#but like. again… if he ever FELT like it

[mwphisto]

Sylus hates his neck being touched.

You came to this realization one night when sitting on the couch beside him. Your fingers making their way to pinch at his ear lobe when he wouldn’t give you the remote. His neck hadn’t been your target, but his shoulder immediately shot up to block it off entirely at the sight of your fingers.

You didn’t mention it, acted like you didn’t even catch the very obvious flinch, and pinched his earlobe as planned. Last thing you wanted was to make him uncomfortable, it wasn’t even worth teasing him over.

Ever since, you’ve made a mental note of steering clear of Sylus’ neck… until now.

Your fingers found their anchor on the silk of Sylus’ shirt, fisting the material so tightly you felt as if it would rip apart under your hold. “Sy, please…” you needed him to hold you harder, kiss you harder, as if his presence wasn’t already all consuming. All you could see, taste, feel, smell, hear.

He flooded each of your senses, warm hands splayed across your hips and subtly guiding you in a rocking motion. “Please what?” Hushed, as if it physically hurt him to pull away from your lips for that long.

You could only manage a whine as his lips melting into yours again, the kisses bruising and wet. You’re losing yourself in him, so dazed by the force of his love that your fingers unravel from his clothing and slide inward.

Somewhere in your haze, you had known your intention was to cup his face. You needed to keep him close.

And, yet? Your hands had stopped once they wrapped around the column of his neck. Your hold wasn’t hard, nor was it restricting. But a gentle presence, a warm weight.

Sylus moaned audibly, making your eyes fly open with a gasp when you realized where your hands had stopped. There was a slew of apologizes on your tongue, ready to let go and beg for his forgiveness for crossing such a line.

Instead? Sylus shoved his tongue past your parted lips. A large hand leaving your waist to grab the back of your neck and pull you against him harder than before. He liked it.

[reignpage]

Why They Would Cheat On You

Gojo

He got bored. Of course, you were never just a toy to him. Having been friends for a while, he truly enjoyed your company more than you’ll ever know. You’d gone through a lot together, had each other’s backs more than times than he could count, and you understood him better than anyone. He owed you a lot. Perhaps that was why he didn’t reject you when you finally confessed your feelings, why he let it go on for so long, and why he didn’t realise that what he felt for you wasn’t love but, rather, loyalty. 

She wasn’t anyone special, just a girl he thought was cute. So was the other girl, and the one after her. They were all cute. Nice enough, too. It was never an ego thing, he thinks, but it was nice to have people look at him like he’s a god, rather than just, ‘Toru who’s late to the date because he was off saving people. Again.’ Or ‘Toru who doesn’t text for days because he forgot about your existence, since, you know, he’s saving people. Again.’ 

You asked him, ‘Why? Why would you do this to me?’, when you found out. There was a calmness to your voice and it was so familiar, his lip twitched. He never wanted to hurt you but surely you knew that it was never going to be a forever thing, that just wasn't how things worked in your world.

Having no answer he could give you, he instead offered to stay as friends. You were appalled. He could tell when you did that eyebrow twitch you always did. It was cute. You tried to slap him. His infinity was up. And both of you went your separate ways, wondering how long it had been like that.

Geto

He no longer needed you. You were a resourceful person; he respected that. Loyal, intelligent, strong, you were everything he needed to start his mission. Unfortunately, your loyalty came with strings – you wanted love. Needed it. And well, he wasn’t exactly opposed. You weren't terrible company and he did enjoy his time with you. Long walks, light chatter, a warm body, obedient pet, it was all perfect… until you eventually grew complacent, started taking on roles far exceeding your rank simply because you thought your connection with him equated to a partnership, and dared mutter some useless thing about abandoning your posts together to live a quiet life. 

You didn’t understand. 

She did, though. She never reached out first, always waited for his time, his approval, and prioritised the work over everything else. It was all he wanted: someone who shared his vision and could appreciate the future he’s trying to build. 

You caught them in the act and he did resent the tackiness of it all — it wasn't his style and was so far beneath him. But you had to find out eventually, he supposed. When you left wordlessly, he moved her in faster than you could even pack your things up.

He never thought about you again, not until you were there on the battlefield, on the other side of things. Kind smile was met with a sneer and he didn’t blame you, not even in his final moments.

Choso

He liked the attention. At first, he was so happy you were attracted to him and that you wanted to go on a date. Ecstatic even. Having you as his girlfriend was fun! He had someone who shared his interests, who was patient and understanding. You were sweet and kind too.

But then it stopped being fun. You’d nag him to clean up after himself, tell him he shouldn’t eat this and that, that he should hang out with his brother less because that’s all he did and you missed him. He didn't understand why you did since you lived together, though he didn’t dare argue that. Being a boyfriend was a lot of work; it was like he was doing everything wrong. You wanted flowers but you didn't want to have to ask so how was he supposed to know when to get you flowers?

You wanted space when you were down but then you'd get mad at him if he didn't chase after you. He had to guess what you wanted for lunch every single time when he just wanted to eat. It was tiring.

She was your best friend. She always gave him so many compliments, looked at him like everything he said and did was so interesting, so funny, whereas you didn't have that spark in your eyes anymore. You only thought about the laundry, the mortgage, and the cost of the things you used to like. It was nice to be understood – she had your qualities but none of your burden.

You didn’t even get angry when you found out. Just told him the lease is under your name so he can find somewhere else to live. It’s odd though that when he turned up to her house, she didn’t answer the door, or his messages. The two of you just disappeared from his life.

Toji

He needed some cash. That thing between you was never serious. You were lonely and he didn’t have a place to live. And man, you took him in faster than everyone else. Guess you were really pent up. For a while, you were managing well – had a steady job, big enough house, and a car. And sure, you nagged him about his bad habits but you always let him get away with nabbing a couple hundred from your wallet, so it was fair game.

Your body ain’t bad either, better than lots of the women he’d slept with, cleaned well too, which was a rarity amongst the people he hung around with. He put up with all the sex, the fixing things up round the house, and all the hand holding and cheesy matching couple fits, or whatever, ‘cause you kept him fed. Yeah, he had it good.

Then, you lost your job and became a real pain in the ass.

She had money.

Pity actually arose in his head when you begged him to stay, to give you some time to figure things out, and promised you’ll do better, give him more than he’s ever had. God, lonely women were pushy. And as much as he’d love to stay in one place, he couldn’t handle how clingy you were. Such a turn off.

Guess he'll have to try his luck elsewhere. Again.

Nanami

He needed to feel like a man again. Your marriage was perfect. A literal fairytale. He’s never been happier and he was doing it all with his dream woman. When did things fall apart, he couldn’t say for sure, but he did know why: you wanted to give him a big family. It was all you wanted, the one thing you thought you needed to give him in exchange for all the love he gave you.

The doctors told you it just wasn’t going to happen and you were so stuck on the idea of doing it naturally and having your very own children that you didn’t listen to any of the times he vowed you were more than enough. Sex was planned around your ovulation period. You didn’t touch him outside of that, shrugging him off when he’d lay kisses on your shoulder or cheeks. When you did have sex, you weren’t even there, just counting down the seconds until he could cum inside you. You wouldn’t even bother taking off your clothes, much less foreplay. It was like he was making love to a corpse. 

She was warm, young, alive. He never thought the new associate would take an interest in an older, more worn down man like him, but she flirted like the ring wasn’t on his finger, and eventually, he did stop wearing it; she didn’t like the feel of it on her skin. 

You were distraught when you found out, clinging to yourself and sobbing. You repeated, again and again, ‘I knew it. I knew it.’

Like a switch had been flicked, he begged for you to forgive him, promising that he’ll do better, that it’ll never happen again, but the damage had been done. Leaving your ring with him, you went away, last he heard, to your hometown, rekindled some lost thing with someone you once knew. You never did have any children.

And he never remarried.

Sukuna

He never promised otherwise. For a human, you were actually interesting, or rather, he found you interesting. All the things you showed him made him feel things, things he never got to experience and never saw the value in doing before. That was probably what he liked so much about you – your ability to entertain. And he thought for as long as you fulfilled your purpose as his new object of interest, he’d be satisfied living a quiet life, but all humans do is disappoint. And change. Soon, you were lecturing him about the sanctity of life, admonishing him for being cruel, scolding him like a child. Fuck, humans are annoying. One day, when he had killed someone you were close to, he tried to explain that they deserved it, that their spirit reeked of ill-intentions but you flinched. 

She didn’t. In fact, the filthy little thing liked the things he did to her, even wanted him to go further. Now, that was entertaining. He didn’t even realise how bored he was getting with all the ‘make love’ bullshit you spewed; going slow was never his style. Neither was vanilla missionary with all the fucking eye contact. She never looked at him with disappointment every time he acted out, not even when blood reached her shoes, or when she was covered in it. 

None of the women who’d offer themselves up to him did. 

So, when you found out and that was all that filled your eyes, the sight took him aback, just as your cries did. He didn’t ask you to stay but he thought, in that one moment you hesitated, that maybe you expected him to.

Pathetic.

[scarletmika]

I Just Feel You : ��̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x Empath!Reader

Summary: Bob Reynolds was broken, and he knew that, but he was trying. He was trying to be better, to control himself. But like Stitch had said: broken, but still good. You were beginning to make Bob believe that he was, in fact, still good.

Warnings: fluff, maybe a TINY bit of angst but not really, idiots in love with some pining, SPOILERS I guess for Thunderbolts*, talk of mental illness and drugs, tiny bit OOC Bob

Word Count: 2,603 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

“The uh, the glowing doesn’t, like…hurt, does it?”

“Your eyes glow, and it doesn’t hurt you, right? It’s the same thing with my powers,”

Bob was mesmerized as you sat beside him in his bedroom, the soft green glow that seemed to envelop your hands as the feeling in the room changed. It had been a low day for him, his insecurities seeming to catch up with him after a failed training session with Walker and Bucky, and he’d retreated into his room to attempt the meditation tactics you’d been teaching him. But then, you’d walked in behind him, and the aura of pure tranquility and peace that poured off of you engulfed him, and suddenly his low day wasn’t so bad anymore.

The team hadn’t known what you had been capable of, at least not at first. You were skilled with the twin daggers tied to your utility belt, and a decent enough shot when you got your hands on a gun, two things they’d learned quickly down in Valentina’s vault. The sudden addition of Bob, along with Valentina locking them into what they’d quickly learned was an incinerator, had only heightened the anxious feelings in the room as the shouting commenced again between the mercenaries sent to their doom.

“Everyone relax!” you’d suddenly called out, a wave of energy almost washing the room in a soft green for a second. They’d watched your body stumble slightly before you shook your head. “We’re on the clock, we have to work together if we’re getting out of here.”

None of them knew you, so why were they listening to you? It was almost as if the second you’d told them to relax, they were hit with a wave of peace, and they were quickly working together to get out of the vault.

An empath, they’d quickly learned, when you’d torn Bob and Walker apart and taken the former to the side, seemingly having a way of calming him down within moments. Walker had read about another empath in SHIELD files Valentina had managed to get her hands on, an alien woman of some kind that had helped fight off Thanos. Other than her, none of them had ever encountered an empath before.

They quickly caught on that there was no lying to you about how they were feeling, because their emotions radiated off them in waves that you could constantly feel. Yelena’s sadness, John’s guilt, Ava’s desire for a family, the pain that Bucky and Alexei tried so hard to hide, you felt it all, all the time.

That’s why, as Yelena had dug herself out of containment within the Void, she’d stopped to tug you out from under the shelf lying on top of you, pushing you forward toward Bob as he battled with his inner demons, running directly behind you.

You’d paid no mind to Yelena hugging Bob opposite of you, or the rest of the rag-tag team you’d assembled trying to tug him back. You simply clung to him, turning to rest his forehead against your own, hand on his cheek glowing a soft green color as you whispered to him over and over again.

I’m here. I’m not going anywhere…I’ll never leave you. I’m here, Bob.

So, based on what they’d already seen and known, it was no surprise to anyone on The New Avengers that you both gravitated to one another day in and day out.

“It’s just pretty to look at,” Bob had mumbled, still watching your hands that now lay in your lap. He lay on his bed, head resting against one of his many worn-in pillows, just watching you from where you sat cross-legged in front of him. “Make me feel something.”

You’d quirked an eyebrow at his request, before reaching forward and laying your hand on his arm. His tranquil demeanor invaded your senses, a stark contrast to how he’d been when you’d first gotten to his room hours before, and you thought back on Alexei’s story the night before about somehow getting to drive Chris Rock around Washington D.C. months before. You pushed the feeling of every laugh you’d all shared that night into that demeanor that felt so much like Bob, imbuing him with the feeling of that night.

A smile stretched across your face the second you’d heard his laughter begin, unable to tear your eyes away. Happiness suited Bob, you’d known that from the moment you’d joked with him outside the vault, seeing a peak of his smile for the first time. He deserved to feel like this all the time: light, happy, free.

“Thank you,” Bob could feel the flush cross his face as his laughter subsided, stumbling over his words for a moment. “For uh- you know, being here. With me.”

You’d simply smiled back at him, lying down beside him on his bed. Bob shifted to his side so he could look at you, and no matter how many times you’d both lain here talking in the past, it still made his heart race to know you trusted him enough to be here in such a vulnerable position with him.

“You don’t have to thank me. We’ll always be here if you need us,”

“Yeah, but uh, you don’t treat me like a child. Unlike most of them,” Bob had mumbled.

It was a harsh reality, but not incorrect, and Bob knew that you knew it. Bucky managed to treat him like a ticking time bomb around every corner, but given the explanation he’d gotten about New York and what he’d done, and the moments that had slowly come back to him, he didn’t blame him. John, Ava, and Alexei were the worst about it, talking down to him like a child, as if he weren’t a grown man capable of making his own decisions and needed to be babysat twenty-four seven.

Yelena tried not to baby him, but she had her moments still. She constantly had a way of asking if he was okay, no matter the situation, and sometimes it had Bob on the verge of snapping. If he wanted to talk about it, he would, he didn’t need to be babysat.

It was one of the best things about you. You never asked if he was okay, simply just sat with him. You talked to him like you did the rest of the team, you let him come to you with his problems. He’d overheard Walker once say to you that you were the “best means of controlling” him, that you could simply imbue him with any feeling you wanted.

Of course, you’d kicked Walker so hard in the shins for that comment that his skin had broken open and needed to be stitched up. In your eyes, Bob was a person, and you refused to ever manipulate him in any way, shape, or form. It’s what made it so easy for him to fall in love with you.

“You know they mean well,” you’d tried to reassure him. “Yeah, they have their…quirks about it, and maybe they don’t always go about it in the best way. But they do care.”

“Not- not like you do,” Bob shook his head, embarrassed to look at you as his gaze drifted across the room to his bookshelf, the one you’d helped personally curate for him with hundreds of books he’d come to adore. “No, you don’t treat me like- like I’m broken. I am, but at least you don’t treat me like I am.”

“Bob, you’re-”

“Don’t say I’m not-”

“You might be broken, but you’re still good,” the smile on your face slowly morphed into a smirk. “That’s from this Disney movie-”

“I grew up in Florida, I’ve seen Lilo and Stitch. I might’ve been addicted to meth but uh- it didn’t entirely screw up my memory,”

The shared laughter between you both died down as there was a shift in Bob’s aura, and it washed over you in another wave of emotion.

It wasn’t the first time you’d felt it, the affection pouring off of him and in your direction. It was always there, growing, and almost always buried beneath his everyday feelings. But in moments like this, it was the most prominent feeling radiating off of him, and it did nothing to stop the flush that covered your own cheeks.

Bob simply watched as your hand found his cheek, layin lightly ontop of his skin as you looked at him.

“That little blue alien has a point. We’re all a little broken, Bob, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t good, or can’t become good. Broken isn’t bad, you just have to put the pieces back together,”

Bob couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, until the feeling that seemed to be flooding off of you and seeping into his very skin and being washed over him. He closed his eyes for just a moment, humming to himself at the feeling as his flush persisted over his skin.

“I- I don’t know what you’re making me feel right now, but it’s…it’s nice,”

“I’m not making you feel anything,” his eyes shot open, to see you still simply looking at him with that tiny grin, thumb still running over the skin of his cheek. “It’s…it’s just me.”

“...I just feel you?”

“Just me,” you took your hand away, not missing the way he chased after the feeling. You held it between you, showing the soft glow around you. “I’d never force you to feel something, not unless you asked. What you’re feeling it’s just all of my emotions mixed together. It’s just…me.”

“I…I like feeling that,”

“I know you do,” your grin became a smirk again as you leaned your head closer to him. “I think you forget, I can feel your feelings…all of them.”

Bob’s grin dropped for a moment as the weight of your comment settled on him. His feelings, loud and begging to burst out of him, were clear as day to you. Of course you knew, but you weren’t making fun of him, you were simply watching him as if you were waiting for him to finally admit it all.

“Can- can I kiss you?”

You didn’t answer with words, you answered with a simple kiss pressed to his lips. Bob responded fairly quickly after a moment, the feeling that he now knew was simply just you washing over him, as you reached out to hold you close to him, completely wrapped up in everything that was you.

Moving from the intimate friendship you’d shared to the now intimate romantic relationship between you and Bob hadn’t come as a shock to anyone, least of all to the pair of you. It was the softest of relationships, the softest of moments shared between you both. Bob always had his up days and his down days, but you were always at his side, allowing him to navigate his life as he chose to navigate it.

The team had been sent out on a mission that didn’t require everyone, and you and Bob had been volunteered to stay back. Neither of you cared much. After Walker had almost sent Bob spiraling in training the other day, a day to decompress was truly needed.

Bob found himself sitting on the common room couch, watching a random movie that he’d had on his list to watch for a while now, playing. You were lying across the rest of the couch, head resting in his lap as you watched along with him, sitting in a comfortable silence together.

One of Bob’s hands was in both of yours, your fingers dancing across his own, tracing the lines down his palms. His eyes flicked down to you every few moments, the smile on his face permanently etched there every time he looked at you.

“What’s your favorite flower?”

Bob paused, eyebrows furrowed as he glanced down at you, but your eyes were still locked onto his hand.

“Uh…an orange blossom. It was- it was my mom’s favorite flower. It’s the state flower of Florida,”

You’d hummed, before suddenly sitting upright, turning to face him, with one of his hands still sitting between your own. Bob watched you as you contemplated something before looking up at him.

“Do you trust me?” you paused for a moment before continuing. “There’s this thing I can do…I’ve only ever done it once, but…I had an idea.”

“I…I trust you,”

His hand laid in yours, palm up, as you closed your eyes. A single finger pointed down to his skin as Bob watched, that familiar green glow emitting as you began to trace over his palm.

There was the smallest of tingles at the feelings, of the tip of your finger and point of your nail tracing around on his palm. The moment you stopped and opened your eyes, you both looked down at his palm.

The smallest outline of a little orange blossom, just big enough to see, etched in that same glowing green on his palm. The light faded, as did the shape itself, molding into his skin.

Bob looked up at you, taking his hand back into his own lap, as you watched him.

“Pretend I’m not here, that I’m not in the room. You’re alone in your room…now think about it, the little flower,”

Bob did just as you instructed, closing his eyes and focusing his thoughts on that little flower. It didn’t take long until that tingle feeling returned to his skin, and he felt a wave of emotions rush over him.

Your quiet contentment, that same feeling you gave off every night as you read yet another book at one of your bedroom windows overlooking the skyline of New York. That hint of anxiety, the one that the team only noticed on missions in the most tense of moments. The overwhelming feeling of affection, adoration, and love that was directed straight at him and only him. Bob opened his eyes, tears threatening to fall as he looked back at you, at the nervous look on your face as you waited.

“I…I just feel you,”

“It’s called an imprint, an emotional imprint,” you explained gently as Bob looked back down at his hand, at the flower that was fading in glow once again. “I’ve done it once before, just never…on someone. I wasn’t sure it would work. I can imbue it with emotion, so say you want to feel warm and content under a blanket, I can place an imprint on it so that that’s what you feel the second you’re under it.”

Bob was watching you in pure amazement, flexing his hand.

“Why give me this?”

“So that you know that, even if I’m not with you,” you took a deep breath, a nervous smile still dancing on your lips. “I’m always with you. I could be halfway across the world, and I’m still always with you. So that you know…you’re never alone. If you need me, I’ll be there.”

There really weren’t words to say for the way you considered Bob’s feelings at every turn. The way you somehow managed to give him the space he needed to fix his own life, while also holding his hand through it.

In a rare moment of confidence, Bob reached forward and tugged you into a soft, sweet, loving kiss. A kiss where he knew you’d feel the way his affection and adoration shift: straight into love.

You did feel it. He never had to say it. A silent confession was all that was needed between the two of you in the dim lighting of the Watchtower’s common room.

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Dolly VIII

~ part 8 of the Dolly series

pairing: chan x afab!reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff, sci-fi

synopsis: running from the past brought you right back to the beginning.

wc: 10.2k

warnings: paranoia, nightmares, struggles with being infertile, mentions of blood, violence and death, unprotected sex

a/n: this is what y/n's dog looks like

~ divider by @bunnysrph

You were tossing and turning in your bed as the scenes unfolded in your tortured mind. It was the same thing over and over again. The white walls, the tall ceilings, the lab coats, the whirring sounds, the dead emotionless eyes, the clacking of nails against keyboards, the big water tanks with silhouettes of something floating inside them.

Sweat covered your entire body as you struggled to remember just what the hell this place from your dreams was. You were standing there in the long corridor that seemed to shrink and elongate the longer you stared at the heavy door at the end of it. You were wearing a lab coat and gloves and your shoes squeaked against the perfectly clean and scrubbed floor. Your footsteps were slow and heavy, like you were struggling against some force as you walked, appearing to be in slow motion.

Then you heard it.

A scream, rippling through your body and making the hairs at the back of your neck stand as it echoed in the empty corridor. You realized then that it was you screaming, right before your hand touched the door handle.

Your eyes snapped open and you sat up abruptly, your breathing ragged as little beads of sweat rolled down your face. Your hands clutched at the cover around you, holding it in a death grip as you tried to anchor yourself and take note of your surroundings. As if on cue, your dog Asher appeared by your side, his big paws pressed on the mattress as he let out a few inquisitive whines, his head tilting left and right. You let out a little chuckle as your breath evened out and you started petting Asher.

"It's okay, it was just a nightmare." you said and cuddled your dog as he nudged his head against you.

You've had Asher since he was just a small baby and being a bullmastiff he grew into a very big and heavy dog, perfect for someone like you, someone who was living alone and surrounded by the forest. You felt uneasy being alone there but you didn't trust any humans so a protective dog was something you needed by your side.

A sweet and loyal friend like Asher whose entire world is you.

You gave him a few more loving pets before you stood up and went to your bathroom to splash some cold water on your face. The nightmares plagued you for years and the worst thing was that you had no idea if they were real or not. There was an entire chunk of your memory missing, a good three years of your life gone like they never existed. You could only remember bits and pieces but not the entire story. It was as if someone wiped your memory off, like they didn't want you to know something. All you knew was the fear and the anxiety that grew inside you after losing your memory.

You couldn't stand being around people, it made you feel crazy. It was as if they were out to get you, someone, someone was following every move you made, listening in on what you said, what you did. You couldn't trust anyone, not even your loved ones so you left it all and disappeared from their lives without any trace.

You only had a few people who knew your phone number, and that was your mother, your sister and one friend you still somewhat trusted. You rarely talked to them anyways, focusing instead on your dog and your house. It was an old little cabin in the woods and in the last three years you've been here, you worked on it every day, repairing it and tending to your garden, growing your own vegetables and fruit. Even though you couldn't remember those three years missing from your life, you remembered the time before. You knew you were tech-savvy and that you worked for some pretty big companies.

But none of that could ever explain the huge amount of cash in your bank account. You had no idea where the money came from but it was enough for you to live a comfortable life and not have to work ever again. Still, you weren't a big spender, you enjoyed the simple life.

Taking walks with Asher, swimming in the lake, working around the house. Those were your simple pleasures. Yes, sometimes you'd mourn the life you had before. The relationship you had, the man by your side who promised to love you until he found out that you were 'broken' as he said during a heated argument, the venomous words leaving his lips and shooting you straight into the wound that hurt the most, the fact that you couldn't have children, something you yearned for your entire life. The moment your doctor gave you those news, you felt like your entire world came crashing down. And when the man you wanted to spend your entire life with pushed you even further down with his words and the pity in his eyes, like you were less of a woman, it was the last straw.

The last straw after struggling to remember where your nightmares were coming from, why you had this growing paranoia inside you that made you alert of every little sound and every stranger who looked at you for too long, why were you punished with something you wanted so badly being taken away from you.

You left without looking back.

Years later and here you were. Enjoying your peaceful life, the nightmares were plaguing you less and less as time went by. You wrote them all down in a little diary, hoping that maybe one day you'd be able to remember what was ripped away from you. Some days you thought it was better that you didn't remember anything, maybe it was something so horrible that you were better off not knowing what it was. Of course, being a technology lover you had to have a computer, but you were careful about any public accounts you had, changing your name and hiding your location. You didn't want anyone to find out where you lived but you still wanted to be aware of what was happening around you.

"You wanna go for a walk?" you asked Asher as soon as you got dressed, putting on a tracksuit for comfort and easy movement. Your dog perked up immediately, barking happily as he jogged towards you and started pushing you lightly with his head. A series of chuckles left your lips and you grabbed your little bag with a water bottle and snacks for Asher along with a banana that would serve as your breakfast for now.

It was a nice chilly morning, the sun rays were peeking through the trees as you locked up your house and started walking on the familiar path you always took with Asher. He was happily walking along, sniffing around and enjoying the fresh air with you. The sounds of the forest filled up your soul, the birds singing in the trees, the breeze rustling through the leaves, the distant waterfall. It was all so peaceful and you wouldn't trade it for anything.

But, the uneasy feeling you had during your nightmare hasn't left you ever since you woke up. What was behind the door? What was the significance of the number eight? It was written on the door with black ink bleeding down the metal and seeping onto the floor.

There was eight of them.

~

Again. The nightmare was happening again. It was the same long white corridor, the same heavy door at the end of it, the same number eight painted in black ink. Your footsteps were heavy as you struggled to reach the door, to turn the doorknob. A metallic smell filled up your nostrils the closer you got to it and you realized it wasn't black ink sliding down the door, it was dark red blood. With a gasp you gripped the doorknob and swung open the door.

Loud barks brought you back to reality. It took you a moment to realize you were on the ground in the forest, your nails digging into the earth beneath you as you stared up at the trees, seeing Asher hovering over you and barking, nudging you with his head.

"Did I faint?" you questioned out loud, immediately clutching onto your dog who seemed happy and relieved to see you awake even though he was still barking confusedly. "I'm okay, Asher."

As soon as you returned home, you dialed your mother's number.

"Hello?" her familiar voice rang from the other side of the receiver.

"Mom?" your voice came out shaky.

"Y/n?! Oh my god, Y/n!" your mom almost cried out in happiness. "Where are you? Are you coming back home?"

"N-no, I-I can't come back. I can never come back. I just... I just called because the nightmares are getting worse. I thought it was getting better but-"

"That's why you have to come back home and get the help you need. Please, let me be there for you. We'll find someone you can talk to." your mom begged and you could hear the sniffles. She was crying.

"I'm sorry, but I can't. They'll find me." you whispered, looking over at Asher who was finishing his meal. "I have Asher here, I'm not alone."

"I know you love your dog but-"

"I have to hang up now. The call can't be longer than a minute and we are going over that frame of time now. I'm sorry, I love you mom." you said quickly before hanging up. You clutched the phone in your hand and stared at it as your breathing got faster. You needed to write everything down in your diary.

You remembered your friend who you haven't heard from in a long time. She always mentioned some company called BIMT to you but the name meant nothing, you tried and tried but you couldn't remember. Not that and especially not someone named Helena who was apparently the person who opened up the institute. Your heart sped up as you started turning the pages of your diary.

You were always afraid of finding out the truth but something was telling you that it was time for you to make some effort to remember more.

You sat in front of your computer a few days later, hands clutching at the end of the table to stop them from shaking. The nightmares were becoming too much again and on top of the fear they kept feeding inside you, Asher was barking at a particular tree in the forest every time you took the same path for a walk.

It was making your paranoia rise so you started taking a different route. Asher didn't bark at any empty spaces there but you still couldn't shake off the dark feeling following you everywhere. Your hands hovered over the keyboard, it was time to see what this so called Helena looked like.

You typed her name into the search bar and immediately upon seeing her picture come up something twisted in your stomach, gnawed at your insides and made you want to vomit. Disgust filled you up and you quickly exited the page. Did you know her? You must've, judging by the strong reaction your body had upon seeing her. You wished you could remember more, know what happened to you.

You had asked your loved ones and all they knew was that you were working on some secret project at BIMT and that one day you came home completely disoriented, not even remembering your own name, as if you were in some sort of trance. You spent ten days in the hospital stuttering and speaking nonsense about some dolls and about a dead body you apparently saw. They had no idea what the hell you were talking about or what you were doing at the institute, no one knew what went on in there since it wasn't made public.

It left you feeling so frustrated.

You went about your day, trying to shake off the weird feeling of being watched. You managed to get rid of it once you moved out of the city but lately it started coming back. As if half asleep you went through the motions of your usual day; walk with Asher, cooking, cleaning, working around the house, the garden, taking a relaxing bath. And before you knew it night had fallen over the forest, the darkness enveloping the trees and whatever lurked behind them.

You cuddled up in your bed, feeling content under the blankets and with Asher sleeping on the floor next to your bed on his blanket. You knew you were not safe in your dreams though and you dreaded falling asleep. You tried relaxing as much as you could, starting with that bath you took, to now having a little night light and some soothing incense burning in your room. You hoped you'd have calm dreams or rather that you won't dream about anything tonight.

But you were wrong.

Once again, you were in your lab coat walking slowly through the white corridor towards the big metal door. The number eight was still bleeding slowly towards the floor and suddenly you were standing in front of the door with your hand on the doorknob. Something inside you screamed to turn around and leave but you turned the knob and swung open the door. The scream that left your lips echoed all around you. Helena was laying on the floor in an unnatural position, her skin looked bluish and her eyes have almost completely lost their spark.

"Helena!" you screamed and ran towards her, your hands hovering over her body as you had no idea if you should touch her or not.

"Please, keep them safe. Don't let anything happen to them." she grabbed your hand weakly, giving you the key you always saw her wear around her neck. "Give this to Chan when you can. He'll know what it's for." she spoke between breaths and then her hand dropped as you clutched onto the key.

"Hey, grab her!" you heard voices yelling and footsteps running down the corridor and you snapped your head towards them to see a few androids coming towards you with their hands reached out to grab you. You stood up and tried your best to fight them or dodge but they grabbed you and one of them held a huge injection in his hand, lifting it up. You felt a sting in your neck and then there was nothing around you but a black void.

In the darkness, you saw him, your ex looking at you with pity in his eyes. Mocking you, pointing at you, the loud sound of cackling coming out of his mouth, echoing around you and making it seem like there were more and more people surrounding you and laughing at you.

"Stop it! Please, stop it!" you screamed, covering your ears with your palms and shutting your eyes tightly as you begged for the laughter to stop.

You woke up abruptly to the sound of the phone ringing and Asher barking at the device as you breathed hard, your body heated with a thin sheen of sweat over your skin. You stood up quickly and ran to the phone, your hand trembling as you picked it up.

"H-hello?" you shivered at the sudden coldness enveloping your body after you left your heated bed.

"Y/n!" a chirpy voice sounded from the other side and you sighed in relief, it was just your friend.

"Oh, hey." you cleared your throat and opened up your fridge to find a cold water bottle.

"Are you sitting down? Cause you won't believe what I have to tell you." she started and you rolled your eyes, thinking it was some drama she found out by hacking someone's account. You took a big swig of water and sat down as Asher came towards you, letting out a few barks.

"I'm sitting down, what is it?" you inhaled slowly and looked up at the clock, it was a little later than you usually wake up and Asher was probably ready for his walk.

"I know you worked at BIMT and I know you don't remember it but they just recently launched a line of eight sex dolls and well I got one. Long story short, he is sort of alive. And I suspect all the others are too, I hacked into his code and Y/n, it's something that I've never seen before. This code, it's alive. It changes with activity when the doll talks and thinks. It's like the code has a mind of its own and the dolls have conscience, they're not just robots, they feel, dream, think and wish. I don't know who else to ask for help except you, maybe you'd even remember something or know how they were made and why. And what happened to Helena, who is in charge now... Please. The first doll made was Chan, I think you should get him."

As she talked, you felt your body trembling and your ears ringing with the anxiety rising inside you. It was like your dreams, there were eight of them, Helena was there and she spoke about someone named 'Chan'.

It was all too much.

"So, can you take Chan? I think we might have a chance of helping the dolls if you do. Since Jisung was 'sleeping' and supposed to just be used as a sex doll, then the other dolls might be struggling too. I don't think it's right. Maybe they're not completely human... but their heart is beating. They hurt, they feel. They think. They don't deserve to be mistreated."

You thought for a moment and despite all the nervousness shaking you up, something nagged at you to say yes. You felt like you needed to help them, like you held the key to discovering just what was happening in the mysterious institute.

"Fine. I'll help them. I will take Chan." you paused. "What do you hope to achieve once I get him?"

"I'm working on a plan. I'll let you know." your friend said and you exhaled.

It was a lot to process and you knew you'd have to face your past and your fears if you wanted to help these dolls. Asher barked loudly, jumping up and almost knocking you from the bar chair you were sitting on. You let out a chuckle, giving him a few pats.

"We're going for a walk now, don't worry."

As soon as you stepped out of the cabin, taking in the greenery around you and inhaling the fresh air, your mind started to calm down. You took the new route you've been walking on recently, leading to a nice clearing where you could play with Asher. For a moment there you forgot about Helena, BIMT and the dolls and your soul was at peace.

But as soon as you got home and gave Asher some food, you sat down at your computer and opened up the site with the dolls. Upon seeing them, something fluttered in your chest. Especially looking at the Chan and Minho doll. They seemed to stand out to you, their faces seemed the most familiar. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you could see what the Chan doll looked like while smiling. A shiver ran down your spine as you hovered your mouse over his picture. You were really doing this.

A week later, you climbed in your truck with Asher on the passenger seat as you went to pick up the package. You had it delivered at the nearest post office which was a twenty minute drive. You didn't want to order the doll directly to your house, it was too risky. Driving there was soothing, the nature around you and the empty road made you feel like you were the only person there, as if it all belonged just to you. Asher was also happy to be on the passenger seat, his head stuck out the window as he enjoyed the wind.

The package was very large as you expected and the worker helped you get it in the back of your truck. The drive back home was fast.

Somehow, you managed to get the big box in your living room with Asher's 'help' aka him running around your legs, barking at the box and sniffing it and almost making you drop it on your feet twice.

"Asher!" you chuckled in frustration, playfully petting his head before you looked down at the box. Your chest felt tight suddenly and you tried to calm down your breathing as you placed your hand on your heart and started taking deep breaths in.

"Let's do this." you nodded, determined to start facing your past.

After opening up the box and removing the bubble wrap, you came face to face with the doll called Chan. His face, it was familiar and it brought up fuzzy memories and feelings that you couldn't quite put your finger on. You stared at him for a moment before picking up the paper in the box.

Hello,

My name is Chan and I am your protective doll.

I love creating music, working out, spending time in the nature or at the beach. I mostly wear black clothes, making me look like some sort of bodyguard. But don't be intimidated, I'm gentle on the inside.

I am used to taking care of others, so every now and then I need someone to lean on and take care of me as I tend to forget myself.

I hope you'll be the one for me and that you'll come to love me as much as I love you!

It was freaky, the way the doll 'spoke' inside the letter like it was alive. You swallowed as you stared at it, Asher scaring you with his sudden barking. He seemed to be excited, his tail wagging as he jumped around the box and barked at Chan.

"You like him, don't you?" you asked Asher and he kept on barking as if to answer your question. "Alright, I trust your canine wisdom." you laughed and kneeled down to keep unwrapping the bubble wrap. You noticed another paper sticking from the pocket of Chan's jacket so you picked it up.

Hey there, my peach!

I dressed a little nicer for our first date.

I'm looking forward to spending time with you, I hope you are excited too.

"Peach?" you chuckled and shook your head with a slight smile.

You had no idea what to make of all this, you wished you could remember more and know just how you were a part of this and why did Chan dolly seem so familiar to you?

You knew your friend would call you with the plan she had come up with and in the meantime you didn't want to mess with the doll too much, your paranoia made you overly cautious. Thoughts swirled in your mind; what if this was some kind of set up? What if the doll comes to life during the night and hurts you? What if they put a tracking device inside the doll and now they'll find you? The androids from your dream, they were working for someone very powerful, that's what you knew. And someone with so much power could do all sorts of things... But then again, your memory was wiped somehow and the huge amount of cash in your bank account almost seemed like an apology.

You shook your head and decided to put Chan in the guest room. You were too afraid and confused, filled with so many emotions that were swirling inside your gut, rising up and almost making you throw up. You needed to get your mind off of things so you laid Chan dolly in bed with Asher following behind you and sniffing the doll curiously.

"Let's go." you said to Asher and shooed him out of the room before glancing at Chan one more time. With a sigh you closed and locked the door, too afraid to be too close to the suspicious doll. If only you could remember your relationship with it, maybe you'd be more at ease. Right now, you only had more questions in your mind.

You decided to go about your day, working in your garden and around the house, keeping your mind occupied and away from all the anxieties that were swarming in your brain. Hours passed and you were finally in bed, too exhausted to even keep your eyes open. You remembered that Chan dolly was in the next room suddenly and for some reason a feeling of comfort washed over you. You knew him. You were becoming more and more sure about that.

~

Chan sat across from you in a chair with some kind of machine hooked up to the back of his neck, the cables leading to your computer as you typed. He watched you quietly with a hint of curiosity in his eyes while you worked. There was a steady beeping sound filling up the room together with the sound of your fingers hitting the keys on the keyboard. You looked up at him and he gave you a small smile.

"Has the buzzing subsided?" you asked.

"Yes, it's almost gone." he answered.

"Helena will be glad to hear that." you nodded and typed in a few more parameters before Chan spoke up again.

"Is it true that our mother is sick?" the question made you stop in your tracks. You slowly lifted your head from the screen and looked at the confused expression on the doll's face.

"Yes, sadly it is true." you answered, watching as he tilted his head left and right while processing what you said.

"Will she be okay?" he asked, his eyes big and innocent. You sighed, there was still so much to do, so much to add to the code, to feed to the algorithm. He needed to expand, the artificial cell growth needed to be accelerated for everything to work as it was supposed to and mostly for the vision Helena had. It was one hell of a task and you were a part of it, the brilliant team she put together.

"We don't know yet." you answered truthfully.

"Who is doctor Park?" Chan asked suddenly, making you jolt a little.

"How did you hear about all this?" you asked him, leaning back in your chair.

"O-on accident." the doll seemed to become nervous. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, I was walking by Mother's office and I heard her talking on the phone, saying how she is sick and that there is a doctor Park trying to take away her project, make it into something different."

"Shit." you cursed quietly.

"Did I do something wrong?" Chan asked, the doll showing fear and anxiety on his face. You looked back at the screen of your computer, noticing how beautifully the code was developing and changing on its own. It truly seemed like some kind of magic.

"No, no, you didn't do anything wrong. Everything is okay, Channie." you reassured him with a kind smile which he returned, his brows smoothing immediately.

"I like that nickname." he said thoughtfully.

"Yeah?" you let out a chuckle, the doll expressing something like that was new which meant that everything was developing just as it was supposed to. Now, if only you could help Helena somehow, know that she'll be okay and keep away doctor Park, then everything would be perfect. And the dolls would be ready to be introduced to the world soon, make a life for themselves along with humans.

~

Your eyes snapped open and you blinked a few times, realizing that the sun was rising, the first rays peeking through your window. You sat up in confusion. That wasn't a dream, it was a memory.

You were indeed working at BIMT alongside Helena, helping her out with the dolls. You knew Chan and he knew you. But you still had no idea about the rest of the details like how they were made, what was their purpose and what was your specialty. You couldn't remember what role you played exactly but it must've been something important. You stood up quickly, Asher joining you, already excited for his walk. But before that, you had to check on Chan.

Your hand shook above the handle of the door, the images of the bloody door in the lab from your nightmares flashing in your mind. You shook it off and opened the door. Chan was in the same position you left him and you stood on the doorway for a moment before tentatively approaching the bed.

"Hello. I don't know if you can hear me and I feel more crazy talking to you than I already did before. But I'm gonna help you. I'm not exactly sure how but I know that everything will be okay." you tried to talk to the doll and calm yourself at the same time. Chan didn't move or say anything so you sighed and left the room.

You were still waiting for your friend to tell you what her plan was.

It's been exactly 22 days since you got Chan and there was no changes in his state, he seemed to be completely frozen in space and time. You put him in your living room for a while which proved to be a mistake since Asher wanted to jump on top of the doll and play with him constantly. He couldn't understand why something human-looking ignored him and didn't pet him or play with him. You laughed at your dog's cuteness even though you were nervous that he'd accidentally break Chan. So you put him back in the guest room where he spent those days since you got him.

Your memories were coming back in snippets and you were sure that this doctor Park that kept being talked about in your dreams was an evil person and that the androids who worked for him, the ones that injected you with something when you found Helena's body may be following you or listening in on your phone conversations.

But there was no other way to communicate with your friend. And she had finally called you with her plan. Most of the dolls were already sold out, it was a craze. She wanted you to wake Chan up first like she woke her Jisung dolly up on the computer for her plan to work.

And for some reason you were too afraid to do that.

She called you again two weeks later, when you were losing your mind with torturous nightmares and jumbled memories that you couldn't place in order or even understand what half of them meant. You were losing grip on reality, you had no idea which dream was just that and which one was a memory that actually happened to you.

Your paranoia grew and you needed help.

"Hey there, friend! How's everything going with your dolly? Did you wake him up yet?" your friend asked after calling you.

"Not yet. I'm scared to." you answered, looking out the window.

"Just do as I did. He'll wake up just like Jisung did. And speaking of Jisung, he really wants to see Chan."

Your breath got caught in your throat. People coming here, finding out your address, knowing where you lived...

"I- I don't know about that. What if you get followed here?" you panicked as all sorts of thoughts started swirling in your mind. "I don't want them to find me."

"Who is 'them'?" she asked but you couldn't even explain it all to yourself.

"I can't say. They may be listening, may know Channie is here. I can't risk it anymore, I can't!"

"Please, just calm down! We need to help the dolls, and no one can do it but us, do you understand that? I know that you're scared but trust me, okay?" you heard the desperation in her voice and you knew there was no one else who could help her and the dolls but you.

You sighed and turned around, nervously picking at your clothes.

"Alright. But if something happens-"

"Nothing will happen. Well, nothing bad. I promise."

You weren't very reassured but you knew there was no other choice.

It was time to wake Chan up.

~

You were sitting in front of your computer, one end of the cable already hooked into it as your shaky hand held the other end. You hesitated as you stared at the usb opening on the back of Chan's neck. There was no more time to waste, you had to do this now.

You hooked him up finally, opening up your terminal and typing. Your friend told you exactly what to do to open the code and when you finally had it in front of you, it seemed familiar. You gasped as you looked at the lines of code, it was as if you knew them in your heart. The code was beautiful, so intricate and different than any other program you worked on. You found the factory reset loop and looked at Chan one more time before clicking it.

You waited for a few moments as nothing was happening and the only sounds you could hear was your heart beating in your ears and Asher's little sigh as he dozed off on the carpet. Suddenly, the doll's cheeks reddened and his eyes watered as he gasped for air. You jolted and Asher lifted his head immediately, barking at the doll.

Your eyes widened while you watched it all unfold as he started breathing, coughing, his skin becoming flushed. Chan looked confused and scared for a moment before his eyes landed on you and they mirrored your expression, widening as he stared at you.

"Y/n?" his voice was hoarse.

"C-Channie?" you gasped, you couldn't believe that he remembered you.

Asher was already all over Chan, sniffing him and barking at him, his tail wagging happily. Chan smiled at your dog despite the craziness of the situation and his total confusion. You grabbed a water bottle and gave it to Chan.

He was really alive and you were in complete and utter shock.

"You remember me?" you asked as you fidgeted with your fingers. You had no idea what your relationship with him was other than the little snippets where you saw yourself working on his code, still never being able to see clearly just what you were typing.

"I remember everything." he said and you gasped again.

"E-everything?" you stuttered as you kept staring at him. Chan started petting Asher who was now sitting by his side, trusting him completely, it made you feel at ease.

"Don't you? You don't remember me?" he asked.

"Only bits and pieces. I think my memory was wiped. Helena-"

"I know, they killed her. Well he ordered it, doctor Park. And his little androids did all the dirty work."

"Please, help me remember. I have no idea what I was doing exactly at BIMT." you pleaded, feeling like you were on the precipice of something big.

"You were working on the development of the code, specifically you were specializing in our mental state and sometimes about physical problems we'd feel like buzzing in our ears or itching. We used to come to your office to talk to you and you'd give us tests and then check at the development of the code. You spent a lot of time with me and Minho, we were your main patients so to speak."

"So I was like a counselor or psychologist? But I don't remember ever taking any courses in that... I just know I am good with technology, I know I went to college as a developer. I can't remember much else about my education. And then I remember being with my ex and working for a few different companies. Lately, I remembered working at BIMT and talking to you mostly, but I have no idea what happened overall since I started working there until I stopped. It's frustrating."

Chan nodded as he listened to you speak.

"I would be frustrated if my memory was wiped too. But it wasn't, not like the other dolls' memory was. Because Helena gave me something that would help me remember, she knew what doctor Park's intentions were. She couldn't stop him because she was too weak and sick and we didn't know who to ask for help. Doctor Park scared most of the team somehow, I have no idea what he threatened them with but you were one of the ones that stayed the longest. Though I guess that Park did a lousy job of wiping memory if you are starting to remember things." Chan explained.

"That he did." you let out a chuckle of disbelief, your head was swimming with so many questions. "What did Helena give you to remember?"

"She gave me a usb stick with some code and I used it to protect my memory."

"Were we close? You and me, I mean." you asked after a pause.

"Yes, you were always like a friend to me. You treated us like... Like we were human. You took into consideration our thoughts and feelings. You and Helena were the only people we really felt safe with. I mean, the rest of the team was okay too but they treated us as if we were products." Chan leaned back in the chair as Asher settled down next to him, continuing his nap that was interrupted earlier.

"Wait, so how did this happen? All of you 'sleeping', becoming sex dolls?" Chan blushed slightly at that.

"It was doctor Park. I don't know which modifications he did to our code but we were all unable to move after some time, after Helena died and all the old team was gone, only the androids were left and they worked on us. I just hope my brothers don't remember that part." Chan trailed off, looking at the ground. "Do you know where they are?" he looked up at you.

"I know only where Jisung is. My friend has him, actually she is the one who asked me to get you and help you out. She has a plan on how to help all the dolls break free. We just need a way to contact the other doll owners."

You explained to Chan what the plan was and he listened intently, sitting silent for a few moments before he spoke up.

"I have an idea."

"What is it?" you tilted your head at him.

"We gather everyone in one place. That would be the easiest, wouldn't it?" Chan asked and you nodded.

"Yes, but how would we do that?"

"Simple, we add something alarming into my code, like a mistake and it'll get the attention of BIMT and they'll come get all the dolls. Let them know I'm awake, that we all are even if some of them aren't awake yet."

"Can it hurt you?" you asked and Chan smiled a little.

"No, it will just be like a warning to the institute, I think it's safe to do this."

"Let me call my friend and discuss with her." you said and he agreed.

It was one hell of a long phone call, you forgot about the fact that someone might be listening in as you put her on speaker so Jisung could hear Chan's voice, the poor guy broke down and started crying after talking to Chan, making you feel even more determined to help the dolls break free.

The plan was set and you were ready to make BIMT and doctor Park pay.

The fresh breeze drifted through the leaves and grass, bringing the sweet smell of flowers towards you and enveloping you in a kind of calm state of being. You watched as Chan ran around the field with Asher, throwing him a stick they'd found and Asher running back to bring it to him.

It's been a week since you woke him up and despite all the fears and doubts that tormented you, having him near you and sharing your private sanctuary with him felt natural, as if he's been there forever. You felt safe and protected, Asher loved him and you had someone else to talk to except yourself and your dog. Chan turned to look at you as if he knew that you were thinking about him and gave you that blinding smile that made your heart flutter.

Come evening, Chan and you were sitting down on the couch with Asher by your feet and once again you grabbed your journal and opened it up. For the last few days, Chan has been helping you remember, at least the things he participated in or knew were true. You could then eliminate dreams and expand on the memories, especially if he was there to witness them first hand.

"Hey, what about the key that Helena gave me? In my dream, she gave me that key she always wore on a necklace around her neck and said to give it to you, that you'd know what it was for." you asked Chan.

"She gave you the key?" Chan smiled, looking excited suddenly.

"She did. It's in my nightstand."

"Y/n, that's amazing! The key is for the safe in her mansion. There's money in there, her will, all the documents and papers containing information about us, how we were built from the very beginning to the last code. The instructions on how to build dolls that look and act human is inside that safe and you are holding the key." Chan said as he grabbed your hands excitedly.

Your body warmed up, both from the news and from the contact.

"Everything we need to know is in there? Which means, whoever gets the papers can make more dolls like the eight of you?"

"Yes and just imagine what could happen if it fell into wrong hands." Chan said and looked down at your hands in his, thumbs gently caressing your skin and soothing you even though your heart was fluttering. "We need to find Helena's mansion."

"You don't know where it is?"

"No, some information was scattered among us so they can't find everything out or it would be harder for them to do so. I believe that Jeongin is the one who knows locations." Chan said, still holding onto your hands and you were getting incredibly hot. It's been a long time since you had physical contact with another human being, someone who could hold you and soothe you like he could.

"Making him sound like GPS." you chuckled and Chan let out a laugh before his eyes landed on yours and he tilted his head.

"I'm so glad we found each other again." he said and you swallowed, feeling a little shiver running up your spine.

"Channie... Just how close were we?" you asked cautiously. The fluttering in your chest and stomach increased as your heart sped up and you watched his cheeks heating up.

"Honestly? Very close, I- I kissed you once. Which was very wrong because you were taken but you were so upset that day. You just found out the heartbreaking news that you couldn't, you know." he trailed off as you stared at him confusedly so he continued. "That you couldn't have kids and you got into this huge argument with your ex and started crying while explaining everything to me. And I just couldn't stand to see you so upset so I confessed my feelings and kissed you." Chan said, biting on his lip nervously as he tried to read your expression.

"Back up just a second. I told you about not being able to have kids while I was working at BIMT?"

"Yeah, you found it out not too long before all the shit went down."

"But I thought I found that out after BIMT. Because I remember when I woke up in the hospital and had no idea what happened to me since I worked my last job before that to the moment I opened my eyes. And my ex was there, and we were together for another year or so. And during that time I found out I couldn't have kids." you talked confusedly, trying to connect the dots.

"Wait, what if he had something to do with it?" Chan gasped.

"With what? Me not being able to have children?"

"No, your loss of memory."

You sat there thinking for a moment. If only the two of you knew about your problem while you were still at BIMT and then your memory was wiped before you found out again that you can't have kids...

"That bastard made me go through this horrible shit twice!" you stood up abruptly, anger rising up inside you. "He knew and he was somehow involved and the fucking asshole made me hear the most terrible news twice, take the same hit twice. Fuck!" you kicked the coffee table angrily and Asher barked, confused at your sudden outburst.

"Hey, hey." Chan stood up and wrapped his arms around you. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's not your fault. I should've known, I should've been more careful."

"You can't really blame yourself either, this is obviously something bigger than us. Someone orchestrated all of this and that someone is probably doctor Park. He was after us since the beginning, after Helena's money and legacy. We need to bring him down, find some dirt on him and expose him." Chan talked as he caressed your back in soothing circles.

"Let's work on that code then."

~

In the evening after you bid good night to Chan, you were left alone with your thoughts. Asher slept by your bed as always, watchful of you, giving you the physical sense of security you needed. But your mind was a bad place, everything was starting to connect. All your memories were coming back more detailed and intense, your work with the dolls, how you took care of them, how it felt as if they were your friends, how much effort you put into it all alongside Helena and the rest of the team. How your ex was very secretive and had weird phone calls and would disappear during the weirdest hours, always coming up with some sort of work excuse. Your blood boiled with anger as you felt that you were used like a puppet for whatever grand scheme was happening behind the scenes.

It was infuriating, feeling like your hands were tied back then and how you couldn't stop or change what happened. But, there was still time, the last hope hasn't died yet. You sighed as you tossed and turned in your bed, you needed comfort. You needed Chan.

You remembered spending time with him too, how sweet he was and how fond he seemed of you. Not only did you help him out, but he helped you out too, he was someone you could talk to about anything. You knew it was probably crossing the work relationship between the two of you but you couldn't care less. Chan made you feel good, he made you feel seen and heard.

So you remembered that day you cried to him and the way he kissed you like you were everything to him. A wave of warmness travelled through your entire body and you stood up, leaving Asher in your room as you went to the guest room and knocked gently on the door.

Chan wasn't sleeping either, his mind was also reeling with everything that was happening and his worry for the rest of the dolls grew. He just hopped they were all protected and in the hands of good people who would come to love them and take care of them. He hoped to see them once again, all together like they were once before in Helena's mansion.

"Come in." he said quietly and you walked in, closing the door behind you. "Can't sleep?" Chan added and you shook your head.

"I just keep thinking about everything. All my memories are coming back to me and now I can see more clearly than ever that I was just used for Park's plan." you sighed, sitting down on the bed.

Chan didn't hesitate pulling you into his embrace. You froze for a moment, all the years of isolation and swearing to yourself that you'll never let anyone close were making you want to run away but the warmth of his body and the need for someone to comfort you overtook the anxiety and you let yourself melt into him.

"I keep thinking about everything too. Especially my friends, I'm worried that someone who bought them might be treating them badly. I just hope they're okay." Chan said, a worried expression on his face.

"At least we know that Jisung is okay. And I'm sure whoever bought the other dolls is treating them well. I don't think someone would spend so much money just to throw it away."

"I guess but you never know with people. I just want us to be reunited again."

"Then we will do everything to make that happen." you said and wrapped your arms around Chan's waist. You pressed your head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat.

"Stay here tonight." Chan whispered into your hair and you squeezed him tighter.

The feelings you had for him before were coming back to you, even if it was forbidden or wrong back then, you couldn't help what you felt in your heart. You wanted him.

You looked up at him and desire grew inside you as his eyes roamed all over your face like he was trying to take in every single detail that makes you up. You sat up and grabbed his face, crashing your lips into his without any hesitation. Chan's eyes widened for a moment before he recovered and gripped your waist, kissing you equally as passionately.

Everything disappeared except the two of you, your hands roamed on each other's skin, tugging at the clothes, tongues explored each other's mouths and your hearts started racing fast in unison.

Your hands roamed under his shirt, touching the taut muscles as his hands gripped at your bare thighs, pulling you closer and making you grind against him. You groaned into his mouth, feeling his hot bulge pressed against your own heat and you couldn't help grinding harder against him, jolts of electricity running through your body. It's been so long since you felt wanted and you already couldn't get enough of him.

Chan's hands slid under your shirt, caressing the soft skin on your back and sides as he slowly made his way to your breasts. Your breath hitched when he grabbed them and started massaging them, his thumbs running over your sensitive nipples as his tongue explored your mouth.

You gripped the hem of his shirt and Chan broke off the kiss so you could take his shirt off. Your eyes roamed all over his figure, the wave of warmth inside you growing even hotter. He smirked a little and you gripped at your shirt, taking it off too. He grabbed at your body and swiftly turned you over so you were under him. A gasp escaped your lips as he manhandled you easily, hovering over you.

"I've wanted you for so long, Y/n. You're the only person who made me feel this way ever since I first saw you." he spoke and you shivered, gripping at his shoulders and pulling him down closer to you.

"Please Chan, I need you."

Hearing you say that made his entire being flutter, all he wanted in that moment was to feel you completely, to make you his. His lips travelled down your neck to your chest, paying special attention to your sensitive nipples as he slowly slid your shorts and underwear down, leaving you completely bare and vulnerable.

You spread your legs almost automatically, you needed him more than anything, you needed that connection you've been missing for a while. Chan took off his sweatpants and boxers and you whimpered as you looked at his cock, hanging hard between his legs, dripping and throbbing for you.

"It's been a while..." you trailed off and Chan nodded understandingly, his fingers pressing against your clit and moving in circles. You moaned, feeling yourself getting more wet and shivering as he played with the most sensitive part of you, his fingers sliding down to gather your wetness ocassionally before going back to your clit. His lips were everywhere, worshipping your skin and making you melt into the bed. He slowly pushed two of his fingers inside you as you gripped at his arms, feeling him opening you up and preparing you to take him.

You lost yourself completely in that moment as he brought you to your high quickly after finding that special spot inside you. You were already overwhelmed but you needed more and Chan was getting impatient, he wanted you more than anything.

When he finally started pushing his length inside of you, your entire body felt as if it was on fire and you held onto him as he groaned into your ear and gripped your hips tightly.

"So tight." Chan groaned as he filled you up and you clenched around him, your insides fluttering at the feeling. He paused for a moment, letting you adjust as his hands slid up and down your waist. You wrapped your arms around him and arched into him, needing him even closer. He slowly started to move and your legs wrapped around him, pushing him in deeper.

"I dreamt about you for so long." Chan groaned.

"Yeah?" your brain wasn't even registering completely what he was saying, your senses were focusing on the way his length dragged against your velvety walls.

"The thought of you kept me going in that place. Wishing I'd see you again one day." Chan confessed as he gripped your hips, moving languidly inside you, making you feel every inch of him filling you up.

"I'm sorry I forgot you." your nails dug into his upper back and you let out a moan as the tip of his cock pressed into your sweet spot.

"I'll make sure you never forget again." Chan whispered into your ear before thrusting harder into you and your legs trembled as you held onto him, your eyes rolling back. You completely melted into the feeling of him while he rocked your entire body as you clawed at him. You desperately needed something to hold on to and your nails were dragging up and down his back, leaving red angry marks but Chan loved it. He gripped your hips, getting completely lost in you as you clenched around him and let go while he fucked you through your high and chased his own.

All the pent up feelings got released when Chan exploded inside of you, filling you up and you whimpered at the feeling and the bliss that settled inside you. Both of you were taking a moment to come down to Earth when loud barking from the other side of the door scared you.

"Oh, Asher." you chuckled and Chan let out a snort.

"He'll need to wait for a moment." he added, getting up and making his way to the adjacent bathroom. After both of you cleaned up and got dressed you let Asher in. Your dog barked as if you had abandoned him and betrayed him and only calmed down after both of you gave him pats and called him a silly little pup, even though he was far from little.

He slept next to the bed like always and you slept in Chan's arms, blissful and loved.

The next few days were tough, you and Chan worked on the error code that would draw the attention of BIMT, consulting with your friend and Jisung at the same time.

The day you wrote and perfected the code, you knew that in the moment you activate it, everything will go into motion.

"Let's have a day just for us, forget about all of this." you told Chan, the fear and uncertainty gnawing at your stomach. You had no idea how everything would turn out even after you had planned out everything carefully. You didn't want to be separated from Chan ever again and he felt the same.

"Let's go see the waterfall." he nodded with a smile. You had promised him ever since he woke up that you'll take him there, together with Asher. So, the two of you got ready for the hike as it was a little far and Asher was excited as soon as he heard the word 'walk' come out of your mouth.

The nature around you was exactly what you needed, the fresh air and the song of the birds as you walked alongside Chan, Asher running in front of you and sniffing around. It was a perfectly spent morning, making you forget for a moment about all the shit that went down and was still bound to happen.

As you got to the waterfall, you took a few photographs with your camera, focusing on how beautiful Chan looked when he was happy and simply existing, noticing how soft his eyes would become as soon as they landed on yours.

"Do you think everything will go over well?" you asked as you stared at the mighty waterfall, the water splashing down loudly. Chan wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly.

"It has to. My brothers will be saved, BIMT will go down and nothing will ever separate us again." he spoke into your ear gently before kissing your cheek.

You hoped he was right even if it sounded too good to be true.

So you savored the moment, his embrace, Asher running around with his stick and the beautiful waterfall in front of you, just in case it would be the last memory you'd have to hold on to.

~

It was happening. BIMT had been warned about an error and the site closed after leaving notifications about the dolls being discontinued indefinitely. You were waiting for your friend's call, expecting your phone to ring any moment, but what you didn't expect was a knock on the door.

Your mind swam with possibilities, going to the darkest places immediately, thinking they had found you and were here to grab Chan and take him away from you forever. Asher barked at the door threateningly as Chan stood beside you.

"Does anyone else have your address?" he asked.

You thought back to the time you were leaving the city. The only person you trusted the most was your niece. You weren't that much older than her, only a decade since your half-sister was much older than you and had her daughter young. You weren't really on speaking terms with her and were much closer to your niece who was more of a sister to you than your own. You remembered giving her the address to the cabin in case of any emergencies. You looked at Chan and swallowed.

"My niece, it could be my niece but it means that something bad happened." you shivered and the knock came again.

"Let's just open the door." Chan tried to reassure you.

Your hand gripped the handle as Chan stood beside you protectively, Asher on your other side. But when you opened the door, you weren't expecting three figures standing there, all three of them familiar to you.

"Hi, auntie!" your niece chuckled and you stared at her and the two men beside her completely flabbergasted.

"Hyunjin? Seungmin?" Chan gasped in disbelief to which they reacted in shock too.

"Chan? What are you doing here, bro?" Hyunjin laughed, tears of happiness and disbelief brimming in his eyes as Seungmin muttered a silent 'what the fuck?'

"Wait, you're a dolly too!" your niece gasped and you were pinching yourself just to see if this was a dream or not.

"You're just in time. This is insane. Come on in." Chan said with his eyes still wide, rubbing your arm to bring you back into the present.

The phone rang and you jolted, quickly grabbing it and answering it, it was your friend as you expected.

"Did they come get him?" you asked quickly, motioning for everyone to settle down as Asher jumped around them and sniffed them.

"Yes. I did as we planned. Is Chan ready?" she asnwered.

"Oh, he is ready. You should get here as soon as possible."

"Fuck yes!" your friend laughed and you shook your head.

"Uhm, but..." you trailed off and stopped pacing, looking at everyone in the living room, chattering and hugging each other.

"Yes?"

"We have company." you said.

"What company?"

"Someone who can help us a lot." you smiled and she chuckled and gasped the entire time while you explained what just happened.

You just hopped that your plan would work and that doctor Park would pay for all the shit he has caused. But most of all you wanted Chan and the rest of the dolls to be reunited.

It was time for action.

@moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @moon-ttokki-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @hwangjoanna @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @0omillo0 @halfwinterhalfuniverse @cooldeermagazine @delulkpopstan143 @todorokiskitten @compersian @azxulskz @stayp1eceposts @minniesverse @skzdreamer13 @0325ale @j-ji-jia @shannthewriter @mhluvie @my-neurodivergent-world @hyyunjinnn @spookybuttsstuff-blog @pancake-freckle @felixsbrowniesarmystayengene @minhooofr

@thelostprincessofasgard @linocvp1d @stayjinnie @portgasdbru @lilgothhishhh @selinia86 @felixsbabe @staytinyluva @sadroses98 @katexstay @gnabnahcsworld @hazelbazil @iwannahugchangbin @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @skzfelixlove @skzjen @syedazarintasnim @geektacularmommom-blog @cookiesnmilfx @kayleefriedchicken @stxt-bby @strykdsstanot8 @hyunjinhwang2018 @binniesbabygirl @hyunjiniretti @linavc @julciaqwerty @salemluvsmusic

[chrissssssmut]

I really like your stories if I may request.... Um can you please write Step Mom Chaewon x male reader, where Chaewon really after is not his father but y/n

My Stepmom's Secret

Chaewon x Male Reader

The scent of jasmine tea hit your nose before the sound of her voice ever did.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

You blinked, a little disoriented by the soft warmth of the sun spilling through the kitchen window, and the far more disorienting warmth of Chaewon, standing barefoot on the cold tile, wearing only a long silk robe that clung to her figure like it had no right to. One hand stirred the tea, the other braced on the marble counter. Her hair was slightly damp, probably from the shower, and your eyes — you couldn’t help it — trailed down the curve of her neck to where the robe tied at her waist.

You cleared your throat. “Hey… uh. Morning.”

Chaewon smiled. The same smile she always gave you — just a little too slow. A little too knowing.

“You always get so quiet around me in the mornings,” she said, walking toward the table. “Still shy, even after all this time?”

“I’m not shy,” you muttered, pretending to scroll through your phone. “Just not a morning person.”

She let out a hum, the sound purring low in her throat as she placed a mug of tea in front of you. Her fingers brushed your hand. Deliberate. Lingering.

You didn’t move. You didn’t look up.

Chaewon did, crouching slightly to meet your eyes. “I like you quiet, actually,” she said, voice low. “Makes it easier to see what you’re really thinking.”

Your heart kicked once, sharp.

“I’m not thinking anything.”

“Oh, you’re definitely thinking something,” she murmured, gaze locked on yours. “I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching.”

“I don’t—”

“You stare at my legs when I’m in shorts,” she continued. “You clench your jaw when I wear this robe. You hold your breath when I walk too close.”

“Chaewon—”

“Say it.” Her voice hardened, just slightly. “Say what you’re thinking right now.”

You stared at her, pulse loud in your ears. The room felt hotter, suddenly. Smaller.

“…You’re my stepmom.”

Her lips curled into a smirk. “That’s not what I asked.”

You stood up, too fast, the chair scraping behind you. “I’m not doing this. Where’s Dad?”

She leaned back against the table, crossing her arms — the silk of her robe falling open just enough to hint at the curve of her inner thigh.

“Business trip,” she said simply. “Won’t be back until Monday.”

Your breath hitched. You hated how your brain immediately did the math: that’s six nights.

“You planned this.”

Chaewon tilted her head. “Planned what?”

“This,” you hissed. “You knew he was leaving. You waited until I came home from college for the weekend. You—”

“I’ve always waited for you,” she interrupted. “You think I married him because I loved him? No. I married him because it gave me an excuse to stay close to you.”

Your blood ran cold. Hot. Then cold again.

“I saw you before he even introduced us,” she said, her tone sweet, almost dreamy. “That party, remember? You were standing near the pool, wet hair, a little tipsy. God, you looked like a sin waiting to happen.”

“You’re insane,” you whispered.

She stepped forward. “I’m in love.”

You backed into the counter, the edge pressing against your hips.

“Do you know how hard it was,” she whispered, “to play the role of the doting wife? To sleep next to a man I don’t care about just so I could stay close to you?”

“You’re sick.”

“I’m devoted,” she corrected, pressing one hand to your chest. “Devoted to you. I’ve waited two years, baby. Every little smile you gave me… every time you accidentally brushed against me walking down the hall… every time you said my name. I burned for you.”

You swallowed hard. “This is wrong.”

“Says who?”

Her lips hovered just inches from yours. Her fingers slipped beneath your shirt, slowly dragging her nails down your abdomen. You didn’t stop her. You didn’t say anything.

Because your body was betraying you. Because the truth was, you had stared at her. Wanted her. Dreamed about her in ways that left you guilty and breathless.

And she knew it.

“I knew you’d want me,” she whispered, tracing your waistband. “It’s in your eyes. The way you’re breathing right now.”

“Fuck…”

Her hand slipped inside your shorts, curling around your half-hard cock like she’d done it a thousand times in her head. You shuddered. She leaned in and kissed your neck, soft and slow, her voice purring against your skin.

“Let me show you what two years of obsession looks like.”

You grabbed her wrist, but your grip was weak. Shaky. She didn’t stop — she stroked you, slow and possessive.

“I thought about you when I touched myself,” she confessed. “Every night. Quiet so your dad wouldn’t hear. But it was always you. Only you.”

You gasped, hips twitching.

“I thought about your mouth,” she breathed, dragging her tongue up your neck, “your fingers, your cock… how good it’d feel inside me.”

“Jesus, Chaewon—”

“I’m yours,” she moaned. “Always have been. So take me.”

You pulled her into a kiss, finally breaking. She tasted like tea and sin. Her hands clawed at your shirt, yours tangled in her robe, tearing the silk apart. You pushed her onto the kitchen table, dishes clattering, and she let out a low moan.

“God, I knew you’d be rough,” she gasped as you shoved her panties aside, fingers plunging inside her slick heat. “I dreamed about this. Being laid out for you.”

Your fingers moved fast, deep, curling to hit the spot that made her cry out.

“Louder,” you growled. “Let the neighbors hear what a fucking mess you are.”

Her thighs trembled. She reached up, dragging you closer, biting your lip as she whispered:

“Fill me. Ruin me. Make me yours.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You tore your shorts off and pressed your cock to her entrance, the slick heat of her body welcoming you in inch by inch. She was tight — impossibly so — and her nails dug into your back as you started thrusting.

“You feel so good,” she moaned, wrapping her legs around your waist. “Better than I imagined. You were made for me.”

Your rhythm grew brutal, desperate. The table creaked under you. Her moans echoed through the house.

“You gonna cum in your stepmom?” she whispered, voice broken with pleasure. “Gonna mark me? Claim me?”

“Yes,” you gasped, thrusts erratic. “Fuck—yes.”

Her body seized under you as she came, crying out your name like a prayer.

And then you followed, groaning against her neck, burying yourself deep inside her with one final thrust.

For a moment, everything was silent. Just your heartbeats. The soft tremble in her thighs. The stickiness between your hips.

Then she whispered:

“Now you can’t leave me.”

You blinked.

“You’re mine,” she said, smiling through the afterglow. “I made sure of it. No more running.”

You stared at her.

Chaewon reached up and cupped your face gently.

“I won’t let you go, baby. I didn’t come this far to lose you now.”

And the terrifying part?

You didn’t want her to let go.

You hadn’t been able to think straight for five days.

Ever since that morning in the kitchen, Chaewon hadn’t let you breathe without her hands somewhere on your body — brushing your chest when you passed by, sitting on your lap during dinner, sucking your fingers under the table. The worst part?

You let her.

You wanted her. Always had. And now that you’d tasted her — claimed her — she wasn’t just in your head anymore.

She was in your blood.

“Come back to bed,” she purred, tugging at the hem of your hoodie. Her body was warm against your side, bare under one of your t-shirts, her breath hot against your neck as you stood by the hallway mirror trying to fix your hair.

“Someone’s gonna come to the door soon,” you said, checking your phone. “That thing I ordered’s out for delivery.”

Chaewon pouted, pressing her hips to your back. “Let them knock.”

You turned, raising an eyebrow. “You're seriously insatiable.”

“I’ve waited two years, baby,” she murmured, slipping her hands into your sweatpants. “You don’t get to complain.”

Your breath hitched as she gripped your cock — already semi-hard from the constant teasing. She smiled at the reaction.

“There he is,” she whispered, kneeling in front of you like a devout worshipper. “Missed me, didn’t you?”

You groaned as her mouth wrapped around your tip — soft, warm, wet. Her tongue circled lazily, eyes locked on yours.

“This is so fucked,” you muttered.

Chaewon pulled off just long enough to whisper, “You love it.”

And you did.

You leaned against the wall as she sucked you deep, her throat taking you inch by inch like she’d trained for it. Her hands dug into your thighs, keeping you from moving. From escaping. Not that you’d even try.

Then the doorbell rang.

You both froze.

Chaewon glanced up with wide eyes — but her mouth never left your cock.

“…Chaewon,” you hissed.

She smirked around you and sucked harder, deliberately bobbing her head as you twitched in her mouth. You heard the doorbell again — and then the sound of a truck idling out front.

“Get the door,” she said breathlessly, pulling off with a pop. “Now.”

“I—what—are you serious?!”

She pushed you toward the door, hand still stroking you fast and wet.

“Open it,” she growled. “I want you to see how good you look with your cock in my mouth while someone else stands right there.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Your knees nearly buckled.

You cracked the door open just a bit — heart pounding — and there he was: the mailman. Young. Bored. Holding a package and glancing down at the label.

“Package for… uh, Y/N?”

You nodded stiffly. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Chaewon’s mouth wrapped around you again, hidden just out of sight behind the doorframe. You barely managed to hold your breath.

The mailman squinted. “You okay, dude?”

“Y-Yeah,” you choked out. “Just… allergies.”

Chaewon moaned around your cock. Loud.

You nearly dropped the package.

“Uh… right,” the guy said slowly, handing it over. “Have a good one.”

You slammed the door the second he turned.

“Chaewon—fuck—what the hell is wrong with you?!”

She pulled off, spit connecting her lips to your tip. Her eyes were blown wide with lust.

“You are,” she whispered. “You’re what’s wrong with me.”

And then she swallowed you whole.

You doubled over, hand slamming against the wall. She was ruthless now — bobbing fast, sloppy, desperate. Her eyes welled with tears but she didn’t stop. Didn’t care. She needed this.

“I’m close,” you warned.

She didn’t let up.

You came hard, hips jerking forward as she sucked you dry. She moaned around your release, swallowing it all — eyes fluttering shut like she was tasting something divine.

When you finally pulled back, gasping, she wiped her mouth and licked her lips.

“God, you taste even better when you’re trying not to moan,” she purred.

“You’re crazy.”

“Crazy for you,” she said sweetly, standing and wrapping her arms around your neck. “I want you every minute of every day. I want your cock in my mouth when you do the dishes. I want to ride you when you’re on your stupid little Zoom calls. I want to jerk you off under the table while we eat dinner with your dad.”

You stiffened. “He’s back tomorrow.”

“I know.”

You swallowed. “You’re not planning to stop.”

She leaned in, brushing your lips with hers.

“I’m planning to ruin you.”

And then she kissed you — slow and deep, her tongue still tasting faintly like you. Her hands wandered south again, never content, always hungry.

“Take me to your room,” she whispered. “And lock the door this time.”

You didn’t think.

You just obeyed.

The front door clicked open around noon.

You were on the couch, pretending to scroll your phone, though you hadn’t read a single word in the last hour. Your skin was still warm from the shower — mostly because Chaewon had joined you halfway through and ridden you against the tile wall like she’d been starving — but your nerves had started to catch up.

And then you heard it:

“Hey! I’m home!”

Your father’s voice.

You stiffened.

Chaewon walked in from the kitchen a second later, already wiping her hands on a towel. She was wearing a soft knit dress, something casual, something subtle — but you knew better now. The neckline was a little too low. The fabric a little too thin. Her smile a little too perfect.

“Welcome back, honey!” she said sweetly, moving to greet him with a quick kiss on the cheek. “Did everything go well?”

“Same old, same old,” he said, dropping his bag. “Tired as hell. God, I missed real food.”

You stood up awkwardly. “Hey, Dad.”

He turned, grinning. “There’s my college man!”

He laughed and pulled you into a side hug. You could feel Chaewon watching. Could feel the heat behind her pleasant little smirk as she stood beside the man she married — a man completely oblivious to the fact that you’d been inside her less than twelve hours ago.

Dinner was quiet. Tense, at least for you.

The table was set like any normal Sunday — steak, roasted potatoes, steamed vegetables. Your dad poured wine. Talked about flights and meetings and a coworker who snored in the hotel room next door.

You tried to focus. To nod at the right parts. To laugh when you were supposed to.

But then you felt it.

A hand on your thigh.

You froze.

Chaewon didn’t miss a beat. She cut into her steak, chewed slowly, eyes flicking to yours just for a second — like a dare.

Her hand slid higher.

You glanced at your dad. He was sipping his wine, still mid-sentence about airport security lines.

Her fingers reached your zipper. Undid it.

You shifted in your seat, your fork trembling slightly in your grip.

Chaewon leaned in, casually brushing her shoulder against yours as her hand slipped into your pants. Her fingers curled around your cock, already half-hard from the tension alone.

You clenched your jaw.

“So,” your dad said, smiling at Chaewon. “He’s been behaving while I was gone?”

“Oh, absolutely,” she said sweetly, giving your cock a stroke. “He’s been very… obedient.”

You choked on your wine.

Your dad raised an eyebrow. “You good?”

You coughed. “Yeah. Wrong pipe.”

Chaewon’s hand moved slower now — cruel, teasing — stroking you just enough to make it torture. Her thumb grazed your tip. You twitched under the table.

“Dinner’s great,” you managed to say, voice tight.

“I’m glad,” she said, squeezing gently. “I made it just for you.”

You reached for your glass again, desperate for something — anything — to ground yourself. Her hand moved faster. More confident now.

Your father didn’t notice a thing.

“…and then this idiot from procurement tried to expense a whole box of Cuban cigars,” he was saying. “Swore it was for client relations.”

Chaewon’s fingers twisted. You bit your tongue.

Her lips brushed your ear, voice a breathless whisper.

“Be good and I’ll let you cum later. Be bad and I’ll make you beg for it.”

You nearly groaned out loud.

She pulled her hand back just as your dad stood to grab more wine from the fridge. You exhaled like you’d been underwater.

Chaewon leaned over, reaching for the salt — her hand brushing your crotch one last time, like a reward.

“Such a good boy,” she whispered.

You stared at your plate, your appetite gone.

Because the worst part wasn’t the danger. Wasn’t the risk.

It was the fact that you wanted more.

Later that night

The house was still.

You lay in your bed, the sheets kicked off, your breath shallow, your body burning.

You could still feel her hand on you. Still feel the pulse of her voice in your ear. That smug look in her eyes when she cleaned up dinner like a model housewife and kissed your father goodnight with the same mouth that had whispered filth to you under the table.

You heard the bedroom door creak open down the hall.

Footsteps.

Muted.

Your dad’s voice — sleepy.

“Mm… you coming to bed now?”

Chaewon’s voice, soft and sweet. “Just a second, baby. I’ll be right in.”

A pause.

A kiss.

Then the bedroom door closed again.

You waited.

Fifteen seconds. Thirty. A full minute.

Then—

Your door cracked open.

Chaewon stood there in the hallway light, wrapped in a silk robe. Thin, nearly see-through. Her eyes glinted with something wicked.

She stepped in. Closed the door behind her.

You sat up slightly. “Chaewon—”

She pressed a finger to her lips, silencing you.

Then she crawled onto the bed.

Not a word. Not a sound.

She straddled your lap, robe parting just enough to show that there was nothing underneath.

You whispered, “He’s still awake—”

“And I’m still wet,” she whispered back, rolling her hips into yours. “You’ve been making me crazy all day.”

You swallowed hard.

She leaned in and kissed you — slow, hungry, the kind of kiss that made you forget your own name. Her hands pushed your shirt up. You felt her nipples brush your chest, already hard.

“I tucked him in,” she whispered. “Even gave him a little kiss on the forehead. Told him I loved him.”

You shivered.

“And now,” she said, biting your bottom lip, “I’m going to ride his son like a filthy slut.”

You groaned.

She untied the robe slowly, shrugging it off her shoulders like a present just for you. Her body was perfect in the moonlight — soft curves, tight waist, thighs that trembled with anticipation.

She reached between you, guided you to her entrance.

And then sank down with a gasp.

You clutched her hips, trying not to moan. Her walls hugged you, warm and slick, and she arched her back as she took every inch, her head tipping back with a silent cry.

“Fuck…” she breathed. “You feel even better when I know he’s asleep down the hall.”

She began to move.

Slow at first — grinding in little circles — her hands braced on your chest. Her pace built with each bounce, her breath coming faster, skin slapping against yours in faint, wet rhythm.

Your fingers dug into her waist. “Chaewon—”

“Shhh,” she hissed, smirking. “Do you want him to hear me moan your name?”

You bit your tongue, barely holding it together.

Chaewon leaned close again, her lips brushing your ear. “You like this? Knowing I’m his wife, but I’m only yours when the lights go out?”

You nodded, breathless.

She grinned, licking a stripe up your neck. “Good. Because I’m not stopping until you cum so hard it hurts.”

She slammed down harder now, faster, her thighs quivering, her mouth open in breathless pleasure. Her nails scraped your chest. Her voice — barely a whisper — poured filth into your ear like honey:

“Call me mommy again. Go on. Whisper it.”

You choked on your groan. “Mommy…”

“Louder.”

“Mommy—!”

She clenched around you with a gasp, her orgasm hitting fast and fierce. You felt it — her whole body trembling, pussy gripping you like a vice.

And then you couldn’t hold it anymore.

You came inside her, hard, your hips jerking as she rode you through it — milking you dry with each slow grind of her soaked cunt.

When it was done, she collapsed on your chest, both of you panting in the dark.

After a long moment, she giggled.

“Still think I’m just your stepmom?”

You blinked at the ceiling. “You’re a fucking menace.”

She nuzzled into your neck. “And you’re mine.”

Then she kissed you one more time — sweetly this time — and whispered:

“Don’t fall asleep yet. I want a second round in the shower.”

Ten minutes later

The bathroom was filled with steam.

Water ran hot from the showerhead, fogging the mirror, hissing over tile. You leaned against the wall, barely able to stand, body still recovering from the first time she wrecked you.

Chaewon pressed up against your back, her arms wrapped around your waist from behind, her breasts warm against your spine. She kissed a line across your shoulder, hands already moving again — relentless, greedy.

“I wasn’t kidding,” she whispered. “I need more.”

You groaned as she slid one hand down your stomach, fingers wrapping around your cock — already hard again. Her other hand braced against your chest.

“Chaewon…” you panted. “You’re insatiable.”

“Mmhmm,” she purred. “You’ve ruined me. I can’t get enough.”

She began to stroke you — slow and teasing — her lips brushing your neck, her thighs slick against yours. You thrust into her hand, already pulsing.

Then—

A knock.

Both of you froze.

“Hey, bud?” your dad’s voice came through the door, muffled. “You in the shower?”

Your blood turned to ice.

Chaewon’s eyes went wide.

You opened your mouth to respond but she slapped a hand over it.

“Shhh,” she mouthed.

Your heart pounded.

“I—uh—yeah,” you called out, your voice cracking slightly. “Just… just taking a quick one.”

“Alright. Thought I heard something,” your dad said from the hallway. “You good?”

You nodded — stupidly, as if he could see you — and croaked out: “Yeah. Totally fine.”

There was a pause.

Then—

“Okay. Just checking. Night, kid.”

You waited, breath frozen in your lungs, until the footsteps faded.

Then you turned to Chaewon.

“What the fuck was that?!”

She grinned.

And then sank to her knees.

“No one said I had to stop.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

The water poured down over her as she wrapped her lips around you — warm, wet, and sinfully good. Her tongue worked expertly, her eyes locked on yours, daring you to make a sound.

Your back hit the tile wall as you gripped her soaked hair, biting your lip to keep from groaning out loud.

She was relentless. Her mouth slid deeper with each bob of her head, her hand stroking your base, her other hand cupping your balls, rolling them gently.

You hissed. “He’s still awake…”

She popped off for a second. “Then be quiet.”

And just like that, she took you in again — this time deeper, letting you hit the back of her throat. She moaned around you, the vibrations making your knees buckle.

It was torture. Blissful, cruel torture.

And then she pulled off with a wet gasp, stood up, and turned around, pressing her palms to the wall.

She looked over her shoulder.

“Take me. Now. Quietly.”

You didn’t even hesitate.

You grabbed her hips, lined yourself up, and slid inside her soaking core — hot, tight, perfect.

She bit her hand to keep from crying out, her body arching back into yours. You began to move — slow but deep, every thrust making her press her face into her arm to muffle the sounds.

Her walls fluttered around you. She was close again.

So were you.

And right as your climax built, she whispered, “Cum in me. Do it. Fill me up while your dad sleeps two rooms away.”

You didn’t last another second.

You exploded inside her with a muffled groan, your hand over your mouth, hips slamming forward as she clenched around you in ecstasy.

You both collapsed under the stream of water, breathing hard, hearts racing.

She leaned back against you, eyes fluttering shut. “That,” she whispered, “was so fucking hot.”

You stared at her, chest heaving.

“You’re gonna kill me.”

She smirked.

“Only if your dad doesn’t catch us first.”

[beloveds-embrace]

Feral getting to take the muzzle off for an extended time....but only because it's time for their check-up.

It was quiet in the infirmary. The sterile hum of medical equipment thrummed softly through the floor, and filtered light from the overhead fluorescents fell in wide, pale rectangles across the exam table where you sat, back straight, limbs still.

The muzzle had just been unlocked by John.

You could still feel it- a ghost weight, like an unwanted phantom limb. The pressure at your jawline, the cruel pinch where the corners had dug into the skin, the heat of synthetic straps made to outlast bullets. But now, it sat beside you in a reinforced case, untouched for the first time in days.

And still, you didn’t move.

“Easy, lass,” Johnny still murmured from your left, crouched low so he was level with you. “It’s just for the check-up, yeah? Will nae let ‘em hurt you.”

You blinked slowly, breath measured, tongue heavy in your mouth from disuse. There was no need to answer, not when your stillness spoke volumes and not when the slight tremble in your fingers told them everything they needed to know.

Simon stood at the door like a silent sentinel, arms crossed, shoulders tense, and Kyle leaned against the far wall, watching with something soft in his eyes.

But John moved in slow, deliberate steps to stand before you again, scent deep and grounding in the air “You’ve been good,” he said, voice low and sure. “Just gonna check your teeth before the doctor does, love. No surprises.”

Johnny was already fussing, soft hands tucking a bit of hair back from your temple, brushing his knuckles down your cheek.

“Won’t take long,” he promised, accent gentler than usual, all treacle warmth and protectiveness- reminded you of the candy and toffee pieces they slip you occasionally. “We’ll be right here. Me ‘n John’ll look after you.”

You tilted your chin a fraction, a gesture so small it might’ve gone unnoticed by anyone else. But Johnny brightened, caught the signal for what it was.

“Atta girl,” he whispered, a little purr in his tone. “Good love.”

The words shivered through you, low and sweet, a praise you hadn’t realized you wanted until it was given.

John stepped closer then, and though you could not smell it, his scent swept around you like a heavy coat of safety and familiarity. Alpha.

One gloved hand came up to cup your jaw, slow and careful. His thumb traced beneath your cheekbone while the other hand nudged at your lower lip, gentle.

“Open up for me, sweetheart.” He murmured, and you did as he asked.

There was no hesitation; not for him, and not for Johnny’s hand still brushing your nape in steady circles; not for the way Simon stood so still in the doorway, tension radiating like a stormcloud on your behalf, and not for Gaz’s watchful presence, ever your silent anchor.

John examined your teeth with the calm, clinical focus of someone used to being trusted with the most vulnerable moments. His brows furrowed slightly.

“Bruising at the gums,” he muttered. “Damn thing’s pinching too hard.”

“I told ‘em that muzzle’s too tight,” Johnny growled. “She does nae eat right with it on.”

You blinked again, slower this time, like a cat. So you could let them see how obedient you were. Let them see how calm you could be, how good, because you didn’t want them to worry.

But Johnny knew you better than that.

“Yer tryin’ to make it easy on us,” he said, forehead resting briefly against your temple, his purring deeper as it returned. He felt like an engine pressed against you. “Aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer because you didn’t need to.

John finished his inspection and leaned back slightly, his fingers still resting against your cheek. “You’re good,” he rumbled, low and deep. “You always are. But that doesn’t mean you have to suffer in silence, you understand me?”

You blinked once more, then a slight exhale until it was almost a nod.

He brushed his thumb along your chin, and for one precious moment, you felt… real. Not a weapon nor an asset.

Just theirs.

“When the doctor comes, I’ll convince him to let you have more days off from that awful thing.”

[houseofaegon]

Don't Let Go ✩ Bob Reynolds

Pairings: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolt!Reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. rough sex, emotional sex, public sex, mental health themes (trauma, guilt, PTSD), depictions of breakdowns, emotional, angst, praise kink, possessiveness, aftermath of violence, unprotected p in v, guilt, self-loathing, established trauma bond.

Summary: The mission was supposed to be clean. Routine. But nothing is simple when the Sentry is involved, when Bob loses control, and the Void takes over. And when he does, you're the only one who can pull him back.

Word Count: 4658

Author's Note: don't even ask me if I'm okay cause the answer is no. I'm destroyed. completely destroyed and emotionally wrecked. i am ruined. bob reynolds ruins me. if you finished this and also felt like your heart's been pulled out and kissed back to life, welcome to the club. my inbox is open if you want to send me your therapy bill—just know I’m probably gonna have to come with you cause what the fuck. i love you bobby you're everything to me!!! if you want to be added to my taglist just comment below!! <333 feel free to cry with me in the comments and scream in the reblogs. i need to go outside and touch some grass, reconnect with nature and breathe cause my heart is destroyed after this one. i literally can't stop writing for bob what the hell!! bucky is jealous cause bob's taking up space in my mind that used to belong to bucky. lewis pullman you babygirlllllllllllll

masterlist.

    ⊹             ⊹            ⊹             ⊹            ⊹          ⊹             ⊹             ⊹

The mission was supposed to be simple. In and out. Detain the targets, secure the entire facility, and minimize civilian casualties. Standard Thunderbolts cleanup. You'd done this dance before—storm in, assert dominance, extract data and bodies. Easy.

But you knew the moment Bucky said, "Bob's on this one," everything in your chest went cold.

The tower was quiet, too quiet, until it wasn't. Until the entire place was filled with hurried footsteps, shouts bouncing off the walls, and orders being thrown like grenades, gear bags being slammed open, weapons loaded with sharp clicks, and comms lighting up with rapid-fire intel. The whole floor shifted into emergency mode.

You'd barely finished gearing up when Yelena grabbed your arm and dragged you toward the elevator, her expression tight, mouth set in that grim, no-bullshit line that only ever meant bad news.

"Valentina wants all of us on-site," she muttered, pressing the call button with enough force to crack the panel. "Right now. Facility breach. Something about biotech. Hostages."

"Since when do we scramble before briefing?" you asked, yanking the zipper of your new tactical suit closed, holster strap still half-loose dangling on your hip. "Do we even have a plan?"

Yelena didn't answer. She didn't have to.

When the elevator doors opened, Bucky was already inside, pacing back and forth. His jaw clenched, comms piece buzzing with chatter. He looked up when he saw you—but he didn’t smile. Didn’t nod.

Jeez, so much for a good morning.

"Let me guess," you said, stepping into the elevator next to him. "Valentina's stunt?"

"She pulled Bob in last minute," Bucky said, his voice laced with frustration. "Didn't even care to fucking tell me. I found out when I saw his name on the team feed. Walker's there with him, Ava too."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" you froze. "She put him first? With Walker?"

“She wants to see if he's still 'field-capable.'" Bucky's voice dripped sarcasm. "Her exact words. She thinks this is some kind of game. Like we're testing out a new drone, not a man who nearly blacked out half of a city six months ago."

“Is she out of her fucking mind?” you hissed. “Bob’s not—he’s not ready. He shouldn't be anywhere near this.”

“No shit,” Yelena muttered from the other side, crossing her arms. “And we’re the ones who’ll have to clean up if he loses it again.”

You exhaled slowly, trying to damp down the rolling anger in your chest. Not at Bob—of course not, this wasn't his fault. You were mad at Valentina and her fucking need to push him to the edge. "Great," you muttered, rubbing your face with a hand. "Let's all just hold hands and pray he doesn't crack."

The VTOL sliced through the clouds like a blade, engines humming low and tense. Rain battered the sides in sharp bursts.

You sat strapped between Yelena and Alexei, your harness tight across your chest, heart beating even tighter beneath it. Across from you, Bucky was locked in, jaw clenched, staring out the side window with a look that could shatter the glass any moment. When he finally looked away from the window, he fixed his gaze directly on you.

"I need you to be ready," he said, voice low and rasped. "In case Void—" He paused, breathing raggedly. "In case Bob snaps."

You blinked. "Bucky—"

"If it happens," he cut you off, "if he breaks... don't wait for an order. Do not hesitate. You hit him with everything you've got."

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

Because you hesitated.

Not because you didn't understand the danger. Not because you didn't know what Bob was capable of when the Void took hold. You'd seen it. Firsthand. The devastation. The aftermath. The look in his eyes—those dark, endless eyes—when he realized what he’d done.

But you'd also seen something else. You'd also seen the other side of him. The guilt

You'd been there the last time. When the Void clawed its way up his throat like poison, he dropped to his knees, shaking, burning with power, guilt, and fear. You were the only one who could get through to him. The only one who could touch him without him recoiling like he might shatter.

You'd whispered his name and watched his fist unclench slowly. You'd put your hand on his chest and feel his heartbeat slow. You'd seen how the black storm slowly evaporated, leaving a broken man sobbing against your chest.

That night was the worst for Bob.

You remember it vividly—his body trembling against yours, eyes wide and hollow after the Void had finally disappeared. He hadn't said a word. Just sank to the ground, hands fisting in his hair, like he was trying to hold his skull together.

You’d dropped down beside him, pulled him close, felt the heat radiating off his skin like a fever breaking. And when he finally clung to you—arms wrapped around your waist, face buried in your shoulder—it wasn’t just desperation. It was terror. Like if he let go, he’d fall into some pit that never ended.

He cried.

God, he cried so hard.

And you didn’t say anything. You didn’t try to soothe it away. You just held him. Let him shake. Let him break.

That night, you stayed with him.

He pulled you into bed like he didn’t even realize he was doing it—just moved toward your body like it was instinct, like your presence was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world. His fingers curled in your shirt, his face buried in your chest, breath hiccuping between exhausted sobs.

You thought he’d fall asleep eventually.

He didn’t. Not right away.

He kept whispering, voice barely audible: “Don’t leave. Please. Just… don’t leave.”

And how could you?

You didn’t.

So you stayed.

And when he finally passed out—curled around you like a second skin, little soft snores slipping past parted lips—you just watched him. His face was peaceful for once. Almost boyish. His lashes fluttered when he dreamed, but he didn’t cry out. Not with you there.

You tried to slip out once.

Just to stretch. To breathe. But the second your body shifted away, his arms tightened like a vice, dragging you back in, even in his sleep. Like his subconscious couldn’t bear the thought of you disappearing.

From that night on, it became… a thing.

Every time he had a nightmare. Every time the Void started to whisper again. Every time he needed quiet but didn’t know how to ask for it—he came to you.

He never knocked loud. Just a soft tap on your door, barely audible. You’d open it to find him standing there, shoulders hunched, hair messy, eyes big and guilty and so shy. Like he hated himself for needing you but couldn’t help it.

“Can I…?” he’d start to ask, voice barely above a whisper.

And you’d always let him in.

Always.

God, you loved it. Loved being the one person he came to. The one place he felt safe. The way he melted into you the second the door shut. The way he’d sleep tangled in your arms, legs hooked with yours like he needed as many points of contact as possible to stay grounded.

You never told anyone.

You never wanted to ruin it.

It was quiet. Sacred. Yours.

And now, strapped into this VTOL, Bucky’s words still echoing in your ears—“Don’t hesitate. Hit him with everything you’ve got”—all you could think about was how peaceful he looked in your bed. How tightly he held you. How terrified he was of being alone.

Because what if you could reach him again?

What if hitting him wasn’t the answer? What if all he needed was someone to see him before he disappeared completely?

Bucky must’ve seen the flicker in your expression, because his voice dropped lower.

“I know you’re close to him. I know he listens to you more than anyone else. But if that stops—if he doesn’t hear you this time... don’t let him take you down with him.”

He’ll hear me, you thought, jaw clenched.

He has to.

Yelena’s hand reached over, slow and steady, her fingers brushing against yours before curling around them. Her grip was warm, firm—anchoring. You turned slightly, meeting her eyes.

She gave you a small, quiet smile. The kind that didn’t promise everything would be okay, just that you wouldn’t be alone when it wasn’t.

“It’ll be alright,” she whispered. "We'll be right behind you."

You squeezed her hand back, once.

"Visuals confirm contact inside the facility," the pilot’s voice crackled through the comms. "We’ve got movement near the lab sector. Hostiles engaged. Sentry’s already on-site."

You looked up sharply. "Already?"

He wasn’t supposed to engage alone.

Bucky swore under his breath, ripping the earpiece out and jamming it back in. "Why the fuck didn’t you wait for us—"

Ava spoke through the comms, her voice shivering. “He didn’t wait. I told him to stand down, and he just… went in.”

Then the ground came into view through the viewport—flames licking up from the roof of the biotech facility, smoke pluming into the sky, the perimeter in total disarray.

"Doors open in twenty seconds," the pilot called.

You shivered. You could feel it. That humming tension in your bones, the kind that only came right before everything went to hell.

He's already slipping.

"Get ready," Bucky barked, snapping his rifle into place as he stood. "Move fast, eyes sharp. We don't know how bad it is yet."

Yelena stood up, nodding once, checking her gear. You followed closely behind.

“Hostiles are still active inside,” came another voice—Walker’s, sharp and panicked over comms. “But it’s—fuck, it’s a massacre down here. I don’t know what the hell he’s doing. I can't see him. He’s not fucking responding.”

Your heart clenched.

“Bob,” you whispered, barely audible.

Then: a boom.

A section of the lower level erupted in a plume of golden-white light, fire tearing up through the concrete as the building shook from the force of it. A pulse of energy rippled outward, flattening a chunk of the south wall like paper.

The VTOL lurched slightly from the shockwave.

“Doors opening!” the pilot shouted. “Deploy, deploy—go, go!”

The ramp dropped—and the storm hit you in the face.

Rain. Smoke. Sirens. And somewhere beneath it all, a familiar hum.

You ran.

Boots pounding against the rooftop, leaping the last few feet to the access hatch. Bucky and Yelena flanked you, weapons drawn, slicing through the chaos with practiced precision.

You barely had time to adjust before Bucky grabbed your arm, spinning you toward him. His face was grim, soaked, eyes blazing.

“Go!” he shouted over the roar. “You need to find him!”

“What about—?”

“We’ll handle the rest!” he cut in, already moving, already aiming down the chaos below. “If anyone can reach him before he turns this whole goddamn place to ash—it’s you. Yelena will be right behind you. Walker and Ava are already inside. Go!”

Your breath hitched.

Then you nodded, once, sharp and sure.

And you ran—straight into the smoke, straight into the fire.

Straight toward him.

The inside of the facility was a warzone. Emergency lights flickered through thick smoke. Sparks rained from broken ceiling panels. The walls were scorched, the tile beneath your boots cracked and slick with blood and water. You passed fallen bodies—some hostiles, some just gone, disintegrated into scorched outlines and ash.

He’d been here.

You ran faster. Your breath became shorter. Your fingers twitched at your sides.

And then you saw him.

Floating.

Just inches off the ground, his body trembling with power barely held in check. His suit was torn, soaked, blood-slick. His hair clung to his forehead in damp curls. His hands hung at his sides, fingers curled in like claws.

He hand't noticed you yet. He was talking to himself, low and frantic, like he didn't even realize sound was coming out of his mouth.

“I didn’t mean to—I tried, I tried, they didn’t listen—I told them not to run—why did they run—”

Your heart clenched. You took a breath, steady and slow. Lifted your hands, palms open, non-threatening. Stepped forward, one careful step at a time.

"Bob," you whispered.

His head jerked up like a struck animal. His eyes were pitch black. Not just his pupils. Everything. You could see the Void slowly taking over control of his entire body. Crawling across his skin in veins of shadow, threading through him like poison, claiming more and more by the second. There was nothing human in his face.

Then he saw you.

You took another step forward, heart hammering against your ribs.

"Bob," you said again, softer now.

His lips parted. The black in his eyes shimmered, like something beneath it was trying to break through, trying to remember.

You took another step.

"I'm here," you said, voice steady despite the tremble in your hands. "It's me."

"GET DOWN!" a voice screamed behind you.

You barely turned in time to see the soldier—young, shaken, finger already tightening on the trigger of his rifle, aimed straight at Bob.

“No!” you shouted, throwing a hand out. “Don’t—don’t shoot him!”

But it was too late.

You whipped back toward Bob—and his hand was already rising. Not fast. Slow. Deliberate.

Eyes locked on the soldier, face blank and unreadable, voice low and distant.

“Mine.”

“Bob!” you screamed, adrenaline tearing through your veins like lightning. You rushed toward him, arm outstretched. “STOP! STOP!”

A pulse of black energy burst from his palm. It didn’t make a sound. It didn’t explode. It just erased. The soldier was there—and then he wasn’t.

No scream. No blood. Just a curling wisp of smoke, and a blackened shadow scorched into the tile where he’d stood. Like reality itself had been scrubbed clean.

Your breath caught. Your body froze.

The soldier was gone. Just like that. And Bob? He didn't move. Didn't even flinch. Just stood there, hand still raised, void energy curling around his fingers like it wanted more.

You moved before you even realized it.

You ran.

“BOB!” you screamed, voice hoarse with panic.

You slammed into him, hands flying up to grab his face—rough, desperate, grounding. Your fingers dug into his jaw, into his cheeks, trying to feel him, shake him loose from the darkness overtaking his body.

“Bob! Look at me!” you yelled, tears already slipping down your face. “Fuck—look at me, please!"

His head twitched in your grip, eyes still black, but they widened. Like he didn’t know how you got so close. Like he didn’t even recognize his own name.

“You promised,” you choked out, forehead pressed against his. “You promised you wouldn’t let this happen again. You said I could help you. You let me in. Bob, please, I know you can hear me. Let me in. Let me help you."

And then—

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

The black void in his eyes gone, replaced by fear. Replaced by gut-wrenching guilt.

And suddenly his hands were on you—gripping your arms, trembling hard. Holding you like you were the only thing keeping him from flying apart.

“I didn’t mean to,” he rasped, voice splintering in his throat. “I just… he—he pointed that gun at you. I—”

His knees buckled.

You caught him.

“I didn’t mean to,” he rasped again, clinging like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “I didn’t—fuck, I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady, fingers stroking through his hair, down his back. “I know, it’s okay. You’re okay—I got you. I'm right here."

You could feel it under your hands—the tension building again. The static crawling across his skin. He was shaking harder now, like he was trying to hold himself together with bare hands and sheer will, and it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

“I told them,” he growled, voice rising, wild and hoarse. “I told them not to send me. I told them—I told them!”

“Bob,” you tried again, your hands cradling his face, trying to ground him. “Stop—just breathe, okay? Look at me. Just look at me. It’s over. You’re okay. I’m here.”

“Bob—”

“Holy shit,” someone gasped.

You turned. Too fast. The team stood there. Yelena’s eyes were wide. Ava’s mouth hung open. Alexei looked stunned. Bucky was frozen mid-step.

And Walker? Walker’s gaze went straight to the scorched mark on the floor, and his lip curled.

“What the fuck did he do?”

That was it.

You snapped.

“You were supposed to look out for him!” you roared, your voice echoing down the hall like a whipcrack. “You knew he wasn’t ready! You knew, and you left him in there anyway—what the fuck were you thinking?!”

“Don’t yell at me because your little pet project finally snapped—”

You stepped toward him so fast Yelena actually reached out to stop you.

“Say that again, Walker.” you dared, low and deadly. “Say it. Fucking say it again.”

“Guys—” Ava started.

“Oh my god,” Yelena whispered behind you.

And that’s when you realized—Bob wasn’t in your arms anymore.

You turned, panic already in your throat. He was standing a few feet away, eyes locked on the floor, fists clenched. His shoulders were shaking, his jaw tight, like he was about to split open.

The way they were all looking at him. Like he was a monster.

And he saw it. He saw everything.

“No, no, wait—” you started.

But he was already moving. He shoved past you, not roughly—never roughly—but like he couldn’t stand to be touched anymore. Like he didn’t deserve it. And then he ran.

You didn’t hesitate.

You ran after him.

You found him down a back alley, drenched in rain, his back pressed to the wall like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His fists were clenched, jaw tight, chest heaving like he couldn’t catch his breath. He hadn’t looked at you yet, but you could see it—how close he was to falling apart, how the power still surged beneath his skin, barely contained. His body shook with it, with guilt, with the kind of rage that didn’t know where to go.

You took a step closer and he shifted like he was going to bolt again, eyes flicking to the shadows like he could vanish into them.

You grabbed his wrist. Tight. “Don’t run.”

That stopped him. His breath hitched, but he didn’t turn.

“Bob,” you said, softer now, over the pounding rain. “Please. Look at me.”

He turned slowly—and god, the look on his face broke you wide open. Soaked, shattered, eyes full of guilt and too many unsaid things. He looked like he didn’t believe he deserved to stand in front of you. Like just being seen by you hurt.

Then he kissed you.

Hard. Desperate.

Like he needed your mouth to remind him he was still real.

The kiss came out of nowhere. Teeth. Tongue. Desperation. You collided like two storms, all sharp edges and soaked skin. His mouth crushed yours, messy, uncoordinated, bruising. You dragged your hands through his rain-slick hair, pulled him closer until your bodies slammed together. He groaned your name like it hurt to say it, like it ripped something open inside him just to speak it.

You kissed him back with everything you had, dragging your fingers through his soaked curls, pulling him closer, crushing your lips to his until your teeth clacked and your breath fogged the air between you. He whimpered into it, raw and broken, hands clutching your waist through your suit like he didn’t know where to touch, like he needed to touch everywhere.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped against your lips, voice already hoarse. “I’m so fucking sorry—please, I didn’t mean to—I didn’t—” His words cut off with a sob. You shushed him with another kiss, slower this time, lips brushing his like a promise.

“I need you,” he breathed, voice broken. “God—I need you, I need you so bad—I can’t—fuck—don’t let go—please, don’t let go—”

Your gear hit the wall behind you, water slapping between you like applause. His mouth was on your throat, biting, sucking, moaning, as your hands worked beneath his already ripped suit, shoving it aside, frantic to get to skin. His hips rocked into yours like he couldn’t stand being apart from you even for a second.

“Please,” he groaned again, breath hot against your ear. “I’ll do anything. Anything. Just—fuck—just let me have you.”

You gasped, arching against him, letting him press you tighter to the bricks. You were already soaked—skin flushed, thighs shaking—and the way he clung to you like you were the only real thing left in his world snapped something open inside you.

You grabbed his face, kissed him hard, desperate. “Take it,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Take anything. Everything. I’m all yours, Bob.”

He whimpered—actually whimpered—and that was it.

Your suit came undone in ragged pieces, his hands tearing at fastenings with trembling fingers, your legs wrapping around his waist as he shoved your soaked underwear aside. His fingers dug into your hips hard enough to leave bruises, grinding his cock against your slick center until you cried out, nails raking down his back.

“Fuck—fuck, you’re so wet,” he gasped. “You want it, don’t you? You want me to lose it for you—inside you—?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, tilting your head back as he pushed in. “Yes, yes—please—”

He thrust into you in one deep, brutal stroke and you screamed, fingers clawing at his soaked suit, legs tightening around his hips. He was so deep, so hot, so real, and the way he fucked you—fast, rough, relentless—was like he didn’t know if he’d survive without this. Without you.

Every thrust hit something raw, something needy, his voice ragged against your ear. “You’re mine—you’re mine, say it—fuck, say it—”

“I’m yours,” you cried, body shaking. “I’m yours, Bob—fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop—”

He sobbed against your throat, thrusting harder, faster, panting between curses and broken prayers. “You’re perfect—so perfect—god, you feel so good—you make everything quiet. You make it all fucking stop—”

And when you came, it hit like a shockwave—your whole body convulsing around him, mouth open in a wordless scream as he slammed into you, burying himself deep and coming hard, spilling inside you with a desperate cry of your name like it was the only thing anchoring him to this plane.

He held you afterward like he might never let go, still shaking, still breathing like he’d run through hell. His forehead pressed to yours, voice wrecked.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered. “Please don’t ever leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered back, and this time, it was a vow.

His breathing was ragged.

Shallow gasps against your neck, chest rising and falling like he was still trying to outrun something only he could see. The rain hadn’t let up. It fell in heavy sheets around you, but neither of you moved. You stayed wrapped around him, trembling, your back against the soaked alley wall, his body still buried in yours, shaking with the aftershocks.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t even lift his head.

His arms stayed locked around your waist like a vise, like if he let go even a little, you’d disappear. You felt him swallow, once, twice—and then his shoulders began to shake in a different way.

“Bob?” you whispered, hand sliding up to the back of his head, fingers weaving through his soaked hair. “Hey. Hey, I’m here.”

He sobbed.

Quiet at first. Just a ragged breath that stuttered out of him like it had been waiting for too long. Then another. And another. His whole body trembled, forehead pressed to your shoulder as he finally—finally—let himself fall apart.

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” he choked out. “I tried—I tried so fucking hard—I just wanted to be useful, I wanted to help—and I killed him—”

You shushed him softly, rocking him gently where you stood, your hands stroking down his back.

“You came back to me,” you said, voice low. “That’s all that matters. You came back.”

“I don’t deserve this,” he rasped, holding you tighter. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Shut up,” you whispered, tears mixing with the rain on your cheeks. “You do. You do. You’re still here. You’re still you. That’s all I care about.”

You stayed like that for what felt like forever—him wrapped around you like a lifeline, your bodies still locked together, breathing in sync. The heat between you slowly cooled, but the weight of it all stayed heavy, real.

Eventually, his head lifted, eyes red-rimmed, cheeks wet.

He looked at you like he didn’t believe you were real. Like maybe you were the only thing left in the world that hadn’t abandoned him.

“I’m scared,” he whispered.

You cupped his face, thumb brushing over the scar just below his eye.

“I know,” you said. “But I’ve got you.”

And he leaned into your hand like a man starved for touch.

Back at the tower, everything was chaos—shouting, agents scrambling to do damage control, the team fighting with each other, trying to put the blame on someone—but none of it touched you. Not when you had him. Not when he never once let go of your hand.

You didn't go to the infirmary. Didn't sit through the debrief. Bucky tried to say something, but you just shook your head. Bob didn't even look at him. At no one.

You led him straight to your room.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, his body sagged like the air had left him entirely. You helped him out of the rest of his suit, piece by piece, your fingers gentle even when your heart still ached from the weight of it all. He did the same for you, so soft, so gentle, like he was afraid to hurt you.

You pulled him into your bed without a word.

He followed like he always did. Like he couldn’t not.

He wrapped around you the way he always did—legs tangled, arms tight around your waist, face buried against your neck. But this time it wasn’t just comfort.

It was clinging.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask. Just held on.

You stroked his hair, tracing slow patterns into his scalp, letting your breath match his until he calmed, until that tremble in his shoulders finally stilled.

But he still didn’t sleep.

You felt him shift closer, nose brushing your collarbone. His voice, when it came, was wrecked and so, so quiet.

“Do you think they’ll ever look at me the same?” he asked, voice barely more than a breath.

You didn’t answer right away. You could feel how tightly he was holding his breath, like he was bracing for the worst. You pulled him closer, your fingers threading through the back of his hair, your lips brushing against his forehead.

“It’s not your fault,” you whispered. “They know it. Even if they won’t say it out loud. This—what happened—you didn’t want this. And they know that.”

He didn’t reply, not at first. But you felt it—the way his chest stuttered, how he finally let himself breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, broken.

“I know.”

“I was so close,” he said, voice cracking like glass. “I could feel it. Like I was right there. One more second and I wouldn’t have come back.”

“But you did,” you murmured, pressing your forehead to his. “You came back to me.”

He shuddered, breath hitching again as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Leaving a soft kiss that made your heart clench. “You’re the only one that brings me back,” he whispered. “The only one.”

You didn’t say anything else.

You just held him tighter.

And finally—finally—he started to drift.

It wasn’t peaceful. He twitched. Mumbled things you couldn’t make out. Flinched like his dreams were still trying to drag him under.

But he didn’t wake.

Because you were still there.

And he knew it.

taglist ⊱☆⊰ @notreallythatlost @mandoalorian @urfavfakeblonde @sunday-bug @ruexj283 @mylifeofcalculatedchaos

[talaok]

How it was

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: After Abby's attempt at Joel's life, he's in the hospital, and while you try to navigate through the difficult feelings having almost lost him bring up, his mind seems to be on a much different, inappropriate, thing.

Warnings: talk of Joel almost dying, mentions of blood. Smut| oral sex (m receiving), attempt at fingering (lol), talk of f receiving oral, and Joel's dirty mouth.

a/n: i haven't watched the new episode yet bc im tired of crying but what i can tell you for sure is that did not happen, my baby is fine and ellie has never been happier.

"Well good mornin' to me"

You were bent over the armchair tidying what had transformed into your bed for the past ten days when you heard him.

His raspy morning voice had you turning around with a smile.

You let go of the blanket in your hand as you walked closer to his bed.

The rising sun was filtering through the windows of the hospital, illuminating his upper body with a golden light.

His face was still bruised and swollen and they hadn't yet taken his stitches out.

A bittersweet feeling filled your heart every time you looked at him, every time he winced as he sat up, every time you watched him struggle to walk for more than ten steps... it hurt, and yet it filled you with joy.

He was alive- he'd come so very close, the closest he'd ever come to the end of it all, and he had survived- he was still here, with you.

"Good morning" you beamed, taking his hand in yours as you sat on his bed "How're you feeling?"

He smirked, but you felt him squeeze your hand tenderly "Would feel a lot better if you turned around and showed me that view again"

You could only roll your eyes, chuckling softly.

"Really baby, you feeling any pain? You need something?"

His lips formed a soft small smile as he brought your hand to his mouth to leave a kiss on it.

"'M great babygirl, dontcha worry"

You very much doubted he was great, but you nodded nonetheless.

He never wanted you to worry, which was silly, because there was nothing else you did these days besides worrying.

"Now c'mon, give me some sugar"

"Joel" you protested immediately "I don't wanna hurt you, let's at least wait to see what the nurse says about the stitches"

You talked as if your protests had ever been anything but futile, as if the moment he gave you those sweet puppy eyes and his honeyed voice called your name you weren't already leaning closer.

"I don't care if it kills me darlin', just give me a kiss"

You stopped dead in your tracks, your mouth an inch from his, your breathing one with his.

"don't joke about that"

You knew it was just a stupid joke. But nothing was really a joke anymore, not since you witnessed him being carried into Jackson unconscious, his bloody face beaten to a pulp, his body so close to being lifeless... you knew that image would haunt you for the rest of your life.

"'m sorry, doll" he apologized, his eyes looking into yours with all the care and love inside him "'m here" he promised, squeezing your hand.

You closed your eyes for a moment, holding back the tears threatening to spill.

"Don't scare me like that ever again"

Your tone was serious, matter of factly, because it all was true. You knew, with terrifying certainty, that if anything like that were to ever happen again, you wouldn't survive it.

"I won't" he murmured, your hand in his the only thing grounding you "I promise you, darlin'"

There were so many more things to say, so many things you had to talk about, so many feelings, fears, and hopes bubbling inside you, and yet all you could do at that very moment was press your lips to his, kissing the man you'd feared losing forever, just to lose yourself in him.

The kiss was sweet, soft, tender even.

You didn't wanna hurt him, his lips were still cut and his cheeks were still bruised.

But despite it all, the feeling of kissing him was exactly the same. If there was one thing that hadn't changed, it was the way he made everything else disappear, every hurt, scare, and sadness dissipated into thin air when his lips were on yours- when his stubble grazed your face, his hands held you, his scent hugged you tight...

It always became just you and him.

And then Joel groaned in pleasure, and in what you knew from experience to be frustration.

Your mouths were still connected, just as your hands, only his tongue was now sloppily tasting you deeper, as his other hand, his injured, tired hand, found your thigh, slowly traveling up and up until two of his fingers infiltrated between your thighs, rubbing your cunt through your jeans.

You couldn't help but huff a laugh.

There he was, bedridden and barely alive, and he was still trying to get in your pants... quite literally.

"Joel" you chuckled.

He didn't answer, instead, he only compelled his head to lean forward to deepen your kiss as his hands started fighting with the button holding your jeans together.

The angle was uncomfortable and he was very clearly struggling, but you just sighed into his mouth, silencing your amusement.

It took about a full minute for him to unbutton your pants, but once he finally did, he slid two of his fingers beneath the fabric as quickly as he could, which wasn't a lot given the position.

You obeyed his silent command to spread your legs, but even as his fingers reached your clothed slit, he couldn't do much more than try to caress your pussy.

"Baby" you murmured with a smile as he desperately tried to pleasure you "do you really think now's the time?"

"yeah," he breathed without missing a beat.

Just then his fingers drew higher and came in contact with your clit, making you stifle a soft moan.

But the jeans were too damn tight, and he really had no space to work with.

"take 'em off"

You couldn't help but grin.

He had not changed. Not one bit.

"Joel I can't exactly take my pants off in here right now"

He groaned, his big brown eyes pleading you.

"why not?"

You laughed as you took his wrist in your hand and started leading his fingers off of you, to which he protested with a frustrated noise deep in his chest.

"Because baby... not only is the door open" you said, glancing at it " but anyone could come in at any moment"

He groaned, his hand on your thigh now.

"That never stopped us before"

He earned himself a pointed glare with that one.

You weren't gonna be caught pantsless as your barely alive husband fingered you. No way in hell.

"Then put a sock on the handle or somethin'"

An amused snort left you at that.

"This is hospital baby, not a frathouse"

Those deep brown, expressive eyes of his were completely shadowed with lust- the man was desperate.

Ten days of no sex and he was already looking like a deprived, starved man... not to mention the fact that he had begun to touch you inappropriately on day two.

He almost died, and instead of wishing to watch the sun rise again or listen to birds chirp in the morning, all the man seemed to think of was pussy... yours specifically.

"please sugar"

Goddamn, those damned puppy eyes.

Those two words were all you needed before you got up and started towards the door.

You heard him groan behind you.

"You're gonna leave your man layin' here blueballed?"

You laughed softly as you closed the door, hoping to god that the nurses would get the hint and not come in.

You didn't answer, you just walked back to him, watching his eyes sparkle with excitement once you took the blanket off of him.

How the man still looked hot in a hospital gown was something that needed to be studied.

His left leg, where he'd been shot, was bandaged completely, while the naked right one showed off his hairy thighs, which made warmth spread low in your belly... yeah maybe you'd missed sex too.

Silently, your hand went to the skin that was covered by the very hem of his gown, slowly trailing up and up and up until you cupped his hardening manhood through his boxers.

"fuck" he breathed, struggling to prop himself further up on the bed to get a better view.

You raised your eyebrow, shooting him a look- the last thing you wanted was for him to hurt himself.

"You've got to listen to hear if anyone's coming and warn me if that's the case, ok?"

He nodded mindlessly, his sole focus on your hand stroking his dick.

"yeah- sure" he murmured, urgency and need straining his voice.

Yeah, you were fucked.

Nonetheless, you hiked his gown up and pulled his underwear down- his cock was hard as a rock and you hadn't even done anything more than put your hand on it.

You bent over, looking to the side at him as you slowly, oh so slowly, started kissing his tip.

He twitched in your hand as your tongue darted out to kitty lick him, precum leaking from him just in time for you to taste it.

You were looking at him with those godforsaken sexy eyes you'd get as you finally wrapped your mouth around him, and Joel... Joel was in another universe already.

He groaned, shifting his hips up with a painful grunt as you hummed around him, starting to bob your head as you fit more and more of him inside your mouth.

"Fuck me-" he couldn't help but moan "fuck that feels good darlin'"

He strained his neck as his head fell back against the cushions, his eyes shutting close as his tip hit the back of your throat, making you gag.

He was fisting the blanket so hard his knuckles were white as chalk, and his breathing was so erratic that he was half sure the doctors would run in at any moment because the monitor would pick up him having a heart attack.

"Jesus Christ" he groaned.

Your mouth felt better than anything on this earth at the moment. You were sucking him so tight and god but you had him so deep inside you.

"Just like that" he breathed, watching your eyes water as you forced almost all of him down your throat.

It had been four years and you still couldn't get all of him in- at this point you'd given up trying- He was just too damn big.

"so good for me sweetheart" he grunted, observing his cock go in and out of you "Such a good girl-fuck"

Your hand had found his balls, massaging them tenderly- which meant Joel was pretty much done for.

"Goddamnit-- I'm gonna- I-"

He erupted, filling your mouth with his spent before he could even finish the sentence- and you were more than happy to swallow it all up.

He was breathing heavily, watching you with half-lidded eyes as you smiled up at him, before tucking him back in his boxers and putting the blanket back on top of him.

All sounds from outside suddenly filled the room again, reminding you of where you were... and what you'd just done.

"What did I do to deserve you?" he asked, smiling as you reached his side again.

"beats me" you teased, leaving a quick kiss on his lips.

He groaned from deep in his chest, his hand coming up to stroke your cheek.

"We still need to take care 'f ya darlin'"

"no, we don't" you immediately shook your head.

A side of his lips twisted into a smirk as he got an idea.

You didn't wanna take off your pants, and it's not like he could much to change position given his state, so that meant only one thing...

"Sit on my face"

And yes that idea made you hornier than you already fucking were, but unlike your husband, you still had some sense of decency left in you.

"I'm scared to hurt you when I kiss you and you think I'm gonna sit on your face?"

He looked at you for a moment, trying to figure out if there was any way he could convince you- unfortunately, the results came back negative.

"A man can dream" he sighed as he guided you down for another kiss.

"Let me get a taste at least"

Your lips parted in stunner- he really was desperate today.

"Jesus baby" you huffed, your mouth betraying you with a smile "H-how am I even supposed to do that, you really shouldn't force your hands to struggle too much, it could be bad for-"

His eyes sparked with mischief as he murmured "There ain't nothing wrong with yours though, ain't that right sugar?"

Heat crept up your face as you understood, but seeing the unadulterated need in his iris, the strain in his voice as he whispered 'Just a taste'... in seconds your own hand was in your panties.

"This is dirty..." you murmured, eyeing the door as your fingers delved between your folds, gathering up your slick.

"we've done worse" he breathed, his eyes only on what was happening beneath your jeans.

The worst part was that you actually had.

You swallowed thickly as you pulled your hand out of your pants, guiding your glistening fingers to Joel's mouth.

He wasted no time opening his lips, sucking greedily on your digits, a groan rumbling from deep in his throat at the taste.

You bit your lip, watching the scene unfold as you pressed your thighs together to relieve some of the burning pressure.

He would have probably gone on for god knows how long if you hadn't pulled your fingers out of his mouth.

His cock was hard again and he was goddamn tired of being in this hospital bed.

He wanted to go back to his old life. To his house, his wife, his daughter.

He wanted to get back to waking you up in the morning with his tongue between your thighs- not... this.

So he brought your head down, guiding you for yet another kiss that overflowed with all the hopes and dreams he had about it all going back to how it was.

"fuck me-" he groaned in between desperate kisses "I miss our life- I miss... shit babygirl, I your pussy"

You laughed softly into his mouth before leaning away, a devious spark in your eyes.

"Tell you what...I'll wear a skirt tomorrow" you murmured, ghosting his lips "and I think the weather might be a bit too hot for panties"

The groan he let out at that caused a nurse to worriedly rush in.

[faiszt]

cockwarming w bob. that's it, thats the tweet

COCKWARMING ╱ with BOB REYNOLDS ⠀◟ ୨ blurb !♥︎ minors do not interact⠀⠀⠀ ────⠀⠀⠀ headcanon based

diary notes⠀✴⠀·⠀i love your brain for thinking of this, i guess this is bob’s blurb that i enjoyed writing the most. touch-starved bob reynolds save me right now, pls ‹/3

he loved having physical contact with you, whether it was just hugging you, intertwining your fingers with his, or leaving loving kisses on your shoulder. bob liked everything that involved the idea of being able to touch you, of feeling your soft skin and being able to appreciate it the way he liked. he’s touch-starved, he needs it.

he took it literally when it came to deeply touching you whenever he could. not only because it was pleasurable, but because you could talk about anything while his cock was buried inside you, being warmed by your tight, comforting heat that he craved daily. you couldn’t deny him when he asked so politely, caressing your waist and giving you little kisses until you were straddling him.

telling him about your day was part of the process as he pulled his hardened length out of his boxers, moving your panties to the side just enough so he could rub himself against your soft folds. “i’m glad you had a good day, princess.” he’d murmur softly, smiling innocently as if he wasn’t trying to slip the tip of his cock inside you little by little. “i missed you, you know?”

cockwarming almost seemed so much more sentimental to him than sex itself, he liked knowing that you felt like he was a part of you, that he had the freedom to be inside you for more than just carnal pleasures. there was pleasure, for sure, but there was also a deeper connection than just what appeared to be on the surface. it made him truly happier, calmer... perhaps, it could even be said that you were, well... helping to take care of his mental health in a way.

“i missed you too.” you whispered, giving him a sweet smile as your fingers gently brushed some of his dark hair away from his face, he looked at you like you were the most precious thing he had ever seen. “and your day? how was it?”

by this point, he was already completely buried inside you—which made you let out a low moan for a moment, leaving him somewhat agitated beneath you. “the drums you gave me are cool,” bob answered. he snuggled deeper into the pillow behind his head, his large hands gripping your hips, just to make sure you stayed still and comfortable in his lap while warming him the way you both loved. “but, the neighbors will complain about the noise i made all afternoon... i’m not really good at this yet.”

his little giggled warmed your chest, you leaned over him and laid your head in the crook of his neck, leaving a few soft kisses there that sent shivers down his spine. “don’t do that, i get shivers...” he complained, but it was a meaningless complaint. if you never did that again, he’d probably complain that you didn’t love him anymore and that’s why you stopped giving him little kisses on the neck.

“if the neighbors complain, i can just tell them to fuck off.” your kisses rose to the corner of his lips, your eyes staring into his ocean blue ones. “besides, they never complained about the other noises at night... why would they complain about you playing drums in the afternoon?”

his eyebrows raised at your sentence, nodding and processing the words you had said. “other noises at night?” the question was more to himself than to you, so you could almost see the light bulb go off over his head as he really understood what you meant. “oh, yeah... the other noises. you’re probably right, i guess.”

“i’m always right.” you said smugly, pressing your lips against his soft ones for a quick peck—one he didn’t want to stop so quickly. bob’s hand, which was previously caressing your hip, rose to the back of your neck, keeping your lips against his without you being able to move away completely, he didn’t want just a few pecks, not today. he was usually a little more restrained than that, but come on, he was a good boy for you all day like you told him to be when he was home alone, he deserved it.

a low growl tore from his throat, deepening the kiss as his tongue slid across your bottom lip and almost begged for entry. in an intimate dance, your tongues touched and sucked each other while his other hand pressing your hip harder to the point where it slightly hurt as he kept you pressed against him. bob wanted to feel every inch of your body, every point of heat, being buried balls deep inside you still seemed like nothing compared to how much he craved you, not just your body, but everything that means you.

there was no safer place for him than inside you, feeling your body against his, your breathing heavy and your hands against his neck, just how he wanted, the fuel he needed.

when your lips parted, he continued to pepper kisses across your cheek, simply unable to keep his lips away from your soft skin. “you get prettier when you’re flustered by something i did.” he whispered against your ear before placing one last kiss against her earlobe, snuggling into the pillows again. “i like how you widen your eyes...”

these compliments were almost typical of him, always paying attention to every little detail of your expressions, studying your reactions to what he did. bob wanted to please you, in every way, ’cause you also deserved what only he could give you and there was no doubt about that.

“princess,” he called to you when you were silent, enjoying the feeling of being filled by him. “can i sleep inside you tonight, please? your pussy is so warm and it feels good... i don’t wanna pull out. can i?” his eyes almost looked like a puppy’s, staring at you while tenderly stroked your strands of hair. he loved your hair—the color, texture and the smell of your shampoo, every little thing about it—and he knew you liked it when he petted you like that.

“you wanna sleep inside me?” it wasn’t strange, it was just a new request, you had already thought of the idea back then, but it was something new when he was the one asking you for it. “okay, baby, we can do it.” there probably wouldn’t be a day when you’d deny him something, especially when you also wanted to do it.

his smile widened as if you had given him something he had been longing for—well, in a way, that was the case—and he pressed his lips against yours once more. “thank you, sweet pea.” his hand that had remained on your hip the entire time moved, going to your ass and squeezing it, massaging the skin his fingers touched. “i’ll give you your reward in the morning, yeah? pinky promise, love. you deserve all that.”

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox, you’ll be welcome. ꒰ ˶> ˕ <˶ ꒱ ♡

©⠀𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐙𝐓, 2025.⠀don’t use my work without my consent.

[bjornsmuse]

Intimate feeding

A/n: just a small, very short drabble/one shot, whatever you want to call this I guess, idk what this is I just got extremely bored. This is not proofread at all

Warnings: smut mdni, praise, first time remmick feeding from reader and he feels sentimental LMAO, dirty talk, pet names, corruption kink maybe

The bite throbbed like a second heartbeat. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe—not with him still nestled so deep inside you, cock twitching as he lazily rutted into the overstimulated mess he’d made of you. “Good girl,” Remmick purred, brushing your damp hair back from your face “Took it all so sweet. Let me feed like you were born for it.”His fangs were gone now. Lips kiss-swollen and smeared with a line of your blood he hadn’t bothered to clean, it should’ve been terrifying..But all you felt was owned.

He shifted, dragging his cock out so slowly you whimpered at the loss—“I know, sugar. I know,” he cooed…only for him to slam back in with a low grunt that made you cry out. “Still fuckin’ perfection,” he groaned, rolling his hips “Your little cunt’s clingin’ to me like it knows.” You were too wrecked to speak, only moans and broken gasps left your throat, tears slipping down your cheeks from sheer overstimulation, He licked them off.

“Gonna cry for me again, little lamb?” he whispered, mouth hot at your ear “Bet your daddy’d fall over dead if he saw you now. Split open on m’cock, marked and ruined.”

You sobbed—half from guilt, half from bliss. Remmick’s hand slid over your belly, pressing down. “You feel that, sugar? That’s me, Deep where no man’s ever been. Where no man ever will be but me.”

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Thirty-Six

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, pregnancy, emetophobia warning, domestic fluff, birthdays + Christmas, some emotional instabillity.

Notes — I hope you guys love this one. It's so full of sweetness. A bit of frustration too, but mostly sweetness.

December 2023

The lights in the MTC's build bay always felt too bright. Amelia squinted up at them in annoyance, then turned her gaze back to the car.

Her car.

Not hers in any legal or possessive way — it belonged to the team, to the season, to the wind tunnel and CFD modellers.

But the final profile of the MCL38-AN was a shape that had lived in her brain before it ever existed in carbon fibre form. It had existed exclusively within spreadsheets and flow charts and headaches. Whiteboard scrawls at two in the morning. Phone calls to her dad. Arguments with aero. Hours of simulations. Hours of starting over.

And now it was real. Sitting right in front of her.

Orange and black, sleek and hungry, its chassis caught the overhead lights and glowing.

Amelia didn't move. She needed minute. She just stood beside the rear wing, arms crossed tight over her chest, soaking in the project that had consumed every spare hour of the past two years of her life.

She had half a muffin in her bag from breakfast four hours ago. She'd forgotten to eat it.

The name on the spec sheet was just technical: MCL38-AN. The suffix had started as a quiet claim — her way of signing something no one could take from her. Years ago, her father had passed off one of her ideas as his own. "AN" for Amelia Norris, scribbled on a draft after too much coffee, felt like insurance. But the department kept using it. Zak hadn't stopped them. And now it was printed on the official build list, black ink and daring her to believe it was really hers.

Her name. On a car.

"Staring at it won't make it disappear," came a voice from the other end of the garage.

Amelia didn't look over. "I'm aware," she replied flatly.

Anthony, one of the build engineers, chuckled and walked closer, wiping grease off his hands with a rag. "Just never seen you stand still this long before. Thought maybe you'd short-circuited."

"Internally," she replied. "I'm experiencing the Blue Screen of Emotion."

He laughed again. "Hell of a machine you designed."

She didn't correct him.

Instead, she stepped forward and laid one hand on the side-pod. The material was cold and smooth under her fingers. She could feel the vibration of the building, the faint hum of tools and voices and fluorescent life, echoing back through the structure.

"This was all in my head once," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "And now it's... this."

Anthony, thankfully, didn't say anything saccharine. Just gave a nod and let her stand there.

Amelia walked slowly around to the front of the car, fingers trailing against the bodywork. Her brain was already scanning for imperfections — minor details to flag, alignment to double-check, tolerances to run again. But beneath that, buried under years of ruthless professional calibration, was something quieter.

Pride.

Not loud or dramatic or showy. Just a quiet click of recognition.

This was good work. And it was hers.

"Can we run power systems later today?" She asked.

Anthony nodded. "Soon as Oscar finishes his lunch."

"Tell him I said no mayo on the telemetry."

"I don't even know what that means."

Amelia didn't clarify. She just smiled faintly to herself and stepped back, surveying the car one more time.

MCL38-AN.

Not bad for a girl who used to line up her Hot Wheels in exact weight-to-downforce order as a kid and got sent home from school for correcting her teacher's physics formulas.

She pulled out her phone, snapped a picture of the car, just for herself, then typed out a message to Lando.

iMessage — 14:33pm

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

Almost ready for testing. I'm so proud it's making me nauseous.

A second later, another text.

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

Or maybe that's just the pregnancy.

—

Amelia sat cross-legged across from Lando, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands despite the lingering warmth in the air. Lando was barefoot, legs stretched out, half a grin on his face as he finished the last bite of cake she'd awkwardly cut with a plastic knife.

They were on Max's boat, rocking gently in the Monaco harbour. They'd stolen it for the day.

"Bit late," he teased, licking frosting off his thumb. "Birthday was like... three weeks ago."

"You were busy," she said simply. "So was I. And also I needed time."

"Time?"

"To figure out what to give you." She said. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a small, square box; plain brown kraft paper, tied neatly with black ribbon. No card. Of course there was no card. She hated cards — never knew what to write in them.

Lando raised an eyebrow as he took it. "Not socks?"

"No."

He peeled the ribbon open and lifted the lid.

Inside was a tiny frame. Minimalist. Neutral. Inside it, a single page torn from a notebook — lined paper, slightly smudged pencil. On it: a series of racing lines drawn from memory. His best qualifying lap from Silverstone. Annotated in her handwriting with tiny notes. Brake here. Open throttle earlier. Turn-in felt cleaner than expected.

He stared at it for a long moment before speaking. "This is..."

"You told me you wanted to frame that lap. I had the data sheet, but I wanted to draw it from memory," she said, eyes on the water instead of him. "That way it's both yours and mine. More special."

Lando didn't speak. Not right away. Just set the frame down carefully and crawled across the cushions to kiss her — soft, deliberate. One hand cupped her jaw; the other rested over her heart like it was helping him breathe. When he pulled back, his eyes were suspiciously glassy. "I think that might be one of the best birthday presents I've ever received," he said. "And I love it."

She gave a tiny shrug. "Good. You're really hard to shop for. You buy everything you want as soon as you decide that you want it."

He laughed, pulling her into his chest.

The boat rocked gently, and the sun sank lower, and for once there was nothing they needed to do, nowhere they needed to be. Just a belated birthday, and a perfect lap, and the girl who knew every corner of it better than anyone ever would.

—

The ultrasound room was dim, lit mostly by the soft blue glow of the monitor and the faint flicker of winter sun bleeding through the frosted windowpanes. The air smelled faintly sterile, like clean cotton and antiseptic.

Amelia lay back on the table, her t-shirt folded up over her stomach, the thin paper drape rustling every time she shifted. One hand was clenched tightly in Lando's — not out of nerves, exactly, but out of that taut, quiet focus she always wore when she didn't have full control of a situation.

She eyed the plastic bottle in the technician's hand with thinly veiled suspicion.

"What is that?" She asked flatly.

"Just ultrasound gel," the technician said, chipper and entirely unprepared.

Amelia narrowed her eyes. "What are the ingredients?"

The woman faltered, eyes darting to Lando and then back to Amelia. "Um..."

Lando looked at his wife.

Amelia didn't look at him. "I just feel like if we're going to lather something all over my body, I should know whether it contains...you know, petrochemicals or carcinogens or hormone disruptors."

The technician blinked. "It's... mostly water-based," she said finally. "And glycerin. No dyes. No perfumes."

Amelia stared a second longer, then gave a short, diplomatic nod. "Fine."

Lando leaned over and whispered, "You sure?"

"Yes," she muttered.

The technician, clearly deciding she'd earned the right to proceed, gently pressed the probe to Amelia's stomach. She flinched, not from pain, but from the cold smear of the gel, and made a disgruntled little noise in the back of her throat.

Lando squeezed her hand once, smiling.

And then the screen flickered. A faint, grainy image bloomed into view, shadow and static and light, and the whole room seemed to still.

"Ah, a very easy one. There we are," the technician said softly, her voice shifting into something gentle. "One very small someone."

Amelia blinked at the monitor. "That blob is a baby?"

The tech chuckled. "That blob is your baby."

Lando's breath caught in his throat. He shifted closer to her side, eyes locked on the flickering movement onscreen — a heartbeat, tiny and fast and impossibly loud once the audio kicked in. It sounded like wings. Like something about to take off.

Amelia didn't speak for a long time. Just stared. Her mouth parted, eyes wide. She looked stunned, like her body had already figured it out, but her brain hadn't quite caught up.

"Is that..." she finally whispered. "That flicker, is that... the heartbeat?"

The technician nodded.

Amelia's mouth wobbled. Her fingers clenched tighter around Lando's. "It's going so... fast."

"Perfectly normal at this stage."

Lando, who had been quiet until now, suddenly straightened and leaned in closer, eyes glued to the screen. "Wait—how fast? Like, beats per minute?"

The technician glanced at the monitor, tapping a few keys. "Right now, it's about 170. A bit faster than an adult's, but that's exactly what we expect this early on."

Lando's eyes widened. "One seventy? That's incredible. Is that—like—normal?"

"Yeah, perfectly normal. It usually starts slower around five weeks and then speeds up."

Amelia's voice was quiet, but steady. "How many weeks are we exactly?"

"About seven weeks from the last menstrual period," the technician replied, smiling gently.

Lando glanced at Amelia, then back to the screen. "So... when's the due date? When can we expect... I mean, when—?"

The technician switched the screen to a small calendar. "Based on measurements, your due date should fall somewhere around August 14th."

Amelia exhaled slowly, eyes still on the grainy image of that tiny flickering heartbeat. "August 14th," she repeated. "Between Spa and Zandvoort, then."

Lando grinned and squeezed her hand. "That's... just over six months away. Feels proper real now."

Amelia's lips twitched in a tired smile. "Yeah, it's a bit overwhelming."

Lando's voice softened. "Overwhelming in a good way?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I think so."

He looked at her with such tenderness that it made her throat tighten.

She leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Maybe," Lando said softly, "instead of letting this make us feel out of control, we need to learn how to trust that our little person is just... doing its own thing."

Amelia closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, the flickering heartbeat was still there — small but unmistakably alive. "Okay," she said quietly, "yeah. Okay."

The technician smiled again, dimming the monitor as she packed up. "You're doing wonderfully. We'll schedule your next scan in three to four weeks time, but for now, just try to enjoy this moment."

Lando squeezed Amelia's hand.

—

The Norris house was full of noise — crumpled wrapping paper on every surface, half-eaten mince pies on plates, Christmas music playing softly in the background, and the fire crackling with the kind of persistent warmth only a real log burner could offer.

Amelia sat on the arm of the couch, a mug of peppermint hot chocolate in her hands (the only thing that didn't make her nauseous that week), watching Lando and his siblings messily construct some kind of Christmas LEGO set on the floor.

It was chaos. The good kind. Lando was wearing a Santa hat and trying to boss everyone around. Cisca was curled up in the other armchair watching them fondly, and even Adam was getting involved, despite pretending he was "too old for LEGO" about twenty minutes earlier.

Amelia felt warm. Not just from the fire, or the hot chocolate. But that kind of rooted, grounded warmth she hadn't felt since childhood.

Lando glanced up at her from the rug. His cheeks were flushed, curls a little wild, still in pyjamas. He grinned that stupidly wide grin of his; the one she could never not return.

"Okay," he said suddenly, clapping his hands together. "We've got one last gift."

His siblings groaned dramatically. "You're just trying to win Christmas," Flo said, already suspicious.

"No," Lando said, glancing up at Amelia. "This one's from both of us."

He got up and walked to the tree, pulling out a small box, about the size of a mug, wrapped in deep green paper and a lopsided gold bow. He handed it to Flo, gesturing for her to open it.

She peeled it back, frowned... and then blinked.

Inside was a tiny McLaren onesie, size newborn, folded neatly next to a photo printout of the ultrasound. On the front of the onesie was a little stitched helmet — and underneath it, "Team Norris. Arriving August 2024."

There was a beat of silence.

Flo stared.

"Shut. Up."

Adam whipped around, eyes wide. "Oh my god."

"No way," Flo said, already scrambling up from the floor.

Cisca covered her mouth, eyes wide and glassy. "Are you—? Are you serious?"

Amelia nodded, quietly overwhelmed by the whole thing, but smiling anyway, caught in the centre of a hug from Lando's siblings as they collapsed into her, cheering and yelling and somehow knocking her mug over (Lando caught it just in time).

Flo kept staring at the ultrasound photo like it was a sacred relic. "I am going to be the best auntie."

Adam walked over to Lando and gave him a tight hug, a forehead kiss, and a pat on the back.

Cisca hugged Amelia gently, brushing her hair back. "I had a feeling," she whispered. "You've had that glow."

Amelia laughed. "The glow is just sweat from the constant nausea. But thanks."

Lando wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, chin on her shoulder, warm and soft and safe."Merry Christmas," he murmured.

She leaned her head back against his. "Merry Christmas."

—

January 2024

The new apartment smelled like fresh paint.

It was bigger, with big windows and tiled floors and way more space than their old place. But in that exact moment, it mostly looked like a war zone. A mess of cardboard, bubble wrap, and various limbs sticking out from behind furniture.

"Why does your wife own so many pairs of shoes?" Max asked, squinting as he pulled box after box labelled Amelia: Shoes from the back of the moving van.

"She likes having options, Max," Lando replied from inside the apartment. "You wouldn't get it."

"I've already seen three pairs of the same sneaker!"

"Sometimes she wants them to look newer, sometimes she wants them to look worn!"

Amelia stood frozen in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped tightly around a single lamp. Not because it was heavy, it was from IKEA, but because she'd very quickly reached her max input for the day.

People talking, laughing, doors slamming, someone (probably Charles) putting a Spotify playlist on the TV at full volume, Celeste asking where the boxes marked kitchen - fragile had gone (answer: behind the miscellaneous - Lando's gamer shit), and her mom trying to organise snacks that everyone had insisted they didn't need but everyone was happily eating.

It was chaos. Warm, well-meaning chaos. But chaos all the same.

"Breathe, baby," came Lando's voice, suddenly right behind her. His hand gently closed over hers, guiding the lamp to the floor. "Let go."

"I'm fine," she said quickly.

"You're vibrating."

"I'm self-regulating."

"You're about to pop like a champagne bottle on the podium."

She blinked at him. "Lando."

"It's fine," he whispered, kissing her cheek. "Go sit. I'll turn down Charles' shit music."

She nodded once and retreated to the kitchen, or, well, what would be the kitchen, once all the boxes weren't stacked like a cardboard skyline.

Her dad followed her a moment later, holding a garbage bag full of what looked like packing peanuts. "Need anything, sweetheart?"

Amelia, dazed, looked up at her dad. "A new brain."

"I meant, like, a juice box."

"Oh. Do we have any?"

"I'll ask your mom." He laughed and kissed the top of her head before disappearing to the balcony.

Celeste popped in with a stack of throw pillows and collapsed beside her. "Remind me never offer to help anyone move again."

Charles, sliding by with a box labeled guest bathroom, raised his hand. "You're all weak."

"You hired movers," Max called from the hallway.

"Because I am smart," Charles countered.

Eventually, they made enough of a dent in the chaos to pause; boxes stacked in corners, the couch unwrapped, the kitchen sort of navigable. Everyone collapsed onto furniture, floor cushions, or each other.

Lando dropped next to Amelia with a thud. "Jesus," he said. "I'm never standing up again."

Tracey passed around bottles of water.

And then, without thinking, because she was tired, overwhelmed, and slightly frantic, Amelia looked at the empty room across the hall and said aloud. "Oh, cool. I'll be able to start putting the nursery together."

The silence was instant.

Zak froze mid-sip. Tracey turned so fast she almost knocked over Celeste. Charles blinked once, then again. Celeste slowly tilted her head like a confused golden retriever.

Only Max continued scrolling on his phone. Lando looked suspiciously casual, but his eyes had gone wide.

"Sorry," Charles said slowly. "Did she just say nursery?"

"She did," said Tracey, standing like she was ready to break into dance or faint, unclear which.

Amelia, blank as ever, looked up. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry."

"You're pregnant?" Celeste screeched, immediately launching across the couch.

"About eight weeks," Amelia said matter-of-factly.

"Oh my gosh—"

Lando, grinning now, tugged Amelia into his side. "We were gonna wait a while. But she's obviously forgotten the whole secrecy part."

"Not forgot," Amelia said. "Just... didn't filter."

Tracey shrieked. Charles stood and clapped. Celeste immediately demanded to know every detail. Her dad was just staring at them, his jaw slightly ajar.

Max looked at Lando and deadpanned, "Told you she'd blurt it eventually."

"You knew?" Tracey barked.

"Of course I did." Max said.

Celeste swatted him. "I can't believe you didn't tell me!"

Amelia rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, buried in a couch cushion, legs tucked under her, chaos all around her, but warm. Safe.

Loved.

"I'm going to have to help you build nursery furniture, aren't I?" Charles asked.

"Yes," said Lando.

—

Amelia sat on one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter, wearing her comfort pyjamas and cupping a warm mug in both hands. Her mom was rifling through a drawer looking for teaspoons and her dad was standing far too close for someone who'd said "I'm not gonna hover."

"You're hovering," Amelia said without looking up.

"I'm not," Zak replied, absolutely hovering.

Tracey gave him a look as she passed. "Sit down, Zak."

Amelia smirked faintly.

Zak pulled a stool out beside her but didn't sit. He just sort of... rested one hand on the counter and stared at her in that way dads do. "You keeping anything down?" He asked.

"I'm eating a lot of toast," Amelia said. "And drinking ginger tea."

He looked vaguely panicked. "Should we be calling someone? We have dietitian's, or—?"

"Dad."

"What?"

"I'm pregnant. Nausea is normal."

Zak muttered something about "precautionary measures" and "just checking" and "your iron levels, you never know," and finally Tracey grabbed his sleeve and tugged him to the other side of the kitchen.

"Let her breathe," she said, soft but firm.

He sighed but relented, pouring himself a cup of tea and stealing a look at Amelia like he still couldn't believe it. Like some part of him was seeing her as a baby again in his arms; not a woman, not a race engineer, not someone capable of growing a human. Just his daughter.

"I'm going to be a granddad," he said eventually, more to himself than anyone else. He blinked a few times, then smiled like he'd just realised it wasn't a prank.

Amelia raised her eyebrows, lips twitching. "Has he only just realised that?"

Tracey chuckled. "Oh no, honey. He's already ordered some books on newborn safety."

Zak tried to look insulted. "One of us has to be prepared."

Tracey ignored him and turned her attention back to Amelia, warm eyes softening. "You know," she said gently, "that first night at dinner, when you got all worked up about Lando... I just knew."

"Knew what?"

"That this was going to be something magic," she said. "You had that look on your face. Not the 'I'm in love' one, not yet. But that one you get when you've found something you'd fight for. And I thought, ah. There it is."

Amelia blinked, caught off guard. Her mouth opened, then closed again, unsure how to respond.

Tracey smiled knowingly. "You've always been complicated. Precise. A little special in a systemised way. But with him? You were safe. Not smaller, not quieter; just... steadier."

Zak, finally sitting, looked from his wife to his daughter, then back again.

Tracey walked over and touched Amelia's hair, smoothing it back without thinking. The kind of motherly gesture that was muscle memory. "We're very proud of you," she said softly. "Not just for the baby. For the life you're building. For letting yourself build it."

Amelia didn't answer right away. Just looked down into her tea and let that sit in her chest like a warm ache. "Thanks," she said finally, quiet.

Tracey smiled. "Now come sit with us in the living room and let your dad lecture you about your fiber intake."

"Oh no."

"I made a PowerPoint," Zak added helpfully.

Amelia stared at him. "I—I eat enough fibre. I swear. I promise. Don't make me sit through one of your terribly constructed PowerPoints."

—

Five hours later, the apartment was finally quiet.

The kind of quiet that only came after the storm; post-laughter, post-chaos, post-Max dropping a full pizza box face-down on the kitchen floor and Charles chasing Celeste with bubble wrap around his head like a helmet.

Everyone was gone now.

Some boxes still weren't unpacked, the dining table was holding an array of loose screws and takeout containers, and there was one singular sock hanging off the new lighting fixture that neither of them remembered installing.

But it was quiet. And theirs.

Lando lay stretched across the couch in sweats and a hoodie, one leg propped up on a box labeled BED LINENS???. Amelia was curled on top of him like a blanket folded in half, her cheek resting against his chest, arms wrapped around his middle.

She was half-asleep, her body finally relaxing after hours of overstimulation and problem-solving and people asking where things were that she did not know. "Is it weird I don't feel like this is real yet?" She murmured.

Lando looked down at her. "The apartment?"

"All of it. The space. The nursery. The fact I told everyone because I accidentally emotionally short-circuited. I mean, who announces a pregnancy like that?"

"You," he said, brushing his fingers through her hair.

She huffed a breath that was half-laugh, half-groan. "My brain was tired. My mouth just... decided."

"Hey." He tugged gently on a loose strand of her hair until she looked up at him. "It was perfect. So you. I mean, Tracey looked like she was about to cry and throw you a baby shower in the same breath."

Amelia groaned and buried her face back into his hoodie. "She's going to buy so many pastel things. I'm not emotionally equipped for pastel."

Lando laughed. "We'll make a blacklist. No tulle. No gingham. No text that says 'Born to race' or anything cringe like that."

Amelia was quiet for a moment. "Do you think it's okay we're doing this now?"

He didn't ask what this meant. He knew.

The baby. The life. The shift. The permanence of it all.

"I think it's us," he said simply. "And I think whatever that ends up looking like is okay."

She let out a breath. "I don't know how to do any of it. Not even the parts people think I'm supposed to be good at. I couldn't find the dish towels today."

"That's what the box labels are for."

"And you?"

"I'm just here to kiss you when your brain melts and tell you you're brilliant anyway."

She finally looked up at him again. Her eyes were tired — not with sadness, just the fatigue of too much change all at once. But they were also soft. "You're annoying," she said.

"What, being emotionally intelligent and devastatingly handsome is annoying now?" He teased.

"You're a good human weighted blanket, so I won't argue with that."

He smiled and kissed her forehead. "It's a privilege, honestly."

They lay there for a while, the hum of Monaco outside their windows, the buzz of city life just distant enough to feel like background music. Inside, it was soft. Warm. Familiar.

Eventually, Amelia whispered, "We really live here now."

Lando tightened his arms around her. "Yeah, we do."

"And we're gonna have a baby here."

"Mmhm."

"I have to start nesting. Like... soon."

"Tell me what you want built. I'll blackmail Charles and make him do it."

She laughed quietly against his chest, a sound full of exhaustion and affection.

Then, softer, almost to herself, "I think I'm happy."

Lando didn't say anything right away. He just turned his head and kissed her temple again, slow and sure, before whispering into her skin, "I know."

—

The morning had not been kind.

Amelia had thrown up twice before she even made it out of bed, once more in the sink when the smell of coffee drifted through the apartment. Her stomach had settled into that weird, hovering nausea, not quite sick, but never okay, and everything around her felt a little too much.

Too bright.

Too loud.

Too far from stillness.

The apartment was still full of half-unpacked boxes. One of them had exploded into a mess of packing peanuts by the bookshelf because Lando had tripped over it while trying to carry a lamp. That had made her laugh, for a moment. But now even that memory felt distant and staticky.

She hadn't eaten anything. Her body felt too heavy and too floaty at the same time.

So she wandered into the room off the living room and stood in the doorway, barefoot and still in one of Lando's shirts, staring at the swing.

The sensory swing hung from a reinforced hook in the ceiling, an enclosed hammock-style cocoon of soft dark grey fabric.

She hadn't used it yet.

But now... now she needed to be held by something.

Amelia walked over slowly, pulled the soft stretch of the fabric down, and climbed inside like she was folding herself into a shell. It wrapped around her shoulders, her hips, her knees. A full-body compression hug.

She let herself swing gently, letting the quiet motion do what words and plans and spreadsheets couldn't. The light filtered through the gauzy curtain. The outside world muffled. The only sound was her breathing.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

Her muscles finally, finally relaxed.

And then, maybe because the relief was so sharp in contrast to how awful she'd felt all morning, or maybe because everything just hit all at once, Amelia cried.

Just soft tears slipping down the sides of her face into the swing's fabric as her body unclenched. She didn't even try to stop them. Didn't need to understand them. Her hands cradled the soft swell of her lower belly as she rocked gently in the cocoon, the comfort so complete it almost hurt.

The motion, the weightlessness, the compression; it was like someone had pressed a reset button on her nervous system.

"I love you very much," she whispered, hand on her stomach, words falling into the soft dark of the swing. "Even if you are already making me throw up five times a day." She gave a little wet laugh. Then sniffled. Then rocked some more.

Eventually, Lando peeked his head around the doorframe.

He didn't say anything. He saw her there, bundled up like a sleepy moth, puffy-eyed and peaceful, and his whole expression softened.

"You good, baby?" He asked gently.

She nodded, still sniffling, half-smiling. "It works."

He smiled back. "Good" He walked over and pressed a kiss to the fabric where her shoulder must've been, still swaying. "Want toast when you come out?"

"Only if it's with the nice jam. The apricot one we got from the market last weekend."

"Anything you want. We're celebrating the swings debut, after all."

"Dramatic." She said.

"I know," he grinned.

And then he left her to swing, warm, wrapped up, and for the first time all day — completely okay.

February 2024

Amelia woke to the smell of espresso and something sweet (cinnamon, maybe) and the distinct sound of someone failing, very quietly, not to clatter around in the kitchen.

She blinked, groggy, and rolled over to find Lando's side of the bed empty. A sliver of warm morning light streamed in through the curtains. The apartment smelled like flowers and coffee and... possibly burning toast.

By the time she made it out of bed, hair a mess, t-shirt halfway sliding off one shoulder, she found him standing in front of the kitchen island, proudly staring at a tray of slightly overdone croissants, a half-burnt omelet, and a mug that said engineers do it with precision.

He turned the second he heard her. "Don't say anything," he warned, waving a spatula at her. "This is a labour of love."

"I can see that," she said, amused. "How's the toast?"

"Charcoal adjacent."

She padded over and leaned into his side, arms looping gently around his middle. "Morning."

Lando pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Happy birthday, baby."

He guided her over to the table, where a small stack of wrapped gifts sat beside her laptop — one of them unmistakably from Oscar if the cartoon scribble on the tag was anything to go by. Another looked suspiciously like it had been wrapped by Max's girlfriend Celeste, given the glittery ribbon and note that just said DO NOT OPEN NEAR ZAK.

"Did you do all this this morning?" Amelia asked, eyeing the slightly lopsided croissants.

"Well," he said, handing her the mug, "I tried to sneak out of bed early. But then you curled up in the blankets and made that sleepy sound you make and I lost, like, twenty minutes just watching you sleep."

Amelia sipped the coffee. Ugh. Decaf. "Weirdo."

"Your weirdo."

They sat together, eating what they could salvage of the breakfast. Lando gave her a small, leather-bound notebook for scribbling car notes (with custom embossing: A. Norris, Race Strategist / Best Mummy Ever). She rolled her eyes, but she didn't stop smiling.

Later, while she was cleaning up plates, he appeared behind her with one last gift, this one small and velvet. Her breath hitched when he opened it. A pendant: a tiny silver disk with a barely-there engraving.

A heartbeat. The one they'd seen on the ultrasound.

"I wanted you to have something that was just... for you," he said quietly.

She touched the charm gently, thumb brushing the engraving. "I love it," she said, voice slightly wobbly.

He kissed her temple again, arms wrapping around her. "I love you."

The rest of the day was full of small joys; visits from friends, a video call with her mom, cupcakes delivered from a café Oscar insisted was life-changing. Max and Celeste swung by with a gift bag full of baby-safe skincare and a framed photo of the four of them.

At one point, her dad had messaged her.

Happy birthday, kiddo. Love you so much. See you soon.

To which Amelia replied.

Love you too.

That night, after the guests had left and the candles had flickered low, Amelia found herself curled up in her sensory swing by the window, legs folded up under her, pendant resting in the middle of her collarbones. Lando lay on the sofa nearby, watching her with quiet contentment.

"I think this was one of my best birthdays," she said softly.

He smiled. "Even with the burnt toast?"

She nodded. "Especially with the burnt toast." And then, after a pause, "Next year, we'll have someone else around to help us celebrate."

Lando's eyes softened. "Next year," he echoed.

—

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2024 F1 Grid

George R.

Welcome to the 2024 rookies!

Oh wait.

LOL.

Nevermind

Lando N.

Someone get this man a rookie asap

Charles L.

Bro we are all still here 💀

Alex A.

Just the same 20 people trying not to crash into each other

Esteban O.

Consistency is key 😂

Oscar P.

George is out here welcoming imaginary friends

Carlos S.

Rookie of the year is the Ferrari catering team

Lewis H.

I vote my physio as rookie of the year tbh

Yuki T.

I still feel like a rookie emotionally 😮‍💨

Fernando A.

I feel younger every season 😎

George R.

Ok ok I made one mistake

I was being polite

What if someone snuck in overnight. Like a stealth rookie

Pierre G.

Bro this isn't among us

Max V.

Let him live he tried ✋

Lando N.

He tried and failed. Spectacularly

George R.

Blocked. All of you. I'm blocking all of you.

—

The main presentation hall at the MTC was cold, the hush of anticipation a physical thing. Staff, engineers, drivers, media teams, and execs milled around in soft clumps, all eyes drawn to the shrouded figure on the platform. Silver satin draped across carbon fibre; sleek, taut, and humming with promise.

Amelia stood off to one side, arms crossed over her chest, one foot tucked behind the other like she was bracing herself against something invisible.

It was familiar, this room. She'd stood in it a dozen times. But this time was different.

This was her car.

She heard footsteps and didn't have to look to know it was Lando. He came to stand beside her, hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers, gaze fixed on the covered car like it might move if he blinked.

"It looks like a spaceship," he murmured.

"It's as complex as one," she said simply.

He grinned. "I'm gonna drive a spaceship."

"You're going to win in it."

Her dad walked out onto the stage, some carefully crafted speech on hand, but Amelia barely registered it. Her ears rang with something heavier; a low, surging pressure that sat in her chest and refused to settle.

She heard her name, heard Zak referencing her as lead technical design engineer on the project, and the soft ripple of polite applause. She didn't move. Didn't blink.

When the cover was pulled back and the MCL38-AN was finally exposed under the lights. Lean, mean, shimmering with graphite and papaya — the room went reverently silent.

It was beautiful. Sharp and elegant and mean in all the right places.

And hers.

Her hands trembled slightly where they were folded. Lando noticed. He reached down, laced his fingers through hers without saying anything. She didn't look at him, but she held on.

Oscar appeared at her other side, chewing a protein bar. "It looks fast," he said through his mouthful.

"It is fast," Amelia replied, deadpan.

He nodded. "Good. I hate slow cars. Bad for my numbers."

Lando snorted. "Your numbers are fine."

"I want more numbers."

Amelia ignored them both. Her eyes were fixed on the low spoiler, the curve of the side-pod, the subtle detailing near the rear suspension she'd fought tooth and nail to implement — backed up by three sleepless weeks of CFD simulations and one argument with the floor design team that she'd very nearly won with sheer stubbornness alone.

"Do you want to go look at it up close?" Lando asked, gentle.

Amelia shook her head. "Not yet."

He didn't press. Just stayed beside her as people filtered forward. Cameras clicked. Flashbulbs strobed. Somewhere, someone asked Oscar to smile more. Zak was already doing a walk-around with Sky Sports.

But Amelia stayed back, hand in Lando's, watching as her car, her beautiful, terrifying, finely-tuned monster, greeted the world for the first time.

Finally, Lando leaned in, voice low against her ear. "I'm so proud of you."

Her mouth twitched, just a little. "I know," she said.

Then, after a beat, "I'm proud of me too."

—

There were two weeks until they were due to fly out to Bahrain for testing.

The smell of carbon composite and metal dust still clung to the air. Most of the lights had been dimmed in the engineering wing of the McLaren Technology Centre, but not in Bay 2. Bay 2 was lit up like a crime scene — bright, clinical, unrelenting.

And Amelia was pacing.

"You changed the front wing flow guide without flagging it to me." Her voice was flat, but her tone cut sharp enough to peel paint. "It's not a minor tweak. It alters the pressure delta across the entire front third of the car."

Across the table, three senior aero engineers; experienced, respected, and visibly nervous, stood their ground, albeit quietly. One of them, Benji, cleared his throat.

"We didn't go behind your back," he said carefully. "It was discussed at the Friday meeting—"

"I wasn't at the Friday meeting," she snapped. "I was with Oscar for simulator calibration. You knew that."

"We had to lock a version in for pre-season aero scanning," said another engineer, trying to be the reasonable one. "You were behind schedule finalising the nose cone parameters—"

"I was behind schedule," Amelia repeated, eyebrows arching dangerously, "because I was rewriting your cooling duct schema so it wouldn't explode in Bahrain."

Silence.

Lando stood quietly just inside the doorway, arms crossed, watching. He wasn't saying anything — yet. But his eyes never left Amelia.

"You've added drag," she said after a beat. "I ran the updated airflow map through CFD myself after I saw the render. It introduces wake turbulence at high yaw, and we already struggle with straight-line pace. You've made us slower on the straights to gain — what? Four points of front downforce?"

"Four points could help balance in the high-speed corners," Benji offered.

"At the expense of the entire overtaking window!" Amelia barked. "You want Lando and Oscar to defend for twenty laps in DRS zones with a car that drags like a parachute because you like the numbers it spits out on paper?"

Someone muttered something; too low to catch. Amelia's head snapped around like a hawk.

"Say it louder," she said. "You clearly thought it was clever enough the first time."

The engineer paled slightly. "I just said... maybe you're too attached to this design."

Lando stepped in before Amelia could respond.

"No, see, here's the thing," he said, tone deceptively easy. "You don't get to say that. Because her attachment? That's why this car is visibly better than last year's. She is the reason why we had the third-fastest chassis on average post-Zandvoort last year. Because she gives a shit. And if Amelia says it's wrong? Then it's wrong."

The room froze. One of the engineers swallowed hard.

Amelia, though, didn't say anything for a full five seconds. She just stood there, arms folded, staring down the table like she was willing the numbers to change.

Then, calmly, "You're reverting to the previous design."

"We can't. Not until—"

"I'll update the approval file myself," she continued. "I want the renders sent back through me. If you're going to make changes to a car with my name on it, you'll run it by me first. Not the group chat. Not Zak. Not the test team. Me."

Stillness.

Eventually, Benji nodded, his jaw tight. "Alright."

She left the bay without another word, her footfalls even, deliberate. Lando followed a few paces behind, catching up only once they hit the corridor.

"You didn't have to jump in," she muttered.

"I know," he said. "But I wanted to."

They reached the elevator. Amelia punched the call button too hard.

"They're not wrong," she said quietly, not looking at him. "I am too attached."

Lando nodded. "Yeah. And that's why you're the only one I trust with it."

—

The hum of the wind tunnel was a low, constant growl behind the soundproof glass. Screens lined the wall of the operations room, flooded with live data — airflow vectors, pressure maps, drag coefficients, temperatures.

Amelia sat perfectly still in the front row, staring at the monitor.

The numbers were wrong.

Not wildly, not catastrophically. Just... wrong enough.

Behind her, the aero lead, one of the few who hadn't been at the shouting match in the engineering bay days before, was going over test notes in a too-cheerful voice. "And that's run twelve with the revised front-wing guide and standard rear beam. A bit of turbulence in the crosswind scenario, but nothing unmanageable."

Amelia's fingers twitched against the armrest of her chair.

Zak stepped in beside her. "They've already locked the transport containers for Bahrain," he said in a low voice. "The old spec wouldn't make it through the scans in time."

"I know," Amelia said without looking at him.

"We'll revert before Melbourne," Zak added. "That's the plan."

"I know."

She said it again, like repetition might dull the edge.

Zak hesitated. "I get it. I do. But it's one race."

"It's the first race," Amelia said quietly. "It sets the baseline. The whole development curve starts from that data. Every upgrade, every refinement — it's all going to skew unless we compensate."

Zak didn't argue. He didn't need to. They both knew she was right.

But it didn't matter.

Because the parts were packed, the plane was leaving in 48 hours, and the wrong spec was going to touch asphalt in Bahrain.

She stood abruptly. The chair creaked as it slid back.

"Amelia," Zak said. "I know this is hard for you."

She turned, her voice clipped but steady. "It's not hard. It's inefficient."

And she left the room.

—

The lights were low. Her desk lamp cast a soft amber glow across a table full of design sheets and scribbled notes, crossed-out margins, red-circled flaws, annotations that no one else in the department could read but her.

Her iPad was open to the Bahrain track layout. She wasn't crying — not even close. But her jaw was clenched hard enough to ache. Her hands flexed, restless, unable to do anything.

She hated that feeling.

A soft knock came at the door.

"Go away," she said without looking.

It opened anyway.

Lando leaned in, holding two takeaway drinks. "I come bearing peace offering. Decaf vanilla chai for my beautiful, smart wife."

She didn't move.

"I know," he said gently. "It sucks."

"I'm not angry anymore," she said.

He gave her a look. "Don't lie to me, baby."

She finally looked up, and he crossed the room to set the drink beside her keyboard.

"I spent a year making it perfect," she murmured.

Lando touched her shoulder. "And it still will be."

Amelia looked back at her notes. "I hate being forced to let something go when I know I'm right," she said. "Just because I'm one person versus an entire team — and I know that it's not fair to expect them to just blindly trust everything I say, but it makes me so mad.'

"Okay," he whispered. "Time to go home, I think."

—

"Do you need six pairs of sunglasses?" Amelia asked, holding Lando's McLaren duffel open.

Lando didn't even look up from where he was rolling socks. "Yes."

"You only have two eyes."

"It's called fashion, baby."

She rolled her eyes and shoved the sunglasses back in, making sure the soft case separated the orange-tinted pair from the purple ones, because God forbid they get scratched.

Their bedroom looked like a tornado had touched down; open suitcases, half-folded clothes, a stack of electronics chargers that Amelia had labeled with colour-coded cable ties two seasons ago and still didn't trust Lando to keep organised.

Her own packing was... slower. More deliberate. She sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her own suitcase, a checklist open on her iPad and a faint, lingering wave of nausea rising every few minutes like a passive-aggressive tide.

"Are you sure you're okay to fly?" Lando asked for the third time that afternoon.

Amelia clicked her Apple Pencil against her teeth. "I'm pregnant, not ill."

"Still."

"I have packed ginger chews and compression socks."

He looked up. "You hate ginger chews."

"I also hate throwing up at 30,000 feet. Sometimes compromise is necessary."

He grinned. "That's very mature of you."

Amelia waved vaguely in the direction of the ensuite. "Can you grab the skincare bag? Not the one with my regular stuff — the one with the unscented moisturiser that doesn't make me gag."

"Yes, your highness."

She threw a sock at his head.

The packing process stalled every few minutes for various reasons: Amelia needed a snack; Lando forgot where he'd put his phone; Amelia remembered she hadn't downloaded the Bahrain telemetry files onto her personal iPad; Lando insisted on reorganising his racing gloves by colour.

Eventually, Amelia sat back with a soft groan, rubbing a hand over her belly. Not that there was much to feel yet, no bump, just the persistent hum of her body shifting quietly into something new.

She felt... heavy. But not in a bad way. Just full of lists, of responsibilities, of life. Literally.

"Hey," Lando said gently, crouching in front of her. "You okay?"

She nodded, slow. "Yeah. Just... tired. Everything feels like it takes twenty-percent more effort."

"You want to skip testing?"

Amelia narrowed her eyes. "Lando."

"I'm just saying—"

"No. Don't even suggest that. I need to be there for Oscar and I want to be there for the cars first proper run. I have to see how it holds up."

He smiled softly. "Just checking. That's my job now, remember? Worrying about you."

Amelia's expression softened. "I'm fine. I'm just slower than usual. I'll sit. I'll drink plenty of water."

Lando stood and offered her a hand, helping her up off the floor with the ease of long practice. They zipped the last suitcase together, and she stared at the organised chaos around them with a long, contemplative sigh.

"Think this baby is gonna like Bahrain?" She murmured.

He shrugged. "Hot. Loud. Feels like it's already genetically predisposed that baby is not going to have a good time."

She laughed, quietly, the sound curling in her throat.

They were flying out in the morning. Testing started two days after that. And in a few more weeks, the  2024 season would roar to life; full throttle, no mercy, no brakes.

But for now, there were just bags and chargers and familiar, cluttered rhythms. And them.

Just them.

For now.

[alchemistc]

everything you want is on the other side

Buck slides a beer Tommy's way and fights the urge to duck his head. "So, I just thought, maybe, if you wanted to, we could -."

"I'm seeing someone," Tommy says, and blinks, and stares at the label of his bottle.

"Oh," Buck says, and shoves the hurt down deep where it won't inconvenience anyone. That's - it's been - been longer than they were ever together, hasn't it? And, yeah, after that comment in the helicopter maybe Buck had had this expectation that Tommy would wait for him, but that wasn't fair to assume, was it? It's - they're - "I... I'm happy for you."

Tommy gives him a strange look.

"We - is friends an option on the table though? Like, is your ex being around going to screw that up for you?"

Tommy snorts, derisively, and Buck thinks - okay then.

He'd avoided Buck plenty well before, so Buck doesn't really know why he'd have agreed to come out for drinks with him if that wasn't in the table. Maybe this is just - a clean break. They never really got there, until now.

There'd been a sunny afternoon, a few months in, where Tommy had taken him out to a stretch of beach and tossed a football back and forth with him for an hour, the both of them getting progressively sweatier and progressively more horny every time they caught the other checking them out, and Buck had thought to himself - I don't do this with any of my friends. Just - out and about enjoying the day and fucking around for the hell of it, and he'd been so caught up in the idea that Tommy could be a friend as well as a lover that he'd - he'd started picturing it.

A life. Shared, in all the ways that mattered. Holding hands on the beach and smiling at each other in the surf. Teasing one another about the silliest things, too many inside jokes to count, making Tommy laugh and laugh and laugh.

He'd never let it go farther than that. Hazy edges of a home filled with filmy curtains and Tommy's insane DVD collection got shoved away, like pulling back the curtain was just asking for disaster.

Being taken care of, when things weren't easy, when one of them was pissed, when everything was perfect other than a flare up in his leg.

He'd always thought they were on the same page and never bothered to ask if they were reading the same book.

Tommy's was a tragedy, in three parts.

Buck's was a fluffy short story, all purple prose and gratuitous overindulgence, with a kick-your-teeth-in surprise unhappy ending.

So. So now someone else gets the Tommy experience.

He's irrationally annoyed they won't appreciate it. He's insanely jealous by the idea of them appreciating it better than he ever did.

"He - do you want to tell me about him?"

Tommy's brows knit. "Well, he has me doing homework, which I don't love."

Buck lets the words work through him, over him. Younger, again? Like Tommy has a type, and that, for some reason, grinds Buck's gears. Or is that some sort of euphemism for -

"And part of the syllabus was talking to the people who scare me about the things that scare me."

And that sounds like -

"Shilling out all this money out of pocket so the Chief doesn't know I'm a basket case and the first thing he has me do is confront fear like that's not the damn foundation keeping me standing."

Buck picks at his coaster.

Tommy clocks the move and stills, glancing up at him, startled. "You thought I meant -."

"Yeah."

Tommy's hand shifts away from his beer, towards Buck's, before he aborts, spreading fingers against the sticky two-top they'd snagged from a couple who barely glanced at them as they threw on their coats, too starry-eyed in lust to notice the two burly men who'd been lingering by the bar waiting for a table to open up. He couldn't blame them. They'd been right there, obsessed with the way it felt to be naked together in all the ways except the ones that mattered, to get lost in the slide of skin and the feel of tongues sliding together, bodies shifting into one another.

Buck does the scariest thing he can think of. He looks up, and rolls a hand away from his own bottle. Palm up, fingers loose, crawling two inches forward.

His heart is somewhere in his throat and he doesn't look away when Tommy blinks at the extended hand. "I scare you?" Buck asks, and Tommy leans forward to knit their fingers together.

"You scare the everliving shit out of me, Evan."

They didn't really talk, the way they should have.

If Buck has to think back on that day at the beach, with the wind turning Tommy's loose curls into a vortex atop his head, with the tide licking at their ankles, with the ridges of the football grooving into Buck's palm - they'd flirted, and had a surface level conversation over the sounds of a pair of five-year-olds screaming their lungs out as they tried to fill a hole they'd dug in the sand with buckets and buckets and buckets of water that was gone each time they made it back from the surf with a new pail-ful of ocean.

The kids hadn't even cared that their hole never held any of that water in. They'd just been thrilled to pour another bucket full of water in, the sand drinking it all up.

"You never scared me," Buck admits, and hates the way something sad flickers behind Tommy's eyes, because he's spent enough time doing postmortem on their relationship to have an idea about why that would hurt Tommy. "That - it meant a lot, to me, that I always felt so solid with you. That I never had to question..."

Tommy's smile pulls at something deep in his gut. It's not a happy smile, it's the kind with broken glass hiding beneath the surface, ready to slice and bleed in an irreparable way.

"And then I ripped the rug out," Tommy says. It's his judgy tone, the one Buck always hated to hear him use on himself. The one he'd used a lot more than Buck had wanted to notice, at the time.

"I didn't exactly make a good case for myself," Buck tells him, and Tommy squeezes his hand.

"Larry says I let the fear take the cyclic nine times out of ten."

Larry's a weird fucking name for a therapist, Buck doesn't say. "That is not the way he said that," Buck actually says, and Tommy glances up from behind his lashes, the skin on one side of his mouth dimpling.

On early mornings in a bunk when he couldn't sleep after a shitty call, he'd sometimes imagined what those devastating smile lines would look like as the skin around the muscle got thinner, less buoyant. What the specks of grey in his high and tight fade would look like as they became more prominent.

"We workshopped a way to paraphrase it without tearing my own hair out."

"Why are you going to therapy, Tommy?"

The hand squeezing his tightens like a vice.

"Because you scare the everliving shit out of me," Tommy says, amusement in his tone even though his eyes are swimming with unshed tears. "And I'm tired of either of us thinking that doesn't mean something."

"You can't use me as an excuse instead of admitting you're a little messed up in the head."

Tommy's laugh sticks in his throat somewhere, Adams apple bobbing. "That's what Larry said, too."

He tries to picture Tommy in a room with soft lighting, vaguely comfortable seating, a stress ball he could flick between his enormous hands because he has to be fiddling with something at all times or he goes a little crazy - toe tapping or knee jumping while he flexes his palms against his thighs. Larry probably has a field day taking notes of all the ways Tommy stims to make himself feel like a person.

"So...what does that mean?"

He looks like he wants to bolt. It's such a stark contrast - the way he always made sure Buck was the most comfortable he could possibly be and the way he always had his muscles braced for flight.

"It means I can't shake you. Means every time I had a foot out the door the other one was digging in on the other side of the frame. Means I..." Tommy shifts, again, pushes the beer off to the side to reach out and wrap his other hand around their clasped hands. "Means I still don't know what the fuck is wrong with me but I'm hoping you have the patience to be there while I figure it out."

"As...as what, exactly?"

He's scared of the answer, he realizes. Scared that Tommy thinks he's too messed up to - to be with someone. Scared that what Tommy needs is something he's screwed up so many times he's barely spoken to his best friend without a fight in months.

He's scared.

Oh.

Oh, he's scared.

Scared of trying to fill a hole in the sand with briney water.

"I'm a terrible friend," Tommy intones, voice soft, lower lip tucked beneath his teeth. "Think I could have been a better boyfriend."

"You were the best boyfriend," Buck says, a little offended on his behalf, but he's not - he's not wrong. They were so caught up in the being together part that they never figured out what they were trying to do with it.

"I was very good at pretending I didn't want more from you than you were giving me."

It looks like it hurts him at least half as much to say as it does for Buck to hear it. He swallows around a suddenly tight throat. "Will you - can you tell me what you wanted?"

Tommy's face goes through a series of expressions. Lands somewhere between terrified and determined. "Fair warning, I still want them."

Something warm and careful curls up and purrs beneath his ribcage. He's scared. They both are.

That means something.

"Don't try to reassure me if it gets scary," Buck says, and Tommy chokes out a phlegmy laugh, takes a stuttering breath, and lets loose.

---

"Evan."

Buck blinks awake, and rolls his eyes blearily until he catches sight of Tommy, kneeling over him on the bed.

The look on his face has Buck scrambling to wakefulness, and Tommy looks guilty, for a moment, before he tamps it down. "Its okay. I'm okay."

It's -Buck darts a look at the trusty alarm clock he's had at his bedside since the first time he slept through five alarms on his phone - three in the morning and when they spoke on the phone earlier tonight Tommy made it clear he had too much going on tomorrow to make the drive to Buck's. So. Not okay.

"Fine, I'm not - I'm in one piece," Tommy admits. He looks wrung out, exhausted. Something must have happened in the six hours Buck's been sleeping, because he was having a killer shift when they left off for the night. He'd been excited about having to execute some slick maneuver during that high rise fire downtown.

Buck goes to work unbuttoning Tommy's jeans. He leaves his shoes by the door, every time he uses the key Buck gave him three months ago (his heart in his throat, nerves making the words more difficult than they should have been) so the pants come off without a struggle, and then Tommy's whisking his shirt over his head, and he's bare and antsy as he stares at Buck, shifting on his heels. "Big spoon or little spoon?" Buck asks, and something in Tommy stills, the frantic energy bleeding out of him like that question debrided the layer of skin over the blister that is his mental state at this moment in time.

Tommy climbs over him to get to his side of the bed. "Little," he murmurs, already turning to show Buck his back, and around the quiet maneuvering of the duvet Buck gathers him up, gathers him in, an arm under the pillow and his hand spread wide across Tommy's chest.

He'll talk about it when he's ready.

Or Buck will have to do the work and force it out of him, later. Larry says Buck needs to push more than he does and fuck anyone who tells him he's making it about himself.

Larry's kind of an asshole. He doesn't join Tommy very often, but when he does he gets why Tommy keeps going back. It's not the right style for Buck, one-on-one. But he sure does know how to get his point across.

Tommy's got more freckles on his shoulders from helping Buck put together a new garden bed out in the yard three days ago, a kink in his neck from taking a dive playing volleyball on the beach last week.

("We won, didn't we?"

"And now Mr. Side Sleeper won't be able to find a comfortable position for a month."

"Next time I'll let Ravi and Lucy crow about beating us for the rest of our lives.").

"I want kids," Tommy says, out of nowhere, swinging his ass back into the cradle of Buck's pelvis, like he doesn't feel quite close enough to Buck, yet. Buck tightens his hold. "I know we haven't talked about it. Figured it was pretty obvious what your opinion on the matter was."

A barbeque, three months into them trying again, Chris trying to get his attention while he had Robert spitting up on his shoulder and Jee throwing a tantrum about not being the center of attention - when Tommy had swooped in with the assist, yanking Jee up onto his knee to distract her and smiling at a grateful looking Christopher. Buck had stared at him for the entirety of Chris's breakdown of the latest exhibit at the MOMA while the want threatened to swallow him whole.

He hadn't bothered to ask how Tommy had managed to turn that tantrum around so quickly.

There's still so much they don't know about each other.

They're getting the hang of asking now. Telling. Listening. Pushing through the terror of an assumption.

"There was a couple, my last flight. Broken ankle and some scrapes and bruises up in Runyon. Pregnant woman married to an idiot of a man."

Buck hums.

"Guy decided three hundred yards up the trail to let his wife know he never wanted kids."

"Sounds like a nightmare."

"Garret had to strap him down and they still managed to argue themselves hoarse before we made it to the hospital. And I just got to thinking - if I don't tell you shit, you can't read my damn mind and ferret it out. I don't want to be a decrepit old man when our kids graduate high school."

Our kids kind of kicks him in the solar plexus, but he lets it bruise over, for the time being. "You're gonna be built like a brick shithouse when you're eighty, shut up."

Tommy chuckles. Sighs, and tips his head back. "I had a panic attack in the truck because I don't want them without you and I never asked."

Buck presses a kiss to his temple. Another to a new spray of freckles on his neck.

"I get to be the bad cop dad."

Tommy snorts, and snuggles in a little bit more. "Like that was ever a question, I'm gonna be the biggest pushover this side of the Mississippi." He's quiet, for a long, long moment. A hand settles over top of Buck's. "Not now. But I want to - talk about it. Figure out the options."

Kam's been bugging him about the viability of her womb in the most graphic way possible since she met Tommy once, six months ago. So that - that's an option. Maybe.

If they decide on something soon.

They don't even live together. Technically.

"Larry's gonna have a field day with this one," Tommy says, and Buck tucks his nose into the hair at the back of Tommy's head.

"You want me to go?"

"No. I'll tell you, after, but. No, this is a Tommy Special."

"Your dad?"

"My father. My mom. Three uncles and twenty shitty captains and - and Bobby."

The sting is the same as always. He just found a place to store the pain.

"Is this a tarp in the hole situation, or do you think you can put the bucket away?"

Tommy groans. "You know I hate it when you and Larry come up with convoluted metaphor."

His breathing is evening out. The hand over Buck's isn't shaking, anymore.

"You're gonna be a stupid good dad," Buck tells him, and doesn't mind so much when Tommy's lifts up his hand to press a kiss to his knuckles and they come back wet with tears.

[dior-luxury]

How'd They Handle Your Relationship Going Public

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff/romance - f!reader .

- [𝐜𝐡.] isagi . yukimiya . oliver . sae . michael

- [𝐩:𝐬] Possessiveness (Subtle) . Emotional Pressure . Media Intrusion . Public Scrutiny & Online Harassment . Emotional Intensity . Mentions Of Toxic Fandom

Note: So- these kinda got reallyy long LOL

Isagi Yoichi

Dating Isagi Yoichi wasn’t about fireworks or public spectacles.

It was subtle. Sacred.

You fell for him back when the world was just starting to know his name — before the viral goals, before the press conferences, before “Egoist” became a brand instead of just an insult people threw at him on the field.

He was still Yoichi back then. The guy who walked you home under quiet skies after long study days. Who left you hand-written notes in your bag, or called you at midnight to vent about training and self-doubt. The boy who looked at you like you were the one thing in his life not measured by rankings or goals.

“You make me feel real,” he said once.

“Even when the rest of the world treats me like a story.”

And you smiled, brushing a hand through his hair, saying the words he never quite believed:

“You’re more than enough.”

It started with a photo.

You’d waited for him outside a post-match event — nothing dramatic, just a quiet corner away from cameras, a hoodie pulled low, arms crossed as you bounced on your heels. He spotted you and smiled that exhausted, radiant smile — the one that only ever seemed to show when he saw you.

He jogged over, grabbed your hand, and tugged you into a hug so tight you didn’t even notice the flash from a phone across the street.

A fan had caught it. By morning, it was trending:

“ISAGI’S MYSTERY GIRLFRIEND??” “Who is the girl Isagi Yoichi hugged after the match?” “#YoichiLove — Bluelock Star Seen With Partner!”

You didn’t even realize the story had broken until your phone buzzed with thirty notifications and your social media was flooded.

And Isagi? He called you five minutes later.

“I’m so sorry,” he said before you could even speak. His voice was hoarse. Anxious.

“I didn’t think — I wasn’t careful —”

You stopped him gently.

“Yoichi. Breathe.”

But he was spiraling.

“They’re going to twist it. They’re going to make you into some villain, or a fangirl, or say you’re a distraction— I didn’t protect you well enough.”

That hurt more than anything — not the media, not the attention. Just hearing how he blamed himself for being loved.

Yoichi wasn’t flashy. He didn’t make bold declarations online. But he believed in honesty — in earning everything, not just on the pitch, but in life.

So instead of hiding you, he did something few players would:

He acknowledged you.

Not with a viral post or a dramatic reveal — just a few sentences in a quiet press interview, when a reporter inevitably asked, “Is the person in the photos your girlfriend?”

He smiled — that awkward, slightly crooked smile he wore when he was nervous but firm.

“Yeah. She is. I don’t want to hide the people who believe in me. Especially not the one who’s been there since the start.”

The internet exploded again — this time with less speculation and more stunned admiration.

“ISAGI CONFIRMS RELATIONSHIP!” “Simp king behavior?!?!” “Yoichi out here being respectful, loyal AND talented—”

Surprisingly, most of the feedback was positive. Even fans who’d worshiped him as their fictional boyfriend begrudgingly respected how he handled it. It wasn’t performative. It wasn’t arrogant.

It was just real.

Still, the adjustment wasn’t easy.

Suddenly, your name trended with his. You were tagged in edits. Rumors circulated. Fans analyzed your outfits, your expressions in the background of blurry photos. Some idolized you. Some resented you.

You once told Yoichi how overwhelming it was — how suffocating it felt to be seen by so many strangers.

He listened, eyes dark with quiet intensity, then pulled you close.

“We can disappear whenever you want,” he murmured. “I’ll take us anywhere. Just say the word.”

You shook your head against his chest.

“I don’t want to run. I just want to feel safe with you.”

And he looked at you like you’d just scored the winning goal.

“Then that’s what I’ll protect. Not the image. You.”

You never quite got used to the cameras. But you got used to him — to how he’d squeeze your hand before stepping onto the pitch, to how he’d always find your eyes in the crowd, to how he never let the world take away the quiet between you.

He still wrote you notes. Still called you before matches, even if it was just to say,

“I’ll play better knowing you’re watching.”

And every time a headline surfaced, or a new photo went viral, he handled it the same way — with grace, respect, and unwavering devotion.

“They can watch,” he told you once, fingers laced with yours as the city lights blinked outside the hotel balcony.

“Let them. Just means more people get to see what I already know — that loving you was the best decision I ever made.”

Yukimiya Kenyu

Yukimiya wasn’t like the other players.

While many flaunted confidence in interviews and thrived on spectacle, Yukimiya moved with a different kind of grace. He was precise. Sharp. Fashionable, yes — maybe even elegant — but always calculating. He had a past he didn’t often talk about, a future he fought for like every breath was borrowed time.

And somehow, despite his walls, you were the one who slipped through.

You weren’t loud about it. Neither was he. Dates were quiet. Rooftops. Galleries. Libraries. His hand always found yours under tables, behind curtains, in the quiet corners of his schedule where the world forgot to look.

He liked it that way — liked the sense that this was his, untouched by cameras, untouched by expectations. You weren’t someone he had to perform for. You saw him beyond the rising football star, beyond the reconstructed corneas and interviews about perseverance.

“You see me,” he said once, “even when I can’t.”

You hadn’t known what to say, so you just kissed him softly and squeezed his hand.

You weren’t even doing anything scandalous — just sitting across from each other in a Kyoto café, a book open between you, sharing matcha and chocolate pastries. A fan had taken a blurry picture. The internet took care of the rest.

At first, it was subtle:

“Is that Yukimiya Kenyu in the background?” “Who’s that girl? Is he dating her?”

Then came the full unraveling: tagged posts, speculative gossip blogs, news articles prying into your identity. Someone even found your university and posted photos of your class schedule. It was invasive. Fast. Brutal.

And Yukimiya?

He froze.

He didn’t answer your messages for the first 24 hours.

You weren’t mad — just... worried. Yukimiya lived in constant pursuit of control. His style, his image, his brand — they were all sculpted with care. Even his recovery from his eye condition had been framed as a “reawakening” in interviews.

Now that frame was splintering.

When he finally showed up at your door, he looked exhausted. Hoodie pulled over his eyes, glasses on, jaw tight with unspoken tension. You let him in without a word.

He sat on your couch like the weight of the world had just pressed him flat.

“I didn’t want it to happen like this,” he said after a while, voice low. “Not this messy. Not... uncontrolled.”

You sat beside him. “You mean us being known?”

He didn’t answer right away.

“I was afraid it would make you a target. That people would judge you for choosing someone like me.”

That sentence struck you like a slap of cold air. Someone like me.

“Yuki,” you said gently, “you’re not damaged. You’re not broken. And I’m not ashamed to be with you.”

He exhaled shakily. “But they’ll never understand.”

You rested your head on his shoulder. “Then let them misunderstand.”

Yukimiya didn’t rush to post about you. He didn’t tweet a declaration. No Instagram story reveal. That wasn’t his style.

Instead, he granted a one-on-one interview with a respected journalist he trusted. In it, he talked about life after his eye surgery, his evolution as a player, and finally — near the end — he said:

“There’s someone important in my life. She’s not a public figure, and she didn’t ask for this attention. But she’s been a part of my journey. Quietly. Steadily. And I’m thankful for her.”

No names. No theatrics. Just truth — calm, composed, and deliberate.

The response was... surprisingly warm.

Fans praised his maturity. Commentators highlighted how he’d handled it with class. Most importantly, no more pictures were leaked. The frenzy faded. The boundary held.

One night, weeks later, he brought you to the top floor of an art museum after hours. A private event. Just the two of you. Paintings surrounded you like silent witnesses.

He stood beside a piece he liked — a minimalist skyline fading into a misted sunrise — and turned to you.

“I used to think love was something I had to earn. That I had to be impressive enough. Neat enough. Strong enough to deserve it.”

You reached for his hand.

“And now?”

“Now I think love is what makes me brave enough to be seen.”

He turned to you fully, pulling you into his arms, forehead resting against yours.

“Even when it’s messy.”

The world knew about the two of you — but only what you allowed.

You attended matches, sometimes. He’d glance at you in the stands before kickoff, and you’d give him that quiet nod — his anchor. The one that steadied him before the storm.

Fans respected the space you created. Maybe it was how Yukimiya carried himself — with a quiet pride and gentle resolve. Maybe it was because you never needed to prove your love was real. You just lived it.

And when someone asked him years down the line how he balanced fame and relationships, he just smiled, ever the minimalist.

“When you find someone who helps you see clearly... you don’t let them go.”

Oliver Aiku

You never quite saw it coming. One day he was just that guy on the U-20 team, cocky and golden-eyed with a smirk that could stop traffic. The next, he was the one calling you at midnight because he couldn’t sleep before a match, or because he “missed the way your voice sounds when you’re sleepy.”

For months, it was yours alone — private, unsharable. He liked it that way. You both did. The rest of the world could have his smirks, his post-match charm, his “loverboy” persona in interviews. But you had something different.

You had Oliver soft.

When the two of you were alone, he dropped the pretense. He let you see him insecure, exhausted, kind. He’d curl an arm around your waist and talk about the pressure of being team captain, of always being expected to lead. You’d press your forehead to his and promise he didn’t have to perform for you.

And he’d just whisper, “Good. Because I’m tired of being everyone’s image.”

It was a video. Not even anything scandalous.

Just a short clip someone recorded at a rooftop bar in Shibuya — you and Oliver dancing under dim lights, laughing, your fingers looped through the necklace he always wore. He pulled you in by the waist like no one was watching. Unfortunately, someone was.

The internet did what it always did: erupted.

“Who is she??” “Oliver Aiku has a girlfriend?? No way he’s settling down.” “This better be a joke, he flirts with literally everyone on Earth—”

Your DMs filled with messages, some supportive, others venomous. Pictures were dug up. Threads were made. Fan edits. Fancams. Hate. Fanfiction.

And at the center of it all?

You — frozen in place on your couch, scrolling through the chaos, heart in your throat.

Oliver didn’t respond right away.

He was in training when it went viral, and by the time he called you that night, the storm had fully formed.

“You okay, babe?”

His voice was soft, low. Not his usual flirt. You could tell he'd seen the worst of it.

You hesitated. “I don’t know.”

There was a pause. Then:

“Pack a bag. I’m coming to get you.”

You spent the weekend holed up in a villa he rented — outside the city, quiet, private. No paparazzi. No noise.

Oliver barely touched his phone. He spent most of the time just being there — cooking, teasing you into eating, pulling you into his lap like he needed to feel you near. And when you finally broke down — not loud, just quiet tears that slipped down your cheek — he held your face like it was fragile.

“They don’t get to decide what this is,” he said. “We do.”

“But they’re already tearing it apart,” you whispered.

His jaw clenched, and for once, the flirty glint in his eyes vanished.

“Then let me show them exactly who I’m with. And what happens when they f*ck with my girl.”

Oliver Aiku was known for his charm. The press loved him — the hair, the grin, the way he played both the field and the media. So when he asked to make a personal statement during a press conference the following week, people assumed it was a stunt.

But it wasn’t.

He walked in wearing a navy-blue suit, calm as a sea before a tidal wave. Cameras flashed. Reporters murmured.

Then he took the mic.

“Yeah. That was me in the video. That’s my girlfriend. And if you’ve got a problem with it — if any of you think this changes how I play, how I lead, or who I am — I don’t care. She’s not a weakness. She’s the reason I breathe easier before games. The reason I sleep better. And if supporting me means hating her? Don’t support me.”

It was blunt. Direct. No theatrics. No filters.

And it worked. The internet bent.

Suddenly, fans started changing tune. You weren't just “the girl in the video” — you were his. And not in a possessive way. In a part of his story way.

Fan art showed up. Support posts. People admired the rawness of how he defended you. And slowly, the tide turned.

You were still nervous in public sometimes. Oliver noticed.

So he'd make a game of it — kissing your hand in the middle of a crowd, tossing an arm around your shoulder while the press followed, flashing them a cocky grin like: “Yeah, I’m hers. Get over it.”

But when you were alone, the confidence faded, replaced with something real.

Years later, he joked about it.

“They thought I couldn’t commit to a single girl. Joke’s on them, huh?”

You were lying in bed, your head on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

“You’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted to keep forever,” he added quietly, brushing your hair away from your eyes.

He had no defense against you.

And the world? It could watch all it wanted — because Oliver Aiku had nothing left to hide.

Sae Itoshi

At first, he didn’t say anything.

When the photo leaked — a candid one of you exiting a quiet Tokyo café with his hand casually resting on the small of your back — the media’s reaction was instant, and loud. Commentators speculated. Fans dissected every pixel. Your name, previously unknown to the public, was now splashed across headlines next to his.

“Sae Itoshi Spotted With Mystery Lover — New Flame or Just a Friend?”

You were neither shocked nor surprised. Dating Sae came with that unspoken risk. You’d been careful, both of you had. Sae hated the spotlight outside of football. And yet, even with all your precautions, the world found a way.

You waited for him to react — to say something, anything. But Sae, being Sae, remained unreadable.

That night, you sat together on the balcony of his apartment in Madrid. The city lights twinkled below like scattered stars. He was sipping tea, calm as ever, eyes distant, not touching his phone — which was blowing up with notifications.

You finally broke the silence. “So… what now?”

He glanced at you, just for a second, then looked back out into the night.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded, though the knot in your stomach said otherwise. He could see it — of course he could. You weren’t sure if the worst part was the people combing through your personal photos or the vicious fans commenting that you weren’t “good enough” for him.

“They’re being brutal,” you said softly.

He set his tea down and turned to you fully.

“Ignore them.”

You huffed. “That’s easy for you to say. You’ve trained your whole life to not care what people think.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Exactly. So let me teach you.”

The next morning, you woke up to him sitting at the edge of the bed, phone in hand, fingers scrolling through comments you couldn’t bring yourself to read.

“I told them to back off,” he said, like it was the weather.

You blinked groggily. “Who?”

“My PR team. My manager. I told them we’re not hiding anything. No cover-ups. No fake denials.”

You stared. This wasn’t the reaction you expected from someone as reserved and private as Sae Itoshi.

He stood and walked over to you, leaning down slightly so his forehead almost touched yours.

“I’m not going to pretend you don’t matter to me. If they can’t handle that, they’re not my fans.”

Your breath caught.

He wasn’t dramatic about it. He wasn’t loud. But that was Sae’s way. His loyalty was quiet, unwavering — like the tide.

The football world spun on its axis.

While some fans were in denial, many respected Sae’s stoicism and honesty. His response wasn’t explosive like Kaiser’s or cheeky like Bachira’s — it was definitive. His social media post, short and clinical, read:

“I’m in a relationship. It’s not your business. Respect it, or leave.”

The caption was paired with a single photo: you and him sitting on a park bench, your hand resting on his knee as he stared straight into the camera. Not smiling — but not hiding either.

At matches, the cameras started to pan to you in the stands. You kept your expression neutral, remembering Sae’s advice: don’t let them see what they want to see — just be yourself.

The other players respected you. Rin, surprisingly, didn’t say much — but he acknowledged you now, and that was enough. Sae never made a show of affection in public, but after each match, when the press swarmed him and he seemed miles away from it all, his eyes would search for yours in the crowd — and soften.

And later, in the quiet of your shared apartment, after the chaos had faded, he’d rest his head in your lap, fingers loosely intertwined with yours, voice low and honest. You traced a finger through his hair, and he leaned into the touch.

“You make everything quieter,” he whispered.

The world moved on. Scandals came and went. Fandoms shifted.

But your relationship stayed solid — not because it was flashy or idolized, but because it was built on knowing. Knowing when to speak, and when to just be. Knowing that love doesn’t need to shout to be real.

Michael Kaiser

When news broke that Michael Kaiser — the prodigy, the self-proclaimed emperor of the field — was in a relationship, the world didn't just react. It combusted.

Twitter trended. Sports tabloids foamed. Fans raged and swooned. And at the center of it all was a picture. Not some grainy paparazzi shot — no. It was him. Kaiser. Post-match, sweat clinging to his temple, jersey slung over his shoulder — and his arm around you. His head bowed to whisper something in your ear, and you, flushed with affection, smiled in a way the world hadn’t seen him smile before.

You and Kaiser had been together for just under a year. A secret year, full of subtle gestures, hidden rendezvous, and text threads that could melt steel with their heat and tenderness. Michael had always kept the world at arm’s length, cloaked in arrogance and splendor — a star with sharp edges. But you? You’d seen beyond the diamond-cut smirks and cocky winks. You’d seen the person behind the persona.

And that person, for all his bravado, was intensely private.

So when the photo leaked — probably snapped by someone in the VIP box who couldn’t resist the scoop — your stomach dropped. You knew the storm that was coming.

And yet, when you confronted him about it later that night, sitting in the plush silence of his Berlin apartment, he just leaned back on the couch, one leg draped over the other, and grinned.

“So what? Let them know,” he said with a shrug, sipping his espresso like this was just another day. “They’re obsessed with me already. Might as well give them another reason.”

You blinked. “You’re not... upset?”

He looked over at you — really looked. That sharp, imperial gaze softened just a little.

“Why would I be upset about them knowing I have the most precious thing in the world?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. He reached over and gently ran his thumb along your cheekbone, then tapped the tip of your nose.

“Let them scream. Let them cry. I don’t care. I’m Kaiser. And you? You’re mine.”

The reaction was volcanic.

Fan forums exploded. Some cried betrayal, their delusions of ever being with him shattered. Others became obsessed with learning everything about you. Pictures were dug up. Speculation ran rampant. Were you a model? A secret heiress? A spy?

Some of the headlines were vile. Others were absurd. One read: "Michael Kaiser’s Secret Weapon — Is Love His New Training Regimen?"

At first, it was overwhelming. You’d never been in the public eye, and now your face was plastered on international sports gossip sites. Your phone buzzed nonstop. Comments flooded your socials. Threats. Questions. Weird fan art.

You tried to hide it, but Kaiser noticed. Of course he did.

One morning, you woke up to find your name trending again — but this time because of him.

In a post-match interview, after effortlessly sinking three goals, Kaiser stood before a horde of reporters, sweat still glistening on his brow.

“Michael, there’s been a lot of talk about your relationship lately. Do you think it’s affecting your game?” one reporter asked, voice laced with implication.

Kaiser smiled — a slow, razor-sharp smirk.

“Yes,” he said, to the surprise of everyone. “It’s making me better. I was already the best in the world. Now, I’ve got someone who believes in me even when I’m not on the field. That’s power none of you could understand.”

The reporters laughed nervously. He wasn’t done.

“Also, if anyone thinks they can talk about my partner — or threaten them — and not answer to me? Try it. See what happens.”

The clip went viral in seconds. Fan culture shifted overnight. His most loyal supporters, seeing the genuine affection in his eyes, began to support you. Protect you. Others backed off entirely, afraid of drawing the emperor’s wrath.

And you... you cried that night, not from fear or stress — but from feeling seen. Defended.

Kaiser held you close in bed, your head on his chest, his fingers lazily tracing circles on your arm.

“You don’t belong to them,” he murmured into your hair. “You belong to me. And I protect what’s mine.”

Life settled into a strange new rhythm.

You became more comfortable with the spotlight, especially because Kaiser never let you face it alone. If he was photographed, he always made sure your hand was in his. If someone tried to bait him with gossip, he shut it down mercilessly. He made it clear to the world: this relationship is not a weakness. It’s part of my kingdom.

And over time, fans began to admire the two of you — not just as a power couple, but as something real. You attended games together. Sometimes sat beside Noel Noa. You were seen smiling at Rin Itoshi during tense matches. You even met Isagi once. Kaiser had scowled the whole time.

“He’s lucky I didn’t steal you, too,” Kaiser muttered afterward.

You laughed and shoved his shoulder. “You’re insufferable.”

He turned to you, smiling like the world was his — because to him, it was.

“No. I’m just in love.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can you do more both wet cat Void please! That shit is hilarious

wet cat void is the best thing to ever happen, all powerful diety being a wet cat in silly ways should be the norm.

For a being as powerful, independant and comanding as himself, void happened to be quite...clingy to you. He would appear out of nowhere -within a blink of an eye if you will- mostly when you least expect him to or when you were busy with other things, and just stand close enough that when you moved you were risking the possibility of colliding into him constantly.

Like an black cat who didn't want to stay close by your feet when you were in the kitchenette, being so close that you would effectively trip over your own feet with how close he was, leading you to end up to fall into Void's awaiting arms. Void is amused by this and would do it constantly, finding your little gasp of surpise when you noticed his presence, your face changing from surpise to annoyance and how your hand never left his bicep as though you were still finding a way to support yourself from the fright.

'void.' you said looking at his pinprick eyes that seem to twinkle, showing his humour in all this.

'yes my little dove?' he asks, tilting his head to the side.

'do that again and you're getting the silent treatment.' you warned him and from an outside perspective you telling an shadowy entity who could make shadows out of people that your going to going to 'give him the silent treatment' was enough for people to look at you as though you had grown a second head. However you knew Void loved the attention you gave him, the kisses you give him and the affection you gave him you might as well have been spoiling him rotten with it, it had gotten to the point where void felt entitled to your love whenever he wanted.

If a Void could pout then you knew he was as he burrows his face agaisnt the side of yours, holding your waist tightly, keeping you close to him as your palms were pressed to his chest. 'Must you torture me, make me suffer without your affection for a single second more, how cruel.' He says lowly as though trying to provoke sympathy from you but you weren't buying it, you did so in the past and were left with having to scratch Void's head for hours on end or hold him in your arms until he felt satisfied; and when he was satisfied with the affection, he would wander off wothout a word.

Truely a black cat who was independant but wanted to be swaddled in affection but on their own terms, take that away and soon enough that black cat will become vocal and clingly, much like how Void was being right now.

'Then suffer.' You replied, not giving in nor planning to as you've done so many times in the past and didn't feel like falling into old traps, not when you were all too aware of the fact that you would be stuck cuddiling him for hours on end. 'i have stuff to do and i don't feel like having you try and distract me.' You added with a huff as you finally managed to pull yourself away from Void, but he was still very much stuck to you like glue and refusing to remove his hands from your waist, his grip was like iron as you had him trailing after you like a second shadow but just darker and more menacing and a pair of pinprick eyes.

'little dove.'

no response.

'my love?'

you barely looked up from the massive wall of glass that overlooked the streets of New York, taking slow sips of your drink of choice, taking note of how you should visit that corner store to stock up treats for the next movie night with the rest of the team seeing as John and Alexei ate more then their fair sahre last time. Your poor malteasers.

'My light, my walking daydream do not play such silly games.' Void sounded as though he was pleading as he managed to wrangle you close to his chest once more as the entity pratically swamped you in his entirety. He was cool, almost frigid but you found comfort in his chilled embrace, only to remind yourself that you were still ignoring him and steel your resolve as to not fall for his buttery words and affection; so you merely shrugged in his embrace.

Void huffed and pushed his head futher into your neck. 'this is childish even from you my dear.' he says, voice muffled agaisnt your neck but you didn't respond, merely taking another sip of your drink to hide your amusement of Void’s suddenly clingy and neediness.

Truly a black cat Void was through and through.

[sheerfreesia007]

The Pout That Changed Everything

Pairing: Chan x Reader

Word count: 2,118

Content warnings: Fluff, kissing

Summary: A lunch run turns into chaos when Felix teases out your secret crush on Chan. Between studio antics, brownie baking, and one unexpected kiss, feelings come to light—with Felix proudly playing matchmaker and Chan’s pouts proving impossible to resist.

A/N: Divider was created by @adornedwithlight, thank you for sharing your dividers with tumblr!

SKZ Taglist: @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin, @inlovewithstraykids, @channiesrightasscheek, @kaiyaba

@bookswillfindyouaway, @m-325

You can hear Chan’s voice from the hallway as you walk towards the studio. Felix had texted you asking if you could pick up their lunch order on your way over to spend some time with him and Chan. You had happily agreed if they ordered you some lunch as well which Felix had teased you that you must think them monsters if you thought they wouldn’t order you lunch also. The ride from your apartment to the restaurant hadn’t taken long and soon you had been walking through the hallways of JYPE heading to the studio.

“Felix mate, I need you to commit to the lyrics.” he said loudly and you frowned softly as you knocked on the door loud enough for Chan to hear it. “Doors open!” Chan shouted and you opened the door slowly before slipping inside quickly. Your eyes took in the room and saw that it was just to be you, Felix and Chan today for lunch. “Hey Jagi.” Chan greeted you distractedly as he kept his eyes on the laptop in front of him. 

“Hey Chan.” you greeted him as you moved to the coffee table at the back of the room and began setting down the bags of food.

“Jagi!” cried out Felix from inside the recording booth and you beamed happily at him while laughing as you waved at him. He was pressing his face up to the glass of the recording booth and you couldn’t help but snort at his antics. ���I’m so hhhhuuuunnngggrrrryyy. Tell Chan to let me out so I can eat.” Felix dramatically groaned out and you laughed at him as you shook your head.

“Finish your lyrics Felix and then you can come eat. I got you dessert too.” you told him kindly causing him to huff at you while Chan hummed in agreement from his seat.

“Fffiiiiiinnnnneee!” Felix called out disgruntledly and you laughed at him once again as Chan chuckled softly at his best friend.

“All morning he’s been like this.” Chan said softly and you scoffed at his words.

“More like he’s always like this.” you say teasingly and Chan laughs outright at your true words as he nods his head in agreement.

“You know it’s all because of you right?” he asks as he clicks something on his laptop preparing for Felix to start his lyrics once again as you set out lunch on the coffee table in preparation for the two of them.

“Nah, do you really think so?” you ask Chan as you look up from the coffee table and see him looking at you over his shoulder while pouting his lips as he thought to himself. Your eyes darted down to his mouth and felt your body begin to melt at the image, his lips were so full and luscious looking. You had always thought it was unfair how pretty Chan’s mouth was ever since you met him, it has always been something you noticed about him and whenever he thought to himself about anything the man would pout his lips which would distract you from anything that you were doing. It was really truly unfair of him and you jokingly blamed his parents and their perfect genetics.

“Yeah, I think so. He always gets a little wild whenever he knows that he’s going to hang out with you.” Chan says with a soft chuckle and you grin at him happily before shrugging your shoulders.

“Well at least we know that you can always handle him and get him back in line.” you say unapologetically and he huffs at you softly before rolling his eyes at you good naturedly. You both chuckle softly at each other as Chan turns back to his laptop and reaches forward to press the red button that will allow him to speak to Felix.

“C’mon mate get these lyrics done and we have lunch together with Jagi. Okay?” Chan tells Felix hoping to dangle you as the metaphorical carrot for the younger man.

“Let’s goooo!” Felix cries out excitedly causing you and Chan to chuckle softly at him.

You’re in Seungmin and Felix’s kitchen with the blonde aussie elbow deep in flour and brownie batter as Felix stands next to you carefully pouring the batter into the cooking pan while the two of you talk about everything and anything under the sun. You love your baking sessions with Felix and have come to cherish them as the reset that they were for both of you. There was just something so nice about getting lost in the mindless measuring of ingredients while the two of you moved around the kitchen like orbiting planets as you created something delicious and sweet together.

“So has there been any new updates on the love life?” Felix asked casually and you huffed out a breath at him distractedly as you continued to mix the next batch of brownies that was on the menu.

“Please, as if Chan’s lips would let me breathe for even a second to look at someone else.” you grumble out without a thought as you continue mixing the batter in your bowl and then nearly snap your neck as you head whips up to stare at Felix wide eyed while the man grins at you devilishly as his eyes sparkle with knowing amusement shining in them. You feel a pit of dread start to form in your stomach before you begin to shake your head at him as his wild devilish grin widens on his face.

”What was that? Chan’s lips, you say?” He asks softly as he moves closer to you and you groan loudly causing him to giggle almost maniacally in response.

”Can I bribe you to secrecy?” You ask him quickly and he smirks softly as you before crossing his arms over his chest and popping his hip out dramatically.

”Tell me all the details of this new information and I’ll consider it.” He says conspiratorially and you huff at him before silently weighing your options. You know the man would immediately go to Chan and tell him about your obsession with his lips so you knew you had to get ahead of it before he could do that.

”Fine, what do you want to know?” You ask and Felix grins triumphantly and you know that you’d have to endure some hardcore teasing just to be able to keep your secret from Chan.

You’re sitting in the restaurant in a rare free moment with Chan and Felix, Chan had called you up and asked if you had eaten lunch yet before asking if you’d like to join him and Felix at a restaurant. You had agreed if he promised to keep it under an hour, that was all the time that you had for lunch while at work and didn’t want to get in any trouble for coming back late. Chan had promised that he’d make sure to get you back to work on time if he had to drive you back himself, so you had agreed to come out for lunch with him and Felix. But right now you were regretting that decision.

Felix is sitting across the table from you with a knowing teasing grin on his face while Chan sat next to you. For the past ten minutes Felix had been firing question after question at Chan and you were failing at keeping the threadbare hold on your sanity as you watched the man pout his lips as he thought about the answers to all of Felix’s questions. You shot a glare at Felix as he opened his mouth once more to ask another question right after Chan finished answered the last question.

”How ‘bout we curb the questions for now, huh?” You snapped out at the younger man who grinned innocently at you and fluttered his lashes at you.

”I’ve just got a lot of questions and I know Chan always has the answers.” Felix said woefully and Chan turned to look at you concerned.

”I really don’t mind Jagi. I’m kind of used to all the questions and needing to have all the answers.” Chan tells as he leans closer to you and reaches out and grabs onto your hand gently on top of the table. Your eyes dart down to his hand distractedly as you feel the warmth of his palm consume your smaller hand. It feels heavenly to have his hand on you and your brain short circuits for a moment giving Felix the perfect opportunity to ask his last question.

Your eyes widen as you hear the question he voices and they dart from his smirking form to Chan who’s still leant closer to you. It’s almost in slow motion as you watch Chan’s lips begin to pout and you can’t take anymore of the torture. Making an almost strangled choked sound as desperation rises up within you, you can’t stop yourself as you lean closer to Chan and press your lips to his pretty pout.

Warmth floods your whole body as you feel his plush lips against yours and you hum softly at the feeling on them. It’s wonderful and euphoric all in the same moment which causes you to nearly melt against him. You want to lose yourself in the sensation of kissing him but your sense come back to you and you feel how tense Chan has grown and can hear Felix gasp loudly. Pulling back quickly you stare at Chan with wide eyes before you’re suddenly tripping over apologies.

”I’m so sorry!” You rush out as you pull away completely from him and begin to gather your stuff as embarrassment and mortification begin to grip you in their holds. Chan blinks for a moment in shock as you quickly throw some money on the table while standing before he’s quickly grabbing your wrist and yanking you back down. You yelp in surprise as his strong grip and movement cause you to topple over him and fall into his lap making Felix bark out in delighted laughter as he claps his hands excitedly.

You stare at Chan in silent surprise as he looks up at you with the same look before his eyes warm and soften while his arms snake around your waist holding you hostage on his lap. The restaurant fades from around you as the two of you stare at each other for another quiet moment. You shift slightly on his lap and Chan jolts at the movement before he grins bashfully and ducks his head to rest his forehead against your shoulder.

”If I pout again will you kiss me again? The first time was too quick.” He cutely asks you in a soft voice that only you and Felix can hear. Felix the delighted torturer grins widely as he claps his hands again as your face heats with embarrassment.

“Like you could stop me.” You gripe out mindlessly as your mind is still so focuses on remembering what his lips tasted and felt like against yours. You gasp softly  while Chan’s head whips up to stare at you with sparkling delighted eyes and Felix crows with laughter.

”Finally!” He calls out happily from across the table and you turn your head to scowl at him.

”Well if you would stop using my secret against me this wouldn’t have happened.” You snip at him and Chan’s tightens his arms around your waist still keeping you seat on his lap as he gazed up at you.

“What secret?” He asks softly and you turn back to him with a soft roll of your eyes as your hands come up to cup his face.

”Do you know that you pout your lips when you’re asked a question?” You ask him fondly in a soft tone and watch with a soft knowing smirk slipping across your face as his lips pout for you. “It’s really distracting and totally unfair.” You tell him softly and he tilts his head at you curiously. You know he’s about to ask you why it’s unfair but you don’t give him the opportunity as you lean down close to him. “Your lips are so perfect and they drive me insane when you pout them. Truly unfair how pretty they look and how insane they make me.” You whisper softly against his lips before pressing your mouth to his firmly causing him to yelp softly in a muffled sound as he melts against you.

”My job is done here. Mission accomplished. Check please!” Felix calls out happily as he laughs maniacally.

”Mood killer.” You grip out to him after pulling away from Chan who tries to follow your lips with his own pouted prettily for you.

[yelenasburnbook]

Sleepless

Pairing: Bob Reynolds/Sentry x Fem!Reader

Summary: Late one night in the avengers tower, restlessness keeps Y/N awake, until she stumbles upon someone else who’s still up.

Warnings: None

A/N: For a tiny bit of context at the beginning, the reader has powers of Electrokinesis, though it is not discussed more than in like 3 words. Enjoy!

————————————————

The clock on the wall in Y/N’s room blinked a dim 12:48 AM.

She sighed, rolling over in bed for the hundredth time, her sheets tangled around her legs, her pillow too hot, and her thoughts refusing to quiet down.

No matter how many deep breaths she took, or how many sheep she counted, her mind buzzed with leftover tension, flickers of static still crackling in her fingertips.

With a soft groan, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and sat herself up. She stared at the wall for a few moments, debating on if she should actually get up or not. She didn’t have anything that needed to get done early tomorrow, but she should still probably try and get some rest. Her mind was doing a good job of preventing that though.

Tea, she thought, Tea could help.

She stood upright with a sigh, stretching out slowly, before she tiptoed into the hallway, hoodie wrapped tight around her and socks gliding against the floor.

The Tower was quiet at this hour, aside from the soft snores coming from some of the rooms, (and the louder ones coming from Alexei’s).

The avengers tower was big enough that each person could have their own floor if they wanted. But that felt like too much space for everyone.

Too cold. Too lonely.

They all had wordlessly agreed not to do that, preferring the company and close proximity of one another.

As Y/N made her way to the kitchen, she expected it to be dark. But one soft light glowed from the common room.

She peeked around the corner, a soft smile making its way to her face.

There was Bob, curled up on the giant couch with a blanket draped over his lap, and a thick book in hand. A half empty mug of his own tea sat on the coffee table in front of him. His hair was slightly tousled, and he was wearing those cozy sweatpants she loved and his soft blue crewneck. The warm lamplight painted him in gold, making the scene in front of her look even more cozy.

She hesitated in the doorway, unsure at first, before thinking, screw the tea. She quietly padded over to him, and his ears perked at the sound of her approaching footsteps.

Bob glanced up and immediately smiled.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, closing the book gently, “You okay?” His eyes had softened at the sight of her; she looked so tired and worn out. And to Y/N, he looked so soft, so comfortable. She wanted to curl up in his lap and pass out right there.

Y/N shuffled a little bit closer, a yawn escaping her lips at the same time as she spoke, “Couldn’t sleep.”

Bob’s smile softened, and he held out one arm invitingly. “C’mere. You want to sit with me for a bit?”

She didn’t answer, just nodded and padded over, tucking herself against his side as he pulled the blanket up around her.

He carefully adjusted everything; one arm around her shoulders, one hand smoothing her hair, blanket snug, and his legs tucked up so she could curl in close.

“There,” he murmured, gently kissing the top of her head, “Comfy?”

“Mhm,” Y/N hummed, feeling more relaxed already as she buried her face into his crewneck, comforted by the smell of him, “You’re always so calming.”

Bob chuckled low in his chest, “Good, that’s all I ever want to be for you.” Her arms wrapped around him a little bit tighter.

He opened his book again, and his voice dropped into a slow, calming rhythm as he started to read to her. It was some sci-fi novel, with outlandish descriptions and mentions of time travel.

Y/N barely lasted five minutes.

By the time Bob turned the page, her breathing had evened out, her hand loosely curled against his chest. One of her legs had draped lazily over his, and her cheek was rested against him, fast asleep.

He smiled softly to himself and found himself staring at her for a moment. He watched in adoration as soft breaths escaped her lips, her chest rising and falling gently.

He kissed the crown of her head, closed the book, and let his head fall back against the couch.

Neither of them moved for the rest of the night.

———

The Next Morning

Yelena and Ava were the first ones to leave their rooms in the morning, their discussion of Alexei’s snoring problem coming to a halt as they froze in the doorway. Ava covered her mouth with one hand, grinning, and Yelena made a quiet, fake gagging noise.

“What did I tell you?” Yelena whispered, “Lovesick puppies, no?”

“John,” Ava hummed quietly, as Walker stepped out of his room. She waved him over, “Come look at this.”

John peeked in, and took one look at the two of them sprawled together on the couch. Y/N was snoring faintly, and Bob was holding her like she was made of glass.

“So this is what love looks like, huh? And here I thought it would involve less drooling.”

Ava shoved him, holding back a laugh, and Bucky filed in not long after, wondering what they were all crowded for. He took one look at the bundle of love on the couch, and rolled his eyes. The tiny look of fondness on his face didn’t go unnoticed though, as he quietly made his way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

John whispered again, “Ten bucks says Bob’s arm is asleep and he’s too in love to care.”

Yelena stepped forward and snapped a picture before leaving, “For blackmail purposes,” she whispered, the others nodding in agreement.

But none one had the heart to wake them.

And on the couch, Y/N stirred only once, just long enough to burrow closer and sigh contentedly when Bob instinctively tightened his arms around her.

Safe. Warm. Home.