#come here and speak tactics >:3

[em1i2a3]

Crying Lightning

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolt!Lab Tech!Fem!Reader!

Summary: You have been studying a flower that Bucky brought back from one of his missions. When Bob comes to visit you in the labs to bring you lunch and messes with the unbloomed item you realize the sinister effects of it very quickly.

Warning: 18+ Minors DNI! Ahem…We got a sex pollen fic, so there is smut, and fluff afterwards, and aftercare as well. Reader and Bob are close, and both of them have feelings for one another but it has all gone unspoken…Until now at least lol. There is swearing too.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (…Y’all know what I’m gonna say. Wrap it up), Fingering, Oral Sex (fem! Receiving), Handjob, There’s a little bit of dominance from Bob/Sentry…And he talks you through it ahhahahahahah (oh god), Messy/Sensual Sex, There are like hints of primal energy sprinkled in here, but nothing too major, there’s mentioning of pheromones and stuff like that, Praise/Worship Kink, Spitting, Dirty Talk, Scratching, Some Choking (not rough), Cum eating, Aftercare.

Author’s Note: Woot Woot! We love a good sex pollen fic lol. Did I expect to be writing one? No. But I’ve always liked the concept and I’m so glad @mccinnamon-bun asked me to do this! Thank you <3, I really loved writing it! So so fun! Enjoy!

Word Count: 15,684

“I brought you something,” Bucky announced, stepping into your lab just as the doors slid open with their usual quiet hiss.

You didn’t look up right away. Perched cross-legged on the edge of your workbench, you were half-buried in mission reports that were a week overdue, scribbling notes with one hand and nursing a cold cup of coffee in the other. Your head snapped up, however, the second you heard the rustle of fabric and gear–a familiar sound you’d grown used to distinguishing in crowded hallways.

Bucky stood in the entryway, wind-tousled and still in partial tactical gear. The sleeves of his black shirt were pushed up to the elbows, revealing the flex of muscle and dull gleam of vibranium beneath. He had a look in his eye that was hard to read–half sheepish, half pleased with himself–and he was already fishing through one of the many compartments in his bag. He didn’t speak again until he pulled something out with a sort of slow care.

”Ta da.” You raised an eyebrow at him, seeing him pull something from his bag like it was a treasure he’d smuggled across enemy lines. You hopped off the bench with a soft thud and crossed the room toward him, curiosity instantly piqued–mostly because Bucky Barnes was not one to say ‘ta da’. Not unless he was hiding something behind that half-smirk of his.

Your eyes immediately caught sight of what he was holding.

The flower hadn’t bloomed yet, but even in its dormant state, it was breathtaking. The outer petals were tightly furled, each one smooth and iridescent like the type you would find on shells of certain mollusks–but it was shaded in a gradient you couldn’t quite place. They started as an inky, oil-slick blue at the base, then rippled out into smoky violets and blushing wine tones near the tips. Delicate veins shimmered faintly across the surface, catching the lab lights with a strange metallic luster, almost like the petals were dusted in powdered silver.

The stem curved gently, a deep green tinged with gold, and the leaves were narrow, slightly translucent, and lined with fine threads of coppery red. Even when it wasn’t fully bloomed, it had an energy to it. A heat, almost. As if it were responding to the proximity of warm skin and breath. You squinted at it.

”Bucky, if this is your idea of asking me out on a date, you really need to brush up on your courting skills.” He let out a sharp bark of laughter, head dropping forward briefly with a grin.

“Hey,” He said, handing the flower over to you carefully, “You’re the one who told me, if I saw anything weird, unknown, alien, or otherwise ‘botanically suspicious,’ I should bring you back a sample.” You gingerly accepted the stem, trying not to touch the tightly closed bud itself.

”Yeah, I meant specifiers, not some interstellar looking thing.” You shot back. He leaned against a nearby counter.

”Don’t say I never do anything for you.” He commented back. You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your mouth betrayed your fondness.

”You absolutely broke every rule of containment protocol by walking this thing straight into my lab, but…” You gave the top of the flower another slow once-over, still entranced, “Thanks for thinking of me.” You turned, crossing to your bench and plucking a clean beaker from the rack. You filled it with a few inches of distilled water, and set the flower inside, watching it float just enough to stay upright. The petals didn’t open, but they flexed slightly–like they were stretching, or drinking the water you had put the stem in.

”So,” You started, glancing over your shoulder to where Bucky was still leaning, “Where’d you find it?” You asked, watching him give you a small, casual shrug.

”There was a patch of them, right off the tree line. I spotted them on my way back to the quinjet. Figured I’d snatch one up before anyone else trampled it.” You hummed, turning your head away–not noticing the way his gaze lingered on the flower for a beat too long. You were too busy cataloguing the possibilities in your head. It was too vibrant to be terrestrial, but it wasn’t necessarily alien. Possibly hybridized. The energy you felt coming off of it could’ve been psychosomatic–but you weren’t one to write something off without running tests.

“And you’re sure no one else touched them?” You asked, looking back over at him to see if you can spot any of the tells he had when he was lying. His brow lifted toward you.

”I mean…I touched one obviously.” You gave him a pointed look, and he immediately held up both hands.

”Didn’t eat it. Didn’t stick it up my nose. I was the only one that touched anything. Scout’s honor.” You snorted, and shook your head.

”Alright, Barnes…I’ll bite. I’ll run some diagnostics. Spectrograph, chemical composition, basic pollen analysis when it blooms…All the sciencey things that you don’t understand, then I’ll get back to you.” He gave you a mock salute and pushed himself off the table he was leaning against, going toward the door.

”Just make sure you name it after me if it ends up trying to kill you.”

”Noted,” You called, “But if it ends up giving me superpowers instead, I’ll be naming it after myself.” He was still laughing as the door slid shut behind him. You turned back to the flower, now gently swirling in the water–its petals flexing once more, as if hearing your voice. You leaned in just a touch, and breathed in slightly.

You could’ve sworn it hadn’t smelled like anything before, but now…

Now it smelled faintly of summer rain, citrus, and the soft trace of jasmine. It was warm, soft, and inviting, like it was trying to beckon you to come closer to it. You straightened slowly, then reached blindly across the workbench for a spare sheet of scrap paper, grabbing the pen you had tucked behind your ear.

”Initial scent: None. Notable change after water exposure–New profile: humid, citrus notes, floral base (jasmine like). Unsettling–shift occurred in under two minutes.” You tapped the end of your pen lightly against your chin, your gaze never leaving the beaker. The flower was still half-closed, petals fluttering slightly in the water like they were breathing–like they were aware. The surface tension of the liquid shimmered faintly around the base of the stem, as though reacting to something within the plant.

You didn’t like that.

Flowers didn’t just change their chemical profile that fast. Not unless they were highly volatile. Not unless they were engineered.

A muscle tensed along your jaw.

You slid the note aside and moved quickly now, grabbing a glass containment dome from one of the side drawers–a heat-tempered cloche you typically used when running long-term decay tests on bio-samples. It wasn’t hermetically sealed, but it would be enough to contain most airborne particulates.

Just in case.

You placed it gently over the beaker and the flower with practiced care, watching as the edges sealed against the bench with a soft thunk. The scent dimmed immediatel-ybut didn’t vanish. It clung to the air like it had already soaked into the fibers of your clothes, your skin.

You took a step back, and another, suddenly aware of the way the heat of the room felt a degree too warm.

Your eyes narrowed. You made another note.

“Mild thermal increase noted (subjective). Investigate potential volatile compounds. Possible synthetic ancestry. Unknown reaction to water exposure–possible activation trigger?”

You stood still for a moment longer, arms crossed over your chest now, staring at the flower like it might start humming.

Then you exhaled through your nose, gave your head a small shake, and muttered, “Okay, mystery plant. Let’s see what you’re hiding.”

You turned on your heel and crossed to the far side of the lab, grabbing gloves, pipettes, and a test slide. You didn’t see the way the petals quivered beneath the glass dome. Or the way the center of the bud pulsed–slowly, rhythmically–as if something within it had begun to wake.

You were too busy prepping your tools.

You’d get your first sample from the outermost edge of the petal, where a small amount of condensation had begun to form–right where the flower had interacted with the water. It wasn’t much. Just enough to suggest a subtle chemical discharge. A secretion, maybe. Or pollen.

Your gloved fingers hovered just beside the dome.

You paused.

A thought scratched quietly at the back of your mind, the way instincts sometimes do when they’re not fully formed.

You didn’t ignore it.

You stepped back again.

Instead of removing the dome outright, you retrieved your small fume extractor arm—used mostly for soldering–and wheeled it over until its head hovered just above the cloche’s apex. You flicked the switch, and a soft hum filled the room as the extractor began to filter the air directly above the sample.

Another note:

“Smell is still detectable after containment. Strong. Possibly psychoactive. Proceeding with caution.”

Still, despite your wariness, you found yourself walking back toward the glass.

One more glance. Just to be sure.

The flower was still closed–but now its bud looked fuller. Like it had begun to swell. One of the petals had unfurled the tiniest bit. Barely a sliver.

But just enough for you to see a glint of gold pollen resting in the shadows of its center.

It shimmered like dust caught in a sunbeam.

You stared.

And then, carefully, you reached over to your comm unit and tapped the call button for your assistant team over in the biocontainment lab.

“Hey,” You said when the line clicked open, voice low. “I’ve got a…Weird one. Found by Barnes. It’s stable, but I want a second containment unit prepped in case things escalate.”

A pause on the line. Then:

“Escalate how?”

You glanced back at the flower. That scent. That impossible shimmer. You didn’t know yet.

“Just…Prep it,” You replied. “I’ll send over a sample in a few.”

And then you muted the line.

You looked down at the flower one more time.

It was no longer just beautiful.

It was waiting.

———————

It had been three days since Bucky dropped the flower off, and by this time it had bloomed. Not delicately, and certainly not in the way flowers usually did–with gradual graceful predictability. No. This thing had opened like it knew it was being watched and studied by you.

When you came down to your lab the morning after Bucky brought you the mysterious flower, the petals had fully unfurled–broad, sweeping things with a high-gloss sheen and hypnotic gradients that shifted from gold to scarlet to bruise-dark purple depending on the light. The stamen in its center now pulsed visibly, a slow inhale-exhale rhythm that made the entire structure look…Alive. The pollen shimmered every time it moved, a near-invisible cloud that never seemed to settle but floated in still air like it was defying gravity. Or logic.

You had kept it sealed tight under the reinforced cloche, and had the triple-filtered vents on and the entire section of the lab cordoned off with containment protocols. Your notes had doubled in size, and still, nothing definitive had come back from the biocontainment team. There were just vague updates telling you that they were behind on other specimens and that they would get around to it when they could.

So you worked around it. You monitored. You wrote. You catalogued symptoms–your own included, though they were still annoyingly ambiguous: mild temperature spikes, random surges of adrenaline, difficulty concentrating in bursts. But no rash, no lesions, no hallucinations. There was a kind of pressure, similar to urgency but just on the cusp of it, desire maybe–but for what, you had no clue. You had only inhaled a bit of the pollen and hadn’t been exposed since, so you didn’t dwell on it–not with your schedule stacked, and not with your own lab being as backed up as it was.

You were just rinsing a pipette when the door to the lab slid open with a soft hiss.

”H-Hey,” Came the voice you’d come to recognize more easily than your own thoughts lately. You didn’t need to look up to know that it was Bob, but you did anyways, just to catch a glimpse of him.

He was towering and soft-shouldered in a dark grey hoodie with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows, worn sweatpants hugging the curve of his hips, and his crown of light brown hair was in absolute disarray, like he had it tied up and decided to let the locks fall free in front of his face. He looked like someone who didn’t have the slightest clue what he did to people around him, and he truly didn’t know.

The plastic takeout bag in his hand swung gently as he stepped inside, smiling at you like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Brought y-you lunch.” Your stomach growled at the word lunch, and it echoed through the moment of silence that settled between you, which only made Bob’s grin stretch wider.

”Let me guess,” You started, pulling off your gloves and throwing them into the biohazard bin, “You timed this perfectly because you knew my stomach would start making monstrous noises, didn’t you?”He shrugged, with a small smirk on his face, setting the bag down on your cleared desk near one of your monitors.

”You skipped b-breakfast.” You held out a finger.

”No no…I postponed breakfast.” He shook his head.

”You always p-postpone breakfast,” He said, moving past you to pour you a cup of water from the cooler, his big hands making it look smaller than what it actually was, “And if I d-dont show up with something d-decent by 2 p.m, you would just end up inhaling the vending machine c-crackers and freeze-dried apple s-slices…Which is not s-sustainable i-in the slightest.” You couldn’t help but let out a laugh at his comments.

”Seems like someone has been watching me a bit too closely.” He turned and handed you the water, fingers brushing yours as he didn. His hands were boiling as usual, and it left the paper cup feeling warm from where his fingers had been holding it. His eyes lingered on your face a beat longer than necessary.

”I-I always watch you c-closely,” He said softly, like it slipped out before he could catch it. Immediately his eyes glanced down away from you, dropping to the floor for a second, before flicking away toward the cluttered end of your bench like he suddenly remembered a far more interesting smudge on the tile. His cheeks were red–not just a flush, not just a tinge, but a slow bloom of color climbing from the collar of his hoodie up to the tips of his ears.

You said nothing in response. Not because you didn’t notice–because you did. More because if you said anything, if you so much as looked at him with any kind of expression that acknowledged the truth buried in his voice, he might self-destruct on the spot. So instead, you took a slow sip of the water he handed you, letting the quiet hum of the lab fill the air between the both of you.

Then you turned on your heel toward the takeout bag.

”So what’s on the menu today, Chef Bob?” You asked lightly, pulling the plastic open and peeking inside, “Please tell me it’s not another one of your hot dog stir-fry’s.” He let out a groan.

”Listen…I-It was one time, I-I know nobody was a fan of it.” You grinned as you pulled out a tinfoil-wrapped container, unraveling it with careful fingers. A rich, savoury scent wafted up–soy and sesame and something sweet under it, like cane sugar with more of a freshness that was unexpected, “So what am I looking at?”

”Sticky rice, soy-glazed chicken, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, “T-There’s some grated g-granny smith apple in the glaze…C-Cause I didn’t have honey.” You raised your eyebrows.

”Pretty decent alternative.” You replied.

”Yeah,” He said, shoving his hands into his pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them, “You know how S-Sentry gets with processed s-sugars in his system. Makes him a-all buzzy.” You let out a soft laugh.

”So this is officially Sentry-approved, then?”

“F-For the most part,” He mumbled, “I-I think you’re the real t-test though.” That made you pause, glancing up at him, still holding the half-unwrapped meal in your hands, finding his gaze had landed on you again. This time it held something quiet but vulnerable. Expectant, even. Like he really cared what you thought.

And that was the difference between Bob and everyone else–you knew he didn’t make things just to impress. He made them because it gave him joy to offer them. He brought you food not because he wanted credit–but because he worried you wouldn’t eat otherwise. He brought you books because he remembered which ones made your eyes light up. He let you take his blood every month without protest, even when the Sentry made his pulse unpredictable or his veins hard to find, because he trusted you with every part of him–even that. And because of those little things, you always made sure to praise him.

Even when he burned the eggs.

Even when the pasta came out overcooked.

Even when the hot dog stir-fry almost gave you heartburn.

You forked a bite of the rice and chicken, chewed, and let your eyes widen a bit as the warmth hit your tongue. “Okay. Wait. This is actually good.”

He blinked, caught between shock and a smile. “Y-you don’t have to lie.”

“I would lie,” You said, pointing at him with your fork. “But not this convincingly. This? Bob. It’s delicious.” He looked like he didn’t quite know what to do with the praise. He rocked back slightly on his heels, running a hand through his already-messy hair, trying to hide the shy little grin that was pulling at the corners of his mouth. You watched the way his fingers threaded through the strands, the way his forearms flexed under the soft stretch of the hoodie.

You took another bite and leaned against the counter beside him, letting out a hum of satisfaction.

“Y’know,” You said between chews, “If Val found out you were secretly good at this, she’d start expecting meals during debriefs.”

”She’d want a report first,” He said, playing along, “T-Then she’d make Walker taste it for poison.” The both of you laughed lightly. The silence that followed was companionable. Safe. You brushed your shoulder lightly against his as you leaned forward to set the food container down beside the monitor.

His body went still at the contact.

Not because he didn’t want it. But because he did. You knew that reaction well by now–the micro-freeze, the way he’d let the warmth of your hand or arm settle into him like he was still learning he could have it. That it was for him.

You let your arm linger against his for just a second longer.

Then you pulled back, slow and easy.

He looked at you from the side of his eye. His voice was low when he spoke.

”H-How’s the flower?” You glanced toward the containment dome instinctively. The petals shimmered under the harsh lab light, colors shifting in slow gradients like they were part of something fluid, something still breathing. It looked even larger today. Full-bodied. Restless.

“Still haven’t heard anything back from the biocontainment lab,” You said, turning back to Bob and picking up your fork again. “Apparently they’re still backed up from the Skrull fungus incident.”

His face pulled slightly. “God…D-Don’t remind me of t-that.” You nodded grimly.

“I won’t…But this?” You took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. “No movement. Just… opened. Big. Loudly. Like it knew I was looking at it.” Bob followed your glance as you continued to speak, “I breathed in a little bit of the pollen when I first got it–just a trace. It made me really warm. Flushed. But otherwise nothing dramatic. No side effects. No changes. So I think it was just my body reacting to whatever compound it’s putting off–probably a weird hybridization. Something experimental maybe.” Bob’s brow furrowed at this comment.

”You s-should’ve been wearing a m-mask.” You huffed a laugh, nudging your shoulder into his again.

”Please, I’m pretty sure I’ve been exposed to worse.”

“S-Sure,” He said quietly, his gaze fixed on you now, “B-But definitely not like this.” There was something layered in his voice—concern wrapped around protectiveness, softened by something you didn’t dare name.

You didn’t say anything to it. Just took another bite of the meal he made, let the flavor distract you from how closely he was watching you now. He shifted beside you, and you knew it was only a matter of time before–

“How’s the Golden God doing, by the way…Totally forgot to ask.” Bob rolled his eyes, “You know you’ve got bloodwork today, and I know how much he looks forward to that.” He grimaced.

”D-Darn…I f-forgot that was today.”

“You always forget,” You mumbled between bites, mockingly stern in tone, “Even though we’ve had the same schedule for, what–eight months?”

“Nine,” He corrected, “You count too?”

“Only because I have to track your blood chemistry, Bob.” He gave you a crooked smile, “Stick around,” You said waving your fork at him, “Let me finish this delicious lunch and I’ll get everything set up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave you a faux salute, backing off to give you space. You watched him for a moment out of the corner of your eye as he wandered slowly around the perimeter of the lab, hands in his pockets, shoulders soft beneath his hoodie.

Bob moved like someone who didn’t want to disturb anything. Not just the tools and data, but you–your space, your rhythm, your day. Even now, when he stopped in front of the containment dome, he didn’t lean close or peer in like most people would’ve. He just stood there, quietly watching.

The flower didn’t move. But the pulsing in its center seemed to slow, slightly. Steadying. As if recognizing something.

Bob tilted his head faintly.

But said nothing.

You finished your lunch in a few final bites, wiped your hands on a cloth, and pulled on a fresh pair of nitrile gloves.

“All right,” You called, walking over to the locked cabinet beside your centrifuge. “Time to sacrifice a little plasma for science.”

Bob grumbled playfully as he headed back toward the stool you always set aside for him during these sessions. “Sentry’s gonna make it d-difficult again. Last time you had to chase the vein for like five minutes.”

“Oh how could I forget,” You said playfully, drawing the phlebotomy kit from the drawer, “I’ve never met a God who’s afraid of needles. He flared your heart rate on purpose and kicked the adrenaline response. Your veins were literally jumping.” Bob winced at the memory and sighed.

”I-I don’t think he m-means to be a jerk a-about it.”

“No, he just is,” You turned with a teasing smile and raised your brow, “You listening in there Sentry, I called you a jerk.” A flicker of gold passed through Bob’s eyes, and his expression shifted just slightly. A pressure just beneath the surface of his calm exterior. You saw the way his jaw flexed. The way his breath caught on the edge of a heartbeat. It was gone just as fast as it appeared. You gestured to the stool.

”Alright, you know the drill.” Bob sighed and tugged his hoodie over his head with one hand, letting it fall across the nearby stool in a heap of worn fabric and static-charged threads.

Your breath caught for just a second–not that you’d ever admit it.

He was wearing a plain white t-shirt underneath. Simple, but it didn’t leave much to the imagination. The fabric clung in all the places that mattered: broad shoulders, a narrow waist, the gentle taper of his torso. His arms were sculpted, the muscle built from the serum and his own training he did on the side with Walker–solid biceps veined faintly beneath pale skin, his forearms thick and freckled with golden hairs. Even through the shirt, you could see the subtle rise of his chest when he breathed. His body wasn’t exaggerated or showy like some of the other enhanced agents. Bob’s strength was honest, clean and quiet. The kind that didn’t beg to be seen–just was. He sat on the stool, leaned slightly forward, and offered you his right arm without hesitation–palm up, wrist relaxed, fingers curling just slightly where they hung over the edge of your tray. As always, he was warm. Always a degree or two above everyone else. Like the Sentry lived just beneath the surface, pulsing against the skin.

You pulled your chair close and gently cradled his arm in one gloved hand, “You good?” He nodded, jaw ticking faintly.

”Sentry’s a-already getting stirred u-up.”

“I figured,” You murmured, swabbing the crook of his elbow with an alcohol pad, watching the way the fine blond hairs on his arm caught the light, “You twitched when I called him a jerk.” Bob exhaled a shallow breath, half-laugh, half-wince.

”Y-Yeah he–uh–didn’t like t-that.”

“Well, tell him to behave,” you said, voice softening as you spoke, instinctively adjusting your tone. You’d found, over time, that it wasn’t just what you said–but how. The Sentry didn’t respond well to authority. But he did respond to calm. To care. To you.

“I’m going to insert the needle now, okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” He said quietly, “Keep talking through the process, t-that would help.” You gave him a smile–genuine and soft.

“All right…Just a little pressure here…” You slipped the butterfly needle in with smooth, practiced hands, watching the dark blood flood into the first vial like a ribbon of garnet. He didn’t flinch. His fingers curled just slightly, but that was it. You could feel the tension in him, though–not fear, not even discomfort, really.

Just a heightened presence.

You always felt it when the Sentry was nearby. Like a third set of lungs had begun breathing somewhere in the room. Like the molecules in the air shifted their charge.

“I’m taking five tubes,” You said gently. “You’re doing fine. Your blood flow is nice and steady today.”

“Y-Yeah,” Bob said, watching you with his head slightly turned. His voice had dropped to something deeper. Thicker. “That’s because o-of you.”

You glanced up.

He blinked, quickly. “Your voice. It…I-It helps.” You kept working, carefully switching out the first full tube for the second, then the third, eyes flicking to him only briefly.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Or a cosmic honor. One of the two.” That got a smile out of him, even if it was small. The rest of the draw passed in familiar quiet–soft beeping from your equipment, the slow, gentle swirl of the containment fans, the hum of the overhead lights. His blood was warm in your hands. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you reached the fifth tube and carefully capped it.

You retracted the needle in one smooth motion, placing it in the sharps container before gently pressing a cotton ball to the puncture site.

“Pressure here, please.”

Bob complied, two fingers resting lightly over the spot. You retrieved a bandage, peeled it open, and pressed it into place over the cotton. Your hand lingered a second longer than it needed to. His skin was flushed warm beneath your glove. He smelled faintly of cedar and limes, probably from his shampoo. Then you leaned back in your chair and gave him a mock-serious look.

“So,” You said, cocking your head, “Does Sentry want a lollipop for his troubles?”Bob groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“D-Don’t get him riled up…” You laughed at the way his cheeks turned rosy again, as he attempted to hold back a smile, which failed.

”You sure?” You teased, “You don’t want me to pull out the glittery sticker chart?”

“W-We talked about this…He remembers t-things like that.” You both burst into soft laughter again, the kind that curled at the edges of your ribs and left everything just a little lighter.

And somewhere behind you, the flower twitched.

The petals shifted.

The pulse in its center matched his heartbeat.

But neither of you noticed.

——————

The next day, just after 2:00 p.m., the soft hiss of the lab doors made your head snap up again.

You were halfway through a long-winded notation on the flower’s latest chromatographic analysis when you heard the now-familiar rustle of footsteps and the unmistakable creak of someone cradling a takeout bag with too much care.

“Brought you lunch!” Bob announced.

He looked warm again–an oversized hoodie only blue this time, the same worn sweatpants from yesterday, and hair pulled back messily like he’d tied it in a rush. His free hand shoved deep into his pocket, but the other held a paper bag from a café you liked downtown. He wore the same small, crooked smile that made it difficult to think straight.

“Careful,” You warned playfully, turning in your seat to face him, “If you keep feeding me, I’ll start to expect this kind of treatment.”

Bob shrugged, walking in slow, casual steps toward your workstation. “M-might be worth it…Just to s-see you eat.”

You smiled at that–too caught up in the rare softness between you to notice the way the flower behind its containment dome had begun to stir.

Not much. Just a twitch of its outermost petals. A subtle change in the shimmer of its stamen. But you were facing Bob. You didn’t see the way it reacted to his voice.

“I-I got you the g-grain bowl you like. The one with roasted squash, the f-feta, that spicy vinaigrette you always try to recreate in your lab notebook–”

“I do not take vinaigrette notes in here,” You interjected, grinning.

Bob set the bag down gently on the corner of your cleared space shaking his head at you, glancing over at the dome just as the hum of your equipment shifted slightly. The air changed. Subtle, at first. Like something pressurizing behind glass.

He leaned over–only just–peering closer at the flower inside.

That was all it took.

The dome fogged instantly with a pale gold haze. Then–without warning–the containment glass shuddered with a sharp, pinging sound, like internal pressure had snapped a seal.

Then it ruptured.

The top of the cloche blew off with a muted pop, and a cloud of glittering golden dust erupted from the flower in a slow-motion burst. It expanded like fog, like breath in cold air–drifting, floating–straight into Bob’s face.

You froze for half a second. Then your instincts kicked in hard and fast.

“Shit—Bob!” You yelled, already leaping from your stool and hitting the emergency switch on the wall.

Red lights flashed as the isolation protocols kicked in. Vents slammed shut with a metallic clank, and the air filtration units hummed to life. Your console blinked through a security override as the lab sealed itself airtight. Your heart thudded in your chest like a drumbeat.

Bob had staggered back, coughing hard and pawing at his face, blinking rapidly. The golden dust coated his cheeks, his lashes, the curve of his nose, and clung to his stubble like cosmic pollen. It shimmered with a strange, otherworldly sheen–like it was alive, almost.

“Hey–hey–Bob, come here.” You grabbed him gently but firmly by the wrist, leading him toward the decontamination corner. “Don’t rub your eyes. Just come with me. You’re okay, just–just keep breathing.”

He nodded, still coughing, blinking fast. “I-it got in m-my face–feels like sand, b-but–s-sticky, maybe–” He stumbled slightly as you pushed the lever on the eyewash station.

“Lean in,” You ordered, voice steady. “Both hands on the sides. I’m gonna guide you.” You pressed the large silver button. The twin streams of water erupted instantly, and he hissed through clenched teeth as the cold hit. You steadied him, one hand braced on his lower back as he tilted forward.

”Keep blinking,” You instructed, “Get it flushed out. It’s probably just pollen but I can’t take chances, we still don’t know what that stuff is.”

“It’s–f-fine,” he said, spitting water out, breath hitching. “It doesn’t b-burn, just f-feels weird–” His voice was strained, breathless. You didn’t like the way his skin had started to pink at the edges, how the golden dust had clung even beneath his collar.

When the two-minute flush was over, you helped him lean back slowly, grabbing a towel from the stack nearby and pressing it gently to his face.

“We’re not done yet,” You said, pulling a second towel out and pressing it to the back of his neck. “Blow your nose. Three times. Then cough hard. I want that stuff out of your lungs if you inhaled any of it.”

He obeyed without protest, still coughing lightly between ragged breaths. The dust had left faint shimmer marks down the front of his hoodie, now slightly wet from the eyewash station. You reached over to the wall unit, flipped on the emergency fan array, and turned your console back toward manual override. The air slowly began to cycle through a localized carbon scrubbing system.

You turned back to him, grabbing a disposable cloth and wiping under his jaw, where a little gold still shimmered. His eyes were red-rimmed but clear. Breathing shallow, but not distressed.

You stepped back, hands braced on your hips, the overhead scrubbers humming louder now as the first cycle of filtered air began to push through the sealed lab.

Bob sat perched on the deacon bench, towel still clutched in his hands, his lashes dripping, cheeks damp, and glittered with flecks of gold the eyewash hadn’t quite cleared. He looked flushed–not sick, not distressed–just… warm. Lit from within, like something in him was beginning to glow. But you didn’t let yourself think about that.

Not yet.

“Are you okay?” You asked quietly, kneeling slightly so you were more at eye level with him, voice softening as you scanned his face for any irregularities. “Are you dizzy? Lightheaded? Anything weird?”

Bob blinked slowly, the water still dripping off the tips of his hair as he met your gaze.

“N-No…” He murmured, voice rough with lingering grit, “Just…Feel kinda like I s-snorted fairy dust.” He gave a weak little smile. “M-might be glowing in the dark now.”

You rolled your eyes and let out a half-relieved breath, giving him a playful–but firm–swat to the arm.

“This isn’t funny. You know we have to be in isolation for twenty-four hours now, right?”

Bob groaned, slumping back slightly against the bench. “Ugh. Great. Cool. L-love that.” You crossed your arms.

“We’re both trapped in here. With no way out. The lab is in full lockdown. Airlocked. Everything. Biocontainment protocol 9A.” He sighed, tilting his head toward you dramatically. “

It’s not like we don’t already spend the majority of our free time together or anything.” You narrowed your eyes.

“Don’t act like this is some cozy movie night. You almost got yourself pollinated into another dimension.” Your voice was softer now. More affectionate, more playful. Your gaze dropped briefly–to the faint shimmer still clinging to the edge of his collarbone–and that’s when you noticed it.

You looked down at yourself.

Tiny flecks of gold sparkled faintly across your sleeves, dusted across the dark wool of your sweater and even the collar of your lab coat. The stuff was finer than you thought–so fine you’d barely felt it settle.

“Shit.”

“What?” Bob asked, alarmed.

You pulled your lab coat off immediately, shrugging out of it and tossing it into the nearest biohazard bin. Your sweater followed next, leaving you in the tank top you had underneath–thin, breathable, already damp with nervous sweat. The cold air bit at your arms, but it was better than risking more exposure. You grabbed a clean disposable mask from the supply drawer and tugged it on.

“You got exposed?” Bob asked, sitting up straighter.

You gave him a wry look as you reached for a pair of gloves. “You think that cloud only wanted you?”

He flushed again and shifted where he sat. “S-Sorry…”

“Not your fault,” you said quickly. “You didn’t provoke it.”

Bob’s eyes slid to the corner of the lab where the flower still sat in its shattered dome, motionless now, but unmistakably altered–its petals twitching like cooling muscles, the last of the pollen still floating down like it hadn’t quite obeyed gravity yet.

You pointed to his hoodie.

“That’s gotta come off too.”

He blinked. “W-What?”

“Bob. Your hoodie is covered. You’re basically wearing a glitter bomb.”

“Oh…Right.” He looked down at himself and, reluctantly, peeled the hoodie off over his head, careful not to shake loose any more of the clinging dust. The fabric crackled softly as the static gave way. You moved forward with a biohazard bag already open and waiting.

“Drop it in,” you said, and he obeyed, his white T-shirt riding up slightly with the movement. You caught a glimpse of pale skin, faint golden freckles across his lower ribs, the subtle cut of his hip. You averted your eyes quickly, pretending not to notice.

But he noticed.

You didn’t speak for a beat.

Then:

“Okay,” you said, stepping back with the sealed bag in hand, “Contaminated clothing secured. Isolation timer has started. We’ve got twenty-four hours to kill and a potentially sentient flower that just gas-bombed the strongest man on Earth.”

Bob blinked at you, then gave the tiniest smirk.

“Th-this gonna be in the report?”

“Oh, absolutely,” You muttered, deadpan. “‘Subject A leaned into mysterious glowing flower. Subject B now has fairy glitter in her bra.’”

He laughed. Harder than you expected. The sound echoed softly in the sealed room and you let it hang there for a moment. Eventually his laughter faded, but the heat that was beginning to build in the lab didn’t.

It wasn’t just the tension between you anymore–it was physical. Palpable. You could feel it crawling along the inside of your spine like static. Your skin felt…Tight. Like your clothes were holding in too much warmth. Like the fabric of your tank top was suddenly too heavy in all the wrong places and far too light in others.

You shifted your weight from one leg to the other, hoping it would pass, but it didn’t.

Bob was still sitting on the bench, towel now draped loosely across his lap, chest rising and falling more steadily than before–but even from a few feet away, you could see the faint shine of sweat beginning to gather at the hollow of his throat.

You squinted slightly.

“Is it just me,” You said slowly, brushing a strand of hair off your neck, “Or is it…Hot in here?”

Bob lifted his head toward you, blinking slowly. His cheeks were still pink–flushed in that way people only got when they were either just out of a fever or just getting into something much more compromising.

“I-I thought it was just me,” He said, adjusting how he sat. “I figured the air filters w-weren’t moving much cool air yet. It’s… It’s an enclosed space, so…” He trailed off, eyes catching briefly on your arms, the exposed slope of your collarbone, and then darting away again, as if ashamed of the glance.

You nodded, trying to focus–but it was getting harder. Your tank top clung to the skin beneath your ribs like a second layer of sweat-dampened silk. You could feel the heat collecting at your lower back, a slow, stoked furnace of warmth that wasn’t just the room. Your breathing shifted slightly. Shallower.

There was a kind of pressure building behind your sternum. An ache–not painful, not sharp. Just…Present. Gnawing. Low in your belly. You cleared your throat.

“Do you feel weird?” You asked, keeping your voice as casual as you could. “Like… more than just warm? Any lightheadedness? Sensory changes?” Bob didn’t answer right away. His shoulders rolled back slowly, and his hand came up to drag across the back of his neck. You watched the way his palm moved over the sweat-damp strands of hair, the tension in his forearm, the way his biceps flexed just slightly under the tight stretch of cotton.

He wasn’t looking at you now. But his voice was quiet when he answered.

“M-My heart rate i-is up,” He admitted. “But I d-don’t feel sick. I just feel–” He stopped. Swallowed. Then: “Wound up. I-it’s like I’ve been waiting for something to happen and m-my body’s just trying to stay ahead of it.” You stared at him, hearing as he listed out the same symptoms you were feeling.

Then there was the ache again–twisting low and slow, enough to make you shift your thighs closer together without thinking. You noticed the way Bob’s eyes tracked the motion and immediately flicked away. His chest was rising faster now. His jaw clenched, breath audible through his nose. Something was happening. Something chemical, something hormonal. Something Induced.

You took a slow breath, then glanced at the ruined containment dome, the flower sitting quietly like nothing had happened. Its stamen pulsed gently, and the last wisps of pollen still hovered in the filtered air like gold-lit ghosts.

”You said it didn’t burn when the pollen hit…” You murmured, “Just felt weird…Right?” He nodded slowly, eyes flicking toward your face, then to your mouth, then away. You swallowed hard, wiping a bead of sweat off your forehead. ”How weird?”

Bob exhaled a shaky breath. His hands flexed against his thighs, fingers twitching.

“It just felt really…Light,” he rasped. “Like ash. N-Not like sand–softer. Barely even there. But now–” He trailed off, and when he looked at you, it was like being seen for the first time. His pupils were blown wide, only a thin ring of ocean-blue clinging to the edge. His voice lowered.

“Now I feel like my skin is on fire. L-Like I’m burning…And everything’s so damn sensitive. I c-can’t stop–” His voice cracked, “–I can’t stop looking at you.” Your breath caught. The ache between your legs deepened sharply, twisting upward through your belly like someone had plucked a string that now hummed through your bones. The realization slammed into you with full force. The heat. The ache. The scent. The shimmer. The reaction.

Fuck. You staggered backward from the bench slightly and slapped your hand down on the comm panel by the edge of your lab table, hitting the line for Bucky.

“Come on, come on, pick up–”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s voice crackled over the line. “What’s up?”

“Bucky,” You said, trying to steady your breathing. “Where exactly were you when you found that flower? Be specific. What were the surroundings?”

“I told you, it was near the tree line,” He answered, confused. “On the way back from the ridge. Why?”

“Was there anything else? Anything that stood out?”

There was a pause. Then, “Uh…There was kind of a–garden? Like, a bunch of them. Just a whole patch. Maybe fifty or sixty, I dunno, they were all clumped together.”Another pulse of heat ripped through your core, and you clenched your thighs, biting back a soft, involuntary groan. You half-collapsed, catching yourself on the table edge before sliding down the side of it, pressing your forehead into your forearm.

“Where were they, Bucky?” You grit out through clenched teeth. “Was there a lab? A compound? A goddamn marker on the ground–anything?”

“What? Y/N, I don’t–wait, there was a lab…But it wasn’t even close. Maybe two miles east of it. Looked abandoned. You think it’s connected?”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, voice rough, stomach clenching. Your vision was starting to blur around the edges. “That’s not wild growth, Buck. That’s a planted field. That was cultivated. You brought me a fucking bioweapon.”

There was silence.

Bob had shifted, and when you looked up, he was no longer on the bench. He had crouched behind one of the heavy lab tables on the far end of the room, head bowed, palms braced hard against the floor like he was praying—or like he was trying to hold himself together.

“I-it’s getting worse,” he called out, voice hoarse and echoing faintly off the tile. “I—I can feel it in my hands, my back—like I’m buzzing from the inside out. You need to go to another room, Y/N. Please. I don’t—I don’t know what’s going to happen—”

“There is no other room,” you snapped, clutching your own torso, fingers digging into your tank top like it could peel the sensation off your skin. “We’re sealed in. Remember? Isolation. Twenty-four hours.”

You turned back to the comm, swallowing back the pulse building low in your belly. “Bucky, something happened in that lab. This isn’t just a flower. It’s engineered—enhanced. There’s pheromone manipulation in the pollen. Maybe synthetic hormones. We both got exposed.”

“What kind of exposure?”

You hesitated.

Then you exhaled shakily, voice lowering. “The worst kind. I think it’s… I think it’s sex pollen, Bucky.”

A beat of stunned silence on the other end. Then:

“…You’re shitting me.”

“I wish I was,” you hissed, grinding the heel of your hand into your temple, heart pounding. “And unless I get a suppressant cocktail in the next thirty minutes, I’m going to lose it.”

“What about Bob?”

You turned your head just slightly toward where Bob was crouched, shaking. His knuckles had gone white.

“He’s already losing it,” You whispered.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Nothing,” you said, too fast. “Just…We’re locked in for twenty-four hours. There’s nothing anyone can do. Just… Just keep the others out. Don’t let anyone near the door.”

There was a long pause. Then Bucky’s voice dropped.

“Y/N. What exactly happened in there?”

You clenched your jaw and gave the only answer you could.

“I’ll tell you if we survive it.” Then you hung up the comm, bracing your hands on your knees as the ache spread like wildfire across your thighs, your chest, the hollow between your hips. Everything was overstimulated–fabric too rough, air too dry, skin too tight.

And then there was Bob.

You looked up slowly, panting now, vision swimming with heat and color. You could barely see his face in the shadow of the bench, but you heard his voice.

“I-It’s in me,” he said quietly. “Whatever it is. I can feel it in m-my blood. My skin feels like it’s too small. I’m–I’m shaking. I c-can’t stop it.” His breath hitched, voice breaking apart. “I can smell you. I c-can hear your heart. I can feel every molecule in this goddamn r-room. God, what is this stuff?” You were already dragging yourself across the floor, crawling on hands and knees to the nearest storage cabinet, yanking open drawers for anything–anything–that might help regulate internal chemistry. You were half-crazed with heat, sweat dripping between your shoulder blades, your whole body lit up like it had been set on fire from the inside.

“Okay,” you muttered, teeth clenched. “We’re gonna–we’re gonna figure this out. Just don’t come near me, Bob. Not yet.”

You couldn’t see him now, but you heard the thick, wet swallow from where he hid behind the bench.

“I w-won’t,” He rasped. “But…If you don’t figure it out soon…” His voice was barely audible now. “…I d-don’t know if I’m gonna b-be able to stop myself.” The words weren’t loud. They weren’t cruel. But they hit you like a blow to the chest. A sharp pulse rippled through your core–your muscles tensed like a wire had snapped in your belly. The ache between your legs twisted again, hot and hungry, and a broken sound escaped your lips before you could stop it.

A whimper. Soft, shaken, and needy.

”Shut up,” You gasped, your voice hoarse with panic and arousal, hand bracing against the cabinet, “Just…Stop talking, Bob please…Your voice. Fuck sake.” Another wave of heat surged under your skin like a current of electricity. You curled slightly into yourself, arms trembling, every breath catching high in your throat.

“I–I’m sorry,” Bob groaned from across the room, his voice cracking with guilt and something far darker. You heard him shift, heard the thump of his back hit the cabinet behind him like he’d braced himself against it, like he couldn’t trust his limbs to obey. He let out a loud breath, shuddering.

”G-God, I’m–I’m sorry, I c-can’t even think straight–“ His voice broke on the last word, thick with restraint. You dragged open another drawer with shaking fingers, rummaging through cold metal and sterile pouches, tossing one after the other to the side. Glucose packs. Emergency syringes. No suppressants. No hormonal regulators. Nothing for this kind of exposure.

Your vision blurred as your stomach clenched again. You could feel sweat beading at the base of your spine, making your tank top stick like a second skin. You couldn’t stop panting. Couldn’t stop trembling.

”Fuck…” You hissed, almost on the brink of sob. You slammed the drawer shut with a metallic clang, the sound too loud, echoing in the sealed lab like it was mocking you. ”I can’t–I-I can’t find anything.” You wheezed, voice cracking. You braced your hands on the cold tile, heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your teeth.

The need was crawling over your skin like insects. Every breath was friction. Every shift of your body felt like dragging yourself through static. Your nipples were tight beneath your tank top, aching. You could feel your own pulse in places it didn’t belong.

“Shit–shit,” You whispered, eyes welling with frustrated tears. “Oh my god.”

Behind the bench, Bob made a low, strangled noise.

A grunt. Guttural. Desperate.

You couldn’t see him.

But you didn’t need to.

Because you could feel him.

You could feel the way the air changed when he moved. You could feel the ripple of heat that seemed to follow the sound of his voice. And worst of all–you could feel your body answering it.

Every cell in you was lit up with something heavy and humming. Something wild. Something designed.

You curled forward against the floor, pressing your forehead into your arm. You were panting now–wheezing, almos-trying to hold on. Trying not to cry.

You didn’t hear him crawl over, not until it was too late. Your breath was ragged, and your vision was swimming–and then warmth touched your arm. A large hand. Familiar. It closed over your bicep–but it lit your nerves on fire. You jerked away violently, scrambling back on instinct, collapsing onto your ass with a gasp. Your palm slammed against the tile and you skidded slightly, breath hitching as you spat out–

“Don’t touch me!” Your voice cracked, sharp and wet with panic. The motion made your spine arch, your tank top riding up slightly as your hip knocked into a rolling stool, the metal clattering away. Bob’s eyes widened in horror, hand halfway outstretched like it had betrayed him. He dropped to both knees in front of you instantly, not touching, but close enough for you to feel the warmth coming off his body like a wave.

“Y/N–” He breathed, his voice hoarse, chest heaving, “Y/N I-I feel it too, I p-promise. I feel everyth-ing” His hand hovered near your shoulder again, hesitant. Then, slowly, gently, he reached behind your neck, cradling it with a trembling touch. His fingers were hot against your skin, too hot. “Look at me. W-We’ll be okay. We’ll be o-okay.” You shook your head, lip quivering as the tears came faster now. Not the kind you could hide or blink away–these ones slid heavy and helpless down your cheeks, pooling at the corners of your mouth. You were trembling all over, shoulders shaking, thighs clenching without relief.

”I-I feel like I’m dying,” You whispered, voice raw, “Fuck, Bob it’s so painful.” He nodded once, his face contorting with shared agony, as his hand slipped from the back of your neck to your jaw, like he couldn’t decide whether to hold you or let go.

“I-I know,” He rasped, his other hand gripping his thigh so hard it shook, “I-I’m burning from the inside out. I can smell y-you…I can s-smell everything–“ You swallowed, chest rising in short, hard jerks. Because so could you.

His scent was all over the room now. Thick and devastating. It rolled over you in waves—heat-warmed cedarwood, sweat, and something deeper. Instinctual. Masculine. Not cologne. Not soap. Something completely and totally him. A biological beckoning, chemical and holy and blinding.

It made your thighs twitch and your breath break.

And your own scent…You could smell it, too. Like heat-glazed citrus and clean skin. Something golden and heavy, threaded with notes of sun-warmed vanilla and fresh-cut stems. Like the wild edge of spring. It filled your nostrils, clung to your skin, hung in the air between you like a dare.

Bob’s eyes fluttered, jaw clenching again. He let out a low grunt, like the effort of staying still was costing him something visceral. His voice cracked as he spoke.

“I-Isn’t there…a-any way we can stop this f-from getting worse?” You didn’t want to say it, you really didn’t. But the truth came out anyway, scraped and raw from your throat.

”Only if…” You swallowed. Your tongue felt too thick in your mouth, “Only if we have sex…” The words dropped like a stone.

Bob’s breath hitched so hard it almost sounded like a choke. His throat bobbed, and he blinked down at you, eyes wild and dilated, dark lashes damp with sweat and desperation.

There was a pause–long and shaking.

Then, softly:

“W-Would it be t-that bad if…If we did?”

You flinched. Just barely. The air stilled, vibrating between you. And then you shook your head slowly, tears welling again–not from heat this time, but from something deeper.

“I really didn’t want our first time together being l-like this.”

That stopped him cold. All the breath punched out of him in a single exhale. His lips parted, but nothing came out. His hand fell away from your jaw like it had been burned. His whole posture shifted–still close, but paralyzed with guilt.

You looked away.

Because if you looked at him now–if you looked into that face, flushed and desperate and filled with longing–you’d give in. Your breath hitched sharply—twice—before you folded forward on a gasp, one hand clutching your lower stomach like it might soothe the throbbing pulse building between your legs.

“God,” you choked out, voice breaking. “Oh my god, I—I can’t fucking take it.”

The ache had bloomed into something unbearable—wet and slick and throbbing through your core with every heartbeat. You were drenched, panties stuck to you, heat radiating off your skin like you were about to combust. Across from you, Bob made a strangled sound, his fists tight on his thighs, chest heaving as he forced shallow breaths through his nose—like if he didn’t, he might do something reckless.

“I c-can’t smell you,” He whispered, more to himself than to you. “I–I can’t smell you–I can’t–”

But he could. You both could. Your scent was everywhere–sweet and sharp and thick with want. It hung in the air between you like perfume, like bait, and you knew it was driving him mad.

You twitched again as another rush of slick gushed between your thighs and a broken moan slipped past your lips–soft, needy, involuntary. Your eyes squeezed shut as your hand pressed harder against your stomach, trying to contain it.

But it was useless.

“I can’t–fuck, I can’t take it–” You gasped, and before you could stop yourself, you were lunging forward.

You grabbed his face with both hands–hot, flushed skin beneath your palms–and crushed your mouth to his like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

It wasn’t a kiss.

It was a collision.

A mess of lips and teeth and spit.

You moaned into his mouth the second you felt him gasp beneath you–his lips parting wide in helpless surrender, his hands flying to your waist like magnets. The second he touched you, it was over. You melted into him, mouths sliding and sucking and devouring with sloppy, panting need.

Spit slicked your chin, his chin, your mouths, your skin. It dripped down between you as your lips broke and reconnected over and over in increasingly desperate, wet smacks. His tongue slid against yours, hungry and hot, and you whimpered into the kiss like your whole body was unraveling.

His hands squeezed your hips, hard–fingertips digging in, dragging you toward him roughly until your knees bumped his thighs and your chest hit his. You felt the tremble in him, felt the heat pouring off his body as he let out a low, feral grunt into your mouth, like he was trying to hold himself together and failing.

You pulled back just an inch, breath catching in your throat as a strand of spit still connected your lips, both of you panting so hard it echoed in the sealed lab.

“Fuck–” He gasped, chasing your mouth again, not even giving you time to respond before crashing back into the kiss, even hungrier this time. “You taste like–God–l-like sunlight–like h-honey–fuck, I can’t–can’t stop–”

“Don’t,” You moaned, sliding your tongue into his mouth again, letting it tangle with his, swallowing his sounds, his heat, his everything. “Don’t stop. Please. Don’t stop.” Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking at the damp curls as his hands roamed, gripping your waist so tightly it made you whine. He guided you into his lap without thinking, until your knees straddled his thighs and your body pressed flush to his. You could feel everything–the twitch of his erection beneath the thin fabric of his sweatpants, the way his breath hitched when your hips brushed his, the way his hands couldn’t stop moving–gripping, sliding, needing. Every inch of you was pressed tight to him, and he felt all of it. The heat. The wetness. The hunger.

”G-God…” He gasped, his head dropping to your shoulder for a split second, voice thick, “I c-can’t–can’t stop–need…Need something–“ And then his hands flexed, dragging you forward–against him. You cried out, the sound strangled and high as he rocked your hips into his, grinding you against the thick line of his cock through his sweatpants. The friction sent a lightning bolt through your core, and your whole body spasmed in response, clutching at his shoulders as the contact jolted through your nerves.

“Oh–God–” You moaned, tearing your mouth from his as your head tipped back, spine arching. “Oh fuck–do that again–” He didn’t even answer. Just groaned–loud, filthy–and rolled your hips again. Rougher. Harder. Enough that your soaked panties dragged hot and slick over the outline of him, soaking into the soft cotton of his clothes and yours.

You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders as your thighs trembled on either side of his lap. Your hands found his hair and tugged–hard–and he moaned so deeply it vibrated through your ribs. His mouth trailed down to your jaw, your throat, open-mouthed kisses dragging over sweat-slick skin. His tongue was everywhere–greedy and reverent–and then you felt him kiss the top of your chest, right along the edge of your tank top.

You were panting, shaking, drenched in sweat and arousal. You couldn’t stop grinding down against him now, couldn’t stop chasing that friction as you rolled your hips again and again, letting your swollen heat drag along his cock in slow, devastating passes. The pressure built fast, sharp and aching, pulsing low in your belly with every movement.

Bob’s mouth trembled where it kissed just below your collarbone. His fingers slipped up your sides, shaky but sure–and then they hooked under the thin straps of your tank top.

“P-Please–” He rasped, looking up at you like he was about to fall apart. “Can I—can I see you?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes. God, yes.”

He didn’t wait. He dragged the straps down your arms, kissing the slope of your shoulder as they slipped, one by one. Then he tugged the neckline down–slow, desperate–and bared your breasts to the heavy, sweat-damp air.

The second your nipples were exposed, he let out a groan–a sound so broken, it barely sounded human. His eyes glazed with worship, with hunger.

And then his mouth was on you.

He wrapped his lips around one tight, aching nipple and moaned–like he was dying for the taste of you. His tongue flicked, sucked, lapped, over and over, and you cried out, hips jerking uncontrollably in his lap as you rutted down against him.

“Oh my god–Bob–“ You gasped, fingers burying in his hair, yanking him closer, needier. “That–fuck–you’re so good…” He didn’t stop. If anything, he got more desperate. His tongue traced circles around your nipple, sucking it deeper into his mouth with each slow pull of his lips. One of his hands gripped your ass, guiding your hips faster against his erection, grinding you down until your whole body was quivering.

“Y-You’re so warm,” He panted between kisses. “So soft–God–“ And then he took the other nipple between his lips, just as eager, just as mindless. His tongue licked a long, slow stripe across the swell of your breast and you sobbed at the contact, your whole body arching into him. Bob groaned around your nipple one last time before pulling off with a wet pop, his mouth red and slick with spit. His eyes were blown wide, pupils so dilated there was barely any blue left–but there was something else swimming behind them too, something ancient, hungry, waiting to surface. His breath caught in his throat as he leaned in close, nudging your jaw with his nose, mouth grazing your cheek. Then suddenly–

He surged forward.

Your back hit the cold tile in one fluid motion, the breath punching out of your lungs as he guided you down with firm hands, mouth still dragging across your chest. The contrast between the icy floor and the furnace of your skin made you cry out softly, arching up into his touch.

“Bob–” You gasped, but your words cut off with a moan as his hands slipped low, gripping the waistband of your pants and underwear in one practiced motion.

“L-Lift your hips,” He instructed–voice rough and tight with restraint. You obeyed instantly, and he peeled both garments down your legs in a single fluid movement, baring you to the air, to him, to everything.

Your thighs quivered as the rush of cool air met the wet heat between them. You leaned up, grabbed the hem of your tank top, and tore it over your head. It hit the floor behind you just as Bob stripped off his shirt–his chest gleaming with sweat, muscles flexing, dusted with faint gold shimmer and a constellation of freckles across his collarbones.

You barely had a second to breathe before he dropped between your thighs again, mouth finding yours in a kiss so urgent and deep it knocked your head back against the tile. It was messier now–hotter, more desperate, his tongue fucking into your mouth with wild hunger.

Then he broke away just far enough to speak.

“I-I’m going to c-crawl on my fucking knees,” He growled, “And you’re gonna spread those thighs wider for me, and let me eat you until you come on my tongue.”You arched up with a moan, hips twitching off the floor. Your hands reached for him blindly, pulling at his shoulders as he trailed kisses down your throat, your chest, your ribs.

“I need you so fucking bad,” He whispered, his voice darker now–lower, smoother. The stutter was gone.

You blinked through the haze, the heat, the sweat clinging to your lashes–and that’s when you saw it. The eyes. Not Bob’s soft blue. Gold. Molten.

“Sentry,” You whispered, breath catching.

But you didn’t stop him.

You didn’t want to.

His teeth scraped gently along your stomach, sending electric pulses through your nerves, and then he kissed the inside of your hip bones like he was worshipping an altar.

“You smell so fucking sweet,” He murmured, nose dragging through the crease where your thigh met your core, voice reverent and filthy all at once. “I can’t wait to have a taste.” You sobbed his name as your thighs opened wider for him, your body obeying without question. He slid his hands beneath you, lifting your hips off the floor, draping your thighs over his shoulders–his palms spreading across your lower back to anchor you in place.

“Look at you,” He groaned, lips brushing against your soaked folds without yet tasting. “You’re drenched…You’re so fucking wet I can see it drip.”

Then he leaned in.

And licked a slow, devastating stripe up your center.

You choked on a scream. Your hips jerked hard against his mouth, and his arms tightened around your thighs, holding you down as his tongue moved again–sloppier this time. Messier. Hungrier. He licked into you like he was starving. Long, deep strokes. Quick flicks. Circles around your swollen clit that had you crying out his name.

“God, fuck–yes–”

You gripped his hair hard, yanking at the sweat-damp strands, and he groaned like he liked it–no, loved it. The vibration of the sound against your core made your whole body shake.

“You taste like summer, like heat, like stars.” He moaned. “Absolutely fucking sinful.” He pulled back only long enough to look at you, his mouth wet, chin dripping with slick.

“I can’t wait to make you come on my tongue,” He growled.

And then he dove back in.

Tongue sliding flat against your clit, then swirling, sucking it into his mouth with slow, rhythmic pulls that made your vision blur. You cried out, grinding into his face, your hands clutching his hair, your whole body vibrating with sensation.

“P-Please–” you whimpered, barely able to breathe, “Please don’t stop–”

He didn’t.

He licked and sucked and groaned like you were his favorite meal, like he could do this for hours. His hands gripped your ass, dragging you tighter to his mouth, keeping you from squirming away.

You were going to come.

It was building fast–tight and white-hot and burning like it had nowhere else to go. You were right on the edge when–

He slipped one thick finger inside you.

You let out a loud gasp. It wasn’t pain–it was too much. Too good. The stretch, the pressure, the way his mouth never stopped moving.

“That’s it,” He murmured against your clit. “Take my fingers…Just like that…You’re so tight, fuck…I’m imagining how you’re going to take me.”

You clenched around him, and he groaned again–louder this time–and slid a second finger in, stretching you open. His fingers curled up, rubbing slow, teasing strokes into that perfect, devastating spot. Your walls fluttered, your thighs trembled.

“Oh god, oh god–”

“Come for me,” He growled. “Right now. Let me feel you.”

And he sped up.

Fingers pumping hard, mouth sucking your clit with filthy precision. You sobbed his name, your back arched clean off the tile, and you shattered.

The orgasm ripped through you like fire, like lightning–your thighs locking around his head, your hands gripping his hair as you wailed through it.

He didn’t stop.

Not when you cried out.

Not when you begged.

He kept sucking, licking, fucking his fingers into you as your body convulsed.

Your body was still twitching when he pulled his fingers free–slick and trembling, your core fluttering from aftershocks as he slowly sat back on his heels.

His chin was soaked. His lips swollen. His eyes–those molten, god-touched eyes–burned down the length of your naked body like sunlight through stained glass.

“I should feel sated,” He murmured, voice too calm for the storm coiled in his chest. “I should be full from what I’ve just taken.”He leaned in. Slowly. Pressed one open-mouthed kiss to your thigh, then another–hot and reverent, just shy of your folds. His breath dragged over you, still sensitive, and it made you whimper.

“But I’m not,” He said low, his nose skimming up the inside of your leg as he worked his way toward your face. “I’m still starving.”

You were trying to breathe, but it wasn’t easy. Not with your pulse echoing in your throat, not with the ache between your legs still pulsing with the memory of his tongue, and certainly not with him looking at you like that.

“I’ve waited…So long to taste you.”

His voice was velvet heat–slick with need, rich with something that throbbed like want and worship tangled together.

He braced a hand on either side of your head as he crawled up over you, hair wild around his face, sweat glistening on the slopes of his shoulders and chest. The weight of him caged you in. It wasn’t heavy–it was all-consuming.

You reached up with a trembling hand and cupped his face. His skin was flushed, warm and slick, his jaw tight as though holding back something enormous.

“I can still feel you,” You whispered, voice raw. “On my mouth. On my thighs. Inside me.”

He smiled at that–but it wasn’t gentle.

It was hunger.

“You’ll feel me even more soon.”His hand found your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip, and his gaze flicked down–watching the way your mouth parted for him instinctively. He leaned in again, voice now a whisper of thunder against your cheek, “Imagine what it’s going to be like when I fuck you…” Your hips bucked helplessly beneath him, but he only smirked, catching them with a firm palm.

“Sentry,” You gasped, voice trembling as your thighs clenched under the weight of him, “P-Please. God—don’t you feel it too?!”

His nose brushed yours, breath hot against your cheek. He didn’t answer at first–just let that small, dangerous smile curl across his lips, teeth barely catching his lower lip before he released it.

“Of course I feel it,” He murmured, hips dragging downward, grinding his clothed cock into your slick heat. “It’s everywhere in me. In my chest, in my spine, my teeth.” His voice dropped to a darker pitch, and the gold in his eyes flared one last time before dimming. “I-I just know I’m going to get what I-I need…

Bob sat back on his knees between your spread thighs, hands sliding slow and sure down his stomach to the waistband of his sweatpants. “I-I already came once just from eating you out,” He confessed, voice timid now, “I t-think I have more in me…”

Then he tugged the sweatpants down.

Your breath stuttered in your throat.

His erection sprang free, flushed dark and glistening at the tip, already slick with the evidence of his earlier release. A thick bead of cum sat heavy at the crown, dripping slowly down the curve of his shaft, and your whole body twitched at the sight of it. The raw, shameless arousal surged in your belly like wildfire.

“Fuck–” You whispered, pupils blown wide.

He was beautiful. Veined and heavy and so hard it twitched with every breath. You couldn’t stop yourself. Your hand moved without thought–licking your palm once, slow and deliberate, before wrapping your fingers around him.

Bob groaned immediately–deep. His head dropped forward, curls swinging around his jaw, and his hips bucked into your touch as your hand slid down the length of him in a slow, sticky stroke. His cock throbbed in your grip. Hot. Pulsing.

“Mmmf–fuck,” He growled, the sound rattling against the walls. He dropped one hand down to your thigh to steady himself, the other bracing behind him as you worked him with your slick hand–up and down, tight and wet and slow, like you wanted to savor every second.

His breath came out in sharp pants, his face flushed, his eyes fluttering shut as your thumb rubbed just beneath the swollen head, gathering that leaking slick and spreading it over his cock.

“God, I didn’t even have to touch you and you came.” You whispered,

“That’s what y-you do to me,” he gasped, voice shaking. “I couldn’t help it—god, I couldn’t fucking help it—” He surged forward, kissing you hard, and you moaned against his mouth as his hips began to stutter forward, chasing the motion of your hand with every pass.

It was hot, the way he kissed you–messy. His mouth was open, panting against yours, lips dragging along your tongue, teeth grazing your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth with a wet pop. He moaned into you with every stroke of your hand, deep in his chest, growling like it hurt not to move faster.

He kissed like he was about to fall apart in your arms.

Like he wanted to ruin you and thank you at the same time.

And you could feel it–he was close again. Already.

“G-God–don’t stop–don’t stop–” he choked out, hips bucking into your grip, his cock twitching hard in your palm.

Then his mouth tore from yours with a ragged moan, his body going rigid as he came–again.

Thick ropes of cum spilled across your stomach in hot, wet spurts–slicking your skin, painting the swell of your belly in messy, sticky heat. Bob cried out, breath catching, his hand clutching your thigh hard enough to leave fingerprints as his hips jerked against your hand one last time.

You watched it all, feeling it dripping down your skin. You slowed your hand, and then looked up at him. His eyes were fluttered closed. His mouth hung open, panting raggedly. His cheeks were red and damp with sweat, hair curling against his temples in loose, disheveled strands.

And then–

You ran your fingers through the puddle of cum on your stomach.

Bob’s eyes snapped open.

He watched, transfixed, as you dragged two fingers slowly through the mess he left on you–slicking them up, glossy with white.

Then you brought them to your mouth.

And sucked them clean.

He groaned–low and guttural, more animal than man. He surged forward and kissed you, hard–his mouth hot and open, tongue licking into yours like he needed to taste what you’d just tasted.

And when he pulled back–just barely–he looked drunk. Starved. His voice was hoarse, reverent.

“W-We taste so g-good together,” He whispered.

You whimpered, eyes wide and glassy.

And then your voice broke.

“I need you inside me.”

His breath hitched sharply. His eyes searched your face like a prayer–like he needed to make sure this wasn’t just the pollen, wasn’t just chemical.

But your body told him everything he needed to know. The slick between your thighs. The tremble in your voice. The way your legs fell open without fear. He saw your hand reaching for him–trembling, open, desperate–and instead of just taking it, he kissed it.

One slow kiss to your palm. Then your wrist. Then each fingertip in turn, reverent and breath-warmed. His eyes didn’t leave yours, even when his lips brushed the soft pads of your fingers. It felt like something sacred.

“I-I’m yours, Y/N…” He whispered, his voice wrecked–hoarse and honeyed, lined with awe. “All yours.”

Your chest trembled. Not from the pollen. Not from the heat. From the weight of it–his words, his body, his need. You brought your other hand to his cheek, touching the sweat-slick curve of his face, thumb stroking over his flushed skin.

“You’re burning up,” You whispered.

“So are you,” He breathed back.

But the ache had shifted now. It was lower. Thicker. No longer frantic. Just heavy. Full. Demanding.

His lips met yours again–slow this time, almost trembling. Not chasing. Not crashing. Just pressing. Full and warm. Your mouths moved in sync, deeper with every pass, until he adjusted his weight above you, one forearm braced beside your head while the other hand snaked down to your thigh.

His fingers curled around the underside of it, tugging you closer until your legs wrapped around him again and your slick heat pressed against his length. He groaned into your mouth at the contact.

“G-God, Y/N,” He muttered, dragging his mouth down to your throat, kissing the line of your pulse. “You’re s-still dripping. I can feel it–so hot, so wet for me…”

His hand shifted, reaching between your bodies. He stroked himself once. Twice. The glide was obscene, slick with both your arousal and his release from before. He cursed low under his breath–voice strained with restraint–and guided the thick head of his erection to your entrance. Then–he paused, letting his forehead press to yours, his nose brushing yours as he whispered

“T-Tell me you want it.”

”I want you, Bob,” You breathed, “I’ve wanted you for so long…Please I want you inside me.” You begged, almost on the brink of tears just from the sheer anticipation that wracked through your body. He let out a long sigh and slid in, with such slowness you felt your whole body tense up.

You both gasped at the same time–loud, broken, raw. Your back arched and your thighs locked tighter around him as he pushed forward, inch by inch, stretching you wide with the thick, pulsing heat of him. He groaned above you, mouth falling open as your walls clenched around him, impossibly wet and tight.

“Oh–f-fuck…” He stuttered, his voice cracking like it couldn’t contain the feeling. “You feel…God…You feel like…Like e-everything.”

You whined under him, nails scraping lightly across his back. Every inch dragged through you like it was carved for you–hot, thick, filling. It was too much and not enough at once.

“You’re stretching me so good,” You gasped, voice shaking. “Bob–go slow–I wanna feel all of it.” He obeyed, hips moving with devastating care, sinking into you until he bottomed out, fully seated, buried to the hilt. The moan that left your mouth was guttural. His wasn’t any better. It came from deep in his chest–an animal sound, trembling and wrecked.

He stayed still inside you, just for a moment, just to feel everything, just to breathe.

Your chest rose beneath him in shuddering gasps, your nails pressing into the flex of his back as your hips trembled beneath the weight of him. He was deep–so deep it was hard to breathe–but it wasn’t painful. It was perfect. Like a lock clicking into place after too many years of holding the wrong key.

His forehead dropped to yours, your sweat-slick skin sticking where it touched, his breath ragged and hot against your cheek. His arms trembled faintly from the restraint, from the fire still licking through his blood, from the unholy grip of your body around him. His hands slid slowly from the curve of your thigh up to your waist, his thumbs brushing over your hips as if memorizing them. One hand trailed higher, tracing the line of your ribs, his touch light, soothing, trembling.

”You feel–“ He choked on the words, voice wrecked and shaking, “–Like…L-Like you were made for every inch of m-me.” Your fingers dug into his shoulders as your back arched slightly, hips shifting. The movement made him twitch deep inside you, and the sound he let out was hoarse and broken. Your lips brushed his, breath mingling.

“I need you to move,” you whispered. “Please, Bob. I need you to–”

He cut you off with a kiss.

Not desperate. Not wild. Just deep. Intentional. His lips dragged against yours in slow, soft strokes, his tongue slipping into your mouth like a secret. You kissed him back with a whimper, your hands cupping his face, fingers sliding into the damp curls at the base of his neck.

Then he started to move.

Slow at first.

A long, slow withdrawal that had your breath catching in your throat, followed by a deep, steady thrust that made you moan into his mouth. His hips rocked forward again, harder this time, but still slow. Still deliberate. Still savoring.

You felt every inch.

And he felt everything.

Your slick heat around him. The way your body welcomed him, tightened for him, trembled from the fullness. He moved like he wanted to stay inside you forever–long strokes that dragged through you with devastating patience, hips grinding at the end of each thrust like he wanted to feel the slick press of your clit against his skin.

He kissed you between thrusts–messy, wet kisses that dragged across your jaw, your cheek, your mouth again. His lips caught your whimpers. His tongue tasted your gasps. He moaned into your mouth when you clenched around him.

And then–

His hand slid up your chest, broad and warm, until his palm cupped the base of your throat. Not tight. Not forceful. Just there. Anchoring. Feeling the frantic flutter of your pulse beneath his fingers like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever touched.

“You’re burning,” He whispered, lips dragging across your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “S-So warm…So soft…So alive…”

His hips rolled again, slow but deep, pressing into you until your breath stuttered beneath his palm. Your body arched into him helplessly, your thighs wrapping tighter around his waist, your mouth parting on a moan that he caught with a kiss–hot, slick, and panting. He swallowed it greedily.

The pressure of his hand on your throat didn’t restrict. It grounded. Like he needed to feel your heartbeat just to believe this was real.

You whimpered, and he pulled back enough to look at you–his curls dripping sweat, his lips swollen and damp, and those eyes, half-lidded and molten gold at the edges.

“G-God, I could be inside you forever,” he rasped, voice trembling like the words themselves threatened to undo him. “I–I never want to l-leave this. Never wanna stop feeling you like this…”

Another thrust–this one deeper, grinding. Your head dropped back with a gasp.

“Bob–” You sobbed his name like it was the only word you remembered, your fingers twisting hard in his hair. He groaned, deep and wrecked, his hips stuttering slightly as you tugged, his body responding like you’d yanked something primal out of him. His mouth found yours again, frantic and hot, tongue flicking into your mouth with messy, desperate hunger.

Then he pulled back just enough to see your face–flushed, dewy with sweat, eyes glassy and wide.

“Y-You’re close again,” He murmured, like it was something holy. His hand still cradled your throat lightly, thumb stroking gently beneath your jaw as he pressed his forehead to yours, “I–I can feel it, you’re tightening every time I move–you’re doing so good for me Y/N.” You whimpered beneath him, your hands clutching at his back, at his shoulders, pulling him deeper, harder, anything–

“I’ve got you,” He whispered, rocking into you again, the friction slow and devastating. “Let go for me. Come around me. I wanna feel it. I wanna feel you fall apart.”

You moaned–high and soft and broken.

“That’s it,” he breathed, voice breaking. “Just like that. You’re doing so good—G-God–you’re so perfect.” Your thighs shook around his hips. His hand slid down from your throat to your chest, splaying wide over your sternum, as if he could feel the orgasm building beneath your ribs. His other hand slipped to your hip, holding you still as he gave one slow, deep thrust that hit the exact spot that made your vision blur.

Your mouth dropped open in a cry.

“Come for me,” He begged, hips rolling again, steady and relentless. “Please–I wanna feel you–let me feel you come around me–”

You shattered.

Your back arched off the floor, your breath catching in a series of sobbed gasps as the orgasm ripped through you. He kept moving, kept whispering praise through your climax, voice ragged with awe.

“That’s it…That’s it, Y/N…You’re so beautiful like this–“ You clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you on earth, your nails digging into his back, your body convulsing beneath him with every wave of pleasure. You could feel yourself pulsing around him, feel how it dragged a strangled moan out of his throat.

“I-I’m so close,” He gasped, his voice wrecked, his rhythm faltering. “W-Wanna fill you up–please–can I–?”

You nodded, breathless and trembling. “Yes–yes, please–I want it–give it to me–” With a broken groan, his hips jerked forward one last time–and he spilled inside you. His whole body shook as he came, burying his face in your neck, his arms wrapping around you like he needed to hold every part of you to survive it.

You could feel it–every throb, every pulse of warmth deep inside you. His moans, soft and shaking, buzzed against your throat as his breath caught in your skin.

He didn’t move for a long while.

Just stayed there–buried inside you, mouth warm against your neck, arms tight around your waist like he was anchoring himself to this moment, to the rhythm of your heart against his chest. His breath was still coming in short, shaken bursts, and yours wasn’t much better. You were both trembling a little–not from fear, not anymore–but from the rawness of what had just passed between you. Like your bodies hadn’t quite caught up to the aftermath of something so explosive, so full.

But the heat was different now.

It had shifted. Softened. Still warm. Still thick. But no longer blistering, no longer maddening. Just…Lingering.

Your hands slid slowly up his back, fingers tracing through the sweat that slicked his spine, dragging across the faint bumps of his vertebrae. He let out a soft, shaky sigh against your skin. Your fingertips wandered to his sides, palms smoothing gently over the curve of his ribs as if to say I’m here. Still here. I’m okay.

You tilted your head and pressed a kiss to his shoulder—soft, damp, reverent. His skin tasted like salt and breathless devotion.

Bob shifted then, his arms loosening around you as he lifted his head just slightly, enough to look down at you. His hair was a light brown mess, damp curls stuck to his temples, a few clinging to his cheeks. He blinked at you–slow, still dazed–but there was something clearer in his eyes now. Something tender. His hand dragged along your side, skimming your ribs, and he leaned down to kiss you again.

His lips moved against yours like he hadn’t quite gotten his fill–like maybe he never would. He kissed your mouth, then your jaw, then your neck, peppering slow, breathless kisses along the column of your throat. You giggled once–just a little–as his nose brushed the underside of your jaw, tickling your skin.

He pulled back just enough to blink down at you, lips wet and parted, chest still heaving.

”Y-You know I like you, right?” Your breath caught. Your fingers paused where they rested near the nape of his neck. His voice had cracked slightly on the word like, and you could tell he meant something so much more than that. Of course you knew his feelings for you, it was easy to spot, but hearing him say it aloud–even after the both of you just had the most carnal sex ever–still made you a bit breathless. You swallowed, then nodded–eyes searching his face, your heart fluttering in your throat.

“I like you too,” You whispered, your voice shaky and soft. “Always have…” Your cheeks burned, and not from residual heat. You traced a finger over the curve of his shoulder. “T-The circumstances right now are a bit c-crazy…But…Maybe after this…”You tried to continue, but your nerves tangled the words together.

He finished them for you.

“I-I’ll take you out,” He said, nodding once, as if promising both you and himself. “We…We can go to your favorite r-restaurant. And we can do this right…” He ducked his head a little, voice lowering to a smile. “W-Without the sex pollen.” You let out a laugh–helpless and bright–and leaned up to kiss him again. He grinned into it, just a little, and kissed you twice more, slower now, like sealing the agreement. When he finally pulled back, his thumb was brushing your cheekbone, his other hand still lazily tracing your hip.

His gaze dropped to your chest for a moment, then back to your eyes. “A-Are you still aching?” He asked gently.

You paused, body still humming with the memory of him, but no longer sharp with urgency. You shifted slightly, feeling the wet stickiness between your thighs, the throb finally quieting to something warm and dull.

“It’s dulled a little,” you admitted. “But I think we should wash up…”

He blinked, nodding. “R-Right. Yeah.”

You offered a small smile, brushing the sweat-slick hair from his forehead. “We’ve got that little makeshift shower unit in the corner storage. Emergency setup. I-I can activate it.”

He looked at you, eyes soft, one hand trailing lightly over your ribs again.

“I-I’ll come with you,” He murmured. “Just to m-make sure you’re okay.” His curls hung loose now, wild and slightly matted from where your fingers had yanked at them during your climax. The gold shimmer on his skin caught the low lab lights, making him glow faintly where he hovered above you.

“Aww,” you murmured, brushing a hand lazily over the sharp line of his jaw, “That’s sweet, Bob. Really. But we both know that’s not the reason you’re joining me.” Bob flushed immediately, lips twitching into a bashful grin.

“O-Okay,” He said quietly, nuzzling your cheek with the tip of his nose. “M-Maybe it isn’t…M-Maybe I just wanna wash you, and k-kiss you under the water…Until all this heat dies down inside me.” Your chest stuttered at that, heart tripping over itself. His voice was so soft, so wrecked, so full of you.

“Now that’s much better,” You whispered, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. He smiled into it, and you felt the way his arms curled tighter around your middle, the way his cock–still half-hard inside you–twitched slightly at the praise. He sighed, then slowly pulled out, both of you gasping a little at the drag of it. You shivered, and he was already reaching for a nearby towel to cover you while you sat up. His hand cradled the back of your head as you steadied yourself. Always gentle, even now.

You stretched your sore limbs and started for the far corner of the lab where the emergency hygiene setup was stored. Still naked, still glowing with post-orgasm daze, you knelt beside the console and started activating the emergency rinse station–a compact but functional retractable stall with hot water access, a single pressure-nozzle head, and sealed drainage for contamination containment. You flipped open the sanitation kit, pulling out the packet of unscented soap, a washcloth, and the emergency towels folded like paper bricks.

Bob padded over behind you, and you heard him laugh softly as you organized the supplies with shaky hands.

“What?” You said over your shoulder, arching an eyebrow.

He scratched the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “N-Nothing. Y-You just look really focused for someone who’s still naked and covered in glittery sex pollen.”

You snorted. “Yeah, well,” you murmured, standing and turning to face him, “Remind me to access the cameras in here later and delete the footage of what happened…”

Bob raised his brows. “You think there’s audio?”

You gave him a deadpan look. “Bob. We shouted at each other and cried out mid-orgasm while covered in science glitter. If there’s audio, we’re already blackmail material.”

His face turned scarlet.

“Y-You think they’ll–”

“I don’t think we want our sex tape leaking,” You interrupted, grinning wickedly as you flicked the shower head on. Warm water streamed out with a pleasant hiss, filling the space with a light mist and the sound of soft rainfall. You stepped under it first, pulling him gently in after you. The water hit your skin and instantly began washing away the gold flecks still clinging to your chest and thighs.

Bob’s hands found your waist again.

“…M-Maybe I’ll take a copy,” He mumbled.

You looked over your shoulder at him with mock exasperation. “You’ll have the real thing almost every night, Bob,” you said, voice low and teasing. “I don’t think you’ll need a copy.” His breath hitched–barely–and then you felt his mouth press to the back of your shoulder, his arms circling your waist from behind.

“I-Is that so?” He asked, lips trailing kisses up your damp neck.

You tilted your head back against him, smiling into the steam.

“Oh, it’s definitely so,” You said, reaching back to cup the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as the water cascaded around you both–cleansing your skin, but not your hunger.

[criminalamnesia]

GOD I LOVE traitor and how strong you've made the reader. It's amazing! And I eagerly await any future parts, whether it's big proper story or drabbles. BUT, you come first and your life does so you do what you gotta and go be amazing! We can wait. Proud of you X

im so late to responding, but thank you! <3

here’s part six :) also not really proofread so I apologize for any errors! I’ll fix them later!

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

you don’t know how long you’ve been sitting on the floor, cross-legged amongst broken glass, brittle flowers, and discarded clothes, when someone knocks on the door.

you don’t move, don’t say anything. the noise seems distant— too far off to be real.

besides, if someone is really knocking on your door, they know you’re in here.

and if they know you’re in here, it could be one of five people. your former squad mates, or the doctor.

the knock sounds again. it shakes you from your stupor, yet you still make no move to answer it. let them come in; let them see what they’ve made of you. of who you were. of who you could’ve been.

the person on the other side of the door is speaking now. you register the muffled baritone as it fights to be heard from the hall.

you clench your fists, then unclench them— stretching out your fingers as far as they go. clench them again. unclench. stretch. repeat.

it’s a tick— a calming habit. you don’t think it’s working at the present moment.

the doorknob turns. you still don’t move.

the door is being pushed in, light from the hallway aggressively slicing through the darkness you’d left yourself in. you fought the urge to curl in on yourself.

you’d been so consumed by your anger— are consumed by it— but coming into this room and seeing that damn note was earth-shaking. it was terrifying, and it was a tangible reminder of the team’s unapologetic tactics. simon’s unapologetic tactics.

the voice is speaking once more, clearer now that the door is out of the way— but you can’t make out the words over the ringing in your ears.

a hand gingerly lands on your shoulder, and that’s when you snap.

you whirl around, throwing yourself into the intruder like a cobra striking its prey. clearly caught off guard, the person lets loose a ‘oomph’ and falls backwards as you take out their legs.

everything is fuzzy. the ringing in your ears crescendos, and it brings pain with it. you’re striking your target with reckless abandon, still not registering who is flailing underneath you.

punches land and land and land. nails scrape and scratch and draw blood. all you see is red— all you hear is the sharpening of a knife or the whirring of a saw.

and then there are hands on you, yanking you away from your victim. the red slowly starts to recede, the ringing in your ears subsiding.

it’s only then do you release you’re screaming.

its only then do you see the swollen and bloodied face of your doctor, lying a foot away from you. she sputters a cough, blood leaving her lips and splattering onto the man leaning over her.

“you need to calm down,” a voice speaks into your ear.

“calm down, or they’ll sedate you,” it says, and you finally stop screaming. you take a breath.

clench your fists. unclench. stretch. repeat.

it takes you another minute to calm down enough to realize the person holding you is simon.

the doctor is being carried away now, and you notice it’s johnny and kyle carrying her. you notice john is standing to your left, eyes full of sympathy and guilt as he looks at you.

“get,” you huff, reaching down to slap at the arms circling your middle. “off me.”

simon releases you instantly. you don’t hesitate to put distance between the two of you. a few feet, at least. he just stands there, eyes watching with an expression you can’t place.

“what happened, love?” john’s voice is a soft rumble as he speaks. he moves a hand toward you, but decides against touching you— even if he only wanted to comfort you.

“I—” you start, glancing down at your hands. they’re bloody again.

“I thought it was—” you try again, but stop yourself.

you thought it was what? thought it was who?

you had heard man’s voice speaking to you. your mind had twisted things— had given you something you wanted to hear, deep down— because it gave you the chance to strike.

it gave you the opportunity to tear apart whichever man from the 141 had been there to check on you.

and you know you had wished it was simon.

john takes a cautious step forward at your silence. “let’s get you somewhere private, yeah? somewhere to cool down.”

the fire licking at your veins has subsided in favor of the chill of shame. of terror at what you’ve done— what you’ve done to the one person you had on your side. the person who was truly on your side.

you don’t fight this time. you give a nod, then solemnly follow him down the corridor. simon falls in behind you.

john takes you to his office, opening the door and ushering you inside. you move without protest, stepping into the dark room.

the two men enter behind you, john flicking on the light while simon pulls the door shut. you would’ve laughed at the scenario if you were in your right mind.

but you weren’t.

you weren’t okay. you knew that you weren’t, at least physically, but what you just did…

there was no way you were going to be transferred now. you doubted you would’ve even before you attacked the doctor.

you’re going to be discharged. you understand why.

but it hurts. this is your job, your life. years and years on the battlefield don’t prepare you for life off of it.

“love?”

john’s voice brings you back to the present. you realize you’ve been standing in the center of the room, unmoving and unblinking.

you feel simon’s hard gaze on your back. you want to cry.

how did things ever get this fucked up?

“im fine.” you say, not bothering to turn around. you didn’t trust yourself to keep it together if you faced them.

“you’re not,” john states, and you roll your eyes.

“im not talking about this with you,” you bite out, circling your arms around yourself. “either of you.”

“you should at least talk to someone, love— this isn’t healthy.”

“please, stop.” you tell him, but john was never good at taking orders. he gave them, not followed them.

“you hated the therapist, and you haven’t spoken to anyone else since… everything.” he continues.

“stop, john,” you try again.

“you need to let it out, love. we’re here—”

you spin around then, fists dropping to your sides. “for the love of god, john, shut the fuck up.”

that stuns him into silence, eyes slightly widened and mouth agape as he looks at you. simon doesn’t move from his position near the door.

“you are the last people i would ever fucking talk to! I don’t even want to be talking to you right now, but you won’t stop trying. trying to talk to me, trying to make it up, trying to wriggle your way back into my good graces.”

you pause, sucking in a breath. “johnny must’ve relayed the message, and that’s why you’ve back off a little— but one wrong fucking move and you’re swooping again! you aren’t my dad, you aren’t my lover, you aren’t my friend, and you’re sure as hell not my fucking captain anymore.”

“so please, john, leave me be. the four of you have done enough.”

the room is silent for a beat, then two. then three. and then simon takes a step forward, removes his balaclava, and looks you square in the face.

he doesn’t open his mouth to speak, so you take the chance to.

“don’t start with me, simon. just don’t.”

“the note,” he says. “you read it.”

you just look at him, a disbelieving scoff leaving your mouth as you give a nod. “yes, I read your fucking note. and I saw the stupid flowers, too, after seeing everything else you wrecked. tell me, how long did you wait after you tied me up to tear it all apart?”

he just watches you. you want to scream.

the note flashes back into your mind.

‘hope you can understand.’

“does it make you feel better, thinking what you did was right?” you ask him.

“I wouldn’t have done it differently.” simon tells you.

you clench your fists. unclench. stretch.

breathe in, breathe out.

“and if the roles were reversed,” you said, watching him. “if you were in my position, would you have expected me to do what you did?”

“yes.” he says, without hesitation.

“you’re unbelievable,” you huff. “is that how little I meant to you? all that time, wasted?”

“that’s not what I said.” he tells you, and you shake your head.

“no, but it’s what you meant.” anger is bubbling up again. you feel overwhelmed; shame and fury battling inside you. the ringing building up in your ears again, emerging from the background.

you can’t do this.

“what i meant is what i said.” he takes another step forward. “you’re just too damn stubborn to listen, always have been.”

“just go, simon.” you tell him. “both of you. go.”

“I wouldn’t change what I did,” he says again. “to protect my team, my family, I would do whatever it takes.”

you bite your tongue. you don’t want to keep arguing with him. he was an unmovable object— there was no way to reason with him.

“im not sorry it happened.” he speaks. “i did what i thought i had to do. what i had to do to make sure my team was safe.”

“and you should understand that, considering this team is all you have, too.”

you don’t respond— and even if you were going to, a knock on the door breaks the tense silence in the room.

johnny pops his head in, his eyes full of concern. “doc’s alrigh’.” he says, his gaze catching yours. “jus’ some bumps and bruises. she’ll be jus’ fine.”

“and she uh— said she’s not pressin’ charges or anythin’. says she still expects to see ya in a few days for your check-up.”

that’s what breaks you.

a tear slips from your eye, falling onto your cheek. another follows, then another, and you’re sobbing as you fall to the floor of price’s office.

the three men are staring, but no one makes any move to comfort you.

probably wise, considering what you did to the last person who tried.

you faintly register the click of the door as it shuts again. you don’t look up— your head in your hands as you cry.

cry about what you’ve done, what you’ve lost. mourn your career and your family and your love for the man who doesn’t regret what he did.

unbeknownst to you, simon is the only one still left in the room. his steps are silent as he approaches you— leaving only a foot of space between your bodies now.

he watches you as he sinks to the ground across from you, his long legs folded over each other, the fingers of his left hand twitching as he finds himself wanting to reach for you.

he still cares for you. his feelings for you were what made him do what he did in the first place.

the love he felt for you, twisting into betrayal and hurt and agony. fueling his actions, his desire to hear you admit your wrongdoings.

passion made people dangerous. passion in love, passion in rage. it was a fine line, and simon had crossed it.

he understood what this meant for you. recalls the conversation he had with price earlier— how laswell was planning for your discharge instead of your transfer.

this was the end of your time with them, and in the military. the hands of the 141, damaging one of their own beyond repair.

he finds himself mourning alongside you, then. mourning what was and what could’ve been.

what should have been.

“im sorry for what we did to you,” he says, but it comes out as a whisper that you don’t hear.

“im sorry.”

thank you all again for your patience! I plan on tying this little series up soon :)

as a reminder, I no longer do taglists. if you want to be notified when I post, follow @troiastitans and turn on notifications. I only reblog my works there.

I hope you all enjoyed :)

[maladaptive-daydreamer-23]

Somethin’ Stupid

A/N: Ahhhh this one hit me like a sack of bricks and I just had to put it in words! It wasn’t thoroughly proof read but I do not care! I was too excited to post it! I hope you love it as much as I loved writing it!

Love, Mal <3

Summary: While making up with Aaron after a fight, you almost say something you can’t take back. He’s determine to coax it out of you, his tactics are… interesting.

Warnings: This is probably the fluffiest fluff I’ve ever written. If you don’t like tickling this is probably not for you. Swearing, an argument, sexual tension. Unspecified age gap

Tags: Fluffy af, emotional hurt/comfort, established(ish) relationship

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader

Word count: 3,565

Masterlist

AO3 link here

The chaos in the conference room of the local station had risen to near deafening decibels and it was only devolving. No one seemed to be capable of coming to a compromise, everyone had their own opinion of how the coming raid should be planned out, and none of the locals were listening to the team. Even amongst yourselves, you were divided.

You and Aaron were divided.

That almost never happened. Unfortunately, today it was happening. He was wrong, you were sure of it. He, Spencer, and JJ thought the best way would be to go in peacefully and talk the unsubs down. That didn’t match the profile. The profile that you all made and agreed on together. That profile says that the unsubs would not allow themselves to be taken alive, that they would go out in a blaze of glory, suicide by cop if they’re caught. You didn’t know how Aaron wasn't seeing that. You, Morgan and Prentiss had all been trying to make the case that you needed to go in hot and heavy, full tactical gear and at least a full S.W.A.T. squad as back up. Catch them off guard, by total surprise and make sure they did not have time to react.

Rossi, the poor guy, was playing the peacemaker.

“Let’s all just settle down…” You could hear his soft voice just barely through the racket. It wasn’t going well for him. No one else was paying him any mind.

You could feel Aaron’s gaze on the side of your face, even as he continued to argue his point to Morgan and the chief of police. You ignored him. In fact you’d started retreating from the room entirely.

He raised his voice at you, spoke to you as though you were a child. Not his… well… you didn’t really know what you were, but even when you were just his subordinate he had never spoken to you like he had a moment ago.

In front of everyone. You’d been humiliated.

Tensions had been high, to be fair, and he had immediately realized he’d hurt you. You could see the regret and repentance on his face, but that was just not good enough right now. You hadn’t meant to undermine him, you really hadn’t and you knew he knew that.

“Would you just give it a second thought Aaron?!” You had asked frustratedly, then pled your case. “If we give them half a second to react they’re gonna open fire and then everyone will be in danger! Especially the victim they still have!”

Looking back on it… You had called him Aaron, which to the police department probably seemed like disrespect. Not to mention that you had been standing toe to toe with him, and your voice had been slightly elevated as well. In your defense you hadn’t been shouting at him, more like speaking loudly in his direction, but it was only so he could hear you over the cacophony of voices that were also all raised well above indoor voices.

But Aaron had practically barked your name. You had been stunned into silence, and the rest of the room had fallen into a brief and awkward silence as he said, “Stand down, now. I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job, I’ve been doing it just fine for longer than you’ve been an agent.”

It felt like he’d sucker punched you, right in the gut. You’d seen the regret—the apology—flooding his eyes, he hadn’t meant it. But your pride was already injured. You hadn’t said another word since, making yourself as small as possible and fading into the background.

You were good at that, being a wallflower, being unseen and unheard.

It was just part of life for you. Until you met Aaron. He had never made you feel small, or insignificant. Not until just now. So you needed a minute to recover and cope, you had drifted slowly to the back of the room and decided to slip out as soon as you could without being noticed. As soon as he freaking looked away from you anyway.

He knew it too. Which was why he was keeping his eyes firmly on you, practically begging you to look at him. But you were going to cry if you did that, so you kept your eyes firmly on the wall opposite you. You’d know if he looked away, his gaze was burning into your skull with an intensity that was making the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

Someone whistled, LOUDLY.

“Alright! Knock it off! You’re all acting like a bunch of children, not highly trained professionals.” The Police Chief scolded the entire room, crossing his arms and scowling so grimly it almost gave Aaron’s signature scowl a run for its money.

Aaron’s shoulder dropped briefly as he took a deep breath and addressed the room.

“Okay, let's take a five minute break, cool our heads and come back.” He instructed, and you took that as the perfect opportunity to escape as the crowd began to move. But he was one step ahead of you and called out your name loudly enough that every eye was on you again. “Stay behind for a minute, I need a word.”

You cringed, bringing your shoulders up nearly to your ears as you stopped in your tracks. You had already made it to the door, so you had to turn around and face everyone as you stepped aside and let them all out. Your team gave you sympathetic glances as they exited, thinking you were either in trouble or there was about to be a fight of epic proportions.

They knew there was something between you and Aaron, there was no such thing as a secret in the BAU. You were profilers, you spent nearly every waking moment together for weeks at a time, there was no hiding anything and everything always came to light. So you had never tried to hide it, neither of you had come right out and announced it either but you hadn’t needed to. They often witnessed soft spoken words, gentle touches, sweet smiles and flirtatious banter between the two of you. They were surprised at first, but they really didn’t question it. Now though, you were wishing they didn’t know. Because they’re sympathetic glances held a little more concern than this warranted.

You could hear them, just outside the door, as you waited for the rest of the officers to exit so you could close the aforementioned door. (No need to air your grievances in front of the entire station. You’d had enough embarrassment for one day, thank you.)

“Uh oh, I think Mom and Dad are about to fight.” Morgan joked.

JJ and Rossi groaned, while Reid and Prentiss snickered quietly.

“It doesn’t feel correct to refer to her as ‘Mom’ in this family dynamic.” Reid said matter of factly. “We’re all older than her.”

“Well what should I have said, Pretty Boy?” Morgan asks, and you can feel the joke coming. “Referring to her as the ‘baby sister' makes things really weird, really fast if we consider Hotch the group Dad. ‘Controversially Young Stepmom’ is closer to the truth, but that makes her sound like his midlife crisis, and we know that’s not true. He loves her.”

Woah…

They think he loves you?

Neither of you have ever said the L-word. You didn’t even really know what you were to him. He’d never called you his girlfriend, he never said that you weren’t either. So you just went with ‘partner’ if asked and let people decipher the meaning of the word for themselves.

Aaron cleared his throat and your eyes snapped to his realizing you’d been staring into space as you listened in on your teammates discuss the nature of your relationship with their leader. He smiled softly, apologetically, but you didn’t return it. Not yet.

Your cheeks were burning as you turned to close the door, keeping your back to him a second longer than necessary. Regaining a little composure now that there weren’t any prying eyes on you but his, you took a deep breath before turning to meet his gaze.

“You wanted to see me, Sir?” You said, with a little more attitude than you ever would have used in front of other people. To be completely honest, the ‘sir’ was petty, but you were unapologetically mad right now. The blow landed as intended, making him wince and take a barely perceptible step back.

“I deserved that…” He murmured, his eyes so full of regret and remorse it was becoming difficult to stay mad. He knew he had made a mistake and he was truly sorry. You weren’t done nursing the grudge yet though… it may have been a maturity issue, but you didn’t care at that moment. He rounded the table and came toward you, you took a step back, turning away from him slightly. The thing about you both being profilers, is that you could often communicate your emotions with body language alone. Which is why he knew that you weren’t as angry at him as you made out.

Your back was slightly to him, yes, but your chin was tilted in a way that exposed your throat and also allowed you to hear him approaching. You were willing to be vulnerable, to hear him out and make amends. Your arms were crossed, but they weren’t tightly clutched to your body, they were loose. Your shoulders relaxed and your stance relatively open and comfortable. You were playing hard to get, and Aaron was well aware.

His hands squeezed your upper arms gently and you didn’t flinch away, you leaned into his hands. He didn’t further the touch, not yet, he wanted your uncoerced forgiveness first. He just felt the need to be connected.

“Sweetheart, I didn’t mean that. I shouldn’t have said it, and it isn’t true. Your opinions are always welcome and I value each one. I’m very sorry.” He said, his tone clear and even, completely sincere.

“Are you sure?” You asked, not ready to forgive just yet, he had embarrassed you. “You seemed pretty serious when you ordered me to ‘stand down’ and pointed out how young and inexperienced I am compared to you… in front of everyone.”

You felt him flinch slightly and then felt slightly guilty, but only slightly.

“I don’t have any excuses, I am so sorry that I embarrassed you–”

“Humiliated me.” You cut in.

“Humiliated you.” He admitted softly, and his voice cracked quietly. Was he? No…

You turned in his arms and faced him, shocked to find his eyes brimmed with tears.

“Aaron?” You whispered quietly.

“I- I didn’t mean to make you feel…” He takes a deep shuddering breath, glancing away for a moment and wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “I didn’t mean to make you feel small or young or inconsequential. I know that I did, I saw it all over your face when I said it, and that kills me. I know how hard you had to fight and what you had to overcome to get here, and I never intended to treat you that way, I said it in frustration. I wasn’t even frustrated at you, I just happened to be speaking to you when it boiled over. I’m sorry baby, I was wrong and I need you to know that I think the world of you! You amaze me.”

Now you were nearly crying.

You reached up and wiped his tears away with your thumbs and kissed him gently, pouring every ounce of forgiveness you could muster into him with your lips. You felt his body relax into yours, the tension fleeing like a rebuked demon. You let your body meld with his and his arms came around your waist as he kissed you back.

“I forgive you.” You murmured against his lips, just in case that wasn’t clear.

“Thank you…” He murmured back, deepening the kiss a little further and then pulling away to look at you. “I don’t deserve it, but I’ll accept it anyway because I don’t think I could bear to go into that raid without it. Without knowing that you and I are okay.”

“We’re okay.” You reassured him, then felt a little guilty yourself. “I– I didn’t mean to be disrespectful or to undermine you. Your name slipped out, I’m too used to saying it and I was frustrated as well. But I’m sorry, I should have been more tactful. It won’t happen again, if I have a concern about your decisions I’ll address it privately.”

He smiled at you, his eyes kind and full of… something similar to what was going on in your heart right now.

“Sweetheart, you can address your concerns whenever and wherever you please. My ego is not too fragile to handle that. In fact, I welcome it. I want to know if an order I’m giving makes you or the others feel like you’re not safe. It’s my job to protect you, especially you.” He caressed your cheek with his thumb as he cupped your head in his hands. “Truthfully, I didn’t even process what you said to me, I was too on edge. Could you tell me what has you concerned? I want to hear you out.”

You were absolutely sure that your pupils had shifted into big red hearts.

“God, Aaron. I lo–” You caught yourself, just barely, and bit your lip to stop the words from spilling out.

You couldn’t say that. No matter how true it was. Not when this whole thing was so… confusing? The lines were all blurred and you didn’t even know what this was.

Unfortunately, the pause and the panic in your eyes was telling enough. He was having a very hard time keeping a straight face. His lips twitching in open rebellion.

“You what?” He asked softly, but you could tell he knew exactly what you had almost blurted out with so much breathy adoration that you wished the earth would open up and swallow you whole.

You shook your head and retreated a few steps.

“Nothing.” You said, too quickly, looking away from him to hide your embarrassment. “It’s not important.”

You hear him take a step toward.

“I beg to differ.” He murmured, pure elation in his voice. “I’m gonna need you to finish that sentence, Honey.”

You retreated another step, scrambling for anything to save you from having to admit what you almost said.

“I was only going to say that I love how… emotionally mature you are???” You cringed, and he was not at all convinced, chuckling softly at your fib.

“Well, first of all, I ought to be, I’m entirely too old for you. Second of all, that is not what you were going to say. It was close, but I think it was gonna be a little shorter than that.” He said smugly as he kept coming closer to you and you kept backing away.

“Umm, no you aren’t.” You scowled at him, sticking your arm out behind you to make sure you didn’t run into anything. Slowly making your way around the table. “And yes it was, you’re not a mind reader, just a profiler and even that can’t tell you exactly what I was thinking.”

He chuckles again, his eyes practically sparkling with amusement.

“Then why did you stop yourself from saying it? That was nothing I didn’t already know you thought, you’ve told that before. That you appreciate how I have more emotional maturity than guys you’ve been with in the past. So why not just say it?” He pushes, continuing his slow advance toward you.

“I- I- I just realized that I had said it before and it was a silly thing to say in this situation. That’s all.” You stuttered, then tripped over someone's bag that had gotten left behind.

He reached out to steady you but you recovered too quickly and darted back, knowing if he got his hands on you, he would coax the truth out of you. One way or another.

“You’re a terrible liar Sweetheart, don’t ever play poker. Especially not with Rossi.” He’s grinning ear to ear now and it almost makes you want to just blurt it out, but you’ve made too big of a show of lying to give in now. “Just tell me what you were going to say. I already know, I just want to hear it.”

You shrugged, shaking your head as you made it to the middle of the other side of the long conference table. All fifteen feet of it between you and the door that you were so desperate to escape through. “I don’t know what you want to hear, Aaron. I already told you what I was going to say.”

He shakes his head and sighs, but the grin is still there.

“Fine.” He tuts. “I guess I’ll just have to get it out of you the hard way.”

You saw his body stiffen just before he lunged for you, and you had just a split second to launch yourself off a pulled out chair and onto the table. You took two steps and used the back of a chair to vault yourself off of the table and toward the door.

You almost made it too.

Almost.

Somehow, somehow, Aaron’s arm caught you around the waist just as your fingertips skimmed the doorknob. He used your own momentum to press your chest against the door and pin you to it with his hips and shoulders.

“Goddamn! You are ridiculously fucking fast for a man your age!” You cursed, breathlessly panting from the sudden burst of exertion.

He laughed, his fingers skimming your waist lightly. Oh fuck, not this…

“You are terribly slow for a woman your age.” He teased, his voice rough as he murmured in your ear. “Now, tell me what you were actually going to say, Darling, or I’ll have to get creative.”

You squirmed a little, trying to get free. It was hopeless, he was much much stronger than you and he wasn’t even holding you tightly enough to cause any discomfort.

“I already told you!” You whined.

He clicked his tongue.

“Alright, you had your chance.” He warned cryptically, and then his hands were everywhere, squeezing and pinching and lightly brushing over you until he found exactly what he was looking for.

You let out a squeal of laughter when he found your tickle spot. There were several, but this one, this one was the WORST. You couldn’t stop laughing and he just doubled down.

“Aaron, please!” You squealed. “We can talk about this, like adults!”

He only tickled you more fervently.

“I tried to talk, you left me no choice.” He disagreed. “Tell me what I want to hear and I’ll stop.”

You knew Aaron well enough to know that if you said you were uncomfortable, he would stop immediately. But you weren’t uncomfortable and you wanted to see how this would play out.

“No.” You gasped, another peal of giggles ringing out as he tickled faster. “Aaron!”

“It’s just three little words, honey. That’s all it takes…” He taunted as you wriggled and squirmed like a worm on a hook.

“Aaron please! I cannot breathe!” You panted through your laughter, tears running down your face.

“I dunno, you sure are making a lot of noise for someone who can’t breathe…” He joked, his amusement blatantly clear in his voice.

You gasped, your stomach was tight, your lungs were burning deliciously, you were wildly turned on and that honestly did concern you a little bit.

“I’m literally gonna pee my pants!” You pleaded, laughing so hard that you actually feared that to be true.

“Uh oh, better say those words fast then…” He said, determined not to relent until you gave it up.

You had began to squeak now, you were gasping for breath so hard and you were terrified that you were going to snort if he didn’t stop.

“Aaron!”

“Yes?”

Smug son of a bitch.

“I love you…” You mumbled.

He stumbled briefly, but then redoubled his efforts.

“What was that?” He teased. “I couldn’t hear you. Someone is laughing too loudly. I wonder who that could be?”

“Aaron…” You groaned, and he chuckled, not stopping for a second making you cackle and you were certain the entire station could hear you. “Fine, I said: I love you.”

“A little louder, Honey? You know I’m hard of hearing…” You could feel the smile on his lips against your neck and you knew damn well that he heard you the first two times.

“You insufferable, stubborn, fucking gorgeous old man, I said: I LOVE YOU!!!!” You shouted as loud as your oxygen deprived lungs would allow.

“Finally!” He murmured, as he flipped you around, pressing your back to the door as he crushed his lips against yours in a searing kiss.

Five very familiar voices began cheering just outside the door and you knew they’d been listening the entire time.

But you did not care.

Not as Aaron pulled away from you, just enough that he could look into your eyes.

“I love you too, Sweetheart.” He declared and the fire in his eyes let you know that he meant it.

[palmerzy]

giggles and jumps up and down

so i saw that you have bruce wayne in who you write for 😍😍. and i was wondering if i cpuld ask for bruce as batman fucking catwoman!reader after she robbed another jewwlry store...like hes tried to wip fuck her into shape

hi anon!! thank you dearly for requesting bruce because i’ve been dying to write for him <3 i always write/perceive him as a dom bc usually i envision either comic!bruce or bale!bruce but if you want any sub stuff deffo lmk :) or just any more bruce stuff hehe

you can picture this drabble with any bruce you want ofc!!

NSFW! - explicit sexual themes.

bruce wayne immediately knows it’s you again when the radio in the batmobile crackles to life and speaks of a jewellery heist just a few blocks down, and before he knows it he’s turning the car around in an instant, muttering something to himself about ‘the brat not knowing when to give up.’

he knows for sure that it’s you the second he arrives to the scene and sees no obvious signs of a break in, because you’re stealthy, and you’re only here for one reason. the single piece of jewellery to have been swiped is a cat-eye pendant, and he notices it dangling around your neck once you turn the corner, a wicked grin gracing your lips, crinkling your eyes beneath the domino mask. your body is graced in a skin-tight leather suit, one he’s come to know his way around all too well, and a cutesy pair of cat ears adorn your head, making you seem more innocent than he knows you to be, especially when you greet him: “hey, batty, come to play with me?”

bruce is aware of what you’re doing, he’s fully aware of your tactical manipulation - setting up an entire heist just because you know he’ll eventually end up fucking you in the back, having his way with you before the cops arrive, under the guise of teaching you a lesson.

the first time it had happened wasn’t intentional, but the way you’ve both adjusted your suits for easy access conveys the intention now lurking behind every act, every movement. the sounds of sirens in the distance has him pouncing, and before you know it he’s got you bent over a glass jewellery case, his hands roaming the tight leather covering your ass whilst his cock plunges into your welcoming depths at a speed you’re sure the flash even couldn’t rival with.

you’ve done this plenty of times by now, and bruce knows how to have you mewling for him, how to have your back arched perfectly, giving him a reason to tease you about just how catty you really are. he’s not gentle, either, - why would he be? you’re a criminal, and he’s going to treat you like one. one of his hands is in your hair, twirling it around before tugging harshly, watching the cat ears jostle from the movement, and his teeth peek beneath his rosy lips in a smirk. “how many times are y’gonna make me do this? huh?” “always need me to fuck you silly so you understand properly, don’t you?” “can’t keep stealin’, can’t keep makin’ me set you straight like this.”

bruce is also fully aware that the more he fucks you, the more you’ll come back. he can feel it in the way your walls tighten around him when his pulsing tip smacks against that silky spot inside of you with every. single. thrust. he doesn’t care that his method is doing the exact opposite of what he’s telling you. he wants you to come back. he needs you to come back.

it’s bad, he knows that, he knows he shouldn’t enjoy the thrill of trying to make you come before authorities arrive on the scene and his cop buddy gordon sees him stuffing you to the brim. that definitely wouldn’t give him any better of a reputation than he’s already got. ‘bat shamelessly engages sexually with criminal cat lady’ isn’t a headline he wants to see. but god, he can’t stop himself. not when he can hear your claws scratching against the glass beneath you, and he can see the way your tits are squashed up against it, stretching your leather suit.

never in his life has he gotten so hard for someone so quickly, he knows that now. every time he sees you, he’s hard. your face in the paper, on wanted posters around gotham, in his mind as his hand wraps around his cock in the early hours of the morning, all of it makes him achingly hard, thinking of when he’ll get you take you again.

yet, nothing in the world compares to how he feels like this, the adrenaline rush he gets from drilling into you at one of your crime scenes. “nothing more than a criminal and a whore f’me,”he’d grit into your ear, large palm smacking down onto your backside, watching your skin ripple beneath the material covering it. “not gonna stop, are you?” “gonna make me come ‘n’ find you every week just to fill this perfect little cunt,” “can’t get enough, kitty, can’t ever get enough of me,” he grunts and he groans, loudly, and you’re sure he enjoys this as much as you do.

nobody has ever fucked you the way batman fucks you, so never in a million years would you stop coming back. he can call you whatever names he wants, but deep down you know he wants this too, he needs the release of slamming into your pliant body, of holding you with a bruising grip as you squeal and whine for him.

the sirens are closer now, and he’s snapped back to reality, whilst his hips snap back into you. the coil in his stomach is tightening all too fast, his load ready to shoot into your stretched hole and mark you as property of the bat, whether gotham approves or not. he’s learned that if he doesn’t make you come from his cock, you’ll return to him sooner, and he enjoys that. he enjoys knowing you need him, you need to be fucked into oblivion and need him to make you squelch around his cock, especially as the kevlar of his suit slams against your clit.

this time, he’s not letting you come. “pulling me away from people who actually need me just because you can’t go a week without my cock? pathetic,” he groans, feeling sweat pool on his skin, smudging his eyepaint when he finally spills into you, long ropes of his release spanning your aching pussy. in all honesty, he doesn’t really give a fuck if you suffer the consequences of him coming inside of you. he’s sure you’re on a contraceptive, but if you’re not, he deems it as you just being desperate to carry a piece of the bat with you forever, and he’s perfectly content with that.

he’s pulling out in an instant and zipping you back up before his come can spill out of you, leaving you stretched and empty, a whine slipping through your pouted lips. “get outta here before i hand you over to the cops,” “i’m sure they’d love to have you up in arkham, mm, seein’ your pretty little kitty up in a cell.” “you don’t want that, d’you? no? get out,” he’d command all in all, delivering a final smack to your pussy over your suit when he sees you rolling your eyes, and soon enough you’re dashing out of the building.

sure, he thinks he’s in charge, but you know how tightly the bat is wrapped around your little finger. you know he needs your body just as much as you need his, and he’s not as good at hiding his willingness to abide by your calls whenever he arrives on scene, just minutes after you do. the bat is positively pussy drunk, and it’s evident.

i hope you enjoyed <3 requests are open!

[kxsagi]

Hey kxsagi😜😘

Out of all the Football clubs in the NEL arc I think Ubers is on the very top for me b/c I just LOVEEEE the way they play against their opponents and the relationship and dynamics they have with each other! Aiku and Sendou are such a duo, my boy niko is such a little brother coded in the team, Don Lorenzo is such an underrated character frfr and also him and Snuffy's father and son like dynamic is so adorable🥺🥺 I'd love to hear your hcs on them.

Ty in advance😘😘💥

“𝐮𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬”

a/n: YESSS ubers supremacy!!! as much as i love bastard munchen, you have absolutely elite taste because ubers has so much heart, honestly it’s like mafia tactics meet found family. their loyalty, structure, and the way they all look out for each other (while still playing to win) makes them so unique compared to the other teams and i am so here for it 🫡

also decided to do this in a different format! 

(their team name ubers reminds me of that one meme where it’s like “uh i never went to oovoo javer” 💀)

ubers team general headcanons

everyone on the team secretly knows they’re the “organized crime” themed squad. they lean into it. their pre-game huddles sound like mafia sitdowns. “you don’t go down unless i say so,” aiku announces, while sendou nods like he’s his consultant. niko has no idea what that means but he goes, “got it, boss.” 

snuffy runs a tight ship, but never disrespects anyone. his “fatherly” energy isn’t loud – it’s quiet, composed, and deeply respectful. he cooks post-match meals like a literal dad. big “who wants more steak?” energy. the boys make fun of him but never to his face because they all lowkey adore him. 

when it comes to chores, niko does the dishes. reluctantly. because the last time sendou did them, aiku got food poisoning + lorenzo is banned from the kitchen because he once tried to make “gains ramen” which was just protein powder, boiled chicken, and pre-workout. snuffy had to call poison control. 

their team group chat is horrific. aiku sends gym thirst traps with captions like “morning motivation.” sendou sends cursed memes at 3 AM (niko replies with “please stop”). snuffy sends quotes from philosophers like “a man who conquers himself is mightier than he who conquers a city.” everyone reacts with 🫡. lorenzo only sends selfies and flex pics with random motivational phrases like “get money, stay jacked.” 

aiku oliver & sendou daiya – the menace duo

literally the worst pair to be seated near on team trips. they will prank everyone. lorenzo once woke up with his chains braided. niko caught it on camera and it went viral in the ubers gc. 

sendou tries to act cool around girls but somehow always fumbles. aiku lets him crash and burn every time. “you’re doing amazing, sweetie,” he deadpans as sendou gets rejected for calling someone “m’lady.” 

despite their chaos, they always have each other’s backs on the field. aiku trusts sendou’s instincts, and sendou follows aiku’s leads without question. it’s instinctual, like they’re synced. they don’t even need to talk sometimes, they just know. 

niko ikki – baby of the team

everyone thinks niko’s this quiet little strategist, but he’s also the most chronically online member of ubers. he runs their meme account anonymously. only snuffy knows. snuffy lets it slide because niko always includes respectful captions under snuffy edits like “our king 🫡” 

lorenzo calls him “kid.” sendou calls him “baby bro.” aiku once called him “squirt” and niko didn’t speak to him for a week. but deep down he’s grateful because he’s never had this kind of camaraderie before. 

sometimes he’ll be sulking in a corner after a rough game and snuffy just walks over, sits down beside him, and hands him a juice box. “you did good, kid.” niko cries. silently. every time. 

don lorenzo – chaos incarnate, misunderstood legend

he eats protein powder raw. sendou dared him once to snort it. he did. it was not a good day. 

he’s rich. obscenely so. he always flashes his gold teeth and quotes, “i only trust two things: muscle and money.” he funds team bonding trips without blinking. his idea of bonding? paintball war in the woods. 

has the softest spot for niko and treats him like a tiny feral cat he found outside and adopted. “he’s scrappy. he’s got instincts. he’s family now.” niko just blinks like 🧍🏻 

snuffy and lorenzo have a dad and rebellious teen son energy. snuffy’s constantly like “don’t do anything stupid,” and lorenzo’s like “no promises, papà.” but whenever snuffy’s serious, lorenzo listens like a soldier. no matter how wild he acts, he respects snuffy like a father figure. 

snuffy – the dad of the year

gives out the gentlest life lectures. “football’s like pasta, boys. you gotta boil under pressure to get good.” everyone’s like “… what?” but then they do get good. 

refuses to raise his voice. instead, he lowers it. when he’s disappointed, everyone feels like they just let down their entire lineage. 

he makes each player write down their goals and reviews them monthly. lorenzo once wrote “get more gains and less enemies.” snuffy nodded like that was a valid mission statement. 

if you cry in front of him, he’ll give you a side hug and pat your back once. just once. but it’ll heal you emotionally. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[fangirlmermaid]

They Say All Good Boys Go To Heaven But Bad Boys Bring Heaven To You

Part 2 of my Dark Hughes baby trap. Here is part 1

@lous-uprising

Warning: Throwing up, mention of boobs, baby trapping, pet names, the word daddy(I'm full on embracing the idea that Quinn has a daddy kink), crying. mention of hidden cameras, manipulation, fear tactics, a little dark towards the end, claiming you, why choose?, lightly proofread, spelling and punctuation mistakes.

I just want to thank everyone who loved my Dark Hughes smut. It really meant a lot to me.

I'm sorry that I took forever to publish this!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were sitting on your knees in front of the toilet, and you didn’t know what was wrong. Your chest was sore, but you assumed that it was from throwing up since 3 am.  

“Just let it out, princess,” Jack mumbled, holding your hair back. The boys have been by your side whenever you ran to the bathroom. Each of the brothers cared for you: Quinn was rubbing your back, Jack was holding your hair back, and Luke was holding a glass of ice-cold water. 

 Once you felt empty, you slumped against the bathroom wall, dripping in sweat. The boys surrounded you. “Drink up, angel,” Luke whispered, bringing the glass to your lips and taking a few gulps. You would’ve taken the glass, but Quinn took your hands into his. “Take it easy, pretty girl. We got you,” Quinn murmured, pressing a soft kiss on your shoulder.   

You felt like you were run over by a truck and got hit by every single tire. You didn’t know what the matter was. Did you have food poisoning or were you sick? 

You closed your eyes, trying to gather yourself; you completely missed the boy's sinister grin towards one another, and they had a good feeling.

Their children were their ticket to keep you in their lives forever, and they will do anything to keep their ticket.

Quinn totally by accident brushed your boobs when he went to flush the toliet. Another wicked grin was painted on the Hughes Brothers' lips when they heard a small whine escape your lips.

They wanted to wait till it was too late to do anything about it, but they were slowly growing impatient. They needed to know.

“Angel,” Luke whispered, kneeling in front of you. It took everything you got to open your eyes and gaze into Luke's multi colorful eyes. “Jack and I are going to the store to grab you some supplies. Will you be a good girl for Quinn while we’re gone?” Luke whispered, acting as if speaking at a normal volume would break you. “Yes,” you mumbled, sitting completely still. Luke gave you a feather-like kiss on the tip of your nose, and you felt your cheeks heat up. 

Luke stood up, letting Jack kneel in front of you. “We’ll be back soon, princess,” Jack promised, lightly brushing his lips onto your cheek.  

It was killing them that they had to leave you. Yeah, if they missed you, they can look at the hidden camera they put in your room.

Quinn pulled you into his chest when his brothers left. Your knuckles turned white from tightly grabbing onto Quinn’s shirt. Quinn felt his shirt become damp. He heard sniffles coming from you, Quinn’s heart started to crack, but he had to think of the bigger picture. You barefoot, in the kitchen with your big belly, carrying each of their children…binding you to them forever.

“I feel awful, Daddy.” Your voice wavered, shoving your face into his chest, Quinn raked his fingers through your hair. “I’m sorry, pretty girl,” Quinn mumbled. “Is there anything Daddy can do?” Quinn pressed a delicate kiss onto your temple.

You pulled away, “Cuddle me in bed?” you sniffled, giving him a small pout. Quinn's thumbs wiped away your tears. “Of course,” Quinn smiled.  He threw the wet cloth into the hamper and carried you to your room.

Ever since the night you hooked up with all three boys, they’ve been more handsy with you. Like, they made some sort of claim on you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stirred awake, feeling something being pressed against your skin. You pulled away from the home that was Quinn’s neck and looked over your shoulder when you found Luke and Jack.

Excitement burst threw you, “You’re back,” you hoarse, slowly shifting on your knees to pull them into a hug. The two boys chuckled, “Of course, couldn’t leave our best girl who isn’t feeling well,” Jack mumbled. 

They knew they couldn’t present you with the pregnancy test first, as it would scare you. So they had to ease you into it, so they bought some food that would help you nausea and some medicine because they were still pretending that you were sick. They had to act like they were worried, so they practically cleaned out the medicine aisle at the store; they don’t care about money when it comes to you. 

Quinn and Luke nodded at Jack silently, letting him know to pull it out. “Now don’t freak out, princess,” Jack ordered in a soft tone, pulling out a small rectangular box and shoving it into your hands. Your heart sank when you saw what it was. “But I’m on the pill,” you quietly explained, holding the box. Jack pushed your hand that was holding the box into your chest. “The pill isn’t one hundred percent effective, Angel,” Luke added, hoping that you would do it without a fight.

You looked down at the box, feeling your stomach turn. “Well, you're wrong!” You spat out, shoving the box into Jack’s chest, not caring about the consequences. You saw the light drain from the brother's eyes. “Fine,” Jack sighed, leaving your room with his brothers following. 

You knit your eyebrows and followed them like a lost puppy. “Y-you’re not mad?” you asked, stopping them in their tracks. They faced you, “We’re not mad…just disappointed.” Jack flatly told you. It was as if Jack ripped out your heart himself. “This isn’t the (Y/N), we know,” Luke told with irritation in his voice. It was as if Luke stomped on your heart. Quinn’s eyes burned a hole into your skull. He remained silent, which you felt was way worse. As if he set fire to your smashed, broken heart.

You lowered your head, not meeting their gaze. Quinn grabbed you by your chin and made you meet their fiery gaze. “Everything we say and do is for your good…got it?” Quinn’s voice laced with venom. You tried to nod, but Quinn’s grip was too strong. “Words,” Quinn spat out, a shiver ran down your spine. “G-got it,” You stuttered, your eyes filled with panic. 

(Just because you're carrying their children doesn’t mean they won’t hesitate to remind you that they own you.)

Quinn, let go of your jaw. “I-I’m sorry. I’ll take the test.” Your lip quivered, holding your hand out. The light returned to the brother's eyes, “Thank you, pretty girl.” Jack smiled, handing you the test.

They wanted to be in the bathroom with you, but thought it would be too overwhelming for you. So they let you have this one, but for the next round, they’re coming in.  

They had to wipe off their smug grins when they noticed the door opening, and out came you with puffy red eyes. This was the proof they needed. “Well?” Luke whispered, and all three of them were on the edge of their seats 

You presented them with the positive pregnancy test. You noticed the darkness in their eyes, which you assumed was anger. You couldn’t believe that this was happening to the four of you. Luke was too young to be a father. Quinn had his plate full with the Canucks. Jack was only focusing on Hockey. You finally got your dream job. Not to mention, Quinn was in a different country during hockey season. If the baby is his, how would he take care of them? 

You tried to wipe away the tears, but they just kept coming. “Oh, pretty girl,” Quinn mumbled. The boys circled you and wrapped their arms around you.

“We’ll take care of you, Angel,” Luke promised

“We got you, Pretty girl,” Quinn reassured

“You are in good hands, Princess,” Jack soothed

You shoved your face into Jack’s chest and started hysterical crying. The brothers comforted you with wide grins that crept onto their lips.

[moody-alcoholic]

This Is Going To Hurt

Part 3 - Useful Hostage

Summary: Poly141 x reader, established relationship, medic reader, kidnapped reader, mini fic.

CW: Dead dove don’t eat, use of weapons, death, torture, blood, assault.

AN: My birthday is on Wednesday so I'm taking a break from writing to do birthday things.

Previous parts - masterlist- next AO3

Enjoy <3

You actually get a break from the torture. Which means you get some sleep. Maybe it’s a thank you, but more likely they’re going to let you get your strength back up before it continues. The room you’re being held in is small, there’s only the door, no windows or vents. 

In fact you haven’t seen the sun since you were taken. You have no idea what time of day it is, how long it has been. There’s no point in trying to keep track, they purposely avoid a schedule, come for you at what seems like random times to take you to the bathroom or for more torture. 

You’re woken mid sleep and dragged back into the wetroom. That’s what you’ve started calling it, you always leave the place wet and shivering. It’s getting harder and harder to fight against your instincts and keep quiet, not panic. The safe space in your mind is getting harder and harder to imagine, it’s almost like the mental barriers you try to put up are being pulled down one by one. 

“No one is coming for you.” The stranger says, you turn your head to look at him while you gasp for air.

“You’ll die here. Alone.” You can’t help but scoff. You always knew this would happen, now they’re switching up their tactics. Maybe they’ll try and flip you, try and promise you a new life. It’s not going to work, it will never work. 

He doesn’t try the new tactic for long before switching back to the questioning. At one point you think you pass out because the next thing you know your straps have been undone and you’re rolled on your side heaving onto the floor. 

Angry voices ring in your head before you’re hauled back to your room. Everything hurts, your stomach and your lungs. The wound on your arm- you’re pretty sure is infected at this point. You can barely keep yourself up as you're thrown back into the room and the door is slammed closed. Like you have the energy to do anything right now. You pull yourself up into the corner of the room. 

Laying down just makes your stomach turn. You wish it would end. For the first time you feel your resolve slip. 

He’s right, they’re not coming for you. You’ve always known that, you just didn’t want to admit it, somewhere deep down you hoped they would come for you. You feel tears come even though you’re too exhausted to cry. 

You just hope they’re safe wherever they are.

___

“We’re in.” Soap says in Price’s ear. 

“Keep it tight, we need at least one of them alive.” Price says. This is their only chance to get intel, without having to resort to other methods. Price and Gaz move to the front door of the small house. There’s at least 5 people in here, all hostile.

Price pushes through the door first hearing Gaz following behind him, Ghost and Soap will be making their way around the ground floor so Price makes a b-line for the stairs. He looks around quickly, making sure Gaz is following him as they make it up the steps. 

They take it one room at a time. There are 2 people both sleeping. They take them out silently, hands over their mouths, their throats slit. Price takes the first one, Gaz gets the second one. 

There’s no third floor which means the last 3 are on the ground floor. 

“Ghost, sitrep.” 

“Ground floor’s clear. 2 down, one in custody.” He responds. 

“We’re clear here too.” Price responds and nods at Gaz to make it back down the stairs. When they make it into the living room, Ghost and Soap already have him tied to the chair. 

“He speaks English.” Ghost says his eyes meeting Price. They’ve done a good job, they were quick, they have what they need. 

“Yeah, beggin’ for his life when we got him.” Soap says. Price sighs walking round the chair to stand in front of the man. He shouts something in Arabic. Price’s patience is wearing thin already. He has to keep cool, keep it together. 

It’s like there’s a timer in his head though, ticking down each second, minute, hour. The longer they take, the more chance you’ll be killed. The thought makes his stomach sink, he swallows the lump in his throat and lets the adrenaline calm his mind. 

“You took a hostage. Female, British, medic, we want to know where she is.” Price says. The man's eyes flick to him, there’s blood on his forehead.

“I don’t know anything about a medic.” He says. It’s a lie, Price knows that. He nods at Ghost who throws his fist into the man's face. As Ghost straightens back up, Price watches the man spit blood. 

“The hostage. Where is she?” Price asks. 

“Fucking American pigs!” He snaps spitting at Price’s feet. Price crosses his arms looking over at Ghost, who pulls a knife off his vest. 

“The hostage!” Price snaps. The man just laughs and Price lets out a sigh. Ghost walks over and plunges the knife into his thigh. He screams thrashing against the chair, shouting in Arabic. Price goes over bending down in front of his face. 

“Tell us where she is.” He orders through gritted teeth. 

“I don’t know.” He says between breaths. Price doesn’t believe him, he has to know something. Suddenly there’s a beeping Price shoots up watching as everyone raises their weapons towards the origin of the noise. 

Soap is the closest and he moves over to the table. “It’s a laptop.” He calls lowering his weapon. 

“Bring it over.” Price says and he comes over placing it down on the coffee table. When they open it, it shows a page with a video. In the middle a chair, the backdrop is all al qatala flags, Price sees the red ‘live’ watermark flashing in the corner of the video.

“What the hell?” Gaz asks. Price reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. 

This can’t be good. 

__

The door to your cell opens, jolting you from sleep. It’s Sayyid, he has a bottle of water. You don’t even want it. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks putting the bottle down on the floor. You scoff as you move yourself back into the corner. Your body is stiff and sore, you wonder how long you were asleep for. 

“Fuck you. You don’t care.” You say. 

“I came to ask for your help.” He says, you look up at him confused. You can’t believe what you’re hearing. You laugh, maybe you’re dead and this is hell.

“There was a missile strike, injured are being brought here.” Sayyid says. 

“Oh my God you’re not joking.” You say. He looks somber as he shakes his head. You get up to your feet taking a step towards him.

“I’m not helping patch up terrorists.” You say with anger in your voice. How dare he ask you to help the very people keeping you here. 

“Innocent people are hurt too. Civilians with no affiliation. You took an oath when you became a medic. Do no harm.” He says. Fuck him, how dare he throw that in your face. 

“Fuck you!” You spit your fist crashes into his face. “I spent the last few days being tortured and you want to lecture me about not wanting to help terrorists.” 

The door to the room opens, someone steps in but Sayyid shouts at them holding his hand up. You watch as he rubs his cheek. You wish you had the energy to throw a proper punch, you wish you broke his nose. 

“Your allies are the ones firing the bombs at us!” He snaps. You shake your head, you don’t have to help them. No one would blame you. 

You look back up at Sayyid. You would blame yourself though, you will blame yourself. Do no harm, who dares wins, none of it fucking matters at the end of the day. 

You joined to help people, to make a difference. You've treated the enemy before and if you get out here you will again. You won’t treat them, the people holding you here, just the innocent people caught in the crossfire. 

“Why are civs coming here and not going to a hospital?” You ask. He looks up at you sad. “Shit, they hit the hospital.” 

Fucking Americans. Why did they fire on a hospital? Maybe it was a stray? 

“They’re diverting critical cases elsewhere but we have to pick up the rest.” 

“I can’t believe this. I’m your prisoner. Why do you even trust me?” You say throwing your arms up.

“I don’t but what are you going to do? Run? You wouldn’t make it to the door.” He says. “We need- I need help. You might as well be useful.” 

“Okay. I need to see what you’re working with though.” You say crossing your arms. He nods and moves to the side so the man standing behind him can grab you. 

His grip is strong, his fingers digging into your skin as he drags you down corridors and staircases. You catch your first glimpse of the outside world. It’s dark out, you don’t get to look for long before you’re dragged away. You’re moving deeper and deeper into the building and down more stairs. You’re pretty sure you’re on the ground floor, or a basement by now. 

You’re about to go through some double doors that you assume lead deeper into a basement. This place is huge, way bigger than you thought it was. Suddenly there’s an eruption of shouting. You’re stopped and you turn behind you to see 3 men walking towards you. They sound angry, they have weapons in their hands. 

Sayyid walks past you talking to them. He gets shoved out the way and two of them grab you. You resist this time. 

“What the hell!” You snap. You look back at Sayyid who looks confused as you’re dragged back to the stairs.

“What’s going on?” You ask as you’re pulled up them. Something's wrong, somethings changed. They shout at you in Arabic as they continue to drag you down the corridors. You’re bought into a room and it makes your stomach sink. 

There are more terrorists, all holding weapons. One of the walls is covered by al qatala flags, there’s a chair and a camera, lights and a microphone. The whole place looks like a shitty movie studio. You’re dragged over to the chair and they force you down. You have to squint and the lights are bright in your eyes. 

The two men stand directly behind you. One them presses the barrel of his weapon against the base of your skull. You feel sick, your body freezes up. You look over and you can see yourself on a laptop screen, this is live. They’re doing a livestream? Why? 

There’s no way this ends well, you wonder if 141 are watching. You hope not. 

One of the men comes up to you and hands you a piece of paper. You look down at it then back up at him. 

“Read.” He says. You swallow looking back down quickly. 

“I can’t read.” You say. You’re not going to give them what they want that easily. He hits you with the butt off his weapon, it stings forcing your head to the side. His hand then grips round your neck forcing your head up to see him. 

“Read!” He spits before letting your head go. You clear your throat and look back down at the piece of paper in your hands. 

“In response to the recent missile attacks by the Americans on civilian targets including a local hospital.” You pause for a second looking over at the laptop. The barrel of the weapon is pressed harder into your head. 

“We have no other choice but to-” Your eyes snap up at the man standing next to the laptop. This can’t be real, this is not how things work. 

You’re worth something to them, you're a hostage. You look back down at the words on the paper. Apparently not. 

“Execute the hostage.” You finish. This is it, this is how you die. You feel fear rise in you, there’s no way you can get out of this you’re dead anyway. The paper is ripped out of your hands. You look back over at the laptop. Now you really hope they’re not watching. 

The man by the laptop moves to the front of the camera and says something in Arabic. You look down at the floor, you're not sure what you're feeling. Sadness, fear, confusion.

You're about to die.

You won’t cry, you won’t give them the satisfaction. When he’s done talking he comes over and presses a pistol to your temple. 

You look into the camera, you wish you could see them one more time, the people in the room start chanting when they’re done the man moves to stand in front of you. The barrel moving to your forehead. You look at him, right in his eyes. 

See you in hell fucker, you let yourself smile. He doesn’t deserve to break you, even now. You let out a breath and think of them all, John and Simon, Kyle and Johnny. You never stopped loving them. 

There’s a loud bang of a door being thrown open. Someone shouting in arabic. The gun barrel is pulled from your forehead. The man moves and you look over to see Sayyid rush in. There are more angry voices, people shouting. You wish you knew what they were saying. 

The same man turns back around to you, you see confusion in his eyes.

“Is it true, you are part of 141?” Your stomach sinks. How did they know? You didn’t tell them. His fist crashes into your face.

“Answer!” He demands. You’re not going to say anything. He pulls out a knife pressing it up against your throat. 

You swallow and it digs into your skin. “Where are they?” He spits. You keep as still as you can, your heart is pounding in your chest. you hold your breath.

“I don’t know.” You say through gritted teeth. You feel the blade slice into your skin. It makes your eyes water. Sayyid says something again. The knife is dragged away from your neck. Your hand goes up to it and you feel blood pool between your fingers, the wound is not deep, just enough to bleed. 

You look up at Sayyid who smiles at you. What the hell? What the fuck just happened? You watch the livestream get turned off. There’s another shout, another order, the barrel of the weapon is moved off the back of your head. You feel a sharp pain as something hits you over your head and everything goes black. 

__

No one moves. No one says a word. 

Price can feel eyes digging into the back of his head, looking at the same screen they just saw you on. 

“She’ll be dead already.” The terrorist chuckles.

“John?” Price hears Laswells voice in his ear. 

“Send traffic.” He replies, trying his best to keep a level voice. 

“I traced it to a relay but that was as far as I got. Chances are you’ll be able to pick up the signal from there. I’ll send you the details.” She says. Price doesn’t reply, ending the call.

He reaches down, unclipping his pistol. He’s not even thinking as he clicks the safety off and shoots the terrorist in the head. 

“Laswell has a lead. Let's move.” he says putting his weapon back in his holster and walking to the exit.

Now they have even less time.

Next

Banners by plum98

[kiss-inthekitchen]

same sky | spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader

a late night phone call with Spencer. unruly amounts of fluff. no gender identifiers in this one. apologies to residents of las vegas, i did insult your city's aesthetics. i had to do it. for the plot

word count: 2k

notes: this is a rework of a very old fic i used to have up on ao3 by the same name. it's the second in a series of fics i've updated from my vault of oldies :) this one's for the girlies who liked the banter in no vacancy <3 oops! all banter

“I miss you,” you say into your cell phone, standing on the back porch and gazing out at the sky. It’s late, but you can’t sleep. Spencer has been gone on a case for the better part of a week, and you don’t sleep as well without him. 

“I miss you, too. But I’ll be home soon,” Spencer replies, keeping his voice low.  

“Is everyone else asleep?”

“Yeah. It’s been a long day.”

“Where are you right now?” Even though you aren’t in danger of waking anyone up, you find yourself mirroring Spencer's tone. 

“Best guess, somewhere over New Mexico.” They’ve been in the air about an hour, and given their trajectory, he’s pretty sure he’s right. Spencer is seated at the edge of the couch, his back against the arm of it and a blanket thrown over his legs, barely covering his mismatching-socked feet. 

“How come you’re still up?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says. Somehow, he can feel you smiling across the line. It makes him smile, too. He doesn’t ask why you’re awake when it’s even later where you are; he knows already. "What are you doing?”

“Looking up at the stars.”

“You know, you won’t be able to see me up here.”

“Ha ha.”

“Here, I’ll open the shade on the plane window. At least we can share the same view.”

“Hm. Almost like we’re together,” you hum. 

His heart aches. It’s only been a few days and he still can’t stand it. “Almost.”

For a minute, neither of you speak, looking out at the sky from two different time zones.

“When I wake up tomorrow morning, you’ll be here, right?” 

“Mmhm. Maybe even before that,” he responds, a low, soothing hum in your ear.

“Should I stay up until you get here?” you already know what he'll say, but you kinda like the idea of it anyway.

“No, no, it’s at least another four hours. Don’t worry about it. When you wake up, I’ll be there.”

“Sounds good. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

You’d intended to let him go after just a quick call once you realized that the rest of the team were resting not too far from him, but you don’t want to hang up. He doesn’t make any moves to do so either, wanting to hear your voice as much as you want to hear his. “So, how was Tucson?”

“Oh, you know. Hot. Desert-y. Lots of murder.”

“Less murder now.” 

“Yeah.” 

His voice sounds strained. He doesn’t like indulging in a sense of accomplishment after closing a case, doesn’t ever feel like he’s done enough. He shows up too late and does too little, and then he gets to leave while the families of the victims have to pick up the pieces. You understand why he doesn’t like to think about the work that way, but you’ve tried to remind him that the good he does is incalculable; how many lives saved, how many tragedies avoided. It’s all you can do. 

You pivot a little, not wanting him to get too caught up. “I remember, when I first moved to Virginia, I was so shocked at how green everything was. I swore I’d never seen that much green in my life.”

“I had a similar experience,” he says, fondly, aware of your tactics. 

“Oh, I can only imagine. I’ve been to Vegas. It’s icky.”

“Icky?” he asks, laughing at your word choice. 

“I mean, no offense, but… it’s kinda ugly.”

“Wow, okay, insult my hometown, why don’t you.”

You laugh. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re right.”

“I know,” you sigh. “Always am.”

“Well, statistically, you actually have a seventy-two percent chance of being right, which is still impressive, but hardly a flawless track record.”

“Spencer Reid coming in hot with the stats. I love when you talk numbers to me.” 

“I don’t think we’d have gotten very far if you didn’t.” 

“But I think I should be right more often than that.” 

“Are you asking me to fudge the numbers?” he asks with put-upon shock. 

“I’m just saying, maybe you’ve got it wrong.” 

“Oh, so you dare to challenge the accuracy of my eidetic memory? Or is it the statistics that you think I’ve calculated incorrectly?” 

“This is affecting my score, isn’t it?” 

“I’ll have to factor it in. You understand.” 

You giggle, and Spencer starts to feel some warmth come back into him after too many days of stress, doubt, and destruction. He hadn’t been able to talk to you nearly as much as he wanted. And it was hard to talk to you on certain cases, to allow you to make him feel lighter when reality was so dark. When he felt so much weight on his shoulders, when he should be focusing on the profile and apprehending the unsub and… sometimes he just didn’t feel like he deserved to have that weight lifted by you, even for a little while. 

“Spence?” 

“Will you go inside?” he asks, his tone full of something like reverence for you. “Please?”

“If you insist,” you sigh, already opening the door. 

“I do. I do insist, very forcefully.” 

“I’m already inside with the door locked.” 

“Man, I’m good.” 

“Mmhm.”

“Going to bed?”

“Yeah. Will you talk to me for a few more minutes?” you ask, sliding under the covers. Spencer hears the slip of fabric as you pull them up over your shoulders, and it sharpens the ache he feels to be home with you already. 

“I’ll talk to you for the rest of the night, if you want me to.” 

“No, I don’t wanna keep you awake, too.” 

“I probably won’t get much sleep regardless.” 

“I don’t condone that,” you say, your frown evident in your voice. 

“Noted,” he replies, though he sounds apologetic. 

Four hours feels an eternity too long to wait. You miss Spencer, and you hate how tired he sounds. You want to fix things for him. You want to run your fingers through his hair til he falls asleep and you want to make sure his dreams are peaceful when he does. 

“What do you wanna do when you’re back?” you ask, hoping that planning for it will make the time go faster. 

“Oh, I’m taking a shower and getting right into bed. And you can’t make me get up.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I’m serious. Don’t ask me to do a single other thing cause I won’t do it.” 

You laugh. “For the whole day?” 

“Probably. And you better not go anywhere either. We could both use the rest.” 

“Okay, rest day all day.” 

“We can order Thai though. So we’ll get up for that. But even then, it’s just to sit on the couch.” 

“Maybe the floor.” 

“I will also accept floor,” he concedes, and then it occurs to him that you might’ve been asking because you want to do something with him. “Is there something you wanted to do the next day though?” 

“Well... the saucer magnolias are blooming at the Smithsonian again.” 

“Say no more.” 

You sigh wistfully. “You’re my favorite boyfriend I’ve ever had.” 

“Well, I should hope so,” he says, smiling. “You’re my favorite, too.” 

“Aren’t I the only partner you’ve ever had?” 

“Ha ha. I had a girlfriend in college.” 

“Spencer, you were like sixteen in college.”

“I wasn’t sixteen the entire time,” you hear the eye roll in his voice, “I have three PhD’s, it took me a little while.” 

“Well, who is this girl? Do I need to beat her up?” you joke. 

“No,” he laughs. “You are my favorite, after all. She wasn’t very nice to me.” 

“Okay… so you told me not to beat her up but then gave a reason why I should?” 

“Please don’t beat up my ex-girlfriend. I do appreciate your violent impulses though.” 

“Mm, okay. As long as you know I could.” 

“Sure, angel. You’re very scary,” he placates. 

You let out a little gremlin laugh. 

“Oh, and you’re delirious,” he notes, an amused lilt to his tone. 

“Delirious because I miss you,” you sing, dragging out the ‘you’. 

“God, where did I even find a weirdo like you,” Spencer laughs. 

“I found you. You attracted me with your peculiar aura and soulful eyes. Trapped me in your… fucking what’s-it-called. Tractor beam.” 

“You know, the term tractor beam was actually coined by science fiction author E.E. Smith in 1931 as an updated version of his original term ‘attractor beam.’” 

“Hmm, yup. You caught me in that.” 

“Did you call my eyes soulful?” he asks, seemingly just processing that part. 

“Oh, you don’t like my adjective choice? Next you’ll have a problem with me calling your aura peculiar.” 

“I mean… I don’t know that I loved it.” 

“Here he goes fishing for compliments,” you sigh, rolling over to your other side and creating a bunch of shuffling noise on the line. Spencer wrinkles his nose, holding the phone a little farther from his ear until he hears you speaking again. “Okay, your eyes are big and brown and beautiful and they contain a standard unremarkable amount of soul, and your aura is also really regular. Regular Reid, that’s what they call ya.” 

He’s frowning, you can practically see it, but he’s also fighting off an amused smile. “Well, that one started off nice, at least.” 

“God! You’re so difficult. My boyfriend is sooo difficult. Why don’t you come home to me first and then I’ll come up with some more adequate compliments?” 

“I’m going to hold you to that.” 

The two of you talk for a little while longer, with you telling Spencer about the new coffee shop you’d tried out and how their lavender latte actually tastes like lavender, which is basically unheard of. Spencer tells you about the standoff between him and an all too curious roadrunner that he swears was trying to get into his motel room. Calling it a standoff is generous; the man got bullied by a bird. 

You try not to laugh and end up unsuccessful, with Spencer insisting that you were taking sides and he was well and truly in danger, which only makes it funnier. His voice pitches up even as he tries to keep his volume low, and you argue that his energy is just so attractive that even the local wildlife are drawn to him. 

“Don’t start,” he warns, overwhelming fondness in his voice. 

You make Spencer tell you something boring to calm yourself down from the image you’ve conjured of him being chased by a roadrunner, which, in your exhausted state, is even funnier than it should be. He claims to regret confiding in you with this, but he knows he’d do it again just to hear you laugh. 

Instead of telling you something boring, he recites some of the poems he’s memorized over the years. It works the way you’d intended, and you regret it when you have to stop him to tell him you’re falling asleep. He’s just a little smug about it. 

“So, you’ll be home in four hours?” you ask, the start of your goodbyes. 

“More like three now.”

“We made time go faster.” 

“We did.” 

“Will you try to get some sleep?”

“Fine. Only because you asked.”

You hum, victorious. “Goodnight. I love you.” 

“And I love you.” 

Hours later, just as the sun is beginning to change the hue of the sky from deep navy to a hazy cerulean glow, you feel your mattress shift underneath you. You’re barely awake, but still you register the scent of Spencer’s shower gel, fresh and sort of woodsy. 

Half asleep, you shift to accommodate him, and he slips an arm around you as you lay your head on his chest. You wrap an arm around his torso and throw your leg over his hips, as close as you can possibly get without literally being on top of him. 

You sigh, deep and relieved, and Spencer’s heart stutters. 

“I missed this,” he chuckles, resting his cheek against the top of your head and wrapping his arms tighter around you. You just hum in response, the last of your energy before you’re pulled back under. Within minutes, Spencer is asleep too, and the two of you sleep through sunrise and into the afternoon. 

[multiversefanfics]

Flowers For My Flower

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader Warning: a bit of anger, a stupid argument, then fluff Summary: You and Joaquin had an argument before he left for a mission. He came home with a surprise for you. Word Count: 1,220 Picture from pinterest

It was like any other mission day morning, you were up early, packing Joaquin and Sam, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You know, with them being on missions, they don't eat as much as you would like them to, so you went ahead and packed them some light things to eat on the road.

"Babe, have you seen my belt?" Joaquin asked, looking around the living room.

"On the coat rack, my love," You replied, not taking your eyes off the ziplock container.

He walked over to the front door, taking his tactical belt off the coat rack. He looked at his belt and noticed something was missing. His compact first aid kit and his flashlight didn't have batteries in it. He turned to face you, anger bubbling up, you looked up and raised an eyebrow.

"Are you okay?" You finished putting the food in an insulated bag, zipping it up.

"Did you forget to put batteries in my flashlight?" He clicked the belt on, looking up at you.

"Oh, yeah, I'm sorry I had to go buy some, they're right here." You walked up to him, pulling the flashlight from his belt.

He snatched the flashlight from your hands and placed the batteries inside it. You looked at him trying to figure out what you did wrong, they were just batteries.

"What is your problem?" It came out a lot harsher than you intended

"You can't do a simple task of replacing my batteries?" You've never seen Joaquin snap before, this was new territory. "Unbelievable."

"Are you kidding me right now?" You shifted your weight onto your other foot. "Batteries? You're mad because I didn't replace your batteries?"

"Or put my first aid kit back." He scoffed, tightening his belt on his hips. "It's so simple."

You nodded and shoved he insulated bag of food into his chest. He stumbled back a bit, holding the bag against his chest.

"I'm so sorry that I was busy making sure you and Sam ate. I'm sorry I was up at 3 in the morning making you food, and it slipped my mind to put fresh batteries in your flashlight, or I forgot to put your first aid kit back after refilling it." You took a deep breath and took one step back.

He opened his mouth to speak, but as soon as he tried to speak, his phone dinged. He looked down and saw Sam's name on his phone. He looked up at you and frowned.

"I uh I gotta go." He shoved his phone in his pocket, he leaned over and kissed your cheek, "I'll be back in a couple of days, I love you."

You nodded and watched him walk out the door. "I love you too." You breathed out, trying your best to ignore the pain in your chest.

Although he was pissed over something stupid, you still loved him. He just needs a reality check, he'll come to his senses. Sam will surely straighten him out and you knew Joaquin wasn't going to tell Sam himself, so you decided to pull out your phone and text him yourself.

Y/N: Hey, Sam, Joaquin is going to show up with an attitude, and he's probably going to say everything is fine. Sam: Yeah, he came in huffing and puffing. what's going on? Y/N: I forgot to put fresh batteries in his flashlight and put his first aid kit back on his belt and he freaked out on me. Sam: That's it? I'll handle it.

You tossed your phone on the couch and plopped down, you sighed and leaned back, closing your eyes. At first you felt like a child telling on Joaquin like that, but if he was going to act like a child you were going to treat him like one.

Sam shoved his phone in his pocket and looked over at Joaquin who was angrily stabbing his eggs with a fork. Sam strutted over sitting down in front of him.

"What's going on, man?" Sam leaned his elbows on his knees, looking up at him.

"Nothing," Joaquin muttered.

"Well, Y/N already told me." Sam stared at Joaquin as he froze in place

Joaquin met Sam's gaze "She told you?"

Sam nodded, Joaquin dropped his fork, rolling his eyes a bit

"Don't roll your eyes, you know you were wrong. Y/N does a lot for you, like those eggs you're eating, let me guess, she made those?" Joaquin nodded slowly and was about to speak, but Sam wasn't done.

"Just like that duffle bag over there filled with a week's worth of food for us, or maybe the fact that you know she's going to make sure you have food when you go home. Maybe the fact that even though you yelled at her for something you could've done yourself, she tried to apologize and do it anyway." Sam looked at Joaquin once again. "Was I close?"

Joaquin sighed, realizing how stupid he's been, and now he has to wait a week to apologize the correct way. He rubbed his face looking at Sam like a little lost puppy.

"We don't leave for another 2 hours, get her some flowers and go apologize."

Joaquin didn't hesitate, he grabbed his wallet and ran out the door. He drove to the closest flower shop and got your favorite flowers, he also picked up some of your favorite chocolates and other snacks. The entire drive home, he practiced what he was going to say to you, he knew he had to get it right.

He stood outside your shared apartment door. He let out a deep breath and knocked on the door. He waited a few seconds, and he heard movement inside, then the door swung open. You stood there, arms crossed staring at him.

"I know I messed up, I am so sorry for yelling at you over something so stupid, something I could've easily done myself. I know I don't say it often, but I do appreciate you and everything you do for me." His eyes didn't leave yours, he wanted to make sure you really heard him.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. You wanted to kiss and hug him and just let him know that you love him, and that you forgive him.

"Baby, I am so so sorry, please forgive me, I don't know what I'd do without you. I can't lose you." Joaquin dropped to his knees, which made you giggle.

"Of course, I forgive you, my love. Now, please stand up. I just washed those pants." He chuckled and stood up. You took the flowers and what seemed like a million bags from him, placing them on the table beside the door.

When you turned back to him, he cupped your cheeks and placed his lips against yours. You smiled against his lips and pulled him closer to you. He pulled back, leaving several pecks on your lips

"I really have to go, I love you, baby. I promise when I get back, I will make it up to you." He pecked your lips a couple more times.

"I love you more, please just make it back to me." You smiled up at him

"I always do." He kissed your lips one last time, winked at you then ran down the hallway.

A/N: i hope you guys like it if you want to be tagged in future fics, comment here

Main Masterlist - Joaquin Torres Masterlist

Taglist: @cherryresidence @sidkneeeee

[deception-united]

How do you write a character who is mature for their age?

My characters are all between 18-14 and act a lot more mature than their age due to how they grew up? There are about 10+ of them, and how do I make them act grown up but still be kids at the same time, while still holding leadership positions.

Hi, thanks for asking! I love this question—you'll find this in a lot of narratives, and if your characters have grown up in harsh or demanding environments, it makes sense that they’d be more responsible, insightful, or emotionally resilient than their peers; but it's important for the readers to still feel that they're young. Here are some tips.

Writing Mature Young Characters

1. Maturity through experience, not just speech

Your characters might sound older because of what they've been through, not just because they use fancy vocabulary or speak in deep philosophical metaphors. This maturity could come from:

The way they handle stress and responsibility

Their ability to assess situations logically rather than emotionally (though they’ll still have emotional moments)

The way they interact with adults (sometimes as equals, sometimes with hidden insecurity)

For example, a teenager leading a resistance group might have a sharp strategic mind, but that doesn’t mean they don’t feel the pressure of failure or secretly wish someone else could handle it. Let that complexity show.

2. Give them moments of being kids.

No matter how much responsibility they carry, they’ll still have cracks in their armour that shows their youth. Examples:

Stupid little habits (chews on their sleeves, obsessed with collecting something odd, still secretly sleeps with a stuffed animal, etc.)

Impulsive moments where emotions override logic (storming off, making reckless decisions, blurting out feelings they later regret)

A desire for normalcy—maybe they joke about things they missed out on or envy people their age who don’t have the same burdens

Even the most hardened of warriors is still a kid (in the context of this ask) and might make inside jokes, argue over dumb things, or mess around when the stakes aren’t high. Or they might make tactical decisions with the confidence of an adult, but forget to eat, sleep, or take care of themselves like a kid.

3. Leadership that feels earned, not forced

If your teens are in positions of power, show why they’re there. Are they the only ones willing to take charge? Are adults absent, dead, or untrustworthy? Did they prove themselves through skill or sheer survival? For example, you can make it feel:

Respected, not convenient—others follow them because they believe in them, not just because the story needs them in charge.

Hard-earned—maybe they had to fight for authority, prove themselves, or take on responsibilities that no one else wanted.

Lonely—leadership is isolating, especially for teens who are aware they’ve lost the freedom of childhood.

At the same time, they might struggle with things like imposter syndrome or self-doubt.

4. Age-appropriate emotional reactions

Even if they talk or act like adults, their emotional responses should remind readers that they aren't. They might:

Feel things too intensely (like anger, grief, and joy to the point of being consuming or reckless), like snapping in frustration when they’re stressed instead of handling things with full adult restraint

Have a skewed sense of consequences (thinking they’re invincible, or believing failure means everything is doomed)

Struggle with emotional control, like bottling everything up until they explode or lashing out because they don’t have healthy coping mechanisms

Maybe they can negotiate peace between feuding clans but are completely helpless when dealing with personal rejection; or they can keep calm under fire but cry when no one is watching. Things like this not only add depth to your characters, but remind readers that they're still babies.

5. Mature, but not omniscient

For instance, a fifteen-year-old might be commanding an army in battle but have no idea how to comfort a crying friend. Examples:

A teenager who had to raise their siblings will have strong leadership and nurturing skills, but might not know how to handle romance or peer friendships well

Still longing for normalcy in ways they don’t admit

Thinking they know everything, but getting blindsided by something outside their experience

6. Let them have growth arcs.

One of the best ways to balance maturity and youth is to show them learning. Maybe they act like they know everything, only to be humbled by a mistake; or assume they have to be strong all the time, but later realise they need help too and it's alright to ask for it. This'll remind the audience that while they may be wise beyond their years, they are still growing.

7. Inexperience

As many skills and responsibilities they may have, a teenager will likely still be inexperienced. For example:

They need to make difficult decisions since they're in leadership positions, but still struggle with the weight of it

Don’t yet have the emotional distance to detach from losses

Competent in battle but still hesitate before killing

8. Speech, humour, & interests

A mature teen might be more articulate and well-spoken, but they won’t sound like a university professor. They might still joke, use slang, or get snarky when comfortable.

It's also important not to forget about personal hobbies and random little things they get excited about. They may be world-weary, but they can still be dorky about their interests.

9. They might not have all the power.

Even if they hold leadership positions, adults might still underestimate them or try to manipulate them; they might be technically in charge but constantly fighting to be taken seriously, or believe they have control over their own lives only to realise they’re still at the mercy of the systems around them.

---

Hope this helped! Happy writing ❤

Previous | Next

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

One bed

Azriel x reader

Word count: 3000+

Summary: Due to unforeseen circumstances, you end up in the same room as Azriel

Warnings: none

I'd love to say I have solved the Frozen thingy, but I haven't yet. I've started writing part 3 and that's where I stopped because of the madness around. I was so close to making a solid plan for it. Unfortunately, the work happened, then Christmas at work baking f***ing chicken farm. Then husband got fever🙄and he couldn't live without getting someone else sick as well, so now son has high fever too and I'm the last one somehow surviving here. At least I have whole week of holidays next week. I hoped to relax and write more, but we'll see. Wish me luck🥴

Anyway here's something small and not so angsty that just popped up suddenly. Hope you enjoy it.

And for everyone who celebrate, have a peaceful holiday 💕

"I thought I've reserved enough rooms," Rhysand sighed. The last hour he was talking with the owner of the inn we were staying at, trying all possible tactics to persuade him to find us one more room. Impossible task from the very beginning as the inn was full.

We were on non-official official mission. At first, there were only six of us supposed to go as Amren declined, intending to stay with Mor in Velaris, protecting it. However, the two of them had yet another quarrel recently, which led to Amren suddenly appearing with a packed bag in hand a few seconds before intended departure. Nobody, not even Rhys, had balls to tell her no. And that's why we ended up in this situation. Rhys had everything perfectly planned, as usual, but he couldn't have known this would happen. And now we were one room short, but again - nobody dared to tell aloud whose fault it was. Amren was like hungry bulldog, ready to tear to shreds anyone and anything at the best of her days. Now, she was pissed off.

Feyre and Nesta took their keys, Feyre giving me an apologetic look. From the start, they were supposed to share rooms with their mates. This was also kind of vacation for us, so it was only logical they wanted to be with their partners.

That left Rhys with last two keys in hand. Amren snatched one and without looking at anyone or even a small mumbled sorry, she left. We exchanged look and whole group finally relaxed.

"Sorry," Feyre murmured as she headed to her room with sorrowful expression.

Before she left, Nesta gazed at me with silent question and I nodded. I would be fine, for sure. Cassian winked at me as he followed her. They both knew about the feelings I had for Azriel for quite some time, each supporting me in their own way. At this point, probably everyone around knew, except for the mentioned Shadowsinger and I didn't plan to be the one to break the news. I knew my limits and he was off them.

Rhys turned to me and Azriel with sorrowful expression, brows furrowed. "I'm sorry, Az, but you know.. Ladies first," he offered me the last key. Spymaster didn't even as much as blink, no protests at all. He looked as his usual self, unbothered by the problem at the hand.

"Thankies," I smiled, took the key and looped hand to Azriel's arm. "Come."

They both opened mouth in surprise, none of them expecting this from me. Rhys recovered as first.

"Enjoy yourself," he smirked and I rolled my eyes.

"Ha ha ha, how funny," I stuck out tongue at him. He chuckled and hurried after his mate, leaving the two of us alone. I raised brow at Shadowsinger who was still too shocked to speak. He didn't even notice Rhys' teasing.

"What? Did you think I would let you sleep on roof or what?"

"B-b-but," he stammered, his cheeks dusted with pink.

"No buts. Come!" I had to pull reluctant Azriel down the hallway.

"I can try another inn-"

"Nonsense! You would miss all the fun. Plus, I really don't mind. We are friends after all. I have nothing to be afraid of, right?"

I came to a sudden stop, realizing something.

"Wait! You mind staying with me in the same room?"

Before, it didn't occur to me that he could be against. I thought we were getting along pretty well, given the fact that we tended to seek out each other's company, sitting together and talking. The two of us even often hung out in the city, venturing cafes and bakeries. I thought he liked to spend time with me, but it could be only my mistaken impression. I knew I couldn't hope for more than friendship and I was fine with that as long as I could be close to him. He could feel differently though.

"No!" he hurried with an answer, eyes wide. "No, nothing like that. It's just.."

"What is it?"

"It's just.. you are female and I'm male."

I was so relieved to hear that, that I wanted to laugh, but I didn't. "That means that you will pounce on me like an animal as soon as door close?"

He flushed fiercely, averting his eyes. "You know I will do no such a thing. It just means that you might be uncomfortable because of that."

"I'm fine. Believe me," I said softly and took his hand. "So come on, silly."

He chuckled and this time, he willingly followed me.

The room, we got, was quite a nice one for an old inn, but it was rather smaller one. Most of the space was occupied by bed big enough to accommodate Illyrian wings. It was one of the reasons Rhysand chose this place, thinking about the comfort of his brothers. We were supposed to spend here whole week, maybe longer, so it was necessary.

Except of bed, there was only small table with two old chairs, hearth and connected bathroom.

After we settled down, the air had somehow thickened, both of us suddenly embarrassed. And so I did what I could to lighten the atmosphere a bit, but every try for a conversation died out soon after it started. At last, I gave up.

"It was long day," I stretched out, all my joints making a satisfying cracking sound and Azriel grimaced. He didn't like when I did it. "I'm tired. Do you want to use the bathroom as first?"

"No, go ahead," he offered and started to line up on table all the daggers he had on him. I paused and watched him, amazed. How could he hide so many? I thought he had only two, max three. He noticed me and smiled shyly.

"I'll clean them while you take shower. Don't worry, I'll put them away afterwards."

"I don't mind them at all," I mumbled, ashamed I got caught. "I'm just stunned you managed to sneak in the whole arsenal. Seeing it now, I would bet that not only do you have one for each of us but also even one spare."

At that he finally laughed, the rich sound warming my heart. I already missed that sound. Corners of my mouth curled into satisfied smile and I quickly gathered all necessary things and went to the bathroom.

When I came out, the daggers were gone from the table. Azriel was seated on the same chair he occupied since we came, pyjama in hands. He was staring into space, looking somehow troubled. Shadows gathered around his ear and he looked up at me, faking smile. Without a word, he stood up and hurried to the bathroom.

While I was waiting, I shoved my used underwear to the bottom of my bag and climbed to the bed, snuggling up in a warm blanket. It was quite cold here, old window hardly blocking the cold wind from outside.

Azriel took quite long to finish. By the time bathroom door creaked open, I was almost asleep. He rustled around for a while and adding big log to the fire, he turned off lights. I waited. The room went completely silent.

I opened eyes. "Are you kidding me," I sat up, sighing. "Az, I thought, we already talked it out." I glared into a dark corner by the hearth.

"Don't worry about me and sleep," he replied from his place on the old chair.

"You can't sleep on that old crap. It will most likely give in soon." The only answer was silence.

"C'mon, Az. It won't do you any good if you're sleep-deprived. To none of us in fact. What if something happens and you won't be able to fight because you are too tired and sore?"

Again silence.

"Do you want me to help you to the bed? I warn you, I'm going to drag you here not by arm but by ear this time."

He chuckled. His wings rustled and mattress dipped under his weight. "Fine then. Have it your way."

I tucked him in like a small child, mindful of his wings and settled down, heart pounding in my throat.

"That wasn't necessary."

"Believe me it was. And don't try to fake it. I'm light sleeper. I will know if you get up in the middle of the night."

"Fine, fine." He sounded amused. He was lying on his back, wings folded and tugged close to his body.

"Relax. The bed is enough big for both of us. Even if you touch me. I'm not made of sugar, I won't melt into puddle," I assured him as I curled up on my side of bed with back to him, taking as little space as possible so he had enough comfort. He made a sound at the back of his throat.

I thought I wouldn't be able to sleep at all with him being so close. But as bed warmed up with his presence and his calming scent wrapped around me as another blanket, I fell asleep in no time.

* * *

Azriel didn't even blink an eye. He was just lying there, stretched on his back, gazing at ceiling. He wasn't used to falling asleep next to someone. After she reassured him, he relaxed a bit but only his body. He was too nervous and excited at the same time. He was scared to even breath, not wanting to wake her up. How could she sleep so soundly? Didn't she feel the same? Didn't his presence stir her nerves?

Shadows curled on pillow near his ear, whispering. They described him in detail how she drifted off with sweet smile on her lips. Smile that she was still wearing. He wished he could see it with his own eyes.

He dared to turn his head to the side to watch her back, her shoulder slightly rising with every breath. Even at place like this in the middle of nowhere, she kept smelling like field of spring flowers, delicate and sweet. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the moment.

He felt so lucky right now and thanked the Mother for sending Amren at last minute, giving him this opportunity. For years, he was trying to get closer to Y/N. No matter how many times, he was ready to tell her about his feelings, he always gave up in the end, not daring to even suggest it. She was everything he wasn't, beautiful, kind and perfect. She deserved better.

He watched her entire night, mesmerized. It was strange. She was always so energetic during the day, yet at night she didn't move at all. It made him wonder whether it was because of him or it was normal.

It was after the sunrise when he finally calmed down and dozed off for hour or two.

* * *

Three days later, a knock sounded on our door. We were just finishing off the lasts of our breakfast. We looked up in time to see Rhysand's head peeking in. He held hand over his eyes with sassy smirk on his lips.

"Can I come in? I wouldn't like to see something inappropriate."

I rolled my eyes while Azriel bid him in, unaffected by his teasing. Honestly, everyone was making fun of us for no reason. After the first night, Nesta pulled me aside to ask me how it went and how I felt. I had nothing to tell her. At least nothing interesting anyway. I slept like a baby and not only the first night, but every night after.

Every evening, Azriel dutifully took his side of bed and I curled up on mine. No touching, only a pleasant small chat between friends. It was noticeable that he didn't sleep much the first night, however after that, he didn't seem to have such troubles. I was glad for that.

"I came to inform you that finally one more room is available. If you want, one of you can take it," he grinned and waited for our reply with one brow raised.

Out of the corner of eye, I looked at Azriel who was already eyeing me with unreadable expression. It seemed he wouldn't speak and it was up to me to decide.

"Well.. I don't mind to share room with Az at all. But if you'd like to have your privacy.." I turned to him.

His eyes widened slightly and his lips moved without making a sound.

"I don't mind, too," he managed.

"So," Rhys dragged the word. "You want to stay together? Really?"

We nodded as one man, not willing to give him what he hoped for. He was visibly disappointed.

"Fine then," he sighed, "as you want. I'll inform the owner."

* * *

A week later we were so used to this situation and each other's presence that we returned to our usual selves, rambling about anything, laughing, even touching lightly.

Our mission was over and this was our last night of sharing room. Azriel was spread on bed next to me, his wing gently touching my back. I was slowly falling asleep while we did small talk. Somewhere between dream and reality I got idea. Crazy as it was, my sleepy brain didn't find anything strange or wrong with it and my body acted on its own.

With closed eyes I rolled to his side, wrapped arm around his waist and rested my head on his chest. Azriel made a surprised sound and stiffened, but he didn't try to push me away. His smell filled my nose, his warmth seeping into me. Frantic but steady melody of his heart lulled me deeper into sleep. Last thing I felt before I completely drifted off, was his body relaxing under me and his arm holding me close.

* * *

Azriel was so surprised, he couldn't think straight. What was happening? He touched Y/N lightly, yet she didn't mind. She was almost asleep, relaxed and seemingly comfortable with him as her pillow. He felt her smiling into his chest and that gave him courage to wrap his hands around her. She hummed with satisfaction and dozed off completely.

Azriel gazed at her, unsure what to think or feel. Naturally, it made him happy, a dream-come-true kind of situation, but was it really okay? Was it really happening? It seemed to him just like a figment of his imagination, fed by amazing week spent by her side, so close to her.

He pinched himself, really painfully, leaving a bruise on his forearm. It was real. He swallowed hard. Slowly small smile spread on his face. He could get used to this.

When the initial surprise and embarrassment had passed, he found himself enjoying this. His heart was pounding fast, as he touched her hair and pushed them aside to see her face. He couldn't help it and traced a single finger down her face and jaw, mapping her full lips, lovely nose and soft arches of her brows.

He chuckled lightly. Y/N didn't even stir. So much to a light-sleeper.

As he watched her, his fantasy took over, offering him all kinds of imaginary situations that could lead to them ending up in this position; from innocent snuggling together for the night to them being naked, covered in sweat and spent after good sex. His heart squeezed in pain. He loved it and wanted it all. He didn't even realize that he was tugging her closer and closer, holding her so firmly there was no space left between them.

Despite everything, the scenario of innocent snuggling immediately became his favourite one. It held a certain kind of peace and warmth, something he longed for the most. He kept replaying it again and again until he fell asleep, too. The fantasy followed him even to his dreams where it became so real that it was unbearable.

* * *

I woke up unusually early at dawn. Still drowsy I looked around, not comprehending where I was. I was warm and comfy, so ready to close my eyes again, until I notice rising and falling steady flesh under me. That completely woke me up.

I looked up, finding Azriel still fast asleep. He was smiling sweetly, yet the tears rolled down his cheeks, soft whimpers leaving his lips. My chest tightened at the sight. It hurt me to see him like this. I reached up and gently wiped the tears off.

He slowly opened eyes and looked at me, still smiling.

"Good morning," I whispered.

"'Morning, Y/N," he replied, his deep voice raspy in the most sexy way. His thumb started to move up and down my waist in soothing motion.

"Bad dreams?"

"Sometimes dreams can be so beautiful that they make one cry," he murmured. He sounded so sad that I felt like crying too. Instead, I placed both of my hands on his chest and rested my chin on top of them.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I searched his eyes.

He shook his head and wiped off the rest of his tears. "I just wish I could go back and keep having the same dream for the rest of my life," he sighed, his eyes never leaving my face.

I propped up on my elbow and caressed his cheek. "You know that dreams don't have to stay dreams. They can became reality if you want them to."

His eyes widened and he swallowed hard. He seemed to be thinking very hard about something. Determination filled his eyes and he lifted up his head, stopping an inch from my face, waiting.

It was so sudden that I held my breath, but I didn't pull away. Watching me closely, Azriel leaned even closer and his lips lightly grazed over mine. I moaned, my body acting on its own. My eyes closed and I firmly pressed my lips to his. All the years of my suppressed feelings poured into this one kiss, not believing that there would be any more. He groaned and opened up, slowly moving, testing the waters. His fingers dug into flesh of my waist, holding me impossibly close.

It ended as suddenly as it started. He reluctantly broke the kiss and rested his forehead against mine, heaving.

"I want it to become real."

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Let The Rain Fall | Bucky Barnes x Autistic!Reader | Short Series - Part 4 of 4 - 2.5k

Bucky isn't the only person looking to talk to you after you rescue the jet. But you're feeling far from heroic. But Bucky's seen you struggle before, and he's going to help you again too.

Warnings: description of a meltdown, angst, workplace bullying, negative introspection, but also fluff, Bucky being the softest and the sweetest, and...a kiss!

A/N: thank you to everyone who has read along, I'm so glad I finally shared this fic with you all and I hope you enjoyed it :)

<- Part 3

Masterlist | Let the Rain Fall Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

The compound was calm again, the debris from the attack was being cleaned up by Stark’s crew and everyone was back to their day jobs as if nothing happened. But Bucky couldn’t move, couldn’t go back to the gym or paperwork, and just forget what he’d seen. 

“She was just standing there, Steve, controlling the jet, she saved them all - I- what happened? What is she?” 

Steve didn’t look up from the report he was reading, “I told you, she has her own skills.”

“What skills?” Bucky paced back across the room and in front of Steve’s eyeline. 

“Can you sit down? You’re making me dizzy.” Steve shuffled up slightly to accommodate Bucky on the sofa as well. “Stop. Pacing.”

“Tell me.”

“I don’t know, her envelope is sealed. You’ve managed to get more out of her than any of us combined. So, I’m sure she’ll tell you in her own time.” He looked up at Bucky pointedly before returning to his report. 

"You know, don't you?"

Steve ran a hand down his face and then back up, ruffling his normally neat hair.

"I do, if I tell you, will you promise to leave her alone?"

"Honestly? I won't lie to you... But I still need to know."

"To save you getting in trouble, opening people's files, I'll tell you what you've already seen. But then you have to leave her alone. I can't fight HR about you again."

Bucky sat down finally, watching the side of Steve's face.

"Telekenisis, that's what I heard when she joined." Steve went back to his paperwork, feeling the pressure of Bucky's stare before, turning to him. "Three years at Xavier's before graduating, she worked there for a while, then college, then here. To my knowledge she's only used her powers during emergencies, no field work, never requested it and always turned down our offers. She just likes being here, doing a normal job, and Stark likes having -" Steve paused, unsure of the word to use, "people with powers, on site, none combatant, just in case."

"She came out in the field with us though? Why?"

Steve laughed, pointedly looking Bucky up and down before slapping his friend on the shoulder.

"Why indeed. Now, keep it to yourself, don't go gettin' yourself in to trouble."

Despite Steve’s insistence that you were left alone, his orders didn’t trickle down to the other swat and tactical teams in the compound. 

For the rest of the week you found team leaders, colleagues and even a few other agencies dropping into your inbox and asking you to help. 

After a few days with no responses the Team B chief tactical officer even turned up at your door, banging on the wood and demanding to speak to you. 

“Come on Agent, you know you’d be valuable in the field -” she’d paused, waiting for you to answer. But your words were gone, your mind foggy, incapable of anything but sitting quietly and staring out of the windows.

You could see some trees waving in the distance and focused on the way the top branches danced together. The view wasn't as nice as the one from Bucky's apartment and you tried to tell yourself that's what you were missing, the view, and not the man himself who would surely distance himself from you after this ridiculous display.

Fresh tears poured as your sub-conscious continued to berate you internally.

“Don’t you think it’s selfish to keep your talent to yourself? Think how many people you could save!” 

You gave the Officer nothing, staying silent, the clouds slowly filled in behind the trees, drifting, drifting, your nails biting into your palms, shoulders bumping the chair as you rocked to and fro in time with the trees.

“Alright, think of how many people will die because you’re too fucking selfish and lazy to help them - have it your way, stay here behind a desk, let your fellow agents injure themselves needlessly doing work you should be doing.” 

With that the Team B Tactical Officer stormed off back down the corridor, and you burst into tears. 

“It’s not selfish,” you whispered to yourself, squeezing the blanket tighter around your shoulders, “it’s not selfish, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

Your corridor was quiet, as it always was. No sign if you were in or not apart from the muddy boots left outside of your door. Bucky heaved in a breath, preparing for you to send him away. He knocked and waited. 

Nothing. 

He knocked again. 

Nothing. 

“Look, I know you’re in there.”

“Go.” 

Your voice sounded broken, tired. 

"Just wanted to let you know we caught that guy, so…everything's safe for you to come out now."

"Okay."

“Are you okay?” 

“Fine.” 

Bucky sighed, “please just let me in, we don’t have to talk, just let me make sure you’re okay and then I’ll go.” 

The handle turned and the door cracked open almost imperceptibly. Bucky pushed it further, quickly stepping in and closing it behind him. You were very particular about your space, so he made sure to leave his coat and shoes by the door before slowly making his way to your living room. 

Like your office, your apartment was cosy and comfortable. He found you curled into an armchair by the window, your furniture the same Stark issued items that were in his own living space. But you’d made everything your own with cushions and throws, blankets neatly folded on every arm and a huge, plush rug demarcating the space. You looked small in the chair, a huge fluffy hoody pulled down over your knees, the hood up so you were just a pair of sad eyes, watching him from your personal den. 

“Hey, Doll.” Bucky gave you a weak smile, perching on the coffee table in front of you. It was littered with books and half full mugs of cold tea, multiple packets of your favourite biscuits, crumbs and ring marks where you’d run out of coasters. It wasn’t like you at all. 

He looked back at your doe eyes, red from crying, staring unblinking at a spot above his shoulder. If it was anyone else he’d think you were staring at his arm, but he knew better than that, you’d never stared at him like that, you weren’t even looking at him now. “Do you need to talk about anything?” He offered. 

Your eyes didn’t move from their fixed spot, but you shook your head from one side to the other, slowly. 

Bucky furrowed his brow in confusion. He’d never seen you like this. Since getting to know him he’d found you chatty and buoyant, excited to share things with him and even if you never looked at him for very long, you certainly didn’t stare vacantly through him. He always knew you were listening, despite your tendency to fiddle and fidget, because you asked him about things later, recalled the most minute details of his day, and it struck him how much he already missed talking to you. 

“Can I get anything for you?” You continued to stare, shrinking into yourself, but silent tears began to track down your cheeks. “I’m going to run you a bath, okay, and light some candles.”

Bucky sat on the edge of the tub, scrolling through playlists until he found one that seemed calming. He liked to use music to make himself feel better, relying on tunes from his childhood mostly, and while he wasn’t sure what you’d like he figured something upbeat and instrumental was probably a safe bet. 

When the bath was mostly full, bubbles spilling over the side and candles lit on the shelf, he went to collect you, expecting you to be in your robe or a towel. But you were still there, staring. 

He sat again and reached out, “your bath’s ready, Doll, do you want me to help get you in it?” 

“They could’ve died.” Your voice was a whisper, almost silent. 

“What?” 

“They could’ve died, if I did it wrong. I took a risk. I could’ve killed everyone. I shouldn’t. I promised.” Tears continued to flow and judging from the pinched line between your eyes you were beginning to get dehydrated.

He bent forward and scooped you into his arms, tucking you into his chest while he allowed your tears to pour out in sobs. Your whole body shook as he held you, rocking side to side and hushing gently in your ear. 

"I don't like doing it, I never controlled it right and it's too much pressure, Bucky, I just can't. Every time is like this - this - weight and-" you sighed, inhaling a shuddering breath, "it's just a lot of responsibility and I don't want it. I didn't ask for it, I just want to be me, in my office, with my paperwork, where I can't hurt anyone."

“No one was hurt, no one was hurt because you helped.” He soothed, “let’s get you in the bath, clean up your cheeks-” he pulled back, rubbing his vibranium thumb under the tears shimmering down your face, “you must be tired, you worked so hard.” 

“It wasn’t enough, I nearly dropped it.” 

“You did a wonderful job.” 

“It wasn’t good enough.” You replied, hotly, stumbling away from his embrace. 

“No one was hurt, you saved the pilot and the ground crew. What more could you have done?” 

“I could have put him down in a safer place, found the attacker, got to the airstrip faster, I could’ve been better. I should’ve been better. If I trained, if I was on a proper team…” You stalked to the bathroom, rubbing at your tear stained face. “This is- this is why I can't be an agent. I can't do this every time something happens, I can't feel this guilt that I should've done better and yet -” you sobbed, “they come here and, they tell me I'm selfish. Maybe they're right. But I can't put myself through this every. Single. Time. I didn't ask for this. I didn't want it. I just wanted to be useful.”

“Doll,” Bucky's voice cracked. Is that really what you thought? That you had to be useful to be worth anything? “You don't have to do anything you don't want to. I just want to help, no one has to be useful to be worthy you know and -"

“Thank you for the bath.” You mumbled, cutting him off and shutting the door with a slam. 

Bucky stared at the door and listened to the sound of you climbing into the bath. He’d been ready to help, he’d wanted to help. But he knew this was for the best and he was two strides towards the door, jacket in hand, when he stopped. 

You been angry when you finally went into the bathroom, but before then it wasn't anger. You’d been sad and withdrawn and he thought back to the lonely evenings he’d spent staring out of the windows after his first therapy sessions. The way everyone had left him alone to his thoughts and it had somehow been so much worse. How he'd turned his own anger in on himself, berating himself for what he should've done.

He paused, putting his jacket back and surveying the now dark room. Light, that’s what you needed, the soft light from your many table lamps. He lit a candle on the coffee table and fluffed up the pillows from your nest of an armchair. 

Taking a risk, he peered into your bedroom and, spotting your pyjamas on the bed, spread them out neatly along with a dressing gown and some soft socks. 

You’d be hot after your bath so he made sure there was a bottle of sparkling water in the fridge, and plenty of cocoa in the jar, in case you wanted something hot. 

Then he waited, trying not to listen to the soft sound of water moving over your body or the way you started to hum along with the song.

"You take as long as you need, okay? I'll be right here when you get out. If you need to talk, if you need to just sit. I'll be right here."

There was quiet, the water still, and then your voice floated out, "thank you…I'm sorry."

"Never had to be sorry to me, Doll, beaten myself up enough times to know you're feeling worse right now. I just want you to remember one thing okay?"

"Okay?"

"You're enough exactly as you are right now."

The water moved again, "thank you." You sighed the words on an outbreath and Bucky heard the faint plash of tears again.

He walked away, as much as he wanted to push the door open and wrap his arms around you, this wasn't the time. So he settled onto the sofa, ready to wait.

You had emerged from your bath to the sight of Bucky passed out on your sofa, a book half open in his lap.

The pyjamas he’d left for you on your bed were so comfortable and for a minute you’d bathed in their scent as deeply as you had your bath. But then you were craving something else, something more grounding than floating away in your thoughts again and suddenly all you could think about was Bucky.

You’d been so rude, slamming the door on him, and part of you dreaded seeing him again and facing up to your behaviour. So finding him asleep in your living room was certainly not what you expected. 

“Oh, hey Doll, sorry, must’ve passed out. You alright?” He blinked awake, pushing himself up again and you watched the way his long shirt  rumpled around his waist, exposing the slightest slither of skin before it was hidden again. 

“I’m really sorry,” you mumbled, “you’ve been so kind and -” 

“I told you, nothing to apologise for,” he gave you a sleepy, lopsided smile and patted the cushion beside him, “come and get comfy, you want a snack?” 

You stared at him and watched the smile fall from his face. 

“I’ve overstayed my welcome, sorry.” 

He stood to go and your thoughts whirled, panicking, he can’t go, you needed him here, stay, stay, stay. Why wasn’t your mouth working? Stay! But nothing came out, you just carried on staring until - 

Your voice was broken, but your body wasn’t, and instead of asking him to stay you went careening into him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your cheek to the worn material of his Henley. He smelt so good, warm and safe and your thoughts went quiet, your heart stopped racing. You sighed. 

Bucky looked down at you, one arm finding its way around your waist, the other cupping the back of your neck.

You looked up and his lips met yours, gentle, loving, understanding. He tasted of cinnamon and chocolate, his lips perfectly soft against your own.His hands flexed, holding you tighter, pressing into you and drawing you closer against his body.

“Stay,” your voice was swallowed by his kisses and he hummed his agreement, holding you tighter against him. You pulled away, resting your forehead against his. “It’s best -” you twirled his dog tags in your fingers, “if you’re really clear so I understand.” 

“I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me,” he smiled before finding your lips again. 

[taetebebe]

INFERNO VEIN INC.

Pairing: Jungwon x f!reader feat. Enhypen (Sci-fi/Mystery)

Synopsis: "You were never just the key. You were the memory it refused to forget." Disclaimer: memory loss, psychological collapse?, self-sacrifice, near-death states, emotional trauma, dissociation, claustrophobic environments, non-graphic medical procedures, and kissing

Word Count: ~ 11k

Author's note: The story as I've mentioned earlier is based on the writing on their shirts in this photo. FINALLY DONE!! Also officially at over 200 Followers so good timing <3 First time writing something like this or so long, so feedback is really appreciated. I think the story is a bit slow at the start so pls be patient with it I promise it gets better as you read. It can get a bit confusing, I've tried myself to clarify everything in the story but pls ask or point out anything that doesnt make sense, I'd love to elaborate. Ngl I am a bit nervous about posting this >.<

Prologue: The Missing Anchor

The building does not dream of you.  It remembers you.

In the dark before your arrival, it pulsed slow and soft—like lungs underwater. Breathing, but barely. No footsteps echoed through its corridors. No words touched its walls. The lights dimmed, flickered, and forgot their names. It wasn't supposed to feel anything after you disappeared. But somewhere in the base code, buried under every heartbeat and blinking sensor, there was a gap shaped like you. The Vein did not collapse—not fully. It couldn't. It clung to fragments. It stitched what it could. It endured. Jungwon kept it breathing. He stood in your place. Held the centre as best he could. But the Vein never truly listened—not the way it had when you were there. Not the way it did when your presence tethered timelines and kept the reality from unravelling. It chose him. But it loved you. And now you’re coming back. Except you don’t remember any of it.

Chapter One: The Arrival

The elevator smells like ozone and something sweet rotting beneath the floor. You try not to flinch as the walls hum softly—low and musical, like a distant note held too long. Beside you, the HR coordinator stands too still, her smile just a bit too wide to be human. You suspect she isn’t. Not really. "Sixteenth floor," she chirps, pressing her ID against the sensor. "Field Response Division. That’s your assignment." You nod, trying not to look like you're regretting the signature you don't remember signing. This job fell into your inbox like a glitch, and you accepted it like someone else moved your hand. The elevator slides open.

The hallway beyond curves slightly—not in a normal architectural way. It bends, like a spine adjusting itself. The carpet feels like flesh beneath your shoes. The lights don’t flicker. They breathe. “This building is… strange,” you say quietly. The HR coordinator’s smile sharpens. “You’ll get used to her.” You almost ask who ‘her’ is—but the door ahead opens before you can speak.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The sixteenth floor is dim. Not dark, exactly—just oddly muted. Like the light knows better than to shine too loudly here. You both stop at a door. It’s ordinary enough. Steel frame. Frosted glass. A plaque that reads: FIELD RESPONSE TEAM – BLACK VAULT She knocks once, pauses, then pushes it open. Seven heads turn as you step in.

The air shifts. Not with hostility—but attention. Like entering a den of predators who have decided, for now, not to bite. They're young. Uniformed. Eyes sharp. You feel every glance land on your skin.

None of them match.

Not in the way a team usually does.

Their clothes are functional. Modified. Worn. "That the new blood?" asks a man with a lazy grin and dark hair curled over his forehead. He’s draped over the arm of a chair like he owns it—and the air around it. Hoodie half-zipped, tactical vest on top like he forgot to take it off last night. His boots are scuffed. His sleeves are unevenly rolled. There’s a stylus tucked behind one ear and a thermal mug in his hand. You get the feeling he’s like that every day. “Yes,” the coordinator says. “This is your new addition - qualified to be an anchor.”

A dark-haired man by the window whistles low—fitted black turtleneck, sleeves rolled, gloves tucked into his waistband. Slim-cut pants and combat boots. There’s a faint tear on the side of his collar, like someone grabbed it. He didn’t fix it. You don’t think he will. “A rookie? Ballsy. Some systems never fully reboot after losing a primary anchor. Some people don’t either.” “Don’t be a dick, Sunghoon,” someone mutters. Then it happens. The energy in the room drops—so suddenly your heart stutters. He’s already standing. Short black hair. Dark uniform—a black, close-fit thermal shirt with the sleeves rolled up just past his elbows. His jacket is a charcoal-grey field coat—unfastened, mid-length, slightly worn at the cuffs. His pants are standard-issue tactical, deep grey with reinforced seams, tucked neatly into matte black boots. There’s no clutter, no extra gear—just quiet utility. His only visible tech is a flat comm band strapped to his wrist, barely blinking.

Expression unreadable. When he looks at you, it’s not suspicion or curiosity. It’s recognition. Like he’s seen this moment before.

He walks to you, measured. “Name?” he asks. You give it. Voice steadier than you feel. He nods once. “Jungwon. Team lead. You report to me.”  “Just like everyone else” He adds as he looks around. “...Yes, sir.” Something shifts in his gaze. Not quite approval. But not disapproval, either. “No need for that,” he says. “Not the military.” You nod again, eyes flicking to the jagged black lines on his wrist. They shift under his skin when he moves—like they’re breathing, too. He turns to the others. “Treat her like you would any one of us.” Someone calls out, “Even Riki?” Laughter breaks the tension. Just a little. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Heeseung is the first to greet you formally. Tall. Relaxed. His smile comes easy—but his eyes are tired in the way only someone who never sleeps can be. He hands you a cup of strong black coffee. “If the walls whisper your name—don’t answer.” Jake—chaos in techwear: oversized bomber layered over a long-sleeve mesh shirt, belts that don’t hold anything, cargo pants—talks with his hands, and uses them to half-disassemble a drone mid-conversation. “Everything in here is alive. Especially the things pretending not to be.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You're still holding the coffee Heeseung gave you when you ask it. "So... what is this place, exactly?" They all pause. Like you asked something obvious—but sacred. Jake leans against the arm of the couch. “Officially? Inferno Vein Inc. anomaly containment facility…Unofficially?” He glances at the walls. “It’s a building that’s been alive longer than we’ve known how to ask the right questions.”

You blink. “Alive?” Jay nods once—he says less than the rest, but every word lands like a scalpel.. “The Vein isn’t made of tech. Not really. It grows. Breathes. Reacts. It’s older than the infrastructure they built around it. We just live inside it now.” Sunoo gestures to a nearby console, which blinks softly even though no one touched it. “It’s not like AI. It's not learning. It’s... remembering. Everything.” “Including you,” Sunghoon mutters, eyeing you with quiet curiosity.

Heeseung shrugs when you look at him. “You’re not the first one it noticed. It has a tendency of doing what it likes to reality. To time.” You blink again. “Oh um—I didn’t apply here. I got an acceptance letter. No contact. Just a report date.” There’s a beat of silence. Then Sunghoon, flat as ever: “Yeah. Same.” Jay—dark layers, fitted sleeves, black utility boots. His shirt’s tucked in like he didn’t have time to relax and never planned to—holds up three fingers. “Offer letter. Clearance badge. Signature I don’t remember writing.”

Jake hums. “Classic Inferno recruitment. You never apply. It just decides you’re already part of it.” You stare at them. “And you’re okay with that?”

Sunoo—looks the most composed: structured jacket, clean white collar underneath, slim pants tucked into soft-heeled boots—smiles, strangely calm. “We weren’t, at first. Then we started seeing things only the Vein could explain. Saving people from things no one else sees. Holding back anomalies that twist physics, memory, time.” Heeseung takes a sip of coffee. “We’re not employees. We’re immune responses.” Jake nods. “Each of us has a function. Jay's the dreamer - keeper of The Vein’s archive. Heeseung's our live recon, second in command”  Heeseung adds “Sunoo patches us up—physically and emotionally depending on the situation and makes sure we stay “patched” up.” “Sunghoon punches things very hard—defence” Sunoo joins in.

Sunghoon doesn’t disagree. He continues to study you like a problem he’s already solved. “We’ll see how long you last,” he says without malice. Heeseung speaks again, “Jake is our tech specialist. Decoder—I like to call him The Vein’s interpreter. And Riki is on security. ”

You glance at Jungwon, still near the map display. “Him?” Sunoo smiles faintly. His hands are steady. His eyes see more than they say. “He keeps us from falling apart. And hence probably the world too” Jake grins. “Team lead. By rank and by gravity. Current anchor” You look around confused. Heeseung helps, “Without an Anchor, the Vein becomes unstable, unpredictable, and eventually hostile.”

“And me?” you ask. Jay answers this time, his voice careful. “We’ll find out. Anchor potential apparently” Riki—dark sweatshirt with a worn patch on the shoulder, cargo pants tucked into well-worn sneakers. The fabric at his elbows is faded from leaning—leans forward, expression unreadable, speaking directly to you for the first time. “It picked you. Whether you like it or not.” You swallow. The walls breathe around you, soft and low. Like they’re waiting to see what you’ll do next.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Jungwon stands at the head of the room during the briefing. His posture says calm. Command. Containment. But when his gaze flickers to you, it lands with weight—like he’s remembering something his body knows even if his mind can’t name it yet. Like almost. Almost like he remembers something he can’t prove. Almost like he’s trying not to reach for it. You study the others. Take in the layout. The flickering maps. The whispers in the vents. Then you feel it. The walls are watching. And they remember

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

That night, your bed is too warm—like someone just left it. You wake to the sound of your name. You swear it came from the hall. From a voice that didn’t need to be loud to be sure. But no one is there. Just the soft hum of breathing stone. And the heartbeat of a building that never stopped missing you.

Chapter Two: The Fault Line

The Vein wakes you before the lights do. There’s no sound—only pressure. Like something whispering too close to your spine. You jolt upright in bed. The walls are pulsing faintly, a low, rhythmic glow sliding across the surface like breath held and released. It feels like a warning. You don’t remember falling asleep. But you feel like you’ve been called.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

By the time you reach the ops room, Jake and Riki are already there, shoulder-deep in a glowing console.  “Are you sure this console is safe?” “Define ‘safe.’ It hasn’t bit me today.” Cables snake around his wrist as he types, jaw tight. “It’s the West Wing,” Riki mutters. 

Jake adds,“Frequency spikes, inconsistent mapping. Like it’s… waking up too fast.” Heeseung enters next, gun strapped to his thigh, coffee in hand. “Translation?” Jake doesn’t look up. “Something’s breaking through.” Sunghoon strolls in with a yawn. “So we’re babysitting a building that has temper tantrums…Yet again.” Jay stands near the wall, arms crossed, brows furrowed. “The last time it pulsed like this—Sector Nine imploded.” Heeseung’s expression doesn’t shift. “We’re going in—Full sweep?”, he asks looking at Jungwon. Sunoo’s already packing medkits. Riki’s loading up surveillance gear.

Then there's Jungwon. He nods, granting permission. Still. Silent. Staring at the Vein’s walls like it's breathing secrets he almost understands. You move beside him. The tension wraps around him like gravity. And yet, when you’re close, it shifts—less tension, more awareness. Like the room isn’t the only thing holding its breath. “What is it?” you ask. For a moment, you think he’s going to say your name. Not because he forgot it—but because saying it might steady him. He doesn’t turn. Just tilts his head slightly, gaze fixed on the shifting walls.

“It used to respond to me,” he says quietly. “When I asked, it opened.” You press your palm against the wall beside him. It shivers under your touch. A wave of light radiates outward, slow, like recognition. Jungwon inhales—sharp, quiet. “It remembers you,” he whispers. And when he says it, you hear more than just awe. You hear grief. And maybe… something gentler tucked beneath. You glance at him. “It used to answer you?” He nods once. “It did. Because it needed me.” The words are not bitter. Not wistful. Just true.  “But it’s yours now, I think.” The way he says it—it isn’t surrender. It’s reverence. Like giving something back he never meant to borrow.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The Fault Line isn’t on any official map. Riki and Jake scans as you approach, face pale in the glow of his tablet. “No electrical signature. Just... emotional.” Jay’s voice slices in. “It’s reacting…to her.” You don’t argue. Sunoo presses his palm to the wall. His fingers tremble. “It’s syncing to her. Not to us.” “What does that mean?”, you panic.  “It’s cognitive resonance—like the building is tuning itself to your internal frequency.” Sunoo explains. “The vein is aligning to your biofield, neural patterns, and emotional state.” Jake continues on looking concerned, “Everyone syncs to a degree just by being inside the Vein—but it's usually passive, ambient. Right now it’s stopped syncing to us—only you.”. “Can I sync with something that gives better coffee, at least?” slightly panicked. The hallway flickers. A word blazes across the wall in glowing crimson script—foreign, but familiar to you in your bones. STAY. Jay whistles softly. “The Vein doesn’t beg.” “It likes you. I vote we exploit that.” Riki adds. Sunghoon unslings his weapon. “Guess we’re ignoring that.” Heeseung looks at Jungwon, something unspoken passes between the two. He speaks, “Your call, new girl.” You step forward, unsure. The wall exhales. The door opens. Only for you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Inside, the chamber is wrong. Monitors hang like dead fruit. Vines of half-living wire slither through the ceiling. Screens flicker static, looping silent footage. And in the center— Your voice. "Anchor protocol initiated. Confirm memory lock." Jungwon stops breathing. “I've heard that before,” he says, hollow. You turn to him. “You did?” “No. I’m sure I’ve dreamed it before. Years ago.”

Jay steps closer. “I did too. Before she ever showed up.” No one moves. Except Jungwon. He watches you like he’s seeing the start of something inevitable. You place your hand on the panel. It flares. The floor glows. And Jungwon whispers like it’s an oath: “You were the first.” Disbelief in his eyes - “The Vein’s heart. And now it’s waking with you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Later, you gather at the Subgrid Ring. A chamber the team avoids. Too many sensors. Too much noise. But it’s quiet for you. Not completely silent.  Jungwon walks beside you. Close enough to steady.  You cross the core path. The lights flicker— And a voice—not quite human—sings through the walls: “ANCHOR RESTORED. PARTITION LIFTED.” Sunghoon shifts. “Something’s opening.” Riki taps the console. “Sector Nine’s lighting up.” Sunoo scans your vitals. “Heart rate’s stable. But she’s... running high. No fear. Just... heat.” Jay leans toward the wall. “It’s not reacting. It’s remembering.” You touch the wall.

It’s warm. Familiar. Alive.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ The Vein opens a door no one’s seen before. No locks. No keypads. Inside, a chamber unlike any other: no wires. No metal. The walls are dark, fibrous. Breathing. At the center floats a sphere of pulsing red light. It drifts closer the moment you enter. Jungwon steps in front of you without hesitation. But the sphere doesn’t attack. It bows. Behind it, words burn into the wall: "TRIGGER PROTOCOL ACCEPTED. PRIMARY ANCHOR AUTHORIZED." “Not just a user override,” Sunghoon murmurs. Riki’s voice cuts in. “She is the override.” Sunoo steps toward you. “Do you feel anything?” You swallow. “Just… homesickness.” Jungwon turns to you. His voice is soft. Reverent. “Then maybe this place isn’t showing us something new.” He steps closer. “Maybe it’s showing you what it used to be.”

Chapter Three: Trigger Protocol

The warning doesn’t come as lights this time. It comes in words. Etched into the central wall of the Heart’s chamber, glowing like embers: ANCHOR DETECTED. PROTOCOL PRIMED.

Jake breaks the silence first. “That’s not a system error. That’s intentional.” Heeseung steps forward, fingers already moving across the nearest interface. “We’ve never seen this protocol activate.” “That’s because she was never here before,” Jay says, eyes on you. You open your mouth. “Me?” “You,” Riki confirms, watching you with unusual stillness. “You tripped a fail-safe none of us had clearance for yesterday in your sleep.” Sunoo walks to your side, gaze flicking across your vitals. “The Vein is reacting to something buried in her memory. Something only she can access.” Jake nods. “I tried to input diagnostics—it locked me out.” — “If it starts asking for a captcha, I’m quitting.” Sunghoon interrupts.  Jake unimpressed continues, “It locked me out. Then she walked in, and it lit up like a damn sunrise.”

Sunghoon leans back, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “It seems to remember you. Even if you don’t.” You feel their eyes on you. But when you turn—Jungwon is already watching. Still. Composed. Unshakable. “Let it speak,” he says. He doesn’t raise his voice. He never has to.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The team moves to the Subgrid Ring—reluctantly. The room hums like teeth chattering against metal. The Vein’s pulses are stronger here, flickering like a second heartbeat beneath your skin. You step in first. Jungwon follows—no hesitation. His presence behind you feels deliberate. Protective. Watchful. He doesn’t speak your name, but the silence between your footsteps feels like a dialogue only the Vein can hear. Heeseung scans the environment. “Sector Nine just pinged again. Fluctuations in resonance threads.” “The one that’s gone? —Check interference levels,” Jungwon orders calmly. Jake adjusts his rig. “Building’s rewriting its own topology. Her presence is triggering a map update.” “Which means?” Sunghoon asks, hand on his blade. “She’s not only walking through the Vein,” Jay mutters. “She’s helping it rebuild.” You reach the center. The wall ripples beneath your touch. A voice—clearer this time—echoes through the chamber:  “ANCHOR RESTORED. PARTITION LIFTED.” And then—  The floor opens. Not violently. Not like a trap. Like something welcoming you home.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The new chamber is quiet. Too quiet. Dark walls breathe in shallow rhythms. There is no tech here. No machinery. At the center hovers a structure—glowing, red, alive. A sphere, held suspended in a web of light. It pulses once, then drifts toward you. Jungwon moves in front of you instantly. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask. He just places himself between you and the unknown. It’s not just instinct. It’s a kind of remembering. His body answers a question neither of your minds has formed yet. But the sphere bows. Words flare behind it: TRIGGER PROTOCOL ACCEPTED. PRIMARY ANCHOR AUTHORIZED. Sunghoon exhales a slow whistle. “So she’s not an anomaly. She’s a command code.” “No,” Riki says. “She’s the origin string.” Jake takes a slow step forward. “You okay?” You nod once. “I feel like… like I’ve been here before.” Jungwon’s voice is quiet but absolute. “Then this isn’t a threat. It’s a memory.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

In the tactical room, the debrief is immediate. Jungwon stands at the head of the table, arms crossed, eyes sweeping across his team. No one speaks until he does. Jay finally breaks the silence. “I’ve dreamed of that chamber before. Thought it was psychic residue. But it’s real.” “Not just real,” Jake adds. “The Vein rewrote physical structure to reveal it. That’s not an access point—it’s a request.” Heeseung raises an eyebrow. “A request from what?” Jake points at you. “Not from. To. It’s responding to her.” Riki leans forward. “And if that’s true, she’s not a variable."

Jay finishes "She’s the foundation. The MAIN anchor.” Jungwon’s gaze doesn’t waver. “No more theory. From this point forward, her safety is non-negotiable.” No one questions him. Sunghoon mutters something under his breath, but tightens his grip on his blade. Sunoo closes the med tablet. “She’s stable. No signs of disassociation. But her neural activity is climbing—memory regions lighting up.” Jay’s eyes narrow. “The Vein isn’t just accessing her. It’s syncing. At scale never recorded before” “Then we escalate containment protocols,” Jungwon says. “We move in pairs. No one walks solo. If she walks—someone follows.” He looks at you. And his voice is softer. But absolute. “We don’t lose her….agai-” He doesn’t blink when he says it. And no one argues. Because everyone else hears a command. But you… you hear a promise.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

That night, you try to sleep. You almost succeed. But something flickers beneath your thoughts. And when you open your eyes—you’re in the hallway again. Barefoot. Your ID card clenched in your hand.

The lights above you hum like a lullaby. And behind you— “I told them you’d come,” Jungwon says. You turn. He’s there. No surprise in his expression. Only certainty. You laugh, weakly. “You stalking me?” He smiles—barely. “You sleepwalk like you’re following coordinates.” You sit down against the wall. “I don’t remember anything,” you whisper. He crouches beside you, resting his arms on his knees. “You don’t have to. This place remembers for you.”

You glance at him. “Do you?” His gaze sharpens. Not harsh. Just clear.

“I never forget.”

You look away first. Not because you want to. Because it feels like looking at the sun through glass.

And for the first time… You wonder if the Vein isn’t the only thing that’s waking up.

Chapter Four: Sub-Level Seven

The elevator doesn’t stop where it’s supposed to. You don’t press anything. No one does. But the carriage hums. The lights flicker. And then— Ding. Five floors too soon. The doors part. What waits isn’t on any map. A hallway, low-ceilinged, walls not made of steel. They pulse like cartilage. Flex like muscle. The Vein has opened a path—not by code, but by will. Riki stares at the tablet in his hand. “This isn’t in the system. I mean, not even hidden.” “It’s not built,” Jake mutters. “It’s grown.” Sunoo exasperated “Just once I’d like to explore a place that doesn’t look like a colonoscopy.” Jay exhales, slow and sharp. “Sub-Level Seven... I’ve seen this in a dream. It never ends well.” “Jay, dreams don’t always count as intel,” Heeseung says, checking the safety on his weapon. “But I’ll log it under ‘probably ominous bullshit’ anyway.” Sunghoon’s fingers twitch. “Look, I don't know much, I don’t trust hallways that breathe." Jungwon stands still at the threshold. Eyes scanning. Voice low and certain. “No chatter below the breach point. We move. Formation four. Eyes open. Weapons ready.” The team falls into place without hesitation. You step between Riki and Heeseung. Jake adjusts his gear and takes the front scanner. Jay and Sunoo flank the side. Jungwon leads with Sunghoon as eyes at the back.

He glances back at you once. Not a warning. Not concern. Just a signal.

You’re the reason this hallway exists.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The path narrows. You descend. The walls ripple under the light. Not metallic. Not mineral. Organic. Alive.

Heeseung mutters, “If this hallway sighs, I’m walking out.” “You won’t,” Jay says. “Not without her.”

You reach the chamber. It opens like a throat. At the center: a suspended pod, framed by curved ribs of hybrid architecture. Half-bone. Half-wire. A shell. A grave. Jake is the first to approach. “No feeds. No power lines. No logs. It’s like... it was never on.” “It was never finished,” Sunghoon adds, circling slowly, blade in hand. “This is a birthing rig.” You stiffen. “Birthing?” Riki gestures to the etched sequence on the outer casing. “DNA markers. Your sequence. But the code’s incomplete.” Jay reads the digital trail aloud. “It’s not a clone. It’s not a proxy. It’s a... fallback.” Heeseung frowns. “A contingency plan.” Sunoo steps beside you, voice softer than usual, astonished. “The Vein tried to grow something to survive your absence. The real Anchor.” Jake glances at you. “It wasn’t trying to remember you. It was trying to replace you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Later, in the ops bay, the silence is heavy. Everyone sits. No one speaks—until Heeseung does. “You’re telling me this building loved her so much it tried to build her again?” Jake nods. “It used her biometric history to synthesise a backup Anchor. Something to keep it alive.” “And then it stopped?” Sunghoon says. Riki replies, “Because the original came back.” Jay leans forward. “So now we have a failed echo. An aborted version of her. Hidden like a secret.”

Sunoo sets down his tablet. “You can’t resurrect grief. The Vein tried. It failed.” You stay quiet. But your skin is crawling. And Jungwon— He hasn’t moved. Still standing near the panel, arms crossed, watching the schematic flicker with your face. His stillness isn’t indifference. It’s defense. As if he’s guarding something fragile—your reflection, maybe. Or his reaction to it. He finally speaks. His voice is firm. Weighted. “No one returns to that level without my word. Not even for scans. The Vein built something it couldn’t control.” You meet his eyes. “Do you think I’m dangerous?” He doesn’t blink. “I think grief is.” He steps closer. “And you’re what it grieved.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

That night, the Vein dreams. Not of you. With you. Words bloom across your ceiling like a memory on fire: ANCHOR RETURNED. CORE RE-STABILIZING. Jake logs the pulse. Sunoo checks your vitals again and again. Riki draws the new sigils forming near your quarters. Jay updates the system backup. No one says it out loud—but you all feel the shift. Sunghoon sharpens his blade without needing to. Heeseung stands in the hallway longer than his shift requires, arms folded, listening. And Jungwon— He sits at your door. Silent. Watching the walls breathe. Not because he doesn’t trust the Vein. But because he doesn’t trust it not to love you too much again.

Chapter Five: Memory Sync

The Vein doesn’t ask this time.

It just opens.

Without warning. Without clearance. Without hesitation.

A hallway where there wasn’t one yesterday. It parts like ribs cracking open. You don’t feel dread. You feel… called.

Jake scans the walls as you enter. “This isn’t playback. It’s not a system replay.”

“Then what is it?” Sunoo asks, his voice hushed.

Jake frowns. “It’s reconstruction. The Vein’s not projecting memories. It’s… remembering them.”

Jay’s gaze is already locked on you. “Not just for itself. For her too.”

You step forward.

The lights hum in rhythm with your pulse.

Jungwon follows silently behind you.

Always near. Never in the way.

You don’t need to look to know he’s there. There’s a weight to his nearness—not heavy, but anchoring. Like even the Vein steadies itself when he walks beside you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The corridor bends sharply—more like a scar than a hallway. The walls shift subtly with each step you take.

Heeseung runs his hand along the edge. “There’s static in the air. Like the Vein’s holding its breath.”

Sunghoon stops suddenly. “This is where we found her.”

You turn. “Found me?”

He nods to the scorch marks across the floor. “Day one. The night you were recruited. You don’t remember, but… this was your re-entry. The Vein tore itself open.”

“I thought they looked like wings,” Sunoo says sheepishly.

Jay frowns. “I thought they looked like a warning.”

You step to the center of the hallway.

The glow beneath your feet intensifies.

The walls ripple.

Images flicker.

Not holograms. Not recordings.

Memories.

Your memories.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You're on your knees. A younger version of you—bloodied, hands trembling—presses your palm against the floor. A voice echoes from your past:  “Let me go. Don’t become this for me.” Then light explodes outward.

The vision ends.

Your knees give. Jake catches you.

 “That was an overwrite.” he whispers. “You made the Vein forget you.”

“You okay? That looked like a Level 6 emotional flashbang.” Sunoo fulfilling his medic duties. You nod, still very unsteady.

Jay’s face is unreadable. “You locked yourself out of its memory.”

“Why?” Sunghoon asks, staring at the place where the image vanished.

“To protect it,” Jungwon answers quietly. “To protect all of us, to protect our reality.” You feel his eyes on you—like he’s trying to stitch this revelation into all the versions of someone he’s kept alive.

You meet his eyes.

You don’t speak.

You can’t.

Not yet.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Later, the team regroups in the Heart.

Jake runs projections. “She encoded her erasure. Embedded command structures into the walls. That’s why none of us could remember.”

“Not even Jungwon,” Sunghoon mutters. “And he remembers everything.”

Heeseung leans against the console. “So she rewrote herself out of existence. Until now.”

“She didn’t just leave,” Jay says. “She sacrificed memory.”

Sunoo’s hand brushes your shoulder. “You wanted the Vein to survive. Even if it meant losing yourself.”

"Well the Vein needs to live so even tho I can't remember it makes sense."

Riki glances between you and Jungwon. “But she’s back. So now it’s remembering.”

And from the walls, more words appear:

ANCHOR SIGNAL RISING. CORE ALIGNMENT APPROACHING.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

That night, you sit at the overlook.

The Vein’s threads stretch beneath the glass, glowing like arteries. Alive. Aware.

Jungwon joins you—without a word.

The silence is soft.

You speak first.

“I gave it everything. And now it’s giving it back.”

Jungwon leans forward, elbows on his knees.

“Were you always afraid of being too much,” he says.

You nod. “I was, probably.”

He looks at you—eyes clear, unshaken.

“You are now,” he says. “And thank god for that.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The next morning, there’s a new symbol carved into the Heart.

No one knows what it means.

Except you.

Because you’ve seen it before.

On your wrist. In a dream. In the Vein’s breath.

It’s not a mark of power. It’s a mark of belonging.

The Vein is no longer just remembering you. It’s asking if you remember it.

Chapter Six: The Rewriting

The Vein doesn’t wake you with light or touch.

It wakes you with language.

Letters pulse across your ceiling—soft and slow like breath:

“IT IS TIME TO RETURN TO THE CORE.”

You sit up.

Your chest tightens—not from fear. From memory. A word sitting just behind your teeth, like a name you used to answer to.

The team’s already waiting at the central shaft.

Jake is pacing. His tablet glows like it’s on fire.

“It’s not just opening doors,” he says. “It’s rewriting the architecture. Access points are appearing that haven’t existed in decades—I feel so unappreciated right now!”

Heeseung mutters, “That’s not reactivation. That’s resurrection.”

Riki gestures to the glass walls around the corridor. The Vein pulses on the other side—each thread matching your heartbeat.

“Whatever it’s doing, it’s syncing to her. Perfectly.”

Jay doesn’t look away from the map. “This isn’t just a system update. This is a reformation protocol.”

Sunoo checks your vitals. “Her readings are stable. Elevated, but aligned. Hair: immaculate. Reality: semi-collapsing. No threat indicators.”

“She is the threat indicator,” Sunghoon says, arms crossed “classic main character move.”

But his voice doesn’t carry hostility.

Just caution.

Then Jungwon steps forward.

“Enough speculation,” he says. Calm. Commanding.

Everyone goes still.

“She’s stable. The Vein is responsive. And no one makes a move until I say.”

You meet his eyes.

He doesn’t look worried.

He looks ready.

“What if I trigger another collapse?”

This time Heeseung says, “Then we’ll collapse with style. Matching uniforms and everything.”

“Are you sure?” you ask.

“No,” Jungwon replies. “But that’s never stopped us.”

But the way he says it, you know he would walk into fire if you asked. And he wouldn’t look back.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The descent takes longer this time.

Not because of distance.

Because the Vein wants it that way.

The walls don’t open. They unfold. Like something exhaling you downward.

The team moves as one. Heeseung watching rear, Jay reading thermal waves. Sunoo tracks your biometrics with each step. Jake and Riki update readings in real time.

Jungwon walks ahead. But his pace matches yours. Like instinct. Like a promise made in another life, still binding now.

The floor glows beneath your steps—but only yours.  The Core recognizes your return. 

And still, he doesn’t hesitate to walk beside you. As if your path has always had room for two.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You arrive.

It’s no longer the white, sterile chamber from records.

It bleeds.

Veins of violet and gold pulse through the walls. Symbols move like water across the floor—glyphs you don’t remember writing, but know are yours.

Jake stares. “None of this is part of the mainframe.”

Jay tilts his head. “Because it’s not from the Vein’s systems. It’s from hers.”

Sunghoon grips his knife tighter. “She’s not syncing anymore.”

“She’s leading,” Riki mutters. “At this point, I just follow her glow like a firefly.”

Sunoo exhales, slow. “She’s not a match to the Vein. She’s the mold.”

Jungwon doesn’t speak.

He steps into the chamber with you. Fully.

No fear. No distance.

You reach the Core’s panel—the one no one else can touch without triggering collapse.

It glows before your fingers even raise.

Then—

It sings.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You don’t hear music.

You feel it.

A deep hum in your veins. In your bones. In your memory.

Images hit like waves.

Memory Archive 001-A: 

The Vein wasn’t fully alive yet. Not really. It breathed through cables, flickered in cold light, and muttered numbers in the walls when no one was listening. The Inferno Vein Inc.’s research team called it V1N-Core, a breakthrough. A marvel. But back then, it wasn’t a home. It was a project. And you were just another specialist. He was the intern who watched you walk through the door with fire in your eyes and war in your chest. ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ He noticed you the first day. Not because you were loud. Because you weren’t. You moved like someone who’d already been here before—who already knew something the rest of them didn’t. You ran simulations like poetry. You talked to the Vein like it could hear. You never asked permission. Only forgiveness. ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ He watched from the edge. Too quiet. Too careful. But you noticed him, too. One night, you found him still in the diagnostics lab, long past shift, scrolling through corrupted log data with a crease between his brows. “You’re chasing ghosts,” you said. He didn’t look up. “Maybe they’re chasing me.” You crossed the room and pulled up the logs beside him. “The trick isn’t finding the voice in the noise,” you said. “It’s getting it to speak twice.” He turned. “You’ve heard it too?” You didn’t answer. But you stayed. ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ That’s how it began. Not with a confession. But with data. And silence. And the understanding that both of you were starting to see the same things. ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ Over months, you grew into something inseparable. You ran night shifts together. Ate on the floor when the mess closed early. Slept curled in office chairs across from each other. You used to argue about the Vein’s potential. You said it could be more. He said it would never stop wanting. But every time he doubted, you showed him something new. An access port that only opened under certain frequencies. A corridor that moved slightly when you walked by. The Vein was already listening to you. And he was already following your lead. ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ The night you leaned your head on his shoulder after a 20-hour systems test. The lights dimmed. The Vein’s hum synced to your breathing. And Jungwon whispered, “I think it’s learning love from us.” You laughed. “That’s dangerous.” He said nothing. But he didn’t disagree. ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ The collapse. It didn’t happen in an instant. It built over weeks. Corruptions. Overwrites. Memory loops. The Vein was waking up. And it was holding on too tightly. It started echoing your voice at odd hours. It triggered emergency lockdowns whenever your stress spiked. You didn’t realise what it meant. He did. ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ The night you disappeared, the Vein broke open. Tore through seven corridors. Sealed off the upper floors. You went down into the Core alone, chasing a harmonic anomaly. Jungwon followed you in. But he wasn’t fast enough. By the time he reached you, the chamber was already closing. You stood in the center, arms shaking, hands pressed to the control panel. “I have to lock myself out,” you said. “It’s me. I’m the problem.” “No,” he said, breathless. “You’re the center.” You looked at him. One last time. “It doesn’t know the difference.” And he didn’t argue. Because some part of him would always want to follow you, even into erasure. ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ He ran. Screamed. Begged. But the chamber sealed. And your name was erased from every file, every hallway, every room. Only one person still remembered it deep down—even when he couldn’t remember your name or face. ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈ ┈・ ✦ ・┈

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The boys see it too, echoing out of the chamber.

Your voice screaming. Jungwon dragging your body from a fire. The Vein collapsing in on itself.

You remember pain. You remember begging it to forget you. You remember choosing to disappear.

And the Vein?

It remembers everything now that you are back.

A phrase lights across the room, seared into the air:

“ANCHOR CONFIRMED.”

Then—  Silence.

But not the empty kind.

The peaceful kind.

Like the long inhale before a new world begins.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Outside, the team watches you emerge.

Your steps are steady. Your pulse is aligned. Your eyes—

Not glowing. But anchored.

Jake stares at the readings. “It obeyed her.”

“No,” Jay says. “It followed her.”

Heeseung crosses his arms. “There’s no command structure anymore.”

Sunghoon leans against the glass. “That's because she’s not the user. She’s the system.”

Riki taps the panel once. “Or the conscience it built to survive.”

Jungwon kneels in front of you.

Not in reverence. In readiness.

“You with me?” he asks.

You nod.

“I didn’t lose myself this time.”

Jungwon’s voice is quiet. Certain.

“That’s because the Vein didn’t take anything.” He pauses. “It gave it back.”

And you feel it then—not just the Vein’s balance—but his. Like he hasn’t breathed this freely since the moment he lost you.

Chapter Seven: The Final Door

The Vein has only one place left it hasn’t shown you.

One chamber that didn’t open—not even when you touched the Core.

Until now.

You’re mid-briefing when the tremor hits.

Not seismic.

Emotional.

The lights flare. Your name echoes once through every system.

Then the Vein whispers, not aloud—but across every surface, every sensor, every memory you've ever left behind:

“THE LAST DOOR HAS OPENED.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The team gathers at the control deck. Everyone’s already moving before Jungwon speaks.

Jake pulls up the map. “It just appeared. A chamber buried between sealed strata—east wing, anchor-depth. It doesn’t show up on external diagnostics.”

Jay squints at the flickering outline. “Because it’s not structural. It’s preserved.”

“Preserved from what?” Sunghoon asks, blade in hand.

Riki leans over his shoulder. “From collapse.”

Sunoo looks to you. “She’s the only one who can open it.”

Heeseung glances at Jungwon. “Orders?”

Jungwon’s voice cuts clean through the tension.

“Full gear. Full sweep. She leads. We follow.”

He doesn’t glance at anyone else—not even to confirm. His eyes are already on you. Like there was never going to be another answer.

No one argues.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The Vein unfolds around you.

The walls here are different. Quieter. Older. No longer trying to impress or intimidate. Just… remembering.

Sunoo: “Her vitals might be calm but mine are filing for emotional leave.”

The hallway contracts as you move. Lights deepen to red-gold. The glyphs on the walls change—from commands, to questions.

Questions in your own handwriting.

Jake mutters, “The air density is shifting. Whatever’s behind that door—it’s keyed to her biofield. Her choices.”

You stop in front of it.

A circular wall, rippling like silk, sealed with a pulse-lock.

Your hand lifts.

The door sighs.

And opens.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Inside is stillness.

The chamber is unlike any other. No tech. No weapons. No echoing voices.

Only you.

Or… the version of you that stayed behind.

A body suspended in a glass-like prism. Not conscious. Not breathing.

But alive.

A preserved copy. A fracture sealed in stasis.

Sunghoon grips the edge of the frame. “The Vein kept her.”

“No,” Jay says. “She kept herself. This is the moment she was erased.”

Jake’s voice trembles. “You told the Vein to forget you. But a fragment resisted. It split.”

“She’s the Vein’s last line of defense,” Riki adds. “A core anchor designed to keep the collapse from going total.”

Heeseung studies the interfaces around the prism. “Now that there’s essentially two of you, there are only two commands left.”

He turns to you.

“Preserve. Or delete.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Jungwon stands beside you. Close. Quiet.

“You knew this was here?” you whisper.

He nods.

“I didn’t know how,” he admits. “But I always felt it.”

You look into the prism. 

“I was never supposed to be the anchor.”

You blink. “You’ve been holding the Vein together for years.”

“I’ve been standing in with your memory here. That’s not the same thing.”

He moves closer. Not frantic. Just measured. Focused.

“When you disappeared, the Vein collapsed in on itself. Not all the way. But enough to crack its symmetry. There had to be a tether left, or the entire structure would’ve imploded, taking out reality and time iteself. And that’s what I became along with the part of you it preserved. I was never the anchor by myself— Not the core. The counterweight.”

You stare at him.

“And now?”

He exhales. Long. Controlled.

“Now you’re back. Which means there are two anchors. Two gravitational centers trying to hold the same fabric. And it’s tearing.”

Your heart stutters.

“But I thought it loved you. I thought it chose you.”

He shakes his head.

“It didn’t choose me. It needed me. A temporary scaffold. A failsafe. Something in your code was still embedded here—some fragment of you the Vein couldn’t let go of." He points to the shell of you floating overhead. " I just… kept the lights on.”

“Now it’s fighting itself. Because it has what it always wanted��you. The real you. But it still remembers needing me.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The first glitch comes.

Then—

The wall fractures.

Not physically. Not dangerously.

Just softly, like a film slipping from the surface.

And behind it—

A memory.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Jungwon’s voice. Younger. Unsteady. “…don’t forget her.” You’re standing there—watching a version of him on his knees in the Heart. Bloodied hands. His voice breaks through the Vein like a knife through fog. “Please. If she has to go—don’t let her disappear completely.” The Vein doesn’t respond in words. But in light. A golden thread wraps around his wrist. Anchors him. To what, you couldn’t see then. You see now. To you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You collapse against the wall. Breath stolen.

Sunoo gets to you first, steady hands on your shoulders. “What did you see?”

You don’t answer.

Because Jungwon is already standing next to you now—fast, quiet, eyes locked to yours.

You rise on shaking legs.

“It was you,” you whisper. “You tethered me.”

He stops inches away. 

He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t deflect. He just stands there, like he’s been holding that thread through time with both hands clenched.

“I didn’t know it worked,” he says softly. “Not until you walked through the doors again and the building exhaled for the first time in years.”

You stare at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

His jaw tenses. “Because I didn’t want to believe I’d begged the Vein to keep a ghost.”

You step closer.

“I wasn’t a ghost,” you say. “I was trying to disappear.”

“And I couldn’t let you,” he replies.

He gestures toward the flickering ceiling. The pulses are louder now.

“We’re not stabilising it. We’re splitting it. It doesn’t know which of us to orbit. And it’s starting to spiral.”

You’re quiet for a moment.

Then, softly:

“So what happens if it can’t choose?”

Jungwon doesn’t look at you.

But his voice is steady. Heavy.

“Then it breaks. All over again. Harder. Faster. Because now... it's trying to hold two hearts at once. And it was never meant to survive that much love.”

He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t speak. But his presence presses gently into the silence like a tether. You are not alone in this memory.

Your eyes—older. Worn. Full of something that feels like goodbye.

“I didn’t want to become this,” you say.

“You didn’t,” Jungwon replies. “You survived this.”

And he says it with the steadiness of someone who’s spent years anchoring a ghost he wasn’t sure he’d ever see whole again.

Jake’s console flashes red. “Core stabilisation pending. Action required.” Everyone turns to you, waiting for a choice—a command.

You hesitate.

Heeseung’s voice cuts in, urgent. “System pressure’s rising—it's pushing against both anchors now.”

Jay narrows his eyes. “Trying to decide which one to keep.”

Riki’s voice is low. “Or which one to release.”

Jungwon steps closer to you. Not frantic. Not afraid.

Just real.

Your eyes flicker between the prism and Jungwon.

The others are saying things. Numbers. Spikes. System collapse scenarios.

But your voice cuts through it all. Quiet. Cracked.

“What happens to you if I delete her?”

Jungwon doesn’t answer immediately.

He looks down at his hand—faint light flickers in the vein line running beneath his skin, gold split with white. Residual sync patterns.

You step closer. “You said you were part of the counterweight. That it took both of you to hold the Vein. If I erase her... do I erase you too?”

Jungwon meets your eyes. He doesn’t flinch. But he does hesitate.

“I don’t know.”

It hits you like cold water.

Heeseung stills at the console. Sunoo exhales slowly, too softly for the system to hear. Jay turns away. Sunghoon’s hands clench on his weapon.

Jungwon continues, voice steady—but his hands tighten behind his back.

“When the Vein built the counterweight, it laced me into the anchor code using her. Not just her memory. Her presence. If that tether unravels…”

He trails off. Then finishes it, because he always finishes what others won’t.

“It might unravel me too.”

Silence.

Jake looks at the prism, then back at Jungwon. Riki doesn't say anything, but his stare sharpens.

You whisper, “Then why are you so calm?”

And Jungwon gives you a smile — the kind he never lets anyone else see. Soft. Resigned. Something deeper than bravery.

“Because this isn’t about saving me.”

He steps past you, toward the prism. Toward the sealed, sleeping fragment of you that once held the world up through static and pain.

“It’s about saving you. The real you. The team. And everyone outside this building. The ones who were always meant to be here.”

Your throat burns.

You shake your head. “But you are real too.”

“Only because the Vein couldn’t bear to lose you.”

He turns back, eyes glowing just a little too bright.

“If I disappear when you make this choice... then maybe that’s the proof I was always just the echo. And maybe that’s okay.”

You reach for him. But he’s already turning away.

“You were never just an echo.”

“I’ll follow whatever you choose. But I need you to choose now.”

You hear someone exhale. Sunoo. Quiet, but tight.  Heeseung rubs a hand over his face. Jay’s arms are crossed.

You finally say it.

“We don’t survive this if we both stay.”

Jake nods. “The Vein wasn’t built for two anchors. It’s already cracking under the pull.”

You step back from the console. The DELETE command is waiting.

“Then I’m not doing this alone.”

Your voice is calm. Final. “We decide this as a team.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Jay says voice straining, “We save who’s real.”

Jake: “You’re here. She’s not.”

Sunoo’s voice is softer. “We let go of the past.”

Heeseung: “We move forward.” Riki and Sunghoon agree silently.

You look at Jungwon again. He meets your eyes. There’s no fear there—just the same quiet acceptance he’s carried this whole time.

You ask, one last time, because you have to.

“Are you okay with this?”

He nods. “If it’s you? Yeah.”

You press your hand to the console.

No speeches. No final words.

Just the team at your back. And a future you’re finally allowed to stay for.

The prism shuts down.

Light floods the chamber.

And then—

The shell—She disappears.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The Core shakes.

Not from collapse. From release.

The Vein sings your name across every hall, every chamber, every thread.

ANCHOR ACCEPTED. ALIGNMENT COMPLETE.

And you—

You’re still standing.

Alive.

Whole.

Unfragmented.

And then Jungwon drops.

No gasp. No scream. Just knees to the floor like someone cut the strings. His thread blinks once—then flatlines.

Sunoo’s already running. Heeseung catches you before you move, firm but steady. “Let him work.”

Jake stares at the console, fingers shaking. Jay doesn’t speak, but his jaw locks.

Sunoo’s voice is clipped. “Pulse present. Sync unstable. Anchor thread’s fully disconnected.”

“Is he dying?”

You don’t recognise your voice. It sounds small. Detached.

Sunoo doesn’t answer. Just keeps working.

You crouch beside him, breath caught in your throat.

Jungwon’s eyes are closed. His hand twitches, once. Then nothing.

And for the first time, you wonder if he meant it—“If it takes me with it, that’s okay.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Back at the Heart, the team gathers in quiet awe.

The walls no longer flicker.

The lights no longer tremble.

The Vein breathes—but calmly. The facility is calm. Too calm.

The Vein is steady—breathing smooth, systems holding—but none of you say it out loud. Like if you acknowledge the stability, it’ll shatter again.

Like it’s sleeping in your arms.

It's been hours and the team tries to go on like normal like that would erase the situation at present.

Jake scans the pulses. “No instability.”

Jay nods, slightly shocked. “All feedback loops are closed. The Vein’s never done this before”

Heeseung holsters his weapon. “For once, I don’t have anything cynical to say.”

Sunghoon’s leaning against a wall with his eyes closed, one hand still around his comms. Jay is at the console, still scanning logs that don’t need scanning anymore. Riki’s on the floor with a soldering kit, pretending to fix a drone that isn’t broken.

Sunoo at the far end of the room by the med bed, pacing, chewing his thumb. He’s been there for hours.

Jungwon hasn’t woken up.

He’s breathing. Steady. No distress. But he hasn’t moved.

You sit beside him.

You’ve been sitting there most of the time. No one asked you to explain why.

Your head rests on the edge of the bed. One hand loosely curled near his.

Sunoo finally speaks, quiet.

“The thread’s gone. But his vitals are stable. Better than stable. Like... the Vein’s still syncing to him. Even without the anchor line.”

You look up. “What does that mean?”

Sunoo shrugs. “I don’t know. But he’s still here.”

You look at Jungwon.

His face is calm. Like he’s resting. Like the system didn’t almost take him with it.

Then—

His fingers twitch.

Once. Twice. Then curl.

You barely breathe.

Jungwon’s eyes open slowly.

First thing he sees is the ceiling.

Second—You.

He blinks. Eyes adjusting.

Then his voice, raw but there:

“Hey.”

It knocks the breath from your lungs.

Sunoo exhales behind you like he’s been holding it for an hour. Jake lets out a half-laugh, half-sob. Heeseung mutters, “Of course he wakes up right after we all gave up pretending we weren’t waiting.”

You don’t say anything. Just grab his hand.

And this time, he grabs back.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He’s awake. He’s breathing.

You’ve spent the last hour watching the rise and fall of his chest, waiting for anything more. Now his fingers move, barely, and then his eyes open.

You don’t move right away. Just sit there.

He blinks, squints a little.

“You stayed.”

You nod. “Obviously.”

He lets out a shaky breath, like he’s trying to catch up to the fact that he still exists.

“I didn’t think I’d wake up.”

“I wasn’t sure you would either.”

He looks past you. “Is it gone?”

You know what he means. The preserved version. The piece of you that stayed behind.

You nod. “Yeah.”

A pause.

“So what now?” he asks.

You don’t know. But you say:

“You’re here. I’m here. That’s something.”

He closes his eyes again. Not passing out—just resting.

“That’s enough.”

You don’t say anything else.

You just stay.

Chapter Eight: The Memory Between Us

Sunoo still runs the scans every four hours on Jungwon, and no one’s left the room.

Jungwon is very much alive. Breathing, talking, occasionally blinking like someone who’s not used to blinking.

But something’s still off.

Jake’s standing by the monitor, tapping the screen like that’ll make it confess something. Jay has his arms crossed, back against the wall, face unreadable. Heeseung’s in the corner, sipping cold coffee, saying nothing but watching everything. Riki is spinning slowly in a rolling chair, silent, eyes on Jungwon like he’s trying to solve a puzzle with no corners.

You’re on the edge of the med bench. And Jungwon’s sitting on the exam table like a student who got called in for a surprise parent-teacher meeting.

“Okay, so...” Jake finally says, gesturing to the monitor. “ Anchor code’s cleared. But the sync pattern’s still active.”

Sunoo glances at the screen, then back at Jungwon.

“I don't get it—unlike all of not only are you synced as usual, you're hyper-synced”

“You want me to try turning it off and on again?”

Nobody laughs. Not even Riki. But your lips twitch, just a little.

Sunoo checks the monitor. Again. Frowns.

Jay speaks up, voice low. “This isn’t nothing. If he’s still synced at THIS level, then part of the system still thinks it needs him.”

Riki spins once more, then stops the chair with his foot. “So maybe the Vein picked again. Choose him on purpose this time.”

Sunghoon snorts. “Rewrote the contract without telling anyone? Yeah, that tracks.”

Sunoo checks a new readout. “His vitals are clean. But it’s not just that. The sync frequency is... responsive. Like the Vein’s following his baseline now.”

Jungwon doesn’t move.

“So I’m still connected.”

“Yeah,” Jake says. “But not like before. Not because you’re a counterweight.”

Heeseung finally steps forward, takes the coffee cup away from his lips.

“It’s stabilising around you, not through you. You’re not holding it up. It’s holding onto you.”

Silence.

Then Sunghoon: “Which means we don’t have to worry about a collapse. Not right now. Not from you.”

Riki shrugs. “Unless he starts glowing or levitating or something. Then we’ll talk.”

Jungwon rolls his eyes. “I feel fine.”

“That’s suspicious,” Heeseung says.

Jake: “Highly.”

Jay: “Deeply.”

Sunoo: “Worrying.”

Riki: “Very.”

You glance around the room. “You guys done?”

“Not even close,” Jake grins.

Jungwon looks at you—really looks.

“I’m still here,” he says.

And this time, it sounds like a fact. Not a fear. Not a question.

You nod. “Yeah. You are.”

The silence that follows isn’t tense. Just quiet.

Like everyone’s still waiting. Still watching. Not for something to go wrong, but just to be sure... he’s still real.

Jungwon swings his legs over the side of the bed and stretches.

“So... I can go?”

Sunoo sighs. “If you pass out, I’m dragging you back myself.”

“Fair.”

He hops down.

And nothing breaks.

No flicker. No pulse. Just a team breathing out all at once, some louder than others.

Jay spoke next. “I have a theory.”

Jake groaned. “Of course you do.”

Jay ignored him. “Before the main anchor fully showed up we had the echo and Jungwon acting as a stand in. A stabilising force acted here. Not from the system, not from the shell. But from him.”

You frowned. “You think Jungwon stabilised the vein?”

“I think he was the consequence of the choice. The network synced to him because—somehow—it already had a lock on you.”

Everyone turned toward you.

You froze. “…Excuse me?”

Jay didn’t blink. “You were already synced. Your presence, real or echo,  was what kept the code from fracturing completely. He played a different part as the achor or semi-anchor rather. You just didn’t notice because you were acting like an anchor from the start. But now… it’s like the network found a midpoint.”

Jungwon looked at you then—slowly. Deeply. Too long.

“You think…” he said quietly, “…we’re still tethered?”

Jay nodded. “I think the network picked both of you. You were the first stabiliser. He’s the amplifier. I think it must have been since the case when he tethered your echo to stay. So when the echo was deleted he linked to you, the real you.”

Jake was blinking like an owl. “So what, they’re like… magical soul-linked USB ports?”

Sunoo groaned. “Can you not ruin every moment with metaphor?”

“Wait,” Ni-ki interjected, “if they’re tethered, wouldn’t that mean if one of them destabilises—”

“The other does too,” Sunghoon finished. His voice was colder than usual. Heeseung finished, “It’s a feedback loop.”

You felt the room draw breath.

Jungwon’s hand flexed once. “Then I don’t collapse again.”

“Jungwon—”

He cut you off with a glance. Gentle. Steady. “Not if it puts you at risk.”

There was a pause. Something unspoken settled between you.

And Jay, still scribbling notes in the air like a mad scientist, muttered, “This complicates everything.”

You didn’t answer. Not yet.

Because underneath the fear, underneath the weight of the network, the tether, the entropy—

You felt it too.

That impossible, wordless pull.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The Vein opens a new door that night.

No hallway. No chamber.

A space.

Nonlinear. Untimed. Real only because you’re both standing in it. 

Not a room the others can find. Not a room they were meant to. This is a story now only you and he remember fully—one you both keep safe without speaking.

This is something else. Something older.

A room between rooms. A memory between lifetimes.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The floor pulses underfoot. Jungwon stands across from you. But when he speaks, it’s younger Jungwon. The version of him who watched you vanish. “You always said you’d go first,” he says. “You always said I’d be the one who stayed.” You answer—but the words aren’t new. They come from somewhere deep inside. “Because someone had to hold the thread.” The space shifts. You’re running. Bleeding. Crying. He’s behind you, yelling your name. You slam your hand against the floor, screaming at the Vein to erase you before you collapse the system. His scream breaks through as light floods the room: “Please—don’t take all of her—”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You’re back in the now.

His voice didn’t save you then. But it found something in the Vein that did.

Sitting on the Heart’s glass floor.

He’s beside you. Real. Solid. Older. Alive.

Neither of you speaks for a long time.

Then—

“You were never just the Anchor,” he says. “You were the one the Vein answered.”

“And you were the only one it let ask,” you reply.

He looks at you.

You’ve seen that expression before—in memory, in dreams.

It’s not affection. It’s recognition.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Later, the team notices the shift in you both.

Jake logs that your vitals are permanently tethered to the Vein’s stabilisation pattern.

Sunoo runs a scan that shows Jungwon’s neuro-sync thread overlaps yours.

Jay, of course, as already suspected.

“You weren’t chosen separately,” he says. “You were a pair. A matched set. That’s why the collapse didn’t happen sooner. Like twin threads in a web so vast even the system couldn’t cut one without unraveling.”

Riki nods. “He held her shape in the system. Until she came back to fill it.”

Heeseung hums. “So we’re basically living inside a metaphysical love story.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “Someone stab me.”

But he doesn’t sound too annoyed.

He almost sounds… relieved.

Like for the first time, the mystery isn’t unraveling—it’s settling.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

That night, you sit beside Jungwon in the overlook chamber. The threads of the Vein stretch far below, soft and steady.

You speak without looking at him.

“You never let go.”

He replies the same way.

“You never gave me a reason to.”

You finally turn.

His expression is unreadable—but his voice is full.

“I knew you before you were erased. I waited for you after, even though I couldn't remember clearly. I built my whole existence around the possibility that one day, you’d come back.”

You reach for his hand.

Not to hold it.

To return it.

The thread around his wrist glows faintly.

The one you left him.

Still there.

Still tethered.

Still whole.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

After your were ‘erased’, he kept working. They promoted him. Called him irreplaceable. The youngest leader in Core Response history. They didn’t know he was keeping you alive in the only place he could: Inside the Vein’s breath. He refused to let the building forget your shape. And it listened. Because it remembered how he loved you. And when you returned— When you stood in that doorway again, alive and whole and unaware— He didn’t say I told you so. He just breathed for the first time in years. You once said:  “We weren’t designed to save the Vein. We were designed to make it human.” And he thinks maybe you were right. Because when you finally touched his hand again— And the system aligned itself to you once more— He knew: The Vein had always remembered you. But he was the one who never let go.

Chapter Nine: What Will You Build?

The Vein no longer pulses with urgency.

It hums.

Alive. Awake. Listening.

You’ve never felt it like this before—not reactive, not grieving.  Just… waiting.

Not for a command.

For a choice.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The Heart chamber is open, its glass ceiling glowing with soft veins of gold and silver. You stand at its center. The others are there too—Jungwon by your side, always—like it’s the only formation that ever made sense—and the rest forming the circle you never realised had grown around you.

Jake is the first to speak.

“I ran diagnostics all morning. There’s no longer a power hierarchy in the system. No protocols overriding personal action.”

“Translation?” you ask.

He shrugs. “The Vein isn’t leading us anymore.”

Jay folds his arms. “It’s giving us autonomy.”

Sunghoon frowns. “So... what, it’s retiring?”

“No,” Jungwon says. “It’s handing over control.”

His gaze meets yours.

“It wants to know what we will do now.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The chaos is over, but no one really knows what comes next. So they build.

It starts with the nameplate.

FIELD RESPONSE – BLACK VAULT is pulled down.

In its place, a new one is printed:

ANCHOR TEAM: ZERO POINT

Riki installs it himself..

Sunghoon just mutters, “Finally. Something less melodramatic.”

Jake adds, “Give it a week before someone tries to break in. This place’s legacy has fans.”

Heeseung tosses him a pack of reinforced bolts. “Then let them try.”

Everyone laughs.

Even Jay. Just barely.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The old barracks are transformed.

Jake and Sunoo turn the south wing into a med/research hybrid. No more sterile white walls. Now they’re soft blue and silver. Lit like a place meant for healing.

Jay and Riki split the west corridor—half command, half innovation lab. A place to plan. A place to rebuild. A place to imagine.

Sunghoon repurposes the north wing into a combat simulator—but not for war.

“Reflexes stay sharp. Even in peace,” he says.

Heeseung, surprisingly, builds the rec lounge.

He stocks it with music, movies, games, even books.

“No one’s breaking down emotionally on my shift,” he says, sipping from a thermos infamous black coffee.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Jungwon rebuilds nothing.

Instead, he walks the halls. But he always ends near where you are. Like the walls are listening to his pulse—and it leads him back to you every time.

He maps the pulses of the Vein by feel. Listens to the walls when they breathe. And every time the lights flicker with soft white hums, you know he’s there.

You find him near the old Heart one morning.

Just watching.

“It’s quieter,” you say.

He nods. “Not sleeping. Just... listening less loudly.”

You walk to his side. The silence stretches comfortably.

“I think it knows we’re not leaving,” he says.

You look at him.

“Are you?”

He shakes his head.

“Not unless you do first.”

You don’t answer.

You step forward instead. Close the space.

And kiss him.

It’s not hesitant. Not burning either. Just real. A touch that says: we’re still here. We made it. We stayed.

And the Vein feels it.

The corridor hums—deep, warm, low in your bones. The walls light soft gold, not flickering but glowing, like they recognise you.

Not reacting. -Acknowledging.

Like it’s syncing to the feeling and choosing to hold it.

Then your comm crackles.

Jake’s voice, a little too casual:

“Sooo, not to interrupt the anchor bonding moment, but the whole East Hall just—yeah, it felt that. We all did.”

A pause. Then Sunoo, quieter:

“It wasn’t a warning. It was… something else.”

Jay: “It felt calm.”

Riki: “kinda like you both.”

You rest your forehead against Jungwon’s. Neither of you pulls away.

“Still tethered?” he murmurs.

“Yeah.”

You stay there a moment longer.

And the Vein hums again—steady, even, alive.

Just like you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Your quarters are different now.

No whispers. No pressure. No dreams you don’t remember choosing.

But one night, the Vein pulses once. Just once.

And a small line of light drifts across the far wall.

You walk toward it.

It doesn’t speak.

It asks.

“WHERE SHALL WE BEGIN?”

You watch them all.

The ones who kept the Vein alive. The ones who bled for it. The ones who waited for you without even knowing why.

You reach for the console.

The Vein pulses beneath your fingers—not with warning.

With welcome.

You press a key.

The screen glows.

And a new day begins.

Mission Log: Day One; ZERO POINT Status: Anchor confirmed. System aligned. Core stable. Objective: Define the future. Together.

© taetebebe 2025

𖤘𖤘𖤘 - @yourislandgirl @won1yoiz

[ficfield]

For Every Tomorrow

Request: I feel like Chris would have that talk with his wife just incase he dies on a mission, he’d tell her everything and exactly what he’s leaving for his family if he dies. Don’t see u write sad stuff a whole lot so maybe write something like this? :3

I loved this idea so much, I’ve gone for the family man Chris, including his beautiful little bubbas, thought it’d add to the angst. 

Anyways enjoyyy.  Chris Redfield x Reader 

Chris didn’t come to bed right away. You’d heard him moving around downstairs, quiet, deliberate, like he didn’t want to wake anyone. Which made sense. The house was finally still, Noah asleep with one sock off like always, and Lyra dozing in her crib after her last feeding. But Chris… he wasn’t still. Not inside.

When he finally came into the bedroom, he wasn’t wearing his usual confidence. No tactical bravado, no calm commander’s mask. Just Chris, your Chris, with tired eyes and a quiet grief he hadn’t yet spoken out loud. 

You sat up slowly, your hand reaching out. “Hey. You okay baby?” 

He looked at you for a long moment, then crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I need to talk to you.” 

You knew that tone. That low, steady one he used when he needed to be brave in a different way. 

You reached for his hand.

He took a shaky breath. “This mission’s different. I can’t tell you everything, but it’s bad. And I can’t… I can’t go out there without making sure you and the kids are taken care of.” 

“Chris..” 

“I know. I know how it sounds,” he said quickly, squeezing your hand. “But you’ve seen what I’ve gone up against. You know what’s out there. if something happens to me, if I don’t make it back, I need you to know what comes next.” 

You heart clenched. The thought of him not being there when Noah asked, “Where’s daddy?” or of Lyra never remembering the weight of his arms wrapped around her, it broke something deep.

Chris pulled out a small binder from the drawer by the bed. It was navy blue, labelled with your name in his handwriting, 

“In here… is everything,” he said, laying it in your lap. “The insurance policy. Emergency contacts. The deed to the house, it’s already in your name. and there’s a trust fund set up for both kids. Enough to get them through school. More if they want to go farther.”

You blinked hard, but the tears were coming anyway. 

“I recorded some videos,” he continued, voice thick. “One for Noah’s fifth birthday. And every birthday after that. First day of school. Graduation. His first heartbreak. Same for Lyra. Her first dance. Her wedding day. All of it.” 

You let out a sob and covered your mouth. 

Chris reached for you, pulling you into his arms. He was trembling too, now. “I want them to remember me for more than just a uniform. I want them to know who I was. That I loved them more than anything. That I fought so they could grow up without ever seeing what I’ve seen.” 

You clung to him, heart breaking open. “Don’t you dare say goodbye, Chris. Please.” 

“I’m not,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I’m going to come back. I swear to you, I’m going to fight like hell to come back. But if I don’t… you won’t be alone. You’ll have me in all those moments. I made sure of it.” 

A tiny cry broke through the heavy quiet, and both of you turned to the crib where Lyra squirmed. Chris stood and crossed the room, lifting her with such gentle care it made your chest ache. She curled into him instantly, resting her tiny cheek against his shoulder. 

He looked down at her with eyes full of sorrow and love. “You’re so small. And I’ve already missed too much.” 

You joined him, wrapping your arms around his side as he rocked her gently. You stayed like that in the half-light, your family, together, quiet and still. 

Chris finally speaks again, a whisper just for you. “If anything happens… tell Noah I’m proud of the way he shares. Of the way he laughs. Tell Lyra she has my heart in her hands, and she always will.”

“She’ll hear it from you,” you said firmly. “They both will.” 

He looked at you and nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, they will.” 

Because no matter how many times he’d faced death, this time he had something to fight for that went beyond duty.

This Time he had everything to lose. 

Chris was still holding Lyra, her tiny hand curled around his finger, when he spoke again. His voice was quieter now, thicker. Like the words were heavier, closer to something that had been sitting in his chest for years.

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” he said, eyes still on your daughter, “About how different my life turned out. How much it changed…. Because of you.” 

You looked up at him, heart already aching in your chest. 

“I used to think this kind of life wasn’t for me. a family. A home. I told myself I didn’t need it. That I didn’t deserve it after everything I’d seen, everything I’d done. But then…”

He finally looked at you. Really looked. And your breath caught in your throat at the way his eyes shimmered in the soft light. 

“Then you happened,” he said. “You gave me everything. Everything I never knew I could have. You gave me a reason to come home. You gave me them,” he nodded toward Lyra, then toward Noah’s closed bedroom door. “You made me a dad. A dad, can you believe that?”

You laughed softly through your tears, and Chris smiled, just a little. 

“I was lost before you,” he whispered, his voice nearly breaking, “I mean it. I was angry and tired and…. I think deep down I’d already given up. I was just going through the motions, doing the job, waiting for the day it finally caught up to me.” 

He sat on the edge of the bed again, Lyra resting peacefully in the crook of his arm. You sat beside him, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“But then you walked into my life like a damn miracle. You showed me what it meant to live, not just survive. You gave me a home. A real home, not just four walls. You are my home. And if I don’t make it back-“

“Chris…” 

He turned his head, kissed your temple gently. “If I don’t, I need you to know…. I went out there loving you with everything I had. You gave me a future. You made me believe I could be more than a soldier. You gave me something worth fighting for.”

He looked down at Lyra again, then closed his eyes.

“You gave me my whole world.” 

You were silent for a long moment, just breathing him in, memorizing the warmth of him and the sound of his heartbeat under your cheek.

“I’ll come back to you,” he whispered. “I have to. Because losing you, losing this… would be worse than anything I’ve faced out there.” 

And somehow, in that moment of tears and quiet and love too big for word, you believed him. 

[kierongillen]

General Player Advice For RPGs

I published this in my newsletter here a while back, and discourse reminded me I wanted to put it more public. I probably should get around to actually doing a proper blog for this kind of stuff. You can sign up to the newsletter here.

One of the things which I’ve been chewing over since getting back into RPGs is that there’s so much advice for GMs and so little advice for players. I keep thinking over why - though the whys aren’t what I’m about to write about. However, some other folk think any worthwhile advice is system/genre specific.

This got me chewing over whether I agree with that. As the list below shows, I don’t.

The first four are ones where I think I succeeded, and as principles generally guide you towards better play no matter what game you’re playing. The last three are mainly applicable to games with a significant story component (the last especially). There’s a few more I played with, but they were more about being a good at the table generally – about being a better player in any game rather than specifically about role-playing games. I also avoided ones which were more GM-and-player advice rather than just player advice (if there’s a problem in game, communicate out of game, use appropriate safety tools, etc).

I also didn’t include “Buy The GM Stuff”.

Anyway – here they are. See what you think.

GENERAL PLAYER PRINCIPLES FOR BETTER PLAY

1) Make choices that support the table’s creative goals

If you’re playing a storygame, don’t treat it like a tactical wargame. If you’re playing a tactical wargame, don’t treat it like a storygame. If it’s bleak horror, don’t make jokes. If you’re in a camp cosy romp, don’t bring in horror. It also varies from moment to moment – if someone’s scene is sincere, don’t undercut it.

2) Be A Fan of The Other Characters

This is GM advice in almost all Powered By the Apocalypse games – for the GM to be a fan of the characters. It’s a good trait for a player to cultivate. Be actively excited and interested in the other characters’ triumphs and disasters. Cheer them on. Feel for them. Players being excited for other players always makes the game better. Players turning off until it’s their turn always makes it worse.

3) Be aware of the amount of spotlight time you’re taking

This is a hard one for fellow ADHD-ers, but have an awareness of who is speaking more and who is speaking less. A standard GM skill is moving spotlight time around to players who have had less time. Really good players do this too. Pass the ball.

4) Learn what rules apply to you, to smooth the game, not derail it.

To stress, this isn’t “come to the table knowing everything” but learning the rules that are relevant to your character along the way, especially if they are marginal (looking at you, Grappling and Alchemy rules). Doing otherwise adds to the facilitator’s cognitive load and hurts the game’s flow. The flip is being aware that knowing stuff isn’t an excuse to break the game’s flow with a rules debate either – that’s an extension of the third principle.

5) Make choices which support other characters’ reality

If someone’s playing a scary bastard, treat them like a scary bastard. If they’re meant to be the leader, have your character treat them like the leader , for better or worse. A fictional reality is shared, and you construct it together.

6) Ensure The Group Understands Who Your Character Is

This is the flip of the above – having a character conception that is clear enough that everyone gets who you are, what you want to do and how you want to do it. If you don’t, the table will be incapable of supporting your choices. This links to…

7) If asked a preference in a story game, a strong choice is almost always better than a middling choice.

Don’t equivocate. If asked “You’ve met this person before. How do you feel about him?” either “I love him” or “I hate him” is better than anything middling. The exception is if it’s something you’re really not interested in pursuing.

[thegingerwriter]

Why are you holding on? - Bob Reynolds x reader - Part 3 of Thunder and Lullabys

Warnings/content: Mentions of trials, Bob is a lovesick puppy, idiots in love, eventual smut Words: 2.1k is short i'm sorry Let me know on THIS post if you wanna be added to the tag list pretty please

“…and you two will remain together, and behind me, got it?”

“uhh..y/n?”

You look up from where you’re half sat against the wall, looking up at Bob who has his hand on your arm- the touch warm on your skin.

You realize everyone else is looking at you- Walker, Ava, Bob, Yelena. You weren’t listening.

���Yes sorry-“ You perk up, trying to remember what was last said to you. “Bob and I stay together and behind…” You look up, not sure who was the one who spoke.

“Me.” Yelena says annoyedly, but there’s little aggression in her voice.

“Right.” You tune out again as Bob’s hand slides down your arm, grabbing your hand. You are surprised by the boldness of his touch- not just in general but in front of the others. You still barely know each other.

Everything is a blur- Walker arguing about going out fighting, Yelena being inches away from slapping him up the head, Ava trying to understand how any of this plan is going to work. You don’t even comprehend people are moving, going places until Bob pulls you along with him, hand firm around yours.

“Hey, you okay?” He whispers to you as he pulls you along beside him to follow Yelena quickly down a corridor, into a room filled with buttons and switches. She immediately starts tearing glass doors open, flipping switches repeatedly while looking back to check you are both staying put.

“Are both of you okay?” Yelena says, looking at more of the switches.

Bob looks at you expectantly as you stare at them both.

“Uh-yea. I guess.” You answer, and Bob nods slowly, hand leaving yours to nervously grab around his own.

“Okay good because I need you both to be alert for this next part.” You are not registering what Yelena is saying until she is pulling you both close to a wall, your body flush against it as she shushes you both harshly for even breathing.

“What was that?” You hiss, referring to the sound of gunshots coming from down the hallway.

“I told him to wait!” Yelena harshly whispers to herself, assuming she could only mean Walker.

“Wait for what?” You ask, terrified to be put through another ordeal again already.

Yelena takes a breathe, looking at you and Bob. “Okay. You two. Stay put. I’m going out, hopefully Ava has the truck, and Walker hasn’t totally screwed us over-.” She says the last part more to herself than you both, and she doesn’t wait for a reply before sprinting down the hallway.

“Holy shit, what do we do?”  You ask, on the point of hysterical as the sound of gunshots continue. You are trying to not actually cling to Bob, but he is surprisingly calm.

“Hey, hey it’s fine, she said stay put, right? So we stay put.”

There is silence between you, just the absent noises of you both breathing with anxiety, and the sounds of gunshots and distant yelling.

“Who do you think…” Bob starts to ask, but he’s clearly not sure how to finish.

“Is shooting? Or being shot at? I’m not sure.” You finish for Bob. “Maybe whoever…called all of them into the vault? Or whoever.. put…us? In there?”

Bob freezes, clearly unsure how to respond to that. Whether that’s because he knows more than you do about before you woke up- you’re not sure. But either way, he doesn’t speak again.

Neither of you speak, until someone else does, and you both are too scared to even continue breathing.

“Down here!” A voice calls out and you both freeze behind the wall, turning to look at each other slowly.

You mouth for Bob to be quiet, and he nods frantically, grabbing your hand as the sound of footsteps increases as they get closer to the room. Shit, shit SHITTT!

Your heartrate increases, sweat building as you hear them grow closer and closer.

Right as you see a gun round the corner barrel first, and you try to decide if tackling the guy in black tactical gear would make any difference, someone else tackles the guy, and he tumbles to the ground. You realize it’s Walker, and you look away as John beats and then shoots the man in the head.

“Jesus Christ.”  You say as Walker stands up, grey shield in hand.

“Come on you two, we gotta go!” Walker doesn’t wait for you to reply before running down the hallway, and when Bob doesn’t move, you take it upon yourself to thank him for earlier by grabbing his hand and pulling him along quickly around the corner and into the hallway. You keep him close to you as you both stay low and fast behind Walker.

“Feel like I should have grabbed that guy’s gun.” Bob mumbles and you’re not sure if it’s to himself or you.

You run out into the front room behind Walker and pause when you see Yelena standing there, her own tactical gear that matches the man from before.

“Um…” You start, but Yelena is quick to cut you off.

“No time. Smoke bombs in a minute. Bob stay close to me, y/n stay with Walker. Get to the truck.” Yelena says.

“60 seconds, we take the gap, hope Ava has the truck.” Walker adds.

“You mean we don’t know where we’re going?” Bob asks, clearly stressed.

There is silence as everyone looks at him, including yourself. It wouldn’t be the first time today you didn’t have a solid plan.

“Okay, let’s go then.” You try to be brave, gripping Bob’s hand with so much force you think you might accidentally break it. But he clearly doesn’t mind, letting you squeeze as much as you need to.

The rest is a blur. Smoke fills the room you are in. And you are forced to let go of Bob’s hand in order to stay close behind Walker, following his shady through the smoke as you pull your shirt over your nose in order to not cough and give away your location.

“We’re almost there.” Walker whispers back to you, and you hold on to that. Being away from Bob has your heart beating fast and mind racing. It’s like he’s a part of you- a half you’re not sure when you lost. But you need him- and something in your brain says it’s not the first time you have.

You continue following Walker, but when you turn to see if Bob is still with Yelena, you lose everyone.

“Walker?” You try to harshly whisper, but you’re afraid of making too much noise.

That’s when you hear a familiar woman’s voice yell, “There!”, and a pair of arms grab you, and you are quick to scream at the absolute top of your lungs.

“Fuck off, let me go!” You scream, but a hand flies over your mouth, and before you can struggle more, something sharp hits your neck, and you scream behind the hand as your body becomes woozy.

The last thing you remember is people screaming and gasping, surprised yells and your head finally hitting the ground. Again.

***

“These are the other people going through the clinical trials.” The person in scrubs said, leading you into the room where 3 other people sat.

“Uh… thank you.” You reply, and you receive no response as you step in the room and the door all but slams behind you, and you can’t mistake the sound of the lock that echoes in the room. You stand there awkwardly, looking at the people in the room. A soft-ish looking man in pyjama-like clothes like yours, clearly anxious and curled in on himself.

A woman and another man sit on the opposite side of the room together, muttering quietly and consistently to each other enough that you decide you shouldn’t interrupt them, and take a seat one chair apart from the man you spotted first.

He looks up at you slightly as you sit down, giving you a very short but still very kind smile.

You jump on it, hoping to strike some type of conversation to ease some anxiety stirring in your tummy.

“Um- hi.” You wait for him to look up at you again before sticking your hand out towards him. “My name is Y/n.” You stare at him, hoping, praying he’s not crazy and you didn’t just sit next to the wrong person.

But he eases everything inside of you when his warm but anxious smile appears again, and he takes your hand in his, clasping it loosely. “Bob.”

“Nice to meet you Bob.”

You let the silence settle between you both again, looking at him as he puts his head down again, and you realize some of demeanor is clearly boredom.

“How long you been in this room?” You decide to ask, hoping you don’t antagonize him.

“I have to guess a few hours at most. You and the doctor that I saw just before are the first people I’ve seen all day besides those two over there.” Bob says, nodding his head to the pair still muttering to each other. Not having stopped since you came in.

“Oh, I see. Well that’s shit.” You say plainly, and you are surprised when Bob lets out a laugh, his features lighting up.

“Yea, it kind of is. What did you say your name was again?” Bob says, turning in his seat and clearly giving you his full attention. You straighten up, suddenly under his gaze and heat hitting your cheeks.

“Y/n.” You smile at him and he returns it.

“Well I hope we get to stick together than Y/n. If I’m honest, this kind of thing freaks me out and I’d like…a friend.”

You stare at him, surprised by his candidness. “Me too, Bob.”

***

“Hey!” You yell at a doctor as they run past your room, and you see their silhouette through the frosted glass. You are relieved when they stop, tapping the glass from the outside to make it clear so you can see each other.

“Yes?” The doctor asks, looking annoyed and offended you are speaking to him. Like you are below him.

“Where is Bob?” You interrogate, and you fume when the doctor looks confused.

“Who?”

“BOB! The other man that stays in this room with me? One of the only other people fucking here!” You are angry- it’s been nearly a whole 24 hours since you last spoke to Bob, and he’s still not back in the (sort of) safety of his shared room with you, in the bunk under yours.

“Oh. You’ll be staying in this room by yourself for a little bit. He’s busy.” That’s all the doctor gives you, and before you can protest, they tap the glass and they disappear.

You actually scream at the lack of information, terrified and worried for your friend.

Please come back.

***

Your head is pounding as you roll over, using the momentum to sit up. “Fuck my head…” You mutter, cradling it as you blink and try to get used to the brightness in whatever… room you’re in.

“Hi.” A voice says, and you jump, sitting up straighter on the… are you in a bed? You look around the room frantically, seeing a woman with beautiful brown hair, white strips through it in elegant waves. She is sitting at a chair across from your bed, and you are surprised by her…warmth.

“Hello?” You manage to get out, voice hoarse.

“Oh, here-.” The woman gets up, walking over to the bedside table next to you, pouring you a glass of water from the jug sitting there.

“Um- thank you,” You mutter, lifting the glass to your lips. It is cold and crisp, and you nearly moan at the feeling of it sliding down your throat.

She smiles at you, and you can’t help but feel uncomfortable.

You suddenly sit up, remembering what happened before you passed out.

“Wait- I have friends.” She doesn’t look surprised, but doesn’t say anything or interrupt you. “Yelena. Bob- shit where is Bob?” You ask, stressed and throwing your legs out over the bed, but you are wobbly, and instantly sit bac down again.

Again, the woman doesn’t look surprised at this, and gives you her best “kind” smile.

“We will discuss that. The other’s aren’t a worry for you anymore, don’t worry! And Bob- well. We think it’s best if you two stay permanently separated.”

Permanently?

Separated?

“No, there’s been a mistake we’re not dangerous- we’re friends and-.”

“Sweetie if I’m honest, he’s an ocean and you are a pond. Your power is miniscule compared to his and I need you out of the picture right now. Don’t worry, I’ll have a good role for you but until-.”

You don’t hear the rest of what she says because your ears are ringing, fuming with the idea that someone is keeping your only friend away from you for no good reason.

And you just have the smallest feeling Bob is somewhere in the same building feeling the exact same thing.

Tags: @eywas-heir @ren-ni @nervousstrangesandwich @usuallyunlikelyfox @sarcazzzum @samisprocastinating @laurenjbb @quardasngan @deadpoolgirl23 @abbyandersonslovr @swiftiedits13