#this is the third time this week this has happened
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Plainsong
Pairing: Touch Starved! Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Escort!Fem!Reader
Summary: As things begin to escalate between you and Bob, the both of you start to open up to one another about your pasts. (Sequel to Spoiled)
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! (To be on the safe side because of escorting being involved in this story, read at your own risk if youâre under the age of 18) Fluff, Angst, Reader is an escort, Bob is super touch starved, Reader has a traumatic past which is explored, Sexual Assault Mentioned Briefly (no details are given, but it is assumed), Mentions of Violence
Authorâs Note: Loved writing this sequel, and I canât wait to write the third part for yâall.
Word Count: 7,788
The smell of toasted sourdough and warmed citrus peel lingered in the air, curling between the soft hissing of your kettle and the lazy gurgle of Lunaâs automatic water fountain. The sun had barely risen, casting long honey-gold streaks through the slats of your kitchen blinds, warming the edge of the worn counter top where you and Alana sat with your mismatched mug and crumb-covered plates.
You werenât talking much, you were just focused on eating. But Alanaâs silence had a very specific weight to it, one you recognized instantly: the calm before a controlled, and calculated ambush. She was sipping her tea with slow, deliberate patience, slurping the hot liquid to cool it down as it touched her tongue. Her eyes kept flicking toward your second phone, which buzzed quietly near your elbow, flashing the name âBobâ briefly before it went dark.
You didnât even have to check the screen to know what he said. It was always sent around this time on the days where you would be seeing each other, a little after sevenâright after his morning walk, when he was winding up for the morningâor at least trying to. The texts were never long, always short and sweet, most of them read:
Want me to bring you anything tonight from the bakery? The lemon twists they have are fresh, should still be good by the time I see you.
âIs that Bob again?â Alana asked, setting her mug down with a soft clink. You chewed on your piece of dry toast and gulped it down, chasing it with your hot tea.
âProbably.â You replied casually. Alana let out a small scoff, and shook her head slowly, eyebrows lifting just enough to announce that her trap was being sprung on you.
âYâknow I was looking at our Google calendar,â She started, and you could feel your stomach tighten slightly at the mention of it, âAnd I saw you cancelled on Devin this weekâŚAnd that couple you met in TribecaâŚAnd Dominic.â She tilted her head, watching you carefully place the mug down onto the countertop, coughing a bit, âMind telling me whatâs going on?â You wiped a stray drop of tea off your lip with the side of your thumb. You werenât sure what to say at first. Not because you didnât have an answerâbut because every version of the truth was only going to make Alana get even more suspicious. You let out a small sigh.
âWell, I cancelled on Devin because he doesnât know boundaries. And I told him last time that if he asked me one more time to step on him with actual force, that he was going to be at the bottom of my rebooking list.â Alana cringed a bit at this little fact drop, but stayed strong in her approach, putting her mug down a little harder than necessary, shifting in her spot, her blonde hair falling out of the bun she had put it in.
âOkay, sure. Iâll give you that oneâheâs always been a boundary-pusher. But it doesnât explain the other two cancellations. Which, by the way, just so happen to be the days after your nights with Bob.â You let out a groanâlow, drawn outâas if by sheer sound alone you could will the conversation into retreat. Both your hands dragged down your face, palms flattening over your cheeks and pulling at the skin, distorting you expression with an exaggerated grimace.
âYâknow what?â You muttered, your voice muffled through your fingers, âI quit the escorting company we were at because I didnât want another Madam situationâbecause I didnât want someone controlling my bookings like I was on a fucking conveyor belt.â Alana blinked, her expression unreadable. You dropped your hands into your lap with a dull slap, leaning forward slightly as the heat of your tea curled up from the mug and warmed the underside of your chin, âAnd now somehow youâre the one falling into that role, and youâre sounding like them.â Alanaâs eyes narrowed, her shoulders rolling back slowly as she absorbed the verbal hit. A sharp exhale left her nostrils, and the slight twitch in her jaw told you she was not taking kindly to the comparison.
âYou better not be lumping me in with Clarissa,â She said coolly, with a pointed lift of her brow, âThat bitch ruined your life multiple times, and you know what she did to you after your littleâŚIncident.â She sat forward now, elbows braced on the counter, âIâm not trying to run your life, Iâm just pointing out the obvious signs that Bob is becoming more than just a client.â Before you could reply, Luna let out a delicate, chirping meow from below the table. Then, with the graceful self-importance only a cat could muster, she hopped up onto your lap. Her soft weight settled immediately into the cradle of your thighs, a muted whump of fur and warmth pressing into your belly as she folded her paws under herself, tail flicking lazily once before going still. You scratched her gently behind the ears, grateful for the brief distraction, and for cooling down the conversation that was on the brink of boiling over.
You sighed, long and deliberate, the breath puffing Lunaâs fur slightly, âPleaseâŚEnlighten me with these signs youâre apparently seeing. Iâm very interested.â You said dryly. Alana didnât even flinch. She crossed her arms like she was settling into a courtroom cross-examination, lips pursed, eyes sharp and gleaming with the satisfaction of someone who was about to start pulling out receipts.
âGladly,â She replied, shifting in her spot, âLetâs start with the fact that you switched from booking hotels to booking AirBnbs,â She lifted her brows, âWhy? Because Bob was all nervous and felt like the front desk was starting to notice a pattern.â You rolled your eyes, scratching the underside of Lunaâs chin.
âHe wasnât wrong,â You muttered, âThey were starting to get suspicious, and it was starting to get weird.â Alana pointed at you like she had just scored a point on a game show.
âRight! But you didnât just find another hotel. You customized your solution for his comfort.â You opened your mouth, but she steamrolled ahead, clearly on a roll now. âAnd,â She added with a smug little tilt of her head, âYouâre not charging him for texting you outside of booking times.â
You tried to sound unfazed when you responded, âHeâs a client, Iâm just answering his questions.â Alana gave a short, sharp laugh and immediately reached for the second phone on the countertop, fingers quick and practiced. You lunged for it, but she was already swiping it openâof course she knew your passcode, it was the date of the night that made you quit the escorting company you worked forâand she began scrolling through your messages with practiced ease.
âOh really?â She said, tapping into your conversation with Bob, ââClient questions,â huh?â She held the screen up at a little bit of a distance so she could begin to read the most recent message like a personal assistant, âShould we order in food tonight instead of going to that diner we like? Apparently itâs going to rain tonight, and I think it would be nice to just have the balcony doors open while we sit, eat, chat, and cuddle.â She let the word cuddle hang in the air like a damning piece of evidence.
Of course Bob would message you about something other than picking up a lemon twist for you from the bakery he frequented, and at the worst time. You let out a little groan and took a sip of your tea.
âThatâs out of context.â Alana slowly lowered the phone, arching one manicured brow.
âOh is it?â You didnât respond, so she leaned back with an exaggerated sigh, letting the phone rest on the counter as she studied you, âCause it sounds like a boyfriend talking to his girlfriend to me.â You grabbed the second phone off the counter, the weight of it suddenly heavier in your palm than it had been a minute ago. The screen had gone dark again, but you could still feel the message lingering like heat through glass. The word cuddle burned a little, not because it was untrue, but because sheâd said it like it was incriminating.
âItâs not like that,â You replied, more to the phone than to Alana. âWeâre justâŚClose.âAlana didnât say a word, but you could feel the way she was watching you, lips drawn tight, expression unreadable.
You kept going anyway.
âHe doesnât have many friends. His roommates are always out. He doesnât reallyâŚGet to be around people much. Heâs quiet. Doesnât open up easily.â You glanced down at the faint reflection of your face in the tea that filled your mug, then back up at her. âAnd just a reminderâheâs booking me for cuddling. Thatâs the point. So I donât think itâs totally out of bounds that heâs saying stuff like that to me.â
Alana bit the inside of her cheek, shifting her weight in her seat. You could see the tug of emotion at the corner of her mouthâsomething between concern and resignation.
âYâknow what,â She said finally, voice softer now, âCall it what you want. A client. A comfort thing. Whatever helps you sleep at night.â She reached for her tea and took a long, slow sip before meeting your eyes again. âBut I see something very different,â She added simply. âAnd Iâm sure heâs got feelings. So if you donât, you better let him down easy tonight.â
Your stomach twisted, slow and aching.
You rolled your eyesânot because you disagreed, but because the weight of her words settled somewhere uncomfortable in your chest. You werenât ready to unpack it, not yet, not like this. Not at the kitchen counter in the morning with your toast going cold and Luna half-asleep on your lap.
âAlanaâŚâ You sighed. âYouâre really overthinking this. Youâre looking far too deeply into it.â
She snorted. âAm I?â
âYes,â You responded, more firmly now, pushing your mug a few inches forward and sitting up straighter. âYou need a breather before we continue this conversation. Okay?â She didnât respond, just raised a brow and gave you the smallest nod of concession as she leaned back in her chair, letting her hands fall into her lap. Her silence was thick, but for now, sheâd let you retreat.
You unlocked the second phone again, Bobâs message still sitting there, bright and sweet, before tapping out a quick reply of your own.
You: Sounds good! Iâll see you at 7:30 :)
You hit send and set the phone back down, the screen fading to black like nothing had happened.
ââââââââ
You could smell the rain in the air the second you stepped out of the Uber, the scent curling into your lungs like a memory.
It was thick and richâozone laced with the faint, earthy sweetness of warm pavement and wet greenery. The kind of smell that only came before a summer storm, when the clouds were low and heavy and the breeze carried a charge so subtle it made the hairs on your arms lift. Somewhere in the distance, thunder murmured softly, like a voice too far away to understand, and the wind threaded over your hair gently, tugging at the strap of your overnight bag where it rested on your shoulder.
You adjusted it and stepped up onto the curb, the soles of your sneakers sticking slightly to the damp concrete as you approached the building. The large glass doors of the condominium were glossy with humidity, streaked slightly with the first lazy drizzles of rain beginning to settle into the city. You pulled the handle and slipped inside, the whoosh of the lobbyâs climate-controlled air sweeping over you like a sigh of relief.
The lobby was cool and softly lit, the overhead bulbs warm enough to feel welcoming, but dim enough to soften the edges of the polished stone floors and the brushed brass fixtures that framed the concierge desk. You nodded politely at the woman seated behind itâshe barely glanced up, too focused on the glow of her monitorâand made your way across the marble toward the elevator bank.
Each step echoed faintly in the wide, pristine space, your overnight bag swaying gently against your hip. You pressed the call button and waited, staring at your reflection in the gold-edged elevator doors, leaning in close to check if you had anything on your face, before licking your lips gently, tasting the honey and lemon balm that coated them.
The elevator chimed softly when it arrived, and you stepped inside, pressing the button for the fifty-fourth floor. As the doors closed, you watched the lobby vanish behind youâthe hush of it swallowed by the low hum of the elevator as it began its smooth, silent ascent.
You exhaled slowly, watching the floor numbers tick upward in soft amber light. The motion was so fluid it barely registered in your body, except for the smallest shift in your balance as you adjusted the strap of your bag again and glanced at the time on your phone.
7:26 PM.
For once, you were actually on time. A few minutes early, even. Bob would probably be surprisedânot that heâd say anything. He never commented when you were late, never looked at you with that edge of quiet judgment like some of your other regulars had. He just opened the door with a soft look in his eyes, paired with a toothy smile before he moved out of the way so you could pass through, like letting you in was never conditional.
The elevator gave a soft ding as it reached the fifty-fourth floor, and the doors slid open with a smooth hush.
You stepped into the hallway, adjusting your grip on your overnight bag. The carpet here was plush, the kind that swallowed the sound of your footsteps entirely, and the light fixtures along the walls cast a soft, golden glow that somehow made everything feel quieter.
Room 549.
It was tucked in the far corner of the building, a spacious corner condo that Bob had taken a liking to last week and immediately rebookedââWe donât even haâhave to turn on the lights in the bedroom, the city does that perfectly.â He had said simply, which was reason enough for him to take the plunge to book it again. You stopped outside the door and knocked twice, knuckles gentle on the wood. There was a beat of silence, then the sound of Bobâs voice from withinâlow, a little tired around the edges, but calm.
âItâs open,â He called out, you raised your eyebrows.
âIt shouldnât be,â You replied back, even as you reached for the handle and pushed the door inward, âI couldâve been anyone. What if I was a burglar?â You stepped inside, nudging the door shut behind you and locking it, kicking off your sneakers with practiced ease, your bag sliding from your shoulder and landing with a soft thud beside the entryway table.
The condo was dim, but not darkâlit by the soft, milky gray light of the gathering storm outside. The large windows along the far wall were already open, just as heâd promised. Wind moved gently through the space, stirring the curtains and carrying in the rich scent of rain and city air. Thunder grumbled in the distance, low and unhurried. The rental was simple but beautiful. Minimal furniture, but thoughtfully placed. A plush dark green sofa faced the windows, scattered with pillows in soft shades of cream and rust, and a television. The kitchen, separated only by a sleek island, was warm with the faint scent of something citrusyâmaybe the dish soap, or maybe fresh lime, you couldnât tell. On the counter sat a brown bakery bag and a lemon twist on a small ceramic plate, already dusted in sugar and waiting for you.
There were small signs of his presence: a folded hoodie draped over the arm of the couch, a bookâhis most recent read was The Stranger by Camusâwhich was face down on the coffee table beside a half filled glass of water. His shoes sat neatly beside the door to the bedroom, which was cracked open just enough to see the edge of the bed, with the sheets already turned down.
You turned back toward the living room just in time to see him step around the corner from the hallwayâbarefoot, with soft grey joggers hanging low on his hips, and a worn white t-shirt stretched across his chest. He was toweling off his light brown hair like he had just stepped out of the shower a couple of minutes ago, and his eyesâthose blue impossibly kind eyesâcrinkled as he gave you a small smile.
âHeyâŚYouâre eaâearly.â You shrug off your windbreaker.
âIâm trying to turn over a new leafâŚAm I the only one concerned about you leaving the door unlocked while youâre showering? Or do you just like playing with fate?â Bob let out a soft laugh, pulling the towel away from his damp hair as he walked toward the kitchen.
âTrust me,â He started, his voice warm and a little teasing, âIâm pretty sure if anyone broke in I woâwould be completely fine.â You smirked, walking towards the coat hook near the door.
âSure, Bob,â You replied, your tone light and incredulous, âBecause burglars would take one look at you in a towel and just drop dead on the spot right? They wouldnât just take you down instantly and steal all your stuff.â He turned his head slightly, giving you an amused smile.
âFineâŚâ He said, raising both hands in mock surrender, âDonât believe me then.â Bob stepped toward the bedroom, towel still in hand, âIâm gonna quickly hang this up, th-then we can order some food.â
âSounds good to me,â You called back, moving toward the kitchen island, sliding the bakery bag towards you to peek in, seeing he bought an extra lemon twist so you could have one in the morning, âIâll pay this time though.â From the other room you heard the telltale shuffle of his feet across the carpet and then a beat of silence, before he replied.
âNope.â You turned on your heel, raising an eyebrow as he reappeared, now raking his fingers through the stillâdamp light brown locks. He crossed the space, shirt wrinkling slightly where it clung to his dampened skin, âYou know the agâagreement.â You sighed.
âBob, Iââ
âAh.â He held up a finger, interrupting you gently as he stepped around the island to stand beside you, leaning on his hand, his warmth immediately surrounding you with the close proximity, âDonât Bob meâŚâ You knew a few weeks ago he wouldnât be this confident, but it seemed like you had brought it out of himâprobably because he was comfortable around you finally.
You looked up at him, exasperated, but his smile was already spreading, tilting the corners of his mouth in that slightly crooked way he always had when he knew he was going to win an argument.
âI do this twâtwice a week with you, a delivery order or a bill at a restaurant here and there is not that big of a deal.â You watched him for a moment. He wasnât teasing anymoreânot exactly. The humor was still there, but it was laced with something gentler, something sincere. He said it like he meant it. Like buying you dinner wasnât just part of the routine, but something he looked forward to.
You felt that weight in your chest againâthe same one that settled there whenever he offered you more softness than you knew what to do with.
âSo no complaints,â He added, gaze steady. âPlease.â Your lips parted, but you didnât argue. Instead, you gave him a quiet nod and ripped off a piece of the lemon twist that was on the ceramic plate handing it to him. He blinked at it for a second, like he hadnât expected the random gesture, then took it from your fingers.
âIs this your version of a whâwhite flag?â He asked, gesturing to the piece in his hand. You rolled your eyes.
âJust eat it, and letâs order food before I fight you for your phone.â He laughed a bit, popping the flaky bakery item into his mouth and chewing slowly.
âIâd wish you luck if you tried.â You raised a brow, leaning your hip against the island as you crossed your arms loosely over your chest.
âOh? Are you saying youâd put up a decent fight?â You teased, reaching for the lemon twist again to pick at the sugared edge. âBecause I need to say, BobâIâve had my fair share of fist fights, and Iâm very sure you wouldnât stand a chance.â He let out a small, knowing laugh, like he had some sort of knowledge that you didnât.
âMmm,â He hummed, locking a bit of sugar from his thumb, âMaybe I secretly go to the gym and train. Youâd neânever know.â You gave him a once over, looking at the soft muscles of his biceps, and the broadness of his chest beneath his topâit wasnât anything that screamed âbodybuilderâ but he was fit, he definitely ran on the treadmill from time to time probably, just from the way his sweatpants fit his thighs.
âI think I would be able to connect the dots if you were weight training.â He let out a sigh.
âAlrightâŚSuit yourself.â He replied, Ashe reached into the pocket of his joggers and pulled out his phone, already unlocking it with a casual swipe of his thumb, going through the Home Screen until he found the Uber Eats app, holding his phone out to you, âPick whatever youâd like.â
âââââââââ
You ended up choosing a pub that was a couple of streets awayânothing fancy, just greasy, cozy comfort food. The kind with too many fry options and an absurd number of wing sauces. You ordered a few appetizers, shared a plate of honey garlic wings, and spent the first half of the meal picking food off each otherâs plates like youâd known each other for years.
The storm had picked up outside, soft rain tapping rhythmically against the windows, while inside, the condo was warm, the low hum of the city filtering through the cracked balcony doors and windows.
Bob sat with one leg folded beneath him on the couch, one elbow resting casually on the backrest, looking perfectly at ease in the natural, cloudy lighting of the room. You were cross-legged beside him with a little plate on your lap, grease-slicked fingers cradling the last battered onion ring. The TV was on in the backgroundâlow volume, some muted newscastâbut neither of you had really been paying attention.
âSoâŚHowâs Luna?â He asked, in between bites of a mozzarella stick.
You smiled, brushing a crumb off your thigh. âSpoiled. Loud. Sleeping in the middle of my bed like she pays rent.â Bob let out a soft laugh.
âHas she gotten used to the faâfact that you keep coming home with another cat's fur on you?â You smirk at the comment.
âNot just yet, but sheâs coming around. Howâs Alpine anyways?â Bob glanced at his lap like he had to check for fur.
âStill shedding all over the place, though sheâs not using me as her scratching post anymore.â You chuckled, the corners of your eyes crinkling, but before you could say anything else, Bob suddenly froze mid-reach toward another wing, his gaze flicking over to the TV.
âHey!â he said abruptly, sitting up straighter and grabbing the remote. âThatâs BuâBucky!â He turned up the volume just as the camera cut to the man with the metal arm in a suit, standing stiffly at a podium. The scrolling caption read: Congressman Barnes clashes again with House Armed Services Committee on post-human weaponization protocols. He looked mildly pissed off, jaw clenched as he debated someone off-screen with the kind of practiced control that screamed military history.
ââŚThatâs Bucky?â You asked, eyebrows lifting slowly. âLikeâŚYour Bucky? Your roommate Bucky?â Bobâs cheeks went red instantly, like he had been caught red handed doing something he shouldnât have, or like he was caught in some sort of lie.
âUh. Yeah. Th-thatâs him.â You stared at him for a beat too long and then you let out a small laugh of disbelief.
âWhat are you doing living with a congressman?â Bob swallowed hardâtoo hard for someone whoâd just been chewing on a wingâand looked at you like a deer clocking the glint of headlights. His shoulders drew in slightly, and he offered a feeble shrug that was meant to look casual but only made the tension in his neck more obvious.
âIâŚâ He started, eyes flicking toward the TV again, toward the frozen image of Bucky Barnes mid-sentence, face taut with restrained irritation. âHeâŚHeâs a frâfriend of mine.â You narrowed your eyes, placing your plate gently on the coffee table. The clink of ceramic meeting glass sounded louder than it should have in the quiet, storm-wrapped room. Then you turned fully toward Bob, slow and deliberate, like a spotlight finding its mark.
âRightâŚâ You said, reaching over to take the remote from his hand and clicking the television to mute, his gaze locked with yours instantly, âItâs very obvious when youâre lying, Iâm not saying that as a threat by the way, itâs justâŚAn observation.â Bobâs jaw worked slightly, but he didnât speak.
âYouâve got a boat load of tells,â You continued, lifting your hand to count them off on your fingers, âThe glancing away is the biggest one. You only do it when youâre trying to come up with a believable half-truth. When youâre really lying, though? Like now? You get super super red and flustered.â Bob made a quiet sound in his throat, somewhere between a cough and a laugh, but it didnât reach his eyes.
âNowâŚIâm not judging,â You started, your tone softening, âIf one of your roommates is in Congress, thatâs not my business, but I do have some questionsâŚBecause things arenât really making sense now.â You let your words settle, let him sit in the pause. Let him decide how much he was willing to give. He glanced down at his plate, and pushed a stray fry across it with the tip of his finger, then looked back up at you with a sheepish, almost guilty expression.
âItâsâŚComplicated.â You shift a bit, and move towards him a bit more.
âTry meâŚIâll tell you my secrets if you tell me yours, just to make it fair.â Bob bit the inside of his cheek so hard you saw the muscle in his jaw twitch. His eyes darted to yours for a second, as his shoulder rose with a breath that looked like it hurt.
ââŚI donât think youâll waâwant to see me anymore once you find out,â He said finally, voice barely above a whisper. Your heart stopped mid-beat. The shift in his toneâthe genuine fear undercutting every syllableâmade your spine straighten instinctively. The playful tension that had been in the air just minutes ago was gone, replaced by a quiet unease that slipped under your skin like a chill.
âBobâŚâ You started carefully, shifting in your spot, giving him your full attention, âNow Iâm actually worriedâŚYou have to tell me.â He still wouldnât look at you fully. His fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the plate, the faintest tremble in his wrist.
âYouâŚYou need to promise me yoâyou wonât tell anyone, okay?â
You didnât hesitate. âI promise.â
He inhaled slowly through his nose, like he was trying to draw courage from the air itself. Then, finally, he set his plate down and turned toward you fully, knee brushing yours on the couch. His eyes finally met yoursâwide, vulnerable, and deeply serious in a way that made your stomach twist.
ââŚIâm technicallyâŚPart of the NeâNew Avengers.â You blinked. Once. Twice. Then sat back a little.
âHuh?â
âI knowâŚâ Bob muttered, raking both hands through his still-damp hair, his voice soft and frayed at the edges. âIt sounds like an abâabsolute lieâŚI justâŚFuck, I donât even know how to explain it.â You watched him wring his fingers together like they didnât belong to him, shoulders hunched forward like he was trying to make himself smaller, as if the truth would take up less space if he folded himself in half.
You tilted your head, trying to lighten the tension, even as your pulse climbed steadily beneath your skin.
ââŚAre you an assassin or something?â You asked, half-teasing, half-testing. A huff of startled laughter broke out of him, brief but real. His shoulders twitched with it.
âI wish it was that easy to exâexplain.â
Now you were more curious than anything, and maybe a little reckless. You shifted even closer on the couch, knees nearly touching, voice a little gentler this time.
âAre youâŚA superhero?â You asked, smiling faintly, hoping the word would shake the weight out of the air. Hoping maybe it would make him smile too. But Bob didnât smile.
Instead, he looked up at you and met your gaze fullyâhis face open, stripped down, and full of something like shame and something like awe.
ââŚI donât know if I could call myself that,â He said after a long moment. âAt least not right now.â
Your breath caught in your throat. The way he said itâŚIt didnât sound like false humility. It sounded like a man standing on the edge of something heâd been running from.
You stared at him, eyes searching his face for answers he hadnât yet offered.
âWhat do you mean?â You asked softly. Bob rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting toward the floor, then back to you again.
âI had an incidentâŚWhere I lost theâŚAbâabilities,â He explained, the words halting, like they still felt foreign in his mouth. âBut Iâm working on getting everything back. AndâŚManaging things.â
âManaging things?â You echoed, raising a brow. His lips twitched like he wanted to smile but couldnât quite pull it off.
âItâs more than just physical,â He started, âItâs my mind too. The powersâtheyâre tied to it, I have a feeling I could control the switchâŚBut if Iâm not careful, if I let myself slip too far in any direction, I couldââ
He stopped.
You leaned in, voice a little steadier now. âSo technicallyâŚYouâre retired until further notice?â Bob let out a breath, finally smilingâsmall and lopsided.
âPretty much,â He said with a dry little laugh, âBut itâs far more coâcomplicated than that. Iâm just giving you a suâsummary without getting into the details.â Your smirk softened, but your heart hadnât stopped racing. You looked at him for a long moment, letting the silence stretch just enough to settle again, then tilted your head.
âWellâŚâ You murmured, eyes still on him, âHopefully over time I can find out the full story.â Bob blinked at you, slow and careful, like he wasnât sure heâd heard you right. His brows lifted just slightly, something vulnerable flickering across his face.
âYouâreâŚYouâre not mad?â You let out a soft laugh, not mean-spirited, but more disbelieving. As if that had even occurred to you.
âNo, Bob. Iâm not mad. Surprised? Yes. But mad?â You shook your head, brushing a crumb off your thigh. âNot even a little.â His shoulders sagged, his whole frame letting out a slow exhale like a tire gently deflating. That same crooked, half-sheepish smile tugged at his lips.
ââŚDo you find it weird?â He asked quietly, almost like he already expected the answer to be yes. You snorted softly, resting your elbow on the back of the couch as you leaned your head against your hand.
âI think you sometimes forget that I used to interact with a lot of messed up people, Bob. Like, truly. This?â You gestured vaguely toward him. âThis is not even close to being weird in my books.â He bit the inside of his lip, visibly fighting a smile now as he nodded. You could tell he wanted to believe youâwas believing youâbut there was still that lingering look in his eyes. That deeply embedded fear that if you got too close, heâd dissolve under your touch like something made of sugar.
ââŚSo does this mean we can still see eaâeach other?â He asked the question soft but brave.
You didnât even hesitate. You laughed again, warmer this time. âOf course we can. Unless I have to go into witness protection now that I know youâre Avenger or something.â Bob let out a surprised laugh, full-bodied and sudden, the tension cracking open all at once as he tipped his head back just slightly. It was the kind of laugh that made the corners of your mouth pull up automatically.
âNo,â He said, still chuckling as he leaned forward slightly, his hand brushing your knee without quite resting there, âI think youâll be fine.â You smiled at the touch, even if it was fleeting, like he was nervous to touch you outside of the confines of the bed the both of you laid in twice a week. There was a beat of quiet, the kind that wasnât uncomfortable at all. The kind that settled between you gently, like a blanket pulled up to the chin. The rain tapped softly at the windows behind you both, the condo wrapped in low gold light and shadows, and slowly you were starting to become a little tired.
You reached across the space and touched his wrist, your fingers curling lightly around the bone just beneath the cuff of his sleeve. His skin was warm. He stilled, looking at you.
âShould we go to bed now?â You asked gently. âItâs kind of getting late.â
His throat bobbed slightly as he swallowed, then nodded. âSure⌠Yeah. Iâll just clear the plates and stuff,â He replied, already starting to stand, his fingers brushing yours for a second longer before he pulled away. âYou can go and change if you want.â You nodded and gave his wrist a small squeeze before rising from the couch, grabbing your bag as you made your way toward the bedroom. You could hear the quiet clink of plates being gathered behind you, Bob murmuring softly to himself under his breathâcounting, maybe, or just talking to fill the space.
In the bedroom, the sheets were already turned down, just like always. The city lights bled in through the open window, throwing soft golden latticework across the duvet. It was warm. Lived in. Safe.
You changed quickly, peeling off your sweatpants and t-shirt in the dim glow of the bedroom. The air was cooler in hereâbrushed by the storm breeze threading in through the open windowâbut it wasnât unpleasant. You slipped into the sleep shorts you always brought for overnights now, a soft, worn pair that sat comfortably low on your hips, and one of your looser t-shirts, the fabric nearly see-through from so many washes. It smelled faintly like lavender detergent and the drawer it lived in.
With the city humming quietly beyond the glass and the rain softening into a whisper against the windowsill, you moved towards the mattress and slid into the bed. The sheets were cold against your skinâalways were, Bob kept the condo cooler when the both of you stayed there because he oftentimes overheated while the both of you were cuddlingâbut it was the kind of cold that made you burrow deeper, pulling the blanket up to your chest, letting your head rest back against the pillow with a small sigh.
For a moment, it was just you and the rain and the open hush of the room. Then you heard the soft click of the light switch in the living room, the pad of bare feet, and the gentle creak of the bedroom door as it opened behind you. You didnât turn your headâyou didnât need to. You could feel the shift in the air, the warmth of his presence already filling the space like it always did.
Bob crossed the room slowly, careful with each step. When he reached the edge of the bed, you lifted the blanket just slightly, your arms already open in a quiet invitation.
He didnât say anything. He didnât need to.
He slipped beneath the covers with a soft rustle, moving automatically into his usual spot, like his body already knew the shape of you. His head settled against your chest, the curve of his nose nuzzling lightly into the space just beneath your collarbone, and his arms looped around your waist, pulling you in gently but firmly, as if anchoring himself there.
Your hand found his hair without a second thought, combing through the still-damp strands with slow, rhythmic passes. He let out a breathânot a sigh, exactly, but something softer. Something like relief.
The silence stretched for a few heartbeats, long and warm, and thenâ
âCan I ask you a quâquestion?â He murmured, his voice low, muffled slightly against your shirt.
You smiled faintly, your thumb brushing across the curve of his temple.
âYou just did,â You murmured.
There was a pause. The faintest curl of amusement against your skin. Then, quieter:
ââŚGo ahead.â
Bob didnât speak for a moment. You felt the slow inhale against your ribs, his breath curling through the thin fabric of your shirt like it carried weightâlike the words he was trying to find were too heavy to lift all at once.
Then, quietly, against the hush of the storm outside and the steady rise of your chest beneath his cheek:
âWhere did you get thâthose scars on your bicep from?â
Your fingers paused in his hair.
Not because you were startledâbut because it wasnât often anyone asked about them. You didnât look away though, even as he shifted his head, those impossibly blue eyes catching yours in the dim, gold-dappled light from the window. He wasnât asking out of morbid curiosityâhe was asking because it mattered to him.
You licked your lips, slowly.
âBad client,â You said at last, your voice quiet but even. âI set some boundaries. He didnât like them.â You glanced down at where his hand rested over your ribs. âHe got out a knife. Threatened me. Cut me a few times and IâŚWell. I gave in.â
Bobâs jaw slackened.
You felt it against your skin firstâhis grip tightening, his fingers tensing along your side, like his body was reacting before his mind could catch up. Like the thought of anyone hurting you made something dark and furious unfurl inside him.
âI didnât have much of a choice,â You continued, voice low. âThe company I was with back thenâŚThey werenât going to back me up. They cared more about discretion than safety. So I needed to do what I had to do to get out of there with my life.â
Bobâs hand pressed a little firmer against your waist, like he was trying to hold you in placeâlike the thought of you slipping away, even in memory, was unbearable.
âDidâŚDid they ever catch him?â he asked, barely above a whisper. His voice was tighter now. Controlled, but fraying at the edges.
You shook your head gently, thumb brushing the crown of his head again.
âNot that I know of. Unless he did this to someone else. But I doubt they wouldâve said anything either.â You swallowed. âEscorting is a complicated business when it comes to police protection.â
Bobâs breath caught.
âIâmâŚâ He exhaled shakily. âIâm sorry that happened to yoâyou.â You nodded, your mouth tugging into something that wasnât quite a smile but carried the same shape.
âIt was a while ago,â You said softly. âIâve learned to live with it. And Iâve taken more precautions since then. Self-defense, client vetting, backup protocols. If a situation like that ever happens againâŚâ You looked down at him. âIâll be able to handle it.â Bob sighed.
You felt it in the way his chest expanded against yours, in the way the muscles of his arms shifted. Thenâquietly, slowlyâhis hands slid up your side, ghosting over the curve of your ribs and shoulder until his fingers found the short sleeve of your shirt. He pushed the fabric up gently, baring your bicep to the cool hush of the air.
The scars glinted faintly under the soft gold spill of city light through the windowsâpale, silvery lines curved and jagged, each one a memory sealed into flesh. You felt the sting of awareness rise up your spineânot shame, not anymoreâbut a vulnerability so deeply set in your bones that it had nowhere else to go but stillness. Still, you asked it anyway, softly:
ââŚWhatâre you doing?â Bob shifted above you, just barelyâcareful, always careful. His weight never pressed, never threatened. You could feel how hard he was trying not to lean too much, to stay light, even as his eyes drank in the shape of the old wounds. He braced himself on one forearm, the other hand still resting at your shoulder as he leaned forward.
And then, with a reverence so delicate it almost undid youâ
He kissed them.
One by one.
Three kisses. Slow. Warm. Unwavering.
He didnât speak at first. Just lingered a second longer after the last one, as if imprinting the memory of his lips against the place where someone else had once marked you in violence.
Your hand rose instinctively, fingers threading through the still-damp strands at the back of his head, grounding yourself in the feel of him, your palm cradling the base of his skull. He pulled back just enough to look at you, blue eyes shining, his voice cracked with quiet intensity.
âI wish I couldâve been there to prâprotect youâŚâ
You didnât move. You couldnât.
His gaze dropped, jaw tense. âIf I was thereâŚâ His voice shook slightly, but it didnât waver. âHe wouldâve been er-erased from existence.â There was no drama in it. No exaggerated threat. Just a quiet certainty that felt more terrifying than rage. Your mouth curved into a slow smirk, your hand leaving his hair to cup the side of his face, thumb brushing tenderly beneath his eye.
âNowâŚâ You murmured, âThatâs not how a superhero should speak.â Bobâs expression barely changed at the comment, but something in his eyes shimmered for a faint moment, you couldâve sworn there was something in his irises that glimmered, before his gaze dropped briefly to your lips before returning to yours.
âThe morals get pushed asâaside,â he said softly, âwhen it comes to someone I care about getting harmed.â
Your thumb paused on his cheek.
Something warmâslow and heavy and suddenâspread through your chest.
A moment passed.
And then, still cupping his cheek, your voice barely above a whisper:
âYou care about me?â
He didnât answer right away. His mouth parted slightly, his brows drawing together like he was searching for the wordsâbut they didnât come immediately. Not because he didnât know the answer. But because he wanted to say it right.
Finally, his hand came up to rest over yours where it held his face, fingers curling around your wrist.
ââŚOf course I do,â He said quietly.
There was a beat of silence.
Heavy and honey-thick. Like the storm air outsideâhumid and waiting.
Bob didnât let go of your wrist. If anything, he held it tighter, like he was scared the truth might drift away if he didnât tether it to your skin. His thumb brushed once across the back of your hand, so gently it was more thought than touch.
âI care about you,â He said againâjust slightly firmer this time. âMore than I probably should.â
His voice cracked just a little on the last word. Not from fear. But from the weight of honesty. Like the truth had been building inside him for weeks, pressing against his ribs, clawing at the soft spaces behind his lungs.
Your breath caught.
Because there was something about the way he said it that made it feel like a confession. Like something he wasnât supposed to say aloud.
You blinked slowly. And in the hush between you, in the flicker of lightning through the window and the distant, answering growl of thunder, you felt the moment shift.
Bob was watching you like he didnât know what you were going to do next. Like he was preparing himself to be left in the dark, even after laying himself bare in the low light.
So you leaned in without saying anythingâyour hand still cupping his cheek, his hand still wrapped around your wrist, both of you frozen in the stillness of it until the space between your mouths was gone.
The kiss wasnât rushed.
It didnât burn like the start of something frantic. It bloomed.
Slow.
Sweet.
The first brush of your lips against his was so soft it barely counted, just a whisper of heat and skin and breath. But Bob sighed into it, the sound low and aching in the back of his throat, and tilted forward as if it hurt not to.
The second kiss was deeper. Still carefulâbut more certain. He cradled your face now, both of his hands cupping your jaw like you were something breakable and beloved all at once. His mouth opened slightly against yours, breath hitching as you kissed him again, as you let your fingers slide back into his hair and kept him close.
He kissed like heâd been thinking about it for a long time.
Like heâd memorized the idea of it before ever tasting the real thing.
And when he pulled backâbarely, just a breath between your mouthsâhe looked at you like youâd put the stars back into his chest.
âIâve wa-wanted to do that,â He whispered, âFor a while.â
Your hand was still on his jaw, your thumb brushing the edge of his bottom lip now, tender and slow.
âSo have I,â You whispered back, your voice breath-warm between you.
And when he leaned in again, he didnât ask.
He just kissed you like he needed to remember what it felt like to be touched by something kind.
#lewis pullman#marvel fanfiction#spotify#bob reynolds#bob reynolds imagines#bob reynolds x reader#bob x reader#robert reynolds#robert reynolds fanfic#robert reynolds x reader#bob reynolds angst#bob reynolds fluff#bob reynolds x you#bob reynolds blurb#robert reynolds blurb#robert reynolds angst#robert reynolds fluff#robert reynolds x you#thunderbolts fan fiction#bob thunderbolts#thunderbolts fanfic#marvel fanfic#lewis pullman the man you are#lewis pullman characters#bob reynolds x y/n#bob reynolds fanfic#canât wait to write part 3#Spotify
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MISTAKE!
/w itoshi sae, syp; he broke up with you after he decided youâre a distraction to him, only to realizeâ his head spoke of you to him even more without you by his side. ( gn! reader )
sfw, angst, his pov.
sae broke up with you that night when he realized, well, thought you were a distraction to him from being the best midfielderâ it didnât make sense at first.
he was kind, and caring to you. he showed the sides noone else ever saw of him, so how did it end like this?
at that time in the field, he got distracted from suddenly remembering it was their anniversaryâ and missed a pass that costed his team losing.
he was caught up with his built up feelings, and he decided to break up with you that same night outside the stadium when you saw him down due to the loss he endured.
so he walked out, just like that, leaving you in disbelief and heartbroken. when the morning came, you moved out of the apartmentâ when he saw that, he refused to believe something in him tried to grab onto you.
when he went to practice, he carried on as if thereâs nothing that could be a burden to him â until his team told him he was checking his phone often.
he was waiting for you to send him anything, he still has you as honey in his contactsâ pinned on top of everyone, yet you werenât texting or anything, infact it hurts even more when he saw the last text he sent you was âi love you more.â
as the second day arrived, he would be half asleep and going bathroom, trying to find you as you would be brushing your teeth right now.
but all he could see was two toothbrushes, the one he uses is what he takes, as the other remains untouched as it is yours.ďżź
the third day came, and he accidentally prepared two plates for dinner as he remembers today is the day you would usually come home a little late due to activities.
taking the other plate back, sitting all alone in the dining roomâ one that he would kiss your hand on while you ate and you would chuckle at his behavior.
on the fourth day, you sent a text that youâll be coming over to take something that you forgot and he almost replied with âokay honey.â and decided to just leave a thumbs up reaction.
on the fifth day, his teammates caught him zoning out that they had to snap him out of it to practice, which he cursed himself once and went with them.
the sixth day came as the team prepared for the game tomorrow, going to another country to play thereâ and by now, he would be cuddled with you in the living room.
he wouldâve kissed your forehead and promised heâd come back home to your arms, to his [name]. but here he is, staring at the ceiling of the bedroomâ and eventually drifting to sleep.
and now as the week had passed, here he is in the field once more, he swore he could get over it by nowâ he was wrong, he was so wrong.
the game only took him to see back to the sidelines, to find if and where you are standing just for you to not be there, his team yelling at him yet he couldnât focus.
he played terribly that night and got reserved, and he cursed himself over and over again in the empty bed that would usually had you in it.
if that had ever happened, you would touch him by nowâ hold him with you, you would tell him itâs okay, you would tell him heâs the best midfielder to you, you would reassure him itâs not his fault, and then he finally realized it.
what was he thinking?
one small mistake and he ruined their own anniversary, the memories they built, the love they developed in just the span of an hour.
as he twist and turned on the bed, he finds it hard to sleep. he wants you backâ he needs you back.
he needs his [name], back to him.
Šchevxyn
an : meow
#blue lock x reader#blue lock#bllk x reader#blue lock x you#bllk#bllk x you#sae x reader#itoshi sae x reader#itoshi sae angst#bllk angst#blue lock angst
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Who I think would say âI love youâ first in the 141 (including Nik cause Iâm a whore for that man)
Letâs start with Price, heâs a little grizzled, older but also emotionally constipated. Like a grandparent with their kid but not their grandkid. Little rough around the edges. In his early days, when a lieutenant heâd probably be the first. Itâd be a romantic affair, likely after a date, whilst sitting on the couch afterwards with a nightcapâŚ. Itâs sweet. But now thereâs at least two(2) divorces. And heâs a captain. With men to protect, many whoâve died, some who havenât.
Now however, itâs you. Said likely without fanfare. Either laying in bed after heâs come back home, or just before he leaves when you drop him at the fence gate. Heâs learned that whilst he knows he loves you, he should wait, give it time to make sure you both know thatâs what it is. But you knowâŚ. And for nowâŚ. Heâll learn to accept it until heâs ready to actually say it as wellâŚ
Now Iâm going in order of rank here, which means it Simon next. Little Ghost. And whilst I love the âghost doesnât verbally tell you he loves you he shows itâ propaganda, I canât picture it. This is a man in his late 30s. Heâs been to hell and back. Heâs seen his family be ripped apart, taped back together then shredded. He says âI love youâ first. He knows how it feels to leave words unspoken. To live with regret of not saying something when he should have. And honestly? Itâs probably pretty sudden. Now I donât think Simon will go head first into a relationship without knowing the other. You two knew each other before toeing the line of dating, and when it comes time for him or you to ask the other out. He knows he loves you.
Heâs not gonna say it the minute yâall start dating but itâll be like maybe a week or so in. Quiet, in bed⌠either facing each other nose to nose, or with you draped over him his hand trailing up and down your arm. Itâs said with hesitance but with full devotion behind it. Because he does love you. And he wants you to know he loves you⌠just in case.
Soap is next. (Iâm a firm believer that soap is probably a year or three older than Gaz.) Soap believes in love at first sight. If he could he wouldâve told you he loved you the minute your eyes met. Whether that be a grocery store, or when you shove your foot so far into his dick/nuts during sparing. Heâs an all in or all out type of guy.
And when he meets someone he enjoys the company of, finds them funny, heâs attractive to them? Heâs all in. I feel like heâs definitely the type to think âI love youâ after the first date, but he actually says it after the third dateâŚ.
Gaz! He seems pretty down to earth. Heâs learned to get his hands dirty after being with Price and the team. You both say it basically at the same time. Itâs quite funny actually! Itâs the 5th date, youâve been official for like half a year (man those deployments he does sucksâŚ), itâs laying on the floor recovering from the biggest food coma you both have ever suffered, itâs quiet, a fireplace video playing on the TV because ânothing beats a Yule log loveâ the two of you starring at the ceiling when you look at each other, a knowing glint in the others eye with a goofy smile.
Heâs simple, heâs sweet. And I feel heâd be the perfect partner heâd keep away from the military life.
Nikolai. I feel like Nikolaiâs a toss up⌠heâs definitely like Price, has maybe one divorce under his belt⌠or at least a fake divorce or broken hearted fiancĂŠ from when he was in the military. What I do know is that he says âI love youâ in a silent way without saying âI love youâ⌠but itâs definitely after youâve said it.
Itâs said maybe about 5-6 months in, said after something dangerous happened, for either him or you, youâre laying in bed together, fingers tracing down his nose⌠when you say it, just a little whisper has his eyes close⌠and in response he tells you his name. His real nameâand whilst it isnât those three words, itâs something meaningful, for now thatâs enoughâŚ.
Kate, Kate Laswell is hard to get a read on I feel. Which is weird because she has more screen time than Nik Iâm pretty sure. Kate loves you. Really she does⌠but she doesnât really say it. She loves you more through actions than words, she says it in the way flowers or groceries will show up while sheâs away, or how when she does come home she always has some sort of gift. Like the expensive vase that came from Africa, or the century old bottle of alcohol that still sits in the rack in the kitchen, yet to be open.
The words are spoken at times, usually said instead of âsorryâ, but are said nonetheless. Itâs something that will cause fights, and will lead to her actually telling you to make up for it. But sheâs your wife, and sheâs a little emotionally constipated⌠but she loves you all the same.
#cod x reader#simon riley x reader#john price x reader#simon riley#johnny mactavish#captain john price#simon ghost riley#johnny mactavish x reader#kyle garrick#john price#Nikolai cod#nikolai mw x reader#nikolai cod x reader#nikolai x reader#kate laswell#kate laswell x reader#captain john mactavish#john soap mctavish x reader#john soap mctavish#cod ghost#soap cod#price cod#cod price#cod soap#ghost cod#cod kyle gaz garrick#Gaz cod#cod Gaz#cod imagine#sapâs stories
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Now letâs reverse their roles, shall we? Nurse!Eddie AU where Steve is a frequent patient in the ER Eddie works because he keeps getting himself hurt all the freaking time. Eddie can't help but worry about the guy.
First, Steve ends up there after he falls from a tree and breaks his wrist. When Eddie asks what happened, Steve shrugs.
âThere was this cat stuck in the tree.â
Then, itâs the accident with the car door. Two broken fingers.
âRobin didnât see my hand was still there when she closed the door.â
The third time, itâs a concussion because, somehow, Steve thought skateboarding after drinking half-a-bottle of whisky was a good idea.
âRobin dared me, Eddie. She said I couldnât!â
âAnd now youâre here! She was clearly right!â
Then there was the time Steve bruised his ribs and hip when he pushed a little kid out of harmâs way and got run by a bike in their place.
And the time Steve twisted his ankle when he was out on a hike with Robin, Nancy, Jonathan and Argyle but didnât tell them he was hurt because he didnât wanna spoil their weekend. He walked more than five miles with a fucked-up ankle, the idiot.
And how would Eddie forget the time Steve came to the ER with his pretty face half-disfigured by bruises and so badly swollen his left eye was nothing more than a slit. His ribs were also cracked and the skin over his knuckles was torn everywhere. Steve had clearly been fighting.
âThe fucking asshole was gonna hit Max, man. Not when Iâm around.â
Eddie wouldâve been endeared by the sweet admission if he hadnât been concerned about the manâs labored breathing at the time.
All this to say that Steveâs presence in the ER is not something new. Heâs always there; sometimes for stupid reasons like trying to save a cat stuck in a tree or after one of Robinâs dares goes wrong, sometimes because heâs such a selfless sweetheart that he often gets hurt while trying to help people out.
So when Eddie comes back from his break and sees Steve there in the waiting room, heâs not surprised at all. Steve still has the bandage on his right arm, from his last visit a couple of days before.
He is surprised when Steve opens his mouth and blurts a âDo you want to go out with me one of these days? â before Eddie has the chance to ask what heâs doing there.
âOh my God, are you getting hurt on purpose so you can see me?â
âWhat!?â
âBecause if this is the case, stop doing that!â
âIâm not hurting myself on purpose! Iâm just an idiot, I swear!â
But Eddie is not an idiot, so of course he says yes to going out with Steve.
Two weeks later, they are dating⌠and Eddie is bandaging the dislocated shoulder his boyfriend got from falling off the roof while cleaning the gutters.
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đđ˘đđđĽđ đđđđŠđŹ
A Soft Place to Land PT 1



Azriel x Preschool Teacher!OC, [Eventual] Inner Circle x OC (platonic), [Eventual] Nyx x Teacher!OC (platonic)
Summary: A preschool teacher. A passing shadowsinger. Connecting one wave at a time.
Warnings: Nothing this is fluffy, ig redundant dialogue but she is a preschool teacher thatâs how these things go.
âMiss Ama,â she heard one of her students call her name, âAlby took my doggy.âÂ
âAlbus,â the teacher called, not yet looking up from her notebook. Using the boy's full name had the three-year-old in question sitting up straight as he continued to play with the stolen dog toy. While he refused to acknowledge his teacher when she called his name a second and third time, Liora could tell by his stiff posture and the decreased speed at which he played with said toy that he was very much aware of his crime.Â
And still, he refused to look at her when she called his name a fourth time. But at least he hadnât run off to hide like heâd done every other time he got in trouble over the past two weeks he had been in her class. Little steps are still steps.
âAlbus.â She said once more, firmly but not unkindly. She stood behind the boy as he finally turned around to look up at her, a guilty look crossing his sweet face.Â
âCan you tell me why Faustina is upset right now?â Liora asked as she crouched to his level.Â
âB-because he stole herââ Felix interrupted, having watched the entire situation unfold and ready to tattle at the drop of a hat.Â
She raised a hand to gently halt Felixâs testimony, âSweetheart, I would like to hear from Albus what happened, but thank you for trying to help. Could you please do me a big favor and put this marker away for me?â she asked, handing the toddler the one in her hand.Â
Sometimes the best way to handle a situation with toddlers was simply distraction.Â
She watched as Felix left for the craft area, laughing softly when he was distracted by something else just 5 steps into his mission. Then, with a knowing look at Albus, she turned her attention back to the matter at hand.
âTina played with the doggy all morning.â he confessed with a groan. âShe didnât let me have a turn.â
âDid you ask her for a turn?â
âYes!âÂ
âNo he didnât!â
Both Tina and Alby responded at the same time.Â
Unsurprisingly, two and three year olds were rarely reliable sources.Â
Maybe she should have let Felix bear witness.
As the two began to bicker, she calmly placed a hand on each of their shoulders, effectively quitting both parties down. âMy friends, what do we do when someone has a toy we really want to play with?â
âAsk nicely to play with it,â both children murmured, looking down with guilt filled eyes and downturned mouths. They were the sweetest of angels and the sneakiest of devils, but it was so hard to ever stay mad when they looked so pitiful when in trouble.Â
âRight, and what do we do when our friend has played with a toy for a long time and wonât share?â she asked, sending a pointed look at both.Â
âWe ask again or tell Miss Ama.â Albus answered sorrowfully.Â
âDo we take toys from our friends?â
âNoâ both Albus and Faustina answered.
âExactly, my friends. Now Tina, do you think you can go play with another toy? I can bring out the animal puzzle you like so much.âÂ
The young girl nodded enthusiastically at that and skipped off, the conflict already forgotten. Albus turned to continue playing with the dog toy, but she wasnât done with the situation yet.Â
âAlbus,â she said gently. âyou know we donât take things from peopleâs hands, do you see how sad it made Tina?â Albus nodded gravely, putting the dog toy down.Â
âWhy donât you come help me pick colors for our flower paintings?âÂ
The little boy didnât look impressed at the suggestion, shaking his head and huffing. So Liora tried a different tactic. âWe just got new colors we havenât used before, there are too many options and since you are so good at your colors, it would be a really big help if you could come with me. Please?âÂ
In an instant the boy was standing and ready to go, grabbing his teacherâs hand and dragging her to the art closet. Sometimes, all a child needed was to know how much they mattered.Â
With the completed paintings set on the drying rack, her students finished with lunch, and cleanup done, all twelve of her students sat patiently on the rug as she got ready to read a story. But before she could say the title, one of them gasped and pointed to the window by the front of the room.Â
As all the other eleven little heads turned in the direction, Liora set the book aside with a sigh, knowing sheâd lost them for at least the next twenty minutes.Â
A flurry of giggles broke out as a flash of black and cobalt blue streaked past the far window.Â
She didnât even try to hide the smile tugging at her lips as her students pressed their faes to the glass, practically vibrating with excitement. They waited in anticipation for their favorite part of school.
He had been doing it for around 2 years now. Whenever his patrols or missions had him flying over the southwest corner of Velaris, or whenever he simply needed the distraction, Azriel would detour past her classroom windows, putting on a brief aerial show just for the children.Â
And maybe a little for their teacher too.
Never more than a minute or two, just a quick turn, dive, and pass with his wings flaring wide, but it made the studentâs day.Â
While sheâd never admit it outloud, the simple gesture made Lioraâs whole week.Â
Though they had seen each other often, Azriel and Liora had never interacted more than a simple wave from the teacher and a wink from the Spymaster. That wink, mischievous and sharply timed, always sent a deep blush to her cheeks. Luckily, the Shadowsinger was too far away to notice.Â
This is one of the most terrifying males in Prythian, she thought to herself as she watched him entertain a gaggle of preschoolers, and here he is, making them laugh with spins and dives, simply because he can.Â
When his shadows disappeared past the trees, the room slowly began to settle. She turned back to her students, their eyes still wide and filled with wonder, all babbling about their favorite move or guessing where he was off to next.
She let them chatter for a bit, getting it all out of their system, before she picked up the storybook again, flipping to the first page, but her thoughts lagged behind.Â
Sheâd never tell anyone, she couldnât even admit it to herself, but sometimes, when he passed by, she prayed heâd stop.Â
Just once.Â
Just long enough to say hello.
âAlright, friends,â she said, lifting the book with a smile. âWhere were we?â
High above the treetops, Azriel let the wind carry him. He angled his wings slightly, just enough for him to catch one final glimpse at the classroom below.Â
He couldnât hear them from this distance, though his shadows would often report any special commentary from the kids. But he could feel the way they watched in anticipation, in awe.
Or maybe⌠it was just her.
He hadnât meant to make it a habit, but the first time heâd flown past and seen the way her face lit up, surrounded by wide eyed children pressing their faces to the glass, he hadnât been able to stop.
Just a little detour, he always told himself.
Just a little longer, next time.
A/N: Part 1!!! I have so many ideas! The future is filled with fluff (and angst, but not in the way you're thinking of)
Link to dividers (arenât they so cutsie I thought they screamed preschool)
Taglist: @lemon-sage17
#acotar x reader#acotar#azriel x reader#acotar fic#azriel fluff#acotar angst#azriel#azriel x oc#inner circle x reader
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ROMANCE SAJA HEADCANONS.



notes: thank you to one of my dearest friends who requested i do this. it is my first time so please be gentle with me as i might make a teensy mistake here and there. but i hope you all like these! i got a couple ideas from reading through other x reader fics and such, and just from personal things i like, so maybe iâm projecting onto romance a little. can you blame me?ââââââââââââââââ
this is completely safe for work, just wanted to clarify that upfront. essentially pure fluff or whatever the romance genre calls it. no specified gender, written in third person. keep in mind these are simply headcanons and my effort at creating them.ââââââââââââââââ this is intended to have a poetic feel!ââââââââââââââââ
if enough people like this, then iâll think about making a part two or a full-on fic. thank you in advance for taking time out of your day to read this! i appreciate it, truly. âĄ
⢠romance being a hopeless romantic, through & through. like, catastrophically so. the type to leave handwritten notes tucked between the pages of books youâre reading, or to dramatically sigh while staring out windows during rainstorms because it reminds him of some tragic love ballad from three centuries ago. he probably has a collection of pressed flowers from every meaningful moment youâve shared together, carefully preserved in an old leather journal that smells faintly of vanilla and something mysteriously ancient.
⢠color coordination becomes an art form with him. he doesnât just look into flower meanings, he studies them like theyâre sacred texts. receives a bouquet of yellow roses mixed with purple irises? heâs already googling (with your patient help, of course) whether the yellow represents friendship or jealousy, and why someone would pair it with wisdom and valor. the wrapping paper patterns get analyzed too. polka dots apparently mean playfulness, while stripes suggest structure. youâve never met someone who can turn a simple gift into a philosophical discussion about the intentions behind paisley print.
⢠he craves authentic connections but canât resist turning on the charm like itâs a reflex. flirting is basically his default setting, the way some people unconsciously hum or tap their fingers. heâll sweet-talk the barista, compliment the grocery store clerkâs earrings, and somehow make small talk with your neighbor feel like the opening scene of a romantic drama. but thereâs a difference between his casual flirtation and the way he looks at you, like youâre the only person in the room worth seeing.
⢠cooking becomes his love language, and honestly? heâs surprisingly skilled for someone who still struggles with the microwave timer. maybe itâs centuries of practice, or maybe demons just have better instincts for seasoning. either way, he treats your kitchen like his personal stage, dramatically tossing ingredients while humming old melodies under his breath. requests for specific dishes turn into quests. you mention craving authentic italian carbonara? suddenly heâs researching the perfect pancetta, muttering about egg temperatures, and refusing to use anything but freshly cracked black pepper. your happiness is his michelin star.
⢠his mental catalog of your preferences rivals government databases. not just the obvious stuff either. he notices you pause a half-second longer when looking at vintage bookmarks, or how your eyes light up at the sight of those tiny succulents in ceramic pots shaped like animals. suddenly these items start appearing in your space like magic, accompanied by his sheepish grin and some elaborate excuse about âjust happening to walk byâ whatever shop he definitely went out of his way to visit.
⢠the demon reveal probably ranks as the most terrifying moment of his very long existence. picture this: heâs been dropping hints for weeks, testing the waters with casual comments about âold timesâ and âyou wouldnât believe some of the things iâve seen.â then one evening, maybe youâre both a little wine-drunk and sentimental, and it just tumbles out of him in a rush of panic and honesty. heâs prepared for screaming, running, maybe some creative cursing. instead, you just blink slowly, ask if that explains why heâs so weird about technology, and reach for his hand. the relief nearly knocks him sideways. heâs never been more grateful for your bizarre ability to roll with the supernatural punches.
⢠flirting is supposed to be his specialty, his signature move, the thing heâs perfected over decades of practice. so why does he turn into a flustered mess whenever you flip the script? you compliment his eyes and suddenly heâs forgotten how to form coherent sentences. you test lipgloss on him, claiming itâs âjust to see the color,â and heâs convinced his heart might actually explode from the casual intimacy of it all. his hands get embarrassingly sweaty, his usual smooth responses turn into stammered nonsense, and heâs pretty sure you can hear his pulse from across the room. turns out being on the receiving end of charm is a completely different skill set, one heâs hilariously unprepared for despite all his confidence.
⢠thereâs a protective streak in him that runs deeper than casual jealousy, rooted in centuries of having to guard what matters most. heâs not about to go full territorial beast mode (heâll leave that dramatic nonsense to mystery, thank you very much), but thereâs definitely a possessive edge that surfaces when other people get a little too comfortable in your space. itâs not controlling or suffocating, more like the satisfied smugness of someone who knows exactly where they stand in your heart. when some random person starts laying on the charm a bit too thick, he materializes behind you like heâs got built-in radar, sliding an arm around your waist while delivering the worldâs most politely threatening âhey, babyâ directly into your ear. the follow-up âwhoâs this?â comes with a smile that doesnât quite reach his eyes, all casual friendliness with an undertone of âi will absolutely remember your face forever.â heâs ridiculously confident about your relationship, wearing his love for you like a badge of honor, and honestly? the way he gets all quietly smug about being your person is almost endearing. almost. if it werenât for the fact that he sometimes forgets to tone down the intimidating demon aura when heâs feeling particularly pleased with himself.
⢠his fascination with pulse points borders on artistic obsession, like heâs discovered some secret map to your soul written in the rhythm of your heartbeat. sure, traditional lip kisses hold their own magic, but thereâs something about pressing gentle touches to your wrist that makes him feel like heâs participating in some ancient ritual of devotion. maybe itâs the vulnerability of that thin skin, or the way he can literally feel your life humming beneath his mouth, but heâs completely captivated by these tender spaces where your essence flows closest to the surface. your neck becomes his canvas, the delicate spot behind your ear his masterpiece, each soft press designed to watch you melt into that adorable flustered state he adores. heâs learned exactly which locations make you shiver, which ones cause that telltale blush to creep across your cheeks, and he absolutely revels in the power of turning you into a swooning mess with nothing more than the whisper of his mouth against your inner wrist.
⢠poor jinu has become an unwilling encyclopedia of everything related to you, thanks to romanceâs newfound habit of turning every conversation into a dissertation about your wonderfulness. this is unprecedented territory for him, considering heâs historically kept romantic details locked away tighter than state secrets. but something about you has completely rewired his brainâs filter system, and suddenly heâs that guy who brings you up in completely unrelated discussions. the other saja boys have started placing bets on how long it takes him to steer any topic back to you. discussing dinner plans? âoh, that reminds me of this incredible dish they made last week.â talking about upcoming schedules? âi wonder if theyâll be free to watch our performance.â jinu bears the brunt of these enthusiastic monologues, getting detailed reports about your latest adventures, your opinions on everything from weather patterns to movie choices, and extensive analysis of that adorable thing you did yesterday that made romanceâs entire decade.
special tags: @kk-iki, @mustardd, @untamed-and-unfiltered, @gunshots4
a warm thank you to evie and max for pitching in and giving me ideas when they could, and most of all to kiki who is and has always been my inspiration for writing in general. this is for you.ââââââââââââââââ
Š divine7th, 07 / 06 / 25
#đ đ#kpop demon hunters#kpdh#kdh#saja boys#romance saja#kpdh x reader#kdh x reader#romance x reader
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[RELEASE] REBOOT VOLUME 1
Title: Reboot - Top (ăŞăăźă - ä¸) - Reset's sequel
Author/Artist: Ichikawa Ichi
Rating: PG
Summary: Touma, who is now a third year, resets his troubled relationship with his boyfriend, Sou, who was his whole world. He has developed a good bond with his classmate, Maki, who was the reason for the breakup, and is now a best friend with whom he can talk about his true feelings. Touma wishes to become friends again with Sou⌠Though he still feels shaken every time he thinks about him, he decides to use this new starting point as an opportunity to face the past. Quite unexpectedly, he meets Sou again, who is working as a teacher at the cram school heâs attendingâŚ!
Chapter 01 Read online: GDrive
Chapter 02 Read online: GDrive
Chapter 03 Read online: GDrive
Chapter 04 Read online: GDrive
Chapter 05 Read online: GDrive
Chapter 06 Read online: GDrive
Chapter 07 Read online: GDrive
Illustrations: GDrive
Note: Hello!! Good morning!! Hope you're all being able to survive the scorching heat we're having this year. I'm not sure I am, hahaha.
Yeah! We're alive!! In case you were wondering. I've checked and the latest release was on Janury O_O ... JANUARY!!! Yup, life has definitely caught us, we don't have that much free time to do this, but we'll try to release things whenever we can, just be patient with is, please ;)
And I'm aware that this has been long overdue, I received and cleaned those pages quite some time ago, but things happen. We were more focused on Hanakoi, we are a small group, we found ourselves without a translator... I know that all this sounds like an excuse, so I'm sorry, especially to Chocksi, who was kind enough to give us the pages and then we took this long. But sometimes you can't do shitn about what life throws at you. And, believe me, seeing this project there, without being done, has been a major source of anxiety for me, especially considering that it's from Ichikawa Ichi, whom I adore. While seeing it take shape now is such a great relief that it seems unreal. So I'll apologise again to all of you reading for taking this long.
Well, after this small rant/excuse, I want to do what's the most important thing, thank Toshirodragon and @itwearsadress for helping in this project and for giving the group hand to overcome the crisis of being translator-less, at some point I thought I'd have to leave this undone! You're awesome!
And thanks to all of you! Enjoy the chapters (the Mega link will be up in a week, if I don't forget...), it's a really nice sequel from a great mangaka. And remember that there's another volume with the conclusion of the story!! We'll bring it soon as we can ;)
@cm-scans
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Espionage [B. R]
Bob Reynolds x reader
wc: 2.5k
summary: a quiet morning on the Watchtower turns into psychic people-watching when Jean, Yelena, and Ava decide to âcheck inâ on their teammates. Itâs all fun and teasing, until Jean sees something she wasnât meant to: Bob, deeply in love, living a secret life no one expected.
an: the reader is the same in these one shot (wrapped around you), but you don't need to actually read them to understand this one. Although it would add a little more flavor! It's narrated in third person this time, for plot convenience.
Warnings: appearance of Jean Grey (Phoenix) from the mutant universe.
masterlist
Jean Grey never thought she'd end up sharing coffee with two former assassins while a Russian pop playlist played in the background on the Watchtower. But there she was, sitting in the kitchen, barefoot and hair still damp, watching Yelena argue with Ava over whether spying on her classmates counted as an ethical violation if it was "just out of curiosity." She hadn't even been living with them for a week, and she was already considering doing something that not even Scott would have approved of.
After a mental breakdown that nearly reignited the Phoenix threat, Professor Xavier decided Jean needed a break away from Cerebro, from the missions, from the constant pressure of being herself. Valentina, always on the lookout for a helpful move, offered the Watchtower as a safe space for her recovery, on the condition that she not use her powers without authorization. Jean reluctantly agreed, knowing that voluntary exile was the closest thing to peace she could afford.
Yelena was the first to greet her, joking about whether she could read minds or was simply silently judging them. Ava, on the other hand, recognized something deeper in her: a contained energy, the weight of a power she never asked for. Without intending to, the three ended up sharing the beginnings of a friendship and a certain complicity born of mutual recognition: women who hadn't chosen who they were, but who were still here, every morning, trying to laugh a little before burdening themselves with it again.
âValentina wonât notice! I promise,â Yelena insisted, with a mischievous smile.
The night before, while talking at dinner, they had discovered the extent of telepathy's powers. So the idea had become a dangerous temptation among them.
âBut what if something bad happens?â
âNothing will happen. Itâs going to be fun.â
Jean sighed, stirring the contents of her cup with a spoon, and finally nodded. Although she didn't want to endanger anyone, she knew it was a minimal use of her powers.
âSo, how does it work? Can you, like, see everyone?â Ava exclaimed, holding the cup in her hands, her eyes glowing like they were about to play a game of Ouija.
âWithout Cerebro, no. But itâs easier with them because I already know them. Itâs like⌠tuning into a radio signal, or something,â Jean explained, leaning her elbows on the table. âThe more familiar a person is to me, the clearer the channel.â
âStart with Bucky!â Yelena demanded, tapping the table. âI want to know what he does when heâs not here.â
Jean sighed, closed her eyes, and the three fell silent.
Bucky's apartment was simple, mostly white, with functional furniture, perfectly aligned corners, and a plant that seemed to live by sheer force of will. A warm, soft light lighted the bathroom, and there, in front of the fogged-up mirror, Bucky held a round hairbrush in both hands. On the sink lay a procession of bottles: mousse, serum, Anti-frizz, heat protectant, argan oil, and a small black dryer with a diffuser tip. On the tablet, an influencer explained how to achieve âperfect volume without sacrificing hydrationâ. Bucky followed the video to the letter, brow furrowed, tongue between his teeth, strand by strand.
âHeâs⌠styling his hair,â Jean murmured softly. âVery meticulously. He has like ten products, and heâs watching a tutorial on how to prevent frizz while adding volume.â
Ava opened her mouth in disbelief. âReally? Volume?â
âHe's using a round brush and a hairdryer. Very professional. And now he's rotating the brush... wait... he just stopped the video and is repeating that section.â
âHe must be having a meeting in Congress,â Yelena mocked, leaning back in her chair. âHe wants to be the prettiest boy in Parliament.â
âHow does his hair always look so silky?â Ava added âI feel like we discovered a government secret.â
âFor Christmas,â Yelena said thoughtfully, âweâre going to buy him a Dyson dryer. Limited edition. Matte black.â
Jean laughed, feeling satisfied that she was entertaining her friends.
âNow? Alexei?â she suggested.
âOf course Alexei,â Yelena and Ava said in unison.
Jean took a deep breath and dove back under.
The room was vast, with curtains hanging askew and midday light streaming in. Alexei, a red scarf tied around his neck like a cape, held a wireless microphone while the lyrics of âEye of The Tigerâ (Russian karaoke version) flashed across the screen. He sang as if he were in a final battle, his fists clenched, eyes half-closed, lips trembling with emotion. His cat, perched on the back of the sofa, watched him with feline patience. Alexei tried to spin dramatically, but a misstep made him slip on the carpet and land in an impossible split. He stood there, rigid⌠and kept singing. Louder. More intense.
âHeâs⌠at a lonely karaoke bar,â Jean said, her voice cracking with laughter. âRed scarf around his neck, microphone in hand, singing Eye of the Tiger in Russian. I think he's crying. I'm not sure if it's from emotion or pain from the split.â
âDid he do a split?â Ava exclaimed.
âUnintentionally. But heâs holding it. Like a champion. The cat is perplexed. He admires it. Or hates it. Itâs hard to tell.â
Yelena clapped silently.
âGod, heâs a complete dumbass.â
âWalker. Come on, I want to see Walker,â Ava said, all excited. âHeâs probably training or something.â
Jean closed her eyes, already entertained.
A park, tall trees, ground covered in dry leaves. John Walker was training in front of a makeshift punching bag hanging from a branch. He wore gloves, headphones, and a sleeveless T-shirt that said: âNo Pain, No Nationâ. He was breathing hard, unleashing quick combinations. In his face: total focus. But then⌠the ducks arrived. A small group. One approached the bag. Another pecked at his foot. John yelled: âNo! Get out!â He kicked the air, tripped over a root, and fell like a log, on his back. He stood there, staring at the sky, until he slowly sat up and brushed the dirt off his shoulder as if it had all been part of the plan.
âHe fell because of a duck,â Jean recounted mercilessly âAnd now heâs pretending it was part of his routine.â
Ava put a hand to her mouth. âIs he okay?â
âHeâs outraged. But not physically hurt.â
Yelena held her cup solemnly.
âIt gives me peace to know that nature continues to win battles against nationalist pride.â
âValentina?â Ava exclaimed, like a little rascal.
Jean hesitated for a moment, as if something inside her warned her that this was a mistake. But she closed her eyes anyway.
A conference room. Dark. Screens lit. Five agents logged in, all silent. Valentina, in the center, wearing a violet silk gown, a black mask covering her face, holding a bottle of red nail polish in one hand. In the other, a glass of wine. She painted her nails with surgical precision while eating grapes served on a floating tray held by a drone. One of the agents sneezed. She pressed a button, and her image disappeared from all the screens at once.
âSheâs monitoring five meetings while getting her nails done,â Jean said, impressed. âAnd someoneâs holding the grapes for her⌠or rather, a drone.â
Ava and Yelena were silent, genuinely impressed.
âI want to be her when I retire,â Yelena murmured.
âWhen do you retire?â Ava said âDo you think weâll survive that long?â
âWell, now that we know Bucky uses serum antifrizz, I believe in miracles,â Yelena replied, taking another sip from her cup âAnd Bob? What about him?â
âHe didnât get to sleep last night, did you notice?â
âYeah, he texted me,â she replied to Ava. âHe said not to worry. But itâs still⌠weird. You know, because it's not the first timeâ
Jean pursed her lips, hesitating.
âI donât know if I shouldâŚâ
Ava insisted. âWe already saw John get humiliated by a duck. This canât get any worse.â
Jean sighed, closed her eyes⌠and connected.
Bob stood in a small but cozy kitchen, bathed in the soft morning light. He leaned against the counter with a mug in his hands, the steam rising lazily toward his face. He was wearing a pair of long-leg boxer briefs and a loose white t-shirt. His hair, still ruffled from sleep, fell in soft strands over his forehead. He had the expression of someone who hadn't fully slept, but he didn't seem bothered by being awake either. Just... calm. Almost contemplative. He stared out the window as if the outside world weren't a threat, but a distant curiosity.
The apartment wasn't luxurious, but it was full of signs of shared life: a sweater thrown over the back of a chair, two used cups in the sink, a knotted blanket on the couch. On the refrigerator were photos stuck with crooked magnets, a postcard from some beach, and in one corner, a small child's drawing was held together with a star-shaped magnet. Everything spoke of someone else.
Bob yawned and placed his mug on the counter. He leaned over to check a cupboard, muttering something under his breath, when arms wrapped around his back. He immediately tensed, startled, but that reaction dissolved as soon as he turned and saw who it was.
It was a woman. She was barefoot, still sleepy, her hair disheveled, and her eyelids heavy. She was wearing only dark panties and an old flannel that was clearly Bob'sâsomething told Jean it was the same one he'd worn the night before. It was too big for her, the material falling to her thigh, one of the sleeves hanging slightly off her shoulder. Bob looked at her as if his breath had just escaped him. A mixture of surprise, affection, and something more primal, something that ignited in his chest and rendered him motionless.
She leaned her forehead against his back and murmured, her voice dragged by sleep:
âWhy did you get out of bed?â
Bob turned, wrapped his arms around her, and gently stroked her hair with an open palm.
âMorning,â he said softly. âI couldnât sleep anymore. But I didnât want to wake you.â
She looked at him, her eyes barely open, as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. Not a quick kiss, but a long, warm one that lingered there for a few seconds as if he needed it as much as air. She didn't move, just wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder, still half asleep.
âYouâre cold,â he murmured against her neck.
âBecause I didnât have this,â he replied, wrapping her tighter.
He took his cup and offered it to her. She took it in her limp hands and took a slow sip, saying nothing, without asking for another cup. Bob watched her with visible tenderness, stroking her back with his thumb as she drank.
âDo you have to go to work?â he finally asked.
She sighed against his collarbone.
âI'm supposed to have a double shift at the store. But I'm considering calling in sick.â
Bob smiled, a little relieved, a little worried.
âYou shouldnât do that.â
âMy boss owes me some favors,â she replied with a mischievous smile. âHe wonât die if I donât go today.â
âYouâre just looking for an excuse to stay,â he said softly, though inside he wished he would. Every word was a bittersweet contradiction.
"Maybe."
She gave him a playful little push with her hip, and he caught her by the waist, looking at her with that soft, vulnerable glow that very few knew. He lifted her easily and sat her on the counter, still holding her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, digging her fingers into his almost-blond hair, playing with the strands that fell free.
âI like it when you do that,â he murmured, closing his eyes for a moment.
"What thing?"
âTouching my hair like that.â
She smiled, still half asleep, and pulled him a little closer. Bob was slowly stroking her legs, his thumbs drawing circles on the inside of her thighs, as if he were reading her with his fingertips.
âDo you want me to make you some breakfast?â he asked quietly, staying inches from her face.
She looked him straight in the eyes. Half joking. Half serious.
âI want to eat you.â
Bob laughed. A genuine, warm laugh that came from his chest. He leaned toward her, closing the distance between them, just before kissing her.
Jean looked away. Or rather, she withdrew completely. The intimacy was too much. It wasn't the body, or the desireâit was what was between them. It was how sincere everything was.
Jean opened her eyes with a slow blink, as if she were struggling to return. They both looked at her with expectation.
âWell?â Ava pressed.
Jean took a breath, placed his hands on the table, and said in a low voice:
âBob has a girlfriend.â
Yelena sat up abruptly, almost choking on her own saliva.
"What?"
âThey were together in an apartment, I⌠imagine it's hers. They were drinking coffee and seemed very used to it. She⌠was wearing his clothes. Well, his flannel at least.â
Ava froze.
âAnd him? What was he doing? Did he kiss her or something?â
âYes,â Jean said, suddenly blushing. âThey looked very intimate.â
âBut who is she?â Yelena demanded. âDo we know her? Is she an agent? Is she a mutant like you? Is she a spy? Does she have combat training?â
Jean slowly shook her head, still processing.
âI donât think so. She⌠said she works at a store. She was going to work a double shift today. And I didnât sense any altered energy from her. No powers. Nothing weird.â
âSo itâs civil?â Ava asked, as if it were hard to believe.
âYes. She looks⌠normal. Very normal. Like someone youâd pass on the street and not look twice at.â
Yelena blinked. âAnd Bobâs in love with someone⌠like that?â
Jean smiled, almost tenderly.
âShe makes him happy. I guess that's what matters most to him.â
The three of them fell silent. A silence that wasn't awkward, but reverent. As if they had witnessed something that didn't belong to them.
A few seconds passed before Ava broke the silence with a murmur: âShould we ask him something?â
Jean shook his head gently, still staring at his mug.
âNo. Thereâs no need. He seems⌠very comfortable in that relationship. Iâd feel awful if we messed it up by making him feel exposed.â
Yelena nodded slowly.
âThen let him keep it. That secret belongs to him.â
The three of them stared at each other for a moment, speechless. And then, as if they'd sealed an unspoken pact, they continued sipping their coffee.
The silence didnât last long.
âBut the dryer, the karaoke, and the ducks⌠we can use that for mild extortion, right?â Ava asked, raising an eyebrow.
âAbsolutely,â Yelena replied without hesitation.
Jean giggled.
âHonor is intact. Dignity, not so much.â
taglist: @littlemsbumblebee @qardasngan
#bob reynolds#sentry#the void#bob reynolds x reader#sentry x reader#bob reynolds fanfic#thunderbolts fanfic#bob reynolds x you#thunderbolts#the new avengers#the new avengerz#lewis pullman#thunderbolts fluff#bob reynolds fluff#sentry fluff#robert reynolds#robert âbobâ reynolds
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[Once the two parted ways, it wasn't long before David was globbed onto Chi like usual, talking his ear off about nothing even remotely important as the two picked their usual seats (6 rows above everyone else--as was tradition now) and put their stuff down before starting to walk towards the concession stand.]
...How's Patrick feeling? [Chi asked, trying to at least make some sort of conversation while they walked past Vince and Patrick (and the rest of the team) warming up.]
Besides his hips being sore? [David sassed easily as the two walked.] He's fine. So glad he's here because baseball was all he could talk about all week. He came over and we were supposed to be watching 'Wicked', but you know what he did instead? He spent the whole movie going on and on about that one guy that performs for the Bears. --You know, the one with a Superman chin? I mean, why is that all he can seem to talk about these days? It's like... [David rambled on and on as the two walked and waited in line--with Chi very quickly tuning David out (except for saying 'mhmm' every minute or two).]
[When the two finally made it to the front of the concession stand, Chi ordered his usual black coffee along with two Gatorades, one for Vince and one for Patrick. He handed Patrick's to David then started the trek back over to where the team was warming up--only to stop short when he made it just close enough to notice that Vince was in the middle of being handed a Gatorade by a different man, of a reasonably similar build to his own, that he didn't recognize.]
...Uh, [Chi said in confusion, still holding the Gatorade in his hand.] David--[he hissed, pulling the other out of whatever random bullshit he had been yammering on about.] ...Who's that?
...Never seen him before. Looks like he should be up in the same row as us though! [David pointed out easily--even though this stranger was in much closer to basic street clothes than either of them, there was still no question what 'team' he played on, so to speak.] ...Should I recruit him? I'm gonna go recruit him, [David said, already starting to walk forward again before Chi could respond.]
--No. Stop it. Look, [Chi stopped David from walking over by grabbing his forearm--just in time for the two of them to see this stranger be just a little too giggly and linger just a little too long on touching Vince's hand as he handed him the bottle. After the hand off, he finished up his conversation with more over-the-top giggling and made sure to flash Vince a wide, flirty smile before heading back over to the bleachers.]
[Chi and David stood there in silent disbelief for a moment. Eventually though, it was David (of course) who finally broke the silence.]
...Should we kill him? We can go kill him, [he said, once again not waiting for a response before he started walking towards the bleachers.]
--No! David! [Chi hissed, just tightening his grip on the other's arm since it happened so quick that he hadn't even let go from the first time yet.]
Vince and I got back from our Honeymoon less than four weeks ago, David. Try as he might, some tiny, blue-eyed, himbo isn't changing that, [He sassed easily. ...Although he couldn't ignore the slight feeling of... something bubbling his stomach. He took a deep breath, then did his best to push it off.]
Go give Patrick his drink, [he commanded to the other.] Meanwhile, I'm sure Vince wouldn't mind a third Gatorade. It's basically a sauna out here, [he added, more to himself than to David, before finally walking the rest of the way up to Vince.]
Kenny... [Chi cooed in his sweetest voice the moment he was in Vince's line of sight.] Your loving Barbie has a present for you, [he added as he walked up, holding the bottle in his hand and swinging it back and forth playfully.]
I'll grab two--one for you and one for Patrick, [Chi said easily as he leaned in to give Vince a kiss.]
Go score all the sportsball points. Mwah! I love you!
#( vince )#( pb: david )#//According to Google Dylan Sprayberry is 5'6. So even shorter than Vince and Chi.
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I was frightened (but I did not hide)
When the unnamed Keeper tells them a reset is required, Pangi feels the floor drop from beneath him. Somewhere in the distance he hears Aimsey and Lukey arguing with the Keeper but he can't focus on that, not right now.
[also on ao3]
There's a final step, of course there's a final step. Nothing is ever easy in this realm.
When the unnamed Keeper tells them a reset is required, Pangi feels the floor drop from beneath him. Somewhere in the distance, he hears Aimsey and Lukey arguing with the Keeper but he can't focus on that, not right now. He's got plans to make.
1.
Aimsey takes the first. They stand stong - unwavering infront of him - but Pangi sees through it. The tremor in Aimsey's voice, the subtle shake of their hands.
"Are you sure" they ask, "That it has to be me?"
Pangi nods, silent in his agreement. If he speaks now, it's over. His scientific partner in all of this, one more experiment - the most important one yet.
Aimsey pulls out their mace and Pangi turns his back. At least blue faction can land their shots, he thinks, as he feels the rush of air as Aimsey jumps.
2.
The day Bad takes the second is quiet. There's no one around but them, a rare night that Pangi's awake late enough to see him.
He can't help but think it's cruel that the first time he's seen Bad in weeks will end like this.
Bad had not questioned if it had to be him, he understood. When you're so closely acquainted with death it's easy to understand why one would come to you seeking it.
It doesn't make it any easier.
He holds the cross bow out infront of him. He's glad, perhaps, that Pangi had chosen him. Bad knows death like an old friend, perhaps it's fitting to guide the oldest member of Green into meeting his constant companion.
3.
Ace laughs, and laughs, and laughs the day Pangi asks him to take the third.
They're sat in a moment of silence, a natural lull in the conversation on the foot of the Keeper statue, when Pangi asks. Pangi fears Ace may die in hysterical fits of laughter before he completes the task.
Pangi does not laugh.
Ace rolls his eyes and summons his battle axe. He pauses, "Despite everything, this was fun" Ace says, and swings the axe down.
Pangi swears he sees a glimpse of Mocha as he falls.
4.
It wasn't difficult to decide who should take the fourth, the final life.
They sit on the office floor in the lab, thankfully left alone, the rest of The Realm busy above them. They know, those that are awake, what's about to happen. He'd made them promise to stay away, to not hold his choices against anyone.
Pangi sits across from Lukey and stares. His Lukey - his beautiful, stupid Lukey. He thinks if this were Lifesteal this would be easier, at least Lukey would gain his heart.
Pangi laughs quietly to himself. Lukey would gain his heart, like he doesn't already hold it. Like he wouldn't tear it out himself if it would keep Lukey with him. Like he's not moments away from confessing every time Lukey looks at him.
He's broken from his spiral by Lukey's inquisitive noise. Pangi shakes his head and meets his eyes with a soft smile, now is not the time. Not when the man he loves - and he's pretty sure feels the same - is about to put an arrow through his heart.
Lukey stands, reaching his hand out to Pangi to pull him up. They stand, hand in hand, neither wanting to be the first to let go.
To Pangi's suprise, Lukey breaks first. He raises Pangi's hand to his lips and places a gentle kiss on the back. Pangi feels his eyes well up and his knees almost give out under him. It's over all too soon and Lukey steps back.
He takes Pangi's crossbow and aims true.
+1
Aimsey knows Pangi said to stay away. They know he'd hate to know they didn't listen. But it's Pangi and Aimsey is certainly not about to leave Lukey to deal with this alone.
The second the death message comes through Aimsey drops from the top of the waterfall, opens the trap door and flies through to the office.
The sight is enough to break even the strongest of them.
Lukey is sat with Pangi's head in his lap, crossbow thrown to the far corner of the room, arrow still in his heart
Aimsey watches as Lukey places a kiss on Pangi's forehead, looks up at them, and falls to pieces.
Nirvana flight would not have moved them across the room any faster.
Aimsey gathers Lukey up into their arms and holds him as he cries. Aimsey thinks that aside from themself, perhaps only Bad knows how this feels: to take the life of the person you love. Aimsey feels Lukey's arms wrap around them, and only then do they allow themself to break.
Eventually they move. They both stand and lift Pangi to a bed, taking turns over the next 24 hours staying awake, anxiously watching for any sign of life. They talk, Aimsey tells Lukey of their life and their true deepest darkest secret. Lukey asks for stories of Pangi from the earlier days of The Realm, and falls just a little deeper in love.
Until eventually, eventually, Pangi's eyes open. One blue, one purple but oh so full of hope when he turns and finds Aimsey's, and overflowing with love when they land on Lukey's.
Pangi reaches out towards Lukey and grasps his hand, returning the previous day's kiss. He senses, more than hears, Aimsey try to quietly slip out the room and turns back towards them.
"Thank you, Aimsey" is all he can whisper, three words taking more energy than he's got to spend right now.
Aimsey smiles, eyes bright with unshed tears and slips the rest of the way out the room. Lukey's quiet words to Pangi fade into silence as they walk the corridor.
Tomorrow they'll celebrate, right now they rest.
#title is from 'something beautiful and bright' from the 'nobody lives here' album by syml#an album i recommend highly. it broke me#i had the idea for this at the time of the cure#and it was easy to decide who would take the lives#but it was so hard to figure out how they would do it. especially ace#the realm smp#trsmp#realm smp fanfic#trsmp fic#essie makes
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BILLY HARGROVE X READER
Thatâs My Girl Pt.4
Click here to read all other parts first :)
**SUMMARY- After learning you were Hawkinsâ next target, your family and Billy devised a plan to keep you safe. But you couldnât bear the thought of Billy risking his life, so you took matters into your own hands. You made the sacrifice instead. And in doing so, you invited something in. Something ancient. Something waiting. Now⌠itâs no longer just watching.
**TRIGGER WARNINGS- Trauma flashbacks, swearing, kissing, mentions of death.
WORD COUNT- 7k
MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY !!!
i do not own the rights to the following characters. all characters are created and owned by the Duffer Brothers- Stranger Things.
I do NOT consent to have my work posted , translated or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere but here, it has been posted without my permission.
I put my all into this fic! I hope you enjoy it :)
Requests open !!!!! :)
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââââ-
A week later:
After the truth came out, that you were the new target in Hawkins, your father, Chief Jim Hopper, did the only thing he could think of to keep you and your sister safe. He moved you both out of the old cabin.
It wasnât easy for him. That cabin had been more than just four walls tucked deep in the woods, it was his sanctuary, a place where time slowed down, where the weight of grief could settle quietly without judgment. It had been Elâs first real home, too. But it was no longer safe.
The isolation that once protected you had become a liability. Hidden was good, until the wrong thing came looking.
So Hopper packed up what mattered, locked the cabin door for the last time, and moved you and El into a real house. Yes, a real house, with a lawn that was freshly mowed, a creaky mailbox out front and nosy neighbors whose curtains twitched every time someone walked by. It was quite glamorous compared to your old home, it was alive. It had streetlights, it had doorbells, it had people. But more importantly, it had witnesses.
Your new home wasnât far from Billyâs either, just a couple of streets over, in fact. Close enough that he could walk the distance with that slow, lazy swagger of his, the kind that dared anyone to challenge him. He liked it this way. No more backroad drives through the forest to reach the old cabin. Now, you were right there, accessible, visible, you were close.
The Mind Flayer had learned that the shadows of the woods were too quiet. Too out of the way. Too perfect for secrets. But on a real street, with barking dogs, screaming kids, and nosy neighbours, if something happened, especially when your father wasnât home, someone would see. Someone would notice. Hopper had made sure of it.
The new house had locks on every door, reinforced windows and an extra phone hidden on the wall in the back of the hallway closet. There was a baseball bat by your bed and a loaded shotgun in the master. Hopper didnât leave anything to chance.
And El? She didnât talk much about the move. She missed the woods, the quiet. But she understood. You both did. The danger wasnât just some boogeyman in your imagination, it had a name. It had a form. It had a will. And it wanted you.
But for now, there was safety in the ordinary. In fences. In families. In being just another house on another street in Hawkins.
At least, thatâs what you told yourselves.
Youâd spent the last few days holed up with El. She had told you everything no half truths, no holding back. Every terrifying detail poured out of her in whispered urgency while the two of you sat on the floor of your bedroom, knees pulled to your chests, the door locked like it could somehow keep the nightmare outside.
The Mind Flayer wanted Billy. Not just for possession, for purpose. It wanted him as a weapon, a vessel to help it build an army. For what, El didnât know. Maybe it wanted Hawkins. Maybe it wanted the world. But one thing was crystal clear, the easiest way to get to Billy⌠was through you.
You didnât know what to do with that information. You werenât a fighter like El, or a leader like your dad. You were just⌠waiting. Waiting for Hopper or El to come up with a plan. Waiting for the next tremble in the walls or that sickening chill in the air that always came right before something awful.
Billy hadnât left your side in days. Not even to shower, not really. He paced the house like a wolf trapped in a cage, protective and volatile, never more than a few steps from you. The others noticed it too, the way he stood a little too close, eyes always scanning windows, jaw clenched like he was ready to throw the first punch at something he could or couldnât see.
The kitchen was heavy with silence. You were all there. You, Billy, El, and Hopper, leaning against counters, arms crossed, waiting for someone to break the stillness.
Then the front door burst open with a bang.
You flinched. El took a sharp breath. Billy was faster than either of you, his hand grabbed you at the waist and pulled you behind him, shielding you with his body like a human wall. His other hand darted instinctively to his belt, where heâd started carrying a pocketknife, just in case.
But it wasnât a threat. It was Joyce Byers.
She stood in the doorway, slightly breathless, holding what looked like a crudely taped together patchwork of crayon colored paper. Hopper exhaled and lowered his shoulders.
âJesus, Joyce.â He muttered. âA little warning next time.â
âI didnât have time.â She said, stepping into the room, her voice tight with urgency. âI talked to Will. He remembers more, a place. Something about the lake. He thinks it lives there, or watches from there. Either way, itâs where you need to go.â
She unrolled the homemade blueprint on the kitchen island, a childâs drawing stitched together with tape, overlapping pages smeared with waxy red and blue lines, but surprisingly precise.
âHere.â She pointed to the far edge of the map, tapping a shaky finger on the outline of Loverâs Lake. âThatâs where it starts. Thatâs where you send the warning.â
Everyone leaned in closer.
âYou want us to go there?â Billy asked, brow furrowed.
Joyce nodded. âNot you, yet. We wait until nightfall, it moves in the dark, well⌠Mostly. Thatâs when itâll be watching. You need to get close. Make it feel you coming. Make it afraid. If it thinks weâre coming for it first, maybe, just maybe-â She started but hopper swiftly cut her off.
âWeâll gain the upper hand.â Hopper added, finishing Joyceâs sentence.
She looked directly at Billy then, her voice steady, despite the weight behind her words. âWe send you as the message. Just long enough to get its attention. Then you get the hell out.â
Billy didnât flinch.
âAlright, when?â He asked.
âAfter sunset. Hopper and El go with you. Iâll stay here with (Y/N). If anything happens, I donât want her alone.â Joyce insisted.
Billy gave a single nod, then glanced at you and you could see it in his eyes. He was already planning his death if it meant keeping you safe.
âIâll be back later.â Joyce continued. âI need to tell the boys. We prepare for the worst, just in case.â She said through shaky breaths.
âYeah, copy that.â Your father said, stepping away from you at last. âI gotta make a couple stops anyway. Need to grab a few things for later.â He added.
âWhat kind of things?â (Y/N) asked.
âSharp ones, loud ones.â Hopper said, already halfway to the door.
âIâm going to see Mike.â El said quietly from the side.
Hopper turned sharply, pointing a firm finger at her.
âHey, no youâre-â
âSheâs fine.â Billy interrupted. âSheâs strong. Let her say goodbye if she needs to.â
âIâm not saying, goodbye.â El said, eyes locked on Hopper. âIâm not worried.â
Her voice was calm. But Hopper wasnât.
âFine.â He grumbled, clearly biting back a thousand things he wanted to say. âBut be back by eight p.m. sharp. No games, El. I mean it.â
You stood quietly as everyone made their plans around you, but your heart had begun to thud harder. Louder. The fear crept in like cold water rising too fast. Everyone was preparing, for something. Something big. And Billy, your Billy, was going straight to the thing that wanted him gone, wanted you gone.
You knew he wouldnât leave you alone. Not with the Mind Flayer watching. He was staying put, with you, right by your side. But the guilt, oh the guilt, it gnawed at you.
Because deep down, you couldnât stop thinking,
If he walks into the dark for me, what if he doesnât come back out?
ââââââââââââââââââââââââââ-
The hours had slipped by like fog rolling over water, slow, quiet and heavy with something unspoken. Time always seemed to move that way when danger was close, not fast enough to escape it, not slow enough to prepare.
You sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, trying to look calm, like your heart wasnât racing, like your hands werenât trembling against your thighs. You didnât want Billy to see the panic in your eyes, he was already carrying enough. He always had. But inside, you were crumbling. Not just for yourself. For him. You couldnât bear the idea of watching him walk out of that door, not knowing if heâd ever come back. If youâd ever hear his voice again. Or feel the weight of his hand on your back in the middle of the night when nightmares woke you.
The thought made your chest tighten.
Billy had done so much for you. Even back in California, long before Hawkins, long before monsters and mind flayers, when the scariest thing in your life was the look in Neil Hargroveâs eyes, Billy was there. Always. Maybe not perfectly. Maybe not gently. But his love was fierce, consuming. The kind that made you feel like no one could ever touch you. Like you were untouchable simply because you were his.
Youâd never known how to give that back. You werenât sure you ever could. Every time you tried, heâd stop you. âJust being in my life is enough.â Heâd say. But you didnât believe him. Not really. You always felt like there was more you could do.
And now he was about to risk everything, his life, for yours. You couldnât let him do that. Not this time.
The house was like a bunker now. Hopper had made sure of it before he and El left. Every curtain was drawn, every window locked and double-checked. The back door had been barricaded. The only entrance left open was the front, waiting for Hopper and Joyce to return, waiting for the night to fully settleâŚ
And it did.
Weapons were hidden in every room. Your bat tucked behind the refrigerator. A switchblade in the couch cushions. A hammer by the stairs. Even two syringes, filled with enough tranquilizer to knock out a grown bear, were placed on the fireplace mantel, âjust in case.â The sight of them made your stomach twist.
Anything, youâd been told. They could put anything to sleep.
The words echoed in your mind.
Billy was pacing again, running a hand through his hair, his boots thudding quietly across the worn floorboards. His movements were tense, calculated, like a lion in a too small cage. His brown, leather jacket gripped tightly around his muscular frame, the sleeves bobbled and worn, faint hints of cologne still clinging to the fabric. That familiar scent, a mix of salt, cedarwood, and cigarettes, filled the room, wrapping around you like a memory.
You stared at him, trying to memorize every detail, the curve of his jaw, the scar on his eyebrow, the way his lip twitched when he was deep in thought. You didnât want this to be the last time you saw him. But something deep in your gut told you⌠it could be.
Your eyes flicked to the syringes.
Your chest rose and fell quickly, tears beginning to burn in your eyes.
And then, finally, your voice broke through the silence.
âI love you, Billy.â (Y/N) said softly, barely above a whisper.
He stopped pacing immediately, turning to face you. His expression shifted, softer, almost vulnerable, as he dropped to one knee in front of you.
âI love you too, angel.â He said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. âEverythingâs gonna be okay. Alright?â
You nodded, though your throat felt like it was closing up. You rubbed your nose on the sleeve of his sweater, the one you always stole because it felt like home.
Billy gave you a crooked little smile, stood and sighed deeply. He walked toward the kitchen, the floor creaking beneath his boots. You watched him reach into the fridge and pull out a cold beer, the glass clinking as he popped the cap on the counter edge.
You stood quietly, the sound ringing in your ears like a countdown.
And before you could change your mind, before you could let the fear stop you, you moved.
You crossed the room fast, soundless, grabbing one of the syringes from the mantel like it had been waiting there for you.
âIâm sorry, Billy.â (Y/N) said, voice trembling.
He started to turn, confusion flickering across his face. âWhaâ?â
The needle plunged into his neck before he could finish.
His eyes widened in shock as the pain hit, sharp and immediate.
He staggered back, yanking the syringe out with shaking fingers. âWhat the hell did you do?â He asked, voice slurring slightly, holding up the needle with a dazed expression. âWhat is this?â
You were already crying. Your legs moved backward as he stepped toward you, slow and unsteady. His vision was fading, body sagging.
âBilly, pleaseâŚâ (Y/N) breathed.
But he collapsed before you could finish, the beer bottle shattering on the floor as it slipped from his hand. The dull thud of his body hitting the ground was the most horrifying sound youâd ever heard.
âArghâŚâ He groaned, trying to lift his head, but it was too late. His muscles failed him.
You dropped to your knees beside him, cradling his face in your hands, your tears falling freely now.
âIâm so sorry.â (Y/N) sobbed. âI just⌠I canât let you go out there. You always do so much for me, always. Let me do this for you, for once. Please. I love you, okay? I will always love you, Billy.â (Y/N) cried.
His lips parted, barely able to form words. âSto⌠stopâŚâ
But you were already reaching into his pocket, gently pulling out the keys to his Camaro. He weakly tried to grab your wrist, but his fingers barely twitched.
You kissed him, once, twice, again and again, his lips unresponsive, a single tear slipping from the corner of his eye as his head tilted back, no longer able to fight.
âI love you.â (Y/N) whispered.
And then you ran.
You didnât look back until you were standing at the front door, hand on the knob, chest heaving. You turned one last time, just long enough to see Billyâs motionless body on the living room floor, chest rising and falling slowly.
Then you were gone.
The night air hit you like a wall, humid and heavy, smelling of pine, engine oil and the faintest trace of rain in the distance. You sprinted down the driveway, the Camaro waiting like a beast ready to roar. You yanked open the door and slid into the seat, hands trembling as you turned the key in the ignition.
The engine grumbled, then came alive.
On the passenger seat sat a fresh, unopened pack of cigarettes. You stared at it for a moment before reaching over , plucking one from the pack and flipping it upside down, something you always did to mess with Billyâs neatness obsession, that he only had with his cigarettes, they had to be perfectly in line, they had to be even. It was a final signature. A parting joke. A sign that youâd been here. That you loved him and that youâd always be with him, but alsoâŚ
That you might not come back.
You shifted the car into gear, gripping the wheel with white knuckled fingers.
And then, without another thought, you pressed your foot to the gas and disappeared into the dark.
Billy had taught you how to drive a few times, sat on his lap and his hands over yours on the steering wheel, his voice a mix of teasing and patience, with a cigarette dangling from his lips and music humming low from the radio. You were never great at it. You always jerked the clutch too fast, or drifted too close to the center line. Heâd roll his eyes, mutter âJesus, sweetheart, itâs not a race car.â And yet somehow, you always made it home in one piece, mostly because he was there to guide you.
But now he wasnât.
The seat felt different without him beneath you. Empty. Cold. The engine vibrated beneath your legs, low and guttural, like it was daring you to lose control. Your hands trembled slightly on the wheel, palms sweaty against the worn leather. Your foot hovered uncertainly over the gas, then pressed down, not too hard. Just enough.
The car lurched forward.
The streetlights blurred past as you pulled away from the house, tires skimming over cracked pavement. The Camaro roared louder than you remembered, echoing off the quiet neighborhood like a warning bell. You flinched at every bump, every turn, every sudden gust of wind against the windows. You werenât sure if it was the car shaking or your nerves.
You didnât know exactly how to get to Loverâs Lake, not by memory. But Billy had pointed it out enough on maps. You remembered his words, the shortcuts, the roads to avoid. âDonât take 13th at night, fog rolls in from the woods. Go around past the trailer park, itâs faster.â
Your fingers tightened on the wheel as the Camaro glided through the dark, the headlights cutting long beams through mist that had begun to gather along the treeline. You rolled the window down slightly, letting the cool night air slap your face, sharp and earthy, the scent of pine needles, damp moss and something faintly metallic. Your stomach twisted.
You werenât sure if it was fear⌠or guilt.
Your heart was thudding so hard it felt like your entire body pulsed with every beat. You could still feel the warmth of Billyâs sweater against your skin. His voice echoed in your ears like a ghost. âEverythingâs gonna be okay, angel.â
But he didnât know what you were about to do.
And if you were being honest with yourself, neither did you.
Still, you kept driving.
The road narrowed as you got closer to the lake and the trees grew taller, closer, like they were leaning in to watch you pass. You gritted your teeth and adjusted your grip on the wheel. The Camaro wasnât easy to handle, too much power, too many memories, but you managed to keep it steady until you finally came to a full stop just a few steps from the lake. You could almost hear Billy in your head, teasing: âNot bad⌠for a beginner.â
And despite everything, that thought made your lips twitch into a half smile.
You didnât know what you were walking into. You didnât know what waited for you at the edge of that cursed water. But one thing was certain.
You werenât going to let Billy fight for you anymore.
This time, youâd fight for him.
ââââââââââââââââââââââââââ-
Billyâs POV-
Consciousness returned slowly, like swimming through mud. Every sound was distant, muffled, the hum of the refrigerator, the tick of the hallway clock that your father hung loosely against the wall, the low, rhythmic throb of pain pulsing behind his right temple.
His body ached.
The floor was cold beneath him, hardwood pressed unforgivingly into his cheek as rolled to his front with a groan, his muscles protesting as he pushed himself onto his elbows. A dull, splitting migraine radiated from the back of his head, no doubt from when he hit the floor. Everything was hazy, the air heavy with the stale smell of beer, wood smoke, and sweat.
Then, like a switch flipping, it all came rushing back.
The syringe.
Your voice.
Your tears.
âIâm sorry, Billy.â
Panic tore through his chest.
Just as he staggered upright, stumbling slightly, the front door burst open with a sharp crack against the wall.
âHey, you ready?â Hopperâs voice filled the room, gruff, no nonsense.
But it cut off halfway.
Hopper froze mid-step, El and Joyce just behind him. Their eyes locked on Billy, disoriented, shirt rumpled, skin pale and beaded with sweat.
âWhat the hell happened to you?â Hopper asked, brow furrowed.
Billy blinked hard, squeezing his eyes shut and reopening them. His vision finally cleared and the first thing he registered, really registered, was that you werenât there.
You werenât on the couch.
You werenât in the kitchen.
You werenât anywhere.
His chest seized.
His breath caught.
The room suddenly felt too still.
He looked around wildly, a dropped beer bottle shattered on the floor, the fire dying and one syringe missing from the mantel.
His hands curled into fists.
âWe need to go.â He said abruptly, stepping forward, urgency already thick in his voice.
âHey, slow down.â Hopper said, approaching him with that calm cop tone that always grated on Billyâs nerves. âWhatâs going on?â
Billy reached for the keys in his side pocket out of instinct, but his fingers grazed only denim.
Gone.
He stiffened.
His jaw clenched.
âShe took them.â He growled.
He stormed past the others and flung the front door open so hard it nearly came off its hinges. The night air rushed in, sharp and cold, but the spot in the driveway where his Camaro shouldâve been was empty.
Gone.
âSheâs gone.â He said, quieter this time, not out of calm, but disbelief. His voice dropped low, rough like gravel. âSheâs gone.â
Hopper stepped out behind him. âWhat?â He asked, even though he already knew.
Billy turned to face him, eyes blazing. âShe injected me with that bullshit, stole my keys and left. Probably headed to that goddamn lake.â He raked a shaking hand through his hair. âAlone.â
âYou had one job, Hargrove.â Hopper snapped, voice rising. âOne goddamn job. Keep. Her. Safe. And you-â
âHopper!â Joyceâs voice cut like a blade.
They both turned.
âNot now.â She said sharply, stepping between them. Her tone brooking no argument. âYour daughter is missing and we donât have time for chest beating and blame games. We know where she is. So letâs stop standing around and go.â
Billy didnât wait for permission. He was already moving.
The door slammed shut behind them as the three of them rushed down the porch steps and piled into Hopperâs truck, Billy throwing himself into the passenger seat, fists clenched white against his thighs. El climbed into the back and Joyce followed, her hands already unfolding the crayon map sheâd made.
Hopper jammed the keys into the ignition and the truck roared to life, headlights slicing through the blackness as the tires squealed against the pavement.
They sped off into the night, headlights bouncing along the uneven road. The forest blurred past them on either side, tree branches bending low as if whispering secrets in the dark.
Billy stared out the windshield, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling in deep, restrained bursts. Guilt churned inside him like fire, but beneath it, something colder had begun to stir.
Not fear.
Rage.
And he swore, if anything happened to you out there, if that thing even laid a han- a something on you, he wouldnât wait for a plan.
Heâd burn the whole goddamn world down.
ââââââââââââââââââââââââââ-
(Y/N)âs POV-
âHey! Iâm here!â (Y/Nâs) voice cracked as it echoed across the still water of Loverâs Lake. The night air swallowed her words like theyâd never existed.
Silence.
The woods surrounding the lake loomed in shadow, thick with fog. The moonlight shimmered faintly on the lakeâs surface, a thin, silver sheen over something much deeper, darker. You stood at the shoreline, breath visible in the cool night air, heart pounding in your ears like war drums.
âHey!â (Y/N) yelled again, more desperate this time. Still, nothing. Not even a ripple. Just the low hum of crickets and the distant rustle of wind in the trees.
You let out a shaky breath, hugging yourself tightly beneath Billyâs lifeguard sweater, the one that still smelled like him. Cigarettes, chlorine and the faintest trace of his cologne.
And then⌠a thought struck.
A dangerous, awful, perfect thought.
If it wanted Billy⌠if it needed him to build an army⌠and if the only way to get to him was through youâŚ
Then maybe the way to stop it, was to take yourself out of the picture.
No you, no access. No leverage. No army.
Your fingers trembled as you tugged Billyâs sweater over your head, the cold instantly biting at your arms and shoulders. You hesitated for only a moment before dropping it onto the damp grass. The sweater slumped to the ground like a discarded memory and with each step toward the lake, your fear grew louder, but so did your resolve.
You stepped into the water.
It was colder than you imagined, sharp, numbing, like needles against your skin. Your breath hitched as the water rose past your ankles⌠then your knees⌠then your waist. You moved slowly, deliberately, each step a choice.
A final choice.
The water reached your chest, your shoulders. Your arms floated beside you like dead weight. You closed your eyes, sucked in one last shaky breath and let yourself sink.
It was quiet beneath the surface. Muffled. Heavy. The world above became a blur. The stillness felt infinite, like time had slowed⌠or stopped entirely. Your limbs drifted, hair swirling like ink in the water.
You waited.
Waited for the Mind Flayer. For its rage. Its fear. Its reaction.
But instead, something strange happened.
The pressure around you shifted. Your body, once dragged downward, suddenly felt light, like gravity had released you. The water wasnât wet anymore. It wasnât anything. It was just⌠gone.
You opened your eyes.
And gasped.
You were no longer in the lake.
The world had changed. Everything around you was muted, grey toned, soaked in a perpetual dusk. It was Hawkins, but not your Hawkins. Buildings stood where they should, streets stretched familiar paths, but everything was twisted, like a dream remembered wrong. The air smelled wrong, like burnt metal and rotting leaves. The sky above was cracked like shattered glass, bleeding red lightning far in the distance.
Your feet found solid ground beneath you, cold, cracked asphalt. You looked down. Your clothes were dry. Your skin, untouched by water. It didnât make sense.
You spun slowly, eyes darting.
Where am I?
What is this place?
A sound echoed behind you, a wet, clicking slither.
You turned.
From the shadows, it emerged.
A tall, grotesque figure, humanoid in shape, but far from human. Grey, slick, skin like flesh stretched too tightly over pulsing muscle. Veins throbbed visibly beneath its surface, some of them black like oil. Its head hung low, neck twisting unnaturally, made of what looked like vines or tendons woven into a noose. Limbs too long. Eyes too sunken.
Not the Mind Flayer.
This was something new.
It walked toward you with slow, fluid steps, its bare feet slapping wetly against the road. It tilted its head, observing you with a curiosity that made your stomach turn.
â(Y/N)âŚâ It said.
You froze.
Itâs voice was inhuman, low and layered, like multiple voices speaking at once. Male and female. Young and old. Whispering and screaming.
âWh-what is this?â (Y/N) stammered. âWhere am I? Who⌠what are you?â
It stepped closer.
âYou came here.â It said. âWhy?â
âIâŚâ (Y/N) breathed heavily, her fists clenched so tight her nails dug into her palms. âI came so you could take me, instead of Billy.â
The creature stopped.
Then⌠it laughed.
A slow, mocking sound that scraped through your bones.
âOhhhh⌠isnât that sweet.â It purred, the grin on its warped mouth stretching too wide. âBut it doesnât work that way.â
It leaned in, its breath like sulfur and decay. âYou shouldnât have come here. It wasnât your turn.â It hissed.
ââŚMy- My turn?â (Y/N) whispered.
Suddenly, a sound. Faint, but unmistakable.
Voices.
Shouting.
Your name.
You turned, spinning toward the noise.
âBilly?!â (Y/N) called out.
And when you looked back.
It was gone.
Vanished.
But the world around you had changed again.
The buildings were still there, but now they flickered like old film reels and in their place, memories came to life. But not happy ones.
Your old house. Your parents screaming. Glass breaking. The day your father left.
Your ex boyfriend, drunk and red faced, yelling in yours.
Things you had buried, shoved deep into locked boxes in your mind.
Now, they played before you like a living nightmare.
You stepped back. Another image appeared behind you.
Billy, beaten and bloody in the snow from his worst argument with Neil, the one that you stood by and watched, not knowing what to do.
Your screams echoing in the Void.
Every fear. Every failure. Every regret.
Every secret.
Real.
You couldnât breathe. Your chest tightened. Panic clawed its way up your throat.
âNoâŚâ (Y/N) sobbed. âStop it. STOP IT!â
You dropped to your knees, hands over your ears, screaming through tears as the noise became to loud for you to bare.
âBILLY!â (Y/Nâs) voice cracked. âBILLY!â
You knew he couldnât hear you, you werenât even sure if anyone could hear you, but you screamed anyway, until your throat was raw.
Because if there was anyone who could find you in this hellâŚ
It was him.
ââââââââââââââââââââââââââ-
Billyâs POV-
Hopper tore down the narrow road like his foot was welded to the gas pedal. The headlights cut sharp beams through the trees as the gravel cracked and spat beneath the tires.
âThere!â Billy barked, his hand shooting up to point.
The blue Camaro sat parked just off the shoulder of the road, glinting faintly under the moonlight like a forgotten relic.
Hopper didnât hesitate, he swerved hard and slammed on the brakes. The truck jerked violently as it skidded to a halt, tires screeching against loose stones. Before the vehicle had fully stopped, the door flew open.
Billy was out.
Joyce and El scrambled behind him, but Billy didnât wait. He sprinted toward his car like his life was tied to it. His boots pounded the damp earth, the heavy thuds echoing his heartbeat in his ears.
Empty.
The Camaroâs doors were unlocked, the interior cold and undisturbed.
His pulse kicked harder.
He turned sharply, scanning the tree line, the road, the lake. Nothing. Then-
A flash of white.
There, by the shoreline.
Something crumpled.
Billyâs chest tightened as his eyes locked on to the familiar fabric. He bolted toward it, not saying a word until he dropped to his knees and snatched it up.
His lifeguard sweater. Soaked at the edges. Abandoned.
âHey!â He shouted over his shoulder, voice raw. âOver here!â
Hopper, El, and Joyce came running, their boots crunching dead leaves and slick mud.
Billyâs knuckles clenched around the sweater as he stared out at the still lake, lit faintly by the moon and Hopperâs flashlight beam slicing through the fog.
âWhere the hell are ya, kidâŚâ Hopper muttered, scanning the tree line.
But Billy wasnât looking at the trees. His eyes narrowed on the water. Something subtle⌠but off.
Then⌠bubbles.
A small, consistent stream rising from a single point out near the center of the lake.
âDo you see that?â Billy asked, his voice low, tense.
âWhat?â Joyce squinted toward the water.
âRight there.â He pointed. âThereâs something in the lake.â
They all turned.
More bubbles. A faint disturbance on the surface.
âOh no. No, no, no!â Hopper hissed, already backing up to tear off his jacket.
But Billy was faster.
He dropped the lifeguard sweater onto the grass and ripped off his leather jacket with one swift motion. There was no time to kick off his boots, no time to hesitate.
He dove.
The cold hit him like a freight train, a freezing wall that stole the air from his lungs. But he didnât stop. He kicked harder, arms slicing through the water like blades, heading straight toward the bubbles.
Hopper held his flashlight steady on the spot, its beam shivering with the reflection of the waves.
Billy dove deeper.
The light faded quickly, swallowed by the blackness.
He was surrounded by nothing. No sound. No shape. Just the bone deep chill and the crushing silence of the lakeâs depths. But he didnât stop. He couldnât. Not with you down here somewhere.
His lungs screamed, but he pushed lower.
And then, something.
A flicker of color in the darkness. Hair.
Your hair.
Floating gently, caught in the last trace of moonlight.
Billy surged forward and hooked an arm around your waist. You were weightless in his arms, limp and cold, terrifyingly still. He kicked furiously toward the surface, but the water felt thicker now, almost like it was fighting back.
Like something didnât want him to leave.
A force tugged at his legs, invisible but real, heavy, dragging.
He clenched his jaw and kicked harder, one hand gripping you tighter against him. He wouldnât let go. Heâd never let go.
And then, air.
His head burst from the surface with a loud gasp, dragging you with him.
âOh, thank God!â Joyce cried, reaching into the water to help pull you out.
âThe hell happened down there?!â Hopper shouted. âIs she okayâ He asked, concern laced in his voice.
But Billy ignored him. He lifted your body out of the water himself, cradling you like porcelain and staggered onto the grass.
You were pale. Your eyes were rolled back and your body was shaking violently. Your lips trembled. Your fists, still clenched like you were holding onto something inside. Something you couldnât escape.
Billy collapsed beside you, soaking wet, breathing hard. Hopper dropped to his knees and checked for a pulse, his fingers pressing against your neck.
âSheâs alive.â He said. âSheâs still in there. But somethingâs got her.â
âIâll go down again.â Billy growled, already turning toward the lake.
âNo.â Hopper grabbed his arm, firm. âShe needs you here.â
âBut-â He started, only to be cut off by your father.
âShe needs you here, Billy.â Hopper said again, voice steel.
They all fell into a tense silence.
Joyce wrung water from her sleeves and looked between them. âLetâs take a breath. Figure this out.â
âThereâs no time.â Hopper barked, slamming his fist into the ground.
âI can find her.â El said suddenly, quiet but certain. She stepped forward, eyes wide, jaw clenched. âI just need the radio in the truck⌠and something to cover my eyes.â
âThereâs no time for that, kid.â Hopper muttered through a helpless sigh. He yanked off his hat and scratched at his head and began to talk things out as fast as possible, with Joyce and El.
Billy didnât hear them anymore.
He was crouched beside you, brushing wet strands of hair from your face. Tears streamed freely down his cheeks, mixing with the water still dripping from his clothes.
âCâmon, babyâŚâ He whispered, voice shaking. âWhatâs happening to you, huh? Where are you? Iâm here, okay. You hear me? Iâm right here.â
You didnât respond. Your body still twitched rapidly, like you were fighting something from inside.
âJust come back to me. Please. Just⌠come back.â He pleaded.
His thumb stroked your cheek. Your breathing was shallow. Erratic.
Billy leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours.
âIâve got you.â He whispered, voice breaking. âIâve always got you.â He reassured.
Behind him, El stood silently, staring into the lake with an eerie stillness.
She could feel it now. Something below the surface⌠something far worse than the Mind Flayer.
Something old. Intelligent. Watching.
Waiting.
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââââ-
(Y/N)âs POV-
âJust come back to me⌠please, just come back⌠Iâve got you. Iâve always got youâŚâ
The voice reached you like a whisper drifting through clouds, soft, muffled, echoing and heartbreakingly distant.
Billy.
It was Billy.
âBilly?â (Y/N) breathed, spinning around in the darkness. âBilly!â She screamed this time, her voice cracking with desperation.
But nothing answered.
Except him.
âHe canât hear you.â The creature rasped from the shadows.
You turned slowly.
There he was, the monster that had pulled you into this place. A tall, twisted figure cloaked in wet, slimy skin, his form barely humanoid, like something between a corpse and a puppet strung together by vines and bone. His voice echoed with something ancient, deep and broken, like the scraping of rusted metal under stone.
He watched you, unmoving, patient, knowing.
Then⌠crack.
The ground beneath your feet rumbled.
A jagged fissure split the world open behind him with a thunderous crack, like the snapping of reality itself. Your eyes snapped to it.
You saw your body.
Lying limp on the forest floor, damp hair clinging to your face, water still trickling from your lips. Billy was beside you, soaked to the bone, crouched over your unconscious form, his hands trembling as he cradled your face. El stood nearby, Joyce and your father forming a protective ring around you, panic written into every movement.
You could see them.
You were so close.
You turned slowly to the creature, breath hitching. He didnât move. Not a twitch. He just stared.
That was when it hit you.
He wasnât all powerful. He wasnât in control, not completely.
He was scared.
You looked back at the fracture in reality, at Billyâs tear streaked face, at his words still echoing through your mind. You understood now.
That was your way out.
Heâd said your name with love, with truth and it weakened the hold. You could feel it, like a thread unraveling the fabric of this world. His voice didnât just reach you, it called you. Anchored you.
Your greatest weakness⌠was also your greatest weapon.
Billy.
You turned sharp and ran.
One foot slammed in front of the other, faster and faster. The creature shrieked behind you, a piercing, inhuman sound that rattled your bones and the world responded.
Rocks tore from the sky like missiles, crashing around you. Roots burst up from the ground, twisted and writhing like snakes, trying to trip you, trap you, pull you back into the dark. The air itself seemed to resist your movement, pressing against you like a wall.
But you didnât stop.
You couldnât.
You fought with all you had.
Billyâs voice rang louder now, echoing in your chest like a second heartbeat. Every word cracked the world a little more, widened the tear in reality.
You kept your eyes locked on that tear, the exit, the golden line in the darkness. The closer you got, the brighter it glowed.
Then, contact.
You threw yourself through the rift, screaming as light shattered around you, your body tumbling, falling in slow motion, until finally.
Gasp.
You shot upright from the forest floor with a violent inhale, coughing hard as water spewed from your lungs and down your chin.
Your body shook, a mixture of cold and shock. But you were here. You were back.
You cried between choked breaths, the relief tumbling out in broken sobs. âBillyâŚâ (Y/N) gasped. âBilly!â
There he was.
Beside you, crawling forward and wrapping his arms around you. You collapsed into him, clinging to his soaked shirt, the scent of lake water and leather still clinging to him.
âOh my godâŚâ (Y/N) breathed, holding on tighter. âOh my god, youâre here.â
His voice cracked. âIâve got you, angel. Iâve got you. Youâre okay⌠youâre here with me.â
Your father rushed over, skidding to his knees beside you. âAre you okay? What happened down there kid?â His voice was trembling, not with anger, but with fear.
You nodded weakly.
âIâm- iâm okay, Iâm just⌠can we go?â (Y/N) asked softly.
Billy looked up at Hopper, who exchanged a glance with Joyce. She nodded gently.
That was enough.
âYeah, letâs get outta here.â Hopper said, voice steady but low, already pulling off his jacket to wrap around your shoulders.
But again, Billy was faster, heâd picked up his brown, leather jacket and dropped it over your shoulders, sheltering you from the chill of the night. He didnât hesitate. He scooped you up, your limbs weightless in his arms and held you close to his chest. You tucked your head into the curve of his neck, the warmth of his skin grounding you, his heartbeat hammering against your cheek as your legs dangled weakly from his arms.
As Hopper retrieved your discarded sweater from the shoreline, the group began the slow walk back to the truck. The air was still, the moon high above, casting a faint silver glow over the treetops. Water dripped steadily from your body and Billyâs jeans with every step.
Joyce followed behind, her eyes sweeping the trees, but she wasnât the last to leave.
El lingered.
She stood at the edge of the lake, arms crossed, brows furrowed, eyes locked on the still black water. Something about it made her skin crawl. There was a feeling here, something sheâd felt before. Something connected. Not just to the Mind Flayer.
Older. Smarter. More deliberate.
It had spoken to (Y/N). That wasnât part of the Mind Flayerâs tactics. This was different.
Stronger.
Familiar.
Joyceâs voice cut through the silence. âHey. You coming?â She asked.
El blinked, shaken from her thoughts. She pivoted quickly. âYeah. Yeah, I was just⌠nothing. Iâm coming.â She responded shakily.
She cast one final glance back at the lake, now still, peaceful, like nothing had happened and followed the others towards the truck, her unease trailing close behind her like a shadow.
Somehow, she knew.
This wasnât over.
Not yet.
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââââ-
The ride home was quiet, tension thick in the silence that hung between breaths. Hopper had taken Joyce back to her place first. Then, in the dim light of the carâs dashboard, you explained in hushed tones that you had figured out a way to escape the creature, whatever it was. You didnât know everything yet, only that it fed off of disconnection, disorientation, the kind of emotional unraveling that left people hollow. But you had learned something, it could be weakened. Anchoring yourself to strong memories, to real, visceral emotions, those were the keys. Thatâs what kept you grounded, what kept you here.
Still, back at your new home, the exhaustion hit all of you like a wave. The adrenaline was gone, leaving only raw nerves and aching muscles. The plan could wait. Morning would come fast, and with it, a clearer mind. El disappeared upstairs, too drained to say much more than a quiet goodnight. Your father had reluctantly agreed to let Billy stay the night, maybe sensing that none of you wanted to be alone.
Youâd barely made it through the front door before Billy was by your side, supporting your weight without asking questions. Your limbs were heavy, your skin still clinging to the scent of the lake and whatever unearthly presence had lingered there. In the bathroom, he helped you undress with slow, careful hands, like you were made of glass. Heâd joined you in the shower, not out of want, but need, a silent understanding passing between you. Under the hot spray, heâd washed the muck from your hair and the fear from your skin, his fingers moving gently, reverently, as if he was trying to scrub away the memory of what had almost happened.
Afterward, he helped you into his oversized, white t-shirt, it swallowing your frame as his did it, carried you to bed and climbed in beside you without a word. The room was quiet save for the soft rustle of sheets and the slow, rhythmic inhale and exhale of his chest against your head. He pulled you into him, one arm curled tightly around your lower back, the other slipping under your head to cradle it. His skin was warm, solid, the scent of his cologne barely lingering beneath clean soap and lake water.
âYouâre crazy, you know that?â He murmured, his voice low and gravelly in the quiet.
âWhat?â (Y/N) asked, blinking up at him.
âYouâre the first person to knock me out.â He chuckled softly, almost in disbelief. âAnd the only person to get away with it.â He added.
You turned your face into his chest.
âIâm sorry Billy, but I couldnât let you go out there, you do so much for me, you always have, I wanted to do something for you, for once.â (Y/N) explained.
He shifted, drawing back just enough to look at you. âIâve already told you.â He began, but you cut him off.
âI know. âBeing in your life is enough.â Youâve said it before.â (Y/N) sighed. âBut it doesnât feel like enough, not for me. I always feel like Iâm falling short somehow, like I should be doing more.â
Billyâs brows furrowed, and his grip on you tightened. âYou are enough.â He said firmly, his voice edged with something fierce and unshakable. âYou. Just you alone. Are more than enough. Donât ever put yourself in danger like that again, especially for me, you hear me? Let me take the hits, Iâll deal with the hard shit. Thatâs my job, okay?â He said, dominance laced in his voice.
You could feel the fear in him, buried just beneath the surface, clinging to the spaces between his words.
âI thought I lost you back there.â He added, voice cracking ever so slightly as he pressed a trembling kiss to your hair. âYou scared the hell out of me.â
You buried yourself in his chest, listening to the heartbeat that had nearly stopped.
âCan we just sleep, talk about it tomorrow?â (Y/N) yawned.
âYeah, sure, baby.â He exhaled, the tension easing just a little.
âI love you.â (Y/N) whispered.
âI love you too, angel.â He replied softly.
You hesitated, then pulled back to look him in the eyes. âNo, Billy. I love you. So much. Iâd do anything for you. I did.â
He cupped your cheek gently. âI know. You nearly died for me. And if it were you, Iâd do the same, without a doubt. Iâd die for you a hundred times if it meant keeping you safe.â He stated.
Your heart ached at the sincerity in his eyes, the way he said it like a vow, like a truth older than time. He pressed one last kiss to your forehead before reaching over to flick off the bedside lamp. The room melted into darkness.
He rolled closer, pulling and pressing you tightly into him and dragging the covers over the both of you. His hand moved in slow, steady circles along your back, calming the chaos inside you.
âGoodnight, Billy.â (Y/N) murmured, placing a gentle kiss to the side of his neck.
âGoodnight, sweetheart.â He replied, his voice a soft rumble against your skin.
And slowly, with the steady beat of his heart against your spine and his hand still tracing comfort into you, sleep pulled you under, safe, for now.
Just as the quiet of the room settled into something almost peaceful, the air shifted, subtle, like the breath of a ghost.
Billyâs hand froze mid-stroke on your back.
His body tensed behind you.
âDid you feel that?â He whispered, voice suddenly sharp, alert.
You blinked, half asleep.
âFeel what?â (Y/N) questioned.
But before he could answer, the bedroom light flickered on.
Then off.
Then on again.
And then, from somewhere in the house, distant but clear, the grandfather clock in the hall began to chime.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then silence.
But the silence felt⌠wrong.
Because it wasnât three oâclock.
It was 12:47.
And the clock had never worked.
Part 5 Anyone ??? :)
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I'm curious, when you get these asks about pez dispenser debris, to what degree do you already have all the answers? Like on a scale from "oh it's all written out in excruciating detail in a top-secret Google doc somewhere" to "every time someone asks a question i make up the answers on the spot," where do you fall? Your characters and universe are so rich and fascinating and full of life, I'd love to know more about the kind of process that gets you there!
For the most part, I already have the answers.
Thereâs no top secret google doc. These are just the silly little tales I play with in my head. For the most part, they donât really exist on paper. I also have 3 long suffering friends who I sometimes spam text 96 times in row about my ideas that later turn into these asks. I copied and pasted some of the Yokohama asks and the Dabi Izuku Mirio buddy cop adventure straight from my text messages.
A lot of the adventures sort of spawn the others. Like, Izuku being licensed at bomb defusing happened because in the Yokohama arc, he tries to steal the gang a very high tech, very sensitive comms system called a HUB from the school, which is locked into its wall charger at the time and will irreversibly brick itself if someone tampers with the locking mechanism as a safety feature. I decided that All Might eventually showed up and just gave it to him, but I was like âokay, Izuku has no real technological acumen, why does he think he has so much as a shot at getting this thing out of the wallâ and I decided that he had taken a week long bomb defusing symposium and he was really, really hoping at the skills would transfer (they didnât) and the rest of it sort of flowed from there.
Sometimes minor details I come up with while answering the asks? Like, for example, in the Dabi Izuku Mirio buddy cop, Dabi always was there because he was trying at some random fucking redemption arc thing because he heard some lady who was being abused talking to her mom about it, and then I decided while answering the ask that he overheard it while eating his feelings post-break up from the League. But the overarching plot of the buddy cop side quest had already been worked out and info dumped over text.
Some of the little stories come because Iâm trying to facilitate other plot points, like Izukuâs bomb defusing being made to facilitate a minor detail in Yokohama. Sometimes thereâs just a vibe that Iâm chasing and I build the story around it. Yokohama happened in part to facilitate why they were so famous by their third year, in part because I just loved the idea of them having a battle that was so tangled in desperation and hope that you could choke on it. I thought there was a kind of magic in that sort of battle that I really wanted to capture.
Sometimes I have other stories that I like so much that I want to sort of repackage in part for other universes. Iâm big on recycling my story details. The line in pez where Tiny Izuku is talking to all might and is like âis that a photo of me crying on the beach? Why do you have that?â was actually originally from a different fic where AfO kidnapped Izuku before he even reached the Entrance Exam, and it culminated in Izuku escaping a month or so later, completely amnesiac and having forgotten that vigilantism is illegal so he does a fuck ton of it. Aizawa catches up to him when he saves Iida from the hero killer and speed runs his gay awakening with Todoroki and when heâs reunited with All Might, All Might tries to show him pictures of their time together, and accidentally scrolls to the photo he canonically took of Izuku on the sand crying. And this Izuku says, âis that a photo of me crying on the beach? Why do you have that?â with a lot more judgment than Tiny Izuku.
The Dabi Mirio Izuku buddy cop actually spawned from a fic Iâve had thatâs been frakensteining in my head for a while. Before we found out about the vestiges or any of the past users save the fact that the first user was all for oneâs brother, I had this elaborate backstory fic where Izuku was the reincarnation of the first user and he, Iida, and Todoroki are sort of hurriedly covering that shit up because fuck if it wonât cause problems if people all for one find out. That got redrafted when more information came out about the past users and the vestiges into a fic where All for One, who wanted his brother back, kidnapped Izuku from the training camp and forcibly brought his brotherâs consciousness to the forefront and buried Izukuâs consciousness within One for All. Izukuâs trapped in the depths of the First Userâs memories trying to find his way back out and meanwhile the First User is having the mother of all crash outs in Izukuâs body and has gone completely rogue because his brother wants to vault him and the heroes want to keep him in strictly controlled protective custody and he gets very very skittish at any implication of confinement after his vaulting. Todoroki is hunting him for fucking sport because that is not his body and he needs to get the fuck out of it for reasons that Todoroki is electing not to inspect until he gets Izuku back and maybe they hold hands a little. I loved the shenanigans between Izuku and the past users once Izuku figured out how to start navigating the sort of wonky mind space that was existing inside of One for All and wanted more of it, and so it sort of turned into the past users hazing Izuku into doing underground spy bullshit with them and went from there.
I think primarily the reason why my stories end up sprawling is because I love there being an explanation or backstory to things. I like it being shenanigans all the way down. So I just sort of build outwards from other story details until you end up with this convoluted mess of a universe where everyone is having a terrible fucking time
#pez dispenser debris#shoutout to my long suffering friends#before I told you guys about Yokohama I was on the phone with my friend like âyou donât understand they were the moment�� and she was like#âI know I know.â Dabi Izuku Mirio buddy cop was texted in part on my lunch break at work on some random Tuesday#sometimes when I do forget what the fuck I was going to do I go back to my texts for references#I like my silly goofy little tales your honor#I vividly hallucinate silly tales while listening to the same song on repeat and sprinkle in egregious jokes about Izuku having ghosts in#his bones thatâs it thatâs my creative process
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That squeeze was something Rosita hadn't expected, not having mentioned anything regarding how she felt about what had just unfolded. Either the other woman had that much insight and could read people well, or Rosita's distress was beginning to show. She hoped it wasn't the latter. The last thing she wanted was to seem scared and insecure when people were relying on her. She knew that she had to keep her composure, or the others would struggle to keep up theirs, too. For once, she was glad someone else took over. It was in her nature to almost always somehow end up in charge of situations, and maybe sometimes it was for the best. If there was one thing Rosita could do, it was keeping a straight head in shit situations. But right now? Right now, it was probably for the best that Kyleigh led the way.
She noted how efficiently the woman took out the dead soldier, not fumbling when removing his rifle, even managing to find a pistol. Smart thinking, to lift that shirt. Rosita just hoped those weapons had ammo. If it came down to it, having scavenged those might just save their lives if they ever got swarmed.
There was something on the third floor, judging by the scent of decay. On each side of a main hallway branching into two more hallways to the left and right, there were doors left open. Someone must have not bothered to close them behind them, or maybe they never got to close them because they didn't make it. "Someone go shut the one on the left, someone the one on the right!" Rosita exclaimed, being the first to shut the left door just before a pair of four dead could get to them.
Irina had run to shut the other one before Rosita had finished her sentence, the door separating them from another small pack. Warren assured everyone that the doors would last awhile upon hearing Irina's worries, followed by her seeking even more reassurance by asking for a specific estimate of time. As Warren began to ramble, Rosita shushed the two, not wanting to make too much noise. As fast as they were moving, they were making enough of that already. Another path was blocked by the group by quietly barricading the way with a shelf; just in case, right before they opened the door leading to the walkway.
"Let's check the area around the building, so we don't get ambushed when we leave it," Rosita announced, knowing that the dead could linger just about everywhere and ambush you at any times. The last thing she wanted is to check the building, find it has been overrun, run out and see dead ones blocking the way. "If there's too many, we run back."
Much to her surprise, the area had no walking dead. Glancing at the at least half a dozen of bodies, all of which had reanimated judging by their rotten looks but been taken out, she noted that none of them had headshot wounds. Turning to her companions, Rosita spoke, "Someone must have killed them. Bashed their heads in. That could be a good sign."
That meant someone who knew how to take care of themselves might be out there. And given the amount of bodies - Rosita counted eight - she thought it must have been more than a single person who had taken them out. Of course, she knew it wasn't a guarantee. Maybe they eventually managed to get themselves killed. Maybe this had happened weeks ago. But if they killed a few dead around the building, maybe they have done some clearing inside the building too.
"Time to check what's inside," Rosita moved forward, relieved that through the glass windows on the door she couldn't see any threats. Warren was quick to knock on those windows, pointing out that the glass was plexiglass, which first earned a frown from Rosita, but then she understood. If there were any undead in there, they would come out now. Good thinking. They could then position and angle themselves to take it out relatively safely, open the door and get rid of them. Maybe let them come out in waves if they were within some distance to each other instead all at once, closing the door in-between dead breaking out.
But she saw nothing coming towards them, so she decided to open the door, not wanting to waste too much time. Another unpleasant smell hit Rosita, something that smelled like chemicals rather than a rotten scent. Irina was able to place the scent, noting that it was the smell of enzyme cleanser, something she once used to get rid of the smell of vomit after her daughter vomited on her blanket. Better than the smell of decay, Rosita thought, but she didn't voice her thoughts and said nothing unlike Warren who quipped that there must have been a lot of vomit in that hallway to need that much cleaner, or that the scent of the stuff was just crazy.
"It doesn't usually smell that strong, you usually use it for bodily fluids, the worse the odor of the bodily fluids is, the more you use- and.. and the smell fades after like an hour. Wait- oh my God- someone cleaned this hallway of guts, maybe?" Irina responded, keeping her voice low as if speaking any louder would alarm the dead.
Shit. That was not a long amount of time by any means, but if they wanted to stick to their plan it was going to have to be enough. Or they were going to have to give themselves some more time. If this was Kyleigh by herself she wouldn't even keep track, just go with the flow of things and see where it took her. But she knew how important it was for them to keep moving, to not waste time. She gave Rosita another nod, not wanting to call anymore attention to the fact that this was one disaster after another. Both of them were probably going to blame themselves for any kind of shit that happened even if it was way beyond their control. Strong women were just that way, but Kyleigh was hanging onto the hope that it would motivate them to keep this small group alive. At least long enough to allow them to make it out of this and on the road back to their families.
The third woman in their group did have a good idea with barricading the door, but that was something they should do when they were done on that floor. They only had one more to go after this then it was onto that walkway. If it was stable enough to hold their weight. Just because it was still in one piece didn't mean it was safe but they would have to make it there first to find out.
"I agree. Let's get the weapons and then move the sofa over to block the door. So far it's just one that I can see, so that shouldn't be too hard to take care of. Everyone watch each other's backs and stay together."
As Kyleigh moved in front of the group to be the one to open the door she gave Rosita's shoulder a squeeze, trying to tell her without saying the words that this wasn't her fault. Any one of them would have done the same thing. What was done was done, it was time to push forward and make sure that all of them survived this journey. Kyleigh tried to push the door open as quietly as she could, the motion immediately drawing the attention of the half gone soldier. Its head turned in their direction and began to drag its body towards them. This time it was easier to take the creature out, Kyleigh simply knelt down and pushed her knife into the side of it's skull. Softly she set the head back down, then nodded for the others to come over.
There was a larger rifle strapped to it's back, once that it was removed Kyleigh lifted up the blood stained shirt to reveal a smaller pistol tucked to the side where the lower half of the body used to be. Other than that there wasn't anything else left to take so the body was left there to fully rot or get eaten by the others. The half lycan still wasn't sure if they only ate living flesh or that of the fallen as well but she damn sure didn't want to find out.
That all too familiar growl came to her ears, Kyleigh's head snapping up to see two full bodies turning the corner. They must have been office workers, they still had business attire on and the female one had a badge clipped to her jacket. "Time to go." Kyleigh whispered.
Quickly the four made their way back out through the doors and moved the sofa over in front of them. That would be enough to keep those other dead ones from attacking them as long as they were in this building. Without a word Kyleigh began to climb the stairs to the third floor, more slowly this time in order to make sure that if anything should jump out at them this time they would all be ready.
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Arthur, talking in his sleep: ...Merlin...mn...Merlin...no, you're the dollophead...
Gwen, his wife, lying next to him, eyeing Arthur out of the corner of her eye: ...
Arthur, still sleeping: ...Mm...Merlin...idiot...
#this is the third time this week this has happened#and gwen's lost count how many times since they married#bbc merlin#guinevere pendragon#guinevere#arthur pendragon#merlin incorrect quotes#incorrect merlin quotes
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loveybug is too busy thinking about kissing to fight supervillains... anytime an akuma shows up she hits it with a comically large hammer harley quinn style until it's flat and she can go back to unsubtly flirting with chat noir
#*panting and covered in blood* whoa that was intense! how about some andre's#she says 'lovey charm' and a 4ft long pastel pink bazooka falls into her arms#i just think it'd be so funny if loveybug had the giant weapon like sentibug or one of the other anti-ladybug villains#5ft tall girl in a tutu and ballerina flats wearing a grenade belt KILLS mr pigeon for the third time this week!!!#hawkmoth is infuriated of course#WHO is this strawberry shortcake ever after high 12 dancing princesses looking little girl and WHERE is ladybug#and WHERE did she get that tear gas#akumas have never been so efficiently defeated because she has her priorities right#chat watching slackjawed: lovey you just turned mr cesaire into a grease spot#loveybug: teehee it's fine! >w< my miraculous will fix it anyway! now what were we saying about the rose gardens on saturday?#paris is in shambles#loveybug is not the hero they wanted but maybe she's the one they deserve.#i want to see loveybug with this giant hammer someone please draw it please make it happen#hawkmoth has enough and pulls another heroes' day stunt or something and loveybug rolls up in a tank#ml#loveybug au#loveybug#miraculous ladybug#miraculous au#miraculous#talk tag
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Okay so I was joking at first but now I'm going to actually break it down because I'm right for once and I need other people to hear about it.
So Necropolitus describes Meliora as a "brave new world of ambition, vice, lust and greed" and as someone who competitively showed pigs for nine years, the reality of a community that is rich in such while still being functional is exactly what a county fair is. It only lasts a week, but. Work with me.
Ambition: This is so fucking easy to find at a fair it's not even funny. From Rodeos to kids showing their animals, every fair is full of competition of kids who want to be the best, who dream of expanding their projects and outperforming friends, of becoming a big name in this weird niche community. Parents will develop actually beef and rivalries with kids who perform better than their kids. I cannot stress how competitive it is. There's even competition between barns where kids try to raise more money and you can sabotage each other. There is no prize in winning except telling the rabbit barn that they can go fuck themselves. And I didn't even touch on rodeo professionals who are trying to perform well enough to get into the big leagues. Your local county fair is drowning in ambition you never even noticed behind the scenes.
Vice: Every fair I've gone to at the very least has copious amounts of alcohol and family friendly gambling (carnival games). There's also all of the sugary, fried, fattening foods at every corner, with too large of portions that go down easy and come up easier on rides, encouraging only more indulgence. Most of the time there's also weed being smoked somewhere. Idk what to tell you, this one is pretty obvious to me.
Lust: All I will say is; for the young horny adults, behind the barns is still part of the fair and kids will be going back there to get stuff for their animals. Please conclude your date night somewhere else, there are third graders present. I don't care how late it is. (THIS IS REALLY A THING THAT HAPPENS I HAVE CAUGHT TOO MANY EYEFULLS PLEASE BE AWARE OF YOUR SURROUNDINGS)
Greed: This is actually the one that set off this thought process because as someone who lived the full fair week for nine years (best week of the year fyi), everything is fucking EXPENSIVE. The food, the gimmicky t-shirts and sunglasses and temporary tattoos/henna stands. And rarely is it quality. Usually, the only quality products was the livestock being sold by exhibitors, and even that was grossly overpriced. While markets were selling pork at $3.45 per pound on the hook, kids were selling an average of $12 per pound on the hoof. That's crazy work. And it's not just the competition that keeps bring kids back year after year, it's the money.
Anyway yeah Terzo I lived your dream and tbh? Great work, should have checked it out yourself before you died.
Oh Terzo if only you knew your dream city of Meliora has been realized and it's called a county fair.
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