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midnightmemoirsofher · 2 days ago

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𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝙰𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝 𝚄𝚜 ( 𝙱𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝟸 )

“He’s not just our dog anymore.” “No,” Elias said quietly. “He’s family.”

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ² - ᴛʜɪs ʜᴏᴜsᴇ ɪs ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴏꜰ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ

The smell of turkey bacon hit her nose first.

Then the low clink of a skillet. The quiet sound of Scooby’s tail thumping on the tile.

London padded down the hall, still barefoot, wearing one of Elias’s shirts and nothing underneath. The silence in the condo wasn’t heavy — it was alive. Like the calm after a storm you never thought you’d survive.

Elias didn’t hear her at first.

He stood at the stove in black sweats, shirtless, his low fade still messy from sleep. One hand was flipping eggs. The other was propped on the counter like he didn’t trust his knees yet.

Like he hadn’t slept. Like the fact that she had — curled up right beside him — didn’t make any sense to him at all.

Scooby looked up first and padded over to her, pressing his head into her thigh.

She scratched behind his ears, then moved quietly into the kitchen.

Elias still hadn’t turned around.

“You trying to sneak out before the eggs finish?”

London smiled and leaned into his back, arms wrapping around his waist from behind. Her voice was still rough from sleep.

“If I was sneaking out, I wouldn’t be wearing your shirt.”

He let out a low breath and set the spatula down.

“Didn’t know if you’d still be here.”

“I said I would be.”

“Yeah, but…” he paused, finally turning in her arms, looking down at her like she was the only thing in the room that could knock the wind out of him. “You know everything now.”

“So?” she whispered.

“So,” he said, brushing a curl from her cheek, “I killed people. I lied about my past. Your dad was one of my targets. That’s… not light.”

London tilted her head and held his stare.

“Neither is being in love with someone who’d take a bullet for me. Who built this whole world around keeping me safe. You don’t have to be light, Elias.”

She reached for his hand and placed it flat over her heart.

“You just have to be mine.”

He kissed her without hesitation.

Not like a man begging for forgiveness — but like one who’d just been granted something sacred. He backed her into the counter, mouth on hers, his hand traveling down the back of her thigh—

Scooby barked once.

London pulled away, laughing against his chest.

“Alright,” she giggled, “we get it. No horny before breakfast.”

“Speak for yourself,” Elias muttered, lips still on her neck.

Elijah’s apartment didn’t look like much from the outside — quiet, low-key, just one floor above a dry cleaner and a Latin bakery that smelled like heaven and cinnamon.

But inside?

The furniture had been pushed to the walls. A yoga mat rolled out in the center. Wraps. Gloves. Towels. Bottled water.

“This feel like a trap to you?” Tasha asked London, stepping inside and looking around like someone might jump out.

“Only if we mess around and get dropped,” London muttered, pulling her curls into a high puff.

They weren’t here to play.

And the look Elias gave her when she walked in proved it.

He was already wrapping his hands — tight, deliberate — and his shirt was already off. Sweat glistened at his collarbones. The only thing hotter than the way he looked?

The way he looked at her.

“This ain’t date night,” he warned. “You sure about this?”

London stepped to him without hesitation.

“You think just ‘cause I love you, I’m tryna be soft?” she asked, tying her wrap tight. “Nah. I’m tryna be ready.”

Behind them, Elijah was tossing Tasha a towel.

“You ever been in a fight before?”

“Only with bitches who ran their mouths,” Tasha smirked. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

“Why are you here?”

Tasha’s smile faded into something deadly serious.

“To learn. So when it’s me or someone I love, it won’t be me.”

Elijah blinked — then nodded.

“Say less.”

They started slow.

Elias with London. Elijah with Tasha.

Striking drills. Blocking. How to pivot off your back foot. How to breathe before you swing. How to keep your stance wide enough not to get taken down — but narrow enough to move.

London wasn’t flashy. She didn’t need to be. Her focus was surgical. Her movements quiet. Every time Elias tried to fake her out, she didn’t blink — just adjusted.

“You really been paying attention, huh?” he muttered, sweat trickling down his temple.

“I always pay attention to you, Poppa,” she whispered, lunging forward — and getting him in a choke hold from behind.

Elias let out a strangled laugh through his gritted teeth.

“Oh you been practicing in secret—”

“Say ‘uncle’.”

“Hell no.”

“Say it.”

“Fine! Uncle!”

London let go, breathless and laughing.

Tasha and Elijah looked over.

“Yo,” Elijah muttered. “These two weirdly turnt by violence?”

“Little bit,” Tasha said, throwing a jab. “But I’m not judging.”

As they cooled down, London sat beside Elias on the floor, wrapping a towel around her shoulders, wrists pink from the wraps.

“You good?” he asked, voice low as he reached over to check her knuckles.

“I’m better than good.”

She glanced down. One knuckle was bleeding. She wiped it clean on the towel. Didn’t even wince.

“I want more.”

Elias tilted his head, watching her.

Not as his girl. Not as his future wife. But as someone who could hold her own when the time came.

“Then next time,” he said, “we go harder.”

Across the street…

A man leaned against a dark rental SUV, baseball cap low, hoodie zipped just enough to hide the scar that ran along the left side of his neck.

He watched from the corner — silent, still — as London and Elias exited the building with Scooby in tow.

Scooby jumped up and pawed at London, his leash trailing behind him. She laughed, bright, sweat still glistening on her collarbones. Elias caught her waist, pulled her in close, kissed her.

The man didn’t move.

He raised his phone. Click. A still of the kiss. Another of Scooby between them.

He tapped out a message.

“She’s training. With him. I’ve been watching since the beach.”

Then, after a long pause, he added:

“Alonzo hasn’t shown. But she’s with the man who tried to kill him.”

And hit send.

Elias didn’t trust many people. And that included dog trainers.

But this one came recommended by Elijah, and the man didn’t even blink when Elias explained what he wanted.

“Not just obedience. Not just protection,” Elias had said, Scooby sitting at his side, calm and alert. “I need him to read a room. Watch hands. Watch faces. Guard her.”

The trainer — a clean-cut ex-Marine named Rico — had nodded once.

“He’s loyal?”

“He’s hers.”

“Then let’s get to work.”

Scooby took to the drills like he’d been waiting for this his whole life.

He already knew London’s scent, gait, voice tones. Now he was learning to respond to panic, aggression, and most importantly — silence.

A dropped set of keys? He’d turn and flank. A raised hand or voice in London’s direction? His posture shifted — low and braced.

Rico was impressed.

“He’s naturally dominant. Confident. Has his own head — but follows hers without question.”

“That good or bad?” Elias asked, arms crossed as he watched from behind the fence.

“That’s perfect. Means he’s not just trained. He’s bonded.”

When London came to observe later that week, Scooby’s entire demeanor changed.

His tail wagged like crazy, but his body stayed disciplined — still, focused, waiting for Rico’s release command before he approached.

“You’re a genius,” she whispered, crouching to let him nuzzle her face. “Poppa says you’re getting promoted.”

Elias stepped beside her, hands in his pockets.

“He passed the second phase already. Might take a few more weeks, but when he’s done—”

“—he’ll rip someone’s face off if they breathe wrong,” London finished with a grin.

“Basically.”

“Good.”

She stood up and looked at Scooby, then at Elias.

“He’s not just our dog anymore.”

“No,” Elias said quietly. “He’s family.”

The training facility wasn’t fancy. No glass walls or sleek branding. Just thick chain-link fencing, dust, and the hum of discipline moving in a straight line.

They were there to pick Scooby up from his session.

London leaned over the gate, watching Scooby complete his last recall drill — sprinting across the field, eyes locked on the trainer’s hand. He stopped on a dime when commanded.

“He’s gonna outrank us both by next month,” she whispered.

Elias smirked.

“He already does.”

But it wasn’t Scooby that caught her attention next.

It was a low, heavy growl. Not threatening. Just… low. Solid. From the kennel off to the right.

London turned and saw him.

Big. Jet black. Wide stance. Muscles like coiled rope. Eyes like mirrors.

A young male Rottweiler — leaner than full-grown, but already thick across the chest. He was sitting perfectly still in the shade, collar tight, posture patient. Watching everything.

London crouched near the kennel.

“He looks like he’s waiting to be assigned to somebody.”

The dog didn’t bark. Didn’t pace.

He just tilted his head slightly when she spoke.

“That’s Vino,” the trainer said, walking over. “One of our tactical eval dogs. We don’t usually offer him for placement until after full cert, but…”

He looked at the way Vino tracked London’s face with his eyes.

“Looks like he might’ve already picked.”

“Picked?” Elias asked.

“Sometimes, they just know. Not sure if it’s scent. Energy. Temperament. But when they choose… they don’t un-choose.”

London glanced up at Elias.

“If Scooby ever had a brother…”

“You wanna add another one?”

“Not now,” she said, standing slowly. “But maybe… soon.”

Elias wrapped an arm around her waist as the trainer led them back toward Scooby.

“You naming him already?” he teased.

“Vino. It fits.”

“Why?”

“Because wine ages into danger,” she whispered. “And he looks like he’s gonna be expensive.”

⸻

They reached the car and loaded Scooby in the back.

But before she opened her door, Elias caught her wrist.

“You serious about that second dog?” he asked.

“I’m serious about anything that keeps us alive.”

“That’s why I keep you around.”

He leaned in, slow, like the moment wasn’t about lust — it was about alignment.

Their lips met in a kiss that didn’t beg for more — it promised it. Her fingers curled around his shirt. His hand stayed wrapped in her curls.

When they broke apart, he touched his forehead to hers.

“Vino can wait,” he murmured. “But I’m never letting you walk unguarded again.”

London’s knees were still sore.

Not from anything sexy — but from holding a plank too long while Elias shouted corrections in her ear and made her do it again. And again.

Now, stretched out across their sectional with Scooby passed out at her feet, London finally exhaled. Her hair was tied up. A half-empty bottle of water rested on her belly. Elias was in the kitchen, clanging around like someone who cooked aggressively.

On the coffee table sat her iPad, propped up on the stream stand. She’d just finished an impromptu Twitch Q&A for her followers. No makeup. Baggy shirt. Hoodie up. She called it “Sketch & Breathe.”

She hadn’t read through the chat yet. But the silence gave her a minute to think.

Training’s going well… too well. Poppa’s back to keeping secrets in his eyes again. Tasha’s taking this seriously, and I can’t tell if that scares me or makes me proud. I miss normal.

She sat up with a groan, reached for her iPad, and started scrolling through the chat replay.

Most of it was familiar usernames.

Hearts. Inside jokes. Twitch emotes. A few new ones she didn’t recognize.

g4merx__: “That Ghostface sketch hit different 👀” MoonDrop1996: “Love your energy, L.” Julz_808: “Still streaming like Miami?”

She stopped.

Finger hovering.

Julz_808.

The name sat there like it knew something it shouldn’t. It was a name she hadn’t seen in years.

Back when she was 15. Streaming from her mom’s apartment in Miami. Julz_808 used to show up all the time. He never donated. Never chatted much. Just watched. Lurked.

One time, he DM’d her a sketch she’d drawn — a version of Michael Myers standing on a beach in sunglasses.

She never told her mom.

And she definitely never told Elias.

“Everything good?”

Elias dropped onto the couch beside her, a cold Gatorade in his hand. London blinked, cleared the tab, and locked the screen.

“Yeah,” she said with a smile. “Just tired.”

“You hungry?”

“Always.”

He kissed her temple.

“Good. Because I’m making jerk shrimp and coconut rice, and if you don’t clean your plate, Scooby’s getting your portion.”

“You trying to bribe me with shrimp?”

“Is it working?”

She smiled and curled into him.

But in the back of her mind, Julz_808 stayed burned behind her eyes.

London always hated going to the store at night — but for some reason, it felt better with Elias beside her. His palm rested lightly on her hip as they walked down the snack aisle, Scooby trotting politely at their side in his fitted black vest.

Publix was nearly empty. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. It felt like they had the place to themselves.

“Get the Smartfood popcorn,” she said, leaning down into the bottom shelf. “The butter one, not the white cheddar.”

“So you just gon’ act like you didn’t demolish my kettle corn two nights ago?”

“Poppa, I earned that kettle corn,” she muttered, shooting him a look. “You had me on the floor for forty-five minutes in sparring.”

“You tapped out after ten.”

“And then you made me run stairs.”

“You could’ve said stop.”

“You could’ve let me win.”

“You’re too competitive to let you win.”

“And you’re too obsessed with me to ever let me lose.”

Elias leaned down and kissed her shoulder.

“Facts.”

Scooby sniffed at a nearby display of peanut butter and turned his nose up, unimpressed.

They were heading toward the drinks when it happened.

“London?”

Her body stiffened before she turned.

The voice was male. Soft. Nostalgic.

She turned slowly — and saw a man standing at the end of the aisle. Mid-to-late twenties. Clean skin. Dark, tight locs tied back. A soft smile on his lips.

Her brain did that thing it did when it couldn’t connect all the dots fast enough.

But the memory clicked a half second later.

“Julian?”

He grinned wider. “Knew that was you.”

They moved toward each other — not fast, not dramatic — but warm. A hug that was all nostalgia. Old summers. Shared snacks. Comic books in plastic sleeves.

“Yo,” he said, pulling back. “You look the same but grown as hell.”

“You look taller.”

“Nah, I just finally got a trainer.”

Elias stayed still behind her, expression unreadable.

London turned and smiled.

“This is Elias. My fiancé.”

Julian extended his hand.

“Nice to meet you, man. Julian. Childhood bestie.”

“Mm,” Elias said, shaking it once, firm. “Word?”

“Miami days,” Julian added, looking back at London. “We used to stream horror games together back in like, what, middle school?”

“Yeah,” she said, laughing. “He taught me how to jump-scare people before I learned how to draw blood.”

Julian smirked. “You still drawing?”

“Every day.”

“Good. You were scary talented.”

Scooby shifted between them and gave a soft huff, nudging Elias’s knee.

Elias rubbed the top of his head absently.

“Well,” Julian said, stepping back. “I won’t keep y’all. Just… funny how the world works. I’m in Tampa for a bit, handling some family business. Might see you around.”

“You staying near here?”

“Bout fifteen minutes out. Midtown area.”

“Cool. It was good seeing you.”

“Always is.”

He walked off. Easy. Calm. No reason to suspect a thing.

But when London reached for Elias’s hand, his grip was tighter than usual.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” he said.

But he was still watching the aisle Julian disappeared down.

⸻

📱 Outside the store…

Julian sat in his car, phone in his lap.

He pulled up the photo from earlier: London, mid-laugh, in front of the soda machine.

Then he typed one message:

“Got closer.”

“She’s engaged. He’s watching.”

“We need to move fast.”

And hit send.

tag :

@championshipshade

@thefutureemmywinner

@honeytoffee

@secretisme4

@theogbadbitch

@simplyzeeka

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jellyjoyverse · 3 days ago

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✨ Blind Strings – Chapter 4 ✨

sometimes the past hums back.

a heated argument. a quiet thank you. a melody that shouldn’t exist. and a memory Jinu thought he’d buried for good.

maybe it’s just déjà vu. maybe it’s fate. or maybe it’s him, remembering you first.

read ch4 on: quotev | wattpad | ao3

full chapter below ↓

🌙 Chapter 4: Fragments and Echoes

The air has settled into something soft again. A warm hush after the earlier chaos, the kind of quiet that feels like the world is holding its breath. You're walking beside Jinu, his hand still gently resting against your back, guiding you over the stone path that leads away from the square.

You don't speak right away.

You're still trying to process everything—your relative's greedy voice echoing in your ears, the subtle shift in Jinu's tone when he'd stepped between you and them. There was something... not human in the way he'd done it. But his touch now is careful. Reassuring. Warm.

"Thinking heavy thoughts?" he asks after a moment, his voice tilted in a half-smile.

You exhale through your nose. "I don't know what I'm thinking."

He hums, a soft sound of understanding. Then, like he's trying to lift the mood, he adds, "Want me to distract you with embarrassing stories?"

You turn your head toward him. "Embarrassing for who?"

He chuckles. "Me, obviously. Did you know when the Saja Boys first formed, we were so out of sync we literally kicked each other in the face trying to do a turn? I still have trauma from rehearsals."

You grin. "Tragic. Who's the worst dancer?"

"Oh, we all have our days. Baby keeps freestyling when we're not supposed to, and Abby dances like he's on a battlefield."

You laugh, and the tension in your shoulders begins to ease.

He keeps talking as you walk—describing the other Saja Boys in vivid detail, even their styling choices and hair colors, like he's painting a picture just for you. There's a sweetness in the way he does it, like he knows you're visualizing them in your own strange, formless way.

Then you cut in, amused, "You know... I don't even know what you look like."

He stops mid-step. "You don't?"

You raise a brow. "I mean, no. Unless you've been projecting your soul into my dreams, I have no clue. Do you look like the villain or the second lead?"

A pause. Then: "What if I'm the ugly comic relief?"

You reach toward him with mock solemnity. "Then I guess I have to feel for myself."

He doesn't move away. You find his shoulder first, solid and still. Then carefully, your fingers drift upward. His jawline. His cheekbone. The bridge of his nose. His hair—soft, a little messy from the wind.

He's quiet the whole time, watching you with a gaze so gentle it almost hurts. Your brows are furrowed in focus, your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

And then you pull your hand back and declare, "Yup. I still can't picture it."

Jinu laughs, startled. "Seriously?"

"I don't know how people do it!" you protest. "From the dramas I've seen, I'm supposed to be able to visualise you now—but I guess I don't have a built-in scanner in my hands."

"Maybe," he says, still smiling. "You're just new at this whole being-blind thing?"

"Hah. Maybe."

You both fall into a quieter rhythm for a beat.

Then you say, "You know," more softly, "it happened when I got pushed. I hit the ground really hard and... when I woke up, I couldn't see anymore. The doctors think it was from the impact."

Jinu doesn't speak right away. But you can feel the way his arm shifts slightly—like he wants to hold you and doesn't know if he's allowed.

You shrug, casual. "It is what it is."

He hums, low and unreadable. "It shouldn't have been."

You want to ask what he means, but you don't.

Jinu doesn't say anything else for a while, and neither do you. The late afternoon air has a sleepy kind of warmth to it, and the rhythmic crunch of gravel underfoot lulls you into a strange calm. Maybe it's him. Maybe it's the way he keeps close without crowding you.

Eventually, you frown. "Wait a second."

"Hm?"

"You've been leading me this whole time."

"Correct."

"But you don't even live around here."

"Also correct."

You stop walking.

He halts too, clearly amused. "What?"

You turn toward where you think he's facing and ask, suspiciously, "Do you even know where we're going?"

There's a pause. "I... have a general sense."

"A general sense," you echo flatly. "Jinu. Do you even remember which street we came from earlier?"

"I figured I'd just keep walking and eventually stumble into somewhere familiar."

You gape. "You were fully planning to get us lost!"

"I wasn't lost," he insists, laughing now. "I was just—slightly improvising."

You shake your head in disbelief. "Wow. So you memorized the route to my house but not how to retrace your steps?"

"I prefer to think of it as being deeply committed to this relationship."

You snort. "Obsessed, is what I'm hearing."

"You say obsessed like it's a bad thing," he says, completely unbothered. Then, with a teasing shrug: "Honestly? I had no choice. Look at you."

You pretend to gag and give him a gentle shove. He laughs again, and there's something golden in the sound—so carefree, like the weight he's usually carrying has slipped off his shoulders for a moment.

Then you hesitate, suddenly remembering your actual situation. Your expression falters.

"...I might be grounded, actually."

That gets his attention. "What do you mean, grounded?"

You scratch the back of your neck. "I kind of... snuck out earlier. Through the side garden. Without telling anyone. Or leaving a note. And I may or may not have ditched my bodyguard halfway."

There's a full second of silence.

Then Jinu doubles over laughing.

"You—wait, you just shook off your security detail? In your condition?" He can barely get the words out between laughs. "You're unbelievable."

You pout. "I just hate being stuck, okay?"

"No, no, I get it. It's just—" He exhales like he's out of breath, still grinning. "You really don't let anything stop you, do you?"

You shrug. "Not if I can help it."

He's quiet for a moment, then says more gently, "Do you want me to sneak you back in?"

You pause.

He sounds... hopeful. Like he wants to help. Like it's not just about covering your tracks—it's about being the one you trust enough to let in on the secret.

But you shake your head. "No. I don't want to lie to my brother again. Not tonight."

Jinu nods, accepting it without protest. "Then I'll walk you to the front."

You take the last turn. The path is familiar now beneath your feet. The quiet returns, but it's a different kind of silence—soft, heavy with unspoken things.

You feel it the moment you step past the final hedge: a shift in the air, like the world is no longer holding its breath but bracing for something else.

"Go on," you murmur to Jinu. "I'll be fine."

But before you even finish the sentence—

"Hey!"

The voice cuts through the night like a blade.

You flinch.

Jinu stills beside you.

Footsteps approach fast. Familiar ones.

"You're kidding me," your brother says, furious. "You went out again? And—" He stops. "Wait. Is that—?"

He's staring past you. Straight at Jinu.

You don't need sight to hear the shift in your brother's tone—from disbelief to shock to something colder. Something protective.

Jinu, ever composed, takes a slow step back.

"I was just walking her home," he says smoothly.

Your brother doesn't answer at first. Then he says—

"You're one of the Saja Boys."

It's not a question.

You can feel Jinu's energy flicker at that—barely a ripple, but it's there. Something curling low and dangerous beneath the surface.

You step forward. "It's not what you think."

But your brother isn't listening. "Get inside," he snaps at you. "Now."

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The gate shuts behind her with a soft clack.

Jinu stays where he is, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, the edge of the fabric shifting slightly in the breeze. He doesn't look up right away. He can hear her footsteps fading—soft, hesitant. There's a guard walking her up the side steps. She doesn't argue. But she turns back once, briefly.

She can't see him, but he watches her—like he always does.

Then another set of footsteps crunches toward him. Sharper. Heavier.

Her brother stops a few paces away, arms crossed, posture stiff with anger.

Jinu lifts his head slowly.

"You're Jinu," the man says flatly. "From the Saja Boys."

Not a question.

Jinu offers a polite bow, small but respectful. "I am."

Her brother's eyes narrow. "How do you know my sister?"

Jinu keeps his expression relaxed. "I met her by chance. She was outside this compound one day. Alone. I spoke to her. We... connected."

"That's not an answer."

Jinu tilts his head slightly. "It's the truth."

Her older brother's jaw tightens. "Today was your debut. Your first appearance. You're not someone she grew up with. You're not a school friend. She never once mentioned knowing a trainee."

Jinu says nothing, waiting.

The brother scoffs. "Trainees don't have time to make friends. They're in dorms, locked down, rehearsing 18 hours a day. That's what they say, right? How the hell would she meet someone like you?"

Jinu's eyes stay calm, but something in them flickers. He wants to tell him that she's not just someone he happened to meet. That there's something about her he can't explain—like something in his soul snapped into place at the sound of her voice. That he hasn't stopped thinking about her since that first moment. That she feels right in a way nothing else has—like the world had been waiting for her to step into it. But that would sound insane.

So instead, he bows his head slightly. "I didn't mean to cause trouble. I only wanted to make sure she got home safely."

The man doesn't move. Doesn't blink. "She's vulnerable right now," he says slowly. "She's been through a lot. So if you're taking advantage of that..."

His voice lowers. "...I don't care how famous you are. We'll have a problem."

Jinu's expression doesn't change, but the air around him does. Just a shimmer of something ancient and cold, held tightly beneath skin. His smile remains soft, careful. Polished. But it no longer quite reaches his eyes.

He's quiet for a long moment. Then he says, with quiet sincerity, "I like her."

The brother says nothing. "I won't hurt her."

He waits again. No answer. So Jinu adds, a little wryly, "I'd like to avoid being banned from seeing her ever again. Especially by someone I might have to start calling hyungnim."

The man physically recoils. "What the hell?" His eyes flash with pure disbelief. "The actual audacity..."

He shakes his head hard, like he's trying to shake the words off. "I'm going to have to talk to her about her taste in men. Hopefully she'll reconsider this whole thing and stay away from you."

Jinu's tone sharpens, just a little. "You can't make her do what she doesn't want to."

"Of course I know that!" the man snaps. "I'm her brother!"

The gate slams shut behind him. The silence stretches.

Then Jinu exhales softly, looking up toward the moon as if it might offer some kind of answer. He shoves his hands back into his pockets, rolling his shoulders as he turns to leave. He still has a schedule to make through. Their first variety show appearance is tonight.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

A guard had already radioed ahead, so the front doors didn't open until she reached the final step. They click. Creak. Then—

"Inside," her brother says quietly.

He doesn't yell. Not yet.

She brushes past the threshold, and the warmth of the house closes in around her. He walks in behind her a second later and shuts the door with less force this time, but she can still hear the tension in the way his hand lingers on the knob.

She waits, shifting her weight. She's already bracing.

He speaks first.

"So you've been sneaking out to see him."

You nod, barely.

He paces once, trying to keep his voice steady. "You never even liked idol stuff that much before. And you've only been in this city for what—weeks?"

"I wasn't planning on it," you mutter.

"You barely know him." He sounds sharp, but tired. "And I know you think you're fine, but you can't see everything clearly right now—literally or figuratively."

"That's not fair—"

"I'm just saying," he interrupts. "He's famous. He's unpredictable. And this... this is not the time for whirlwind romances with people who have fans and handlers and probably zero privacy."

He stops walking, stands directly in front of you.

"I just want you to reconsider."

You open your mouth.

"Not because I don't trust you," he says. "But because I don't trust him."

There's a pause.

He sighs. "I'm not grounding you again. That's not what this is."

You stay quiet.

"I just don't want you to get hurt."

That hits heavier than the rest.

You don't say anything right away.

You just nod, once, and walk past him toward the stairs. Turning in for the night.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The next evening, the studio lights are still buzzing behind Jinu's eyes when he slips into the green room, towel slung around his neck, hair damp with sweat. The post-variety-show adrenaline hasn't worn off yet. He'd smiled through every game segment, dodged punishments, and managed to keep Gwima's pressure at bay for one more night. Barely.

As he pulls a water bottle from the table, the door clicks shut behind him. He glances up. It's her. Rumi. Hair tied up, stage makeup still on, eyes serious.

"...You helped me last night," she says, no preamble. "Back at the bathhouse." Jinu's expression doesn't change, but he freezes slightly. "I didn't do anything." "You did. You gave me time. You didn't expose me. You—" She stops herself. Starts again, quieter. "I don't know why a demon would do that for a hunter."

He doesn't answer.

Rumi folds her arms, stepping closer. "I never thought there could be good demons. The kind that... hesitate. But you didn't even blink when you saw my marks. You protected me."

Still, silence. Jinu exhales slowly, eyes fixed on the floor. "...I know what it's like. Having to hide a part of yourself from the people you care about."

Rumi studies him, her voice softer now. "...So even someone like you could care about someone."

That gets a flicker of something from him. The faintest crease between his brows.

"You don't have to tell me who. But I can feel it." Her voice is steady now, almost gentle. "Someone you're afraid Gwima's plan might hurt. Someone you'd rather forget the whole apocalypse for."

For a second, Jinu looks like he might laugh. Or cry. Or both.

But instead, he twists the bottle cap, takes a slow drink, and says nothing.

Rumi doesn't press further. She just nods once, respectful. "That's all. I just... wanted to say thank you."

And then she's gone. The door clicks shut again, leaving only the quiet hum of fluorescent lights.

Jinu stares at his reflection in the mirror. His hands tremble just once—then go still.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

You sit by the window, the chill of the wooden floor seeping through your sleeves.

A full day has passed since last night's conversation, but your brother's words still echo faintly in your mind. You're too tired to untangle them.

Just that quiet, hollow throb in your chest again. Not exactly sadness. Just that ache you haven't named yet.

[Host,] the System chirps, softly, too softly this time. [Don't worry! I'm sure your brother won't hold a grudge on Jinu forever... I mean! He even defended you today! He's always gentle with you and—]

The words trail off, awkward and apologetic, as if even the System realizes it made things worse.

You exhale, slow. "It's fine."

A beat passes.

[...Host?]

"What."

[Didn't you say you used to play guitar? Play a tune for System!! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ]

You blink. "Is this you trying to cheer me up?"

[...Is it working? ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿]

"No. ...Maybe. A little."

You reach around you, fumbling with System's directions until your fingers brush the worn strap of a guitar case the original owned. Your brother must've left it here, maybe hoping you'd pick it up again. Or maybe just out of habit.

It takes you a few moments to find your way around the instrument, hands clumsy from disuse. The strings are slightly off, but your fingers remember what your body forgot—one chord, then another. Then a soft, familiar melody, half-hummed, half-played, pouring into the quiet room.

You don't even realize what you're playing until the System lets out a surprised little ping.

[Wait, is this a song from your world? Σ(°ロ°)]

You hum, noncommittal. "Yeah. Just came to me."

The window's open just a crack, the melody slipping through like mist. Outside, the night air carries the sound farther than you mean to.

And beyond the window, on the other side of the garden wall, a shadow freezes mid-step.

He hadn't meant to come here tonight.

Jinu had spent hours suppressing the urge, telling himself he had things to do. A band to manage. A show to attend. Demons to mislead and teammates to appease. Gwima's influence was growing stronger, whispering heavier against the back of his mind.

But then... he'd heard it.

That song.

The one only she used to hum—centuries ago.

He doesn't blink. Doesn't breathe. Just listens.

It's not possible. And yet—

It is.

It has to be.

You hum a note slightly off-key, in the same exact way she always did.

It's not just déjà vu. It's not coincidence.

It's her.

He presses a palm to his chest. There's a crack in the armor he's spent centuries building — and now it's wide open.

"The one I asked to erase," he whispers.

Gwima had promised: help him finish this, help him feed — and in return, Jinu would forget. The memories of the family he lost, the grief that rotted him from the inside, all of it. Including her.

And now that he's found her again...

He doesn't want to forget.

Not again.

Behind him, a low chuff of breath breaks the silence. His tiger, eyes glowing faintly, pads closer and nudges his side.

A soft caw comes from above — his magpie, wings tucked, peering down from a tree.

Jinu exhales shakily, then pulls something from his pocket.

A weathered sketch. Paper softened by time, smudged and worn. A drawing of a girl with a crooked smile and a worn guitar in her lap.

He used to draw it over and over again, even after her face began to blur.

He turns his gaze back to the window. The music inside fades, replaced by silence.

His fingers curl around the paper, crumpling it slightly.

She's here. Alive. Within reach.

And no one—not fate, not time, not even Gwima—will take her from him again.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

🌙 author’s note

no snippet this time — the chapter hit 3k words just for the main story omg 😭 guys… jinu is so down bad for us this chapter 🤭 “he wants us so bad!!” i yell as i get restrained and dragged back into the white padded room

these chapters keep getting longer than planned lol. blame my constant daydreaming and adding new scenes mid-draft i do feel a little bad about lying to brother… but for the missions (and the plot), we must 😔

also: the male lead fumbling the first meeting with the love interest’s relative is such a classic trope — i had to sneak it in. jinu is 100% gonna be a future headache for brother because he will not stop trying to cling to us 😭

🎧 what song did you imagine during the last scene? i had PLAVE on repeat while writing, so in my head it was chroma drift or island 🎶 i didn’t include lyrics or a title for immersion, so feel free to imagine your own ✨

thanks for reading as always ♡ comments, reblogs, and likes really help keep this fic alive 🪡

if you want to see more updates, feel free to follow me here or check the fic tag: #BlindStrings

see you in chapter 5!

#kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters fanfic #BlindStrings #chapter update #reader insert #jinu fanfic #isekai #jinu x reader #reader x jinu #jinu #saja boys #writing community #tumblr writers #alt universe fic #transmigration #x reader

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gatheringbones · 2 years ago

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there was this period of me and c’s early relationship we nearly didn’t make it through because of how much horror it involved. we loved each other immediately, that was never the problem, the problem is that I was a survivor of incest so covert it wasn’t until I found myself loved by c that I realized the full scope of what happened. the horror crested like a great black wave. my love for her was in and of itself triggering because all of my love neurons are that attached to the abuse neurons. I had to cultivate enormous powers of feeling and perceiving to stand in that space. I had to make conscious choices to transform into something that felt like it had the power to kill me. and the whole time she kept telling me she adored me because she sensed the word love was too triggering and I needed help easing into it. so she just said she adored me every few moments every time we hung out. matter of fact and casual I adore you I adore you I adore you. no horror can exist in that space.

#cw incest #brainspace #everything will turn out all right the world is built on that

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leori-the-unlearned · 7 months ago

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the way digimon does conflict/drama between two characters who should be or are close: chef’s kiss <3

the way sonic idw handles creating conflict/drama between two characters who should be or are close: *wilting flower*

#keyword: adding #in digimon conflicts come about as a result of independent viewpoint differences #ie takuya vs kouji. taichi vs yamato #or (since i just watched 02:the beginning) lui and ukkomon’s conflict is SO GOOD #it BUILDS to something. lui and ukkomon’s disagreement builds up to: they need to communicate. they both come from a good-faith angle #ukkomon so desperately wanted to make lui happy and failed to look closer to see what WOULD - and lui didn’t know how to express #what he actually wanted to ukkomon. or try to reach out to ukkomon in turn instead of basking in his life finally going ‘right’#but then not as much in idw gives me that good feeling of ‘ahhh they built to this and it is so nice’#or when conflict is created it isn’t because despite best efforts people clash and have to work together #it’s when someone does a stupid and someone else has to pick it up #it means a lot when you see kouji driven to press takuya to the wall and see them shout at each other #because they both have to realize that with words they will never convince the other of their viewpoint.#even though they both think the way the other looks at things will get the group killed #and of course it makes sense that the group would follow takuya. he’s their heart. their core #takuya’s the reason tomoki stayed in the digital world and junpei and izumi find confidence being there because he’s there rallying them #and in this case that good trait winds up being wrong. he gets everyone captured by the enemy and thinks theyre all better off if he wasn’t #part of the group from the start. but THAT isn’t true either - he just needs a BALANCE of his excellent helpful determination and willpower #and seeing things as they are and not as he believes them to be - more like kouji #he WAS wrong but not for HAVING the traits he had - for leaning too much on them #or (also going to a media im currently engaging in) sundered star. things go bad between people a LOT but it’s not frustrating.#it’s SATISFYING/ENGAGING seeing feferi leave eridan and watching eridan go insane and give in to the horrorterrors. of course it couldnt-#-go any other way for them. eridan wouldnt change until he realized he could lose feferi and feferi wouldnt bring him any real consequences #-to make him consider that until she was leaving and would never come back. and it was never her fault that leaving eridan lead to-#-catastrophe and devastation. it just happened as a consequence anyway #anyways i guess. if i see the characters do their best and things still fall apart it’s better than #seeing an idiot plot or characters written to be worse than they were to make conflict happen #with takuya he wasn’t suddenly bad or misjudging everything. he just didnt have to deal with negative consequences for misjudging before-#-because they hadnt met someone like duskmon that they COULDNT eventually beat before. even gigasmon who wrecked them all at first-#-was beaten once they had beast spirits and were on equal footing. so takuya assumes the same for duskmon without realizing that #they arent on the same level. so the issue didnt come from nowhere - it just comes to a head now

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marvelsmostwanted · 5 months ago

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There are people – some in my own Party – who think that if you just give Donald Trump everything he wants, he’ll make an exception and spare you some of the harm. I’ll ignore the moral abdication of that position for just a second to say — almost none of those people have the experience with this President that I do. I once swallowed my pride to offer him what he values most — public praise on the Sunday news shows — in return for ventilators and N95 masks during the worst of the pandemic. We made a deal. And it turns out his promises were as broken as the BIPAP machines he sent us instead of ventilators. Going along to get along does not work – just ask the Trump-fearing red state Governors who are dealing with the same cuts that we are. I won’t be fooled twice.

I’ve been reflecting, these past four weeks, on two important parts of my life: my work helping to build the Illinois Holocaust Museum and the two times I’ve had the privilege of reciting the oath of office for Illinois Governor.

As some of you know, Skokie, Illinois once had one of the largest populations of Holocaust survivors anywhere in the world. In 1978, Nazis decided they wanted to march there.

The leaders of that march knew that the images of Swastika clad young men goose stepping down a peaceful suburban street would terrorize the local Jewish population – so many of whom had never recovered from their time in German concentration camps.

The prospect of that march sparked a legal fight that went all the way to the Supreme Court. It was a Jewish lawyer from the ACLU who argued the case for the Nazis – contending that even the most hateful of speech was protected under the first amendment.

As an American and a Jew, I find it difficult to resolve my feelings around that Supreme Court case – but I am grateful that the prospect of Nazis marching in their streets spurred the survivors and other Skokie residents to act. They joined together to form the Holocaust Memorial Foundation and built the first Illinois Holocaust Museum in a storefront in 1981 – a small but important forerunner to the one I helped build thirty years later.

I do not invoke the specter of Nazis lightly. But I know the history intimately — and have spent more time than probably anyone in this room with people who survived the Holocaust. Here’s what I’ve learned – the root that tears apart your house’s foundation begins as a seed – a seed of distrust and hate and blame.

The seed that grew into a dictatorship in Europe a lifetime ago didn’t arrive overnight. It started with everyday Germans mad about inflation and looking for someone to blame.

I’m watching with a foreboding dread what is happening in our country right now. A president who watches a plane go down in the Potomac – and suggests — without facts or findings — that a diversity hire is responsible for the crash. Or the Missouri Attorney General who just sued Starbucks – arguing that consumers pay higher prices for their coffee because the baristas are too “female” and “nonwhite.” The authoritarian playbook is laid bare here: They point to a group of people who don’t look like you and tell you to blame them for your problems.

I just have one question: What comes next? After we’ve discriminated against, deported or disparaged all the immigrants and the gay and lesbian and transgender people, the developmentally disabled, the women and the minorities – once we’ve ostracized our neighbors and betrayed our friends – After that, when the problems we started with are still there staring us in the face – what comes next.

All the atrocities of human history lurk in the answer to that question. And if we don’t want to repeat history – then for God’s sake in this moment we better be strong enough to learn from it.

I swore the following oath on Abraham Lincoln’s Bible: “I do solemnly swear that I will support the constitution of the United States, and the constitution of the state of Illinois, and that I will faithfully discharge the duties of the office of Governor .... according to the best of my ability.

My oath is to the Constitution of our state and of our country. We don’t have kings in America – and I don’t intend to bend the knee to one. I am not speaking up in service to my ambitions — but in deference to my obligations.

If you think I’m overreacting and sounding the alarm too soon, consider this:

It took the Nazis one month, three weeks, two days, eight hours and 40 minutes to dismantle a constitutional republic. All I’m saying is when the five-alarm fire starts to burn, every good person better be ready to man a post with a bucket of water if you want to stop it from raging out of control.

Those Illinois Nazis did end up holding their march in 1978 – just not in Skokie. After all the blowback from the case, they decided to march in Chicago instead. Only twenty of them showed up. But 2000 people came to counter protest. The Chicago Tribune reported that day that the “rally sputtered to an unspectacular end after ten minutes.” It was Illinoisans who smothered those embers before they could burn into a flame.

Tyranny requires your fear and your silence and your compliance. Democracy requires your courage. So gather your justice and humanity, Illinois, and do not let the “tragic spirit of despair” overcome us when our country needs us the most.

Sources:

• NBC Chicago & J.B. Pritzker, Democratic governor of Illinois, State of the State address 2025: Watch speech here | Full text

• Betches News on Instagram (screencaps)

#he also announced banning phones in schools & a bunch of other good policies for illinois btw!#wish some very blue states in the northeast would take note & do more…!#this is the message btw #(read the rest of the speech - it’s very positive)#jb pritzker #us politics #long post #mine

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movie-robotnik-positivity · 6 months ago

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I don't think Robotnik ever saw Stone's affection as genuine. He's used to people only valuing him if he's useful. His own bosses call him a freak, yet they put up with him because of his "perfect operation record". He isn't even shocked when he learns the goverment erased him, he expected it and had a contingency plan ready.

He keeps calling Stone a sycophant and a barnacle, because why else would someone stay with him if not to gain something? Clearly, Stone is just a suck-up wanting to ride his coattails. And Ivo is fine with that! He gets his ego stroked and in return Stone gets a slice of the world-domination pie. Mutually beneficial!

This symbiotic relationship gives Ivo a sense of control and ensures that Stone won't abandon him like everyone else. It also keeps him detached: of course Stone waited months or him to return from space, that's his job. His admiration is inevitable, and meaningless.

Ivo develops a genuine, irrational attachment to Stone, one he's able to rationalize as just being transactional. Those emotional walls shield him from the fear of abandonment that comes with caring for another person.

Except...even after Robotnik becomes a liability, Stone stays. There's no benefit, no plans of ruling humanity, not even a paycheck. Yet despite everything, Ivo tries to keep the old boss/employee dynamic going. He can't fathom the idea that someone would stay for anything other than convenience.

Then Gerald shows up, and for the first time Ivo allows himself to put down those walls. As an orphan he had built up this idealized image of family that he thought he could never have. People will use you then toss you aside when convenient, but family? Family is different. Family will always be there for you and love you no matter what. Family won't abandon you.

And suddently Stone's grovelling is no longer necessary. Why would he need someone who just pretends to like him when he now has all the unconditional love he's always longed for? That's obviously why Stone got so jealous, it couldn't have been real concern, he was just afraid of losing his comfy position as the lapdog of humanity's new king. Between a sycophant and family, the choice felt obvious.

And, of course, Gerald turns out to be just like everyone else in Ivo's life: just another person trying to get something from him. The second he stopped being useful, he was tossed aside.

His image of family is once again shattered, but those emotional walls are already down. Now that Ivo experienced that betrayal he was so afraid of, now that he's about to die, he's finally able to be honest with himself.

Looking down on Earth, he realizes there had only ever been one person on that blue marble who actually cared. Someone who had always been there, even when there was nothing to gain. Stone had never abandoned him.

But he had abandoned Stone. He tossed him aside, just like Gerald did to him. Now that he's able to understand how Stone felt, this is his last chance to make things right.

In his final moments, with nothing to fear, Robotnik puts down his emotional walls and opens up as best as he can. Stone had done so much for him, asked for nothing in return, and now it was his turn to do the same. Ivo helped save the world, not for recognition or convenience, but simply out of love.

Stone had always been a sycophant to him, yes, but he had also been a friend. A sycofriend.

#sonic movie #sonic movie 3 #sonic the hedgehog #sonic movie 3 spoilers #dr. robotnik #eggman #agent stone #stobotnik #< it can be read as romantic or platonic it's more alligned with canon #sth #sonic movie analysis

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0scarp1astr1 · 2 months ago

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࣭ ˖ 𐔌 𝐃𝐚𝐝 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 ࿐ . ۫

જ⁀➴ Desc: || Kimi and you always had a crush on each other, your father, Toto Wolff knew this. After a world of heartache and a break up, Kimi is there to mend it with the support of your father. ||

ᯓ★ Kimi Antonelli x Fem! (Wolff) Reader

ᯓ★ 2x Genre: Angst, Fluff

ᯓ★ Warning: None, really, just an angry Kimi that punches your ex

ᯓ★ Requested? No

Author Note: Thank you guys so much for showing support towards my other post. It means a lot, and I see all the support you've been giving me. Here is some Kimi. I will be working on requests as soon as I upload my original works to my draft. I do apologize if this isn't the best work of mine!!!

☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★

Toto had always been a devoted father—the kind of man who, the moment he held you for the first time, knew without question that he'd move heaven and earth just to see you smile. From that instant on, his purpose was clear: give you a life full of wonder, safety, and choice. And for a long time, that meant spoiling you just a little—okay, a lot—because nothing made him prouder than giving you a life most kids could only dream of.

But as you grew, watching you change from the little girl who clung to his leg into a young woman carving out her own place in the world… well, that was the hardest challenge he'd ever faced. Not even Formula 1 came close. If he could, he would’ve frozen time—kept you small, safe, protected in the bubble he built. But your mother, Susie, had always been the wiser one in those moments. She’d tell him gently, "Let her live, Toto. She knows what she’s doing."

And he trusted you. Deeply. He always had. Even when every part of his protective instincts begged him to hover, to step in, to control—he held back, because Susie was right. You had a good head on your shoulders. You knew what you wanted, what you didn’t. He just had to believe in that.

Still… that belief wavered the day he met your boyfriend.

From the first handshake, Toto had to grit his teeth. There was something off—something smug, careless, cold. He tried to give the benefit of the doubt at first, tried to play civil. But dinner that night had been a disaster. The boy barely looked you in the eye, spoke with that detached tone that set off every alarm in a father’s soul. He interrupted you, ignored your opinions, tossed out passive comments that stung with disrespect.

And when Toto confronted Susie afterward, trying to reason out his frustration, the only thing he could mutter was, “He treats her like one of the guys. He doesn’t see her. Not really.”

You tried to brush it off. You always did. Maybe, deep down, you figured your dad wouldn’t approve of anyone. He had never made your love life easy. It wasn’t that he wanted to sabotage it—he just had impossibly high standards. He wanted someone who saw you the way he saw you: as someone rare, worthy, and deeply loved.

Then came the day he brought you with him to work.

And everything quietly began to change.

That was the day you met Kimi Antonelli—young, respectful, focused, and, unlike your boyfriend, someone who actually listened when you spoke. Toto watched the first interaction from across the paddock. It was subtle. A handshake. A smile. But there was something in Kimi’s posture—something in the way he looked at you—that caught Toto off guard.

It wasn’t long before you and Kimi started spending more time together. He wasn’t flashy or overly forward, but he showed up—every time. And every time you laughed around him, something settled in Toto’s chest. Even Susie noticed. You were lighter when Kimi was around, more yourself.

And though Toto never said it out loud, he was rooting for him.

He’d seen the signs: the way Kimi’s ears turned pink when you said his name, the way he nervously played with his hoodie strings whenever you walked into a room. The way he leaned in when you talked, fully tuned in like there was no one else in the world. Toto recognized the feeling—because it was how he used to look at Susie when they were young.

Usually, that would’ve been Toto’s cue to intervene, to draw boundaries, to be the protective dad. But with Kimi? He felt none of that need. Kimi wasn’t just respectful—he adored you. And Toto approved. Quietly, but wholeheartedly.

Just earlier that day, Toto had watched Kimi’s face drop when you casually mentioned your boyfriend was coming to pick you up. That flicker of hurt was brief, quickly buried—but Toto saw it. And though he knew it was probably wrong, he couldn’t help but wish the boyfriend would disappear altogether.

Still, Kimi had been kind. Encouraging. He smiled and told you to have fun, even though Toto could tell it cost him something to say it.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Toto leaned against the kitchen counter, one hand cradling a half-empty mug of coffee that had long since gone cold. His eyes weren’t on the cup, though—they were fixed on the clock hanging above the stove. Each tick felt louder than the last, like a slow, steady drumbeat to his anxiety. 10:15 PM. Fifteen minutes past the curfew he had set. Not a hard rule, not a command—but a boundary. A sign of care. Respect. And you weren’t home.

He shifted his weight, arms folding across his chest as he exhaled sharply through his nose. His mind spun. You were eighteen. Legally an adult, yes. But to him, you were still his daughter. Still, the baby he carried on his shoulders through airports. Still, the teenager who came to him crying the first time school made the world feel too big. You were his, and even if he knew he couldn’t protect you forever… he couldn’t help the fear that always crept in when you were late.

Especially tonight.

Because he knew who you were with. And if there was one thing that tightened every muscle in his chest, it was him—the boyfriend who never seemed to look Toto in the eye. The one who was all charm and zero substance. The one who never bothered to say thank you, who treated curfews like suggestions and your boundaries like inconveniences. From the start, Toto had sensed something off. A chill beneath the surface. But for your sake, he bit his tongue. He didn’t want to be the overbearing father who pushed you away by pushing too hard.

Still, it gnawed at him.

Footsteps approached from behind—soft, steady, familiar. Susie wrapped her arms loosely around him from behind, resting her chin gently against his shoulder. “She’ll be home, love,” she murmured with that even voice of hers that always grounded him. “We didn’t raise her to break all the rules.”

Toto sighed, his jaw tightening. “It’s not about the rules. It’s about respect. Time. Safety. That boy doesn’t care about any of it. I told him when he picked her up—I made it very clear. And yet…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. The clock answered for him.

Susie stepped back, hands trailing down his arms as she gave him a soft look. “She has your fire and my good sense. Let her make this choice, Toto. You have to let her learn.”

He gave her a tight nod, but it didn’t soothe the worry burning under his skin. She left to check on Jack—no doubt to rescue the living room from a whirlwind of superhero toys and the soundtrack of laser sound effects—but Toto stayed rooted in place, his gaze flicking between the clock and the front door as if staring hard enough would make you walk through it.

By 10:32, he had started pacing. By 10:36, he was rubbing the back of his neck, trying to slow the gallop of his heartbeat. By 10:39, he'd nearly picked up his phone—just to check in, just to see—when he heard it.

The soft click of the front door opening.

His heart leapt, but the relief that flooded him turned quickly into alarm when he saw you standing there.

You were back. But you were broken.

Your face was pale, your eyes red-rimmed and glossy with tears that had dried only to be replaced by fresh ones. Your lip trembled, and Toto's chest clenched so tightly it stole the breath from him. All the lectures he’d rehearsed—You’re late, He doesn’t respect you, I told you so—they vanished. Gone. There was no room for them when his daughter was standing in the doorway, looking like the world had just collapsed at her feet.

He didn’t ask. Didn’t speak.

He just opened his arms.

You crossed the room without hesitation, like a wave crashing toward the only shore that ever made you feel safe, and the moment you hit his chest, you let go. Sobs broke from you like thunder—loud, sudden, raw. And Toto held you like he had when you were five years old and scraped your knee, like he had when nightmares used to steal your sleep. His arms wrapped around you with that quiet strength only a father has, one hand gently cradling the back of your head.

"He broke up with me," you choked through tears.

Toto went still. He didn’t need to hear the details. Didn’t want them. His fury flared like a match in his chest—hot and instant—but he didn’t let it reach his face. You didn’t need anger. Not yet. Not now. Right now, you needed to fall apart in the arms of someone who loves you without condition or judgment.

So he pushed down the rage. The urge to call the boy. To drive across town. To remind him exactly who he had just hurt.

Instead, Toto held you closer.

After what felt like hours in your father’s arms—though in truth, it had only been minutes—you finally felt your body begin to release the tension it had been holding so tightly. The sobs faded into quiet sniffles, and the storm that had burst so violently inside you now softened to a low, steady ache. You pulled back just enough to look up at Toto, his steady hands still on your shoulders, his eyes full of unspoken love.

“I’m gonna head back to my room,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying.

Toto gave the faintest nod, brushing a thumb gently across your tear-streaked cheek. “Alright, liebling. I’m here if you need me.”

You nodded, but you didn’t speak again. You turned and climbed the stairs, each step heavier than the last, the echo of your footsteps swallowed by the quiet of the house. When you finally shut the door behind you, your room felt darker than usual—like the grief had followed you in and taken a seat.

You collapsed onto your bed without even changing out of your clothes, the softness of your pillow doing nothing to ease the tight ache in your chest. Your hands trembled as you reached for your phone, still damp with your tears. There were texts—two from your mom, one being a photo from Jack that was sent from her phone, just a photo of a LEGO tower, and one—unsurprisingly—from your now ex-boyfriend.

You didn’t open it.

Your thumb hovered for a second, then moved to the one name that always brought a flicker of comfort. Kimi Antonelli.

You didn’t think. You just hit Call.

The phone barely rang once.

“Hey! Y/N, I was just—” Kimi’s voice lit up at the sound of your name, his energy clearly bright, distracted by something in the background—voices, laughter, maybe music—but then, in a heartbeat, it changed. “Wait... are you crying?”

You didn’t even realize you had started again until your voice cracked. “He broke up with me,” you managed, and your breath hitched painfully. The words felt raw, too sharp in your throat.

There was silence for a second. Not hesitation—just stillness. Kimi’s voice came back low, firm. “Okay. I’m coming over.”

“No, it’s—” But the line had already gone quiet.

Somewhere across town, Kimi Antonelli was standing up from a half-eaten dinner, pulling on his jacket while his friends called after him in confusion. He gave a distracted wave over his shoulder. “She needs me.”

“Who?” one of them asked, brows raised.

But Kimi didn’t answer. He was already out the door.

His footsteps were quick as he crossed the parking lot to his car, the cool night air biting at his skin. He barely noticed. His mind wasn’t on the racetrack, or the media, or even the rare night off he’d been looking forward to—it was on you. On the sound of your voice, cracking with pain. On the ache he imagined behind your silence.

Kimi had never heard you cry like that before. And God, he hated it. Hated knowing someone had made you feel that small. That disposable. That unseen.

He gripped the steering wheel harder than necessary, jaw clenched as he drove through the city streets toward your house. This wasn’t how he had imagined it—finally showing up for you, finally being the one you reached out to. He didn’t want it to be under these circumstances.

But he also didn’t care.

Because if you needed him, he’d be there.

Not for some big moment. Not to say something clever. Not to fix everything. Just to be—to hold space, to remind you that not everyone leaves, that not everyone breaks you and walks away. Some people stay. Quietly, without expectation, with nothing but steady presence and a heart full of care.

And his? Was entirely yours.

As he turned onto your street, headlights sweeping across familiar hedges and fences, he slowed the car in front of your house. Lights were still on in the kitchen. He could see the faint silhouette of Toto passing by the window. He hesitated only briefly before grabbing his hoodie off the passenger seat and stepping out into the night.

He walked up the driveway, nerves bubbling somewhere deep in his chest—not because of you, but because he knew your father was still awake. And Toto Wolff wasn’t exactly the type of man a boy arrived in front of, unannounced, after 11 PM.

But this wasn’t about pride. It wasn’t about nerves.

It was about you.

And that was enough to steady his hand as he rang the bell.

Toto glanced up from his seat at the kitchen table, where he’d been nursing a second, untouched cup of coffee. His brow furrowed. At this hour, unannounced visitors were rare. He stood slowly, his height casting a long shadow across the hallway as he approached the door. Through the frosted glass, he could see a figure—tall, lean, shifting his weight anxiously.

When he opened the door, the porch light fell across Kimi Antonelli’s face.

He looked… nervous. Not afraid, exactly, but purposeful. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, eyes meeting Toto’s without flinching.

Toto didn’t speak at first. He simply raised an eyebrow.

Kimi cleared his throat. “Hi, Mr. Wolff. I—I know it’s late. I wouldn’t normally just show up like this, but Y/N called me and…” He paused. “She sounded really upset.”

There was something in Kimi’s voice—earnest, raw, respectful—that eased the tension just slightly from Toto’s shoulders. Still, the father in him remained protective. Measured. Guarded.

“She is,” Toto said evenly. “It’s been a rough night.”

Kimi nodded once, shifting his weight again, but he didn’t ask to come in. He didn’t push. “I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t alone. If she wants me to leave, I will. But I promised I’d show up if she ever needed me.”

Toto studied him.

He saw the signs again—the open posture, the sincerity, the quiet strength of a boy who didn’t come with rehearsed charm or performative pity. Just presence. Toto felt something in his chest relent, just a little.

“You’re not like him,” Toto said quietly.

Kimi’s brows drew in, unsure if it was a challenge or a statement.

Toto held his gaze. “And for what it’s worth… that’s a good thing.”

Then he stepped aside.

“You know the way.”

Kimi blinked, surprised for a split second by the gesture. “Thank you,” he murmured, slipping off his shoes before making his way upstairs with soft, deliberate steps.

Your room was dark, save for the faint glow of your bedside lamp. You lay curled under your blanket, hoodie on, face still blotchy from crying but eyes dry now—empty in a way that was almost worse.

You didn’t expect the knock. It was soft, a gentle triple tap that made your heart skip.

You sat up. “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and there he was—Kimi, still in his hoodie and jeans, his hair slightly messy from running a hand through it too many times. His eyes found yours immediately, and whatever breath you had left in your lungs caught.

“Kimi…”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just closed the door quietly behind him and crossed the room in a few strides, lowering himself to the edge of your bed like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice warm and steady. “I’m here.”

That simple phrase unraveled something inside you all over again.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” you admitted, voice cracking.

Kimi smiled, a little sad, a little tender. “You called the right person.”

You looked down, ashamed. “I feel stupid. Like I should’ve seen it coming. He was never—he never really…” You trailed off, your throat closing again.

Kimi leaned in just slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to explain it to me. Not tonight. You don’t owe anyone that—not even yourself.”

Your chin trembled, and before you could stop yourself, you reached out for him—fingers brushing his sleeve like an anchor. He took your hand gently, threading his fingers through yours without hesitation.

“I just… I feel so used,” you whispered, eyes stinging. “Like I was never enough. Or maybe too much. I don’t know anymore.”

Kimi’s grip tightened slightly, reassuring. “No. No, don’t do that.” His voice wasn’t angry, but it was fierce. Protective. “You were always more than enough. He was just too small to see it.”

That broke you.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning your forehead against his shoulder. And he shifted instantly, wrapping one arm around you, pulling you gently into his chest. His hoodie smelled faintly like clean linen and his cologne, and his heartbeat was steady beneath your cheek.

He didn’t move. Didn’t fidget. He just held you—with patience, with silence, with that kind of safety only someone who really sees you can offer.

You closed your eyes.

Kimi spoke again after a moment, voice barely above the hush of your breath.

“I’ve watched you try so hard to be seen by someone who never deserved you,” he said. “I wanted to say something a hundred times, but it wasn’t my place. I just… I hoped you’d see it on your own. And you did. Even if it hurts.”

“It hurts so much,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said, his thumb brushing softly across the back of your hand. “But it won’t forever.”

You let the silence fall again, but this time it wasn’t hollow. It was warm. Healing.

Kimi stayed.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The silence in your room had grown softer. No longer heavy or thick, but something else—like quiet after a storm. The ache in your chest was still there, raw and pulsing, but it had settled into something manageable. Something you could breathe through.

Kimi hadn’t moved much. He still sat beside you on the bed, legs stretched out, back against your headboard now. You were curled under the blanket beside him, wrapped in one of his hoodies now—he’d taken it off the moment you demanded it, discarding yours to the floor with no care.

He glanced over at you, catching the way your eyes had dulled again.

“You’re thinking about him,” he said gently—not accusatory, just perceptive.

You gave a tired little nod. “Yeah. It’s stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid,” Kimi said instantly. “It’s grief. That’s real.”

You smiled, humorless. “I don’t even know what I’m grieving. He barely treated me like I mattered half the time. I guess I just thought… if I tried harder, he’d see me.”

Kimi was quiet for a beat. Then: “You know what that sounds like?”

You tilted your head. “What?”

He turned toward you slightly, eyes twinkling. “The plot of every bad teen drama ever made.”

You snorted. “Wow, thank you. That really helps.”

“I’m serious!” he grinned now, leaning into the moment. “You’ve got the tragic breakup arc, the mascara running down your face—sorry, you wiped it off, but I saw it earlier. You’re in oversized clothing that doesn’t belong to you—mine, by the way—next thing you know, there’s gonna be a moody montage of you staring out a rainy window while sad indie music plays.”

You laughed, really laughed—sudden and unexpected. It cracked something open.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, burying your face in the hoodie sleeve. “You’re the worst.”

“I prefer ‘underrated comedic genius,’ but I’ll take what I can get.”

You looked at him then, really looked—at the way his smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, at the softness in his expression that didn’t ask anything of you, only gave. He wasn’t here to fix you. He was here to sit with you in it, in the mess, in the sadness—and somehow still bring light.

“I missed this,” you said quietly.

He blinked. “Missed what?”

“You. Laughing with you. Feeling… normal.”

Kimi’s smile faded into something gentler. “You don’t have to be normal tonight. You don’t have to pretend, or laugh, or bounce back.” He reached forward and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear with more care than anyone had touched you all week. “But if I can make you smile once in a while… I’ll do that. Every time.”

Your throat tightened again, but this time not from grief.

“You’re kind of amazing,” you whispered.

Kimi’s ears turned pink. “Don’t say that. I’ll get cocky.”

You gave him a look. “You already are cocky.”

“Okay, true, but usually it’s because I drive cars very fast, not because the prettiest girl I’ve ever known said something nice to me.”

Your heart did a somersault—and for the first time that night, it didn’t hurt.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The laughter had faded. The tears, too.

You’d fallen asleep not long after, head resting on Kimi’s shoulder, your breathing soft and steady. The weight of the night had finally won, and your body gave in—exhausted by emotion, lulled by comfort, by presence, by the quiet safety of him beside you.

Kimi hadn’t moved for a long while. He just sat there, still, eyes tracing the curve of your features in the dim light spilling through your bedroom curtains. You looked peaceful again. Not whole—but healing. And something in him bloomed with fierce protectiveness.

Carefully, he shifted. Slid down just enough to tuck the blanket more securely around you. His hoodie was still around your frame, sleeves falling past your hands like a cocoon.

He bent down, his lips brushing your forehead in the softest whisper of a kiss.

“Buonanotte, mia stella,” he murmured, barely audible. Goodnight, my star.

His words hung in the air for a moment, warm and sacred, before he stood and turned toward the door—taking one last glance at you, asleep and safe.

But as he gently cracked the door open, he was met with a shadow leaning quietly in the hallway.

Toto.

Kimi froze mid-step, guilt flickering in his eyes as if he'd been caught sneaking out. But Toto didn’t speak right away. He simply nodded, stepping aside to let Kimi pull the door closed behind him.

“Did she fall asleep?” Toto asked, voice low and even.

Kimi nodded. “Yeah. She cried a lot. But I think she… I think she’s okay now. Just tired.”

Toto gave a slow, thoughtful nod. He studied the boy in front of him for a moment—not as a driver, not as a prodigy or a teammate—but as someone who, without being asked, had shown up for his daughter in her most vulnerable hour.

“I watched you with her earlier,” Toto said quietly. “You didn’t say much. You didn’t try to fix it. You just… stayed.”

Kimi shifted slightly, unsure if it was a compliment or a critique. “I didn’t want her to feel like she had to be okay. I just wanted to be there.”

“That’s exactly what she needed.”

A pause. A beat of silence that held a hundred unspoken things.

Toto crossed his arms, not out of sternness—but comfort. Familiarity.

“She’s always been… emotionally sharp,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Feels things deeply. Even when she pretends she doesn’t. When she was seven, she rescued a bird with a broken wing and cried for two days when it didn’t make it. She buried it in the garden. Gave it a name and everything.”

Kimi smiled faintly. “That sounds like her.”

“And when she was thirteen, she got into a fight with a teacher over another kid being bullied. Came home with detention and a bloody lip. Said she didn’t regret it.”

Kimi’s smile widened.

Toto looked at him now, not as a father assessing a threat—but as one recognizing a quiet truth.

“You’re the first boy she’s brought around who actually listens to her,” he said softly. “Not just waits to talk. Not just talks over her. You see her. And that means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

Kimi’s throat bobbed. “I care about her. A lot.”

“I can see that.”

Toto let a long breath pass, then reached into his pocket and handed Kimi something small—an old, worn keychain. It was shaped like a little silver compass.

“She used to carry this everywhere,” Toto said. “I gave it to her when she started secondary school. Told her it would always help her find her way back home, even if she got lost.”

Kimi took it carefully, reverently.

“She stopped carrying it when she started dating him,” Toto added with a tinge of bitterness. “I don’t think she even noticed. But… if you ever see her doubting herself again, remind her. She’s never really lost.”

The silence between them now wasn’t awkward. It was full. Like something had settled.

“I’ll protect her,” Kimi said, voice quiet but certain. “I promise.”

“I know,” Toto replied, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “That’s why I’m letting you stay in her life.”

And with that, he stepped aside, gesturing toward the front of the house with a faint smile. “Go get some sleep, Kimi. You’ve done enough tonight.”

Kimi gave a grateful nod. “Goodnight, sir.”

“Call me Toto,” he said. “You’ve earned it.”

As Kimi stepped out into the cool night air, that little compass keychain tucked in his jacket pocket, he felt something shift inside him—not just relief, not just affection.

Hope.

And maybe… something dangerously close to love.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It had taken Kimi three whole weeks to work up the nerve to ask you to the amusement park. Not because he didn’t want to—he really did—but because every time he imagined asking, his brain short-circuited into a flurry of “what if she says no” and “am I being weird?”

He’d ended up at your house again that morning, as usual, nervously fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie while sitting at the kitchen counter. Your dad, Toto, was making coffee—classic black, no nonsense—and giving Kimi the kind of look dads give when they know exactly what’s going on, but enjoy watching you squirm anyway.

“Amusement park, huh?” Toto asked, taking a slow sip. “Kind of cheesy.”

Kimi’s ears turned crimson. “Is it too cheesy?” he asked, his voice barely louder than the hum of the refrigerator. “I mean… do you think she’d want to go?”

Toto gave him a smirk that was half-tease, half-approval. “You’ve got a better chance if you actually ask.”

Before Kimi could respond, you came shuffling down the stairs in your pajamas—hair messy, one sock on, yawning like the world wasn’t waiting on you. Both of them looked up. You blinked at them, still half-asleep.

Kimi stared for a second too long, then smiled to himself. You looked chaotic in the morning, sure—but to him, it was cute. Soft. Familiar in a way he couldn’t explain.

And then—panic. The words in his head scrambled, suddenly impossible to get out. Toto nudged him discreetly in the ribs.

Kimi cleared his throat, nearly choking on it. “Uh—I bought passes,” he said, voice cracking just slightly. “Do you… want to go to the amusement park with me?”

The silence that followed was louder than it needed to be.

He felt his pulse spike, every second stretching unbearably long. It wasn’t even a date—not technically—but still, the idea of you saying no had his stomach in knots. He stared at you, waiting for some kind of expression, some clue.

Then you shrugged, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Sure,” you said, casually. “I’ve got no plans.”

Kimi let out a breath so heavy it could’ve knocked over a chair.

“Cool! Yeah—cool,” he said too quickly, nodding way too much. “Take your time! I’ll, uh, I’ll just hang here.”

You padded back upstairs to shower, leaving him alone with your dad, who gave him a nod of approval that made Kimi sit a little taller.

Meanwhile, the water washed over you, bringing clarity you didn’t know you needed. It had been a while since you’d done anything just for fun—since your last relationship ended, your world had felt like it was stuck in grayscale. But now, as the scent of your favorite shampoo filled the air, something small and good started to stir inside you again.

Picking an outfit felt like a challenge at first—should it be simple? Overthought? What was the vibe? But you settled on something that made you feel like yourself. Clean. Light makeup. Hair styled with minimal effort. No pressure, just… something new.

Finally ready, you headed downstairs, each step tapping like quiet punctuation on a page you didn’t realize you were writing.

"I'm ready," you called out, stepping into the hallway where Kimi was already waiting. He turned to look at you—and though he didn’t say anything right away, the smile that spread across his face said more than words.

Toto looked up from the living room and gave Kimi a firm pat on the back. “Be safe,” he said, with a playful tone wrapped in a layer of dad-seriousness. “And home before eleven.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “Got it, Dad.”

You hugged him quickly, the kind of warm, familiar squeeze that said thanks for having my back even when you’re annoying. Then you turned toward the kitchen.

“Bye, Mom! Love you!” you called.

She poked her head out from behind a cupboard, smiling at the sight of you. “Have fun!”

And then Jack, your little brother, peeked around the corner, already grinning. “Don’t throw up on a rollercoaster!”

“Bye, Jack!” you laughed, tossing him an exaggerated wave that made him cackle.

You stepped outside with Kimi by your side, the sun already rising high in the sky, bathing everything in that soft golden glow that only seems to show up on good days. The breeze was warm against your skin. The door clicked shut behind you.

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like something good was about to begin.

The highway stretched out ahead of you, painted in fading streaks of gold and blue. The windows were halfway down, letting in a warm breeze that made your hair dance, and Kimi’s playlist filled the car—an eclectic mix of chill indie, chaotic throwbacks, and a few songs you’d never admit to liking if anyone else were around.

Kimi was in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming against the center console in time with the beat. His sunglasses were pushed up into his hair, and he was focused on the road, jaw set in that half-serious, half-goofy expression he got when trying not to miss an exit.

You leaned your head against the seat and looked over at him. “This playlist is kind of unhinged.”

Kimi grinned. “It’s called ‘Road Trip But Make It Existential’.”

“That explains the emotional whiplash.”

“You’re welcome.”

The two of you had already hit three drive-thrus for snacks and argued over who had better taste in gas station candy, and now the conversation had settled into a comfortable quiet. The kind that only really happens with someone you don’t have to fill space with.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

After the initial excitement at the gate faded, the two of you found a rhythm—slow, easy, no pressure. The kind of wandering where the destination didn’t matter. The kind where the conversation meandered as much as your path through the park.

The first stop had been an old-fashioned photo booth, tucked near the carousel. Kimi dragged you inside, half-joking that you needed proof you were outside the house again. The machine blinked to life, the countdown starting before you were even ready. The first picture was blurry, your hand still adjusting your hair. The second caught Kimi mid-laugh, you smirking at him with one eyebrow arched. By the third and fourth, you were both laughing for real. It felt ridiculous. And perfect.

“Frame-worthy,” Kimi said, holding the strip up to the light with a mock-serious face.

“Frame-worthy if we frame it in irony,” you teased, taking the photo and tucking it into your pocket.

Next came a snack run. You both settled on soft pretzels and sodas, sitting on a shaded bench while a jazz cover of a Taylor Swift song floated from a nearby speaker. Kimi tore his pretzel into perfectly even halves and handed you the bigger piece without saying a word. You noticed. You didn’t say anything either. But your chest ached in the softest way.

As the afternoon wore on, he made a point to pull you toward games—mostly the silly, winnable kind. You tried the ring toss and failed spectacularly. Kimi tried and failed slightly less, which he acted like was Olympic-level achievement. He won you a plush penguin from a knock-over-the-cans game and immediately named it Sir Waddlesworth. The name stuck.

You wandered past a duck pond with swan boats lazily circling, and he offered to row one with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Only if you want to see what happens when I try to row us in a straight line and fail miserably,” he said.

You passed. But the image made you laugh harder than anything had in days.

Later, you shared a strawberry snow cone under the shade of a pink-and-white umbrella. He let you eat the top half, pretending it was “too cold” for him but smiling every time you looked happy. Your fingers brushed a few times when he held the cup steady for you, and though neither of you commented, neither of you pulled away, either.

The laughter was constant—but never forced.

He let you be quiet when you needed to be. Gave you space when you stopped walking to people-watch or stare too long at the spinning swings in the distance. When your thoughts slipped into darker places, you found him beside you again, nudging your arm, pointing out some ridiculous park character mascot in a massive frog costume breakdancing to pop music.

You giggled. He grinned. And for the first time in days, you didn’t feel weighed down by the breakup. You felt… human again.

Kimi glanced at you then, watching your eyes follow the lights of the park. “You’re different today,” he said gently, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets.

You turned to him, tilting your head. “Different how?”

“I dunno. Like… a little more you. Less like you’re trying to carry a hundred things alone.”

Your smile faltered, just slightly, but it didn’t disappear. “That obvious, huh?”

“To me? Yeah.” His tone wasn’t teasing. It was honest. Simple.

You both stopped walking near the edge of the park, where the Ferris wheel stood tall in the distance, a soft hum of lights circling its frame. The sun had started its descent, the gold of late afternoon bleeding into a rose-pink sky.

Kimi followed your gaze. “We doing it?”

You glanced at him, and for once, you didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I think we are.”

The sun was bleeding into the skyline, casting the amusement park in that honeyed gold light that made everything feel softer than it really was. You and Kimi stepped into the Ferris wheel bucket together, the world slowly shrinking below you as the ride creaked into motion.

You'd spent the day wandering the park—sugary churros, shared jokes, quiet looks that lingered too long. It had been fun. Real fun. But now, with the noise below fading and the world pausing as your bucket crested higher, your chest felt heavier.

You leaned into Kimi, your head resting lightly on his shoulder. It felt natural—too natural. His body relaxed under your touch like it had been waiting for that moment all day. A quiet sigh escaped you, but it wasn’t relief. It was confusion.

The ride paused near the top, swaying gently.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you murmured, eyes on the horizon.

Kimi shifted, just slightly, to look at you. “You don’t have to deserve me. I want to be here.”

You didn’t answer right away. The wind teased your hair, and you blinked slowly, heart beating faster for a reason you didn’t want to name. You felt Kimi’s fingers brush against yours, just barely, testing a line.

“I think I forgot how it felt to be seen,” you admitted.

He turned more fully toward you, his voice lower now, soft but sure. “Then let me remind you.”

You looked up just as he leaned in—slow, tentative, eyes flicking to your lips. Your heart surged and stalled all at once. Panic gripped your chest. And before you could think it through, you flinched back.

“No—wait, I…” you said quickly, breath catching. “I can’t.”

The words came sharper than you meant.

Kimi froze.

His expression faltered, confusion giving way to hurt in the space of a heartbeat. He pulled back, his hand dropping to his lap. The air shifted between you—suddenly colder, thinner, like the altitude had finally caught up with you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I just… I’m not ready. It’s not you, I swear—”

He nodded once, quickly. “It’s okay.”

But it didn’t sound okay.

Silence draped over the two of you as the Ferris wheel began to descend again, the world creeping closer while your hearts pulled apart. Kimi stared ahead, jaw tight, eyes unreadable. You sat stiffly beside him, hands in your lap, wondering how such a perfect day had just cracked.

The ride ended with the soft lurch of the bucket returning to the ground. Kimi was the first to step out, offering his hand still—but it didn’t have the same warmth.

You took it anyway.

The walk back through the park was quieter than before. No more teasing comments. No more shared laughs. Just the distant hum of carnival music and the growing thud of regret in your chest.

You kept glancing at him, wishing he’d say something—anything—but his lips stayed pressed in a line. He didn’t look mad. Just… disappointed. Distant.

You wanted to explain, to make it better, but every version of the truth felt tangled in your throat. That your heart still ached from the breakup. That kissing someone new, even someone like Kimi, felt like stepping into something you couldn’t undo. "Thank you for today," you muttered, getting a silent head nod in return.

The air on the ride home was thick and uncomfortable and even more uncertain for both of you.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Things shifted after the almost-kiss.

Not suddenly. Not with explosions or slamming doors. But slowly—like a cold draft slipping through a window you didn’t realize was open. The air between you and Kimi, once filled with warmth and quiet laughter, had turned still. Hesitant. And it hurt more than you’d ever expected it to.

The first week was silence laced with half-hearted smiles and ghosted texts. You’d type something, only to delete it. Wait for a response that never came. Kimi wasn’t ignoring you, but he wasn’t reaching for you either. The rhythm of your friendship—the easiness, the comfort—it all hung in the balance, stretched too thin between unspoken apologies and feelings neither of you quite knew how to name anymore.

The second week wasn’t any better. Kimi poured himself into Formula 1 like a man trying to forget. Practice, strategy meetings, simulator runs—he was sharper, faster, and more focused than ever. Everyone noticed it, even Toto. Especially Toto.

He noticed your hollow expression when you glanced at your phone and saw nothing. He noticed the way Kimi’s name hovered at the top of your most recent contacts, untouched. And he noticed the ache you carried like armor, silent and too heavy for someone your age.

It was that ache that brought him to your bedroom one quiet afternoon.

You sat by your window, legs curled under you, your phone resting useless in your hand. The light outside was soft, golden. But it did nothing to warm the cold fog in your chest.

Toto knocked softly before stepping in, voice gentle. “I’m heading out soon for the upcoming Grand Prix. I’ll be gone for a while.”

You gave a faint nod, your eyes never leaving the view outside.

He hesitated, then added, “Kimi’s been looking strong. Mercedes has a real shot this weekend. I know how much you like Lewis—I’ll tell him you said hi.”

You forced a smile. It didn’t reach your eyes.

“I know you’ve always been hesitant letting me come to the races,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “You were scared when I was little… but this time, I want to go. I need to go.”

That got his attention. He turned to face you fully. “Why?”

Your gaze dropped to your lap, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “Because I have to see Kimi. I have to make things right.”

Toto didn’t speak right away. He just watched you, eyes softening with understanding. So you kept going—pouring out the words you’d been holding back for days.

“That day on the ferris wheel… I should’ve let him kiss me,” you admitted, voice cracking ever so slightly. “Because I wanted him to. God, I wanted him to. And I pushed him away—not because I didn’t feel something, but because I did. And it terrified me.”

You blinked fast, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. “I was afraid of what it would mean, of how real it would get. I just got out of something that wrecked me, and then there he was—so kind, so constant. And I hurt him, Dad. I didn’t mean to, but I did.”

Toto let the silence stretch for a moment, letting your confession breathe in the space between you. Then he crossed the room, sitting beside you and placing a warm, grounding hand on your shoulder.

“I always approved of Kimi,” he said quietly. “Your mother did too. He’s a good kid, and he cares for you more than I think you realize.”

You sniffled, nodding.

“I don’t want to lose what we had,” you whispered. “Even if it’s just friendship, I don’t want the distance to win.”

He squeezed your shoulder gently. “Then don’t let it. Come with me to the Grand Prix.”

Your head snapped toward him in disbelief.

“But…” you began.

He held up a finger with a wry smile. “Avoid the media. Your mother will have my head if you end up in the tabloids for sneaking kisses in the paddock.”

That earned your first real laugh in days—a watery, grateful sound as you threw your arms around him in a tight hug.

“Thank you,” you murmured. “Thank you, Dad.”

He held you close, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

The air around the paddock buzzed with anticipation—reporters rushing past, team members running checklists, and engines screaming in the distance like thunder caught in metal. Monaco always carried an energy unlike any other race, and yet, your heart was racing for an entirely different reason.

You were searching.

Dodging between camera crews and mechanics, you weaved through the sea of people with one thought: Find Kimi. Your chest was tight, your palms clammy. You hadn’t seen him in weeks, hadn’t heard his voice, hadn’t felt his presence. And now that you were here, you needed him to see you—to know.

You passed the Mercedes garage, glanced toward the hospitality suite, even peeked into the briefing room, your nerves mounting with every step. The sounds of Formula 1 echoed all around, but it was the silence between you and Kimi that screamed the loudest.

Then, as if the universe had a cruel sense of timing, you turned a corner—and froze.

He was standing there.

Not Kimi.

Him.

Your ex.

The one who had left your heart in pieces weeks ago. Dressed casually, lanyard swinging from his neck, as if he belonged here, as if he deserved to stand on the same ground you were trying to rebuild yourself on. And the moment he saw you, his eyes lit up with a flicker of false charm you used to fall for.

“Y/n,” he said, stepping forward like you hadn’t spent two weeks crying over him. “God, I’ve been trying to reach you. I just want to talk.”

Your stomach twisted. “No,” you said firmly, trying to walk past him.

But he grabbed your wrist.

Not hard, not aggressive—but enough.

Enough to make your breath hitch. Enough to freeze your heart.

“Just listen—please,” he insisted, voice desperate. “I made a mistake, okay? I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was wrong. I miss you. I miss us.”

“No,” you repeated, yanking your arm back. “You don’t get to do this. Not here, not now.”

But he didn’t let go.

His grip tightened slightly, voice rising with desperation. “I know I messed up, but you still love me, right? You’re not really over me. That guy—Kimi—he’s just a rebound. I know you.”

You felt like the air had been ripped from your lungs. Your pulse pounded in your ears.

And then everything happened fast.

A blur of movement behind you.

A fist connecting with a jaw.

A sickening crack.

Your ex staggered back, holding his face in shock. You turned just in time to see Kimi standing there, chest heaving, eyes wild with a fury you’d never seen in him before. His hand was clenched, knuckles already reddening, and for a moment, he didn’t move.

Just stared your ex down like he was daring him to speak again.

“Don’t ever touch her again,” Kimi growled, voice low, sharp, and foreign in its anger.

Your ex didn’t respond—only muttered something and stumbled away, holding his jaw and casting one final look over his shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

And then silence.

Not around you—the paddock was still alive with noise—but between you and Kimi.

His gaze shifted from your ex to you, his shoulders still tense. He opened his mouth to speak, to apologize maybe—but you cut him off before he could.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted, the words tumbling out fast and unfiltered. “That day at the amusement park—I wanted to kiss you. I wanted you. But I was scared. And I didn’t mean to hurt you, Kimi. I just… I didn’t know how to feel anything again after him, and then you came along and made everything feel real again, and it terrified me.”

Tears filled your eyes, not from fear or sadness—but from relief. Relief that he was here. That you were still here.

“And when you stopped calling,” you said, voice cracking, “when you stopped being there—I missed you so much it hurt.”

Kimi stepped forward, still silent, still breathless.

You looked up at him, voice barely a whisper now. “I don’t want to be scared anymore. Not with you.”

His brows softened, the anger completely gone, replaced with something tender and aching.

He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips lingering.

“I would’ve waited forever,” he said, voice hoarse. “I just didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

“I do,” you said.

No hesitation this time.

And for a long moment, you simply stood there, the chaos of the world fading around you, replaced by the quiet certainty between two people finally letting their hearts be known.

No more fear.

No more running.

"A date, after the race, we're going on a date," you said, causing Kimi to smile softly at you, agreeing with your words. "A date, we're going on a date," he agreed as he went to walk away, your hands clasp his race suit, quickly pulling him back into place, your hands moving with a quickness to cup his cheeks. "What are you-" Kimi was caught off guard by the kiss, a bold move from you, but something he didn't complain about.

"Just...giving you some good luck out there..."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The waves of the Mediterranean lapped gently against the sides of the boat, each one reflecting the city lights of Monaco like spilled stardust on water. The air was warm with a salt-sweet breeze, carrying with it the soft echoes of distant music and late-night laughter from the shore.

You sat at the bow, legs stretched out, the hem of your sundress fluttering around your ankles. Behind you, Kimi poured two glasses of sparkling water—he had insisted on something simple and sweet, no pressure, no pretense. Just the two of you and the quiet rhythm of the sea.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky a deep sapphire streaked with silver. You glanced back at him, watching the way his expression had softened—his eyes no longer clouded with doubt or fear, but lit up by something warmer. Something steady.

Love.

Kimi walked over and passed you a glass, sitting beside you, his knee brushing yours.

“You ever think we’d end up here?” he asked with a small grin.

You laughed quietly, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Honestly? No. But I hoped. Somewhere deep down, I always hoped.”

He looked down at you, his gaze lingering. “Even after the ferris wheel?”

You went still for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Even then. Especially then. I was just scared. Of what it meant… of what it would feel like to be happy again. But tonight, with you… I’m not scared.”

Kimi smiled, brushing his fingers lightly against your cheek. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out something small—delicate—a charm on a simple bracelet. A tiny silver heart, engraved with your initials and his.

“I wanted to wait until after the race,” he said, voice a little shy. “But… I thought this might be something you’d like.”

You blinked, touched beyond words, as he gently fastened it around your wrist.

“I love it,” you whispered. “And I love you.”

The words fell out of you so effortlessly it surprised even you—but Kimi’s expression didn’t falter. His eyes glistened slightly, and the grin that curved his lips was something out of your dreams.

“I love you too,” he said, cupping your face gently in his hands.

The kiss that followed wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t needy or desperate.

It was soft.

Full.

Healing.

He kissed you like he meant to erase every doubt you ever carried, and when he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.

“You’re safe with me. Always,” he murmured.

You nodded, your fingers lacing with his as you sat in that peaceful moment together, the boat swaying gently beneath the stars.

By the time you stepped through the front door of your home, shoes in hand, hair tousled by the wind and cheeks sore from smiling, the house was mostly quiet.

Except for the soft clink of glass from the kitchen.

Toto stood at the counter with a late-night espresso, raising an eyebrow as you walked in. He took one look at your glowing face and the bracelet glinting on your wrist… and smirked.

“So… I take it the night went well?”

You squinted at him. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

Toto gave an innocent shrug. “I may have offered him some guidance. Encouragement. Advice from a man who knows a thing or two.”

You crossed your arms. “You coached him.”

“I may have used the words if you break her heart, I’ll break your front wing,” he admitted with a dry chuckle.

You groaned, but there was no real annoyance in it. In fact, you smiled.

“Thanks, Dad,” you said softly, walking over to wrap your arms around him.

He returned the hug warmly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, cara mia. I’ve seen the way you look at him. It was always going to be him—you just needed time.”

You pulled back and nodded. “I think I finally got it right.”

He smiled. “Good. Now go to sleep. You’ve got a boyfriend who’s going to win the next Grand Prix, and a very nosy father who will absolutely take credit for it.”

You laughed all the way to your room.

And as you lay down that night, the sea still rocking in your bones and the feel of Kimi’s kiss lingering on your lips, you realized something:

You weren’t just in love.

You were home.

And one more thing, your dad really knows what's best.

☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★

TAG LIST: @lacey-blog @svt-dk97 @linnygirl09 @coolpeanutchaos @wertyuizxcvbnm @fctnllvrs @alltypesofanimallover @fangirlmusicbiashoe @thatsnotaddy

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 fluff #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #kimi antonelli x fem!reader #formula 1 fanfic #f1 angst #kimi antonelli #kimi #toto wolff

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shortnspidey · 1 month ago

Text

PERILOUS SKIES

Bob Floyd X Fem!Seresin!reader || WC: 6.9K

SUMMARY: Dating Bob Floyd had been nothing short of perfect. The sweet, ever-attentive WSO felt like he’d walked straight out of a rom-com. That’s why, when your scheduled date night arrives and he doesn’t show, your mind immediately begins to spiral. It’s so unlike him, so out of character, that you can’t stop replaying every possible reason in your head. As the hours stretch on, worry takes hold, deep down, you can feel something’s wrong.

WARNINGS: Established relationship, cursing, talks of minor injuries, minor talks of violence, overall fluff, steamy kiss, slight angst, typical Hangman behavior, incorrect military details (sorry)!

A/N: Ugh! I need a man like Bob! 😫 I have been sucked back into my 2022 Top Gun era and Lewis Pullman has me in such a chokehold which is why this was written. Hope y’all enjoy! Divider by @thecutestgrotto <3

➩ main masterlist

➩ bob floyd masterlist

Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d fall for a military man. Not because you didn’t respect them, you did. You’d seen what that kind of life demanded: the discipline, the bravery, the sacrifices. But you'd also seen the ego, the recklessness, and the emotional walls that seemed to come with the uniform. You knew their type, inside and out. Especially because you were raised right alongside one.

Jake “Hangman” Seresin wasn’t just your older brother. He was a force of nature, sharp smile, sharper jawline, and enough swagger to make heads turn before he even stepped foot in a room. He’d always been that way. The golden boy. The daredevil. The protector. And as his little sister, you were someone he guarded with his life. Especially, when it came to men.

Every birthday party, every school dance, every casual dinner date you attempted growing up had been intercepted by Jake. Sometimes he scared them off with a pointed glare. Sometimes it was a not-so-subtle, “I’m watching you.” And sometimes it was just his mere presence, standing a little too close, arms crossed over his chest like he was waiting for an excuse to break someone’s nose.

At first, it had almost been sweet, he was simply looking out for you. But as the years passed, it became suffocating. You weren’t fragile. You didn’t need saving. And yet, he treated you like some porcelain doll that might crack if someone so much as looked at you the wrong way. God forbid it was someone in the Navy. It was safe to say that you had grown so tired of flight suits.

That’s why you built a life as far away from that world as you could. Your work meant everything to you. You were a licensed therapist, specializing in trauma and stress-related disorders, an emotionally demanding job, but one that gave you purpose. You spent your days helping others unpack the things they carried, offering a safe space for people to speak their truth, even when it broke your heart.

You had your own small private practice just off base, tucked into a converted bungalow with soft lighting and calming artwork on the walls. It smelled faintly of lavender and worn paperbacks, and your bookshelf overflowed with psychology texts, handwritten notes, and dog-eared poetry collections. Your life was rooted in listening. In feeling. In forming connections.

And if, some nights, the weight of everyone else’s pain lingered in your chest, well, you’d made peace with that. You had your quiet apartment, your plants, your routines. You knew how to breathe through the noise. You were proud of what you’d built. Which made what happened next was all the more unexpected. You weren’t planning to go out that night.

It had been a long, exhausting week, three new clients, a crisis session, and a war veteran who hadn’t said a single word until your fifth session together. You were mentally and physically drained, emotionally raw. You had planned to stay in, maybe order Thai food and watch something mindless just to silence your thoughts. But your phone lit up with a message from Penny.

Swing by the Hard Deck tonight. First drink’s on me! 🍹

You almost said no.

But, surprisingly, something pushed you to say yes. So without thinking too much, you slipped into an orange sundress, threw on your favorite sandals, and drove the familiar road to the beach. As always, the Hard Deck buzzed with music, laughter, and the sound of boots hitting the wooden floors. The scent of sea salt and beer filled the air, and the jukebox was already playing something classic, probably something from Maverick’s rotation.

You knew half the faces there. A few pilots you’d grown up around. Some you had met through Jake. Speaking of Jake, of course he was already there, was holding court by the pool table, cue stick in hand, that ever-confident grin on his face. Same old scene. Same old bar. Penny spotted your first, waving you over as she started making your go-to drink. You smiled, walking over and giving her a hug behind the bar.

“Here, looks like you need it.” You smiled, accepting the fruity cocktail from her hands. As she attended to the other bar patrons, you sat in a nearby stool, fully intending to linger just long enough to be polite before heading back out so that you could crawl into bed by 10PM. Only, the universe seemed to have different plans, because that's when you saw him. He was tucked away in the corner of the bar, half-shadowed by the low glow of the neon beer signs above.

He sat with a bottle of beer in hand, long fingers loosely curled around the neck of it, his posture slightly hunched like he was doing his best not to take up too much space. His glasses were a little fogged from the humidity, slipping just slightly down the bridge of his nose. He reached up now and then to adjust them, eyes flicking around the bar like he was trying to blend into the furniture.

Not hiding, exactly, just keeping to himself. He wasn’t laughing with the others, wasn’t showing off at the dartboard, and he definitely wasn’t trying to flirt with anyone. In a room full of men with too much confidence and not enough subtlety, he was different. You couldn’t look away. There was something almost disarming about how awkward he looked. Like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands or where to rest his gaze.

But even in all that quiet discomfort, there was something gentle about him. You were too far in your head when he looked up, and caught you staring. Your breath hitched, just slightly. But instead of looking away like most people would, he offered a sheepish, crooked smile. And you smiled back, because how could you not? He dropped his gaze immediately, taking a sip of his beer like maybe he was embarrassed by the brief moment of eye contact.

It only made him even more endearing.

You turned back toward Penny behind the bar, trying to play it cool, but your voice betrayed your interest. “Hey Penny, who’s the guy in the corner?” Penny followed your gaze, then gave you a knowing little smile. “That’s Bob.” You hummed, faking interest, taking a sip of your drink. “Lieutenant Robert Floyd. WSO. Flies backseat for Phoenix.” She added casually, wiping down a glass. “One of the good ones. Real quiet, but sweet as hell. Kind of Jake’s opposite.”

That earned a short laugh out of you. “So, he's not a pilot?” You smiled behind the rim of your glass. “He is, technically. But he’s the kind that listens more than he talks.” Penny raised an eyebrow. “Why? Are you interested?” Instead of responding, you glance over your shoulder again. Bob was staring down at the condensation on his bottle, idly tracing circles with his fingertip like he’d rather be anywhere else, and yet, somehow, he didn’t look miserable.

Just… out of place.

“Maybe.” You murmured, trying to sound nonchalant, but the truth betrayed you in the form of heat creeping up the back of your neck. You lifted your drink to cover the slight twitch of a smile you couldn’t suppress. Penny leaned in with a smirk, wiping down the bar like she wasn’t studying your every move. “Then don’t wait too long,” She coaxed under her breath, voice teasing. “Use that Seresin charm. Guys like that don’t usually make the first move.”

You glanced back at him. He was still in the corner, tracing the rim of his bottle with his thumb, eyes low, posture slightly slouched like he was trying to shrink himself into the background. But something about him, it tugged at you. Maybe it was the way his eyes had flicked toward you moments ago, a little wide, like he couldn’t believe someone like you had noticed him. Like he wasn’t used to being seen.

Or maybe, just maybe, you were tired of playing it safe. Tired of living under your brother’s ever-watchful gaze. Tired of waiting for permission you never needed in the first place. Your fingers tightened around the glass as you made your decision. You slid off your stool, smoothing down your dress like it could steady your nerves, and crossed the bar, each step quickening your heartbeat. “Mind if I sit?” You asked, voice smooth, chin tilted ever so slightly in confidence, fake or not.

He looked up at you, caught off guard. His expression flickered,first surprise, then something gentler. He cleared his throat, straightening a little. “Uh—yeah. I mean, no. I don’t mind.” You smiled and took the seat beside him, the wood cool against your skin as you eased into it. “Thanks, I’m Y/N.” You extended your hand across the small gap between you. The contact was instant, his larger palm warm, slightly rough from flight gloves, his grip unsure but respectful nonetheless.

“B-Bob,” He mumbled out. “Well, Robert. But, um… everyone calls me Bob.” You smiled, loving how blush dusted his cheeks. “Nice to meet you, Bob,” You let his name linger, giving it weight as your gaze swept over his face, softer up close, his features earnest and boyish beneath his glasses which hid his captivating cerulean blue eyes. “So… you always hang out in dark corners, or is tonight a special occasion?” The edges of his mouth twitched with a quiet, amused smile.

“Just trying to stay out of the way.” You raised a brow, slightly leaning into him so your shoulders were touching. “Of who?” You teased, head tilting. “The loud ones? Or the terrifying older brothers?” That made his eyes widen slightly behind his lenses, and you didn’t miss the way he stiffened, the realization hitting like a gust of wind. He blinked once. Then again. “Y-You’re… Hangman’s sister?” You sipped your drink, nodding slowly. “Guilty as charged, Lieutenant.” You winked as Bob stared for a moment.

You could practically see the gears turning behind his eyes, fast, nervous, cautious. “You gonna run, Bob?” You asked, eyebrow lifting, lips curved just enough to keep it playful. You wouldn’t have blamed him. You were used to that look. You’d seen it before on a dozen other faces. Guys who decided no girl was worth catching hell from Jake Seresin. But Bob surprised you. He didn’t bolt. Didn’t stammer out a goodbye or glance over his shoulder like he was looking for an exit.

Instead, he just smiled, really smiled, and for the first time, something inside you fluttered. His whole face shifted when he did, gentle and sincere, like the smile had been waiting for the right moment to be let out. His shoulders dropped, and the tension in his spine eased as his nerves melted into quiet warmth. The corners of his eyes crinkled behind his glasses, and the golden bar light caught the faint dimple in his cheek, softening his whole demeanor.

Something about it, about him, felt honest. “Not unless you tell me to.” His voice was low, laced with a touch of humor, but no hint of fear whatsoever. And that was it. And you knew then… you were in trouble. Of course, right on cue, nothing good in your life ever slipped past Jake unnoticed. And the moment your brother spotted you talking to someone, especially someone in uniform, he made a beeline across the bar like a guided missile.

“Seriously?” He muttered under his breath, then louder. “She’s off-limits.” He slung an arm around your shoulder, the heavy weight of it both familiar and infuriating, while his eyes narrowed at Bob like he’d caught him trying to hack into the Pentagon. His voice was low and sharp. “I mean it, Floyd.” To Bob’s credit, he didn’t bristle or shrink away. He didn’t puff his chest or try to argue. He just gave a small, respectful nod, calm, measured. “Understood.” You expected him to walk away after that.

Hell, Jake even expected him to.

That was usually the part where most men retreated, tail between their legs, deciding no woman was worth facing down a protective older brother with a reputation like Hangman’s. But Bob surprised you. Later that night, long after the initial rush of aviators had moved on to games of pool and darts, and Jake had wandered off to trash-talk some poor soul at the dartboard, you found yourself by the jukebox, flipping through the cracked plastic covers of old CDs. Then, a quiet voice spoke up from behind you.

“I know your brother’s... protective,” Protective was one way to put it, you thought to yourself. You glanced up from flipping through the CD’s as Bob shifted his weight from one foot to another, hands in the pockets of his khakis, standing just far enough away to give you space, but close enough that you could feel the sincerity in his tone. “But I’d still like to buy you a drink and maybe talk some more. I-If that’s alright with you of course.” You looked up, surprised and maybe a little impressed.

It was more than alright.

You gave him a nod, and the two of you sat at the end of the bar, away from prying eyes and Jake’s over-the-top dramatics. Conversation flowed easier than you expected. Bob wasn’t flashy or performative, he was thoughtful. Funny in a dry, unexpected way. A little awkward, but charmingly so. That night turned into another. Then a real date. Then two. Then weeks of texts that made you smile at your phone like a teenager. Things didn’t move fast, they didn’t need to. With Bob, it was steady.

He remembered your favorite drink after the first time you ordered it. He walked you to your car every time, even if it meant doubling back on his own route. He asked about your day and actually listened, not just to respond, but to understand. He never interrupted. Never made you feel small. He laughed at your jokes, even the bad ones. He offered his hoodie on breezy beach nights without saying a word. And even had this quiet habit of checking on you.

Whether it was a text at the exact right time. A glance across a room that grounded you. And maybe most surprising of all, he made you feel safe. It didn’t matter that he flew backseat for one of the Navy’s best pilots. That he was part of a squad who took down a nearly impossible mission. That half the base jokingly called him “baby-on- board.” None of that defined him.

What mattered was that when you were with him, for the first time in years, you didn’t feel like someone’s little sister. You didn’t feel like someone to be guarded or shielded or spoken for. You just felt seen. Of course, that didn’t mean you were ready to throw it in Jake’s face. For a while, you and Bob kept things quiet. It wasn’t that you were ashamed, far from it. But you both agreed: Jake didn’t need to know just yet. You liked the way things were. Soft. Sacred. Yours.

Besides, the moment your brother found out you were seeing someone, especially someone on his squadron, he’d lose his mind. So you kept your dates discreet. Stolen kisses in parked cars. Quick coffee dates before his briefings. Whispered conversations during beach bonfires where no one was paying attention. And on one particularly slow afternoon, he stopped by your office. Your practice had just closed for the day. The soft hum of the white noise machine still filled the room, and the late sun poured through the windows.

Bob was leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, pretending to read the spines of your books, psychology texts, self-help, a few novels tucked in like secrets. “I still can’t believe you keep a weighted blanket in your office.” He teased lightly, eyes glued to your legs as you reached for your laptop. “Trauma work, remember? Nervous systems love pressure. Plus, it’s cozy.” Bob stepped closer, a grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. “You’re cozy.” You mirrored his smile, letting out a lovesick giggle before you could stop it.

“Are you trying to flirt with me using therapeutic language?” His blue eyes twinkled with mischief stepping closer. “Is it working?” You laughed, and before you could answer, his lips were on yours. It was supposed to be just one kiss. A quick goodbye before he headed back to base, enough to hold you off until you could get your hands on him later that night. But then your back hit the wall, and his hands cupped your jaw like he was memorizing every curve of your face.

You instinctively melted into him, fingers curling into his fitted white t-shirt that had no business making his biceps look that good. His lips pressed to yours, slow at first, soft and searching, but it deepened quickly. His hands found your waist, sliding over the thin fabric of your blouse, fingers splaying wide as if to anchor himself in the feel of you. Bob groaned quietly into your mouth, the sound low, needy, almost reverent. His tongue slipped past your parted lips, tentative but eager, and you welcomed him in with a soft, breathy moan.

Your hands fumbled for his collar, pulling him closer, grounding yourself in the way he tasted. One of his hands slid up your side, fingers brushing under the hem of your shirt, calloused fingertips grazing the bare skin of your ribs. You shivered at the contact, arching into him instinctively. His other hand cupped the back of your neck, thumb stroking just below your ear as his mouth moved with yours, deeper, hungrier.

Your nails scraped lightly through his hair, mussing it from its neat comb, and that earned you another quiet groan that vibrated against your lips. The air between you felt heavy, time blurred. Nothing existed beyond the feel of his body against yours, the way he kissed you like he was starved for it, like he’d been holding back for weeks. Maybe he had. Your hips shifted, a little too eager, and you felt the subtle hitch of his breath as his hand gripped tighter at your waist, holding you there.

Which is how you didn’t hear the office door creak open until: “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You both froze. Your lips were still tangled. Bob’s hand was still under your shirt. And Jake Seresin was standing in the doorway of your office, expression stuck somewhere between outrage and horror. You sprang apart, your heartbeat plummeted. And Bob, poor Bob, froze in place like someone had pulled the eject handle. Jake stood in the doorway, arms crossed, jaw clenched, face unreadable.

A vein twitched in his temple. “Jake—” You started, breathless, smoothing down your blouse. “It’s not, well, it is what it looks like, but—" Busted. “Of all the people,” Jake let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a sigh, dragging a hand down his face, then pinching the bridge of his nose like it physically pained him to witness what was happening. “Baby-on-board? Seriously, Y/N?!”

You instinctively stepped in front of Bob, shielding him with your body like your brother might actually tackle him through your office window. “Jake. Don’t.” Bob, didn’t move. His back was straight, blue eyes wide behind fogged-up glasses, lips parted as if mid-apology. His cheeks were flushed, his t-shirt slightly wrinkled from where your hands had just been. “I, uh… hi, Hangman." He offered awkwardly, pushing his glasses up with a shaky hand.

Jake stared at him, hard. Like he was cycling through a mental list of disciplinary actions and weighing the pros and cons of each one. “I told you once,” He growled slowly, voice like ice cracking. “My little sister is off-limits.” You stepped in again, squaring your shoulders, chin lifting. “And I told you I’m not twelve.” There was a beat of silence. Then Jake turned to you, jaw tight, mouth slightly open like he wanted to argue, but the fire behind his eyes dimmed.

You saw it, the shift. That split-second of hesitation. The realization. You weren’t his kid sister anymore, sneaking candy into movie theaters or crying over scraped knees. You weren’t some fragile thing he had to wrap in bubble wrap and keep hidden from the world. You were a grown woman. And you’d made your choice. “I’m your big brother,” He muttered voice quieter now, rough around the edges. “I’m supposed to look out for you.”

Your expression softened, shoulders dropping. “You always have. Better than anyone, but you don’t have to protect me from Bob. He'd never hurt me.” You glanced over your shoulder, eyes meeting Bob’s. Jake exhaled sharply through his nose and looked between the two of you. At Bob, still standing there like a soldier awaiting his court-martial. And at you, arms folded, gaze unwavering. After a pregnant pause, a long, reluctant sigh left his chest. “Are you really into him?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I am.” Jake stared at him for another long second, then finally, finally, cracked the smallest smirk. “Jesus Christ. If this is happening, I don’t want to hear about it and I definitely don’t want to see it.” He turned toward the door, muttering under his breath. “Shit, I need bleach for my poor eyes.” Then, he paused and glanced back “If you break her heart, Floyd, I don’t care how good of a WSO you are, I will make you wish you had ejected mid-flight.” Bob swallowed visibly and nodded.

“Understood.” You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth lifted. It wasn’t exactly a blessing. But from Jake Seresin? It sure as hell was close enough. You smiled at the memory, lips curling as your thoughts drifted back. Since then, Jake had slowly eased up, still overbearing at times, but less of an asshole, finally starting to accept the reality that you and Bob were together. It wasn’t instant, but it was progress.

Maybe it was the way Bob never rose to Jake’s bait, or maybe it was how he treated you, with a kind of quiet reverence that left little room for protest. Because Bob was nothing but attentive. The kind of man who remembered how you took your coffee, who sent midday check-in texts just to ask how your sessions had gone, who looked at you like you were his entire goddamn universe. He made you feel like the only girl in the world, seen, cherished.

Which is why, when your usual Thursday night rolled around, the one night you always carved out for each other, and Bob didn’t show… something inside you spiraled. You’d cleaned the apartment, lit one of your favorite candles, even queued up Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith knowing it was one of his favorites. His favorite hoodie was draped over the back of the couch, the one he always “forgot” to take home because he liked the way it smelled after you wore it.

The popcorn was in the bowl. The wine was chilling in the fridge. Take-out menus were on the coffee table. Everything was ready. Except him. You glanced at the clock. Once. Then again. Then again, your eyes flicking to the screen, then to the door, like maybe he’d appear if you wished hard enough. Each time, you brushed it off with a quiet, He’s probably still at the hangar. You knew the drill. Sometimes they got grounded late, schedules shifted.

But the minutes stretched into an hour. Then two. Still no text. No call. Just eerie silence. And Bob? When it came to date night, Bob was never late. When your phone finally rang, the shrill tone sliced through the stillness, making you jump. You scrambled for it, heartbeat thudding against your ribs as your thumb slid to answer without even checking the caller ID on the screen. “Hey, handsome,” You breathed out. “Are you on your way home yet?” Only, it wasn’t Bob’s voice that answered.

“Aww, Y/N,” Came the familiar, cocky drawl you had grown familiar with. “I knew you were lying to me all those times you called me ugly.” Your jaw clenched. Your eyes rolled before your brain could catch up. “Jake,” You snapped, already pacing. “What the hell, where’s Bob? Why are you calling me?” Your brother’s voice cut through the line, irritatingly casual. “Sorry for the late notice, but your beau isn’t making it to date night.” The floor practically dropped out from under you.

“What?! Why? Jake, what happened?” You barely heard yourself over the rush in your ears. Your pulse kicked up, adrenaline beginning to surge. He ignored the edge in your voice, brushing off your panic like it was nothing more than static. “Just come to base. I’ll be waiting at the gate to escort you inside.” Then the line went dead. You stared at your phone for a second, willing it to light up again, to clarify, to make sense. It didn’t.

Just the reflection of your stunned face in the dark screen. “God, I hate when he does that.” You muttered, voice low and sharp as you shoved the phone into your back pocket. Without wasting another breath, you yanked Bob’s hoodie over your head, feet shoving into the nearest pair of sneakers, fingers scrambling for your keys. Your heart thudded in your throat as you raced down the stairs, and out the door.

The base wasn’t far, thankfully. About a twenty-minute drive. You didn’t floor it, but your foot stayed heavy on the gas, knuckles white around the steering wheel. Your thoughts circled and twisted with every mile: Was he hurt? Why didn’t Bob call you himself? Was Jake just being dramatic, or worse, trying to protect you from something serious? By the time you reached the gate, your nerves were all over the place.

True to his word, Jake was waiting just past the security checkpoint, casual as ever, like this was a run-of-the-mill errand. You flashed your ID to the guard, who barely glanced at it before waving you through. You didn’t even bother straightening the car when you parked. The engine had barely cut before you threw the door open and leapt out. “Jake,” You barked, striding toward him with a glare. “You have one minute to explain yourself before I kick the shit out of you. Where’s Bob?”

Your brother slung an arm around your shoulder like this was all completely normal. The audacity of it made your teeth grit. “Relax, baby-on-board is fine.” He muttered, steering you forward. “Don’t call him that. How many times do I have to tell you before it sticks?” You snapped, elbowing him lightly. Jake lifted both hands in mock surrender, grinning like this was all part of a joke only he found funny. “Alright, alright fine. Just… follow me.” And without another word, he led you deeper into the base.

Your steps faltered, just slightly, as dread started to pool low in your stomach. Because something wasn’t right. You could feel it. Your suspicions were confirmed the moment Jake led you down the familiar corridor toward the medical bay. The sterile scent of antiseptic and the soft hum of fluorescent lights filled the air, too clean, way too quiet. Your heart pounded harder with every step. Then you saw them, Maverick and Bradley, standing a few feet away near the nurses’ station, mid-conversation.

Or they had been. The second their eyes landed on you and Jake, their voices cut off like a switch had been flipped. “Mav,” You rasped, your voice laced with urgency as your eyes locked on his. They both turned fully now, posture straightening. Bradley offered a tense smile as he stepped forward to greet you, arms opening automatically. You didn’t hesitate, letting yourself fall into the hug, if only for the brief comfort of familiar arms and the steady heartbeat beneath his civilian clothes.

“Where’s Bob?” You asked again, for what felt like the hundredth time. The question burned now, raw and desperate, clawing up your throat. Maverick moved closer, his expression calm but lined with concern. “He’s alright,” He began, voice steady, measured, but the silence that followed said otherwise. The look, the flicker of shared worry between him, Bradley, and Jake did nothing to settle the growing storm in your chest. You could feel it building, pressure against your ribs.

Maverick exhaled slowly, like he didn’t want to alarm you but knew sugarcoating it wouldn’t help.“During today’s training, Phoenix and Bob suffered a bird strike. The impact triggered an engine fire, which spread fast and caused a total systems failure, both engines, and hydraulic controls.” Your breath hitched. “They had no choice but to eject,” He added, quieter now. “The medics brought them in immediately. They’re stable, conscious, and mostly okay. The doctors are keeping them overnight for observation.”

The words tumbled in slowly, too slow to process all at once. Bird strike. Engine fire. Ejection. The air felt thinner. The hallway longer. Your mouth moved before your brain could catch up. “C-Can I see him?” You asked, your voice barely more than a whisper. Maverick nodded, but you were already moving. Your sneakers squeaked against the linoleum as you bolted down the hallway, weaving past a nurse and ignoring the muted “Miss, wait—” that came from someone behind the desk.

When you spotted the door at the end of the corridor with Seresin scrawled hastily on the visitor clipboard and Floyd, R./Trace, N. listed beneath it, your chest constricted. You pushed the door open. You spotted Natasha first. She was reclined in the hospital cot closest to the door, propped up slightly by a pair of thin, starch-white pillows. Her skin looked pale under the sterile fluorescent lights, a stark contrast to the deep purpling bruise blooming along her cheekbone.

A butterfly bandage held a small cut together above her eyebrow, and her arm, though not in a cast, was wrapped in gauze from wrist to elbow. Still, she was awake. Alert. Breathing. “Nat,” You exhaled, already moving toward her. Her head turned at the sound of your voice. The split-second surprise in her expression melted into something warmer, despite the lingering pain behind her eyes. She pushed herself up with a small wince, the thin hospital blanket slipping off her shoulders.

“Y/N, hey,” She murmured, voice raspy but steady. Your arms were already wrapping around her before you could stop yourself. Your movements slowed as soon as you felt her body tense slightly, stiff from the impact, from the adrenaline still likely fading. She let out a breathy laugh against your shoulder, one arm curling weakly around you. “I’m glad you're here.” She murmured, voice muffled against your sweatshirt. You leaned back slightly to look at her, brushing a stray curl from her forehead, careful not to graze the fresh scrape on her temple.

It was safe to say that ever since you and Bob had started dating, you and Natasha had become inseparable. It started with casual conversations at the Hard Deck that turned into late-night wine nights, venting sessions, and a friendship built on fierce loyalty and shared eye-rolls at the men in your lives. Part of it, no doubt, came from the fact that she and Bob were more than just teammates, they were a crew. They trusted each other with their lives, and somewhere along the way, that trust naturally extended to you.

“I’m just glad you’re both okay.” You whispered. Natasha gave you a faint, lopsided smile, tired but genuine. “Yeah, well, Bob took the worst of it. I was lucky.” Your stomach dropped. You hadn’t even seen him yet. The cot next to hers was shielded slightly by a privacy curtain pulled partway across, and suddenly, you couldn’t breathe fast enough. Your eyes darted toward the edge of the curtain. “He’s awake. A little banged up. But, he’s been asking for you since we were brought in here.”

That was all it took. You gave her hand a gentle squeeze and whispered. “I’ll be right back.” Then, without hesitation, you stepped around the curtain, ready to face whatever was waiting on the other side. As soon as you rounded the curtain, your eyes found him. Bob was sitting upright, well, trying to. He winced slightly bracing himself on one elbow as he straightened in the cot, ignoring the tight pull of gauze around his ribs and the IV in his arm. Sensing the presence of someone in the room, he stopped fidgeting, blue eyes meeting yours.

You moved without thinking. The world blurred as you rushed across the room, the cool floor beneath your sneakers giving way to the warmth of his outstretched arms. He barely had time to brace himself before you collided with him, sinking into his chest, arms wrapping around his torso with desperate urgency. He winced, but his hands immediately came up, one cradling the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair, the other wrapping tightly around your waist.

His grip was firm, steady, anchored, as if the contact itself might undo the fear that had rooted in both of you. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin beneath the sterile tang of antiseptic. His heart was pounding hard beneath your cheek, fast and erratic, matching your own. “Shit, Bobby,” You whispered, voice trembling. “I thought—” You couldn’t even finish the sentence. “I know,” He murmured into your hair, his voice cracking with emotion.

“I’m sorry I scared you, sweetheart.” Then, more softly, almost sheepishly, he mumbled into your shoulder. “I’m also sorry I missed date night.” You nearly scoffed, half a laugh, half a sob, as you pulled back just enough to look at him, your fingers still tangled in the collar of his shirt. “Date night? Bob, I could care less about date night right now. I’m just glad you’re alive.” Bob’s selflessness never ceased to amaze you, how even through the haze of pain and adrenaline, his first thought had been about you, about letting you down.

As if your heart hadn’t broken in half the moment you realized he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. You clung to him tighter, your arms curling around his back, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his t-shirt like letting go wasn’t an option. Bodies wound tightly around one another, like you were trying to climb inside his chest and stay there. Like the only way to be sure he was real was to feel every inch of him pressed to you. He exhaled shakily, lips brushing your temple.

“All I kept thinking was that I had to get back to you.”That made your throat tighten even more. Your hand moved instinctively to his face, cupping his cheek, thumb grazing over a scratch along his jawline. His glasses were still slightly askew, and he hadn’t even bothered to fix them, too focused on you. “I’m right here,” He reassured, almost as if sensing your inner turmoil. “I’m okay. We’re okay.” In that moment, he held tightly in his arms, everything faded away.

There was only the thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm and the soft warmth of his breath against your skin. You didn’t want to pull away, but when you finally did, it was only to take in his face. You brushed a thumb gently beneath his eye, tracing the faint bruise that had bloomed along his cheekbone. He looked a little beat up, but to you? He was perfect. Alive. And most importantly, breathing. His eyes met yours, impossibly blue beneath the smudged lenses of his crooked glasses.

They searched your face like he couldn’t quite believe you were here either. Like he was afraid if he blinked, you’d vanish. You leaned in again, this time slower, gentler, your hand cradling the side of his face. His breath caught just before your lips met, as if even now he was asking for permission without words. The kiss that followed was soft. No heat. No urgency. Just a lingering press of your mouths. You could feel the tremble in his shoulders as his hand slid up to the back of your neck, holding you there like he needed it as much as you did.

His lips parted slightly against yours, letting out the faintest sigh, and you melted into it, into him, feeling the world finally slow down. When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his. “I love you.” You whispered, the words weightless, certain. He smiled, eyes closed, breath warm against your cheek. “I love you more.” Just as you were about to lean in for another kiss, the door creaked open behind you. “Fucks sake, not this again.” Came the dry, unmistakable voice of your older brother.

You groaned softly, forehead dropping to Bob’s shoulder as he stifled a wince and a laugh at the same time. You were so close to murdering Jake and becoming an only child. “Do you have some kind of built-in radar for whenever we kiss?” You muttered into Bob’s shirt as his hand rubbed comforting circles on your back. “Apparently,” Jake scoffed, stepping fully into the room, arms crossed, brow raised in brotherly disapproval.

“I give it ten seconds and you look like you’re ready to climb the guy like a tree.” Bob straightened awkwardly, almost like a cadet caught doing something wildly against protocol. His cheeks flushed deep red, climbing all the way to the tips of his ears, and his hands instinctively loosened their hold on you. Before he could scoot even an inch away, your fingers curled gently but firmly around his bicep, grounding him right where he was as you shot Jake a glare. “What do you want now?”

Jake gestured vaguely at the two of you. “Don’t mind me. I’m just checking in on the critically injured WSO who, last I heard, had survived an emergency ejection, a bird strike, and now looks like he’s about two seconds away from a very different kind of cardiac episode, caused, I assume, by my little sister sticking her tongue down his throat.” Bob gave a tiny, nervous cough, his gaze flicking toward the heart monitor as if it might start blaring just to spite him. He wisely chose not to answer.

You smirked, leaning in to press a slow, lingering kiss to Bob’s temple, just to be petty. You felt the way his breath hitched beneath you, the way his fingers curled gently at your waist despite himself. Jake rolled his eyes so hard you were genuinely concerned they might get stuck that way. “I figured you’d be staying the night, so, I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. But don’t get any ideas. I’ll be back tomorrow, bright and early, and I better not walk in on a repeat performance, especially not with Phoenix two feet away.”

From the other side of the curtain, Natasha’s dry voice floated through like a dagger dipped in disinterest: “Fuck off.” You bit your lip to stifle the laugh that almost broke through. “There’s the door, Bagman.” You shot back, raising your middle finger without even looking at him. With one last grumble and an eye roll that nearly cracked his skull, Jake pulled back the curtain dramatically and disappeared down the hall, muttering something about needing a drink.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Bob let out a soft breath, his entire body seeming to relax now that Jake had exited the room. He didn’t even need to ask. With a quiet grunt, he shifted on the narrow hospital cot, careful but determined, wincing slightly as he adjusted his IV line and tugged back the scratchy blanket with his good hand. It wasn’t much, but he made space for you like it was second nature, like your place had always been beside him, no matter the circumstances.

Without a word, you discarded your shoes and climbed in next to him, moving slowly, mindful of the bruises you couldn’t see and the ones you knew would surface by morning. The cot creaked under the added weight, but neither of you cared. Your head nestled into the curve of his shoulder, your hand drifting under the soft fabric of his t-shirt, fingers resting on the soft skin of his abdomen, like you just needed to feel he was real.

His arm slid around your waist, drawing you in with a familiarity that made your heart flutter. The other hand found its way into your hair, combing through the strands slowly, rhythmically, like he was soothing both of you at once. His thumb brushed absently along your spine in lazy arcs, and he let out a content when your legs tangled with his beneath the thin blanket.

The room had gone quiet, the soft beeping of monitors fading into the background like a lullaby. Wrapped in his arms, you tilted your head just enough to meet his eyes. “Still worth it?” You whispered, the question edged with lingering fear. Bob didn’t miss a beat. His smile was the same one he’d worn eight months ago, the first time he saw you across the bar. He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

“Every single second.”

Thanks for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! Feeling generous? Leave a tip!

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dark-night-hero · 2 months ago

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Imagine being Sylus' non-mc significant other.

Imagine you knew that loving Sylus meant walking a fine line between devotion and danger. You knew that his world was carved in shadows and half truths wrapped in kisses. A voice that could make you forget your doubts.

Imagine you always told yourself it was just the nature of his work, the late nights, the missed calls, the way he always seemed to have somewhere else to be. You love him. Because while you never had his mornings. You always had his midnights.

Imagine the way he would often disappear for days and return with eyes darker than usual and in some rare nights, he would come home with bruises blooming just beneath his skin but when he looked at you, his eyes soften. Like being with you was enough.

Imagine the world you've built in the cracks he left open slowly and carefully. A world where danger lived just outside your window but with love, his love, was kept in your heart every time he whispered your name like a confession. He let you believe you were his only truth.

Imagine at first, it was just the silence. The kind that didn't feel like peace but absence. The kind of pause before a lie, the dead space where love should live. Sylus had always been a guarded man. The kind who touched you like you were fragile but spoke like his words were bullets.

but Imagine, that was just part of his charm. The mystery and quiet restraint behind his smirks. Not until she started showing up. MC. At first, she was just a ghost in his schedule, an excuse.

"Work" He say, turning away from you in bed, phone lighting up his face. "Can't talk about it." You nod, moving closer to him in. You did not push the topic because that's what trust looked like, right?

Imagine then came the little things. A strand of hair on his coat. Perfume that wasn't yours. A coffee order on his receipt you had never seen him drink. The subtle way his tone changed when he was tired softer, more honest, but only when talking to someone else.

Imagine you did not bring it up. You didn't want to be paranoid. You didn’t want to be that person. The kind who checks phones or asks too many questions. But the truth has a way of bleeding through, no matter how hard you cover it.

Imagine that night, after a few weeks of not seeing each other. You cooked him dinner. You even wore the clothes he liked. You thought maybe, just maybe, he'd finally open up. Instead, he walked in distracted, checking his phone. He did not even look at you.

Imagine the way you asked him who he was texting. One that was meant to sound casual, but your voice cracked halfway through. He paused. Just for a second. That second told you everything. "It's MC."

"Don't." He said, eyes flickering up to yours. "It's not what you think." That was the first time he didn't lie smoothly. The first time he looked like the villain everyone said he was. Not because of the crime, the guns or the secrets. But because he looked at you with guilt.

Imagine you knew why he stayed the night. It was not out of love but because he doesn't know how to leave you gently. So you lay beside him awake until dawn, breathing in a man who loved someone else in front of you. And when the morning come, you did not say goodbye. You just lay there and felt him when he left.

Imagine that's how you learned the painful truth. You weren't his secret weapon. You were just his secret shame. And all the danger in the world doesn't compare to the pain of being loved second.

: the other au doesn't really cound as the main non-mc so. So here's one for him. IM SORRY DON’T COME AFTER ME- BYE

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mwphisto · 1 month ago

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Sylus: Grueling

~ You've had a rough day and Sylus doesn't seem to notice until it's too late

~ Inspired by anon's thoughts! Thank you anon!

A note from Soul: This one is a bit longer than my usual imagine/blurbs! I've been trying to get back into writing more fleshed out ideas and stories and this one was a fun starter! Don't think I'm quite satisfied with my work just yet so you'll probably see a lot of longer pieces as I try and get myself back into the flow of writing details lol. This post contains hurt/comfort, jokes about eating habits, and a bunch of fluff afterwards! WC: 1.8k

Your day has been nothing short of grueling.

Not that anything truly serious had happened, it was more or less a day full of minor inconveniences. First, your alarm didn’t go off. Only, it did, and you had slept right through it. Somehow, you pulled yourself together and arrived only about ten minutes late. While it annoyed you to rush, it wasn’t the end of the world.

Then, you stepped away from your desk to make a coffee. You hadn’t had time to get it this morning on your commute for obvious reasons. You could settle for the Hunter Association’s coffee set up in the break room. You’d finish your reports after making it, and then meet up with your ever elusive partner.

Only, you spilled the coffee after you had just finished making it. Your hunter’s watch blaring to life as it dedicated a metaflux overload just outside.

Two inconveniences in a row. Alright, that's fine, you’d live. Annoying, yes. But really not the end of the world. Until your gun jammed, and your whole life flashed before your eyes as a wanderer nearly detached your hand from your wrist. Your hunting partner had saved you in the knick of time. But that didn’t stop your anger.

With the wanderers handled, and a quick check to ensure the scratch on your wrist was nothing more, you went back into headquarters. On the way you let Simone know of the issue and she happily took your guns to check them out and fix whatever caused the nearly life changing incident.

Back at your desk, your head throbbed with a dull, irritating ache. Perhaps you were a little more wound up than you let yourself realize. You weren’t having the best day, and all the little errors that had occurred only felt so bad because they were happening one after another. Your own reasoning didn’t help the ache of tears that burned behind your eyes. “Jenna, I need to leave.”

Your captain had luckily been understanding, agreeing that you should head home for the day since your headache would likely slow your judgment in the field. Okay, understanding but a little harsh was probably a better way to describe her. It felt like a punch to the gut, like you were a bit useless.

As you hauled yourself out of headquarters, you found your body thrumming with the need to be held. You needed him, his comforting embrace, his soft bed, his deep voice. Everything that made Sylus who he was – it was a comfort to you. Your own little oasis, a safe-house, maybe the safest place in the whole of Deepspace.

It was late afternoon when you were swallowed by the N019 Zone’s perpetual black. Something you had come to find incredibly comforting - maybe because it was Sylus’ home, his territory. Maybe because it just screamed his name.

Luckily, your bike didn’t give out on you as you scanned your handprint and entered the impressive built-in garage Onychinus’ base had. Your bike had a reserved spot right next to his, and a spot to rest your helmet. It was the little things that made your heart ache. You needed him expeditiously.

Another handprint scan and the door to the main safe house unlocked. Immediately, you were greeted with the smell of toast and eggs.

This is pretty early for him to be up… But you shouldered off your jacket and slid out of your boots regardless, setting your things aside on the coat and shoe rack before quietly padding down the hallway. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you today, Kitten.” His back was turned to you, his attention focused on the stove before him.

“Got out early, figured I would stop by.” And you swallow the need to express how much you needed his comfort. “Unless you’re going somewhere?” He wasn’t in his pajamas, but he wasn’t in his beloved black slacks and button up that he wore for work. He was in a sweater and gray khalkis. “Not going anywhere, don’t worry.”

He glanced over his shoulder then, grimacing slightly. “You look terrible, kitten.” There wasn’t a hint of worry in his words, no, it was purely a tease. You were positive you looked as tired as you felt, a little bit of blood still lingering on your hunter uniform sleeve from the cut. “Gee thanks, you always know what to say.”

Your unusual bite still clung to the words, but you could feel them lacking their typical enthusiasm. You and Sylus always bantered like this. Always gave each other shit, pushed and pulled the limits. But it was just that, your way of showing affection, your way of bonding. Today though? You felt your stomach twisting.

“I’ve only made enough food for two servings. Not nearly enough for your appetite. Give me a minute and I’ll get another round going.” But you couldn’t even feel hunger, despite not eating anything all day. “Oh screw you.” you choke on a forced laugh, trying not to collapse into the bar stool that sat at his kitchen island.

“You know you can eat enough for four people, kitten.” And dammit you wanted to cry. He wasn’t wrong, and this topic had never been sensitive before. But today it seemed every nerve in your body was on high alert. “And you can eat enough for six. Don’t even go there.” You swear your voice waivers.

If it did, Sylus didn’t seem to catch on.

“Fiesty.” You wished you were, maybe you really were better at putting up a front than you thought. For Sylus to be so convinced? Maybe you should consider taking up acting instead of being a hunter.

You rubbed your face, fingers focusing their pressure just above your brow bone and dragging downwards over your temples. It wasn’t just your body that felt stiff, it was your entire face too. “Eat up, it’s one of your favorites.” By the time you pulled your hands away, Sylus was already back at the stove ready to make more.

“You don’t need to bother, Sy. I’m not super hungry.” A dish that usually made your mouth water now had your stomach turning. “Oh? Is someone on a diet?” He had made that joke before, it was one you’d yell at him for, slap his arm or his chest, and then start laughing. It never stung, never hurt, but now?

The tears were welling in your eyes before you could stop them. White hot embarrassment clung to you as your tired hands moved to cover your face again. You tried, you really did, to control your breathing and mentally talk yourself off the edge of a breakdown. But it wasn’t working, the tears hurt to keep at bay.

When your snarky comeback didn’t reach his ears, Sylus turned to look at you. Another quip danced on his tongue but it died altogether when he saw your shoulders shaking. Only then did he really look at you, look at you hard enough to see the dried blood on your sleeve and the bandage poking through.

It seemed to crash down on him all at once.

You had a bad day, and here he was poking fun. “Sweetie?”

You inhaled deeply, cringing as it sounded like a muffled sob. “I’m good, I’m sorry, I’m good.” You pull your hands away, looking at him through watery eyes as a half-hearted wobbly smile pulls at your lips. The stove had been abandoned, he now stood beside you as you trembled. The brave act doesn’t fool him, though. Not one bit. “You are not okay, what happened today?” And the tears start anew.

You can only choke out repeated apologies, embarrassed that he’s seeing you crumble like this. For being so sensitive, for not being able to handle the usual jokes. “You have nothing to apologize for, Sweetie. I’m the one who should be saying sorry.” You don’t resist when he pulls you in, holding your weeping body to his, grounding you as he cradles your head to his chest.

“I’m so sorry, Sweetie. I should have realized, I should have known.” But how could he? He had been preoccupied and you didn’t crawl into the kitchen with dramatic flair. You had been attempting to hide it anyways. “No, that’s not an excuse. I should have known something was off the second you walked in here so early.”

Oh, you must have mumbled that outloud. “Sylus, r-really it’s not your fault. You didn't know–” but he’s cutting you off “I didn’t know but I should have been able to tell.” You wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, because really it wasn’t. But you couldn’t stop the new wave of tears. It was better to just let it all out, but you felt ridiculous doing so. Even if he was cradling you like you desired in the first place.

“You had a bad day, and I went and said you looked terrible.” It was more to himself than to you, but for some reason it made your sob turn into a choked laugh. “Sweetie, I'm so sorry. I don’t care if you don’t think I need to apologize because I personally know I do. I was so rude to you.” Truly, he felt like he had just kicked a stray kitten.

“It’s how we always are to each other, Sy. I promise you it’s not the comments that upset me.” You sniffled softly, eyelids heavy but you were content with your tears. “I just had a bad day. Just a bunch of little inconveniences that piled up and…”

“And I made it ten times worse by being a jackass. Fuck, Sweetie, I’m so sorry.” It was killing him, truly. He felt his body tensing as he thought about the comments he had made, and you were falling apart right behind his back. He felt heartless.

“Sy, really, it’s okay. We always joke like that, today I was just a bit more sensitive than normal.” But it didn’t really make him feel better - he wasn’t willing to dwell on it though. He needed to make it up to you instead of verbally bombarding you. “Let’s go take a shower, you can wear some of my clothes, and then we can relax in bed. How does that sound?” You nodded, eyeing the food he made.

“You’re hungry, no? You made food for yourself, you should eat. I can take care of myself.” You pulled away from his embrace, wiping the drying tears from your cheeks and trying to steady yourself to be okay. “I was only eating because I remembered how upset you were the last time I forgot breakfast. I want to take care of you, sweetie.”

“Plus, once you’re settled, we can make something else. Have you even eaten today?” And suddenly, you were shrinking into the barstool, sheepish about your answer.

“That’s what I thought. No more denial, let me pamper you.”

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