#also if you ask me where this is you are going in the Void (I took some liberties and also I am NOT looking at maps. too hard to draw rn!!)

[bucketsorbueckers]

No Hard Feelings - Chapter 2

Paige x Azzi

Warnings: language, alcohol, dumb sapphics not communicating

Dual POV - 7K words

A/N: holyyy ??? thank u sm for reading the first chapter!! legit thought i was gonna post into the void so if you saw this, i’m kissing your forehead through the screen <3 next one’s longer. messier. high in yearning. sorry in advance (but also. not at all.) would love to know what you think!! little comments keep me going fr so just know i appreciate youuu 🫶

Paige POV

Paige sat on the edge of the couch, one sneaker still half-on, fingers tangled in the laces like she’d forgotten what they were for. Her head spun—half from the alcohol, half from everything else.

The room was quiet, save for the dull hum of the fridge and the yellow light over the stove casting long shadows across the floor. Her phone buzzed somewhere across the room. She didn’t check it.

She was still in the same pants Azzi had seen her in. That mattered for no good reason.

She pressed her palms to her eyes until stars bloomed behind her lids. She didn’t cry. Paige never cried. But the ache had settled deep—familiar now—and she wondered if she even remembered how. If it might help. If it might do anything at all.

She groaned and fell back into the couch, the room spinning slightly with the motion. So she closed her eyes. And that was the mistake. Because her mind didn’t go to the party, or the noise, or the laughter she hadn’t really listened to. It went where it always did: straight to Azzi.

Not the Azzi from tonight. But the Azzi who used to sit cross-legged on her bed, eating cereal out of a mug, one sock on, one sock off, looking at Paige like she wasn’t something to admire but something to keep.

If she were here, she’d be telling Paige to get water. To wash her face. To change out of her jeans. She’d braid Paige’s hair so it wouldn’t be a disaster in the morning. Probably force her to eat something.

But Azzi wasn’t here. So Paige did none of that. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t reach for her phone. Doesn’t untie the sneaker still half-dangling from her foot.

Her mouth is dry. Her head hurts. And still, nothing feels as hollow as the space Azzi used to fill without trying.

She can still see her, clear as day: curled up at the end of the bed, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, twisting the drawstrings into little knots while Paige rambled about something that didn’t matter. A game. A play. A headline she hated. And Azzi would listen, always.

There was one night. Paige doesn’t remember what led to it—what they’d talked about, if anything at all. Just the way Azzi sat behind her on the floor, legs wrapped loosely around her waist, fingers moving slowly through her hair.  No music. No talking. Just touch. And the safety of being known.

And for once, Paige didn’t feel like she had to fill the silence. Azzi never asked her to be anything but there. She hadn’t realized what a luxury that was. Back then, it felt inevitable. Automatic. 

Now, silence feels different. Sharper. Meaner. Azzi would’ve known what to do with it. Would’ve filled it without trying. Would’ve made the air feel less heavy just by being in the room. But Azzi’s not here. So Paige just sinks deeper into the couch, lets the ache stretch wider across her chest, and tries not to wonder what Azzi’s doing.

If she’s curled up in that baseball player’s bed. Wearing his hoodie. Making him mac and cheese like it means nothing. Like she hasn’t done all of that before, for someone else.

And then—like punishment—a memory surfaces. 

Her bedroom. After a loss Paige had claimed like it was hers to carry—because that’s what leaders did, right? They absorbed the blame. They held it so no one else had to.

She’d sat with her knees pulled to her chest, back against the headboard, arms wrapped so tight around her legs it hurt. The room was dark. She hadn’t turned the lights on when she came in, hadn’t taken off her sneakers. Sweat clung to her skin, dried cold and uncomfortable, but she couldn’t make herself move.

The door creaked open. Azzi didn’t say anything.

She stepped in barefoot, silent, already in one of Paige’s sweatshirts—too big, the hem brushing her thighs, sleeves half-swallowed. She didn’t hesitate. Just crossed the room like she knew the floor plan of Paige’s grief.

She climbed onto the bed, moved slowly and knelt beside Paige. For a second, she didn’t touch her. Just looked. And then, gently, she reached out and cupped Paige’s arm.

“Come here,” she murmured.

Paige didn’t resist.

Azzi guided her down like she was something fragile, easing her back against the mattress until Paige was lying flat, stiff at first, eyes wide and blinking toward the ceiling.

Then Azzi lay down beside her. She pressed their bodies together, slid an arm beneath Paige’s head like a pillow, the other curling around her waist. Their legs tangled like instinct.

And she said nothing. 

Not you played fine.  Not you did everything you could. Not I’m proud of you.

She just stayed.

And Paige—who didn’t cry, who never let herself fall apart, who carried the weight of every game like it was stitched into her jersey— let herself lean in. Just a little. Just enough.

She remembered thinking: Azzi loved her even at her worst and never once asked her to be anything else.

She’d been so dumb. So fucking ungrateful for it—whatever “it” had been. She groaned as her phone buzzed again.

Dragging herself upright, she blinked at the screen. Sixty-something texts from Nika, letting her know she’d be staying elsewhere tonight. Paige gave the last one a thumbs up. No words. She didn’t have any left.

She retreated to her room like it might offer some kind of silence that would actually stick. She tried to sleep. Really tried. Stared at the ceiling. Flipped her pillow. Closed her eyes. Counted her breaths. None of it worked.

Eventually, with a sigh sharp enough to count as surrender, she reached for her phone again.

The group chat had finally calmed down. Just a few heart emojis and someone’s blurry selfie from the kitchen. Most of her teammates were probably asleep. She could’ve left it there. Should have. But her thumb kept scrolling. Down past Liv. Past Jana. Past everyone. Until she found Azzi’s name.

Her stomach twisted at the “last sent” date. Had it really been a month? She tapped into the thread. And winced. The screen was all Azzi. A wall of quiet, one-sided effort. 

Azzi: hey. just checking in.

Azzi: you left your sweatshirt in the locker room btw

Azzi: i know you’re busy. just wanted to say good luck on your exam today.

Azzi: saw you in the gym this morning. you looked tired.

Azzi: i miss you

Azzi: forget it. Sorry.

Azzi: i know we’re not really talking right now. but you’re still my best friend. that hasn’t changed.

Azzi: i’ll stop bothering you.

She stared at the final message a beat too long, then tore her eyes away.

It wasn’t like she had intentionally ignored them. She hadn’t meant to shut Azzi out. She just didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to bridge the space between who they used to be and whatever they were now.

Because the thing was, it wasn’t not knowing how she felt. That had never been the issue.

Loving Azzi had never been the problem. That part had always been easy. Natural. A constant in a world that changed too fast and asked too much. And if it had just been them—no cameras, no noise, no one else pulling—maybe things would’ve stayed simple.

Paige would’ve stayed. She knows that much. She would’ve chosen Azzi. She wouldn’t have given up. But somewhere along the way, it all got tangled. Messy. It wasn’t on purpose.

She just kept running out of space. Out of time. Too many people. Too many eyes. Always something to prove, someone to answer to. 

Azzi usually understood. She always had. She knew there was a version of Paige that didn’t belong to herself. The one in postgame interviews, in highlight reels, on social media.  She never seemed to resent it. Never made her feel guilty for the things she couldn’t control. Which is why Paige didn’t understand when it shifted. Didn’t know what changed.

The first crack happened quietly. Azzi had said something once, soft, but sharp in that way she always was when she didn’t want to start a fight but couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Sometimes, I just wish I was your first choice.”

It made her feel like a villain in a story she didn’t know she was in. Like she’d missed a moment where something shifted, and now she was paying for it without ever understanding the rules.

And from there, the fissures in their existence began to splinter. Quiet, invisible hairline fractures but there, cracking outward from the very fault line of who they were. Moments that used to feel easy began to catch. Silences stretched longer than they used to. Texts went unanswered a little too long. Jokes didn’t always land the way they once did.

Nothing big. Nothing loud. Just a slow, soft shift. And then, all at once, the space between them stopped feeling like a pause and started feeling like distance. Like something had shifted beneath them, and neither of them had the words to name it.

And Paige hadn’t asked. Hadn’t said, are we okay? Because she thought they were.

Because Azzi still braided her hair on road trips. Still sat beside her during film. Still laughed at her dumb jokes, even when they barely made sense. But there was something in her eyes that had started to fade. Some warmth that flickered a little too low.

And now Paige couldn’t stop thinking about it, how Azzi had kept showing up, softer and softer, until eventually, she disappeared entirely. 

Her phone buzzed again on the pillow beside her. Not Azzi. It never was anymore. She blinked away the sharp-edged memories and looked back at her phone. Her thumbs hovered over the screen, the thread still open—Azzi’s name at the top.

She typed:

i miss you too.

Stared at it. Deleted it. Typed again:

are you still up?

Backspaced. Studied the rhythm of the blinking cursor. She sat there a moment longer, the silence pressing in from every side, the ache spreading like a bruise she didn’t want to touch.

Then she tried again. Slower this time.

i don’t know how to do this. 

She stared at the words like they might rearrange themselves into something braver. Then she deleted them too and turned off her phone. Because reaching out meant admitting something had broken. And Paige wasn’t ready to know if it couldn’t be fixed.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The sun filtered through her half-closed blinds too early, nearly cracking her skull in two. Paige groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes like that might block out the damage. Her head pounded. Her mouth tasted like shitty vodka.

She didn’t remember falling asleep. Didn’t remember turning off her phone. But it was there on the nightstand, face-down like she’d been trying to forget something. She stared at it for a long time before reaching.

Just one swipe. Just a glance. Azzi hadn’t texted. Paige let the phone fall back against the sheets and rolled onto her side, eyes squeezed shut.

Last night clawed at the edges of her memory. Blurry, uneven, softened by too much cheap liquor and not enough food. There’d been laughter, music, the low hum of voices bleeding together. But even through the haze, she remembered those moments.

Azzi looking at her. And then not. Azzi’s skin brushing up against hers in the photo—too warm, too familiar. Azzi glancing sideways, just for a second, before pretending she hadn’t. Azzi. Everywhere. All at once. And also not at all.

In the room. In her mind. In the silence of a phone that hadn’t lit up all night. Haunting her in the softest, sharpest ways.

Paige sat up, her joints stiff, mouth still dry, heart beating just a little too loud for how early it was. She didn’t bother with a text. Or a real breakfast. Just pulled on yesterday’s hoodie, tied her sneakers, and grabbed her keys like muscle memory had taken over.

The world outside was too bright, too loud. The sky an offensive kind of blue. But the gym– the gym was still dark when she walked in. Still cold. Still quiet.

Just the echo of her footsteps and the soft hum of overhead lights flickering on.

She liked it better this way. Before the noise. Before the crowds. 

She set a ball down at half court, took a breath, and started to shoot. One after another. Each shot a little too hard. A little too fast. Each one missing just slightly left.

She kept going. Kept moving. Sweat beading at her hairline like she could outrun the night before. Sweat it out, burn it off, leave it behind. As if sheer effort could scrub her thoughts clean of brown eyes and perfect curls. And that damn look in the photo.

“You’re a freak.” Paige stopped the ball with her foot, chest still rising and falling, and turned to find Nika leaning against the wall like she hadn’t just caught her in the middle of a silent spiral.“I fed you enough alcohol to give you a three-day hangover.”

Paige grinned. “Some of us are just built different, I guess.”

Nika rolled her eyes and strolled to the middle of the court. She sat down, legs stretched out in front of her, and watched as Paige kept shooting—thud after thud echoing through the empty gym.

Then came the throat-clearing.

Once. Twice. Three times. Paige exhaled hard, let the ball roll to a stop, and dropped down beside her.

“How nice of you to join me,” Nika said sweetly, not looking at her.

Paige shook her head, eyes drifting toward the championship banners swaying faintly in the rafters. Nika didn’t hesitate.

“You text her?”

“What?” Paige muttered.  “Who?”

Nika scoffed, waving her off. “I’m way too hungover to play this game with you.” She turned to face her now, voice flat. “Last night—when I walked your wobbly ass home—you said, and I quote, ‘I’m gonna text Azzi and fix all of this.’”

Paige didn’t answer right away. She picked at the edge of her sock, eyes still fixed on the rafters like they held better questions.

“I thought about it,” she said finally, quiet.

“Would call that progress for progress’s sake,” Nika muttered, “but I’m not a liar.” She exhaled, slow. “It’s been a month, P.”

Paige shrugged. “I thought we were doing an okay job with it. The team doesn’t seem to notice.”

Nika groaned, but this time it was softer. Less theatrical.

“Paige,” she said, quieter now. “Not everything is about the team.” She paused, studying her. “You’re not doing well. You think we don’t notice, but we do.” Paige didn’t move.“You’re quieter. You’re in the gym at all hours. You barely talk unless it’s about basketball.”

“I’m just… focused,” Paige muttered. “With the season coming up.”

Nika frowned, gentle but sure.

“I know I’m not Azzi,” she said, “but you don’t have to lie to me.”

Paige’s jaw clenched. She didn’t look at her. The silence stretched, filled only by the hum of the gym lights overhead. Then, so quiet it almost wasn’t there:

“I don’t know what to say, Nika.” She exhaled shakily, like the truth hurt to hold. “I’m scared that if I say it out loud—if I admit she walked away—then that means she’s really gone.” Her throat tightened. “And I don’t know how to live with that. I don’t think I can.”

Beside her, Nika swallowed, then shifted closer—close enough for their knees to touch, for the silence to feel less overwhelming. She wrapped her arms around Paige and tugged her in, firm but gentle. Like she wasn’t going to let her fall apart alone.

“It’s Azzi, P,” she murmured.“You and her—you're not just some on-again, off-again thing. You’re Paige and Azzi. That’s been a fact as long as I can remember. Even now, when everything’s messy and sideways, that doesn’t just disappear. You’re not cut off. Just out of sync. That’s not the same as losing her.”

Paige, in a rare moment of surrender, let herself lean in and buried her face in Nika’s shoulder like she could hide from the truth inside it.

“Then why,” she whispered, voice splintering, “does it fucking feel like I have?”

Nika didn’t answer right away. She just held her tighter, arms secure around her like she wasn’t going to let her fall any further. 

“Because you love her.” She felt Paige stiffen just slightly, like the words landed somewhere too deep. “That’s why it hurts like this,” Nika added, voice gentler now. “Because it’s real. And because it’s her.”

Paige didn’t have the energy to argue. Because Nika was right.

She loved Azzi. Not in the loud, all-consuming way people always talked about. Not fireworks or grand gestures.  It was quieter than that. Slower.

The kind of love that snuck in when she wasn’t looking and made itself at home. The kind that curled up in the passenger seat on long road trips and pressed in close after late-night losses. The kind that didn’t demand attention, didn’t ask to be named because it was already stitched into everything.

She loved her in the way her body remembered, in the pause before a joke, in the instinct to reach for her hand without thinking. In the way she looked for her in every room before realizing she wasn't there.

Azzi was the quiet in the chaos. The place her soul went to rest. The thing that ever felt like hers, even when nothing else did. 

And maybe that was the problem. Because when you love someone like that—so completely, so unconditionally—you start to believe they’re part of you.

You forget they’re allowed to leave. You forget they don’t have to stay. Even if you would’ve. 

Azzi POV

Azzi woke up slow.

The sun filtered through the blinds, soft and gold, warming the edge of her pillow. The weight of the blanket pressed gently over her shoulders, and the mattress dipped slightly behind her. Someone was beside her. Still half-asleep, Azzi smiled.

She didn’t open her eyes. Just breathed in and let herself sink closer—muscle memory guiding her, like it always had. The shape was right. The warmth. The way their knee bumped gently against hers. For half a second, she thought, Paige.

She hummed, content, pressing herself into the comfort like it might last.

“No time for snuggles,” someone muttered. “I’m hungry.”

Azzi’s eyes flew open to find Caroline. Her best friend is lying on her side, scrolling through her phone like she didn’t just shatter a perfectly good morning.

Azzi groans. “Why are you in my bed?”

“You fell asleep on mine. You stole my blanket. I followed my blanket.”

Azzi buries her face in the pillow. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, here I am. A gift.”

Caroline sits up and stretches, already tossing the blankets back with no regard for Azzi’s fragile morning peace.

“You promised me breakfast,” she says. “Don’t think I won’t hold you to it.”

Caroline jumps off the bed, heading towards the door. 

“Five minutes or I’m leaving without you,” she called over her shoulder, already halfway to the kitchen. “And I swear I’ll eat your leftovers out of spite.”

The door clicked shut. And just like that, the space beside Azzi was empty again. She didn’t move. Just stared at the mattress, the faint dent where someone had been.

It wasn’t the same shape. Wasn’t the same warmth. But for a second, she’d believed it.

For a second, her body had reached for something it used to know by heart. She curled her fingers into the sheets, pressed her face into the pillow like it might still smell like her. Like Paige.

It didn’t.

She kicked the covers off and swung her legs over the side of the bed like she could shake it all loose. Moved too fast for a Sunday morning, pulling on jeans, shoving her arms through an old hoodie, twisting her curls into a bun without so much as a glance in the mirror.

She didn’t check her phone. Didn’t need to. She already knew Paige hadn’t texted.

By the time she stepped outside, Caroline was already on the sidewalk, sunglasses on, coffee in hand, looking annoyingly well-rested for someone who’d hijacked Azzi’s bed.

She held out the cup with a little smile. “You always forget your caffeine when you’re in a mood. You know the student centers is terrible.”

Azzi took it without arguing. They started down the block in silence, the morning quiet except for the soft scuff of their sneakers on the pavement. After a while, Caroline glanced over.

“You okay?”

Azzi shrugged, eyes on the sidewalk. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Caroline didn’t call her out. Didn’t push. She just nodded like she believed her. Or at least understood why she didn’t want to talk about it.

Then, gently: 

“Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.”

Azzi didn’t reply. But her fingers curled tighter around the coffee cup. And Caroline didn’t say anything else.

The student café was warm and buzzing, sunlight pooling across the tiled floors and clattering dishes. The line moved slow, but Azzi didn’t mind. She liked places like this—too loud to think, too small to fall apart in.

Caroline pointed to a table in the back while Azzi ordered for both of them, and by the time she slid into the booth, Caroline already had her phone out and a croissant torn in half between them. Cam arrived a few minutes later, all easy charm and windblown hair. 

“You two look like you’re recovering from something,” Cam said, sliding into the seat across from Azzi.

Caroline didn’t look up from her phone. Just gestured lazily in Azzi’s direction. “She is.”

Cam raised a brow but didn’t push. Just slid a pastry toward her like it might solve something. Azzi offered a grateful smile.

Caroline didn’t dislike Cam. She just didn’t buy the whole “he’s good for me” campaign Azzi had been running lately.

I can tell you’re not happy, she’d said one night. Azzi had shut it down before it could bloom into something messier. Because she needed Cam. Needed the steadiness, the ease, the way he never asked for more than she offered.

He was warm. Present. Simple. A safe place to land after limping her way across the scorched battlefield that was being touched—then abandoned—by Paige Bueckers.

It had been almost two weeks. And Cam really was a good guy. She figured if she told herself that enough, one day, it might matter. 

They made small talk. Caroline filled the silence. Cam laughed at something she said. Azzi tried to stay tethered to the moment, to the clink of forks and the smell of coffee and the way Cam looked at her like she was still whole.

Jana appeared halfway through the conversation, sliding into the booth beside Caroline with a groan and a dramatic yawn.

“I know,” She says. “The coffee is shit but I’m desperate.”

They all laughed. Even Azzi.  She was halfway through a sentence when the bell over the café door chimed again. Caroline stilled across from her. Eyes tracking the door.

“Shit,” she murmured, just loud enough for Azzi to hear.

Azzi didn’t have to look. Not at first. She didn’t need to. Some people enter a room quietly. Some crash. Paige didn’t do either. She just shifted the gravity.

Azzi’s spine straightened. Her breath caught. Something deep in her chest tightened—like muscle memory reawakening after too long asleep.  And when she finally let herself look toward the door, she nearly flinched. There was Paige. Framed in the doorway like the morning light didn’t quite know how to hold her.

Hair still damp, hoodie too big, sleeves shoved past her wrists like she’d gotten dressed without thinking. Like maybe she hadn’t slept. She looked like something Azzi had dreamed about too many times to admit.

Across from her, Cam glanced toward the door.

“Is that Paige?” he asked, voice quiet, almost casual.

Caroline didn’t look up. “Yup.”

Cam nodded, eyes following her for a beat too long. “Weird,” he murmured. “Being that recognizable. Having people clock you everywhere.” He shook his head a little. “I don’t think I’d know how to be normal.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away.

“She doesn’t really get to be,” she said finally. 

Cam didn’t respond, still watching. Just for a second. And that’s when Azzi saw it. Not awe, exactly but something adjacent. That flicker of recognition. That quiet pull. The same look she’d seen a hundred times in other people. On sidewalks. At games. In locker rooms and airports and campus dining halls. The look that said: That’s her.

Azzi had memorized it since they were sixteen. It was always the same…like the air shifted when Paige walked through it. Like something about her demanded to be noticed, even when she wasn’t trying. Especially then. She just had that effect on people. Impossible to ignore. Impossible not to want. 

And Azzi had spent years pretending she was the only person in the world immune to it. But she wasn’t. Not really.

Because she understood the awe. She understood the pull. The quiet hunger to know Paige. To unravel her. To be the exception in a world full of admirers. Azzi had felt it too. Still felt it, low and constant in her stomach. Sharp. Stupid. Unrelenting.

Loving Paige hadn’t protected her from wanting her. It had only taught her how impossible it was to ever truly have her.

And now she was here—walking past them, coffee in hand, eyes fixed on her phone like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Azzi caught her in the blur of her peripheral vision—still didn’t look, not really—until Jana’s voice cut through the quiet:

“Paigey! Don’t be rude. Say hi.”

Azzi stiffened. Caroline froze mid-sip. Paige paused. She didn’t look up right away. Just tapped once more on her screen, like she was taking care of something important. Then, finally, she lifted her gaze.

“Hey,” she said, quiet but pointed. Her gaze swept across the table, barely grazing Azzi, landing instead on the boy beside her.

Cam straightened, offering a hand. “I’m Cam.”

Paige looked at it for a moment too long before shaking it once.

“So I’ve heard,” She said. “Paige. Nice to meet you.”

But it wasn’t. Not really. Not for anyone at the table.

Paige didn’t sit. She didn’t even shift her weight like she might. Just stood there, coffee in hand, gaze flicking back to her phone like she was already halfway out the door.

Cam cleared his throat, trying to recover. “You hit the gym this morning?”

Paige nodded once. “Early workout.”

“Respect,” he said, with a small laugh. “I can barely get myself out of bed before ten.”

She didn’t laugh. Didn’t even pretend to. Azzi hadn’t moved. She was still staring at the spot just past Paige’s shoulder, like if she looked directly at her, she might combust.

“Are you going to sit down?” Jana asked, proving once again her innate ability to never sense the tension.

Paige’s lips twitched, not a smile, but something close to it. Tired.

“I actually can’t stay,” she said, eyes shifting to her phone. “Meetings.”

“Oh yes, our very own superstar,” Jana teased. “What endorsement are we chatting about today? Gatorade? Nike? Can you get me new shoes?”

That actually made Paige laugh. Short and real and gone too fast.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Paige lingered just a second longer, thumb tapping the edge of her coffee cup. Then, like it was nothing, she held out a small brown bag to Azzi.

“They had the cherry thing today,” she said, not quite meeting her eyes. “You always miss it.”

Azzi froze.

Jana blinked. “The cherry tart? I literally just asked and they told me they were out.”

Paige shrugged, “Guess they just think I’m special.”

She set the bag on the table in front of Azzi, casual as anything. Then turned, already stepping back.

“I’ll see you guys at practice.”

The door chimed behind her. And Azzi still hadn’t moved.

Jana sighed dramatically, breaking the silence. “Must be nice being Paige Bueckers. A god among mortals.” 

Cam chuckled, reaching for levity like it could stitch the moment back together. He slid an arm around Azzi’s shoulders.

“You alright?” he asked softly.

Azzi’s throat bobbed. Her eyes drifted from the untouched pastry bag to Caroline, who was already watching her. Not curious. Not surprised. Just steady. Soft in that way Caroline always was when she already knew the answer. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

Her gaze said it all: You thought she wasn’t looking. But she was.

Azzi swallowed again, the ache rising higher now. Cam’s arm was still draped over her shoulders, his thumb brushing back and forth—like comfort could be that simple. But it wasn’t.

It was too much. Too close. Too easy. And somehow still not even close to what she needed.

Her skin buzzed with it. This gentle, well-meaning touch that felt like the wrong language spoken fluently. Carefully, she shifted out from under it.

“I need to make a call,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Then she stood, the pastry still untouched on the table, and stepped out into the morning light.

When the fresh air hit her lungs, Azzi sucked in a sharp breath, like she could force the panic back into place. But it didn’t work. Because across the street, Paige was still there. Still lingering.

Hands in her pockets, eyes half-lowered, like she was waiting for someone. Their eyes met. Paige tilted her head. Observant. Measured. Like she was trying to read something in Azzi’s face she no longer had permission to name.

And something hot surged up in Azzi’s chest. Not heartbreak. Not quite. Anger. Sharp and clean and useful. It almost felt good because it had an edge. Because it gave her something to hold. The urge to move buzzed in her limbs. To cross the street. To do something. To shove her hands against Paige’s chest and say you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to show up and act like you still see me. Still know me. Still care.

She imagined saying, I’m not yours to be generous with anymore.

But she didn’t move. Not an inch. She just stood there. And across the street, Paige didn’t either. For a few suspended seconds, they just existed. Two people who used to share a world. Now standing on opposite sides of it.

And despite everything, Azzi let herself think about it. Let herself remember who Paige had been once. Not to the world, not to the cameras or the crowds or the girls who lined up to take pictures after games but her Paige. 

The one who always found her first in a room, no matter how loud it was. Who could spot her from across a court full of chaos and send a look that said, You okay? without ever saying a word.

The one who unraveled quietly in her dorm room. Kicking off her shoes, hoodie tugged over her head, lying backwards across Azzi’s bed with her legs dangling off the side, eyes closed like the silence was the only thing keeping her together.The one who said I’m tired only to Azzi because she didn’t trust the world to know she wasn’t always strong.

The one who touched her like the world wasn’t watching because when it was just them, it never felt like it was. Fingers brushing her wrist under the dinner table. Knees knocking together during film. A hand lingering at the small of her back as they wove through post-game crowds.

Paige had never been soft for many people. She couldn’t be. But with Azzi—god, with Azzi, the edges always fell away. Her voice would go quieter. Her gaze would linger longer. She’d lean her head on Azzi’s shoulder like it was second nature, like she forgot she wasn’t supposed to need anyone.

She’d reserved that softness like it was something sacred. A secret Azzi never had to ask for, because it was just… offered. Freely. Quietly.

And Azzi—foolishly, selfishly, with both hands and her whole heart—had believed it would always be hers.

Because when Paige looked at her like that, all edges gone, all pretense stripped away, it felt like forever. But maybe it never was. Maybe Paige had just been handing her borrowed things. Little pieces of gentleness, of trust, of a love too soft for the world to see and Azzi mistook them for promises. 

Maybe she’d been holding something that was only ever meant to pass through her fingers. And now, standing in the echo of that quiet, Azzi couldn’t stop wondering:

What if the most devastating part of loving Paige Bueckers was never losing her but realizing she was never really hers to begin with?

Paige’s POV

Practice was hell. Sweat-drenched, leg-aching, breath-in-her-throat hell.

Season was approaching and Geno was one bad pass away from a full-scale meltdown. Paige wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and narrowed her focus.

Ball. Feet. Breath. Because basketball—basketball still made sense.

It was the one place she could still breathe without thinking. The one place where everything stayed exactly where it was supposed to be. Even now. Even after.

Across the court, Azzi moved like a second heartbeat. They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. Azzi cut left, and Paige was already pivoting. A no-look pass, seamless and clean. A catch in stride. A shot. Net. They didn’t miss a beat. Not one.

Their bodies remembered: the rhythm, the weight, the pull of each other’s gravity. It was muscle memory. It was chemistry. It was grief, dressed up in a perfect assist.

Paige wasn’t sure how she felt about it. She was a professional, first and always.The game came first. The team came first. So mostly, she was grateful. Grateful that whatever had splintered between them hadn’t followed them here…that on the court, they still fit. Still moved like they were breathing the same air.

But there was still that ache. A pinprick under her ribs that she couldn’t shake. 

The damning knowledge that she could still find Azzi in motion. Still trust her without hesitation, without a word. But once the buzzer went off, once the world came rushing back in, she didn’t know how to reach her anymore. Didn’t know where to stand. Didn’t know if she was still welcome.

Geno’s whistle cut through the air, sharp and final, knocking her out of the thought. Practice was over. Just like that. And all at once, the noise returned, sneakers squeaking, water bottles snapping open, the hum of voices rising back into the space she’d carved out for silence.

Paige blinked, wiped her face with the hem of her shirt, and told herself to move.

But everything felt off—like the world was half a step ahead of her, and she couldn’t quite catch up. She moved slowly through the locker room. Slow to pack her bag. Slow to drift toward a conversation she would’ve once led without thinking. Like her body remembered how to be there, but not how to belong.

Her eyes flicked around the room, not looking for anything, until they landed on Caroline. Who was already watching her.

Caroline: Azzi’s best friend. Loyal, soft-spoken, sharper than she let on.

Paige had no idea what she knew. If Azzi had ever told her. If she’d shared any of it…them. Or if Paige had just been erased from the story.

She felt the thought creep in, uninvited and sharp: Maybe Azzi was embarrassed. Embarrassed that it had happened. 

They held eye contact for one suspended second. Not hostile.  Not soft. Just long enough for something to pass between them—something Paige couldn’t name. Then Caroline looked away. And so did she.

Eventually, Paige tugged her bag over her shoulder. The locker room had long since emptied out, and for a moment, she let the silence linger like it might settle something inside her. It didn’t. She stepped out into the hallway, footsteps echoing down the linoleum.

Outside, the sun had already dipped past the horizon, leaving campus washed in a dusky, dull glow. She shoved the door open and stepped into the chill, her body flinching instinctively against the wind. Her phone buzzed. She glanced down. Some email from her agent about scheduling. She didn’t read it, not really.

But then she felt it. Not a sound. Not a movement. Just a shift. The air changed. Like something important had entered the space. A whiff of vanilla. Her head snapped up. 

Azzi stood a few feet away, haloed by the dim orange spill of the streetlamp. Hoodie sleeves swallowed her hands. Curls tied up in a way that made Paige’s ribcage feel too tight for her lungs.

She looked like a memory Paige wasn’t allowed to touch anymore.

Azzi’s head turned then, like she’d felt Paige’s stare tugging at her spine. For a second, Paige braced for her to walk away. She looked like someone on the edge of it. But she didn’t.

“You’re leaving late,” Azzi said, voice soft.

Paige shrugged, because that’s what she did when she had too many feelings and no idea where to put them. “Didn’t really have anywhere to be.”

Azzi nodded, gaze drifting to the parking lot behind them like she was trying to pretend this was normal.

“Your shots looked good today.”

Paige rubbed the back of her neck, shifting her weight. Her body couldn’t take stillness in moments like this.

“Thanks,” she said, barely. “Yours too.”

Azzi smiled, if you could call it that. It didn’t reach anything. Polite and close lipped. 

“Thanks.”

And that was it.

But Paige could feel the words rising anyway, pressing against her throat like they might claw their way out if she didn’t let them. The messy ones. The ones she’d swallowed whole every day since Azzi left. Apologies that didn’t have a shape yet. Questions she wasn’t sure she wanted the answers to. Explanations that felt like too much but not enough.  Anything to pull Azzi closer.  Even just an inch.  Even just long enough to believe that gravity hadn’t let go of them completely.

Paige had never been the kind of girl who begged. She worked. She pushed. She earned. But pleading? That was foreign. That was weakness.

And yet—For Azzi, she would.

She would get on her hands and knees. Crawl across the asphalt if that’s what it took. She would press her forehead to the ground like it was holy. Like this was devotion. Like her humiliation could be translated into worth. 

She’d offer it all: every last bit of pride she hadn’t already chipped away. The ache in her chest that hadn’t stopped since Azzi stopped being hers. The soft, aching pieces of her that still pulsed like an old bruise she kept pressing on, just to check if it still hurt.

(It did. It always did.)

She’d lay herself bare in that quiet, ugly way—the kind of vulnerability that doesn’t transform you or teach you a lesson. It just leaves you exposed. Skin peeled back. Chest split wide.

If there was even the faintest chance that Azzi might look at her and think, Maybe she’s worth it. Even if she never said it.  Even if she just stood there in the dark, hoodie sleeves swallowing her hands, eyes flicking somewhere far away like Paige was too much to look at directly.

Paige would still do it.

Because that’s what you do when someone’s name lives in your mouth like a secret. You ruin yourself for the chance that they might whisper it back.

Azzi was still watching her—closely, unbearably—and Paige felt the sting behind her eyes before she could stop it. That helpless, traitorous burn.

“Azzi,” she said. Barely. A whisper shaped like a sob, like a plea she didn’t know how to finish.

And then headlights cut through the quiet.

A car Paige didn’t recognize pulled into the lot behind them, flooding the space with too much light. And without thinking, she stepped closer to Azzi. Instinctive. Stupid. Like her body still hadn’t gotten the memo that they weren’t them anymore. That Azzi didn’t need her like that.

But Azzi didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just turned like she already knew. Like some part of her had been waiting.

“Babe!” The word hit like a slap, soft and smiling. Cam leaned out the window, eyes finding Azzi first. Like she was his to look at. “Sorry I’m late. Practice ran over.”

Then his gaze shifted. Landed on Paige. And lingered. On their closeness. The silence that hadn’t quite scattered yet.

“Oh,” he added, a beat too light. “Hey, Paige. Sorry—did I interrupt something?”

Paige rolled her shoulders back, spine straightening. She inhaled like she could breathe the ache out of her body, make her voice clear again.

“Nothing important,” she said, cool and sharp around the edges. The kind of cool that cost her something.

And she swore, for just a second, something flickered in Azzi’s eyes. But Paige had lost her map to Azzi Fudd, and now every look felt like a dead language. Beautiful. Incomprehensible.

Azzi blinked, gaze steady. “Were you going to say something?”

Paige’s throat burned. She swallowed hard. “Nah. Don’t keep your boyfriend waiting.”

Azzi’s eyes widened, startled. “He’s not—”

“See you later.”

It came out too fast, too final. But she didn’t take it back. Didn’t wait for the explanation. Just turned, walking away before her knees could betray her. Before she did something stupid. Like stay.

[lovelettersfrommai]

Rooms I Don’t Enter

Summary: You and Bucky live through each other’s worst memories. 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem! Reader (HYDRA Experiment) 

A/N: Marvel brain rot is taking over post Thunderbolts*. I need to see it again IMMEDIATELY. Reader has fire and ice powers, reminiscent of a certain anime character…No I will not elaborate as to my involvement in the implied fandom. Not proofread, we die like men.  Also this is my first time writing for Bucky! Exciting stuff guys.

Word Count: 1,616

Disclaimers: I do not own the rights to anything Marvel related, I am merely a nerd who hyperfixates a lot.

Warnings !: Mentions of being abducted, vague body horror, reader gets forced to hurt someone, mentions of human experimentation. Bucky has healed from his past, but reader has not, hurt/comfort, angst?

MASSIVE THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS.

As soon as Bucky entered the void, he felt ice. Oh no. He thought to himself. No, no, no, no, no. He couldn’t be back here again. 

The hard substance pressed against his back as he landed in the ravine, right after his fall from the train all those years ago. All the wind had knocked out from his lungs, and he sat up abruptly, just in time to watch HYDRA soldiers drag his body across the floor, arm gone. He felt nauseous at the sight of it, his own body desecrated. The worst part is that he knew this was just the beginning. 

He needs to get the hell out of here.

~

The grass beneath your combat boots was a jarring sensation. Your head whips around, bewildered. A park? Weren’t you just in New York? Where did everyone else go? You look around. There’s a playground, and many trees. Picnic tables and benches where parents usually sit and watch their children, but right now it’s empty. Just you. It’s then that you hear a familiar sound. The music of an ice cream truck driving your way. It’s nice, almost peaceful, even.

If this weren’t a moment that you had literal nightmares about. 

It hits you then how you remember this place. This is the neighborhood park that you went to as a child. The one that you were abducted from. You watch as your younger self squeals happily, alone in the park. You had been saving up for the next time the ice cream man came around. 

“All alone today, young lady?” The man asks. Oh god, no. The younger version of yourself nods. You grab her wrist in an attempt to stop her from getting any closer, but she screams and the trees that were once just trees reach out and grab you, the branches twisting around your arms and physically pulling you away. You can do nothing but watch as you get taken. 

~

Bucky makes an effort to get out of the room, clawing at the walls. He realized that the room isn’t as big as it seems. He calls out, looking for somebody, anybody, and starts to punch at the ice with his metal arm. 

That isn’t me anymore. He thinks to himself. This is. 

At the same time, you use your powers to burn the branches keeping you away from your younger self. Ice shoots from your hands as you use it to propel yourself forward faster, ending at the truck’s hood. Looking in the tinted glass, you swear, if you look closely enough you can see-

“Bucky!” You call out, voice shaky, and limbs tired from the effort of sustaining your powers. Bucky turns his head. He heard you. You take a deep breath then smash the glass of the windshield with your bare hands, jumping through it and straight into Bucky. 

~

The moment you tackle him, you’re transported into a new place. Bucky recognizes the place immediately. He sees Zola’s face and internally cringes, wanting to punch the man. He huffs. It wouldn’t do anything here. He’s not gonna let this undo all the work he’s put in to bettering his mental health. You both just need to get out. 

It’s then that Bucky hears the words. His spine straightens as a shiver rolls down it. He knows they can’t hurt him now. They’re powerless in his deprogrammed mind, and yet he can’t help the way fear grips his chest. You grab his hand, and he is immediately brought back to earth. You’ve always been such a grounding force for him, and he can’t help but want to kiss you senseless for the kindness you’ve always shown him. 

The both of you have a long history together. You didn’t always see each other when you both were still under HYDRA, but even in his altered state Bucky knew you. Maybe that’s why once he pulled Steve from the river, he went to get you next. Together, the both of you look for a way to get out of the lab. When your foot hits a loose tile on the lab floor, you know this is likely it. You wordlessly gesture at it to Bucky, who instantly gets the memo, smashing it with his metal arm. 

Once you crawl through the hole in the floor, the two of you fall to the ground, entering a completely different space. Your hands come up behind Bucky’s head, making sure it doesn’t get badly hurt as you tumble into a cool concrete floor. Bucky’s arms wrap around your torso, making sure he takes the brunt of the impact. Once you finally settle into the new space, you press your forehead to his briefly kissing his cheek as you let out a breath of relief.

~

“Where are we now?” You mutter. The place feels familiar but it’s a tad too dark to make anything out. 

“You know where we are. The question is who are we going to see?” He murmurs lowly. It hits you then. The cold concrete floors, the darkness, the distinctive smell of dampness and a buildup of mold and mildew. You’re back in the basement cells. The place HYDRA kept you in between missions and sessions of “experiments” in the lab. It’s after the realization hits you, that you, younger you,  is ushered into the room harshly. You’re older now. Still far too young, but now in your early 20’s. It hits you then what exactly this memory is. You push Bucky’s head away, not wanting him to see what happened, but he stubbornly watches. 

What he doesn’t expect is to see himself, moreso, the winter soldier. He’s suddenly hit with a wave of nausea. Did he hurt you? He thought most of his memories were recovered, so why couldn’t he remember this? More importantly, why didn’t you tell him? 

“Doll…What is this? What did I do?” He asks, hands darting out to grab your shoulders. He doesn’t mean to squeeze as hard as he does, but you see the sense of urgency and more importantly, the signs of panic that cross his features. You shake your head emphatically, hands coming up to rest on his elbows in reassurance. 

“It’s not what you did…It’s what I did.” One of the guards start to speak to the both of you in Russian. He goes on about testing your abilities on a real subject, and you watch as you scramble on the floor. 

“Th-the doctors said I was done with testing today…” she tries to say. One of the guards grab her face harshly. 

“I know. This is just for fun…consider it target practice.” He replies. Bucky can only watch with sadness as you try to refuse, knowing it couldn’t have ended well. Meanwhile, your eyes fill with tears, the memory still causing guilt to eat at your consciousness. He walks over to the memory version of you, kneeling beside her as she too moves onto her knees, fire and ice powers activating. He pushes a stray hair behind your ear before pressing his forehead against your head. 

“It’s okay. You had no choice. I’m sorry…” He mutters into her ear. It won’t change anything. Won’t make you feel any better about doing it in the future, but that doesn’t matter right now. 

You watch him for a moment before trying to find a way out. The door that the guards pushed you through. You push and pull at the knob, and when that doesn’t work, you start kicking desperately. Anything to escape the agonizing past screams of your current lover. It eventually gives. You turn around to get Bucky. With one last comforting kiss to past you’s head, he stands up straight and jogs over to you, grabbing your hand and pulling you through the door to the next room. 

~

Once the two of you get to the next room, you attempt to seek respite for just a moment. Your hands come up over your ears, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. Bucky has never seen you like this. If anything, you are usually the stronger one in the relationship, always pulling him from the dark place. Now, as he looks at you, he recognizes just how vulnerable you seem, your actions reminding him of a child who is just trying to shut out the rest of the world. He takes a deep breath before approaching you.

“I’m sorry.” You apologize. Bucky shakes his head and gently cups your cheek with his flesh hand. 

“Don’t apologize for doing what you had to do to survive.” It’s a phrase that you’ve said to him time and time again. When the nightmares turn him into an insomniac and the skeletons hidden in his closet come out in full force. 

“...I didn’t know how to tell you.” His metal fingers wrap around one of your wrists, pulling your hand away from your ears and back to your sides, repeating it with your other arm. 

“I understand. There’s probably nobody else in this world who would understand but me.” Through all the time that you’ve been together, Bucky knows you. The same way that you know him. He’s never had this sort of closeness in his life, and it was only because you stubbornly refused to give up on him. Just like Sam. Just like Steve. Whatever he has accomplished after leaving HYDRA was the combined effort of both of you. If you weren’t gonna give up on him, why would he ever give up on you?

You let him hold you for a while, before finally accepting his words. You prepare yourself for whatever it is that might come next. 

“Let’s go help our friends.” 

[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.

[abbotmohann]

closed doors

pairing: jack abbot x attending!reader

summary: you don’t mean to let jack abbot into your heart but when you realise you did, the only logical response is to push him away and pretend like you can go back to being a cold hearted bitch

a/n: i love reading angst idk what that says about me but anyways this was meant to be just a little drabble but it turned out longer than i imagined but the ending is kinda meh. also not proofread, hope you like it!

jack abbot is a widowed former trauma medic amputee not that he let it define him at least not anymore, the man has been through it and even though he occasionally hangs out on the roof he goes to therapy he makes an active effort to work through his ptsd and improve his mental health. so when jack meets you he feels a sense of kinship just as morbid as he was possibly even more so but he enjoys your deadpan humour.

you don’t realise how or when it happened but over the course of the months working together he worms his way into your life, he gets you coffee most nights and half the time when you’re in the doctors lounge trying to take a moment and eat a protein bar he comes in and offers you half his packed lunch which you insist you can’t take but he never takes no for an answer and when he offers rides home you don’t even fight it.

you come to the realisation the first time he’s off in months and you feel the lack of his presence the whole shift, your mind wandering what he was doing - you miss him and you hate it. you’re anxious throughout the next shift you feel tense and awkward around him, trying to process. you try to distance yourself from him but he makes it so goddamn hard, you couldn’t exactly turn down the free coffee so you find other ways like not eating in the doctors lounge, you keep small talk to a minimum where you used to banter with him you don’t - you’re not mean about it at least you don’t think so and when your shift ends you hang back a good 15minutes. eventually he seems to get the picture, he still gets you coffee and searches your eyes every time likely trying to figure what’s changed but you smile and say thanks like normal every single time leaving him confused but that’s really the only that’s stuck, there’s no back and forth anymore it’s strictly professional and you don’t have to hang back anymore, he doesn’t offer you ride anymore. you hate it you miss him, him still buying you a coffee makes it worse sometimes you want to say something spark it all back up again and every once in awhile he sees it and hesitates but you chicken out. eventually even the coffee stops and that really breaks your heart, he never treats you differently on a professional level which at the very least you’re thankful for not that you doubted him but a sick part of you almost wishes he did, there’s an aching void where he used to occupy that you keep trying to ignore - an impossible task when you see him almost daily.

one night you’re running into work early deciding to buy a coffee from the local spot that jack used to get it for the two of you, you make the impulsive decision to also grab one for jack immediately regretting as you’re walking in. you thought about all the ways this was a bad idea so close to throwing it away but just as you were getting to the entrance with both cups in hand so was jack - this was the moment.

“hi jack! i got you coffee”

he furrowed his brows perplexed, she doesn’t speak to him in months but now she brings him a coffee from their spot - she obviously needed a favour he assumed. “thanks” he gave a tight lipped smile as he took the cup and walked away. the rest of the shift went by as normal and there was no favour to be asked so what was that? he wondered, something to discuss with the therapist he figured.

now at the end of your shift there’s a downpour, the kind of torrential rain that soaks you through to the bone. you’re standing at the exit cursing at yourself for not having an umbrella or anything protective dreading getting onto public transport. jack walking out spots you, he sighs his chest tightening nervous for what he’s about to say dreading your reaction.

“i’ll give you a lift”

“oh no jack it’s fine, it’s not too bad”

he rolled his eyes huffing. “it wasn’t a question” you open and close your mouth not knowing how to respond and jack simply pops open his umbrella waiting so you get under it and walk to his car.

the silence is deafening, you feel sick to your stomach. you feel this wave of anger coming off jack you can’t tell if it’s all in your head your if it’s just own guilt projecting. it silent the whole journey and when you reach yours.

“thanks for the ride”

“here take the umbrella”

“thanks but i can survive a few feet”

you unbuckle your seat but you can’t move, you feel the overwhelming urge to fix this now but unsure of how to approach this you say probably the most ridiculous thing you could.

“i know you live far so if you want you can wait at mines for the rain to calm down” you lived a 15 minute drive away from the hospital but tonight he had taken 30 minutes and you knew he lived a 45 minute drive away. you were being logical in a situation that was incredibly illogical. “please for my sake”

he’s thrown off, irritated at the offer. he wants to be mad at you but your voice soft and shaky just makes him want to grab you into his arms and comfort you, you were maddening he thought.

when he walks into your apartment he’s struck by how clinical it feels, you have the barebones it seems there’s no warmth like it’s not lived in. “do you want something to drink like a cup of tea or coffee?” at ease now in your own domain the guilt temporarily forgotten.

“uh, a coffee would be nice” he stands there awkwardly not sure what to do watching you fuss about around your studio flat seemingly switching the heating on opening the curtain halfway (what was that about?).

“you can go ahead and sit on the sofa jack” and so he does, he mind swirling with a million questions, he decided this was it this was the best time to get his answers once and for all.

you come to sit beside him with two cups of coffee, the awkward tension stronger than ever you know you should say something or else what was the point of inviting him to your place at the very least for the sake of being a good host.

“it was lucky you brought an umbrella i don’t remember seeing it as going rain when i check the weather”

“seriously!? you wanna talk about the weather? not about how you’ve been treating me the past couple months?”

“i haven’t been rude”

“seriously!?”

“what!?” you running your fingers through your hair frustrated this isn’t going how you wanted, not that you had a plan but anything is better than this.

“you’re too smart to be playing dumb right now, you’ve been avoiding me” his voice is harsh now, exasperated with you and you’re inability to be honest. he knew you had walls, he knew you weren’t an open book if anything you reminded him a little bit of him and he liked it cos he understood it.

“no i haven’t” you know it’s stilly to so balantly lie but you’re still too scared to be real.

“you’re never in the doctors lounge, you never wanna speak about anything that isn’t medical anymore and don’t think i don’t know you purposely hang in the locker room so i can’t offer you ride home. i thought you were going through something personal and pushing everyone away but then i soon realised you had no problem with any of our coworkers just me, so if ive done something to hurt you just tell me how i can fix it?”

“jack, i’m sorry i wasn’t clear but our relationship was becoming unprofessional you’re my senior, i was just trying to establish boundaries again and keep it strictly professional”

“you think it’s professional to invite me into your home?” he rolls his eyes, he feels defeated now maybe tonight wouldn’t be the night this would be fixed.

“i’m not a total monster, i can’t have you getting into an accident on my conscious”

jack sighs and you both sit there silent for a beat, jack bumping his legs against yours willing you to look at him and you do.

“god you drive me insane” he lets out a chuckle rubbing his face.

you’re pouting now. “do you hate me now?”

“no! i wouldn’t be here trying to fix this, asking my therapist for advice”

“there’s nothing to fix” it’s out before you even think, wincing at the harshness but you don’t let jack speak. “wait i’m sorry that was mean”

he rolls his eyes “normally i like that about you so i’ll it slide” you chew on your lips at his casual confession, like in what way is the first thought and the second thought is ‘you’re insane’

“you spoke about me to your therapist?” a giggle escapes, it seemed absurd that you’d be brought up, that you had any significant meaning to his life. “i’m sorry it’s not funny, i’m just surprised”

“i know i said this already but god you’re drive me insane, what’s so surprising about that?”

“idk the fact that there’s anything significant about me or us to discuss”

“maybe throwing away our friendship was easy for you but it meant a lot to me, you mean a lot to me. i can’t stop caring about you even if i wanted to and if you really did think the professional lines were blurring and it was making you uncomfortable you could’ve just said so, i don’t wanna ever make you feel uncomfortable.”

“i’m sorry” you look down at your fidgeting hands breaking the eye contact.

“stop apologising”

“i don’t actually care about professional boundaries, i know you wouldn’t let any personal beef getting into the way of work. i just you’re better off without me”

“what’s that supposed to mean? you don’t think you’re good enough for me?”

“jack i’m incredibly fucked up and i don’t go to therapy even though i probably should, i don’t let people into my life but all of a sudden you weaseled your way into my heart and so i pushed you away for my sake and yours. i didn’t wanna go through the mortifying experience of you realising my feelings and rejecting them but here we are”.

“please look at me when i say this.” you oblige considering it’s the least you could do. “did i bring anyone else coffee? did i share my food with anyone else? am i giving rides out to everyone? you think you didn’t weasel your way into my heart? you’re the only thing i look forward to coming into work even when it hurt”

he strokes your cheek as he brushes a few unruly pieces away, “i’ve wanted to do this for so long” he pulls you in to a passionate kiss and you oblige melting into his touch, he’s soon pulling you into his lap the kiss frantic and desperate.

he pulls away to catch ch his breath and remark on the facts. “you know we could’ve been doing this for months instead”

pressing soft kisses along his neck, you let out a frustrated sigh “i know i’m an idiot, i’m sorry”

“what did i say about apologising, you can you make it up to me instead” he winked

“oh i’m not sorry then” you smirk running your hands through his salt and pepper curls.

“you’re gonna be the death of me” his lips are back on you again in a frantic mess, your arms wrapped around him tightly rolling your hips deciding this morning was going to end with both of you naked.

[carolingarts]

I'm just gonna expound on my Bob headcanons because...yeah. After my "thoughts on Wanda" thing I have a lot of thoughts and I'm kind of annoyed about some of the ones I've seen so let me just - break this down.

AS A PERSON:

this is a man who is familiar with Gen Z/Alpha internet lingo but he tells no one. So when the "New Avengers" are confronted with anything "Skibidi" or Ohio he plays dumb or mildly says "Well you *don't* have aura maybe?" but refuses to explain what the words mean and he won't - unless Yelena asks (and even then Yelena has kind of an idea.)

He can't cook worth shit but he likes baking tons mostly because following recipes is easy as hell, its on a box, it's brownies (and Yelena just side-eyes him the whole damn time but he laughs and shrugs)

If somebody makes a remark about his whole "problem" he just rolls his eyes and bounces it off him with a joke and if he's having a bad day the jokes get nastier (" Look, I'm crazy. I'm not stupid. There's a difference." "C'mon. Throw me a bone here. My life runs the gamut from normal guy to chicken on meth that'd mess with anybody...? man." "Yeah. Well. I'm gonna go sit in my box and take five minutes.") he always apologizes after. He's working on it.

If he remembers to vote he votes Green party. While his favorite was Captain America growing up, when it heads into the fourth of July he just starts to subtly drop hints about how much America sucks. He doesn't really care but he can quote a lot of facts about the failures of American policy. Red Guardian laugh. Bucky chuckles. John takes it very personally.

He fucking hates, *hates* *haaaates* cops. To the point that "oh you poofed a bunch of cops into the void. "huh. that happened. did they come back? ah. well good for them I guess." The comics don't talk about his family but in this case his dad was a cop in my HC so.

He's really good with numbers because the way he got to where he was was doing numbers for drug cartels (this man has an arrest record) and he is very, very good with taxes. So if he wasn't watching Allegra having seen her memories he threatens to look up her tax numbers. ("Are you threatening to kick my ass?" "No. I'll look at your tax returns")

WITH YELENA.

He tends to go to Yelena first to share triumphs and tribulations about anything he's learned or discovered. This also means she gets to deal with any "Sentry" moments. This varies from dealing with his "hey I did a cool thing" to his delusions of grandeur "It's because I'm fucking amazing and the rest of you fucking suck."

It's because he catches himself around her though, and he does, and he apologizes. To her credit she's set some pretty good boundaries with him and he respects that. They have a 15 minute rule if he's having a bad day or he recognizes he wants to share something mental health related.

He's turned her on to playing Mario Kart and gotten Red Guardian to play with them. he will never admit to either of them that he considers them the closest thing to family because he has no idea what their relationship is he just knows he is happy around him.

He has also turned her on to ASMR because it helps *him* fall asleep. She'll never admit some of it freaks her out but he swears it helps so she just humors him because okay sure watching videos of people pretending to brush your hair works and maybe it kind of does she won't admit it.

WITH ALEXEI

he's getting him to teach him Russian.

Despite having done every drug under the sun, he doesn't drink which confuses the hell out of the Red Guardian but having done quite a few drugs himself (as well as drinking), Alexei is probably his biggest sobriety partner. Sometimes people will find the two of them deep in conversation. If Yelena needs a break she'll send him to Alexei and Alexei will just grab him a little like scruffing a kitten with a "C'mon boy. You're talking to me now."

They go for drives. .

He does Alexei's taxes (or at least he tried. Then he determined he's going to prison because he never filed. so he'd go to prison if he tried to turn them in.)

The two of them talk communism with Alexei trying to convert him to a comrade. Bob doesn't care but he humors him.

WITH AVA

bob took Ava's remarks about "not having a childhood" really seriously so he started sending her cartoon recaps because he's obsessed with youtube. Stuff like Rugrats, Cartoon Network, Pokemon. When she asked him "Why" he lied and said that "It might be helpful in training because reading over what kids like might help with dealing with kids". She told him to stop - until she asked for more stuff about anime like pokemon. Just - stop spamming her email.

She's the one who teaches him meditation. His "bad" days are his and he doesn't show them to anybody but the one time she caught him - a rarity - she's the only person that ever has- she taught him meditation to keep himself grounded. it helps. he's grateful.

Sometimes Bob has a tendency to get annoyed with people who his friends are pissed off at which translated to a passed off hatred of Hank Pym, Scott Lang, and Hope Van Dyne. Ava was watching them on TV and just kind of rolled her eyes at them on TV making a casual remark about "stolen valor" for her father's work and Doctor Foster's. Bob's remark, "Do you want them here? I mean I'll hold them down, Drag um down even and lock them *down there* and you can just. Do what you want. Or I will. It'll be great!" No? Okay no. No I mean...bad idea. Yeah. Sorry sometimes...Just slips out." Sorry.

WITH WALKER

He does make the Gen Z/Gen Alpha lingo jokes at John mostly about not having Aura or Rizz. But he'll point out that he was "made in Ohio" technically and when John asks if he's okay or having an episode Bob will feel bad but he keeps up with the joke so he'll say yeah. It's just too good a joke to not keep going.

The whole reason that Bob has done any kind of training at all is because of John and he's gotten really good at it. He can actually put together a gun together and take it apart and put it together. He just hasn't shared he can do it with his mind *really really fast*.

He doesn't "like" the guy but he'll defend the guy. He doesn't like what he represents and he likes what they do to soldiers even less. When he was dealing, vets were some of his customers so whenever anybody from the government shows up he makes sure to dress extra nice and just sit and stare really really quietly trying to be as creepy as possible.

When they get close to either Bucky or John he doubles up on the staring and when Allegra gets close to either of them he'll just move up and sit even closer staring at her directly tilting his head even more animal like before smiling. Then when people afterwards ask him why he behaves like that he shrugs "I don't care what people think about me. They treat you guys like trained dogs. You're not. I don't give a shit what people think. They don't get to treat you like that."

He's not going to bend the shield back into place ever but he did buy Taco bell tacos and buy a big card that said "Have a smashing birthday" and he crossed that out and wrote "I'm sorry I smashed your shield."

WITH BUCKY

He's put together about Sam and Bucky falling out and he is trying to figure out how to approach the idea that Bucky should break away from Allegra. Or they should strike out on their own. Or maybe just disband. He's not sure how to play things yet.

He just doesn't want them to leave him and he doesn't want to leave them either because he's worried that if they leave then he'll snap and he feels like Bucky gets it but he can't talk to Bucky about that so he just kind of haunts him and tires to engage him in conversation because he's seen what Bucky went through and he knows that he might get it.

"You should get a pet." "What?" "You should get a pet man. I'm not saying everybody I'm saying. You. Like I know you've got this tough guy persona to maintain but you just strike me as a dude who needs like, a pet." "...Maybe you need a pet." "I've got a pet." "...No no! It's not you guys! wait that didn't come out right. Hang on it's um. hang on. It's a virtual pet! See it's a tamagotchi! I feed it, play with it. I had a dog growing up...I'm gonna go now."

Bucky doesn't scare him but the void knows that Yelena has to be the first to die, Bucky has to be the second. Yelena is the barrier preventing it's return to power, Bucky is the one who would organize people to stand against it.

WITH ALLEGRA

Allegra is a huge trigger for him. She avoids looking at him and tries to fake mother him whenever she sees him. It's hard to turn off that need for approval but he likes how people stand beside him.

That turns on that protective sense of "I've got to protect these people these people suck and don't want what's best for everybody otherwise they won't try and divide this whole team thing because something bad is coming."

If I really could control this I should just kill her. - is a regular thought Bob's had and it's the one thing he wishes all three of his personalities could agree on.

He is banned from seeing her but he still shows up anyway. It's gotten to the point where people have taken her aside and said point blank "Look. You need to stop asking to see him." "Why? He's-" "It's for your safety. We don't know what to do with him. And we don't know what he'll do to you. He doesn't like you. At all. He likes us. and he might hurt you."

To which Bob would respond, "No no, I wouldn't do thaaaat- I'd just y'know. Remind her. about her dad."

And he just stares.

"But that's private right?"

and he just spends the rest of the day alone and Allegra leaves.

Anyway those are my headcanons.

[psychoticallycelestial]

PART-I

I think some of y'all don't really get the concept of LOA/Pure Consciousness. Firstly, i will not be entertaining any messages asking me to manifest stuff for them or induce pure consciousness for them. Bloggers won't because they don't owe you anything, you came here on your own, this is something as easy as breathing and they have a life of their own outside of Tumblr. Bloggers help you, introduce new methods to make it easy for you, to help you in every way possible, yet some people are like Can't you induce the void for me? , Like seriously, NO, this is something so easy, you are making yourself the problem, the mountain is YOU, not bloggers, not loa coaches , no one but YOU. Y'all keep asking the same questions every single time, it is one simple thing A LAW NEVER FAILS.

What you believe is what comes true, as simple as that.

Believe and get it, SIMPLE.

No one will reveal their personal success stories just because you want proof for LOA/Void State. Why do you even want proof? Either you believe it or you don't. Asking for proof simply implies that you're uncertain and you don't believe it. If you're losing faith in LOA, then it's your fault, not anybody else's. Why would you bully people to reveal their success stories, when it is a matter of personal choice.

Manifesting is simple and easy af, you're overcomplicating and it is your fault, stop begging someone else to dedicate their whole lives to manifest for YOU, if you think that manifesting stuff for others is possible, then you can also believe that you get what you want in a millisecond too.

Everything is the same, LOA is the same as before, Shifting is and Void state too.

If you wanna be on Tumblr 24/7, sure then go ahead. You're not even trying, let alone doing. You lose belief after one try. Law of assumption doesn't work like that.

You cant blame bloggers and people with success stories for not being humanly enough, for not being empathetic, and compassionate to help you but know this one thing, they're not here to babysit you with stuff, and crying about it wont get you anywhere, its basic soul nature and you're reaffirming failure, it is your reality, your consciousness and hence your damn fault.

I've been in the community for xyz years and still havent got results, so what gurl? I was in here for 4 years, when i was at my worst, i was mentally, emotionally and physically abused and now? im in my villa with my man by my side, and it is because i didnt give up. So, stop calling bloggers and people with success, liars and people with no humanity.

Loa bloggers aren't a place where you dump your trauma and ask them to help you improve. Even if you do ask for help, it is their choice whether to help you or not. They did not sign up for this and never will, they have time and they share their experience with you, that's it.

You need to be independent of everything, trust yourself and your innerman, if you do it, you wont need anything and you'd manifest/shift easily.

You have more than enough info on this topic and it is your choice to do whatever with it, you cant blame other people just because you obsess over desires and reaffirm failure. Bloggers aren't here to baby you like a toddler and help you walk, they can give you advice, introduce methods but you gotta gather the strength and trust yourself.

Now, please don't go into people's asks, asking how do i trust myself? Can I? Why? Is it real? Please give me some more advice, i need some more help, i cant do this anymore and stuff like that

And yes, people are selfish, welcome to the real world love, but loa bloggers are good enough to provide you with help, with advice and methods consistently without asking for anything in return.

You wake up the same way everyday because you dont fuckin' trust yourself, your consciousness, and the void state is realistic af, people entered it as kids very often and forgot.

Seriously, nobody cares and nobody will care, you're on your own in this community, in this world, this is harsh, but real, manifesting is so easy you never needed anything to do it, but yeah, you're here rn, wavering and FORCING stuff instead of Relaxing and Letting it go.

Thank you and i will not answer the same questions again and again in my DM, the law never fails, you need to stop bullshitting with bloggers and actually do stuff, like assuming, persisting etc.

No one other than you can get it done for you, no matter how much you cry about it and whine. Bloggers, Methods, Subliminals aid you, they are not the main and the easiest way to get there. It's all about what you believe and it always has been.

-Valentina

[apple-onigiri]

grabs you

you ever think about the island, aura

you ever think about how loop never got the chance to even GET memory of memories

you ever just CRY

sighs and takes a drag out of my cigarette. yeah..... yeah i do.....

there are, in my opinion, two paths you could take with loop here, if we're talking post-game where they still. um. you know. exist:

the first is that they, in accordance with their lack of memory of memories, maintain their lack of ability to remember anything about the island. you're too different. you cannot go back, be it the island or being a siffrin. do not pass go, do not collect 200 [REDACTED] coins. hope that acidic and sour envy tastes good with a side of bitter longing. well, at least you didn't have to be stuck motionless in front of the king as he crushed bonbon to death! silver linings i guess

the second path is loop being able to recall the island due to being hooked up to the universe directly or whatever. and here we have what i will call the fluff variant and the angst variant

the fluff variant is following the previous post i made that i must assume your ask was fueled by, with siffrin also being able to, if not remember, retain the memories of the island and all that concerns it. they both can't share with anyone else because no one will remember but they can share with each other. talk through the night about the afterimages in their minds. two lone ships at sea with no one else in sight, like binary stars with nothing but lightyears of void around them

the angst variant is throwing that post out of the window and taking up the philosophy of an ask metalpipefalling sent me a while back about loop remembering the island but not siffrin, unable to share and being, for once, the special one between them, bestowed with memories you can't externalize. with siffrin unable to let his longing rest because if loop remembers then maybe, just maybe, it's possible for him to remember too! (it isn't.)

anywayyyy!! o(*^o^*)o hope i made it worse. love and light

[luigilore]

"out in public and only strangers are around: PDA off the charts bc who cares!! but still very mindful and nothing too over-the-top. maybe an occasional ass tap/squeeze if no one is around. but again, always touching you in some way. i imagine if you’re strolling through a store with him, always holding your hand or standing behind you if one of you has to pick something up to look at it."

You bringing Luigi at Sephora he's bored out of his mind, he holds some of your fingers as he stares into the void, looking around him lost in his own thoughts then asks you every 5 min "Did you find what you're looking for?" and ud be like no, I'm just looking around, knowing he's annoyed and bored out of his mind. Occasionaly he'd touch some products and get random cream squirting on his Bali t-shirt and he'd have to clean it up with tissue then complain how the tissue is so thin and low quality and ud tell him maybe you shouldn't touch things for a while... maybe the problem is you. And he'd sigh a little and play with your hand in the meantime like a child, then at some point give you his credit card and we'd argue together in the store, u telling him to stop that doing that shit, and he'd pout and say "I just wanna treat my girl" and ud still refuse but he'd take your cart when you're not looking then go pay for it. that's the vibe he gives me

AHHH OMFG obsessed with this so bad lmfao like giggling at lu impatiently wandering around sephora and judging how expensive everything is (while still buying u whatever u want!) i wrote this a while ago abt going to sephora w lu and this reminds me of that😭😭😭 also like the idea of him judging u a bit like wdym u just came in here to browse where’s ur itemized list…

[lokigodofaces]

This is actually a really interesting way of thinking of it. Thank you for the clarification of C-PTSD because lots of people forget that. And also I should apologize because I didn't state that I figured he had it as well. To be perfectly honest, I assume that most characters in the MCU have C-PTSD or PTSD, depending on the character and their experiences. They've all been through so much stuff that it makes sense to me that they have it.

But bringing up the mood swing part of C-PTSD is interesting. Because it could theoretically be mood swings caused by C-PTSD. I forget that mood swings are a symptom. And I do think the mood swings are important. Bob does talk about highs and lows, and we see them. Obviously the Void was a low, but Sentry seems to be a high, or if we use bipolar terms, a manic episode. I don't have bipolar so I can't speak for anyone, but I've heard that mania can make someone feel unstoppable, and Bob referred to himself as a god to Val. I see tons of emphasis on Void (which is fair, it was cool to see visually and it was very relatable to many people with depression particularly but I've seen posts from people with all sorts of diagnoses relating to it) but as Sentry that was mania/opposite end of the mood swing/whatever you want to call it. So yeah, C-PTSD also makes sense.

Also I Googled it because I got curious, but it isn't uncommon to have both bipolar and C-PTSD. It was a quick search, I didn't look into the specifics of if there's a causational relationship, correlational, or if it just depends. But it's a well established connection it seems. Bipolar also has a genetic factor and when Val talked about the bad stuff in Bob's life she did mention his mother's mental illness without going into anymore detail. So it could be bipolar, could also be C-PTSD since she also was in that abusive environment.

Also, I think the layman's ways we describe bipolar disorder can also describe lots of other diagnoses. Bob's words about having good times and bad times technically speaking describe every disability and mental illness. Everyone has good days and bad days due to different factors affecting each day. For example, ADHD is really a disregulation of dopamine, so when there is high dopamine during hyperfixations there will be a very distinct difference to when there is low dopamine. I've seen lots of people with ADHD say they feel very different during these extremes of "highs" and "lows," and while I haven't been diagnosed I do suspect I have ADHD and can relate hardcore. Constant ups and downs. Unfortunately lots of women are undiagnosed with ADHD, and there have been lots of cases where girls were misdiagnosed and later found out they had ADHD in adulthood and not the diagnosis they were given. One of the very common misdiagnoses is bipolar. Both bipolar and ADHD have "highs" and "lows," but for different reasons. So while Bob's language does sound like bipolar, and I know that many bipolar people have appreciated his character, you could use that line to consider other diagnoses, such as C-PTSD.

Also I tried to see what Bob is diagnosed with in the comics because I assume the movie would try to base itself off of that. But it seems like it's kind of inconsistent/not well defined based off the two minute search (correct me if I'm wrong Sentry fans). The most common answer though was schizophrenia. I don't personally know a lot about schizophrenia so I really can't comment on that. I don't know if the movie version or the comics for that matter really demonstrate schizophrenia or not. Don't ask me. Someone else can talk about that if they know more.

Is there any therapist that watched Thunderbolts that can tell me more about Bob? I found his character to be very intriguing and the acting blew me away. I'm just wondering for the sake of fic writing/meta writing. The way he described it it sounds like he might have bipolar disorder? He told Yelena he feels lots of highs and lows which to me sounded like bipolar. And I felt like the "void" as Bob called it was not so much an alter as in DID but more of a personification of depression and trauma, if that makes sense. It seemed more like a way for the movie to portray how damaging depression and trauma is and how untreated it can kind of take over. Which makes sense to me because the movie was about how you can't handle mental health problems on your own and that you need to seek support and the "void" disappeared when Bob realized he wasn't alone. So it seems like it's bipolar to me and that the "void" is just how they were best able to show it. But if anyone has any actual knowledge on psychology and mental health, please let me know your thoughts. Or if anyone has found a good YouTube video or post on here or something, reblog with the link. I just think that understanding this does impact how you interpret not just Bob but the entire theme of the movie, so I would really appreciate hearing from someone more qualified than myself.

[cent-scratchnsniff]

hoptal

[voidshrub]

“‘S normal for Soldier to be the first one to wake up, but he usually sends Scout over to wake me - 'n this one was really early, even for ol' Jane. He held out his helmet to me, upside down - had a little gray fox cub in it!”

Hello hi I am Not Dead!! Finals are just kicking my ass at the moment! Despite that, I really wanted to draw this post made by my favorite Sniper blog I’ve had the delight to interact with, @leadshootingcupid !!! (GIVE HIM A FOLLOW ASK HIM AND HIS TEAM QUESTIONS RAAAAAAH GENUINELY THE MOST IN-CHARACTER ASKBLOGS I’VE SEEN!!!) Had a BLAST drawing this and actually doing a background for once! Now to never do it again-

[shadowed-yet-vibrant]

Today, our firm hosted a CLE about mental health and substance abuse in the legal profession. It was a well-done presentation, trying to fit the breadth of a decades-long systemic issue into a neat PowerPoint while keeping it at only one hour long (not .1 more or .1 less).

It feels like a pointless uphill battle. You're asked to make 2100 billed hours per year (or more). As a junior associate you need to achieve perfection - but you don't even know where the standard is, not yet, you're too new and you're trying your best. You're asked to attend non-billable CLEs and networking events and participate in bar associations and look ahead to business development and go out with your colleagues and socialize with clients in non-billable events and. and. and. You know who at the firm is an alcoholic - maybe you are too. You laugh at jokes about online gambling - you know the partner who gambled away his last paycheck, and he's laughing. You know who's filing for their third divorce. Who's about to lose the kids. Who missed their son's state-level championship game because they had a call with a prospective client (he won't forget, he'll never forget).

But they ask you to take care of your mental health (but you're chastised if you don't respond to the 1am email from the partner within 10 minutes). But they ask you to take care of your physical health (but there's a beer fridge in the break room). But they ask you to practice well-being (but they expect you on-call 24/7). But they tell you to get enough sleep (but the junior associate got less than an hour because of the partner's poor planning). But you need to look out for signs of mental health concerns in your peers (but you're also thinking about dying).

I could write a novel on this. Many attorneys have written similar ramblings, articles, studies, surveys, so I don't really need to. It's a problem. But there's been no real attempts at change. Sure, yes, there's awareness. But billable demands keep rising. So do standards in not just federal court, but state court. But you're at a firm that pays so well you'll endure whatever demands they put on you because that's just too damn good to lose. But you feel like shit every day. But- hey, well, the partner has been doing this for 45 years now. Why can't you?

[secriden]

I am truly finding your descent into the utter madness that is joongdunk very entertaining. Probably because I get you. I only discovered them a few months ago and now I am swimming deep in the trenches of their lore. And I am loving every moment of it. I want to share my joy with you because you seem to be having a great time too.

I am the anon who sent you the mv and short film ask btw. I'm sorry I forgot to mention the horror aspect of the short film.

I fell in love with joongdunk dynamics, both on and off screen. On screen, I love the way they portray their characters. Off screen, I love the way they interact with each other. They are just so hilarious and wholesome. I guess my favorite part about them is how Joong feels comfortable enough to completely let go and be his most unhinged and crazy self with Dunk, and Dunk just accepts all of it without batting an eyelash. I love that while all of their antics are absolutely hilarious, you can also clearly feel the genuine love and respect they have for each other.

Sorry for the long rant, I truly am deep in my joongdunk feels lately. Feel free to reach out if you want to discuss more joongdunk. And thank you for sharing your journey.

Hello!! Its lovely to meet you and yes thank you for both feeding and empathising with my tumble into the joongdunk abyss xD

Oh no worries! I mean I figured it had to be horror themed given it was a Halloween project but I just did not expect them to go that hard with it. It has all the hallmarks I associate with the (very few) Asian horror movies I've seen in my life and there's something especially terrifying about them (vs Western horror films). Which speaks to the genuine effort that was poured into that pet project but also its nice to see them doing something outside of the college romance zone since that's all I've seen from them so far.

Ohhhh I love that insight about Joong feeling like he can be completely himself around Dunk. *O* I mean the man does seem to have the most minimal filter on the best of days and Dunk literally is never ever phased by any of it. Its amazing to watch in the best way.

Also its peak comedy when Dunk does something to make Joong speechless. Usually its also something that makes me think, "guys, you're on camera right now?? shouldn't this be in private??" like the time he got (fake?) mad about Joong sleeping over at a friend's house and got all pouty about not being informed/implied that he thought he thought Joong was only sleeping at his house. xD And Joong was left just like O 3O and not really knowing what to say. xD

I'm still very far from getting a sense of their personalties and characters. I can tell they're incredibly affectionate (as individuals) and that Joong at least is very physically expressive about it. But I want to watch some of their longer interviews to get a feel for what they're actually like, y'know?? Any recommendations?

Also omgosh please do not feel sorry, this is blanket permission to rant at me about JoongDunk and their shows and their projects or whatever else is tangentially related to them. I'm already bought in. xD I was on the fence until I watched SIMM and despite its flaws it still made me feel ALL THE FEELS and most of that was just the sheer intensity that JoongDunk brought to their on-screen moments.

[svtskneecaps]

ok which one of you fuckers is going to write the sky high au where cellbit is warren peace and roier is layla williams or am i the only one here who's that flavor of crazy

[crossbackpoke-check]

Looks like that video is about a month & a half after The Trade and trevors broken ankle 😣

re: this video… anon 😭 i had suspicions but it is so much worse to have them confirmed that really was like. trevor’s first Public Appearance without jamie AND post-broken ankle which is traumatic in and of itself no wonder every beat reporter was like ‘oh yeah trevor’s just devastated’

wouldn’t you be miserable too if your best friend just got traded and your body betrayed you and what if it was maybe all your fault!!!

[astorichan]

…void lore?

I AM GLAD YOU ASKED

No, the thing is just that I'm a huge fan of Void lore. I began my fanfic journey extensively worldbuilding Void in the HK universe. Dreams is entirely a field for me to work in all of my Void lore. (Your earlier tag gave me the inspo to draft the dialogue for the Void chapter BTW, thank you sm) Dreams was created as a Void lore playground. I give the Void a big role to play in every fic. I add Void lore to everything I write, almost. I scream at the mention of other people's Void lore. Void mention was nearly enough to drag me back into playing WoW again. I'm the Void lore guy.

Void lore Void lore Void lore Void lore---

(/lh)