#I just don’t know who that is in the mirror but it’s not me and I can’t accept it. I’ve been trying so hard but I can’t

[mywritersmind]

JUST FRIENDS - LN4

summary : just friends…? in which lando and his best friend have a night out like any other, until a spicy song starts and lando can’t take it any more.

or: they make out to the song sports car

listen up : kissing! talk abt sex! tate mcraes new song sports car was on repeat so enjoy.

words : 1507

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I pull down the visor, the mirror greeting me as I swipe on my lipstick. I’ve gotten oddly good at doing my lipstick in fast cars, specifically, my best friend's fast car.

Lando shifts gears as I finish my last touch up and slap the visor shut, “Red’s a little bold, no?” He glances at me, his eyes hot against my skin as he adjusts his grip on the steering wheel.

“When have I been anything but bold?” I blink, shutting my lipstick and handing it to him. I don’t miss the slight smirk at our routine.

He pockets it, shaking his head as we pull up to the club. Lando gets out first as I check out my nails, knowing damn well he’ll be at my door in seconds.

He opens it, looking at the people staring with a blank look. Then he looks at me, my skirt short and my heels high. I walk past him and straight into the club.

He follows me, his head down, probably an excuse to look at my ass. He slips his hand in mine as the crowd gets tighter, people screaming and saying hi to us left and right.

Our group is easy to find, all cheering as we arrive and immediately pushing drinks into us. The club is small and pretty private, but loud as fuck and filled with the smell of smoke, alcohol, and lust.

The dance floor is packed, the Dj raised along with little glowing stands which bottle girls and randos dance on.

I tug on Lando’s shirt, a white button up that’s already halfway undone, and offer him a drink. “Who’s gonna drive you home if i’m fucked?” He says plainly.

“Oh you’re driving me home, now? I thought you’d piss off with your new supermodel of the week.” I raise a brow and such on a lime.

His eyes flick to my lips, “I could say the same for you, love.”

“I am the supermodel, darling.” I wink, getting dragged away by my friend who’s laughing at the interaction and landing myself on the dance floor.

I’m two drinks down when I see him again, a girl flushed in his lap and his hat backwards on his head.

He’s talking and she looks absolutely fucking absolved in his words, probably drooling over his accent or his lips. Yet as he rattles off, probably talking about his new car or training, his eyes are set on me.

They practically burn my already hot skin, my arms going up as I dance with the music. It’s funny, really.

My best friend is Lando Norris. We get looks everywhere we go, yet the one look I can’t get over is how his eyes track me.

He’s got a girl in his lap and I've got a guy grinding behind me, yet I can’t seem to shake him. I watch his tongue sweep against his teeth, his eyes moving to my legs smoothly.

The girl puts her hand on the back of his neck, getting him to look at her. She’s not smart, if she were, she’d bother with a guy who’s actually looking at her.

He’s looking at me again, his gaze now flicking back and forth between me and the man behind me. I have a slight smirk on my face as I turn around to look at him.

He’s hot. Dark skin and eyes to match, I bite my lip before moving my hands to his shoulders and bring him in. He’s sweaty but the kiss is hot, I just hate that it’s so hot because my best friend is watching all of it.

Once the guy goes in for another kiss, I dodge it and make my way over to the bar, leaning up against the cold surface and wiggling my fingers at the bartender.

Lando is at my side seconds after I take my first sip of the icy drink. I pretend to not see him. “Lemme try.” He goes to take a drink but I swiftly pull my hand away, shaking my head.

“No way, Mr. Sober.” I grin as he leans against the bar, his head tilted slightly back and making his hair look godly. “Who’s gonna drive me home?”

“So you’re coming with me?” He stands up a bit straighter, “Not gonna find that guy?”

‘That guy’ in question is probably already fucking a girl in the bathroom. I laugh, “No. My best friend has separation anxiety, so.” I shrug as he grins and pushes off the bar.

“Dance with me.”

“Not a chance, Norris.”

His teeth catch his lips, making me look down at them. Fuck him and his fuck boy tactics.

“You’re Lando Norris!” a guy stumbles up to us, clearly pissed and far too excited to see Lan.

He mumbles about getting a picture and just as I walk away I hear Lando say, “Yeah, mate…”

I hand my drink off to someone, my hands in my hair as I groan and shake the feeling of Lando teasing me.

A few girls scream near me and I don’t realize it’s because of the song change until I hear the lyrics.

Hey, cute jeans

Take mine off of me

I laugh as someone pushes into me, not everyone knows the song, but almost everyone knows her voice. I find my friend, her hand tightening on mine as she pulls me to the center of the dance floor.

Before I know it, I'm screaming the lyrics that Tate leaked to me on top of the raised glass. My friend is messing with her hair and shaking ass as she sings along.

In the alley in the back

In the center of this room

With the windows rolled down

Boy, don’t make me choose

I laugh, throwing my head back and swinging my hips. I barely realize my friend is gone until her figure is replaced by Lando in front of me.

“You like this song?”

I raise a brow, “Yes?” I keep dancing, pretending that every part of me is aware of how close he stands.

I think you know what this is

I think you wanna, uh

I sing along still, until it gets to the next lyric, my mouth shutting as Lando watches me.

Oh, but you got a sports car

A grin takes over his face, cocky and completely evil. “I like it too.”

“Oh? You like Tate now?”

“I fuck with fucking and I fuck with cars… seems like enough to me.” His hand finds itself on my waist, pulling me tighter.

This is dangerously close to crossing our lines.

We could go again like three, four times

“Am I your type, Y/n?” He’s speaking into my ear now as butterflies hit my stomach, “Want me to fuck you in my sports car?”

I hold his arm in an attempt to not fall off this fucking stand. He looks way too good, his hat gone and his hair messy.

“Don’t get cocky now, Lan.”

“Oh, like you’ve been in other sports cars?” The quirk of his brow makes my heart beat faster.

I think you know what this is

I think you want a ride

I shake my head, “We’re just friends.”

“Friends who kiss other people in front of each other for fun?” He pulls me closer, staring down at me, “Try again, Y/n.”

While you drive it real far

“So what are we, Norris.” I stand him up, still not taller but my confidence building, “I dare you to tell me.”

He swallows, his adam's apple bobbing as his face leans closer, “How ‘bout I show you?” At this moment, I know i’m completely fucked.

Oh my guy-uy

You don’t wanna waste my time-ime

His hands are gripping me tighter as his head dips and his lips crash against mine.

Let’s go ride-ide

Let’s go ride-ide-ide

Oh, my guy-uh

My arms snake around his neck as his tongue parts my lips and slips into my mouth. It’s too hot, especially for the public to witness but I'm too kiss drunk to care.

He kisses me harder, his hands at my hips and dipping below my waist band so his fingers press against my bare skin. I bite his lip a bit and pull him in tighter against me.

Lando bites me right back. I whisper it against his lips, not holding myself back from the lyrics, “I think you wanna, wanna.” He kisses me again, his hand at my ass and his breath hot against me, “But you got a sports car.”

I feel his lips morph into a smile against mine, his kiss deepening as if he’s hungry for me. I move my hands to his hair, his groan vibrating against me.

“Let’s go.” He says over the sound of the music and people below us.

“Where?” I ask, still breathless and too close to him to pay attention to anything else.

That damn smirk is back as he tugs at my hand, “My sports car.”

[swappermanent]

Normal Kids

“I’m 19! I’m old enough to make decisions about my own body!” I yelled, my voice echoing off the kitchen walls. My chest heaved as I stood across from my parents, their expressions a cocktail of disbelief, frustration, and something I couldn’t quite place—grief, maybe?

My mom crossed her arms tightly over her chest, looking anywhere but at me. “I’m sorry, we just… we can’t let you do that.”

“Let me?” I spat, the word tasting bitter. “You can’t let me? Do you even hear yourselves? This isn’t something you control! This is my life. My body.”

Dad rubbed his temples, his fingers digging into his skin like he could will the conversation away. “You’re too young to make a decision like this,” he said finally, his voice low but strained. “You don’t even know what you’re doing.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life,” I shot back, feeling my hands shake. “I’ve spent years figuring this out—every sleepless night, every time I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself, every time I wanted to scream because I couldn’t be who I am. Don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Mom finally looked up, her face pale but her eyes blazing. “This isn’t about us not loving you. We just…” She paused, her voice trembling. “We don’t understand why you have to keep doing this to us.”

My stomach dropped, but I held my ground. “This isn’t something I’m doing to you. This is me—this is who I am. It’s not a phase or a rebellion or whatever else you want to call it. You’ve already been through this once with Liam. Are you seriously telling me you didn’t learn anything?”

Dad flinched, and I knew I’d hit a nerve. Liam, my older brother, had been their golden boy until he came out as gay a few years ago. It wasn’t pretty—he’d waited until he was moving out to tell them, probably because he knew exactly how they’d react. The disappointment in their eyes, the long silences, the occasional outburst when they thought no one else could hear… it had been brutal. But Liam had stood his ground, just like I was now.

When he left, I’d thought it couldn’t get worse. But then, a few months later, I’d come out as a lesbian. Their reaction had been less dramatic that time—probably because they were already so exhausted from Liam—but it wasn’t exactly warm, either. They’d treated it like a wound that would heal if they just ignored it long enough.

But this… this was different. A few weeks ago, I’d finally found the courage to tell them I was trans. And the look on their faces when I said those words—it was like I’d detonated a bomb in the living room.

“First Liam, and now this,” Mom had whispered that night, her voice shaking. “Why can’t we just have normal kids?”

That phrase had been replaying in my head ever since. Normal kids. Like there was some checklist of qualities that made you acceptable, and Liam and I had failed to meet every single one of them.

Now, as I stood in the kitchen, I felt that familiar mix of anger and sadness bubbling up. “I’m sorry I’m not the daughter you wanted,” I said, my voice breaking despite my best efforts. “But I can’t keep pretending to be someone I’m not just to make you comfortable.”

“Why can’t you wait?” Dad said, his voice softer now. “Just give it a few years, until you’re older. Until you’re absolutely sure.”

“I am sure,” I said, looking him directly in the eyes. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. And I’m not going to waste any more time being someone I’m not.”

Silence hung in the air like a heavy fog. My parents exchanged a glance, but neither of them said anything. For a moment, I thought I saw something shift in my mom’s expression—something that looked almost like understanding. But then it was gone, replaced by the same tight-lipped resolve.

“We just need time,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is… a lot.”

I nodded, biting back the sharp response I wanted to give. I knew I wouldn’t change their minds tonight. But I also knew that I wasn’t going to stop fighting. For Liam, for myself, for every other kid who’d ever been told they weren’t enough—I wasn’t going to give up.

For months, I begged and badgered my parents to let me start transitioning. Every conversation ended in a brick wall—excuses about my age, about not understanding the “gravity” of my decision, about the costs. They controlled the insurance, and they paid my college tuition. Without their approval, I was stuck. Trapped in a body that didn’t feel like mine and a life that didn’t feel like it fit.

But then, one evening, they relented.

“We’ve… been thinking about your request,” my mom said hesitantly over dinner. I immediately froze, my fork halfway to my mouth.

My dad chimed in. “We found a clinic that might be able to help.”

I blinked, surprised but cautious. “Really?” I asked, my voice laced with doubt.

“Yes,” my mom replied, forcing a smile. “It’s… unconventional, but we think it might be what you’re looking for. They specialize in full-body transformations.”

Something about her tone set me on edge, but I didn’t press. I was too desperate for their approval. If they were finally agreeing to help me, I wasn’t about to question it. The only condition? Liam had to take me.

I love my brother. He’s my rock, the only person who truly gets me. So, I didn’t mind the idea of him tagging along. In fact, I was relieved to have him there. I told myself that having his support would make this feel less terrifying.

The clinic was nothing like I expected. It wasn’t a sterile hospital or some dingy back-alley operation. It was sleek, modern, and impossibly fancy. Marble floors, pristine white walls, the faint smell of lavender in the air. The kind of place you’d expect celebrities to visit for some high-end spa treatment.

A woman in a crisp white suit greeted us at the front desk. Her smile was warm but unnervingly perfect. “Welcome,” she said. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Liam raised an eyebrow at me, but I shrugged. We were led into a private lounge, where they offered us water and reassured me that the procedure was safe and effective. A doctor arrived shortly after and explained that Liam and I would be separated for a brief consultation. That seemed odd, but I didn’t overthink it. Maybe they wanted to talk about medical history or something.

The moment I stepped into my consultation room, my gut told me something was off. It wasn’t the room itself—it was just as fancy as the rest of the place, with plush chairs and soft lighting—but there was an odd energy in the air. The doctor who entered was an older man with kind eyes, but his words sent a chill down my spine.

“This isn’t your typical hormone therapy clinic,” he began. “What we offer here is… revolutionary. Instead of months or years of transitioning, we provide an immediate solution.”

I frowned. “Immediate?”

“Yes,” he said, leaning forward. “We specialize in body-swapping technology. You would be able to inhabit a different body entirely—one that aligns with who you truly are.”

My stomach flipped. “Body-swapping?” I repeated, barely able to process what he was saying.

The doctor nodded, his expression calm, like this was the most normal thing in the world. “In your case, your parents have arranged for a body that they believe would suit you. Strong, male, conventionally attractive. We’re ready to begin the process, provided we have your consent.”

My heart was pounding now. “What body?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Your brother’s,” the doctor said simply.

The room spun. “What?” I croaked. “You’re saying… you want me to swap bodies with Liam?”

The doctor nodded again. “Yes. Your parents thought this would provide you with the life you’re seeking—male, straight, and socially acceptable. Liam has already been sedated and prepped for the procedure. He’ll retain his memories and sense of self, but he’ll wake up in your body.”

My mind raced, trying to piece everything together. “Does Liam… does he know about this?”

“No,” the doctor admitted. “He doesn’t need to. He’ll adapt in time. All we need is your consent.”

I felt like I couldn’t breathe. This was insane. They wanted to rip apart my brother’s life without his knowledge, without his consent. It was horrifying. And yet… the image of Liam’s body flashed in my mind. He was everything I’d ever wanted to be—handsome, muscular, confident. I imagined the life I could have in his shoes. The ease, the acceptance. The chance to finally feel right in my own skin.

“You’ll be happy,” the doctor said, as though reading my thoughts. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

I clenched my fists, my heart racing. Every fiber of my being screamed that this was wrong, that Liam didn’t deserve this. But at the same time, the temptation was undeniable. How could I say no to something I’d dreamed of my entire life?

“I…” My voice wavered. I glanced at the door, imagining Liam just a room away, completely unaware of what was happening.

But the thought of waking up in his body, of finally feeling at home, was too powerful to ignore.

“I’ll do it,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I’ll do it.”

The doctor’s smile widened. “Excellent. Let’s get started.”

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the weight. Not the kind that dragged you down, but something grounding, solid, like my body was finally my own. My eyelids fluttered open, and my heart skipped as I caught sight of my arm resting against the pristine white sheets. Strong, defined, dusted with dark hair that caught the soft light streaming in through the window. I flexed my fingers experimentally, watching tendons shift under the skin.

It felt… right.

I sat up, the sheets pooling around my waist, and ran a hand over my chest. The sensation of my fingers brushing through coarse hair was electric. My pecs were firm, rising and falling with each breath, and I couldn’t stop myself from tracing the ridges of muscle down to my abs. Every touch felt like discovering a secret, a hidden part of myself I’d been waiting my entire life to meet.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I caught sight of my reflection in the full-length mirror across the room. My breath hitched. Liam’s body—no, my body—looked even more incredible in motion. Broad shoulders, a tapered waist, the kind of build that turned heads. I stood slowly, marveling at the way my thighs tensed with the movement, the muscles taut and powerful beneath the skin.

I stepped closer to the mirror, placing a hand on the glass as though I needed to prove this was real. My other hand drifted up to my jaw, rough with stubble. I dragged my fingers across it, savoring the gritty sensation. The shadow of a beard framed my face, making my features sharper, more defined. I tilted my head, flexing experimentally, watching my shoulders and arms ripple with strength.

A shiver ran down my spine as I splayed my fingers across my chest, the dark hair soft yet coarse against my palm. My nipples stiffened under my touch, the sensation sparking an unfamiliar but intoxicating heat. I trailed my hand lower, tracing the faint line of hair that led down my stomach, feeling the muscles shift beneath my fingertips.

I turned to the side, marveling at the broadness of my back, the way it tapered into my hips. My hand skimmed over the curve of my biceps, then down to my forearm, where veins snaked beneath the skin, pulsing faintly with life. Every inch of me felt alive, thrumming with energy I’d never known before.

A sudden laugh escaped my lips, low and rich, surprising me with its depth. I couldn’t help but grin, running a hand through my hair, which was thick and slightly messy from sleep. The movement flexed my arm, and I turned back to the mirror, caught up in the intoxicating sight of strength and masculinity. This was me—finally me.

The knock at the door was soft but purposeful, and when I turned, the nurse from earlier stepped in. She was petite but poised, her blonde hair swept into a neat ponytail, her cheeks tinged pink as she glanced at me. I realized I was still shirtless, standing in all my glory, and I couldn’t help but smirk. The confidence in this body felt second nature, like slipping on a well-tailored suit.

“Just checking to see how you’re feeling,” she said, her voice warm but a little breathy. Her eyes lingered on my chest a beat too long before darting away, her blush deepening.

“I’m feeling incredible,” I said, letting my voice drop an octave. “But you probably hear that a lot.”

She chuckled nervously, her hands fiddling with the clipboard she carried. “Well, we do aim to please.”

I stepped closer, the smooth strength of my legs propelling me forward effortlessly. “You’ve done more than that.” I flexed my arm casually, the muscles swelling under my skin. “I’m guessing Liam—uh, I—had an arms workout yesterday. Feel that.” I offered my bicep, and her eyes widened slightly before she hesitantly reached out.

Her fingers brushed my skin, and I tensed the muscle, watching her expression shift as she gave a quiet, appreciative gasp. “Wow,” she murmured. “That’s… impressive.”

“Thanks,” I said, grinning. “All yours to admire.”

Her blush deepened, but she didn’t pull away. Emboldened, I let my hand rest lightly on her waist. Her breath hitched, and I could feel the warmth of her body through her scrubs. My touch was gentle, but I knew the strength behind it was unmistakable—controlled, deliberate, intoxicating.

“You’re incredible,” I said softly, my thumb tracing small circles on her side. She shivered under my touch, her gaze locking with mine. The tension in the room was electric, every second stretching out tantalizingly. My hand drifted lower, just brushing the curve of her hip.

I reached for the waistband of my pants, ready to strip down and revel in this moment fully when—

The door burst open with a crash, and I whipped around to see myself—my old self—standing there, wide-eyed and furious.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

[8-evil-annoying-catboys]

fun fact: experienced witches who practice it know that any form of divination is more or less just self-reflection. no matter how much you believe in supernatural stuff or don’t, if you identify yourself as a witch and youre skilled at the practice of divination, you know not to ask foolish questions like “will i get this job” or “who will i marry,” regardless of your preferred form of divination. you ask questions like “what should i do to get this job” to ur tarot deck, or “should i pursue this person i like romantically” to your pendulum. the idea is that you already know the answer, even if you don’t know that you know.

so, with a pendulum (which isn’t my preferred method personally but plenty of witches love it), you know already if that person is bad for you, and your subconscious moves the pendulum to swing to tell you no, you shouldn’t pursue them, bc you already know you’re gonna get hurt. with tarot (which IS my preferred method), the cards all have many meanings but your immediate feeling when you look at them is more important than any pre-assigned meaning (bc it reflects what you already intuitively know).

that’s why a good fortune-teller reads for themselves, and if they do it as a job, skilled readers don’t take questions for concrete answers about the future and they seek to learn about the problem at hand before a reading. but tbh it’s always better to practice divination for yourself rather than paying someone else, bc divination is a tool to seek advice from the universe but also from yourself, bc the answers are already within you.

so basically, a skilled diviner who uses pendulums, actually uses the ideomotor effect to seek clarity on things they know subconsciously, but not on a conscious level. an unskilled witch using a pendulum, uses the ideomotor effect to get the answer they want to hear to the question, “will this work out?”

in short, yes, a pendulum is just the ideomotor effect in action, ‘specially if you don’t believe in all the hippie dippie crap that i believe in, but even i can admit that there is a lot of psychological components to it that some witches don’t acknowledge bc it doesn’t fit in with their belief system. however, believing in magic isn’t a requirement to be a skilled fortune-teller. you can use a pendulum with the full knowledge of the ideomotor effect and you can believe that nothing other than your subconscious is guiding your pendulum, and still get something out of it—as long as you know the right kinds of questions to ask yourself. of course you don’t know if you’ll marry the person you’re pining for right now, but you might know if you should actually avoid them like the plague because despite how attracted you are to them, you know that they’re actually kind of cruel with a veneer of charm covering that up.

tbh this is exactly what i love about divination, bc i’m very intuitive but don’t always trust myself when i’m not using my cards, or tea leaves, or a mirror to throw my own thoughts back at me. it allows you to interpret that which you already know as information from the universe or a deity or whatever you need to believe is saying this stuff to you, so that you’ll trust yourself. it’s a great way, for me at least, to train myself to listen to my intuition, and to learn the difference between my intuition and my anxiety (bc it’s hard to explain to people who don’t practice divination, but the voice of my intuition is distinct from the voice of my anxiety—they sound very similar bc they’re both a part of me, but after a lot of practice i can mostly tell which is which)

When I was a kid I had a book of like, "fun physics experiments for kids". And one of them was an "experiment" where you hold an object by a string and just by focusing on the direction you wanted it to swing, it would start to move in that direction even without your input. The book of course explained that this was the ideomotor effect, a phenomenon where your thoughts can create minute, unconscious movements in your body.

Then a couple years later I got a fortune-telling kit that included a pendulum. You hold the pendulum over a piece of paper that says "yes" and "no" and ask a question, and whichever way the pendulum moves is the answer.

At which point I was like "hey WAIT a minute", and in hindsight I think that experience explains most things about who I am as a person

[insidekatmind]

Shopping-Jude Bellingham

Wearning: +18,smut

It was a mild Saturday afternoon, perfect for a stroll downtown. Jude had offered to accompany you shopping, even though you were sure he was doing it more to spend time with you than out of any real interest in the stores. Not that you minded; his presence made everything more enjoyable.

You walked into a bright boutique, mirrors reflecting rows of elegant dresses. You glanced around, fascinated by the variety of colors and fabrics, while Jude leaned against the wall near the door, arms crossed and a slight smile on his face.

“So, where do we start?” he asked, his voice calm but tinged with amusement.

You looked at him, unsure. “I don’t know… Maybe something elegant but not too formal. Like a dress that works for a night out or a casual lunch.”

Jude nodded, stepping forward. “Alright, let’s see what we can find.”You picked up a navy-blue dress with a delicate neckline and held it up for him to see. “What do you think about this one?”

“It’s nice,” he said, tilting his head to get a better look. “But maybe a bit too simple for you. You need something that stands out more.”

You smiled, appreciating his comment. The two of you continued browsing the store, and every time you picked up a dress, he had something to say:

“Too short.”

“Too long.”

“This one looks like it’s from an old movie—not in a good way.”

Eventually, you found two options you really liked: a fitted scarlet red dress and a flowing emerald green one. Turning to him, you held both dresses up. “Now what?”

Jude burst out laughing. “Ah, here we are. The moment of great indecision. I knew this was coming.”

You looked at him, pretending to be offended. “That’s not true! I’m just trying to choose the right one.”

He rolled his eyes, still smiling. “You always take forever to pick. I’ll never understand why it’s so difficult for you.”

You stuck your tongue out at him playful. “Well, excuse me for wanting to make sure I look good.”He chuckled. “There’s no need to worry about that. Believe me, you’ll look stunning in anything you choose.”

The compliment surprised you and warmed your cheeks slightly. He glanced at you as you walked over, his eyes wandering over your frame, lingering on your curves a moment longer than necessary. His arms were still crossed, his casual pose not doing anything to quell the desire that flared through you.You sit on his lap and kiss his jaw softly. “I haven't thanked you yet for joining me shopping,” you say seductively.

He hummed, his eyes fluttering shut as your lips graze his skin. He placed his hands on your hips, holding you still above him. “It was my pleasure,” he mumbled, his grip tightening.

You smile at his words and kiss his lips. He responded quickly and his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as his mouth moved against yours. He tugged on your lower lip with his teeth, coaxing a soft gasp out of you.

His strong hands were slowly roaming around your backside, tracing over the curve of your waist and down to your thighs. He pulled back, his breathing already a bit faster. “You know, it’s quite tempting to have you here, all to myself in this small room.”

You smile mischievously at his words and trace your fingers over his muscular shoulders. "From what I remember we've never done that in a dressing room."

A smirk spread across his face as he chuckled slightly. “No, we haven’t. But, I’m sure it’s something we should fix, don’t you think?” His hands pulled your hips even closer, making your legs straddle his. You bite your lip and nod.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble against the skin of your neck. His lips gently grazed over your collarbone, moving in a hot trail along your flesh. He slipped his hands under the material of your dress, teasing the skin of your thighs.

You moan softly in response so as not to attract attention. “We should hurry” you whisper hearing the voices of the girls who are waiting for the dressing room to be free.

His smirk grows wider at your words “Right, wouldn’t want anyone to walk in and find us like this,” he said with a quiet chuckle, his hands massaging into your hips. “But it’s just so hard to stop when you look this beautiful.”

“I didn't say you had to stop,” you whisper seductively, getting up off of him, undressing.

He watched you, a look of desire and want in his dark eyes as you began undressing. His hands grip the chair, tight, as if it’s the only thing keeping him from pouncing you. “You can be naughty when you want to be, love,” he murmured, his voice rough with held-back cravings.

You smile in amusement and give him a striptease while taking off your bra and thong.

He sat back and watched you, his eyes drinking up every movement of your body. His fingers were white from gripping the chair so hard, his breathing growing heavier. “God, you’re incredible,” he breathed, his gaze roaming slowly over your bare skin.

You smile mischievously and sensually approach him and begin to undress him. He leaned back, watching you with a darkened gaze as you began unbuttoning his shirt. His hands remained restrained, fingers digging into the fabric of the chair as your touch roamed over his skin. “You're teasing me, love,” he whispered, his voice growing deeper.

Your fingertips gently caressed his chest, tracing the firm planes of muscle. He let out a soft sigh as you continued to explore, taking your time as you made your way down his body. He was clearly enjoying the effect you had on him, the desire in his eyes growing with each passing second.

You kiss him sensually as you position your pussy on his cock and let it enter you. He responds hungrily, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you closer as you sink down onto him. His hands run up your back, holding you tight against his chest. “You’re killing me,” he mutters against your lips, his mouth then trailing hot kisses along your jawline and down your neck.

You try to moan softly as you begin to ride him. He groans against your skin, his grip on you tightening. He looks up, his eyes dark with desire and lust as he watches you riding him. “You feel incredible,” he whispers in your ear, his breath warm against your sensitive skin. His hips begin to move with you, matching your rhythm.

“so good love” you murmur as you feel Jude push into you harder. You bite his neck to keep from moaning.

He lets out a low moan at your words, and the bite on his neck sends shivers down his spine. His hands grip your hips, guiding you as he pushes up into you harder. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me”.

You try not to moan loudly as you feel his thrusts increase. “Jude” you moan holding yourself tight.

He responds instantly to the sound of his name, a primal noise rising from his chest. He looks up at you, his eyes meeting yours in a fierce look of desire and wanting. “Yeah, love?” he asks, his voice a rough whisper as he continues to move with you.

"I'm close" you murmur moaning. He nods at your words, his breathing heavy and irregular. “So am I,” he pants, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. “Together?” he asks, his lips finding your neck again. The heat between you is nearly scorching, the air thick with tension.

You nod, closing your eyes in pleasure. He groans as he feels you tighten around him, the sensation pushing him over crazy. “you’re squeezing my cock” Jude moans and pushes into you more.

He holds you close, his arms wrapping around you as he holds you tight against his chest. His breathing is heavy, his heart racing from the release. “God, you’re amazing,” he whispers, his face buried in your hair.

You moan and come on him and Jude comes inside you. He tightens his grip on you as he finds his release, a soft moan escaping his lips. He remains still, his head leaning against yours as he regains his breath. “You’re incredible, you know that?” he murmurs, his fingers tracing small patterns on your back.

“But we should probably clean up and get dressed before someone figures out what we did in here,” he chuckles softly, slowly shifting back.

You chuckle and nod. "yes you are right"

He grins, gently helping you off his lap and zipping up his pants. He runs a hand over his hair, trying to tame the messy spikes it had taken on. “They are definitely going to wonder what took us so long,” he says with a smirk, glancing at the clock on the wall.You smile.

He hands you your clothes, still watching you with a heated look in his eyes. “Just a shame we had to stop,” he remarks, his gaze wandering over your body as you began to get dressed

“You’re making it very difficult to behave.” he says, watching you slip the dress back over your head. “I swear, the second we get home I’m picking up where we left off.”

You smile and give him a quick but sweet kiss on the lips. "let's go come on".Jude returns the kiss with a smile of his own, his hand finding your waist. "Lead the way, love. The quicker we can get out of here, the better," he says, still watching you with dark, wanting eyes

You giggle and grab his hand, dragging him outside. Jude lets you lead him out of the store, a smile still on his face. He couldn't help but watch you, admiring the way your hair fell and how the dress clung to your figure.As you walk, he keeps a firm grip on your hand, his fingers intertwined with yours. You could feel the heat between you still there, even outside the store.

God, you loved that man.

[artsninspo]

Richmond Inc.

♠ summary: Terry Richmond is your boss, and the illustrious CEO of the worlds best and most elusive private security firm. Only he didn't get to where he is now by being nice. As attractive as your boss is, you find it difficult to swoon for the green eyes giant when he is perpetually unpleasant and demanding.

♠ pairing: Terry Richmond (Aaron Pierre - Rebel Ridge) X Black Reader

♠ word-count: ~1.1 K

You look away from the light eyed adonis not wanting to get glamoured by his green eyes. Your coworkers swoon and you wonder how it’s possible for them to forget his chronic dissatisfaction and scathing temper. Running a tight ship is the understatement of the century. The former military man sure acts like he’s still on assignment. If it was up to you the last place you’d be is under his smug gaze as he details what's gone both wrong and right about the last assignment. He has no business being as mean as he is. His size alone is grounds for him to be more cautious and gentle with his employees. with. Anyone who’s as tall as he is with a body built for combat should always be careful to be considerate.

“Y/N” his baritone voice calls drawing you from your thoughts.. Looking up your eyes meet his for the briefest of moments. You consider quitting in an instant bracing for him to rip you apart for some infraction.

“Sir?” You respond.

“Great work, the logistics were perfect” he says and it’s high praise coming from someone who rarely acknowledges great work with praise”. Eyes dart away from him to you and you force a casual smile.

“Just doing my job” you nod hoping he moves on. The debrief continues and you recognize the clamouring to impress him and for his attention. It’s not in you to placate anyone least of all a man that’s so stern all the time. Looking at the clock your body settles knowing relief is soon. For all the boss’ faults punctuality and timeliness isn’t one of them. His phone alarm sounds signalling the end of the meeting and you stand first. Your male colleagues stand too but a couple of your female colleagues take their time. 

“Y/N I’d like to see you in my office in five” he says.

“Ok” you respond heading to the bathroom first. When you’ve relieved yourself of your nerves you look in the mirror and practice a detached but engaged expression. When you fail to convince yourself of the contrived demeanour you sigh silencing your phone and making a mental note to find a new job. Grabbing your tablet for work you enter his state of the art office with seconds to spare. His eyes shift rom the clock to you and he holds out his arm signalling for you to take a seat. You oblige.

“How are you?” He asks.

“Fine and you?” You ask not missing a beat.

He nods, smiling slightly. “Good” Impatience flares in your expression and his smile deepens as he looks down at the paper on his desk. It’s an odd sight to see him smile for anyone other than clients.

“Your reviews are stellar. Both your team and directors have glowing reviews for you. Your end of year compensation will reflect that” he says and your excitement flares.

“I do my best” you respond in acknowledgement.

“There will be a vacancy in the director slot and everyone tells me you’re good with people. Are you interested in being on the ground?” He asks.

“No” you don’t even have to think about it. It’s most of your colleagues' dreams. To rub elbows with the who’s who of the world in need of private security. A few of your former female director colleagues are now kept women to filthy rich businessmen.

“No?” He seems surprised.

“No thank you.” You correct, not wanting to draw his ire. His thick brows furrow as he looks at you confused. You only manage it seconds before looking away. He sits back in his chair and you look anywhere but his eyes.

“Would you prefer another position?” He asks but all directors work closely with him. Even from your office you’ve heard him ripping into them on several occasions for mistakes. Director means his personal pawn. It means two am pick up times and calls at all hours of the day and night. Family strain and inconsistency for everyone who isn’t the job. It means he has full control over you, your decisions, company, medical history, romantic partners and every other significantly private thing.

“I’m quite content where I am now” you respond honestly.

“Is it the compensation? If it’s unsatisfactory there is room for negotiations” He explains but  you don’t think there could ever be a number to justify what that position would do to your nerves.

“I can do my job well enough now. My confidence in my abilities isn’t the same for a director position. I can’t commit to more hours or the sporadic demands. Nor am I interested in the travel aspect. My hours now with occasional overtime is what I can manage. I don’t ever want to underdeliver and I know I would as a director” you lie and his skepticism is proof he’s not buying it, at least not fully. 

“I can think of few things more compelling for a young woman than international travel with every luxury” he says.

“You’re the furthest thing from a young woman” you mutter, speaking out of turn. Thankfully his eyes light and he seems more amused than annoyed. He reaches for his glasses taking a file from the folder organizer on his desk. He swipes his clearance fob over it and light flashes into his eye before the file opens. The way his muscles contract for the simplest gestures is sinful. He studies the papers flipping through them and then looks back up at you.

“Is it the dog?” He asks, revealing he’s looking into your file.

“Pardon me?”

“Your dog, is that why you don’t want to travel or take on the promotion?” He asks. You’re the reason. You think to yourself, but it's hardly an appropriate response. “Or has something changed in your personal life?” He pries acting like it’s within his authority. 

“I have nothing I want to flag or discuss” you respond succinctly. Mr. Richmond nods and removes his glasses before putting the paper back into its folder, locking it and setting it back into the organizer. His notifications sound and he checks his luxury watch. He’s so fucking fine. You swallow knowing he’s probably the worst with women.

“You’re free to go” he says dismissively, back to his asshole ways. 

“Good day” you respond but it seems to make him flinch slightly.

“Good day” he responds and you leave.

Author's note: i'm trying to be better about hoarding drafts. So here's a little Aaron fic for the girls 🖤 how do we feel about mean terry? don't forget to ❣ Like, ❝ Comment, ↺ Reblog ☑vote on the polls

tags: @meadows5 @wnbweasley @becauseimher @ariiaeltheedonn @woahthatshitfat @miniaturehideoutmentality @kokobells @ffenthusiastt @sowhatariyana @1xtral1983 @theegoddessofmelanin @fictionalreads @roxytheimmortal @fairytale07 @rampsen @rosey1981 @lauraaan182 @lynaye1993

[natsaffection]

Auge um Auge pt. 3 | N.R.

Investigator!older!Natasha x Robber!younger! reader

Warnings: Age gap (Natasha is 32 = reader ist 22) steamy tension, Natasha being overall cute

Word count: 5,9k

A/n: I love writing love confessions..🫂👀

The heist had already been ongoing for a few days, and the tension between the robbers and the police had become unbearable. The professor had anticipated the police’s response and had tasked you with laying the groundwork for the next step: infiltrating the police’s command network with a cleverly disguised trap.

Using your hacking skills, you had inserted malicious code into the police communication network. The code caused intermittent failures in critical systems like surveillance cameras, encrypted communication channels, and tactical coordination tools. It wasn’t a complete blackout, but it created enough chaos to leave the police scrambling for solutions.

“They’ll think it’s a sophisticated hack.” the professor had said. “And when they realize their own tech team can’t fix it, they’ll seek outside help. That’s where you come in.” You had smiled, though your stomach churned with nerves. “What if they don’t take the bait?” The professor had adjusted his glasses, his voice calm. “Trust me, they will. You’ve done good groundwork, and Natasha will bite.”

Officers shouted over each other, screens blinked with error messages, and the air was thick with rising panic. The robbers had taken over multiple police systems, rerouted communication channels, and disrupted surveillance feeds. Worse, they had fed the unit targeted misinformation, nearly leading to a catastrophic operation that left officers in complete disarray.

Maria sat at the central workstation, her jaw clenched as she desperately tried to regain control. “It’s like they’re toying with us..” she muttered, staring at the corrupted data streams on her screen. “They know exactly where to hit us. Natasha stood nearby, her arms tightly crossed. “How bad is it?”

“They’ve locked us out of certain areas of our own system.” Maria said sharply. “And their encryption? It’s not standard. It feels almost..experimental. Natasha frowned. “Can you crack it?” Maria paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard, then exhaled sharply. “Maybe. But not fast enough. They’re three steps ahead, and we don’t have time to lose.” Natasha hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Then we need someone who thinks like them.”Maria turned to her, narrowing her eyes. “What are you suggesting?”

“I know someone who could help us.” Natasha said cautiously. “A civilian. Brilliant with tech, unpredictable, exactly the type of person who could mirror the robbers’ creativity.” Maria’s eyes widened in disbelief. “A civilian? You can’t be serious, Natasha. This isn’t some neighborhood dispute, this is a high-risk, top operation. And you want to bring in someone off the street?”

“She’s not just ‘anyone.’” Natasha countered firmly. “I trust her.” Maria scoffed. “And that’s supposed to reassure me? I trust you, Natasha, but this? You want to involve an outsider in our operation?”

“We’re already exposed!” Natasha snapped, her voice rising. “They’ve hacked our systems, locked us out, and led us straight into a trap. We can’t keep doing the same thing and expect different results.” Maria folded her arms. “And you think your civilian will magically solve everything?”

“I think she’s our best chance.” Natasha said. “Maria, you’re the best there is, but even you said this isn’t standard. This encryption? It’s personal. We need someone who thinks like the person who designed it.” An officer hurried over to Maria with a report. “Ma’am, they’ve breached the surveillance network in the eastern quadrant. We’re blind.”

Maria slammed her hands on the table and cursed under her breath. “Damn it.” Natasha stepped closer. “We don’t have time to debate this. You need help, Maria. And you know it.” Maria stared at her. ���Even if I agreed, why her? Why would she agree to this?” Natasha hesitated, her jaw tightening. “Because she’s already involved.” Maria frowned. “What do you mean?”

“She’s the one who gave us the tip about the camera.” Natasha admitted. “She’s brilliant, completely unassuming, but she knows things. I think- no, I know she’s exactly the type of person who could have designed this encryption herself.” Maria shook her head. “You’re taking a huge risk.”

Natasha’s voice softened. “If this fails, it’s my responsibility. But if we don’t try, we’ll lose this fight. And we can’t afford that.” Maria sighed and rubbed her temples. “Fine. But if this backfires, you’re the one taking the fall.”

Natasha found you in your usual spot at the café, your laptop open and your fingers flying across the keyboard. You paused when you saw her approaching, your eyes widening slightly. “This is becoming a habit..” you said with a nervous laugh. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

Natasha dropped into the chair across from you, her expression serious. “I don’t have time chatting this time, we need your help.” You tilted your head, trying to look confused. “With what?”Natasha leaned back slightly, crossing her arms. “My team’s systems have been compromised. Surveillance feeds, encrypted communication..they’ve all been affected by some sort of evolving encryption. We can’t crack it.” You raised an intrigued eyebrow. “And you think I can?”

“You’ve already proven you can.” Natasha said firmly. “The sniper incident..if it weren’t for you, we’d have walked right into an ambush. You see things my team doesn’t, and I’m not too proud to admit it.” You tried to appear hesitant. She’s taken the bait. “Natasha, I’m just a freelancer..I’ve never worked on anything of this scale before.”

“I trust you.” Natasha said, her voice steady. “And I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.” You swallowed, the sincerity in Natasha’s eyes tightening something in your chest. Stick to the plan, you reminded yourself. Finally, you nodded. “Okay, I’ll help.”

You entered the command tent under Natasha’s watchful eye, feeling the weight of every officer’s gaze on you. Maria was waiting at the workstation, her expression skeptical but resigned. “You must be Y/n.” Maria said, gesturing toward the monitors. “Show us what you can do.”

The professor’s words echoed in your head: “Stay calm. You’re one of them now. Look nervous, but not too nervous. Don’t let their chaos overwhelm you, control it.” But as you ventured deeper into the tent, it became harder to ignore the efficiency and organization of the police. Large maps of the bank were spread across tables, officers compared information, and intercepted radio transmissions flashed on the screens.

Your eyes landed on a monitor, and your breath caught. Names. Two names. Tokyo. Rio. The police had already identified two members of the crew. You froze for a moment, your thoughts racing. How? How could they already know their names? And why didn’t you know about this?

Natasha noticed your hesitation and approached with a clipboard in hand. “Y/n?” she said, her tone firm but not unfriendly. “Is everything okay?” You blinked and snapped out of your daze. Forcing a small smile onto your face, you said, “Yeah, sorry. It’s just..a lot.” Natasha’s eyes softened slightly. “It’s overwhelming, I know. You’re walking into a warzone here, and this isn’t an easy place to be.”

You nodded quickly, doing your best to play the role of an overwhelmed civilian. “It’s just..I didn’t expect it to be this serious. Seeing all of this..” Natasha gave you a reassuring smile. “You’re doing great. Just focus on your part. We’ll handle the rest.” You nodded again, but your stomach churned. Your nerves weren’t entirely an act anymore. The reality of standing in the enemy’s camp, surrounded by people working tirelessly to unravel the professor’s plan, hit you harder than you’d anticipated.

You sat down at a workstation, your fingers trembling slightly as you typed. You had to stay on course, complete your task without raising suspicion. But your thoughts kept drifting back to the screens with Tokyo and Rio’s names. If they were already so close to those two, how much longer before they found the rest? Natasha stood nearby, her presence both comforting and unsettling. You could feel her watchful gaze on you, her concern growing with every passing second. “You’re doing great.” Natasha said quietly, crouching beside you.

You forced a weak smile, your voice shaky. “Thanks.”The professor had arranged a distraction inside the bank, chaos that was meant to make your role as a nervous civilian more believable. The crew was supposed to fire shots into the air, throwing the police into panic and creating the perfect diversion for you to finish your task. But you were so lost in your own thoughts that you’d completely forgotten about the plan. When the sharp crack of gunfire echoed through the tent’s speakers, you flinched violently, your eyes widening in genuine fear.

Natasha frowned, her expression sharp. “Shots fired inside the bank!” she said grimly, grabbing a radio. “We need visuals on the situation, now!” Your heart raced, your mind screaming at you to get a grip. It’s the plan. It’s part of the plan. But the sound of the gunfire had shaken you to your core. You were too close to the enemy, too exposed. For the first time, the weight of what you were doing, the danger you were in hit you fully. Natasha noticed your trembling hands and pale face. “Hey..” she said gently, stepping closer. “It’s okay. You’re safe here.”

“I..I’m sorry..” you stammered, your voice breaking. “I just…it startled me, that’s all.” Natasha’s expression softened, her concern deepening. “This isn’t something most people are prepared for.” she said quietly. “You’re doing more than we could ever ask of you. But if it’s too much, you can stop. No one would blame you.”

“No.” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I can do this. I just need..a minute.” Natasha hesitated, then nodded. “Take all the time you need.” As you tried to steady your breathing, Natasha watched you closely, her own thoughts racing. She admired your bravery. Walking into such a dangerous situation as a civilian was no small feat. You looked up and caught Natasha watching you. “What?”

“Nothing.” Natasha said quickly, forcing a small smile. “I…I just admire your courage.” You blinked, surprised. “Courage?” Natasha nodded. “Most people wouldn’t put themselves in a situation like this. You could’ve said no when I asked. But you didn’t. That says a lot about you.” You swallowed hard, guilt churning in your stomach. “Thank you..” you murmured, turning your gaze away.

Eventually, you regained your composure, finished your task, and planted the necessary code into the police’s system. But as you left the tent, Natasha’s words echoed in your mind. “You could’ve said no. But you didn’t.” You had just led Natasha directly into the trap, exactly as the professor had planned. But for the first time, you began to wonder if the cost of the plan was too high. Your hands hovered over the keyboard as you pressed the final key, and the tent filled with the sound of systems coming back online. The previously chaotic screens now displayed a smoothly functioning network.

Natasha, standing nearby, let out a deep breath, visibly relieved. “You did it.” she said, her voice full of genuine admiration. You forced a small smile, but inside, your heart was racing. The professor’s instructions had been clear: “Plant the backdoor. Subtly, cleanly. Once you’re out, we’ll have access to everything.” That’s exactly what you’d done. The professor now had ears inside the tent, but you couldn’t let your relief show on your face.

Natasha approached, placing a hand on your shoulder. “That was incredible work, Y/n. I don’t know how you did it.”

“I’m just glad I could help.” you said, trying to sound humble. Quickly, you packed up your laptop, eager to escape the suffocating tension in the tent. As you slung your bag over your shoulder, Natasha stepped in front of you, her green eyes softer. “You’ve been through a lot today..” she said. “More than anyone in your position should have to.” You looked around nervously. “I’m fine.”

Natasha frowned slightly. “I don’t think you are.” She paused, her voice turning gentler. “How about some fresh air? A walk. After all this, you could use a distraction.” You hesitated. You weren’t sure if being alone with Natasha was a good idea. But her gaze was honest, her concern disarming. Finally, you nodded. “Okay.”

Natasha smiled and led you out of the tent. The two of you walked along a quiet path in a nearby park, the tension of the command tent slowly fading behind you. The fresh air was a stark contrast to the stifling heat of the tent, and you took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. Natasha studied you for a moment, her gaze softening. “You’re braver than you give yourself credit for.”

You looked away, guilt twisting in your chest. You wouldn’t say that if you knew the truth, you thought. You stopped at a bench near a cluster of trees, the calm of the night settling around you. Natasha sat down and gestured for you to join her. For a moment, silence reigned, broken only by distant sirens and rustling leaves. “You were really scared in there..” Natasha said quietly, turning to you. You hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Finally, you nodded, your voice barely a whisper. “Hearing those gunshots…it was real. I’ve never been that close to something so…dangerous.”

Natasha’s expression softened further. “You never get used to it.” she admitted. “But it’s also not something you should have to go through.” You looked at her, the genuine concern in her eyes tightening something in your chest. “Why do you care so much?” you asked before you could stop yourself. Natasha blinked, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” You hesitated. “You barely know me. But you’re going out of your way to make sure I’m okay.” Natasha’s gaze dropped for a moment before meeting yours again, her expression unreadable. “Because I see that you’re a good person.” she said simply. “And because I’ve been where you are, thrown into something I didn’t ask for, feeling like I had to prove myself.”

As the two of you continued walking, the conversation grew more relaxed. Natasha shared stories about the less glamorous parts of her job, staking out warehouses in freezing temperatures, dealing with endless bureaucracy, and the time an overeager recruit accidentally locked her in a supply closet. You laughed despite yourself, the tension in your chest easing for the first time in hours. “You make it sound so… glamorous.”

Natasha grinned. “Oh, it’s every little girl’s dream. Dodging bullets, endless paperwork, terrible coffee. What more could you want?” You shook your head, a genuine smile spreading across your face. “I can’t believe you’re actually human.” Natasha raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. “Don’t let that get out. I have a reputation to maintain.” By the time you returned to the tent, you felt more at ease but also more conflicted. Natasha’s kindness and humor had broken through your defenses, leaving you questioning your role in the heist.

As Natasha held the tent flap open for you, she smiled. “You were amazing today, Y/n. Really.” You nodded, your throat tight. “Thanks. I… you know where to find me.”

————————————————————————

The bell above the café door jingled, pulling you back to the present. It was already late at night, and you were back in your usual corner. Her shift had gone on longer than you’d expected…You glanced up casually, expecting another late-night coffee addict. Instead, your eyes narrowed slightly when you recognized the woman who walked in.

Maria.

You remembered her from the command tent. Sharp and authoritative, someone who missed no details. What was she doing here at this hour? Your curiosity flared as Maria approached the counter, ordered a coffee, and then sat in a secluded corner. Her posture was casual, but you noticed her eyes scanning the room, as if assessing potential threats..or watching someone.

You barely paid Maria any attention until she pulled out her phone and dialed a number. Something about her body language shifted..relaxed, but not entirely. Whoever was on the other end was clearly someone she trusted. Ever the opportunist, you opened your laptop and connected to the café’s public Wi-Fi. A few quick keystrokes later, you intercepted Maria’s phone signal. A faint hum played through your headphones as you tapped into the call..curiosity had won. The connection stabilized, and a voice came through that made your breath hitch.

Natasha.

“Hey..” Natasha said, her voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “Hey…” Maria replied warmly. “Still in?”

“Yep…” Natasha sighed with a light laugh. Your fingers froze on the keyboard. What the hell? You hadn’t expected a private, casual conversation. You should disconnect. You should. But your curiosity burned too brightly. A pause followed, a familiar silence that hinted at a shared history. You frowned slightly and leaned closer to your screen.

“How are things? We haven’t really had time to talk lately.” Natasha asked, her voice quieter now.

“Well… I miss it, honestly…talking to you all the time, I mean. It feels like old times.” Maria replied.

Natasha didn’t respond immediately, and you heard the faint sound of her shifting in her chair. “Maria…”

Maria chuckled softly. “Relax, Nat. I’m not trying to stir anything up. I just wanted to check on you.”

An uneasy feeling churned in your stomach. You knew you were intruding on something deeply personal, but you couldn’t stop listening.

“I noticed something today..” Maria began cautiously but firmly. “That girl you brought into the tent…You’re spending quite a bit of time with her. And guess who’s sitting a few tables away from me?” A pause followed before Natasha answered, her voice sharper. “Wait…”

“She’s here. Midnight. Alone.” Natasha’s sharp intake of breath was audible. “You can see her?”

“Yes.” Maria said, her tone softening. “And before you say anything-no, I’m not going to approach her. I’m just trying to understand why she’s so important to you.”

“What?” Natasha began, but her voice faltered. She exhaled sharply, her tone shifting. “Maria, she’s been through a lot today.” Natasha said quietly. “And she’s helping us.”

“She’s helping you.” Maria corrected, her voice gentle but firm. “You brought her into the team. You’re the one spending all this time with her.”

Natasha sighed softly, almost as if she’d expected this. “Can we stop talking about this? I know where this is going…”

Maria’s voice softened. “Fine. Then I’ll just ask outright. Do you want to sleep with her?”

You choked on your coffee, quickly covering your mouth to avoid drawing attention to yourself. You glanced at Maria, who was still sitting calmly, completely unaware of the chaos she’d just caused. “Maria, seriously-”

“You’re not denying it…” Maria teased, her tone playful.

Your first instinct was to disconnect, but your hand hovered over the keyboard, frozen. This is too much. I shouldn’t be listening…But your curiosity won out. You leaned back slightly, guilt rising in your chest. I shouldn’t be here. But… I want to know…

A long pause followed. Natasha exhaled slowly. “You’re using the wrong word.”

“What do you mean?” Maria asked, confused.

“‘Sleep.’” Natasha said, her voice quieter now. “That sounds like a one-night stand. Like something meaningless.”

Maria chuckled softly, though it sounded sad. “And you want more than that?”

“Yeah..why not.” Natasha admitted, her voice steady but vulnerable. “If I were with her, it wouldn’t just be that. She’s not someone you just ‘sleep’ with.”

Your head spun, Natasha’s words echoing in your mind. She doesn’t want something meaningless. She wants… something more? Your heart fluttered, and a nervous laugh bubbled up in your throat. She’s not someone you just sleep with. Those words felt both impossibly heavy and surprisingly light. You clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle a grin. Stop acting like a teenager! This isn’t normal! But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the warmth spreading through your chest, or the guilt of eavesdropping on something so personal.

“Just be careful, Nat…” Maria said quietly. “That kind of trust is hard to earn. And if you’re not careful, it’ll hurt both of you.”

“I know.” Natasha replied, her voice firm but tinged with emotion. “Thanks for caring, Maria. But I’ve got this.”

Maria sighed, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. “Goodnight, Natasha.”

“Goodnight.” Natasha said, and the line went dead.

The connection ended, leaving you sitting there, completely stunned. You leaned back in your chair, staring at your laptop as if it might explode at any moment. Your cheeks burned, and your mind raced, replaying Natasha’s hesitant “Yeah..why not” over and over. What the hell just happened? you thought, running a hand through your hair. You’d hacked into Maria’s phone for a tactical advantage, not…whatever this was!

Natasha Romanoff wants to be with me?

Your thoughts shattered as Maria stood up and began walking toward you. You froze, your breath catching. She knows. She figured it out! I’m done for. Maria stopped at your table, her sharp eyes studying you closely. You gripped the edge of your laptop, your heart pounding so loudly you thought it might burst. “Everything okay?” Maria asked, her voice softer than you’d expected. “You’re here alone at midnight. That’s…unusual.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I’m fine!” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “I…I’m just working.” Maria studied you for a moment longer, then nodded. “Alright. Take care of yourself.” She turned and walked away, leaving you frozen in place, your head still spinning.

Meanwhile the activity in the command tent began to wind down for the night. Officers moved between desks, and the soft hum of conversations filled the air. Natasha leaned against a table scattered with files, her arms crossed as she studied the timeline of the heist on the main screen. Yet her thoughts weren’t entirely on the case. Maria’s words from earlier replayed in her mind, “She’s here. At midnight. Alone. I’m just trying to understand why she’s so important to you.”

Natasha sighed quietly, running a hand through her hair. Maria wasn’t wrong. You were always alone, and Natasha couldn’t shake the image of you sitting in that café, typing on your laptop as if you had nowhere else to be. It unsettled her in a way she couldn’t fully explain, and Maria’s direct question only made it worse.

“Why is she so important to you?”

Natasha pushed off the table as the commander signaled the end of the shift for the night. It was late, and most of the team members were heading home. Normally, Natasha would stay longer, but tonight she felt the urge to leave. You listened through your earpiece and when you heard the commander announce the end of the shift, you exhaled in relief. Finally. Natasha was leaving the tent, which meant you could leave too.

You started packing your things, sliding your laptop into your bag as you prepared to leave. The familiar chime of the doorbell froze you mid-motion. Your heart sank as you saw who had just walked in. Natasha stepped into the café, her eyes scanning the room quickly before landing on you. Her expression softened slightly as she approached, her movements deliberate but calm.

You froze, your bag only half-closed. Your heart pounded as Natasha closed the distance between you, her presence overwhelming even in casual clothes. “Hi.” Natasha said, her voice warm but tinged with concern. You forced a smile, trying to keep your voice steady. “Natasha? What are you doing here?” Natasha slid into the seat across from you, propping her elbows on the table. “I could ask you the same thing. I just got off work. Thought I’d check on you.”

“Again?” you laughed, your nervousness slipping into your tone. Natasha tilted her head slightly, studying you. “You’re always here late. Alone. That doesn’t seem right to me.” You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the table. She’s noticed. She’s been paying attention.. “I…I like working at night. I’m fine, really.” you said quickly, your voice trembling slightly. Natasha raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “That’s the second time you’ve said that. Are you sure that’s the only reason?”

You hesitated, your mind racing. What does she want me to say? You looked down at your hands, fiddling nervously with your bag strap. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do.” Natasha said gently. “It’s midnight. Most people your age are either at home or out with friends. Why are you always here?” Your chest tightened. Natasha’s tone wasn’t accusatory. It was gentle, caring, and that made it even harder to deflect. You felt the weight of her gaze, the genuine concern in her eyes. “I… I just like it here.” you mumbled, avoiding her gaze. “It’s nothing.”

Natasha sighed, leaning back slightly. “I’m not trying to pry. But you shouldn’t be here alone so late.” You looked at her, your stomach twisting. She thinks I’m alone because I have no one. She’s not entirely wrong, but the real reason is so much more complicated.. “Come with me.” Natasha said suddenly, her voice soft but firm. You blinked, your eyes widening. “W-What?”

“Come with me.” Natasha repeated, her gaze steady. “To my place. You shouldn’t be here alone this late.” Your heart raced, panic rising in your chest. Go with her? To her place? I can’t. You shook your head quickly, your voice stumbling. “I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

“Why not?” Natasha asked, her tone calm but insistent. “You’ll be safe. You can bring your work if you want. But I don’t want to leave you here.”

“I..” You hesitated, your mind spiraling. What if she’s testing me? What if it’s a trap? Natasha leaned across the table, her hand brushing yours lightly. “Please..” she said softly. “I’ll feel better knowing you’re somewhere safe.” You stared at her, the sincerity in Natasha’s voice making your chest ache. She doesn’t know. She has no idea who I really am. She’s just…worried. “Okay..” you finally whispered, your voice barely audible. “I’ll come with you.”

Natasha’s apartment was exactly what you’d expected..minimalistic yet elegant, with clean lines and an undeniable sense of order. The open-concept living room was softly lit, a bottle of red wine sat on the counter, and the faint scent of cedar lingered in the air. The space felt personal yet guarded, much like the woman herself.

You stood awkwardly near the couch, unsure of where to put your hands or your thoughts. This wasn’t where you’d ever imagined yourself, and the thought of what might happen here made your stomach twist with nerves. Natasha, however, seemed completely at ease, shrugging off her jacket and tossing it casually onto a nearby chair. “Make yourself comfortable.” she said, her voice calm yet warm, catching you off guard. “Want something to drink?”

“Uh…no, thanks.” you replied quickly, your nerves making you sound more jittery than you intended. Natasha glanced over her shoulder at you, her lips quirking into a small, knowing smile. “Relax. I don’t bite.” You managed a weak laugh, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “That’s…good to know.”

Natasha chuckled softly as she settled onto the couch with a grace that seemed effortless. She grabbed the remote and gestured for you to join her. “Come on. Sit. I thought we could watch something.” You hesitated for a moment before walking over and sinking into the cushion next to her. Not too close, but not too far. Natasha noticed and smiled to herself but said nothing.

“What do you want to watch?” she asked, scrolling through streaming options. “Action? Comedy? Something completely ridiculous?” You shrugged, trying to focus on her question instead of the growing tension in your chest. “Something light, I guess. Nothing too intense.”

“Alright.” Natasha said, selecting a movie and setting the remote aside. She leaned back, draping her arm over the back of the couch, close enough for you to feel the faint warmth of her skin. The movie started, the sound filling the quiet space, but you found it hard to focus on the screen.

Fifteen minutes in, you were acutely aware of every detail about Natasha..her presence, her proximity, the subtle scent of her perfume. She sat close enough that her arm occasionally brushed yours, and you felt her gaze on you now and then. You tried to concentrate on the movie, but your thoughts kept wandering. Why had she invited you here? Was this just her way of unwinding, or was there something..more? The possibility made your heart race.

Then you felt it…her hand on your shoulder. At first, it was a light touch that could’ve been accidental. But then her fingers curled slightly, her palm resting firmly on your shoulder, and you realized it wasn’t a mistake. You froze slightly, your breath hitching. Natasha noticed immediately. “You look like you’re waiting for something to explode.” You laughed nervously, rubbing the back of your neck. “Maybe I am.” Natasha raised an eyebrow, her smile widening. “It’s just me. You don’t have to be so tense.”

Just her. That was the problem. It wasn’t just her! It was her. Natasha Romanoff: sharp, confident, undeniably alluring. You had no idea how you’d ended up here, in her apartment, watching a movie, feeling like the ground beneath you had completely shifted. “I know.” you murmured, trying to steady your voice. “I… just…”

Natasha leaned closer, her hand sliding from your shoulder lightly down your arm. “I’m not going to do anything you’re not comfortable with. You know that, right?” You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Of course!” For a moment, neither of you spoke, the sound of the movie filling the space between you. The way she looked at you, with a mix of amusement and something warmer, softer made your breath catch. Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “I’m not good at this.” Natasha tilted her head, her smile returning. “Not good at what?”

“This..” you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Being here. With you. It’s…I don’t know. You make it hard to think straight.” For a moment, Natasha just stared at you, and you felt your cheeks heat. But then she laughed, a soft, genuine laugh that made your stomach flip. “That’s cute.” she said, her tone carrying a playful edge. “You’re nervous.”

“I’m not-” you began, but the look she gave you stopped your denial mid-sentence. “Okay, maybe a little.” Natasha’s smile softened. “Why?” she asked, her voice quiet but genuinely curious. “Why does this make you nervous?” You hesitated, your heart racing as you searched for the right words. “Because…it’s you..” you finally admitted, your voice barely a whisper. “You’re…I don’t know. You’re intimidating. I-In a good way! And I don’t exactly have a lot of experience with…this kind of thing.” Natasha leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow on the back of the couch as she turned toward you. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure..” you said, trying not to sound as nervous as you felt. “Why does this make you so uneasy?” she asked gently, her voice devoid of teasing now. “Is it exactly me? Or…something else?” You hesitated, your heart pounding as you considered your answer. “It’s not you..” you said finally, your voice quieter now. “It’s…I guess it’s just that this feels… different.”

“Different how?” Natasha pressed, though her tone remained careful, as if she didn’t want to push too hard. “Like… I don’t know!! Like it matters..” you admitted, your cheeks flushing. “And that scares me.” Natasha’s expression softened further, her gaze searching yours. “I don’t want to scare you.” she said quietly. “That’s the last thing I want.”

“You don’t.” you said quickly. “It’s just…I don’t really know what I’m doing here.” Natasha studied you for a long moment, as if weighing her next move carefully. Then she spoke, her voice low and steady. “Would you tell me if I did something that made you uncomfortable?” You nodded. “Of course.”

“Okay.” Natasha said, exhaling softly. She shifted slightly closer, her hand resting gently on the back of the couch. “Because I want to kiss you. But only if you want me to.” Your breath caught, her words sending a wave of nervous excitement through you. You stared at her, your heart racing as you processed what she’d said. “I’ve never-” Natasha cut in gently, her tone steady. “It’s okay. We don’t have to.”

But something in her patience, in the way she didn’t push or demand, made you take a shaky breath and nod. “I think I want to..” you said softly. Natasha didn’t move immediately, her eyes staying locked on yours. “You’re sure?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

“Yes.” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly but sincere. Only then did she lean in, her movements slow and deliberate, giving you every opportunity to change your mind. When her lips finally met yours, it was soft, so soft that it left you breathless. Her hand cupped your cheek gently, her thumb brushing against your skin as if to steady you.

The kiss was unhurried, warm, and filled with a tenderness that surprised you. You felt yourself relax into it, your nervousness melting away as you kissed her back. Natasha pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you, her forehead resting lightly against yours. “You okay?” she asked softly. You nodded, a small, shy smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah..” Her lips curved into a smile of her own, and she pressed a brief, tender kiss to your forehead. “Good.” she murmured. She leaned in again, her hand remained on your cheek. The connection was both electrifying and calming, as if nothing else in the world mattered except for this.

But just as the kiss began to deepen, Natasha pulled back slightly, resting her forehead against yours. Her breath was warm, and her voice was soft but resolute. “We should stop..” she said gently. You opened your eyes, looking at her. “Why?”

Natasha gave you a faint smile, her fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “Because you’ve had a long day. And because I don’t want this to feel rushed. For either of us.” You bit your lip, your cheeks heating again. “You think I’m not ready?”

“I think you’re nervous.” Natasha replied honestly. “And I don’t want you to feel like we have to go anywhere tonight. We don’t.” Her words felt like a weight lifting off your chest. She wasn’t angry, wasn’t pressuring you, she was giving you space, something you hadn’t even realized you needed. “Thank you.” you murmured, your voice barely audible. Natasha tilted her head, her smile softening. “For what?”

“For being patient with me.” you admitted, your cheeks flushing again. Her smile grew softer still, and she pressed a brief, tender kiss to your forehead. “Get some rest.” she said quietly. “You’ve earned it.” Natasha stood, walking into the kitchen and pouring you a glass of water. After a moment, she returned and set it on the coffee table in front of you. “You can take the bed.” she said as she settled back onto the couch. “I’ll sleep here.” Your eyes widened. “What? No! This is your apartment.”

“Exactly.” Natasha replied with a playful glint in her eye. “And I’m saying you take the bed. No arguments.” You shook your head, laughing softly. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been called worse..” Natasha said with a smirk. The playful exchange eased your nerves further, and you found yourself smiling as you stood and stretched. “Fine. But if you wake up with a sore neck, don’t blame me.” Natasha laughed, her gaze following you as you headed toward the bedroom door. “Goodnight.” she said softly.

You paused in the doorway, glancing back at her. “Goodnight, Natasha.” As you stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind you, you let out a shaky breath. Your heart was still racing, and your mind replayed the kiss over and over, but there was also a warmth in your chest, a quiet comfort in knowing she understood. That she wasn’t rushing you or asking for more than you were ready to give. You lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling with a small smile on your lips. You hadn’t expected any of this, hadn’t seen it coming..but maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as terrifying as you’d thought..

[darlingdaisyfarm]

It’s so sad how mullet Stan lacks content of him 😭😭I wish there would be more fics of him so that’s why im gently asking you to give us more mullet Stan crumbs, it can be anything, headcanons or fic 😔 I will eat everything you’ll serve

⤿❝ Mullet!Stanley x reader headcanons (sfw & nsfw)⭑

a/n: agree i agree just yeah 10000% ! traumatised guys with mullet, bad habits and abandonment, daddy and mental issues are my weak spot

sfw

ᯓ★ he’s terrified of commitment but more terrified of being alone. he’ll push you away just to see if you’ll stay. he wants to trust you, but he doesn’t trust himself

ᯓ★ when he finally realizes you’re not leaving, he clings hard. like, once he’s in? he’s all in. but the idea of starting a family? he wants it so bad but so scared of it. he doesn’t want to turn into his father. he’s aware of his emotional instability and the last thing he wants is to pass that onto a kid. he doesn’t even trust himself to be a good partner, let alone a parent

ᯓ★ despite everything, still has a soft spot for kids but refuses to admit it. will grumble and complain but the second a little kid looks up at him with big, teary eyes, he’s sighing and handing over the last piece of his candy bar

ᯓ★ he is a literal stray, a stray dog that growls when you first bring him home but now follows you everywhere. you don’t date mullet!Stanley, you accidentally adopt him. this man has no home, no direction, no plan. he crashes on your couch “just for a few days, toots, promise” and then six months later he’s still there, wearing your robe, drinking straight from the juice carton

ᯓ★ acts like he doesn’t care but is secretly the most doting boyfriend. will fix your car, carry your groceries, give you his jacket when you're cold, all without asking. he just does it

ᯓ★ he doesn’t take care of himself. showers once every few days, drinks too much, smokes too much, eats like shit. if you ever cook for him it breaks him, he just stares at the plate because it’s the kindest thing anyone’s ever done to him, “you made this? for me?”

ᯓ★ road trip king. you wanna run away? hop in, sweetheart, we’ll figure it out on the way. the kind of guy who drives with one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh. he’s got half a pack of smokes, a cassette of shitty rock ballads and a mouth full of sweet-talking bullshit

ᯓ★ as i said, he acts like he doesn’t give a fuck but actually gives too many fucks. will pretend he doesn’t care when you get mad at him, but the second you turn away, he’s overthinking. “fuck what did i say? shit, why am i such an asshole?”

ᯓ★ if you tell him you love him, he always hesitates before saying it back. not because he doesn’t feel it, but because he doesn’t think he deserves it

ᯓ★ literally stunned when you take care of him. like, someone is doing something NICE for him??? with no ulterior motive???

ᯓ★ absolutely a ‘leaning’ boyfriend. leans against walls, leans against doorframes, leans against you. big strong arms wrapping around your waist from behind, head dropping onto your shoulder with a sigh

ᯓ★ survives off diner food, gas station snacks, and whatever you make him

ᯓ★ gets nervous when you’re nice to him. he’s been kicked down so many times, he doesn’t know how to handle kindness. the first time you tell him he looks good, he scoffs, says something self-deprecating, but then stares at himself in the mirror later, touching his face trying to see what you even saw in him

ᯓ★ secretly loves being babied. if you push his messy hair back, clean his cuts when he gets into a fight or tuck yourself into his side when he's sitting down, he fucking melts. “psh, ya don’t gotta do all that,” but his ears are bright red

ᯓ★ will steal anything for you. “ya like that necklace, sweetheart? consider it yours.” he’s a walking, talking, petty thief boyfriend who just wants to see you smile

ᯓ★ lets you play with his mullet when he’s feeling lazy. sits between your thighs while you brush it and if you’re gentle enough, he’ll doze off right there, resting his head against your stomach

ᯓ★ loves his car more than he should. will drag you to the garage to show you how he’s fixing up some old junker, but he looks so proud, you can’t even complain. bonus: he makes you sit in it for a “test drive” (he drives too fast just to see you scream and laugh)

ᯓ★ hands always busy. even when you’re just sitting together, his hands are moving, tinkering with something, rubbing circles on your thigh, tapping on table. he's anxious stressed guy

ᯓ★ he falls asleep anywhere instantly. he’s had years of shitty, uncomfortable sleep, so at this point he can knock out in two seconds flat. the first time you see it happen, you’re stunned. “Stan, are you seriously asleep right now—?” he is. sometimes, he falls asleep sitting up, mouth slightly open, arms crossed. if you try to move him, he’ll grunt, shift slightly and keep sleeping

ᯓ★ he’s a sucker for physical affection but doesn’t know how to ask for it. please, just hold him. run your fingers through his hair, rub his back, let him rest his head on your chest or stomach. sometimes, he’ll just stand behind you and wait until you notice and pull him into a hug. he won’t ask, but he needs it

ᯓ★ this man does not know how to handle being desired

nsfw

ᯓ★ he’s big. everywhere. broad chest, thick arms, a cock that barely fits. “c’mon, baby, you can take it. just a little more, there we go.”

ᯓ★ he’s a messy kisser. tongue, teeth, biting, groaning, he devours you. Stanley makes out like he’s trying to fuck you with just his mouth. his hands are always gripping your face, your neck, your hair, he’s desperate

ᯓ★ he loves fucking in places he shouldn’t. against the car, in an alley, in the backseat, behind a bar, on some random motel dresser, doesn’t matter. the risk of getting caught gets him off. zero patience. too horny to wait, too desperate to care where you are

ᯓ★ if you ever scratch his back? he fucking loses it. he wants you clawing at him, gripping his arms, pulling his hair. especially loves it when you bite his shoulder

ᯓ★ fucks like a guy who doesn’t know if he’ll ever get the chance again. so overwhelmed by how good you feel

ᯓ★ he groans and grunts. loud, unashamed. you know exactly how much he’s enjoying it because he never shuts the fuck up. if you try to shut him up, he just moans louder out of spite

ᯓ★ this man talks during sex. a LOT. filthy, filthy, filthy mouth

ᯓ★ but if you try to stifle your moans, oh, he won’t have that. “uh-uh, lemme hear ya, baby. don’t go all shy on me now.”

ᯓ★ he has an oral fixation, always has something in his mouth. a cigarette, a toothpick, his own damn fingers. pussy? oh, he’ll eat for hours if you let him. he’s enjoying it more than you are. his nose is pressed right against your clit, his tongue is buried deep inside you, his big hands are holding your thighs open so you can’t squirm away

ᯓ★ but what he REALLY loves? your fingers. if you put your fingers in his mouth, he’ll groan and suck on them absentmindedly. don't try to pull away, you’re not going anywhere. he’ll grab your wrist, keep your fingers between his lips and just look at you with those dark, needy eyes

ᯓ★ loves when you pull his hair so make sure to always grab and yank his mullet while he’s between your legs and he’ll groan into your pussy like he’s getting off on it

ᯓ★ the kind of man who will fuck you dumb just to make sure you don’t even remember anyone else’s name

ᯓ★ absolute menace with that tongue + so so messy. will spread your legs, settle between them and go to fucking work. licking, sucking, slurping, spitting on your clit, growling against your folds. doesn’t stop until you’re begging. “c’mon, sweetie, one more for me”

ᯓ★ absolutely gets off on how loud you are. doesn’t matter if it’s the middle of the night or the middle of the day, he’ll fuck you so good you’re screaming his name, he prefers it “Stanley” tho, not just Stan

ᯓ★ smokes like a chimney, including during sex. he’s the type to take a long drag of his cigarette while you’re riding him, exhaling the smoke lazily as he watches you bounce on his cock. “fuck, baby, keep goin’. look so pretty takin’ me like that.” then puts it out against the nightstand right before flipping you over and fucking you senseless

ᯓ★ smoking during foreplay too, pulls cigarette out of his mouth and presses it into the ashtray, muttering, “gonna put this out and focus on you, sweetie.”

ᯓ★ if you complain about him smoking too much, he’ll smirk, tilt your chin up, and say something like, “well, maybe if you keep me busy enough, i won’t need to smoke, huh?” such a brat tbh

ᯓ★ grabs whatever’s closest to tie you up. belt? works just fine. an old rag? perfect. (also wants to be tied up too)

ᯓ★ a tipsy Stan gets handsy, real handsy. he’s already got no shame sober, but when he’s had a couple of drinks, he can’t keep his hands to himself, your thighs, your waist, your ass

ᯓ★ praise him in the most filthiest way possible, call him big, tell him he’s stretching you out, tell him you’ve never had anyone fuck you like this. tell him how much you love his cock, how deep he is. he thrives on that shit, loves being told how good he feels. “fuck, baby, keep talkin’ like that and i might not last.” but he also LOVES teasing you. “poor thing, already dumb from my cock?”, “look at you, makin’ a mess all over me. filthy little thing.”

ᯓ★ i 100% believe that mullet!Stanley is a bratty switch who acts tough but turns into a desperate, whiny mess the second you take control. i think it needs its own post but ok

[bitchface24-7]

Can you do Jayce and Viktor finding out that one of them got reader pregnant (Viktor thinks there’s no way he could got reader pregnant because of sickness) but when the baby is born they look just like Viktor?

OOPS… - JAYVIK X READER

synopsis: y’all fucked up, literally and figuratively. You’re pregnant. You didn’t plan for this, even though you should’ve; y’all fuck like rabbits. But now you’re at the end of your pregnancy, you can’t help but wonder which one of your partners knocked you up.

warnings: pregnancy, mentions of morning sickness, changes in appetite/appearance, weird cravings, giving birth (not detailed), pre-established relationship (YALL ARE MARRIED) Grammarly is my beta

genre: m/m/f

p.s. cute and funny request… may I pray this never finds me. I'd probably only get pregnant for them and they're not real. To any reader who's experienced this and or has kids, you're a trooper and I salute you, cause fuck that!

The three of you had an accident you can't help but think as you look at a positive pregnancy test. Most babies are oopsie babies, you comfort yourself.

You never planned for this, this was never in your equation. But you feel a small sense of fondness, its proof of your love; your boys.

You wish somehow this baby was both of theirs. They could have Viktor’s eyes, Jayce's nose, your smile. They'd be perfect. But that's impossible, so only of your lovers knocked you up.

You wonder who did it.

Oh well… now you gotta break the news to them first. Then you can speculate who fertilized one of your eggs.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Essentially ten months pass by in a flash. Your stomach gets bigger and bigger, your back and feet ache, you can’t stop throwing up the first trimester, your cravings are wild and your boys get you whatever you want no matter the time. Even if it’s dead at night.

Everything was normal that day until your water broke. You three rushed to the hospital and got set up in a delivery room. Jayce and Viktor are nervous, pacing, and worriedly looking at you. Giving birth can be incredibly dangerous, and they don’t want to lose you.

They’re by your side the whole time, holding your hand, putting a cold towel on your head, motivating you. They made the process as easy as they could. The three of you even joke around.

“I can’t wait to see which one of you knocked me up.”

Jayce and Viktor choke a bit before laughing, “It could be either of us honestly. We’re kinda like rabbits.”

“Jayce!”

“What?”

“It’s probably Jayce’s. I can’t imagine my illness makes it good for my own fertility.” Viktor adds quietly. His tone low and a bit melancholic. You and Jayce look at him and deny his statement. “You don’t know that! Have you been gotten tested or is it an assumption?”

“Assumption.”

Then you scream, and your boys panic pressing the call button on the side of your bed. Two nurses rush in and ask to check your dilation, you agree.

One nurse checks, then the other nurse. One states you’re fully dilated and the other rushes to call for the doctor.

Now it’s time to deal with one of the most painful moments of your life.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You’re panting, your entire body hurts, and you think you may have broken Jayce’s hand. It’s all worth it when you hear your baby cry.

“It’s a healthy boy! Congratulations!” A nurse says as she lightly cleans your baby, making sure not to let the fluid from birth stay on his skin for too long; we don’t want him to become hypothermic.

She hands your baby to you and his cries immediately cease. He looks up to you and you gasp lightly. He’s Viktor’s. He’s 100000000% Viktor’s.

They’re identical.

You tear up lightly and sniffle. It’s like looking into a tiny mirror of your partner. Same eyes, even though babies are typically born with blue eyes; your baby has Viktor’s golden eyes. Same eyebrow shape, same nose, same lips. They even share the same beauty mark by their eye.

You laugh a bit and your boys look over to your tiny boy. Jayce’s eyes widen as he chuckles, and pats Viktor on his shoulder. Viktor just stands there speechless.

“I carried you for essentially ten months and you come out looking just like your daddy? You’re perfect!” You coo at your baby, your baby coos back at you and you have to hold back a squeal.

“You can’t have kids, huh?” Jayce jokes and Viktor grumbles. Viktor’s demeanour isn’t very scary due to his beaming smile as he looks down at his baby. Your baby. Jayce’s baby.

“So, what’re we naming him?”

You blank for a second. Shit, you didn’t think of that. Oops.

“I never planned on having kids, so I never planned any names.”

Viktor looks blankly at you, “Me neither.”

The two of you look at Jayce. He shrugs lightly, “I didn’t expect to have kids but I did come up with names when I was younger. I always liked James for a boy, and Rose for a girl.”

“You romantic. Rose, really?”

“At least I thought of names, leave me alone Viktor.”

You giggle at them, “James it is. James Talis. It does sound nice huh?”

Viktor and Jayce stop bickering and look at you with hearts in their eyes. Oh, it’s official. You’re now four.

Welcome to the world, James Talis. You’re already loved more than you could ever imagine.

The only men I’d give birth for. Hope y’all liked this!! Love ya ❤️

[burningembers91]

The Baby Shower - The Salesman x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Follow up piece to:

Freak of Nature On Display A Game of Cat and Mouse Crime of Passion Rare Gunpowder and Lace Like a Dog Three Little Words

Synopsis: While attending your friend's baby shower, The Salesman can't help but think about what it would be like to have a family of his own. But how could he be a loving father, when the only person he's ever cared about is you?

He disliked social events, detested having to made idle conversation with people he didn’t have any interest in. The mindless small talk drove him to the brink of insanity, the idea of having to talk about cars, jobs, and how much people paid for their watches was enough to give him an aneurysm. He’d managed to avoid needless social interaction for most of his life, but now that he had you, necessity required he dip his toes into the world of dinner parties, social gatherings and idle chit chat.

As much as he loathed talking to anyone who wasn’t you, he loved you more, and he’d walked across broken glass if you told him to. “It’s only for a few hours,” you smiled, zipping up your form hugging dress. “I know you hate these things, but she is my bestfriend after all.” You knew how much he hated attending parties with you, and you felt bad for making him go. You told him that you didn’t mind if he stayed at home, but staying at home wasn’t an option for him. He needed to be close to you, a loyal dog sticking by his mistress. He couldn’t stand to be away from you, even for a minute, so he’d brave the party, just for you. Everything he did nowadays was all for you. “When we get back, I’ll let you do whatever you want to me,” you whispered, smirking at him slyly in the mirror.

He was instantly hard, the list of desires he had too long to play out in his head. You always let him take charge when you got home from a party, always allowed him to punish you for the mundane torture he’d endured surrounded by your friends. “You’ll regret saying that,” he smiled, coming to stand behind you, his hands trailing up your body to the delicate curve of your neck. He tightened his grip ever so slightly, a small moan of pleasure escaping you as his hand gently closed around your throat. “I’ve never regretted letting you punish me,” you whispered, you hand snaking behind you to gently grip his growing erection. You were locked in a stalemate, both you desperate to tease the other, to see who would break first.

“Why don’t you let me punish you now,” he growled into your ear, his teeth grazing the soft, sensitive skin of your earlobe. “I could let you attend the party with my handprints on your ass. Maybe I’ll make you walk around with no underwear on while I drip from that pretty little pussy of yours.” You were so close to relenting, to letting him have his way. But you didn’t have time to play now, you were already late. “You’ll just have to be patient,” you smiled sweetly, squeezing his aching bulge between your grasp a little tighter. He moaned into you, his face buried in your hair as your fingers worked him through his suit. Your touch was his drug, the one thing he craved more than anything in the world. “More,” he grunted, pushing himself further into your touch. His hips bucked against your hand; his eyes fixed on yours in the mirror as he chased his high. “Later,” you whispered, pulling your hand away. He groaned in frustration, his arousal evident through the fabric of his pants. “We need to get going,” you told him, grabbing your purse from its hook on the back of the bedroom door. “I can’t be late to my best friend’s baby shower.”

The party was just as dire as he’d expected, everyone laughing and chatting about the prospect of their friends’ becoming parents. He’d never felt paternal before, had never understood the fascination with bringing a child into the world. He did his duty, plastering a smile on his face, asking your friends about their jobs and their families. But then he noticed you, your hands proudly cupping your friends growing baby belly, the two of you lost in conversation. Something stirred within him, some carnal desire he’d never felt before.

He pictured you with a growing baby bump, your hands pressed to your lower back as you looked lovingly down at your belly. He imagined his hands cupping your bump protectively as you fell asleep each night, of placing soft, sweet kisses on your stretchmark covered stomach. You’d be a wonderful mother, so caring and kind. But what kind of father would he be? He wasn’t capable of loving anyone or anything other than you. He tried to push the thought from his mind, convincing himself it was just residual desire leftover from the moment in the bedroom. And yet the thoughts persisted. Thoughts of you bringing a baby home, of cradling the tiny life in your hands as you sat by the window. He was getting angry now, the incessant images of you caring for his baby weaving their way into the fibres of his brain. He couldn’t risk bringing a baby into the world, not when he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to love it.

That night, he was extra rough when he punished you. He forced you to your knees, fucking your throat with his aching, hard cock until tears streamed down your face. He bent you over the bed, spanking you until your skin turned red. He fucked you into the mattress, your face buried in the pillows as he took his frustration out on your tight, dripping core.

But after the punishment, when he’d returned to being your faithful little dog, the thoughts resumed. Thoughts of you growing his baby, thoughts of walks through the park with a stroller, of nighttime feeds and days out at soft play. The baby would be part of you both, your combined DNA. But he couldn’t choose what parts of him the baby inherited. Would they be as cold and callous as he was? Would they get kicks out of torturing and taking the lives of innocent people? Would they grow up to be just as evil as their father?

He didn’t sleep that night, his mind whirling as his thoughts consumed him. He stared down at you as you slept, your soft body pressed against his. He had no doubt you’d be a great mother.

But what kind of father would he be if he felt nothing for the life he helped create?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Rush Hour

Hey hey! This weekend (Jan 25-26) I’m going to be playing drabble roulette! I’ve curated a list of characters and prompts and I’m spinning the wheel!

Character: Bucky Barnes

Prompt: a shopping mall, crowded and loud . 

Warnings: this drabble includes deceit and dark elements, along with social anxiety. Please mind these warnings and take care.

Explicit, 18+. Please reblog and leave some feedback.

You’re lost. You didn’t even want to come in the first place. The mall is a circus of lights and noise and strangers. 

You spin in the sea of shoppers that fill the food court. The smell of food competes in your nose; the strong undercurrent of cinnamon at war with the soy sauce radiating from the noodle kiosk. You clasp onto the sides of your cable knit sweater and stumble as you’re nearly run over by a mother and her stroller. 

You excuse yourself as you step out of her way and receive only a sneer in return. You’re trying to stay out of the way but everywhere you turn, there’s a person or a table or a garbage can overflowing with wrappers. 

You back yourself against one of the tall chair along the curved table across from the popular chain coffee booth. You flick your thumb against the loop on your dyed jeans and try to catch your breath. There’s a map just on the other side of the dining area. 

You peer around as you try to plot a path through. Just do it. You set your arms straight and march forward between the tables. You sweep around as a man with a tray steps ahead of you and continue down the other side. You make a stunted zigzag across the food court toward the beacon of the touch screen map. 

You stop short as a group of middle-aged women butt in and tap it first. The squabble over where to go first as the search bar waits for input. You bounce on your feet impatiently. You take out your phone to text Melody. She’s likely at Sephora, you just need to figure out where that is. 

You key in your message, ‘where are you?’ 

You just asked her to wait while you used the bathroom. That’s it. She couldn’t even do that. She’s too obsessed with taking pictures in all the wall mirrors and trying on everything, even things you can’t afford. 

You wouldn’t be there if your cousin wasn’t getting married. If she didn’t insist on a colour-code. It’s too much. Too fussy. Why can’t you just wear the same old blue dress you always do. It’s not ugly. Simple. Does the trick. 

She doesn’t answer. Not right away. You lower your phone and look up. The women continue to titter before the screen, zooming out on the mask and gasping as they try to figure out where to go. Another argument ensues. 

You’re once more nudged by a passing a shopper. They snarl at you to watch out and you shrink down as you look at your phone again. You can look up the map on the mall website. You’re not very good with maps. The touchscreen will at least tell you where you are. Can they just go find the department store and move? 

You finally find a PDF of the map and spread your fingers to expand. You don’t know where any of these stores are. You check the date in the corner. This is from before the renovations. Ugh. 

You flip back to the conversation with your sister and send a single question mark. Get off your damn Snap and answer. Please. Your nose tingles as your panic swells. You just want to get out of here. You’re going to cry if people don’t stop! 

“Excuse me,” the low timbre makes you flinch and you back away from the man who stands next to you.  

You make yourself as small as you can. “I’m in your way, I’m sorry.” 

“Hm? No, I... I was passing by and you... you look lost. Not to be nosy.” You make yourself look at him, not wanting to be rude. He’s a stranger but he seems helpful. And his eyes are so blue. 

You frown. Is it that obvious that you’re entirely clueless. You shrug, then nod, the drop your chin in defeat. “A little,” you confess. 

“It’s a zoo in here,” he says. “What’re you looking for?” 

“Um,” you hesitate and wet your lips. You peer around. “I don’t know. My sister... hasn’t answered.” 

“Ah, you know, the lump I walked in with went and disappeared too. Said he was grabbing a pretzel but I can’t find him either,” he sniffs and grips his hips in displeasure. “Hate these places.” 

“Me too,” you murmur as you glance down at his leather gloves. It’s not that cold out but you don’t mention it. 

“Marnie, no. Not that way,” one of the older women squalls and taps the screen furiously. 

“Ahem,” the man beside you clears his throat, “she’s waiting for her turn. She’s been waiting.” 

“Excuse you. We have every right to use this map,” a woman faces him with bluster. “So wait your turn.” 

“It’s up that corridor and to the left,” he points. 

“Aren’t you rude?” Another squawks. 

“I’m helping,” he utters dully. “Hey, uh,” he turns to you, “how about we go find another map? Think they might’ve broke this one anyway.” 

“We did not--” 

“Have a good day, ladies,” he gestures you away. You eagerly accept the escape. You don’t like confrontation. 

“There’s one down at the popcorn place,” he says. “I just passed it before Sam ran off.” 

“Sam? It that... a friend?” You wonder. 

“Sure, you can call him that. You said you’re here with your sister?” He guides you away from the lunchtime rush. 

“Yeah. I gotta... get a dress for a wedding. Something pink.” 

“Pink, ah. You’re favourite colour?” 

“Not really.” 

“Ah, right. Big wedding? Doesn’t sound like it’s yours.” 

“No, my cousin,” you explain. 

“Right,” he nods. 

“You probably don’t care.” 

“What makes you think I don’t?” He asks. 

“Well... you don’t know me.” 

“I guess not,” he stops at the map and faces you, “I’m Bucky.” 

“Oh, uh...” you introduce yourself. 

You look at him dumbly, unsure how to proceed. He coughs behind his gloved fist and his brows flick. “So, did your sister answer yet?” 

“Oh, yeah, well...” you check your phone. “I don’t wanna waste any more of your time so I’ll just use this map and figure it out.” 

“Not wasting my time,” he assures. “But if you’re trying to get me to go away, noted.” 

“No, I... no, I’m not. I just...” your phone vibrates and you cringe. You check the screen. “She’s at Therese’s?” 

You turn and tap the screen, typing on the large keyboard. You tap the magnifying glass and the map generates. You hover your finger over the marker that shows where you are then along the highlighted route. 

“That’s all the way on the other side,” he says. 

“Yeah...” you drone. 

“I don’t mind showing you. I came from that way.” 

“No, oh, no. I can’t.” 

“I might run into my buddy,” he shrugs. “You know, lotta people stare when I’m wandering on my own... so you’d be doing me a favour.” 

“I guess... I owe you.” 

His lips curve, just a little, and his cheeks dimple under his dark beard. “Down here then loop around. Won’t have to go back through the food court.” 

You follow him. Your own sense of direction would have you circling for hours. He takes you past the game shop and the organic food place you’ve never been too. You turn down the next corridor, it’s mostly empty. 

“So,” he begins, “you get a plus one to the wedding?” 

“Um, no, I don’t think--” 

As you pass by one of the hallways marked for employees only, he elbows you and you stagger sideways. You’re thrown off balance and hit the wall. He’s so fast you have no time to react. He grips the back of your neck and covers your mouth as he drags you down the hall. 

Your soles bounce off the floor as you flail your arms helplessly. What is he doing? He pinches your nape until your eyes water. 

He shoves you against a door and twists the handle. The metal cracks in his grip and the lock gives to his brute force. He hauls you inside and flips you around against the inside of the door. 

“Doll,” he growls through the dark. “You’re gonna wanna be real quiet for me.” 

He keeps his hand on your mouth, the leather sticking to your lips, and he shifts around. You can’t see much in the tight closet. He closes something around your wrist and you squeak. He hushes you and presses his palm flush to your nose. 

“Hands behind your back for me,” he growls. 

You wriggle and he pushes your head into the door until it throbs. 

“Now.” 

You obey. He reaches behind you and another loop closes around your other wrist. Like a magnet, your hands are wrenched together and lock into place. How did he do that? 

He’s silent as he peels his hand back only to quickly smother you with the other. You feel something cool spread over your lips and insert between your teeth, locking your jaw in place. You quake and kick out. 

He grabs your shoulders and puts them straight. He hisses, “one more time and that’s it.” 

You snivel and stop. He bends and another weight secures your ankles. Ensnared, he leaves you against the wall and backs away. Your tears overflow as you blink into the dim. 

The rustle of fabric and the scuff of his boots undercut the tension. He comes back to you and moves you. He angles you around blindly and lifts you. He forces you into something. You don’t know what it is, only that you’re stuffed down into it, bent up into the confined. Something falls over you, light but enough to bury you further in darkness. 

He wheels you around and the motion makes you dizzy. He opens the door and pushes you out into the light. You peer up at him between the crumpled paper and cans, frightened and restrained, from within the rolling garbage bin.  

His hair is pulled back into a low pony beneath a grey ballcap that matches his janitor’s shirt. He keeps his eyes ahead of him as he pushes you, casually turning out into the mall corridor. He doesn’t flinch as other shoppers pass by, unable to see you beneath the rubbish. 

“Now, doll, don’t you be thinking of trying anything...” he mutters as he keeps his eyes ahead of him. “Those cuffs can only get tighter.” 

[ell6ied]

heartbreak summer ꨄ︎

pairing: sae itoshi x f!reader

summary: after your friend finds out her recent ex has been in the news tabloids with yet another girl, your idea of get back turns your night into an unfortunate series of events with the outcome landing you directly in front of re al’s star player, and you’re about to kiss him.

cw: nsfw elements, swearing, toxic relationships & behaviour (not too much from sae surprisingly), angst

chapter 02: blackout

you have no idea how it happened. for a moment you was searching for kaia, who had mysteriously disappeared after oliver aiku spotted her in the club, dragging her away. and the next moment, your hands were in some man’s hair, was it auburn? brunette? your face itching closer and closer to his as he held the side of your face with one hand, and the other on your hip, dangerously itching somewhere you know shouldn’t be.

god, your head was fuzzy.

you remember gripping onto his shirt a little, trying to balance yourself, the thought of drinking so much being a bad idea lingering in your head for a moment. you looked up at him, those eyes are gorgeous, this man is beautiful.

and just like that, your lips were on his, his hands a little firmer as he held you in place as he kissed you, noticing your lack of balance. you couldn’t help but tug his hair slightly as he ran his tongue on the bottom of you lip, causing him to let out a quiet, but deep breath, smirking down at you. he then pulled away for a second, catching the breath you just took from him as he rested his hand between the nape of your neck.

“do you want to come back to mine, amor?”, he speaks in a soft, velvety tone, his head tilted slightly.

you pause, frowning, “ew no..”, causing his brows to raise slightly and the corners of his mouth daring to twitch into a soft smile.

6:48 am

the feeling of your head throbbing and the scratchiness of your throat causes your eyes to squint while your brain finally registers the brightness coming through the blinds, “what the fuck..”

you move your arms, sitting yourself up slightly on your bed, looking around to see your still in the clothes from the night before, with the feeling of makeup still on your skin and wait, is that-

“what the fuck?!”, you half yell, seeing a shirtless man sleeping way too peacefully in your own bed.

“huh?”, he frowns, his eyes half open now, squinting to look at you, “oh, g’morning.”

morning?!?

“why are you in my bed..?”, you ask, confused.

“i came home with you.”, he says. bit creepy.

“we didn’t- did we?”, you ask in pure confusion again. your clothes were on, but here was some random shirtless man in your bed, you couldn’t think of any other reason why he’d be here.

“no, we just slept.”, he makes himself comfortable on your bed, looking at you as he answers.

“right… okay.”, you pause, trying to comprehend what even happened last night.

“well, if you just wanna… grab that.. and like, leave?”, you say, your eyes roaming your room before bending down and grabbing his shirt, throwing it at him.

he looks down as you throw his shift, looking back up at you, his eyes weirdly innocent, “oh you want me to go?”

obviously?, “um.. yes.”

he pauses for a moment, as if he was contemplating something, tilting his head at you, it was cute actually.

“why?”

you frown at him, baffled by his pure obliviousness or whether he was just being difficult.

“i don’t want you here anymore, i have roommates.”

“oh, okay.”, he says like he finally understands, “do you want my-“

you cut him off quickly, “no!”, you pause, “um.. no thanks, we don’t need to do that.”

“damn, okay.”, he says, finally putting his shirt back on, getting up from her bed and grabbing his phone.

“you know where the door is?”

“yeah, i know.”, he states, walking past you before giving you a final look, leaving your vision as you hear the front door open then close.

you sigh loudly, rubbing your forehead before walking over to the mirror of your vanity, looking at yourself, “oh yikes.”

the next day

navigation: heartbreak summer

next chapter: 03

authors note: thank you sm for everyone reading 🫶🏻 i genuinely love writing this story. also sae is so awkward in this im giggling 😭

taglist: @vaelils @shironagi

[seitmai]

Ahh many thoughts

“Non-existent,” he had replied with a sad shake of his head. “Same.”

Mood lol

You don’t know that Bob Floyd doesn’t require much to fall in love with you.  That the paltry moments between physical encounters is plenty for love to flourish for him.  That the handful of soft touches, the smiles, the little laughs…they are enough.  The way you pat his cheek after you brush a chaste kiss there once you’re dressed and about to leave his place.  The time you slid his glasses on his face, then kissed the tip of his nose.

🥹🥹🥹

(A therapist once posited that you’re this way because of your own childhood:  the only child of two career Army parents.  Your chaotic formative years—bouncing around the world, unable to set roots, sometimes even shifted from one parent to another due to conflicting deployments—left you with a wound, your therapist suggested.  Disliking having a mirror held up to yourself, you just ghosted said therapist and never dug into that part of your internal makeup again).

Hahah the last sentence cracked me up 😂

You canvass the Hard Deck for a month.  Take in all the fly boys and consider the fly girls too. 

One has to make an informed decision 🤷🏻‍♀️

Not the sort of man you’d go for, usually.  Quiet, reserved.  Hardly ever drinks but gets in on the sing-alongs.  Plays pool when someone needs an opponent.  Is often the designated driver, and you smile when you see his bemused frustration when he steers a fellow Dagger, drunk and stumbling, out the door and safely home.  He’s so stable and pulled-together.  You bet he’s never cheated on a girl or stolen her car.  Not your type at all.

This would exactly be the guy I go for hahah

He’s good-looking though, in a quiet way.  Ditch the shitty Navy-issued glasses, muss up his hair a little, and he’d be downright handsome. 

Facts

The third encounter is…wonderful.  It’s like Bob was homing in on you, treating you like one of his weapon systems.  Calibrating you.  Figuring out what you like and doing more of that, seeing what you don’t respond to and never doing it again.  Which makes it sound cold, how he figures you out, but Bob is so damned warm.  Warm and sweet and considerate, and he grins at you and laughs with you, and it’d be so easy to fall for him—

Not the calibrating 🤭

He’s usually so secure in himself, but he has a small crisis of confidence.  He wonders what he lacks—what makes him a good hook-up but not a good boyfriend?  If he could just show you…if he could take you out on a proper date.  Buy you flowers, buy you dinner, take you for a moonlit stroll along the beach.  If he could cook for you, show you that he’s not that useless breed of man who can’t or won’t do homey tasks.  If he could take care of you when you’re sick, be a sounding board when you rage…

He is desperate to be a fixture in her life 🥺

It never occurred to Bob before, but he adds it to his list of sexual acts:  have you sit on his face and smother him with your pussy.

It's on his to do list 🤭

Bob generally lets you set the tone of your arrangement, but sometimes he has a moment of dominance that makes a wave of desire wash through you so strongly that your knees actually go weak.

🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️

Of course it was easy to catch feelings for him.  He’s perfect, and right now he’s staring at you like he wants to eat you alive.

I mean how can one not?

He laughs, and he shifts his weight onto one arm so the other is free to reach down and grasp your waist.  “If you kill me like that, I want how I died mentioned in my obituary, okay?”

Deal 🤝🏻

She smiles, snorts out a light laugh.  “Yeah, the two of you are a real fucking vibe, Bob.” Phoenix nods.  “Dislocated nose.  Slight concussion.  Embarrassed.  Convinced she murdered you, until I set her straight.”

Haha I can't

“She knocked you out,” Hangman cuts in.  “And broke your nose.” “You weren’t moving and there was blood everywhere,” Rooster adds. “She also gave you grade two whiplash,” Phoenix continues.  “And it looks like you’ll be sporting a pair of gnarly black eyes by morning.”

And he is gonna wear them like a badge of honor knowing gave it to him 🤭🫡

“She has all these rules.  To keep it clean.  To keep feelings out, you know?”  He lifts his hand again, drops it again—the best version of a shrug he can manage.  “I have to think that injuries requiring ambulances is an unwritten rule too.”

This is so funny if he wasn't so defeated

“You ever tell her you wanted to revisit the rules, then?” “No.” Her smile widens.  “You’re so fucking dumb, dude.”

Someone had to say it 🤷🏻‍♀️

“There’s a pool about you and Baby on Board.”  He sips his own coffee, smiles at you.  “I want to know if I’m out money or if I have a payday coming.” “You bet on us?” He holds up a hand.  “Whoa.  All the Daggers bet on you.  It wasn’t just me.”

😂😂😂

“It doesn’t matter either way,” you finally answer.  “I nearly killed the guy.  Is there a pool on that?” Hangman laughs, and he settles in the chair near your bed.  “You didn’t nearly kill him.  You only lightly injured him.  Then Bradley lightly injured you.  It’s hilarious.”

This just such a silly situation but those two are so in love they see it in such a different way because they both think they destroyed everything 😂🥲

“If anything, Bob’s gonna have some light duty, but he can do some systems work on the ground.”  The smile reappears on his face, and he slyly adds, “and his cred just skyrocketed.”  A beat.  “The quietest Dagger just got his face rearranged by pussy.  He’ll never have to buy his own drink again as long as he lives.”

He's not wrong 😅🤷🏻‍♀️

He looks awful.  He looks…well, he looks like he pulled the full weight of an adult woman onto his face, pussy-first. 

🤭🤭🤭

But his smile…God, when he sees you, it’s just like Jake said:  his poor, mangled face lights up, and his smile is so wide it looks like it might hurt.  It hits you again, as it often does, how different he is from your usual type of man.  That he loves to see you, is happy when he sees you, even injured.  That he doesn’t need you around to fix his life, but he wants you around to just…be with you.  Bob is no one that needs fixing; he just wants you there with him.

🥹🥹🥹

“You could make a claim against my insurance, I guess—” “Just a date,” he interrupts.  “I just want one date with you.”

He's so cute 🥰

“Hmm.”  He releases your hand but pats the space on his bed beside him.  “I don’t know if I’d be comfortable making you miserable, honey.”

🥰🥹🥰🥹

“I’d like that.”  He shifts a little in the bed, then adds, “maybe around the six-month mark, you could meet my family.” “Would they make me miserable?” you tease. “Oh, they’d make your life a living hell,” he teases back.  “My dad would give you this whole disgusting speech about how he always wanted another daughter, my mom would drop hints about my grandma’s engagement ring being set aside for me—”

Awwww so happy for them 🥰

Would love to read about their miserable time with Bob's family if you ever feel up for it 🤗

First Time for Everything

(Bob Floyd x F!Reader)

CW:  Angst (friends-with-benefits; idiots in love; talk of bad past relationships; injuries); smut (vague references to sex; oral sex gone awry); 18+ only.

Word Count: 5591

AN:  This was requested by an anonymous person!

AN2: Usual caveat - not edited in any way. Likely grammar bugaboos, tense switches, etc.

Bob Floyd would have never thought he’d end up in a friends-with-benefits situation, but there’s a first time for everything.

You’re the one who drives the entire enterprise.  A civilian who works at Top Gun, you’re no stranger to the stress of dealing with a multi-billion-dollar fleet of planes.  You serve as a liaison between the Navy and the bevy of contractors who build and maintain the planes, and if Bob has to juggle a million complicated systems mid-flight, you have to juggle a million tricky relationships and contracts on the ground.

You put the question to him, late one night at the Hard Deck.  Harvard and Yale had been leading a spirited conversation about dry spells, long distant relationships, juggling hook-ups.  You and Bob sat there, listening but adding little.  But after the other Daggers started to peel away one by one, you had turned to Bob and started asking about his love life.

“Non-existent,” he had replied with a sad shake of his head.

“Same.”

There was a beat of silence—you sipped at your drink; Bob cracked another peanut.

“Any prospects?” you asked.

Another shake of his head.

“Yeah, same here,” you replied.

Then there was another long stretch of silence, but this time you fixed Bob with a curious look.  It lasted long enough for him to notice, for him to squirm in his seat—

“So, I have an idea, and you’re totally free to say ‘no,’” you started, and the rest was history.

-----

That was months ago.  Bob has gotten to know you much better since then.

Much, much better.

He knows what you feel like.  He knows what you taste like.  He knows the place on your neck that makes you keen when he puts his mouth to it.  He knows exactly where to press the tips of his fingers when they are inside you, where to find the spot that makes your pussy pulse with arousal, that makes your breathing stutter and your eyes roll back, that makes you moan out his name—

He knows how it sounds when you moan his name, and he knows how that affects him in turn, and he knows that he doesn’t know nearly enough about you.

He doesn’t know what you eat for breakfast or how you take your coffee or if you even drink coffee at all.  He doesn’t know much about your family, little about your childhood, only a bit about your wants and likes and dislikes.

Because of the rules you laid out that night at the Hard Deck.

Hooking up, friends-with-benefits, you had explained, requires clear lines be drawn.  Otherwise, it gets messy.  Feelings develop.  Misunderstandings happen.  People get hurt, sometimes badly.

Your rules keep those lines clearly drawn.  No spending the night.  No dates beyond sex—no lunch dates or movie nights, no days at the beach together.  You call each other and make plans to fuck, and then you part, and that keeps it neat.  Clean.

There’s no way you can know it, because you don’t really know Bob either, but there’s no rule on earth you could put in place that would keep him from falling for you anyway.  You work with numbers and contracts all day, so you believe in the power of words, in rules. 

You don’t know that Bob Floyd doesn’t require much to fall in love with you.  That the paltry moments between physical encounters is plenty for love to flourish for him.  That the handful of soft touches, the smiles, the little laughs…they are enough.  The way you pat his cheek after you brush a chaste kiss there once you’re dressed and about to leave his place.  The time you slid his glasses on his face, then kissed the tip of his nose.

Which is why your rules turn out to be so important after all:  because here he is, hopelessly, painfully in love while you only see him a safe place to release your sexual frustrations.  He cannot imagine how much worse it would hurt if those lines didn’t exist.

*****

You have a chronic issue with men.

You pick the worst possible boyfriends.  From high school until now, you seem to only attract cheaters, losers, and general assholes.  Numerous boyfriends cheated on you.  One stole your car.  One stole your prescription sleeping pills and got arrested trying to sell them. 

It’s not that you’re attracted to assholes, really.  The whole bad-boy schtick bores you.  It’s more that you like to fix things; you like to turn chaos into order.  That trait serves you well at work, untangling all the intricate contracts and orders and rules between the Navy and their contractors. 

That trait serves you less well in love, because people often can’t be fixed, at least not without wanting to be fixed.  And anyway, the guys you date need deep fucking therapy, not a girlfriend with a fetish for setting order to the universe.

(A therapist once posited that you’re this way because of your own childhood:  the only child of two career Army parents.  Your chaotic formative years—bouncing around the world, unable to set roots, sometimes even shifted from one parent to another due to conflicting deployments—left you with a wound, your therapist suggested.  Disliking having a mirror held up to yourself, you just ghosted said therapist and never dug into that part of your internal makeup again).

But the therapist did make you aware of your bad patterns with men, so you swear off relationships, which is easy enough. 

You still have needs, though.

You canvass the Hard Deck for a month.  Take in all the fly boys and consider the fly girls too.  Profile them, watched how they acted when they think no one is watching.  Watch them sober, watch them drunk.  Watch to see which ones are handsy in an unwelcome way, and which ones remain respectful.

It’s Bob Floyd who catches your eye.

Not the sort of man you’d go for, usually.  Quiet, reserved.  Hardly ever drinks but gets in on the sing-alongs.  Plays pool when someone needs an opponent.  Is often the designated driver, and you smile when you see his bemused frustration when he steers a fellow Dagger, drunk and stumbling, out the door and safely home.  He’s so stable and pulled-together.  You bet he’s never cheated on a girl or stolen her car.  Not your type at all.

He’s good-looking though, in a quiet way.  Ditch the shitty Navy-issued glasses, muss up his hair a little, and he’d be downright handsome. 

Not the sort of man you’d go for, usually, but you aren’t looking for a boyfriend or a future husband.  You just need a zero risk, reliable guy to get off with.  It seems like a long shot because Bob is so quiet, but when you put the idea to him, he blinks…then asks you to clarify.

Then he agrees.

-----

That was months ago.

The arrangement works.  It’s exactly what you were looking for.  Bob Floyd is exactly what you thought he was:  reliable, steady.  He’s no broken man-child; he’s quiet but that belies a secure sort of masculinity that you’ve never really experienced before.  He knows who he is and what he wants, and he isn’t swayed by anything.  He’s solid.

He’s also surprising, in some ways.

To be crude about it, in looking for a friend-with-benefits, you needed only two things in a man:  a clean bill of health and a hard dick.  Bob is able to provide both (he hands you his test results from his latest physical, neatly folded in an envelope the first night you meet up).

He is also able to provide more than that.  The first night is a little awkward, but only because you are near-strangers.

The second encounter is better.

The third encounter is…wonderful.  It’s like Bob was homing in on you, treating you like one of his weapon systems.  Calibrating you.  Figuring out what you like and doing more of that, seeing what you don’t respond to and never doing it again.  Which makes it sound cold, how he figures you out, but Bob is so damned warm.  Warm and sweet and considerate, and he grins at you and laughs with you, and it’d be so easy to fall for him—

It's been months, but for fucks sake, you’re falling for him.  It’s embarrassing, because you gave him this tough-girl speech about rules and lines and not catching feelings, and he had nodded seriously and said he understood…and now here you are, the idiot who is catching feelings, who is realizing that maybe your type of man was wrong all along, that maybe who you needed was a reliable, steady man with warmth and blue eyes that swim a bit behind the lens of his thick glasses.

*****

It’s been months, and Bob always worries that this arrangement will end. 

One of your rules had been that the arrangement stops the moment one of you find someone else, and Bob always worries that someone else will catch your eye.  That you’ll find some man—you are surrounded by handsome, capable men every day, for heaven’s sake—that you find an appealing prospect.  Someone you want to sleep with and be with.

Someone better than him.

He’s usually so secure in himself, but he has a small crisis of confidence.  He wonders what he lacks—what makes him a good hook-up but not a good boyfriend?  If he could just show you…if he could take you out on a proper date.  Buy you flowers, buy you dinner, take you for a moonlit stroll along the beach.  If he could cook for you, show you that he’s not that useless breed of man who can’t or won’t do homey tasks.  If he could take care of you when you’re sick, be a sounding board when you rage…

Bob decides to do what he can, which is to just be the best lover he can be.  To be the most considerate, most adventuresome, most giving man you’ve ever taken to bed.  It’s all he can do anyway, so he might as well give it his best.

-----

Bob usually lets you lead.  He lets you set the schedule, and for every five times you call to hook-up, he calls once. 

The arrangement, such as it is, does work for him.  For all the angst of his unrequited love for you, the hooking up does relax him.  It helps him burn off extra energy, which helps him focus at work.

It also helps him explore things he has never tried before.

With you, Bob has played around with role play:  tame scenarios where he gets to pretend that he’s a different person than he is.  He has tried a variety of positions that have tested him in both strength and flexibility.  If there’s a list of sexual acts, Bob feels like he’s steadily working through it with you.

There’s still one, though…

It’s Fritz who starts the conversation at the Hard Deck.  You’re not there, but the guys all are, and the conversation drifts towards the usual locker room talk.  Fritz kicks it off by talking about his latest girl.  The guys egg him on for details.  Bob grins around the rim of his glass, says little, but then Fritz says, “man, when she sits on my face and smothers me in that pussy, I could die happy.”

It never occurred to Bob before, but he adds it to his list of sexual acts:  have you sit on his face and smother him with your pussy.

The idea takes hold so fiercely that Bob has to shift in his seat, suddenly warm at the thought of you sitting on him, his mouth on you.  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, and he’s sending you a text before he even has a beat to rethink it.

Want to meet up tonight?

You reply within a minute.

Sure.  Mine or yours?

Bob pauses and considers.  He catches Rooster’s eye and tilts his head at him, gesturing to his roommate for a sidebar.  Rooster comes over and stands beside Bob.

“What’s up?” Rooster asks.

“What are your plans for tonight?”

Rooster grins at the question.  It’s not exactly a secret that you and Bob are hooking up, though you don’t publicize it either.  Bob doesn’t know that his fellow Daggers have a betting pool about how the situation with you will resolve.  He’s caught the sly grins between them sometimes and wondered at what they mean.

“You asking if the apartment will be empty?” Rooster asks.  “Hell, Baby on Board.  Keep it to your room.  I don’t care what happens in the privacy of your own room.”

Bob can’t help the blush that heats his face.  He shouldn’t be embarrassed, but sometime the two of you get lost in the moment, and more than once, Rooster has sidled up to Bob the day after and clapped him on the back, congratulated him on his prowess—

Rooster catches the man’s discomfort and elbows him in the side.  “I was planning on finding myself some companionship for the night,” he finally says.  “The place is all yours.”

Bob thanks him, then texts you. 

My place?

Another beat before your answer comes.  When?

Now.

*****

Bob generally lets you set the tone of your arrangement, but sometimes he has a moment of dominance that makes a wave of desire wash through you so strongly that your knees actually go weak.

Like his text.  No softening his final message, just a simple, single word that holds a universe of promise.

Now.

“Yes, sir,” you murmur.  You only take a minute to brush your teeth and slip into nicer lingerie, but then you get in your car and head over to his place.

He must have been waiting at the window, watching for you.  You aren’t even halfway up the steps to his porch when the door swings open, and there he is. 

Of course it was easy to catch feelings for him.  He’s perfect, and right now he’s staring at you like he wants to eat you alive.

-----

“Explain it…again,” you manage to get out between kisses.  “How does…it work?”

Bob raises himself, props himself on his forearms on either side of your head.  His hair is mussed (perfect), and his glasses are on the bedside stand, so his blue eyes peer down at you. 

“You sit on my face,” he replies simply.

You huff out a breath.  “Sure, but….like, how?  I weigh a lot—”

He shakes his head.  “Not a problem for me, honey.”

“But I could hurt you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I could kill you.” 

He laughs, and he shifts his weight onto one arm so the other is free to reach down and grasp your waist.  “If you kill me like that, I want how I died mentioned in my obituary, okay?”

“Not funny!”  You poke him in the side, and he laughs again.

“Seriously, Bob.  I don’t want to hurt you,” you continue.

“You won’t.  I promise.  It’ll be fine.  But I want to do this.”  His smile fades, and he fixes you with a darker look that sends a bolt of lust right through your core.  “Please.”

-----

The two of you, once you got over your initial awkwardness, usually move so well together.  Perfectly coordinated, in sync. 

This…is not that.

For the first time, the two of you aren’t working together.  Bob can’t know it, but it’s not just a physical misalignment—there are hidden feelings at play.  As you tentatively hover over where he lays on the bed, you feel suddenly exposed, like Bob might be able to see the feelings you’ve caught for him.  It’s so intimate, you think, being so bared to him.  You hold yourself back, shy, and Bob doesn’t understand the sudden reticence in you.  He chalks it up to fear of hurting him.

And you can’t know it, but Bob absolutely loves how intimate it is, being so exposed to him.  There are hidden feelings on his side too—how hard it hits him, that he’s never done this with another woman before, and how he cannot imagine doing it with another one after you.  He’s ravenous for you, wants to possess you in every way he can, but when he tries to tug you closer to him, you chalk it up to general horniness and nothing more.

It is all misunderstanding, in the end.  You hold yourself back, hover over his face.  He grips your hips, tries to pull you to him.  The two of you struggle against the other, not understanding what is really driving the other—

“Come on,” he growls.  “Give it to me, honey.”

“Bob, I don’t—”

“I can take it.”

“But I—”

It happens in a split second.  Bob tugs you down against him in the exact moment you try to get a better balance over him, and the force of his pulling you down is added to the full weight of you shifting, with a bit of gravity, and you hit Bob so hard.

There’s a sickening crack, like a chicken bone snapping.  You look down at him, startled, and see his blue eyes widen in pain—shock—

You scramble off of him, call his name, but he doesn’t move, and then you see it.

Blood.  There’s so much blood, all over his face, and you yell his name now, but he still doesn’t move—

You’ve killed him.  You’ve murdered him, and you scream.  You reach for your phone and fumble it, and your body just acts.  You back away, your mind scrambling, and you think I need to stop the bleeding, so you think to go to the bathroom for a towel, but when you pivot quick on your heel and turn towards the closed door, it is already swinging inward, right at your face, hard, and there’s an explosion of pain behind your eyes.

Then everything goes dark, and you don’t wake until you’re in the ambulance.

*****

Bob wakes up to the paramedics sliding him onto the backboard, his head immobilized between two foam blocks.  Rooster hovers at the perimeter, a worried look on his face.

“What—” Bob manages to croak out, but the room grows dim again, and he fades in and out until the hospital.

-----

He comes to and stays awake in a quiet hospital room.  There’s the steady beep of a monitor somewhere behind and above him.  When he tries to turn his head, though, he finds himself held in place by a brace.

“You’re awake finally.”  The voice is familiar, and a moment later, Phoenix’s face swims into his peripherals. 

“You scared us, Baby on Board.”  Rooster, to the left of him.

“Who knew you had it in you?”  The voice at the foot of the bed, the hint of smarm.  Bob feels a hand on his ankle, jostling him lightly.  “You dirty fucking freak.”

“Shut up, Bagman.”  Phoenix glares at the cocky pilot, then turns back to Bob, her gaze softening.  “How are you feeling?”

He considers his answer.  He feels…rough. 

He also notices that his Dagger teammates are there, but you are not.  Which makes him feel worse.

Phoenix seems to read his thoughts.  Something in his expression must give him away, because she leans in closer and sets a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“She’s still downstairs,” she says, low near his ear.  “You got a room, but she’s still in the E.R.  They haven’t released her yet.”

“E.R.?”

She smiles, snorts out a light laugh.  “Yeah, the two of you are a real fucking vibe, Bob.”

Rooster steps closer to the bed and grins down at him.  “You’re lucky I struck out at the Hard Deck.  I come home, barely get my shoes off, when I hear a scream.  I go running back to your room just in time to knock your girl out.  She ran headfirst into the door when I opened it.”  He claps his hands together.  “Down like a bag of rocks.”

Bob’s heart rate picks up, and the monitor registers it.  Phoenix glances at the machine and snorts again.

“She’s fine,” she assures him.  “I’ve been bouncing between you and her.  It’s just slammed down there, so she’s been waiting for the doctor to release her.”

“She’s okay then?”

Phoenix nods.  “Dislocated nose.  Slight concussion.  Embarrassed.  Convinced she murdered you, until I set her straight.”

Bob smiles despite himself.  “She thought I was dead?”

“She knocked you out,” Hangman cuts in.  “And broke your nose.”

“You weren’t moving and there was blood everywhere,” Rooster adds.

“She also gave you grade two whiplash,” Phoenix continues.  “And it looks like you’ll be sporting a pair of gnarly black eyes by morning.”

“Wow.”  Bob breathes out a reedy whistle.  “And you’re sure she’s okay?”

Phoenix nods again.

Rooster and Hangman offer to go grab some coffee from the hospital cafeteria, leaving Bob and his partner alone.  Phoenix drags a chair over and settles closer to him, and Bob feels his mood sour little by little.

“Are you okay?” Phoenix finally asks. 

He lifts his hand, drops it back onto the bed.  “I guess it’s ruined now.”

“What is?”

“Our…arrangement.  Mine and hers.”

She tilts her head.  “How so?”

“She has all these rules.  To keep it clean.  To keep feelings out, you know?”  He lifts his hand again, drops it again—the best version of a shrug he can manage.  “I have to think that injuries requiring ambulances is an unwritten rule too.”

Phoenix stares at him, but a smile starts to creep across her face.  She shakes her head then, grips his shoulder again.

“Do you love her, Bobby?”  The question is asked softly, kindly.

Bob forgets the brace for a second and tries to nod.  “Yeah.”

“You ever tell her?”

“Against the rules.”

“You ever tell her you wanted to revisit the rules, then?”

“No.”

Her smile widens.  “You’re so fucking dumb, dude.”

*****

Hangman’s the one who stops to check in on you.  He has a paper cup of coffee in each hand, and he holds both up to you.

“Wasn’t sure what you liked.  One is black, one is cream and sugar.”

“Cream and sugar, please.”

He walks over to your bed and hands it to you, then studies you.  You know you must look like hell—your eyes red from the hysterical crying of thinking yourself a murderer.  Your nose—not broken, only dislocated—swollen and tender.  And the general misery of how badly everything has turned out.

“You like the little nerd, huh?”

You take a sip of the coffee and thank him for it. 

You don’t answer his question.

Hangman sighs, leans against the wall.  “It’s just that, if you do, I’d like to know.  I have a lot riding on it.”

“Huh?”

“There’s a pool about you and Baby on Board.”  He sips his own coffee, smiles at you.  “I want to know if I’m out money or if I have a payday coming.”

“You bet on us?”

He holds up a hand.  “Whoa.  All the Daggers bet on you.  It wasn’t just me.”

You shake your head.  “I don’t understand.”

“Some of us bet that you’d end up together.  Others bet that you wouldn’t.  Not that hard to understand.”

You try to take a steadying breath through your nose, which is an effort with how swollen it is.  You look away from him and fix your eyes on the open doorway of your room.  You watch the nurses and doctors scurry back and forth, the gurneys of hurt and sick people. 

“It doesn’t matter either way,” you finally answer.  “I nearly killed the guy.  Is there a pool on that?”

Hangman laughs, and he settles in the chair near your bed.  “You didn’t nearly kill him.  You only lightly injured him.  Then Bradley lightly injured you.  It’s hilarious.”

You can only wince at his word choice.  It’s not funny at all.  Miramar is a gossipy hive of rumor, and Bob’s injuries will put him out of commission for at least a while—

“Is this gonna hurt his career at Top Gun?” you ask Hangman.  You glance over at him and catch the way his expression softens at the angst in your voice.  “Did I just fuck up his life completely?”

He reaches out and grasps your hand for a moment, gives you a friendly squeeze before he releases you.  “Shit happens.  The Navy knows that.”

“Still…”

“If anything, Bob’s gonna have some light duty, but he can do some systems work on the ground.”  The smile reappears on his face, and he slyly adds, “and his cred just skyrocketed.”  A beat.  “The quietest Dagger just got his face rearranged by pussy.  He’ll never have to buy his own drink again as long as he lives.”

“Jesus,” you groan, and you cover your face with your hands while Hangman laughs, but a second later the doctor enters your room and tells you that you are being released.

Hangman doesn’t take the hint and leave.  He watches you sign off on your discharge papers, sips his coffee.  He hands you your shoes, and he helpfully holds out your coat so you can slide into it.

“That little nerd loves you, you know,” he says suddenly.  “It’s obvious as hell, which is why I laid a big bet on it.”

“He does?”  The surprise in your voice makes him chuckle, then shake his head.

“Probably hard to see it from where you’re sitting, but he does.  His dumb face lights up the minute he sees you, and when you aren’t around, he’s like a lost puppy.  So if you feel even an inkling of the same for him, just go upstairs and put him out of his misery, okay?”

It feels like grace you don’t deserve.  You hurt Bob, even if you hadn’t meant to, and for Hangman to offer this sliver of hope you don’t think you deserve—

You can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes.  Hangman doesn’t remark on them; he only stands by the doorway and waits for you.

“You’re a regular Cupid, Jake,” you offer.

“Nah.”  He finishes off his coffee, crumples the cup, and tosses it in the nearby trash can.  “I just want that fucking pool money.”

-----

The tears that threatened downstairs…they break free the moment you finally see him.

He looks awful.  He looks…well, he looks like he pulled the full weight of an adult woman onto his face, pussy-first.  His nose is swollen in a splint, he’s in a neck brace, and both eyes are so bruised that they can barely open beyond slits.

But his smile…

God, when he sees you, it’s just like Jake said:  his poor, mangled face lights up, and his smile is so wide it looks like it might hurt.  It hits you again, as it often does, how different he is from your usual type of man.  That he loves to see you, is happy when he sees you, even injured.  That he doesn’t need you around to fix his life, but he wants you around to just…be with you.  Bob is no one that needs fixing; he just wants you there with him.

Phoenix and Rooster have the good sense to leave, ushering Hangman along with them.  Bob, when he sees the tears coursing down your face, frowns and holds a hand out to you.

“I’m okay.  I’m okay.  It’s fine,” he repeats.  You make your way over to him and take his hand, and maybe it is okay.  He holds you tight, his big, warm palm enfolding yours—

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

You shake your head.  You’re not okay at all.  You don’t know if Jake was lying, but you can’t lie to Bob anymore just as you can’t lie to yourself.

“I broke one of the rules,” you admit.  You watch him, wary.  You have the sense of how he might react, but you can’t know for sure.  You just have to push through and say it.  Put it out there.

“I broke a rule too,” he replies.  He squeezes your hand.

“Yeah?”  It comes out shaky, unsure.

“Yeah.”

“Which rule?”

He lifts your hand to his mouth and brushes a gentle kiss to the back of it.  He’s so damned soft, and you blink against the fresh tears that threaten to spill over your face.

“It’s your own fault,” he grumbles, but he smiles when he says it.  “If you didn’t want me falling for you, you shouldn’t have been so easy to fall for.”

You laugh, a nervous sound that nudges up against the wall of tears you’re struggling to hold back.  “Even though I almost killed you?”

“I mean, you didn’t almost kill me, but you definitely owe me for all this.”  He gestures with his free hand at his face. 

“You could make a claim against my insurance, I guess—”

“Just a date,” he interrupts.  “I just want one date with you.”

“That’s it?”  The sick feeling in your stomach starts to recede, and it’s replaced by the fluttery feeling of promise, of something new and wonderful starting. 

“Just once chance to show you how good it could be.”  His expression is dead serious, and he squeezes your hand again.  “Me and you.  For real this time.”

“I, uh…”  You clear your throat and glance at his bright blue gaze, then look away.  You fix your eyes on where your hands are joined together.  Your hand fits perfectly in his.

“I’ve only ever dated assholes,” you admit.  Another glance at him to see how he takes in your words.  “Guys who don’t have their shit together.  It’s why I wanted the whole…arrangement with you.  I’ve never been with a man who didn’t need, like, intensive therapy.  Or the occasional law enforcement intervention.”

“First time for everything,” Bob replies mildly.

“What if…what if I don’t know how to be in a relationship unless…unless…”  You trail off, not sure how to say it without it sounding completely terrible…but then, the reality of your dating life has been completely terrible anyway.

“You afraid you don’t know how to be in a relationship unless you’re miserable?” he asks gently. 

“Maybe?”

“Hmm.”  He releases your hand but pats the space on his bed beside him.  “I don’t know if I’d be comfortable making you miserable, honey.”

You perch awkwardly on the sliver of bed available to you, but Bob reaches up and gets a hand on your shoulder, tugs you gently down towards him.  It’s careful maneuvering—a stark difference to what got you here—but you eventually get comfortable beside him, your cheek against his shoulder, your temple against the hard molded plastic of his brace.  His hand finds yours again, and he threads his fingers through yours.

“What if we started with that one date you owe me?” he offers.  “And then maybe a second date.  I’ll treat you the way you deserve to be treated, and you see how it feels to not be miserable.”

One date, maybe a second.

“I think I can handle that,” you reply.

“Then a third date, then another.”

You smile.  “Okay.”

“Maybe around, say, the fifth date, you can spend the night.  Let me make you pancakes in the morning.  Fresh-squeezed orange juice.”

“Okay.”

“Then after maybe a month, you could keep some stuff at my place.  Shampoo, extra clothes.  So you’re comfortable.”

“I could take you to my favorite taco place,” you offer.  “Over in Imperial County.”

“I’d like that.”  He shifts a little in the bed, then adds, “maybe around the six-month mark, you could meet my family.”

“Would they make me miserable?” you tease.

“Oh, they’d make your life a living hell,” he teases back.  “My dad would give you this whole disgusting speech about how he always wanted another daughter, my mom would drop hints about my grandma’s engagement ring being set aside for me—”

“They sound horrible,” you laugh. 

“The worst.”  He chuckles, and a long moment of silence stretches between you, but it’s comfortable.  His warm hand in yours, the quiet beeping of the machines monitoring him, the steady sound of his breathing…the slightly whistling quality of your own breathing through your swollen nose. 

“You know, I’ve never taken a girl home to meet my family before,” he says, and his voice is serious.  “Never even considered it before.”

You lift your head a bit to look at him, and you see the thoughtful quality of his expression.  You settle back against him.

“And you’re considering it with the girl who broke your neck, broke your nose, and shamed you in front of the United States Navy?”

He chuckles again.  “You didn’t break my neck and I’m not in trouble with the Navy,” he says.  “And yes, I’ve considered it.  First time for everything.”

He doesn’t add anything else, and the drama of the evening starts to hit you.  You feel your eyes getting heavy, start to doze off in the hospital bed with him.  His verb tense choice, though—he has considered it, past tense, not is considering it, present tense—makes you wonder how long Bob might have been breaking that rule…

Bob doesn’t say anything else, but he thinks it:  he never took a girl home to his family because he vowed to only ever do it once—with the girl he plans to marry. 

[mikanotes]

heavenly way to,

hyunju x gn!reader

genre: angst comfort, established relationship. » warnings: death, blood, mentions of injuries, murder, firearms, canon divergence. » note: yes i’m back to writing for the series that basically started this blog. hello! i love her.

synopsis: Is sacrifice for your lover a gift to be grateful for, or a burden worth being cursed for? The thought grows heavy on your mind the longer you spend in the games.

“Why?”

Hyunju’s voice has never sounded so broken. She’s too astounded to even think of not letting her guard down, simply weak and vulnerable as she stares up at you. The shake in that one word, the sickening concern in her eyes— It almost makes you regret what just happened.

Almost.

“Because I care about you more than—”

“Nevermind…” she scoffs, eyes widening. She presses her lips together but it doesn’t stop the tremble of a sob waiting to escape her throat. Her gaze averts to a wall in the dormitory, silently putting a stop to whatever you were going to say.

You decide to give her space.

The bathrooms are empty, leaving you silence and space for thinking. You look at your reflection in the mirror, the blood on your face and neck. You did not kill anyone. You assured your safety. You did not kill someone. They were a problem. The thought repeats steadily in your mind as you turn on the faucet, letting water flow into your palms.

It’s as if you can see the overflowing blood on your hands, still. That player you fought to throw out of that room, the sight of the bullet shooting through their head once the door finally locked, the weight of their grip of the other the side of the handle loosening until a thud confirmed the end of a life. But they were in the spot she needed. You could not risk it. What if she had died? It was only right.

The blood washes off. The thought remains. You aren’t sure how long you spend staring at the mirror, barely even really looking at your reflection. You just know you’re asked to return to the dormitory, and that you go to bed, then the lights turn off.

You think Hyunju hates you.

You thought she would come to hate you here over trying to protect her, maybe. Now you realize, now that the blood is there, that she could simply hate you for taking away someone’s life— Even if indirectly. It makes sense to hate a now-murderer.

Yes.

Then, if she hates you, you’ll be able to sacrifice yourself for her sake if need be without wondering how well she’ll take the loss—

“Don’t just disappear.” A familiar soft voice speaks behind you. Hyunju’s arms circle around your waist and her head presses gently into your nape. She’s so warm. You almost forget your train of thoughts.

Once it comes back to you, your expression pulls into confusion. “Sorry,” you whisper, “I didn’t think you would mind.”

“Were you trying to give me space?”

“Yeah.”

She sighs, but hugs you tighter. “Because I was angry? Angry that you got yourself in so much unnecessary danger for my sake? Try making some sense.”

Your body relaxes into her hold before you even realize it, and soon, you’re turning over to look at her. She just seems a bit sad. Your hand slowly moves to her face and cradles her cheek, caressing the skin with care. “I pushed someone straight to their death and you’re telling me you were mad because I was in danger?”

She doesn’t respond, simply pursing her lips. A silent yeah. Exactly that.

“In danger? Me?”

“One second off and they could’ve switched you out of the room. And then I would have been alone with someone who practically killed you. And that would have been it. No more you at all,” she explains, and her voice begins shaking, “No more— I wouldn’t see your face anymore, wouldn’t have you with me, wouldn’t have the knowledge you’re there for me when life fucks me over— Think about it, come on.”

She’s trying so hard not to cry and stay quiet you wonder how much it must hurt. So you were wrong. It isn’t at all that person’s death that made her look at you this way. It’s somehow even worse.

You turn fully to return her embrace, hugging her firmly and kissing her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t risk dying for me.”

“I’m sorry.”

She hides her face in your neck. “I love you.”

She says it with every single fiber of her being. After all, her touch, her tears, her words before this— They’re all marks of love. You feel her hand brushing over your arm, an injury you earned yourself during that game. She traces it gently and you think you could never promise her not to die for her.

“I love you too.”

[azzifuddfanpage]

waves crashing

————

title creds @ldapper

Amazing prompt by 🥖anon here! 6.6k words

tw: smut

themes: dating/ angst/ fluff/ smut

————

Day before graduation

———

p💗: hiiii Azzi 

Az💗: hi baby

P💗: watcha doin? 

        Wishin I was wit u rn fr 

        I know it’s only been a few days but feels like forever 

Az 💗: I know baby I miss u so much too 

          How did we ever do long distance??

P💗: I’m never letting u go home by urself again 

Az💗: I know P I’m sorry 😞 

          I’ll see u Tom for graduation tho! 

P💗: ayyyy and then cruise

        Can’t wait to have my girl alone ifykwim 

Az💗: fuck I was gonna tell you something but I forgot now cuz miss u so bad istg im already wet

P💗: not surprised 🤷‍♀️ 

        (I need you so bad) 

A💗: check snap then 😉

P💗: AZZI ICE IS NEXT TO ME

       Had to save it so I could look at it privately 

Az💗: oh ya? What r u going to be doing when u look at it “privately” 😼

P💗: finna touch myself too it that’s for sure

        Need to see u in that new set in person

       Bring it to the cruise baby…

Az💗: woah what r u gonna do if I don’t 😩

P💗: oh you don’t wanna do that trust 

        be a good girl and listen 

Az💗: alright mommy 

P💗: BEUH

Az💗 I’m sorry u were asking for it with the “good girl” 

P💗: don’t act like u didn’t like it

Az💗: 🤭

P💗: I miss u so bad 

        Wish I was in u were in my bed rn 

Az💗: same

P💗: btw ur mom sent me photos of u today 

        Why she my literal plug 😭 

Az 💗: BRO GET OUT 

           Did she violate me 

P💗: that is actually impossible I fear 

        Ur too cute 

Az💗: ur cute 

P 💗: gonna be a lot cuter when ur in that tight bikini on the cruise 

Az💗: I don’t know how tight it will be if my literary family will be present 😭 

P💗: fine guess I’ll just have to take advantage of my time in the room 

Az💗: PAIGE!

P💗: ptpom? And cuddle? 

Az💗: I’m just gonna ignore that first one 

         (If ur good) 

P💗: alright now who’s the good girl 

Az💗: I guess we will have to wait and see 

         Omg I didn’t realize how late u kept me up

         I’m going to bed 

P💗: alright big head I’m so proud of u for graduating in 3 

       My academic weapon 💗

       Good night baby I love you 

Az💗: same baby

         Can’t believe u managed to actually graduate on time when ur illiterate 

        I love you too P 

        good night 

P💗: lowkey love you a little less after that

Az💗: 😐

P💗: kidding 💗💗💗💗

———

“Azzi you coming?” Aliyah’s voice echoed through the dorm. 

“Ya one second, I just feel like I’m forgetting something.” Azzi replied, scanning the room before adjusting her little black dress and fluffing her hair in the mirror.

It was only a few hours after graduation, and Azzi was going out to a grad party with Aliyah and some of the other girls in her communications class. 

Azzi had just gotten into the car when all of a sudden her phone chimed.

——

While Azzi was getting ready for the party, Paige had completely set up her dorm room in candles and Azzi’s favorite flowers to celebrate their graduation and especially Azzi graduating in 3. 

Paige was amazed by her girlfriend every day, but this was just a whole new level of adoration. 

Paige had finally finished setting up, after going right home after graduation. 

She had just assumed her and Azzi would have hung out afterward, she didn’t really feel the need to confirm. 

But when Azzi didn’t show up after 30 minutes of waiting, she started to get a little confused. 

She knew that Aliyah was going to a party with some of the other graduates, but parties had never really been Azzi’s thing, and Paige had assumed that Azzi would have told her if she was going. 

——

Back in the car, Azzi checks her phone. 

         —2 missed calls from p 💗 and 2 texts—

P💗: wya 😼

        U on ur way?

Az💗: I didn’t realize we had plans?

         I was going with Aliyah to that grad party 

P💗: wow alr 

Az💗: p? 

         I’m sorry? Like I didn’t realize u wanted to do something

P💗: it’s fine whatever 

       I just don’t get why u were all talking about how much u missed me last night and are surprised when I’m upset u didn’t come over.

       Like I thot it was mutual but ig not 

Az💗: ofc I want to see u, I can come over later!

         I’m sorry baby I thought I told you that I was going to the party, I knew I was forgetting something yesterday fuck.

P💗: it’s whatever don’t come over come over idrc 

       Have fun

Az💗: p come on wtf? It’s not that big of a deal, I just forgot to tell u 

         I still wanna see u 

         I miss u 

P💗: clearly not enough 

       Bye Azzi 

       I’ll talk to u later 

Az: paige come on don’t do this

      It was a mistake 

     Why do u have to stress me out like this I wanna see u 

    Seriously this is stupid 

                         —— read by P💗 ——

Az💗: really paige?

         I get that I made a mistake but it’s not like we had actual plans like come on

P💗: fuck az I said idc

Az 💗: why r u being like this 

          Like why r u tryna make me feel guilty 

          I said I’m sorry 

P💗: im not even doing nothing 😂😂?? 

        Just have fun

Az💗: paige u KNOW damn well ur making me upset 

         Like how am I gonna have fucking fun with u mad at me 

P💗: I don’t wanna fight with u

        I alr said I don’t care 

        Stop being dramatic and let it go

Az 💗: p ur being mean and unfair right now

P💗: I’m going to bed, take it how ever u want but stop texting me so I can sleep.

Az💗: alright paige I’m sorry 

         I never meant to hurt u

         I can’t come over later? I love you.

P💗: nah I’m all set Azzi. 

                      —— read by Azzi——

Azzi felt her heart sink as she shut off her phone. How was she supposed to celebrate when all she could think of was paige. 

————

When Azzi woke up, she felt hollow.

She turned to her side feeling the emptiness of the bed where the blonde lump usually laid. 

The bed felt cold without her in it.

Azzi’s head was pounding as she reached for her phone, rereading the entire conversation searching for where it went wrong.

She read it three times before sitting up and setting it on her side table.

She had really thought Paige would have texted her before she woke up. Apologizing for overreacting but she was really mad clearly.

At first Azzi felt horrible. 

The guilt was strong in her mind. She threw on a pair of Paige’s sweat pants and one of her team USA t-shirts and decided to go for a run to clear her mind.

As the morning stretched to afternoon, Azzi felt her guilt turn to anger.

She was pissed at Paige for not only ruining her graduation night, but for not even caring enough to text her the next day. And she had the audacity to get mad at her for “not caring.” 

By 3:00 Azzi was getting stressed. She had showered, even finished one of the books she was reading, but the suitcases by her door lay waiting for her in question.

Azzi and Paige had to leave for their cruise by 4:30 to get there by 8 yet still no text. 

Were they even going at this point?

By 4, Azzi was just about to text Paige when she heard her phone buzz.

———

P💗: I’m leaving in 15 to pick u up 

                     —— read by Az💗 ——

P💗: baby? 

        Is that ok?

Az💗: yup see u then 👍 

P💗: bruh 

Az💗: don’t call me bruh paige 

P💗: why r u dragging this out?

Az💗: u can’t be serious rn?

         U haven’t texted me all day.

         I have been sitting by my phone since literally ur last text waiting to see if u would text me yet nothing

        Like I made one fucking mistake and ur telling me im fucking dragging this out??

P💗: ur forgot we basically made plans i'm sorry i was upset 

Az💗: i get that u were upset, but I apologized and wanted to come over

         I didn’t even end up going to the stupid party and we both spent it alone cuz you were mad. 

          Like if u weren’t so damn stubborn this could have been prevented.

         U were a different person I didn’t even recognize u 

P💗: baby u know I love you come on 

       Stop with that

Az💗: ya I know P but u can’t just shut me out over something like that it’s not fair.

P💗: okay let’s just talk about it in the car bro

       I’m leaving now 

Az💗: istg paige if u call me bro one more time I will make u change rooms 

P💗: nah no way u change rooms 

Az💗: hah if u still think we are fucking ur gonna be really disappointed

P💗: ya we will see 😂

Az💗: I’m literally not even gonna sleep in the same bed as u at this point

         Like have fun by urself, hopefully they have a couch or u will be on the floor.

P💗: whatever u say baby

———

Azzi watched as paige’s car pulled into the driveway.

——

P💗: here

Az💗: I’m coming asshole 

P💗: damn really not giving up on this are u?

                   —— read by Az💗 ——

Azzi wobbled out to the car with her suitcase.

Paige watched, getting out of her car, opening the door for Azzi and taking her bag.

Azzi rolled her eyes at her but obliged, letting Paige put her bag in the trunk.

Paige felt a smirk curl onto her lips. She knew Azzi was upset but she couldn’t help herself but think about how good their makeup sex would be now that there was all this tension-not that Paige wanted any of this to happen, she hated when Azzi was upset.

When Paige finally joined Azzi in the car after cramming all the stuff in the car, she handed Azzi her unicorn neck pillow. 

“Thanks” Azzi said shortly, tugging it around her neck and leaning to look out the window away from paige.

“Do you have the stuff for your knee?” Paige asked, going through a list she made on her phone of things Azzi can’t forget.

“What about your compression sleeve?” She continued.

“I have everything Paige we can just go.” Azzi sighed, shutting her eyes and rubbing her temples as if to say Paige was giving her a headache. 

Paige smirked at the sight of her girlfriend, and her eyes made their way down to her bare thighs. She watches as Azzi lets her legs stretch out, her quads contracting and relaxing as she did. 

Azzi could feel Paige's eyes on her. 

“I'm not gonna talk to you Paige.” Azzi said even though her heart fluttered knowing Paige was looking at her. 

“Fine by me.” Paige said pressing play on her music letting “Love Language” by Sza fill the silence of the car. 

The two sat there not talking while Paige drove for the first hour. Azzi kept her eyes glued to the window, avoiding eye contact, as if the passing shapes were the interesting things in the world. Azzi refused to be the first to give in. 

An hour later, Azzi lets herself glance over to Paige who was focused on the road. 

Azzi felt herself relax at the sight of her girlfriends familiar features, the sharp angle of her jaw, the softness of her blonde hair, the way her eyes glistened under the light of the setting sun. Azzi could smell the tension on her, but she looked away before her glance could be considered staring. 

Immediately after looking back towards her spot on the window, she regretted taking that glance as the ache between her legs, that had been unfulfilled since the few days her girlfriend had been absent, grew.

Ironically, Paige too was feeling the heat of the moment. Every glance she would steal at Azzi was filled with pure desire and need. All the anger from last night had converted into something more charged, and when Paige got worked up well… 

After another 30 minutes of the car ride, Paige glanced over at Azzi who had fallen asleep, her mouth slightly open and her head tilted back. 

Paige’s heart melted seeing her girlfriend in such an innocent vulnerable moment. Paige loved waking up to Azzi’s sleeping face, and not seeing her the past few days made this moment all that much more meaningful. Paige moves her hand over to brush one of Azzi's curls out of her face, letting the pureness of her beauty sink in. 

With only an hour left in the car ride, Azzi wakes up a little disoriented, forgetting where she was. She looks around and her eyes immediately find Paige, bringing her complete comfort. She feels a pang of guilt at the idea that her girlfriend is probably tired too after driving the full way, but the guilt turns back to annoyance when she realizes she still hasn’t gotten an apology yet. 

Not wanting to give in just yet, Azzi decides to send Paige a quick text. 

Az💗: hi

Paige saw Azzi’s name pop up on her CarPlay, she glanced over to Azzi who was still looking out the window ignoring her. 

When they pull up to the red light, Paige checks her phone. 

P💗: hi

Az💗: i don’t forgive u 

          That’s why i'm texting you, so u can’t bring this up out loud but 

          I miss u 

P💗: I miss u too baby

Az💗: really? I thot u were mad still 

P💗: how could I possibly stay mad at such a pretty face

————

Azzi felt a blush reach her face at paige’s message

————

Az💗: well I’m not done being mad at u yet

          But I’m pausing so I can text u

P💗: it’s okay baby u are holding up very well

       U look very pretty right now too btw

Az💗: you look pretty too. 

          Like that shirt on u

P💗: what’s new 🤷‍♀️ 

         Also I got u a grad gift

         It’s a surprise tho

Az💗: stop im supposed to me mad at u rn 

P💗: hah and yet ur wet instead

Az💗: enough

P💗: So do you forgive me?

Az💗: no

———

The light changed back to green and Azzi put her phone back in the side door. 

Paige began cooking up a way to get Azzi to forgive her. 

Without removing her eyes from the road, Paige reached next to her side and let her hand drape across the top of Azzi's lower thigh. 

She smirked, feeling Azzi's weight shift underneath her, as she ran her fingers dangerously against the soft skin of her thigh. 

Azzi felt herself grow needy, the warmth of Paige's fingers spreading to her insides. 

Azzi could feel Paige's hand creep higher up her thigh, slowly inching closer to where she needed her most. Paige massaged her skin with her thumb in tight small circles on her inner thigh. 

Azzi accidentally let a soft moan slip out as her hand inched closer to her heat. 

Realizing she had allowed herself to enjoy this a little too much, she pushed Paige's hand away, stopping it as her hand hovered over the throbbing pressure between her legs. 

“Paige.” Azzi warned, as Paige threw her head back against the seat in frustration. 

Paige flicked her eyes away from the road to look at her girlfriend. 

“Az” paige said, letting her face soften upon looking at the way Azzi’s curious eyes wandered and searched her face for an answer. 

“Look.” Paige started. “I am sorry Azzi, i shouldn't have treated you like that yesterday, i wasn't fair.” Paige confessed at a mumble, part of herself not liking the idea of admitting she was wrong. 

Azzi sighed, “It's okay baby, I just hate it when you're upset with me.” Azzi softly stated, reaching her hand out and squeezing the blondes gently. 

“You didn't do anything wrong Azzi, I just wanted to see you after graduation , and I guess I got a little too wrapped up in the idea that you were coming over and I took it out on you when I found out you had other plans.” Paige admitted. “Also I might have been a little embarrassed cuz I may or may not have lit a couple of candles for you.” Paige sighed, her face blushing. 

Azzi, turned her body so she was facing her more directly, “Aw baby youre so cute. But just to be clear i didn't even go to the party, i went home cuz i was so stressed out about you.” Paige felt the guilt rush over her as Azzi admitted that to her. 

Paige’s head hung, “I'm sorry you had to leave, I am, honestly, but I just don't get why you didn't want to celebrate with me.” 

“Paige, are you serious right now? I literally wanted to come over, and if you had asked you could have come, and i would have said yes in an instant. If you had just sent me a message, instead of trying to guilt trip me, and make me feel bad, I would have been to your house in seconds." Azzi said, reaching up and brushing a strand of blonde hair away from Paige's face, framing her eyes. 

“I know azzi, i was acting crazy, i knew you would have come to be with me, i guess it was just the fact that i wasn't the first person you wanted to be with, i dont know it's stupid.” Paige tried to brush off the embarrassment as she said that, her eyes staying focused on the road. Azzi feels her heart melt at the sight of her blonde girlfriend being so vulnerable and open in front of her. 

“I am so sorry baby, I just thought it would make sense for me to hang out with the girls from my class since this is probably the last time i'm gonna see them, you know? Like I assumed I would be seeing you later that night. I just feel like you took it a little too far like it was a little toxic idk." Azzi said, watching Paige's face react to it. 

Paige felt a little taken aback by Azzi’s comment. 

“Az, you know i love you, and you don't even know how sorry i am, i'll never do it again i promise.” Paige said, turning a little to look at her. 

Paige moved her hand to caress Azzi’s curls, her finger brushing against Azzi's neck, sending shivers down her spine that was enough to make her want to unbuckle, climb onto Paige's lap, and take her right there. But somehow she managed to maintain herself, and simply said, “better not.” 

They spent what was left of the car ride with their hands all over each other. Azzi remained a bit more to herself, but when paige placed her hand on her lap, she moved her hand and let them linger over paige’s, tracing her initials onto her palm. 

When they pulled up to the dock, Paige shifted in her seat to turn to the younger girl, her hand still on Azzi's thigh. 

“Your family is gonna be here soon?” She asked moving her hand up to sweep the curls back behind Azzi's ear. 

Azzi blushes as she pulls out her home to check. 

“Ya, they said to just go on without them and they would meet us for dinner, they are running a little late apparently Jon forgot his suitcase.” Paige giggled at the reminder of her family dynamic, the one she had always felt so welcomed to. 

“Alright pretty, you stay here, k?” Azzi nodded in response, watching as Paige left and went to the trunk to grab their bags, and lug them over to the boat's entrance. She went back and opened Azzi’s door, but as she walked, Azzi couldn't help herself but gawk at the way Paige's sweatpants and how low they hung on her hips, the veins in her hands, and the way her long nimble finger wrapped around the bag she was holding. 

Azzi gulped when Paige opened the door.. Fuck she was horny. 

Paige’s hand rested on the small of her back as she led her towards the entrance of the cruise ship, azzi paused, turning to look Paige in the eyes.

“Thank you for bringing our bags in and driving, I appreciate it. But.” Azzi looks away as the last word comes out, Paige eyes her cautiously, “but what azzi?”

“I am still a little annoyed with you though, just warning you.” azzi said, which surprised her as Paige's tense body relaxed. 

Paige turns her and lets her hand pull azzi in closer to her side as they stand in the line to board. Her hand slides down and wraps around the front of her, resting just below Azzi's belly button piercing, the other one moving down to squeeze her ass. 

Azzi blushed, swatting at her hand, but her actions juxtaposed it, leaning back into page letting her warmth absorb her. 

“I feel like you won't be saying that later.” Azzi feels her breath hitch as Paige's voice is sharp in her ear. 

“Yeah?” Azzi gulps, her hand reaching back and coming in contact with the exposed skin between Paige's pants and her crop top. 

“How long do you really think you will hold out Azzi?” Paige questioned dominantly. 

Azzi chose to leave the question unanswered as she created some distance between them when walking in. 

When they reached the check in desk, Azzi could feel Paige's hands wander over her body. Azzi, who obviously was much more organized than Paige, checked in, providing the receptionist with the details of their trip, and the other people in their party that would be arriving later. Azzi tried to keep herself focused, but Paige was making it pretty difficult, her fingers tracing over her back, her eyes burning into the side of her head as she conversed with the lady who was checking them in. 

When the lady turned around to get them their room keys, Azzi turned to look at Paige, who was already staring at her puffy lips, licking her own and smirking at her. Azzi’s heart rate sped up, and she knew she would have to get her back for pulling this little stunt on her. 

Azzi leads them to their room, and Azzi forces Paige to carry both of their bags so she would keep her hands away from Azzi’s body. As the two of them open the door to the room Azzi begins to take herself at home, unpacking her clothes, while Paige on the other hand starts walking around the room, looking in the shower, at the beds, and even on the balcony. 

Azzi gives her a look as if to say “What are you doing.” and paige knowingly responds “sorry im just looking to see all the places i could fuck you in.” Paige smirked, walking up behind Azzi and trailing her fingers along Azzi’s arm. Azzi rolled her eyes and Paige whispered in her ear,

“Common Azzi, i said i was sorry, didn't  know it would be a crime for me to wanna celebrate graduating with my girlfriend.”  Azzi is silent, taking it in as Paige's hands trail down her arms and clutch her hands swinging them slightly. 

“Just wanna have a nice time on this cruise with my girl.” She continues smiling at their reflection in the mirror in front of them and licking her lips as she moves her head to lean on Azzi’s shoulder. 

Azzi studies her face and neck, she can tell she wants her bad, and Paige is not even trying to hide it. 

Azzi on the other hand, although better at hiding it, needed her just as badly. 

Paige tilted her head so her lips brushed against Azzi's neck, traveling upward and pressing an open mouth kiss on her dimple. Azzi’s hand found its way to Paige's shoulder, as her heart fluttered. 

Paige knew she had her in a choke hold and kept going, “didn't mean to treat you like that baby, i just wanna be near you all the time, i can't help it.”she whispered against her ear, letting her lips brush against it. 

Azzi walks back a few steps towards the bed, before she goes to sit down. Paige follows her like a lost puppy, seductively pulling Azzi’s legs apart so she can stand between them. 

Azzi looks up at her with wide eyes full of desire as she puts her own arms on either side of her hips on the bed. Azzi leaned her head back making eye contact with Paige, staring at her with needy hooded eyes. As azzi leans back, her jaw clenches, showing off the sharpness of her jawline. Immediately,the wetness between Paige's legs becomes overwhelming, and Paige is unbelievably aware of the switch azzi has just made. 

“Ima make it up to you baby, do you want that? Want me to make you feel good?”Azzi doesn't respond, but Azzi keeps her eyes on Paige. Looking up at her with her head tilted as if to say, “yeah?” biting her lip and looking down at herself all spread out for paige. 

“I'm gonna get you so right baby? Paige says as she leans down tracing her finger along Azzi’s thick muscular thighs. She licks her lips, smirking down at her girlfriend. “Just forgive me baby.” she whispers, watching as Azzi adjusts herself so she is propped up on her elbows with her body more accessible. She moves one of her hands to slightly fist at the hem of her shirt with an overtly innocent look plastered on her face. She felt like Paige had had enough of her teasing. 

“I don't know paigey, you made me really upset you know.” she said, dragging out the last letter so her tongue would trace her lips slowly, still looking up pouty. 

Paige moved her hand to the soft skin of Azzi's neck, stroking it gently. She brings her other free hand to tilt Azzi's jaw up, her thumb on her puffy bottom lip.

Paige leans forward, “I'm so sorry princess, I love you baby lemme do you right please.” she whispers into her ear, flicking her eyes to watch azzi-who thought she couldn't be seen- as she bites her lip letting her eyes roll back into her head. 

Paige raises back to her full height, peering over azzi with a knowing smirk as she pouts up at her, both of them fighting intense aches in their cores. 

“You want me so bad? My sweet girl, so innocent huh? Paige says tugging at azzi’s plump bottom lip. 

Azzi nods innocently, smiling.“Keep going.” she whispers. 

Paige knows exactly how to rile her up. 

“Such a beautiful girl, mmm drives me crazy,” Paige groans as Azzi takes off her hoodie, her eyes focused on Paige's, going back to her position to let Paige continue. 

“Mhm, that's it baby, such a good girl for me huh?” she says as Azzi stands up to slide off her pants, taking her time turning around so Paige can take it all in. 

By the time she is sitting back at the edge of the bed, Paige's mouth feels dry, and her pussy feels wet. 

“My smart girl. graduated in 3 years didn't you?”Azzi nods and puts up her foot to make Paige slide her socks off for her. 

“Whatever you want princess.” She smirks as she leans forward and delicately pills them off. 

Paige can feel the sweat slide down her back as the tension builds between them. 

“So fucking perfect, just wanna fuck you all the time.” Azzi's expression contorts into a teasing “really?”. And Paige doubles down “can't even control myself.” she says as her hands hover over the brunette's body. 

Paige lifts her leg to peel off her other sock, highlighting the swell of her ass. 

“Mmm that fat ass too.” Paige groans as she feels herself get wet. Her head is spinning, and Azzi, who is now only in a t-shirt and panties can tell. 

Azzi lifts one arm and slides it behind Paige's neck to pull her in towards her lips, letting them brush against her ear, “ok baby, i forgive you.” 

A smirk spreads onto Paige's face as azzi continues, “Wanna take this off me baby?” she asks with need dripping from her core. 

“Fuck az.” Paige groans, licking her lips eagerly as she leans forward to gently pull the shirt over her girlfriends head. 

Azzi leans back slightly now that she is fully exposed, her lingerie in full view, she separates her legs smirking. 

Paige’s jaw drops in disbelief as her parted thighs revealing a new pair of lingerie. 

“What happened to me sleeping on the couch huh?” Paige questioned as she studied the brand new red set that displayed Azzi's perky breasts, her toned stomach, and her piercing that shimmered under the light. 

Considering that they had just had an argument, and only had just made up everything clicked when she saw Azzi's state all laid out for her. 

Paige tips her head backward to stare at the ceiling shaking her head while rubbing her jaw and letting out a groan that makes azzi giggle. 

Azzi, still staring up at her girlfriend, waiting for her to make a move, holds both of her hands now as they make eye contact, 

“Wow so you just been tryna rile me up all day huh? You're such a freak Azzi Fudd.” Paige tuts with a smirk. 

“Paigeee” azzi whines, “what are you talking about sweetie?” she replies innocently, tugging at her shirt, pouting. 

“You dont wanna touch me baby?” she asks and Paige can barely believe it's a real thought in her head. 

Paige leans her head down to Azzi's ear, her hand resting lightly on the back of Paige's head whispering, “enough baby, you know imma touch you.” Paige says, her lips attaching to the soft spot under her ear. “But you gotta promise you're gonna be a good girl for me though ok? Can you do that Azzi?” 

“What if I don't wanna.” Azzi admits watching as Paige shakes her head in disbelief. 

“I think you're gonna wanna be good. Cuz you know im gonna fuck you so good.” paige says, watching as Azzi’s eyes scan down her body. 

Azzi’s hands travel up under her shirt, rubbing up and down on her bare stomach. 

She lets out a breathy moan, “Paigey?” she starts. 

Paige looks down at her, shuddering under her touch. 

Azzi continues to caress her lower stomach and whispers, “I promise I'll be a really good girl for you Paige,” batting her eyelashes innocently. 

“Yeah? didn't take much convincing huh? Need me that bad princess? Want me to fuck you good?” 

Azzi nods, standing up and wrapping arms around Paige's neck, hand gripping the back of her head pulling her into a kiss. Their lips connect with an absolute fire, the tension from the past day spilling out between their lips. Azzi licks at Paige's bottom lip, and Paige sucks in her tongue as her hands travel down to rub her ass. 

“Missed you bad.” azzi says when they finally pulled away, lips puffy and swollen, eyes hooded with desire. 

The blonde smiles and connects their lips again, the passion overflowing as Paige bites and pulls on her bottom lip. 

Paige’s lips travel down, leaving small open mouthed kisses from her jawline, and traveling down to her neck. 

She licks a long stripe down Azzi's stomach, outlining her abs before stopping at the band of her panties. 

Paige hooks her finger into them, letting them fall to the floor. 

Azzi looks down to watch the way Paige looks at pussy like she has been starved for years. Paige gets on her knees, so she is the one staring upwards a t her beautiful girlfriend in front of her. 

She separates Azzi’s legs gently and reaches her finger up to spread apart her tan folds, exposing the soft pink of her clit. 

“Prettiest pussy in the world”, she shakes her head, continuing, “she belongs to me.” Paige says to her pussy as Azzi smirks, “all yours. Now pls touch me, I need you so bad." Azzi whines pushing at Paige's head. 

Paige wraps her arms around the back of Azzi's thighs to stabilize herself, as she presses her tongue against Azzi's pussy, running it through her folds and picking up her slick. Azzi moans against the contact, pushing herself farther against her. 

Paige’s hands travel up to cup Azzi's ass, squeezing and listening to Azzi let out a soft moan. Paige’s tongue digs deeper against her, finding her clit and swiping against it. 

Her tongue flicks back and forth, and Paige transitions between the flicks, small tight circles, and sucking at it, releasing it with a pop. 

Azzi moans loudly, her hand tangling in Paige's hair as she pushes her girlfriend closer so her face is suffocated by her cunt. 

Paige goes down like she hasn't eaten in months, licking at her, sucking at her, even running her teeth gently against her. 

“Love the way you taste baby.” Paige says pulling away gently to catch her breath and shove Azzi onto the bed. 

Azzi moans as Paige climbs on top of her and flattens her tongue against her clit, lapping at it gently. She moves her head down, licking from her clit down to her entrance. 

Azzi can feel her pussy clench as Paige runs over her entrance teasingly with her tongue. 

“Please fuck-want you inside of me” Azzi says desperately and paige just smirks against her pussy. 

“What's the magic word,” Paige teases, her finger running through Azzi's slick. Azzi doesn't even have the chance to answer, as she pushes Paige's tongue into her. 

Paige lets it slide, and fucks her with her tongue, letting it plunge in and out of her. Azzi moans loudly as her tongue squelches against her walls, the feeling of the warmth was too much for her, and after only a few minutes of Paige's pounding into her, she is a pile of moans. 

“Fuck im close Paige.” she moans. 

Paige pulls her tongue out of her and flips them over so Azzi is sitting on her stomach. 

Paige wraps her hands around Azzi's ass and scotts her up so her pussy is now hovering over her face. 

“Sit,” Paige says dominantly. And Azzi looks a little self conscious at first, not wanting to completely crush her, but eventually the desire between her legs is too deep, and Paige's strong arms pull her down so she is now riding her tongue. 

Azzi moans loudly at the new angle, feeling Paige's tongue hit against her g spot as she fucked it into her. Azzi was grinding down on her, feeling Paige's nose brush against her clit. 

She moaned,her walls beginning to tighten and her pussy sucked up Paige's tongue as it bobbed in and out of her. 

“Gonna cum Paige.” she moaned her hands coming around on either side of her, her tits dangling in Paige’s face as she continued to fuck her through her orgasim. 

Soon enough Azzi’s white syrup was pouring out of her and paige was drinking up every last drop, fucking her through it. 

Azzi flopped off of her face so she was laying next to her. 

They lay there for a moment catching their breath. 

“You ready?” Azzi asks eagerly, laughing as she notices the cum on her nose, leaning forward and licking it off. 

“For what princess?” she asked, but Azzi was already straddling her and sliding off her pants.

“My turn to show my remorse.” Azzi smirked as Paige let out a breathy moan as the cool air hit her wet cunt. 

“All this from eating me out? You really are whipped.” 

Azzi wiggled herself down, situating herself so she was between her legs, aligning herself with Paige's core. 

She starts to place gentle kisses on Paige's inner thighs, feeling the heat radiating off of her. 

She placed a kiss on her pussy, before spreading it open with her fingers and licking a long strip through her. She lapped at her clit in soft kitten licks, taking in the taste of her arousal. 

Paige moaned, running her fingers over the back of Azzi's neck, tangling them in her hair. 

Azzi ran her finger through her wetness, letting it get completely soaked, before she fucked it into her listening as paige moaned at the contact. 

Azzi continued fucking the one finger into her, her tongue flicking against her clit. 

Paige moaned, desperate for more contact. 

“Please more. Need more princess. You're so good to me.” Paige praised, as she pushed Azzi's mouth against her clit with more force, so she was now sucking on it. 

With Paige’s words, Azzi added two more fingers, fucking them in and out of her at a fast rhythm while Paige shoved her face into her cunt. 

“Fuckkk.” she moaned, throwing her head back as she felt her walls start to suction around Azzi's fingers. 

Azzi pressed down her other hand on Paige's lower stomach, causing her walls to release, and her orgasim to spill over her with a loud moan, her cum spilling out onto Azzi's fingers. 

Azzi fucked her through it, not stopping until Paige was squirming underneath her. 

“Who's the good girl now?” Azzi asked smartly, as she ran her fingers through Paige's sensitive clit. 

Paige, who was still tired from just having Azzi’s fingers pound in and out of her, was not willing to give up that easily, she moved Azzi's fingers away from her clit towards Azzi's mouth. “Still you.” she said as she shoved them into Azzi’s mouth, melting a little as Azzi held eye contact with her and sucked Paige's juices off of them. 

—----

An hour or 2 later, after the girls had finished unpacking, and getting ready for dinner, they met Azzi’s family down by one of the cruise restaurants. 

“You look so beautiful tonight.” Paige said as they walked down the stairs towards the door. 

“You do too, baby.” Azzi smiled, and Paige poked her dimple lovingly. 

Making their way over, they finally spotted Azzi's family in the distance. They all exchanged hugs, and stories before finally making their way into the restaurant. 

“Mrs. Fudd.” Paige said, pulling out Azzi's chair for her. 

“Thank you Mrs. Bueckers.” she mocked as she sat down. 

The night was filled with laughter and stories of Azzi's childhood, the team next year, classes, and just day to day anecdotes. 

Paige couldn’t imagine herself anywhere else than with this family, at this table. 

Paigee loved every part of Azzi, from her family, to her, to the way she would refuse to let either of them bring their phones when they snuck away to one of the islands, or when she would force Paige to watch Frozen with them in the room before they went to sleep the second night. 

Paige knew Azzi was the one for her, from the minute she saw her, and no fight they could ever have would ever change that. 

[gay-dorito-dust]

Just Luke and reader being camp halfblood parental figures.

Percy: why do you call Luke and y/n your parents?

Annabeth; it’s hard not to, epically not when Luke watched over me and made sure my wounds were healed, nurse me back to health when sick like a mother. Whereas y/n would advice me to crush my enemies, destroy their egos with my intellect and ability to think on the spot, but in the same breath beat the shit out of anyone that looked at me wrong.

Annabeth: they both essentially raised me when we were together with Thalia. Who in this situation would be my cool aunt.

Percy: *whispering to himself* note to self, if I am to ever date annabeth, hypothetically, don’t piss off the parental unit known as y/n.

…

Luke: where have you been young man? You’ve had us worried sick.

Percy: who are you meant to be my dad?

You: no I am your dad/parental unit, now answer your mother.

Percy: *crosses arms* it’s none of your business.

You: *also crosses arms* would you like to repeat that again since you’re feeling sassy today?

Percy: …no…I was with Grover and Annabeth.

Luke: we’re only looking out for you, that’s all. *pats his shoulder with a smile* but you do know you’re not allowed to sneak out of your cabins after curfew.

You: which is a rule you broke that thus punishable, so you know what that means ~

Percy: I’m cabin grounded…

You: yes you absolutely are, now get to bed and think about what you’ve done to your poor mother. *cradles Luke in your arms as he tries not to laugh*

…

You: the both of you get on top of your bunks! Get up there!

Connor and travis: *climbing their bunk beds* THIS CABIN IS A FUCKING NIGHTMARE!

Luke: this is what you get for replacing shampoo with hair remover, poor Lucas from the Aphrodite cabin can’t look himself in the mirror anymore.

(I like to imagine that Connor and travis sleep on the top bunks of their beds so they can scheme to one another)

…

New camper: *points to you and luke* mom/dad/ etc and dad?

You and Luke: uhhh…yeah! 👍

…

(Good guy Luke au)

Nico: *sweet boy with the sweetest smile, complete deck of mythomagic cards that he wants to talk about, bright eyed and bushy tailed, just over all needs to be protected*

You: *cradles him to your chest* you sweet little boy! I know your pain and you’ve been nothing but brave this entire time.

Luke: *joining you* absolutely the bravest our sweet child of hades, we’ll keep you safe from now on.

Nico: I don’t know what’s going on but do you want to listen to me talk about my card game? *shows you both his cards with a beaming smile*

You and Luke: *sitting yourselves down In front of nico* oh absolutely we do. Nothing would make us happier.

[bearforcecaptions]

The lights flickered again.

They always did when someone new arrived. That soft, pulsing glow that ran through the walls, like the place itself was exhaling in anticipation. I leaned against the squat rack, waiting. I didn’t know how long I’d been here—days, weeks, years? It didn’t matter anymore. All I knew was that when the lights pulsed like that, someone else was about to walk through those doors, confused and scared, their life about to be rewritten.

This time, the man who stumbled in couldn’t have been more out of place. Middle-aged, thin, with the kind of stooped posture that came from decades of working hunched over desks or shelves. He was wearing a gray cardigan over a button-down shirt, neatly pressed khakis, and polished loafers that echoed slightly on the gym’s smooth floors. He carried a leather satchel in one hand, clutching it like a lifeline, his wide eyes darting across the mirrored walls and rows of gleaming equipment. He looked like he should have been walking into a library or an academic conference, not… here.

“What on earth?” he muttered, his voice low, trembling. He stood frozen for a moment, taking in the scene—the endless rows of dumbbells and machines, the clinking of weights as the other men in the gym worked through their routines, completely oblivious to his arrival. The mirrors reflected his thin, nervous frame a thousand times over, distorting him until he seemed swallowed up by the space.

I pushed off the rack and crossed my arms, watching him. It was always the same—panic first, then denial, and finally, acceptance. But everyone fought it differently.

“Hey,” I said, keeping my tone casual. “You lost?”

He spun around, startled, his satchel swinging slightly. He was older than most of the people who showed up here—maybe mid-forties, with thinning brown hair streaked with gray at the temples. He wore wire-rimmed glasses that made his pale blue eyes seem even more anxious. His face was lined, but not unpleasant, though it had that soft, academic quality that suggested he’d spent more time reading than living.

“I… yes, I think so,” he said, his voice shaky. “I was just leaving work, and I—” He paused, frowning. “This isn’t right. Where am I?”

“You’re in the gym,” I said simply, gesturing around us. “You didn’t mean to end up here, did you?”

“No, I…” He trailed off, looking around again. “I was leaving the library, locking up for the night. I stepped out the back door, and then… I was here.” His fingers tightened around the strap of his satchel. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“It never does,” I said. “But you might as well put that bag down. You’re not going anywhere.”

He frowned, clearly not understanding. “What do you mean, ‘not going anywhere’? There’s always a way out.”

“Not here,” I said, leaning back against the rack again. “Every door leads back to the gym. You can try them all if you want, but it won’t make a difference.”

His mouth opened to argue, but he stopped himself, looking at me like he thought I might be messing with him. I didn’t bother explaining further. It was always easier to let them figure it out for themselves.

He did. For hours, or maybe it was minutes—it was hard to tell. He tried every door, every hallway, every nook and cranny of the gym, even peering behind some of the machines like there might be a hidden escape route. Each time, he ended up right back where he started. I watched him, arms crossed, waiting for the inevitable moment when he’d realize there was nothing else to do.

Eventually, he slumped down on a nearby bench, his satchel abandoned on the floor. His cardigan was hanging off one shoulder now, his button-down damp with sweat from all the pacing. He looked defeated, his glasses slipping down his nose.

“I don’t understand,” he said, mostly to himself. “This is impossible.”

“It’s not about understanding,” I said, walking over. “It’s about accepting. There’s nothing to do here except work out. Sooner or later, you’ll start.”

He gave me a sharp look, like I’d insulted him. “I don’t belong here,” he said, his voice firming slightly. “I’m a librarian. I haven’t set foot in a gym in years.”

I shrugged. “You’re here now. And there’s nothing else to do. So unless you want to sit and stare at the walls forever…”

He didn’t answer, just looked down at his hands, his thin fingers twitching slightly. After a long pause, he stood up, walking over to one of the machines with a hesitant, almost resigned air. He stared at it like it was some alien contraption, his head tilted slightly. Then, cautiously, he sat down and gripped the handles.

The first push was awkward, his arms trembling as he tried to move the weight. He was clearly out of his element, his movements shaky and uncoordinated. But he kept at it, his jaw tightening with determination. He didn’t look at me again, too focused on the machine.

The changes started slowly. At first, it was just his posture—his shoulders squared as he worked through his reps, the slump in his back disappearing. His movements became smoother, more confident, as though his body was remembering something it had never known. His arms, once thin and weak, began to fill out, the first hints of muscle appearing beneath his pale skin.

His cardigan slipped off completely at some point, forgotten on the floor, and his button-down shirt started to cling to his torso, the fabric tightening as his chest began to expand. He frowned, tugging at it absently, but he didn’t stop. His khakis were next, the legs stretching taut against his thighs, which were visibly thickening with each push. By the time he moved on to the free weights, the khakis had morphed into gray Nike sweatpants, snug around his growing legs.

I watched as he grabbed a set of dumbbells, his hands gripping the metal with more confidence than before. His biceps swelled as he curled them, the veins in his forearms becoming more pronounced. His button-down had somehow transformed into a tight maroon T-shirt that clung to his chest and shoulders, the sleeves straining to contain his growing arms. The hem rode up slightly, revealing a set of abs that hadn’t been there an hour ago.

He paused mid-rep, frowning as he caught his reflection in the mirror. “Is it just me, or do I look… different?” he asked, glancing at me.

I smirked. “You’re changing. Everyone does.”

“What?” His voice wavered slightly, but he didn’t sound as panicked as I’d expected. He turned back to the mirror, his eyes narrowing as he examined himself. “I mean, I do look better, don’t I?”

“Sure,” I said. “But that’s not all that’s happening.”

He didn’t seem to hear me. He flexed his arm experimentally, a grin spreading across his face as he admired the way his bicep bulged. “I haven’t looked like this since college,” he said, his tone lighter, almost excited. “No, I’ve never looked like this.”

The lights flickered again.

They always did when someone new arrived. That soft, pulsing glow that ran through the walls, like the place itself was exhaling in anticipation. I leaned against the squat rack, waiting. I didn’t know how long I’d been here—days, weeks, years? It didn’t matter anymore. All I knew was that when the lights pulsed like that, someone else was about to walk through those doors, confused and scared, their life about to be rewritten.

This time, the man who stumbled in couldn’t have been more out of place. Middle-aged, thin, with the kind of stooped posture that came from decades of working hunched over desks or shelves. He was wearing a gray cardigan over a button-down shirt, neatly pressed khakis, and polished loafers that echoed slightly on the gym’s smooth floors. He carried a leather satchel in one hand, clutching it like a lifeline, his wide eyes darting across the mirrored walls and rows of gleaming equipment. He looked like he should have been walking into a library or an academic conference, not… here.

“What on earth?” he muttered, his voice low, trembling. He stood frozen for a moment, taking in the scene—the endless rows of dumbbells and machines, the clinking of weights as the other men in the gym worked through their routines, completely oblivious to his arrival. The mirrors reflected his thin, nervous frame a thousand times over, distorting him until he seemed swallowed up by the space.

I pushed off the rack and crossed my arms, watching him. It was always the same—panic first, then denial, and finally, acceptance. But everyone fought it differently.

“Hey,” I said, keeping my tone casual. “You lost?”

He spun around, startled, his satchel swinging slightly. He was older than most of the people who showed up here—maybe mid-forties, with thinning brown hair streaked with gray at the temples. He wore wire-rimmed glasses that made his pale blue eyes seem even more anxious. His face was lined, but not unpleasant, though it had that soft, academic quality that suggested he’d spent more time reading than living.

“I… yes, I think so,” he said, his voice shaky. “I was just leaving work, and I—” He paused, frowning. “This isn’t right. Where am I?”

“You’re in the gym,” I said simply, gesturing around us. “You didn’t mean to end up here, did you?”

“No, I…” He trailed off, looking around again. “I was leaving the library, locking up for the night. I stepped out the back door, and then… I was here.” His fingers tightened around the strap of his satchel. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“It never does,” I said. “But you might as well put that bag down. You’re not going anywhere.”

He frowned, clearly not understanding. “What do you mean, ‘not going anywhere’? There’s always a way out.”

“Not here,” I said, leaning back against the rack again. “Every door leads back to the gym. You can try them all if you want, but it won’t make a difference.”

His mouth opened to argue, but he stopped himself, looking at me like he thought I might be messing with him. I didn’t bother explaining further. It was always easier to let them figure it out for themselves.

He did. For hours, or maybe it was minutes—it was hard to tell. He tried every door, every hallway, every nook and cranny of the gym, even peering behind some of the machines like there might be a hidden escape route. Each time, he ended up right back where he started. I watched him, arms crossed, waiting for the inevitable moment when he’d realize there was nothing else to do.

Eventually, he slumped down on a nearby bench, his satchel abandoned on the floor. His cardigan was hanging off one shoulder now, his button-down damp with sweat from all the pacing. He looked defeated, his glasses slipping down his nose.

“I don’t understand,” he said, mostly to himself. “This is impossible.”

“It’s not about understanding,” I said, walking over. “It’s about accepting. There’s nothing to do here except work out. Sooner or later, you’ll start.”

He gave me a sharp look, like I’d insulted him. “I don’t belong here,” he said, his voice firming slightly. “I’m a librarian. I haven’t set foot in a gym in years.”

I shrugged. “You’re here now. And there’s nothing else to do. So unless you want to sit and stare at the walls forever…”

He didn’t answer, just looked down at his hands, his thin fingers twitching slightly. After a long pause, he stood up, walking over to one of the machines with a hesitant, almost resigned air. He stared at it like it was some alien contraption, his head tilted slightly. Then, cautiously, he sat down and gripped the handles.

The first push was awkward, his arms trembling as he tried to move the weight. He was clearly out of his element, his movements shaky and uncoordinated. But he kept at it, his jaw tightening with determination. He didn’t look at me again, too focused on the machine.

The changes started slowly. At first, it was just his posture—his shoulders squared as he worked through his reps, the slump in his back disappearing. His movements became smoother, more confident, as though his body was remembering something it had never known. His arms, once thin and weak, began to fill out, the first hints of muscle appearing beneath his pale skin.

His cardigan slipped off completely at some point, forgotten on the floor, and his button-down shirt started to cling to his torso, the fabric tightening as his chest began to expand. He frowned, tugging at it absently, but he didn’t stop. His khakis were next, the legs stretching taut against his thighs, which were visibly thickening with each push. By the time he moved on to the free weights, the khakis had morphed into gray Nike sweatpants, snug around his growing legs.

I watched as he grabbed a set of dumbbells, his hands gripping the metal with more confidence than before. His biceps swelled as he curled them, the veins in his forearms becoming more pronounced. His button-down had somehow transformed into a tight maroon T-shirt that clung to his chest and shoulders, the sleeves straining to contain his growing arms. The hem rode up slightly, revealing a set of abs that hadn’t been there an hour ago.

He paused mid-rep, frowning as he caught his reflection in the mirror. “Is it just me, or do I look… different?” he asked, glancing at me.

I smirked. “You’re changing. Everyone does.”

“What?” His voice wavered slightly, but he didn’t sound as panicked as I’d expected. He turned back to the mirror, his eyes narrowing as he examined himself. “I mean, I do look better, don’t I?”

“Sure,” I said. “But that’s not all that’s happening.”

He didn’t seem to hear me. He flexed his arm experimentally, a grin spreading across his face as he admired the way his bicep bulged. “I haven’t looked like this since college,” he said, his tone lighter, almost excited. “No, I’ve never looked like this.”

The lights flickered again.

They always did when someone new arrived. That soft, pulsing glow that ran through the walls, like the place itself was exhaling in anticipation. I leaned against the squat rack, waiting. I didn’t know how long I’d been here—days, weeks, years? It didn’t matter anymore. All I knew was that when the lights pulsed like that, someone else was about to walk through those doors, confused and scared, their life about to be rewritten.

This time, the man who stumbled in couldn’t have been more out of place. Middle-aged, thin, with the kind of stooped posture that came from decades of working hunched over desks or shelves. He was wearing a gray cardigan over a button-down shirt, neatly pressed khakis, and polished loafers that echoed slightly on the gym’s smooth floors. He carried a leather satchel in one hand, clutching it like a lifeline, his wide eyes darting across the mirrored walls and rows of gleaming equipment. He looked like he should have been walking into a library or an academic conference, not… here.

“What on earth?” he muttered, his voice low, trembling. He stood frozen for a moment, taking in the scene—the endless rows of dumbbells and machines, the clinking of weights as the other men in the gym worked through their routines, completely oblivious to his arrival. The mirrors reflected his thin, nervous frame a thousand times over, distorting him until he seemed swallowed up by the space.

I pushed off the rack and crossed my arms, watching him. It was always the same—panic first, then denial, and finally, acceptance. But everyone fought it differently.

“Hey,” I said, keeping my tone casual. “You lost?”

He spun around, startled, his satchel swinging slightly. He was older than most of the people who showed up here—maybe mid-forties, with thinning brown hair streaked with gray at the temples. He wore wire-rimmed glasses that made his pale blue eyes seem even more anxious. His face was lined, but not unpleasant, though it had that soft, academic quality that suggested he’d spent more time reading than living.

“I… yes, I think so,” he said, his voice shaky. “I was just leaving work, and I—” He paused, frowning. “This isn’t right. Where am I?”

“You’re in the gym,” I said simply, gesturing around us. “You didn’t mean to end up here, did you?”

“No, I…” He trailed off, looking around again. “I was leaving the library, locking up for the night. I stepped out the back door, and then… I was here.” His fingers tightened around the strap of his satchel. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“It never does,” I said. “But you might as well put that bag down. You’re not going anywhere.”

He frowned, clearly not understanding. “What do you mean, ‘not going anywhere’? There’s always a way out.”

“Not here,” I said, leaning back against the rack again. “Every door leads back to the gym. You can try them all if you want, but it won’t make a difference.”

His mouth opened to argue, but he stopped himself, looking at me like he thought I might be messing with him. I didn’t bother explaining further. It was always easier to let them figure it out for themselves.

He did. For hours, or maybe it was minutes—it was hard to tell. He tried every door, every hallway, every nook and cranny of the gym, even peering behind some of the machines like there might be a hidden escape route. Each time, he ended up right back where he started. I watched him, arms crossed, waiting for the inevitable moment when he’d realize there was nothing else to do.

Eventually, he slumped down on a nearby bench, his satchel abandoned on the floor. His cardigan was hanging off one shoulder now, his button-down damp with sweat from all the pacing. He looked defeated, his glasses slipping down his nose.

“I don’t understand,” he said, mostly to himself. “This is impossible.”

“It’s not about understanding,” I said, walking over. “It’s about accepting. There’s nothing to do here except work out. Sooner or later, you’ll start.”

He gave me a sharp look, like I’d insulted him. “I don’t belong here,” he said, his voice firming slightly. “I’m a librarian. I haven’t set foot in a gym in years.”

I shrugged. “You’re here now. And there’s nothing else to do. So unless you want to sit and stare at the walls forever…”

He didn’t answer, just looked down at his hands, his thin fingers twitching slightly. After a long pause, he stood up, walking over to one of the machines with a hesitant, almost resigned air. He stared at it like it was some alien contraption, his head tilted slightly. Then, cautiously, he sat down and gripped the handles.

The first push was awkward, his arms trembling as he tried to move the weight. He was clearly out of his element, his movements shaky and uncoordinated. But he kept at it, his jaw tightening with determination. He didn’t look at me again, too focused on the machine.

The changes started slowly. At first, it was just his posture—his shoulders squared as he worked through his reps, the slump in his back disappearing. His movements became smoother, more confident, as though his body was remembering something it had never known. His arms, once thin and weak, began to fill out, the first hints of muscle appearing beneath his pale skin.

His cardigan slipped off completely at some point, forgotten on the floor, and his button-down shirt started to cling to his torso, the fabric tightening as his chest began to expand. He frowned, tugging at it absently, but he didn’t stop. His khakis were next, the legs stretching taut against his thighs, which were visibly thickening with each push. By the time he moved on to the free weights, the khakis had morphed into gray Nike sweatpants, snug around his growing legs.

I watched as he grabbed a set of dumbbells, his hands gripping the metal with more confidence than before. His biceps swelled as he curled them, the veins in his forearms becoming more pronounced. His button-down had somehow transformed into a tight maroon T-shirt that clung to his chest and shoulders, the sleeves straining to contain his growing arms. The hem rode up slightly, revealing a set of abs that hadn’t been there an hour ago.

He paused mid-rep, frowning as he caught his reflection in the mirror. “Is it just me, or do I look… different?” he asked, glancing at me.

I smirked. “You’re changing. Everyone does.”

“What?” His voice wavered slightly, but he didn’t sound as panicked as I’d expected. He turned back to the mirror, his eyes narrowing as he examined himself. “I mean, I do look better, don’t I?”

“Sure,” I said. “But that’s not all that’s happening.”

He didn’t seem to hear me. He flexed his arm experimentally, a grin spreading across his face as he admired the way his bicep bulged. “I haven’t looked like this since college,” he said, his tone lighter, almost excited. “No, I’ve never looked like this.”

I didn’t bother correcting him. The changes were already affecting his mind, his memories shifting to accommodate the new reality. It was subtle at first—almost unnoticeable. He still responded when I called him Richard, but there was hesitation, a faint flicker of confusion in his eyes, like the name didn’t sit right anymore.

By the time he moved on to another machine, the transformation was undeniable. His maroon T-shirt was no longer sitting properly—it had somehow ridden up, the hem tucked under itself and pulled halfway over his head. It clung to his neck and bunched around his upper arms like a makeshift cape, the fabric framing his now-sculpted chest and sharply defined abs. He didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he didn’t care. Instead, he focused entirely on the mirror, admiring the way the overhead lights highlighted every groove in his torso. His pecs looked impossibly firm, rising and falling with each slow, deliberate breath.

The silver chain had appeared around his neck at some point, its polished links catching the light with every slight movement. It sat just above his chest, glinting in the mirror like it had always belonged there. His sweatpants clung tightly to his thighs, emphasizing their powerful bulk, the fabric stretched taut over legs that had once been scrawny. The waistband sagged low on his hips, revealing the elastic band of Calvin Klein briefs. Even the brand seemed to match the newfound confidence radiating from him.

He caught me staring, pausing in front of the mirror with a cocky grin. “I look good, huh?” he said, flexing one arm and glancing between me and his reflection.

I frowned. “You’re changing, Richard. This isn’t—”

“Who’s Richard?” he interrupted, letting out a low, amused laugh. “Man, you’re weird.” He shook his head, turning his attention back to the mirror. His hand ran through his hair, which was now thicker, darker, and styled into soft spikes. His face had become smoother, younger, his jawline sharper. A shadow of stubble darkened his cheeks and chin, perfectly trimmed, as if he’d spent hours grooming it. But I knew better—it had just appeared.

“Richard is who you were,” I said firmly, stepping closer. “You don’t have to give in to this.”

He didn’t even glance at me this time. “Yeah, sure, whatever,” he said absently, adjusting the chain around his neck. His biceps bulged as he moved, the veins in his arms standing out against his tanned skin. “You’re kinda bringing down the vibe, bro.”

“Bro?” I repeated, incredulous. “You’re not—”

But he’d already moved on, grabbing a set of heavier dumbbells. I watched as he curled them, his movements slow and deliberate, his grin widening with each rep. His muscles swelled with every lift, as though the weights were sculpting him further, refining every detail of his physique. I could feel the gym working on him, reshaping not just his body but his mind.

I tried to get through to him again a little later, when he’d moved to the leg press. He was loading plates onto the machine with a kind of thoughtless ease, his movements mechanical but confident. “Richard,” I called, louder this time.

He glanced over his shoulder, frowning slightly. “What now, dude?”

“You don’t have to do this,” I said. “You can stop. You can fight it.”

“Fight what?” He laughed, shaking his head as he sat down and braced his legs against the machine. “You’re not making any sense, man. I’m just… doing my thing, you know?”

“This isn’t who you are!” I snapped, frustration boiling over. “You’re a librarian. You don’t belong here.”

He hesitated for just a second, his hands gripping the bars of the machine. Then he grinned, his teeth gleaming white. “Librarian? Nah, man. I’m not… I mean, that doesn’t sound right.” He pressed the weight, his quads flexing powerfully. “Besides, look at me. This is who I am. Always been, right?”

“No, it’s not!” I insisted, stepping closer. But he wasn’t listening anymore. His focus was entirely on the machine, on the weight, on the burn of his muscles. He grunted with effort, his sweatpants riding lower with each press, exposing more of the waistband of his underwear.

Our conversations grew shorter after that. Every time I tried to talk to him, he seemed more distracted, his attention entirely on his reflection or the next set of reps.

“Hey, Richard,” I said again one day—if it was even a day. Time blurred together here, and it felt like I was stuck in an endless loop. “Do you even remember where you came from?”

“Uh, sure,” he said without looking at me, his voice vague. He flexed in the mirror, adjusting the way his shirt hung around his neck. “Came from, like… somewhere, I guess. Doesn’t matter, does it?”

“It does matter!” I said sharply. “You’re forgetting yourself. Can’t you see that?”

“Dude,” he said, finally glancing my way, his tone exasperated. “I don’t get what your deal is. I feel great. I look great. Why would I care about… whatever boring stuff you’re on about?”

“That ‘boring stuff’ is who you are,” I said, but I could already tell he wasn’t paying attention. He was busy pulling his sweatpants lower, angling his body in front of the mirror to admire his abs. The smirk on his face made my stomach churn.

“Looking sick, right?” he said, gesturing at his reflection. He glanced at me like he expected me to agree, but when I didn’t, he just shrugged and turned away.

It didn’t take long after that for him to stop talking to me entirely. My attempts to reach him were met with vague grunts, or, more often, complete silence. He became just like the others—completely absorbed in his workouts, his reflection, the endless pursuit of perfection. He spent hours—if hours even existed here—lifting, flexing, adjusting his chain or his sweatpants. Occasionally, he’d let out a low, satisfied laugh as he admired his progress, but he never spoke to me again.

I watched him for a long time, that familiar mix of anger and helplessness twisting in my chest. The man who had walked into the gym—the librarian clutching his satchel and looking so out of place—was gone. In his place was another meathead, all muscles and vanity, his mind as sculpted and empty as his body was powerful. He didn’t even glance my way as he moved from one machine to the next, lost in the rhythm of his routine.

And I knew, eventually, the lights would flicker for him. But until then, he was just another mindless body in the gym, endlessly lifting, endlessly transforming.