#I hope this is enough to go on for a little bit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lilirae00 · 2 days ago

Text

The Lilac Effect

Summary: One-shot: Paige really loves when Azzi’s toenails are painted.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: light sexual content and slight foot fetish, but nothing crazy. Paige just really loves every part of Azzi.

a/n: Ok this one was a request and it really challenged me bc I didn't like what I came up with. I wrote and rewrote so many parts of this until finally being satisfied. I hope this isn't too crazy! Let me know your thoughts.

Masterlist

—

It was the second full day of their summer cruise, somewhere off the Florida coast. The sun was relentless, baking the ship’s top deck into a shimmering oven, but Paige and Azzi had staked out a quiet corner by the pool, towels laid out on adjoining loungers.

Paige had one arm propped behind her head, sunglasses low on her nose, pretending to read one of Azzi’s many books she brought on the trip. But she wasn’t really reading.

She was watching Azzi.

Azzi was on her stomach, bikini strings tied in a neat bow behind her neck, her skin gleaming with sunscreen. Her legs were bent at the knees, feet in the air, ankles crossed lazily.

Paige’s gaze should have stayed higher—Azzi’s back was gorgeous, all sculpted lines and golden brown skin. But her eyes kept drifting down.

To her feet.

Azzi’s toenails were painted this deep, glossy purple. It was almost black in the shade but glowed like amethyst where the sun hit.

Paige licked her lips unconsciously. She didn’t know why it did something to her—just Azzi’s feet, specifically. She wasn’t into feet in general. Hell, if anyone else had their crusty toes out she’d look away. But Azzi’s?

Azzi’s were perfect.

Paige’s face got hot even thinking it.

Azzi glanced over her shoulder, sensing the stare. She grinned, eyebrows lifting playfully over her big sunglasses. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Paige cleared her throat, snapping the book closed a little too hard. “Nothing.”

Azzi hummed knowingly, turning fully onto her side so they faced each other. Her feet swung over, toes brushing Paige’s shin deliberately. “Paige.”

Paige’s gaze flickered down again. She watched the dark purple catch the light. Her stomach flipped stupidly. She forced herself to look back up at Azzi’s face but she knew she was blushing.

Azzi’s grin widened. “What?”

Paige huffed and muttered, “Your toenails look cute, okay?”

Azzi blinked. Then her whole face softened. She reached out, tracing a teasing fingertip along Paige’s jaw. “Thanks, baby.”

Paige swallowed hard, pressing her cheek into Azzi’s fingers like a cat. She couldn’t even play it cool. “Yeah.”

Azzi giggled, leaning over to kiss her. It was slow, sweet, the kind of kiss you had on vacation when time didn’t exist. Paige’s hand came up automatically to cup Azzi’s neck, thumb brushing over the damp hairs at her nape.

They pulled apart just enough to catch their breath, foreheads pressed together, sunglasses bumping.

Azzi bit her lip, still smiling. “You’re weird.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

Azzi’s foot flexed, nudging Paige’s calf. “You sure you don’t want me to paint them another color? Just for you?”

Paige sputtered, scandalized. “Azzi.”

Azzi cackled, settling back onto her lounger, clearly delighted. “Just say the word.”

Paige tried to go back to her book, but she was grinning so hard her cheeks hurt. She stole glances all afternoon, her heart thudding every time Azzi’s toes wiggled in the sun, purple and perfect.

And she thought, God help me, I’m so screwed.

—

Summer didn’t last forever—even for them. A week after the cruise ended, they were back home in Storrs for summer classes and workouts.

They didn’t get many nights off during summer training, so when they did, they made the most of it.

Dinner plans with friends meant getting ready together—which, for them, usually meant showering together in the cramped apartment bathroom, pretending they were helping each other save time.

Steam clung to every surface. Water roared from the too-small showerhead, hitting Azzi’s shoulders and rolling down her back. Paige’s chest was pressed to her, arms draped over her waist, lazy and heavy in that way she got when she was content.

Azzi tipped her head back under the spray, closing her eyes, soap suds sliding down smooth skin. Paige watched her like she was studying for a test.

She tried not to stare too obviously when Azzi shifted her weight, one foot sliding forward on the slick tile. That perfect line of her calf, ankle, and—

—those bright pink toes.

Paige’s mouth went dry. She swallowed, eyes dropping before she could stop herself.

Azzi cracked one eye open. “Mmm? What are you looking at down there?”

Paige jerked her gaze back up, face heating instantly. “Nothing. Just…like the color. That’s all.”

Azzi’s lips curved slow and knowing, even as the water poured over her. She turned in Paige’s arms, chest to chest, grabbing her jaw and tilting it up so they were nose to nose.

“That all you love right now?” she murmured, voice husky.

Paige swallowed hard, fingers flexing on Azzi’s hips. She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Azzi’s grin turned devilish. She kissed Paige hard, pressing her back against the slick tile, hands braced on either side of her head. Water sprayed over their shoulders, plastering hair to their skin. Paige whimpered against her mouth, melting immediately, pulling Azzi flush against her.

They kissed like they were starving, like weeks of being around each other constantly had somehow made them needier, not satisfied. Always touching, always close—and somehow it was never enough.

When Azzi finally pulled back, they were both panting, water still pouring down on them.

Paige’s eyes were blown wide. Her voice was wrecked when she finally managed, “We’re gonna be late.”

Azzi only grinned, brushing her nose over Paige’s. “We’ll blame it on the hot water running out.”

Paige snorted, but it was breathless. She let her hands slide lower over Azzi’s back, pressing a final quick kiss to her lips before pushing her gently under the spray.

“Wash up, superstar,” Paige ordered, trying to sound firm but her voice cracked anyway.

Azzi hummed, satisfied, turning away with a flick of her wet hair. “Yes, Captain.”

Paige closed her eyes for a second, trying to get her heart rate under control—though her gaze dropped again, just once, to those bright pink toes.

And she bit back a groan.

—

A few days later, Paige’s apartment was a mess of people and leftover takeout boxes, shoes kicked into piles by the door.

The team had streamed in after practice, sweaty and exhausted but happy to have nowhere else to be. Paige’s couch and floor were crowded with teammates sprawled out, a Netflix movie playing with the volume low.

Paige was slumped in one corner of the couch, legs spread comfortably. Azzi sat sideways between them, knees bent, feet tucked against Paige’s thigh. Paige’s hand rested idly on Azzi’s shin, fingers tapping to the credits music, pretending she was watching the screen but really she was just tracing the smooth line of Azzi’s leg.

Azzi’s toenails were freshly painted a glossy coral, catching the glow of the string lights Paige had looped around the TV. Paige’s gaze kept dropping, her mouth going dry every time Azzi flexed her foot or wiggled her toes absently.

The conversation buzzed around them, soft and easy. Caroline sat cross-legged on the floor, tossing popcorn into Nika’s open mouth. She paused mid-throw to glance at Azzi’s feet.

“Oh my god, Az, what color is that? It’s so pretty. Can I borrow it?”

Azzi blinked and laughed. “Yeah, it’s in my bag. Help yourself.”

But Paige’s fingers had gone rigid on her leg. Azzi felt the change immediately, glancing down at Paige’s hand gripping just a little too tightly. She cocked an eyebrow, smirking as she twisted to face her.

“Paige?” she murmured quietly, voice low enough no one else could hear. “What’s wrong?”

Paige’s jaw worked. “Nothing.”

Azzi tilted her head knowingly, letting a slow, mischievous smile bloom. She ran her thumb along Paige’s knuckles until the grip loosened, teasing. “You sure?”

Paige shot her a look that was half embarrassed, half exasperated.

“Positive.”

Azzi’s grin softened, a tiny huff of a laugh escaping. She pressed her nose against Paige’s cheek, whispering warmly. “Mhm. Okay.”

On the floor, Caroline squinted at them. “Jesus. Can you two stop communicating telepathically? It’s gross.”

Nika snorted. “Please, let them be in love. It’s the only entertainment this movie’s giving me.”

Paige made a face, throwing a throw pillow at them without ever letting go of Azzi. Azzi giggled, burying her face in Paige’s shoulder, her warm breath hot on Paige’s neck. Paige felt her cheeks flush but didn’t move her hand from Azzi’s leg.

The team laughed and settled back into the movie, but Azzi kept stealing tiny glances at Paige, eyes full of quiet amusement. She didn’t push. She just stayed close, foot tapping lightly against Paige’s thigh every so often.

And after the movie’s ending credits rolled, the room had gone softer and sleepier, teammates drifting off or scrolling their phones. Azzi leaned in close to Paige’s ear, voice teasing and sweet as she traced slow circles on Paige’s wrist with her thumb.

“Caroline can borrow the polish,” she murmured, so low only Paige could hear. “But not my feet. Those are yours.”

Paige swallowed hard, her eyes flicking down once more before meeting Azzi’s, heat and affection warring in her flushed expression. She didn’t say anything, but she squeezed Azzi’s leg, thumb brushing over bone and tendon and smooth, warm skin like she’d never want to stop.

—

The next time Paige really noticed Azzi’s toes was a couple of weeks later. It wasn’t some big planned moment or special occasion—just them, alone in Paige’s tiny bedroom, kissing like they were making up for every second they’d ever spent apart.

Azzi giggled against Paige’s mouth as they stumbled backward onto Paige’s bed, half-naked, shirts tossed somewhere near the door. The blinds were half-drawn but neither of them cared.

It was the same bed they’d snuck into since the beginning of their time at UConn, the same creaky mattress that everyone in the apartment pretended not to hear.

Paige’s fingers hooked in the waistband of Azzi’s underwear, tugging them slow. She kissed her way down Azzi’s belly, pressing her open-mouthed and messy against warm skin. Azzi’s hands threaded through her hair, tugging with a whine.

“Paige,” she breathed. Just her name, but it was enough to make Paige shiver.

When she got the underwear to Azzi’s ankles, she paused. Her breath hitched. Azzi’s toenails were painted a new color. A creamy, deep red that stood out bright against her brown skin, glossy under the cheap dorm light.

Paige stared. For a half-second too long.

Azzi huffed, cheeks pink but eyes glittering with mischief. “Paige. Madison. Bueckers,” she drawled, voice low and teasing.

Paige jerked her eyes up, red creeping into her neck. “Shut up.”

Azzi smirked, flexing her toes on purpose. “Since when do you have a foot fetish?”

Paige groaned, burying her face in Azzi’s thigh. “I don’t!” The words were muffled, desperate. “It’s not—It’s not a thing, okay? I just think they’re really fucking cute. You’re really fucking cute.”

Azzi barked a delighted laugh, her fingers tugging Paige’s hair to make her look up. “You’re ridiculous.”

Paige scowled, but it was hopeless with her face bright red. “Shut up,” she mumbled again, before pressing a kiss to the inside of Azzi’s knee.

Azzi’s voice went low, playful but warm. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”

Paige swallowed hard, eyes dropping again. “It’s because they’re yours. It’s stupid, but…even the smallest parts of you make me lose it.”

Azzi’s heart skipped. Her fingers relaxed in Paige’s hair.

She tugged gently, pulling Paige back up on top of her. Their lips met, slower this time, but with no less heat. Azzi’s thighs parted, welcoming Paige’s weight.

She brushed her thumb over Paige’s cheek. “Even if it is a thing for you…that’s okay. I want you to have every part of me. I’m all yours.”

Paige let out a broken sound, relief mixing with need. She kissed Azzi deeper, their mouths sliding wet and slow.

Azzi made a satisfied noise when Paige’s fingers pressed between them. Her breath came faster, eyes locked on Paige’s with hungry focus.

“Yeah,” she breathed, voice low and wrecked. “Just like that. Touch me like you mean it.”

Paige huffed a laugh against her mouth, but her hands didn’t waver. “God, you’re impossible.”

Azzi grinned, her hips rolling into Paige’s palm, the teasing in her voice falling away to raw need. “And you can’t get enough.”

Paige didn’t even try to argue.

She just showed her.

—

The next day was slow and warm, the kind of lazy summer afternoon where campus was half-empty and quiet except for the buzz of athletes sauntering around.

Paige was sprawled on her stomach across her bed, propped on her elbows, textbook open in front of her but only half the words sinking in. She was idly chewing her pen cap, brow furrowed in pretend concentration, when her room door swung open without a knock.

Azzi stepped inside like she owned the place. Her hair was up in a hasty bun, sunglasses perched on her head, and she was holding a little paper bag, fingers twisting it like she was trying to hide how excited she was.

Paige didn’t even glance up at first, muttering around her pen, “Hey baby.” She turned her head just enough for Azzi to lean down and steal a soft, slow kiss that made Paige’s eyes flutter shut.

When they parted, Paige noticed the bag dangling from Azzi’s hand. She raised an eyebrow, curiosity overtaking homework instantly. “Whatcha got there?”

Azzi tried to look nonchalant, but her grin gave her away. She climbed onto the bed beside Paige, dropping the bag onto the comforter between them. “Something for you.”

Paige tossed her pen aside like it was on fire, rolling onto her side to face Azzi fully. “For me?” Her voice went soft, teasing. “God, you’re cute. What is it?”

Azzi bit her lip, then tipped the bag over so its contents spilled onto the bedspread in a clatter of tiny glass bottles. Nail polishes in every shade—creamy lilacs, bright corals, shy pinks, even deep ocean blues.

Paige blinked, mouth opening a little. “Az…”

Azzi smirked but there was a shy blush at the tops of her ears. “Pick a color. And help me paint them.”

Paige’s heart thumped painfully in her chest, heat flooding her cheeks. “You’re serious?”

Azzi shrugged like it was nothing, but her eyes were soft and bright. “You love them, right? You can have ‘em. Every weird little part of me. If you want to touch them or stare at them or paint them or whatever—go for it.”

Paige swallowed, overwhelmed by the sweetness of it. She reached out and tugged Azzi closer by the wrist, pressing their foreheads together. “You’re gonna kill me. You know that?”

Azzi’s answering smile was lazy, smug. “Pick a color, Bueckers.”

Paige sighed dramatically but started rummaging through the pile, pretending to be picky even though her fingers kept hovering over one bottle in particular. She finally held up the lilac purple, eyes shining.

Azzi rolled her eyes fondly. “Of course you picked that.”

Paige’s voice dropped, softer. “It’s my favorite.”

Azzi leaned back, slipping off her slides and wiggling her bare feet at Paige in invitation. Paige caught her breath, fingers trembling slightly as she took the bottle and twisted it open.

Azzi watched her carefully, something fond and heated in her gaze. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Paige exhaled slow, a grin spreading across her face. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

And she started to paint them, careful, reverent, like she was learning Azzi all over again.

—

The polish on Azzi’s toes had long since dried by the time they ended up in bed. Now the little bottles were scattered and forgotten on the desk, and Paige and Azzi were doing what they always did best.

They lay tangled together in Paige’s bed, the thin sheet barely covering them. Both were mostly naked beneath it—just warm skin and heat-slick limbs in the dusky glow of the lamp on the nightstand.

Azzi was half-asleep against Paige’s shoulder, one leg draped over her hip. Paige hadn’t said anything in a while, her fingers just moving lazily over Azzi’s side, tracing the curve of her ribs.

Then Paige’s hand stilled. She swallowed.

“Can I…see them?” Her voice was low, hesitant, almost shy.

Azzi blinked awake fully, blinking at her. “My toes?”

Paige’s face was already red, but she nodded.

Azzi smirked a little but didn’t tease her—this time. She shifted, slowly pushing the sheet down her body, exposing her bare legs and the freshly painted lilac polish Paige had so carefully applied earlier.

She wiggled her toes just slightly, like she was presenting them.

“Go on,” she said softly. “They’re all yours.”

Paige exhaled shakily, eyes going dark and hungry at once. She sat up slightly, one hand sliding reverently over Azzi’s shin, thumb brushing the arch of her foot before settling on her ankle.

Azzi felt the goosebumps rise on her own skin at how careful Paige was being. How her eyes went glassy and her breathing sped up, chest rising and falling in ragged pulls.

“You’re really…fuck,” Paige mumbled under her breath, cheeks flushed hot. She dragged her thumb over Azzi’s ankle bone, lingering.

Azzi’s grin softened, melting into something fond and warm. “God, look at you,” she whispered, voice gone husky. “You really like them, huh?”

Paige didn’t answer at first. She bent down and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the top of Azzi’s foot. Azzi felt it all the way in her chest. Paige kissed each toe carefully, her fingers tightening on Azzi’s ankle.

Azzi watched her closely, seeing how Paige’s skin flushed pink all the way to her ears, how her pupils were blown wide, how her breathing got so shallow it stuttered.

“Oh,” Azzi breathed, genuine surprise breaking through her teasing. “Baby…you’re really gone, huh?”

Paige’s only answer was another shaky kiss to her arch before she dragged her mouth up Azzi’s shin, leaving a trail of heat behind. Her hands traveled up the backs of Azzi’s thighs, pulling her closer, sheet crumpling beneath them.

Azzi let out a shuddering laugh that dissolved into a gasp when Paige’s lips found her hip, then her stomach. She squirmed, fingers threading in Paige’s hair.

“Told you,” Azzi managed when Paige finally came back up to kiss her properly, mouths sliding together in something messy and wanting. “Whatever you want. Always.”

Paige laughed wetly against her lips, eyes shining. “Love you.”

Azzi kissed her nose, then pressed their foreheads together, eyes fluttering shut. “Love you too. Freak.”

Paige snorted, rolling them gently so Azzi was pinned beneath her, both of them grinning breathlessly.

“Yeah,” Paige whispered, voice low and wrecked. “Yours.”

Azzi hummed, her fingers digging into Paige’s back, pulling her impossibly closer. “Damn right.”

And they stayed that way for a long time, trading slow, heated kisses, the world outside the tiny room disappearing entirely. Just them. Always them.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #azzi fudd #paige and azzi #paige bueckers #pazzi fics

357 notes · View notes

mickyschumacher · 1 day ago

Note

more sub Oscar pleaseeeeeee

[DEAR GOD!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: silverstone has left a sour taste in oscar's mouth and he wants you to get it out. or in which oscar decides to call in a favour.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minors dni), some fluff, sub!oscar, mentions of alcohol, oscar worshipping you, younger reader, praise kink (m/f receiving and giving), oral sex, eating out, fingering, squ*rting, p in v, unprotected sex (use protection plsssss), breeding kink, mutual and multiple orgasms, overstimulation, slight breastplay // poorly proof-read

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: oscar piastri x driver!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3.4k+

𝐀/𝐍: just had to post this bc i've been salivating over this so here you go! sorry for the wait honey! hope you like it as much as i liked it! also notice how i've done two silverstone pieces and they're both about oscar... am i jinxing him?

🏎️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | ⚽️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Oscar stood outside your hotel door in Monaco, swallowing the nerves he had built up. It had been two days after whatever had happened in Silverstone.

God, he didn't know what to do.

The emotions he had experienced in the past forty eight hours alone had him melting down. 'Iceman' they called him. Emotionless. Cold. He felt sorry for those who couldn't differentiate the trait of a sociopath and he who could regulate his emotions.

Oscar was angry initially. Fuming. He couldn't understand why he had even received the penalty. It was the only reason he had so desperately asked to switch on the radio. He was never desperate.

But after looking at the footage from various angles and drivers, he was inclined to agree. And although he might've argued ten seconds was still a little too harsh, it was over. What's done was done.

Yet... he couldn't get it out of his mind. No amount of exercise or mediation (as his mother so kindly provided) was helping. So he was calling in a favour.

Oscar sucked in a sharp breath, taking a step forward to knock on your door before stepping back. While he waited for you to answer, the dread immediately began filling him. Was this wrong? Would you even say yes?

This favour... he had incurred it after you had gotten a bit too carried away with the drinking when you had won your first race this year. To be honest, you still barely remembered the night. You drank, you danced, you cheered... and the next moment, you were waking up with Oscar dealing with your hungover-self in your apartment.

Embarrassed as hell, you had tried to get him out of your apartment as quick as you could, pushing him out, saying something along the lines of "I owe you."

Before Oscar could overthink any further, you opened your door, brows raised and lips parted. You definitely weren't expecting him.

"Morning," Oscar greeted, shifting on his feet awkwardly while he took in the little black sundress wrapped around your body. Not even wrapped, it clung to your body oh so nicely. Oh Christ.

You smiled softly. "Morning," you responded. "What's up?" You queried, leaning on the frame of your door.

Oscar pursed his lips. "Um, well, you know how you got shitfaced in Monaco a few weeks ago? Well–"

You sighed, leaving the door open as you retreated back into your home. "Thin ice, Oscar. Thin ice," you mumbled loudly, cheeks already burning at the memory. You didn't want to try and remember any of it.

Being hungover was hell enough. But after winning in Monaco and having the Oscar Piastri help you home... it was a new sort of purgatory. One you weren't willing to tread.

Being hungover wasn't even the problem.

The problem was Oscar and the way he looked at you.

You were a rookie driver. Three years younger than him. You had raced each other at different times before. You knew his sister well too. You had never even considered him as something more than a friend or co-worker until this year.

Being on the same grid meant seeing him everywhere. You had lost count of how many times the McLaren team had dragged you to help the boys with their social media. More times than that, you had caught him staring at you. Eyes soft yet dark, full of want. At first you thought you were imagining things. But when your publicist pulled you aside and asked why Oscar staring at you like he wanted to consume your very being, your beliefs had been confirmed.

Even worse, Oscar had gotten out of a long term relationship months ago. So with the way he looked at you, the last thing you wanted to be was a rebound. That's exactly what you needed. Be a young rebound co-worker for a leading potential World Champion. Not.

"Right, well," Oscar walked after you, closing the door behind him while he removed his shoes. "I... you said you owed me."

You looked at Oscar through your eyelashes, taking a seat next to your kitchen counter. You chewed on your lip, raising a brow. "You mean like a favour?"

Oscar nodded quietly, memorising the way you crossed your legs and looked at him, teeth grazing your plump lips. He blinked, shaking his head lightly. "Silverstone's killing me. I can't get my mind off it."

You tilted your head, leaning on the counter. "How am I supposed to fix it?"

Oscar's mouth opened but nothing came out. Fuck... he didn't know if he could actually do this. Not when you sat in front of him like this. Ready to devour him.

"I know you don't what to hear it but when you were drunk," he sighed at your groan. He stepped closer to you, invading your space. "When you were drunk," he repeated, "you said something and I think I need it." Right now. Tomorrow. Next week. He didn't want to put a time limit on it.

"Oscar, please," you closed your eyes, trying block out all the memories.

"You have to remember it if you keep stalling, ___," Oscar mumbled, brown eyes staring hard at you.

You swallowed thickly. It was the only part of Oscar bringing you home that you remembered. The reason you had been avoiding him in the paddock for weeks now.

Oscar breathed, inching closer to you. "You said you wanted to fuck me. Have me on my knees. Eat you out till you couldn't remember your name. Ride me until I begged you to stop. I need that."

You sucked in a sharp breath, visibly clenching your thighs together. Fuck. His voice was shaking. You did say that. You had said it because Oscar looked so beautiful in the moonlight. You had said it because...

"I was drunk–"

"Drunk words, sober thoughts," Oscar retorted simply.

You wordlessly watched Oscar sink down to his knees, his hands skimming the fabric of your dress and your exposed thighs. You could feel your heart thud in your ears, whirring loudly while you spotted the semi-bulge in his pants.

"Please," Oscar murmured, pressing a kiss to the inside of your calf. "I want to taste you so bad," he breathed out, fingers drawing idle circles on your skin. "I want you to feel good, princess."

You involuntarily shuddered at the nickname. He threw it around the paddock all the time. Teasing you. But today, he was on his knees, pleading you.

"Oscar..." you whispered, swallowing the saliva built up in your mouth. He was making the mess between your legs even worse. "We can't. We work together. Our contracts–"

You could feel him huff with amusement against your legs. "Fuck the contracts. Everyone knows within a five hundred metre radius knows."

"Knows what?" You whispered.

That same boyish smile you saw that night sprawled onto his face. The sheer seriousness swarming his eyes as he looked up at you. "That I worship the floor you walk on."

Oscar watched you blink, silent for a moment. Quietly, you opened your legs, revealing a peak of your matching black panties. His mouth fell open as you spoke with a small smile, "I hope you don't make promises you can't keep."

"Christ," Oscar rasped, leaning in, hands grasping your thighs, your skin spilling between his fingers driving him crazy. He pushed your legs further apart, black dress riding higher, teeth sinking into his bottom lip when he spotted the damp spot of black on your panties. "Look at you," he croaked, hot breath skimming past your core.

He breathed in the smell of your arousal and God, he could've sworn his cock twitched. So intoxicating.

Your body lurched as he pressed his thumb on your clothed pussy, rubbing you gently. Oscar couldn't take his eyes off it. "So wet... does my devotion turn you on, princess?" He queried not in jest but pure intrigue.

"Shit," you mewled, hands clenching the edge of the kitchen counter tightly as Oscar pushed aside the drenched fabric and was immediately greeted by the warmth of your folds. He smiled, gathering all your slick with this thumb, grazing past your clit to capture the look of your hazed eyes.

Oscar said nothing, hooking a finger on your waistband before pulling down your panties, leaving it on the countertop before spreading you once again. His head dipped between your thighs, tongue taking a long stripe. You whimpered at the hum vibrating through your body.

"Taste like heaven," he gasped before plunging his tongue back into your pussy, nose nudging your clit as he lapped at you.

Your head fell back, pleasure swirling around you while your thighs clenched around his face. He was drinking you, taking all he could while he explored every single crevice he had been jerking off to for months now. How many times had he come in his driver's room under the guise of Lando's loud music, imagine your pussy on his tongue? Too many perhaps.

Your hands flew to his brown locks, trying to grasp the sheer pleasure running through your body as if it was tangible. Your eyes fell to his, tongue dragging up your folds before circling your clit while you instantly spotted his blown pupils.

You think he was humping the air, that's how turned on he was. But you couldn't tell. Not when he sucked your clit to gently yet firmly, a precision you had never even been to get on your vibrator. "Feels so good, pretty boy."

Oscar moaned against your pussy, cock straining in his pants at the name you had given him. He adored the thin sheet of sweat on your skin. You glowed above him, lips red from the way you bit them, nipples hard through your dress. Fuck, you were killing him.

He could only tighten his grip around your thighs, bringing you closer if possible, eating you like he was a starving man. The edges of his mouth drooling for you. He could feel your hips jerk and grind against his lips, your moans turning into incoherent gasps. White stars were clouding your vision while the sounds of Oscar slurping your pussy filled your apartment.

"Oscar," you breathed, lower stomach tightening, "I... fuck!"

Your legs trembled around his face, air evaporating from your lungs as you continuously ground your hips, taking every wave of pleasure rolling over you while his groans reverberated within your core.

While Oscar wasn't done, still lapping at your sensitive pussy, you grabbed those brown locks, forcing him to stop and look at you. Your core throbbed at sight of his face, shining with your arousal, chest heaving like he was finally breathing.

"Let me ride you, pretty boy," you breathed, pushing yourself off the chair, not forgetting to grab your panties. You watched him slowly stand back up, your index finger under his chin, his brown eyes solely focused on you.

"Yes, please, please," Oscar rasped, moaning when you grabbed his collar and pulled him towards your bedroom. The small trip had you press your lips to his, his hands immediately resting on your waist, bringing you closer while his tongue explored your mouth. The flavour of you fell all over your tastebuds.

Dear God... you weren't ever going to forget these lips.

Oscar whimpered at the rub of your hands on his ears, fingernails moving down his neck teasingly. You walked through your bedroom door, hands moving to push him onto your bed. "Take it off," you breathed. "Take all of it off."

Oscar scrambled at your orders, removing his shirt off with one hand – the other undoing his belt. He only sped up as you removed your pretty sundress, revealing your bare body to him.

"Oh fuck," he whined, eyeing you in awe while he finally removed his boxers. Goosebumps littered his skin. He was awfully aware of the way you were looking at him as he laid on your bed. Memorising him.

Your eyes fell to his cock. The pretty thing standing straight, slapping his stomach, red and sore – dribbling pre-cum like there was no tomorrow.

You grinned to yourself. You crawled onto the bed, Oscar watching your every move. Your hands trailed over his legs, moving up and up, grasping his thighs while your hot breath grazed over his cock, leaving him squirming.

You looked at Oscar, tilting your head, eyes wide like a doe, innocent thought you were anything but. "I'll let you choose, pretty boy," you murmured, hands roaming his chest, leaving him breathing unevenly. "There's a condom in my purse. Or... you can have me raw."

"Raw," Oscar said almost immediately. His voice torn. His chest heaved. He leaned up, kissing the column of your neck. "Please, please, please... raw. Fuck, I wanna feel you so bad, princess.'

You smiled, pleased. You pushed his back onto the bed, thumb trailing his swollen lips. "Such a well mannered boy. You deserve a reward."

You didn't give yourselves any time to adjust. No more teasing. You couldn't. You needed to feel him too. You hovered over him, legs on either side of him while you grabbed his cock, aligning it with you.

Oscar had to remind himself to breathe at your touch and not just cum already. He swallowed thickly, eyes glued to the space between your drenched pussy and his hard cock. You slowly sunk down on his cock, walls stretching to adjust to his thickness.

"Fuck," he cried out, hands flying to your hips like he needed to steady himself. Shit... you felt too good. He wouldn't last long.

"So big, pretty boy," you praised, moaning quietly at the way he filled you. You could feel him everywhere. So deep.

"Feel so good," he grunted out, trying to prevent himself from moving already.

You chuckled lightly. "It's okay, Osc," you cooed, patting his cheek softly. "You can come if you want. I'll just make you come again and again and again..."

Oscar's cheeks and ears flamed at your words. His stomach churned as you lifted your hips, coming off his cock before slamming down. "Shit," he mewled, head lurching forward into your breasts. The feel of your pussy clenched around him like a vice and it was driving him crazy. He could feel every part of you pussy, hips flushed with yours while the tip of his cock nudged your cervix.

Oscar watched you ride him, your body moving up and down like you were imprinting your name on his cock. Your breasts bounce against your chest, enticing him to suck them, praying it would silence his moans.

Your hand travelled to his locks, grasping his hair while the moans tumbled out of your lips.

"Tell me," he breathed against your breasts, cock pulsing in your pussy. "How do I feel? Tell me I feel good."

"So good," you groaned, eyes clenched, grinding your hips against his cock. "So deep, I could let you breed me."

Oscar's hips began fucking up into you, whimpers escaping his throat. "Yeah, you like that? Wanna come in me, pretty boy? Coat me from the inside? Let me know what's mine?"

"Yes," he whined, stomach clenching at the sight of the cream ring around his cock. The weight of you was fully resting on his cock, taking in every inch of him. The sounds of your skin slapping against one another filled the air.

Oscar swallowed, bringing his thumb to your clit, cursing at the way your pussy tightened around him even more. "Come for me, princess. Show me how good I make you feel."

Your jaw went slack, moans turning silent, vision blurring as your body trembled and convulsed around his cock, hips bucking to ride out the high. "F-Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Oscar moaned, his own hips increasing the pace. His hands gripped your waist tightly, your folds clenching over him still. "Shit, I'm going to come!"

He tried to hold off, thumb rubbing your sensitive clit in quick circle, rubbing your arousal all over you. "Come with me, please, princess," he panted, cock filling you in all the right places.

Your eyes rolled back, body shuddering once again while you felt his hot cum spill into your walls, his hips stuttering up into you. You fell against his chest, your own heaving.

Oscar pulled out of you gently, watching his seed drip out of you. He moaned, lifting you so you sat on the bed. He spread your legs, fingers collecting his cum before spreading it around your puffy pussy.

Your body shivered, overstimulated. You sunk your teeth into your lips when you felt Oscar push his cum into your pussy, three fingers pushing right into that spot.

"O-Oscar," you stuttered, walls clenching around his fingers while your hand reached out to grip his arm.

"One more, please," Oscar begged, fingers thrusting in and out of you. Curling and rubbing your insides. "I can make you feel so good. Look how you take my fingers. Just like my cock. Like I was made for you."

"Oh fuck," you moaned, hand tightening around his arm. The obscene squelches of your pussy told you both what you knew: you were so fucking wet.

His fingers plunged into you, thumb circling your clit. His speed increased, digits curling into your g-spot. Oscar groaned. He could feel your pussy pulsing around his fingers.

"Oscar," you panted, almost drawing blood from your lips, feeling him coax the liquid from you.

A cry fell from your lips, thighs shooting to clench around his hand while your legs trembled. Your vision was entirely white. Mouth open, pants eerily silent as heat flooded from your pussy, hot liquid coming out in spurts from your folds, onto his hands, and the mattress.

Oscar, who had been rutting his hips against the bed quietly, felt his cock twitch, his cum spilling again at the sight of your juices drenching him. "Oh my God," he whined, eyes shut, riding out his orgasm.

"Christ," you swore, head falling back to your pillows while you tried to catch your breath, legs collapsing while Oscar fell next to you.

You turned to him, sucking in a sharp. "You made me squirt," you breathed out in disbelief. "I came four times," you sighed, shuffling closer to him.

Oscar smiled gently, tucking your hair behind your ears. Both of your bodies stuck to the blanket, sweat, his cum, and your juices covering the both of you. "That was just four. I can give you eighty one."

You rolled your eyes, smacking him lightly. "Piss off," you chuckled, feeling his body shake with amusement as well. You pursed your lips, caressing his cheek. "Still feeling shit about Silverstone?"

"What's Silverstone?" He queried, a dry smile on his face as he pulled you closer to him.

You grinned. "That's what I like to hear."

"You wanna hear about Monaco?" Oscar teased, pressing his lips to your shoulder.

You groaned, cheeks burning as you tried to get out of his arms. Oscar laughed softly, keeping you close to him. "Okay, okay," he murmured. "Now let me at least take you out on a date. I'm not usually a sex first guy."

"What can I say? I bring the worst out of people," you quipped with a cheeky grin, tapping his nose lightly.

Oscar smiled while you sighed loudly, hand idly rubbing down your body. "Our publicists are going to kill us," you mumbled, already fearing the wrath of your own.

"It'll be fine. Everyone already knows how much of a loser I am for you. They'll probably be relieved, if anything," he snorted. "Have I mentioned that I really like you yet or..."

"Not really," you commented, warmth spreading over your body at his words.

Oscar grinned, clearing your face of any loose strands to he could see you clearly. "Well then," he whispered, thumb trailing over your lips. "I really really really like you."

You smiled. "I like you too... even if you're an absolute idiot."

"Okay... rude," Oscar nudged you, still grinning.

#mickyschumacher #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 smut #op81 #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri fanfic

364 notes · View notes

bananabreads · 20 hours ago

Note

I absolutely adore your dad!lads series. Every single post gives me so much serotonin 🥰. I love how much personality you put into each of their kids!

I saw that you're requests are open and thought it could be cute to see their children losing their first tooth because I randomly remembered how that happened to me.

Of course only if you want to!

More importantly thank you so so much for writing 🤗 and I hope both sides of your pillow are cold :3

Dad!lads and their child losing their first ever tooth (⁠・⁠–⁠・⁠;⁠)

— ♥︎♥︎ Dad!Rafayel, Dad!Caleb, Dad!Sylus, Dad!Zayne, Dad!Xavier — Inbox is open for requests and questions!

RAFAYEL —

Unlike most kids, your daughter loved going to the dentist. She thought the bright lights, little mirrors, and spinning chairs were magical. So when her first ever baby tooth started wobbling, and the tiniest sliver of a new one began peeking behind it, she was practically bouncing around the house.

“Daddy, We need to go to the dentist, right now!” she told Rafayel dramatically one morning, clutching her cheek like it was a life or death situation.

You both chuckled, and after a quick visit, the dentist gently helped her pop the tooth out. She didn’t even flinch, just sat there proudly, clutching the tiny tooth like it was a diamond.

When you tried to offer the little tooth box the clinic gave her, she shook her head. “No one touches it but me.”

Fair enough. She clutched it in her little palm the entire ride home, even while she messily devoured a post dentist celebratory ice cream.

Once you got home, you thought she’d calm down. Instead, she ran to her room, ripped a page out of her sketchbook, grabbed her favorite scented marker, and started furiously writing something.

Rafayel peeked over her shoulder. “What’s that, little guppy?”

She turned, grinning.

“It's my wishlist, daddy! For the Tooth Fairy!”

Both of you paused.

“Oh,” Rafayel said, eyes flicking to you. “A wishlist...”

“Yup!” she beamed, proudly placing the tooth and the folded paper under her pillow. “If Santa gets one, so does she.”

Hours later, once she was fast asleep, you and Rafayel carefully crept into the room and peeked at the letter.

You slowly unfolded the paper… and nearly choked.

TOOTH FAIRY WISHLIST:

1. "Reel fairy wings that glow"

2. "A baby unicorn (just small one!!)"

3. "10000 🌈🌈 stickkers"

4. "Secret note that mommy and daddy can't read"

5. "A surprize (but like a GOOD surprize)"

6. "Magecal brash dat can draw in the sky!"

Rafayel sat on the floor outside her room, staring at the note in his hands like it had personally cursed him.

“She thinks the Tooth Fairy is a celestial sorcerer,” he whispered. “Love, We’re doomed.”

You rubbed your temples. “We should’ve just told her the truth.”

“She had sparkles in her eyes,” Rafayel hissed back. “We can't.”

So now you were both on your phones, half frantically scrolling for glow in the dark fairy wings, sky projector pens, and trying to figure out how to make a “secret note” that only she could read.

You glanced at your husband, Rafayel.

“We created a high maintenance daughter.”

Rafayel sighed. “We did. And she deserves every bit of magic we can fake.”

And so the Tooth Fairy Operation began.

CALEB —

Your daughter’s first wobbly tooth had been hanging on for days, one of her front ones, giving her that adorable crooked grin. You and Caleb had finally agreed that it was now the time to visit the dentist to help it along. Nothing scary, just a little milestone.

Caleb was already waiting on the couch, car keys in hand, while you finished dressing her. The moment her shoes were on, she tore out of the room with bright eyes and bouncing steps.

“Daddy! I'm turning into a big girl now!” she shouted excitedly, arms thrown up like she’d just won something huge.

Caleb let out a warm laugh, catching her before she could leap into his lap. “You’re growing too fast, sweetie” he murmured with a soft smile, gently pinching her cheeks. “Can you slow down just a little for me?”

She giggled and hugged him tight, filled with that proud, bubbly energy only kids have.

But as you finally opened the front door to head out, she ran a few steps ahead, too excited to wait. Her little foot caught on the step.

“Sweetheart—!” you both called, but too late.

She tripped, hitting her knees on the concrete with a small thud. She didn’t wail right away—just blinked, confused, and then the tears welled up fast.

“Ow—!” she whimpered, eyes wide and lip trembling. “It hurts—!”

Caleb knelt beside her instantly, scooping her into his arms as you gently checked her for scrapes. That’s when you noticed: her tooth was gone.

It had popped right out from the fall, a tiny drop of red left on her lip.

You gave Caleb a quick look. She hadn't noticed.

Without a word, he subtly picked up the tooth from the ground and slipped it into his pocket. You took out a tissue and gently dabbed at her mouth, doing your best to block her view.

“Shh, shh, you’re okay. Just a little magic accident,” you said, kissing her temple.

“Did I bleed?” she asked, voice small, eyes darting between you both.

“Nope, not at all,” Caleb said smoothly, still cradling her in his arms. “You were so brave, your tooth just decided to come out on its own. You don’t even need the dentist now!”

Her teary eyes widened. “...Really?”

You smiled and nodded. “Really. And you know what brave girls get?”

“Ice cream?” she sniffled, hopefully.

“Exactly,” Caleb grinned.

That night, a tiny tooth waited under her pillow, and she fell asleep whispering, “I’m a big girl now…” with a gap toothed smile and a bit of strawberry ice cream still on her chin.

SYLUS —

The day had finally come. Your daughter’s wobbly front tooth was hanging by a thread, and she was both excited and slightly nervous. You and Sylus had everything ready in the living room—tissues, some ice cubes in a bowl, and her favorite chocolate ice cream waiting in the freezer as a post tooth reward.

You were lounging on the couch, ready to play the role of support, while Sylus headed down the hallway to fetch her from her room.

He opened the door and immediately froze.

There she was, kneeling on the floor, practically manhandling poor Mephisto, who looked every bit like a hostage to a very confusing situation.

“Mephie, this one!” she declared proudly, prying her mouth open and pointing to her wobbly tooth while gently, maybe not so gently, pulling his head closer.

She was shaking him a little, like she was trying to convince him to do dentistry.

Sylus’s eyes widened. “Wait—wait, no, sweethe—”

But it was too late.

With one more tug, she forced Mephisto’s beak to accidentally pull just right—and pop! The tooth flew.

Mephisto yelped and flew off towards the top shelf to reclaim his dignity.

Your daughter blinked, then slowly turned to Sylus, mouth slightly agape, blood at the corner of her lips, before breaking into the biggest, gappiest grin.

“Daddy, I did it!” she beamed. “I’m a genius!”

Sylus let out a deep breath, half in relief, half in exasperation. “You almost gave Mephisto a heart attack, sweetheart..” he muttered, scooping her up. “You're lucky he didn’t call in for backup.”

She just giggled, utterly unfazed. “Do I still get ice cream?”

You had peeked into the room by then, having heard the commotion, and saw Sylus walking out with your proud little gremlin in his arms and a very grumpy Mephisto flapping behind them like an offended shadow.

“Only if you promise no more bird dentistry,” you said, ruffling her hair.

She gave a dramatic sigh. “Fine... maybe next time I’ll ask big bros luke and kieran!”

Both you and Sylus exchanged a look that said absolutely not—but for now, it was ice cream time.

And that night, one tiny tooth sat under her pillow, and one very traumatized bird refused to come down from the shelf.

ZAYNE —

Your daughter had made it very clear—she absolutely hated going to the dentist. Even the mention of it had her hiding behind curtains or burying her face into your shirt like the dentist was some kind of monster under the bed.

So when one of her front teeth started wobbling like it was ready to pack up and leave on its own, Zayne sighed and gently said, “Alright, kiddo. No dentist. Daddy will help, okay?”

You handed over tissues and moral support while Zayne knelt in front of her, patient and gentle. The tooth was barely hanging on, it just needed a little nudge.

“Alright, sweetheart, open up,” he said softly.

She obediently opened her mouth, and then immediately shut it the moment Zayne reached for the tooth.

This happened three times.

“Sweetie,” you said, trying not to laugh as she pressed her lips tightly together. “You want it out, remember?”

“I know..” she mumbled. “But it’s scary when it’s right there…”

Zayne chuckled and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Okay, okay. Let’s try this another way.”

He held her tiny shoulders gently and said, “I’ll count to three, alright? We’ll pull it on three. Easy.”

She nodded, eyes wide, lips parted just a bit this time.

“One…”

“Two—”

Pop!

“Wha—?!”

Before she could even flinch, the tooth was already in Zayne’s hand.

She blinked. “Daddy, You said on three!”

You bit back a laugh as your daughter stared at him, offended for a solid five seconds before bursting into a soft giggles.

“Can I see the hole?” she asked, already sticking her tongue in the gap.

Zayne gently wiped the tiny bit of blood from her mouth and nodded. “You look like a fierce little shark now.”

She beamed. “Does this mean I get two coins from the tooth fairy...? Because I got tricked by daddy!”

Zayne raised a brow. “Tricked? That was strategy, little lady.”

She stuck her tongue out, still smiling—and already asking for ice cream five minutes later.

XAVIER —

You and Xavier's four year old son had been avoiding food like it was his mortal enemy—all thanks to one stubborn wobbly tooth. Every meal turned into a negotiation.

“It moves when I chew, Mommy… I don’t like it,” he would say, looking betrayed by even the softest slice of bread.

You and Xavier had tried everything: gentle wiggling, funny pep talks, and reassuring him that the tooth would fall out soon. Still, he refused to eat properly, poking at his food with dramatic sighs.

Hoping to lift his spirits and maybe tempt his appetite, you and Xavier surprised him with a home hotpot dinner. You set everything up together, steaming broth, dumplings, noodles, and dipping sauces, all cozy and warm.

Xavier ruffled your son’s hair as he eyed the food with wary suspicion.

“It’s okay, little star,” Xavier said reassuringly. “Your tooth won’t come out yet. Dumplings are soft, remember?”

You nodded. “Promise, nothing’s gonna fall off tonight.”

That seemed to win him over. He climbed onto his chair, determined to enjoy the feast.

One dumpling.

Two dumplings.

Three.

And on the fourth dumpling, he froze mid chew.

His chewing slowed. His eyes widened. Then he opened his mouth, pointed dramatically, and let out a soft, muffled,

“M-mommy...m-my tooth—”

A tiny plop hit his napkin.

His mouth hung open as you both leaned closer and saw the tiny front tooth, finally out. A little spot of pink lingered on his gums.

You gently scooped it up as Xavier reached for the tissues, already crouching beside your son. “Easy, buddy. Just a little bit of blood—it’s totally okay.”

“I didn’t finish my dumpling,” he mumbled, lower lip trembling a bit. The excitement had fizzled out and now he just looked... done.

You dabbed his gums carefully while Xavier helped him sip some cool water, whispering soothing words.

Next thing you knew, your little guy, still sniffling a little, was curled in Xavier’s lap on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, while you fed him tiny spoonfuls of soft tofu and noodles like he was a sulky little prince.

“Open up, sweetie,” you cooed, offering another bite.

He pouted, but opened his mouth anyway.

“Such a drama king,” Xavier muttered affectionately, pressing a kiss to his hair.

And when he finally smiled, gap toothed and still a bit pouty, you and Xavier couldn’t help but laugh, already imagining how you’d tell this story when he was older.

282 notes · View notes

avengxrz · 20 hours ago

Text

some people are soft only for you ⁃ robert "bob" floyd

pairings: robert "bob" floyd x bartender!reader word count: 12.7k words synopsis: he’s always been the quiet one. the one who stayed in the background, who never asked for more. but what happens when you realize the one person who’s always been there... is the one you’ve been waiting for? warnings: angst, slow burn, mutual pining, emotional repression, hurt/comfort, rainy confessions, a slap (but it’s earned), crying, kissing in the rain, bob floyd being soft, robert floyd rights. flight log: since the bob floyd fic won in the poll (because you all have incredible taste), this is for the quiet love enjoyers, the slow burn believers, and everyone who’s ever yelled at a fictional man for not speaking up sooner. this fic is full of rain, longing, and everything i think bob floyd deserves. thank you for waiting. i hope it hugs your heart a little. disclaimer: my works are not made using ai. every word comes from me, my thoughts, my hands, my time. do not steal, copy, or feed my fics into ai for any reason. fuck ai and what it’s doing to creative spaces. support real writers. ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ masterlist

Bob remembered the first time he saw you like it was branded somewhere behind his ribs.

It had been a regular Friday at the Hard Deck, the kind where the sun dipped just right over the water, warm enough to blur the windows and paint the inside gold. He was sitting at his usual table in the corner, a few chairs down from Hangman who was busy retelling a story no one had asked to hear again.

Phoenix had already rolled her eyes twice while Bob had his drink in hand, half-listening, half-wishing he had stayed home when the door opened and Penny stepped through with someone trailing behind her.

You.

She had one hand on your shoulder, ushering you in like someone showing off a prized secret, and that was when everything stopped for him. Bob didn’t know if it was the way you tilted your head when Penny said something under her breath, or the fact that you smiled like you weren’t quite used to smiling in public.

You were trying, and he could see that. How? Well, you looked like someone trying not to look nervous, someone trying to belong. He swore, just for a second, his heart forgot what it was supposed to do.

Meanwhile, everyone else had started noticing, too. Bradley leaned forward against the bar, Jake straightened up in that too-obvious way he did when he wanted to be looked at, and Coyote muttered something under his breath that made Payback laugh.

The squad was buzzing in a way they hadn’t in weeks, and Bob just sat there with his drink, watching you smile at Penny like she was your only anchor in the room.

Penny introduced you like it was nothing, just her niece, newly in town, helping out behind the bar for a while. You were taking a break from your old job as Penny said. Needed a change of scenery.

She said it like it was temporary, like you were just passing through, but Bob felt something else settle in his chest, like he already knew you were going to be here a while. Long enough to change things.

He remembered how you looked at each of them, Bradley first. You laughed at something he said and tilted your head a little, fingers brushing your necklace as if you were already a little charmed. It wasn't your fault.

Rooster could make most people smile, but Bob saw the way your eyes lingered a bit longer than they did with the others. The way your shoulders loosened near him, and the way you leaned in.

Too bad for Bob, he thought. Even then.

But he stayed quiet, like he always did. Just watched, then helped you carry a crate of soda to the backroom when Penny got busy. You smiled at him and said thanks like it actually meant something. And that, God, that was enough to get him through the rest of the week.

Over the next few months, he watched the way you folded into the rhythm of the place. You learned everyone’s drinks, picked up on who tipped and who didn’t, and started finishing Penny’s sentences before she could.

You were quick, you were sharp, but you were never cruel. Bob saw the way you looked when you thought no one was paying attention, those small, tired moments when the bar was loud but you looked somewhere far away. He wanted to ask. He never did.

Then, came the Rooster thing. It wasn’t a thing, not really, at least (and hopefully) not yet, but Bob knew what it looked like to hope. He recognized it in himself first, every time you looked up when Rooster walked in, every time your laugh came a little easier with him.

Rooster was kind to you. He flirted without meaning to. Sometimes he meant to. You flirted back. You wore that same necklace every time he was scheduled to drop in after a flight.

Bob just watched, quiet as ever.

As time went on, he kept finding reasons to linger near the bar after the rest of the squad left. Just to make sure you locked the doors safely, just to offer to walk you to your car. Sometimes, you talked. Not about much, like the weather, and how loud the jukebox was that night.

Once, you asked him if he ever got tired of being the responsible one. He didn’t know how to answer.

He had started to think he would be okay with this, just being around. Being the guy who stayed, who didn’t push, who was always polite and careful and useful. It was enough. Until it started to hurt. Until he realized that every time he saw you with Rooster, something in him flickered in a way he didn’t know how to control.

And still, he said nothing, because it wasn’t his place, and because he wasn’t the kind of man who made grand gestures. He was the kind of man who waited, who hoped quietly, and who stayed.

But lately, he had started wondering; how long could someone wait before they started to break a little?

It was a Friday night when it happened, one of those rare evenings where the entire Dagger Squad managed to show up at the same time, no drills the next morning and nothing but hours ahead to kill.

The Hard Deck was busier than usual, the kind of full that meant Penny had music playing just a little too loud and the laughter at the pool table spilled all the way to the back booths.

Bob had arrived early, the way he usually did, already nursing something mild as the others filtered in. He didn’t expect you to join them.

You normally stayed behind the bar, that was your world. You floated through it like someone who belonged to it, moving with purpose and comfort, like the chaos never touched you. So, when you slid into the booth beside him, smiling as you bumped your knee gently against his, Bob almost dropped his glass.

“Hope this seat’s not taken,” you said, already settling in.

Bob blinked, then smiled, the quiet kind that reached his eyes before it reached his mouth. “Nope, it’s yours.”

Meanwhile, Rooster dropped into the space on Bob’s other side, his laugh already halfway through some joke Phoenix had muttered earlier.

Fanboy was busy chatting up someone near the bar, Payback and Coyote deep in some debate about the rules of darts, and for a moment, Bob sat there with you to his left and Rooster to his right, wondering how he had become the center of gravity in a scene that made his chest tighten just a little.

You turned toward Rooster almost immediately, picking up where you’d left off earlier at the bar when you had been talking about music. “So, you’re telling me you still don’t know who Joni Mitchell is?” you asked, eyebrows lifted.

Rooster raised his hands in mock surrender as he leaned forward slightly, glancing past Bob to meet your eyes. “Look, I’ve heard the name. That counts for something, right?”

You scoffed as you grabbed a fry from the basket in front of you. “Barely, ‘cause that’s like saying you’ve heard of air.”

Bob watched you as you laughed, watched Rooster roll his eyes and reach for his drink, and as the two of you kept trading playful jabs, he stayed quiet, sipping slowly.

He wasn’t left out, not really, but he nodded when you said something funny, smiled when Rooster responded, but no one was talking to him directly. He didn’t mind, not really.

Then you turned toward him, nudging his arm lightly with your elbow. “Bob, please tell me you have decent taste in music. Help me out here.”

He set down his glass as he met your gaze. “I, uh, I like Joni Mitchell,” he said, voice steady but soft.

You grinned, leaning a little closer. “See? I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

Bob blinked again, heart thudding once in his chest like it had just remembered it had a job to do. He smiled as he looked down, trying not to read too far into it, trying not to catalog the way you had said it.

You turned back to Rooster almost immediately, still half-laughing as you grabbed another fry and tossed it onto his plate like a challenge.

As the conversation moved on, the rest of the squad trickled closer, Jake finally giving up on his conquest at the bar and dropping into the seat beside Phoenix.

The table filled with the usual rhythm, jokes and teasing and interrupted stories, but Bob couldn’t shake the way you kept leaning slightly toward Rooster as you talked.

He couldn’t help noticing how Rooster’s shoulder brushed his own whenever he turned to respond to you, how Bob was caught in the middle of something he wasn’t part of.

He laughed when they laughed, nodded when someone addressed him, answered questions when they came his way, but he felt it. That quiet weight of watching something unfold next to him, knowing he was only a bystander. He didn’t resent it, and he didn’t resent you.

He just wished, for one brief, selfish moment, that you would lean his way again.

Across the table, Phoenix caught Bob’s eye as Rooster launched into some story about flying low over the mountains in Nevada. She raised one eyebrow and tilted her head slightly toward you, her meaning loud and clear.

Beside her, Hangman smirked as he sipped from his beer, then shot Bob a look so exaggerated it almost tipped into performance, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, a slow shake of his head that said, Seriously, Floyd?

Bob didn’t react. He kept his gaze fixed on the half-empty fry basket and picked at the edge of his napkin like there was something fascinating about the texture.

He could feel their eyes though, the silent conversation that he knew was happening in looks and subtle nudges. He knew what they were thinking, and he refused, absolutely refused, to let it show on his face.

Because you were still sitting beside him, warm and easy and relaxed, legs crossed in his direction, and he wasn’t about to mess that up by getting caught staring or doing something stupid like hoping.

So, he kept his voice casual when he joined the conversation, offering a quiet “Sounds intense,” after Rooster finished his story, even though he’d barely heard a word of it.

Phoenix didn’t drop it. She leaned forward on her elbows as she looked at him again, this time mouthing a word Bob didn’t want to see but definitely understood.

Talk.

He took a long sip of his drink instead.

Meanwhile, you laughed at something Rooster said, and Bob felt your hand brush his arm briefly as you leaned into the table to grab a napkin. It wasn’t anything. Not really, but his breath still caught for a second before he swallowed it down.

Then Hangman leaned in, voice low but pointed. “So, Floyd,” he said with an easy smile that always meant trouble, “any updates in your love life? Anyone we should know about?”

Phoenix didn’t even try to be subtle. She turned her head and looked directly at you, then back to Bob.

Bob didn’t flinch. He took another bite of his burger as if Hangman had just asked him about the weather. “Nothing new,” he said simply.

“Tragedy,” Hangman muttered, shaking his head with a grin.

Beside him, Phoenix rolled her eyes and sat back as she sipped from her straw, but not before muttering under her breath, just loud enough for Bob to hear, “Coward.”

Bob didn’t respond. Instead, he kept his expression even as he folded his napkin in half again, smoothing the crease with his thumb. If he answered now, it would only draw more attention.

If he said anything, you might notice, and the last thing he wanted was for you to feel like you were a spectacle in someone else’s drama.

You deserved better than that, and he didn’t want to risk making you uncomfortable, even accidentally.

So he sat there, listening to the noise of the table rise around him, with your shoulder brushing his again as you turned back to ask Rooster a question about call signs.

He told himself it was enough, that this was fine, because you were beside him. You had chosen that seat. Maybe not for the reason he wanted, but you were there.

And that was more than he’d ever expected. Right?

Bob had just managed to pull himself back into the rhythm of the table, laughing politely, nodding at the right moments, forcing his attention onto Coyote’s rant about someone double-parking their Bronco again, when Jake looked at him.

Not a glance, not a passing look. A full, deliberate pause. Mischief flickered behind Hangman’s eyes like a match just waiting to be lit. His expression was easy, casual even, but Bob knew him too well by now. That look always meant something was about to go sideways.

Bob met his gaze briefly, brows furrowing. Jake tilted his head slightly and raised his glass in a mock toast. Then he shifted in his seat, leaned forward on his elbows, and with surgical precision, turned toward you.

“Hey,” Jake started, voice pitched just right to cut through the noise, “how are you settling in? Penny’s got you working double shifts lately, huh?”

You smiled as you wiped a bit of salt off your fingers. “Yeah, she’s been trusting me with more lately. Not sure if that’s a compliment or if she’s just trying to avoid the late-night crowd.”

Jake chuckled. “Well, if it’s a compliment, you’ve earned it. You handle this place better than half the guys I’ve flown with.”

You laughed, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “That is not a high bar, Bagman.”

“True,” Jake grinned, tapping his glass lightly against the table. “But still, you’ve got something the rest of us don’t.”

Bob tried not to react. He stared down at the condensation ring forming around his glass and took a breath.

Jake continued, voice smooth, casual, laced with something just clever enough to be dangerous. “You’ve got the whole ‘people actually like talking to you’ thing, and I mean that. I’ve seen the way folks stay longer when you’re behind the bar.”

You shrugged modestly, eyes warm. “Well, I listen, so I think that helps.”

Jake smiled, then glanced, briefly but intentionally, at Bob. “Yeah, listening’s a skill, but not everyone’s good at it.”

Bob didn’t move, didn’t flinch, but his fingers curled just slightly around his glass.

Then Jake leaned back and turned toward you again. “You ever get bored of it, though? Listening to people talk about themselves all night?”

You laughed under your breath as you picked up your drink. “Sometimes. Depends on the person, but I don’t mind hearing people’s stories.”

Jake nodded slowly. “What about yours? Who listens to you?”

Bob’s eyes lifted before he could stop them.

You blinked, like you hadn’t been expecting the question to come from him, and there was a beat of silence. Then, you smiled, softer this time. “I don’t know. I guess… not many people ask.”

“Maybe they should,” Jake said, tone light, almost teasing. “Bet it’d surprise a few of us.”

You laughed again, brushing it off as you reached for another fry. “You trying to psychoanalyze me now?”

Jake shrugged. “Nah, just think good people deserve someone who listens back.”

Bob looked down again, heat crawling behind his ears.

Then, Jake turned toward him, casual as ever, and nudged his shoulder once with the back of his knuckles. “Right, Floyd?”

Bob blinked, glancing up, catching the quick glint in Jake’s eye and the faint curve of a grin playing on his lips.

“Y-yeah,” Bob said, clearing his throat. “Yeah, I think so.”

He didn’t dare look at you then. He just reached for his glass again, swallowing the thought before it could become a word.

Jake sat back, satisfied, sipping his drink like nothing had happened, but Bob could feel it. The shift, the air had changed, and even if you didn’t notice yet, even if you still leaned toward Rooster when you laughed, there was something unspoken now settling between you and Bob.

Something Jake had poked loose just enough to rattle, and Bob wasn’t sure if he wanted to thank him or strangle him for it.

A few hours later, the bar was mostly empty, and the energy had dimmed into something quieter, more settled. The jukebox had long since shut off, the chairs were stacked, and Phoenix had waved a lazy goodnight as she ducked out with Coyote and Payback trailing behind her.

Bradley had left earlier, slipping out with a promise to come by for coffee sometime this week. Jake lingered just long enough to shoot Bob another smug glance before tipping his hat and disappearing into the parking lot.

Bob stayed.

He sat at the corner of the bar, sipping the last of something watered down, watching you move through the final closing routine with practiced ease.

You didn’t notice him at first, too focused on wiping down the counter and counting the register, but when you turned to grab your keys, you paused, just slightly, like you had sensed something.

"Bob!" Your brows lifted. “You’re still here?”

Bob straightened a little as he stood, quickly clearing his throat. “Uh, yeah. I—I mean, I figured you might need, well, I remembered earlier you said your car’s still not fixed, and I didn’t want you walking home or calling a ride this late.”

You blinked at him for a moment, then smiled. “Bob.”

His name sounded different coming from you, like you actually meant it.

He rubbed the back of his neck, gaze flicking somewhere near your shoulder. “I just thought… maybe I could drive you? If that’s okay. I mean, if you’re not already set.”

There was a small pause before you nodded once, keys still in hand.

“That’s really sweet, but—” you glanced out the front window toward the beach, where the tide was low and the moon was soft, casting everything in blue and silver. “Can I walk the beach first? Just for a few minutes. I usually do that after closing, and it helps me clear my head.”

Bob blinked, surprised by the question, then nodded quickly. “Yeah, sure, of course.”

You smiled again, smaller this time, and pushed through the door with a soft jingle of keys. He followed at a quiet distance, careful not to hover too close.

The night air was cooler than earlier, carrying the sharp, familiar scent of salt and old wood. The sand crunched lightly beneath your shoes as you stepped off the boardwalk and started down the beach, slow and quiet.

For a while, neither of you said anything.

The ocean moved in the background, steady and gentle, waves lapping at the shore like they had all the time in the world. You walked with your arms loosely folded, head tilted toward the water, and Bob kept a respectful step behind, not quite beside you but not far either.

Eventually, you looked over your shoulder and nodded toward the waterline. “You can walk next to me, you know. I don’t bite.”

Bob smiled softly, catching up. “I know.”

You didn’t speak again for a bit, just let the sand and the sound of the tide fill the silence. He could see the tension easing from your shoulders as you walked, your steps slowing like you didn’t want to go home just yet, and honestly, he didn’t want to drive you there just yet either. He was content just being here.

Then, you glanced at him again, eyes curious. “You always stay this late?”

Bob shook his head. “Only tonight.”

“Because of my car?”

He hesitated for a beat, then answered truthfully. “Because of you.”

You didn’t say anything at first, and he didn’t expect you to, but he felt the shift again, small and quiet, like maybe you were seeing him, really seeing him, for the first time in a while. And for once, he didn’t look away.

After a few more minutes of walking, you drifted closer to where the water met the shore, the waves just brushing past your shoes. Bob followed carefully, keeping the rhythm, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. The silence wasn’t awkward. It felt like it belonged there, like it was allowed to stretch without needing to be filled.

Then, you glanced over at him, your voice cutting through the quiet in a thoughtful tone. “You’re really quiet around me, you know.”

Bob looked over, a little startled. “What?”

“You barely talk,” you said, not unkindly, just honest. “I mean, I’ve known you for a few months now and I think I know more about Payback’s dog than I do about you.”

He let out a short breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

“So?” you prompted, a little amused. “What’s your deal, Floyd? You always this mysterious or is it just around me?”

Bob looked down for a second, as if considering how much to give. Then, he smiled, faint but genuine. “It’s not just you. I’ve always been like this.”

You nodded slowly. “That’s not a bad thing. Just means I’ve got to ask more questions.”

Bob chuckled under his breath, then glanced sideways. “You really want to know?”

“Sure,” you said, looking out toward the dark water. “If you don’t mind.”

He was quiet again for a beat, then offered, “I grew up in Kentucky. Small town. Lots of farms, lots of quiet. My parents still live there.”

You glanced back at him. “That tracks.”

He raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“You’ve got that whole, dependable small-town guy energy,” you said, smiling a little. “Like you know how to fix fences and drive stick.”

Bob gave a modest shrug. “I do.”

You laughed lightly, then looked ahead again. “I didn’t grow up anywhere near that quiet. My parents moved around a lot, military family and stuff. I barely unpacked before we’d be gone again. Think we lived in seven states before I turned ten.”

Bob glanced at you, his expression softening. “That sounds tough.”

“It was,” you admitted, not quite looking at him. “You get good at starting over, but not at staying. Penny was always the one stable person in my life. She’d send postcards wherever we were. Always signed them with something dumb like ‘Don’t forget who makes the best cheese cake.’”

Bob smiled at that. “She still say that?”

“She texted me that two weeks ago when I didn’t answer her call. I was sleeping!”

He chuckled again, a quiet sound in the open air. “She really loves you.”

“I know,” you said softly, then paused. “I think that’s why I came out here. Just needed something steady for once.”

Bob was quiet for a moment, walking beside you with the surf lapping softly just ahead. Then he asked, “Do you feel like you found that?”

You looked at him for a long second, then smiled—not wide, not dramatic, just enough to reach your eyes.

“I think I might,” you said.

Bob nodded once, eyes on the sand as he kept walking beside you.

By the time the two of you looped back near the edge of the boardwalk, the night had settled into something heavier, quieter. The kind of stillness that came when the world was finally tired enough to rest.

The ocean whispered nearby, all foam and pull, and the wind tugged gently at the hem of your jacket. You were walking closer now, shoulder just brushing his every few steps, not quite touching but near enough to notice when he shifted, near enough to feel the warmth coming off his sleeve.

You stopped walking first, and Bob paused beside you without question, turning toward the water as you looked out at it like it had something to say.

“I was kind of a mess when I got here,” you said, voice soft but deliberate. The words came out like something you’d carried for too long.

Bob turned slightly, watching your profile in the dim light, the way your gaze drifted to the horizon like it hurt to look back at the shore.

“I didn’t really say that to anyone, not even Penny. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, let alone out loud, but I was.” You exhaled, quiet and tired. “I was… really low. Couldn’t sleep, couldn’t feel muchand I kept thinking maybe that was just how life was supposed to be.”

Bob didn’t interrupt. He stood there with you, steady, like an anchor just close enough to hold.

“Then Penny offered me the guest room,” you said. “Told me to stop pretending I was okay. Told me to come out here, take a break, just… breathe.”

You looked over at him slowly, your eyes searching his face like you were trying to see if he could hold what you were about to say next. “I didn’t think I’d stay. I figured I’d be gone in a few days.”

Bob swallowed, watching you now, completely still.

“But something about this place felt different,” you continued, eyes soft but steady. “The people. The ocean. The quiet. It was the first time in a long time that I didn’t feel like I had to earn my spot just to exist. And I think—” your voice dipped slightly, careful now “—I think I found someone worth staying for.”

Bob’s breath caught, subtle but real. His fingers curled slightly in the pockets of his jacket. His heart made that same familiar leap, too hopeful, too fast. Then, he forced himself to slow it down, to be rational, to not assume.

He looked down briefly, then back up, eyes skimming your face. “Bradley’s… a good guy.”

You blinked. “What?”

Bob gave a small nod, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach all the way. “He’s got a good heart. People like him. He’s easy to talk to, and I know he likes you.”

There was a pause, and then you turned to face him fully, the line of your shoulders shifting toward him like something inside you had snapped tight.

“It’s not Rooster.”

Bob blinked, startled. “It’s not?”

You took a slow step closer, not too close, but enough that the space between you suddenly felt deliberate. “It’s not. I meant someone else.”

His eyes searched yours, uncertain. You weren’t smiling anymore, not the playful, teasing grin you wore behind the bar. This was something rawer, something truer, and it pulled the breath from his lungs in a quiet wave. Your expression was open in a way he hadn’t seen before, like you were letting him see behind a curtain you normally kept closed.

There was something in your eyes now, too, like something deeper than curiosity, warmer than casual affection. A look that didn’t hide how long you’d been watching him the way he’d been watching you.

“I’m talking about someone who stays behind without being asked. Someone who waits for me after closing, who always listens even when I have nothing worth saying,” you said, your voice quiet but steady. “Someone who never tries to take up all the space in the room, but somehow makes it feel safer just by being there.”

Bob looked away for a second, then back at you. He was trying not to fall headfirst into the thing you were offering. He was trying to protect himself, because he couldn’t quite believe it, not yet. “He sounds… lucky,” he said, careful not to let his voice shake.

You watched him, your brow furrowing just slightly. “Yeah,” you said. “I think he is, or he would be. If he felt the same.”

Your eyes didn’t leave his. They stayed right there, open, waiting, soft in the edges but bright with something that looked like hope, or maybe just the kind of yearning that lived in quiet places. The kind that never demanded anything, just wanted to be seen.

Bob stood there with his breath held like he might drop something if he exhaled. And still, he said nothing.

Because the part of him that loved you the most was the same part that was terrified to believe this was real.

- You -

After you bared your soul to Bob Floyd, nothing dramatic happened. The sky didn’t fall. The earth didn’t tilt. You didn’t wake up the next day wrapped in some cinematic resolution.

What came instead was quieter. He hadn’t said anything that night, and in the days that followed, his silence stretched long enough to feel like an answer you didn’t want to hear.

At first, you tried to give him space. Maybe he needed time. You told yourself that, over and over, like a mantra you didn’t quite believe. He was thoughtful, cautious by nature.

Maybe he just didn’t know what to do with a moment like that, with someone standing in front of him asking him to be sure about something he had never dared to want out loud.

You excused his distance the first few days, chalked it up to nerves or work or some internal battle he hadn’t figured out how to name yet.

Then a week passed. Then two.

Meanwhile, life kept moving around you. Penny teased you about always being lost in your head. The Dagger Squad still came in for drinks and darts and nights that ended in someone losing a bet. Rooster flirted with a girl from town. Phoenix rolled her eyes at every single one of Jake’s one-liners.

And Bob? Bob was there, technically. He came in with the group, always on time, always polite. He nodded when you greeted him, smiled when the moment called for it, but the quiet between you was different now. Measured. Careful.

He didn’t stay behind after closing anymore. He didn’t sit at the bar with his hands folded while you cleaned up. He didn’t offer to walk you out to your car or wait by the door pretending he just happened to be there.

You noticed every time he left before the music ended. You noticed when he talked more to Phoenix, when he stared harder at his drink. You noticed when he didn’t look at you unless you spoke directly to him.

Then, came the creeping thoughts, the ones that curled around your ribs at night when you tried to sleep. Had you misread it all? The glances, the soft silences, the way he always stayed just a little longer than he needed to.

You wondered if he regretted letting you say it. If he wished you hadn’t. If your honesty had ruined something that wasn’t even fully alive to begin with.

You started second-guessing your words. You replayed that night in your head so many times it felt like a memory pressed under glass.

And still, Bob said nothing.

You didn’t want to chase him. You didn’t want to make him feel cornered or forced, but the hurt settled in slowly, like the way ocean salt clings to your skin long after you’ve dried off.

You missed him.

Missed him in the kind of way that snuck up on you during the little moments, the quiet in between shifts, the way you’d glance up out of habit and expect to see him leaning against the wall, waiting.

But he was gone, not completely, but just enough to make you feel the difference. And you were starting to wonder if he had ever really been yours to begin with.

You remember having a joke before about having a thing for Rooster. He was easy to like. Loud in a charming way, confident without being cruel, handsome in that classic, all-American way that turned heads when he walked into the bar. He made people laugh. He made you laugh.

For a while, it was enough to have him flirt with you across the counter, toss you a wink after landing a bullseye at the dartboard, tease you about your drink preferences like it was some shared secret. It was simple, and safe in its own shallow way.

But somewhere along the line, somewhere between closing shifts and long glances and the sound of Bob’s voice saying your name just once in a quiet room, you realized it had never really been about Rooster.

Because while everyone else was turning up the volume, Bob was steady. He didn’t try to impress anyone, didn’t spin stories or flash that practiced grin. He was just there. Patient, observant, always listening, and always waiting.

And now, without meaning to, your thoughts kept looping back to him. You saw him in the quiet moments, where nothing loud or clever could fill the space. The ones where presence mattered more than words.

And maybe that was why it hurt more than you expected, because you hadn’t just liked Bob. You’d started seeing him.

He wasn’t loud or traditionally flashy, but he had that kind of presence you didn’t fully appreciate until it was missing. He was tall, sure, but never made himself bigger than the room. His movements were careful, efficient, like someone who knew how to blend in but never truly disappear.

There was a softness to the way he carried himself, thoughtful and precise, like everything he did had purpose. His sandy hair always looked like it needed a few more minutes in the mirror, but it somehow worked on him, just slightly ruffled, like he’d been running his hand through it all day.

And his eyes, behind those glasses, were the kind you didn’t notice until you really looked. Clear blue, a little shy, always gentle, but there were moments when they caught the light just right and made your breath catch.

You remembered that night on the beach. The way he’d looked at you when you said it, really said it, and how something in his face had almost cracked. You thought he might say something then. Anything, but he hadn’t. He’d just looked at you with those quiet, stunned eyes and let the moment pass.

Now, two weeks later, it was all still sitting with you.

And no amount of Rooster’s charm or Jake’s jokes or Phoenix’s sideways glances could fill the space Bob had left behind.

Because it wasn’t just a crush anymore. It wasn’t something light or flirty or fun. It was something that had snuck up on you when you weren’t watching. And it was wearing glasses and a quiet smile and a name that was starting to taste like longing every time you said it.

The worst part was that he hadn’t said anything.

Not that he’d rejected you outright, and certianly not that he’d laughed or pulled away or looked horrified. He just... hadn’t said anything. And that silence? It was louder than any no you’d ever heard.

As the days stretched on, you started wondering if you’d imagined the whole thing. Maybe you’d read too far into a kind gesture, misinterpreted a kind man. Maybe he had never looked at you that way.

Maybe he had been kind because that’s just who he was, and you’d gone and ruined everything by making it more than that. It would’ve been easier if he’d told you you were wrong. If he’d said he didn’t see you like that.

At least then you could’ve buried it properly, but this? This careful avoidance, this half-hearted politeness when you passed behind the bar, this space he put between you every time you were in the same room, it just felt worse.

Meanwhile, your thoughts kept looping in circles, dragging you into places you didn’t want to go. Was he ashamed of you? Had your honesty made him uncomfortable? Had he gone home that night and replayed it all with a wince, wondering why someone like you would even think he could feel the same?

You didn’t want to believe that. Not from Bob, but your brain didn’t care. It was like it made its own monsters in the dark.

Maybe he’d been disgusted, maybe he thought you were too much, too forward, and too broken. You’d been vulnerable in a way you hadn’t been in a long time. You’d said things you didn’t even mean to say until they were already out of your mouth.

What if he had seen you differently after that? What if he pitied you?

Then, there was the deeper, more painful thought; the one that caught in your throat every time it surfaced. What if he had wanted to say something, but decided not to because he didn’t want you like that? What if the reason he didn’t speak was because it was easier to walk away than to face the disappointment in your eyes?

You started pulling back, even when you didn’t mean to. You smiled less, you lingered at the bar a little longer to avoid walking past him, you laughed at Hangman’s stupid jokes just to fill the silence.

You pretended Rooster still made your heart skip, even though he never had, but not in the way Bob did, at least. You tried to pretend it didn’t matter, that you hadn’t stood in front of him, heart open and hands shaking, asking for something small and simple.

You weren’t asking him to love you. You’d only wanted to know if he could. And now? Now you didn’t even know if he’d ever really seen you at all.

Eventually, you started blaming yourself.

Not just for saying too much, but for believing in the first place that you ever had a chance. The more time passed, the more it sunk in; how foolish you must have looked, how naive you must have sounded, standing there that night like some starry-eyed fool thinking that your feelings meant something.

You played it back in your head, the way his eyes had gone wide, the way his mouth opened and closed, the way the silence stretched just long enough to hurt. And still, you told yourself he needed time. That he was shy, or overwhelmed, or maybe just stunned by the idea that anyone could want him like that.

But now, after two weeks of polite distance and half-smiles that felt like placeholders, you saw the truth for what it was. You’d read too far into everything. You’d taken his kindness and mistook it for something more. You’d turned his gentle nature into something romantic because it was easier to believe he could love you than it was to admit how lonely you were.

Meanwhile, every moment you’d clung to before started crumbling under closer inspection.

That time he stayed late to walk you to your car? He probably just didn’t want you walking alone. The way he listened when you talked about your childhood? Maybe he was just being polite. Maybe he wasn’t holding on to your words the way you were holding on to his silence. Maybe he never looked at you the way you looked at him. Maybe he never even saw you that way.

Then, came the part that stung worst of all. You had told him. You had shown him. And still, he hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t come back with an apology or a gentle letdown. He hadn’t asked if you were okay or said he needed time or even offered you a friend’s honesty. He had just... faded.

And that left you with only one conclusion. You must have imagined it all.

You must have taken every quiet moment and twisted it into a fairytale. You must have seen something in him that was never really there. And how embarrassing was that?

How delusional had you been to think someone like Bob Floyd, kind and steady and good in a way you hadn’t known people could be, could ever look at someone like you and feel the same?

The more you thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed. You weren’t subtle. You had laid everything out for him, eyes wide, voice shaking, heart damn near bleeding at his feet. And he hadn’t even had to say no.

His silence had done the job for him. It was almost worse this way, the slow drip of rejection hidden under the surface of normalcy. At least if he’d said he didn’t feel the same, you could’ve begun to heal. Now all you had were the pieces of something you had built alone. And the painful knowledge that none of it, not a single part, had ever belonged to you.

“Hey,” Bradley said gently, his voice low and a little rough around the edges. “Hey, look at me.”

The sound of your name broke through the haze, pulling you back to yourself just enough to flinch. You hadn’t realized anyone had come outside.

You hadn’t realized how long you’d been sitting there, knees tucked up slightly, arms loose at your sides, eyes fixed on some blurred spot in the distance where the sky met the sea. You jumped when you felt the hand on your shoulder, then turned quickly, heart skipping.

Bradley stood just behind you, looking more serious than you were used to seeing him. He held a bottle in one hand and worry in his eyes, the kind that didn’t need explaining.

Without saying much else, he moved around and sat beside you on the porch swing, the old chains creaking softly under the added weight. He handed you the beer without ceremony and leaned back, one arm resting along the back of the swing, close but not quite touching.

Penny had all but pushed you out here fifteen minutes ago, and she told you she didn’t care how many glasses needed washing or how many people still needed tabs, then she said you were zoning out again, and it was starting to scare her.

You hadn’t argued, so you’d come out and settled on the swing you’d talked her into buying last spring, swearing it would bring in more customers, give the place a softer edge. Now, it just felt like a place to fall apart quietly.

“I’d be stupid to ask if you’re okay,” Bradley said after a moment, cracking the cap off his own bottle and taking a small sip.

You forced a small, shaky laugh. “I’m fine.”

But he turned his head toward you, sharp and certain, before you could even blink. “Do not lie to me, sweetheart.”

The words landed heavy, not cruel, but weighted in the way that told you he wasn’t going to let it slide this time. He knew, maybe not everything, and maybe not the full mess of what you were holding, but enough, enough to call it what it was.

You didn’t speak at first. The beer sat cold in your hand, untouched, forgotten. The swing moved just slightly beneath you both, the creak of the chain giving your silence rhythm.

You felt the wind slip through your hair, and you stared straight ahead, trying to find something steady in the blur of night lights reflecting off parked cars and distant waves.

It felt like something in you had cracked open, not loudly, but slowly, and all the thoughts you’d tried to keep buried had begun to spill into everything, every glance, every breath, every reminder of what you’d said and what he hadn’t.

And now Bradley was here, waiting quietly beside you, like he’d seen the whole thing unravel without ever needing you to say a word.

You didn’t answer him right away, and Bradley didn’t push. He just let the silence settle between you again, steady as the tide. His fingers tapped once, twice, against the glass of his beer bottle before he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

The porch light buzzed faintly above, casting a soft glow over the railing, and the hum of conversation from inside the Hard Deck faded into the background.

“I won’t ask,” he said eventually, eyes fixed ahead. “But I’ll tell you something, and you don’t have to say a word back. Just... let me talk, alright?”

You nodded once, barely more than a tilt of your head. It was all the permission he needed.

“When I was a kid, my mom used to tell me this story about how she met my dad,” he began, voice easy and even, like he wasn’t trying to make it serious, just keep it honest.

“She said he used to come into this greasy little diner she worked at every Sunday, like clockwork. Sat at the same booth, ordered the same thing, barely said more than a few words to her the first month. She thought he was sweet, kind of quiet, kind of awkward.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, but he wasn’t looking at you. His gaze stayed fixed on the horizon, somewhere far away from the parking lot and the bar and whatever weight you were both carrying.

“She swore she caught him staring sometimes, but he always looked away too fast. She used to joke that he looked like he was trying to memorize her but didn’t want her to notice. Said he always left good tips, always thanked her, but never flirted. Not once, but for weeks.”

There was a softness to Bradley’s voice now, one that only came when he talked about his mother. You’d heard it before, usually in quieter moments, and it always held a kind of reverence that made you ache.

“Then one night,” he continued, “she was working a late shift, and rain was coming down hard, place was almost empty. She was wiping down the counter when he came in soaking wet, no umbrella, no coat, just dripping all over the floor. She asked what the hell he was doing out in that weather, and he said he forgot his wallet the last time he came in. Handed it over like he’d come all that way for something that dumb.”

He paused for a beat, then smiled faintly. “But she swore he didn’t forget anything. He just needed an excuse to come back. That was the night he asked if he could walk her home.”

The wind rustled gently through the nearby trees, and for a moment it felt like you could almost see it, that little diner, the rain on the windows, the quiet rhythm of something small beginning.

“She said she knew then,” Bradley said, finally glancing over at you. “Said she knew that someone who came back just to give her a reason to see him again was someone who’d stay.”

You looked away quickly, eyes burning with something you didn’t want to explain. He didn’t mention Bob. He didn’t have to, and you could hear it in the way he told the story. Y

ou could feel the shape of it beneath every word. And still, he didn’t push. He just leaned back again, letting the swing move with the wind, like time could slow down if he just let it.

For a while, you didn’t say anything. You just sat there, eyes fixed on the space between your shoes and the wooden porch floor, your fingers tracing the rim of the bottle without really noticing, but something about Bradley’s voice, about the softness in that story, had carved out enough silence inside you that the words finally had somewhere to land.

“I really thought he felt the same,” you said quietly, barely more than a breath.

Bradley didn’t react right away. He stayed still, just listening, not pushing you to keep going, not rushing to fill the quiet. So, you kept talking, because now that it had started spilling, you didn’t know how to stop.

“I told myself not to hope. I mean... I’ve done this before. I’ve fallen for people who were never mine to begin with, but this time it felt different, slower, softer. It wasn’t loud or dramatic, it just… built. And I thought maybe he was just waiting, maybe he was scared, but it’s been two weeks and he’s barely even looked at me.”

Bradley let out a quiet breath through his nose, nodding once like he understood more than you realized. You glanced at him, and he didn’t look smug or surprised, just calm, like someone you could lean on without asking.

“I keep thinking,” you said, your voice cracking just a little, “how stupid I must’ve been to think he actually wanted me. Like I made it all up in my head, every little look, every quiet moment. Maybe I’m just… too much.”

Bradley turned to you then, his eyes steady as they met yours. He didn’t speak right away. He just reached out and gently placed his hand over yours, grounding you.

“You’re not too much,” he said, firm but quiet. “Don’t ever think that, and you weren’t stupid. Anyone who made you feel like you were? That’s on them, not you.”

Your chest tightened. The tears you’d been holding back all day finally started pushing at the edges. You didn’t even try to stop them this time. You looked away, blinking hard, and then Bradley shifted beside you, opening his arms just a little like he wasn’t sure you’d take the offer.

You didn’t even hesitate.

You leaned into him, your forehead pressing to his shoulder as his arms came around you in a firm, steady hug. Not romantic. Not complicated. Just warm and solid and safe. You let yourself breathe for the first time in days.

And then, the door creaked open behind you. You froze.

Bradley tensed slightly beneath you, then turned his head toward the door. You didn’t move right away, but your heart sank before you even heard the voice.

“Oh,” Bob said, voice clipped and uncertain. “Sorry, uh...I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

You pulled back slowly, your heart hammering against your ribs as you turned your head just enough to see him standing there in the open doorway, his hand still on the handle like he hadn’t fully stepped out. His eyes flicked from you to Bradley and back, unreadable in the low porch light.

Before you could say a word, he nodded once, quick, awkward, and stepped back inside, letting the door close behind him with a soft, final click. The silence that followed was heavier than before.

And this time, it wasn’t just yours. Was it really?

Bradley exhaled slowly, leaning back on the swing as you pulled away. His arm dropped to his side, but his eyes stayed on you, studying the way your posture had changed. You were still sitting, but something in you had shifted, gone taut like a wire pulled too tight. He saw it before you even stood.

“He saw something that wasn’t what it looked like,” he said quietly. “If it matters that much to you, go tell him.”

You looked at him then, heart already rising into your throat. “What if it’s too late?”

Bradley gave a small smile, nothing showy, just enough to feel real. “Then at least you’ll know you tried.”

You were already on your feet before he finished speaking.

Your boots hit the wooden porch hard as you turned toward the Hard Deck and pushed the door open, the warm noise of the bar spilling out into the night.

Inside, everything looked the same as it always did, Jake and Natasha nursing drinks at the high-top, Javy half-asleep on the couch by the jukebox, Mickey talking to a girl at the bar, but Bob wasn’t there.

Panic flared up as your eyes scanned the room again, faster this time. You moved toward the others, voice already raised a little louder than you meant it to be.

“Where’s Bob?”

Jake looked up from his drink, raising one brow with a smirk already forming. “Left a minute ago,” he said, drawing the words out with that usual drawl. “Looked like he had something on his mind.”

Phoenix gave him a side-glare, but Jake only grinned, tilting his beer bottle toward you. “Might wanna hurry, darlin’. Pretty sure he’s heading for the parking lot.”

Then, he winked.

You didn’t wait for the rest. You were already turning, already pushing through the door again before Phoenix could finish rolling her eyes. The night air hit you fast as you broke into a run, boots hitting pavement, heart racing, breath uneven as your eyes searched the parking lot for any sign of him.

But he was nowhere to be found. Not near the cars, not by the road, not leaning against the building like he sometimes did when he needed air.

You turned in a slow circle, breath catching, chest tightening, and for a moment you thought maybe, just maybe, you’d already lost him.

The first rumble of thunder rolled across the sky like a warning, low and distant, but enough to make you glance upward. The clouds had thickened without you noticing, dark smudges swallowing the stars you’d barely registered when you ran out here.

You kept walking anyway, your breath catching somewhere between hope and regret, your boots pounding across the vast stretch of asphalt that seemed to go on forever.

The Hard Deck’s parking lot felt impossibly big now, like it had swallowed him whole. You turned one way, then another, looking past the cars and over the fence toward the road, hoping to catch a glimpse of his figure in the dark. Nothing. No movement, no headlights, just the hum of silence.

And then, the sky split open.

The thunder cracked louder this time, and a second later the rain came down hard and fast, no preamble, no gentle drizzle. Just a sudden downpour, sharp and cold and unrelenting.

It soaked you instantly, plastering your shirt to your skin and pushing your hair down over your forehead. You stopped in the middle of the lot, blinking against the water, teeth clenched as you spun in one last desperate circle.

“Shit,” you breathed out, voice swallowed by the storm. “Shit!”

You kicked at a puddle with the side of your foot, frustration rising until it choked you. Then, slowly, without really thinking about it, you turned away from the cars and walked across the lot toward the dunes.

The sand felt cold under your boots as you stepped over the edge of the boardwalk, then softer as it gave under your feet. The tide was coming in slow and steady, the ocean dark and wild beneath the storm, but you didn’t stop. You moved closer until the wind off the water hit your skin like a slap.

The rain kept falling, heavier now, washing over your arms and shoulders and cheeks, mixing with the tears you didn’t even realize had started until your vision blurred.

You stopped walking, right where the wet sand met the dry, and you let your knees give a little, sinking down just enough to wrap your arms around yourself. The tears came harder now, not the quiet kind, but the full-body kind. The kind you only let loose when there’s no one around to see it.

Because what was wrong with you?

Why did you always love the wrong people, or love the right ones at the wrong time?

Why did your heart have to choose the person who couldn’t say anything back?

Why did you open yourself up at all, when it only ever ended like this, alone, soaked to the bone, watching the world pretend not to notice?

You pressed your hand to your mouth, trying to muffle the sound, but it didn’t matter. The wind carried it away.

And then, so softly you almost didn’t feel it, something touched your shoulder.

You looked up, eyes stinging.

An umbrella had been tilted over you, its wide canopy blocking the worst of the rain. The water still dripped off the edges, pooling around you in the sand, but suddenly the sound wasn’t so loud. The sky felt a little less heavy.

Someone had come back.

- Bob -

It was the way your head rested against Bradley’s shoulder that did it. Not the hug itself. Not even the rainclouds already threatening the sky. It was the intimacy of it. The ease.

The way you leaned into him like you belonged there. Bob had seen plenty of hugs before. He’d even been on the receiving end of one or two from you. But this was different.

This looked like something he wasn’t supposed to see.

“Oh,” Bob said quietly, voice tight in his throat. “Sorry, uh...I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

You turned toward him, startled, but he didn’t wait for you to explain. He just nodded once and backed into the doorway before the swing could creak again, before you or Bradley could say anything that might make it worse. The sound of the door clicking shut behind him felt final, like the end of a page he hadn’t meant to write.

He moved quickly across the bar, making his way to where the squad was still lounging. He didn’t say much. Just a quiet “Night,” as he passed Phoenix, who raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask, and then Coyote, who was halfway through a drink.

He didn’t even glance at Jake, who was mid-laugh over something Mickey said. Bob didn’t want to hear the jokes. He didn’t want a conversation. He just wanted to leave before whatever was knotted in his chest made its way to his face.

Outside again, the air felt heavier. Humid and tense. He inhaled slowly as he walked across the lot, weaving between cars toward the overflow patch of gravel on the far end of the property where he had parked earlier.

The bar had been packed when he arrived. He hadn’t minded the extra walk then. Now, he was grateful for it. Maybe the distance would help clear his head.

He reached for his door handle, only to pause. His keys were not in his pocket.

He checked again. Patting down the front, the side. Even crouched to peek under the car in case he’d dropped them on the walk out. Nothing.

Bob closed his eyes, jaw tightening as the first flicker of lightning cracked across the clouds. A second later, thunder rolled in low and slow behind it. Of course. Of course. He exhaled sharply, eyes stinging more than he wanted to admit, and turned on his heel.

The back door was closer than the front, so he made his way around the building and slipped in through the rear entrance near the storage room. Inside, the music was muffled and the lights were dimmer, but the voices of his squad were unmistakable.

Jake looked up first, brows lifted in surprise. “What the hell, man? I thought you just left.”

Bob didn’t slow his pace. “I forgot my keys,” he muttered, stepping toward their table with zero interest in lingering.

Jake blinked at him, then grinned slowly. “And you came all the way back for that? You sure it’s not because your one true love is still in the vicinity?”

Bob rolled his eyes, hand outstretched. “Give me the keys, Seresin.”

Bradley, who had just come back inside from the porch, walked past Jake and dropped into the seat beside Mickey with a dramatic sigh. Then he looked up at Bob, eyes calm, and said, “Go get your girl.”

Bob froze, confusion flickering across his face. “What?”

Bradley just gave him a pat on the shoulder and leaned back, tossing an arm over the back of the booth like he hadn’t just dropped something massive into the middle of the room. “You’ll figure it out.”

Jake chuckled, pulling Bob’s keys from his jacket pocket and tossing them with a lazy underhand. “Godspeed, lover boy,” he said with a wink.

Bob caught them with a half-hearted glare, then turned to leave again, shoulders tight. The rain had started properly by the time he stepped back outside.

Not just a drizzle, but a full downpour, wind kicking up droplets sideways as he squinted against the water. He didn’t have a jacket, of course not, but he did spot a forgotten umbrella resting in the metal stand by the exit door, probably something Penny kept for guests who never remembered the forecast.

He grabbed it without hesitation.

As he started toward his car again, umbrella tilted forward to block the worst of the storm, he squinted toward the shoreline. The wind had shifted, making it harder to see, but something near the dunes caught his eye.

A figure, small and still with knees drawn in, head down, hunched against the rain.

His chest tightened instantly, because he knew exactly who it was.

You.

Bob’s breath caught as soon as he saw you.

You were there, just beyond the edge of the dunes, curled in on yourself, knees drawn up, the sand clinging to your boots and the hem of your jeans. Rain poured down over you like the sky itself was mourning something, but you weren’t moving. You just sat there like you had nowhere else to go.

For a second, he didn’t know what to do.

He stood frozen, umbrella in one hand, heart in his throat, soaked already from the walk and not caring in the slightest. The wind tugged at his sleeves, the cold crawling under the collar of his shirt, but his eyes didn’t leave you.

Not when the waves crashed, and certainly not when thunder growled low in the clouds.

Then, before he could lose his nerve again, he moved.

Each step down the beach felt like something deliberate, something that might rewrite everything or wreck it entirely. By the time he reached you, your shoulders were shaking. He didn’t know if it was from the cold or the crying, and the thought of either made something tighten behind his ribs.

He tilted the umbrella gently over your head, angling it to cover as much of you as he could. The rain pinged off the canopy, water spilling down the sides and pooling into the sand. He didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t have to.

You turned slowly, blinking up at him with eyes red from tears, your face half-shielded by your hand.

When you spoke, it was soft, hoarse. “Bob?”

He swallowed hard. “What are you doing out here?”

You didn’t answer right away. You just stared at him like you couldn’t believe he was real. Then, pushing up off the sand, you stood slowly. You were already soaked through, hair clinging to your cheeks, your clothes heavy with rain.

The umbrella barely covered you both, so Bob tilted it even further toward your side, letting the drops hit the back of his neck, soak his shoulders. It didn’t matter.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” you said, wiping your face roughly with the back of your hand. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I—” Bob scoffed, quiet but incredulous. “What are you doing here? It’s pouring. You’re out in the middle of the beach, alone. You—you’re crying.”

“And?”

The word hit him like a slap, not because of what you said, but how. Defensive. Deflecting. Just like you always were when something hurt and you didn’t want to admit it.

He stepped back just slightly, shifting his weight. “You shouldn’t be out here. You could get sick.”

“I can handle a little rain, Bob.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

The frustration in your voice made something snap in him. Not anger. Just the helpless ache of wanting to understand and getting nothing but walls.

“You’re out here like the world’s ending,” he said, not harsh, but loud enough to cut through the sound of the ocean. “And I don’t know what happened. I don’t know what I walked in on earlier, but whatever it is, it clearly messed you up. So why won’t you just say it?”

Your jaw tightened. Bob’s eyes searched yours, and he hated how wet your lashes were, how you kept blinking like it might stop the tears from falling again.

“You left,” you said, barely louder than the waves. “You saw me and Bradley and you just left. You didn’t ask. You didn’t say anything. You just walked away.”

“Because I thought—” Bob started, then stopped, mouth opening again before the words would come. “Because I thought maybe I’d finally misread everything. That maybe I really was just the guy who stood beside you while you reached for someone else.”

You went still.

Bob felt the rain trickling down his collar, the weight of it sinking into his clothes, but none of it mattered. Not when he could see the tremble in your chin.

Not when his hands were gripping the handle of the umbrella too tightly, like it was the only thing keeping him from breaking open completely.

“I came out here to go home,” he said, voice raw now. “I wasn’t trying to chase you. I wasn’t trying to win anything. I just… saw you and knew I couldn’t leave like that. Not when you looked like—”

“Like what?” you snapped. “Like someone who’s miserable because the person she cares about doesn’t even see her?”

Bob stared.

The umbrella slipped in his hand slightly as his grip faltered. Your chest was rising and falling fast now, tears sliding down your cheeks again even as the rain tried to wash them away.

“You don’t get to be the only one hurt here,” you whispered, and Bob’s breath hitched at the sound.

Bob’s hands were trembling now, just barely, but he didn’t care if you noticed. The umbrella had shifted again, tilted awkwardly between you as the wind pushed it sideways, the handle slipping under his palm.

You stood there in front of him, soaked, furious, breaking right in front of him, and still so beautiful it physically hurt.

He reached out with his free hand, curling his fingers around your wrist gently, almost pleading. “Can we just—can we please go somewhere dry? Please? You’re shaking. I’m shaking. This is…”

“No.”

You didn’t yell it. You didn’t need to. You said it with steel in your voice, steady and clear, enough to stop him cold. His hand dropped back to his side, and the umbrella dipped lower, forgotten.

“You don’t get to do that,” you continued, eyes shining with something deeper than just tears. “You don’t get to show up and look at me like that and then leave. For two weeks, Bob. I bared my soul to you and then you disappeared. You looked at me like I meant something, like maybe I wasn’t alone in feeling this—and then you vanished.”

The words were falling faster now, unfiltered, raw. Your chest heaved as you stood your ground, unmoving, hair plastered to your face, water running down your neck.

“I spent the last two weeks thinking I imagined everything. That I was delusional. That maybe I was just another sad story in your life you didn’t want to deal with. I thought, hell, I thought maybe you were ashamed of me. That I’d embarrassed you somehow. Because how else do you explain silence like that, Bob? After everything—”

“I never—”

“No. Let me finish,” you snapped, voice cracking slightly. “You don’t get to shut me out and then show up and pretend like I’m the one who needs fixing. I was hurting, and you walked away. And I tried to pretend it didn’t break me but it did, Bob. It really did. And you know what’s worse? I would’ve forgiven you. I still—”

He dropped the umbrella.

It fell between you with a quiet thud, folding uselessly into the sand as the wind dragged it sideways. Then, in a single, swift step, he closed the distance between you, and his hands came up to your face, framing it with a tenderness that contradicted the desperate pull in his breath.

And then, he kissed you.

It wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t shy. It was soaked and shaking and aching from two weeks of silence, from a year of almosts, from the weight of everything left unsaid.

His lips pressed to yours like he needed to be sure this was real, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he waited one second longer. You felt the way his chest rose against yours, the way his hands curled into your damp hair like he was anchoring himself.

He kissed you like someone drowning, and you kissed him back like you’d been waiting your whole damn life.

The moment their lips parted, Bob felt it like an ache. Not just in his chest, but in every part of him that had been holding back for too long. His breath came ragged, wet hair dripping into his eyes, and he let out a soft, disbelieving laugh as he looked at you.

There was a smile on his face now, gentle and quiet, like the storm had finally stilled, like maybe, just maybe, everything had been worth it.

Then, your hand hit his cheek with a sharp crack.

Bob reeled, not backward, just enough to blink the rain from his lashes and stare at you, stunned. His hand went instinctively to his cheek, now stinging from the slap, and he stood there completely still as you looked back at him with tears pouring down your face.

“What the hell was that?” you cried out, voice wobbling with more than just anger. “Why did you kiss me?! I—I had a whole speech, Bob! I practiced! I spent days trying to figure out how to say this to you and you—you just—”

“I—”

“I wasn’t done!” you snapped, both hands now clenched at your sides, your chest rising fast. “I had this whole damn thing ready and I was gonna look you in the eye and tell you that you make me feel like I’m not broken, that I feel safe with you and myself with you and God, Bob, you kissed me in the middle of it! What kind of timing, I mean, who does that?!”

He should’ve said something, but the lump in his throat was too thick, his heart too full. So instead, he stepped closer. One hand came up, trembling slightly as he touched your chin with the softest tip of his finger, lifting your face until your eyes met his again.

You looked furious, you looked wrecked, and you looked like you had waited for someone to choose you for far too long. And he did.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words catching like gravel in his throat.

His hand slid from your chin to your jaw, fingers brushing your cheekbone gently, the same one you had just slapped. His other hand found your lower back, firm and steady as he pulled you closer, pressing you carefully against him, like he was holding something fragile.

The rain was still pouring around you, but Bob didn’t feel it anymore. Not when you were this close.

His voice cracked on the first words.

“I didn’t mean to run,” he said, voice hoarse, barely audible over the storm. “I—I didn’t know what to do. I thought you were with Rooster. I saw you with him and it—it hurt so much I thought maybe I’d made the whole thing up in my head. That I was just… the background guy. Again. And I couldn’t stand it.”

You opened your mouth, but he shook his head quickly, eyes glassy. “Please, just… let me say this?”

You nodded.

“I love you.”

The words hit like a punch, and Bob had to blink fast as tears mixed with the rain on his face.

“I don’t know when it started,” he continued, stumbling slightly as the words finally spilled out, “but I think it was that first night at the bar when Penny introduced you to us. You were laughing at something Jake said, and I thought, God, I’m in trouble, because you looked at everyone like they were familiar, but when you looked at me, it felt like, like I mattered. And I never feel like that, not really.”

You were staring at him now, lips parted, rain dripping off your chin.

“And every time you talked to me, I couldn’t think straight. I’d remember later what I should have said, but in the moment, all I could do was hope you’d say something else just so I could keep hearing your voice. And then I saw you crushing on Rooster and I thought, Of course. Why wouldn’t you fall for the guy who’s everything I’m not?”

His thumb traced a gentle line under your eye, where a tear had carved a path.

“But then you looked at me that night on the beach. And I thought, maybe, Maybe I wasn’t just imagining it. Maybe I wasn’t being delusional.”

He took a breath, shaking.

“I love the way you talk when you’re too tired to filter yourself. I love how you take care of everyone, even when you’re falling apart. I love how stubborn you are. I love your damn porch swing, and the way you light up when you talk about stupid things like sandwich order preferences. I love every single part of you.”

His voice cracked again, eyes locked to yours.

“And I swear I would’ve said it sooner, if I wasn’t so afraid of losing the only thing in my life that felt good and real.”

You didn’t say anything right away. You didn’t have to. Bob could see it, your eyes glassy, your lips parted, your chest trembling from holding back too much for too long. You were crying, full and silent, the kind that made his chest twist because it meant you were really feeling it now.

And maybe he was too, because he didn’t even bother wiping at the tears running down his own cheeks.

What was the point? The rain was doing a damn good job of hiding them, but the heat in his throat said they were there anyway.

You reached up slowly, fingers brushing along the side of his neck, uncertain at first. Bob leaned into the touch like it was gravity, like the choice had already been made for him.

Your hand slid higher, into the mess of his damp hair, curling gently like it was something sacred.

He closed his eyes at that, just for a second. He didn’t need to look to feel it. He already knew that you were choosing him.

So, he kissed you.

And this time, it wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rushed or chaotic or driven by panic. It was slow. It was soft.

It was the kind of kiss that unfolded instead of exploded, that whispered you’re safe here instead of screaming don’t leave me.

His hands stayed steady, one resting gently at the small of your back, the other brushing your jaw with the kind of care he always used when he handled delicate things.

Your fingers curled tighter in his hair, pulling him closer, and he went willingly, without hesitation. The rain kept falling, soaking through every layer of clothing, dripping down your joined hands, your cheeks, your chins. You were soaked, cold, and probably going to get sick after this.

And neither of you cared, because something in the world had finally shifted into place.

When you finally pulled apart, it was only by a breath. Just far enough for your foreheads to touch, noses brushing, tears still clinging to both of your faces.

“I love you too, Robert Floyd,” you whispered, voice cracking on his name like it was the only truth that ever mattered.

Bob laughed, quiet and hoarse, and leaned into you again, one hand coming up to cup the side of your face as he looked at you, really looked.

“Say it again,” he said, not because he didn’t believe it, but because he needed to hear it. Like a balm. Like a song.

You smiled, still crying. “I love you, Bob.”

And so, he kissed you again.

This time slower.

This time longer.

And this time like he’d never let you forget it.

#bob floyd x reader #bob x reader #bob floyd #top gun x reader #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake seresin #natasha trace #top gun fandom #avengxrz

267 notes · View notes

mysticalcrowntyrant · 1 day ago

Note

Could you write a story based on red riding hood? :)

Yandere “Wolf” x Reader

The market was loud, as always. Chickens squawked somewhere near the eastern gate, and a pot of stew boiled over beside the smithy’s wife, who was too busy shouting prices at passersby to notice. Woodsmoke hung thick in the air, clinging to your shawl as you picked through the day’s produce.

Your basket was half full when you felt it: a gaze. Not the fleeting sort people give in passing, not curiosity or judgment. No—this one was heavy. You didn’t need to look up to feel it settle on your shoulders.

You did anyway.

He was standing just beyond the barrel of apples. Tall. Broad. Leaning with one arm braced on the edge of a cart. He wore black, mostly—faded from travel and stained with dust—but the way he held himself said it wasn’t just for show. His hood was down, and pale hair stuck to his brow in loose, sweat-damp strands. His eyes were pale too. Not quite gray. Not quite blue. Something colder than either.

“Careful,” he said, nodding at the apple in your hand. “That one looks a bit too sweet. Might give someone ideas.”

You looked down at it. Then back at him. “It’s a fruit,” you said flatly. “I don’t think it’s giving anyone ideas.”

He grinned. “You’d be surprised, little fox.”

You turned away without answering. The basket bumped against your hip as you moved to the next vendor, ignoring the sound of boots crunching behind you.

“I saw you earlier,” he said, sidling up beside you. “Near the well. You were talking to that old woman with the herbs. Is she your grandmother?”

You didn’t answer.

“She’s got kind eyes,” he added. “You do too.”

You stopped to examine a jar of honey, pretending not to hear him. He kept pace, unbothered by the silence.

“You live nearby, then? Must be hard work, running errands like this. All alone.”

Still nothing.

“I like your shawl,” he tried next. “It suits you. Red’s a good color for you.”

You turned your head slightly. “Are you going to keep following me?”

His smile didn’t waver. “Not if you ask me nicely.”

“Fine. Stop following me.”

He chuckled, low and amused. “That wasn’t very nice.”

You started walking again, faster this time. But he was behind you before you could make it to the next stall.

“Mercenary work,” he said, gesturing to the worn sword at his hip. “That’s what I do. Nothing fancy. I don’t kill children or clergy, if that’s your concern. But I am good with my hands.”

You stopped. “That’s disgusting.”

He blinked. Then grinned again. “You misunderstand me, little fox.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Why?” He tilted his head. “It suits you. Quick. Sharp-eyed. Always watching. You’re not as quiet as you think, you know.”

You stared at him. “And you’re not nearly as charming as you think.”

He laughed. A full, delighted sound, like you’d said the most wonderful thing he’d ever heard.

“You’ve got a tongue on you,” he said. “I like that.”

You turned from him again, mouth pressed into a tight line, and made your way toward the baker’s stall. The smell of warm bread rose thick in the air—brown crusted loaves and sweet knots of cinnamon on display behind a woven curtain of flies. You hoped it might put a wall between you and him. But he didn’t take the hint.

Of course he didn’t.

He followed like a shadow stitched to your heel, speaking just loud enough for you to hear over the hum of barter and bleating goats.

“I could buy you something,” he offered. “A tart, maybe. Or one of those little hand-pies. Something sweet for a sour face.”

You didn’t answer.

“A smile wouldn’t kill you,” he added after a beat, voice softening, as if coaxing a wild animal closer. “Though I’d be the first to admit, there’s something pretty about your scowl.”

You turned on your heel so fast your shawl flared. “Do you ever shut up?”

His brows lifted, mock-wounded. “I talk when I’m nervous.”

“Why would you be nervous?”

He stepped a little closer. Too close. The crowd buzzed and flowed around you, but in that moment, it was like no one else existed. Just the two of you and the thick, invisible cord of tension wound tighter than twine. His pale eyes flicked down, then slowly back up.

“Because I don’t want to say the wrong thing to the prettiest girl in the square,” he said with a smirk. “Might ruin my chances.”

Your lip curled. “You didn’t have a chance.”

He grinned, leaning in like he was about to whisper some awful secret. “You sure about that?”

That was it.

Without thinking, you reached into your basket, grabbed the nearest apple, and hurled it at him. It wasn’t a perfect throw, but it hit him square in the chest with a satisfying thud.

He froze, blinking in genuine surprise as the apple bounced off his ribs and tumbled into the dirt. A few heads turned. Somewhere, a child gasped.

You didn’t care.

“Get lost,” you snapped, loud enough to cut through the noise around you.

A few people glanced over. A merchant frowned.

But the mercenary didn’t get angry.

He smiled.

Not the cocky smirk he’d been wearing like armor all morning. This one was different. Slower. Thinner. Like a knife slipping into silk.

You hated how calm he looked. Like he’d gotten exactly what he wanted.

“You’ve got spirit,” he murmured, voice quieter now. “I like that too.”

You didn’t give him a chance to say more. You turned and stormed away, pushing through the crowd, willing your legs not to shake.

But you could still feel it. That awful heat on the back of your neck.

——

Three days passed.

You hadn’t seen him again, not in the market, not on the road. And though you didn’t speak of it aloud, you’d felt it. The strange, coiled sense of absence. Like a storm that had paused just past the ridge. Waiting.

You pushed the thought aside as you walked. Your basket was heavy, full of the bread and herbs your grandmother had requested. Evening crept low over the trees, the light turning from gold to rust as shadows stretched longer and longer between the trunks. The woods were quiet. A little too quiet. No birds. No wind. Not even the creak of branches. Just your boots on damp leaves, and your breathing, and that crawling sensation like something just behind you.

…

The growl came first. Low, guttural. Then the snap of twigs. You turned just in time to see a wolf lunge.

Its weight hit you like a thrown sack of stone, knocking you hard onto your back. The breath tore out of your lungs as teeth snapped inches from your face, reeking of rot and blood. You shoved your arm under its throat, keeping it at bay with both hands while it snarled and twisted, claws raking at your skirts.

Your palm lit up in panic, magic flaring gold against the beast’s ribs. It didn’t throw it back like you’d hoped. The creature jerked, yelped, but it didn’t fall. You grabbed a broken branch from the ground and shoved it between its teeth before it could clamp down again. The branch splintered, but it gave you enough time to twist, roll, and knee the creature hard in the ribs.

It yelped and pulled back. You scrambled to your feet, heart thundering. Your hands were scraped raw. Your shawl had been torn clean down one side.

Another snarl. It came again—faster this time.

You ducked. You kicked. You drove your elbow into the side of its neck. The wolf crashed into a tree and staggered.

You raised your hand again, palm glowing faintly, hoping—praying—that something, anything, would spark strong enough to knock it out.

But the magic fizzled, drained and useless, like striking flint in the rain.

A second growl came from behind.

You turned slowly.

Another wolf. Black-furred, low to the ground, teeth slick. This one was smarter. It didn’t rush.

You were cornered. Your breath hitched. You stepped back toward the tree, pulse thrumming in your ears.

And then—just as the second wolf began to stalk forward—

Steel flashed. Flesh split. A roar not from an animal but from a man.

The mercenary collided with the first wolf like a thunderclap—his blade arcing low, catching the beast along the ribs. Blood sprayed. The wolf howled and staggered, but it didn’t drop.

He didn’t hesitate. He followed it, fast and brutal, boots pounding the earth as he brought the blade down again. The second swing sank deep into the creature’s shoulder, cutting through fur and muscle with a wet crunch. It screamed and bucked wildly, knocking him off balance, and in that moment the other wolf sprang.

You screamed. He turned just in time to take the brunt of it—teeth sinking into his forearm as he raised it to block. Blood poured freely down his sleeve.

Still, he held.

With a growl of pain, he slammed his fist into the wolf’s muzzle, staggering it just enough to wrench his arm free and shove the beast back. He was bleeding badly now. You saw it. The wound was deep, jagged.

The first wolf had recovered. It circled again. Two predators, flanking. They weren’t wild—they were coordinated. Intelligent.

You had to move.

You darted in without thinking. Heart hammering. You grabbed a fallen branch from the underbrush—a thick one, splintered at the tip—and rammed it straight into the first wolf’s side as it lunged toward him again.

It shrieked, twisting midair, your makeshift spear dragging a line of blood along its ribs. It didn’t fall, but it hesitated. And that was enough. The mercenary lunged forward, driving his blade clean into its neck. Blood sprayed hot across your skirts. The wolf collapsed, spasming once before going still.

The second wolf growled low. It lunged itself towards you.

You threw yourself forward, hands glowing faintly with the last shimmer of your magic. You slammed your palm against its snout, and the flash of energy surged into its skull like a jolt of white fire. The creature reeled, yelping, momentarily dazed.

The mercenary didn’t waste it. He grabbed its throat with both hands, twisting hard, and slammed it down onto a jagged rock. There was a crunch. A cry. And then silence.

You were both panting. You staggered back against a tree, trembling.

The mercenary straightened slowly, covered in gore. His face was pale, sweat slicking his brow. His arm was bleeding freely, soaking through his coat, and there was a ragged wound across his ribs.

But he was alive. So were you.

He wiped the blade off on his sleeve and looked down at the broken bodies. Then at you.

His voice was hoarse. Rough.

“That wasn’t just a wolf.”

You blinked. “What…?”

He nudged the corpse of the second one with his boot. Its eyes were still open—too many teeth in its mouth, too much muscle beneath the fur. Its limbs were too long. Not natural.

“Monster-wolves,” he said. “Some call them duskbeasts. Wolves who were born of magic. They had probably been tracking you for miles.”

He looked up at you, gaze steady despite the exhaustion bleeding through his limbs.

You stared at the carcasses, heart still thudding in your throat. The wolves—the duskbeasts—lay twisted and broken in the fading light, their bodies too large, too wrong. Joints bent at unnatural angles, mouths stretched too wide, fangs still bared in death. You opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it.

“I mean, it makes sense.” His voice was strained, but still tried for smugness. “You're a little irresistible, little fox. Even to monsters.”

You turned to look at him. He was limping slightly, favoring his left side, blood dripping steadily from his arm and soaking through the black of his coat. And yet somehow—somehow—he still managed to smirk at you.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered.

“And you’re welcome.” He winced as he walked, though he tried to mask it. “Wouldn’t have lasted another minute without me. Admit it.”

You stepped toward him and reached for the torn fabric near his ribs. He flinched slightly but didn’t stop you.

“I would’ve lasted fine without you,” you said, and jabbed your fingers firmly into the deepest part of the wound.

He let out a sharp gasp through his teeth and immediately folded forward with a groan.

“Gods—! What was that for?”

“Just checking how fine you’re doing.”

“Cruel little thing.” He gritted his teeth, swaying slightly as he glared at you. “And here I came to rescue you.”

“You also stalked me through the market and called me little fox five too many times.”

“Six, actually.”

You rolled your eyes.

But he was turning pale, and the cocky lilt in his voice had begun to fray at the edges.

“We need to get you off your feet.”

“Oh? That sounds—”

“Say another word and I’ll jab your ribs again.”

He shut up.

—-

You half-dragged, half-guided him through the woods until the trees gave way to your grandmother’s farm. Smoke curled from the chimney, but you steered him away from the house and toward the stables, where the air smelled of hay and horses, and no one would ask questions.

He collapsed onto a low bench near the far stall, back slumping against the post, blood dripping down his side in slow rivulets.

“Stay still,” you said, already digging through the old healing pouch you kept hidden in the tack box. The salves were weak, the herbs cheap but your magic was returning, slowly, like warmth seeping back into your limbs after frost.

You knelt before him, fingers steady as you peeled away the shredded fabric of his coat. The wound along his ribs was ugly. Deep, angry, red.

“This is going to sting.”

“I like pain,” he muttered. “Makes me—“

You jabbed your thumb into the edge of the gash again.

“Ow!” He hissed. “I take it back. I take it all back.”

“Good.”

You pressed your hand flat over the wound, and light spilled from your palm. Golden, warm, and slow-moving. The bleeding eased almost immediately. The edges of the torn flesh began to knit beneath your touch, muscle rejoining muscle, skin pulling together again.

He watched you the entire time.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t smile. Just watched, with that pale, patient intensity like he was memorizing the shape of your hand. The furrow of your brow. The sound of your breathing.

The silence stretched.

And just when the magic began to fade, he said, quietly, “You really weren’t going to leave me behind.”

You didn’t look at him.

“No.”

“I like that about you,” he murmured. “Even if you hate me.”

“I do hate you,” you said, smoothing the last edge of bandage over his arm.

He smiled faintly.

“You say that,” he said, voice low, “but you’re still touching me.”

You stood up so fast he nearly fell off the bench.

“Don’t push it.”

He lifted his hands in surrender, though his smirk had returned in full.

“I’m just saying. You’re a very caring little fox.”

You reached for your basket, ready to hurl another apple at his face.

“Try me.”

Your fingers had just closed around the basket's handle when his hand shot out and caught your wrist.

“Hey—”

He tugged, and before you could plant your feet, you stumbled forward. The bench creaked beneath both your weights as you landed—half on it, half on him, knees bumping his and palm braced on the wood beside his thigh.

“Gods,” you muttered, “what are you—”

“I need to check you,” he said, already reaching for the edge of your shawl. “You were thrown to the ground. Bitten at. Scratched. You might be bleeding and not even feel it yet.”

You slapped his hand away. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Oh, really?” He arched a brow, fingers brushing your shoulder again. “Then what’s this?”

“That’s fabric, and I swear—”

But he was already lifting the shawl, pulling it aside like he had any right, gaze scanning your collarbone, your upper arm, the line of your shoulder. His hand was warm, calloused, and annoyingly gentle.

Your face burned hot. “Stop.”

“Just one sec. If there’s a bite I missed, it could go bad.”

“There’s no bite!”

He reached for the tie of your blouse.

And that was it.

You grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked.

Hard.

“Agh—! Ow—gods—!” he wheezed, twisting away as your fingers tangled in the sweat-damp strands near the base of his skull. “Mercy, woman!”

You didn’t let go. “Still feel like checking me now?”

He was laughing before he even got the words out. “Alright—alright—it was a joke!”

You stared at him.

“You were blushing,” he wheezed, grinning up at you like a boy caught with both hands in the pantry. “I couldn’t resist.”

“You nearly got punched in the ribs again.”

“Worth it.”

You shoved him back against the post, not hard enough to reopen the wound, but enough to rattle him. His smirk didn’t falter—if anything, it deepened.

“I liked the hair-pull,” he said. “Very commanding. Should’ve known you were the grabby type.”

You let go of him fast.

“Sleep outside,” you said, brushing off your skirts. “With the horses.”

He tilted his head back against the beam, watching you through narrowed eyes, still smiling.

“Can’t,” he said. “I think I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying.”

“I might be.”

“Then go die quietly. Somewhere far away.”

He slouched down, sighing dramatically. “So cruel. You mend me with magic just to break my heart.”

—-

The next morning, the sun had barely crested the treetops when you slipped into the barn again. It was cooler inside—dust motes floating in the early light, the air thick with the scent of hay, old wood, and horses that hadn’t yet stirred.

You hadn’t brought much. Just a crust of bread, a bit of cheese, and a jar of quince jam your grandmother had insisted on giving him. She didn’t ask who he was. Only raised an eyebrow when you came in with blood on your skirts and left again with clean bandages and a muttered excuse about a “traveler who got into a scrap.”

You found him right where you’d left him—half-sprawled on the bench, coat slung over a post, boots kicked off, hair a mess.

He was asleep.

Or pretending to be.

You approached quietly, footsteps soft in the straw. The basket creaked as you set it down. At the sound, he stirred, one pale eye sliding open beneath a tousled strand of hair.

“You didn’t die,” you said.

He blinked slowly, voice rough with sleep. “Not yet.”

“Shame.”

He groaned as he sat up, one hand pressed to his side. “You say the cruelest things first thing in the morning.”

“I brought food.”

“I take it back.”

You handed him the bread and jam. He studied it like it might explode. Then: “Is this a peace offering?”

“No. It’s breakfast.”

“Still sounds like a peace offering.”

“Eat it before I change my mind.”

He gave you a long, unreadable look then took the bread with a half-smile and broke it in two, handing you back a piece.

You didn’t take it.

“I made it for you.”

He raised a brow. “You made bread?”

“Poorly.”

He bit into it anyway. “Still the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in months.”

You sat down a few feet away on an overturned bucket, watching him pick crumbs from the corner of his mouth.

His movements were slower today. Careful. His side was clearly bothering him, though he tried not to show it.

“How’s the wound?”

He glanced down at it. “Clean. Mostly. Still hurts like hell.”

“You’ll live.”

“Again, debatable.” He leaned back against the post, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “I had a nightmare you tried to stab me with a spoon.”

“Sounds like a dream.”

He cracked an eye. “Cruel.”

You crossed your arms, studying the hay-strewn floor.

A moment passed.

Then, softly, “You’re really not going to ask who I am?”

You looked at him. “I assumed you’d tell me when you wanted to.”

That seemed to surprise him more than any accusation would have. He stared at you for a beat, the usual arrogance stripped from his face.

“I’ve got names,” he said eventually, voice low. “Too many, depending on the town. But you can call me Kesh.”

“Kesh.”

“Short for something unpronounceable,” he added, biting into the bread again. “Or possibly made up. Hard to say.”

You waited.

“And you?” he asked. “What do they call you, little fox?”

You hesitated.

His tone had softened. Not mocking, not prying. Just curious. And in that stillness, with the smell of hay and bread between you, it felt almost safe to answer.

So you did.

Quietly. Simply. Just the name you’d carried since birth, like any other burden.

Kesh blinked, then tilted his head slightly, as if turning the sound of it over in his mind. His lips quirked at the corners.

“I like mine better,” he said.

You frowned. “Your…?”

He gave a faint shrug, the movement slow to avoid tugging at his ribs. “Little fox. It suits you. You’re quick on your feet, bite when cornered, and keep looking at me like you’re wondering if I’ll steal your chickens.”

“I am wondering.”

“I don’t even like chickens.”

You scoffed. “You don’t like anything that behaves better than you.”

He grinned, unabashed. “Exactly.”

You stood. “You can call me by my name.”

“I could,” he said, “but then you might forget how much it annoys you when I don’t.”

You stared at him. He gave you that same look from the day before—the one that cut straight through the humor, the wounds, the mess of it all.

A pause stretched between you.

Then, softer this time, like a secret: “I’ll say it when it matters.”

You didn’t quite know what to make of that.

But you turned to leave without arguing, hand on the barn door, the morning breeze sneaking in through the slats.

Behind you, Kesh muttered through a mouthful of cheese, “Besides…the way you say Kesh, it kind of sounds like you like me.”

You didn’t respond.

You just let the door swing shut on whatever grin he was wearing.

—-

Kesh stayed for five months. Not because he asked. Not because you offered. He just…didn’t leave.

And somehow, the days folded in around him.

—-

Week One: You found him asleep in the hayloft, a pitchfork clutched like a sword across his chest. When you called his name, he opened one eye and said, “You're sweet when you're worried,” before you could deny it.

You nearly threw the bucket of water you were holding.

Later, you brought him a fresh bandage and told him he smelled like barn cat.

—-

Week Two: He helped you chop wood.

Well—helped might be generous. You did most of the chopping. He leaned against a stump and gave commentary.

“You’ve got murderous form,” he said, dodging a stray splinter. “Marry me.”

You missed the log entirely and told him to shut up. He laughed so hard he winced and nearly opened his stitches again.

Afterward, you smeared salve on his wounds.

—

Week Three: You taught him how to braid twine into rope.

He got it wrong three times, cursed every loop, and tied his own sleeve to the rafter. You nearly fell off your stool laughing.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” he said, struggling to untangle himself.

“Not enough,” you replied.

But when you took his hand to guide the next knot, your fingers brushed, and neither of you pulled away.

—-

Week Four: You caught him feeding your grandmother’s half-blind goat a tart from the pantry. She was supposed to be fasting for bloat.

You smacked the tart out of his hand and told him he’d killed her.

She lived. Thrived, actually. She followed him around all afternoon like a lovesick puppy.

He called it destiny. You called it suspicious.

—

One Month In: Your grandmother asked him to bring in kindling.

He came back with an entire broken tree branch and three pinecones. Proud.

She looked at the mess, then at him. “You could’ve gotten away with this if you were at least pretty,” she said. Kesh looked insulted. “I’m devastatingly handsome,” he corrected.

She snorted and tossed him a knife. “Make yourself useful, then.”

He did.

You found them later at the table, peeling apples. She was telling him a story you hadn’t heard in years, smiling.

—

Two Months In: Rain.

Kesh stayed in the barn, listening to the storm through the rafters while you sat beside him with mending in your lap. You didn’t speak for an hour. Just the click of your needle and the soft drum of water on the roof.

Then, without looking up, he said, “You make this place feel less like the end of the world.”

You nearly pricked your thumb.

When you looked over, he was watching the rain. Like he hadn’t said anything at all.

—

Three Months In: You found your grandmother muttering in the kitchen.

“I told him to get thyme,” she said, pulling open a drawer. “He came back with a rock. A rock, child. And berries I didn’t ask for.”

You raised a brow. “Where is he now?”

“In the garden,” she said, exasperated. “Asking the scarecrow if it likes jam.”

You stepped outside, and sure enough—there he was. Jarring jam for a scarecrow. You didn’t ask.

You just helped him clean the lids.

—

Four Months In: There was a harvest fair in town. You didn’t want to go, but your grandmother made you.

Kesh went with you. You bought cinnamon bread and apples. He won a knife-throwing contest.

That night, you both sat under the porch roof. He leaned his head back and said, “I’m not good at staying. But this…it’s hard to leave.”

You didn’t answer. But your hand was close to his on the bench. You didn’t move it.

—

Five Months In: You found him at the edge of the woods, eyes fixed on the trees. The morning was cold. Mist low and clinging. He looked different—still, somehow. Like a coin balanced on its edge.

“I’ll go soon,” he said, without turning.

You didn’t answer right away. Then,

“Why.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Don’t make it harder,” he said.

You didn’t ask what it was. You didn’t have to.

You just stepped up beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and watched the mist drift through the trees.

—-

Kesh left the next morning. No note. No goodbye. Just the faint smell of smoke in the barn rafters and the imprint of his weight still pressed into the bench.

You found the twine rope you’d made together, looped neatly and left on the hook beside the stall. The knots were crooked. You didn’t untie them.

—-

Autumn came. Then winter. The frost crept in slow. First at the corners of windows, then the edges of fields. The leaves turned, then fell, and still—you didn’t hear from him.

Your grandmother asked once. Just once.

“Is that traveler coming back?”

You’d been kneading dough. You didn’t look up. “He wasn’t staying.”

She didn’t press. Only nodded and went back to her knitting. But after that, she always set aside an extra slice of bread when she packed your basket for the barn.

You didn’t mention it.

—-

The days grew short. Chores filled the quiet. Wood to stack. Stock to feed. A new fence to fix when the goats got too bold. You’d never minded solitude. Not really. But now it sat different, like a room that used to hold music.

Sometimes, in the early mornings, you caught yourself listening for footsteps that weren’t there. That particular rhythm—lazy, and uneven. But there was nothing. Just you and the frost.

And the rope on its hook.

—-

In town, you heard stories.

Monster-wolves, again. A whole den burned in the northeast hills. A caravan attacked at dusk. The survivors said someone had come out of the trees to stop it—just one man, cloaked in black, moving like a storm with a sword.

No one knew his name.

You said nothing.

But that night, you stayed out by the barn a little longer than usual. Let the cold bite into your fingers. Looked toward the woods until your eyes watered.

—-

Spring came late. The thaw was slow. Mud clung to your boots for weeks. The goats molted horribly. The apple trees budded unevenly.

You started sleeping poorly. Dreams full of teeth and smoke and voices that sounded like his, only never quite said your name.

Until one did.

—-

It was barely dawn. Mist clung low to the field when the knock came. Three short raps on the side of the house. Not the front door. The side—the barn-facing one.

Your hands moved before your head caught up. Shawl thrown around your shoulders, boots half-tied, you stepped out into the chill and saw—

Him.

Kesh stood at the edge of the porch, one arm braced against the post. His coat was darker now, mended in places, torn in others. He looked tired. Thinner. But still him.

Still Kesh.

His smirk flickered into place the moment your eyes met.

“Hey, little fox.”

He waited.

Waited for you to say something sharp. Or throw something. Or look away.

You didn’t.

You just crossed the few steps to him, grabbed the collar of his coat and hit him once in the chest with your fist.

Then, voice hoarse:

“You’re late.”

He blinked. Then smiled—soft this time. Small and sure, like he’d been carrying it all this time, just for this.

“I got lost.”

“Liar.”

“I missed you.”

That one landed. You hated how easily it cracked something open in your chest.

You didn’t speak again.

You just stepped into him, arms around his waist, cheek pressed to his shoulder. And for once—for once—he didn’t make a joke.

He just held you.

You didn’t know how long you stood there. Long enough for your fingers to go numb against the worn leather of his coat. Long enough to realize his arms had tightened slightly around you, just enough to be sure he wouldn’t disappear if you blinked.

Eventually, you pulled back.

Not far. Just enough to see his face again.

And now that he was this close, really here—you had questions. Dozens of them, crawling up your throat faster than you could speak them.

“Where were you?” “Are you hurt?” “What happened?” “Why didn’t you write?” “Was it really you they saw near the hills?” “Did you find more of those monsters?” “Why now?” “Why here?”

You stopped short of asking the last one aloud. But Kesh must’ve seen it in your eyes.

He smiled, soft and unapologetic, the corners of his mouth tugging upward like he’d expected the flood. Maybe even missed it.

“I’ll tell you,” he said, voice low. “I’ll tell you everything. Happily. Over tea. Inside. Where there’s a roof. And food.”

You stared at him.

Then stepped back fully, arms folding over your chest. “You think you deserve tea?”

“I always deserve tea.”

“You smell like you haven’t bathed in weeks.”

“I definitely haven’t.”

You sighed and turned toward the house. “Come on, then.”

Kesh followed like he’d never left. Same easy steps, same little limp, same smugness barely reined in behind every word.

But he didn’t speak again. Not right away.

He just looked around. At the porch. The field. The garden fence you’d mended. The goat grazing peacefully by the shed—his goat, technically, if affection meant anything.

And then he looked at you.

Like he’d remembered something, and now he was seeing it again for the first time.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

So you pushed open the door.

Inside, the kettle was already on. You’d lit it earlier, just for the chill, not expecting anything. The fire was crackling low. A pair of boots were drying near the hearth.

Your grandmother was sitting at the table, peeling root vegetables into a chipped bowl.

She looked up when the door opened.

Saw you first.

Then him.

A beat of silence passed.

Then, without missing a stroke of the knife, she said, “Well. Look what the goat dragged back.”

Kesh blinked. “You mean cat, surely.”

“She’s too clean,” your grandmother replied, nodding toward the goat out the window. “That one eats mice. Keeps her fur tidy. You, on the other hand…”

Kesh looked personally wounded.

Your grandmother rose from her chair and stepped closer, wiping her hands on her apron. Then she stood in front of him, arms folded, giving him a long, sharp once-over.

He stood still.

She reached out suddenly, brushing her fingers across his cheek.

Then she clucked her tongue. “Thinner than last time. And still ugly.”

Kesh looked delighted. “Missed you too, old woman.”

“Mm.” She turned to you. “Feed him before he talks himself faint.”

You rolled your eyes, already moving toward the cupboard. “He talks himself faint on purpose.”

Behind you, Kesh groaned as he settled into the nearest chair with the grace of a dropped sack of flour. “That’s slander. I only ever faint when it gets me something.”

“Like pity,” you muttered.

“Or a slice of bread.” He grinned, folding his arms behind his head. “Speaking of, if you had any of that quince jam left from before I was brutally exiled—”

“You left, you idiot,” you said, placing a bowl of stew and a heel of bread in front of him with more force than necessary.

“Semantics,” he said through a mouthful of bread. “I left to make you miss me.”

“She didn’t,” your grandmother said from her seat by the hearth, stirring her tea.

“I felt it, though,” he said, pointing a spoon at her. “Every day. The crushing weight of your mutual longing.”

You nearly smacked him with a wooden ladle.

He chewed dramatically for a few more seconds, then sat back with a satisfied sigh. “You’ll be pleased to know, however, that while you were pining, I was doing heroic things.”

You snorted. “Sleeping in ditches and starting bar fights?”

“And saving entire villages, thank you.” He wiped his mouth on his sleeve—ignoring your grimace—and leaned in slightly. “You remember those beasts? The ones from the woods?”

Your hand froze on the ladle.

“Wolves?” your grandmother said, frowning slightly.

“Not wolves,” Kesh said. “Not really. The ones that attacked her weren’t the only ones sniffing around. I heard whispers, saw tracks. Something had stirred them up. Made them bold.”

You said nothing. Just watched him.

“So I followed them,” he went on, quieter now. “Weeks of it. Trail after trail. Whole nests of them—dozens. Buried deep in the hills. Blood-magic in the dirt. Something old and wrong.” He glanced at you. “Whatever they were after before…they’re not after it anymore. I killed them all.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

Your grandmother broke the silence first, as she always did. “You brought that stench into my house just to brag?”

“I brought it to warn you,” Kesh said with a grin. “Then I remembered how much I missed being insulted before breakfast.”

You pushed his bowl toward him more firmly. “Eat.”

“Yes, general.” He took another bite, then added around it, “I kept a tally, you know.”

“A tally?”

“One scratch for every wolf I put down. Want to see?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You kept a murder log.”

He tugged his coat open and pulled his undershirt down at the collar, revealing the slope of his shoulder. Just near the collarbone—barely visible under smudged skin—were a series of faint carved lines. Sharp. Careful.

You reached forward before you thought better of it, brushing your thumb over the edge of one.

“How many?” you asked quietly.

“Too many.”

Kesh leaned back again, eyes half-lidded. “I’m thinking of getting one more. A tally for how many times you’ve looked at me like that.”

“Like what?” you snapped, pulling your hand back.

“Like I’m not all bad,” he said. “Like you might’ve missed me too.”

You opened your mouth—but your grandmother clattered her teacup down with a sigh.

“You two are exhausting,” she muttered. “Finish your food before it goes cold. And if either of you start flirting in front of me again, I’ll hex you both bald.”

Kesh looked thrilled.

“See? This is the real reason I came back.”

You rolled your eyes again—but this time, you were smiling. Just a little.

—-

The house had long since gone quiet.

The kind of quiet that settled deep into the walls—warm fire embers gone to ash, your grandmother snoring faintly behind the bedroom door, and outside, nothing but crickets and the creak of tree limbs in the wind.

But you weren’t asleep.

And neither was he.

You found him out in the barn again, sitting on the same bench as the first night you’d patched him up. No lantern, no boots. Just moonlight through the slats and the low rustle of hay as you pushed the door open.

He didn’t look up.

You stepped inside anyway, shawl around your shoulders, the cold biting at your ankles.

He let you come to him. Let you sit beside him without a word. The silence between you was familiar now—not empty, not strained. Just full of things unsaid.

For a while, it stayed that way.

Then—

“I didn’t kill them to be a hero.”

His voice was quiet. Rough at the edges. You glanced at him.

His elbows were on his knees, hands clasped, jaw set hard. No grin. No smugness. Just his face in profile, sharp with moonlight and something unreadable in his eyes.

“I didn’t do it for glory. Or coin. Or heroics. I followed those things across three counties. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat right. I picked fights with anything that smelled like them.”

You waited.

“They don’t feel pain,” he said. “Not like animals do. But I wanted them to. I needed them to. Because when I saw one of them throw you down, when I saw you bleeding—” He broke off. “There was a moment I thought I’d gotten there too late.”

Your breath caught.

“And I’ve been too late before,” he murmured. “Too many times.”

You watched his throat move as he swallowed hard.

“So I hunted every last one I could find. I made it slow. I made it hurt. Because I wanted them to know what it meant to touch you. To try to take you from this world.”

He looked at you then. Really looked.

The kind of look that doesn’t ask for forgiveness, or praise—just understanding.

And maybe, somewhere beneath it, fear.

“I don’t know what that makes me,” he said. “But that’s why I did it.”

You sat very still.

The air between you had changed—thicker now, like the moonlight had weight, like the shadows were leaning in to listen. His hands were still clasped, knuckles pale. He didn’t glance away. Didn’t try to charm his way past what he’d just said.

And maybe that was what made it feel so heavy. So real. You studied him a moment longer. The quiet in your chest wasn’t fear. It wasn’t even shock.

It was a question.

So you asked it.

Soft. Careful.

“If I asked you to do something like that again…to anyone. Anything. Would you?”

His expression didn’t change at first.

Then slowly—very slowly—he sat back against the barn wall, his jaw shifting as if weighing the shape of your words. His eyes dropped to the floor, then back to you.

“Is that what you want?”

“No,” you said quickly. “That’s not what I’m asking.”

His gaze flicked to yours.

“You want to know how far I’d go.”

He exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “If it was you asking?” he said. “Yes.”

Your heart thudded. Once.

He wasn’t done.

“If you looked me in the eye and said someone deserved pain—I wouldn’t even ask why. I’d just do it.”

There was no heat in his tone. No smugness. Just plain fact, as steady and unflinching as the blade at his hip.

Then his voice dropped lower.

“I wanted to hurt anyone who looked at you.”

You turned to him slowly, but he didn’t look back. His jaw was tight again, eyes on the floorboards like they were safer than your face.

“Every time I saw someone stare at you too long—at the market, at the road, even in town—I imagined snapping their fingers one by one. Just to see how fast they'd stop.”

A pause.

“I didn’t, obviously,” he added with a bitter sort of smirk. “Congratulations to them.”

You said nothing.

Because he wasn’t joking. Not really.

Kesh didn’t say things to shock. Not like this. He said them because they were already boiling too close to the surface. Because saying it aloud was the only way to loosen his grip on it.

“I’m not proud of it,” he said, quieter now. “Didn’t come here planning to turn feral in your barn. But something about this place—about you—it gets under my skin.”

He rubbed at the corner of his mouth like he could wipe the words away. But they stayed there, heavy between you.

“I’ve been around too much,” he went on. “Seen too much. Most days I don’t give a damn about anyone but myself. I thought that was smart. Safer. But then you—”

He cut himself off.

You watched the shadows pool beneath his lashes, the strain in his shoulders, the half-curled fist in his lap.

Then, finally—softly—

“Kesh.”

He looked up.

You didn’t think. Didn’t plan.

You just leaned in.

And kissed him.

His breath hitched against your mouth—surprised, almost startled—but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he moved closer. His hand slid up instinctively, fingers threading through your hair, the other curling around your waist. He kissed like he fought—with intensity, with purpose. No half-measures. No hesitation. The kind of kiss that spoke of everything he didn’t know how to say aloud. Fierce. Focused. Messy. You felt it in your spine.

His mouth grazed yours, deepening, tilting with yours like you were made to move this way, like this was inevitable. His fingers slid to the nape of your neck, pulling you closer, until your knees bumped his and you braced yourself on his thigh.

That’s when his hand—the other hand—slid a little too low.

You broke the kiss with a sharp gasp and smacked him across the chest.

He froze.

Then—

“Ow,” he wheezed, grinning like an idiot. “That’s not fair.”

You scowled, cheeks burning. “Hands where I can see them.”

“I got excited,” he said, all wounded pride and zero remorse. “You kissed me.”

“You kissed me back.”

“It was great.”

You shoved him, and he caught himself on the edge of the bench, laughter low and breathless in the dark.

“I’m going to regret that, aren’t I?” you muttered.

He looked up at you through a tousled strand of hair, eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

“Only if you don’t do it again.”

You groaned and pressed your lips to his.

“Idiot.”

Masterlist

#yandere oc #oc x reader #x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #male yandere #yandere x you #male yandere x reader #yandere fanfiction #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere x y/n

301 notes · View notes

link-the-feral-anon · 2 days ago

Text

That Cloying Feeling Part Four

(There will be a POV switch after the read more)

Janus paused mid-sip of his coffee.

"What?" He asked.

"How did you know how we all like our hot drinks?" Morality asked again, just as curiously as the first.

"Anxiety, obviously." He said, eyes flicking back to his cup. "He found out and told us."

"He usually makes the coffee in our kitchen." Remus said, stirring its tea. "Well. For me, he makes tea." It looked down the hall. "Is- Is Roman going to be okay?"

Ah. Janus sighed quietly. No. He wasn't surprised, but he had hoped they could have... a little bit of time before...

"Well..." Morality said before sighing. He gave a little shrug. "I'm not sure, kiddo. Anxiety got us all to our own room so fast after Lo broke down, and with Roman collapsing under his insecurities..." He put his mug down, keeping his hands wrapped around it. "Can I ask... Something he said is bothering me."

Janus gestured with his mug. He was feeling curious- and sentimental- enough to indulge in the other Side's questions.

Morality frowned.

"He said 'this time.' Thomas won't be effected 'this time.'" He spun his mug around. "Has he tried to... dip... before?"

Remus tensed. Its bottom lip trembled.

"Once." Janus said. "When Thomas was in high school."

Morality closed his eyes, almost as if-

"You already guessed that, huh?"

They all jumped as Virgil spoke, leaning against the doorway. He wouldn't look at any of them.

"Yeah. Once I was back in my room." He said, watching Virgil carefully. "I didn't realize until then that... telling you how much we needed you wasn't helping. You need to be wanted."

Virgil didn't reply. Remus covered its mouth, trying not to cry.

"That's why neither of these two showed up, right?" He asked. His eyes slid over to Janus. "You were locked out."

Janus huffed. Morality was more perceptive than he'd like him to be. He liked to pride himself on being unreadable. But there Morality was, seeing right through him.

Patton lifted his mug to his lips, taking a long sip. He gave them all a few minutes to either answer- Janus- or think of a way to avoid answering- Virgil and Remus- then he looked back at Virgil.

"Why don't you sit with us?" He asked, gesturing to the table with his head.

Virgil bit his lip. Janus and Remus shared a look.

Remus spoke quietly. If there had been any noise, any noise at all, Patton would have missed it. He hadn't realized it ever spoke quietly. After all, Roman so rarely did.

"Please, Gil?"

Janus gave Remus a rather fast, but rather weak kick under the table. Remus just kept its eyes on Virgil. He sighed, but eventually, he pulled out a chair and sat with them. He'd spun the chair around and straddled it, resting his chin on the back.

"Yeah. They were locked out." He said after another few moments of silence. "I wouldn't have been able to go if they'd gotten in."

Patton looked at his tea. "I guess you should have locked Lo out too, huh?"

Remus made a wounded noise, and he could feel Janus glaring at him. Virgil, however, let out a huff of laughter.

"Guess I should have."

"Do say that." Janus said. Then he winced, eyes flickering to Patton.

"Why not, J? It's true."

Huh.

"He is the exception, isn't he?" Patton said, partially into his tea.

Virgil looked away again.

"We all know now, by the way," Patton said as he put his mug down, "how to get you back. Or, rather, keep you. Lo is right. We don't just need anxiety. We want Anxiety."

"Virgil."

How did the others speak so softly? If he hadn't been watching Virgil, he wouldn't have caught the other Side's name at all. Of course, whether any of them knew it or not, he never did forget any of their names.

"We don't just need anxiety. We want Virgil around." He amended.

Virgil didn't reply. He just trailed the grains of the wooden table with his fingernails. Patton was about to prod when Janus changed the subject slightly.

"How are the other two doing?"

Patton wanted to keep talking about Virgil, but a single glance at Remus stilled his tongue.

"They'll be alright." He said, clearly glad for the change in topic as well. "A bit of rest in their own elements and they should be right as rain."

"Should... I be here when Ro comes back out?"

Virgil nodded. "One of the insecurities was about how you two left things. And if he has anything rude to say, J and I will be right here."

Patton smiled softly. Good. He was staying then.

"I'll be here too, if it helps any!" He said cheerfully. He stood, clapping his hands together. "Now, is anyone hungry? Virgil, would you like an apple cider?"

He watched Patton carefully for a moment. Patton gave him a tired smile. Virgil sighed, cracking one of his own.

"With whip cream and cinnamon."

The relief from the other two at the table was palpable for Patton. He hoped Virgil could feel it too.

(Okay, I promise Logan will be back soon, okay? Swearsies @logan-bear-bear )

(Also, I'm having fun picking what hot drinks they all like :3)

Pre-AA Virgil: I bet you're one of those fools who hates bats for no reason.

Logan, slamming his note cards down on the table: How dare you! I love bats! They play a vital role in our ecosystem, and have been villainized for years by the media because of the existence of the vampire bat! WHO!! Is still valid and necessary, despite it's scary name and appearance! Bats are beautiful and they deserve to be loved!

Virgil: ...

Roman, leaning over to whisper to Patton: Are we sure that this is even about bats anymore??

Patton, whispering back: I don't know...

Virgil, softly but with feeling: You.

Logan, quieting down a little: Huh?

Virgil, feeling too many pleasant emotions: You're the exception.

#andy writes #shocking I know #the barista has opinions on what characters drink

1K notes · View notes

mojifushiguro · 3 days ago

Text

unforgettable ! e.yeager & a.arlert

"I got a little drank but Its not bacardi..." eren x black!fem x armin

warnings: smut, rough sex at one point, guilt, mentions of addiction, angst(?), a lot of language, constant alcohol consumption, please hold on tight

part 8. this is part 7. next part here.

the few days you spent at armin's house were quiet.

avoiding your own shared house, hoping you didn't see eren when you went shopping for clothes, it was all becoming stupid to you.

and you and armin barely shared any words, other than him asking you things like "what you want from the store?" and "do you want fast food tonight?"

but you couldn't help but feel unwanted.

maybe armin was right, you were just using him as an escape from eren, and whenever you thought eren was worth your time again, you'd go back, and ditch armin.

you cut off contact with almost everyone, including sasha and mikasa. you needed time to think some things to yourself.

but how could you do anything right now if you were face to face with the person you claimed you hated the most, his best friend, and everyone else in the group around you three?

just a couple days ago, you finally went home, eren was nowhere to be found.

you thought he'd finally come to his senses and realize you were done with his shit.

you had the house to yourself.

but to your luck, ony wanted to have a sit-down with the group, and talk like everyone normally did.

you were honestly over the whole innocent act he put on, and it was getting on your nerves. you didn't have anything to say to anyone there. bit you were dragged out of bed by sasha, who told you you had to stop isolating yourself whenever things went wrong.

not to mention the mild habit of drinking you picked up throughout the three days you'd been home alone.

checking your phone to see if you had any text from a blocked number, and if you didn't see what you wanted to see, that was a bottle.

but right now, you were sitting, quietly, connie and sasha on each side of you cackling at ony's jokes. ony, mikasa, and armin sat parallel to the three of you, while eren and jean sat across from you.

you wouldn't dare to look at his stupid face.

the face that was probably shoved between historias legs just a week and some days ago, it made you fume on the inside.

"aye, E, wassup wit you? you normally run yo mouth." ony rolled a blunt on his jeans as he manspread.

even hearing his name, gosh. you took a sip from your bottle.

everyone got quiet, waiting for a response from eren.

jean nudged him, then glanced at you. "y/n come get this dude. maybe he need some pussy." jean leaned back, looking back and forth from you to eren.

you frowned, still looking down at your drink as you twirled it in your hands. "he should know a lot about pussy."

erens eyes shot up to you, but they had no expression.

if they did, you couldn't tell.

"damn." connie mumbled, leaning back. he then grabbed the drink from you, forgetting what he told you beside the house.

sasha leaned her head on your shoulder, missing you from the past week, but feeling sorry for you at the same time.

"what she talm bout, E?" ony dabbed his blunt with his tongue, dragging his eyes from you, to eren.

eren took his eyes off of you, and then shrugged, looking down at his shoe as he stretched his leg. "ion know."

"beefing again?" jean looked at you.

you looked at jean and tilt your head over a little. "why you even talkin to me?"

everyones eyebrows raised, including jean's, and he held his hands up in defense. "damn, my bad. just tryna see what my boy did to get you this pissed off."

you scoffed, leaning back as sasha got off your shoulder. she squint at jean. "shut up, jean."

ony waved his hands. "hol up, what the fuck is goin on?" he tried to laugh off the tension, but it was thick enough to where everyone felt suffocated. everyone but you and eren.

eren shrugged, looking at ony, then over to you. "ion know. what is goin on y/n?"

your eyebrows pressed together. "boy– the fuck up."

"wait, y'all aint on good terms?" ony frowned, sitting up and putting his blunt on the table. eren threw his head back, laughing to himself a little and shaking his head.

"ion know, but I know her way of breaking up wit me was blocking my number for no reason."

no damn way he tried to sit here and play victim.

you scoffed again, leaning up. "you can sit here and fake in front of yo homeboys, but I know what happened."

eren shook his head again, sitting up just like you and resting his elbows on his knees. "what happened then? please tell me."

you didnt even know where to start.

or if you wanted to.

"okay, what happened at the party wit you and historia? or is that too big of a question for you to answer?" you clamped your hands together.

everyone looked at eren, and he stared at you, dumbfounded.

there it was, the look he gave you when he tried to pretend he didnt know a certain bitch or when he tried to say you were doing too much.

"historia?" jean frowned, looking at eren.

"historiaaaa, yes, historia. his ex." you clapped one time.

mikasa smiled at you, then turned her attention to eren. "eren, you were with historia?"

eren continued to stare at you, lips slightly parted. he then slowly shook his head. "no–"

you stood up, holding your arms out. that drink was definitely getting to you. "there he go, acting stupid." you sat back down, reaching for the drink you had, but the more you reached, the more connie pulled it away from you.

"what?" eren narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

all eyes were on you.

the way he acted, it pissed you off more. you reached for your bottle again, and connie blocked your hand, making you groan.

"eren I know what you did wit the girl. you fucked her." you furrowed your brows.

all eyes were back on him.

"you fucked her when you took her upstairs and she was the bitch that was texting your phoneee." you laughed to yourself, but it was honestly infuriating.

the fact that you couldn't drink to calm yourself down, and the fact that he was acting so oblivious to everything you were saying.

"and thats all you saw?" ony questioned you. you just nodded, staring at eren. his eyes stayed on yours as he processed his thoughts, because little did you know, he was inches away from getting pissed.

because you embarrassed him? probably.

"how many fuckin times I gotta tell you, Ian know who texted my phone?" he stared, voice low and tired. eren closed his eyes and sat back on the couch once again, putting his hand over them. "until I took historia upstairs, it was because she kept fuckin touching me, and I told her– upstairs, 'aye, I got a girl, stop doin that shit.' so when she finally spoke to me, she told me-"

you smacked your lips, looking off to the side. "bullshit." you spat.

eren took his hands off of his eyes and looked at you, frowning. "y/n, on my fuckin mama, ony and jean will tell you the same shit."

you looked at ony, then jean, then eren. "of course thats what they gon tell me cus they always on yo dick." you shrugged. "so its really nothin to it."

before ony could calm the both of you down, eren stood up. "the fuck you mean its nothin to it, y/n, you keep telling me im doin shit and you wont believe me when I say im not, then you think im fuckin historia, which is fuckin crazy cus not even just jean and ony, but connie will tell you thats not what the fuck happened!" eren frowned at you.

you looked over to connie and moved away from him a little.

his eyes were wide and he stared at eren before looking at you. your stare then trailed off to armin, who looked back and forth from you to connie.

"armin, what happened when eren went upstairs with historia?" you tilt your head at armin, who stayed quiet.

connie then huffed, standing up, "I cant do this shit."

you averted your attention back to connie and frowned as he stood beside the couch, rubbing his forehead. "why? cus you wanna take up for him too? when you know he cheated, cus im the one that told you the shit!" you snapped.

eren looked at connie, blinking.

"you knew bout this shit?" he squint.

connie threw his head back and turned around. "Ian know thats what she was talkin bout when she said it." connie mumbled, making erens head snap back with a frown.

"so what really happened, then?" mikasa shook her head, scooting towards the edge of the couch.

jean spoke. "eren went upstairs to tell historia to stop touching him, cus thats exactly what she was doin."

eren started to stare at connie. "connie."

mikasa closed her eyes for a second before shaking her head. "okay, so what about the texting shit?"

"what texting shit?" ony said in a confused tone.

sasha clicked her tongue, glancing off. "when the girl was texting erens phone, ony."

eren looked at sasha. "if she would've let me finish talkin– no, fuck that. connie."

jean rolled his eyes. "the girl was historia, she told eren that when they was upstairs."

mikasa and sasha looked at you as you stared at connie, still waiting for an answer from him.

you rolled your eyes, turning your attention to armin. "armin, tell me what happened when eren went upstairs wit that bitch."

armin, who tried so badly to avoid conversation with you, sighed.

"everything he said." was all he said before you stood up.

"and you knew this?"

armin looked off, avoiding any eye contact with you. sasha grabbed your hand, trying to sit you down but you snatched away from her. "naw, fuck that, you knew the real story but you tried to tell me I was usin- I- man..." you tried your best to laugh off your anger and annoyance.

at this point, the whole group was falling apart. eren took his attention off of connie and moved it to armin, pointing at him. "armin, I told you what happened before I told anybody else and..." eren suddenly stopped.

he waited for the group to go completely silent before speaking.

"im the only fuckin one that aint know she was tryna break up wit me?"

everyone stared at him as he slowly looked around, skipping over you.

"Ian know." ony raised his brows. "otherwise I woulda told her that it aint what she thought it was."

jean nodded. "me neither."

eren then looked at connie, who looked at the ground. "and you, you coulda came to me when she told you whatever shit she told you, and you coulda told her that aint what I did, but you let her think I cheated," eren then pointed at armin. "you too."

connie smacked his lips. "when she told me you cheated, how the fuck was I 'posed to know she was talkin bout historia? she aint say a name, and I can vouch for me and armin when I say that." connie was quick to defend himself against erens words, and eren turned his attention on mikasa and sasha.

sasha rolled her eyes. "eren dont act like you just been the perfect boyfriend. if I see you with your ex, im gonna tell my friend what she need to hear." sasha looked away from eren, waving him off.

he then looked at mikasa, waiting for an explanation, considering she was the one that told you to break up with eren before anyone else did that night.

she only shrugged. "if you saw her with her ex you'd be the same way, so you cant blame nobody but yourself."

eren kept his eyes on mikasa for a few more seconds as the silence set in, and then finally looked at you.

you could've sworn you felt yourself getting sober as seconds passed.

there's no way eren wasn't lying.

what you saw, what mikasa and sasha told you, there's no way.

but when you heard connie speak, which you wish you never heard, your heart pounded in your chest.

"so he didn't do nothing." you tried to make everything clear, waiting for connie, armin, ony, jean, anybody to answer your question.

connie looked at you for a few seconds before shaking his head.

no.

you then looked at eren, who stared straight at you.

"you gon listen to some–" he stopped himself, closing his eyes to try and calm himself down. "two girls that aint been in a healthy relationship since when-fuckin-ever?" he squint at you. "really? when all you had to do was come and ask me what happened?" his voice got softer as he spoke.

you stared at eren, not speaking back.

you were always speechless when you were in the wrong.

you never knew what to say, how to react, what to do.

eren continued. "and as much as I tell you I love you, I sent you paragraphs, y/n. paragraphs, telling you Ian know what I did wrong, waiting for yo ass to reply, and its over some shit like this?"

he paused.

"you really dont know how much I love you?"

his voice cracked, eyes full of nothing but anger and hurt.

to eren, he couldn't believe how badly you wanted him to cheat, or thats what it felt like.

as he spoke to you, you felt like you just had to find an excuse to go and be with armin.

you just stared at him, heart racing.

"y/n I would never do no shit like that to you, and I thought I told you that." he blinked, his body resting as he huffed.

the whole group was quiet, all eyes were on you.

ony swallowed, shaking his head. "it was a misunderstanding, ight? just... go home and figure it out." he said, looking from you to eren.

you bit the inside of your cheek.

honestly, you were too afraid to go home with him. not because of your accusations against him, or because he was mad, but the guilt of cheating for no reason.

and the fact that armin knew everything, but tried to say you used him.

he knew eren didnt cheat, and took you in as if it was nothing.

just to turn on you and accuse you of using him.

how ironic.

you swallowed, shaking your head and pushing past connie.

you avoided any further conversation with anyone as you grabbed your things from ony's kitchen counter and walked towards the front door.

you're not sure where you were going, but you needed to step outside and take a breather.

think.

how were you gonna end things off with armin and how were you gonna start things over with eren?

why was armin portraying the good guy?

he knew who you were talking about when you said eren cheated on you.

even though you didnt say a name, armin wasn't stupid.

he knew you thought historia and eren did something they shouldn't have, and he didnt say anything to console you.

but you're wrong for going to him for comfort?

oh god, how stupid could you have been?

a fuckin idiot.

you sat on the porch, constantly reaching for a drink that wasn't there. constantly picking up and putting down your phone to check the time.

nobody came out to check on you, which was probably for the best.

just as sasha said, you isolate yourself every time something goes wrong. and just as connie said, you drink.

you looked at the flickering street light at the end of onys driveway.

you rubbed underneath your eyes, biting your bottom lip and exhaling. how the hell are you gonna get home?

just as you thought that, you heard the front door click behind you, the glare of light and a silhouette greeting you before the person did.

when it closed, you looked from the porch, back to the street light.

"come on." you heard the jingle of keys.

"I already got a ride." you dont.

"y/n." you heard a sigh. "just come on."

you forced your eyes up.

eren.

you sighed, hugging your knees.

eren looked at whatever you were looking at before taking a seat down next to you. "you know Ian mad at you."

you pursed your lips together, shaking your head. "that ain't the point, eren."

eren's brows raised a little, and his eyes flickered to different things in front of him before they made their way back to you.

"and? im not mad, im not gon ask where you been, ion care bout that. you know the real and you aint got nothin to worry bout, so lets go home." he said, clear, but soft.

you then sighed, dropping your head between your knees and chest. you rested your forehead on your arms and closed your eyes.

"im sorry." you muttered, just above a whisper.

eren heard you, though. he bit his lip before reaching over to rub your back.

"no, im sorry, I shoulda told you before what I was gon tell her." he muttered, resting his forehead in his palm. "ion wanna have no toxic relationship wit you, y/n. I love you, ion care bout nobody around us or what they say. I know I fuck up, but ill never cheat on you. thats... shit, thats beyond me."

you chuckled at his words a little, slowly shaking your head. "thats not it, eren."

"well it dont matter now, so lets go home." he said once again.

you eventually gave up and got in the car with eren.

you didnt look at him the entire ride, and no words were shared. just the radio playing lowly in the background, and some movements here and there at red lights.

you hated yourself for the assumptions against him.

and if you couldn't tell if he was genuine then, you damn sure could tell he was genuine now.

you cheated on eren about three to four times, twice sexually, and he didn't cheat not once.

it made your stomach churn, thats for sure.

the thought of either you, or armin telling him, it made your stomach fucking churn.

in the house, no words were shared either.

he had a spare key, so you really didn't have to do anything but shower. eren was right after you.

you noticed the dark circles under his eyes, maybe from the sleepless nights.

and he noticed yours too, but each of you didn't utter a word about it.

because you felt bad for each other.

there was no way to tell who felt worse about the things you'd put each other through, but you damn sure felt like shit.

you brushed your teeth while eren showered, you know, like the old days?

and as he put his clothes on, you did your nightly skin care, something you'd missed for a week and three days.

and when you were done, eren brushed his teeth.

he didnt dare say anything about the bottles of liquor that sat on the living room table or the kitchen counter, and even if he did, he couldn't say anything.

because what would he say?

oh, 'you cant drink to cope with your feelings but I can drink and smoke because I care about your health more than mine'?

absolutely not.

so as you sat on the bed, wiggling your feet, staring at the tv.

he joined you, without a single word of what happened tonight, and without a single word of what was to come.

right now, all he wanted was you.

but he'd figured that throughout the process of getting you, he'd find some things out.

not that he cared, but because he was genuinely just curious.

"I missed you." he plopped down beside you in the bed that he missed just after you and everything that came with you.

he gave you a kiss on the cheek, careful not to bother you in some way.

you smiled, for the first time in a while, a genuine smile.

he couldn't say the same for him though.

because he smiled earlier, just a little, when he saw you sitting across from him. he really did miss you.

"I missed you too." you turned your head towards him, smiling softly.

your eyes lingered on each other for a while before he planted a small kiss on your lips, hoping you'd do the same in return.

and to his luck, you kissed him back, wrapping your arms around him.

and for a moment, you forgot about anything else.

the kiss was intense, like you hadn't kissed in years. but god, eren missed you so bad, he couldn't imagine all the boys you'd been with, because he knows you, and he knows youre all for revenge.

it made him smile on the inside.

he'd never be mad about something so meaningless and foolish.

he squeezed at your waist, groaning into the kiss as you laid back, and spread your legs for his body to fit between.

he missed it all.

he missed how he'd slide his hands down your waist and to your thigh, squeezing at the soft skin.

trailing his tongue down to your neck and giving you hickeys for the world to see.

squeezing your thigh in his right hand, with one of your breasts in the left, softly squishing it as you tangled your hands in his long, loose hair.

constantly muttering the words, "I missed you" while he sucked softly against the nape of your collarbone.

grinding himself against you.

his erection growing harder, and throbbing more as he felt you doing the same thing.

his hands moved all along your body, like he hadn't fucked for more than a week and three days.

he moved them to grip your hips, as you softly moved them against him, feeling your arousal grow, and your clit throb against him so nicely. you were truly made for each other.

"fuck, I missed you so bad y/n." eren groaned, biting his lip as he focused on the friction between you and his dick.

you rubbed at his arms as they stayed on your hips, slowly nodding.

erens eyes averted from yours, to the necklace you wore.

your favorite necklace.

he then grinned. "you was never done wit me for real, you still wearin what I gotchu." he looked back up to you, and you giggled, smiling.

"I know."

eren hummed, reaching down towards your underwear and pulling them off with a swift movement. his adjusted his boxers down and positioned himself at your entrance, leaning over you as he slowly rubbed his tip up and down your wet folds.

it made you whine a little, rubbing yourself against him, your body eager, but your mind cloudy.

and it took just the tip to make you go crazy.

as he slipped inside of you, feeling the throbbing of your pussy around his base, he closed his eyes.

this was what hes been longing for.

"fuckkk..." he whispered, leaning down to kiss you as he slowly started to thrust.

"eren..." you moaned softly into the kiss. he didnt respond, but his pace did, as he started to thrust slightly quicker than before.

you wrapped your legs around him, arms too, pulling him closer to you. "I love you." you whined, closing your eyes and nuzzling your head in his shoulder.

"mhm?"

"mhm." you nodded.

thats what he loved about you.

even if you didnt wanna admit it, you loved him through everything.

and he loved you just as equally as you did him.

he just nodded at your response, he thrusts getting quicker. he felt you tightening around him– in all ways.

he grunted again, trying his best not to cum.

but his body yearned for yours, it was hard to hold back.

"you..." eren bit his lip, grabbing the back of your head as he gave you support for yours being in his neck. yours breaths, moans, and whines. he loved it all.

"you fucked somebody else?" he whispered, another arm around your shoulders.

your arms moved under his, gripping at his back as you quickly nodded. "yes, yes I did." you said in a breathy moan.

eren grinned, slowing down the pace of his thrusts, feeling you throb so desperately against him.

you dragged your hands up and down his back, pulling him closer.

he was hitting your g-spot perfectly, and you'd be damned if you let that go.

"damn.. hah, again?" you heard him chuckle, and you slowly nodded with a smile.

you knew he wouldn't be mad at you.

he then mumbled again, "thought you learned yo lesson last time." he exhaled, slowly quickening his thrusts again.

"oh, god!" your legs, that were loosely around him when he slowed down, tightened right along with your arms, hugging him instead of digging your nails in his already scarred back.

you moaned continuously in his ear, and it was like music.

eren let out a shaky breath, putting his head on your shoulder. "this pussy mine, you know that, right?" he questioned you, and you quickly nodded again.

you moved your hands from his back to his waist, feeling the knot in your stomach start to form. he was thrusting with your pleasure, precum making its way inside of you before the actual thing did.

erens dick throbbed intensely, syncing up with you.

"eren!" you moaned, throwing your head back. erens thrusts quickened more, and at this point, you were completely silent.

he knew exactly what that meant.

"who." he whispered in your ear, not like a question but more like a demand for you to tell him.

you heart pounded in your chest, just once.

but your mind was gone, you didn't know what he was talking about.

"hu–huh?" you whimpered, biting your lip and exhaling.

erens thrusts continued at the same pace, so everything was really a blur to you.

"who had they hands on you? same dude from last time?" he got his words out quick now, eager for an answer before you finished.

"ah, eren-"

"tell me before I stop fuckin you."

"erennnn" you whined with your brows furrowed. "slow down, please baby..."

all of a sudden, his thrusts got deeper, like, balls deep.

your legs went from around him, to being in the air. your arms flew to the sheets and pillows that surrounded you two instead of his back.

"oh... my..." you moaned with every deep thrust.

"come on before I stop." he grunted in your ear.

you quickly arched your back, closing your eyes and kicking your legs. not because you wanted him to stop, but because he was fucking you so good, and you know if he said he'd stop, he wasn't lying.

immediately, another second with no answer, his thrusts got harder, the sound of skin and wetness mixed together, making you practically cry out,

"armin!" while you finally felt your pleasure coming to a climax.

erens hands suddenly gripped your hair at a great force, and he moved his free hand to your throat, tightening his fingers around it, but you were too gone to acknowledge it, croaking your last moan as you shook and twitched.

eren didn't move when he came inside of you.

I mean, he did. normally.

but right now, he was dead still, only his dick twitching.

he slowly loosened his grip in your hair, and you threw your head back on his hand.

he then loosened his grip on your neck, causing you to gasp for air almost immediately.

you didnt even notice what you'd just said to him, but he did.

166 notes · View notes

bambiiette · 3 days ago

Note

OMG OMG OMG

Imagine Torres being needy

joaquin torres is always needy for you

WARNINGS: suggestive content, touching, kissing, domestic content, fem!reader, established relationship

A/N: thank you for requesting!! hope you enjoy!! and sorry it took a couple of days, i’ve been going through random phases of writers block lols :(

─────────── ୨ৎ ───────────

you swear your boyfriend doesn’t have an off switch. he’s literally ready for you constantly. doesn’t matter if it’s the afternoon and you guys are just watching tv or if it’s first thing in the morning. he just needs you all the time.

it’s one of those days where you both were so busy you barely had seen each other. joaquin left early in the morning, off doing something with sam. by the time he had come home, you were off doing some errands for your boss. and joaquin had missed you. so much.

he can hear you fumbling with your keys outside the door, jumping off the couch and walking over to the front door. you are barely through the doorframe when you’re immediately greeted with joaquin’s arms around you. enveloping you in a tight hug.

“uhh i can’t really hug you back babe,” you say, two bags of groceries in your hands. he steps back and looks down at your hands. “i’ve got ‘em.” he replies, grabbing the heavy bags out of your hands and moving towards the kitchen.

you follow him, asking about his day. you two engage in small talk as you unpack the things you bought. you’re putting away the last few items into the fridge when you feel joaquin wrap his arms around you once more. smiling, you shut the fridge and turn your body so that you’re facing him.

“what’s gotten into you?” you tease, brushing your hands gently through his brown locks. he blushes a little bit, hiding his face in your neck and mumbles about how he missed you. you’re about to say you missed him as well but you feel him leave little kisses where his head is and you lose your train of thought. he definitely missed you.

the kisses start small, soft pecks up and down your neck. you sigh and lean your head to the other side, giving him more room. once he felt like he had given your neck enough attention, he lifted his head and leaned in to your lips. you kissed him back, expecting him to deepen it. but instead, he moved to give you a kiss on the forehead and one on each cheek before kissing down your jaw. he was being slow, calculated; soaking you in and drowning in you.

your hands that were slowly raking his hair gripped a little harder, your way of telling him you wanted more. you press your body closer to his, your body wanting more. he just looks up at you with a look you know meant ‘wait. be patient’. you groan. literally groan.

he stops kissing along your jaw, gazing up at you. laughing he says “and here i was thinking i’m being needy.” and even though he just teased you he seemed to get the hint, grabbing at the ends of your shirt to pull it up and give you what you wanted.

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres blurb #joaquin torres imagine #bambiette #marvel mcu #mcu #marvel #captain america #the falcon and the winter soldier

210 notes · View notes

headcanon-everything · 2 days ago

Note

I feel like Lux would be the kind of person to "adopt" a super anxious introvert. Don't know how to describe what I'm thinking of other than like the average sorority girl or something looking at a trembling chihuahua of a person and going "New bestie! I'm going to dress you up and bring you places!" And idk I think that's kinda cute

oh gosh they would aka how I got any friends in highschool as an extremely shy introvert when I was younger

can be read as platonic or romantic!

Lux Headcanons

- reader is very shy and anxious -

in my mind this is with a fellow object/dateable so I'll go off of it like that

to start: they didn't even really notice you at first, too busy with their own livestreams and things

it wasn't until you were talking with Phonecia that they even noticed you at all, quietly speaking to her and discussing a new show you were watching

Lux was already on their way over to talk with her - but got entirely distracted on their original purpose, immediately curious and noting your cute face and potential for a major glow up

came over, tutting and going "oh no no this won't do" while lightly pulling at your sleeves here and there that you were previously playing with the hem of "we'll have to get you onto my 17-step makeover plan, stat. then you'll be the second brightest thing in the house!"

Phonecia tried to intervene before Lux grabbed you by the arm and started briskly walking away

you merely waved her off, hoping to gently appease the person who is only now introducing themselves

Lux had heard whispers of you around the house from others, and was putting the pieces together as they were explaining their makeover process

Brought you straight to Barry and Amir, demanding a makeover and self-care day for you both

you couldn't explain why Lux had singled you out to work with, you can only assume it's because they didn't have a pre-established history with you

that and wanting to do a before and after video of legends, according to them

you can't lie though, you did feel a lot better and very attractive once they were done with their makeover

Amir spent a lot of time hyping you up, and Barry was so excited to find colours and styles that you enjoyed while apologizing for Lux being a bit brash

the theme song of all this is popular from wicked

after that, Lux began to keep popping up, insisting you try products that don't work with their skin tone or they have "too good of pores to use"

it was some backhanded compliments but they still said you looked great once they got you camera-ready

started showing up more and more, getting ready while in your presence (insisting it's because you're the only one quiet enough to not bother them but can still use you as a second set of eyes on the look)

then began dragging you around when they decided to grace the house with their presence

Lux is going to the breaker box? so are you! time to get ready!

Lux is gonna do a charity livestream for Mateo's inanimals? so are you!

always makes sure to still acknowledge you when you're out, to a lot of people's surprise

sometimes it manifests as ordering for you without your input, but they insist it's good for you in one way or another

only Lux is allowed to gently bully you, any one else even tried and they are instantly in that person's face and telling them to back off

Curt and Rod were the first victim of this, as they went a little too far with their jokes

Lux was instant to clap back with a "They're worth keeping around, unlike SOME other objects around here"

takes a bit of work to get in a word edge-wise, but when you do Lux listens attentively

if you mention someone's been picking on you? instant call out post and Lux sends their rabid fan base after them to cyber bully them

speaking of - because of your occasional appearances, you've become a fan favourite of the chat

#date everything headcanons #date everything #date everything x reader #lux date everything #lux x reader #lux headcanons

186 notes · View notes

thatonegrimm · 2 days ago

Text

🎤Huntr/x + Bobby — First Café Date

Quiet corners, warm lighting, and tentative beginnings. Where coffee cups meet glances and affection brews slowly but surely.

-----------------------

🪽 Rumi

It was her idea to go somewhere quiet—an indie café tucked into a side street, the kind of place where the espresso was strong and the music was soft enough to think through.

Rumi showed up early, already sipping from a small black cup when you walked in. Her expression relaxed the moment she saw you.

“You came,” she said, like she hadn’t been watching the door for fifteen minutes.

You slid into the seat across from her. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

There was a notebook next to her, half-filled with lyric fragments and doodles in the margins. She closed it quickly, a small blush on her cheeks.

You didn’t press.

Instead, you asked about her drink. She pushed it toward you. “Want to try it?”

You took a sip. Immediately regretted it.

“Is this…ink?” you croaked.

Rumi laughed—genuinely—and reached over to steal it back. “It’s strong. Not for amateurs.”

You smiled, watching the way she relaxed into herself. She always carried so much, but here, in this quiet moment, she let it go just a little.

By the third cup, your hands were almost touching across the table.

-----------------------

🗡️ Mira

Mira had that look on her face—cool, casual, mildly dangerous—right until the barista asked for her drink order.

Then she blinked. Fidgeted slightly.

“…Can I get a strawberry milkshake?” she asked, voice low.

You didn’t laugh. You wanted to—but you didn’t.

She looked at you warily as you ordered a black coffee.

“I said no judgment.”

“I’m not judging,” you replied. “I’m just… adjusting my expectations.”

Mira raised an eyebrow as she sat down. “And what expectations did you have, exactly?”

You considered. “Something edgy. Like a quadruple espresso or… blood.”

She snorted into her straw.

The café was small, sunlit, and mostly empty. You ended up tucked in a corner booth, her leg brushing yours under the table. When she realized it, she didn’t move away.

“I’m not great at this,” she admitted after a while, picking at the corner of a napkin.

“At milkshakes?”

“At dates.”

You nudged her foot gently. “Me neither. Let’s mess it up together.”

Her smile, when it came, was small—but real.

-----------------------

🦋 Zoey

She didn’t stop bouncing the moment you walked in—just a little, from foot to foot, her oversized hoodie sleeves covering most of her hands.

“I ordered for both of us,” Zoey said, grinning like it was a secret. “Hope you like sweet stuff.”

You sat down and saw the tray—two iced mochas and the biggest chocolate chip cookie you’d ever seen.

“I thought we were getting coffee.”

“Technically, this has coffee in it,” she said defensively, sipping her whipped cream. “Also, I wanted to share the cookie.”

The seat beside her was already pulled out. You didn’t question it. Sitting across would’ve felt like a business meeting. Next to her, it felt like… something else.

Zoey took a bite and then held it up to your mouth with zero warning.

“Try it.”

You blinked. “You just… offered me a half-bitten cookie?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Yeah. With love.”

You leaned in. Bit off the corner.

It tasted like butter, chocolate, and something warm beneath your ribs.

She smiled. “You’re cute when you trust me.”

You almost choked on the bite.

-----------------------

📋 Bobby

You were used to seeing Bobby in motion—clipboard in hand, phone to his ear, voice calm but commanding as he navigated a thousand minor crises a day.

So seeing him now—sitting across from you in a cozy corner café, hands wrapped around a paper cup, hair slightly messy—felt strangely intimate.

“I don’t know how to be off-duty,” he admitted with a chuckle, eyes scanning the menu like it was a battle plan. “I keep thinking I’m forgetting someone’s costume fitting.”

You smiled. “You’re allowed to just be a person, Bobby.”

He paused, looked at you—really looked—and something in his shoulders softened.

“I like being around people who remind me of that.”

You nudged a napkin toward him. On it, you’d doodled a tiny cartoon of him with a coffee cup and a heart on his clipboard.

He stared at it for a second, then laughed—low and genuine.

“You’re dangerous,” he teased, folding the napkin and tucking it into his pocket. “Next thing I know, I’ll be skipping meetings just to see you smile.”

“Wouldn’t stop you,” you said softly.

And somehow, that felt like the beginning of something both new and long overdue.

-----------------------

M-List

#kpdh x reader #huntrix x reader #mira x reader #zoey x reader #rumi x reader #bobby x reader #kpop demon hunters #kpdh

272 notes · View notes

prosypepper · 19 hours ago

Note

here for a suguru drabble idea pretty pepper… comrade suguru frustrated after a mission during an operation went wrong and angry fucking you in his barracks 🫡 i salute you my raven haired hunk, do what you need with this request

hi bisque😏😏😏😏fancy seeing u around here😏😏😏😏😏😏

a/n: heehesheheh a little dubcon-esque i think, just rough suguru, unprotected p in v, uhh doggy yes mhm thats it i think, 18+ mdni

“how’d it go, sugu?”

you recognize suguru’s footsteps immediately, though this time it’s more of an angry stomp into the room. obviously, something is up with him—his hair is all messy and he’s almost sweating, his brows are knitted together so closely it looks like a permanent scowl.

“those fucking idiots fucked everything up,” suguru says, thrashing around your shared space, grabbing whatever clothes he can before spitting, “i’m going to go take a shower, i just—i’ll be back.”

“are you okay? can i—can i do anything?”

“no. i’ll be back.” he dismisses, walking out the door without even turning to look at you.

your heart and stomach drop. it’s rare for suguru to be upset, so angry over anything, really. his anger is usually quieter, it brews inside of him until he can do something about it—so someone must’ve majorly messed up for him to act like this.

awaiting his return, your eyes flicker up to the door at every creak and scrape, anxiety building up with each minute that passes. finally, he walks back through the door—this time, less heavy, more methodical. shirtless. chest rising and falling with fervor.

still…off.

his eyes are on yours, moving in like a predatory animal, words long forgotten in the back of his head. communication isn’t what he needs right now.

suguru needs you, it’s written all over him.

“sugu,” you breathe, words catching in your throat as he climbs onto the bed, over you, trapping you beneath him. looking into his eyes, you can see his pupils are blown wide, black overtaking the pretty dark brown you were so used to. you try and sink into the bed, away from his face, hoping he will talk to you.

“are—are you okay? you’re being—suguru.”

his name falls of your lips as a moan, his knee pressing in between your thighs, sending a wave of pleasure through you. one arm hooks under your head, bringing your forehead to his lips, a light kiss left as an apology beforehand.

“turn over,” suguru commands, the last bit of his patience thrown out the window long ago. the warmth of his body leaves you, he stands up to rid himself of whatever clothes he has left—and you compliantly roll over and lift your hips a little.

the bed dips under your husband’s weight behind you. suguru’s fingers hook into your bottoms, pulling them down and off your legs in a swift movement. he pulls your hips up—inspecting—and you’re soaked already.

you like this.

suguru smiles for the first time since that morning.

“fucking idiots,” suguru rambles, slipping a finger in you with ease, “can’t believe they kept me away from this all day just to fuck everything up. can you believe that, baby?” he hooks his fingers just right, brushing against that spongey spot and you moan out again.

not the answer he was looking for.

his hand wraps around your throat, not choking, but firm enough to pull your head back. firm enough to answer him.

“can you fucking believe that?” he grits, pulling his fingers out and landing a harsh smack on your ass that’s sure to leave a print.

“no—no!” you sob, the pain blooming from the initial hit.

he’s never rough like this. okay, yes, he’s been less than gentle—but suguru takes his time. never rushes. always thinks before he acts. follows the rules—foreplay, build it up, tease, prep—all before he finally allows himself to feel you.

your cheek rests against the sheets, lungs full of a breath you’re holding. he’s still grumbling, cursing whoever, and—oh.

suguru slides in, one long, thick movement—buried to the hilt.

it’s good, better than good, really. ‘good’ is such a feeble word to describe everything that runs through you at the moment. breathtaking, maybe. you’re not breathing. you forgot.

his hips draw back, sliding out only halfway, and he slams back in. the air held in your lungs is forced to escape. a cry rips from your throat, only to be cut through by suguru’s bruising pace.

there’s no stopping him—this is what he needs.

you better hope no one else walks through the door.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #suguru geto x reader smut #suguru geto smut #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto #geto smut #geto x reader #geto x reader smut

188 notes · View notes

crazykinkiwi · 3 days ago

Text

⛓️Stream error: Stranger404

For years, your world had been a screen.

Blue-lit nights bled into weary mornings, your voice hoarse from hours of one-sided conversation. The streaming room—barely more than a corner of your cramped apartment—held the quiet hum of your dreams. A camera. A mic. Fairy lights strung up behind you like stars desperate to shine through static.

You tried. God, you tried.

Every day you hit “Go Live” with a tired smile painted across your face like armor. You read every comment, laughed too hard at half-funny jokes, thanked every tiny donation like it was a paycheck. You knew the usernames of your five loyal viewers by heart. They were sweet. Supportive. But it wasn't enough.

Not to pay bills.

Not to keep hope alive.

You kept the disappointment hidden most nights. But sometimes, in the seconds between scenes, when your overlays lagged and your smile slipped—you could see it. That flicker in your eyes. That crushing quiet.

Maybe this is never going to work.

Then, everything changed.

Ping.

Your screen blinked. A loud chime broke through the usual soft background music. You glanced at the notification window, expecting the usual ten dollars from your regulars.

But your breath caught.

₳4,000.00

From an unknown user.

Message: Hello.

That was it. One word.

But it landed like thunder.

You blinked. “Wait—what?” You leaned forward, squinting at the screen, half-convinced it was a glitch.

“What the hell…?”

Your voice cracked as you read the number again. A laugh—unsteady, disbelieving—spilled out of you. “That… that has to be a mistake, right?” But the superchat was real. The chat was already spiraling.

Then—

Ping.

₳4,000.00

No message. Just silence.

Your fingers hovered uselessly over the keyboard, your mouth open but wordless. The tiredness in your bones, the ache in your spine—it vanished, replaced by adrenaline that roared like a rising tide. You were awake now. Alive.

The chat exploded.

❖ Who is that?!

❖ WTF IS THIS

❖THAT IS A LEGEND

❖ TWO DONOS?! IN A ROW?!

You stared at the name:

Stranger404.

Unfamiliar. Unsettling.

After that night, everything changed.

Word of the “ghost donor” spread like wildfire on streaming forums and social media. Your next streams drew hundreds. Then thousands. You upgraded your mic. Bought RGB lights. People started sending fanart. Brands reached out. You were finally seen.

And then… the birthday stream.

You didn’t expect much—just a cozy celebration with your now-booming community. Maybe some cake, a silly Q&A, a little horror game near the end. You’d made peace with the idea that Stranger404 had vanished as mysteriously as he’d arrived.

But as you hit “Start Stream,” your heart skipped.

There, at the top of the chat—already waiting.

Stranger404:

₳5,000.00 — Play this game. Let’s make your birthday unforgettable.

A link followed.

Your throat went dry.

"Should I?" you asked aloud, your voice tight but laced with a nervous giggle. "Chat... this could literally be a prank."

❖ DO IT

❖ IT’S HIM AGAIN

❖ What if it’s ARG content?!

❖ Come on Y/N, for the birthday vibes!!

You stared at the link.

You shouldn’t.

But the temptation was electric.

What’s the worst that could happen?

You clicked.

The game loaded without fanfare. Just a black screen and a faint whisper of wind. Then: narrow hallways, dim lights, doors that creaked just a second too late. It was creepy, sure—but nothing groundbreaking. You rolled your eyes, relaxing a bit.

“I mean... it’s well made,” you muttered, guiding your character through the dark corridors. “But come on, I’ve played way scarier—"

Fzzzzk.

Your headphones crackled. The screen twitched.

“Huh?” You froze. “Okay... that’s new—”

FZZKZZKKZ.

Everything went black.

No lights.

No chat.

No background noise.

Just darkness.

Then—

Bzzt.

The monitor whined back to life.

And your blood ran cold.

It wasn’t a game anymore.

It was you.

Staring at the screen, live.

Same headset. Same shirt. Same exact movements from moments ago.

But you weren’t broadcasting.

You hadn’t turned on your camera.

There was no open capture software.

Yet the screen showed you, perfectly mirrored—trapped.

Your chest rose and fell in sync with the version of you now locked behind the glass. You reached toward the mouse. So did they. You opened your mouth. So did they. But they didn’t blink. Didn’t falter.

Then, your chat reappeared. A swarm of panic:

❖ OMG IT'S Y/N?!

❖ Is this real?!

❖ Y/N ARE YOU OKAY?!

❖ SHE’S IN THE SCREEN??

❖ THIS ISN’T A GAME ANYMORE

And at the top—highlighted in blood-red:

₳10,000.00

From: Stranger404

Message:

“Do you like my gift, princess?”

Your breath hitched.

The air was cold—too cold. The screen still glowed with that ghostly light, casting your trapped reflection back at you.

Your vision blurred.

With trembling fingers, you reached for the power cord.

Yank.

The lights died instantly.

The monitor went black.

Silence.

You stumbled backward, heart hammering against your ribs, the chair scraping loudly behind you as you collapsed to the floor. Your body curled in on itself, arms wrapped around your knees. The sob tore out of your throat before you could stop it.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think.

"What was that…?" you choked out, rocking slightly. "What the hell was that…?"

You pressed your forehead to your knees, trying to block it all out—the sound, the screen, that message. Princess.

And that voice. Your voice. From inside the game.

Then—

Click.

The front door creaked open.

Your head shot up, panic slamming into your chest again—but a familiar voice broke through the spinning terror.

“Y/N?"

You looked up.

Suguru stood in the doorway, a few gift bags slung over his arm, his coat dusted with rain. His brows furrowed the moment he saw you on the floor. “Hey—hey, baby, what’s wrong?” His tone shifted, gentle, low.

He was by your side in an instant, dropping the bags to the floor and pulling you into his arms. His warmth was immediate, strong and grounding as he hugged you close, one hand running up your back while the other gently cradled your head.

"Talk to me. What happened, sweetheart?”

You shook your head against his chest, breath catching again as you tried to explain through broken, panicked whispers. “Something weird happened on stream. There was this game… the screen—Sugu, it showed me—but I wasn’t on camera—I wasn’t—”

You didn’t finish. You couldn’t. The words got stuck somewhere between your teeth and your fear.

He pulled back just enough to see your face, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your temple. His thumb wiped the tear from your cheek.

He sighed softly, kissing your forehead.

“I told you,” he murmured, voice calm but laced with something darker. “Social media’s not good for you.” His fingers tangled gently in your hair. “See what happens when you don’t listen to me?”

You blinked up at him, stunned by the strange calm in his tone. It wasn’t anger—it was something else. Protective, maybe. Or possessive.

“But it’s over now,” he added, holding you tighter. “You don’t have to go live again. Ever.”

You nodded numbly, letting yourself sink into him.

His voice dropped to a comforting hush, warm against your ear.

“Forget all that creepy stuff, okay? Let’s celebrate your birthday.” He smiled, thumb stroking your cheek.

“Yeah, princess?”

Masterlist

153 notes · View notes

kisses4themissus · 9 hours ago

Note

robby and the girls (lovebug and poppy) like how would robby react to lacey starting to explore dating and poppy having a small crush at school

Puppy Love | M.R X Reader

a/n:...anon my love I'm sooo sorry it took me so long to post, I had written it then my google doc went and didn't save it but here it is!! Hope yall enjoy it! :) pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch X Single Mom!Reader wc: 4.5k (she's longg)

series masterlist ¦ send me a love letter ୨ৎ

Having kids meant there was always things to be expected but among the thousands of things to happen silence was never one of them.

You hummed along to your music that softly played through the kitchen. As you glanced up at the time on the stove, on the dot the front door opened.

“We’re home!” Robby announced, taking off his backpack and shoes by the front door, lacey and poppy did the same before walking in separate directions, lacey had her face in her phone while poppy carefully took off her dance shoes, setting them into the little shoe cubby.

“How was dance girls?” You asked as lacey walked to the kitchen counter and sat down, facing her phone down. “It was good, grandma says this weekend is auditions for romeo and juliet.” She smiled, her cheeks tinting pink.

“Oh, are you going to audition?” You asked, a smile on your face as you cut up vegetables, lacey got up from her seat to help you.

“Maybe, depends on if this one guy agrees to be my partner..” She sighed, making you raise a brow.

“A guy?!” You grinned.

“Shh mom!” She quickly shushes you before looking around the room scared. “What?” You asked, smiling, making sure robby had been distracted by poppy.

“Dad can’t hear you!” She whispered yelled.

“Why not?” You questioned, snickering a bit.

“Because he’ll tell uncle jack, who’ll tell aunt dana who will for sure tell uncle frank, who will most likely will slip up and say something to jake!” She quickly rambled before letting out a huff. You just snickered at her logic and nodded.

“Your dad will catch on y’know..” You told her, smirking at her. “No he won’t even know!” She shook her head, looking at you with a sneaky smile. “I won’t know what?” Robby asked, walking into the kitchen.

“That I need money for new pointe shoes!” Lacey covered up smoothly, smiling up at her father, who groaned.

“You just got a pair what — four months ago.” Robby sighed, opening the fridge to grab a drink. Lacey groaned and threw her head back. “Four months ago dad, i stretched this pair out long enough..” She tried to reason.

You listened as they went over the cost and the amount of chores lacey would do in order to get them. As you finished preparing the ingredients for dinner, poppy walked into the kitchen, her ponytail lopsided from her day.

“How was dance my little flower?” You asked, smiling as poppy shyly smiled back at you.

“Good, aunty marissa said tomorrow I’ll get a private..” She muttered quietly, you nodded and kept the conversation going before being interrupted by lacey, who held the baby monitor in her hand.

“The tiny bear is waking up!” She announced, her eyes not moving from the screen as she the wiggly baby in the crib. “Michael, could you–!”

“On it.” Robby interrupted you as he sped upstairs.

“Oh, i need you to sign my permission slip mom!” Poppy perked up and ran to her backpack that was by the shoe cubbies.

“So, when do you plan on asking this guy?” You asked lacey who sighed and placed the monitor down before moving to get the table settings. “I don’t know, — maybe on our date friday...” She revealed, making you whip around to face her.

“WHAT?!” You yelled in shock, feeling a bit old as your oldest child would be going on her first date.

“What’s wrong mom?” Poppy asked, walking into the kitchen, placing her permission slip on the counter. You smiled and shook your head, “Nothing’s wrong flower, just surprised about something.” You reassured the young girl who nodded and got to work fixing the placemats.

“What happened, are you both ok?” Robby asked, rushing into the kitchen, holding your infant son in his arms. You turned to him and smiled at the sight.

Your son looked around confused, his little eyes squinting at you; chuckling you took your youngest from his arms. “We’re fine but you forgot my little boy’s glasses!” You huffed, tickling the boy’s cheek.

“Well, i heard you yell and thought about your safety over his sight…” Robby sighed, rolling his neck to stretch it. “I’ll go get them!” Lacey excused herself quickly, slipping past you both and up to her younger brother’s nursery.

The baby cooed in your arms, shaking his head as he babbled, his arms flailing. “I know, sissy’s getting your glasses!” You told the boy before handing him to poppy who carried him to his high chair at the table.

- - - - - - - -

Flipping off the ensuite bathroom light, you smiled at the sight on your bed.

Robby laid with your son on his chest, the baby’s glasses on robby’s bedside table, with each breath you could see your son slipping in between consciousness, his chubby cheek pushed against robby’s chest as he read his book, his own glasses slipping down.

“He just loves storytime..” You cooed, crawling into bed with your boys.

Robby quickly bookmarked his spot in the book before closing it and glanced at you. “What’s going on with lace?” He asked, his brows furrowing with concern.

You chuckled sweetly and placed a soft kiss on his bearded cheek. “Nothing of concern, just our little girl is growing up quickly.” You smiled at your husband.

He sighed and nodded, dropping the topic before looking down at the baby that rested on his chest; tracing over the little boy’s features with his fingertip, furthering the little boy to rest.

“Did you sign poppy’s slip?” he asked quietly, his eyes not moving from his son’s relaxed expression. “Yep, her class is going to a dinosaur museum friday.” You told him as you settled into bed.

Robby let out a chuckle, it was very well known among friends and family that yours and robby’s children poppy had been the quietest and tended to be shy — unless you had brought up her favorite topic; dinosaurs. “She must be excited..” He sighed with a smile.

“Very, she kept talking about it while i helped her with homework.” You smiled fondly, glancing over to see your son out cold, snoozing away, a bit of drool falling from the corner of his mouth.

Robby took in a deep breath as the drool stuck to his shirt. Gently picking the infant up, robby stood up from the bed, collecting the small pair of glasses off his nightstand and slipping them into his pocket. “I’m gonna go put little man in his crib.” He told you before walking out your shared room to the nursery.

As he walked out of the nursery, he paused as he noticed the subtle glow coming from lacey’s cracked room door. Walking over to the door, robby knocked. “I gotta go, see you tomorrow!” Lacey said quickly before tossing her phone onto her bed.

“Come in.” She spoke up, rolling her chair closer to her desk.

Robby pushed open the door to see lacey at her desk, her homework and book spread out in front of her. “What you still doing up?” Robby asked, looking the sixteen year old’s room. Lacey sighed motioned for her desk. “Studying.”

Robby nodded and smiled at his daughter, finally looking at her. “So who were you talking too?” His question made lacey pale for a minute, stumbling over her words.

“Oh that — Um that was my uh — um my chemistry partner, we have a presentation friday, we were just going over notes.” She lied, smiling nervously at her dad, hoping he’d fall for the fib. Robby nodded, scratching his beard. “Alright then, once you’re finished get some sleep kiddo.” Robby smiled at the teen before leaving her room and back to your bedroom.

Robby smiled as you curled onto his side of the bed, holding tightly to the blanket. He gently moved your to your side as he got into bed with you. “Did teddy bear wake up while you were putting him down?” You asked, snuggling your head onto robby’s chest, understanding on how it lulled your son to sleep so quickly.

“No, he was out like a light, lacey was still up going over her chemistry presentation.” Your brows furrowed. “She doesn’t take chemistry anymore michael..” You yawned before relaxing into his warm chest.

Your words made robby tense up. “She’s not?!”

- - - - - - - -

The next morning had been a typical robinavitch style rush, your daughters doing their hair side by side in the cramped hall bathroom. Robby attempting to find his badge he swore he left with his keys. Your youngest laid in the baby wrap cooing as you made breakfast and put together each of their lunches. Your own things already packed and ready by the front door.

“Can i get two uncrustables mom?” Poppy asked as she entered the kitchen, her hair done neatly into braids. You paused, your stomach dropping at the thought of you accidentally starving your daughter.

“Of course, do you want another fruit pouch too?” You asked, walking to your fridge and pulling out the small sandwiches. “No thanks, aaron is allergic to applesauce but can I get goldfish for him.” She shook her head. You looked up from her lunch box.

“Who’s aaron?” You asked, still grabbing a bag of goldfish. Poppy smiled shyly, looking down at her cup of juice. “One of my friends, he also likes dinosaurs, he has legos that are big dinosaurs!” She smiled. You quirked a brow at her. “Is that why you asked for legos for your birthday?” Your question made the ten year old shyly nod. Shaking your head, you continued packing lunches away.

“I have dance after school!” Lacey announced as she walked in, her school badge and binder of homework in hand. “Alright, do you need a ride home?” you asked, your focus now on the bagels popping up, poppy beside you spreading toppings.

“No, my friend is gonna give me a ride home!” She reassured you, placing her things down before grabbing a bagel. “Ooh is it who i think?” You giggled, noticing the flustered look on lacey’s face. “Maybe..” she smiled before taking a bite of her food.

“Alright is everyone ready?” Robby asked, walking in and going straight for his thermos. Lacey nodded. As you zipped up lunches you paused and looked down at your son, groaning you pulled your son out and handed over to robby.

“Where you going?” Robby questioned as he ate a piece of bagel

“His diaper bag!” You yelled as you rushed upstairs. “Little man would’ve been diaperless!” Lacey said as she walked over and cooed at the baby in robby’s arms. “You’re so lucky, you get to be with grandma all day.” Lacey cooed, shaking her head as her brother squealed and reached for her.

Robby chuckled and motioned for the girls to grab their things. “Let’s start moving, before someone ends up late.” he rushed, watching as the two girls grabbed their food and binders before walking to the front door to pack everything and put their shoes on.

You walked back down the stairs, diaper bag on your shoulder. “Alright, divide and conquer, you take lace, i’ll take the babies!” You told robby as you slipped on your shoes, picking up your bag.

“Alright, lacey ready to go?” Robby asked, making the teen nod. “Yep, all set.” The teen nodded, walking out the door, typing on her phone. “I’m not a baby..” Poppy muttered, shrugging on her backpack, you smiled and walked out to your car.

“Love you both, i’ll see you in a bit.” You kissed lacey on the cheek before patting robby’s cheek before settling the two younger kids into their seats.

Robby had been thankful that unlike his teenage years of having his dad drop him off blocks away from his high school, lacey didn’t care that her dad was seen dropping her off, often waving him off before entering the school.

Looking over the kids they passed, lacey’s eyes lit up at the sight of her friends. “Any plans for tonight lace?” Robby asked, waiting for the cars in front to pull away. Lacey’s blood went cold, turning to her dad she shook her head quickly.

“Nope, i just might stay late tonight at grandma’s studio since auditions are this weekend.” She muttered out, before hopping out the truck, collecting her things. “I was think that on friday we could all stay in and watch some movies-!” Robby noticed the frantic look in lacey’s eyes as she looked behind herself.

“Ok, gotta go now.” She said fast before shutting the door and running to her friends.

Scoffing in shock robby nodded and pulled away, driving to the hospital confused about his teenager.

- - - - - - - -

You stood by your desk, flipping through paperwork. “What’s the matter with our daughter?” Robby asked, making you jump as he appeared behind you, his backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Which one?” You asked, holding a hand over your thumping heart. “Lacey, she lied about having a chemistry presentation, this morning she just hopped out the car and didnt say bye dad…or love you see you tonight.” He sighed, making you look up from the papers.

“She’s a teenger michael, what did you do as a teen that you hid from your parents?” You asked, laughing as his face dropped, “I did a lot of things, some I hope will every morsel she isn’t doing.” He sighed, running a hand over his face.

“I mean legal things honey, not your first time ripping a bong or drinking a beer.” You laughed, making robby shake his head. “What does she feel like she needs to hide from me?” He asked shrugging.

You just smiled at him. “Girls often hide their dates away from their dads y’know..” You reva;ed making him stare blankly before going slack jawed.

“She’s going on a date?!” He said stunned, looking over your face to see it was a joke. “She’s a teenager, they do that sometimes..” You said as you handed over the paperwork to nightshift.

Shaking his head, Robby waited as you collected your things before walking out together.

- - - - - - - -

Pulling into your mom’s dance studio, you got out and smiled as you entered and saw your son by the front desk with the workers.

“I’m here for my children.” You said, holding your hands out as your youngest reached out for you. He let out grunts, wanting to be in your arms. “Poppy just finished her private!” The front desk worker smiled at you and handed over your baby before walking away to grab poppy.

Bouncing your son, you grinned wider as poppy walked out in her warm up wear.

“Hi mom.” She smiled, taking your hand as you exited the studio and back to your car. “How was your day flower?” you asked while strapping in the baby.

“Great, me and aaron got to be each other’s buddy in case we got lost, we got to see the bones and a big model of a brontosaurs.” She squealed, placing her bag at her feet. “Was it fun?” You asked, smiling as she giggled excitedly. “Aaron is carly’s brother!” She told you making you smile, poppy had a hard time making friends at her school but made quick friends with a girl her age, carly; the opposite of poppy in every way.

“Oh yeah, does she know you like her brother?” you asked, searching the diaper bag for your son’s pacifier. Poppy nodded, “She said because it’s me that she’s ok with it.” the ten year old explained, fidgeting with her hands.

“Well that’s good.” You looked up and smiled at your daughter before settling everyone in and finally driving back home.

- - - - - - - -

Dinner there was a unknown feeling in the air.

Lacey sat across from robby, picking at the food on her plate. Poppy took a few bites before looking around at her family before doing the same over again. Your son sat in his highchair, oblivious to the off feeling.

“So how is your chemistry presentation going lace?” Robby asked, his fork half way to his mouth.

The teen froze. “It’s uh — alright, i mean it’s chemistry.” She nodded, hoping it would deter the conversation. Turning to her sister, lacey sighed. “How was your field trip poppy.” She tried to move on but was stopped by robby shaking his head.

“It was great, we saw big models of all these dinosaurs but my favorite was..” Poppy began to ramble about the dinosaur bones they had seen, not paying attention as robby focused his gaze on lacey.

“Well what is your presentation about, I could help; I was good at chemistry in high school.” Robby told the teen, swallowing down his bite of food.

You held your breath and continued to feed your son bites of the soft food before looking back between robby and lacey. “It’s good, i can figure out on my own..” She told robby before shoving abite into her mouth.

“Bull, you don’t take chemistry anymore!” Robby called her out, making lacey’s eyes widen, before turning to poppy. “POPPY LIKES HER FRIENDS BROTHER!” Lacey yelled, pointing to the shell shock ten year old.

“I DON’T LIKE AARON, I DON’T EVEN KNOW HIS NAME!” She attempted to lie, making you laugh.

Robby’s mouth stayed open in shock, his gaze now on his younger daughter. “What?!”

“Lacey broke the vase that grammy got mom for her birthday last year!” Poppy pointed to her sister, who gaped at her in shock.

“You both said it was the delivery driver that dropped it!” You said in shock.

“Well poppy has been hiding her school awards from you both, there’s a stack of them under her bed!” Lacey huffed, crossing her arms while poppy shook her head.

You son squealed, managing to grab the spoon form your grip and toss it on the diner table, the silicone spoon landing on robby’s plate.

Robby huffed and nodded to himself. “I live with a bunch of liars..” He muttered in shock before standing up, picking up his son and walking upstairs to your bedroom.

“Is dad upset?” Lacey asked, glancing as you began to pick up the plates. “No, just shocked.” You smiled.

- - - - - - - -

Walking into your bedroom, you sighed as robby laid on your bed, his eyes blankly staring at the tv screen, not actually watching it. While your son wiggled around your bed, stuck on his hands and knees as he attempted to crawl around.

“What’s wrong with your dad?” You asked the little boy, who just looked at you and squealed out. You nodded like you understood. “I know, he’s being dramatic about your sisters!” Your words catch robby’s attention.

“I’m not, they both were just little girls, now i have a sixteen year old with a boyfriend and a ten year old who’s spent the night under the same roof as her little crush…” he sighed out making you laugh, picking up your son you crawled over to your husband and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

“What are we then?” You asked.

He looked confused at you. “What do you mean?”

“I was a ten year old with a crush, then i was a sixteen year old with a boyfriend, then that turned into being a twenty year old with a kid then that moved to being a thirty year old with a husband and kids.” You smiled at your husband who huffed. “That’s different…”

His words make you laugh, placing your hand on his cheek, gently rubbed his eyebags.

“You don’t get it, those are my little girls..” He sighed. “Little girls grow up at some point..” You sighed, smiling as he rolled his eyes playfully.

“Yeah, yeah..” He sighed before smiling at you and your son. “Are you gonna go talk to them?” You asked, making robby shake his head. “I’ll talk to them in the morning.”

- - - - - - - -

The next morning as you did the same routine, robby ushered the two girls into the kitchen with you, your son on his side.

“I’ve thought everything said last night and have decided that, you both girls are grounded.”

You stared at robby in shock.

“WHAT?!” Lacey scoffed, her mouth agape.

“Dad?” Poppy muttered, clutching her bag. “Yep, so no more late night phone calls, no playdates, nothing.” Robby smiled at the shock women.

“Mom, he’s actually lost it!” Lacey laughed in shock, picking up her bag. “I’ll be outside..” She sighed, poppy following behind her. With a shocked expression you handed robby his backpack. “Lacey’s right, you’ve gone nuts!” You sighed, shaking your head as you head outside to round the girls up.

Robby rolled his eyes and walked outside, his keys in hand as he went to hand over your son to you.

“Who’s going with me and who’s with mom?” He asked, the two girls shared a look.

“Mom’s dropping me off.” Lacey said with a straight face before getting into the passenger seat. “Mom’s car smells better..” Poppy huffed, walking to the back door before tossing her bag in.

“You’re all alone cowboy..” You quirked your brows at him, before settling your son into his carseat.

“See you at the hospital.” You mutter to him as you gave him a peck before getting into your car. “Don’t kiss that traitor..” Lacey huffed, making robby laugh.

- - - - - - - -

Sitting at home on his couch, robby sighed.

Poppy laid on the carpet, yawning as she stared at her lego box, your son playing with a toy in his playmat, lacey upstairs blasting her music, you laid beside him, clearly asleep. Feeling guilty, robby stood up from the couch.

Walking to the kitchen, he pulled out his wallet as the pizza delivery driver was nearby. As the doorbell rang, robby peaked to the living room once more but saw the same sight. Collecting the pizza, robby went to shut the front door but stopped as he heard mumbling.

Walking outside, he watched in awe and anger as lacey’s bedroom window was open, the sixteen year old leaned over the window seal. “How the fuck am i gonna get up..” She mumbled as she began to step down the trellis.

Halfway through, robby pulled out his phone and took a photo with the flash at lacey, who stared at her dad like a deer in headlights. “Um — Hi dad..” She spoke, making robby shake his head.

“Go back up, or get down here i don’t care, just get in the house!” He said, his tone clearly annoyed. Lacey nodded and began climbing back up the trellis and into her room, once the window was shut, robby walked back inside the house to see you awake and on the phone while poppy sat in front of you, her eyes wide with glee.

“I’ll talk to her and call you back.” you spoke to whoever before hanging up to see poppy smiling at you. “Please mom!” She begged. You smiled and nodded. “Sure, you just have to promise to tell me or dad about your awards from now on, got it?”

The girl nodded and squealed, running up the stairs for something, brushing past a meek lacey.

“Guess what I found her doing..” Robby sighed at you, looking back at your daughter you shrugged. Robby handed you his phone, the pizza in his other hand.

Snorting you turned to a flustered lacey, now sitting on the bottom of the stairs. Robby walked past and placed the food on your coffee table, crossing his arms as he watched lacey.

“What the hell, you’re a ballerina, you’re suppose to be graceful and you still got caught by the warden?!” You laughed, sending the photo to yourself. “Dad wasn’t suppose to be outside, plus to be fair mom said i could go on the date!” Lacey sighed, making robby turn to you. “You said yes?!” He asked, a small feeling of betrayal.

“She’s a teenager michael, she knows right from wrong.” You sighed, tossing his phone beside you. Poppy ran down the steps, side stepping as she passed lacey, a bag in hand, her pajamas already on.

“Where you going?” robby asked, looking over his kids.

“Carly’s mom asked if i wanted to sleep over and mom said I could!” Poppy explained, unzipping her bag to show robby the contents that was a pair of clothes, her toothbrush and hairbrush. You nodded and pulled your phone out to text the other mom.

“When did this all get planned out?” He asked, holding his hands out for the girls to stop rambling over each other. “This morning on our way to school.” Poppy smiled, making robby sigh.

“We’re not babies anymore dad..” Lacey spoke up, now holding onto the stair’s railing. “I know but, I still see two little girls fighting over who’s turn it is for movie night or who’s hair i was gonna do first..” Robby opened up, plopping on the couch beside you.

“Dad, we’ll always be your girls but let me and poppy get to experience the typical school crush or first boyfriend story…please?” Lacey begged, following robby to the couch.

Robby looked at you three girls before groaning. “I’ll allow it, but hey!” He pointed to poppy first. “If he asks for a kiss, what do you do?” He asked, making the ten year old grimace. “Gag..” She shivered.

Nodding her pointed to lacey. “You have him walk up to the front door and meet us.” Lacey groaned before nodding. “Deal…” she sighed, turning to your youngest. “You get off easy since you’re still a baby..”

Robby pointed to the youngest. “And you, stop trying to rip your glasses off!” He sighed, walking over to pick up the little boy.

- - - - - - - -

You all sat on the couch, poppy had already been picked up by carly and her mom, you, the baby, robby and lacey all waited for her date to arrive.

“Can he eat that?” Lacey asked, pointing to her brother who was being held by you, watching with wide eyes as you ate your pizza slice. “Only sauce.” Robby responded, taking a bit on his pinky and held it for your son to try.

Laughing lacey took her phone out and took a photo as the baby’s eyes lit up. You all stopped as knocking and the doorbell rang through the house.

Standing up, robby followed lacey to the door.

You and the baby closely behind. “Dad, be nice!” Lacey warned the man before opening the door to show her date.

“Hello dr robinavitch and dr robinavitch, thank you for letting me take your daughter on a date.” The boy smiled and greeted you both, sticking his hand out for robby to shake it. “Take care of her, got it?” Robby told the younger boy.

He nodded quickly. “Yes sir, she’ll be home before her curfew, i promise!” He smiled, you nodded and waved bye to the boy.

Lacey went to leave but stopped as robby held her arm, “If he tries something, where do you hit?” He asked, making lacey groan “If standing kick him in the balls, if sitting punch him hard in the nose or go for a kidney.” She recited making robby hum proud of the advice he had given her years ago.

“Michael!” You called for your husband, he smiled at the pair before shutting the door.

Sitting back on the couch, you and him ate your pizza and watched your shows, your youngest babbling to you both, he sat on your lap.

“At least, we have this little guy left.” Robby smiled, tickling his son’s chubby cheek. The boy squealed and dove into you and snuggled his way up to the crook of your neck.

“Alright then..” Robby sighed making you laugh.

#dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #dr. robby x reader #dr robinavitch x reader #michael robinavich x you #dr robby x you #michael robby robinavitch x reader #dr robby x female reader #the pitt x reader #the pitt x you #robby's lovebuggie ˚ʚ°ɞ˚

132 notes · View notes

wayeasier · 2 days ago

Text

PARANOID AND PETRIFIED - part one

⋆˙⟡ robert (bob) reynolds/the void x reader (thunderbolts*)

summary: It was just a final escape with a one-way ticket with nothing to lose. You're alone, just like you always were. Or maybe you aren't. There is another fractured mind locked with yours. He is in your head and you are in his. You see his fear and he sees yours. You're just two projects hoping to be saved. Still hoping to live better. To be better.

(takes set before the events of thunderbolts* but will slowly move up into the movie by the next few chapters. O.X.E lab / experiments will be very headcanon-y as we don't know much on what really happened there!)

warnings: canon-typical violence, negative thoughts, swearing, human experimentation

author's note: english is not my native language, so i apologize for all grammatical errors / mistakes in my writing (if there are any!)

PART ONE ...

The nights were different now. Everything was different now. The sky looked quite different too, it looked calmer. It shimmered above the city, stretching endlessly and forever. The dark clouds lazily moved on the night's dark spread. Drifting through the night's air. They shimmered faintly in the shadowiness when they moved just right.

It is a bit hotter though. Heat is swimming around in the streets of the whole city. It wasn't unbearable, it was just warm. Occasional breeze flying by, touching at your skin like a piece of a feather. Slightly cooling the sweat on the nape of your neck that's been holding itself there.

But what was the point of this night? There wasn't one.

There is no destination planned for the future, no purpose for this night or any other upcoming night. No grand plan. There isn't anywhere to be headed. There isn't any cinematic-like revelation waiting at the corner of the street. You hadn't come here to chase a dream, to become someone who should be known. You just came here, nothing on your mind.

It had no meaning.

You just let the night be meaningless.

There is just this night, the city beneath your feet, and you.

One-way ticket. One single flight there. No return. No plan on coming back.

That's what got you there. It wasn't a break, a rest. It was an escape. A departure from whatever has been holding you locked back home. Back where you had no one, where you had nothing. Where you weren't needed. You left home knowing you wouldn't be coming back. That you're going to leave everything and everyone behind.

You are here because you have nowhere else to be.

Lighten up signs blink above your head in language you barely understand. You don't know many words in Malay. You know nearly nothing in that language. You know the basics, greeting and thanking. But you don't need them. You don't have anyone to say them to. You don't understand the half-quiet snippets of conversation that flitted around you while you walked. You caught a few words, but they quickly flew away from your mind. You're just here and you don't know for how long, so you don't know if learning the language would be worth it at this point.

As the night carries with you, you don't really notice your surroundings. You don't notice him at first. The man. It was just a brief flicker of a motion in the corner of your vision, nothing major if you see it that way. It was a brief flick of a figure stepping out from a shop that somehow still lives at this point of the night.

But what catches your attention are the footsteps, just behind you.

You don’t speed up. You don’t slow down. You just listen to the very over-confident and measured footsteps that fall just a few steps behind you.

Then, by the next second, the figure is just beside you. Just close enough that you can sense his presence without looking. The man is taller than you, but only slightly. Just a few more centimeters above your head. Almost like you, but stretched a little bit more. His steps are smooth. Way too smooth. His steps falling flat against the pavement beneath your feet just as similarly as yours do.

You look up. He looks down and finally opens his mouth, "so..." he drags out the first word, his voice smooth, "are you looking for something?”

His English is too clean. You can’t really place the thought that set in your mind just as he spoke, but he is not from here. He is not Malaysian. His words are not shaped by the edges of the native tongue. His English is not learned, it's his native language. Just the way the words roll off his tongue tells you he does not call this country a home.

You don’t answer the man. You don't see the reason why you should. You furrow your brows instead, eyes gazing back in front of you onto the ground. You keep walking.

And so does he.

He doesn't fall behind, he doesn't slow down, nor does he quicken his steps. He just keeps walking the same way you do, just right beside you. He fixes the tie that rests neatly under his very clean, tailored suit.

He exhales lightly after a good moment of stretched silence in the deep of the night, "you really don't talk much..."

"I see many people like you. Going somewhere with no destination in mind. Just going forward..." he speaks again, unbothered by your long silence. You don't reply even this time. You listen to him, like you always do.

"You're like them... but different," he walks beside you and speaks with his perfect English. But you don't say anything at all, you just listen and walk. You don't stop and neither does he.

"And that's exactly what we're looking for."

And that's what made you pause. A stop in your movement. Your eyes shift from the ground ahead to the man beside you, who has also stopped just like you did. He doesn’t look at you. His gaze is still fixed ahead, a faint smirk lacing his lips. A type of smirk that makes it seem like he finds your reaction quite amusing.

"What do you want?” you ask, finally. Breaking your long silence, that makes the man's smirk widen a little more, his head turning down to face you.

“To walk," he says casually with a shrug of his shoulders, "same as you."

You furrow your brows and stare at the unknown man with confusion all over your face. The confusion you're feeling isn't subtle, it is completely drawn on your face like a painting. Carved into your face. The man tilts his head and adds, "but I know where I’m going."

The street is empty around you. This entire street is empty, there aren't even opened shops nearby, no lights. It's dark and empty.

Kuala Lumpur has settled into its sleep.

"Who are you?" you stare at the man beside you. He doesn't blink at you, just stares down until he speaks again. His expression was quite unreadable.

"I will tell you," he says with the faint smirk, "if you keep walking."

Then, without another word. You start walking and you see the corner of his lips twitch upward, his smirk widening a bit that could be easily missed. And once again, just like before, the man walks beside you.

"If you’re trying to sell me something..." you mutter after a good time of stretched silence between the two of you, "I don’t have any money."

His steps are accompanied by yours almost in perfect synchronization. He doesn't look down at you and keeps his eyes on the path in front of him, "oh, I'm not selling anything. Don't worry about that."

You look around the street, the darkness moving through the empty streets like it is its place to stay. You stare ahead like the man beside you, not daring to look up again, "are you taking me somewhere?"

"You're walking yourself there. I'm just your... companion," he says casually, you can hear the smirk on his lips.

You walk side by side in silence for a good while. The whole walk feels longer than it actually is. Way too long. The city around you is still cloaked in sleep, its windows dark, its corners hollow. Almost like everyone was suddenly gone just when the man appeared. The corners with nothing but darkness in them.

You walk in complete silence, until he breaks it again by speaking with his smooth voice, "are you familiar with trial drugs?"

You look up at him at that. He doesn't glance back down at you, he stares ahead. But he feels that you're looking at him and then eventually, he turns his head just slightly. Just right enough to meet your eyes that are staring up at him. You don't answer the man, you just stare, so he continues his talk and goes on.

"We're a group," he says calmly, "we are running a long-term medical study.... It's a medical research," he continues with his voice smooth as ever, like he had said this many times before, "experimental treatments. Controlled medical studies on people like you... on people who want to be stronger. People who are not trying to go back to what they were."

You nod once, twice, and then three times. Maybe more. You look back ahead at the path in front of you.

"It's not just drugs," he adds to it, "it's rather an enhancement for you. Not everyone is... qualified for a place there. We need someone who is... who can still be built. You'll be remade. We push the human body to where evolution hasn’t been yet. Or maybe has. But you'll be even better than that."

"What's the catch though?" you ask that, because there is always a catch. There has to be one. It's never simple, never easy. It always has something to it.

The man beside you hums a little at your question. It's not in amusement, it's not that he is making a fun of you. It's rather that he's choosing an answer, that he's really thinking about that question. The man then repeats your words thoughtfully, "a catch?"

"Your life."

You look away from the path before you and look at the man fully. Moving your gaze away from Kuala Lumpur's empty street before you. And this time, he is not staring at the pavement in front of him like he did before, but he's staring down at you, almost waiting. You're the one repeating words now, "my life?"

He nods at your question and confirms what you're asking, "yes. Your life. You don't just walk away from the trial. It changes you," he lets the simple, clean truth come out of his mouth.

"It is a... big catch. But depending on who you ask, it’s either already gone or not really worth much anyway... What's it to you?" the man lets the question roll off his tongue, his steps synchronized with yours in perfection.

What is your life really to you?

The question makes your mind really think, the thoughts working and thinking even more than before. Life isn't just blood, breath, and body. Life isn't a single thing, it is a million of different things that make up one. You think about the things you left undone, the ones you left back home, and won't be coming back to. You think about the words and phrases you never spoke out loud and the plans you never made because you never wanted to make any. Never had someone to make those plans with and never had the opportunity to actually make them. Life is a strange thing if you would really want to think about it. It's something you could have a thousand of conversations about.

It's something that every single living creature has and yet some don't want it.

You glance at the man again and finally let the words out, "my life? It's one big uncertain story that has never been easy to me," you pause for the moment, thinking of your next choice of words that you're going to tell the man, "it's just been a string of bad decisions. One after another."

He stares at you for a moment before he speaks, "then maybe it's time to make a good decision."

The decision is to take his words in. Follow him and risk your life. To accept the trial. To risk everything. Risk yourself and your future. There isn't anything to lose.

You don't respond to the man right away. You just walk another few steps in silence. The warm air of Kuala Lumpur wraps around you as you walk through the empty street.

What good had ever came from staying and pretending to belong in a world that never really wanted or needed you there?

The man doesn’t push you to talk more, to answer him. He just walks beside you with that same calm confidence he had the whole entire time of being beside you.

"Where is it?" you finally ask the man, turning your head ahead towards the empty street rather than staring at the unknown man who just pulled you to face something you hadn't planned before.

The man doesn't look any surprised at your decision, "not far. Close by. We're a few streets away."

You speak up quietly after him, "what do you do to people in there? Should I be—"

He smiles faintly, not that you see it, "we improve them."

The words land into your chest rather than at your ears. You don't ask other questions, you don't ask for him to elaborate. You continue walking with him as your companion. You walk in silence once again. The man doesn't speak, nor do you. The streets look narrower now.

And then, you arrive at where he was accompanying you to.

He just tilts his head up slightly and you follow his gaze. At the end of the street towers a building with tall and narrow windows all around. Thick and wide pillars framing its entrance all around. The walls now which used to probably be white now dulled to a tired grey. The whole building is symmetrical from each side, with identical sides. The entire structure looms and watches over the smaller buildings around it.

"This way," the man says, turning to face you, and then turns back towards the front steps of the building in front of him.

You don't hesitate and follow him just a half step behind. The doors are automatically opened when he steps in the front, letting him in and you closely behind. Inside, there is no welcoming committee, and no one stands at the front desk. It's empty.

The man starts walking again. You stay close to him. All the hallways are similar, sterile, and polished which makes it seem like you're in a loop. A long hallway ahead of you, with many doors on each side. No markings on them apart from a small number plate on the top middle.

The man then stops just in front of a door, which is unmarked. No number plate on the top middle of the door. The man turns to you, "this is the first part," he says softly in his professional voice, "after this, you don’t get to go back."

He looks at you with deep meaning, "you want out? Now’s the time."

You look from the door to his eyes, the ones that are so deeply staring into yours. The man you don't know, the one you followed like a stupid, lost puppy all the way from the empty streets of Kuala Lumpur to a medical study, which may be the end of you.

You take a breath once and nod to him, "we can go in."

His smile widens and he opens the door without any other word, he leans to the side, letting you come in first. You step inside, and the lights are fixed on you. The lights make you squint a bit. Then, a loud noise of the door shutting behind you makes you flinch. You jump a little at the noise, you just didn't expect it.

The sound of the door shutting echoes through the room, bouncing off the sterile white walls that are all around you. You spin around, but the man is gone. The door shut.

You’re alone.

The room is very white. Very clinical. The floor is smooth grey tile-concrete. The lights above are harsh and painfully bright. You stand with confusion in the center, the door shut behind you. You don't know what you're supposed to do.

On the wall to your left, you notice something. There is a large panel marked with horizontal black lines. There are numbers. The numbers run up the side. It is a measurement wall.

You want to take a single step forward. But you don't. Because you don’t know what to do. You weren’t told what to expect. There were no instructions. The man hadn't told you much and you hadn't asked much. You knew just what it was, not what it does before all that.

Then a mechanical click sound comes from somewhere above. From speakers in the corner of the walls. A clear, feminine voice speaks out but in a language you can't understand. You catch a few words and realize that it's Malay. The language flows smoothly from the speakers. The voice is giving instructions, most likely, but you don't move. Because you don't understand what you're supposed to do.

The voice stops. Silence again. You exhale loudly and take a small step forward, uncertain of what to do.

Then another click sound comes through. The speaker's voice sounds up once more, and this time the voice returns in English.

"Please step forward. Stand in front of the height chart and face the lens."

You hum a little and step forward, moving in front of the measurement wall to your left. A small black circle embedded in the wall just appears out of thin air before you, slightly moving forward for a good shot of you. The camera aligns perfectly in front of you. You move slightly, shifting your stance better. The camera lens adjusts once again and then a loud sound comes out of it, a flash along with a sound. First picture taken. And you rather don't even want to know how you look in it.

“Now,” the voice returns, "turn to your left. Stand still until the picture is taken."

You then slowly turn left. The camera on the wall adjusts, the lens moving, repositioning itself to your new angle. You stare straight ahead, unsure where to look exactly and unsure what to do. Then the flash comes again, along with the sound.

From the corner of your eye, you notice how the camera seamlessly slides back into the wall, tucking back like it was never here before. The surface of the wall is now smooth.

Your eyes drift downward and for the first time, you really look at yourself. And you wince at the sight.

You're wearing a half-zipped hoodie, the colour is something between dark blue and dark green. There is a small rip in the left pocket seam and the zipper teeth are uneven, that's why it's only half-zipped up. It can't go any higher than that.

Beneath it, you're wearing a thin black shirt, that's peeking out from under the hoodie, the collar of the shirt is slightly stretched.

Then your jeans are hanging low on your legs, really hanging. They're big and loose. Their colour is off-black. Faded at a few spots. And your shoes. They are terrible. You don’t even know what brand they are. One shoelace is untied and filthy, stepped on so many times and the aglet is gone. The soles are separating just slightly at the front of the left shoe, but it doesn't trip you or doesn't fully fall off, so you really don't care.

You sigh and turn around, facing the wall where the lens was peeking at you before. Then suddenly, with a small noise, from the same spot where the camera was, another panel slid open.

Something slides out from the small thin hole. A stack of papers, clipped together with a thin black fastener on the top right corner. Beside it, just a moment later, slides a black, already opened and waiting pen.

You don’t move for a second. You just stare at it.

It feels strange, but it pulls you in and then you are stepping forward to the items. You stop in front of the stack and reach for the pen first. Then you glance at the pages of white paper beside where the pen was.

At the top of the paper is written something about the medical history of the subject. Below are written questions in many rows. Each with two boxes for either agreement or disagreement for the answer.

Do you have any known allergies? asks the first question. You check one of the boxes and move to the next one.

Do you have a history of any neurological abnormalities? is written in the next question. You stare at the question for a moment, before ticking one of the boxes next to it.

Then there are many other questions asking about your medical condition, history, and many other issues that you had in the past. You tick one of the boxes at each question, not missing a single one.

Then came questions that hit a little close to your chest.

Have you used any substances known as stimulants? asks a question near the bottom of the paper.

Have you experienced withdrawal symptoms after stopping substance use? asks another question. You once again tick one of the boxes at the end of the question for the answer.

On the other papers are just blank lines for where you're needed to put your signature. You sign your name once, then twice, and then a few more times which you don't count anymore. Then come consent and liability waivers.

I understand that withdrawal may not be possible after initiation. the statement says and you tick the small square.

I understand that the effects of the treatment may be irreversible. another statement says and you tick the box next to it.

You checked every box, signed your name everywhere.

I have read and accepted the terms above. I consent to full participation in the procedure... you don't even fully read through and you're already ticking the empty box beside it. Agreeing with whatever the last line is saying. Then there is one last line at the bottom of the last paper, you scrawl your name and drop the pen onto the top of the stack of the papers.

Almost immediately, the papers and the pen retracts into the wall, taking everything with it like it was never here before.

Then you stand awkwardly alone again. In the middle of the room, you don't know what to do now.

You glance down at your shoes. The one stubborn, dirty shoelace untied. There’s nothing else to do, so you lower yourself down, crouching to the floor. Your hand reaches for the filthy shoelace, which is stained from too many times it has been stepped on. You pull it tighter than it wants to go, forcing the knot of the shoelace together. But even through the tight knot, you know that it’ll come undone soon again.

It always does.

As your fingers tug the final loop into place, you hear a noise to your right. Your head turns, eyes lifting before your hands even finish their work with the shoelace.

The door to your right opens. It is the same door you had entered from. But the man who accompanied you here is now gone. In that door stands someone else. Someone you don't recognize, someone who doesn't look any kind. Another man stands in the doorway.

He doesn’t move. He just stands with his back straight as a ruler. Hands folded behind him, fingers held together. The man is bald, with no single hair on his head. His expression is hidden behind a bright-blue surgical mask. He’s dressed like he belongs here, in the white room you're in. He's dressed in a white coat, white pants, and white shoes. The shoes are thick and ugly. You nearly laugh out at the sight of them peeking out from underneath the ends of his pants. The shoes make you think of Crocs, they look remarkably similar to them.

You finish the knot tightly and carefully rise up to your feet, returning to your full height. Still staring at the bald man.

"Hey, I just signed the—" you start to say, taking a step towards the opened doors where the man stands.

Before you could finish what you were saying, the man raised one hand. His palm up in a quiet gesture. For you not to don't talk.

"Please follow me," he says calmly. His gesture works as you shut your mouth.

You step through the door and get into the hallway that you have been in before. The bald man in white clothing is waiting for you, his hands still behind his back.

He turns away from you the moment you cross the doorway into the hallway, not checking to see if you’re keeping up behind him. And you do follow just after him. A few steps behind the man in white.

You walk in silence, the hallway stretching longer than it should. It feels way too long. Like it has been stretched just for this walk alone. You follow the man like his shadow, a few steps behind, keeping up pace just well. Looking down at the ugly shoes that he is wearing as he walks down the long hallway.

Then the man suddenly stops.

You look up at the sudden change. Then you notice it. An elevator door stands in front of you.

You come to a stop just beside the bald man. As you take the last few steps, you then feel it. That loose feeling in your shoe.

You glance down with a small frown forming on your face. The knot’s still there, but not tight anymore. Already beginning to work itself free like it always does. It always comes undone. You hate it.

You don't bend down to tighten it, to fix the knot. You don't want to bend down here and fix your stupid, stubborn shoelace. Not here, not now. Later.

Without a sound, the doors of the elevator slid open. You stare at the open space and look over at the man beside you as he does not move to get in. He nods to you and then to the elevator. You're supposed to go in first. You hesitate only for a moment before stepping in. The man follows close behind, standing just on your side and then the doors slide back closed.

You stay in a silence with the man, standing awkwardly in the small space of the elevator. You look straight ahead at the shut doors in front of you, your reflection only showing the colours of your clothing, all distorted.

The elevator shudders to a barely noticeable stop and then the doors that you were staring at slide open.

You don’t move out when the doors open. You don't know if you should move, or wait, or do whatever comes to your mind.

The room outside the elevator looks way warmer than the hallway and the white room you had came from. But not by much, it still looks like it's supposed to hurt your eyesight. The walls are pale, the lighting warmer than the lighting in the room you were in before. It looks like a doctor's office or a clinic.

And there is another man.

He stands in the centre of the doctor-like room. He looks like he is waiting there the whole time just for you and the other man to arrive. He’s definitely older than the bald man next to you. His hair is grey. He has a matching beard with the same grey colour. He also has a pair of glasses that are hanging low on the bridge of his nose.

The man is also holding a blue folder that is thick, full of documents.

You glance at him but stay quiet, standing still in the elevator. The man with the surgical mask sighs next to you, stepping forward and out of the elevator before you do. The bald man's white Croc-like shoes peeking from underneath the white pants as he walks towards the grey-haired man. You trail just behind him, your gaze bouncing around the room.

The man in a surgical mask is a bit quicker and is already talking to the man with grey hair. He'd leaned in closer to the other man. Speaking low. Speaking way too low for you to catch a single word of their talk.

You don’t listen. You don't even try to listen.

You’re too busy taking everything in. Your gaze bouncing all around the room. It really resembles a doctor's office or a very clinical place. There are many metal cabinets, metal carts with stuff in every drawer, and a long white table with a black leather chair in the nearby corner.

As you're looking around, barely noticing the pair of men in front of you, the bald man in the surgical mask walks off. Without a word uttered to you or a last one look thrown your way. He doesn't care. His white coat sways behind him as he disappears through another door somewhere off in the white clinical room.

And now it's just you and the other man.

The man holds your gaze for a second longer, then pats the folder in his hands gently. Just once with the flat of his palm, "well," he starts as he pats the folder.

"I see everything is in order. We've read through your documents. You’ve officially been enrolled into the Cognitive-Physiological Enhancement Study Treatment for the O.X.E Group," he states professionally to you, his smile tight on his lips.

"You’re now part of an ongoing, highly-classified initiative aimed at developing the autonomic and physiological potential of human beings. An effort to not only prolong the cognitive function and resilience, but to also develop the very configuration of perception and behavior. We believe this work will be vital for the future of the human species," he continues with that tight smile from underneath his grey beard.

That was... a lot of words.

Your eyebrows pull together and you give him a slow, quite unsure nod, "okay..."

The man nods back at you and gestures at the left side of the room with his hands that are holding the folder, "come, please. Let's get started."

The man leads you to a white medical examination table. It looks more like a padded stretcher. It really is a doctor's office after all. You don't even hesitate for a second and you're already hopping up onto the padded seat, sitting down with your legs hanging off. Not touching the ground.

The man doesn’t explain much. Doesn’t need to. It's really obvious. There is a metal tray-like cart with many items on the top. Prepared for what he's planning on doing next. The man lifts your arm with his gloved fingers, "this is just blood sampling. Nothing major."

You fumble on the zipper of your hoodie for a few seconds and then you're pulling it all the way down, pulling your arm out of the warm sleeve to let him take the blood samples. His gloved fingers then wrap around your arm a little bit tighter.

He wraps a light-blue, almost fully white tourniquet around your upper arm, pulling it very tight around your muscle. The pressure bites into your skin as he tightens it a bit more, then he says, "do a few small movements. Open and close your hand, just flex and release... then raise and lower it a few times. We want the vein prominent. Then keep your arm relaxed."

You obey his words, clenching and unclenching your fist a few times. Your muscles shifted with every motion under the gripped tourniquet on your arm. Then you lift your arm and let it fall back, you repeat the motion a few times and then you let your arm relax on your knee, outstretched towards the man.

The man studies your arm, hums quietly before he reaches for something from the metal tray next to him. He wipes a small, wet piece of cotton patch across the crook of your arm.

Then he inserts the needle into your arm cleanly. You glance away as the needle lowers itself deeper, your blood flowing easily through the tube, spiraling down into one of the vials he took out. The first vial is full and then he switches it, changing it to another empty vial. Then he swaps it out with another and another. You don't count them as you're looking away.

When he’s finished, he presses a gauze pad to your arm, tapes it down with clinical precision, and finally looks back at you again.

When he finishes taking your blood, he removes the needle smoothly. The man applies pressure with a small cotton square, similar to the one he had before. He takes out a white band-aid and tapes it down, then he removes the tightened tourniquet from your upper arm.

He puts the blood-filled vials onto a metal tray. Then he turns to you with that tight smile of his, "hold the band-aid here," he says before turning around, his back now facing you as he rummages through a cabinet nearby, then he adds from over his shoulder, "apply pressure for a moment."

You do as you’re told, pressing your thumb over the taped place where the needle had gone in moments before. You hold your thumb there for a few seconds, until you feel like you should shift your finger away. It hits you out of sudden.

A sting blooms under your skin. Sharp and scorching.

The pain flaring out like a live something was moving from that area on your arm. You flinch, instinctively pulling your arm in against your body, your thumb pressing into the band-aid.

"Hey... Hey, sorry, sir. My arm hurts, it feels—" you don’t even get to finish your sentence as the pain is spreading. It's fast. So fast and so painful. Ache that burns, like a hotness pressed against the inside of your body.

The man’s head slowly lifts from the cabinet he’s been searching, or rather rummaging through. His glasses slip low on the bridge of his nose. Now sitting on the tip, close to falling off. The man doesn’t fix them right away. Just peers at you over the frames on his nose with very noticeable curiosity in his eyes.

"It shouldn't hurt that much," he says without an alarmed voice. His tone sounds calm, not surprised that your arm is hurting. Lying in his words.

And now he slowly then pushes his glasses up, calmly straightening himself before walking back over to where you were experiencing such a sudden pain in your arm. Burning ache. You tense as he nears, the way he walks over looks menacing. You try to soothe the place where the pain is, gripping your fingers against where the needle was before.

Nothing was helping, your arm was burning from inside.

"There’s a burning," you say quietly, pain lacing your voice, "it hurts."

He stops just in front of you. You glance at his hands and notice that he’s holding something that is small and metallic, you can't tell what it is by the shape. It's nothing you recognize. But you don't think much about it as your mind is stuck on the burning sensation in your arm.

"I feel it in my whole arm now. It’s going down. What did you—" you cannot finish your sentence again, the pain is flowing from the crook of your arm to your shoulder, and all the way to your fingertips. It's everywhere, slowly moving to your chest and other parts of your body.

The man with grey hair tilts his head slowly. A small smile twitches on his lips. His smile says everything. It looks like he wanted it to hurt.

"Your body is responding," he softly says, his eyes watching you shift uncomfortably on the examination table.

"To what? You just took my blood—" you grit your teeth at the pain, your fingers gripping your arm. You look down at the item in his hands and then back up at his face.

The man sets the small metallic item down on the tray beside him, his eyes not moving from your pained form in front of him, "that burning sensation…" he begins with professionalism lacing his tone like a new flavour, "that's the first step. The serum's introduction to your body."

You keep gripping your arm, even as the grip doesn't soothe the pain. Doesn't help you at all. The burning sensation is now pulsing down into your fingertips, feeling painful from the inside.

"Some subjects," he continues, and stops at the word, quickly correcting himself, "patients never make it past this stage. Their body rejects the serum violently and almost immediately."

"In most cases, our patients have died. It's very fascinating how the human body can react to the same serum in so many different ways," his head tilts, and the glasses slip a small bit down his nose. You tighten your grip on the crook of your arm, the pain slowly making its way down your waist, a burning sensation from the inside all over.

"And there are the others," his tone changes a little, "who managed to adapt to the medicament. Their vitals stabilized just a short orders later. We ran further protocols on them."

"The secondary stages require a higher durability. Both physical and psychological. Many of them collapsed during cognitive fracturing methodologies. Others during substantial analyzation. None of them survived so far," he says, the word too professional for you. The only part you caught was about how none of the people who took the treatment survived. You may be next. But you don't really mind. You mind the pain that comes with it.

The pain slips down through your veins, your whole inside and trickling from your wrist, your hand, fingers and then it’s in your legs. Then your feet. You suck in a breath as the burning sensation spreads through your insides. Now it's in your feet, the burning pain slowly moving to your toes.

You glance down instinctively and notice your left shoelace again. It's untied. And stubborn as ever, reaching down onto the floor like it wants to run away.

But this time, you don’t bend to fix it.

You can’t.

Because everything in your body is hurting. Unraveling all at once. You know bending over will make the pain even worse. You let the shoelace be. You ignore it, but you can't ignore the pain.

The man with grey hair watches you. Like you're not a person. Like you're a subject. A toy to be played with. He looks at you like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

In pain.

He tilts his head, eyes slowly trailing the length of your arm and now to your feet, which are trembling from the internal stinging, "your body," he says with his voice calm, "is reacting to the serum the way it should."

You meet his eyes and his eyes are tingling with almost an excitement. He takes a single step forward, inspecting you with his head tilted to the side, "the pain is the key."

You try to focus on anything else, but the pain demands your full attention. Growing and sharp, something you haven't experienced before. A pain so aching, worse than you ever had. In your whole life.

"Those who don’t feel it…" he pauses for a brief moment, "they die and they never become anything at all. The others," he says and there’s a faint flavour of scientific interest in his voice now, "they screamed when the burning reached their spine. You didn't. Some collapsed right there on the table and others were in cardiac arrest."

You swallow hard, your legs quivering, "and the ones who... who lived?"

He doesn't answer you, he just stares at you with no real emotion in his eyes. Your fingers are burning, slowly starting to feel numb, your legs are burning and shaking, "I signed up for this."

He nods, "yes. You did."

And as the heat keeps spreading, you feel like you're going to lose consciousness in a minute. Your eyes are fluttering close ever so and your legs are trembling, your other arm is still gripping the one where the needle was with nothing to be soothed.

"And if the serum doesn’t stop your heart tonight, we proceed to cognitive testing in the morning. The pain will ease in a few minutes," he says as he studies your eyes that keep fluttering close every few seconds.

Your mouth moves before you even realize you're speaking, "and if it does stop my heart?"

"Then we thank you for your contribution to the future."

You let out a sigh, looking down at your hands. Especially on the one that is pressed against the band-aid. This was your fault and you had to let yourself be carried by it. You signed up for this because you had nothing left to lose. No one is waiting for you. No home to return to.

The world doesn't need you.

Or maybe it does.

The pain is suddenly moving. It's pulling back. Away. It leaves your feet first, a loosening sensation of the burning in your toes. Then slowly moves up to your legs, leaving them alone. The tension in your chest slowly releases, the burning gone. Your shoulders slump from the tightness they were holding as the burning flowed through the inside. Then the fire ebbs out from your arms.

Only the crook of your elbow still burns.

An angry pulsing fire beneath the band-aid. You blink up at the man, breath shaking out of you as you speak out, "the pain… It’s leaving."

"Yes," he says with a nod, stepping closer to you, "it's complete."

And at that, you sit there, stunned and confused. You passed whatever they put you through and so much more may come.

You glance down again, avoiding your gaze away from the man. You look down at where your hand is still resting, not gripping now, against the band-aid. You slowly let go of your arm, the band-aid still there, slightly scrunched up from your grip.

"You’ll be escorted to the... dormitory. You need to rest," the man moves closer and grabs your arm, the one with the band-aid. He inspects it from the sides.

"Rest?" you repeat to him. How could you sleep after such a pain?

"Sleep is necessary for neural encoding. The serum’s effects are still stabilizing and so is your body," he stops for a second before adding.

"You’ll most likely have a lucid-like dream. Not all subjects remember it. Some do. If you do, please keep it in your mind. And don't hide it from us," he speaks lowly, his hand turning your arm around, inspecting it from the other side.

Your eyes narrow at his words, "why?"

He speaks, but still focused on your skin, "what you see during that state is not a dream," he says, "well... not entirely."

"Subjects who hide their dreams," he continues, stepping away from you, "tend to destabilize during the upcoming trials. Some of them fracture. Others completely shut down. You’d be doing yourself a favor by sharing. Trust me."

"And what if I don’t dream?" you ask quietly, clenching and unclenching your fist a few times, the one where the burning sensation came from.

He meets your eyes with a look that’s far too still, "you will. You may just not remember it."

Then he gestures to the door you came through earlier. Now it waits opened once again. A man from before is standing there, the surgical mask on his lower face and the ugly Croc-like shoes peeking from underneath his white pants. The kind of familiar hallway behind him waiting as well.

"You’ve made it further than most. My colleague will escort you to the recovery room," the man says simply, already turning back to his cabinet, grabbing the few blood samples he had there.

You rise slowly off the padded examination table. You feel dizzy, like something inside your blood is still shifting, still rearranging in your insides. Burning sensation still tingling on the spot in the crook of your arm.

You step into the hallway.

Your loose shoe still sliding just slightly out of rhythm when you step, your heel peeking out at each step. As you move forward, the bald man in the surgical mask, the same one who had walked you here earlier is standing near with his arms crossed over his chest, gloved fingers on his elbows. When he sees you, he straightens and gives you a slow nod ot acknowledgement. His eyes gazing onto your slightly trembling figure for a few seconds before he turns around.

Without a word, he steps to your side and places a hand on your upper back. His gloved hand meets the back of your hoodie.

You both walk together in silence for a few paces until he stops in front of another completely same looking door. Your legs still tremble as you stop beside him in front of the identical door.

"You need to change," he says, letting go of your back, his hand coming to rest behind his back.

Your brows furrow at that. You don't have anything to change into, "change into what? I only have these..." you look down and gesture at your body. The half-zipped hoodie, the black shirt underneath, the worn-out jeans, your shoes with one shoelace already completely loose again.

"There are clothes for you inside," he replies, stepping aside, "put them on. Then come back out."

He’s already turning around to stand opposite the door, arms folded again, eyes fixed on the blank wall ahead. Not letting you have another word in this conversation.

You sigh through your whole chest and give him a nod that he doesn't even see. Then you are turning around and pushing the door open.

Another blast of sterile light. You're starting to hate their lighting system. The white inside of the room makes your head hurt. Then the door shuts behind you, without you touching anything or pushing a button. Automatically.

The room is different.

It’s a locker room. Or something that wants to be a locker room. There are two white lockers, side by side, both open. One is empty and the other one has a folded stack of clothing. They're a synthetic fabric in a colour somewhere between light blue and green, the kind of hospital shade of a colour. They look about a few sizes too large. Definitely patient's hospital clothes. Or rather a subject's hospital clothes.

You let out a breath again and mutter under it, "what a bullshit thing I signed up for…"

You tug on the zipper of your hoodie a few times before you strip it off yourself, throwing it beside the hospital clothes that are neatly folded. You then yank the black shirt over your head and toss it to the side right beside your hoodie. The jeans follow, you jump out of them, and toss them inside the locker.

You then take the hospital clothes out of the open locker. You pull on the clothes very easily.

The pants sag at your hips, and there is a good amount of space between your legs and the pants. The top hangs off your shoulders and the sleeves fall just over your hands. You feel like you're floating in those clothes. The fabric smells clean. Too clean. The familiar hospital smell lingering on them.

You look down at the ugly pair of shoes that are peeking out from under the patient gowns you're wearing, you make a face at them and then walk to the door. You push it open and then you're met with the hallway and the bald man in a surgical mask.

The man across the hallway has now turned to face you. He straightens when he sees you. His unreadable eyes travel slowly down your body. Not the inappropriate way, but just like he's taking in the subject he's supposed to be working on, ticking off the imaginary boxes in his mind.

Then his eyes stop at your feet.

"Shoes off," he says flatly from under his mask, "socks too."

You stare at him for a beat, shoulders sagging down in those oversized patient clothes. You turn around without another word and slip back into the locker room behind the door.

First, you kick off the loose shoe. The one that’s been untied so many times. Just like now. It skids slightly across the floor, hitting the edge of the white locker. The other one you crouch and untie properly, fingers dragging along the filthy laces before yanking the whole shoe off. You toss both of them into the locker on top of your hoodie, shirt, and jeans. Then you bent down and peel your socks off your feet, jumping slightly from one foot to another. Then you place them inside your shoes.

You look at your clothes for the last time and then you step out of the locker room. Barefoot on the cold ground of the hallway.

The bald man gives you a nod as he notices that you're barefoot now. No expression on his face, just a nod of acknowledgement. Without any other word uttered, he places his gloved hand on your back again, exactly where it was before.

You walk down the hallway with him, your cold bare feet touching the slightly cold ground. Both of you walking wordlessly. You step with the man in that long, uncomfortable, and downright awkward silence. The hallway itself is long and quiet, making the whole scene feel a way more uncomfortable than it already is.

Everything looks like it doesn't have personality, like it just exists there. Doesn't live, just exists.

The elevator at the end of the corridor comes into view when the man's steps start to slow. You haven't seen it as you were only looking down at the floor beneath your bare feet. You lift your head and finally notice the clean-looking metal doors that look no different from any other elevator. The doors slide open at the two new shadows of presence and you step inside. You stand beside the bald man, silent just as you were before, but this time with questions in your mind. You glance down at your arm again, at the crook of it. The spot where that needle was. Just beneath the sleeve of the patient gown's fabric that's falling just over your hand.

It's under it, still there.

You enter the elevator and the floor feels even colder inside, you stand beside him, his hand still warning your lower back through the patient gown, which you're currently wearing.

Under that sleeve, inside the crook of your arm, there's still this feeling. There’s still a dull sting flowing inside. A lingering warmth. A strange warmth, a burning prickle just there in the inside. You bring your hand up to rub it gently over your sleeve. Nothing to lull the pain.

The bald man notices. He looks down at your arm and then at your face.

"You’re only the fifth," he says from under the surgical mask, "to survive the pain. The first segment of the serum."

Your fingers still against the crook of your arm, your eyes moving from your arm to meet his that are trying to hide behind that surgical mask.

"There were many before you," he continues, his eyes on yours, "they couldn’t handle it. Their nervous systems failed. They couldn’t bear the pain. They didn’t… progress..." he trails off at the last word.

You feel the movement of the elevator, the rising through the many floors of the building you were now stuck in. You keep your hand where it is. Where the pain is.

"And the other four?" you ask the man, curious about how you're the fifth one. Where the others are, what had happened to them.

He doesn't hesitate before answering, "they died during the later phases. They progressed, but died later. The body can only take so much."

"Well," you mutter,m out firstly. Your head tilts toward him, lips curling into something that looks dry, you let out your voice be thick with sarcasm, "that's… extremely reassuring."

Then you feel the slight change in the movement of the elevator, the metal cage stopping. The too-loose, sterile green or blue, you can't tell, hospital clothing that hangs from your shoulders like it was made for someone else entirely moves at the sudden stillness of the elevator. Then the doors open with no sound.

You step out first this time, blinking at the change in the lighting. The hallway you emerge into is quite different. A lot of different than the one you were before. The light here is dimmer, it looks darker than the rest. Almost dark, but the light is there.

The floors are the same smooth and cold material as it was in the hallway before, but the walls are no longer that certain bright shade of cold white. Now they’re a dark, almost deep grey.

Behind you, the man steps out just a moment after you. He is silent, his ugly Croc-like shoes making no sound. His hand brushes your back once more, just guiding you forward again.

You walk in silence just like before. The man’s footsteps falling in sync with yours once again. The hallway isn't just straight, it curves and has multiple turns and corners. Each of them having multiple similar doors. The further you go, the more removed the space feels from the world outside. The light fading into something deeper. The light is still there, but it feels like it slowly gets more dead. As if the world outside shadowed itself. Fading into complete darkness.

Eventually, the man stops in one of the corners, in front of a door. So you stop as well.

The door looks plain. Dark. There is no handle from this side, only a very small square, or rather a rectangular panel set into the wall beside it. There is also a sign positioned just above the panel. There are two small lines of text printed in plain black font on a lighter sign on the wall. You squint at the small text in the dim light, but only catch fragments of the text. Both lines start the same.

Project...

Something following after that word. The rest is obscured by the shadows of the dark hallway. The man shifts, drawing your attention away from the sign panel to him.

Your gaze flicks down, catching sight of his hands that are pulling out something. His gloved fingers are pulling out something that looks very similar to a keycard. He swipes it quickly against the panel on the wall and the moment he notices that you are watching, he tucks the card briskly away into his coat from where he pulled it out.

"You’ll be staying here for the night. There is another... patient inside," he says with flat voice from beneath the surgical mask.

Your brows knit, blinking at him, "why? Why won’t I be alone—"

But you don’t get the chance to finish what you were planning on saying. His hand lifts in that same familiar silencing gesture, just in front of his face. You close your mouth at that, he then gestures towards the door. You look at it and it slides open, revealing the room full of darkness.

You stay standing for a moment, hesitation finally growing on you. But then you step in.

It’s dark. Very dark. Almost pitch black. But not entirely, though. There’s a small, barely-there light glowing from a line of LED lights running the top edge of the far corner of the ceiling. It only gives you just enough illumination to see the vague outlines of the room and nothing more.

It's dark even with the light.

There are no windows. No opening that you can see through. Not even through the small space between the floor and the door. No sound except a soft, quiet breathing coming from the left of the room.

You pause as you finally take in the faint outlines. On the left, there’s a bed and in that bed, that's hidden in the shadow of the room, is someone else. Laying still, most likely asleep.

The light switch by the door is turned off, the person must've turned it off as they went to sleep. They made the choice to keep the room dark. Maybe for rest, for quiet. Maybe just to forget where they are.

You would do the same.

There are two beds. One occupied. One waiting.

The other bed is presumably yours. There is blanket folded at the end, the pillow untouched and the sheet smooth on too of the bed. Everything is clean and untouched, it looks prepared.

You don’t move for a moment. Just stand there, staring at the room that you got yourself into.

You had a nice apartment back home, but you left it.

It wasn’t large, but it was yours. You had everything there. Your whole life had been spent there, even your childhood. Your whole story started there, but also somehow ended there. It had your whole life hidden in between its walls and floors. And then one day, you left it all. You didn't pack anything. You just left. Left it alone. Like you always did. And do.

And now you are here.

With a drawn-out breath that escapes your nose, you step forward slowly, deeper into the dark room. Your bare feet step on the cool, unfamiliar floor of the ill-lit place. You walk toward the unclaimed bed and sit down on the smooth surface of the mattress.

You look at the claimed bed opposite you. There’s a body under the blanket, turned away from you, back turned to you. The curve of their shoulder showing a soft, dim outline. The back of a head to you with their hair splayed across a white pillow, dark and a bit curled and long. The figure asleep.

You glance down at your arm, the crook of your arm still faintly throbbing with that subtle burn just inside, hidden beneath the long sleeves of the hospital cloth.

A phantom reminder of the serum that's now running through you.

You left everything. For this.

Because you had nothing to lose.

Behind you, the other figure doesn’t stir. And inside you, the serum stirs. Simmers with a burning sensation and quietness that only you can feel and hear.

You swing your legs over from the floor, your feet touching the smooth surface of the bed. It's too hot to throw a blanket over. You just lie there. Unmoving and just staring. Staring upward at the ceiling above you.

The room really breathes and lives with the darkness and silence. The ceiling above you feels like an empty, star-less sky. Just complete darkness. You stare up at it and your eyes are refusing to close, your mind refusing to slow. Thoughts running swimming around like fish in the sea.

Free and careless in a never ending space.

You think about what might happen to you next. What you’ve let happen, what you signed yourself up for. What you had accepted. What they might do. What you might become. It's all running in your mind as you lay there.

You curse yourself. Mentally.

You then turn slowly in bed. The patient gowns you're wearing rustling faintly as you move on the smooth surface of the bed. Your body shifts until your back is to the other bed. To the other person in the room. A patient, as the bald man in surgical mask called them.

The wall in front of you is dark grey, nearly black as the shadows clung to it. You stare at it as if it may open up. Swallow you whole.

You wonder if the serum will surge again in the middle of the night, burn you from the inside again. If it will kill you while you sleep. If your heart stops working like the man had said.

Your eyelids grow heavier with your thoughts. The exhaustion pulling heavily against you. So, you let your eyelids fall heavy like they wanted. You close your eyes and slowly let yourself drift away and away.

Your breathing slows and then you fall into sleep. Not into a rest, not into peace, not into anything you'd appreciate. But the dream the man had mentioned. The thing he spoke of. It slips through your mind, the room pulls away, and everything fades. The darkness takes you in and you don't resist.

So, you let the dream begin. The dream takes you by your mind.

hope you liked this! if yes, comments and feedback are very appreciated! <3

135 notes · View notes