckles knowingly, watching his daughter try to feed Soap a cracker.

Gaz hands her a cookie while Soap pretends to faint dramatically after getting stuffed with so much crackers

The little girl gasps with fear that Soap has fainted, so she runs to her father. Price catches her as she runs, reassuring her while Soap immediately sits up with a big grin.

"It's okay, sweetheart. Uncle Soap's just being silly," he says, tickling her to make her laugh.

Soap pretends to come back to life, making exaggerated gasping sounds. She giggles, and Price's heart swells at the sound of her laughter, smiling proudly.

Price winces slightly as she tugs on his beard. "Easy there, little one. That's not a toy," he gently pulls her hand away while trying not to laugh.

"But, da! Aren't you gonna remove it like last time?" she asks.

"Maybe later, sweetheart. Daddy's grown quite attached to his beard lately," he replies, stroking his facial hair playfully.

Soap snickers at the exchange while Gaz tries to hide his smile behind his coffee cup.

If the toddler makes Price watch her toy, he accepts it, examining it with curiosity. "A new friend of yours? What should we name him?" he holds it up to his daughter's face.

The others lean in closer to see the toy. The little girl shrugs.

Price hands the seal to Soap. "Alright, Uncle Soap will name it," he winks at Soap, who takes the toy with a mischievous grin.

"How about... Sealbert? Or Captain Flippers?" Soap starts making seal sounds with the toy.

"Captain Flippers!" the little girl laughs.

Soap makes the toy seal dance around while making more seal noises, and Price shakes his head in amusement. "Captain Flippers it is then," he holds up the seal proudly. "Your first crew member, little captain!"

The toy seal becomes the center of attention as Soap continues to entertain everyone with its antics.

Ghost quietly observes, "Never thought I'd see Price acting so... domestic."

Price smirks at Ghost, "Well, we can't all be stoic warriors 24/7, Ghost. Some of us have lives outside missions."

The little girl hops off her father's lap and approaches Ghost. He tenses slightly as the toddler approaches him, unsure how to react. The others watch with bated breath, amused and curious about Ghost's interaction with a child.

Ghost slowly kneels down to her level, still maintaining his usual serious demeanor. "Hello..."

"Why do you have a mask?" she asks innocently

Ghost pauses for a moment, glancing at Price before responding in his signature deep voice, "It's to keep me safe, little one," he gently pats her head. "Like how your Da has his special gear."

The other soldiers try to suppress their laughter at Ghost's careful response.

"Can... can I try it on?" she asks.

Ghost hesitates visibly while Price and Soap try to hold back their chuckles. Gaz leans forward, clearly entertained by the request.

"Maybe another time, sweetheart. Ghost's mask is for grown-ups only," price said Ghost nods in agreement, still looking slightly uncomfortable.

The little girl looks down, "Okay."

Ghost notices her disappointment and speaks softer than usual, "But I can show you my special skull mask." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his extra skull mask

The team watches as Ghost holds it out to her, the atmosphere becoming unexpectedly tender. She looks at him with wide eyes.

Ghost gently places the skull mask on her head, adjusting it so it fits her tiny face. "There," his voice carries a hint of warmth despite the mask covering his expression. "You look quite intimidating, little one."

She squeals and laughs, "Rawr!"

The entire group erupts into laughter, including Ghost, who chuckles deeply. Soap falls backward onto the grass, holding his stomach.

"Well, looks like we have another Ghost in training!" Price winks at his daughter.

"Da!" look!" the little girl cheers.

Price stands up, grinning widely as he looks at his daughter. "You sure do, sweetheart. A mini Ghost!" He takes out his phone to take a picture.

Ghost watches the scene unfold, seemingly caught between pride and disbelief.

Price shows the photo to the others, Ghost still kneeling next to the girl.

"Send that to me, Price!" Soap wipes tears of laughter from his eyes. "She's perfected his 'serious face.'"

"Never thought I'd see the day when Ghost's image was used as a plaything," Gaz smirks at Ghost.

The little girl climbs back onto Price's lap. He holds her securely, glancing at Ghost, who is still watching them.

Ghost stands up and adjusts his own mask. "That skull mask suits you, little Ghost. Keep it," his voice holds a hint of genuine affection.

The little girl beams.

[beif0ngs]

Pew!

[certifiedyapperx]

imagine you’re dating ghost and no one knows. the two of you have kept it a secret on your end and his just for your protection— because ghost knows what could happen if someone finds out, how someone might try and target you to get to him, or worse, given his line of work.

but then imagine that he’s on a mission, interrogating some piece of filth ready to decorate the fucking wall with his brain matter when the guy says “you know what, simon, killing me would be the biggest mistake of your life.”

immediately ghost would pause, eyes narrowed, though his hardened demeanour wouldn’t fade much, he’d just blankly stare at the prick like “oh yea? n’ why don’ you tell m’ why.”

the shit-eating grin that would crawl across that fuckers lips would have ghost ready to kill him right then and there, but then he’d say “reach in my pocket. pull out my phone.”

id like to think ghost would have absolutely none of this assholes bullshit, not at all entertained by his theatrics. i’d like to think he’d just press the muzzle of his gun to the fuckers temple within an instant, all teeth barred and ready to get it over with when the guy would add,

“your girlfriend is a fucking beauty, isn’t she?”

everything would pause. ghost, time, the world, air, the universe itself—the life that would drain from ghosts face would almost be enough to make his alias a reality. his heart pounding in his throat, his fingers fucking trembling as he immediately reached into the assholes pocket to find his phone—a picture of a woman tied up (face not in view however) lighting up on the home screen. there’d be no thinking rationally, no thoughts in ghosts head except for making sure you were fucking okay. he’d do whatever he’d have to do, kill the guy, leave him strapped there, whatever—he’d be out of that room in two seconds flat and personally flying the helicopter back to your house calling you nonstop every fucking second until you answered.

“hello? si?”

he’d wait a second before answering. taking everything in. background noises, the inflection of your voice. it sounds calm, maybe too calm? he’s grasping his phone so fucking hard it’s a miracle it hasn’t shattered between his fingers.

“princess,” he breathes, fighting with everything in him to keep his voice steady. “see any birds today?”

though it was a genuine question, it also was an established one. ghost had set up a series of questions for a situation precisely like this. if you said blue jay, it meant you were fine, at home, as usual. if you said crows, it meant you weren’t.

“oh just the usual blue jays, si.” he could almost hear the smile on your lips. “everything okay? i miss you.”

ghost would exhale a shattered breath. “i’m coming home.”

and then he’d show up, not all but a few hours later, hands still trembling slightly, heart rate still struggling to regulate. it was too much, reminding him too much of his past traumas, he knew he needed to find better protection for you, but that was a conversation for another time.

he’d come in the house, barely even taking the time to shut the door behind him, almost frenzied again, relentless, unable to relax until he could finally lay eyes on you. and then, the second he did, he’d just pause and look at you, all messy hair and pyjamas still on, in the kitchen cooking breakfast for you both since you knew he was on his way.

and he wouldn’t say a goddamn word, he’d just come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, hugging you so tight you’d hardly be able to breathe, his face buried in your hair and his heart thumping at your back. you’d feel the pain the fear the anxiety radiating off him and you wouldn’t try to say anything because you knew he needed this, you knew he needed to see you, hold you, feel your pulse stable and alive. you knew he just needed a moment to breathe.

and so the two of you would stand there like that for a while, and then he’d take a big inhale and spin you around to face him, pulling up his mask to plant soft kisses on your jaw.

“i love you so fuckin’ much.”

[ujuro]

Anyway with megu announcing graduation from akb i only have two members left i care about in the entire group and ones for sure on borrowed time so time to become a fuckin sakamichi stan I guess

[brunchable]

𝗠𝘆 𝗡𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗯𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝗿𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿

Pairings: PornStar!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Sexual Innuendo/humour,Guy next door, situational comedy? If you're not up for a few second-hand embarrassment sit this one out lol. Summary: Your coworker peer pressured you to look up SergeantBarnes in Pornhub, reason? Because apparently you're missing out. A/N: This would make a good mini series. . .but we'll see. I had a dream. . .that he was a guy next door, just wanted to-of course-add a twist to it asdfghjkl.

It was all Amy’s fault. And Trish’s. And okay, maybe you shared a little bit of the blame for caving to the intense peer pressure at work. But still.

You’d been minding your own business in the break room, scrolling through lunch menus, when Amy had sidled up, leaned in with that conspiratorial look on her face, and whispered, “Have you seen him yet?”

“Seen who?” your eyebrows creased as you asked, confused.

Trish popped up out of nowhere, clutching her latte in her hand. “Girl, SeargentBarnes. The guy is legendary—I mean, a literal internet icon.”

You shrugged, feigning indifference while they exchanged a look that practically screamed, amateur. They started talking all at once, dropping cryptic phrases like “too hot to handle,” “you’re gonna die,” and, “you’ll never look at men the same way again.”

So there you were that night, alone with your laptop, curled up in bed and biting your lip as you debated whether to type it in. It’s just curiosity, you reasoned. Research purposes.

Your eyes widened as the screen filled with… well, humanity, in all its naked, unfiltered glory. Your face heated up so fast you could’ve sworn it was the same shade as your throw pillow. Videos lined up like some weird buffet, titles more scandalous than anything you’d ever whispered in confession, and… was that a whole category devoted to delivery men? You slapped a hand over your mouth to stop from yelping, mortified at the intensity of it all. 

“I need to go to church after this,” you muttered, squinting like that would somehow censor the thorough dedication people were showing in their, uh, procreation endeavors.

“SergeantBarnes,” you muttered to yourself as you typed, fingers hovering uncertainly over the Enter key. Then, with a sigh, you hit search, and… oh.

You nearly choked on oxygen. Because there he was, in HD glory, right on Pornhub, with that cocky grin and those blue eyes that looked like they’d been crafted in a lab. And he wasn’t just standing there looking smug—oh, no, he was on a mission, shirtless, flexing, and smirking at the camera like he was the world’s best-kept secret. The scene panned to him sitting on the edge of a bed, peeling off his belt with one hand, a glint in his eyes that seemed to say, this is what you came for.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, equal parts horrified and morbidly fascinated, as he proceeded to… well, get very familiar with his costar. SergeantBarnes was apparently an expert at multitasking, using every muscle, every inch of his well-equipped arsenal. And the way he was delivering lines? He was clearly treating the camera like it was his soulmate.

By minute two, your jaw had dropped. By minute five, you’d set the laptop on your nightstand to “watch responsibly.” By minute ten, you were convinced Amy and Trish had permanently ruined your life.

And the costar—she was practically putting on an Oscar-worthy performance, her reactions so intense you half expected her to start speaking in tongues. Every time SergeantBarnes’s… rod of justice plunges deep inside, she gasps like she was witnessing a miracle. You scoffed, rolling your eyes. Come on, is that really necessary?

As you watched, he gave a low, rumbling sound—half growl, half sigh—that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. His gaze burned through the screen with a confidence that was practically magnetic, and suddenly, you understood exactly why the costar was gasping. A new, unbidden heat pooled between your legs, making you shift uncomfortably, instinctively pressing your thighs together as if that could somehow stop the flush creeping up your face. Oh no, now I wish I were her, you thought, immediately cringing at yourself.

With a mix of half-laughter and half-horror, you reached over and slammed the laptop shut so fast it was like you were trying to save yourself from spontaneous combustion. 

“Holy—oh, wow,” you whispered, pressing a hand to your face. “Okay. That was a one-time thing.”

Or so you thought.

Except now, every time you even glanced at your laptop, SergeantBarnes was right there in your mind, reminding you exactly why he was internet-famous. It was becoming a bit of a problem.

× × × ×

The next morning, you stumbled out of your apartment, looking like something that had been left out in the rain and dragged through a blender, mentally cursing last night’s “research” session. The world had no right to be this bright, and your regret levels were at an all-time high as you lugged the world’s heaviest box down the hallway.

You were so absorbed in avoiding a complete breakdown that you barely registered the deep, too-familiar voice beside you.

“Need help with that?”

“Thanks, but I got it,” you muttered automatically, barely sparing him a glance.

Except...then you did.

You looked up, squinting in confusion. Because, standing in front of you, in the perfectly mundane hallway of your perfectly mundane building, was him.

You froze, your brain spinning like a buffering screen. Okay, this guy’s insanely handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, stubbled jaw, eyes so blue they should have a health warning on them. You stared, mentally cataloging each feature, when—wait a minute... WAIT. A. MINUTE.

Your eyes narrowed, suspicion prickling as your brain finally fired up. Is that…? No, it can’t be.

But it was. Oh, it absolutely was. 

SergeantBarnes, the very star of last night’s “educational” viewing, right here in the flesh. And suddenly, like a tractor beam had locked onto you, your gaze dropped right to his crotch, where you’d witnessed things you could never un-see.

This, of course, did not go unnoticed. His brows shot up as he followed your very obvious, very treacherous line of sight, glancing down at his jeans before looking back up at you with an infuriatingly smug grin.

“Uh… nice shoes?” you blurted out, your face feeling like it was on fire. You vaguely gestured to his boots, wishing you could vanish right into the walls.

“Thanks,” he replied smoothly, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “They’re pretty sturdy. But, you know…” He paused, his voice dropping just a hair. “I don’t think they’re what you were looking at.”

Your heart sank as you forced yourself to look up, his amused blue eyes practically laughing at you. Abort. Abort mission. Oh God, we are way past mission failure.

“Uh—no, I just… um…” You floundered, desperately trying to think of something, anything, that might save you from the hole you’d dug. But no words came. Not even the faintest semblance of a coherent thought. Just one long, silent scream echoing in your brain.

“Bucky,” he offered helpfully, sticking out his hand like he wasn’t SergeantBarnes from Pornhub, but just some guy offering to help with a box. “New neighbor, by the way.”

You stared at his hand like it was a booby trap, your brain short-circuiting as it reminded you exactly where those fingers had been. That hand had gripped… things. It had been places you’d only dreamed of, doing things you’d probably need a core workout just to survive. You could practically see the “viewer discretion advised” warning flashing in your head as you hesitated, still staring at his hand as if it might explode.

But, against your better judgment—and every shred of dignity—you slowly reached out and shook it, feeling your own fingers betray you by sweating as they made contact with his very… experienced ones.

“Uh… hi… I’m… yep.” you blurted, mentally cringing.

“‘Yep’? That’s a good name,” he said, smirking as he let go. “You sure you don’t need help? You seem… a little flustered.”

Flustered? Understatement of the century. If your dignity had been a cup, it was empty, bone-dry, and cracked. You forced yourself to focus, eyes straight forward, pointedly ignoring the very tempting crotch-level view. 

“I’m fine! Totally fine!” you squeaked, cringing at your own voice. Oh God, calm down!

But he just chuckled, that same dangerously cocky smile from last night plastered all over his face. “Alright, Yep. Guess I’ll see you around.”

As he turned to leave, you stood there in the hallway, clutching the box like it was a life raft, heart racing a mile a minute. You’d just had a very public staring incident with SergeantBarnes, your new neighbor, and all you’d managed to say was nice shoes.

I’m gonna need new coworkers, you thought, practically burying your face in the box as you scurried to your apartment.

The door slammed shut with a bang that could probably be heard across state lines. You dropped the box unceremoniously, ignoring the loud thunk as it hit the floor, and whipped your phone out, fingers flying across the screen like you were composing a manifesto.

Guys, you’re NEVER gonna guess who my neighbor is—

You paused, staring at the screen as the rest of the text formed in your mind: THE SergeantBarnes. LIVE. IN. THE. FLESH.

But then another thought stopped you dead in your tracks. Oh no.

You could already picture it: Amy and Trish showing up like rabid fangirls in their “I Heart SergeantBarnes” merch, carrying suspiciously flimsy plates of brownies. Trish would have binoculars. Amy would be taking notes, probably trying to “accidentally” leave her phone number under his door. You shuddered, imagining them cornering him by the mailboxes, all of them acting like they were definitely not the type of women who had his entire catalog bookmarked on their phones.

A horrible realization hit you. If I tell them, this man’s gonna be living a nightmare right next door to me. Not just a nightmare, a Trish-and-Amy-sponsored fan club nightmare, where they might even break into song—probably chanting, “SergeantBarnes! SergeantBarnes!” while he tries to get his groceries.

You looked back at your unsent message and deleted it in one go, feeling weirdly proud of yourself. Yeah, no. I’m not letting them anywhere near him.

Totally altruistic, of course. It had nothing to do with keeping the eye candy to yourself.

You took a deep breath, looking around your empty apartment like you were expecting the FBI to burst through the door at any second. Sure, you’d just been in the hallway with the actual SergeantBarnes, but maybe… maybe you were imagining things. It had been a long day. Moving was stressful. Stranger things had happened, right?

With a surge of resolve (and denial), you dashed to your bedroom, practically sliding across the floor as you went. Your laptop was waiting innocently on the nightstand, and with a quick glance over your shoulder to ensure you were still alone, you opened it up, clicked incognito mode like you were hiding state secrets, and went straight to the website you’d sworn off only hours ago.

“Alright… just to confirm,” you muttered to yourself, feeling your cheeks burn as you typed SergeantBarnes into the search bar, mentally bracing yourself for the flood of results.

And there he was. The whole page filled with him, in various… positions. You swallowed, scrolling until one video caught your eye: “Sergeant Disciplines the Bratty Recruit.”

You snorted, almost slamming the laptop shut. “Oh, for heaven’s sake…”

But curiosity was a dangerous beast, and before you could talk yourself out of it, your finger had already clicked play.

The video started, with SergeantBarnes in all his glory, wearing what looked like the world’s tightest military uniform. His face was as smug as ever, that telltale glint of mischief in his eyes as he muttered something absurd like, “Think you can handle me, recruit?”

“Oh my god,” you whispered, cringing as you half-covered your eyes but peeked through your fingers anyway.

But there was no denying it—the face, the voice, the ridiculous, smoldering look into the camera. There was no escaping it now. It was 100% him. The same guy who was now living approximately ten feet away from your own front door.

As the video continued, your disbelief only grew. This man… this man is next door, could eating cereal right now, you thought, torn between horrified fascination and the urge to laugh. Because there he was, in full “disciplinary action” mode, doing things you could barely process, and here you were, watching it again, just to make sure it was really him.

“Oh, I’m doomed,” you muttered, slapping the laptop shut. You weren’t even sure if you were embarrassed, impressed, or maybe just a little terrified of your own neighbor.

× × × ×

Over the next few days, it was like living in a twisted sitcom. Everywhere you went, he was there, lurking like some kind of sexy, mildly inconvenient specter. It was uncanny. You’d turn a corner, and bam—there he’d be, giving you that polite nod and a smirk that clearly said, I know exactly what you’ve seen.

It started small. You’d step into the elevator, praying for a peaceful ride, and ding! in he’d stroll, flashing that devastating grin. Instantly, you’d stiffen, gluing yourself to the opposite wall, practically trying to meld with the buttons, heart pounding like you were about to pass out. You couldn’t even look him in the eye without flashes of his, uh, “filmography” playing in your mind. Every single time, without fail, you found yourself studying the very clean floor of the elevator as he leaned casually against the wall, the corners of his mouth tugging up.

“Nice day, isn’t it?” he’d ask, all smooth, innocent charm. Meanwhile, you were there like, Oh, totally, perfect day to run into my favorite Pornhub star.

You were in the laundry room, blissfully alone, humming to yourself as you separated your clothes like a responsible adult. Whites here, colors there, delicates—well, you were kind of just tossing them wherever at this point. Then, suddenly, you felt it: a shift in the air, a presence. You froze, the hair on the back of your neck standing up, a sock suspended mid-toss in your hand. Why do I feel like the music should be getting dramatic right about now?

Slowly, as if sensing his approach, you turned. And there he was—Bucky, striding in with a laundry basket filled with a suspiciously pristine pile of perfectly folded, incredibly manly clothing. It was as if he’d just stepped out of some kind of… laundry commercial. Or worse… one of his own videos.

You blinked, eyes widening as a thousand clichés suddenly flashed through your mind. Oh no, why does this feel like the start of a porn? you thought, biting your lip as you realized the two of you were, in fact, very alone, surrounded by washing machines and suspiciously warm lighting. You mentally kicked yourself. Snap out of it! This is laundry. Regular, boring laundry.

Bucky caught your eye, giving you an amused once-over. “Doing some laundry?” he asked, his voice low and casual, but somehow it felt like the most suggestive question in the world.

You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Uh-huh,” you managed, trying to sound like a normal human being. “Just, uh… laundry.”

Your face felt like it was on fire as you realized half of your load was underwear, strewn everywhere. Panties, bras, socks—they were all there in their mismatched glory, practically screaming, We’re personal items! Pay extra attention! You yanked your gaze away from the pile, mortified, and flung the sock into the washer like you were trying to disarm a bomb.

You slammed the washer lid down, feeling like you’d just revealed way too much. But Bucky only grinned, strolling over with that maddening swagger. He tossed a shirt into the washer beside you, leaning against it with a smirk.

“Nice sorting skills,” he commented, eyes flicking down to the very obvious pile of bras and lace that you’d tried to hide. “Very… thorough.”

“Yep!” you squeaked, feeling like you might explode. You fumbled with the detergent bottle, struggling to open it as your brain went into full-blown panic mode. Why does this feel like one of those videos? Don’t look at him. Just don’t look. Pretend you’re alone. Pretend this is fine.

But of course, he wasn’t making it any easier. He folded his arms, watching you with a raised brow, the picture of calm while you were desperately trying to load underwear without dying of embarrassment. 

“You know,” he said, clearly holding back a laugh, “usually people try to separate colors from whites.”

“Oh, I do! I mean, I… it’s a system,” you stammered, feeling like you were caught in a lie by the laundry police. “Sometimes it’s… it’s an artistic choice.”

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling with that insufferable amusement. “Artistic laundry, huh? Didn’t take you for the experimental type.”

“Yep,” you said, forcing a laugh as you stuffed in the last sock, your hands moving at lightning speed, desperate to finish and escape.

But as you turned to leave, he held up a stray bra that had somehow escaped your grasp, dangling it between two fingers with a raised eyebrow. 

“You forgot this,” he said, voice dripping with that same mischievous humor.

You stared at the bra in horror, feeling your face go molten. 

“Uh… thanks,” you mumbled, practically ripping it out of his hand and stuffing it into the washer, slamming the lid down one last time before you spun on your heel and speed-walked out of there.

Behind you, you heard him chuckle softly, his voice echoing in the hallway. “See you around, neighbor.”

Yep, you thought, already halfway down the hall, never doing laundry again.

By day three, it got ridiculous. You’d ducked into the mailroom, hoping he was out doing normal human things—maybe mowing a lawn or whatever. But no, as soon as you opened your mailbox, there he was, standing by his own, sorting through a stack of letters. You froze, briefly considering whether you could just flee and come back later for your electric bill.

And then… the grocery bag incident.

You were in the hallway, arms overloaded with bags because, naturally, you’d ignored the cart right by the entrance and had instead decided to carry it all in one go. You were so close to your door when you heard footsteps behind you.

“Need help?” he asked, that voice making you nearly fumble every bag in your arms.

You turned, scrambling to say, “No, I’m good,” but of course, in your panic, one of your bags tipped, and a lone, horrifying item fell out and hit the floor. You watched, paralyzed, as the little bottle of lube rolled out with an audible clatter, spinning lazily to a stop right in front of him.

You could practically feel the heat exploding from your cheeks. No. Oh no. Not like this.

You looked up, meeting his amused, slightly raised eyebrows as his lips twitched, clearly fighting a smile. 

“Uh,” you choked out, unable to form a single coherent sentence. Think fast, make it sound normal, you told yourself, even though every possible explanation was racing out of your head.

He bent down, picking up the bottle with a glint of pure mischief in his eyes, inspecting it like he’d just found evidence of some grand crime.

“Hey, everyone’s got needs,” he said, deadpan, but that twinkle in his eye was anything but innocent. “Don’t worry.” He tossed you a wink, handing the bottle back like it was no big deal.

Your mouth opened, then closed, then opened again as your brain scrambled to form a sentence. Finally, the words tumbled out like a train wreck, your dignity left somewhere back at the grocery store.

“It’s… it’s for my friend,” you squeaked, clutching the lube bottle with both hands like it was a sacred artifact. He raised an eyebrow, looking entirely too entertained for your liking. “She’s, uh, she’s constipated.”

A moment of silence.

“She needs it to… you know, help with a suppository.” You forced a grin that you were sure looked more like a grimace. “She, uh… can’t get things moving. Really jammed up in there.”

Bucky’s face twisted in barely suppressed laughter, and his shoulders shook as he struggled to keep a straight face. 

“Right,” he drawled, nodding with an expression that was one part pity and two parts are you for real? “That’s… thoughtful of you.”

You felt like you were overheating, a human furnace on the verge of combustion. 

“She’s desperate!” you blurted, doubling down on your ridiculous story, even though every fiber of your being was screaming to stop talking. “I’m just being a good friend, you know? Supportive. I mean, she’s the one who’s backed up.”

He nodded again, still fighting a smile, the look in his eyes a mix of amusement and something else that made your pulse race. 

“Sure,” he said, “nothing like helping a friend in need.” He paused, that wicked smile growing as he added, “In my experience, though, there are plenty of other uses for it.”

Your soul left your body.

He held out his hands in mock innocence, chuckling as your eyes widened to saucers. 

“Just saying,” he winked. “Versatile stuff.” 

And with that, he turned, strolling down the hall with a casual wave, leaving you frozen and mortified, clutching the bottle to your chest like a lifeline.

“Gotta… go,” you managed, voice barely a whisper, stumbling the last few steps to your door as you fumbled with the keys, practically falling inside.

The second the door shut behind you, you pressed your back against it, staring at the ceiling and whispering, “I’m never leaving my apartment again.”

Just as you were about to bury your face in your hands and live in the sweet, silent embrace of shame, your phone buzzed. You pulled it out, still reeling from the lube disaster, and saw a text from your friend, Clara.

Clara: Hey!! Did you get the lube?? Need it ASAP, things are… not moving over here, if you catch my drift.

You groaned, staring at the message, letting it sink in that yes, this entire disaster had been real. 

You: Yes. Got it. Never speaking of this again.

Clara: Bless you, you lifesaver. My digestive system owes you a standing ovation.

You rolled your eyes, still red-faced. Clara had no idea you’d just had to explain the entire situation to your painfully attractive neighbor—who now likely thought you were a walking sitcom.

× × × ×

It started subtly—just a little teasing, or so you thought. But it quickly spiraled into a game you could only describe as Bucky Barnes: Merciless Teasing—Extended Cut. Every time you crossed paths, he managed to twist the knife just a little deeper, making you sweat, stumble, and practically choke on your own words.

The first time it happened, you were hauling a huge box out of your car, trying to look capable and independent, when he strolled up beside you, leaning against the car with a smirk.

“You act like I’m a celebrity,” he said, eyebrow cocked. “Every time you see me, you look ready to run.”

You fumbled, nearly dropping the box. 

“Nope! I’m just…uh, busy!” you squeaked, scrambling to walk away at top speed, box clutched to your chest like a shield. But you caught his laugh as you rushed off, making you want to evaporate on the spot.

The next time, you were in the stairwell, headphones in, desperately trying to avoid any more awkward run-ins. Naturally, the moment you looked up, there he was, lounging at the landing like some kind of paid actor in a commercial. You froze mid-step as he raised a brow.

“Look at that,” he said, giving you the once-over, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost every time you see me. Is it something I did?”

You stammered, turning pink. 

“No! Just, uh… headphones! Music! Loud music!” you blurted, before speed-walking up the stairs, praying he didn’t hear the Spice Girls song you’d been blasting. Behind you, his chuckle echoed up the stairwell like the final taunt of a villain.

But the absolute worst came at the coffee shop.

You were in line, looking at your phone, hoping you could just breeze in and out. The moment you placed your order and turned to leave, there he was, standing right behind you, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Hey, neighbor,” he drawled, eyeing your coffee cup like it was some incriminating evidence. “Funny running into you here. Or… do you keep running into me?”

Your face flushed, and you tried to think of something clever, but it was like all your brain cells had gone on vacation. 

“Nope! Definitely just getting coffee! I don’t even… live near here!” you babbled, immediately regretting everything.

“Oh, interesting,” he replied, his grin widening. “Because I could swear you live right next door. But hey, if you want to keep pretending you don’t know me, I’ll go along with it.” He handed you your coffee with a wink. “See you around… or not.”

But things took a turn for the mortifying when, one evening, you were pacing the hallway on the phone with Clara, trying to vent without actually collapsing in a pile of awkwardness.

“It’s him, Clara!” you hissed, oblivious to the fact that you were pacing right outside Bucky’s door. “I’m living next door to SergeantBarnes! Can you believe this? I’ve seen everything he has to offer! I’ve practically studied him!”

Clara was howling with laughter, but you were too wrapped up in your frustration to care.

“And he knows, Clara! He keeps showing up everywhere, saying stuff like, ‘You seem nervous’ and ‘You keep looking at me like you know something I don’t.’ I swear, he’s doing it on purpose!” You paused, sighing dramatically. “The man is basically torturing me!”

“Yeah?” Clara snorted. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

“Nothing! I’m gonna hide in my apartment forever! I mean, the guy is—” You froze mid-sentence, sensing a presence that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Please, for the love of all that is holy, no.

You slowly turned, and there he was. Bucky. Leaning against his door, arms crossed, looking like he’d just won the freaking lottery.

“Oh… my god…” you whispered, feeling your soul leave your body. He was watching you with an expression of pure, unfiltered amusement, one eyebrow quirked, lips pulled into that infuriating, knowing smirk.

“Well,” he said, voice laced with mischief. “That makes one of us.” His eyes glinted with barely-contained laughter. “And here I thought you were just a fan of my boots.”

You could practically feel your brain cells going up in smoke. 

“I�� uh… well… I…” you stammered, cheeks burning. “Boots… are great,” you managed, wanting to sink into the earth.

“Yeah? Because I seem to remember you looking… elsewhere last time,” he teased, stepping a little closer, enjoying every second of your embarrassment.

“Oh, no! Just… boots!” you squeaked, backing up, practically tripping over yourself. “I really should go… water my… uh… plants!”

He chuckled, savoring every second of your panic. “Good luck with that,” he said, throwing in one last wink as he slipped back into his apartment, leaving you in the hallway, feeling like you’d just gone through a slow-motion car crash.

Back in your apartment, you slid down the door, hands over your face as Clara’s laughter erupted over the phone.

“Boots?” she howled. “THAT’S what you went with? Boots?”

You groaned, banging your head back against the door. “Shut up, Clara.”

× × × ×

Determined to reclaim a shred of your dignity, you strode into the local coffee shop, praying for a quiet morning with zero embarrassing encounters. But, as if on cue, the universe had other plans.

There, right at the counter, was Bucky. He spotted you instantly, his face lighting up with that all-too-familiar grin that had haunted your dreams. There was no escape.

He waved you over, and before you could even think of pretending you hadn’t seen him, he was calling out, “Morning, neighbor! What’s your coffee order again?” His voice was loud enough that half the shop turned to look.

“Oh, um… it’s…” you stammered, but he’d already waved to the barista.

“Got it covered,” he said, leaning casually against the counter, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’ve got a feeling you like it with extra cream.”

You choked on your own saliva, feeling your face turn crimson as he handed you the cup with a wink. 

“Unless I’m wrong?” he added with a smirk, feigning innocence.

“N-Nope, that’s right!” you managed, grabbing the cup like it was a shield. “Extra cream… perfect.”

He chuckled, gesturing to an empty booth in the corner. “Great. Then you won’t mind sitting down with me for breakfast.”

“Oh no, really, I should—”

He raised an eyebrow. “What, got somewhere better to be?”

You froze, helplessly aware that the entire coffee shop was listening in. You managed a nervous laugh, mumbling, “Well… no, I guess not…”

Before you knew it, you were sitting across from him, desperately trying to keep your eyes anywhere but his face, your cheeks burning as he sipped his coffee and watched you with a smug smile.

“So,” he said, leaning forward, “what’s a girl like you doing watching a guy like me online, anyway?”

Your jaw dropped, coffee cup halfway to your mouth. “I—I wasn’t watching—It was research!” you spluttered, already kicking yourself for falling right into his trap.

He chuckled, clearly reveling in your embarrassment. 

“Oh, sure, ‘research,’” he said, nodding like he totally believed you. “I get it. You know, it’s important to be informed.”

You practically shrank into your seat, glancing around to see if anyone else had heard. “Could you not say that so loudly?”

He smirked, taking a long, deliberate sip of his coffee. 

“Relax, I’m just curious,” he said, leaning in close enough that you could smell his aftershave. “Gotta say, it’s a little flattering to have a fan right next door.”

Your brain completely short-circuited. “Fan? I—no! I mean, not like that… I… I barely even…” You could feel the lie crumbling in your throat as his smirk deepened.

“Uh-huh. Then why did you look like you were about to sprint every time you saw me?” He tilted his head, studying you, eyes twinkling. “And I swear you turned pink the second you walked in here.”

Your hands shot up, covering your cheeks. “I did not! You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” he said, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “Because it’s like clockwork. Every time I’m around, you look like you’ve been caught red-handed. I don’t mind, you know,” he added, shrugging nonchalantly. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

You let out a strangled laugh, ready to crawl under the table. 

“That’s… obvious,” you muttered, feeling as though you might combust at any second.

“Okay, so since we’re having breakfast together, how about you tell me: any favorite scenes?” He laughed, looking entirely too amused as he stirred his coffee.

You practically choked on your coffee, face flaming as you tried to hide behind your cup. 

“I—I can’t believe you just asked that!” you squeaked, horrified and unable to meet his gaze.

“Oh, come on,” he grinned, clearly enjoying every second. “It’s just small talk. I mean, who better to ask than a neighbor?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Can we please pretend this conversation never happened?”

“Nope. Can’t do that,” he replied, laughing. “I think it’s a little late for that.”

Just as you were starting to pray for an earthquake to swallow you whole, you glanced up at him, cheeks still flaming. 

“Did you… did you know I recognized you this whole time?”

He leaned back, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. 

“Of course I did,” he said, laughing. “Figured it out the second I saw that look on your face. I just wanted to see if you’d ever bring it up.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, feeling mortification seep into your very bones. “And you kept messing with me?”

“Of course,” he said, raising an eyebrow with a wicked grin. “I was just waiting to see how long it would take for you to crack. Guess now the ice is broken, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “You’re the worst.”

He winked, finishing his coffee. “Yeah, but I make breakfast interesting, don’t I?”

You laughed, feeling the last traces of embarrassment fade away—well, at least enough to breathe normally again. But just as you started to feel almost… comfortable, Bucky tilted his head, giving you a curious look.

“So, neighbor,” he said, smirking, “I’ve gotta ask… what’s your name?”

You blinked, realizing with a jolt that you’d never actually told him. In all your attempts to dodge, deflect, and survive the relentless teasing, you hadn’t even bothered to introduce yourself.

“Oh… right,” you mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up again. “I, uh, guess I never actually said.”

“Nope,” he replied, leaning in with a grin. “I just assumed you wanted to keep a little mystery between us.”

You rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips. “Trust me, I’m not that mysterious.”

“Really?” he replied, eyebrows raised. “Because all this time I’ve been calling you ‘Yep.’”

Your face went red as you remembered the first time you’d stammered a barely coherent “yep” instead of an introduction. “Oh my god. You haven’t been calling me that in your head this whole time, have you?”

He shrugged, smirking. “It’s kind of cute. Suits you, actually.”

You groaned, but laughed despite yourself, finally holding out your hand across the table. “Alright. I’m Y/N. Officially.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, taking your hand, his grip warm and firm. His smirk softened into something a little more genuine. “Good to meet you, Y/N. Officially.”

His hand lingered in yours for a beat longer than necessary, and for a moment, there was no teasing, no innuendos—just the two of you, sitting across the table, smiling like two normal people who’d just met under… semi-normal circumstances.

Then, just as you were starting to think maybe, just maybe, you could get used to this weirdly charming neighbor situation, he leaned back, that mischievous glint creeping back into his eyes.

“Now that we’re on a first-name basis,” he said, winking, “you can tell me all about your favorite scenes. You know, for professional feedback.”

You burst out laughing, face in your hands as he watched you with a triumphant grin. Yep, you thought, already regretting nothing and everything.

[blueivyy99]

Calm and Serenity (Final Part)

Sylus x Non!MC

summary: you didn't know what sylus saw in you. he said you were calm, quiet and serene and that's what he needs. you believed it. he showed it. not until little miss hunter came. she's everything you're not. news that she's in danger can make the ever so calm sylus to run and leave everything behind. it made you think, would he do that for you as well?

tags: angst, romance, hurt and comfort, non-mc reader,

taglist: @fknblsht @aboobie @nin10doo @ixloom819 @damatically @sylusgirlie7 @stellisangelicus-world @kira-loves0905 @wanderlustingcastaway @browneyedgirl22 @lumieresdreams @babygirl-panda19 @picnicinthegarden @96jnie @xxfaithlynxx @wrimaira @reni502 @lazypostfandomer @augustdxjiminx @hey-airam @vevlvtcherie @marquitas-en-verano @ma-cherie-lovely @zeskyzed @imnikki @shiorihoshino @mentaltrouble2201 @sylustoru @imaginarytheatre @seris-the-amious @zoyadarling @sanghyuksgasolinestationscream @young-adult-summer @iamawkwardandshy @r0ckb1n @openthenyoor01 @malleus-draconias-rose @syyyy4ever @yutterfly @xsammijoanneex @reni502 @animegamerfox @hao-ming-8 @angelicspaceprince @codedove @bxtchopolis @nommingonfood @esylwen @phisen @gojosbedwarmer @rubyninja1 @lemonn015 @cordidy @blueesmiski @yunhogrippers @sleepykittenenergy @thatsbunnysmind @lumi-s-garlic @splaterparty0-0 @soulaandshere @sillyfeeakfanparty

Masterlist

Day 1

Sylus didn't get any sleep these past 24 hours. He is pacing his room, waiting for your call. He is hoping that maybe you'll contact him just to say something … anything. Even though it was an unspoken rule that you will not be contacting each other, there's a silly hope in Sylus's heart for a miracle to happen.

He kept waiting but still no text from you.

Ah figures. She needs time.

He tried to get some sleep, but every time he closes his eyes your face haunts him. He wants to get you back but he knows that you need this. That this time he doesn't get to be selfish, that this is about you and what's best for you.

On your side, it's not any better. You cried all day sinking your body in your new bed. This new place feels unfamiliar. Too bright, too spacious, too quiet, too lonely.

You already miss the ruckus that the twins are making or Mephisto's cawing early in the morning. And him. You already miss him.

You remember the previous night. Sylus helped you pack your bags, never leaving your side. He never spoke a word just quietly helping you. You can see the remorse in him and it took a lot of willpower for you not to take back what you said.

When you got in the car and let him drive, you noticed how he was driving slowly. Making sure to use the farthest way possible just so he can borrow a little bit more time.

“Sylus," you called him.

“Let me have this, love. Just a little more time before you leave, please?" you didn't have it in you to argue further. He looked broken and one second away from letting those tears fall.

“I never get to give you a lot of my time these months, and I know I may be asking for too much, but just let me be with you for a while longer. I can't let you go. Not yet." He took your hand and brought it to his trembling lips.

You didn't speak after. You just let him. A part of you wanted to stay with him a little longer as well. He stayed like that during the drive. Telling you random things or reminding you to take care of yourself. Blabbering just to take his mind off from the fact that once you step out of the car, you're really leaving.

When you reached Linkon, you never looked back. Each step you took felt like you're stepping on shards of glass. You wanted to run back to him, but you know that this is the right thing to do.

You need to set him free. You want to make sure that he is sure with what he is feeling. You want to see what he'll do. If your absence will strengthen the love between you and him, or will he run back to her.

You're giving him a sort of a way out. If he decides to be with MC, then fine. If he waits for you to heal even if it took years, then maybe you can try again.

That same night, getting some sleep has been hard. You kept looking at the photos of you and him on your phone. You kept rereading your previous messages and replaying the videos you took of everyone in Onychinus.

Starting a new life here in Linkon means leaving your family in the N109 Zone. You didn't just break up with Sylus but you also left the people that treated you like family.

Day 7

“Boss, Miss Hunter is here." Luke said. Sylus just frowned.

“Let her in."

Once she's inside, Sylus doesn't know what to tell her. He is not in his right mind even if a week has passed. He is the one who summoned MC to his base. He needs to know if she's willing to help him. He needs to know ASAP.

“What do you want, Sylus?" She said. He knows they didn't end on good terms the last time they talked, but he needs to try.

“About breaking off the bond. I want to know when are you willing to cooperate with me?"

She scoffed, "I told you, I don't remember a thing! How can I undo something that I don't remember doing in the first place!? Sylus, we're going in circles here. I don't want to waste my time with this.”

"Waste of time? This isn't just a waste of time! This is my life on the line. If I don't break this bond with you, I'm going to lose her.”

He was angry and desperate. MC surely saw it and it made her heart ache. Looking at him right now, it's obvious that he isn't getting much sleep and he isn't eating right. Poor guy must've been so broken-hearted.

If it wasn't for the knowledge that he has a girlfriend, she might actually like him. He is nice despite the rough exterior, but despite that she stayed in her lane. She didn't want to be a mistress. Hell nah.

She finally took pity on him and gave out a sigh. It's not all the time that you see Sylus like this.

“Fine, fine! I wanted to help you, but I can't figure it out yet. I will contact Luke and Kieran when I have more information about this linkage.” She said.

Sylus is relieved to hear those words. They mean nothing for now, but at least there's hope.

"And if I were you, I would be taking care of myself. What would Y/N say when she sees you like that?”

Before she left, she saw how he slightly took a glance at the mirror and quickly stood up to take a bath.

Silly guy.

Day 31

You finally got a job as a barista in Destiny Cafe. You didn't really have to work because you have enough money to last at least a decade but you need to take your mind off of things. Being in your home just makes you lonely.

Having a job is fun. Finally you get to sleep after tiring yourself during the day and you meet a lot of people.

However, the way back home is not the most pleasant whenever you pass by that arcade that you wanted to go to with Sylus.

You let yourself get bitter repressing them won't do you good anyway. You just let yourself feel annoyed and hurt and even cry at the smallest things.

Crying heals you and little by little you learn to let go of the things that break your heart. Baby steps, just like what they said.

Year 1

“Boss, do you want to go with us? We're going to Linkon for a mission." Kieran inquired. Sylus is in his office with piles of research papers at hand.

“No. I will stay here." He replied.

Kieran nodded. He understands that his boss is busy and he is dedicating all his time doing everything he can just to break that bond with Miss Hunter but that doesn't mean that they don't worry.

Him and his twin can't help but be alarmed at how Sylus is wearing himself down so every now and then they try to make him get out of the house even just for an hour.

Sometimes they succeed, but they won't miss the look of longing in their boss's eyes when he looks at the border that separates Linkon and the N109 Zone.

He never, not once stepped foot in Linkon since the day that you left. Luke once asked why and tjis is how their conversation went: “I want her to heal in her own way. And her seeing me might harm her progress. I can wait. She will come back when she's ready, or I'll go to her once everything in my end is okay. But not right now. It's too early.

“But Boss Man, what if an asshole tried to take her away? Let me and Kieran go there. We will look at her from afar so no one can get close. Or send Mephisto! She won't notice.” Luke whined. Sylus just clicked his tongue and shook his head.

"It's up to her. Now shut up and do your job.”

Kieran can see that despite saying those, Sylus is still affected; he just got better at hiding it.

You looked at your calendar. It's been only a year since you last saw Sylus but it already felt like forever.

You took a leave from work today planning to rest and just rot in bed all day. These past months, you had felt better but there are still days when his memories still haunt you just like today.

You stalked his Moments account. He seldom posts since you left and whenever he does, you know that it's about you. Every photo and caption is a reference to you and your memories with him.

Absent-mindedly, you refreshed his profile and your heart stopped at the image he posted. It was a fox brooch with ruby and onyx stone. He didn't say anything. Just that photo.

A smile crept on your lips. Surprisingly, there's no hurt and skepticism in your heart. Sadness, yes. But it's mostly because you miss him and his warmth.

You've come a long way and knowing that he is still waiting made the feeling more sweeter than it should.

Year 1 and 6 months

Sylus watched wide eyed as the soul link in his wrists disappeared. He was taking a shower when he felt it break. He didn't know how or why. MC didn't tell him anything. She didn't even have a breakthrough all these months.

And yet …

Quickly, he dried himself, took his phone and called her. She picked up the call as soon as it rang. She is just as excited as he is.

“IT'S BROKEN, OH MY GOD!" she yelled. He had to distance himself from the phone just to save his ears.

“How? What happened?" he asked.

Then there's a long pause. Sylus even thought that she hang up.

“MC?"

“Hmm, I don't know. But thinking about it now, before it broke I'm with my boyfriend …” she trailed off. "And, uhm, hehe we're y'know … intimate and confessed feelings and all that.”

Sylus winced, "Oh, shut up. I don't want to hear the filthy details."

“You asked! But yeah, I guess that's it. It was not so magical but I felt so much peace and wished that I could live the rest of my life and my future lives with him. And I guess that did it.” She said quietly.

"Thank you, MC.”

Even though he cannot see it. Sylus is sure that she's smiling right now.

"You're free now, Mister Dragon.”

She hung up the call after.

Sylus let out a shaky breath.

Finally.

“MADAME! I PROMISE WE WEREN'T FOLLOWING YOU! BOSS DOESN'T KNOW WHERE YOU ARE! WE JUST WANT COFFEE WE DIDN'T KNOW YOU'RE WORKING HERE!" Your eyes widen at how loud Luke is and Kieran is just there standing dumbfounded. If his mask is not blocking his face you're sure that his mouth is gaping.

“Luke! Shut your mouth. You're making a fuss!" you tried to shut his mouth under the mask as you escorted them away from prying eyes.

“We promise! He didn't send us here. If we know, we will avoid this place." Kieran vouched for his brother.

“I know, I know. And besides, I didn't even assume that he sent you here and yet you're screaming your lungs out explaining yourself." You chuckled remembering how silly they looked earlier.

“You believe us?" Luke asked.

“Yes." you answered.

The silence between you is comfortable. Something familiar.

“I missed you two," you suddenly said.

It was evident that they didn't expect you to say that but their shoulders relaxed and both their hands patted your head.

“We missed you as well. The base isn't the same without you in it. No one vouches for us against Boss Man's wrath.” Kieran said.

"How is he?” You asked. Your voice is low. If they weren't paying attention they might've missed you saying that.

“Doing okay. At first he's itching to look for you and call you he didn't eat or sleep. We figure it's normal. He was hurt. Slowly, he got up and accepted your terms." Luke's words were careful. Trying his best not to give you an impression that they are obliging you to come back.

“I'm glad he's doing okay."

The conversation after that was light and fun thanks to the twins. They diverted the topic to Mephisto's antics instead and as much as they could they didn't bring up Sylus again.

You're thankful that they don't push for you to get back with him. For now, it's enough to know that he's doing well.

You still love him, yes. But you need more time to be certain that you're ready.

Year 2 and 10 months

It's almost three years since you last saw him. Unlike last year where you wallow in despair, this year you're excited to go out. You put on your best dress and gave yourself light makeup.

Months had passed since you first saw Luke and Kieran and now they're regular weekly customers in Destiny Cafe during their special days off. It's fun seeing old faces and they make your day a lot better whenever they come to visit.

You remember one time they gave you a small shiny pebble.

“What's this?" You asked.

“Mephisto asked us to give you that."

You smiled from ear to ear after that. You know they can't bring Mephisto to you because Sylus will know exactly where you are and you didn't give them the permission to reveal your location yet.

Now at present ,you walk the familiar path you took everyday except you don't go straight to the cafe but to the arcade instead.

“Time to get that baby crow." you mumbled to yourself with your game face on.

=

Sylus is not used to the bustling and bright ambiance of Linkon but somehow, today his feet brought him here. He hasn't set foot in this city since you left but he cannot ignore the nagging feeling in his chest that he needs to go here today.

He walked around aimlessly. Lately, the twins frequent here and he has a hunch that it's because of you. He didn't ask. But by the looks of those two, you're doing okay. And that's enough for him.

For now at least.

He still plans on getting you back. He is just waiting for a sign. For a go signal from fate that it's time.

It's so silly, really. But he is a man in love and if your paths cross again and he is certain that you feel the same, then he will not let you go.

He went back to his senses when he saw the familiar arcade near the cafe. He remembered you telling him that you wanted that crow plushie. He still feels a pang on his chest whenever he remembers that but he long accepted that it will always remind him of what he did. He had forgiven himself for that, and swore that if you will give him a chance again, he will never let you feel forgotten again.

Once inside, he bought enough tokens to last him until afternoon. He is not the luckiest when it comes to this stupid claw machine, but he vows that today, he will go home with the complete collection.

It took him a good hour before finally getting one and wa shocked when a group of employees clapped their hands at him.

“Nice! Finally someone got one. The woman earlier spent a lot of time but she didn't get it and she left disappointed. I almost think that this claw is broken."

Sylus paid them no mind and once he got the hang of it one by one all the different colors of the crow plushies were on his hands.

The kids were in awe of him and the plushies inside his paper bag and it gave him a smug satisfaction successfully getting them all.

Once he stepped foot outside the arcade he decided to relax for a bit in Destiny Cafe. He ordered his coffee, sat on the farthest table in the corner and inspected the plushies he won.

“She will surely like these." He mumbled to himself before someone spoke behind his back.

“Oh I surely will."

Sylus held his breath. He is afraid to look back.

But he knows that voice.

He heard footsteps and then your face came into view.

“Hi, can I sit here?" You gave him a smile and he can see that there's no more uncertainty there. It's like seeing you again for the first time.

“O-of course," he stuttered. His mouth was gaping.

Then he felt your hand on his chin helping him close his mouth.

“Sylus, this is just me. Close that mouth or you'll drool."

Normally, he would retort with the same sass. But right now all he knows is that he missed you and you're here.

“I missed you," that was the first thing he said. He is hesitating to make your hands touch. You chuckled to yourself. Shy Sylus is adorable especially with that blush on his face.

Gently, you made your fingers intertwined. He squeezed your hand and held them tightly.

“I missed you too, Sylus. How have you been?"

"Finally Free.”

That's all he said and you knew what it meant.

note: this is really the end 🥹🥹🥹 i cant thank all of you enough for giving my first LADS fic a chance. im so grateful for all your loveee. i said to myself id be happy if at least 10-30 people give this a read but here y'all are 😭 so thank you thank you! ill see you on the next one i hope?

comments, reblogs and reacts are welcome 🫶🏻

[sturnlsstuff]

⸻ PUSH AND PULL

— fratboy!chris x sassy!reader

— includes: smut, dom!chris, sub!reader, a lot of bickering, cursing, mentions of alcohol & weed, making out, dry humping, eating pussy, unprotected p in v, a lot of dirty talk, pet names (slut, baby, sweetheart), etc. - english isn't my first language.

chris is cocky and persistent, all about getting what he wants until he accidentally runs into you at a party. your sarcastic attitude, and the way you refuse to fall for his charm, is both incredibly hot and frustrating— challenging him in ways he never experienced before.

requested by anon. | words count: 13k

he never met anyone like you before. your first interaction was two weeks ago at a frat party.

the bass was pounding hard enough to rattle your ribs, and you couldn't believe how badly you needed to pee. you practically sprinted down the hallway, weaving through drunk frat guys and half-conscious sorority girls, until you finally spotted a bathroom with no line. a miracle, seriously. you knocked twice, the music was way too loud for you to even hear the answer. so you pushed the door open, relief already blooming in your chest, only to freeze in horror.

the random girl's moans immediately fill your ears, she's bent over the bathroom counter, getting backshots from a guy in a backwards hat. shirt halfway off, the hem of it caught between his teeth, pants pulled down around his ankles. the girl's eyes were squeezed shut as she grips the edge of the counter tightly, but the guy turns around, hearing the door opening.

"occupied," he mumbles unfazed, not even slowing down his movements. you blink, getting out of the trance, slamming the door shut with your eyes widening, already feeling your cheeks heating up with embarrassment and annoyance.

were they serious? the ache in your bladder was painful from how much you'd hold it in, and you couldn't even pee in peace 'cause some freak had to get laid first? did they really have to do this in the bathroom?

you scoff, embarrassment slowly changing more and more into irritation. you knock on the door again and again. all you could hear is the girl getting louder to the point it was cutting even through the music, making you grimace with disgust.

chris stumbled out of the bathroom over five minutes later, with a smirk on his face and his arm draped casually around the waist of the random girl he’d just been with. she was still giggling, oblivious to the fact that they’d kept someone waiting, and that you basically walked in on them. chris was satisfied with himself, not caring about the fact someone saw him fucking a girl. he had no shame and he was used to getting away with things anyway.

but as soon as the door opened, and chris locked eyes with you, it felt like everything stopped for him because now he was fully capable to pay attention to you.

you were standing there just a few feet away, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. your face flushed from alcohol and irritation, eyes narrowing at him with a look that made his stomach tighten. he's never seen you before, but definitely couldn’t ignore now. you were gorgeous, no question about that.

there was a fire in your eyes, a sharpness in your gaze that immediately set you apart from everyone else in the house. though it was your attitude that made chris pause.

"are you serious?" you ask with disbelief, scoffing. "are you even aware that people might want to use the bathroom? fucking freaks."

he expected whoever walked in on them to be more embarrassed than annoyed, or even maybe jealous since girls are usually that, hoping to be the one he picked next so he was used to it. not some girl standing there shooting him a full-on death glare, looking disgusted and pissed off.

he stands there just staring at you as you go on rambling about how gross him and the girl are for occupying the bathroom. the blond girl beside him laughed and bumped his arm playfully, oblivious to the sudden tension, and clearly not understanding why you're so annoyed. but chris's entire focus was entirely on you standing in front of him, and cursing him out. he wasn't even sure what you were saying, he was staring at your plump lips moving, thinking of how good they would feel on his own. what the hell was going on?

no one ever made him speechless in his life. normally, chris would’ve cracked some offhand joke, a smooth comment, maybe even give you more of that lazy smirk he knew worked more often than not. flirting came easy to him, it was muscle memory at this point, but in that moment he just stood there. it was something about you that threw him off balance. you didn't look familiar at all, he was sure of it. he would've remembered you and made a move already if he'd seen you before. you'd probably became one of his favorite hookups, someone he keeps coming back to. but he doesn't recognize you, doesn't know you— yet.

the way your eyes were locked on him, not with admiration, but with pure annoyance, something about it had his mouth shut, not quite sure what to do.

the random girl beside him went on talking, telling you to calm down or some stupid shit like that, but chris could barely catch the words, like they were coming from behind a wall.

"...are you gonna stand there all night or actually apologize for being disgusting?" you snapped, your sarcasm dripping with disdain.

chris blinked, a little rattled. apologize? you wanted him to say sorry? for what?

"girl, relax, there's nothing to be sorry about. i'm definitely not, and chris isn't either. we had a fun time—" the blonde girl next to him keeps on mumbling, but you cut her off with one simple scoff, clearly done waiting for any kind of response from him.

"next time maybe don't keep people waiting. get a fucking room," you shot him a look that sent a jolt through him. chris barely had time to react before you pushed past them and slammed the bathroom door in his face with a definitive thud.

for a second, he just stood there, staring at the door. his mind was still spinning. who the fuck was that?

chris thought about it for the full week.

this wasn’t how it usually went. no girl ever gave him attitude like this. he usually had them eating out of his hand the second he flashed that smile. but you were looking at him like he wasn’t the king of this party, like he was just another idiot wasting your time, and maybe that was true. the way you'd looked at him, the way you had completely shut him down without even trying. no girl had ever treated him like that before, and he wasn’t about to let it go.

chris saw you again at another party a week later.

he was sprawled out on the couch, joint in hand, a familiar haze settling in as the party raged around him. he had two girls on either side of him, laughing and talking, but his attention was elsewhere. he wasn’t really listening to them, his focus was completely on you since he noticed you just moments ago, dancing and having fun with your friends. for now he was only watching, not being able to move his gaze away from you.

you were moving to the beat so effortlessly, like you'd always been meant to be the center of attention, even when you weren't trying. the lights hit you just right, illuminating your beauty and you looked even more gorgeous than he remembered. the music thumped in his chest, but all he could hear was the sound of his pulse in his ears.

chris felt something dangerous stir in him, his body lit up with a fire he couldn’t ignore. he felt the sudden urge to get closer, to do or say anything that would make you his tonight.

he took another hit of the joint, trying to ground himself, but the high only made the feeling more intense. his mind started to work overdrive, thinking of how could he get you alone and what to say that wouldn’t have you walking away. his thoughts raced, calculating every possible move, every word that wouldn’t set you off, cause there's no way he was letting you slip away again. he shifts on the couch uncomfortably, adjusting his pants, knowing that he has to have you.

but then, as if the universe was playing some cruel joke on him, you turned around and walked out of the living room, disappearing into the crowd. he was looking for you for the rest of the night, but it was no use. you were gone and left him frustrated.

but tonight was the night— one week after he last laid eyes on you, he saw you again, and this time, he made sure you wouldn’t disappear from his sight.

the sound of loud music and scattered laughter from the party in the next room seemed muffled in the kitchen, where only the hum of the fridge and the occasional clink of glass filled the air. chris leaned against the doorframe, watching you without realizing he’d been doing it for a few seconds longer than he intended. you were finally alone without your friends, standing by the counter, carefully measuring out a drink, looking like you didn’t have a care in the world.

he pushed off the doorframe, striding into the kitchen with an easy, practiced smirk, the kind he knew would get any girl's attention. “well, well, well... funny runnin' into you again," he said, leaning casually against the counter, watching you make your drink. "who would've thought?"

you glanced at him, eyes narrowing as recognition hit you. the same black backwards hat, the chain bracelet on his wrist and the red solo cup in his hand. it wasn't hard to recognize his face, even if he haven't crossed your mind even once after that little interaction in front of the bathroom a while ago. he just had this whole vibe going on, making it impossible not to remember him, especially that annoying expression on his face.

“oh. it's you.” you said flatly, your tone already giving off that uninterested vibe. “great."

chris's smirk grown, unfazed. "didn't think you'd remember me, but i definitely remember you. pretty hard to forget someone who was so vocal about needin' to take a piss." he tilts his head, eyes moving up and down your body which causes you to raise your eyebrows. "we didn’t get a proper introduction last time, did we?” he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a low, playful tone. “i'm chris.”

your eyes scan him up and down as well, but clearly unimpressed by him. "maybe if you and your friend weren't so vocal inside the bathroom, then i wouldn't be so loud about needing to do my business."

"oh, c'mon, sweetheart." he rolls his eyes playfully. "can't a guy have a little fun?"

"y'know, rooms exist. there's a lot of them in this house, i assume. you ever thought about it?" you put some distance between the two of you, adding some more juice to your drink, and making sure he's far enough not to touch it. "and don't call me sweetheart. i'm not in the mood for throwing up yet."

noticing that you had moved away slightly along with your red cup, chris caught the hint and decided to stay where he was, not wanting you to think he was some kind of weirdo, even though his pride was slightly bruised. however, he understood that you didn't know him yet, and you were just being careful. smart girl.

"a'ight then, my bad," he said, raising his hands in surrender, getting a suspicious glance in return. "'bout pickin' the bathroom instead of a room, not about callin' you sweetheart. ‘cause, in my opinion, it fits. you're just so nice," his tone sarcastic.

"no one asked about your opinion though." you remarked, focusing back on making your drink. and hoping chris will leave you alone.

he grins, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches you. "damn, you're a sassy one. how come i've never seen ya 'round before?" he tilts his head to the side, his tongue wetting his bottom lip. "before you yelled at me for takin' over the bathroom, i mean."

you shrug casually, "maybe you did, but don't remember. i'm just not the type who throws herself at guys, so i probably haven't caught your attention."

you were sure he hadn't seen you before, because you had just arrived in this city over a month ago, but you wanted to mess with him a little.

your friend who was going to college nearby dragged you to a few frat parties, saying that you needed to relax a bit, after the terrible relationship you had ended a few months ago. you still hold a grudge against men and you thought it was totally stupid to start going to parties, but it seems like maybe it would do you well to have some fun. you didn't pay attention to any of the men though, every one of them was shallow and acted the same, and you're not exactly the one night stand type.

"naaah," he cooed, his tone amused. "i'd definitely remember someone so.... gorgeous." he stops himself at the last moment from calling you sexy, cause he's pretty sure you'd be closer to punching him in the face than you already are.

you scoffed, finding him completely ridiculous. another frat guy with a god complex and a playlist full of future. all bravado and loud charm, like he thought the party revolved around him, and maybe it did with the amount of people he had wrapped around his finger. everything about him screamed performance— the way he walked, the way he talked, like he'd rehearsed this a hundred times, and he probably did. you weren't impressed at all. though, your eyes lingered a second longer than you meant them to. he was hot, ridiculously so. almost as ridiculously as his stupid personality.

chris caught that, of course. his confidence increased even more than possible.

"i've never gotten your name," his voice drops an octave as your eyes meet again. he had pretty eyes.

but still— hot didn't mean interesting. or worth your time.

your fingers wrap around the red cup as you flash him a fake smile, almost giving him hope that his charm started working on you. it always works on everyone, his ego started immediately raising higher.

"and you never will."

the words leave your lips and you drifted towards the hallway, disappearing into the crowd of people faster than he could react. he's still looking at the spot where you were just standing, a smirk frozen on his face at the realization you've just completely turn him down. he blinks a few times, slowly following your path with his gaze, a frown appearing between his eyebrows.

"damn," he mutters to himself, shaking his head and taking a sip of his drink. weren't you just a ray of sunshine?

~~~

for the rest of the party chris tries to find you but it's like you vanished from the world. at some point he just goes back to his typical game— manspreading on the couch with two girls on each side of him and a joint between his lips.

the party was slowly winding down, and you were doing your best to take care of your friend, who had gotten far too drunk and ended up throwing up in the bathroom. you couldn’t help but feel sorry for her as the girl sat slumped on the floor, repeating over and over that she’d never touch alcohol again, which was a promise you both knew wouldn’t last.

the hallway was a warzone when you finally left the bathroom. beer-soaked carpets, someone’s sneaker dangling from a light fixture, and bodies either passed out or making out in random corners. your arm ached from dragging your friend’s half-conscious weight down the corridor, towards the front wide-open door where drunk people kept coming in and out every now and then.

every few steps, the girl mumbled something about taco bell, other girls being bitches, or how the world was definitely spinning. it was all a mess, and thank god you weren't wasted. then you saw him— coming in from the front steps, a cigarette tucked behind his ear, hoodie pulled halfway over his head like he hadn’t decided whether to stay at the party or go back to his room. he was the last person you wanted to see, especially like this, hauling dead weight, hair a mess, fed up with the whole night.

chris spotted you immediately, walking inside the house like he owned the place, red solo cup dangling from his fingers. he stopped right in front of you, blocking your way. his eyes dropped to your friend, then back to your face, and that stupid little smirk pulled at his mouth like it lived there. "you stalkin' me?" he asks sarcastically, wanting to get a reaction out of you.

"huh?" you raise your eyebrows.

"it's either this or destiny, 'cos no way that outta all these people here, we're runnin' into each other again."

at first you look at him fully dumbfounded, then roll your eyes, not being in the mood for his games. you try to slip past him, but it was no use. an annoying scoff leaves your lips, "move."

"ah, but why?" his tongue clicks against his teeth. "you're not happy to see me?"

"no," you say honestly, holding his gaze, the drunk girl groaned, head lolling on your shoulder. chris tilted his head, clearly amused. “you wound me.”

"good. now move." you attempted to maneuver past him again, but he stepped slightly to the side, still blocking part of the hall. not fully, just enough to be annoying. "seriously, chris," you said, glaring up at him. “get out of my way.”

the smirk on his face grows, "awww, you remembered my name. how nice. i still haven't gotten yours though."

you would've facepalm right there and then, if you didn't have to keep your drunk friend upright. "and i said you won't."

"you always this mean or is it just me?"

"just you."

chris was, in fact, amused. no girl had ever resisted his charm for this long, with such consistency. most would've caved by now, but you held your ground, meeting his gaze with fire and shooting back with witty remarks that caught him off guard more than he cared to admit.

he appreciated your looks a lot, you were hot as fuck and he would do everything just for one night with you, but your attitude was getting more and more to him with each word you spoke, making him intrigued. you seemed so completely unaffected by his attention that it frustrated him, yet still it was addictive. but he could also see the way your eyes sometimes wander down his body, before you catch yourself and look away. that's how he knows he has the chance and you're just playing hard to get.

you try to move past him again, stepping forward, close enough to brush past his chest if he didn’t move. which he obviously didn’t.

the pause was sharp. your friend mumbled something unintelligible, slumping heavier into your side. the warmth of his body makes your stomach flip.

"i can help if ya want,” he points at the girl. his voice was smooth, too smooth, and there was that same smirk on his face that you'd told him to shove earlier. "you look like you 'bout to drop her."

"i don't need your help," you shot back. "all i need is to leave, and maybe a bottle of water. you're neither."

chris raised his hands, backing off an inch, fighting the urge to close the distance between the two of you. your lips were so tempting. “a'ight," he wets his bottom lip with his tongue, looking away for a moment, the smirk not leaving his face. "i can get you a water though—" he cuts himself off at the glare you give him. “c'mon, ma, just lemme help.”

you sighed, more to yourself than at him. “why are you so persistent?”

chris shrugged, throwing the empty red solo cup aside and shoving his hands into his pockets. you could tell it's because you've told him no, that you didn't crack. he was down bad, it was obvious by the way his eyes lingered just a moment too long, by his flirtatious smile and words. chris wanted to fuck you, simple as that. but you weren't fooled. you won't be just another girl on his list of hookups, no matter how good he smelled, how blue his eyes were, how soft his hair looked, or how pink his lips were—

woah. hold on.

before any of you could say anything else, your friend lifted her head and slurred, “waaait... wait, is that the guy? the one you said is stupid but has pretty e—"

your eyes widen as you froze in place, your hand automatically slapping over the girl's mouth, cutting her off. your stomach literally dropped, it was like time paused.

your eyes slowly move back to chris, whose grin was wider than ever. his eyebrows raised, and you point your finger at him, shaking your head, immediately staring to deny everything, even if the blush on your face was clearly betraying you. "no— i did not say that.... c'mon...–" you mutter, keeping the hand on your friend's face, ignoring the pouting and unintelligible mumbling from the girl. "she's tripping. completely wasted and apparently hallucinating. we gotta go, bye!"

chris blocks your way again when you try to move past him. he crosses his arms over his chest, leaning casually against the doorframe like he'd been waiting for this moment the entire night.

"so," he said slowly, clearly savoring this. "what exactly did you say? i heard somethin' about pretty—"

"pretty damn stupid," you reply, not missing a beat and clearing your throat. "that's what she meant and that's what i've said— mentioned, actually. it's not like i would talk about you."

chris's eyes locked on yours, that irritating, satisfying smirk not leaving his face. it makes you want to both punch him, and maybe even kiss him a little, which was extremely inconvenient. "you sure?" he asked, tilting his head just enough to make your blood boil, still effectively blocking your exit. "'cause i'd reaaally love to hear more 'bout what you think of me."

you let out a dry, sarcastic laugh. "oh, i'm sure you would."

chris raised an eyebrow. "so you did say somethin'."

you scoffed, shoving past him with all the strength you had, your shoulder colliding with his chest. he moves, giving you hope that he'll let you leave, but no. his hand caught your wrist, his fingers wrapping around it tight enough to stop you.

you froze as your eyes locked with his, and the intensity in it makes your head spin. he was close, his breath warm against your face.

"oh, c'mon, don't be like this," he murmured, voice low with desire. his gaze dipped, lingering on your lips for a second too long, your heart pounding in your chest.

you get out of the trance when your drunk friend mumbles something, which helps you come back on earth, realizing what was happening. if you don't move...

"good fucking night," you snapped annoyed at yourself and him, pulling your arm free and moving past him, leaving the house. you take your hand off your friend's mouth, telling her to keep quiet in a hushed voice.

"see you at another party?" he called after you, and by the tone of his voice you just knew that this damn smile of his was glued in place, like he was enjoying every second of your frustration— and he probably did.

"if you're lucky," you answered, not even slowing down or looking back.

and damn, he hoped he was lucky.

you made it to the curb without your friend collapsing which was a miracle, honestly. the uber was already waiting, headlights cutting through the dark, engine humming like it was impatient. you yanked the car door open and guided your friend inside with the grace of someone just barely hanging on. slamming the door shut, you walked around to the other side and paused, your hand hovering over the handle.

you could still feel the heat of his body too close, the way he looked at you like you were a puzzle he was actually interested in solving, just to see what would happen if he pushed a little harder. you hated guys like that. guys who didn’t take no like an answer, just a challenge. what was worse is that something in your chest had fluttered when he kept standing there like he belonged in your way, like he knew you'd remember it later.

you scoff, getting in the car and slamming the door harder than necessary without saying a word. your friend was already out cold, head against the window, mascara smudged like a painting. the driver gave you both a look through the mirror but didn’t ask questions.

chris already lightened up a cigarette and exhaled smoke into the cool night air, watching the uber's taillights disappear around the corner as the car drives away. he stood there a moment longer than he meant to, half a smirk still clinging to his face like muscle memory. he shakes his head amused, feeling like he somehow won. yes, you were being sarcastic, playing hard to get and all that, but your friend's slip-up told him everything he needed to know. especially the way you tried to deny it. maybe it was petty but he couldn't help the satisfaction that settled in his chest— he got to you, even if just a little.

he knows you'll crumble soon enough.

~~~

the living room was quiet, a half-drunk iced coffee sat sweating on the coffee table, you curled up on the couch, oversized hoodie drowning your frame, fuzzy socks peeking out from beneath a blanket. a reality show murmured in the background, one of those trashy dating competitions where every contestant was more emotionally unstable than the last, while you were mindlessly scrolling through your phone.

just when you chuckled at some funny instagram reel, the apartment door flew open without warning.

"bitch, it's me!"

the screech was followed by the thud of boots kicking off and the unmistakable jingle of bracelets. only one person had the audacity to break into your apartment like that.

you didn’t even look up. “hi, riley."

riley tossed her bag onto the armchair and flopped down next to you, full of caffeinated energy and smug satisfaction.

"you owe me,” she announced dramatically. “like majorly.”

that caught your attention. you arched a brow, looking at your friend and dropping your phone on your lap. “what did you do?”

“i did what you asked,” riley said, eyes gleaming like she’d cracked some kind of sacred code. “i went full FBI on your guy. and girl, you aren't ready.”

right...

after the frat party two days ago, you told your friend about chris being all over you, also mentioning how riley drunkenly blurted out that you said something about chris being stupid but pretty, which meant one thing. his ego was already high but now it was definitely through the roof, while you were embarrassed, not wanting him to get any ideas. you didn't care about this guy at all, but curiosity got the best of you. that's why you asked your extroverted friend, who knew the whole campus, for help and she happily agreed.

"i owe you?" you look at her in disbelief. "girl, you were the one to almost tell him that i said he has pretty eyes. if anything, you owe me for putting me in this position."

"okay, but i was drunk. and it's not like i actually said the whole thing."

"but you dropped the word pretty while talking about him. he might be an idiot, but he can do basic math. he now thinks i'm into him."

your friend rolled her eyes, knowing damn well she kinda fucked up, but it's not like you were really mad. and after all, you asked her to find more about chris.

"alright, you wanna know or what?"

your eyes narrow slightly as you look at the girl whose smile was only growing wider.

“not sure if i'm still interested." you said flatly, but the way your spine straightened slightly betrayed you. "and he's not my guy." you add after processing her previous words.

"right," riley cackled, brushing her hair off her shoulder. she looked too excited for your liking. "you literally told me to find out everything about him. and i have receipts. literally.” she pulled out her phone, opened the notes app, and turned it toward you. “okay, so my friend has a friend who's friends with the girl whose sister was bestfriends with another girl who was sleeping with chris, so i have all the info. look."

you grimace, glancing over at the screen before riley starts speaking again. "christopher sturniolo, junior, business major, frat boy. delta chi."

you groaned, dragging the blanket over your head. just as you expected.

“oh no no no, you wanted the tea, so now listen,” riley insisted, tugging the blanket down like she was unveiling a masterpiece.

“he's textbook,” she continued, scrolling. “he's been in the frat since freshman year and he's very popular. my friend said that he's seen at least three different girls leaving chris's room in the same week, and that happens all the time."

"that's disgusting," you shaked your head.

“he's a frat boy, obviously he's gonna be gross, girl." riley replied. “my friend said he's cocky as hell, you saw that for yourself. the kind of guy who doesn’t just know he’s hot, but uses it. also he doesn't commit. most girls fall for him, but he doesn't really care."

you scoffed. “well, i'm not most girls.”

“that's exactly why he’s interested,” riley said, voice laced with amusement. “you told him no. do you know how rare that is for someone like him? he's literally a hot, emotionally unavailable, walking red flag."

"yeah, well, all of this is pretty obvious."

"some of my friends were the girls who hooked up with him and they say it's worth it though."

"oh, c'mon," you roll your eyes. "there's plenty of him. literally, the whole frat house is full of dickheads."

"true," riley agrees. "but he's popular for a reason, babe."

she reads you some more random informations, things that you could've expect. then there was a moment of silence between you two, filled only by the soft chaos of the tv show in the background. then riley snapped her fingers, eyes lighting up. "oh, and he's a triplet."

"a what?" you raise your eyebrows, looking at your friend. "a triplet," she repeated.

"great, could it get any worse?" you huff. "not one, but two more of him? holy fuck."

"now when i think about it, i'm pretty sure one of them is in my photography class. he seems less intimidating than chris though." riley gets lost in thought before shrugging.

"how is it possible you don't know him?" you look at her. "i mean, girl, you literally know everyone and you're constantly partying."

"oh, i knew he existed, just never really talked to him. and he didn't try to hit on me either, everyone knows i'm lesbian, so..."

"right," you hum.

riley adds, "you know, he might be a dick, and don't get me wrong, i know you should be careful, but... it wouldn't be bad for you to have a little fun. chris is there, trying to get your attention, so why not play around? and that was the point for you to start going on parties and loosen up a bit, so..."

she has been telling you that for a long time now, and deep down you knew she was right. it had been a few months since you left your toxic ex, and you were tired of being miserable, especially since it wasn't a part of who you were. you had always been confident, but when your ex cheated on you with another girl, it felt like your self worth got kicked in the gut. and now you had someone like chris, who was popular and handsome, and tried to get your attention, even if it was just for a one night stand with you.

"and you think chris is a good option?" you ask rhetorically, scoffing. "please."

"welllll, no, but he's not ugly and he wants to fuck you." riley says bluntly with a shrug. "when was the last time you got laid?" you don't reply. "exactlyy."

you keep silent for a moment, deeply thinking about it, even if you knew it was a bad idea. you grabbed the remote, changed the show to some trashy murder doc, and nestled deeper into the couch, trying to focus on something else.

“have you checked his Instagram?” riley asks after a moment, a small smirk forming on her face.

you frowned, "no?"

"you haven't?" the girl's eyebrows shot up. "girl, why aren't you simping? finally some not ugly guy wants you! shoot your shot?"

"i don't care," you scoffed. "that's just stupid." riley rolled her eyes, already reaching for your phone that was on your lap, "liar."

"riley—" you groaned, trying to take it from her, but she was already unlocking it— yeah, never giving her a password ever again.

“what? i'm just saying. you can tell a lot from someone’s insta. like if he’s actually a full time frat boy or some gym influencer?" her tone dripping with sarcasm.

"he probably only posts thirst traps for his hoes," you comment, rolling your eyes. "i'm not looking at that shit."

“okay,” riley said, clearly not meaning it. “i will though." she starts typing something on your phone, quickly finding his account. "but just so you know, his username is christophersturniolo, he's got a lot of followers, and... damn— yeah, he follows a lot of girls too."

"basic ass username," you huff, not losing the chance to hate on him a little. "and that already tells me everything i need to know..." you mutter, trying to seem uninterested.

“ohhh my god,” riley said suddenly, holding your phone out like she’d just spotted a ufo. “he's actually good looking. like i knew he was cute, but girl, he's so photogenic.” the girl looks at chris's posts with her eyebrows raised. "that's actually unfair."

riley was the biggest girls lover you know so when she calls a guy attractive, you know she means it.

you shook your head, forcing yourself not to look. “of course," another scoff leaves your lips.

"there's a shirtless mirror selfie and i can see the veins on his hands. i mean, ew, but also… wow.” riley was clearly exaggerating on purpose, just to get you to glance at the photos. she knew you're a slut for a man's hands.

"i don't care," you mumble, keeping your gaze on the tv, but feeling the growing urge to look at your phone.

"sure," she smirked. "i'm just gonna leave your phone here, totally unlocked, screen on, showing his feed. do with that what you will.” she set it down carefully on the couch cushion between you both, like it was a loaded weapon.

you rolled your eyes and for a solid ten seconds, you kept them glued to the screen, determined to prove a point. but then— just a quick glance. just one.

and there he was.

shirtless at the beach in one post, with a smirk that practically screamed i know you’re looking. in another, he was in some white tank top with a cigarette between his lips at a gas station. then there were a few group shots with his friends, him in the middle, always grinning, always effortlessly magnetic.

you tried to act unimpressed, meanwhile riley was living, her smile widening. "ugh, this is the worst. why is he fine? it's offensive." riley grabs the phone, clicking on some photo dump and swiping her finger. "aww, he has a dog! look at this one— oh, those are his brothers, wait..."

you just couldn’t help it and finally leaned in, peeking over riley's shoulder. "matt and nick," the girl says after tapping on the tagged people.

"damn, they're identical—" you raise your eyebrows, looking at the picture. even if the other two were just as handsome as chris, your gaze kept wandering to him. "okay, he's... not bad."

“not bad?” riley laughed, looking at you. "girl, you're full of bullshit, looking at him like you wanna—"

“shut the fuck up," you cut her off. "i'm not looking at him in any way,�� you insisted. she just shaked her head at your delusion and kept scrolling. “he’s a walking red flag... a walking red flag with insane blue eyes...—" you get too focused on the picture, your voice trailing off as you take the phone from riley to see better.

“which you are currently double-tapping.”

pause.

no, no, no. there's no fucking way.

you froze, looking at the screen with wide eyes, your thumb hovered over the screen like it had betrayed you. right under his photo was a bright red heart. you actually liked chris's post from over five months ago.

you immediately unliked the photo with a horrified gasp, feeling your heart racing and cheeks growing hotter in embarrassment. but even if, you couldn't erase the digital footprint you'd just left. it was too late and if he had his notifications on, you were fucked.

"oh my fucking god— it was a slip! my thumb slipped!” you looked at your friend who tried not to laugh for your own sake.

"well, that's...." riley looks at the screen and back at your panicked expression. she also knew you were doomed.

"i'm gonna die," you mutter, staring at the phone like it could explode any second. "i'm actually killing myself. i'm gonna vanish from the earth."

"that's a bit dramatic," the girl says amused, but you didn't find it funny at all.

"dramatic?! girl, i was acting like i hate his guts at the party and now i just liked his fucking post? i might as well just shoot myself, holy shit."

"okay, look for the good sides of this..."

you look at riley as the girl tries to make you feel better, but clearly is struggling to find anything positive about what just happened. "like what?!" you finally snap." there's no good sides. he's gonna think i'm into him now." you groaned, "ughhhh, i hate my goddamn life."

"aren't you though? into him?" riley blurts out.

"riley?! no! hell no," you scoff, shaking your head. "he's an idiot."

"even a littleeee bit...?" she asked with a teasing grin, pinching her fingers together, just a tiny gap between them to emphasize her words.

you looked at her in full disbelief, slapping her arm slightly. "no!" you sigh, rubbing your temples.

"okay, relax, maybe he won't even notice." she tries to reassure you. "he's probably busy with something, it's not like he would be on his phone in this exact moment, and see that you liked his photo...."

the girl's voice trailed off when your phone buzzed and you both looked at it. a notification from instagram.

[ 1 new message...]

christophersturniolo: look who couldn't resist

then another one.

christophersturniolo: was starting to think i dreamed you up

the phone nearly slipped from your hand.

while you were close to ending up in an asylum, chris was sprawled across his bed in the frat, shirtless, one arm tucked behind his head, the other lazily scrolling through his phone. he was halfway through a reel of a guy trying to bench press a couch, when a notification popped up at the top of his screen. one new like from yourusername. he barely glanced at it and probably would ignore, but the photo someone liked was an old one, he could see. and he had this feeling in his gut... so he checked it, brow furrowing just slightly as he taps at the profile of the girl with only two posts. four mutual followers, cute little profile picture that looked suspiciously like someone he recognized, the unfamiliar name in the bio. then he checks the recent posts and that's when he sees you.

bingo.

a slow grin curled across his lips and he just couldn't believe his luck. his ego practically purred— you liked his photo. you found him, and that meant you had to search for him. not only this, but he also knew your name now, and he wouldn't be him if he didn't take advantage of it, would he? he follows you immediately.

“oh my god,” you choked, after the small moment of horror, throwing your phone across the couch. your heart was instantly in your throat, pulse drumming in your ears. “oh my actual god.”

you look at riley with wide eyes, the girl's jaw almost on the floor as she stares back at you. your entire body was stiff, the panic creeping up your neck.

"oh girl..."

"fucking shit," you mutter, shaking your head. "i swear, i'm gonna die." you buried your face in your hands while riley scrambled to grab the phone. "this is so humiliating. i look like some weirdo now, stalking him." you look at your friend again, "it wasn't even a recent post. it was a post from almost five months ago. five! i can't even imagine how satisfying it has to be for him."

riley looks at the screen, "he followed you too."

"what?!" you reach for the phone, needing to see it with your own eyes. "oh, fucking great. even better."

"you gonna reply?"

"are you crazy? what would i even say? 'yeah i was stalking you and my thumb slipped?' oh, please." you scoff at your own stupidity. "i am not replying."

"yes, you are."

"nope. not happening. i'm deleting my account or moving back to my hometown. i'm gonna raise goats and forget what wifi even is."

"or,” riley said, forcing the phone back into your hands, “you could be normal for once and text him back.”

"girl, no. i don't know what to say. he already thinks i searched him up and now he knows my name. i've just lost all my power.” riley rolled her eyes at your dramatic ass. “let's start with the fact you never had power, you just have a really good poker face. but now you’ve got his attention again and if you don't text him back, it'll be more embarrassing than liking his picture by accident."

you chewed on your bottom lip, staring down at the message like it might explode if you touched it. part of you wanted to toss the phone out the window, but another part wanted to type something back. still, you hesitated.

“text. him. back,” riley demanded, practically bouncing. “you don’t have to fall in love with him, babe. just mess with him a little, have some fun. he's cocky, right? so throw him off. you're good at that.”

you took a deep breath, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. it was easy to be unbothered by chris's charm at the party, but now you felt weak when he had the knowledge of you stalking his account.

you unlocked the phone, opening the notification and reading his messages once again. your thumb hovered over the keyboard, your pulse racing

"okay, fuck it." you mutter. riley leaned in like a nosy coach. with a deep breath and a smirk slowly tugging at the corner of your lips, you slowly started typing.

yourusername: wow already imagining me in your dreams? that was fast

yourusername: it was just a pity like dont let it go to your head

sent.

riley smiled, getting all excited about this whole thing. your nerves eased slowly as you stare at the screen, the three dots popping up and disappearing. not even a thirty seconds later you get a respond.

christophersturniolo: harsh

christophersturniolo: you were a bit nicer when you were checking me out at the party

your jaw dropped. "did he just—?”

riley screamed, covering her mouth. "before you say anything," you quickly say, pointing your finger at the girl. "i was not checking him out. just... looking. it was a glance actually. a tiny, curious glance."

which wasn't true since your eyes did wonder up and down his body a few times, you just didn't know he caught that, and that he would take advantage of it like this.

"i'm not saying anything," riley raises her hands up in surrender.

another message.

"oh my god," riley said, grinning and looking at you. "he wants you sooo bad."

you couldn't even process what just happened in the last few minutes.

"that's terrible," you mutter still in disbelief, turning off your phone and putting it down on the coffee table. "see me on friday? i'm not going to any frat party ever again."

"girl—" she gives you a glare before rolling her eyes. "you have to go, are you kidding? this guy is down bad, you can't lose this opportunity."

"opportunity for what, exactly?" you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "i'm not gonna let him hit."

riley doesn't believe you.

~~~

friday came sooner than expected and after much persuasion from riley, you finally agreed to go to another party, feeling like you couldn't give chris the satisfaction. if you didn't show up, he'd think he had some kind of power over you, which he didn't.

after getting all dolled up, you and riley arrived at the frat house around 10pm, immediately finding some of your other mutual friends. the music was blaring in the house, most people were already tipsy and you actually felt a hint of excitement for the night, also hoping chris won't bother you too much. there's a high possibility you won't even see him, there's a lot of people here after all.

"girl, you won't believe who i just saw," one of your friends stumbled outside after about two hours of partying, when you and a few other girls went out for a cigarette. you look at her with a frown when she interrupts you mid conversation. "who?"

"jake's bitch is here," she says with a shake of her head, drunkenly trying to light up her cigarette.

you feel annoyance building up within you immediately at the mention of your ex's name, and that the girl he cheated on you with was at the party. it meant only one thing— your ex had to be here too.

you take a long drag from the cigarette, the wheels in your head turning. you'd see jake and that girl on instagram so many times, stalking her account to see what she has that you don't, but you never saw them together in real life.

"where?" you ask casually, exhaling the clouds of smoke. the girl shrugs, "in the kitchen." you hum and nod, finishing your cigarette before going back inside the house, not bothering to wait for your friends.

now you're more focused on your surroundings, paying more attention to people who pass by. you wanted to meet this girl, not necessarily talk to her or jake, but you wanted to see them, to be sure that their relationship doesn't affect you. it was a fact that you got over it a long time ago, but you felt that you were missing something to completely heal and maybe seeing them, realizing that you truly don't care, was just that thing.

you find yourself in the kitchen, the music thumped from the living room, but it was quieter here. a few people taking shots, some couple in the corner making out, but no sight of the girl or jake.

you decided to make yourself a drink while you're here, looking through all the alcohol on the kitchen island. there was so much of everything that you weren't sure what to chose.

"having fun?" chris walked up behind you out of nowhere, oozing confidence. after looking for you for the past hours, he finally spotted you a few minutes ago and followed to the kitchen without you even noticing. "how 'bout fireball?" he asks, seeing how you try to decide what to drink. he also notices your slight annoyance, wondering if it's just your usual attitude or something pissed you off. surprisingly, not him yet. "one shot and you'll forget anything you thinkin' about."

the sigh you let out after hearing chris's voice was amusing to him, you clearly don't enjoy his presence at all. he really picked a great moment to talk to you, just after you found out that your biggest opp is at the same party.

"so one shot and i can forget about you bothering me? tempting," you mocked him, not even sparing him a glance.

chris grabs two red solo cups and the rest of the stuff he needs, his lips twitching upwards. "just admitted to thinkin' about me. we're clearly getting somewhere."

you rolled your eyes, glaring at him while he casually starts making your drink. "if i'm getting anywhere, it's away from you."

"but why? so you could stalk my instagram in peace?" his smirk grows after locking eyes with you and seeing your expression.

a flicker of heat rises in your face and you mentally curse yourself for it, or even checking his profile in the first place. chris looked like a little kid who just opened gifts on a christmas morning. he clearly was waiting to use this whole 'stalking him' accident against you.

"i was not stalking you," you mutter, not even sounding convincing. chris hums, "oh, sure. which post was your favorite? the one you liked?"

taking a deep breath to help you cool down, you lean against the kitchen island, watching chris making the drinks. he looked incredibly fine tonight, wearing black baggy pants, his usual backwards hat and a black, pirate girl tank top with a bracelet wrapped around his wrist, as always catching your eye. this outfit made a shiver goes down your spine and you didn't like that at all. he was just a cocky, stupid guy whose live revolved around girls and parties. still, you weren't able to take your eyes off him. it was impossible to say he wasn't attractive and you didn't even try lying to yourself.

"no, actually the one with your brothers. they're so hot, especially... nick? yeah, totally my type." you fake smile, bullshitting him, your voice sweet as honey. it's not like you actually paid attention to his brothers while scrolling through chris's instagram.

but chris just grins, handing the red solo cup to you, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "you wanna try to shoot your shot with him?" he asks casually. "unless you're a guy with a mustache, he won't be even lookin' in your direction."

you blink, processing his words and starts to feel even more stupid than you already were. "he's gay?"

"yeah," he nods. "and matt has a girl so i'm your only option." chris's smirk widens. "we're basically identical so sayin' that nick is your type, you just said i'm your type." he takes a sip of the drink, eyes never leaving yours. "but you did your research, i see. good girl."

his words make your thoughts wander in places you didn't want them to.

a scoff leaves your lips as you shot him a glare, finally grabbing the red solo cup from him. "don't flatter yourself. you're not my type."

"oh, no?" he raises his eyebrow. "i think we both know you're lyin', sweetheart."

“please,” you deadpanned. “you really think you’re that guy?”

chris shrugged, leaning in a little closer, deliberately invading your personal space. “why not? i'm the life of the party, girls would fight to get jus' the slightest of my attention... i don't know why you tryna hold back so much, but i'd make you feel so good. tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

your stomach flips when his voice gets lower and his eyes seem more intense. chris was on a mission tonight— to make you crack. the thing was, you knew you started giving in the moment you decided to come here tonight, even after swearing that you wouldn't. though you were still thinking of what riley said, that it's not wrong to have fun and chris was right here.

instead of answering, you take a sip of the drink he'd made you, the alcohol burning in your throat. "that's... strong," you mutter, grimacing.

his lips curled into a smirk, sensing your small frustration. "hell yeah, it is." he leaned against the counter next to you, one elbow resting on the cool surface, his body angled just enough that he was eye level with you. "you gonna ignore my question?"

"listen, i definitely—" you cut yourself off as your eyes wander to the people who just entered through the kitchen doorway.

your ex with his current girlfriend, surrounded by a few friends. they hadn't noticed you yet, which gave you a moment to look at them— how ugly he was, sometimes you wondered what you saw in him. and that bitch? her smile was faker than her eyelashes. you didn't know how she could be so chill and happy in a relationship with him, when he cheated on you with her, and you believed that someone who cheated once will do it again. maybe she was just as stupid.

"you gotta be kidding me," you mutter to yourself, eyes not leaving jake and the girl as you finally see them in real life. they were just across the kitchen, talking to some people, the grin on jake's face making your blood boil. you feel a wave of negative emotions going through you— not saddness or hurt, but annoyance and hatred. you actually couldn't care less about them, your heart wasn't sinking. jake had been gone from your life for long enough that he didn't hold power over you anymore, but he still had that smug look on his face, like he was untouchable. and that was what annoyed you.

you hadn't realized you were staring until chris spoke. "what?" his gaze followed yours, now looking at the group of people across the room, sensing your sudden annoyance. he doesn't see anything special. "you look like you wanna snap someone's neck. hopefully not mine," he adds with a hint of sarcasm, looking back at you.

you ignored his teasing, eyes locked on jake and the girl on his side. "that's my ex," you muttered, clearly disgusted.

chris raised an eyebrow, his curiosity spiked. he took a second, squinting toward where your ex was chatting up with a few people. "him?" chris grimaces when you nod, wondering how the fuck someone who looked like that pulled you. "what'd he do?"

you scoffed, a sarcastic, dry little laugh slipping out. "oh, please. what didn't he?

he didn't push you for more details, his gaze flickering between you and the guy across the room. chris thought he'd seen every single one of your death stares, since you didn't spare him and gave him plenty of them, but your gaze at that moment was even sharper than ever. this guy must have gotten under your skin really bad. jake was laughing with some people, clearly not paying attention to his surroundings just yet. chris glances back at you, "he looks like a dick."

your eyes flashed with a hint of amusement and for the first time you'd give chris a real, not sarcastic smile. "he is one," you reply, taking a sip of your drink and glancing at chris. "he cheated on me with her," you say casually, gesturing subtly towards the girl on jake's side.

chris's eyebrows shot up and he looked at the guy again. he grimaced, trying to process what you just said. "there's no way that this cheated on you," he finally mumbled, looking back at you with disbelief. "you're literally out of his league, who the fuck gave him the confidence to think he could play you?"

he thought it was absolutely ridiculous that someone like your ex had a chance with you, but you kept turning chris down and acting like you didn't find him hot. but now he understood why you were so stubborn and tried not to fall for his charm.

your gaze flickered away from jake and back to chris, for a moment the room seemed to spin around you. after emptying your drink, you put the red cup down and shrug, trying to seem nonchalant even if deep down you appreciated his words. "it's also funny 'cos he tried to get me back, saying it was a mistake, but after i told him to fuck off, he immediately went back straight to her."

chris scoffs, "yeah, too late, buddy." you both went silent for a moment, the music loud in the house yet all you heard was the pulse in your ears. "you wanna get back at him?"

you frown, watching as chris casually takes a sip of his own drink, eyes locked on yours and that familiar smirk tugging at his lip. "i don't care—"

"m'not sayin' you do, but it'd be fun to mess 'round a little, don't you think? especially that he clearly wants you back, i mean... who wouldn't?" he straightened up slightly, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue. "he had to be really blind and dumb for fumbling ya."

you look up at him slightly confused. "and what do you have in mind?"

in that moment chris had a good feeling that he's actually getting somewhere. even if his excuse was to 'get back' at your ex, he clearly just wanted to get what he craved— you.

he reached out, casually brushing a few strands of your hair behind your ear, shifting just a little closer, testing the waters. your gaze followed his hand and went back to his eyes. you knew damn well that if you don't step back something will happen. he was close enough to feel his cologne, his eyes dropping to your lips.

"i've got a lot of ideas," he mutters, his voice lower. "you just gotta let me. y'know, it'd probably really piss off that dude. don't you wanna feel this satisfaction?"

your eyes narrow, knowing what chris was doing, how he tried to take advantage of the fact you might want to get back at your ex, and chris was right here, next to you. in fact you were sure that jake would tweak out 'cause even when you were together, he was always insecure about other guys. and maybe you couldn't give a fuck less about jake, but seeing his reaction would be priceless.

"you think i'm stupid?" you ask him, raising an eyebrow. "i know exactly what you're doing, chris."

"and?" he smirks unbothered, his fingers gently brushing under your chin as he tilted your head up to meet his eyes. "is that a yes or no?"

your eyes moved back to jake who finally noticed you, catching your eye. that stupid grin stretched across his face, like you were supposed to be impressed. but you could also see the small frown on his face as he sees you with a frat guy.

chris looks at you with eager anticipation as you lock eyes with him, making your decision in a moment of pure, reckless impulse. your heart raced and without thinking, you leaned in, gripping his tank top to yank him closer, he immediately gets the hint and his lips are fast to find yours.

it was quick, you kissed him back after a moment with a soft hum, his hand slipping to the back of your neck. for a second your mind went blank, the feeling of chris's lips on yours was too much to deal with, and the biggest mistake was that you didn't think about how this would make you feel, or that you're literally giving chris what he wants. you just needed to send a clear message to your ex. but in that moment, as the kiss deepened, your breath quickened and you realized that you might've done something completely different, not expecting the butterflies in your stomach, or how your body felt like it was on fire, craving more. your lips slightly parted, letting his tongue tangle with yours, his drink forgotten somewhere on the counter.

chris is absolutely in heaven, feeling your body so close to his and how responsive you are, his pants growing tighter and he never wanted anyone as bad as he wanted you. he places his free hand on your hip, pushing you gently against the counter, both of you growing more excited with each second, and you find yourself really enjoying it. he was a good kisser, better than you accidentally imagined once or twice, and it was impossible to get enough of him.

the ache between your legs started growing, the noise of the party completely fading away, his lips felt so soft and warm against yours, it was making you crazy. chris's thoughts scattered, all he could focus on was the way you taste, the way your breath hitched when his hand moved on your neck, or how you pressed against him like you needed him as much as he did.

you pulled back slightly to catch some air, your lips still inches from his, feeling your heartbeat rush in your chest. this wasn't supposed to be anything, just a quick, impulsive kiss, and yet— his hand had been too warm at the back of your neck, his mouth moved a little too well, and the way chris slowly pulled back, like he knew something unfamiliar twisted low in your stomach.

your eyes flutter open, immediately locking with his full of desire stare. he scans your flushed face closely, not looking away for even a second. "it worked?" his voice low and hoarse, a shiver goes down your spine. you could feel your panties sticking to your wet folds.

"huh?" you let out, not knowing what chris is asking about.

the corner of his mouth twitches in satisfaction. he had you completely wrapped around his finger now, he believes. "your ex," he murmurs.

"oh," you blink, only now remembering why did you and chris kiss in the first place. your gaze wandered across the kitchen, but didn't see your ex or his girlfriend anywhere, only his friends were still standing there and talking. you were sure jake saw this whole scene though, he clearly couldn't take it and had to leave.

but you truly couldn't care less when you had chris in front of you, with his hands still on your body, so close that you could feel his warm breath on your skin.

"i guess," you mutter back, trying to process what just happened and how did it make you feel. and how you didn't want to pull back from him.

chris feels your grip on his shirt loosened, but he wasn't going to let you slip away again. you finally gave in, even if it was just to get back at your ex. he didn't care, all he wanted was you with him tonight. he was too desperate for you.

he tilted his head slightly, eyes roaming all over your body like he was undressing you one thought at a time. "come upstairs with me." he says almost nonchalantly, the intensity in his eyes betrayed him though. he wasn't sure if you'll tell him to go to hell again or just finally give in, but he had a good feeling...

for a second you stared at him, caught somewhere between a scoff and a sigh. you should've said no. you're aware this is the worst idea ever and that you'll probably regret it tomorrow morning, or even in a few hours, but...

"is there anything special to see?" you ask with a hint of sarcasm, trying to calm down your breathing.

he smirks, his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek as he glances sideways amused. it was frustrating how hot that stupid little move was, and you could've folded right there and then.

then he looks back at you, a silent challenge dancing in his eyes. "i mean, i ain't gonna tell you. gotta check for y'self."

you hum, "let's see then."

chris couldn't believe his fucking luck. maybe your ex was a dick, but he was actually grateful for his presence at this party cause otherwise, you wouldn't be following chris to his bedroom right now.

you both made your way upstairs, chris pushed open the door to his room without a word, holding it just long enough for you to step inside. that same maddening smirk tugging at his mouth and you hated how your stomach flipped at the sight.

once the door is shut behind you two, he spins you around and presses you against it, and without a warning, he closes the distance between you, capturing your lips in a rough, impatient kiss. his hand slide up to tangle in your hair as he pours all his pent-up frustration and desire into it. you immediately respond, placing your hand on his jaw as the kiss deepened, his tongue pushing past your lips to claim your mouth.

you feel his other hand on your waist, pulling you flush against him so you're able to feel how hard he is even through your clothes. you whimper against his lips, causing his dick to throb in his pants, the heat building between your legs. his hands slide down from your hair to grip your thighs, lifting you up against the door. you wrap your legs around his hips, your dress rolls up, his hard length pressing right against your center. your fingers were already moving to his hair, your long nails grazing just enough to make him exhale through his nose, biting gently on your bottom lip in response. the cap on his head shifted, slipping sideways like it was about to fall.

"careful," he mumbled against your lips, pulling back slightly, a smirk playing at the edge of his mouth. "you gonna knock it off."

you rolled your eyes playfully, about to reply with something sarcastic, but then he casually snatched the hat off and dropped it backwards onto your head, his eyes lingering on your face. "here," he muttered, voice low.

you adjust the cap on your head, looking at his swollen lips and his hair. he looked fine as fuck.

"now your hair is messy," you say, raising your eyebrows. chris shrugs nonchalantly, starting to trail open-mouthed kisses down your neck as he grinds against you slowly. "make it messier then," he breathed the words against your skin, his hands squeezing your ass. you hum, tilting your head to the side to give him more room as he sucks on your neck, leaving a mark.

your fingers slid right back into his hair, your back pressed against the door. "oh—" your breathing gets heavier when he grinds harder against you, feeling how wet you're getting through your panties, satisfaction curling in his chest.

"shittt, you're so fuckin' responsive," he hisses, snapping his hips faster, dry humping you against the door. his hands move up and down your thighs, sending shivers down your spine. "ya feel what you do t'me? you like that, huh?" he stops moving, reaching between your bodies, his hand close to your heat. you bite down on your lip, locking eyes with him. "the past weeks i was fuckin' dreamin' about this."

"yeah?"

"fuck yeah," he scoffs. "you can make me hard with jus' one look in my direction, and don't lemme mention that fuckin' smart mouth of yours..." he walks over to the desk, sitting you down on the edge of it, his fingers moving along your pussy, feeling the wetness even through your underwear. "look at you," he smirks, your legs leaving his waist as he stands between them, spreading them wider. "you were acting so tough and now i got you soaked. how pathetic."

it really was pathetic, your cheeks growing hotter with embarrassment, but there was no point in denying that chris is turning you on.

"shut up," you huff, looking away from him, trying to hold on to the last scraps of dignity you had left— though those probably vanished the moment you stepped into his room.

"watch it," he warned, eyes twinkling with mischief and he tilts your chin back towards him. "eyes on me, pretty girl." he yanks your panties down, tossing them to the side and pulling your dress up around your waist. your breath hitches when he kneels down on the floor, trailing kisses up your thighs.

"chris..." you mutter weakly, clenching around nothing. the sight itself was pretty fucking hot.

"shh," he gently bites on your skin, groaning softly as he gets an unobstructed view of your glistening pussy. with a firm grip on your thighs, he draws you closer until you feel his warm breath against your entrance. "you talked back to me too many times."

he smirks up at you, his blue eyes burning with desire. he leans forward, burying his face between your legs, giving you a teasing lick up along your folds, tasting you. a quiet whimper escapes your lips, your fingers tangling into his hair for some kind of support. his tongue begins exploring eagerly, swirling around your clit and making you moan loudly.

you look down at him, eyes half-lidded with pleasure, eyebrows scrunched together like you're trying to hold back any noises but aren't able to, a few of them slipping past your lips. "oh— ohh shit.... f-fuck, chris—" you moan when his tongue flattens and licks all the way up your pussy slowly, before sucking on your clit. you arch your back, pressing against his face harder and getting a hum in response.

"please, don't— don't stop, oh my god..." your grip on his hair tightened when his tongue slides inside you, fucking you with it, his nose pressing against your swollen bud, giving it extra pressure. chris loves your reactions, he can't believe he finally has you like this, but he's not going to waste any second. his dick is uncomfortably straining against his pants.

he pulls back, putting two fingers inside you, curling them upwards to hit the spot that makes your vision go blurry. "oh, you beggin' now? don't want me to stop? where'd that attitude of yours go, huh?" he teases, speeding up his movements, the wet squelching fills the room, a warm flush spread across your cheeks from embarrassment. you bite down on your lip, tightening around his fingers and your legs start to shake. "gonna cum?" he asks mockingly and you nod weakly, feeling the pressure in your lower belly growing. "yeah, not yet."

you whine frustrated when chris pulls his fingers out of you, your orgasm just out of reach. "you're joking—"

"m'not," he cuts you off, licking his lips and fingers clean and slowly standing up, the smirk on his face still present. his chin is glistening with your juices. "you made me have to rub one out to thoughts of you a bunch of times, and you think i'm jus' gonna let you cum now?"

you look at him in disbelief, your chest raising and falling rapidly, your pussy pulsing desperately as you watch chris's hands working on his belt. "gonna show me what else you can do with that mouth, smartass?"

you nod without hesitation, slowly sliding off the desk and taking off your stupid heels. then without breaking eye contact, you sank to your knees, the floor cold against your skin. "who would've thought you gonna be such a good girl f'me?" he raises his eyebrow.

chris swallows, your hands unzipping his pants and pulling them down just along with his boxers. his dick splits out, smacking his stomach. you look at him in awe, licking your lips unconsciously, a bead of precum already at the tip. "holy shit, chris." the words leave your mouth before you can stop them, making his smirk widen. "take that off," he mutters, pulling the cap off your head and tossing it aside. his fingers swept through your hair, collecting it into a messy ponytail.

you start stroking him slowly, eyes locked on his again. then you give him a kitty lick, his dick twitching in your grip at the sudden contact of your mouth. "fuck," he groans, his head tilting back and eyes fluttering shut when he feels you slowly taking him further into your mouth. but just as fast as his eyes had shut, they snapped open again, focusing right back on you. there was no way in hell he was gonna miss the sight of you on your knees with his cock in your mouth like that.

you hum around him, sending vibrations through his entire body, his tip hitting the back of your throat, causing you to gag and pull back slightly. your tongue swirls around the head of his dick while your hand pumps the rest of him. he bites his lip, a low hiss between his clenched teeth leaves him. his hips buck slightly into your mouth, urging you to take more of him. you breath through your nose, hollowing your cheeks around him when he starts thrusting into your mouth slowly, saliva dripping down your chin as you whine around him. "yeaaaah, just like that...— holyy shiit— you're doing so well f'me, ma..." he lets out a low moan, the grip on your hair tightens. "touch y'self while my dick is in your mouth, c'mon. gonna do that f'me?" you whimper in response, your hand moving between your legs and finding your clit, starting to rub it in circles while sucking him off.

he curses under his breath, eyes fixated on you. "mhmmm, good girl," he praises, watching as you struggle, but still manage to take all of him into your mouth which was the hottest thing he's ever seen. "fuck, you look so pretty choking on my cock— shitttt—"

you moan, a few tears running down your cheeks, but he's quick to wipe them away with his thumb. you slide two fingers inside your cunt, starting to fuck yourself with them, the noises mixing with chris's low grunts. his dick twitches in your mouth and he tries to hold back, but the sight of you almost makes him lose it.

"fuck," he groans, suddenly pulling out of you, a string of saliva connecting your lips with his tip. you gasp softly for air, breathing heavily and looking at him in confusion. "almost made me nut, holy shit.... get up. don't look at me like that and stand up." he commands, kicking his pants and boxers aside and taking off his tank top with his free hand, while pulling on your hair with the other and forcing you to get back to your feet. you pull your fingers out of your hole, wiping your lips. "what—"

before you can question him, he already interrupts you. "strip and get on my bed. now."

there's not a single thought in your head, all you crave is to finally feel him inside of you.

your dress hits the floor a few seconds later, followed by your bra, and you climb onto the bed, kneeling on the mattress. "m'not cummin' anywhere else than your pussy tonight, ya hear me?"

you nod as he walks towards the bed, hungrily looking over your body. he leans forward, pulling you into another kiss before flipping you around so that you're laying on your stomach. he gets on the mattress, lifting your hips up and positioning himself behind you. his cock presses against your lower back as he runs his hand down your spine.

you whine desperately, propping yourself up on your elbows. "chris, please..."

"needy little slut," he mutters, enjoying how bad you want him, especially that you've made him wait for this moment, so he was doing the same to you now, even though he's had enough and wanted to finally feel you around him.

"shut... up..." you said under your breath, once again trying to act like you're not completely at his mercy right now. "what's wrong?" he smirks, admiring your body from this angle for a moment before gripping his cock and lining it up with your entrance. "can't handle how fuckin' wet you gettin' when i call you my little slut? scared you like it too much?" his tone mocking, yet making your pussy clench around nothing. he lets out a low chuckle after seeing that, "yeaah, you're loving that shit." he presses forward without a warning, slowly sliding inch by inch, hungrily watching as he disappears inside you.

you moan loudly, clutching at the covers, knuckles pale, your folds stretching around him. "take it, c'mon— i know you can...— fuckkkk..." he groans, your walls clamping down around him as he fills you up completely, letting you adjust to his size before starting to move his hips, thrusting into you in a slow, but deep pace.

"my god— mhhmp... c-chris, i don't know if... i can..."

"you got this, pretty." his ego grew instantly, seeing how you struggle with taking every inch of him. he reaches out and grabs a handful of your hair, pulling gently but firmly to arch your back more, his other hand moves to your hip to keep you steady as he pounds into you. "mhmm, just like that— holy shit..." he groaned at the way your cunt feels around him just perfectly, the moans leaving your mouth were like honey to his ears. he watches how his dick slide in and out of your soaked pussy, the sound of your bodies slapping together fills the room, mixed with your whimpers and his grunts. "you're so fuckin' tight, jesuss—"

"feels... amazing..." you gasp softly for air with each hard thrust. "such a good girl— fuckk, do that again— squeeze me with that tight little pussy... thereee you go..." he mutters when you clench around him. "gonna come so fast? how do you take my cock so well when you talked so much shit before, huh?"

the pleasure starts to become overwhelming, the grip on his sheets is harder as your eyes roll back, your mouth slack. "c-chris, i— ohhhh—" you stumble over your words, his tip dragging against your g-spot with each movement.

"tried so hard to be tough and now you're goin' dumb on my dick, isn't that funny?" his voice rough with lust, his hips slapping against your ass harder and faster, making you see stars.

"please, please, please—" you keep begging and moaning his name over and over like some kind of prayer. the moment so intense that you reached blindly for the nightstand, needing something to hold onto, only to knock over a can of open soda, sending it to the floor with a small thud.

chris groans, watching as you lose control and it makes his balls tighten. "godd— thaaat's it, baby... keep makin' those sexy noises, fuck—" he leans forward slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts, going even deeper. "feel that? you gonna cum f'me like the good girl you are?"

"chris— mmmmhp— fuck!" you cry out, gasping for air, his words getting you to your breaking point, sending a wave of pleasure through your body. your orgasm crashes over you, leaving you trembling and moaning loudly, your pussy gripping his dick like a vice.

he groans, feeling you clenching around him again, his release building quickly. "fuccckkk— come allll over my cock, mhmm...— m'gonna fill you up, yeah?" he grunts, hearing a whine and a weak hum in response as you ride out your high. he thrusts into you one last time, his hips jerking as he floods your cunt with his seed, painting your inside walls white. his hand lets go off your hair, letting your head fall forward on the pillow.

the room is filled with your heavy breathing, his dick still pulsing and unloading the last few drops of his cum into you. "holy shit," he pulls out after a moment, dropping down on the mattress beside you, his voice still hoarse.

"holy shit indeed," you mutter weakly, opening your eyes just to be met with his intense stare. the familiar smirk slowly creeping back onto his face.

you couldn't feel your legs.

"you spilled my last pepsi," he mumbles amused, leaning over you to grab the can out of the puddle like it was no big deal, and taking a sip to see if there was anything left to drink. he looks over at your fucked out expression, savoring this moment, feeling completely satisfied. "it was so good you had to knock it off?"

you roll your eyes at his bragging, slowly rolling over on your back, chris still hovering over you. "don't get too cocky."

"why not?" he raises his eyebrow, putting the empty can back on the nightstand. "i just had you creamin' around my dick after you swore you don't find me attractive. why would i not be cocky 'bout it?"

you sigh deeply, rubbing your temples, still not feeling the strength to even sit up. chris was actually good and you know he's got you hooked. you didn't mean to be one of his girls, but...

"don't make me regret it already," you say, only making his grin widen.

"nahh, you ain't gonna regret anythin'." he replies confidently, studying your face. "we both know you'll be back for more."

you scoff, "don't be so sure about that."

though deep down you knew he's right. there's no way you won't come back.

chris grinned unbothered, laying back with his arm tucked under his head. "your attitude being right back even with my cum still leakin' outta your pretty pussy is crazy work."

you grimaced, a small blush creeping up your cheeks. he obviously notices.

"y'know, next time i can bend you over in the bathroom downstairs." he says, referring to your first interaction. "just have a feeling you wouldn't be so mad if you weren't the one waiting outside this time."

"you're so gross..."

"am i?" he raises his eyebrow, shifting on his side and propping himself up on his elbow, his hand landing on your thigh, too close to your sensitive cunt. "or is it just you tryna gaslight y'self that you're not into that?"

you hate how he's calling you out just as much as you hate how easily you gave yourself to him for the rest of the night, letting him do whatever he wanted. you both finished too late to even return to the party, the music had stopped playing long before you were still moaning his name, and all you knew was that waking up tomorrow is gonna be fucking interesting.

a/n: i love everyone who read this whole thing 😪 credits to whoever started or wrote abt fratboy!chris x sassy!reader

taglist: @certifiedstarrr @chrislovespepsi @le4hsblog @sturnsxbitvh @sweetlikesug4rvenom @xaristhings @mattsfavbitchhh @lvrsturniolo @r0s3luvr @slut4brunettes @madisonsturnioloss @chrispillowprincess @emely9274 @shadowthesim @yunkilm @sturnslutz @ncm9696 @certified-sturniolo @chrisweetheart @chrisfavoritewhore @brazyturtleneck @sophand4n4 @giannalovessturniolo @mattsobvimyfav @alesturniolos @ilovenmcs @seluky10 @chriss-slutt @icrazy106 @ribbonlovergirl @izzylovesmatt @trevorsgodmother @sturniolo101 @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @bernardsbendystraws @loser41ifee @cleolovespepsi @slvt4subchratt @oopsiedaisydeer

[sixeyesonathiel]

clanhead!satoru, who grew up behind paper walls and formal greetings, thinks he’s doing fine. he doesn’t need warmth. doesn’t need partnership. definitely doesn’t need you. not your voice. not your gaze. not your hands reaching out in that quiet way they always do, halfway between anger and hope. he doesn’t need softness, doesn’t need mornings spent with knees brushing beneath the table, or nights curled around shared exhaustion. he doesn’t need any of that.

he keeps telling himself that.

you were arranged. names selected. lives assigned. there was no falling in love, no whirlwind romance. only obligation, and a shared contract, and two people who didn’t know each other at all. the clan called it a bond. satoru called it a sentence. and maybe, so did you. maybe you still do. but you're both too stubborn to say it out loud.

and yet, here you are. somehow, sharing a home that isn’t quite a home. circling around each other like bored cats, passive-aggressively polite, trading jabs like candy wrappers. it’s a miracle neither of you has murdered the other in your sleep. though, sometimes, it’s close. last week you slapped his shoulder with a ladle because he said your miso soup was “a little too philosophical.”

every morning, he wakes up alone in the house you both live in. passes your closed door, always closed, like a wall he isn’t meant to climb. makes his own coffee. glares at your mug next to his like it’s mocking him. sometimes he touches the handle like it might give him a sign. sometimes he almost washes it and puts it away, but doesn’t. not yet. not when you might still come down. not when the ghost of your presence still lingers in the air like perfume.

he starts narrating your morning habits in his head like he's in some tragic sitcom. “there she goes. my legally wedded stranger. master of mug placement. destroyer of peace.” he doesn’t say it aloud. mostly because you’d probably throw a pillow at him and then he’d have to feel something about that.

you’ve filed for divorce again. that’s five now. seven, if he’s honest. twice were his. he still doesn’t know why he ripped them up. they sat on the edge of his desk for days, heavy and clean and final. and then one night, he came home soaked in rain, looked at the envelope, and tore it to shreds like it meant nothing. it meant everything. he couldn’t breathe with it there. couldn’t sleep. couldn’t stop hearing your voice, even when the house was dead quiet.

maybe he’s just tired. maybe it’s the quiet way you look at him when you think he’s not paying attention. maybe it’s the way you always buy him those god-awful sunglasses, even though he hasn’t worn a pair in years. he lines them up on his desk like trophies. he doesn’t know what he’s competing for.

he doesn’t eat unless you cook. says the clan's food makes him sick. lies through his teeth. you roll your eyes every time, muttering, “go starve then.” and he almost does, until you slide a plate across the table an hour later. he stares at the food like it might vanish if he breathes wrong. he doesn’t say thank you. you don’t expect him to. but sometimes, he finds himself eating slower, like the warmth might linger longer that way.

“i’m not your maid,” you mutter once, shoving a bowl of miso soup toward him without looking.

“could’ve fooled me,” he replies. you hit him with a rolled-up magazine. he deserved it. he actually smiles into his spoon.

he didn’t know how to be with someone. he still doesn’t. no one taught him gentleness. no one told him how to reach across the silence and say something that mattered. he grew up with expectation in his bones and solitude in his chest. you grew up dreaming of something else. something soft. something kind. he wonders what version of yourself you had to kill to become the one sitting across from him now.

on bad days, you don’t speak at all. the tension hangs like wet fabric, clinging to everything. the walls feel closer. the air feels thinner. you text like strangers. argue like enemies. sleep like strangers, too. and yet… you still leave the porch light on when he’s out late. he still puts your laundry on the drying rack so it doesn’t wrinkle. you refill the coffee beans. he folds your sweaters when they’re left on the couch. no one mentions these things. maybe because if you said them out loud, they might count as hope. and hope, in this house, is more terrifying than anger.

sometimes he wonders if you even remember the day they told you. the day they said, “you’ll be marrying gojo satoru.” did you cry? did you laugh? did you try to run? he doesn't know. never asked. maybe he didn’t want to know. maybe he was afraid the answer would make him hate himself more.

he remembers the first time you touched him. it wasn’t romantic. just a hand on his wrist, steadying him when he almost tripped on the temple steps. but it lingered. it stayed with him longer than it should have. maybe because it felt real. because it was the first time in years he didn’t feel like a ghost inside his own body.

the first time you made him laugh was when you shoved a whole rice ball in his mouth mid-argument just to shut him up. he nearly choked. you didn’t apologize. he thinks that might’ve been the moment he fell a little in something with you. not love. not yet. but something dangerously adjacent.

he started doing small things too. placing your phone on the charger when you fell asleep watching dramas. hiding your favorite snack in the cabinet behind the protein powder because he knew you’d never look there. writing your name on his calendar, next to his meetings, like it was just as important.

this isn’t working. he knows that. it’s not love, not the kind that grows with laughter and time. it’s something else. something quiet. something fragile. it’s the way you both keep showing up, even when you have every reason not to. like a game of chicken no one wants to lose.

but for some reason, when the elders ask about the paperwork, he always shrugs and says, “she must’ve lost it again.” and when you’re alone in the same room, you always say the same thing. your voice is flat, practiced—but your hands tremble when you pick up the mug, and your eyes flick to his like they might say something your mouth won’t.

he wonders if you’re lying too.

and if you are, he wonders what it means that he hopes you are.

[h0useslut]

honey, i laugh when it sinks in ⟢

requests | masterlist

pairing : spencer reid x fem!reader

w/c : 3k

warnings : nsfw! explicit sexual content, light d/s dynamics, oral (f receiving), praise kink, mild spanking, orgasm denial-edging?, overstimulation, aftercare, softdom! spencer cause hell yeahhh, both spencer and reader are little shits

summary : reader gets turned on by spencer playing for the bau’s softball team. a few hits and some shameless eye-fucking later… yeah self control is out of the window!

a/n : this is my second attempt to write smut. had @feralforfrank proofread this!

Spencer had been fussing all week about what Derek had suggested to him.

“You’re gonna like this kid, I promise”

It echoed in his head like the set up to a very bad idea. He wasn’t made for that— playing any sport, let alone joining the BAU’s softball team.

He rambled all week about it— making you shut him up with a few kisses. Just enough to take his mind off it— and the ongoing case in Miami.

Now, standing at the edge of the field with the sun warming his face, Spencer’s nerves settled just a little— mostly because you were there.

You nudged him gently, a smile on your lips. He looked so hot today. Light purple shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows— exposing his hands. Your mouth practically frothed at the sight, but you tried to keep it cool. As if you weren’t in a room filled with the country’s best profilers.

“You got this Spence” you whispered, voice low enough for only him to hear.

“Only because you’re here” He smirked, gaze lingering on your lips just a little more than it should’ve.

Still made your stomach do flips.

You were so close to leaning forward— ready to steal a quick kiss, just a taste—until Derek shouted that it was time to play.

“Come on pretty boy, let’s kick some ass”

Spencer let out a breathy laugh, rolling his eyes but clearly grateful for the distraction. He gave your hand a quick squeeze before jogging off, glove tucked under one arm, curls bouncing with each step.

You watched him go, letting yourself stare at him for a moment too long. The way his shirt clung to his body, his back— and how he tried to tug the hem of it while it was still tucked under his pants. It made your heart throb in the best way.

With a soft sigh, you walked away from the field and onto the benches, sitting near the team.

Emily came closer to you, a devilish smile on her lips. “You gonna cheer him on, or keep undressing him with your eyes?”

Oh.

Oh, of course she noticed.

You gasped, swatting her arm playfully.

“Well, can’t I do both?”

“Fair enough” she chuckled, throwing her hands in defence.

The first inning passed in a blur of light heckling, scattered cheers, and way too many inside jokes flying around the dugout. Spencer stood out—not because he was particularly good, but because of how out-of-place-yet-endearing he looked trying to be good.

He swung the bat like it might break in his hands— and the first time the ball zipped past him, he gave Derek a puzzled look.

“You didn’t say it would be that fast” He muttered under his breath, pushing the fallen curls from his face.

“Come on, Spencer” Cheered the team from behind him, almost adding to his stress. But then he remembered— you were in the crowd as well.

With some miracle, and maybe your loud cheering— Spencer hit the ball on his second? third? try. The team erupted into cheers, while Derek ran to hug him tightly. He wore the biggest smile on his face like a dork— and god, you were falling for him all over again.

By the time the game was over, Spencer was red-faced, sweaty and the top buttons of his shirt were undone.

Dear lord.

You ran to him, a bottle of water in hand with a proud smile plastered on your face.

“You didn’t tell me you were secretly an athlete” you teased, handing the water to him.

He shook his head, breathing hard. “I’m not— my legs are going to fall off tomorrow”

“Still” you protested. “You were good, really good out there”

Fixing his posture, he inched closer to you. Smirking, his eyes flickered down your mouth again— with a little more intent.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You were close again. The team was still lingering behind you, voices fading into the background. And maybe you meant to be good—but then his fingers brushed your wrist, warm and seeking, and you knew exactly where this was going the second you got him alone.

The minute you walked inside his apartment— the air shifted. It’s like both of you knew what would happen, even without saying a word.

Spencer was the first to speak, shutting the door behind you with a soft click. He stepped close, his slender fingers brushing a stray hair behind your ear— making you blush like a schoolgirl. Both of you felt the heat radiating between you, a magnetic pull neither of you could resist.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day” He murmured, voice low.

Your breath hitched, “Me too”

“Is that so, sweetheart?” He teased, knowing you’d been needy for him, especially during the game.

You bit your lip, eyes flickering up to meet his. “Maybe”

His smirk deepened as his hand slid down your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He traced soft— almost teasing circles on your skin, making you lose your mind. “You were staring at me the whole time, angel. You think I wouldn’t notice?”

“Well, you were pretty distracting” you admitted, voice dropping down a notch.

Spencer’s eyes darkened with something hungry, but tender. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go anywhere tonight”

He cupped your face, thumb brushing over your cheek, and you melted into the touch. The space between you shrank until there was nowhere left to hide— until you felt his lips against yours.

It was slow— gentle at first. As if he was testing the waters. But as soon as he deepened the kiss, tongue slipping into your mouth— it became sloppy, messy.

Breathless as you were, you pulled back— just enough to look at him. Pupils dilated, dark and deep, reflecting the same way you felt bubbling beneath your skin.

The air between you was definitely thick, electric, and utterly changed.

“You have no idea what you do to me, sweetheart” he whispered, lips pressing open-mouthed kisses on your neck— jawline, anywhere he could reach.

Your lips parted, a small whimper coming out from you as he kissed your sensitive skin. Your fingers found his shirt— tugging it.

“Show me” you breathed.

He paused his movements— only to kiss you with full force now, promising you everything and nothing at once.

Your hands were now tangled in his tousled hair— While he was guiding you backwards, slow steps until your knees hit the couch.

Your kisses weren’t gentle anymore. They were urgent, and consuming, his mouth hot against yours as his hands roamed your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

You barely had the time to gasp before he eased you down, one hand on your hip— pushing you down, while the other came to the side of your head, brushing the sweaty hair that clung to your forehead.

“Thought about this exact moment the entire time I tried to hit the ball” He murmured against your neck, earning a small moan from you.

His heat, the weight of his body— It was too much and not nearly enough at the same time.

“And now?” You asked, voice coming out choked up.

“I want you to say my name again, baby” he smiled against your skin, his hand sliding up your shirt.

His fingers grazed along your ribs as if he was memorising the feel of you.

You arched into his touch, a soft gasp escaping you as your hips instinctively shifted beneath him.

“Spencer” you whispered, breath shaky.

“That’s it” he praised, voice coming out barely above a whisper.

The hand on your hip tightened, grounding you as his other slipped beneath your bra—skin to skin now, and god, he was warm. Gentle, but firm. His thumb brushed over your nipple and you gasped again, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he kissed you fiercely, hungrily.

“This” He broke the kiss, tapping on your clothed chest— “has to go off”

You nodded, granting him permission to remove your shirt and bra. His touch was everywhere— Fingers brushing over your nipples at a slow, agonising pace while he kissed you fiercely.

He pulled back, breathless— only to focus his attention on your breasts. Lips pressing soft kisses that made you gasp and tugging your sensitive flesh till you writhed beneath him.

“You’re unreal” He spoke, voice strained.

You fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, growing more and more impatient— needing to feel his skin on yours. Once you’d pushed it off, your nails dragged lightly down his chest making him hiss.

''Need you'' you whispered, voice trembling.

“I’m right here, angel,” he said, eyes locked on yours, the sincerity in his voice making you throb in many, many places.

He ducked down to take one of your nipples into his mouth again, sucking gently while his hand teased the other—alternating between soft, open-mouthed kisses and just enough pressure to make you gasp.

And still, he took his time - like he wanted to savour every inch of you.

His lips trailed lower, till he found your clothed— and aching cunt. He let out a soft chuckle, seeing how you squirmed underneath him. You needed some friction, some relief. And he was a little shit teasing you.

“So eager” He tsked, his index finger sliding down the waistband of your pants. “You’ve been worked up since the first inning haven’t you, baby?”

You let out a sound— more like a whine mixed with a whimper. Hips arching in his touch, your voice came out strained— but trying to warn him.

“Spence, please”

You could beg all you want, he thought. Teasing you was his favourite new game.

He kissed the inside of your thighs, through the soft fabric of your pants, then nipped gently— enough to make you jolt. “Patience” he teased, fingers dipping inside the waistband, and finally pulling them down.

Slowly. Excruciatingly slow.

He peeled your pants down— gaze locked to the damp spot on your underwear.

“Oh,” he exhaled, soft breath hitting your aching clit. “Look what I do to you”

You were about to reply, something equally snarky and desperate— but he mouthed over your clothed core, hot breath and the barest pressure making you cry out.

“That’s not nearly enough, right baby?” He cooed mockingly, thumb coming along to tease on the edge of your underwear.

“Please” you moaned, hands flying to his curls.

That was all he needed. He rolled your underwear down, pressing a soft kiss to your knee when he spread you open again.

“It’s okay, I got you” he soothed, soft lips coming up to kiss your hot clit. Then finally— finally his tongue flattened against you, in a slow, devastating circle.

It almost made you see stars.

You let out tiny whimpers— ohs and ahhs filling up the room as he licked you.

“Use your words for me, angel girl. Come on” he murmured against your soaked cunt, his voice coming out sweet— like a promise.

“Need you,” you said, voice soft and breathy.

You were panting, back arching as he continued to kiss and lick you with maddening precision. His voice sent chills down your spine.

“Tell me what you need, sweetheart”

You whimpered, barely able to form any coherent sentences. But he didn’t stop— he just slowed down, tongue gentler now.

“Spencer— Oh—“ you moaned, hips jerking.

His hands found your stomach, holding you firmly down the couch.

“No, baby that’s not enough” He warned you, lips moving from your cunt and pressing featherlight kisses to your inner thigh.

You blinked, lips trembling as you struggled to speak. “I need you inside me” You finally spoke, voice thin and wrecked. “Need to feel you”

That stopped him in his tracks.

His eyes snapped up to meet yours, darker than before— and pupils were blown. You watched as his throat bobbed, swallowing hard as if he was trying to keep it together.

“Yeah? he asked, wanting nothing more but to give you what you needed.

“Is that what you want, angel? Me inside you?” He said in a sultry voice— fingers caressing your skin, till they ran up and down your folds— spreading you open just how you liked.

“F-Fuck” You whispered, breath picking up.

“Language” He snapped, one finger pushing inside you with little to no warning.

You cried out, hips bucking as he inserted another finger inside you, stretching you out.

“Spence—“ You gasped, thighs trembling as his fingers curled just right inside you.

''Thought you wanted my cock, angel'' he drawled, a tinge of mockery in his tone. ''Can't even handle my fingers''

You clenched around him at that, which he noticed. He noticed every twitch of your body - every stuttering breath you took even if he was being a condescending asshole.

He could feel you getting closer, moans becoming a little louder as his thumb came on your clit, rubbing circles.

But then,

Then he pulled back. He removed his fingers, noticing how your head immediately shot up from the couch.

You gasped, muttering his name while your eyes widened with disbelief. ''Why did you-''

He just smirked, slow and dangerous as he removed his pants and boxers as well.

“Need to hear you beg properly” He whispered, “Thought you were being a little bratty, hm? Don’t you think, sweetheart?”

You blinked at him— cheeks flushed, lips parted. But the defiance in your gaze was still there.

“You’re evil” You whined, hands darting out to bring him closer to you. Your legs closed instinctively— nails digging softly into his shoulders.

He stopped you— pulling back just to spread your legs again, wide and open for him.

“I’ll give you what you want,” he whispered, pressing the tip of his cock against your entrance, “But I need you to behave, alright my love?”

Your body practically buzzed under his touch—hot, stretched, aching. And your pride didn’t stand a chance.

“I’ll behave” you whispered, breathless.

He raised an eyebrow like he didn’t quite believe you.

Then he pushed in— slow, deliberate. Like he wanted you to feel every inch. He hiked up your leg higher, so he could push inside you. You gasped— hands flying to his back, digging in.

“Oh my god— baby” You moaned, feeling him everywhere. It stung— but it didn’t hurt.

“Fuck” he groaned, pulling out just to sink deeper inside you now. “You’re so tight, sweetheart”

He gave you just a moment to adjust before he started moving, hips rolling into yours with a rhythm that made your whole body arch. You were gasping already, moaning his name like a prayer—until your hips rolled up just a little too eagerly to meet his next thrust.

He stilled his movements.

You blinked at him— confused until his hand came down hard on your ass with a loud smack.

You yelped, body jolting as the sting bloomed warm across your skin.

“Spence—!“

“I said behave, baby,” He said, his hand now rubbing soothing circles on the skin he’d marked— making your eyes sting with tears of frustration.

He chuckled darkly against your shoulder, pressing a kiss there—soft, maddeningly gentle. “That was for lying,” he said simply. He pushed inside you again, this time a little slower— gentler than before. One hand anchored your thigh, while the other came to cradle your cheek, thumb wiping any excess of tears that had threatened to fall out.

“Atta girl” he breathed, pressing his forehead to yours as he fucked you deeper, harder. “You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart”

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes again, and you tried to breathe— it was all too much. Not from the pain, but from feeling so full— so,

His.

You moaned his name, back arching— but not enough for him to punish you again. He wouldn’t do it now.

“You close?”

You nodded frantically, feeling the familiar heat pool inside your belly— making your muscles contract.

“Please—“ You cried out, clenching around him.

“Let go for me, baby, shh”

His thumb trailed down your body till he found your clit again— bringing you to the edge. It took you a little longer than you thought— but your body finally surrendered to his gentle but filthy ministrations.

Spencer rode you through your orgasm, chasing his high as well. When you cried out from the overstimulation, he slowed down— trying to soothe you before he pulled out.

Slumping on the couch beside you, he pressed a kiss on your forehead— silently praising you.

He looked down at you, eyes soft but his lips twitching with that familiar nervous energy.

“You know,” he started, voice low but hesitant, “did you know that the average human heart beats about 100,000 times a day?” He glanced up, waiting for your reaction.

You blinked, trying not to laugh as you caught his slight flush.

“Well, after all this,” he said, “mine’s probably done, like, ten thousand extra beats just now.”

He smiled shyly. “Which technically means, um, sex is good cardio? So I guess I just got my workout in.”

You shut him up with another kiss, making him chuckle against your lips.

“Did so good for me, angel” He whispered, caressing your back. “let me take care of you now”

He pulled you closer, arms wrapping around you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

Eyes fluttering shut, you didn’t notice him moving around the apartment. He wore loose pants, shirtless— cloth in his hand. You swore you were dreaming, until the damp cloth hit your sensitive core, and you flinched from the touch.

“Shh, it’s okay. Just me, just wanna clean you up” He cooed, rubbing your thigh soothingly.

You let out a shaky breath, melting into his careful touch despite the sensitivity. His fingers traced slow circles on your hip as the warm cloth glided over your skin, wiping away the evidence of your shared heat.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice soft like a lullaby.

When he finished, he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, then pulled you even closer—body pressed to body, skin to skin.

“Can I stay like this for a while?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Always,” Spencer promised, fingers threading through your hair as you drifted into a peaceful quiet, wrapped up safe in each other.

[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…"

[mrsimpurity]

cw: mdni, dry humping, teasing, edging, heian era

emperor!gojo and concubine!reader who is practically begging to be executed.

throwing fits, smashing plates, wasting food, getting into fights. it’s a whole miracle one of the other concubines hasn’t buried you five feet under the harem.

you’re feisty, it’s all everyone is talking about.

one day, gojo happens to overhear two concubines talking about the last emotional outburst you had in the middle of the night.

“it’s obvious she wants to leave, why don’t they just throw her out?”

“she’s a nuisance, they should get rid of her.”

he’s intrigued, to say the least. a woman who’s not throwing herself at his feet right after arriving? something must be wrong and he’ll sort it out.

that’s how you find yourself thrashing in his lap, begging to get away.

“let. me. go.” you bite, feet dangling in the air as the emperor sits on his throne, trying his best to pet your head like you’re some rabid mutt.

gojo is having a field day with this.

“come on, sweetheart, i’m not gonna hurt you. just tell me your name.”

he coos, arms restraining you from breaking free of his hold.

“eat shit.” he chuckles at your response. your replies are brave but that’s not what’s amusing him. 

you’re fucking unreal. from the strands of your beautiful hair to the intricate detail on the sleeves of your kimono to your tippy toes. 

but he would never take advantage of you if you weren’t willing to let him in a little deeper. that’s why he’s fighting with all he’s got to at least calm you down.

he manages to stroke your cheek with the back of his hand and you freeze, not expecting the contact.

“i’ve taken a special liking to you, darling. i’d love to get to know you better. what do you say, hm?” 

“you like me?” you start.

gojo doesn’t catch on. not knowing where this is going, he smiles gently and replies,

“mhm.”

“then fucking let me go!” your screams and writhing begin again and all gojo can do is sigh.

his grip on your waist tightens and he starts bouncing his knee, forcing your clothed mound down on his thigh.

you involuntarily moan and curse yourself for it but gojo can see his antics are working. you’re slowly relaxing as he grinds you down on his thigh. you’re dying for more friction and he can sense it. 

“so tell me, sweets, what do you enjoy doing?”

“driving men mad.” 

his breath grazes your ear in a laugh. you won’t let your guard down. 

“look, the best i can offer is cumming on your thigh. and in return you can- fuck,” you’re so close, practically hanging right on the edge of release. he’s relentless, holding your entire body weight as he moves your hips back and forth.

“set me free.” you finish your sentence in a whine.

“in your dreams, darling.” you barely register the bite back before all of his movements suddenly stop. 

“no. nonono, please. please just make me cum.” you start frantically begging, grabbing his biceps as you plead, eyes glossy.

all satoru can do is laugh in your face as he pulls you closer, embracing you in a pitiful hug.

“no, darling, i’m sorry. we’ve got lots of more work to do with you, yeah?”

maybe you should’ve ran before he managed to drag you in his chambers.

[madamechrissy]

Nanny! Nanami headcanons

pairings- Nanny! Nanami x CEO fem! reader

warnings- sexual tension for now, reader is a mama, mentions of masturbation, lil bit forbidden relationship vibes, down bad Nanami, mutual pining, Papamin is here!!

Nanami won my poll for the next story I'll be making!! (maybe a long oneshot idk yett) I haven't written much of him lately, so here are some hcs for noww

Nanny! Nanami who shows up just like Mary Poppins one day, after your cute but terrifying daughter Yuuka has chased off another of her Nannies, leaving you bringing her to your office that day. Little did you know one of your appointments for the day happens to have a degree in childcare, Nanami Kento.

Nanny! Nanami comes in and you shake his hand, big and warm, you can't help but pause at just how handsome he is, when he smiles sweetly at you. 'Sorry, my daughter had to come with me, but don't worry we can still talk business' you say with a smile in return. Nanami looks over at Yuuka now, smiling at her as well, your little girl, who is by all accounts a mischievous little demon for almost anyone but you. You know she hates that you have to work, but as a single mom that's just what you have to do, and running your marketing agency required you to come in the office frequently.

Nanny! Nanami is so handsome, professional, you expect him to need marketing advice, when he sits across from you, brushing off his suit over a broad shoulder, but soon he surprises you, with his soft, husky voice - 'I saw your ad, that you need a Nanny?' You blink a bit in surprise then, sure men were Nannies you supposed but you've never seen one. 'I went to college for just that, actually but I guess I could be called a Manny if you prefer' his lips twitch in humor and you giggle.

Nanny! Nanami is sitting criss cross on the floor coloring with Yuuka soon, so patient and sweet as you go over his resume, his references, he's truly a miracle worker and just what you need, despite the pricy salary request. 'You're so hired, if you can handle her' your daughter giggles a bit, and Nanami's hazel eyes study you from behind green shades, he's in this three piece suit with crayons in his hand, so cute you melt. 'I am always up for a challenge, when should I start?'

Nanny! Nanami is a miracle worker, truly, just one week of him watching your little girl and she's already hugging on his leg, crying when he even says he's leaving for the day. 'Stay for dinner, I'm making steaks' you offer softly, just before Nanami checks his Rolex, he certainly was worth his very expensive salary in every way, shit you'd give him more. 'Not overtime just dinner' you tease, he's always out the door right at 5:30. He eases off his coat as she tugs at his khaki slacks, smiling at the two of you. 'Dinner sounds lovely'

Nanny! Nanami fits in your life far too well, after having dinner and you putting her to bed, he's in your kitchen wiping down the counters and putting food up. Your heart pounds when you realize his sleeves are rolled up, revealing veiny forearms with a dusting of blond hair. His shirt is unbuttoned just a bit, loosened cheetah tie, as he gives you a tired smile that has no right being so attractive. And you realize maybe it's been too long since your husband left you, too long since you've been intimate, as washing dishes next to him makes you burn with desire.

Nanny! Nanami stays over for dinner often soon, he figures he might as well, versus going home alone to his apartment, he enjoys talking to you, watching you with your little girl, who becomes more dear to him every day. The spitting image of you, he finds it hard to believe she was so troublesome, as you tell him so many tales of her before. Soon the two of you are alone, it's been a month of him working for you, and you hand him an envelope as you crack open a bottle of wine, he pauses, across the marble kitchen counter. 'What's this?' He asks softly. Running a hand through your hair, brushing it off your shoulder, he feels his blood rush, eyes darting to your collarbone, imagining planting kisses on it. 'Just a thank you'

Nanny! Nanami sees the bonus you've put in, but for some reason it feels so wrong to take so much money, he loves watching your daughter and loves spending time with you. He clears his throat a bit, tugging at his tie as you put the crystal glass to your red lips, and he has a wild image of smearing your lipstick, which he tries to shove down. 'This is too much-' you cut him off with a wave of your hand. 'You have no clue how much I appreciate you' your emotions hit then, before you can think Nanami is brushing a tear away with one of his long fingers, and he's leaning over you, far, far too close.

Nanny! Nanami can't stop thinking of you after that moment, of how your lips parted just so, of how you felt when he hugged you, cursing himself because its not professional or okay to feel this way, the need to be part of your life without the title. He tries to watch himself, to not come so close, the more he works and is near you, the more he feels like this is family, and he can't. He has no clue why anyone would ever leave you two amazing girls, when he finally meets the ex, who comes to your work one day, and gets in your face, that's when he crosses his personal boundary, stepping right between you and him. 'And who is this!?' Nanami chuckles, towering over the man, as you say - 'he's who helps take care of my daughter, now leave' you're so shaken up when he storms out, Nanami holds you close.

Nanny! Nanami is watching a show with your daughter on the couch that night, when you hear it 'Papamin!' And he pauses, as do you, walking up just a bit and sitting at the arm of the couch 'papamin?' you ask softly, brushing her hair back, and she giggles with a beautiful smile. 'He is Papamin!' after a quiet moment, Nanami carries her to bed, and soon finds you knocked out on the same couch, he smiles with fondness, brushing your hair off your beautiful face. You're still in work work dress, blazer and heels and all, making him sigh, as he soon picks you up in his strong arms. You blink just a bit, yawning as you cling to him, inhaling that sandalwood and musk so intoxicating, while he walks you up those stairs.

Nanny! Nanami eases you down, and your cheeks heat up, body responding to his every movement, quiet rustled of clothing as he eases off your blazer, and his hands linger for just a moment. 'You need some rest, you're overdoing it' you sigh, a hand slipping up his light blue dress shirt, as you tremble in front of him, teeth catching your lower lip. 'Thank you for everything Nanami, gosh I... hope you never leave' it's quiet then, and you curse, shaking your head as you lower it, resting on his chest, hiding your flushed features. 'Oh god ignore that please, I don't expect you to always work here, it's just... she loves you so much and...' Nanami shushes you then, holding you close against his strong body, hand running up the small of your back. 'I love working with you'

Nanny! Nanami inhales your sweet scent, as you look up with dilated eyes, turning away then and lifting your hair off the nape of your neck. 'Could you unzip me, please?' He gulps as he does just that, revealing your back inch by inch, until it falls in a pool around still heeled ankles, showing him your black lace bra, panties and stockings, you turn now, so sexy his breath is caught, he can't even speak. He's not inexperienced by any means but you make him feel like a stuttering high school boy, as you now sit on your bed, reaching to unclasp a heel.

Nanny! Nanami instantly helps you, eyeing your smooth skin, your thighs peeking over garters, when he sees it, slick glistening on your inner thigh, his thumb brushes it, making you gasp, as the slick heat is spread, and goosebumps follow. The two of your eyes lock, your hand grips a tie you'd die to have around your wrists, his lips hovering, tasting of sweet whiskey as his breath burns your lips, when the door knocks. He curses softly, clearing his throat, murmuring 'I'm so sorry...' but you shake your head, quickly throwing on a robe. 'Please don't be!' Your daughter is soon in your bed and Nanami leaves for the night, but now he can't get his employer and her slick cunt off his mind, sucking you off his thumb and moaning in his car that night.

Nanny! Nanami wants you so badly he can't stop it when he strokes his cock in his bed, picturing burying his face between your thighs, making you feel so good your manicured nails would tug at his hair. He can't stop himself from cumming over and over, sure he could call over some woman, but how can he when you're in his life!? When he sees you again the next morning as usual, and you're smiling so pretty, he feels so guilty, he just busted in his hand thinking of his employer several times. Were you just tired, a little buzzed that night? Fuck he just wants to spend all his time with you, he brings Yuuka by your office and you light up, smiling so big at them, melting him even fucking further, as he feels himself falling ever deeper.

Nanny! Nanami is ready to leave for the night, he can still practically taste you, Yuuka has gone to bed early when you surprise him then, pouring a glass of your favorite red, then leaning up, giving him a perfect view of an ass that's just begging for him. He wills his thoughts to subside, to stay composed, when you pull down a decanter, crystal and glimmering, smiling at him. 'You like whiskey, right?' he sighs, nodding and taking the little glass you pour over ice, sipping it and eyeing you over the rim. 'I should just have one, though, since it's... getting late.' You panic, have you done too much, are you being too obvious, does he not want more? Was he just... in the moment? After his glass he takes your hand, kissing the back of it, lips burning an impression into your skin.

Nanny! Nanami murmurs a 'Good night, darling' to you, leaving you speechless at the term, and his footsteps echo along your tile floors, in a home that feels perfect when he's here with the two of you. Before you can stop yourself, you say his name, making him halt his steps, eyeing you with dilated eyes, tired and so sexy, his cheekbones even more enhanced as his jaw locks. You slowly walk up to him, until the two of you are an inch away, you swallow, trying to get the nerve to say it then- 'Nanami, please stay the night, it's really no bother at all, we could... have another drink' you murmur quietly in the foyer, tempting him with your every heatbeat, and he takes a breath. 'I would love to'

<3 idea spawned by @afkmylajah's suggestion

Perm tags- @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoao-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @cutelittlesugarfairy @grignardsreagent

[jeondesu]

ೀ⋆ 📚 THE PERFECT PAIR !

── ✧ ˚. ꒰ 𝓹airing ꒱ ˒˓ nerd!han jisung x popular!f!reader 𝓰enre/𝓽ags. college au, fluff, angst (kinda but not rlly), minor profanity, jisung is the cutiest pie ever oml 𝔀ords. 2.3k

[ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. ] — omg, i just realized i haven’t posted an actual written fic on here in FOREVER that’s crazy, we need to change that. but n e way, this is actually for @sta4, i’m so sorry this took a gazillion years (pls forgive me) and i rlly hope you liked it <3

“Be honest… do you think she noticed?” Jisung looked visibly in distress, his face drained of all color as if he’d just witnessed a paranormal sighting in his own dorm.

“Dude she definitely saw it, you blew it. Big time.” Jeongin states matter-of-factly, as if it were the end all be all.

Jisung slumped backwards, sinking into the mattress, dark brunette strands tumbled haphazardly over the pillow as he stared up at the ceiling. He’d been overthinking and analyzing every little detail for hours since that fleeting encounter you had with him in class this morning. He didn’t want to believe a word his friend was telling him, still latching onto a sliver of hope that you hadn’t took a peek at his laptop screen before he slammed it shut the second you walked up to him.

He grimaced at the thought of you taking note of his Goku wallpaper, everything happened so fast, he wasn’t given much time to react— though he’s almost 99% positive you hadn’t caught sight of it.

You approached him with a confident stride, your head held high, even adding a little wave which he barely registered as being directed towards him. He thought he was hallucinating from being so sleep deprived, staying up all night playing video games might’ve finally took a toll on him— but as he blinks again to snap out of his ‘dream’, you’re still standing right there.

Jisung was more than confused why you of all people would want to talk to him, praying by some miracle you couldn’t detect how much of a nervous wreck he was on the inside, forcing a stiff smile as he tried his best to play it off like he totally wasn’t losing his mind.

The strong scent of your perfume lingered in the air, making it even more of a struggle for him to breathe, let alone speak, but he couldn’t shake off the embarrassment. If you knew how much of a weeb he truly was, he’d probably never show his face around you or on campus ever again.

“Okay, maybe there’s a possibility she may have seen it, but only for a split second! Otherwise, I think I played it cool.” He recants, brushing off his friend’s lack of verbal support, “I was in the middle of an intense game of Tetris and she asked for my notes!”

Jeongin shrugs, “Okay, so..? That doesn’t suddenly make her interested in you.”

“Yeah it does, because she asked me specifically out of everyone else so that’s gotta mean something, right?” He reaffirms, the hopeful tone in his voice laced with sheer desperation.

Jeongin shifts slightly, leaning further into the comfort of his gaming chair, not even bothering to pause his game of League of Legends to entertain his friend’s delusions. He didn’t mean to crush Jisung’s ego with his cynicism but he had to be realistic.

“You sound like those giddy high school girls who just interacted with their crush for the first time.”

Well, he wasn’t lying, he surely did feel like one. Ever since you spoke to him earlier all he could think about was you— nothing else occupied his mind. He couldn’t concentrate on a single thing, couldn’t retain any of the information he read as he studied, or even play League which was his favorite game of all time. He was deeply, utterly infatuated and his thoughts were scattered all over the place.

Jisung sinks his teeth into his lower lip, swallowing an unnecessarily thick lump that’s been sitting in the back of his throat, “Look, all I’m saying is I don’t think I totally blew it. She even winked back at me when she left! She’s into me, I can feel it.”

Jeongin chuckles at his friend’s sudden newfound confidence but still remains unconvinced.

“We’ll see about that tomorrow when she ignores you and forgets that you even existed.”

+

The next day in class, Jisung is doing everything he can to try and maintain a nonchalant demeanor but it wasn’t working— at all. He’d completely thrown his ‘cool’ act out the window the minute he accidentally locked eyes with you, not even noticing how he’s been anxiously bouncing his leg underneath the desk.

He could’ve sworn you were an otherworldly being, he didn’t even feel adequate enough to be sitting in the same room as you.

You had sat a couple rows ahead of him, he preferred to always sit in the back along with Jeongin. He couldn’t help but stare, you were simply nothing short of perfect— lost in a trance as he watched you absentmindedly twirl the pencil you had borrowed from him along with his notes from the day before.

You had jotted down a few things in your spiral notebook, but it seemed as though you weren’t paying much attention to the lecture, copying most of your friend’s notes who sat beside you, every so often you’d be giggling at something she whispered to you— having been shushed by the professor more than once already.

Class went on as usual— it dragged on slower than it normally did, but maybe that was because Jisung kept zoning in and out. He didn’t take very many notes since he already knew most of the material like the back of his hand, but he still pretended to anyway, scribbling nonsense in the margins just to keep his hands busy, not even realizing that he’s wrote your name several times with hearts surrounding it, flipping the page immediately before Jeongin could notice what he’d been mindlessly up to.

Once class was officially over, everyone scrambled out of their seats to rush out of there as quickly as possible. Jeongin had one more class left that took place in ten minutes, bidding his goodbyes before he dashed out the classroom. Jisung slung his bag over his shoulder, getting ready to leave— until you appeared from seemingly out of nowhere, the sweet scent of your perfume infiltrating his senses once again.

Holding your notebooks flat against your chest, your delicate, freshly manicured hand tapped his arm lightly— just enough to get his attention. As if you didn’t already have it given to you on a silver platter.

He froze in place, still recovering from the shock of the events that unfolded from yesterday.

“Hey Jisung, I was wondering if-”

“Yes.” He blurts without hesitation before you could even finish your sentence, instantly regretting everything— oh how he wants to bash his head against the wall repeatedly at this very moment..

You could see the desperation seeping through his pores, but you don’t point it out. It was honestly kind of cute to you and you found it endearing how timid he’d act around you, a stark contrast from most of the frat boys you’d often interact with.

He attempts to save himself by quickly rephrasing his words, only to come off as more socially inept than he already is. “S-sorry.. it’s been a long day for me. Uh, what did you need..?”

You giggled softly, “I was wondering if you could help me with statistics? Unfortunately I’m not doing very well and can’t afford to flunk this semester, so I was hoping you could tutor me?” Your eyes beamed at him as if they held a million galaxies in them.

“Y-yeah, sure. I can help!” He awkwardly responds, adjusting his thick framed glasses by pushing them up with his index and middle finger.

A smile spreads across your face upon hearing that, “oh, awesome!” You weren’t expecting him to readily agree on the spot, but it worked out in your favor perfectly. “So, what days are you free?”

24/7. Every hour. Every minute. Every second. He would simply rearrange his whole life for you.

“Usually I’m free on Tuesdays or Thursdays, sometimes Wednesdays but it depends,” he answers, trying to sound as if he’s been asked this a million times before. “But.. if none of those days don’t work for you, I can work something else out.”

That was a total lie. There was nothing he needed to work out.

“Oh and weekends are kinda iffy for me,” he added.

Yet another lie. He was quite literally always free.

“Tuesdays and Thursdays works out perfectly for me, actually!” You take up his offer right away, “how does tomorrow after school at my place sound?”

You spoke so casually, completely unfazed, as if you weren’t actively flipping his entire world upside down. He simply nodded. Somehow managing not to freak out instead of dropping to his knees in front of you like some lovesick puppy.

“Cool! Wanna exchange numbers?” You calmly suggest while pulling out your phone from the back pocket of your jeans.

Jisung nervously gulped, his throat going dry yet again as he slowly feels himself about to have a mental breakdown.

You wanted his phone number?

Now he’ll really get the last laugh when he rubs it in Jeongin’s face that he’s got one of the prettiest and most popular girls at school’s number. You switch phones and he adds his contact information into yours to which you do the same for him.

Once you gave it back, his heart nearly leaps out of his chest when he sees the contact name you set in his phone: ‘y/n <3’

+

“C’mon y/n, we only have four more problems left.” Jisung is doing all he can to try and motivate you, pointing his finger at the next problem he urged you to solve but you groaned in response.

You invited him over to your dorm while your other roommate would be gone for a couple of hours, opting to study in your room rather than the common area. Your room was on the smaller scale, but still had a warm and cozy atmosphere to it. Movie posters and fairy lights lined the walls of your side, along with dozens of little random trinkets you’ve collected over the years as decoration, and succulent plants sat on the window sill. The vanilla candle you burned added a nice touch, it was calming, tranquil— exactly how Jisung imagined it to be.

“I can’t do this anymore..” you draw out a heavy sigh, looking at the equation as it were in a third language. Math has always been your Achilles heel, it was your least favorite subject and you barely passed by the skin of your teeth each time.

“My brain’s going to explode if I continue this for another minute,” you couldn’t even force yourself to power through, you were beyond over it. Yes, you were being a little overdramatic, but you got the point across— you needed a well deserved break.

His hand accidentally brushed up against yours to grab a colored pencil, “okay, if you really need a break then let’s take one and I’m sorry if I’m overwhelming you in any way. I’ll finish the problem for you and we can stop for a while.” He writes the rest of the equation down on the worksheet and turns to you to hand the colored pencil back, hoping that you don’t notice his flushed exterior.

You lean your arm against the desk, resting the side of your face inside your palm, “can’t believe this is my life now.. studying for my stupid stats exams instead of having fun with my friends.”

Jisung couldn’t help but take some pride in himself for that, sure you may be just using him as a personal tutor but at least he’s getting to spend one on one time with you.

“So you chose studying with me over hanging out with your friends?”

He still couldn’t believe he was even here, he almost had a heart attack when you texted him first that same day you asked to exchange numbers. He would spend minutes contemplating over every little word, every punctuation, and if he wasn’t sure how to respond, he’d simply send you some weird meme that he found while scrolling on Reddit. His phone used to be drier than a desert, but now he’s checking it every 5 seconds in case he gets a new message from you.

“Yeah, I mean I could always see them another time but I refuse to retake this class again over the summer,” you shrugged, “plus you seem pretty cool, I like hanging out with you.”

Was he hearing things correctly? Did one of the most popular girls on campus just say that she likes hanging out with him? He truly felt like he was dreaming— yeah, he had to be dreaming.

“I didn’t think you hung out with guys like me..”

Your brows furrowed, glancing over at him as if he’d just said the most absurd news you’ve ever heard. “And what makes you think that?”

“Uh- I dunno.” He stammered, his eyes darting across the room, looking everywhere but at you.

Curse him for being so damn awkward… and curse you for being the prettiest girl he’s ever laid eyes on.

You couldn’t help but giggle, “I actually think you’re really cute,” you confess, choosing a less subtle approach about expressing your feelings, “you’re nice and super smart too, which most guys aren’t.”

The two of you stayed in silence for what seemed like an eternity before he grew the ability to choke up a response, his ears burning the deepest shade of crimson, “Well.. thank you.”

“I mean it.” You solemnly replied, “Also, I think your Goku wallpaper is really cool.”

So you did notice it after all. But you didn’t care, you took interest in him because he was authentically himself, you liked him exactly for who he is— he’s never pretended to be something that he’s not.

Before you even gave him the opportunity to speak, you decide to lay it all out on the table. Harboring no regrets. “I like you a lot, Jisung.”

He paused, still trying to process everything that’s been thrown at him in a matter of seconds, but he could no longer deny the way he felt. The corners of his lips curled upward, his gummy smile making an eventual appearance, knowing exactly where this leads after he says those final words.

“I really like you too, y/n.”

it’s literally 3 am and i am SO SLEEPY, but i had to finish this for you guys <33 pls lmk if you liked this, likes/comments/reblogs are much appreciated tysm !! ( *ﾉ ▽ﾉ) ✧･ﾟ

[randomshyperson]

One Of Your Girls - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

summary: A study session turns into a make out session. Or the one where the most beautiful girl on campus is your situationship and you would never refuse to distract her, even during exam weeks.

words: 3.820k | warnings: (+18), college au, fuck buddies, popular!wanda x loser!reader, mostly smut but there’s actually some plot here, bottom!wanda (we need way more of this sorry), oral, fingering, some dirty talk, reader is briefly described to be shy and introverted because of the loser archetype, w and r are actually super comfortable with each other don’t be fooled, text messages are in bold cause i never tried that before.

A/N-> I have written more than 100 works for wanda, but I don’t remember ever writing casual sex before. To be a demisexual is really something, huh? Anyways, this was actually based on “One of Your Girls” from Troye Sivan, but around the middle I just started doing my own thing honestly. Good reading!

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Song-Based Collection

-&-

To inspire students to have sharper minds, as she likes to say, Miss Harkness is known for having the hardest tests on the entire campus. This means that you needed to study seriously for next week's exam, without quick readings or breaks to watch the television or talk about anything other than Applied Sociology with your friends.

And definitely, no 'study' sessions with Wanda Maximoff.

You shouldn't even think about Wanda, and her emerald eyes and bold hands. You need to think about Émile Durkheim or Max Weber, and any other sociologist from past centuries, with their difficult theories from which long and complicated questions will be in your exam.

But Wanda and the casual thing you two have is like clockwork. You had barely made up your mind about keeping your distance, and prepared a proper study session in your dorm - empty that afternoon due to a divine miracle that occupied Natasha and her girlfriend Maria all day - for your cell phone to vibrate with the notification from the person you had decided to ignore.

Stealing a glance at the contact name, you grunted quietly and turned your attention back to the book that had just finished reading the first page.

Focus.

Another vibration makes you roll your eyes.

Wanda didn't do anything wrong, maybe you could just say you’re busy.

"I am bored."

Her text makes you laugh through your nose. Typing quickly, you don't expect a return to your "And I’m busy. Talk to u later."

Your cell phone vibrates again, but you stand firm. Sociology will not study itself. There's a shift of pages, and you taste some of the mint tea from the mug on the table before your cell phone rings again.

Maybe it's someone else. It may be important.

You can’t even fool yourself.

The book is placed on your lap, and you unlock the screen for a photo that brings a warm color to your ears and spreads around your body as quickly as this whole thing began.

"What if I was in public?." You type with a certain harshness, which doesn't match the way your heart missed a beat. Or how you've completely forgotten about the book now, and all you can do is bite back a sigh at the image of the prettiest nipples in this galaxy.

Wanda responds in the same second, and you want to ignore the way your stomach twists at the thought of her feeling eager for a response from you.

"Kinky."

You laugh, rolling your eyes. "You're the worst" That's what you type. You end up sighing when looking at the pile of books around. Wanda only needed one stupid photo to completely take your focus away.

She types before you can tell her off for it. "Are you in your dorm? Wanna see you."

You bite your lip. She is so infuriating.

"I have to study."

You can almost hear her giggling on the other end. "Don't you always?"

You think about cursing at her teasing, but you don't want to cross any lines. It's true that this relationship is a constant push and pull, but Wanda isn't clingy for no reason. You're about to ask if something happened when she adds "Are you really gonna force me to send another photo..."

You swallow hard. "I'm not forcing you to do anything. I was innocently studying until now.”

It takes her a moment, but finally, there's another photo. With your fingers shaking, you forget to breathe at the image of her thighs, a red garter belt in contrast to the pale skin, barely covered by her mini-skirt. It was such a simple image yet so provocative, Wanda truly had talent.

"Fuck me." You sigh quietly, unable to type anything back for a moment.

And so she does it first. "Did I melt your brain?"

“Please come here.” You begged, only imagining her smirk on the other line.

Wanda typed back a second later; “I thought you were studying. I wouldn't want to distract you.”

You huckle incredulously at her cynicism, and almost type back a curse but end up deciding to get up instead, hurrying to make the room less messy for your guest.

Wanda takes a while to show up at your room - Unlike you, she lives on the other side of campus, in an apartment shared with her brother. The outfit she's wearing is definitely more impressive in person, and you have to control yourself not to feel jealous at the realization that a good part of the university has just seen her parading around looking so stunning. This was definitely Yelena's doing, the one responsible for trying out everything she learned in her course on her friends and successfully dressing the whole group like supermodels.

Sometimes you wish you were more sociable, at least to be friends with Yelena and get new clothes.

Not that you have any idea of ​​this, but Wanda did a great job of hiding the way her stomach did two flips when she saw how comfy you looked, the dark green sweatshirt covering your shorts making her immediately think about exploring underneath.

"What's up, loser?"

Wanda had this problem. High defense barriers, almost all the time, but especially when she was feeling things that were out of her control. Like the way her heart raced in your presence, or how she was starting to run out of decent excuses to meet you without admitting the only reason was simply because she wanted to spend some time together.

When you first talked, freshman year, she was the most intimidating person on campus (she still is), but with a little insistence (or friends playing cupid) you had managed to see sides of her that no one else had seen. And vice versa.

It was a pretty interesting dynamic, the most popular girl on campus and a big nerd with social anxiety were somehow dating. Wanda dragged you to parties whenever possible, a possessive hand on yours and a threatening look at any idiot who thought of giving you a hard time. And often you end up in some drunken Instagram live or records of friends making out in the background.

When you weren’t doing the things she liked, Wanda would just show up. After your classes, in the study hall, during your break from your internship, and in your dorm. She didn’t mind showing you off, but there was something so soft about spending time alone. When her defenses were down, the mean girl mask would fall and she would laugh at your stupid jokes, or dress up in your clothes to make pancakes in the middle of the night.

It wasn’t an official relationship, but it was something really closer to one. Something that gave her free rein to come and go as she pleased from your life, and mess everything around as she went.

You made room for her to enter, and she gave a long kiss to your cheek before leaving her shoes at the entrance. You were blushing when you closed the door.

The dorm you shared with Natasha had little more than the space needed for two beds and two desks, but somehow you and her managed to squeeze in enough decorations on the walls and even some of her ballet and fighting awards. Your side was covered in band and movie posters and science holiday medals. A barely used keyboard sat dusty in the corner, and you had made a mental note to show Wanda how to play Over the Rainbow sometime. She tossed her backpack on the corner of your desk, and you hurried to try to clear up some of the clutter on the wood, blushing even more when she chuckled. 

“Come here.” She asked softly, and you swallowed hard as you stumbled closer to her again, guided by her hands holding your wrists. Wanda actually wanted your arms around her, and that’s where she put them. So her hands went up to your shoulders. “You always get so shy when we’re alone.” 

“I am shy.” 

She shakes her head slightly.  “That’s not true,” she says, leaning in close to brush her lips against yours. You gasp slightly, and Wanda pulls away, teasing. "You're an introvert, but no one shy says the things you say when you're turned on, darling"

Yochuckle, shaking your head with pink cheeks. "Shut up." 

She bites back a smile, and leans in, but the kiss is too short, it's so unfair. You try to chase her mouth, but Wanda pulls away to hug you. And that surprises you as much as her breathing deeply into your neck. 

You don't remember hugging her before. Not really. There's plenty of sex of course, and making out and pillow talk and late-night snacks. But Wanda isn't the type to cuddle, or hug. It gives what you two have an intimacy that you understand she doesn't want to have, or didn’t, past tense. 

Your hand caresses your back, and you're not quite sure if you should say anything but finally you do; "Is everything okay?"

It's like throwing a bucket of cold, reality-filled water over her. She breaks the hug, forcing a laugh that doesn't convince you at all.

"Of course!" She says, pulling you close at once and giving you a kiss that's much more determined than before. That almost makes you forget where you were, almost. "Let's take these off." She pulls the folds of your sweater up, but even though you let her, you risk:

"Wanda, are you sure-"

She cuts you off again, this time kissing you with tongue. It's definitely hotter, and it elicits a breathless moan from you. Her hand holds your face, controlling the kiss until you whimper against her mouth. Wanda lets you breathe as she pushes you by the shoulders to the bed, and you fall sitting, facing her.

"I said take your clothes off." She repeats, but it's her who puts on a little show. She pulls off her blouse at once, and the exposure of her breasts covered only by a red lace bra leaves you mesmerized. Wanda giggles at your reaction. “Every damn time.” She teases, her hands moving to undo it. But you move suddenly, grabbing her hips and pulling her onto your lap in urgency. Wanda gasps in surprise at the heated kiss, losing herself in the task of removing her bra as you start to suck on her tongue. With one hand on your shoulder for support, the other ruffles your hair before she feels her bra loosen on her body, not having even noticed your hands working on the clasp until now. She bites her bottom lip as she feels the item being pulled away from her body. 

“You’re getting better at this.” She teases again. You look at her with lust-bright eyes but also with a frown.

“Better? When have I ever been bad at this? Certainly not with you, because you came three times on your first time together.” 

Wanda raises an eyebrow at you, her hips grinding slowly against your lap. “Like I said, not shy at all.” You roll your eyes, gripping her hips a little more firmly to guide her movements. It's Wanda who chases your mouth again, returning with equal fervor every kiss you give her.

Your hands let go of her hips to slide down her thighs, until finally touching the garter belt. You break the kiss with an affected groan, and Wanda takes the opportunity to catch her breath a little. If the image of her swollen lips and dilated pupils wasn't enough to drive you crazy, looking down did. Her skirt was wrinkled up, and the red garter belt was truly a sight. A damp spot was now visible on your pants from all her grinding, and you would have time to feel proud of making her so aroused with just kisses later.

As you pulled the garters and made them slap gently against Wanda's skin, you smiled when she shivered, a breathy moan escaping her mouth. It was such a beautiful thing, turning all her bad girl attitude into a pathetic mess of whimpering.

But suddenly you remembered that she had walked across half the campus wearing this, so your clenched jaw had another reason.

"Did you get dressed up for me?"

Wanda gave a short laugh, not really understanding what you were saying. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

You glared at her, your hands giving another warning tug, and Wanda wanted to hate the way her body twitched, but she couldn't help it.

"If not me, who?"

She blinked in confusion, deep in her own lust. 

Why were you still talking when she was literally dripping on your lap?

"What are you-" She fell silent when you grabbed her throat, your grip making her thrust her hips in desperation for friction, her mouth opening in a needy moan. Her own reaction surprised her, and Wanda would have tried to work things out if you hadn't taken away her ability to respond when you kissed her again, dirty and hard until she started whimpering on your tongue again. When you pulled apart again, your fingers invaded her mouth and Wanda's eyes widened, realizing that this might be the first time she'd come without even being properly touched.

You seemed to have noticed the same thing, a chuckle escaping you as she began sucking on your fingers with the same fervor she was trying to grind into your lap.

"Tsk, look at you, Wanda." You began, your hand moving from her throat down to her garter belt, to pull it off again. "You really want me to believe anyone else can turn you into this needy mess?" Flushed with arousal, Wanda still manages to frown in confusion. Anyone else. What the hell are you talking about? There’s no one else.

But suddenly, you remove your fingers from her mouth, and when she tries to ask, it's too late. Your soaked fingers have moved down and they fill her without warning, sinking inside her and eliciting a throaty moan that makes her head fall forward, forehead to yours, and nails digging into your shoulders. You laugh hoarsely. "Fuck, you're so wet, Wands."

The dirty sound of your fingers moving inside her echoes in the room along with her breathless moans, but you don't prolong things for too long. There’s an urgency and roughness to your movements that makes Wanda roll her eyes back and bounce on your fingers in animalistic desperation.

“Oh, baby, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna—” It’s always such a beautiful sight. She arches on top of you, spasming as her climax hits her and spreads hot waves of pleasure. Your hand is soaked, but you pull your fingers away to lick them one by one as Wanda tries to get back into orbit.

When she finally does, it's rewarding. It's your turn to have your throat grabbed, and Wanda presses forward until you're lying on the bed, at her mercy, even as a smile plays on your lips.

It's time for her to shake that smugness off your face.

"You're overdressed." It comes in a warning tone, and her hands go down to remove your clothes, one by one. You help her, between one kiss and another, a touch and a squeeze, until finally, Wanda ends up on your lap again, this time, with no fabric between you other than the beautiful lingerie she picked out for you.

Oh, of course she lets you know.

"I don't want you to get any more cocky than you already are." She began between the countless breathless kisses you were exchanging, minutes on end in this hot make-out session. "But all I could think about when I bought it was how you were going to look at me." She takes advantage of your gasp in surprise to bite your lip and pull, making you tremble. With a smug little smile, Wanda looks at you with darkened eyes. "And how were you going to take it off."

Your hands move of their own accord - There's a hard tug to pull her against you, and you end up rolling around on the bed, until Wanda ends up underneath, writhing at your touch. Your fingers slipped under the belt again, but now you take your time to remove the item, slowly until Wanda couldn't hold her breath any longer.

Stealing a glance at her dripping pussy that she displayed so proudly on her parted legs, you clicked your tongue again before finding your space in her middle, your hands fitting behind her thighs.

"You spoil me, you know?" You whisper, feeling her fit her ankles into your back, an impatient whimper escaping her. You were so close to where she wanted, needed, but still not giving her what she was begging for. "I don't know what I did to deserve such a sweet gift."

Wanda tries to play along, she really does. But you give her a tentative lick, and another, and all that escapes her are shaky moans, as one hand grips your hair, the other seeks support in the sheets. Something she can pull at will without hurting.

She feels hot in all the right places, and she wants to police herself for how addicted she is becoming to the feeling of having you like this, but it's impossible to think about that right now. With you eating her so well and making her forget all her problems.

You hum suddenly, satisfied at the taste, and at the vibration, Wanda loses it. There's a loud whimper escaping her throat as she arches against you, begging for more, but you hold her in place, your own hips grinding against the bed as Wanda starts to sound desperate for your tongue to go deeper.

When you risk teasing her again, shallow tongue strokes that leave her dizzy and shaking, Wanda loses her patience. She curses under her breath, and grabs your hair with determination, managing a satisfied grunt from you before she forces your face against her pussy. Not caring if she’s hurting you or suffocating you, Wanda chases her high with near desperation. She grinds her hips against your face, and locks her legs behind your back, using you until she comes.

She sounds so hot when it finally happens. Your name drips from her tongue as she drips into your mouth. It’s so strong that her body instantly goes weak, her legs shaking around you. You chuckle against her thigh, taking great satisfaction in leaving her like this.

Still catching her breath, she calls out. “Come here, asshole.”

You think she wanted a kiss, maybe another orgasm. But Wanda just adjusts you to her side, so she can rest against you. This is new too, spooning. It's the kind of thing casual encounters shouldn't do.

Of course she notices how tense you've become, and it only takes the moment for her to stop shaking for Wanda to look up, her chin resting on your chest.

"You don't have to overthink everything."

A nervous laugh escapes you. "I wasn’t."

Wanda makes a small grimace of unconvincedness. "I know you were. It's what you do. It's one of the things that makes you, you." She says, and it takes you a little by surprise. She sighs then, and looks away, resting her face against your chest again. You almost think she's not going to say anything else when she continues. "It's good that you think of all the possibilities. That way I'll never be able to disappoint you, you'll always see it coming."

You frown, absorbing her words in silence for a moment. Wanda begins to draw patterns on your stomach that look like her initials, until you sigh.

"I know we haven't named it what’s between us, but whatever it is, you can always tell me what's bothering you." You let her know quietly, your fingers playing through the strands of her hair. "And we can just talk, you know? It doesn't always have to end in sex. You don't have to get a new lingerie as an excuse to see me. No matter how hot you look on it."

She pinches you for the joke, but she’s smiling when she looks back at you.

“You’re not good at the whole casual sex thing, are you?” She teases, but she’s genuinely so happy with your previous words that she just can’t hide it.

You smile, watching her hover closer and closer. “You think? Because I think I’m doing pretty well at this, miss-Oh, baby, I’m gonna come,”

You do an imitation that makes Wanda's eyes widen and she blushes deeply while she huffs in embarrassment. You burst out laughing when she tries to cover your mouth and stop the teasing, and it ends up turning into a small fight of hands and tickles until Wanda ends up underneath again, now with her hands pinned on either side of her head.

There is an exchange of glances between the two of you, and you are smiling just like her.

You know that today, Wanda will not tell you what bothered her, what brought her here. She is right, however, you’re an overthinker and already have a hundred possibilities for what could have brought her there, and considering that you know from her friends how much she has been fighting with her father in the last few weeks, it is not hard to assume it is related to that.

But Wanda returns the intensity of your gaze, and you know that something between you has changed. She will tell you when she is ready.

Your grip on one of her hands loosens, and Wanda uses the opportunity to touch your cheek.

"What are you thinking about?"

You sigh, and she can tell. Her heart misses a beat, and she considers if she’s ready for a confession. If it would scare her or make her so happy, she would freeze. Maybe both. 

But you grimace a little, and smirk, and Wanda feels silly for even considering.

"I'm definitely going to fail Miss Harkness's class this semester."

Wanda frowns and then bursts out laughing, confused and incredulous.

"What?" She asks between laughs. “Why would you be thinking about this now? With a naked girl in your bed, you nerd!”

You giggle at her words, your free hand fitting on her waist as you wait for her to stop chuckling. "I don't know why you're laughing, this is your fault. You ruined all my study sessions with your... distracting presence."

She rolls her eyes in a playful manner. “"Well, I could always just leave-"

You grip her waist tighter, holding her in place. "Nah, who cares about classes anyway? Come here."

Wanda will definitely help you study, she makes a mental promise. But she will kiss you first just a little longer.