#Thank you all for being part of this journey

[em1i2a3]

I Want You (Fever)

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Avengers!Fem!Reader

Summary: Grocery shopping turns into one of the most nerve wrecking nights that Bob has had in a long time (This is a continuation of “Plainclothes Man”)

Warnings: No Warnings only like…Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts because Bob? lol, this is just pure fluff with a hint of jealousy mixed in

Author's Note: Ask and you shall receive! I had this in my drafts this weekend and needed to do a little bit of fine tuning before I posted (I ended up throwing out the original idea and reworked it!). Hope y’all enjoy :) (ALSO WHAT A HIGH QUALITY GIF GOOD LORD)

Word Count: 4,465

Bob couldn’t take his eyes off you.

He’d been trying for the last twenty minutes, gripping the cart like it might keep him tethered to reality, but every aisle felt like a trap laid by fate itself. Every glance at you was a temptation, and every time he failed to resist it, it got worse.

It wasn’t just the sweatpants anymore–though God help him, those were doing their own slow damage. It was the way you moved in them. The lazy sway of fabric, the way the drawstrings danced against your thighs when you walked, the casual tug you gave them to keep the waistband in place. Like you’d forgotten they weren’t yours, even though that was far from the case.

But more than that, it was you in general. It was the quiet laugh you gave when he made a bad joke in the cereal aisle. The way you picked up the most ridiculous snack and turned to him with a grin, asking, “Okay, but what kind of monster thought making sour patch flavoured Oreos was a good idea?” just to keep him talking. The way you read your grocery list out loud like you needed him to hear it–like he was part of the journey. Like you wanted him woven into the moment.

You had no idea what you were doing to him, and that might’ve been the part that killed him the most, because you weren’t trying. You weren’t teasing him, you were just being yourself–open, warm, familiar in the kind of way that made his chest ache and his stomach twist into knots. You could’ve led him off the side of a mountain for all he cared and once he hit the ground he would’ve said “Thank you, now help me up so I can do it again.” You had so much power even though you weren’t aware of it.

”There’s your chips!” You said suddenly, and just like that, Bob’s brain and eyes were back to focusing directly on you.

You were a few steps ahead of him, half-turned toward the shelf with your hand already reaching up. There was such mundaneness to it, the way your fingers flexed slightly as you overextended your arm like you had done this a hundred times–which technically you had, though Bob just wasn’t around to see it. The oversized shirt lifted enough with the extension and his eyes–against his better judgement–flicked down.

And then he saw it, not just your skin, not just the soft slope of your waist. He saw the scar. He could see the faint, silvered edge of it–just a little shimmer near your lower back, peeking out where your shirt had roadie up and the waistband of his sweatpants dipped with movement. It wasn’t much, but it was just enough to remind him of it.

You’d told him about it once offhandedly, like it didn’t mean much to you anymore–but your voice had caught halfway through the story. A mission gone sideways. A blade you didn’t see coming. You had offered to show it to him, but he said no in the most polite and sheepish way he could manage.

Not because he didn’t want to see it, but because he didn’t trust himself not to reach for you. Not in a way that would’ve crossed a line–but in a way that would’ve revealed too much. That he cared too much. That seeing something that had hurt you, marked you, and almost taken you might undo him completely.

He remembered the way your lips had twitched–half-amused and touched–when he mumbled something like “I believe you. You don’t have to prove anything to me…” And you let it go.

But now, standing behind you in the aisle lit by flickering fluorescents, with your shirt riding up and the edge of the scar showing and glistening like a silver thread stitched into your soft skin, he felt like his soul was going to leave his body.

Because it wasn’t just a scar. It was proof that you trusted him enough to offer to show him it. Proof that he knew you–in ways not everyone did. And yet…Not in the way he wanted to.

And he wondered what it would feel like to press his palm there. Not to possess, nor to claim, but just to be close to you.

When your arm finally dropped, and the shirt settled back, you put the chips into the cart as if nothing happened.

”Extra crunchy plain kettle chips…I never thought these would be so popular.” You said jokingly. He opened his mouth–but he didn’t even know what he was going to say back. Maybe it was going to be something stupid, or maybe he was just going to confess right then and there, something along the lines of “You have absolutely no idea how much I want to touch you, not just because of how perfect you look to me, but because of everything that’s made you who you are.”

But the words never even formed in his throat.

”Y/N?” Your name rang out behind you, clear and surprised and full of recognition. It was a gravelly and deep voice, a man's voice. Bob could feel his stomach fall through him.

You turned first, and your smile lit up like a struck match.

”Oh my god! Connor?” The excitement in your voice almost killed him, and immediately he could feel himself grow hot with the idea of what he was about to witness.

He watched as the man appeared from the far end of the aisle–tall, sharp-edged with a little scar over his eye, clean-shaven and still somehow scruffy in that confident, ex-special ops kind of way.

Connor was already walking toward you with the familiarity of someone who used to share early morning missions and late-night runs with you. His voice was warm, loud, and confident, he was unmistakably sure of himself.

”I thought that was you!” Connor grinned, coming to a stop just in front of you, “I almost didn’t recognize you without the tactical vest and blood on your face.” You gave him a short laugh and glanced down at yourself.

”I clean up well enough, right?” You motioned to the clothes that you were wearing.

”More than well enough,” Connor replied, tone light but lingering, his eyes sweeping over you quickly before adding, “I always said you were the best-looking one in the unit.” You rolled your eyes, but the smile you gave him was real–warmed by shared history, by something friendly and effortless. Bob felt himself wanting to interject, but all he could do was stand there, and watch, like he was just part of the scenery now.

”You only said that because you didn’t want me breaking your nose during drills.” Connor smirked.

”Hey, you were always close to doing it though, you always had that elbow twitch. I remember.” And you laughed again–open, easy, head tilted back just enough that Bob saw the line of your throat, saw the way you leaned in just a little when you nudged Connor’s arm.

You weren’t really flirting, it wasn’t anything heavy and meaningful, it was like two friends catching up on lost time. But Bob felt it like a shard of glass under his ribs. He didn’t know what hurt more though–the way you smiled at Connor, or the way that Connor had so many experiences with you, and so many stories. Bob only had a few months, a few soft mornings, and one mission where he was the person they were up against. It was hard to imagine that you and him could ever be that close, and all he could feel was his heart sinking lower and lower.

Connor slung his hands into his pockets, “So, what’ve you been up to? I figured you were halfway across the world still setting fire to buildings and pissing off diplomates.” You shook your head, brushing your knuckles across your forehead.

”Took a break from international chaos. I’m with The New Avengers now. It’s a stateside thing, mostly.” Connor raised a brow.

”The New Avengers, huh? Never figured you to be the reformation type.” He commented, continuing to look at you.

”Yeah well…” You shrugged, “Figured I’d try being a little less feral, for now at least.” He laughed at that, then glanced over your shoulder for the first time since the conversation started–like he just remembered you weren’t alone.

”And who’s this?” He motioned with his chin, “Your backup?” You turned slightly to Bob, tilting your head with a small smile, waving him over like you were finally letting him in on a secret. The look in your eyes was unreadable as he approached slowly, and it made him nervous.

“This is Bob. Bob Reynolds.” You said. There were no titles, no explanations, no qualifiers, just his name–spoken like it was enough. Bob offered his hand to Connor automatically, even though his mind was already spiraling from the lack of any defining words.

The handshake was firm, yet casual.

“Bob Reynolds,” Connor repeated with a smirk, giving him a once-over, before glancing over at you, “Didn’t peg you to be someone who dates within the team.” Bob froze. The words landed like a live wire straight to his chest. His vision didn’t blur–but it tunneled. Everything around him narrowed, and went strangely quiet, like the store had vacuumed the sound right out of the air.

And then–you smiled. Not with embarrassment, or hesitation, but with this soft, relaxed kind of warmth–like the mixup didn’t bother you at all. You didn’t correct him either. You didn’t say no, that’s not what we are. You didn’t say we’re just teammates. You said nothing at all, and neither did Bob.

Because in that moment, something inside him had short-circuited, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Something about your silence felt good to him. Terrifying, yes. But…Good. Dangerous, and hopeful as well. Like maybe–just maybe– you liked the idea that people thought he was yours.

Connor chuckled, and nudged your shoulder, “Didn’t think you’d go for the soft ones, but I get it. Balances you out.” He commented, which made Bob turn a bit red in embarrassment and you shrugged.

”He grows on you.” Bob nearly forgot how to stand upright, because you weren’t joking. There was affection under those words, and just by hearing you say them, it was like his blood had turned electric beneath his skin. Like every inch had been tuned too tight, and he was about to snap in half from the tension. From the possibility.

Connor clapped him lightly on the arm, “Well, hey–good luck surviving her. She’s the reason I still have shoulder pain in cold weather.”

“I’m very proud of that,” You replied breezily, already reaching for another snack on the shelf like your words, or lack thereof, just hadn’t rearranged his. Connor gave you a small wink and started to walk off.

”Always good seeing you Y/N, you two have fun playing house.” And then he was gone, just like that. Bob stayed frozen where he stood, realizing he said absolutely nothing during the conversation. You turned back to him with a small smile, tossing a bag of popcorn into the cart.

”We still need to go to the dessert section for Walker's cinnamon rolls.” You said, like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

——————-

Once you were done shopping, Bob loaded the trunk with all the bags and returned the shopping cart to the store, sliding into the passenger seat in complete silence.

The engine hummed low beneath the weight of all that was unspoken, and the grocery bags rustled faintly as you rolled down the window to let some air into the stuffy car. You pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street, glancing once in Bob’s direction.

He hadn’t said a word since Connor left, and he looked absolutely dazed.

His hands were folded in his lap, not clenched–but fidgeting. His fingers were tangled loosely together, thumbs moving over one another in slow rhythmic circles. It was the kind of motion that only meant one thing when it came from Bob: he was nervous, really nervous. Tied-up-in-knots and about to implode kind of nervous.

You flicked your turn signal and merged into the next lane.

”Are you okay?” You asked gently. Bob didn’t answer right away, his eyes just stayed locked on the road ahead, but he wasn’t really seeing it–you could tell. His mind was miles away. Still stuck in aisle seven, maybe.

You hit a stoplight.

The soft red glow filtered into the car through the windshield, casting a faint warmth across your features. It slid like watercolor across your cheekbones, deepened the shadows around your mouth, and softened the bridge of your nose. It made you look celestial, like something that was too alive to exist in a place as mundane as this.

Bob turned his head to look at you–and once he did, he couldn’t look away.

The red glow painted you like a portrait Bob didn’t think he deserved to see. Something about it made everything more unreal. More dangerous. He didn’t even realize how long he’d been staring–until you caught him doing it.

You blinked and tilted your head, eyes narrowing with something like concern.

”Bob,” You said softly, “What’s going on?” His mouth parted, but nothing came out.

And then the light turned green.

You let the car roll forward slowly, but then you took the next turn–off the main road, down a quiet street lined with trees that filtered the dying daylight like gold dust. You pulled the car over, your tires crunching softly against gravel. And then you put it in park and killed the engine.

The silence fell like a held breath, as a gust of wind blew the cool spring air into the car. It smelled like moss, with a hint of dew, like it was going to rain, even though the sky was showing to be clear.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and turned toward him, shifting so you could see him fully. His profile was tight–tense in a way you rarely saw. He was breathing, but too shallow. His jaw worked like he was chewing on glass.

“Okay,” You said, voice calm but firm. “You haven’t said more than three words since we saw Connor. You’re fidgeting so much your thumbs are gonna rub raw. And you keep looking at me like you’ve got something to say…”Bob blinked, once and swallowed the lump in his throat, as a sheen of sweat began to form on the back of his neck.

Still nothing.

“So,” You continued, leaning a little closer to him, your tone gentler now. “Tell me. What happened?” Bob’s mouth opened like he was about to finally speak—but the words caught somewhere in his throat and came out as a half-breath instead.

You watched him closely, waiting.

“I… n-nothing happened,” he stammered, eyes flicking toward the windshield like it might offer him an escape. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I mean it’s not—it’s not not fine—but it’s not, like… bad. It’s just…”

He trailed off, his voice shrinking with every word until it was barely audible.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just looked at him. Really looked.

Then you slowly shifted closer.

Your thigh brushed his. Barely. Just enough that the contact registered like a spark. And when you leaned in, the warmth of you carried with it the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg–the smell of fall during spring, and Bob’s lungs forgot how to behave.

“Is it me?” you asked softly.

His eyes shot to you like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

“I—no,” he blurted, too fast, too flustered. “No! I mean. Not like—It’s not bad. It’s just, um…”

He trailed off again. His shoulders sank.

You tilted your head. “Bob.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose.

“…I don’t know how to be around you right now.”

That made you pause. Your gaze softened, but you didn’t pull back. If anything, you inched even closer–your arm brushing his this time.

“Why?” you asked. Your voice wasn’t teasing. Just curious. Barely above a whisper.

He opened his eyes and looked at you again–and this time, there was no hiding in the silence.

“Because Connor thought we were together,” he said, breathless. “And you didn’t c-correct him at–at all. And I’ve been trying not to hope for too much. Trying no–not to want that so much. But the second he said it, and you didn’t say anything–I haven’t been able to think straight since.”

You stared at him for a second, the air between you charged like a live wire.

And then…

“Did you ever think,” You said slowly, “That maybe I didn’t want to correct him because I liked what I heard?”

That made him blink–hard. His breath hitched audibly.

His mouth parted, but no words came. His hand–still folded in his lap–tightened slightly, like he was holding onto something that might float away.

You watched his lips part and close again, watched his chest rise and fall with uneven breaths, and you could feel the space between you contracting, the tension building like something was about to snap.

“Bob,” You said, softer now, “Am I the one that’s making you nervous?”

He nodded–tiny. Almost imperceptible. Then managed a whisper:

“A-Always.”

There was a beat of stillness.

Then you reached up, slow and steady, and brushed your fingers along the edge of his jaw. He flinched–not from discomfort, but from shock, closing his eyes at the sensation of your touch tracing along his stubble. Like he didn’t know how to receive that kind of closeness. Like he hadn’t dared imagine it outside of his dreams.

Your voice stayed low. Intimate.

“You don’t have to be nervous with me,” You said. “Not if you want the same thing I do.”

He could feel his heart seizing in his chest, his mouth going dry, lips parting again. “A-And what do you w-want?”

You smiled–just barely, just enough for him to see the truth in it. Something quiet and unguarded. Something only for him.

Then you leaned in.

And he felt it first in the air—how your breath brushed across his lips before your mouth ever touched his. Soft and warm, like the stir of wind before a storm. It made every muscle in his body go tight with anticipation. The space between you was shrinking by the second, his senses narrowing to the way you looked at him–like you already knew what this would do to him.

”You…That’s what I want.” You whispered. Bob swallowed hard. His pulse thundered in his ears. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. His hand twitched in his lap like it wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare.

And then–

You kissed him.

Your lips found his like they’d been there before in a hundred different dreams. They were soft, impossibly soft, and he swore time folded in on itself. It wasn’t rushed, or messy, or careless–it was a moment made of weightless things. Breath and longing. The quiet hum of the earth under your feet and the echo of a hope that had waited far too long to bloom.

Bob didn’t kiss back at first–not out of hesitation, but out of sheer disbelief. His breath hitched like he was afraid he’d ruin it by moving. But then your hand slid into his hair, your thumb grazing the curve of his jaw again, and something in him unspooled completely.

He kissed you back like he’d been drowning for years and only just now found air. Gentle at first–uncertain–but then a little more desperate. His fingers found your thigh where your legs were still touching, squeezing it gently, anchoring him to the here and now. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss by a fraction, like he was afraid you might vanish if he didn’t get closer. Like he needed to memorize the shape of your mouth, the warmth of your breath, the soft sigh you let out when his lips parted just barely against yours.

And for a moment, there was nothing else. No car. No road. No Connor. Just the two of you suspended in something delicate and golden and sacred.

He was still breathing like he’d just run ten miles when you pulled back. He pressed his forehead against yours, eyes shutting tight like he was trying to hold onto the feeling, preserving it in his chest like a light in a jaw. The windows were fogging at the corners now, despite them being open, and the air between you had turned warm and close, while every shared breath was a little shallower, a little hungrier than the one before.

You tilted your head just slightly, brushing the tip of your nose along his cheek, and he shuddered.

“Jesus Y/N…” He whispered, “I-I think I’m gonna pass out.” You smiled gently against his skin, letting your lips brush over the corner of his mouth.

“You’re doing better than you think.” You whispered, as your hand slid down from his jaw to rest against his chest, right over his heart–feeling it pounding like a war drum. He looked at you then, dazed and wide-eyed, mouth still pink and parted, and when you shifted your weight toward him, his breath caught.

“Can I…?” you asked, your voice softer than ever, your gaze flicking downward–toward his lap.

He nodded before you could finish the question. Like it wasn’t even a decision, just a reflex. “Y-yeah. Yeah. Please.”

You climbed over the center console slowly, carefully, and Bob’s hands went to your hips instinctively, steadying you like you might disappear mid-motion. The second you settled on top of him, straddling his lap, he tensed beneath you–shoulders rigid, breath shallow–but his grip never wavered.

“Okay?” you asked again, brushing your thumbs over the fabric of his shirt.

He nodded again, voice trembling. “Yeah. I just… I don’t know what to do with my hands.”

You smiled, sliding yours over his. “You’re already doing fine.”

And then you kissed him again.

This time, it wasn’t soft.

It was warm and slow, sure–but there was something boiling under the surface now. A spark that had caught flame. You kissed him like you’d been waiting for this, starving for it, and Bob melted into it like he didn’t know how not to. His hands tightened at your hips, not possessive, just desperate for anchoring. For something real.

He moaned against your mouth when your fingers slid into his hair again, tugging just lightly. It was a sound you felt before you heard it–a low vibration in your chest where your bodies were brushing, where your thighs pressed against his hips.

You rolled your hips once, slowly, more a shift than a grind–and Bob gasped into your kiss.

“O-Oh god,” He breathed, voice trembling, forehead falling to your shoulder for a second as he tried to collect himself.

“You okay?” You murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple.

He nodded, his voice shaky and stunned. “Y-You’re gonna kill me.”

You kissed him again before he could spiral further, and this time his hands slid under your shirt, trailing up your back, like he wanted to feel every inch of you he was allowed. The smooth skin was vast, and all he realized was just how soft you truly were as he pulled your body against his. His mouth opened beneath yours, and you deepened the kiss slowly, tilting your head, tasting the warmth of him, the desperation he was too shy to say out loud.

And then his hips shifted under you, unintentionally–and the friction made you both gasp. His fingers flexed against your back, clinging. Needy. His breath came faster, rougher, and he whined into your mouth when your hips shifted again, intentionally this time–grinding against him with slow, aching friction.

“Y-Y/N,” he whimpered, voice cracking apart, and your hand found the back of his neck, holding him close as you kissed him harder. The car felt too small now, too warm, too full of air that wasn’t moving–but neither of you could stop. Not yet.

His mouth opened wider, tongue brushing yours hesitantly–like he was asking permission even now, like he didn’t know if you still wanted this. But the second you deepened it, the second your lips parted and your tongue met his with a soft, slick slide–he lost whatever fragile control he had left.

He moaned–quiet and broken–and then his hips lifted just barely into yours. You both froze at the pressure, the friction.

His fingers dug into your hips. “I-I can’t–” He breathed, forehead falling back to yours. “I’m gonna–if we keep–I can’t think.”

“Hey,” You whispered, brushing your nose against his, breathless, lips still ghosting his, “It’s okay. We can stop.”

“I don’t want to stop,” He blurted, and it sounded like a confession, “I just–I need to. I want to…So so bad, it’s just–god, I want to do it right.”

You smiled, fingers slipping up to his flushed cheeks, holding him there–trembling, dazed, burning beneath you.

“You are doing it right, Bob,” You murmured, kissing him once more—slower this time, gentler, reverent. “We don’t have to rush anything.”

His arms slid around your waist, holding you like he couldn’t let go, like if he did the whole thing might vanish like a fever dream. His breath was hot against your collarbone now, lips resting against your skin, and he nodded, finally beginning to breathe again.

“I-I just want to be close to–to you,” He whispered. “Even if it’s just like this. Even if we don’t–y’know. Yet.”

You leaned your head against his, your hand stroking the back of his neck slowly, grounding him.

“Then let’s just stay like this,” You said softly. “You and me.”

He nodded again, arms tightening around you.

“Yeah,” He whispered. “You and me.”

The windows stayed fogged, your breaths remained shallow, your lips kiss-swollen and raw. But you didn’t move.

And in the quiet heat of that parked car, it felt like something had finally started. Something that didn’t need words.

[fireinmoonshot]

control | robert reynolds x fem!reader

THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR MARVEL'S THUNDERBOLTS*.

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x Fem!Reader Summary: Bob always waits for you to come back from missions, but when you don't come back one day, his powers start to get a little out of hand. Warnings: Mentions of fighting, concussions and injuries. Word Count: 1.8k A/N: This is one of the other fic ideas from the poll that I posted the other day! I really loved writing this one, it was so much fun so I hope that you'll all enjoy it as well. Thank you for all the love on my Bob fics so far. I'm loving writing for him! 💗

“You need to tell Bob that he doesn’t have to worry about me,” you tell Yelena from where you’re standing, one of Bucky’s arms wrapped around you to help you stay upright due to the pounding in your head and the pain in your ankle. “He’s going to panic when I don’t come back with you guys.”

They’re the first things you say to Yelena when the team decides that it’s important to take you to a hospital so you can get looked at. You’ve all sustained injuries before, but being hit in the head as hard as you had been made everyone concerned, and the fact that everything is spinning a bit definitely isn’t a good sign. 

No one is surprised that your first thought isn’t about yourself, but about the man waiting for you back at the Watch Tower. They’re not oblivious to whatever it is that’s been going on between the two of you, but none of them have found the need to know specifics.

“We will,” Yelena assures you before urging Bucky to get going.

He’d been very insistent on accompanying you to the hospital as soon as they’d discovered the extent of your injury.

Yelena is full of nerves by the time they get back to the Watch Tower. The elevator journey to the penthouse, where Bob is waiting for you all to get back, is the longest minute of her life. There is no way that Bob is going to react well to this news, and part of their job involves keeping Bob and his powers in control, which is much easier to do when he’s calm and not worried about someone he cares for.

The second that Bob hears the elevator ding, he stands up from where he’d been sitting with his book and starts to jog towards it, a small smile on his lips. Everyone going on missions without him always makes him miss them more. You, especially.

“How did it go?” He asks, the second he sees Yelena exit the elevator.

His eyes scan over the rest of them – Walker, Ava and Alexei. You’re missing, and Bucky is missing as well. His heart drops into his stomach and he clenches one of his fists at his side, trying to control his emotions. 

“Where is she?” 

Yelena is quick to jump to action. She’s by Bob’s side in a second, placing a hand on his shoulder to try and help ground him. “She’s okay. Bucky took her to hospital to get looked at by a doctor but it’s nothing serious. She told me to tell you not to worry.”

He almost laughs at that. The fact that you’d told Yelena to tell him not to worry when of course he was going to worry about you, even if you’d told him not to. He spends half of his time worrying about you, especially when you go out on missions. This is the first time that you haven’t come home. The first time you’ve been injured more than just a couple of scrapes and bruises.

It’s the first time that Bob isn’t going to be the one patching you up afterwards. 

“What happened?” Bob asks, eyes flickering up to Yelena’s.

She tightens her grip on his shoulder a little. “Why don’t we sit down?”

“No,” he shakes his head and pulls away from her grip, starting to pace back and forth. He can’t help it even though he knows it’s only going to make him feel worse. “No, I need you to tell me what happened. Everything.”

Walker, Ava and Alexei stand just inside the door of the room, watching him with furrowed eyebrows and worried expressions. You’d warned them that Bob was going to panic, but they hadn’t realised it’d be quite this serious.

“I don’t think you need to know specifics,” Walker suggests, taking a few steps further into the room. “Just trust us that she’s okay, all right, Bobby?”

Their concern is further elevated when Bob doesn’t even bother to respond to Walker. He continues his pacing back and forth, occasionally mumbling under his breath so quietly that they can’t hear what he’s saying. 

If he’d been there, Bob thinks, maybe he could’ve prevented this. He should be going on missions by this point, even though he can’t really control his powers completely, he’s sure he could be of some use. He should’ve been there. It’s his fault, really, that you even got hurt in the first place. If he’d been there as The Sentry, he could’ve stopped all of this from happening and you’d be right beside him, unharmed. But you’re not. You’re in a hospital somewhere, probably alone in a clean, white room waiting for someone to check you over. You could be bleeding, maybe badly. There could be broken bones, or something internal that they can’t see until it’s too late. It could be any number of things, all of which could’ve been avoided by him being able to control his powers.

Yelena flinches as the lights in the penthouse start to flicker. She looks over at the others who all have the same expressions on their face. Bob is losing control. He continues pacing and the room starts to shake a little. She can hear the glasses in the cabinets clinking together. The coffee table vibrates on the floor and the windows start to creak a little. 

“Bob’s doing this…” Ava says, taking a step towards him. “We need to stop him.”

“He’s going to cause some real damage if we don’t,” Walker agrees.

Yelena is quick to respond. “I’ll take him to see her. It’s the only thing that’ll work.”

“What the hell are you thinking? He could get even worse once he’s outside!” 

“We have no other options!” Yelena shouts back.

She wastes no more time in walking over to Bob and stopping right in front of him where he’s standing. She’s a little surprised when Bob actually stops pacing and looks up, meeting her eyes. But then she sees the glowing in them and her concern grows.

“I’ll take you to the hospital to see her,” Yelena tries. “We can leave right now.”

The glowing in Bob’s eyes dims and then slowly disappears. She lets out a breath of relief, knowing that he’s back in control of himself now. The lights have stopped flickering and the room has stopped shaking. 

“You will?” Bob asks, voice soft.

“I will,” Yelena confirms. She extends a hand for him to hold. “Right now.”

He’s reaching for Yelena’s hand when there’s another ding of the elevator and his head snaps towards it. Everyone else in the room follows his gaze as the doors of the elevator open and you and Bucky are revealed. 

None of them have ever seen Bob run as fast as he does to get to you.

One second, he’s standing in front of Yelena and the next, he’s at your side, cradling your head in his hands and tilting it from side to side to examine the bandage that’s been wrapped around it and make sure you’re not injured too badly.

Bucky looks around at everyone. “What are you all doing?” 

“She was right,” Ava says, motioning to you. “Bob panicked when she didn’t come back.” 

His eyebrows furrow. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Walker confirms. “But your timing couldn’t have been any better.”

Neither you or Bob are listening to the conversation going on around you. You’re too focused on the feeling of Bob’s hands on your face and the look of relief on his face to focus on much else. He looks a little startled, too. His eyes are a little bit too wide and his breathing a little too heavy for someone who shouldn’t have been worrying about you.

“I’m all right, Bob, I promise,” you say, resting one of your hands on his wrist and dragging your thumb gently back and forth over his skin. “The doctors cleared me to go home. I have a mild concussion and a sprained ankle. I just need to rest.”

Bob shakes his head. “That’s not all right. A concussion is not all right.”

“It’s really okay,” you insist. “I promise I’ll tell you if I feel worse all of a sudden.”

“No,” Bob mutters, his gaze dropping from yours. “I should’ve been there. I could’ve protected you. If I had been there, none of this would’ve happened to you and you wouldn’t have gotten hurt. I should be able to be The Sentry without the other guy by now… if I could, I would’ve been there to save you from all of this pain.” His hands fall away from your face and he takes a step away from you. 

You frown, hating the way that he’s blaming himself for this happening when you were the only one at fault. You hadn’t been paying attention in the fight, too distracted by what everyone else was doing, and that had been the reason the man you’d been fighting had gotten the better of you and slammed you into the wall. Bob had nothing to do with it, not even you being distracted.

“Bob, that’s not true,” you sigh, taking a step towards him and taking his face in your hands to force him to look at you. “None of this is your fault. How many times have you patched me up before? This is not the first time I’ve been injured on a mission. You’ve been there for me every time to patch me up afterwards. You always save me from my pain.”

His eyes meet yours again and you almost crumble at the sadness in them. He’d really been that worried about you that he’d turned to blaming himself for it… telling Yelena to tell him not to worry was clearly never going to work.

“This time, it was too much pain for me to patch you up from, though,” he murmurs.

“No, it wasn’t. I still need time to heal. And you’ll be there for me while I do, won’t you?”

Bob nods. “I’m not leaving your side.” 

You reach down and take his hands in yours, giving them a squeeze. “You don’t have to.”

He takes a long, deep breath and steps a little closer towards you before leaning down and resting his forehead on top of yours, careful to avoid the bandage that’s wrapped around it and careful not to apply too much pressure in case he hurts you. “When I can control my powers,” he begins, “I’m never letting you get hurt again.”

“That’s a big promise.”

“I’ll keep it,” Bob hums. He stands up for only a second to lean down and press his lips briefly to your forehead, just underneath where the bandage is placed. “I’m glad you came home.”

You smile at the kiss and give his hands another squeeze. “I always will, so long as I have you waiting for me when I do.”

[dolceaspidenera]

Saw this and had to reblog to spread some love and appreciation for all the fics I stumbled upon that brought me some kind of comfort.

@surlydragon you already know it, but your series "In which Sylus..." is for me THE comfort fic. I never felt more seen and emotionally validated in my life. The way you voiced MC and the way you write Sylus taking care of her is incredibly comforting. Their dynamic and the way they love each other is beautiful. Seeing someone who is willing to put the work in, who is gentle and patient and loves you despite the hurt, despite the unlovable parts of yourself that still need healing is one of the most comforting things about your story. You have really written something important, I hope you know it and remember it every time you have doubts about whether or not you should share your stories (ultimately it will always be your decision but I wanted to let you know without a doubt that your writing is very appreciated and also I'm happy it made me "meet" a wonderful person, our conversations always bring me a smile).

@senualothbrok your stories about Aurora's healing journey (Progress and Promise) really left an impression. I still find myself thinking about them, and I really appreciate you for putting such vulnerable work out there. Plus, I think it was thanks to those stories that we really started talking, so one more reason to think back fondly on them.

@iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia your headcanons have brought me so much comfort and so many smiles. Thank you for everything you've written over the years. I have my personal favourites but I enjoyed seeing each and every one of your posts (Julian will always have a special place in my heart).

@linkons-most-wanted I think What The Cat Dragged In is by defenition the most comfort fic that could be made, and it found me on a day I really needed it. Also Double the Birthday, Double the Fun is another one of your works that somehow I find very comforting, and seeing the twins happy and being spoiled is always fantastic, they deserve it. Also, I have no idea what is wrong with my brain chemistry, but this line right here, "Sylus steps up quietly behind me, looping a hand around my waist and running a thumb softly over my ribs" makes me melt every time I read it. It's just those little gestures and body language that convey reassurance and closeness, a silent way of showing affection, of saying "I'm here," you know? Ugh, my heart.

@shenanigans-and-imagines, I Want It All was my very first BG3 fan fic I ever read so it definitely has a special place. Also, the ace!Tav x Astarion pairing was a breath of fresh air in the fandom climate at the time. Thank you for the positive and very empathetic ace rep.

@senseandaccountability, Blaze Me A Sun is one of my favourite fics ever. I just love the way you write, it inspired me to try writing something for myself, and I wish I had even 10% of your talent. You perfectly captured so many of the themes that are so important to me in bg3, especially when it comes to Astarion's story, what it means to live with trauma and scars, knowing that you didn't deserved it but it happened anyway, and the years you lost you’ll never get back, and yet life is still full of beauty and hope and you should still be kind to others. And then there are the developing feelings between him and Elnys, and what it feels like to find someone who actually sees you. Thank you for your incredibly touching prose and for addressing difficult themes with the care they deserve.

my dream as a fanfic writer is for one day, one of my fics to be someones comfort fic. like the fic that they reread when they don't feel good and want to be happy. i want my words to comfort someone one day

[knowinglewis]

Fading Lines

Part One

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Summary: The lines between friendship and something more start to blur between you and Lewis when he invites you to his first race weekend with Ferrari.

Word Count: 5,580

Warnings: Jealousy, anxiety, and overthinking. No use of Y/N.

A/N: I've wanted to write for F1 for a while, and what better way to start than with my fave at the Aus GP! Thank you for reading and really hope you enjoy it, please let me know your thoughts!

“Get it together.”

You exhale, pretending to enjoy the tiny bubbles floating up the champagne flute in your hands and popping as they reach the surface. Everyone in the suite looks so at home, their designer clothes fitted to perfection and their laughs singing across the room. You were just trying to remember how to breathe.

Behind you, a duo mentions heading to Monaco like it’s a weekend plan. On the other side of the room, a group poses for a photo beneath the Ferrari team logo with their expensive smiles and curated outfits. You shift your weight and glance toward your right, where your friend Isabella is still deep in conversation with a couple of PR reps.

Isabella’s job involved many ties with the major PR agencies that handled Formula One, so you’d often find yourself swept away to race weekends and exclusive events. Over time, those trips had led to a growing familiarity with none other than Lewis Hamilton.

This familiarity had started with chatting casually at race weekends, then a friendly exchange of numbers which led to regular texting, sending each other memes, check-ins while he was on the road, and more recently, sharing TikToks. Soon, this turned into voice notes and FaceTime calls from across the globe, both at night and early hours of the morning. While they didn’t always last long, in the midst of it all, you felt yourself growing closer and a warm feeling made your heart skip a beat everytime his name appeared on your phone.

You hadn’t seen him for a few months while he’d been on the road, caught up in interviews and media for the beginning of his new journey at Ferrari. Though he still made time to send you photos and check on you occasionally in the quiet moments between his travels, he felt distant.

This only made it all the more nerve wracking when you’d received a text from him one afternoon inviting you to Melbourne for the season opener.

“We’ve got a few friends flying out for the weekend, it would mean a lot to have you there too.” 

You read his follow up text. 

“It’ll be like old times.”

Like old times. Like hours spent at a few post-race dinners in deep, almost flirtatious conversations. Like his warm smile and chocolate brown eyes captivating yours, listening intently to every word spilled from your lips. Like his clean, luxurious scent when he wrapped an arm around you in farewell for the night.

You said yes, of course. Then, the thought of seeing him again made your stomach turn, excitement and nervousness stirring together. 

Now, you were in Melbourne, starting the day off with some refreshments in Casa Ferrari, surrounded by celebrities, influencers, and millionaires alike. Lewis had invited his usual crew, but this time, there was one guest whose presence made your breath catch.

Raye. She was so beautiful, her glowing skin catching the light and her perfectly styled hair bobbing gently as she nodded in agreement while conversing with Anthony Hamilton. 

You’d heard about her being spotted out and about with Lewis recently, with photos emerging of them walking around New York together. Not that you kept up with all the gossip of course.  

Lewis had been seen with many stunning women, including Sofia Vergara and Shakira months prior. The world had its eyes on him, waiting with bated breath to see which lucky lady would finally take him off the market. 

A subtle wave of disappointment washed over your stomach each time, now more than ever. When the two of you spent time together, he made you feel as though you were the only girl in the room. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t hope that one day it would lead to something more. But each time there was a glimmer of hope, it was swiftly put out when the photos emerged of him with another beautiful woman.

This time, a battle crept between your heart and your mind. He could just be friends with them, even Raye. He did invite a number of friends to this race, so surely it wouldn't mean anything more. Could it? But then, would inviting you here also mean nothing? Maybe it was silly to even think there was a chance.

She moved like she belonged there, effortless like she always had. You told yourself not to watch her, not to let it get to you, but the tightness in your chest didn’t care for reason. It just wanted to be proven right.

That is, until the commotion in the room heightened and drew your eyes to the entrance.

There he was.

Lewis. Dressed in a bright, rich red Ferrari colour with his hair hiding beneath a red cap. His eyes sparkled with excitement and his face was flushed, a bright smile stretching across his handsome face. His undeniable aura filled the room as he made the rounds, hugs and handshakes all around the suite.

You felt a flutter in your stomach when his eyes made contact with yours every few moments, trying to make his way towards you through the crowd, but his attention was always drawn away by other guests wanting to greet him and congratulate him on his first race weekend with Ferrari.

You forced yourself to look away when he approached Raye, sharing a greeting kiss on the cheek as they gave a one armed hug. They looked stunning together, too stunning, excitedly discussing the events of the morning. 

Placing your drink on the table nearby, you sought to move to where Isabella stood, but you were interrupted by a flash of red as strong arms wrapped around you and that familiar fragrance filled your nose. 

“You made it!” Lewis breathed, releasing you from his grasp, his hand resting on your shoulder as he greeted you. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” you replied, the initial shock leaving you immediately when you looked up to see his face.

His striking brown eyes locked onto yours, giving you his undivided attention like he always did. The warmth of his hand on your shoulder calmed your nerves, making you feel right at home in the suite. Despite feeling out of place earlier in the afternoon, his comforting touch reminded you that you were his guest. He invited you personally and wanted you there. 

“So, what do you think?” He beamed as he gestured towards his Ferrari gear, the red of the fabric complimenting the warmth of his tawny skin.

“You look amazing!” You complimented, drinking in his new look. It was as though he’d always belonged in these colours. “It really suits you, Lewis.”

You thought his smile couldn’t get any bigger, and yet it did at your words. “It feels unreal, you know? I’ve been dreaming of this for a long time, so it’s crazy to finally be here.”

“I’m really happy for you.” You smiled back at him, his happiness was contagious and you couldn’t help but match his energy despite your earlier hesitation. 

Before you could speak another word, a voice from across the suite called Lewis’ name, snapping you out of the bubble in which only the two of you existed. Lewis glanced over his shoulder, acknowledging the person who had called him and turned his attention back to you with a subtle flicker of reluctance on his face.

“Hey, you’re coming to dinner tonight, yeah?” He took a step closer, his hand slowly sliding down your arm and sending shivers tickling up your skin.

The fluttering in your stomach grew at the closeness. You could almost feel the warmth of his body, your mind slipping for a moment into thoughts of what it might feel like to be pressed against him with his mouth against yours. 

You almost forgot the question. Your lips parted to answer hesitantly, your eyes darting away from him for a split second in thought.

“I want to catch up with you. It’s been a minute.” He added softly, catching your hesitation as his fingers made their way past your wrist and caught your hand.

It was a group dinner, and while Lewis always made the time to talk to you, the size of this gathering was larger, which meant there was no guarantee there would be a chance to get some time with him. Yet, something in his tone tugged at your chest, and so you responded before you could think too much further on it.

“I’ll be there.” You nodded, giving his hand a squeeze as his thumb brushed over your knuckles. 

He squeezed your hand in return, satisfied with your answer before he slipped back into the crowd to the voice who had called for him. You released a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding as he disappeared, leaving an emptiness in his wake. 

Before you had a second to dwell on the moment with Lewis, the sound of your name being called by a familiar voice broke you from your thoughts.

“That looked…interesting,” Isabella chimed with a sly grin across her lips, slipping her arm through yours.

You gave a casual shrug, shaking your head at her comment as though it was nothing, but your flushed face had already betrayed you.

Isabella raised her eyebrows knowingly, then nodded towards the exit. “Come on, let’s get to the garage. It’s nearly time.”

You let her tug you away, your mind reeling with thoughts of your interaction with Lewis and the feeling of being so close to him again. 

The Ferrari garage was buzzing with energy, guests lined up along the railings watching the qualifying laps along with the Ferrari team. Engines roared as the cars made their way across the track at incredible speed, the scent of asphalt and burning tyres filling the garage. Guests chatted amongst themselves, pointing to the screens and nodding along, adding to the excitement in the garage.

Isabella snapped a few photos and videos around the garage, capturing as much content as possible for her marketing social media posts. You found yourself standing next to Raye and Miles, with your cherry red Ferrari headset on as you listened to the radio comms.

You had your eyes trained on the screens above, flicking between the live track feeds and Lewis’ onboard camera. It was always thrilling watching the way he darted around the track with precision, but an element of danger always lingered when the weather conditions would change or the way a single minor mistake could lead to a devastating collision. 

Raye leaned towards you slightly in your peripheral vision, drawing your attention to her for a moment.

“He’s amazing, isn’t he?” she asked casually, nodding back towards the screen where Lewis had just set an especially fast lap. 

You followed her gaze to the screen, feeling your stomach flutter at the sight of him in his element. He was always captivating, leaving everyone around him in awe of his talent and focus. Of course she would notice it too, there was something magnetic about the way he commanded the track.

“He really is,” you replied softly, a smile spreading across your lips as his onboard camera appeared on the screen. “He makes it look so easy.”

“Right? I panic just merging onto the motorway and he’s out here doing over 200 like it’s nothing!” Raye scoffed with a laugh.

You couldn’t help but laugh along, the conversation warming up the atmosphere in the garage. “Honestly, I hit 100 once and I felt like I was in a Fast and Furious movie.”

“Exactly!” She grinned, elbowing you lightly to your right. “These guys are doing so much at once while going at speeds I don’t even think exist in my car.”

“My brain would just shut down. At those speeds I’d be lucky if I could even remember to blink.” You replied with a snort, adjusting your headset so that you could hear each other better. 

“I don’t know how he does it and manages to stay so calm,” Raye shook her head, eyes returning back to the screens above.

“And still looks perfect when he gets out of the car,” you agreed under your breath before you could think your words over. “That’s Lewis for you.”

You catch her sly smirk as she side-eyes you playfully, gently knocking your shoulder with her own. It was clear you both found him a little too impressive for comfort.

The two of you continued chatting, with Miles and Isabella adding themselves to the mix soon after to discuss the results and the upcoming dinner. 

Evening came quickly, the day flying by with the energy from the Paddock still buzzing in your veins as qualifying day came to a close. City lights were beginning to flicker on as you and Isabella made your way to dinner, her heels clicking rhythmically against the stairs as you stepped into the restaurant together. You welcomed the warmth inside, regretting that you hadn’t grabbed your jacket on your way out.

The restaurant overlooked the Yarra River, its glass walls catching the shimmer of city lights. The inside was softly lit, with dark wooden tables and flickering candlelight, conversation gently filling the air. A long table stretched across the middle of a private room, already half-full of familiar faces by the time you had arrived. A well dressed server guided you towards the group, following Isabella as she offered a breezy wave and greeted everyone. 

On your side, Miles and Spinz, were seated towards the right end of the table, facing Lewis and Raye. Another guest you weren’t yet familiar with sat to Raye’s right, and it looked like a couple more people were to be expected. It didn’t seem likely that the catch-up Lewis had mentioned would be happening tonight.

Everyone greeted you politely from the table, but Lewis rose to his feet and immediately manoeuvred around the table. His arms opened casually, leaning in to hug Isabella with a warm greeting, before turning to you. With you, his embrace lingered just a little longer, not enough to draw attention from the others, but just enough for you to notice his cologne and the warmth of his chest where he’d pulled you in.

“I’m glad you came,” he told you for the second time today, low enough that only you could hear. 

You gave him a small nod, forcing a smile as your pulse fluttered unevenly. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

His lips curved in that warm, charming smile, before he gestured towards the table, inviting you to sit down. You followed Isabella to the table and took the seat next to Miles while she sat to your right, not wanting to be separated. Lewis returned to his seat on the other side of the table, next to Raye.

Your gaze dropped to the napkin in front of you, suddenly aware of the tightness in your chest. Shit. You tried not to overthink it, inhaling slowly, trying to shake the feeling off. You came here to enjoy yourself, you reminded yourself. Don't spiral. It's just dinner. Smile, breathe, have some good food.

A glass clinked gently in front of you, drawing your attention. Miles had leaned forward and poured you and Isabella some water, offering a small grin as he set the bottle down. You thanked him, reaching for your glass.

“Have you ladies tried this place before?” he asked, his tattooed hand sliding across the table as he settled back into his seat.

“No, first time. How about you?” You welcomed the distraction, taking a sip of your water to soothe the tightness in your throat.

“Nah, first time too,” Miles shook his head, bringing his drink to his lips, his rings glittering in the candlelight. “I’ve heard the scallops here are damn good though. Definitely gonna have some of those coming around.”

“Did I hear scallops?” Isabella leaned in, picking up the menu to find said dish. “Sold.”

You gave a light chuckle, flicking through your own menu to decide what you’d like to eat for the night, the knot in your chest easing just a little. Hearing Raye’s laugh over the conversation at the table, you couldn’t resist looking over to the other side for a split second.

Lewis caught your eye for a moment, glancing your way mid-laugh, where he lingered for a second too long before moving back towards Spinz across from him. 

It happened again a few minutes later, when the waiter came by to explain the specials. Your eyes met briefly, and your breath caught slightly before you quickly looked down again, distracted by the sensation of heat creeping up the back of your neck.

You kept your focus on the menu, nodding absently as Isabella pointed something out, but part of your mind remained tethered to those fleeting moments. 

The conversation continued to flow easily around you as the night went on and more guests arrived, a steady rhythm of laughter, clinking glasses, and casual teasing ensued. Isabella would lean in occasionally to whisper a quick remark, and you nodded along, grateful for her presence. Still, it was hard to keep your attention entirely on the table.

Every so often, your eyes strayed down the table, where Lewis sat, just far enough away to feel out of reach. Raye had turned slightly toward him, her posture open, the two of them deep in conversation. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but you didn’t need to. The way she laughed at something he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, stirred something sour in your stomach.

She was so lovely and friendly to you, you couldn’t bring yourself to dislike her or to deny the fact that they looked stunning together. Yet, an unshakable feeling laid heavy on your shoulders, and you wished deep in your heart that it was you next to him, chatting the night away.

You forced another smile when Miles asked if you'd ever tried kangaroo meat, laughing politely at the incredulous look he gave you. But your gaze flicked back to Lewis again, just in time to catch him looking at you once more. He didn’t smile this time. Just held your gaze for a beat too long, his expression unreadable, before returning to his drink.

The voices at the table began to blur in your ears, replaced by a quiet thudding and light strain above your brows. The lighting felt warmer than it should’ve, the air heavier. You reached for your water but found your hand slightly shaky. You felt strangely out of place at the table, like you were watching from behind glass.

Had you misunderstood what this whole thing had been? Mistaken a handful of soft smiles and kind gestures for something more? Maybe it had always just been friendliness, nothing more than politeness wrapped in charm. Why would it be anything else, when someone like him could have anyone he wanted at the snap of his fingers? He sat only a few seats away, laughing with a woman who was stunning, talented, and easy in her confidence. Of course he’d want someone like that.

You couldn’t bring yourself to remain in your seat, being unintentionally taunted for hours by the man you’d spent days replaying memories of. His voice in your ear, his hand on your waist, the way he’d looked at you like you were the only one in the room. Tonight, it was as though you barely existed. 

The pressure in your head continued to build, a dull ache tightening at your temples and your stomach curled in a slow, unsettled way. It was all suddenly too much to bear, the clattering of silver cutlery, voices crossing over in conversation, and the heat from the candlelight around you blending together to make you want to crawl back into your bed and hide for the rest of the weekend. You had to get away from it all.

“I’m gonna step out for a second,” you murmured to Isabella before you could talk yourself out of it. 

“You okay?” She turned to you with concern in her eyes, gently rubbing your back.

“Yeah. Just a bit of a headache, I just need to get some air,” you said a little too quickly, rising from your seat.

You noticed Isabella grabbing the napkin off her lap, ready to stand up and leave with you, but you just wanted to be alone and weren’t looking to ruin her night.

“It’s okay, you stay. Really, I just need a quick breather.” You reassured her with a strained smile. 

Isabella looked hesitant, but nodded, not wanting to press you any further. “Text me if you need anything, okay?” 

You regarded her gratefully before quietly excusing yourself from the table. No one really noticed you leave besides Isabella, at least, you told yourself they didn’t.

The night air was colder than you expected, wrapping around you like a balm. It was cool and quiet compared to the noise inside the restaurant. The wind was laced with salt and the distant sound of water lapping against the harbour walls. You leaned against the railing near the restaurant doors, watching the faint ripple of lights on the water like fractured gold, focusing on the breath in your lungs and the faint sounds of traffic down the road.

But standing there, away from it all, brought to mind everything you’d tried to ignore. The way Lewis laughed with Raye, the effortless comfort they had with each other, like something they had done many times before. Like something more. You tried so hard not to read into it, tried to reason with your thoughts, tried not to care, but it was hard not to when you couldn’t even get a moment alone with him.

Maybe it had always been this unbalanced. Maybe you were the only one holding onto this, imagining something that had never been real.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been standing there in the cold whether it had been seconds or minutes. The headache had dulled but not completely vanished yet, your thoughts still spinning too fast. You told yourself you just needed a moment. Just one.

The sound of footsteps closing in behind you made your heart stutter. You didn’t turn right away, not until you heard him call your name. 

His voice was low, almost careful. You glanced over your shoulder to see Lewis standing a few steps behind you with concern written behind his eyes.

“You okay?”

You hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. Just needed a breather.”

He studied you for a beat, unreadable as he took another step forward. “Isabella said you weren’t feeling well.”

This caught you slightly off guard. He had cared enough to ask, cared enough to notice, despite how swept up he’d been with all the chatter across the table. 

“It’s nothing. Just a headache.” You gave a small shrug, keeping your sentences short as you were reminded of the discomfort you felt in the restaurant.

“I would’ve checked on you sooner if I’d known.” Lewis made his way to your side, his luxurious fragrance blowing gently towards you with the breeze.

You struggled to meet his eyes at that moment, forcing a half smile across your lips. Before you could think, the words slipped from your mouth. “It’s fine. You were busy… entertaining.”

It had come out sharper than you meant, almost harsh, but you didn’t take them back. You couldn’t now.

His eyebrows twitched, upwards then closer together as he took your words in. “Is that what you think?”

You dropped your gaze to the concrete beneath your feet, shifting uncomfortably as you searched your mind for a response. You weren’t prepared to have this conversation just yet.

“It doesn’t matter what I think. It’s none of my business.” Was all you could say. 

You couldn’t stomach the thought of him saying the words. That he might be seeing her. That maybe what you had thought was growing between you was all a misunderstanding, a tiny sliver of hope that you had clung onto. It felt so…embarrassing. 

“It matters to me,” he spoke quietly after a pause, tilting his head to capture your attention back.

Your breath caught in your throat, lifting your head to face him, but before you could respond, he looked away, his tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek as if deciding what not to say.

“She’s a friend,” he added, eventually, as if reading your mind. “I didn’t invite her to complicate things. It’s the first race with the new team. Thought it might be good to have a few familiar faces around.”

“It’s okay, Lewis.” The words rushed out of your mouth. “It’s not a big deal. You don’t need to explain anything. We’re not-” You broke off, biting down on the rest. “It’s fine. I should probably just head back to the hotel and rest.”

Lewis didn’t move at first, as if he was waiting for you to finish that sentence. But when the silence lingered, when you didn’t add anything more, he took a slow step closer. Not insistent, just careful. Like he understood that this wasn’t the moment to untangle everything.

The cool breeze in the air picked up, brushing across your skin and raising goosebumps. You folded your arms together, drawing yourself in for warmth in the silence. Without missing a beat, Lewis slid his jacket off and draped it over your shoulders, the movement easy, almost instinctive. It smelled like him. Clean and woody, wrapping you in his warmth. 

“I’ll walk you back.” He adjusted the jacket around you to protect you from the cold.

Guilt swirled in your belly, no matter how much you wanted more alone time with him. “Thank you, but you should probably get back to your dinner. I’m sure they’re all waiting for you,” you murmured.

“You’re more important.” He shook his head, reaching gingerly to tuck loose strands of your hair back as the wind swept them into your face.

His words weren’t dramatic, weren’t meant to knock you off balance, yet they still landed there. Soft. Reassuring. And maybe that was worse, because it made you want to believe that you were truly more important to him than all of this.

You didn’t trust your voice, so you stayed silent, looking down at the pavement and letting the quiet settle again. 

Lewis didn’t speak either. He moved to your side, his hand resting lightly at the small of your back. Not possessive, just steady, guiding you along as you began walking back to the hotel.

You let yourself fall into step beside him, slipping into the rhythm of the city around you. Streetlights blurred in puddles along the curb, and the buzz of conversation floated from nearby restaurants, laughter trailing behind couples strolling by. It wasn’t raining yet, but the air was thick with the promise of it, cool against your skin.

He’d dropped his hand from your back, but his fingers hung beside yours as you walked, just far enough that the occasional brush felt like an accident. Just close enough that neither of you corrected it.

Your hands touched once, then again. A soft, glancing touch. His rings brushing against your skin sent your pulse tripping. You thought about saying something, about starting a conversation, but the words never made it to your lips.

You glanced up at him once, just a quick look, careful not to linger for too long.

The light caught the sharp line of his jaw, the quiet focus in his expression, and you felt that small tug again, the one that made your heart fold in on itself. It was unfair how handsome he was when he wasn’t even trying. You wanted nothing more than for him to turn around and kiss you senseless in the middle of the street. You looked away before he noticed your thoughts getting the better of you, heat burning at your cheeks even in the cool air.

The silence between you remained, but it wasn’t awkward. It had edges, sure, things left unsaid and things you both might never say, but it also had a kind of safety to it. Like you were both clinging to the stillness because words might ruin whatever this peaceful walk was.

The hotel came into view sooner than you’d have liked, its warm-lit entryway spilling golden light onto the sidewalk. You slowed instinctively, not quite ready to step away from the quiet closeness of the walk, of him. Lewis stopped with you at the stairs leading into the door.

You turned to face each other, meaning to say goodnight, or thank you, but the words were trapped behind your lips. He didn’t speak either, just looked at you with thoughtful eyes. 

“Thank you for walking me,” you managed to say, your voice quieter than you’d intended.

Lewis’ eyes searched yours, steady, gentle, with a softened expression. Instead of words, he opened his arms, inviting you in. 

You stepped forward, melting into the warmth of his embrace as he wrapped around you, an arm around your back and a hand cradling the back of your neck, holding you close. Your hands clutched lightly at the back of his shirt, feeling his chest against your own as your heart began to steady itself. You’d hugged each other before, but you’d never been this close. He felt like home.

“I hope you feel better.” His hand rubbed your back comfortingly as he pulled back, releasing you from his arms.

“Thank you.” You gave a small nod in return to his sincere smile, which filled your stomach with flutters.

He gave you one last look before stepping back, and you stood there for a moment, as you tried to make sense of everything unspoken that had just happened. You stepped into the hotel lobby and turned back to give Lewis one last glance. He was still standing just outside, waiting for you to head in safely.

“Goodnight,” you called out from the doorway, only loud enough so that he could hear you.

“Sleep well.” He raised a hand to give you a small wave, the curve across his lips growing into a gentle grin.

You offered a smile in return, before stepping inside. 

The warmth of the hallway engulfed you, but you kept his jacket on, fingers curled into the sleeves as you made your way to the elevator. It felt as though you were still wrapped in his arms, the way his scent lingered on the jacket with a whisper of something metallic underneath, like the track still clung to him somehow. You didn’t take it off even after you reached your room.

Lewis always made sure to take care of you, booking only the finest rooms despite your insistence to pay for your own. The suite was still warm and had been cleaned since the mild mess you’d made rushing to get ready to head to qualifying.

You sat at the edge of your bed for a moment, collecting your thoughts, then finally lay back, pulling the jacket tighter around yourself. You couldn’t help but replay it all in your head. The dinner, the walk, the way your hands had brushed and neither of you pulled away, the silence that wasn’t empty. You closed your eyes and let it all wash over you.

Sleep found you without trying for a short moment.

When you blinked awake again, the room was dim, bathed in the soft golden light from the bedside lamp you’d never turned off. Disoriented for a beat, you reached for your phone.

Two new messages popped up in your notifications. One from Isabella checking on you and offering to bring you some pain relief, the other, from Lewis.

How are you feeling? 

I hope you feel better in the morning, I’d love to see you at the race. It wouldn’t be the same without you.

Your heart twisted in that annoyingly familiar way. It was just a text. A simple, sweet text message, but now, you couldn’t stop wondering if he’d sent something similar to the others  tonight, or just to you.

Did he tell Raye he hoped to see her tomorrow too?

You hated how much it mattered to you. How easily one line, one gesture from him could unravel you, and make you second-guess every look, every silence. He’d walked you home, given you his jacket, and that hug. Maybe he was just being gentlemanly, as always, but then there’d also been Raye and that lingering feeling that maybe you’d misread it all.

He said she was a friend, maybe that’s all you were too, but he’d also said the same about the others. The other stunning singers, models, and actresses you’d heard about, which you were sure had shared his bed at least once. 

Your mind circled it like it always did, trying to decode meaning in the spaces between his words and his actions. The one thing you were sure of, is that you wanted there to be more. Whether he felt that way or not, was almost impossible to figure out when you barely got to spend time together, alone.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, tracing around his contact photo as you considered your reply.

Maybe tomorrow would give you some answers, or maybe it would just tangle things even more.

Either way, you already knew you'd go.

[lululocomo]

Well... screw you (affectionate), now I'm thinking about 2 angst sinareos, and I had to share.

1. You said that Mk would not sleep in the same bed as his parents for the first bit cause he's an adult (he's not) and he's still human in behavior (he's not), so it got me thinking: what other behaviors he'd be avoiding? After all, his monkey form, even if this is kind of different, means choas and danger. Maybe he wouldn't partake in group grooming and try (and fail) to handle his fur himself with simply a hair brush. If he ignored it too much, he could end up over-grooming himself and still end up matting, pacing, and going through teenager mood swings more often until Wukong and Macaque staged an intervention.

2. Mk is chilling with the pilgrims and oop, nice old lady- NOPE! LBD! Wukong is all aggressive while Tripitaka is being particular about peace when MK starts having war flashbacks and starts growling, and Mk NEVER growls at ANYONE, so they're all taken aback while he starts warning LBD, while every part of his is shaking, to leave and never bother his family again or he'd make her suffer the same fate he gave her last time.

So eventally, Wukong and Macaque get Mk alone who has to traumadump that yeah, this girl tricked him into almost ending the world, possessed Wukong, amd had Macaque working for her (what debt Macaque had to settle he doesnt know) and kept attacking him, Wukong, and his friends- and ya know, just for funzies, we have some breakdown cracks thrown in there. :)

ANYWAY - I was pledged with these thoughts, so now you do too. Love your au; The fluff and angst potential is through the roof, perfect for my gremlin hands to shake my phone while reading. <3

AAAAAH thank you so much!! /gen MK do try to take care of his fur by himself at first. He do let Macaque groom him, but not often enough for his fur to be in great condition. He prefer to bath in the river and brush it, which is just the bare minimum. He's annoyed how everyone treat him like a little kid, especially Macaque, he's very overprotective. MK find it so embarassing to sleep with Macaque(sad Wukong is under da mountain), but he accept it, because if he don't he know he will not sleep well at all and will have terrible nightmare. But daily grooming? nah ah- he can take care of his fur alone. What he don't know is that when he sleep in the nest, Macaque use this opportunity to groom his fur :)

And for LBD, I might do a comic when he see her during the journey :) (it will take me some time to do, so be patient for it)

[joequiinn]

It Goes Away | b.r. x reader

Summary | Therapists always warned against befriending other addicts. Yet, no one else in the world could understand quite like those who had lived the same shit as you.

Warnings, Tropes, Themes | fem reader, hurt/comfort, mentions of past addiction and recovery, group therapy, Bob and reader being awkward, Bob continues to trauma bond with others, spoilers for Thunderbolts*

Author's Note | I've edited this fic nonstop the past week and a half and my brain is totally fried, so bone apple tea lol. I hope I did Bob's characterization justice, and that this idea makes sense to anyone else; I was really compelled to explore more of Bob's grief, so here we are. I've only seen the movie once so far, so I'm going purely off memory here. (Song title and lyrics from the band Atta Boy 😉)

WC | 14.3k (whoops this was supposed to be short)

!!! MINOR DNI !!!

Looking for a pot of gold / Or just some good advice Halls and stairs, you've never seen / True paradise You wake, your hands are numb / It must have been a dream Her heart beats harmlessly / Despite how it may seem

Group therapy wasn’t so bad once you got used to it. Sure, spilling your guts to a bunch of strangers felt like its own brand of torture when you first started attending, but you came to appreciate the camaraderie, the connections forged amongst people struggling with life much like you. Misery enjoys company, or however the hell that saying goes.

The group was a good bunch, and its familiarity gave your weeks a stability you hadn’t realized you needed before. Along your own journey full of stumbles and blocks, you’d found a sense of direction thanks to these therapy sessions; you secretly hoped that, with enough time and practice, you could maybe be a sponsor for other recovering addicts eventually. You weren’t sure if you personally had the means to do more than that, but you discovered in these past couple years that the feeling of helping others was something you’d come to crave. Maybe that was your way of dealing with all the trouble you’d caused through the years, as if you were making amends by being of service.

Some people came and went from your group, but more often than not you saw the same faces over and over, two or three times a week. So, when newcomers appeared, it always piqued your interest - would they join your rag-tag bunch, or would they ditch after only a single meeting? Were they just looking for a safe place to admit all their secrets, or were they seeking some kind of connection?

This usual string of questions began swirling in your mind when the door opened five minutes past the meeting’s start time - an awkward though sweet looking man cringed sheepishly at the attention he drew thanks to his interruption. Everyone stared, though the tension was quickly dispelled once the therapist waved the new arrival in, introducing herself and offering him an open seat in the circle.

He was hesitant while stepping into the room, moving stiffly, an apologetic look in his eyes, like he felt he was taking up too much time and attention. It was obvious how out of place he felt, his arms crossed in front of him like a shield, eyes cast down as if to make himself appear smaller. For the most part, the group quickly returned their attention to the person who had been talking prior to the disruption; but you let your gaze linger on the newbie, studying him while trying not to be too obvious.

The tension in his body was palpable; it was like he wasn’t comfortable in his own skin, like he wanted to crawl right out of it, second-guessing his decision to come to this therapy session at all. There was an aura of sadness about him, too, a heavy weight upon his shoulders. But, really, that’s how half the group usually appeared - everyone here was dealing with their own personal brand of pain and regret, and that sort of shit always physically manifested in ways that you learned to recognize. Nonetheless, you were curious what brought him here, what compelled him to take that leap and try something in the hopes that it would help.

Detecting someone staring at him, the man looked around with anxious worry. You tried to divert your gaze quickly, but not before the two of you met eyes for a brief, uncertain moment. Shit, you shouldn’t have been so blatant, the last thing anyone here needed was to be made to feel even more uncomfortable than they surely already were. That was one more thing you had to work on if you ever wanted to be of help to anyone.

From that point, the group carried on as usual - people talked and cried, the therapist gave apt anecdotes, you scoffed at the idea of sharing any of your own stories when prompted. Ironic that you wanted to help others but weren’t all that eager to share in front of everyone, but you much preferred your one-on-one sessions with the therapist instead. You still liked group therapy, you still appreciated it, but you felt as if you didn’t require quite as much attention as some of the other group members right now.

And these past few weeks, it seemed like damn near everyone was in desperate need of some venting. The “black out,” as you’d all taken to calling it, really did a number on the city, especially those of you that were already dealing with some heavy shit.

No one knew what had happened to New York City a month ago. One minute everything was fine, and the next people disappeared into some fucked up nightmare world. The mayor nor any government officials would disclose information about the event, which caused mass upset and panic, considering that some people thought this could possibly be a repeat of the Blip from nearly a decade ago. The only thing anyone knew was that the supposed “New Avengers” saved the day, and everyone was expected to just be cool about it. Color you paranoid, but you didn’t trust what was going on, considering how closed lip everyone was being.

A long-time member of the group was divulging how desperately the black out made him want to toss his sobriety to the wayside when your gaze drifted back towards the newbie.

He looked as if he was trying to make himself as discreet as a shadow, as if this subject was too much for him; you wondered what he saw in that black out, and if he was reliving it somewhere behind those sad eyes. Your brows turned down as you studied the pain in his expression, the irritation in his body language - whatever happened must’ve really gotten to him. Briefly, you recalled your own experience in there - the yelling, the arguing, the anguish, all fresh again like an open wound. Your jaw tightened as you tried to shake yourself free of the memory.

And in that same moment, the new guy met your eyes again, an uneasiness in his expression, as if he knew what you were thinking. This time, you were frozen under his stare, the both of you unblinking as you watched one another. Though you didn’t speak a word, there was a mutual agony between you; not everyone in the group was quite so keenly aware of others’ emotions in the way that this man seemed to be, and all it took was a simple glance between you.

As another person chimed in with their own difficulties during the black out, the newbie redirected his attention, listening intently, though painfully, to the new story as if his life depended on it. You decided to give him reprieve from your watchful gaze, casting your eyes down as you, too, listened to everyone’s stories.

When eventually the group dispersed, you were one of the first out; not because you were in a rush or anything, but you were desperate for a cigarette. Since the black out, you’d been smoking a lot more, as if filling your lungs with toxic air could keep your demons at bay.

You sat out on the front steps of the community center, bidding good night to anyone that acknowledged you as they passed. A few others lingered outside, some chit-chatting over cigarettes of their own, others buying time so they wouldn’t have to go home just yet; you always wondered what some of them had to return to, if anything.

The therapist paused to speak with you for a few moments, reminding you to set aside some time in the week so that the two of you could have a session; you nodded agreeably, knowing that you needed it, before she left for the evening.

You hadn’t seen the new guy come out yet. Not that you were looking for him or anything… It was just an observation. You weren’t really sure what about him made you so curious. Maybe it was the fact that he tried to hide from attention all session, maybe it was the utter air of sadness that hung about him; maybe there was something you saw that reminded you of yourself. As you snuffed out your cigarette, you were of two minds while considering the stranger - one part of you tried to simply forget him, while the other wanted to know more.

So, you stood, dusting off your rear before heading back into the community center, wondering if he was still around or if he had snuck out. You passed other rooms still occupied by book clubs or scout troops, eyes bouncing around observantly; your own meeting room still appeared to have a light on, and you’d be lying if you denied the fact that your steps grew a little faster once you noticed.

Peering through the small window in the door, you sighed upon seeing the man sitting in his chair, gaze far away and expression downcast. He still looked so small and guarded, even as he sat alone; his shoulders were hunched as he slumped forward, hands fisted in front of his mouth. You lingered on the other side of the door, considering whether or not it was appropriate for you to intrude - you understood that sometimes one just wanted to be left alone with their sadness. Yet, some part of you yearned to offer him understanding, again feeling an odd pull towards the stranger. Chalk it up to that desire of yours to help, maybe, and not any other sort of desire within you.

You let yourself into the room before you could second guess the decision, footfall so light that he almost didn’t hear you; you’d always been good at creeping around, whether you meant to or not. It was the door closing behind you that alerted the man to your arrival, the sound causing him to straighten with a start, eyes widening as he quickly wiped at his cheeks for any residual evidence of his sadness. You held up your hands like you were approaching a skittish animal, apology written across your face.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” You started simply, waiting a few moments before you approached, “I, uh… well, I saw that the light was still on, just wanted to see who was here.”

Okay, so that was a lie, but you weren’t sure how to tell this guy that you were looking for him without sounding like a bit of a creep. He stared briefly as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say, though in the next breath he put up a false smile, pretending that everything was fine; it was the kind of look that you had often used on others, too.

“Just me,” he answered, attempting an air of levity that was clearly put on. You nodded noncommittally, and he pointed awkwardly around the room, “Sorry, am I not allowed to stay or…?”

“Oh, no, you can stay, I don’t make the rules,” You scratched at your arm nervously, biting the inside of your cheek in consideration. You weren’t good at small talk, but neither were you good at heart-to-hearts, despite your best efforts. Didn’t exactly bode well for helping others, but that was just something for you to work on. So, throwing caution to the wind, you furrowed your brow decidedly, trying the first thing that came to mind, “You, uh… look like you could use someone to talk to?”

He laughed weakly, uncomfortably, a faux look of surprise on his face, “Who, me? No, I’m totally… fine. Just thought I’d check out the group.”

You nodded with a disbelieving hum, looking around again while deciding to play along for the time being, “Well, I hope our therapy wasn’t too boring for you… What’s your name?”

He looked nearly surprised that you cared enough to ask; or maybe that was trepidation, as if he didn’t trust why you were asking, “Um… Bob.”

“Bob.” You repeated before giving your own name, settling on a new conversation tactic, “Well, Bob… if it isn’t asking too much, I could really use someone to talk to. It’s always kinda difficult being vulnerable in a room full of people. Mind if I sit?”

You weren’t sure whether or not this approach would work, but to be fair, you also weren’t sure what you were trying to accomplish in the first place. Yeah, you were thinking that maybe you could get him to open up a little if you showed some vulnerability first, but considering that this wasn’t an effort you usually made, it felt strange to be doing so at all.

He gave a slow nod, as if still taken aback by your attention, and so you pulled one of the chairs a little closer and plopped down beside him.

“You know, I’ve been coming to this group for nearly two years, but it's still so daunting to even think about sharing,” You started, allowing yourself to simply chatter and see where that would lead you, “I mean, yeah, I’ve talked about some of my problems before, but it doesn’t really get easier when fifteen people are staring back at you. Or maybe I’m just a chicken, some of them come and spill their entire life story without even batting an eye.”

You glanced at Bob, who appeared to be considering how to respond. You continued instead, “I started here because it was either therapy or, uh… time. I used to think this was all pretty stupid, talking about feelings, but it’s really grown on me. Guess talking through problems isn’t as bad as I thought it was.”

Bob’s jaw flexed briefly, eyes bouncing around as if in search of something before he looked you up and down, “‘Time?’ Like jail time? What’d you do?”

You smiled guardedly, shaking your head; couldn’t spill all your secrets yet, “Something I try not to think about. It’s in the past… the black out made that wound pretty fresh again, though.”

He flinched faintly at the mention of it, making you once more wonder at the torment in his reaction. Bob glanced at you from the corner of his eye like he wasn’t sure about looking at you straight on. There was something like sheepishness in the glance, or maybe guilt. You felt your own expression soften, studying him patiently.

“It was pretty bad, wasn’t it?” He asked, hands flexing nervously, “The way everyone talks about it on the news and here…”

“Yeah, pretty bad.” You echoed, brows casting down sympathetically, “Were you in the city when it happened?”

Bob nodded, his eyes getting that far away sheen again as he sucked in his lips thoughtfully, although he still tried to appear unfazed, “Thing is, I don’t really remember. It’s this hazy gap; happens sometimes, I just don’t remember things. But hearing everyone’s stories, the stuff they all had to relive… makes me feel guilty.”

You gave him a faint understanding smile, “Ah, guilt - the biggest bitch of all emotions, right? Always popping up even if it's unwarranted.”

Bob’s expression hardened as he stared at the floor, as if maybe he disagreed with something you said but wasn’t nearly bold enough to say so. He contemplated something for a few long, tense moments, brow furrowing once he met your eyes again, “Was it bad for you?”

You weren’t quite open to sharing details about what you experienced in the black out, but you nodded nonetheless, “Probably not as traumatic as some of the stuff that others saw, though it still keeps me up at night. To be fair, I’ve been dealing with insomnia for a while, though.”

“I can’t seem to sleep either. That’s why I came here. Or, in part, it is. I thought maybe hearing about other people’s problems might help. Now, I’m thinking that might just make it worse. I don’t know if I can… carry all of it; everyone’s trauma, my guilt.”

A worried look flashed across your features at his admission, your tone firm, “You don’t have to carry anyone else’s shit. Not like the black out was your fault.”

The look that Bob leveled you with nearly made you shiver. He stared at you as if he’d lived a hundred lifetimes, harboring some deep, cruel secret that he couldn’t risk letting out. It made you nervous in some way that you couldn’t place, your heart stuttering as he wrenched his eyes away in agitation. The silence between you became tense.

Despite that strange beat in conversation, an idea came to you, so you began fumbling around in your cluttered bag, “Look, I’m not a professional or anything, and maybe I’ve just been annoying as shit, but if you ever want to talk to someone on those nights you can’t sleep…”

You finally found a pen, extracting it and reaching for Bob’s hand without a second thought. He clenched his fist as if nervous to be touched - something you should have been more mindful of, considering the guardedness of so many people in your group - but he allowed you to scribble your name and number on the back of his hand.

You tried not to notice the warmth of him, the softness of his palm, though you nonetheless smiled kindly as the two of you lingered there. You could feel Bob’s body relaxing a little as he took a deep breath, looking between your face and the string of digits written on his skin. Absentmindedly, your thumb brushed gently along his arm as you studied him--

And then your sister was shouting, though you couldn’t quite hear the words on her lips, her eyes blazing with a cruelty unlike anything you’d known. She shoved you back, as if disgusted by you, shoved you again because you simply lingered, frozen and in shock. Your head swam from your lack of sobriety, eyes glossy and confused as you looked around your sister’s living room, strewn with baby toys and creature comforts, the TV blaring something behind you--

You came back to, and Bob’s hand was no longer in yours. Blinking rapidly, your expression furrowed and then widened as you pressed a palm to your forehead as if you were suddenly struggling with a migraine.

Bob looked between your eyes with worry, with something akin to fear; you opened your mouth to speak, but paused, realizing you weren’t quite sure what to say or what exactly happened. Sure, you’d thought about that night countless times, but you never had vivid flashbacks like that; was it a side effect from the black out? Maybe you’d have to ask if anyone else was experiencing them, because it was too strange, even for you.

Taking a deep breath, you looked away from Bob, trying to slow the confused beating of your heart. What did he think of you now, you wondered. Had you just frozen suddenly, going off somewhere in the recesses of your memory as he watched, horrified that the person he spoke to was crazier than she let on? Or maybe it was so quick that he barely noticed, maybe he just assumed it was a weird quirk?

Composing yourself, you sat up a little straighter, looking back at Bob with a straightforwardness as you ignored whatever the hell that was, “I mean it, Bob; you can call me any time, any day. Promise I won’t zone out like that again, that doesn’t normally happen.”

Bob looked between your eyes and his hand a few times; you wondered if it was out of surprise or trepidation or fear, or some other thing that you couldn’t place. To reassure him, you smiled as if that could dissolve any problems.

“Promise.” You repeated, scooping your bag up onto your shoulder as you stood, “I gotta catch my train… hope I hear from you.”

You gave Bob an optimistic look, and although there was still something lingering in his eyes, he managed to smile back, a genuinely pleasant look that made you feel a little giddy, “Yeah, I'll give you a call sometime. Promise.”

You stared at each other for a moment longer as you felt a flutter in your chest. Your smile grew a touch bashful as you started for the door, pausing to glance back at Bob, who was watching your retreat thoughtfully.

Bob wasn’t at the next therapy meeting, nor the one after that. You tried not to get your hopes up, though you couldn’t help the quiet disappointment that you felt. No one was obligated to show up each and every time, but you’d really been optimistic that he’d be there. It’s not that you’d been hoping to make a new friend, but… okay, maybe that’s exactly what you were hoping for, actually.

You hadn’t had any of those hallucinations again since that night - you weren’t sure if there was a better term for what had occurred, because you loathed that description for it, but you were grateful, at least, that they weren’t becoming some routine thing. Your nightmares got bad again after that, though, leading to mostly sleepless nights of tossing and turning and dreading the day ahead. On those occasions, you silently hoped that your phone would ring and that Bob would be on the other end, which almost made you feel pathetic because it reminded you that you didn’t really have anyone these days.

Between the whirlwind of your arrest, court case, rehab, and therapy, you’d slowly lost all of your friends, each and everyone one of the connections from your past life. Many of those you lost for the better, as they’d enabled your bad habits more than anything, but others had simply grown tired of your shit. Like your sister.

But you couldn’t let yourself think about her too hard.

You had made some acquaintances through work and therapy, but closer relationships had yet to pan out from any of those. Sometimes that was their choosing, sometimes it was yours. The closest thing you had to a friend right now was a woman in therapy named Emily, whom you’d gone out with a few times to get coffee, and she seemed to like you even after getting to know you, so that was a minor victory in your book.

It was after a second group session without Bob’s presence that she pulled you aside curiously, which you initially assumed meant she was going to ask you for another coffee date soon. But she determinedly scrolled through her phone in search of something, and so you waited curiously for whatever she had to show you. When finally she spun it around, you were greeted by a screenshot from the coverage of the new Avengers from a little over a month ago; she zoomed in on the far right of the screen, her brow furrowed inquisitively.

“Tell me that isn’t the guy who was here last week.”

Bob. You wished that you weren’t certain of it, but you recognized him immediately, without even a moment’s pause despite the fact that you only met him once. Emily didn’t know you’d stayed behind to chat with him after everyone left, which was fortunate, because otherwise you had a feeling she’d pester you more about it.

But, what the hell was he doing there?

For whatever reason, you hesitated to confirm her suspicion. It felt like you were privy to some secret that no one else should know, and although you were a lot of things, you weren’t a snitch. So, you twisted up your face in an exaggerated show of consideration, pretending to thoughtfully study the photo until you finally ‘decided’ that no, that wasn’t the same guy, just looked a bit like him.

Again, you found yourself wishing that Bob would call you or show up again.

A few nights later, you were wide awake at two in the morning, searching the internet for all possible videos and articles about this new Avengers team. This isn’t what you had intended to do - no, you really hoped that you’d actually sleep tonight - but after hours of restlessness, you ended up down the rabbit hole thanks to a blog post crossing your feed about ex-Congressman Barnes’ return to superheroing.

That could only lead you to one path, of course, so you scoured all the sources you could find for even a hint of information about or reference to Bob. Was he just a random citizen who happened to be in close proximity once the cameras were on, was he working for the woman who claimed to have put the team together? He couldn’t have been part of their team, you decided based upon how lost he looked in the short clips and pictures, but it was pretty damn weird for him to be photographed alongside them.

Unfortunately, the internet had nothing helpful to offer you. You personally suspected that the government was still keeping a lid on all the dirty details about what actually happened, because you encountered more than one broken link and deleted post in your research efforts. Considering that there was nothing official regarding the Avengers as of yet, you supposed there wouldn’t be anything useful out there until further notice.

Was three am too early for coffee? You knew you were out of luck getting any rest tonight, though getting up now may make you exhausted at work later.

Fuck it. You rolled out of bed and quickly padded down the hall to the bathroom. The beauty of living in a halfway house was that everyone kept weird schedules, so you never stressed about your own strange hours like you used to when you were couch surfing or living with roommates. Hell, you’d even miss this place whenever you eventually moved onto your next, hopefully more permanent, residence.

After a quick shower, you left, making the short trek to the 24-hour corner store with a coffee bar that always suited your high caffeine needs.

It was as you stepped outside that your phone rang, causing your heart to skip with far too much anticipation. Considering that no one ever reached out to you anymore, you figured it could only be one person calling you before the sun was up. Again, you tried to avoid thinking about why you were so intrigued by Bob, and why you cared so much.

“Yeah?” You greeted quickly, trying not to sound too eager as you balanced the phone between your shoulder and ear. The line was quiet for a long moment.

“Um, hi… it’s Bob.”

“I hoped so.” You blurted out with a faint smile, though your eyes widened as you realized what you said. Awkwardly, you coughed, quickly redirecting so that he hopefully wouldn’t linger on it, “You having trouble sleeping?”

Bob paused for a second, “Yeah. You?”

“Can’t sleep a wink.”

You weren’t sure why you were so happy to hear from him. You barely knew each other, and your struggles with insomnia were hardly something to bond over. And yet, you were… flattered, for lack of a better word, that Bob actually called like he said he would, that he must have liked or trusted you enough to not just forget your number and move on. God, have you really been growing this lonely in recent months?

Although he was silent, you got the impression that Bob was thinking hard about something. You took a long sip of your coffee, wandering aimlessly along the sidewalk as your gaze bounced around; maybe you could find something interesting to draw, you always preferred having something to keep your hands busy.

“Do you want to talk about anything, or should I?” You asked, though instantly you realized that may have made things awkward. You were reminded briefly of one time in a past therapy session when someone mentioned that a lot of people can’t stand lulls in conversation, so they’ll find a way of filling it; guess you were that type of person who wasn’t so good with gaps of silence.

“I know I’m the one who called you, but I… don’t really know how to talk about it.” You refrained from asking what ‘it’ was, assuming that Bob would find his own way to fill in the blank, “I never really learned how to express myself. I have friends that have been trying to help me with some stuff - well, we’ve all kinda been helping each other - but it just feels really unnatural.”

You huffed out a laugh, juggling everything so you could dig out your cigarettes, “You have friends, but you still decided to call me? I’m flattered.”

You could almost hear the flustered expression on his face as he tripped over himself, “Well, I mean, I’m not trying to assume, but I was under the impression there are some things you might understand better than they will.”

“Insomnia and nightmares?”

“Cravings.” You paused, not prepared for the simple yet honest answer. You nodded in contemplation despite the fact that Bob couldn’t see you, knowing all the things implied by those two simple words.

Therapists always warned against befriending other addicts - it risked the progress of all parties involved. Yet, at the same time, no one else in the world could understand certain struggles quite like those who have lived through the same type of shit as you. So, Bob had clocked you the same way you did him; maybe that meant something.

“Where are you, Bob? Do you need to meet up in case you… do something you’ll regret?” You asked nervously; you didn’t want to offend him, but you also didn’t know what mental spot he was in right now. For all you knew, he could’ve desperately needed someone’s help right now, so at the very least you felt like it was your responsibility to be available for him.

“I’m okay. I’m okay.” You weren’t sure if he repeated it for you or for himself, though you nonetheless appreciated that he did so, “They don’t really know the feeling. They have their own problems, but that one’s my own.”

“Trust me, I get it.” You decided to find a seat, settling on the steps of a closed business and pulling out your sketchbook, “Has it been worse since the black out?”

You could picture the way Bob probably cringed at that; if you gathered anything from your one meeting, it was that the black out seemed to be a particularly sore subject for him. You started doodling absentmindedly, the pen in your hand an instant relief.

“Everything’s been really different since then. I was pretty lost before it happened, and I was fine for a little bit, but now I’m just… not sure about anything.”

“You could always come back to the group - like I said, it helps.” Though he didn’t respond, you felt his hesitation, “Sometimes it makes the bad shit feel less suffocating. Adds a lot of stability to my life, personally.”

“Stability sounds nice.” Bob mused, “Right now there’s so much going on that I don’t know where to start, it’s suffocating. It’s nice talking to someone who isn’t caught up in the middle of it.”

Your brow furrowed as you considered that, wondering, again, what exactly Bob meant, “Not trying to pry or anything, but you’re a bit cryptic, you know that?”

“I don’t like to be.” It sounded like he actually meant it, too, “There’s just a lot I’m not really… able to talk about right now.”

“Is it part of a rehab process or something?” Your brow furrowed, scribbling aimlessly. That didn’t sound like a treatment tactic you’d ever heard of before, but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“No, it’s not that. It’s more… work related.”

In that moment, you remembered the new Avengers, your futile research, all your queries surrounding why Bob was seen alongside them. You kept yourself from asking any thoughtless questions, wishing you had a little more information to work with. If the government was trying to keep things on the down low, it would explain his vagueness and guarded nature - if he was, in fact, connected to this Avengers shit like you were guessing, but even still that seemed like a long shot.

“Well, what can you tell me?” That sounded rude, didn’t it? Maybe not the best way to make friends.

“Um… I’m trying to keep my head above water despite everything reminding me of the bad things I’ve done. My friends and I are all basically sworn to secrecy right now, which sucks because getting a girl’s number has been the first shred of normalcy I’ve had in a while, so I really don’t want to mess that up. But I think I might mess it up because I can’t say anything.”

You paused, coffee, cigarette, and doodles momentarily forgotten following the admission. In spite of yourself, you felt your cheeks warm a little, a smile creeping across your lips. You weren’t quite sure how to interpret what he said, but it made you feel… fuzzy inside.

“I don’t think anyone’s considered me ‘normal’ before.” You giggled smally, as if everything else he said went in one ear and out the other.

“Sorry, was that the wrong thing to say? Promise I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” Bob asked, but you could hear the kind smile in his voice, the delight in his tone.

“I believe you.” You grinned, wishing that you could see his face right now, “It’s nice talking with you, Bob. If I haven’t scared you away yet, I’d like if we could talk more often.”

“Scare me away?” Bob huffed out a small laugh, “I’m more worried about scaring you, to be honest.”

You, too, laughed, “I guess being worried about the same thing sorta cancels it out. Or I hope it does. I can’t imagine you could scare me off that easily, though, usually I’m the one that’s more troublesome.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Is that a challenge?” You teased, “Because, just to warn you, I don’t back down from challenges all that easily.”

Bob hummed in amusement, “I’m sure you don’t.”

Was that supposed to sound… flirty? Maybe you just wanted it to, but damn, that felt a little coy to you. The heat rose in your cheeks again, your pencil continuing to swirl random shapes onto paper; like a teenager, you felt the impulse to draw a stupid little heart, but refrained. You wished that you had something clever to say, something equally as flirtatious just to see if that was Bob’s intention, but he managed to make you a little nervous with that last one. So, like a fool, you bit your lip to hold in any giggles.

Bob coughed, perhaps also aware of the effect of his words, “I like talking to you, too. And now you have my number, so maybe… you’ll call me sometime?”

“I think I can manage that.” You smiled to yourself. As another idea crossed you, you tried not to cringe awkwardly at how silly you felt asking, “Maybe we can even grab coffee sometime or something?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’d like that.” It sounded like maybe Bob was as nervous as you, though that could have been wishful thinking.

Although you still had a dozen question marks surrounding Bob, you suddenly weren’t all that concerned with them - this was the talking stage, after all, no one knew that much about another person after a couple of conversations. You must have been getting rusty or something, because this was obviously no different from getting to know anyone else. Surely any questions you had would be answered with enough time, with enough conversations, just like you’d answer whatever questions Bob might have for you.

And you really hoped there would be a lot more conversation to come.

Since your phone call with Bob last week, your nights had still been just as restless as usual; tossing and turning and wondering and overthinking. It was so normal for you that you didn’t think anything of it, though now your evenings were also tinged with the curiosity of whether or not he may call you again, or if you should call him. The both of you admitted to struggling with sleep most nights, so who better than to keep you company than a fellow insomniac?

And yet, neither of you was quite willing enough to pick up that phone again.

Miraculously, though, you had actually managed to drift off at a decent hour for the first time in days, your sleep calm and dreamless, which was something of a godsend. Maybe the utter lack of sleep finally caught up to you, body and mind finally fatigued enough to give in; if only it didn’t take so much to get some damn sleep.

You weren’t sure how many minutes or hours of shut eye you managed to squeeze in before your phone started buzzing from your bedside table, piercing its way into your subconscious like a bullet. You stopped being a heavy sleeper once you got sober, waking at any and every sound, which was a burden in a city as loud as New York. On more than one occasion, you told yourself that you’d get some ear plugs, but you never followed through.

You jolted up, blinking groggily as your phone vibrated against the wood surface, your body aching from whatever uncomfortable position you’d fallen asleep in. Once you felt situated enough following your rapid waking, you reached for the phone without even glancing at the caller ID, already knowing exactly who would be calling you in the middle of the night.

“Hey,” You greeted gently, your throat a little hoarse.

“I woke you, didn’t I?” Bob asked guiltily, as if he counted how many rings it took you to answer or could hear the exhaustion in your voice. His tone gave you the impression that he thought waking you was the greatest offense in the world.

“No.” You lied seamlessly, glad that he couldn’t see you yawning into the crook of your elbow, even if you assumed he wouldn’t believe you, “Are you okay?”

There was a long, hesitant pause, and with each passing second worry began to bubble in your chest; although you tried not to fret, you couldn’t help yourself, because something seemed off.

Eventually, Bob sighed shakily, which sounded desperate to your ears, “I’ve been better.”

Your expression dropped as you drew your knees under your chin, staring into the dark of your room, enough light seeping through your blinds that it created strange shadows and shapes along the wall, “What’s wrong, Bob?”

There was another beat of silence, “I just… sobriety’s really getting to me right now. My head is so clear, I can’t stop thinking about everything I’ve done, all the bad stuff. Whenever I’d get like this before, I’d know I was too sober and take whatever I could get, or I could at least count on having enough gaps in my memory that nothing could get to me. I’ve done a lot of bad things since then, though, and it's eating at me. Those gaps are starting to fill and I’m not sure if it’s all real or imaginary.”

Worry washed over you like a cold rush of water, and suddenly you feared that you wouldn’t be able to help Bob in the way that he needed. You tossed your bedsheets away, wondering if you should get dressed and figure out where he is, “Bob, I promise you, whatever you’re feeling isn’t worth touching shit, you got it? I know it sucks, but I need you to listen to me. Don’t think about taking anything. Do you need me to come to you?”

You heard him breath roughly again; you closed your eyes, trying to picture him in your mind, imagining the worst, “No, you don’t have to do that… Can you just talk to me right now? I want to listen to your voice.”

A warmth lit your cheeks, though you felt it was inappropriate given the circumstances. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your worries, “What do you want me to talk about?”

“You,” Bob urged, “Your life, anything. I want to know you… How you cope when things get like this?”

“Well, I smoke a lot of cigarettes.” You jested halfheartedly, hoping that it might help to put him at ease, “And I draw. Used to talk to my sister when things got bad. Sometimes I just talk to the empty room so the words get out of me; it’s like it… releases the bad thoughts.”

“What do you draw?” Bob’s voice sounded rough, as if he was working hard to keep himself together.

Your heart drummed with concern as you continued, “Anything; I just draw a lot. As a kid I was convinced I’d go to art school or something; even my parents thought so because I’d just doodle on anything I could get my hands on. I was such a perfectionist, though, always getting myself worked up because I had to be the best, you know. I’d worry so damn much about lines on paper, it was ridiculous. Never did get into art school… Maybe that’s a good thing, because now I can draw again without worrying that nothing’s good enough.

“If you’re up for it, maybe I can draw you sometime; I’m trying to do more with people and not just things. I’d like to draw you.” Your eyes widened, realizing how it may have sounded to admit that you wanted to draw Bob; you preemptively cringed at whatever awkwardness may come next.

“Okay.” It was one simple, breathy word, yet you could nonetheless feel the interest and warmth in his tone, causing your worried expression to soften, “I might not be the best subject, but… that sounds nice.”

“You’d make a great subject.” You smiled sweetly despite the fact that he couldn’t see your face, “You’re a-- well, I just think--”

What you were about to say was that Bob was good looking, but you caught yourself before the words slipped out, already a little too self-conscious over the last thing you said to admit such a thing yet. You heard a huff of amusement through the phone, which made your shoulders relax a little; maybe you were helping after all, even if you were embarrassing yourself in the process.

“I’d love to see your stuff, if you want to show me.” Bob added, as if he knew what you’d been trying to say and decided to help you save face. He was the one that called you, he shouldn’t have to worry about you like this; that was supposed to be your job right now.

“Maybe next time you’re at group.” You appreciated his effort, nervously scratching at your arm as you recovered from your near-blunder, “My sketch book is full of all kinds of things, it’s a bit much, I think.”

“Well, you're an artist; I’d expect it to have a lot going on.” Was he trying to make you nervous, because it was working.

You pondered said book for a moment, thinking about all the images within it, specifically some of the work from before things got really messy. You gulped, deciding to trust Bob with more of your story, since all your talking seemed to be good for him so far, “I used to sketch my sister and her family a lot. I idolized her as a kid, she was so… perfect to me. There’s a bit of a gap between us, so I thought she was really grown up when I was a kid. And she totally is, she’s got her life so put together that I can’t believe we’re related sometimes. She helped me a lot when I got into some bad spots.”

“What happened?” Bob asked with hesitation and sympathy, “I mean, you’re talking about her like she’s gone, is she…?”

You bit your lip while breathing deeply, “She decided she couldn’t help me anymore. I fucked up one too many times. But I think it was supposed to happen that way - forced me to get my act together.”

“You miss her, though?”

“All the damn time. I lost my best friend because of my bullshit. Yeah, it sucks, some days more than others, but I can’t hold it against her.”

“You seem so… like you got it all together. Like you don’t need anyone’s help.”

You barked out a disbelieving laugh, “Oh, I don’t have it together. I’m a wreck half the time, I just keep it all in; it’s no one else’s problem but mine.”

“How do you do it?” Again, you found yourself wishing Bob was here in front of you so you could look into his eyes, at his body language; so you could squeeze his hand with the assurance that he needed. So you could make sure he was okay.

“Honestly, I don’t know, but what other choice do I have? Either I sink beneath it all or I float. I’d rather float.” There was a long stretch of silence between you two as you waited for him to speak again. You wondered if you were still helping, or if he was just putting up fronts to make you feel better; your worry kicked back in again, “Bob, how are you doing right now? This very moment?”

“Not great.” You sighed, “But… I’d rather float.”

A surprised giggle escaped you, an uncertain smile on your lips because you couldn’t be sure if his answer was a good thing or just for show, “God, that was really cheesy, wasn’t it?”

“Made you sound like a real motivational speaker.” Bob laughed faintly, too, a genuine sound that was a relief to your ears; maybe he was doing a bit better than he was before, “It helped. I like talking to you - something about you just keeps me grounded, I guess.”

“I make you feel ‘normal?’” You teased, recalling what he’d said the last time you spoke.

“Well… yes?” His tone managed to sound good despite how he’d felt all night; maybe it was the truth when he said you helped him. Easing up a little, you smiled fondly to yourself.

“I… like being your normal.” You admitted bashfully, biting your lip with fear at how he may interpret and respond to that. Bob was quiet for a beat, which dared to make you think that maybe you said too much.

“I like it, too.” He answered in a soft voice, content, a comfortable silence passing between you, “But I should let you go back to sleep; I don’t want to keep you up all night.”

“I wasn’t--”

“I know you were sleeping; last time, you answered after only two rings.” He interrupted with a pleasant laugh, and you were taken aback by the fact that he actually did count the rings both tonight and last time you spoke, just like you assumed, “Thank you for tonight.”

You were disappointed and nervous to let him go - you could stay up all night talking if he only asked, and a part of you really wished he would, “You sure you’re going to be okay? You’re not gonna hang up and do something rash? We can stay on the phone.”

“No, I promise. I think I’ll be okay.”

You mulled it over for a few moments, “If that changes, you call me, sleep be damned. And if you don’t call, we’ll talk soon?”

“Promise.” Bob repeated himself, and you realized briefly that the two of you seemed to use that word a lot considering that your friendship - if this could be called such a thing - was still blooming. You could only hope that you both meant it each and every time, “Next time, under better circumstances.”

“I’m happy to talk to you under any circumstances.” You blurted out thoughtlessly, feeling your cheeks warm with some embarrassment, “I mean--”

“I know.” Bob interrupted sweetly; you tried to picture the smile that must have been on his lips right now. There was a pause, giving you the impression that he had more to say but hesitated. Finally, he took another breath, “Sleep well.”

You bid him good night, and Bob hung up almost too quickly, leaving you feeling a lot lonelier than you were before.

Wide awake now, you glanced towards your window, staring mindlessly at the sliver of brick wall that you could see through the gap in the blinds. Should you have kept him on the phone longer, should you have been more assertive in making sure he was okay? For all you knew, Bob was still in a bad spot but didn’t want to burden you any further with it. It made you wish you knew anyone that could give you more insight into him, that there was someone you could call and ask to check in on him.

But whatever was going on with you and Bob was like an island, separate from anyone and anything else, a thing all your own. Despite your worries, it made warmth swell in your chest to think about him like that; you kind of liked that it felt like it was just the two of you. That no one else knew about your friendship, that when you talked nothing else could really penetrate the little bubble you created. It made you feel… special.

Shit, you hoped he felt the same way.

You hesitated to be the one to call Bob first, silly as that may sound. You couldn’t stand the idea of potentially bogging him down with your shit when you knew he was dealing with his own problems, so you refrained from picking up the phone no matter how much you wanted to. Sure, whenever you thought about calling him it was simply because you missed the idea of him, but you got so damn nervous each time you opened his contact in your phone that you always talked yourself out of it. Stupid.

The two of you hadn’t talked again since the phone call a few days ago. He also hadn’t returned to group therapy like you suggested and hoped for - guess that made both of you nervous cowards. You couldn’t blame him because it probably still stressed him out to think about attending a second time, but you were still hopeful that eventually he’d show his face again. Or that maybe he’d call you for that coffee date you talked about.

You understood that it was probably way too soon to consider him a friend or anything more; you were just two recovering addicts who found kinship in one another. You didn’t know each other at all, and you shouldn’t get your hopes up, but there was just something about Bob…

Shit, there’s no way he just walked through the door as you were thinking about him.

You had to do a double-take, because you almost couldn’t believe that Bob entered the community room in the last ten minutes of therapy as if you’d manifested him from thin air.

But there he was, looking as awkward and apologetic as he had the first time. Your heart skipped as a giddy little smile tugged at your lips, Bob tripping over an explanation that he tried to get here on time but something held him up; all the while, he kept stealing looks at you from the corner of his eye. The therapist assured him it was fine, but would appreciate it if his sporadic disruptions weren’t to become a routine thing.

For those last few minutes of the session, you didn’t listen to a single word anyone said. You were a little too absorbed in studying Bob to catch the rest of the discussion, the both of you watching one another as if worried the other would disappear should you blink.

As everyone began clearing out of the room, you hesitated briefly, unsure if you could just approach him normally or if you should hang back. For a beat, you stole a glance over at Emily, wondering if she was still hung up on that image of the new Avengers, but she was preoccupied without a single regard for Bob’s presence.

When you looked back, he was watching you with an expression that you couldn’t place, though his jaw clenched with nerves once you met eyes; you could’ve kicked yourself for the way it made your heart skip. You gave him a kind grin while crossing towards him, feeling a little nervous to finally be face-to-face again.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again any time soon.” You greeted, receiving a sheepish smile in response.

“I’ve wanted to come, I just… well, you know, all the secrets I can’t tell you.” You hummed in understanding. The two of you stared at one another for a long moment before Bob cleared his throat, “You have time? I could go for some normalcy right now.”

You nodded softly, your smile bashful before you waved your hand in a ‘follow me’ motion, “I’ve got as much time as you need.”

Bob followed at your heels as you walked through the door, guiding him outside while you rifled in your bag, knowing your cigarettes were buried somewhere in there. You looked around in search of a place for the two of you to sit that wasn’t the front steps of the community center. You glanced back at Bob inquisitively.

“Up for a bit of a walk? There’s a park a couple blocks from here. Or there’s a coffee shop just around the corner.”

He looked at you curiously, but then smiled sweetly, “Lead the way - your choice.”

Box of cigarettes in hand, you slid one free as you walked together, lighting it quickly and thoughtlessly. But then, you realized that it was rude of you to do so without even considering Bob, so you looked over at him apologetically.

“Shit, sorry, I should’ve asked. Is this okay? I can put it out if it's not.” You were more than ready to toss aside the cigarette should Bob protest, but he gave a quick shake of his head.

“It helps, right? Keeps you from wanting something worse.” He answered in understanding; the fact that he remembered you mentioning your need for the habit made you feel warm, and the stress you hadn’t realized you were holding onto disappeared.

“I wanna kick the habit eventually, but…”

You two walked a block or so and crossed towards the park, where you idly wandered for a couple minutes before you found a bench. As you sat, Bob lowered down on the opposite side as if trying to keep as much space between you as possible, which seemed odd. For another few moments, you studied him thoughtfully, taking in his features as if you hoped to memorize them. Really, you’d stared at his image captured alongside the Avengers more times than you could count, so you already felt familiar with his face by this point, as embarrassing as that was.

“What finally brought you back?” You asked simply, trying to be subtle as you slid a tad closer to him.

Bob looked away from you while considering his answer, a nervous color tinting his cheeks, “Would you believe me if I said I wanted to see you?”

Again, your heart skipped, brows jumping up in pleasant surprise. Last time, he wanted to hear your voice, and this time he wanted to see you? Anyone showing interest in you wasn’t exactly something you were accustomed to; no, usually people were more inclined to wanting nothing to do with you. Which was fair, considering your track record.

But Bob, this person you barely knew, wanted to… spend time with you? It almost felt undeserved.

Bashfully, you looked down, “No, but I think that’s more a reflection on me than you.”

Bob studied your expression, understanding you far too well, as if he’d felt the same thing before, “I mean it. Nice to have some kind of relationship that’s just… mine, if that makes sense.”

God, that made perfect sense; it was a thought that you yourself had following your last conversation. It also made you all the more curious, considering just how little Bob’s told you about himself and his life.

You gave him a teasing look, though your question was genuine, “Are you… monitored all the time? Not to be rude, but you make it sound like someone else is in charge of your life. Is it because of that work thing you mentioned?”

“Yeah…” Bob answered as if he loathed to admit it, taking a deep breath, “I’m afraid that telling you about it would change things.”

You considered that before shrugging nonchalantly, “Well, it would. But that’s kinda the point, right?”

Thinking back on your last phone call, you gave Bob some information about yourself, though really it wasn’t much in the grand scheme of things. Just enough to show him who you were and give him an out before it was too late. And clearly he didn’t take that out, so you figured that meant something good.

You took a deep inhale of smoke while straightening your shoulders, “I can tell you more about me, if that makes you feel better. I’d like to know something about you.”

Your offer made an uncertain expression cross Bob’s face. You gave him a soft smile of encouragement, which he reciprocated with a nod, “Yeah, I’d like that. Just… I’ll try to tell you what I can.”

You nodded in understanding, hoping that whatever Bob was holding onto he had a good reason behind, “My drug problem started when I was sixteen. I’ve been clean for two years now, but not before I managed to ruin every relationship I had. I told you about my sister… I got sober after she called the cops on me during one of the stints I was sleeping on her couch. I haven’t talked to any of my family since; they don’t really want anything to do with me.”

Bob looked between your eyes as he mulled over your brief summary of the shit you had going on - you could spare him all the details for now, give him more of them with time. Dropping your cigarette on the ground, you squashed it under the toe of your shoe, looking back at him patiently, hopefully.

“Can I see your drawings?” He asked apprehensively, huffing out a faint laugh, “I, uh… okay, I’m avoiding talking for a bit longer.”

You couldn’t help but smile at Bob’s honesty, giving a quick, reassuring nod while digging into your bag, “Just don’t judge me too harshly.”

“I won’t judge you at all.” His answer was so genuine, causing that pesky fluttering in your chest yet again. Pulling out your sketchbook, you bit your lip nervously as you flipped through, not sure what works to show him.

“I guess just start here,” You said while offering a specific page to him, “Don’t look at anything before that, it’s all old and embarrassing.”

Smiling sweetly, Bob accepted the book, studying the first page of scribbles and scratches before silently moving onto the next. Some pages he lingered on a little longer than others, some he commented on with encouragement, making it known that he was impressed, which made your cheeks warm.

And then you remembered a recent page of drawings you’d been working on throughout this past week; it was a dozen or so faces, all drawn to varying degrees of quality, some from memory, most from photos. You inhaled sharply, because you realized too late that Bob might notice his own face crudely drawn amongst them. You really had stared at that image of him with the Avengers a lot, you thought with utter mortification, silently praying that he simply wouldn’t recognize himself there.

You practically held your breath as he continued flipping through, getting closer to the end - should you tell him to just ignore the last few pages? Would that just entice him to look at them even more? Maybe if you don’t mention it, he won’t notice?

As you thought it over, Bob turned to the page that you were dreading, and you self-consciously looked away as if that would save you from the torment, waiting with baited breath. After a long few moments, you dared to glance at him from the corner of your eye, wondering if he noticed and what he was thinking.

“Is that…?” Shit, he noticed. With a sheepish furrow, you looked back at Bob trepidatiously; the awe in his face made you cringe even harder, “Do you have a photographic memory?”

You nervously chewed the inside of your cheek, debating how to answer the question. But the last thing you wanted to do was lie to Bob, as much as you hated the actual answer, so you took a deep breath while you tried to compose yourself, “Not exactly. I, uh… well, someone in the group recognized you and showed me a photo and I just… looked at it a lot…”

Seeing the apprehension in Bob’s face, you quickly tripped over yourself to explain further, “God, I knew I’d sound like a creep. All that Avengers stuff? Yeah, she recognized you from the press clips and showed me, but I didn’t want to mention it to you because it felt wrong and I just… drew you based on that.”

Bob continued to stare at you, dismay in his eyes. It took him a few moments before he finally spoke, tone guarded, “So… you know?”

“I don’t know anything, Bob. I literally don’t know why you were there or if you were even supposed to be there or anything. I promise.” Anxiety washed over you, because what if you totally just messed this up? What if this relationship was ruined before you even had the chance to start it? You just had to make a dumb mistake, like you always seemed to, “I figured maybe you worked for that woman or that maybe you were just there coincidentally? I’m sorry, I probably should’ve told you, I just--”

“Slow down.” Bob interrupted, looking back down at your drawings in consideration, his expression somewhat tense. After a minute, he let out a long sigh, before sliding his gaze back towards you thoughtfully, “I don’t know if that makes this easier or harder.”

“Makes what…?”

Bob hummed uncertainly, jaw clenching, “Telling you anything. I didn’t know where to start, but I guess you kinda already got some of it covered.”

You stared at Bob with total surprise - was he really just cool with that? Was he really okay with you ogling a single picture of him, knowing something you maybe shouldn’t have? He made it seem so insignificant, like he wasn’t particularly bothered by the secret you were unintentionally harboring, like he didn’t care that you never mentioned it before. You really didn’t deserve that kind of acceptance, of that you were certain.

“Don’t be sorry.” Bob insisted, like he knew what you were thinking. He looked between your eyes as if he was searching for something in them. When a reassuring smile spread carefully across his lips, your brow furrowed, “So stop looking so nervous.”

Well, that’s not what you were expecting from him of all people, the King of Nerves, “I just… thought maybe you’d be more upset?”

Bob laughed smally in his throat with a shake of his head before realizing that this was the anxiety he could help you with, much like you’d helped him before, “I mean, did you do anything wrong? I don’t think so. I'm more surprised that you were willing to look at my face long enough to draw it.”

You couldn’t help the edgy laugh that leapt out of you, shrugging while scratching awkwardly at your arm, “Well, it’s like I told you - you’d make a great subject.”

He huffed, though the little twinkle in his eyes was reassuring. Your shoulders began to relax, your body slowly releasing its stress as you accepted that you weren’t in trouble for anything, though it lingered on the periphery of your emotions, just waiting for any evidence that something was still wrong. The two of you stared at one another before Bob glanced back down at your sketches.

“You made me look half decent.” He jested, causing another faint laugh to escape you.

“Well, I just… drew what I saw.” You answered, looking between his face and the drawing. A charged silence fell over the two of you; not necessarily uncomfortable or difficult, though it was different, to say the least.

Bob cleared his throat after a long beat, jaw clenched as he thought for a moment, “My home life wasn’t good growing up.” Realizing that he was finally sharing - trying to be vulnerable with you - you perked up attentively, “I dropped out of high school and got into a lot of stuff I shouldn’t have… I heard about this medical trial a while back and joined because I had nothing going for me, nothing to lose. I got sober thanks to it, not that that’s what I was going for. Technically, I think I work for the government, but… that’s kinda all up in the air right now.”

You considered everything, the last part in particular, because it had to have some correlation to his presence alongside the Avengers, “So, government? Guess that means there’s hope for druggies everywhere.”

The two of you shared a grin while Bob shook his head, “I wouldn’t cite myself as an example to anyone.”

“Too hard on yourself,” you reached over to give his hand a well-meaning pat, though you felt him tense at the contact. With a furrow of your brow, you took your hand back quickly, “Sorry. You don’t like to be touched, do you? And here I am just giving no regard to your personal space.”

“No, it’s nice, it really is. I just worry.” Bob looked unsure of his own words, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, “I don’t… dislike it; just makes me nervous sometimes.”

You gave him a faint smile while slowly reaching out again, tentative as you set your hand atop his, giving a small, reassuring squeeze. Though he seemed hesitant, Bob allowed your fingers to lace a little, causing a swell of excitement in your chest like static throughout your entire body--

Behind your sister, her husband held their toddler protectively in one arm, phone pressed to his ear as he spoke rapidly with the 9-1-1 operator on the other end of the line. Again, your sister was grabbing and shoving you, expression fierce and tortured as you struggled to grasp the severity of the situation. You shook your head, trying to talk to her, to apologize for whatever you did, but she simply yelled louder, demanding that you leave, that she never wanted to see you again--

And you came back to reality with a start, eyes wide as you looked about, only to realize that Bob had already leapt to his feet, putting distance between you with a look of regret. You took a confused gasp of air, looking between him and your shaky hand; how could this have happened again? You got a single flashback once a couple of weeks ago, and now it’s happening again, but only when Bob was around? Only when you touched Bob’s hand--

A terrible realization dawned on you, one that you wouldn’t have believed if the world you lived in wasn’t already so damn strange, and apparently always getting stranger.

“It’s… you?” You asked in disbelief, ogling your hand as if it were stained in the blood of your past.

Returning your attention to Bob, he looked like a terrified child standing before you, a certain dread in his eyes as he shrunk in on himself; it made your chest ache for him. You thought that last time this happened had been some post-traumatic hallucination following the black out, but… somehow he caused it…

Had the black out been his doing, too?

“I’m sorry.” Shit, his voice was small and full of such grief, eyes so fearful that it was gut wrenching, “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

Before you even had the chance to say anything else, Bob turned from you, long strides carrying him away quickly. For a moment, you were frozen in shock before you, too, shot up to your feet, chasing without a second thought, still not even sure how he managed to do that.

“Bob, wait!” You called after him. You didn’t know yet what you thought or felt, considering that you didn’t really know what the hell was going on to begin with, but you didn’t want him to disappear. Not after he just shared with you, not after you both came to an understanding, not after he made you feel some kind of way about him.

As you gained on him, Bob picked up his pace, lighting a desperation inside you as you took even larger strides to catch him. You reached out and managed to grab hold of his elbow, digging in your heels as he put up no resistance, coming to a halt. Catching your breath, you rounded Bob so you could look him in the face, keeping your hand on his arm in what you hoped was a reassuring gesture and not a threatening one. He kept his head down, shoulders sagging as you leaned forward, trying to meet his eyes.

“You don’t have to run from me,” you practically whispered, still trying to understand what was going on right now; between your emotions, his, and whatever the hell that was, things were a bit of a blur.

But somehow, Bob caused you to have those flashbacks; and, if your logic was anything to go on, somehow he was also the cause of the black out that had hurt so much of this city. How and why didn’t matter to you - you couldn’t hold that against him, not when he looked like a wounded puppy fearful of whatever was to come next. You didn’t hold it against him, because you could tell from his body language that he hadn’t lied when he said he didn’t mean for anything bad to happen.

You knew the kind of hurt one dealt others, intentional or not, when they themselves were struggling - you weren’t about to be the reason Bob felt any worse than he clearly already did. After all, far stranger things have happened in this world than that black out.

He stole a glance up at you, but quickly looked away, that childlike fear in his face again. You weren’t even remotely concerned about any more potential glimpses into your past as you gently held his elbow, brushing your thumb in small, soothing circles as you were determined not to back down. Bob watched the gentle gesture of your hand with trepidation, his body tense as if he was afraid of what he might accidentally show you. When nothing happened for a few long moments, you reached out slowly with your other hand, gingerly cupping his jaw and tilting his head so he’d look at you again.

“Talk to me.” You urged, thankful that you weren’t having any more flashbacks, “Nothing’s happening, see? You’re okay. We’re both okay.”

You stepped in closer, and perhaps it was just wishful thinking, but you thought you could feel some of the tension leaving his body. A deep breath puffed up in his chest before he exhaled slowly, his gaze sad upon your face.

“It was the medical trial; made me… different.” Bob finally said, voice straining as if he was fighting hard to keep it together, “I still don’t know all the things I can do because of it. I thought I could control it; sometimes I can. I… call it the Void; the black out was it controlling me, though.” He laughed weakly, without humor, “I’m not right - in the head, I mean. If I were normal, I think things would be different. We - the team - were able to stop it before things got too bad, but now I just don’t know. I’m afraid to try anything again.”

You considered what he said; despite all the new questions now stirring up, you refrained from asking them. Now really wasn’t the time to grill him on all the ins-and-outs of something that not even he entirely understood yet.

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” You assured firmly, “You have more control than you give yourself credit for. Nothing’s happening now, right?”

Bob looked between your eyes with a furrowed brow, jaw clenched as if he were in pain, “I’m concentrating really hard. I can’t let myself do that to you again.”

You sighed, readjusting so that both hands cupped his jaw, your touch still ginger so as not to worry or overwhelm him, “Thank you. You’re doing great.”

He nodded, trying to accept what you said. You gently brushed your thumbs along his cheeks, which prompted him to slowly, shakily, reach up to rest his hands atop yours, as if still testing the waters to see if he could keep it under control.

“I meant it when I said I don’t remember that day. It’s not fair that I hurt this whole city, but I don’t have to suffer the consequences of that. I get to just conveniently forget, meanwhile everyone else is in turmoil? That’s not right.”

You considered his words, how he said nearly the same thing before; now, having more context hurt your heart as you realized how much guilt Bob was truly harboring, a pain settling heavy inside you, “Is that the real reason you came to our therapy… you were making amends punishing yourself with our stories?”

Bob looked away again, eyes glossy with discomfort. A deep sigh escaped you, and without a second thought you wrapped your arms warmly around his neck, pressing him into a tight hug. His body was hot against yours, shoulders tense, arms hanging at his sides with uncertainty. You squeezed him gently to make a point--

The handcuffs were uncomfortable on your wrists, a rough hand guiding you towards the squad car--

Your eyes clenched tightly as you tried to resist the images.

Looking around yourself, you felt like you were in a daze. The lights of the cruiser flashed against walls, reflecting off window panes, blinding and disorienting--

“No.” You spoke firmly against the images behind your eyes, pressing yourself against Bob determinedly, “You can control it.”

You could feel the furrow of his brow, the clench of his jaw against your cheek, “I’m trying.”

“It’s okay.” You whispered along the shell of his ear, one hand twisting limply into the hair at the nape of his neck, “I promise, it’s okay.”

And finally, Bob accepted it, his arms wrapping tightly around your middle and pressing you even closer like two pieces that fit together. You exhaled the breath you were holding, comfortable as you melted against him with total ease. You clung to one another like your life depended on it, desperate for this connection between you, for it to calm whatever chaos and anxiety was inside. You could feel Bob’s deep breaths in your hair, the pressure of his fingertips flexing against your back; you felt safe in his arms, unconcerned for the danger he worried was still present.

After a minute, you sighed in relief, “See? Everything’s okay.”

You pulled back just far enough to meet his eyes again, searching them for his fears and trepidations. He stared back at you with disbelief, arms still tight around your waist as if he now worried about letting go. 

“Everything’s okay…” Bob repeated in a low whisper, nodding as if trying to convince himself. His gaze bounced around your face, taking in your features as he breathed deeply; maybe you were grounding him, like he’d mentioned before. The thought made your heart flutter, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip while sheepishly looking down. Now really wasn’t the time to feel the things you were feeling, “Thank you.”

That drew your attention up to his face again; Bob was smiling gently, as if he was still trying to calm his nerves and keep himself from breaking. You grinned back, hands shifting to rest along his jaw again.

“When you’re ready, I’d like if you told me about everything.” You started, hoping that didn’t come across as demanding or rude. Bob gave you a reassuring nod, breathing deeply.

“I think I can do that…” Your eyes gently flit about his face, from his faint, sad smile down his neck and chest then back up, enjoying the opportunity to simply take him in. There was a disappointed flash in his gaze as he stared back at you, “I wish it was easier. Everything’s been a mess since that day - my head, my life, all of it. I don’t really know who I am anymore; I went to sleep as the disappointing druggie I always was and woke up like some kind of… supercharged Captain America.”

Your brows shot up in surprise, “A what?”

You weren’t quite sure about the look that Bob gave you, something that seemed amused by and smitten with your reaction, but it made your heart skip, especially when his eyes trailed down to your lips, studying your face as closely as you had his. He grinned, and for a split second, you felt his body shift, thinking you caught him leaning in just a little.

“Yeah, uh…” he laughed, the sound vibrating from his chest to yours, “I can do a lot.”

“Huh…” you said dumbly, nearly at a loss for words. ‘Supercharged Captain America’ was a pretty bold claim, after all, “You’ll explain it all eventually?”

“Promise.” The two of you stared at each other for a long beat, and again you thought that maybe you felt Bob shifting closer to you. He clenched his jaw while looking down shyly, “Can I, uh… ask a potentially embarrassing question?”

You huffed out a small laugh, using your hold on his cheeks to tilt his gaze back to you, “Something more embarrassing than the fact that I’ve stared at a picture of you so often that I drew it? I don’t think you can top that.”

Bob smiled at your attempted levity, though he still appeared nervous, which in turn made a course of anxious energy pass through you, “Well, I think asking to kiss you after my little episode might take the cake, so…”

Your heart skipped before it began to drum wildly, mouth gaping in surprise as you looked between his eyes. Did you somehow mishear him? As the question crossed your mind, you already knew you sure as shit didn’t, though that did nothing to stop the jittering you felt in your limbs.

Bob stared down at you timidly, as if preparing himself for rejection. A charmed smile slowly broke out across your lips as you composed yourself, taking a deep, shaky breath; your hands grew a touch more firm as you continued to hold his jaw tenderly.

Your voice came out more shy than you had expected, gaze dropping down for a timid beat, “You don’t even have to ask.”

Bob looked both surprised and gratified, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to make of your answer, if you were, in fact, giving him permission to kiss you. Your grin grew even larger at how sweet his expression was, your hands trailing from his jaw to the back of his neck again, pulling him in close. He gasped nervously, breath warm against your lips as you lingered there for a moment, your noses ever so gently brushing together.

“That was a yes, Bob.” You whispered sweetly, hearing a faint, anxious ringing in your ear. His grip on you became more solid, one hand pressed steadily to the small of your back as the other snaked up between you to gently cup your cheek, fingertips soft along your jaw as you leaned into the touch. For a moment, the two of you lingered there, waiting for the other to move first or change their mind, your nerves on high. 

And then, after a final beat of anticipation, Bob’s lips were on yours, gentle and hesitant, far sweeter than any kiss you’d ever experienced before. You took a sharp breath through your nose as you felt a spark shoot up your body, fingers twisting lightly in his hair as you pressed closer, eager yet trepidatious as you kissed him back.

To your surprise, though, Bob’s lips broke from yours in the very next second, as if he was only permitted that brief moment; it caused your brow to furrow as a yearning sigh escaped you. Your eyes fluttered open in confusion as you met his gaze, unable to restrain the teasing in your expression as you noticed the uncertainty still in his face.

Despite the excitable stuttering of your heartbeat, you quipped softly, “Don’t tell me that’s it.”

Bob looked taken aback and nervous as you kept him close, your breaths mingling together, heat coursing between your bodies, “I didn’t want to be--”

“Bob, kiss me.” You affirmed, drawing his lips back down to yours with renewed confidence, as if his own hesitation bolstered your bravery.

This time, the two of you were less coordinated as your lips crashed together again, sloppy and wanton as your heart beat loudly, excitably. Bob’s hand flexed on your back as if he longed for the feel of you, a needy sound rising in his throat that caused your toes to curl. It was like a fire suddenly lit beneath you, the kiss starved and desperate as you pressed firmly against him, restraining the desire to moan into his mouth.

The hand that Bob pressed to your cheek made a fast, hot trail down your body to wrap around you, molding you together in a seamless, solid embrace. The current of energy between you was feverish and yet tender, like static electricity daring to work its way out. Your lips were urgent against one another’s as you gave Bob’s hair a gentle tug, hearing another sound of pleasure in his throat as you clung tighter to him, feeling your knees go weak.

Your tongue hungrily swiped along his lower lip, your nails scratching pleasantly at the base of his skull; you could feel the deep inhale in his chest, his fingers clenching tightly against your back. When he opened his mouth, you let out a satisfied sigh, arms winding even tighter around his neck. God, he tasted so right, like something you didn’t realize you were missing; you could stay here forever if he’d let you, breathing him in like fresh air.

And suddenly you heard a wolf whistle, though you paid it no mind; Bob, however, abruptly pulled his lips from yours with a gasp of air, gaze looking around with the cutest look of surprised confusion that you’d ever seen. Through hooded eyes, you stared up at his face while trying to catch your breath, chest heaving against his. Despite knowing that someone had taken notice of you two sucking face, you couldn’t help the charmed smile that broke out across your lips, a rush of heat rising in your cheeks.

You followed Bob’s line of sight, but whoever was the culprit behind the wolf whistle was already gone, causing you to laugh with content delight. You brought your hand to his cheek again, turning his face back to yours so you could look between his eyes fondly.

“Guess that’s our cue?” You teased, causing Bob’s expression to mirror yours. He looked between your eyes and lips for a moment, his hand mindlessly caressing up and down your spine; it almost made you shiver.

“Guess so…” He nearly sounded disappointed, causing your smile to grow wider. His brow furrowed thoughtfully as he leaned in a little, your foreheads pressing together gently; you let out a small sigh, “Maybe we don’t have to call it a night just yet?”

Bob’s hopeful, innocent tone was so sweet that it made your heart swell. You bit your lip as his lashes fluttered against yours before he pulled back to meet your eyes, hopeful that you'd say yes, that you two could spend even a little more time together.

“Your super secret government babysitters aren’t gonna miss you if you’re gone too long?” You joked, a cheeky little smile plastered across your face, causing Bob to laugh with a conspiratory look.

“Not to make it weird, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they were already keeping an eye on us.”

“Yeesh,” you gave an exaggerated cringe, “no sense of privacy, huh? Might as well just invite them along next time if they're gonna be that nosy.”

Bob shook his head with a grin, looking down for a moment, “I’m sure that’ll go over real well.”

“I don't know about you, but I think I can make it work.” You continued to tease. When Bob met your eyes again, you leaned in close, lips just a breath away from his, “Walk me to the subway stop, at least. Maybe ride to my stop if that isn’t out of the way for you? I’ll give you a call soon… we can plan a real date or something?”

“Oh, so you do know that the phone works both ways?” Bob taunted, causing you to roll your eyes, though your cheeks grew hot as you grinned, “Here I thought I was just bothering you.”

“You never bothered me; I was the one that gave you my number, remember? I just… got nervous each time I thought about calling you first.” You explained, embarrassed by the admission, though it caused Bob’s expression to brighten even more, as if he was charmed by your hesitation in the same way that you were charmed by his.

“Call me next time you can’t sleep.” He offered sweetly, “Promise?”

You hummed pleasantly, quickly nodding your head as Bob leaned in close. With his lips brushing against yours, you whispered back simply, “Promise.”

.

.

addt. a.n: I've already got an idea or two cooking for more Bob fics in the future, including one that would continue this narrative! Thank you for reading 🖤

[gullemec]

The Great Divide

Bitten - Part IX

Bitten Masterlist ao3

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You and Joel navigate your relationship, your continued journey, and survival together, now with the addition of Ellie.

Warnings: canon-typical gore & violence, description of injuries, infected attack, more angst because this angst train is going to keep on rolling up until I decide it's time to throw smut into the mix

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 12.8k

A/N: I'm very sorry for going MIA for so long - turns out a masters degree is really hard and no one told me?? (jk lol)

He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

This girl, foul mouthed and scrappy, tucked under your arm like a little duckling. Clinging to you the way lost things do, like she already knew you’d keep her safe.

She couldn’t have been older than Sarah was when…

Joel clenches his jaw, shaking the thought loose before it can take root.

Since leaving the Fireflies’ compound, you’d barely said a word to him. The silence gnawed at him, worse than any wound, worse than the burn in his muscles from days of relentless walking. He could still see the heavy plumes of smoke rising behind you, curling into the sky like a funeral pyre.

Good, he thought. Let it burn to the fucking ground.

He’d fought like hell to get to you. Laid traps, cut supply lines, picked them off one by one like a wolf thinning the herd. He’d drawn Marlene’s people out and, when there was no time left to lose, stormed in and took you back.

He’d saved you.

And yet, here you are, alive and safe, and you still won’t look at him.

Had he really thought that was all it would take? That dragging you out of there, carrying you through fire and blood, would undo everything? That it would make things right between you again?

What the hell had he been expecting? That you’d throw yourself into his arms, press your face into his chest, whisper a broken, breathless thank you? That you’d see what he couldn’t say, that it was more than obligation, more than survival, that he —

Joel huffs a breath through his nose. Foolish.

Instead, the distance between you remained, like you were a thousand miles away instead of two feet behind him. You spoke more to the girl than you did to him. Soft, murmured comforts, whispered reassurances, your arm thrown protectively around her shoulders as you walked. When she shivered, you rubbed the chill from her arms, tucked her close into your side.

And Joel… Joel watched.

If he was being honest, watching you with her cut him right to the core.

The way you held her close, the way your touch soothed without hesitation, like it was second nature. Like you were made for it. It was a painful reminder of everything the world had stolen from you. Of the life you should have had.

Caring for someone vulnerable came so easily to you. And once, a long time ago, it had come easily to him too.

Joel had been a good father. He could admit that, even from beneath the crushing weight of guilt and grief he carried. He’d made mistakes, sure, but Sarah had always been safe, loved, and happy. And in the years after losing her, that knowledge had been the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

But that part of him was long gone. Rusted over.

He had no business around a kid now. Wouldn’t even know where to begin.

And yet, watching you now, watching the way the girl gravitates toward you, how she clings to you like you’re the only sure thing in this broken world, he feels an already broken part of him shatter.

Another wedge driving itself between you. Another reason for you to pull further away.

…

You should be grateful.

You should have thrown yourself into his arms the moment the last Firefly hit the ground, let relief crash over you like a tidal wave.

You should be grateful that he followed you, through rain and snow, through blood and wreckage. That he fought, killed, and bled for you. That he put a bullet in Marlene’s head without hesitation. For you.

This shouldn’t be so fucking hard.

And yet, every time you look at him, every time those dark eyes flick up to meet yours, you have to look away. Because you can’t bear to see it again.

The fear, the discomfort, the disgust he tried and failed to hide. And beneath all that, something else, something worse.

Hurt.

You don’t want to face it. You don’t want to face him. Because to do that, to reach across this great divide between you, means opening yourself up to the possibility of him hurting you again. And you’re not strong enough for that.

Not yet. Maybe not ever.

And then there’s Ellie.

She clings to you like a lifeline, and you to her. The trust she’s placed in you is staggering, unearned, and yet you find yourself desperate not to let her down. You don’t know why she’s latched onto you so quickly, but you think, maybe, it has something to do with the fact that you’re both members of the world’s most exclusive, most wretched club.

And so you pour yourself into taking care of her, into comforting her, protecting her. It’s easier this way, easier to focus on her than to deal with the mess that lies between you and Joel.

Easier to pretend you don’t still love him.

…

The sun is grazing the peaks of the mountains by the time you finally stop to rest. The air is thick with the damp chill of evening, the scent of wet earth clinging to your clothes. A light breeze rustles the treetops, whispering through the branches like ghosts.

Joel moves through the motions of setting up camp with practiced ease, the kind of efficiency that reminds you just how long he’s been doing this, how survival has become muscle memory to him. He barely speaks, only the occasional rustling of gear and the snap of twigs beneath his boots filling the silence.

You try to help, gathering branches for the fire, shaking out spare blankets to make something resembling a bed for Ellie, but your body betrays you. Your cast knocks awkwardly against things as you move, your fingers stiff and clumsy as you try to tear branches off a dead tree. Every task takes twice as long as it should, and by the time you drop a bundle of kindling near the fire pit, your hands are aching, fingers burning from overuse.

Joel doesn’t say anything, but you feel the burn of his eyes on you when you fumble with the blankets, struggling to smooth them out. His eyes flick to your hands, assessing. Then, without a word, he steps in, finishing what you started. Not unkind, not impatient, just efficient, like he’s used to doing things himself. Like he doesn’t expect anything from you.

The silence between you stretches, and it gives your mind all the space it needs to run wild. You don’t know what you want from him. An acknowledgment, maybe. A sign that things are okay, that you haven’t ruined everything. That what he did back there, back at the Fireflies’ compound, meant something.

Your mouth is dry when you finally force out, “I can help.”

Joel barely glances up from where he’s securing the blankets. “Already got it.” His voice is quiet, flat, like he’s answering just to answer.

The conversation dies right there.

You hesitate, then hold your tongue and retreat, dropping onto a fallen log at the edge of the campsite beside Ellie. She sits with her knees tucked up, picking at bark on the log, watching Joel work with wary curiosity.

After a few moments, she leans over to you and murmurs, “So… Who is he?”

You stiffen, your fingers curling into the fabric of your jacket. The answer should be simple. It isn’t.

“He’s…” You steal a glance at Joel, crouched near the fire coaxing the flames to life with a practiced hand. His face is unreadable, half in shadow, half cast in flickering orange light. You swallow. “He’s just an old friend.”

Ellie frowns, clearly unconvinced. “Yeah? You don’t seem like friends.”

A quiet, humorless huff of laughter escapes you. “What do we seem like, then?”

She tilts her head, considering. “I dunno. Strangers? Enemies? Exes?”

Your throat tightens. You don’t have an answer for that, not one that makes sense, not one that doesn’t unravel everything inside you. You are none of those things, but what are you, then? Before you can even try to come up with something, Joel grunts from across the camp.

“C’mon.” He doesn’t look up. “Let’s eat.”

You and Ellie make your way back to the fire, the warmth licking at your cold fingertips as you sit across from Joel. He hands out the food, canned beans and stale jerky, the kind of meal you don’t even taste anymore.

The three of you eat in near silence, the only sounds the crackling fire, the distant bark of a coyote, the occasional rustling of leaves. Ellie, in an effort to fill the void, asks Joel a few questions; where he’s from, how long he’s been on the road. He answers in clipped, vague sentences, not rude, just uninterested, the way a man does when he’s spent too many years not wanting to be known.

At some point, she glances between the two of you and mutters, “Jeez. You two really know how to bring down a meal.”

Joel ticks his jaw, shaking his head. You don’t respond. You just stare at your food, appetite all but gone.

Eventually, the fire burns down, casting dim, flickering shadows over Ellie and Joel’s faces. You think distantly of telling ghost stories at summer camp, huddled around a fire just like this one. But that was in another life, when stories of spectres and ghouls were benign fodder for an eleven-year-old’s imagination instead of your daily lived reality.

Joel stands with a grunt, adjusting the rifle slung over his shoulder. “I’ll take first watch.”

You don’t argue.

Ellie is asleep in minutes, curled up in the blankets you struggled to arrange. You shift to your feet, moving to squat beside the dying fire, watching it shrink to embers.

“What happened to your wrist?”

His voice is low but it disrupts the silence between you like a stone dropped in still water.

You blink up at him without thinking, caught off guard by the question, by the fact that he’s asking at all. The firelight has all but died now, leaving you both in darkness, but his eyes are steady on yours. Not angry. Not cold. Just… watching.

There’s no malice there. No disgust. Only something quiet and burdensome, like sadness. 

You clear your throat, looking away.

“Slipped on some ice trying to cross a stream,” you say, voice tight. 

Stupid. That’s what it was, what you want to say. Stupid. You should’ve known better, should’ve found another way, should’ve been able to tell the difference between the sounds of a fox and something worse. But you were scared. You were alone, and by your own doing.

“Storm hit not long after,” you continue. “I holed up in a hunting shack. That’s when the infection got me, I think. I was out of it… Hallucinating some pretty crazy shit.”

You hate admitting this. Hate the way the words feel in your mouth, like confessions, like proof. Proof that you weren’t as strong as you thought. That you weren’t as capable without him. That you had left, thinking you could survive without his protection, and you had almost died for it.

It’s a quiet kind of humiliation.

But he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t twist the knife.

Doesn’t say I told you so.

Doesn’t say You shouldn’t have left.

He just sits there, gaze heavy, holding the silence with you.

You force yourself to keep going.

“I was half-dead when I made it to this pharmacy, looking for antibiotics.” A pause. You swallow hard. “That’s where they got me.”

Images flash behind your eyes.

The moment you felt hands grab you, lifting you off the ground. You remember the desperate, delirious relief that hit you like a hook to the ribs. Because you thought it was him. Because for a second, your fevered and broken mind had believed he’d found you.

That relief feels like a cruel joke now.

The fire pops, embers sparkling in the ash. Ellie shifts in her sleep beside you, mumbling something incoherent before settling again.

And Joel still doesn’t speak.

You risk a glance at him, at the way his hands are clenched in his lap, at the hard line of his jaw, the muscle ticking there. His shoulders are stiff, his whole body wound tight as a tripwire. Not angry. Just holding something back.

You wonder if it’s guilt.

Or if it’s something darker. If it’s anger.

Or if it even matters.

Joel gestures for you to come closer, nodding toward your hands. You hesitate for half a second before shifting toward him, extending them palms up. He takes them carefully, turning them over in his rough, calloused grip, the firelight casting deep shadows over the bruising and scabbed over scrapes.

"They look bad," he mutters, reaching for his pack. "But they should heal okay."

He pulls out a bottle of water and an old rag, soaking it before running it over your knuckles. You wince at the sting but don't pull away.

"You feelin’ alright?" he asks after a moment. "Any fever?"

"I'm fine," you say, but he doesn't look convinced. His fingers skim over the tender skin at your wrist, just below the edge of the cast, his brow furrowing.

He looks at the state of your hands, the rough, puckered skin around your knuckles, the bruising that extends out from under your cast. The sight sticks him in his gut, the all too familiar tendrils of guilt beginning to unfurl. He could have prevented this. If he’d been kinder, if he’d confronted his own vulnerabilities, his own fears, would you have been driven away from him? Was there something he could have said that would have made you change your mind?

"Why’d you —"

But he cuts himself off, jaw tightening, shaking his head like he's trying to shove the question back down behind the walls it crawled out of. Not the time or place. 

You sigh, looking past him into the dark woods, just needing to look anywhere but at him. "You should let me take over watch," you say. "I don’t have a sleeping bag anyway.”

Joel scoffs, already reaching for his pack. "Took one from the compound," he mutters, pulling it free and tossing it toward you.

For a second, you just stare at it, your fingers digging into the fabric like it's something foreign. A biting retort claws up your throat, something about how you can take care of yourself, about how you're not some kid he needs to look after. But it dies before it ever leaves your lips.

Why do you do that? Why do you push back against any act of care like it means you’re weak?

“Drink,” Joel says, nodding at the bottle in his hand, and when you don’t move, he presses it against your thigh like he’s daring you to argue. ”Like you’re damn allergic to taking care of yourself.”

It should be annoying. The gruff bossiness, the way he talks like you're some reckless burden he’s always got to account for. It should piss you off.

But you just feel like weeping.

You take the water, swallowing a few mouthfuls before handing it back.

Joel leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, watching the dying fire. His voice is quieter when he speaks next.

“Ellie,” he says, and you don’t need to look at him to know what he’s asking. “What’s her story?”

You huff a soft laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “If I told you the truth, you’d never believe me.”

“Try me.”

You glance at him, and something about the way he’s looking at you, all steady patience, makes the words come easier than you expect.

“She’s immune,” you murmur. “Like me.”

Joel lets out a slow breath, rubbing a hand down his face. He nods, his wildest suspicions confirmed. She was the kid Marlene wanted him to bring to Utah. What kind of fucked up plan did the universe have for him?

You hesitate before asking, "What do you think it means? Do you think there might be more of us?" You pick at a loose thread on your sleeve, suddenly nervous, glancing at him. "Marlene thought there was a cure. She said it could be the start of something, that… that what happened to me might actually mean something."

Your throat tightens, and you hate the way your voice wavers at the end. You liked the sound of it, the idea of being part of something bigger, of your suffering having some kind of purpose.

But Joel doesn’t want to hear this right now. Doesn’t want to listen to you romanticize your death like that. You getting your brain ripped out of you wouldn’t mean a damn thing. You being here, being alive, getting safely to Wyoming, that meant something. Nothing about your life being snuffed out like the flame of a candle could ever mean anything other than the loss of the one thing that Joel still had a tenuous grasp on in this world.

"Marlene was sick." His voice is a dull blade, pressing too hard. "She was gonna kill you. Kill a kid. All in the name of a vaccine we both know was bullshit."

The words land like a slap, and you flinch.

It’s not the anger that gets you. It’s the way he dismisses it outright, like it’s not even worth considering. Like you’re not even worth considering.

You shift away from him, turning toward where Ellie lay sleeping, fingers curling into your palms. "Right," you mutter.

Joel knows he fucked up the second the words leave his mouth, but it’s too late to take them back.

"You wouldn’t understand," you say, willing your voice not to crack. "No one but me and Ellie could understand how this feels."

He watches as you watch over the girl, still curled up in her blankets, her form rising and falling in steady rhythm. You unroll your sleeping bag next to the fire, crawling in. There’s a heaviness in your voice when you continue. "She’s a good kid. And she’s my responsibility now."

Joel’s stomach twists. The words hit him right in that shattered place inside him.

He remembers when you were his responsibility.

Back when it was the two of you against the world, before everything got so fucked up. When you leaned on him without hesitation, when he could look at you and know, without a doubt, that you trusted him to take care of you.

But he knows he lost a piece of that.

Lost it when he let his own fear get the best of him, when he let the rough edges of his walls scrape against your softness until they left wounds too deep to ignore.

He wants to tell you he understands more than you think. That he knows what it means to hold something fragile in your hands and be terrified of breaking it. That he sees you.

But before he can figure out how to say any of that, your body sags, exhaustion overtaking you like a wave.

It only takes a minute before your breathing evens out, your limbs slack and heavy with sleep.

Joel sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. Regret pools like oil, thick and dark. He should’ve apologized. Should’ve told you he was sorry for dismissing you, for snapping at you when you were just trying to make sense of everything.

But he can’t wake you up for that now, can’t disrupt the first real rest you’ve had in God knows how long.

Instead, he watches the embers die one by one, listens to the quiet sounds of the night. And when the first hints of dawn creep over the horizon, casting the world in hesitant pools of light, he finds himself shifting closer to you without really thinking about it.

Carefully, almost hesitantly, he reaches out, pressing his palm lightly to your forehead. Checking for fever, that’s all. Just making sure you’re okay.

His hand lingers longer than it should.

Ellie watches from her makeshift bed, silent and still, eyes barely peeking over the edge of her blanket.

She doesn’t say anything.

She just watches the way Joel looks at you, like he’s carrying something too big for words, something he can’t seem to get a grip on.

Something she doesn’t think she’s ever seen up close before.

And when you wake before the sun a couple of hours later, Joel is right there, dozing beside you, arms crossed as if he’d been keeping watch all night. You don’t know what to do with the warmth that spreads through you at the sight. You don’t know why it hurts as much as it soothes.

…

Morning arrives in gold.

The sun is unseasonably warm, pressing down on you with a gentle heat that seeps into your skin, loosening the stiffness in your bones. It’s almost pleasant, and if you close your eyes and tilt your face toward the sky, you can almost pretend, just for a second, that the world isn’t what it is.

The fire has long since burned out, leaving behind the smell of smoke in the air. You sit back on a log, feeling useless as Joel moves through the familiar motions of breaking down camp. He doesn’t ask for help, doesn’t expect it from you, not after last night. You hate the feeling of being dead weight, of watching instead of doing, but you know better than to push yourself past what your body can handle.

A metal travel mug appears in your line of vision, held out wordlessly.

You blink at it, then up at Joel, who doesn’t meet your eyes.

The gesture is so familiar it nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

You take the cup, fingers curling around the warmth of it, and for a fleeting moment, it almost feels normal. Like no time has passed at all. Like this is just another morning on the road, him handing you coffee the way he always used to.

You don’t thank him, and he doesn’t expect you to.

To your surprise, Joel calls out to Ellie.

"Come on, kid. Give me a hand with this."

What surprises you even more is that instead of scoffing or making some snippy remark, she jumps up, eager to help.

You watch as she moves to his side, waiting for direction. He shows her how to roll up the sleeping bags, how to tie them down so they don’t come loose, how to strap them to a pack in a way that won’t throw off balance.

Kids like to be wanted, you remember. They like to feel important.

She listens intently, taking the task seriously. It’s small, but it’s something. A way to contribute. A way to matter.

By the time everything is packed up, Joel reaches for your pack.

Instinct kicks in before you can think better of it.

"I can do it," you say, grabbing for it at the same time he does.

You can’t, actually.

Your wrist is throbbing, your fingers stiff and sore. Your side aches from walking for miles, and your head still hasn’t fully recovered from the exhaustion of the past forty-eight hours. You didn’t sleep that first night after Joel found you, none of you did. Not until you’d put enough distance between yourselves and the smoldering wreckage of the Fireflies’ compound, the plumes of black smoke rising high into the sky.

You eye the pack, heavy with pilfered supplies. Courtesy of Joel.

He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t bark at you to just let him do it, doesn’t sigh in frustration like he would have before. Instead, he stands there, hands held in front of him like he’s approaching something wild. He’s not pushing. Not pressuring.

Just… waiting.

The silence stretches between you, your pride sitting heavy on your shoulders.

Then, finally, you drop your gaze to the forest floor.

"Okay," you murmur. "You can carry it."

Joel just nods, hoisting it over his shoulder like it’s nothing.

And to your surprise, you don’t feel guilty.

You only feel… surprised.

Surprised at yourself, for letting him do this for you.

Surprised at him for not throwing a barb your way about it.

Maybe you’re both learning something.

…

The Beartooth Pass snakes its way up into the mountains, winding higher and higher, each step a burn in your legs. But the view is enough to keep you from complaining. The land stretches out below, endless pine forests rolling into craggy peaks, stubborn bits of snow clinging to the frosty ground. The sky is an impossible blue, the kind that almost makes you forget the world has gone to hell. Almost.

Joel, leading the way, suddenly slows, scanning the roadside before nodding toward a dirt road that juts off from the highway.

"Map says there should be a freshwater lake up this way," he explains, holding it up for you to see.

You don’t bother looking. 

"I believe you." 

He’s always been better at reading maps than you, and you trust him to get you where you need to go.

An hour later, the cracked pavement gives way to gravel, then dirt, and then a weathered wooden sign emerges from the trees. Lily Lake Campground.

Joel lifts a hand in warning. "Stay put. Lemme check it out first."

You and Ellie wait as he vanishes into the trees. Birds chirp somewhere above, and a breeze rustles through the branches, sending a spray of pine needles careening toward you, landing at the toe of your boot. It’s peaceful here, untouched in a way most places aren’t anymore.

Joel returns a few minutes later with a nod. "All clear."

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight of the lake.

For the first time since crossing into Wyoming, you really see it. The beauty of it. You’d been too exhausted, too cold, too lost in your own head before. But today, the sun is shining, the sky wide and open, and in front of you is a pristine, glassy lake, the surface rippling serenely in the breeze. The water is so clear you can see straight to the bottom near the shore, smooth colorful rocks catching the light beneath the surface. Pines crowd the edges, looming reflections cast long and unbroken over the water.

No one speaks.

Then, as if by silent agreement, the three of you start stripping down to your underwear, kicking off boots, peeling away layers until the cool air kisses your skin.

Ellie is the first in, launching herself forward with reckless enthusiasm, barely pausing before plugging her nose and disappearing beneath the surface.

You hesitate, dipping a toe in before stepping further. It’s cold, but in a way that makes your skin tingle, like a long drink of water after walking in the heat. It wakes you up, reminds you that you’re alive.

Joel lingers at the shore, arms crossed, eyeing the water with deep suspicion.

"You coming in, old man?" you tease.

His glare is half-hearted. "I don’t like cold water."

You laugh, watching as he finally steps in, wincing with each inch of skin that submerges. For all his gruffness, all his strength, this is the thing that undoes him. Cold water.

You don’t see Ellie creeping up behind him until it’s too late.

With both hands, she slaps the surface, sending a wave of water crashing against his entire back.

Joel’s whole body stiffens. He spins, eyes wild, only to see Ellie already kicking away, cackling.

"You little shit!" he bellows, lunging after her.

Ellie shrieks, ducking beneath the water to escape, but Joel isn’t done. He plunges under, disappearing for a second before bursting up again, shaking his head like a wet dog, sending a fresh spray of water in all directions.

You shriek as the cold droplets hit you, shielding your face.

"Okay, enough," you laugh, retreating toward the shore. "If I get this cast wet, I’m screwed."

Joel, catching his breath, watches as you wade back onto land. You grab an old towel from your pack, drying off before slipping back into your clothes, the afternoon sun warming your skin.

Eventually, Joel joins you, dropping onto the shore beside you, running his fingers through his wet hair with a grumble. Ellie stays in the water, drifting lazily on her back, eyes closed, soaking up the moment like it’s the first time she’s ever really felt peace.

You watch her, then glance at Joel.

For once, there’s no urgency. No fear.

Just this.

A moment carved out of the world as it used to be.

He sits beside you, close enough that if you weren’t thinking too hard about it, you could mistake the two of you for something. Companions, maybe. Friends. But you know better.

You aren’t sure what you are anymore. Old friends? Reluctant allies? Strangers with too much history to be strangers at all?

Joel exhales through his nose, nodding toward the water. “Kid’s like a goddamn fish.”

You huff a quiet laugh, the sound unfamiliar in your throat. It doesn’t belong here, doesn’t fit into the broken mess of whatever sits between you now. But it comes anyway, drawn out of you by the sight of Ellie floating on her back, arms splayed wide, completely at peace.

“She’s something,” you agree.

Joel shifts beside you. You can hear him breathing, steady and even, but you swear he’s thinking so loud you can almost hear it. He wants to speak. You can feel it.

You do, too, if you’re being honest.

But what do you even say?

Thanks for saving me. By the way, why did you do that?

… Is it the same reason you couldn’t pull the trigger that day on the river?

Joel clears his throat. “I… I heard about her. Back when we were in the QZ.”

You turn to him, brows furrowing. What?

“What?” you ask, blinking at him. “You…?”

“Ellie, I mean.” He doesn’t look at you, his eyes locked on the water where she drifts lazily, letting the sun warm her face. “I went to see Marlene for a job. Back when we were just talkin’ about leaving. I knew she could get me supplies we needed. I’d done runs for her before.”

You stay silent, waiting. Joel never gave up information freely. He was a locked safe, in the heart of a maximum security prison, and getting anything out of him used to be an art. But now, here he is, offering something up unprompted.

And you’re not about to interrupt him.

“I never brought you along for jobs with the Fireflies. Too dangerous,” he says, rubbing a hand over his face, voice quieter now. “And this time when I went…” 

He seems to consider his words for a moment.

“She mentioned a kid. A girl who was immune. I thought she was full of shit. She wanted me to bring her to Utah so they could— ” His jaw clenches. You can see the tension in him, the way his shoulders tighten, his throat bobs with a hard swallow. “They were gonna kill her.”

There’s a rawness in his voice, like it’s scraped open, bleeding.

You swallow, staring at his profile, at the way he keeps his eyes fixed forward, unwilling to meet yours. He isn’t just talking about Ellie.

“You knew they were going to do the same to me,” you murmur. “And that’s why you came to get me.”

It isn’t a question. It isn’t even an accusation.

Just a fact. A recognition of what he’s done.

Joel thought you were going to be killed, and he put himself between you and the hands of fate. Again.

But Joel shakes his head. 

“I was comin’ for you anyway,” he says, and his voice is steady now, sure in a way that makes your breath catch. “Didn’t even realize they were around ‘til I saw the logo spray-painted nearby. They do that, try to scare raiders off. Got a bad reputation.”

You stare at him. His words filter through your brain slowly, piece by piece.

I was comin’ for you anyway.

You hadn’t been sure what he would do after you left. Maybe go back to Boston. Maybe stay, start over, let go of the weight of you, the burden of your needs, your curse.

You’d assumed he would want that. That he’d find peace in the quiet of Wyoming, without you there to complicate things.

But instead, he’d gone looking.

Not because of duty. Not because of some misplaced sense of responsibility.

But because relief for him wasn’t found in the emptiness you left behind.

What if Joel didn’t want peace?

What if peace, for him, wasn’t something Wyoming could offer, only you?

The thought lingers, curling itself around the messy, broken edges of everything else between you. You don’t know what to do with it. Don’t know how to hold it alongside all the other things you carry, the hurt, the anger, the distance.

Because for all of this, for everything he’s done, there was still that look in his eyes before you left. Still the anger in his voice, the cold way he pushed you away.

How do you hold both things at the same time?

…

That night, as you sit around the campfire, you listen to the stillness in the air.

If it were warmer, there’d be crickets, the distant sounds of life in the forest waking under the moonlight. If it weren’t the apocalypse, there’d be the sounds of other campers, families murmuring, kids giggling as they roast marshmallows, someone playing a guitar off in the distance. The kind of quiet life you once took for granted.

Instead, there’s just you, the child you’ve quasi-adopted, and the man you’re in love with who also makes you want to rip your hair out half the time, splitting a can of vintage baked beans and jerky over the fire.

You’ve learned that Ellie has never been one for silence. She’ll do anything to fill it, whether it’s with half-baked theories, crude jokes, or god-awful puns. Tonight, though, she sets her sights on Joel.

“You know, if you keep making that face, it’ll get stuck that way.”

You glance over at him, catching the deep furrow in his brow, the ever-present scowl that looks like it’s been etched into his face since birth. Something about it makes you laugh, small but genuine, bubbling up before you can stop it.

How the hell did you ever survive these awkward silences with Joel before Ellie came along?

He doesn’t dignify her with a response, just grunts, shaking his head as he stirs the fire. But before he can grumble too much, she throws a question to you both.

“What was your favorite movie, from before?”

You freeze, caught off guard. That’s something you haven’t thought about in… years. More than years. It’s been so long since movies were even a part of your world. The last one you saw was back in the Chicago QZ, crowded around a battery-operated portable DVD player, watching The Phantom Menace with a group of strangers, pretending for a couple of hours that the world outside didn’t exist.

Joel, however, doesn’t hesitate.

“Curtis and the Viper 2.”

You blink, then snort before you can stop yourself.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, brows knitting together.

You shake your head, grinning. “Those movies were cheesy as hell. That’s your favorite?”

Joel lifts his hands in mock offense. “Hey now, those movies had heart.”

“Oh my god, you’re serious.”

Ellie giggles, eyes flicking between the two of you. 

“Damn right I’m serious,” Joel says, poking at the fire. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a little action and adventure.”

You smirk, leaning back against a fallen log. “I just pegged you as more of a Western kind of guy.”

Joel huffs, but there’s amusement behind it, like he’s almost pleased you even gave it that much thought. “Alright then, smartass, what’s your favorite?”

You hesitate, rifling through half-buried memories before grinning as one finally surfaces.

“The Blair Witch Project, for sure.”

Joel’s head snaps up, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. “Your parents let you watch that?”

You let out a giggle. “Jesus, Joel, how old do you think I was?”

Ellie, watching the exchange with barely contained amusement, grins wide. “Wait, wait. What's the Blair Witch?”

You and Joel exchange a glance before turning back to her.

“A horror movie,” you say.

“A damn stupid horror movie,” Joel adds.

You gasp, clutching your chest in mock offense. “Oh, come on, it was terrifying.”

Joel scoffs. “Terrifying? It was a bunch of idiots running around the woods with a camera, scarin’ themselves half to death over nothin’.”

“That’s what made it great. It was all about the suspense.” You wiggle your eyebrows at him.

He just shakes his head, muttering something under his breath about kids these days.

For a moment, there’s an easiness about this, a warmth, reminiscent of how things used to be before everything went to hell. Before he did what he did. Before you ran.

The fire crackles, throwing shadows across Joel’s face, softening the hard edges. He’s watching you, but not with the guarded distance he’s kept since you left. Just… watching.

You swallow, glancing away.

The moment is fleeting, slipping through your fingers before you can grab hold of it. 

Because then Ellie throws a grenade into the air. 

“What was the happiest day of your life?”

A log on the fire pops, sending embers swirling into the night, but everything else stills. The air thickens, pressing in on you, on Joel.

Your eyes find his, and he’s already looking at you.

Because he already knows your answer.

You told him, back when you laid all your cards on the table. When you thought you had nothing to lose.

The closest thing to happiness I’ve felt since… since before the world ended.

A day suspended in liquid gold. Where for a brief, foolish moment, you believed you could reach out and take love in your hands, hold it like something real, something lasting. When words spilled between you in the flickering firelight, when the proximity between you vanished, leaving nothing but warmth and breath and the unspoken promise that maybe, just maybe, there could be something more.

But you can’t tell Ellie that. You can’t even bear the thought of retelling it to Joel.

And Joel… How is he supposed to answer? How does he tell you that the happiest day of his life was the day his baby girl was born? How does he put into words the million little moments that followed - the first time Sarah wrapped her tiny fingers around his, the way she’d laugh until she snorted, the feeling of her arms wrapped around his neck after a long day - without inviting questions? Without unraveling himself right here, in front of both of you?

He’d told you about Sarah before. More than he ever told Tess. More than he ever told anyone. You asked, and Joel, hesitant, careful, had given you those pieces of himself, knowing you would hold them gently.

But he can’t do that now. Not here. Not in front of Ellie.

The silence stretches, growing heavier by the second. Ellie glances between you both, her face scrunching in confusion, then softening with worry.

“Did I say something wrong?” she asks quietly.

You shake your head, only then noticing the tears perched precariously on your waterline. You blink them back and slip an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into your side.

“No, not at all,” you murmur, keeping your voice smooth, steady. Comforting. “It’s just hard to think about sometimes. About everything we lost, you know?”

Ellie doesn’t answer, but you feel her lean into you, just a little.

Across the fire, Joel remains still, gaze fixed on the flames.

It’s like you can read his mind, and he doesn’t like it.

The night wears on, the fire burning lower, the cold creeping in. Eventually, Ellie curls up in her makeshift bedroll, her breathing slowing, evening out.

And then it’s just you and Joel.

The quiet between you isn’t painful, it’s unbearable.

You want to say something.

So does he.

Neither of you do.

The silence stretches like an unseen presence, pressing against you like a bruise you don’t want to touch.

You want to ask Why did you come for me? Really? but the words stay stuck in your throat.

Joel wants to say I’m sorry I pushed you away. Wants to tell you that being without you had felt like severing a limb, that he hasn’t stopped feeling the ghost of it since. But instead, he just grunts and mutters, “You should get some sleep.”

And so you do.

…

You wake early the next day, the chill of dawn clinging to your skin as you set off up the mountain. The world feels greyer today, the cloud cover making the lake look like a giant silver mirror. The air is crisp, but the tension between you and Joel remains, hanging in the air like a fourth traveler.

Unspoken words. Stolen glances. Moments where one of you starts to speak but stops short, swallowing whatever had almost been said.

Ellie senses it, that unseen current passing between you and Joel. She does her best to cut through it, keeping up a steady stream of chatter, throwing out silly jokes, pointless observations, anything to keep things light. But there’s a distance between you and Joel that she can’t quite bridge, a history neither of you are willing to acknowledge out loud. 

After a while, Ellie groans dramatically, pressing a hand to her forehead like a tragic heroine.

“Ugh. My legs. They’re dead. Completely useless. Guess you guys are gonna have to leave me behind.”

You smirk, glancing over at her. This kid has no business being this funny, not after everything she’s seen, everything she’s been through. You admire that about her, the way she refuses to let the world harden her completely.

She turns to Joel with wide, pleading eyes. “Joel, you gotta carry me. It’s the only way.”

You fully expect him to scoff, to grumble something about how she’s not a baby and she can walk just fine. But to your utter astonishment, he stops.

He raises an eyebrow at Ellie, then shifts his backpack around to his front, loosening the straps. With a groaning sigh, he drops to one knee and waves a hand expectantly.

“C’mon, then.”

Ellie’s mouth falls open in disbelief before she whips her head toward you, like she needs confirmation that this is really happening.

And then, with an elated shriek, she scrambles onto Joel’s back.

He grunts as he stands, adjusting her weight before trudging forward. “You ain’t exactly light, kid.”

“Yeah, well, you aren’t exactly young,” she shoots back, grinning against his shoulder.

And you laugh. A real, genuine laugh, already filling the air before you can stop it. Ellie laughs too, and after a moment, even Joel, despite himself, lets out a quiet chuckle.

For a moment, it feels almost normal.

In another life, maybe this could have been yours, properly. A life where Joel is yours, where the world isn’t shattered and unkind, where you’re just walking together on a crisp morning, laughing with a little girl who shares your features, perched on his back without a care in the world. In this fantasy, there’s no weight in Joel’s eyes when he looks at you, no past that threatens to pull you under, no unspoken words wedged between you like a blade. In this fantasy, he loves you back.

You let yourself stay there, just for a second. Suspended in it.

Then the moment shatters.

It happens fast, too fast.

Your breath catches, laughter dying in your throat as something up ahead snags your attention. A shift in the landscape, a movement in the distance. At first, you think it’s just a trick of the light, a shadow cast by the trees. But then you see it.

A wreck.

The mangled remains of an RV, half-sunken in a roadside ditch, its windows shattered, its frame rusted and warped from time and decay. For a second, it’s just another ruin, another forgotten remnant of a world long gone.

But then the movement registers.

Not the wind. Not the trees.

Bodies.

A small horde, circling the wreckage like vultures, dragging rotted limbs, heads jerking in sudden, unnatural twitches. You don’t have time to count them before one stops mid-step, its face snapping toward you, hollow sockets locking onto distant movement. Then another. And another.

Your blood turns to ice.

Joel reacts before you can. Pure instinct.

Ellie barely has time to squeak out a question before he’s dropping her to the ground, shoving both of you toward the brush on the far side of the road.

“Stay down. Stay quiet.”

Ellie nods, wide-eyed, scrambling into the undergrowth, but you hesitate.

Because you know Joel. You know what he’s about to do.

And you can’t help yourself.

Once you’re sure Ellie is hidden, you crawl back up to the road, pressing yourself against the rough bark of a tree, watching his six.

Like old times.

And God, he’s mesmerizing.

He moves like something honed and deadly, all precision and brutal efficiency. A weapon crafted by time and hardship, cutting through the infected like they are nothing, because to him, they are. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t stumble. Every swing of his knife, every crack of his boot, every bullet that leaves the chamber, it’s methodical. Practiced. 

God’s perfect killing machine.

But God’s perfect killing machine has a bad right ear, and he doesn’t catch the flurry of movement behind him.

You watch it slither from behind the overturned RV, moving low, silent. A stalker, its body half-decayed, bones jutting through torn flesh, its milky eyes locked onto Joel like a predator that’s finally caught the scent of its prey.

He doesn’t hear it.

You realize it too late.

A cold sweat spikes down your spine. Your heart kicks into a frenzy, pulse thundering in your ears. You could call out to him, but you know what that would mean. You know how fast these things move. One sound, one wrong step, and it’s over.

For all of you.

But you’re not about to watch your nightmare unfold in front of you. Not again.

The fingers of your good hand close around the hilt of your knife, yanking it from its sheath in one fluid motion. There’s no time to think, just to move. You crouch low, every muscle coiled, and slip toward the stalker as quietly as you can.

Close enough now.

You throw your casted arm around its neck, the thick plaster shielding you from its snapping teeth, and drive your blade deep into its skull. You ignore the way your bone screams from the pressure.

But you’re not steady on your feet yet, not fully healed, not fully back in fighting form. Your balance falters. The dead weight of its body drags you down, and before you can stop it, you’re falling.

A sickening gurgle rattles in its throat as its body spasms against yours, collapsing atop you. You twist the knife deeper, teeth gritted, until the movement ceases.

Silence.

For a second, the world stills.

By the time he’s finished off the last of them, Joel’s head is whipping around, eyes scanning wildly. His ribs are heaving, lungs burning, adrenaline screaming through his veins.

But then it’s like all of that fades into silence, replaced by the feeling of the earth giving out beneath him.

Because when Joel looks back, all he sees is you, sprawled next to the body of a stalker, still as death.

A rush of ice floods his veins. His heart lurches painfully, breath strangled in his throat. A sound, ragged and broken and desperate, tries to claw its way out of his throat.

Not again. Not fucking again.

A half second before his knees give out, you move, body shaking with adrenaline. A wince as you yank the knife free, blood smearing across your fingers. Very much alive.

And something inside him snaps.

It should be relief. It should be gratitude. Instead, it erupts as fury.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

You blink up at him, still catching your breath, thrown by the anger written across his face.

“What?”

It’s not fair. You were helping. You weren’t just standing around, waiting to be saved.

Joel’s jaw is clenched so tight it looks like it might shatter. He gestures wildly toward the corpse beside you, toward where you had been lying so fucking still just moments ago.

“You sneak up on a goddamn stalker like that?” His voice rises. “Do you have a death wish?”

Your pulse is still hammering from the fight, and now it spikes with anger.

“I was helping, Joel,” you snap, stepping forward. “That thing was coming up behind you. I saved your ass.”

He growls, drags a hand down his face, fingers pressing into his beard like he’s trying to ground himself. “You should’ve stayed put.”

You scoff. “Right, I should’ve just stood there and let you get torn apart?”

Something flickers in his expression, dark and pained, but you don’t let yourself falter. You shove past the fear curling in your gut, past the way he’s looking at you like he’s seen a ghost.

“I handled it,” you grit out. “I’ve been handling shit like this since before I met you.”

Joel doesn’t answer. He just stares at you, breaths coming out erratically, like he’s still trying to convince himself that you’re standing here. That you’re not bleeding out on the forest floor.

That he didn’t almost lose you.

Joel’s eyes flash. “That ain’t the damn point.”

“Then what is the point, Joel?”

“The point is I turn around and see you on the goddamn ground, and for a second, I thought —”

He cuts himself off abruptly, like the words have lodged in his throat, choking him. His jaw tightens, fists clenching at his sides.

You stare at him, your breath still coming hard. There’s something in the way he’s looking at you, like he’s barely keeping himself together. The tick of his jaw, the flare of his nostrils, the way his fingers curl and uncurl like he needs something to hold on to.

And it hits you.

He thought he lost you.

Your stomach twists. The blaze of your own anger dies, just a little. But you don’t know how to soften things between you. You don’t know how to dull the double-edged knife that’s lodged between you both. Not when he’s spent so long keeping you at arm’s length. Not when he’s pushed you away again and again.

So instead, you say, “Well, you didn’t.” Your voice is flat. “I’m fine.”

Joel sighs, but it’s not relief, it’s frustration. He shakes his head, turning away like he can’t look at you anymore, but then he turns back just as fast, like he can’t not look at you either.

“You don’t get it, do you? You don’t get what that did to me.”

Your lungs constrict.

“Joel…”

“I thought you were dead.” He says shakily. He steps closer. “For one second, I-” He swallows hard, like the words physically pain him. His gaze pins you in place. “You don’t know what that feels like.”

The words tear out of you before you can stop them.

“Yes, I do.”

Joel freezes.

Your throat tightens. You weren’t going to go here. You weren’t going to bring it up. But the dam has broken, and there’s no stopping it now.

“Yes, I do know what it feels like.” You bite. “You think you’re the only one who’s lost someone? The only one who’s had to watch someone they care about die?”

Joel’s expression darkens. “That ain’t what I said.”

“But it’s what you think, isn’t it?” Your heart is hammering now. “That you’re the only one who gets to feel like this? Like you have permission to treat everyone like shit because you’re hurting?”

“That’s not —” He stops himself, jaw locking like he’s fighting with himself. “That’s not what I meant.”

You’re both standing too close now, neither of you willing to back down. The heat of the fight, of the near miss, of the way things were going so good right up until now, crackles between you, thick like a brewing storm.

Joel clenches his jaw again, shoulders rigid, like he’s holding something back.

“I ain’t losin’ you again.”

Oh.

It’s so quiet, the way he says it.

It’s the closest he’s ever come to saying the thing he won’t let himself say.

You don’t know what to do with this, don’t know how to hold it in your hands without breaking it, without breaking yourself.

So you do what you always do. You deflect. Because it’s easier. Because it’s safer.

"Losing me. Like you weren’t the one who pushed me away?"

His face crumples, like something inside of him has snapped in two.

Then, like an act of God, the sky opens up. A torrential downpour crashes over you, drowning the moment before it can fully take shape.

You don’t think, you just move.

You sprint toward the brush where Ellie is still waiting, pulling her hood up over her head, grabbing her arm. You don’t stop as you run past Joel, past the wreckage, past the bodies. The rain is deafening, hammering against the pavement, but you can just barely hear the heavy thud of his boots behind you. You don’t look back. You can’t look back. You don’t want to see whatever’s on his face right now.

Up ahead, just off the main road, a small dirt lot appears, more old, rusted RVs scattered across it, long abandoned.

You rush into the nearest one, sweeping your eyes over the space, assessing. Empty. Safe enough. You pull Ellie in after you.

The walls are thin, the rain pelting against them like a thousand watery bullets.

A beat later, Joel steps inside, slamming the door harder than necessary. He doesn’t say a word. Just stands there, dripping, arms crossed, jaw set like stone.

At first, there’s only silence, save for your heavy breaths and the downpour raging outside. You shake the water from your hair, peel off your soaked jacket. The space is small, musty, thick with old dust and mold. You take stock quickly. Nothing much useful left behind, but at least the place is mostly intact.

Ellie, sensing the tension, slips toward the back of the RV. She mutters some half hearted excuse about looking for books before disappearing into the bedroom, door latched quietly behind her.

The silence stretches, tight, loaded.

It would be so easy to let it go. To let the rain wash the fight away.

But neither of you are that kind of person.

Instead, you shake your head, scoffing as you remove your wet sheath. “You always do this, you know that?”

Joel growls, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“No, seriously.” You turn to face him fully, arms crossed and eyes aflame. “You always have to be the one making the calls, telling me what I should or shouldn’t do —”

“Because you don’t think!” He cuts you off, words like dynamite. “You throw yourself into danger without a second thought, and I gotta be the one picking up the pieces every goddamn time.”

You bristle. “That’s bullshit.”

“No, what’s bullshit — ” he takes a step forward, “ — is me turnin’ around and seein’ you on the ground like a goddamn corpse.” His face twists, like the image is still burned into his mind. 

“I thought — ” 

He stops short, shakes his head like he can’t even bring himself to say it out loud. His jaw is clenched so tight you can hear the grind of his teeth. 

“Do I gotta spell it out for you why that scared me?”

Your pulse is still hammering from the fight, from the rain, from him. You stare at him, eyes boring a hole into his, trying to shove down the twisting thing in your stomach. “You’re acting like this because I fucking scared you?”

Joel doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”

Your jaw tightens. “I don’t need you to be scared for me, Joel. I can take care of myself.”

Joel laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah? That how you ended up with the Fireflies?”

The words land like a slap.

You blink.  The storm outside rages, wind and rain hammering the metal walls, but it’s nothing compared to the whirlwind inside you.

Joel sees it. Sees the crack in your armor. And like a hunter who’s caught the scent of blood, he runs with it.

“You’re so damn sure you don’t need anyone, but you ran straight into their hands, didn’t you?” He barks. “You left, and look what happened.”

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t stop.

“You think just ‘cause you survived one bite, you can’t die? Immunity won’t stop a horde from tearin’ you to pieces. Won’t stop livin’, breathin’ people who’ll think up a million worse ways to hurt you.”

And he’s right, isn’t he?

Joel doesn’t even realize how deep he’s cut until he sees your face change. The fight bleeds out of your expression, replaced by something hollow, something stricken.

For the first time tonight, you have no comeback. No fiery retort, no quick-witted barb to throw back at him. Just a quiet, stunned look, like he’s finally broken something that won’t be so easily put back together.

Joel’s stomach drops.

He fucked up.

You don’t say anything. You just turn and push past him, yanking the camper door open and stepping out into the storm.

Joel reacts immediately.

“Shit.” He’s out the door before he even thinks about it, boots sinking into the mud as rain bears down in sheets. The wind howls, whipping through the trees, drowning out everything but the pounding of his heart.

You’re already walking away, shoulders hunched against the downpour, your body a rigid line of anger, on the verge of combustion.

Joel catches up in a few strides, grabbing your good wrist, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to stop you. 

“Wait!”

You rip yourself free, spinning on him so fast he barely has time to react.

“Don’t.” Your voice shakes, though whether it’s from anger or exhaustion, you don’t know. Your clothes are soaked through, hair dripping, rainwater running down your face. You wipe at it roughly, but it doesn’t stop the sting behind your eyes.

“I can’t do this anymore, Joel.” You’re nearly shouting over the roar of the storm.. “I can’t stand you acting like I’m a fucking liability. Like I’m a mistake you made.”

Joel’s hands curl into fists at his sides. “I don’t —”

But you don’t let him finish. You’re too wound up, too desperate to get the words out before your courage fails.

“You must regret it. Not shooting me when you had the chance.”

Joel’s face darkens, his whole body tensing like a drawn bowstring. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Say it out loud?” Your voice is almost shrill now, though you’re past the point of caring. “Say that your life would be easier with me gone? Or that I left you and maybe things would’ve been easier if I never came back?”

His eyes flicker like a dying light, wounded and volatile all at once. His breath is heavy, his shoulders tight with restraint.

And when he speaks, it’s quiet. Lethal.

“You really think that little of me?”

You falter. Just for a second. But you can’t stop now.

“You tell me, Joel.” Your voice wavers, but you keep going. “Because you’ve sure as hell been acting like it.”

Joel groans, his hands braced on his hips. “Jesus Christ.” He shakes his head, like he can’t believe this conversation is happening, like he can’t believe you’re happening.

Then, quieter, “You don’t get it.”

“Oh, I get it just fine.” The words snap out before you can stop them. 

“No,” he snaps, stepping forward. “You don’t.” 

The rain lashes down, thunder rumbling in the distance.

“You got no goddamn clue what it was like, wakin’ up and findin’ you gone. What it’s been like since.”

Your breath catches in your throat. But he’s not done.

“You think I resent you?” His voice is bitter now, his brows pulled in disbelief. “No. I’m mad at you. I’m so goddamn angry I don’t know what to do with it.”

You swallow. “Why?”

“Because you left.” 

And he breaks like a frayed rope snapping. Like the words he’s been keeping tethered all this time have finally broken loose. 

“Because you didn’t even give me a goddamn chance to tell you how fuckin’ sorry I was. How sorry I still am, every goddamn day.”

Your heart slams against your ribs.

You don’t know what to do with an apology from Joel, don’t know how to hold it in your broken hands. You shake your head hard, rejecting it.

“I had to go,” you murmur, throat tight, barely able to force the words out.

Joel shakes his head, rain flowing in rivulets down his face, as if coming from the storm in his eyes. “No, you didn’t.”

He’s quieter now, but somehow it cuts deeper, right through the places you’ve tried so hard to keep impenetrable.

You don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to stand under the weight of this moment, how to breathe around the ache tightening in your ribs. 

So you do what you’ve always done when things get too hard. You run.

You push past him into the trees, feet fighting for traction in the mud, heart hammering against your ribs. The rain is endless, beating down in thick sheets, soaking through every layer of you. You don’t care. You just need to get away.

Joel curses under his breath and follows, his boots splashing through puddles. “Damn it, would you just stop?”

And then he’s somewhere else.

The sun, golden, peeking from behind a distant mountain. The warm drizzle on his skin, the air thick with the smell of wet earth and late summer. You, laughing, spinning through the rain with your arms wide, the fabric of your shirt clinging to your skin, your hair dripping down your back. The way you looked at him then, like maybe he wasn’t as ruined as he thought he was. Like maybe, just maybe, he deserved something good.

Then the night you left.

The haunted old house, the sound of rain against the leaky ceiling. The warmth of you in the room, the way his body had finally, finally, relaxed after so many nights on edge. The rare kind of sleep that only came when he let himself believe, just for a moment, that you were safe.

Then waking up to nothing.

The gut wrenching silence, the hollowness where you should have been.

The way it felt like losing everything all over again.

Now.

Joel’s heart clenches so hard it hurts. His breath is ragged, throat tight, stomach churning.

Not this time.

“Hey!” He shouts, cutting through the storm.

You freeze, spinning around to face him.

Joel steps closer, his frame so broad and unaffected by the torrents soaking you, like you could crawl under him for cover.

“You don’t get to do this again.” The rain plasters his hair to his forehead, those dark curls framing his frustrated face. “You don’t get to run like that. Not again.”

You’re drenched, blinking rain from your lashes, but he sees it all in your face. The hurt. The anger. The fear. The weight you’ve been carrying all alone, the one he neglected to help shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” His voice cracks, and he doesn’t even try to hide it. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry, you have no idea.”

You don’t move.

His jaw clenches. He shakes his head, his throat working. “I never wanted to push you away… I never wanted you to go.” 

It feels like lightning the way it shatters something between you. The fight leaves you.

Your shoulders drop, your lips part like you might say something, but you don’t.

Slowly, cautiously, like he’s afraid you might break under his touch or disappear with the rain, Joel reaches for you. A hesitant brush of his fingertips on the slope of your shoulder, a question unspoken.

And you let him.

You let him pull you into his arms, let yourself fold against him, let yourself be.

In this embrace you find shelter in the storm, against everything that’s threatened to pull you apart. His shirt is soaked, his lungs heaving something terrific beneath your cheek. And here, pressed against the thundering beat of his heart, shielded from the downpour, you weep.

For all that you’ve lost.

For all that you and Joel have left in your wake.

For the ugly truths neither of you can take back.

Joel presses his face into your hair, his arms locking around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers again. His lips graze, barely there, against your temple.

And when you finally find your voice, it’s quiet.

“I’m sorry, too.”

He just nods.

“Can we go back inside?” He asks.

You nod against his chest.

Joel keeps an arm slung over your shoulders as he leads you back to the RV. His touch is steady, solid, and you let yourself lean into it. Not because you need to, not really. But because, in this rare moment of honesty you’ve carved out together, there’s a part of you that wants to.

Wants to need him.

Wants to lean on him without the guilt, without the shame that’s rooted itself deep in your bones. The kind that twenty years of survival has carved into you, the voice in your head that says relying on anyone means weakness, means death.

Because maybe that voice is wrong.

Maybe, just this once, you don’t have to listen to it.

Inside the RV, the air is still thick with lingering tension, the scent of damp earth and mildew settling around you both. The rain still beats against the thin metal walls, but it’s quieter now. Muted, almost peaceful.

Joel lowers himself onto the bench seat at the dinette, exhaling as he leans back. That’s when you notice the way his mouth twitches, the way his fingers tighten briefly on the table’s edge.

“You’re hurt?” you ask, eyes narrowing.

He hesitates, but then sighs, dragging the sleeve of his jacket up to reveal a nasty scrape along his forearm. The wound is raw, angry, streaked with dirt. “Got myself on the damn door earlier. I’ll be fine.”

You shoot him a look, arching a brow. “Let me clean it up.”

You expect refusal, annoyance, a trademark scowl.

But Joel doesn’t argue. He just nods, resigned.

You gather the supplies, sitting across from him at the table. He rests his arm between you, his skin warm beneath your fingertips as you gently push his sleeve further up. Your movements are careful but clumsy, your cast making everything harder, your fingers still stiff and uncooperative. Joel could probably do a better job himself, but neither of you acknowledge that. There’s an unspoken understanding between you now. You have to let each other help.

Because it’s not about whether you need it, or whether you deserve it.

It’s about trust. About allowing yourselves to take care of each other, even when it’s uncomfortable, even when it feels like a risk.

You work in silence, dabbing antiseptic onto the scrape, your touch light but deliberate. Joel barely flinches, watching you with an unreadable expression. You press a bandage over the wound, then reach for the roll of gauze to wrap it in place, securing it with slow, precise movements.

Joel still doesn’t speak, just watches you.

Watches the way your brows pull together in concentration, the way your damp hair clings to your cheeks, the way the soft evening light catches on the delicate slope of your nose, the curve of your lips.

You look beautiful like this.

And Joel wants to tell you. Now. Because what does he have to lose? Because the words have been clawing their way up his throat since before you left, since before you broke him that night, and he hated himself for not saying them when he had the chance.

But something stops him.

A promise.

He made a promise. To get you somewhere safe first, to let you decide, openly and freely, what you wanted.

He has failed you in so many ways, so many times.

But this promise, he will keep.

…

Joel tells you you're still a few days out from where he thinks the Wyoming safe haven is.

The truth is that you’re closer than that.

But there’s somewhere else he wants to take you first.

He’s banking on your inability to read a map to pull this off. And despite what he’s muttered in moments of frustration, he knows you’re capable, fiercely so. But you both know geography isn’t exactly your strong suit.

Still, you sense something is up.

"Joel, why are we going this way? We should be heading —"

"Just trust me."

That earns him a pointed look, one that says really? But the thing is… you do trust him.

Ellie, on the other hand, can barely contain her excitement. She keeps sneaking glances at Joel, smirking, dropping hints that only fuel your frustration. You hate not knowing things. And whatever this is, it's something.

Joel is different, too. Not softer, exactly, but focused. Like this matters to him. And maybe it’s because this is the first time in a long time he’s leading without it being about survival.

Since that night in the rain, something between you has shifted. The sting of old wounds still lingers, but there’s something else now, too. Something smoothed over and soothed by your shared apologies.

You don’t know that it’ll ever be the same. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe something stronger can be forged here.

You’re deep in thought when Joel crests a hill ahead of you. He turns back, raising a hand, motioning for you to follow.

And then you see it.

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you forget how to move.

Yellowstone.

Untouched. Preserved. Alive.

For years, you'd feared it would be lost, just another casualty of the world’s ruin. That the image you clung to, the dream of this place, would shatter the moment you laid eyes on it. But it’s here. Whole. The geysers still erupt, steam curling into the sky. The hot springs shimmer in the afternoon light, deep pools of blue and green. A herd of bison gather in the distance, unbothered. The land is still theirs, always has been.

You think about the destruction and the decay and the rot, the way that’s what the world was for you for so long. The desperation of persistent existence in a hostile world. But that’s just human creation, isn’t it? Things that were always unnatural, always a blight on the land. So it makes sense that Earth would reclaim what was hers, what humans tried to make theirs. But here, this beautiful place… This has always belonged to her. Things that are meant to survive, do. 

And then, you understand.

Joel didn’t just bring you here as a detour.

He brought you here for you.

It’s not about survival, or obligation, or guilt.

This is kindness.

And it scares you a little.

Joel is watching you carefully, hands braced on his hips, his expression unreadable. He won’t admit it, but he’s nervous. He doesn’t know what you’ll do. If you’ll say something. If you’ll shut down. If you’ll run.

But you don’t run.

You let yourself have it. The moment, the quiet, the peace.

And then you smile. Wide, real.

Joel’s heart flutters, skips a beat. He’s seen you smile like this before, but only once. In a way that makes you look light, a way that lets him imagine how you might have looked had the world never ended. Like for the first time in a long time, you’re not carrying every awful thing that’s ever happened to you on your shoulders.

You turn to him, your heart so full it almost hurts., but not in that familiar way that wounds.

“Thank you.”

Joel doesn’t know what to do with that. Doesn’t know how to say you don’t have to thank me, I wanted to do this for you. So he just nods.

You look at him, and for maybe the first time, you see him.

Really see him.

You let yourself look, let yourself hold his gaze without fear of what you’ll find. And what you do find nearly brings you to your knees.

Because there’s no anger there. No pain, no regret, no sorrow.

Just joy.

Your joy, reflected back at you, in Joel.

Your fingers twitch at your side before you reach out, hesitating for only a second before taking his hand in yours. Your fingers entwine, squeezing tight.

He squeezes back, two quick pulls.

You linger, just for a moment, before letting go.

Ellie, as always, chooses the perfect time to interrupt.

"Okay, so what do we think? Jumping into one of those colorful pools or a geyser explosion first?"

The answer, of course, is neither, because, No, Ellie, that shit will boil you alive.

Even as you explore the land, watching the geysers erupt into rising plumes of steam, admiring the bison as they graze in the golden light of dusk, feeling the earth itself pulse with life beneath your feet, you can’t stop looking at Joel.

You try to take it all in, try to commit every detail of this place to memory. But more than the mountains or the rivers or the impossibly colorful pools, it's him you can't stop staring at.

For so long, you'd avoided really looking at him, expecting nothing but sharp edges, harsh words, cold indifference, the naked truth of your own fears reflected back at you like a broken mirror. And now that you've let yourself look, really look, and found none of that, you don’t want to look away.

You want to keep watching him in the same way he watches over you, with quiet intensity, with fascination and care and warmth.

That night, you make camp beneath the vast, endless stretch of stars. Yellowstone is quiet, the kind of quiet that feels untouched, sacred. The fire crackles between you, sending embers up into the night sky like sacred offerings. You shiver when the temperature cools, and without a second thought, Joel shrugs off his jacket and hands it to you.

You don’t argue. You just take it, curling it around yourself, breathing him in.

“I never thought I’d actually see it,” you admit, voice soft in the rich stillness.

Joel watches you for a moment, then offers a small, reassuring smile. “Plenty more ahead.”

It surprises you, but you believe him.

But as the fire flickers between you, illuminating his face in warm, shifting light, something else inside of you shifts too.

You’re almost there. Almost to the supposed safe haven. Almost at the end of this journey together.

And you can’t help but wonder, what happens then?

What if it’s real? What if it’s peaceful and quiet and safe and everything you dreamed about?

… And what if Joel gets restless?

Can a man who hasn’t stopped moving in twenty years ever really settle down? Will he stay? Or, once he’s satisfied that you’re safe, will he move on? Will he go back to Boston, back to the life he knew before you?

And if he does stay, if you both do… What then?

Without the forced proximity of survival, without shared danger or a destination binding you together, will he become a stranger again?

Will you?

Across the fire, Joel sees the way your expression shifts, the way uncertainty flickers through your eyes. You watch him warily through the glow of the flames, and something about it makes anxiety flicker inside of him.

He wants to say I don’t want to lose you.

But he doesn’t.

Because saying it out loud makes it real. Makes it something that could be lost.

So instead, he stares into the fire, jaw tight, trying not to think about what happens when you get there. Trying not to think about you finding safety and realizing you don’t need him anymore.

About you meeting someone else, someone better, someone softer, someone who can protect you without hurting you in the process.

He stays quiet. So do you.

And though neither of you says it, neither of you sleeps easily that night, both staring up at the stars, feeling something precious slipping, slipping, slipping through your fingers.

[comesatimecomesashadow]

frayed synapses *ೃ༄

ׂ╰┈➤ . . . you're reading part iv.

cw *ೃ༄ mentions of injuries/scars + insecurity about them, descriptions of poor mental health/social anxiety

summary *ೃ༄ with the burden of job-related stress weighing on your back, you decide to unwind at a local pub. yet instead of relaxation, you find out that your neighbor is none other than Simon RIley, a member of the military. after making the decision to clumsily ask him to have tea with you after an embarrassing first impression, you find that underneath Simon Riley's hardened, stone-cold façade, is a man who desperately seeks an end to the turmoil that plagues him.

note *ೃ༄ sorry for the late update, i was fighting demons (crippling depression), enjoy !

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“I didn’t think i’d being seein’ you after..” 

“I know.” your eyes were trained on the client’s face in front of you, a calm look washed over your visage as you faced the same person that gave you the scar on your forearm. “Did you hope you wouldn’t see me again? I understand our last conversation was distressing for you.” You spoke with a welcoming tone. It made you anxious to even be in the room with them, but they were someone in need. A person with anger issues was still a person underneath. 

“I.. yeah. I guess you could say that I just.. What you said made me feel like..” She mulled it over in her mind as if she was trying to find the right words to say to you. It was clear she felt remorse for her actions which was a good thing. “-like.. I don’t know, it just hurt, it made me angry that you pointed shit like that out, like it's supposed to be obvious.” 

You heard her words and gazed into her guilt-ridden blue eyes. What came next made them wide, as if she’d just witnessed something completely other-worldly. “I’m sorry.” you said. With the most sincere voice you possessed, you apologized to her. 

“Why are you apologizing? ..I’m the one who did that to you..!” She gestured to your forearm and a glossy layer of water covered her eyes. All you did was hand her a tissue as if her crying didn’t bother you at all — because it didn’t. It was normal, in fact, it was healthy. “I should be apologizing to you…” she muttered as she wiped her tears. 

“I’m apologizing to you because I hurt you,” you said simply, “You deserve to be treated like a person, with respect and without judgement.” 

“It was wrong, what I did.” She was sure of her statement but used it as more of a weapon to refute your statement than an acknowledgement. 

“It was and I'm proud of you for admitting that. It's a hard thing to apologize when you’ve done something wrong- It requires a type of vulnerability that you’ve mentioned you’re not used to.” you explained her feelings to her with a soothing tone, encouraging her to keep going on in her journey. “My only job is to help you get better and I understand that confronting these types of feelings is never easy, but I want you to keep trying, alright?” 

She only nodded, a few more tears slipping out. 

“You’ve come a long way from where you were at a year ago. Healing is never linear and you may go back to old patterns every now and then, but it will never erase the amount of progress you’ve achieved as long as you keep trying.” She nodded again at your reassuring words but with a smile on her face this time. 

“Yeah, I.. Thank you.” She clutched the used tissue and tucked it into her pocket. 

You looked at the time on your watch and offered a small smile. “Our time’s up unfortunately, but I'll see you again this time next week. Alright?” 

“Yeah, that’s fine.” She got up and smiled at you before leaving the room. Once the door closed you were left standing in the cold room. With a heavy sigh, you collected your things and headed out of the old building. The prison you worked at wasn’t new, it had been around for decades but the atmosphere was anything but dreary, in fact it was quite lively. Most of the inmates knew who you were and didn’t really bother to pay much mind to you, which was perfect given how much of a recluse you were outside of your job. They never said much more than a greeting or a farewell and it was rare that they started conversations with you. You interacted more with the staff since you worked alongside them in a sense but the interactions weren’t anything special. 

Needless to say, your work life was pretty mundane. 

Much like your personal life — but it wasn't as if you were actively searching for something to change. You’d spent your life looking for stability and now that you had it, you were satisfied, at least that’s what you wanted to convince yourself of. Sure it got a little lonely every now and then but that was normal. You didn’t need anything else — or anyone else for that matter. 

Yet when you climbed up those familiar crimson carpet stairs and were greeted by the sight of a very familiar man standing in front of the door to the flat next to yours, it made an unknown warm feeling settle in your chest. You debated on whether or not to say something to your neighbor — To Simon — but you decided against it. What if he didn’t want to speak to you? He was probably tired from work anyway. You walked up to your door and juggled the keys in your hands looking for the right one. Just as you found your house key, a gruff voice — belonging to Simon —  grabbed your attention. 

“Afternoon.” he greeted awkwardly. 

You turned your head towards him slowly, not expecting a man — who was evidently closed off —  to start a conversation with you. Sure you got to know more about him and vice versa during the time the two of you spent at the coffee shop, but nothing had changed — he was still only your neighbor, just as you were to him. Even if your heart yearned for human connection, your brain kept denying you of it. A defense mechanism at its finest, as if it was infused within you like the blood in your veins. “Afternoon.” you hastily took off your earphones to give him your full attention. Gazing upon him for a moment, you noticed the way his dark-blonde hair relentlessly shined in the dim light of the hallway. Simon’s visage carried remnants of the eyeblack he presumably used for his job, it made him look dirty and tired — but you still smiled. “Did you just get back?” 

“Yeah, work n’ that.” he vaguely explained, “Sorry for leavin’ so abruptly.” 

You gingerly shook your head, “S’fine, wasn’t anything too important to be apologizing about anyway.” Your eyes remained locked on his as the two of you stood in the hallway. The both of you taking in the fact that you were in front of one another once again as if it was an other-worldly experience. 

“Guess so,” Simon said simply as he turned to you fully. “How’s the arm?” His eyes broke away from yours momentarily to glance at your still bandaged arm. Was he concerned about it? About you?

“Better than the last time we met,” you chuckled, “Finally got the stitches out, hurt a bit though.” Your comment made him chuckle. As a soldier, he was used to the feeling of removing stitches all too well. It took you a while to register that this was the first time you’ve seen him without his black surgical mask on. Simon’s face wasn’t littered with scars, but many of them were present — not uncommon for someone in his line of work. 

“When are you gettin’ the bandages off?” he asked you, an interested lilt to his voice as he did. 

“Friday this week at three. Why do you ask?” Your fingers ghosted over the bandages absentmindedly. The injury didn’t hurt much anymore but you did wonder if it would leave a scar. Simon’s eyes drifted from yours as if he was considering something but words failed to leave him. 

“No reason, just askin’.” 

“Alright then,” there was something off about his answer but you didn’t push. Clutching your folder closer to your chest as you inserted your key into the door and pushed it open you bid him a quiet, “Have a good afternoon, Simon.” The tall blond only nodded without a word as he watched you disappear into the comfort of your flat once more. He could burn holes into your door with the way he was intently staring at your close door with regret. Regret that despite his years, he still couldn’t form normal human connection outside of work. 

The key felt cold in his hand as he pushed it into the lock, his flat felt foreign — empty. There was barely any furnishings in it except for what was absolutely necessary: a couch in the living room, a widescreen television on the wall in front of it, his bed which sat lonely in his bedroom next to a nightstand that rarely held anything in it, stools that sat bare in front of the kitchen island. . .  He didn’t feel the need to decorate since he was always gone, but the bare walls and the popcorn ceiling of his apartment made him wonder about yours. 

What did yours look like? 

Did you have pictures on the walls? Were you the type to take care of plants? You did smell of lavender sometimes.. Was your living room lively? Was your room a silent reflection of you and your interests? There were so many questions that swirled in his mind as he left his keys hanging on the backside of the door and got settled. Questions that he hoped he’d get the answers to. 

If only he had the guts to try and get to know you. 

.

.

.

Work once again began to consume your life and you couldn’t be happier. 

It wasn’t too hard to fall back into the rhythm of things after the incident. Offering tissues to clients, helping them work through their deep-seated issues, talking about their daily lives, what their lives were like before imprisonment; It was all good work. The week passed by like a flash thankfully and soon enough came the time when the bandages would come off. When your doctor had first tended to your wound she notified you that it was likely to leave a scar — Shanks made from scratch in a jail cell weren’t exactly the best thing to be cut with. At the time, you could care less as long as you were alive. Now that the familiar white strips of bandage were gone, the lighter patch of skin shone through. 

You didn’t know what to think of it, to say the least. 

Your eyes spent a great deal of time just gazing upon the scar on your arm after your appointment. Though the TV was on in front of you playing a random sitcom, your mind was elsewhere. The lifted patch of skin on your arm bothered you. It was like a living reminder of your stupidity — it almost taunted you with the way it stood out. A frustrated sigh made its way from your throat as you got up from the couch and threw on a comfortable hoodie. 

Maybe a walk would clear your head. 

You grabbed your box of toothpicks and slipped the black stick in between your lips, stuffing the box in the back pocket of your jeans as you made your way out of your flat. When you pulled the warm key from the lock and turned to walk out, you almost jumped out of your skin upon seeing your neighbor next to you. He was lucky you didn’t shriek from the surprise of it. 

“Simon!” you whisper-yelled. Your hand flew over your chest as you leaned against your door to regain your composure. “What the hell are you doing?” 

“Goin’ for a run.” he said simply as if he didn’t almost cause you a heart attack. “Didn’t mean t’scare ya. Sorry.” A sliver of a smile made its way onto his face. Simon was used to being intimidating because of his height and the fact that he was a high-ranking soldier. Usually, he wasn’t fazed by shocked reactions but seeing you genuinely startled by him was a little funny — considering you’d proved yourself to be extremely observant. 

A deep breath settled into your lungs while you straightened up. “Is that a habit of yours?? You almost gave me a heart attack..!” Granted, you were still a little shaken but at least it took your mind off things, specifically the scar that seemed to itch endlessly. 

Simon only peered down at you, a calmer look upon his face. “You ok?” his voice was as gruff as always. 

“Yeah, I’m fine- you said you were going out for a run? At this hour?” Somehow, you knew how to make a conversation feel as natural as breathing which made it easier for Simon to ease into your presence. It was something he could do mindlessly with you, he noticed. 

“Yeah. What are you doin’ out this late? S’pretty dangerous to be out.” The dingy light in the hallway flickered and the air was stale but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Being here, with him — talking to him — felt like a much needed release. It was astonishing how a simple exchange of words with him was akin to a taste of the finest water. You wondered how long you could preserve the stream this time. 

“Guess so,” you shrugged, biting on the toothpick mindlessly with your molars, “I just needed a distraction I guess.” You adjusted yourself to lean against the wall, your vision torn away from Simon’s visage. He guessed it was something you didn’t feel like talking about. 

So he didn’t ask; He only leaned up against the wall beside you. “. . .D’you wanna go on a walk?” His dusty auburn irises could see the ghost of a smile on your lips, a genuine one. 

“Are you asking me to join you?” 

“D’you see anyone else ‘ere?” 

You chuckled, “You’ve got jokes.” 

“I’ll tell ya some more if it’ll get that frown off you.” Simon snickered when he said it but you felt his words to be genuine, just masked under a joking tone. Maybe Simon had the capacity to worry for you after all, no matter how much sense it didn’t make to you. After all, you were just his neighbor. 

Nothing more. 

You pushed yourself off the wall and Simon followed after you. “Wasn’t frowning.” 

“Was too.” 

You wondered then, as you walked down the carpeted stairs beside him, if you could preserve this endless flow of natural, unfiltered, dialogue. In the comfortable silence that settled between the pair of you, the thought of keeping this night close to your heart seemed more enticing by the minute. 

taglist *ೃ༄ . . . @dwkfan . . @savannahsomething . . @thatghostlykid . .

© 2025 comesatimecomesashadow

[mi-co-uk]

kansas anymore

──★ " ɪ ᴀᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴀᴠɪᴏᴜʀ , ɪ'ᴍ ʜᴀʀᴅʟʏ ᴀ ᴍᴀɴ "

˚‧｡⋆part two‧₊ ᵎᵎ

a love triangle AU inspired by ROLE MODEL'S "Kansas Anymore" album.

1.5k words

𝗇𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗀𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 || 𝖺𝗎 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 || <- 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 || 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 ->

matt being considered pissed off was an understatement. chris had been exhausted of his bullshit since he slammed the car door shut and here they were half an hour down the road, the same points getting drilled into chris' mind. matt was relentless.

"you need to be an adult, chris."

"yeah because yelling is mature."

"you can't just fuck off for the whole night! you-"

"we both know that's not why you're pissy with me, matt." chris interrupted.

he'd held off bringing you up, figuring he would just get more angry. yeah he's used to matt just being mad at him, but chris had enjoyed his night. he didn't need it ruined. but matt wasn't angry after that. the spark of adrenaline in his eyes from yelling faded out completely. it's as if all life drained from his body in that second. he didn't say another word the rest of the journey home.

જ⁀➴

what was a reasonable reaction? the girl representative of matts biggest regret was not only in the same room as him, but you was going to be for the next four nights. that wasn't even the worst part.

chris got to you first. he got to apologise, he got to comfort you, he got to talk to you. he literally got to lay eyes on you first, not to mention he got to fucking hold you in his arms. how was that fair at all? matt had only broken up with you in the first place because nick suggested it and chris kept pestering matt about whether he was going to go through with it - he felt like he had to. and the only one suffering the consequences of that decision was matt. he'd blamed himself all these years but after tonight, he decided to blame his brothers.

જ⁀➴

you initially regretted letting your guard down as much you had. nonetheless, you'd actually managed to enjoy yourself.

you and chris didn't bother to acknowledge your responsibilities in having to greet the other members at the dinner. it was like it was so unimportant it didn't even cross either of your minds that what you were doing was in some way wrong. it was refreshing to be someone's priority, even if it was just for one night.

matt and nick had seen you on the bench in the alley. you hadn't seen them. you were too frozen in fear recognising matt's voice to peer away from your gaze on chris. matt had only called out to him, chris' response was limited to telling him he'd be there in a second before saying his goodbyes to you.

the next event was approaching much to fast for comfort. consecutive nights was definitely a bad decision by the organisers but you had no choice. the night had begun restless, spiralling thoughts about how you mightve come across whether too desperate or lonely or maybe just not like the friend chris remembered in high regard. you'd managed to fall asleep but not until it was practically morning.

thank god it was a party. you'd slept in very late and only had enough time to get ready for it and leave. it didn't help your anxiety about the night at all.

would you have to face matt? you'd much rather spend the night hanging around chris but the likelihood of separating him from his brothers again didn't seem likely.

it felt almost pathetic to be paranoid about your appearance as much as you were. why would it matter what chris thought? or the guy you met on the first night - wyatt? you were half convinced he was gay, not to mention he probably wasn't keen enough on you after you ditched him the day before to try and seek you out tonight. and matt? preferably you'd never be close enough for him to make a judgement on your appearance. regardless, you tried your best to make sure you looked perfect.

you passed through the blocky doors of the club, the music thumping into your ears. you gathered your composure and kept persisting through the crowd. people were drunk but not too drink - this was still for work. all you'd been instructed to do was to make various tiktoks and take various photo shoots to advertise the brand nights events you were all doing. it took little effort but it still took some sobriety to complete accurately.

it was a little early into the event - you watched over people taking excessive photos to get the job done ahead of time. it was smart in theory but it just meant this was the calmest that it would be at the club for the whole night. you really wanted to just get it over with.

you felt the press of a hand on the small of your back, turning around to meet chris' gaze. he had a wide genuine grin on his face, calling out your name over the music while you couldn't help but reciprocate his smile. he pulled you in for a close hug.

"I didn't see you around for ages, when did you get here?" he loosened his arms around you and rested his hands on your waist in instinct. it was felt too natural and comfortable for you to notice the action's abnormality in the moment.

"I just got here! you're lucky I'm here at all I almost slept in!" you yell over the crowd.

"slept in? it's fucking ten thirty!"

your smile immediately dropped at your recognition of the figure heading towards you both. you noticed his grown features, nothing like the baby faced boy from your memory. you also noticed the two drinks in his grasp - who was it for? did he have a girlfriend? would it be better if he'd moved on as if you had no chance at all for some kind of closure or did you want him to yearn endlessly and regret what he did to you? obviously the latter.

"thanks" chris took the second beverage from his brother, taking a sip as he scanned the locked gaze between you and matt.

of course it was for chris. you didn't even deserve to be so paranoid about it.

you have to read matts lips to hear his 'hi' over the noise of the busy room. your throat is far too closed from anxiety to respond so you merely offer him a nod of your head and a tight lipped smile.

matts eyes dart towards chris' left hand that still had a grip on your waist. chris only pulled you closer to his side. chris sipped at his drinking, staring matt down.

what the fuck was happening?

your attention is again diverted by the call of your name from behind you. why the fuck do you keep getting ambushed?

you were pleasantly surprised to be met by wyatt, you didn't expect him to want to see at all. he practically pulled you away from chris to go introduce you to his own friends, the tension of having to face matt was thankfully forgotten.

"what the fuck is your problem?" chris scoffed at matt and headed towards nick in the corner of the room with a couple of his girl friends.

"my problem? what the fuck was that!" matt yelled heading after him.

"what are you even talking about kid." he asked rhetorically, sipping his drink as he walked.

matt had to grab the collar of his shirt to stop him from walking further. chris jolted back and almost choked on the drink, then smacked matts hand away in frustration. "are you trying to kill me?!"

"you like her!"

chris' heart dropped at the suggestion. not because it was false - it clearly wasnt. but because it had never been addressed out loud before. chris had never told anyone.

"it's been a day chris and you're tryna make a move on her! I havnt even spoken to her yet!"

the overlapping voices of music and yelling made the entire conversation practically mute to anyone nearby.

"what the fuck is wrong with you?" matt spat out.

matt didn't know what he was addressing. it wasn't some evil scheme he'd caught onto early. it was five years since last properly addressed and in truth was way older than that. chris felt like matt was practically an idiot for not realising - everyone was. only know could he see it due to knowing the fragility of his bond with you that matt had to analyse it more closely. five years ago he didn't bother. he didn't care enough in the way that chris did.

but chris did feel some guilt.

it was his own brothers ex. the girl he'd obviously never got over and never saw positive in his decision in leaving her. there was also no chance you felt what chris did. it had only festered in him, grew deeper and harder to cut back only to be greeted with the perfect sight of you at a time matt wasnt a significant obstacle. he got so caught up with his own fantasies he was too love blind to remember what was reality - it had only been a day.

so what was he gonna do about it?

a/n yall I had way more planned for this chapter but it was more words than I thought it was gonna be sooo yep let me know what you think !

[kooppss]

Fucking Kim Taehyung

Starry Night series masterlist

Mondays are always rough—but this one blindsides you. What begins as a typical chaotic workday ends with a surprise meeting to someone from your past: Kim Taehyung, your high school crush turned newly appointed creative director. You haven’t seen him in twelve years… not since that night.

This chapter is dedicated to my Kiks. Thank you for being my biggest supporter and fan—even on the days when I couldn’t believe in myself. I would have never posted this series, or any other content for that matter, if it weren’t for you. I’ll always be grateful for that ❤️ @jungkoode

a/n: so… here we go? I’ve been working on this on and off since July 2024, and I can’t believe it’s finally leaving my docs. I’m so nervous and excited! This fic holds a special place in my heart for so many reasons—I hope you’ll love this first step in the journey!

warnings: cursing (duh), alcohol

word count: 2.5K

Monday, July 8th

Mondays are always rough. 

You're still not fully recovered from the weekend, and there’s already shit-ton of work waiting for you. 

If you’ll find time for actual work, with all the meetings you have scheduled for today. 

You can’t help but sigh, and you rub your face, trying to muster up the energy for the day.

It is going to be a long day. 

And it’s not that you don’t love your job, because you do.

But still, it’s Monday. 

After getting the largest coffee from the coffee stand in the lobby, you sit by your desk and try to plan your day. Trying to fit in all the things you need to accomplish today. 

Only then do you notice an invite to a 7 pm meeting you haven’t approved yet. 

Toast for the New Art & Creative Director Date & Time: 7:00 PM Location: Meeting Room – Top Floor Join us as we raise a toast to welcome our new Art & Creative Directo……. Participation is mandatory for all managers.

Ughhh.

Sounds like a fucking nightmare. 

You roll your eyes at yourself. You hate that kinds of useless meetings. 

Participation is mandatory for all managers.

Fuck that.

You put your elbows on the desk, your head leans against your palms, and you let out a groan. Like this day wasn’t long enough. 

It is easy to assume that after this useless toast, you’ll probably never interact or even see this new director again. You have close to zero relations with the arts and creative department. What a fucking waste of time. 

But you have to go. Stupid corporate politics. 

You're not even gonna fake to care about it. 

You don’t even bother to read the details of the event; you just approve it. With a long sip of your coffee, you return to plan your day. You have only 10 minutes left before your first meeting.

The next few hours pass at a hectic pace. You eat your lunch at your desk while reviewing code for the upcoming app release, when your phone buzzes next to you.

With one glance at the screen, you curse under your breath. 

[12:38 pm] Gabby ♥️: 8:00 Norman’s?

Shit. You totally forgot. 

You talked about grabbing drinks after work. 

You’ll be out of the office at 8:30, at best. 

Fuck this stupid toast.

[12:40 pm] You: I have a stupid toast for a new director that i ttly forgot

[12:40 pm] You: srry 🥺

[12:40 pm] You: see u there at 9?

Part of you wishes she’d cancel, or you could bail. 

Yet you know you won’t cancel on her. She knows it, too.

The rest of the day is just as bad. 

You barely completed all the work you had for today by the time of the toast. 

You head to the fancy conference room on the top floor, trying to hype yourself up for it. 

Just some small talk, a few drinks, listening to a boring speech, and you’re out of here. It's a piece of cake. You've done this hundreds of times. You’ve got this. 

When you reach the floor, you spot Sohee. Thank god. You go straight to her. She’s talking to some girl you don't know. 

When you reach her, she jumps on you with a hug, “Y/nie! Let's go!”

You say an apologetic hello to the woman she talked to while Sohee smothers you as if you hadn’t seen each other on Saturday night. She says goodbye to the woman and pulls you with her to the conference room at the end of the hall. 

Sohee works as a manager in the fashion design department, and she looks like the part. 

She’s wearing a trendy form-fitted dress that complements her figure, her nails are well-manicured with dark burgundy, and her long brown hair is in a cool, effortless-looking bun.

Her subtle makeup complements her pretty features, looking fresh like it’s not the end of a work day.

Even though you never worked together, you met at meetings and events like that.

And Sohee made the decision for both of you to be friends. Now, she is one of your closest friends.

Meeting Sohee was a blessing. 

Most of the managers you work with are tech dudes, and as much as you get along with them, it’s nice to have a feminine energy. And someone you can pass the time at stupid events that waste your time, like this one. 

As you walk to the conference room, she glances at your attire: a simple T-shirt with baggy light-washed jeans and New Balance sneakers. Your usual go-to look at the office. 

She nudges you with her elbow, “When are you letting me dress you up? I can barely see that you have a great ass with these jeans.”

Here she goes again. 

You laugh. You do dress nicer sometimes, and she knows it. But you prefer to keep things casual and comfortable. Safe.

“That ass sat on a chair all day, no one cares how it looks.”

You give her a chicky smile, “But that ass is really glad it got to be in comfortable pants and not crushed by a tight dress.” 

She gasps in fake offense and chuckles, “You’ll regret mocking me, and my ass, when you see the new director.” Then she lowers her tone, “I heard he’s really hot.” 

At that, you really laugh, “I’m not holding my breath.”

“Of course not with your high-school-teenage-boy outfit!” she scolds you. 

You start to protest, “I’m not dressed like a teen-” but she cuts you off, “I heard he’s a real treat. A whole meal even. Would it wound you and try to flirt a little?”

You roll your eyes at her, but she doesn’t give up, trying to hype you up, “You’re the best catch at this place! It’s a crime a fine lady like you is single.” 

You scoff, “A fine lady? What are you? Jane Austen?” 

She gives you an unimpressed look, “How long has it been since you’ve been on a date? You could use some sexy after-hours fun.”

“I don’t have the energy capacity for handling men,” you say evenly. Like it’s above you, and before she can protest, you continue, “and anyway, I’m not going to get involved with someone from the office! It’s like the worst idea ever. I prefer my life drama-free. Thank you very much.” 

Sohee pouts, trying to convince you with a sweet voice, “Butttt I heard from the girls he’s not only like a walking-talking-wet-dream-prince-charming, but he’s also really, really sweet.”

You smile and pat her shoulder, “Then he’s all yours, baby.” 

And you mean it. You kind of gave up on dating. 

Your recent dating list is full of: 

guys who wanted you to have more time for them.

guys who are intimidated by the fact that you don’t need them.

losers that you felt like you were their sugar mama. 

No, thank you. 

So you gave up. For now. Dating isn’t worth your time. 

You step into the elegant room with its stunning city view, grab a glass of nice champagne, take a deep breath, and then join Sohee as she heads to talk to a group of familiar colleagues. 

You pass the time until the actual toast by chatting about the new coffee machines, the new restaurant that opened across the street, and other mundane office small-talk topics. 

One of the girls, Hannah, leans in and whispers excitedly, “Have you seen the new director? Kim something. I swear he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”

You internally roll your eyes; she's so dramatic. You’re sure he’s good-looking, but the most handsome man ever? Okay, sure. 

Amanda chimes in, ” There is going to be chaos for him.”

Sohee wiggles her brows, “Well, Amanda, are you going to try your luck?”

“You know I will,” she answers with a wink. 

You all laugh at that. 

The room settles into silence when the chairman clinks his glass.

You turn around to look at him, and then you see him. 

The new director. 

Kim something. 

Fucking Kim Taehyung. 

The most handsome man you've ever seen in your life. 

Indeed. 

You are in shock. 

You glare, and your mouth falls slightly open. You feel like you froze in place, but your blood boils, and you feel the heat spread over your face. 

He looks in your direction with a slightly amused expression and a crooked smile. 

He looks a little surprised, but definitely not as much as you. 

He raises his glass subtly as if motioning hello to you. 

It can’t be. 

Does he recognize you? Does he even remember you?

“You know him?” Sohee whispers in your ear, noticing something is going on with you.

It snaps you out of your shock a little. 

You nod as you turn to look away from him. “Yeah, we knew each other in high school,” you reply quietly. 

She gives you a questioning look as if saying, ‘That’s it?’ You shrug and turn back to face the chairman and the new director. 

Fucking Kim Taehyung. 

From this point, you have no idea what the speakers are talking about. 

You just try to calm your beating heart and stop blushing like a teenager. 

You down a second glass of champagne. As if it’ll help you to wrap your mind around the fact you’re standing in front of  Kim Taehyung. 

When it’s his time to talk, you feel like you spiral even more. 

His deep voice fills the room. “Thank you, Mr. Roberts, for your kind words. I’m excited about this new opportunity. I hope to lead the department through the challenges we have the following year.” 

He raises his almost-empty glass and smiles. You feel like he’s looking directly into your eyes as he says, “I can’t wait to get to know and to work with all of you. Thank you for coming.”

But you might be delusional. 

You are probably in a delusion. 

Why does he have this effect on you at all? After all these years?

Was he always this tall?

That suited look looks good on him.

And his hair. It looks so soft.

How is his skin so glowy? Is he wearing makeup?

Is there a chance he looks even better now? 

Everyone is clapping. You blink a couple of times and snap back to reality. 

Sohee is looking at you with an amused look on her face while she’s slowly clapping. 

“I never saw you blushing like that for a guy.” 

You frown at her. “I’m not blushing. It’s just the alcohol,” you shoot back way too quickly for it to be normal.

She chuckles and raises her hand in mock defense. “OK, OK, so will you go to say welcome?” She motions with her head in his general direction. 

You look to where he stands and can only see the sea of people surrounding him.

“Nah, I need to head out. I’m meeting Gabby at some bar.” You try to say as casually as you can. 

It’s not a lie. 

Mostly.

Partially. 

You are going to meet Gabby. 

But if you head out now, you’ll definitely be there earlier than you told her that you would. 

Yet you know you need to get out of here. Quickly. 

So you say quick goodbyes to the people around you and get out as soon as possible.  Practically fleeting from the event. 

Running away from facing a meeting you're not ready for. 

Not right now. 

You sit at the bar at 08:20 and order a glass of wine. 

You try not to think about what just happened. 

How good he looked. 

How deep his voice is. 

About how he looked at you.

No. 

He wasn’t looking at you. 

You must have lost your mind. 

He probably doesn’t even remember you. 

It’s been like, what? 12 years? from the last time you saw him. 

You were just another random girl. 

Shit, this is not working. 

You order another glass and do what you know best- busy yourself with work. 

You reply to some messages you haven’t gotten to today and schedule some meetings with your teams for tomorrow. 

Before you even notice, it’s 09:05, and Gabby is hugging you with a big smile. 

“I can’t believe you came on time! Now I feel bad that I’m late.”

You laugh and hug her, “Don’t worry about it.”

She sits in the chair by your side, and you see she has a question on her mind, “Didn’t you say you have some stupid toast you have to attend and kiss some management asses?”

You laugh, “Yeah, it was stupid. I managed to dip as soon as the speeches ended, luckily.” 

You avoid telling her you fled the meeting, arriving 40 minutes early. 

For a moment, you consider telling her that the new director is no other than fucking Kim Taehyung.

She knows who he is, and she knows about your small history with him.

No, it’s better to wait with this. You need the distraction more than the comfort of sharing.

You’ll tell her eventually when you come back to your senses. 

“Is everything okay?” Gabby looks at you with a worried look on her face. 

“Yeah, just a long day,” you lie easily. 

“What are you drinking?” you change the subject with a smile.

Later that night, Tuesday, July 9th

You lay in bed a little buzzed from alcohol, snogged in your comfy bed, hugging your pillow.

You arrived home around midnight. 

Hanging with Gabby was fun; you had much catching up to do. 

You are happy you didn't bail on her again, even if you’ll be tired tomorrow. 

Tonight was a good break, a good distraction from this shitty day. 

But then your slightly buzzed mind remembers what you needed a distraction from.

Fucking Kim Taehyung. 

You weren’t the type of girl usually surrounded by hot, cool guys like him. 

You were, and still are, probably, more of the awkward, nerdy type. 

However, your tendency to befriend less introverted people than you led to him becoming part of your circle. 

Not that you ever considered yourself particularly close to him—more accurately, he was a friend of your friends.

Of course, all your friends had a crush on him at some point, both girls and boys alike. But nothing ever really came of it, despite your friends being gorgeous, willing, and not particularly subtle. 

He remained perpetually out of reach, the hot guy they couldn’t have. 

That you couldn’t have.

You never admitted to yourself that you also had a crush on him. 

You’re too realistic for that. Never in a million years did you believe you had a chance, so you simply pushed those thoughts aside.

But that’s not why you’re so flustered seeing him today. 

A specific night comes rushing back to your mind, making you cringe. 

You realize it was also a July night—the July before you all went to college twelve years ago. 

The night you lost your virginity to fucking Kim Taehyung. 

a/n: next chapter, we're going on a little trip to the past...

Back to series masterlist

[mummyemmatojames]

42. Our Dynamic: A Beautiful Transformation

Hello, wonderful community! Emma here, your Mummy-in-training, with a heartfelt update on our MDLB and FLR journey. I’ve been reflecting lately on how well this dynamic is working for us, and I’m just bursting with joy and gratitude. Being James’s Mummy fulfills me in ways I never imagined, and watching my little boy thrive—truly thrive—makes every challenge so worth it. I wanted to share this happiness with you all and celebrate how far we’ve come together.

My Joy as Mummy

Being James’s Mummy is the most rewarding role I’ve ever stepped into. I get so much joy from caring for him—tucking him in at night, cutting up his snacks for his safari bowl, greeting him in the morning with a big smile and wild hair to match. Every little moment—whether it’s nursing him to sleep, guiding him through his chore chart, or watching him play with his train set—fills me with this deep, warm satisfaction. I love being the one he turns to, the one who sets the rules and keeps him safe. Even on the hard days, like our recent public struggles or bedtime battles, I wouldn’t trade this for anything. This dynamic has given me purpose and a closeness with James that’s beyond what I dreamed possible.

James Thriving: A Different Guy

And James—he’s a different guy now, in the best way. The routine and structure I’ve built for him have transformed him, and I’m so proud of the results. He’s off his mental health medication—something he’d been on for years to manage anxiety and low moods—and he’s doing it without a hitch. His doctor cleared it a few months ago after seeing how steady and happy he’s become, and that alone feels like a miracle. The early bedtimes, the healthy snacks, my milk and the formula top-ups—they’ve leveled him out emotionally in a way pills never did.

Physically, he’s in amazing shape too. His skin’s clear and glowing (thanks to Mummy’s milk and no more junk food binges), his energy’s consistent, and he’s even put on a little healthy weight from all the nourishment. At work, he’s killing it—two promotions in under a year, leading a team now, when he was on a performance plan not long ago. His boss raves about his focus and reliability, and James himself said during our last check-in, “I think it’s because of you, Emma.” That moment—I could’ve cried. My little boy needed this structure, even if it’s hard sometimes, and seeing him bloom into this confident, capable version of himself is everything.

How the Routine Makes It Work

It’s the routine that’s done it—the backbone of our dynamic. That 7:30 PM bedtime routine with a bath, nursing or a bottle, and 8:30 lights out keeps him rested and calm. The chore chart on the fridge—still up, stickers and all—keeps him on track with little tasks that build his discipline. The kids’ utensils, the snack permissions, the morning wait for Mummy to get him up—it’s all part of this world we’ve created where he can just be my little boy, free from the chaos he used to live in. Even the tough moments, like the toddler grounding or the bedtime spanking, have taught him (and me) that consistency is what he thrives on, even when he pushes back.

It’s not always easy—bedtime’s still a battle some nights, and public outings can strain us, like the wedding or the wetting incident. But those hiccups don’t overshadow the big picture. James used to be scattered—stressed, up late, snacking on junk, stuck in his head. Now, he’s grounded, healthy, and happy in a way I hadn’t seen before we started this. The structure’s what he needed, even if he doesn’t always love it in the moment—I see it in how he softens after a nap, or how he beams when I praise him for a green sticker on his chart.

A Fulfilling Life Together

This dynamic has changed us both. For me, it’s the fulfillment of being his Mummy—knowing I’m guiding him, nourishing him, giving him a safe space to be little. For James, it’s the freedom to let go and thrive under that care—off meds, in great shape, excelling at work, and happier than ever. We’re so connected now—our check-ins as equals show me his heart, and our daily life as Mummy and little boy builds something so solid and sweet. I love watching him play with his trains or latch on for comfort, and he loves the predictability I bring, even if he grumbles sometimes.

It’s hard sometimes, sure—balancing his needs with the rules, figuring out public boundaries—but the joy outweighs it all. I’m so fulfilled, and James is thriving. This is us now, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

What Do You Think?

I’d love to hear from the community—how has your dynamic transformed your partner, or you? What parts of the routine bring you the most joy as a caregiver? For those whose little ones struggled at first, like James with bedtime, how did you see them settle into thriving? And if you’ve got stories of that “different guy” moment—where you saw the change click—I’d love to hear them. This journey’s been incredible, and I’m so grateful to share it with you all.

Thank you for being here to witness this happiness. I love my little boy so much, and seeing him flourish makes every day a gift.

With all my love, Emma (aka Mummy) 💕

[raviollies]

I looove Blythe and Daee sooo much... and all your art... and reading about your OCs 💕

Thank you for being part of their journey!

[rook-laidir]

Got y’all banter at the banter store

Idk why y’all like these so much but hey, I like doing them. Enjoy!

~

Emmrich: I do envy you, Rook. The tales of the Lords of Fortune and their adventures reach even the Necropolis.

Rook: They’re good people. Sort of.

Emmrich: I’d love to hear more about your excursions. You must have seen the most fascinating crypts and burial sites. To see remnants of a world before cremation became so normalized. The dead must have some incredible stories.

Rook: I hate to burst your bubble, but it’s not gold and glory all the time. Sometimes the crypts are empty or another group already picked them clean or an asshole of a noble decides to double-cross you and leave you and your crew to die.

Emmrich: Ah. Even still, I’d love to hear about your journeys when you’ve the time.

~

Rook: Up for some Wicked Grace later?

Davrin: No, you cheat.

Rook: Fine, what about Fool’s Gold?

Davrin: No, you cheat.

Rook: Dominos?

Davrin: You already know what I’m gonna say.

Rook: You can’t cheat at dominos!

Davrin: You’ll find a way.

~

Bellara: When’s your name day?

Rook: Why do you need it?

Bellara: I’m trying to keep track of everyone’s name days so I can bake cakes and we can celebrate.

Rook: Aw!

~

Bellara: You still haven’t told me your name day.

Rook: Oh, right. It was a couple weeks ago.

Bellara: What?

Rook: What?

Bellara: Why didn’t you tell me?

Rook: Because I haven’t celebrated my name day in years. Also I kinda just forgot.

Bellara: Rook!

Rook: It’s fine, Bellara. Really. I don’t need a celebration.

Bellara: But I like celebrations! Especially if they’re for my friends!

~

Bellara: So how was the cake?

Rook: It was really nice, actually. Thanks, Bellara.

Bellara: Anytime! Well, anytime as long as it’s your name day. Or if we have another cake-related celebration.

Rook: I’m sure we’ll think of something.

~

Harding: Remember when we were in Antiva City-

Rook: And Varric accidentally set up a Crow contract against himself?

Harding: He kept saying it wasn’t an accident, it was to see who would take it, but I still don’t believe him.

Rook: At least the Crows called it off before we had to fight off assassins.

Harding: He really didn’t like having to fight off assassins whenever we had to do it.

Rook: Can’t say it’s my favorite either.

~

Taash: Isabela asked for you at The Hilt.

Rook: Am I in trouble again?

Taash: I dunno, probably. But she also misses you.

Rook: Really? Isabela said she misses me?

Taash: She said you need to stop embarrassing her when you leave your back exposed in the Hall. She taught you better than that.

Rook: Aw, she misses me!

~

Neve: So you’re in a crypt or a dungeon with the Lords, you find some ancient treasure, and then what? What do you do when the job’s done?

Rook: Depends. If it’s a big haul or if it’s something we need to get appraised, we bring it back to Isabela. For the rest, we each take a cut and the rest goes to the vault.

Neve: You have a vault that’s filled to the brim with treasure?

Rook: The entire thing is booby-trapped. The last people who tried had their feet stuck to the floor and then they were incinerated.

Neve: Huh. Good to know.

~

Neve: Have you ever seen the inside of the vault?

Rook: Nope. I like being alive. If the traps don’t kill me first, Isabela will.

Neve: Makes sense. You’re not the type to steal from family either. Especially when you’re not in it for the gold.

Rook: Of course, I’m in it for the gold.

Neve: It’s nice that you care about each other so much.

~

Rook: What makes you think I don’t care about the gold? I’m a treasure hunter, that’s kind of a big part of it.

Neve: You’re the first to buy everyone a round at The Hilt and you wait for everyone else to take their share before you go for yours. When anyone asks about a job, you light up when you talk about the traps and the puzzles and you spend barely any time talking about what you did with the treasure if and when you found it. You’re never disappointed when you come up empty or if there’s not enough to go around. You’re in it for the adventure and because the Lords of Fortune is your family.

Rook: Well, that’s…

Neve: You’re family to them too. It’s sweet.

~

Rook: I’m really sorry.

Lucanis: I forgot to label it and you wanted a snack. I’ve already forgiven you.

Rook: Spite hasn’t.

Spite: It was mine!

[fawnme1]

THE SOFTEST THING — WILLNE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

previous part ,, next part

an; sorry for the delay, my exams are starting now so i’ve been revising more

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

You’d been building up to this for weeks — little hints, a cryptic post here, a song teaser there. But now, with your album out and the world starting to react, you knew it was time for the real reveal.

It was late afternoon when you dropped it.

The photo was simple: You and Will, leaning against the hood of a car in the late afternoon sunlight. Both of you smiling — not the polished, curated kind of smile, but one that was a little too real, a little too perfect for the camera.

“it’s out now. and so are we. thank you to everyone who’s been part of this journey — and to you, will, for being the melody i didn’t know i needed. #TheSoftestThing”

You pressed post, set your phone down, and immediately started pacing. Your heart was in your throat.

Will, standing beside you, put his hands on your shoulders and gave you a soft smile. “It’s done,” he said, his voice low and reassuring. “You’re good.”

The moment the notification hit that the post was live, it was like the floodgates opened.

user1 wait what is happening right now???

user2 i’m actually screaming. this is too cute. is this for real or am i having a fever dream

user3 OH MY GOD. SHE REALLY DID IT. SHE AND WILL???

user4 i have no words. all i know is we need an album tour, stat!!

user5 track 8. i’m calling it now. this is the heartbreak song of 2025

And just like that, the internet lost its mind. The mix of pure shock, joy, and confusion about your relationship was overwhelming. You even saw a few memes already, ones about Will trying to act all nonchalant while looking like he was about to burst from happiness.

But then, the messages from Joe and Alfie came rolling in.

Joe: it’s real. i’m crying. @/alfie, what did i tell you???

Alfie: i’ve been telling you for months. also, does anyone know where i can find my dignity after being the third wheel on this entire saga?

You laughed, but before you could respond, your phone started ringing. It was Joe.

“Hello?” you answered, holding in your excitement.

“Okay, no more teasing,” Joe said in that all-too-familiar voice. “We’re celebrating tonight. Release party. We’re all there. No arguments. You need to let go for one night, yeah?”

You bit your lip. “But, like, it’s a big deal. I don’t want to make it a—”

“No, you’re making it fun. This is your moment, and you’re dragging me, Alfie, and Will along for the ride whether you like it or not. Come on, we’ll even get fancy drinks.”

You looked over at Will, who raised an eyebrow and gave you a small shrug, his smile crooked. “I mean, if Joe’s going to get fancy drinks…”

The party was chaotic, but in the best possible way.

Joe had pulled some strings and rented out a venue — not too big, not too small, just the right amount of space for friends, family, and a select group of fans who’d gotten invites. Alfie, as always, was the unofficial party planner, running around ensuring there was enough food and no shortage of lighting effects.

You arrived together with Will, walking into the venue hand-in-hand, the room buzzing as people saw the two of you — the first clear confirmation that it was real, that you were finally taking the leap.

Alfie was the first to notice. He grinned wickedly, popping over to you with a drink in hand. “Finally,” he said dramatically. “The worst-kept secret in the UK is out. You’re welcome.”

“Thank you for not ruining my lfie,” you teased, nudging him slightly.

Joe appeared behind him, camera in hand and slapped Will on the back with a loud “Oi, mate!” then pointed the lens at you. “Get over here, both of you. I need a ‘newly official’ picture.”

Will groaned good-naturedly but came over anyway, wrapping an arm around your waist as Joe snapped a few quick shots, Alfie laughing in the background.

The night was filled with dancing, laughing, and a few quiet moments with Will where it was just the two of you, tucked away in the back corner of the room with your own drinks. There were no more nerves — just the steady comfort of being seen by people who truly knew you, both the public and the private parts of your life.

After some time, Joe called everyone to the center, microphone in hand. “Alright, alright,” he shouted. “This is a moment for the best album I’ve ever heard. To Y/N — the legend, the lyricist, the one who broke the internet!”

Everyone cheered, raising their glasses.

You laughed, a little embarrassed, but took the mic from him anyway. “Thank you, everyone. Thank you to everyone who’s supported me, who’s listened, and to Will… for being a real-life song.”

The room went quiet, and Will’s face softened as you turned to him, your hand brushing against his. He winked. “Anytime, love.”

And just like that, your heart wasn’t racing with fear anymore. It was full.

[adaisybyanyothername]

I watched Thunderbolts…

There is so much I could say, but mostly I just want to say thank you… I’ve missed my Marvel days… this universe has been there on many very bad days when I needed it & this fandom has meant so much to me throughout my lifetime; but this movie was the first one in a while that felt like that which I loved & missed so much. Like not only the artistry, creativity, & magic of artists in their element; ideas inspiring ideas (Florence doing her own stunts🤩) & switching from CGI to realises just cause. And the amount of thought into the details (giving plenty to nerd out over and squeal about in fangirl as we inevitably rewatch), even the costuming grew on me (it made sense for the characters). But also being a new story with a life of its own (not a remake or “cookie cutter best seller”) nor cut off from that of before, more like something that was meant to happen and be the next step.

And help me take those next steps in my own life, grief, ptsd, and therapy journey (as fictional stories are a great way to live it out).

The mental health & grief representation was so excruciatingly well-done… at times so painful to watch I almost thought they went too far, but at the end of the day I think it was the grit they needed. It is messy & imperfect, and painful & raw, but real… very real. (While still having the wit, humor, levity, depth, & range of emotions Marvel is known to write so well) and bringing it in the midst of well-choreographed fight scenes, character arcs, flawed heroes & heroic villains.

And of course, the stand out (to surprise no one as Yelena has always been a favorite for me and positive representation) but this brought it to another level… the way they did grief representation, ptsd, guilt & shame & regret, depression & mental illness… all the way to found family. Friends becoming a part of something more. It had all the big, hard feelings. And she was the hero I needed today & going forward.

Not to mention some great Bucky Barnes moments (that answered more of the questions I've been asking about him in politics😂). A new fan favorite in Bob! Some possible ships, and definite FRIENDships. More time with Ava. Some fantastic quote (not to mention FOUR ;-) looking forward to as we go forward! And what I'm sure is going to be some great easter eggs to read up on!

… Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go do just that!🫶

… And you can consider this ALSO a Thunderbolts (YELENA BELOVA) fan page now — okay it was always that (I’ll always love the MCU) BUT STILL!

👏👏👏

[kitty-valentinex]

Part 2 - Choso x Reader

Stay tuned for Part 3! Here's my link : ) My Stories - Wattpad

PART 1 RECAP

Concerned, you follow Itadori's gaze and affix your eyes on the celestial being for the first time. For some odd reason, just like Itadori, you cannot seem to look away, not out of fear of seeing a ghoul for the first time, but because it was actually... beautiful, ethereal even. It looked nothing like how ghouls were portrayed in the books. The ghoul seemed so human-like, you questioned if your discernment was telling you the truth, but you knew you weren't mistaken once it launched at you with a bloodthirsty look in its eyes...

***********************************************************************

'Y/N! WATCH OUT!' Itadori cries out, mortified of what would happen to you if the ghoul came any closer. 

Equally as terrified as Itadori, you slam your eyes shut, drop the Dao blade you were holding, and prepare yourself for the worst. At best, you could make it out alive... at worst, [insert date] would be written on your tombstone. 

You quiver in fear and dread, your knees buckle inwards, your hands sweat profusely. The ghoul's footsteps grow exponentially louder, his portentous aura almost suffocating you. You knew your time had come. You wait in anticipation and hold your breath as the ghoul does.... 

nothing? 

Confused, you hesitantly open your eyes to make sense of why you are still alive. To your astonishment, you lock eyes with the ghoul who is standing right in front of you, almost looking like he has no intention of harming you. Taking complete advantage of the situation, you instantly turn on her heel and start running away.

'ITADORI!' You cry out, not daring to look back. 'WE'RE GETTING OUT OF HERE!' 

Itadori hastily follows suit, catching one last glimpse of the ghoul before you both flee the mansion. 

'Oh God..' You repeatedly mutter under your breath, ensuring the ghoul hadn't followed you outside the mansion. 

'What the hell...' Itadori whispers, his mouth gaping open. 'There's no way we just encountered a ghoul...' 

'I know...' You barely manage to make out between heavy breaths. 'I'm just relieved we were able to make it back in one piece...' 

'Same here' Itadori adds, sighing and facing upwards. 'I thought I would never get to see the light of day again!' 

You gleam at how laid back Itadori is, even after a life-or-death situation. 'Thank God we're still alive. Now let's go back home. That's enough spirit hunting for one day.' 

'Man..' Itadori sighs. 'We didn't even get any gains this time.' 

'I know, I know.' You groan, also feeling an underlying sense of defeat. 'But I'd rather walk away with our lives rather than more kills.'

'I wouldn't mind both.' Itadori grins, nudging your arm. 'Anyways I'm gonna head home this way, see ya tomorrow!'

'See ya, Itadori.' 

You wave Itadori goodbye and head your separate ways. Thankfully you didn't live too far away from the mansion - all you needed were your headphones and the right song and you would be home in under 15 minutes. On your journey back, you ran today's events over and over in your mind, barely able to get past the fact that you ran into a ghoul and made it out alive. It all seemed so surreal, you had to imagine how you would have handled the situation if you were a qualified sorcerer. Soon enough, your fantasy was cut short once you realised that you had finally reached home. 

Exhausted by today's unexpected happenings, you reluctantly dragged yourself up the stairs, even forgetting to leave your shoes at the doorstep. Eventually, you reached your bed and instantly flopped onto it, and simply laid there, almost like you were bed-ridden. 

'Gosh...' You sigh out of relief. 'It's been too long of a day.' 

After lying there for a while, you picked up your phone and scrolled on it for almost an hour before finally deciding to put away your things and head to sleep. As you tidied up your belongings, your heart stopped when you realised it was missing. Frantically, you re-checked your bag, scavenged your pockets and examined your apartment, but to your horror, you found nothing. 

'My Dao blade!' You utter, with a shaky voice. 'Oh my gosh, where could it be..' 

Without another thought, you grabbed your phone and speed dialled Itadori. Whether he was asleep or not didn't matter to you, you had to find it. Your heart beat accelerated with every passing second until you finally heard the other line connect, revealing a hoarse 'Hello?' from Itadori. 

'Itadori!' You almost scream into your mic. 'Have you seen my Dao blade?' 

'Uhhh...' Itadori hums for a minute. 'Nah I haven't sorry. The last time I saw it was back at the mansion.' 

'Damn it..' You curse under your breath. 'I think I left it at the mansion...' 

'BRO WHAT?!' Itadori lets out, aghast. 'What should we do...' 

You remain silent for a while before affirming your decision. 

'I'm going back.' You declare with finality. 

'Are you sure..' Itadori voices his concerns. 'I mean what are you gonna do if you run into the ghoul again...?' 

'I don't know..' You reply, still assured of your previous answer. 'But you know how much that blade means to me - this is like throwing my whole life away!' 

'I know, I know' Itadori chuffs. 'So in that case, I'll go with you. Besides it's just a ghoul, it's not like it's invincible or something!' 

'Omg, you will?! Thank you so much, Itadori!' You almost cry out of gratitude. 

'Of course!' Itadori re-affirms. 'We can count this as extra experience on our ESA application!' 

You laugh at Itadori's remark, deeply in awe of how great of a friend he is. 

'Thank you... but we need a plan..' You admit, not forgetting about the grave danger you almost put yourself in earlier today.  'How can we even counterattack the ghoul...?' 

'Well..' Itadori starts. 'I don't know if this will help the situation but...' 

'But...?' 

'But I did notice that the ghoul only attacked you and not me.' Itadori continues.

'Yeah but how does that help our case?' You ask, slightly confused on where Itadori is heading with this. 

'And he only attacked when you took out your Dao blade.. So maybe...?' 

'Maybe if we don't show signs of attacking he won't attack us?!' You add with enthusiasim. 

'That's what I was thinking!' Itadori exclaims. 'It's a solid theory.. But in the case that it doesn't work...'

'If it doesn't work then we're leaving my Dao blade behind.' You conclude firmly. 

'Are you sure, Y/N' Itadori questions, sounding concerned. 

'Positive.' 

'Alright then!' Itadori cheers. 'We're gonna get that blade back tomorrow during the lunch break. All in favour of embarking on this semi-risky, life-or-death journey say aye!' 

'Aye!' You beam, filled with an equal mix of determination and fear. 'Alright, Itadori I'll let you sleep now. Goodnight and thank you for everything.'

'Sleep tight, Y/N. I'll see ya tomorrow.' 

With that, you closed your eyes softly and drifted off to sleep...