#problem is we go to different schools so yeah

[ra-vio]

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[magdaclaire]

re: the american education system showing high school children their "dead" peers in an effort to lessen teenage drunk driving after prom,

the suing part is one hundred percent true but several parents (including my mom <3) threatened to personally beat the ass of the principal at the time

[autism-corner]

i dont want to lose weight bc what if a pretty boy needs to cling to my arm or sit on my lap?? then where would they go?

[grotesquevi]

★ cupid carries a gun.

open up your skull, i'll be there climbing up the walls.

cw # 18+ mdni, modern au, mentions of marijuana, dealer+loser!ellie, blink and you miss a slight pervert behavior, sub!reader, switch!slightdom ellie, pussyslapsyum, pet names, fingering, public sex.

an # if you recognize this it may be because it's from my previous account aka @vicorices who got deleted out of nowhere, this is me trying to get all my work back up again cause i'm not losing three months of work thanks to a shitty team who wiped me out of the internet.

the first time she saw you, she called you bro by accident.

it happens unexpected. ellie's been selling weed for a while now and she's used to get random text messages from unknown numbers: a friend of a friend, a recommendation from some old client — of course when she got your text you're not going to receive special treatment, not when she greets you like she would greet a guy, asking you where to meet since the club's big.

you're friends with cat, that's how you got her number. your usual provider is being insane with ridiculous prices you cannot afford not even by chance, so you're searching for someone else, a reliable source you can buy your weed from without getting into much trouble.

she’s perfect for the job.

it's a surprise either way when you tell her to meet you close to the main stairs in the first floor, and you think you saw her by the time you get there, but before you can approach your phone lights up with a new notification from an unknown number you now recognize.

you like it, making them think you’re a man, confuse the people you buy weed from. it's funny cause it's not the first time it happens, matter of fact, it's really common as you approach the auburn haired girl, noticing she's far less intimidating than your last seller, less tattoos on the face to instead, be covered in freckles and green eyes.

and to ellie — it's clear you aren't a bro too.

you don't pay much attention since it's a quick interaction, but to ellie its enough to make her spiral. too much weed, too much booze that night made her look at you like you're most beautiful girl out there, barely illuminated by the sporadic lights that changes time to time as you approach to her in a nice top of a band she also hears.

"hey. sorry to make you wait" you're too kind to her rough heart, yet from up close she's able to look at your face properly: where the fuck did you know cat from? why she hadn't seen you before too? was she hiding you from her?

"ellie," she presents herself like you do and she's almost a little shy to ask you to walk with her to a less crowded space, cause it sounds different from when she usually asks, slapping herself mentally for being so lame when she meets a pretty girl in a situation like this: don't be a fucking pussy. "do you mind if we move to a quieter place?"

"no, no problem" you reply "i was going to ask you the same, actually. don't want to get kicked out from here."

and you must be really trustful person, cause ellie could be a bad person and you're following her willingly, entering a dirty, small bathroom only to lock the door beneath her not really knowing her true intentions. you know she's not going to do anything when she's nervously speaking to you as the space got way reduced.

"so, you're friends with cat" what's she even doing? trying to pull off some small talk she sucks for? either way your nodding as ellie gives you a small bag with an smiley face on it, letting you see the weed she's going to sell you out first — "you study here in this university?"

"yeah, it’s my last year" you say inspecting the weed with a pleased look, sure you're buying when you take a deep breath and it seems like actual weed and not a fucking rock so tight it seems it came in somebody's ass, good smell, some purple there between different shades of green "film school."

"sick," she looks at you for a moment since you're too busy looking at the product. under the white lights ellie can see the details on your face now, the small moles, the scars, things she wasn't aware of as she wasn't so close as she is now — "it's okay? you like it?"

“smells real good, my last supplier was pretty shit and always had the same strain" you find her concern cute, sure she must take pride in selling good stuff, maybe that's why cat shared her number so reluctant to it, you'd gatekeep a good dealer too.

“that’s lemon haze” ellie explains as a subtle layer of red spreads right over her nose, must be the weather inside the bathroom or something like that, but it's hot as she stares at your eyes and she's betting you must be thinking she's the weirdest girl in the planet. her flannel's too fucking tight, too thick. "it's a nice sativa, wont leave you stupid nor like a hungry animal."

girls like you may be out of her league, but even when ellie's brain saying the same, it does not matter when your fingers brush against hers and you're laughing at her bad joke, giggling like she's oh so funny and it's enough. it may be a tactic she's falling all the way in when saying a lower price than regular and your eyes widen cause you don't believe it: why would such a good quality be cheaper than the usual shit?

"you study in this university too?" you curiously ask as if you're trying to catch the trick, clever girl. she’s selling you cheaper to secure you.

"forensic science" you seemed a bit surprised by it since you didn't talk much to stem girls in general, being in two different fields: hot— "it’s my last year too."

"that sounds cool, never met someone who study that," you say as you're pulling out 20$ for at least 3 grams of top-graded-weed: she's fucking stupid for selling that quality for less than $30 "well nice to meet you ellie, if i don't get poisoned with your weed, you'll be definitely hearing more from me."

and she wants to say something flirty, something with her usual witty charm and her sarcastic replies she loves by heart, but instead of saying something clever, ellie ends up stuttering, tripping in her own words as she nods.

"i- uh- yes sure. save my contact and text me anytime."

fuck it, cause it does get her to know you'll be talking to her again someday, maybe this week, maybe the next, tomorrow. her weed is hella good and her own brain is feeding her delusions cause as far as she knows you might as well be the biggest heterosexual girl in university, but you're there waving her goodbye with a warm smile and your perfume lingers in the air for a while even when you're not there.

so ellie stays in the cubicle for a minute. the longest minute of her life when she takes a deep breath at the scent, discovering the fruity notes, the damn strawberries sweet as ever now impregnated under her nose.

fucking cat cause she must have kept you all to herself, pure selfish reasons — ellie thought they were in good terms.

it's crazy to say she would've done the same if you were her friend too.

the second time ellie sells you weed you're talking with your friends seated in a secluded spot of the main quad and the sun hits your skin just in the correct way to make her mouth go dry.

you're using this straight sinful sundress in blue and white, covering from the fresh air in a denim jacket and it looks so good she needs to check you actually messaged her in the first place and didn't imagined the whole thing.

she politely greets everyone but her attention drifts back to you when ellie's sitting close like you're friends with her before the people you’re hanging out with.

"was it good?" she asks, blatantly checking you out you're resting over your elbows, letting the exposed parts of your body fill out with vitamin d after being trapped in class for what it seems an eternity, and ellie feels trapped too, slightly different cause she's experiencing the victorian era on the flesh when only a glimpse of your ankles is enough to kill her — "guess it was if you're texting to meet up again."

"yeah, seems like you got the best weed in the whole place" you laugh, each time warming up to her as you reply under a pair of black shades that make you look so fucking attractive: her weed, the best. "good job, ellie."

awfully good price. outstanding for you, only loses for her.

the third time, you're meeting her outside class and her friends joke calling you her girlfriend as ellie quickly walks away hoping you didn't hear them: do you talk to her about dinosaurs too, williams? you're too polite to say you find it cute.

by the fifth time you're on her car and the silence is so damn loud as the music sound softly in the speakers, some song you say you like as ellie turns up the volume so you can hear it better. you're humming to the tune, a two-minute song as she pretends to be searching for the weed on her bag, taking more time on purpose.

"are you going to take the same three grams or you feel generous this time?"

"no, just three" you reply to her question. you've become quite aware of her consistent gaze on you now after weeks of selling you grass, personally giving you the best, making the moment linger without you noticing until you actually do catch on her subtle tactics— "that way i can text sooner and see you again this week."

ellie’s clueless most of the days but with that? anyone would notice you're flirting, blatantly as you look up to her and your dealer struggles to resist the need on her hands to pin you against the passenger seat and lean all over the console to go on and kiss you until you clearly state what you want. no playing around the bushes this time. demand, as her stomach turns, what do you mean by that.

do you want to see her more? that's why you buy three grams and talk to her every three or four days? are you, by any chance, not straight?

“if you want to see me during the week, you might just ask” ellie says mirroring your tone “like you ask to buy weed from me, s’not that hard.”

you’re the one who's nervous now, and she considers on giving you the weed as a gift before you’re paying. loses, you only mean loses in her economy at this point — and it's driving her hella mad when you get out the car and ellie’s left there with the need to have you as closer as you possibly agree to.

silk fabric slipping through her fingers.

the sixth time, ellie decides she's going to do something about it. about her needs. there’s no actual way you’re not flirting with her, the image of you in the passenger seat still sealed freshly on her mind even if it was a week ago, repeating it over and over again — you got her staring at your profile pic, debating if she can or cannot masturbate with the pictures you’ve shared on instagram from spring break in fucking california, liking your post cause it’s the only way she dares to interact, a way of saying she’s there.

in the middle of a saturday night, thinking about you. two in the morning and it’s all fucking you.

she should make up her mind. you’re a good buyer, and she wishes to keep it that way. you don’t ask for later payments, you constantly buy and don't share her number with weirdo friends like everyone else does, you're a reliable source surely: so why does her heart stops in her chest cavity when her phone's buzzing and ellie's reading the name she saved your contact with?

right. her pathetic crush on you.

her fingers move on their own before she considers to delay her response five minutes to seem busy.

she wont charge you double.

shit. it's two in the morning and she's selling you weed driven by the desire to see you again, using this gray hoodie to protects herself from the cold autumn breeze as she's pulling up to this party totally uninvited, passing the open door like it's her own house as zeta phi seems to be fully loaded now as the music sound loud and strident as all her hopes of catching you alone goes to the trash can.

no she’s not going to charge you double, she’s just guilty she’s so into you without you having any idea of it.

where you waiting for her arrival? fuck. her brain is acting up like a backstabbing bitch and ellie cannot help it as you appear radiant under a sea of people. you're not saying a word either when you're lacing your fingers with her's and you're pulling on your dealer upstairs, feet moving on their own as she don't make a single effort to resist your magnet-like influence in her very self.

ellie’s hand are sweaty cause she's so fucking nervous but you don't seem to care about it, looking back at her from over your shoulder only to offer a smile she cannot wrap her head around for a moment.

"can i ask where you're taking me?" she questions you, hoping her voice doesn't sound like that really, so strained and rough from just see you around — "or am i your hostage now?"

"we need a more private space to buy" you state like it's obvious "duh, the rooftop's empty. i stole the key."

ellie should've know you were a walking hazard.

cause it really seems like an achievement when you're opening the rooftop door, mischief grin as you look twice behind your back paranoid as ever someone can see what you're doing; and ellie chuckles at the sudden adventure, how you're closing the door when you invite her to step in with a subtle head movement, quickly shoving the key back to the pocket in your skirt.

cute. she thinks you’re cute.

it's empty like you said, and the knowledge makes every hair on her arms stand on their own even when she's wearing this thick hoodie that protects her from the cold.

"cannot risk my dealer of getting in trouble down there" you explain now that you can talk to her at a decent volume, and she fully eats it even when it's a clear lie and you're making up excuses to get her away from the noise.

"very kind, gonna name you my knight in shinning armor if you keep this up."

you're panting the spot right next to you as you take a seat in the over-used lounge chair with a tiny wooden table in front of it, and like a trained animal, ellie follows cause it's the perfect spot to leave her backpack as her brain keeps buzzing at the name you used to call her seconds before— my dealer.

she is, by all means, your dealer. it makes her chest fill out with a different kind of emotion, sound so fucking intimate, so nice.

"gonna buy the usual three grams, princess?" your knee brushes against her, and ellie's breathing hitches cause you're wearing this black-sheer stockings all the way to your upper thigh and she becomes aware of it when the material slips down as you're seated, skirt raising slightly upwards against the muscles of your legs: one movement and she swears she'd be able to see your underwear and ellie has to once again, remind herself how you quickly reduce her to this behavior; this state, shoved in a sea of pure filth — "or did you just call me because you wanted to see me tonight?"

she's feeling lucky tonight even when she never feels that way, a strike of confidence ellie feels as a rush on the blood: you give her a sight of your legs and now she's all over the damn place? loser behavior.

"is it that obvious?" you want her to kiss you. it's a need that installs deep down in your chest, and if you're not making it obvious by then you're definitely doing it now: you're not straight, you're not bulletproof to the holes her eyes make on your skin every time you have the pleasure to be left alone in her company, you're not giving up on this constant game of seduction you like to play "i'm buying weed too, so coming up here actually matters for you."

"haven't we state that already?" ellie asks, looking up to you as she drinks in the sight of you under the almost invisible light of the stars up in the sky "if you want to see me during the week-"

"might as well just ask" you completed for her as ellie grabs her bag so she can pull your weed from it. the best three grams she has in her power "i know that- thank you."

"it's a gift" she finally dares to say it now — "don't pay me this time."

has she ever felt this way before? never. the overwhelming pull, the reminder you're not her's? stings on ellie's skin like tiny needles. it's not a big deal, once again she's losing money all reckless, but fuck- it's worth it, worth it when ellie see you malfunction for a long moment, brain short-circuiting cause you don't expect it.

"that's not the deal."

"i don't care what our deal is, you're my best client, and i take care of my clients” it’s simple as she says it “sides. the weed does not matter, seeing you was payment already.”

"don't go yet," you add before she's making a movement to get up, hands cold wrapping around her arm as you pull her down to the lounge chair you're so comfortably seated — "smoke with me. let's talk for a while."

and she knows it's dangerous, but you're batting your eyelashes, looking at her with this sly smirk on your face she wants to kiss away and ellie has no option but to stay there buried in your side, your fingers still tight against her arm muscles as you make her stay.

"okay, but i need you to let go of me baby- i can't roll a joint with you all over."

liar.

she just want to see you get all flustered because of her as her fingers swiftly roll a joint without much effort, allowing the smoke to fill the air seconds after before you’re sneezing and she notices how you shiver on her side, turning her face to look back at your pretty face she’s been avoiding to stare so much.

"you cold?" she asks, and you do not want to admit it, but ellie's taking her hoodie off and it's a fucking sight when she's wearing this white tank top she does not care about until she can physically feel the shift of the air between you and her, caught up with your eyes checking her out as she lights up the joint.

"thank you," and for being a stoner, it's smells surprisingly nice as you relish on the warmth of it, comfortable now as you watch her smoke "i'll gave it to you downstairs."

"go home with it. you're going to catch a cold like this."

the silence it's imminent for a moment before she's passing you the joint an you're holding it between your fingers.

"i like your tattoo" is it also an excuse? not really, but ellie's bringing her arm closer to you as she's showing it under the flashlight of her phone cause she likes it too, showoff — "can i touch it?"

any other time she'd be denying it mumbling something stupid about hating random people to go on and touch her scarred arm but you're not a random girl. so she's whispering a barely audibly yes, and your fingertips are tracing the pattern etched on her skin, taking your time in doing so.

"it suits you," you praise as you touch, and she's fucking melting there under simple caresses, under something so simple as your fingers tracing her inked flesh, invisible shapes as you just want to keep your hand on her "did it hurt too much when you got it done?"

"yeah, sort of" it's not really like she's trying to sound cool, in all honest, she's just trying to be coherent now as you keep touching her skin as you smoke. invested in questions she's answering in full auto-pilot.

you're high after a while, and it's her weed that makes you look like that. half lidded, a lazy smile on your lips as you keep talking to her, red eyes, slower than ever: shit. she'd devour you all.

“have you ever shotgunned smoke into someone’s mouth?” you ask curiously, and the question comes out of nowhere as you stare at her blowing the smoke, a warmth creeping upon her neck as she notices the way you’re staring at her, ellie’s blushing.

selling you weed and not be able to get high with you every single time must be named one of the most horrible crimes in humanity.

“when i was like, 17?" ellie replies thinking for a moment "i dunno, thought it was the hottest thing ever- have you?”

“no, not really."

and to be fair, ellie's high too. she's testing a new strain with you and the words roll out of her tongue so easily she has no time to regret it, not when you're looking at her like you want her to get handsy there in a damn lounge chair, to hell if it’s in the middle of nowhere or not.

“want me to do it for you?” she asks, a gentleman as usual “i’ll gladly be the first.”

it takes a moment for you to consider it before your voice is all low and husky — "mhm."

“come here then miss,” ellie says using a finger to call you out, the joint already on her lips before she takes a long drag — “sit on my lap and open your mouth f’me.”

it's devastating.

your weight on top of her, your ass in her leg as she can see again, those transparent sheer stockings that must be damn useless against the cold, and her hand rest on your upper thigh there where she looked before.

you're so obedient. your skirt is a sinful invitation to touch further, and you're parting her mouth for her so she can get closer, and as she smokes, ellie does get closeto you. closer than she’s ever been — more than the car, the bathroom in the party she met you, mere inches before she's shotgunning the smoke in your parted lips and you're smoking from the same weed that was in her lungs.

"17-years-old ellie was right" you reply, not really moving to give her space as ellie's fingers squeeze your leg like a reminder you're there still, sated on your dealer's lap, her hands on you — "it is the hottest thing ever."

it's almost a chronicle of a death foretold, cause ellie's kiss does not surprise you at the slightest. it's demanding and sloppy cause she's high, you're high, and she's a victim of this force she cannot escape near you.

so she keeps on kissing you until your lips are swollen and you're simply there, slowly wanting more, squeezing your legs together cause you don't want to be a slut now — no. you don't want her to know you're soaking over a few kisses, at ellie's fingers pulling on your high stockings down till they are no longer there anymore.

"you're a fucking menace" she says between kisses, breathing heavier now by the seconds: ellie already noticed— "a menace to me, to my weed and my economy, you know that? how you make me sell out my stuff at half the price cause i want you as my secured client?"

despite her words, she's pushing you closer to her so you can feel her rib cage pressed against you, the goosebumps you produce just from being close to her, red lips and messy hair.

"it’s your loss ellie, cause i'd pay for the full price."

"mmhm well shit, you're really lucky cause you do give damn good kisses" she murmurs, fingers toying with the hem of your skirt now and she has the damn audacity to keep on smoking cause she's now confident on her effect, how you’re all affected by her touch — "and if you give damn good kisses, i'm betting all my money that you have an even better pussy for me."

the sounds you're making? fuck. she’s creaming her panties already when you're letting her touch you so freely and it’s not near enough.

"what is it going to be then, huh?" she asks curiously, her mouth already following the path down to your collarbone, your cleavage before she’s taking her time in leaving red-purplish hickeys there hidden beneath her own gray hoodie "should we make it to our seventh selling or you're going to let me play with your needy cunt as a much deserved reward?"

shit. shit. shit. you're so fucking wet when you're parting your legs further apart to give her a nice view of your underwear, a damp spot already there between your legs who’s enough to make her mouth water with the thought of burying her face between your thighs, intoxicate with the smell you're emanating and she feels already under her nose.

good fucking girl. she wants to praise you, let you know you're doing a great job there letting your skirt roll up to your stomach, so easy to get rid of it ellie's sure you did it on purpose now so she can let her hand slip between your legs to feel how soaked you are.

your cunt makes this sound when her finger’s taunting you she just happens to love, and your underwear clings to your pussy lips, hips buckling up to meet her fingers already wanting more.

greedy.

"shh-" she tries to reassure you — "you're comfortable there baby? want you to feel good when i touch you yeah? you'll let me know anything cause you're my well-behaved girl, aren't you? my best client here.”

ellie’s making you shake her head, coaxing you to say out loud you are comfortable there, ass in her lap, spread legs as her fingers push against the fabric right against your entrance, noticing how the cotton soaks at the motion.

"look at you all desperate" she chuckles — "have you been thinking about this a lot like i do?"

her fingers pull on your underwear to the side and there it is: glistening cunt, swollen lips and neglected clit that's just begging to be touched, filled, discovered by her hands, her mouth, tongue. nothing she fucking wants more.

who she is to ever deny anything to you? to stop selling you weed? the joint falls to the ground now as she's using her entire hand to touch you, fingers rubbing against your minor and mayor labia, circling against your engorged clit as you arch your back and she has to use force to keep you still, taking what she has to give like a champ.

"you're fucking soaked-" there's a slap sound that fills the air, and even when there's people in the garden they don't seem to hear your whimpers as her hand comes in contact with your pussy and she's slapping it once again, just enough to apply some pressure in your clit, just enough to make your legs shake "so responsive to me, gonna let me stuff this cunt full tonight? fucking finally huh? you've been haunting me like no one else."

and you giggle, giggle cause you cannot fucking believe it: fucking your dealer? are you so for real right now? you're deep under a cloud of haze you're unable to control, disheveled state when your skirt is all the way to up and your underwear being pulled to the side at her mercy and you can only answer:

"yes- ngh yes please ellie."

"shit- your clit is all puffy baby, all needy for me."

you're squeezing her already so hard when she’s working on you. a wet schlick that fills the air and combined with your incoherent words of praise and moans will send her to the grave.

ellie’s knuckles-deep and fuuuck. you're so tight she needs to ask if you're doing right, cunt engulfing her' fingers until there’s no more and she's curling them right to the spot so you don't care about the drunk fucks in the garden anymore, about anyone who can hear whats going on in an empty rooftop.

ellie’s using a hand to keep your legs spread when your free will collapses like paper cards, pulling them apart only to add a third finger in your used hole and reduce you to pieces now, clenching tight as she rubs on that special spot inside and you're mumbling something about feeling so full, so good with her inside.

"this pussy must be made for me baby, fits me like a fucking glove," ellie’s doubling her efforts, her palm colliding against your clit, fingers thrusting against the right spot over and over — "gonna let me see your pretty face when you cum? i know you're close."

you are. fuck you so are. your movements are erratic, your legs shake, and ellie's kissing on your shoulder, leaving a path of wet kisses on the exposed skin on your neck, biting on your earlobe, anywhere she can get.

"i can't-" you cry out, moving yourself in quick, sharp movements, it’s overwhelming — "fuck i can't hold no more-"

"let go" she replies, holding you tightly against her body — "let go. i got you."

it's hot. messes up ellie's jeans with a damp mark on them, turning the fabric darker when you finally cum and you're gushing on her fingers, leaking through trembling legs.

"fuck yes. drench me like that," your dealer moans, stealing a kiss from your parted lips, keeping the last glimpses of air in your lungs for her benefit "use me, baby, don't stop."

ah. ellie's in trouble after all, cause it don't seem she’ll be selling weed to you now. not when she's mixing business with pleasure and she's making you bend against the top rail of the old lounge chair cause she's not able to wait any longer to lick you clean until you have no other choice but to cum again.

truth be told she once heard cupid's cruel, but she didn't believe it fully, not until now since ellie knows, first hand — the little fucker shoots to kill.

[devotedlystrangewizard]

if theres one teacher i have to remember from my high school years it would have to be the technology guy. he looked like a mad scientist at all times. one time before i joined his class he sat next to me on a bench and talked to me for a bit. the first day of his class in the 3rd year he basically told us if he caught us using the cloud instead of usb sticks he would kick us out. phones were forbidden. when i told him i didnt like being put in the girls group (there were only 4 girls (including me not knowing i was trans yet)) he put me in a group with some of the boys instead no questions asked. he was probably the strictest of all the teachers ive had while also one of the nicest. he scared me a little. i miss him

[five-rivers]

Little thing inspired by various Justice League summons Danny posts I've seen about.

.

Interdimensional travel was hard.

It was a true statement, and one that, in retrospect, was obvious. Of course interdimensional travel was hard. It was reaching out of your reality and into one that had an entirely different set of rules. However, having an interdimensional portal in one's basement tended to skew one's understanding of these things. That was why it took Danny so long to realize that the Observants were actually worried about him.

"Wait," he said, looking up from the (admittedly very passive-aggressive) report the crowd of Observants had just dropped on his (already crowded) desk. "You want to change my summoning ritual because you think other dimensions might hurt my human half?"

"Some of them certainly will," said one of the Observants, testily.

"I didn't know you cared about that," said Danny, still somewhat stunned.

"We normally wouldn't," admitted the Observant, "but although the position of Ghost King is, politically, a figurehead, you are metaphysically vital to the Realms as a whole. Damage to you is to be avoided, when possible."

"Uh huh," said Danny, looking back down at the summoning ritual change paperwork. Although, through a combination of Danny's own nature and the nature of time across dimensional barriers, Danny still looked fourteen and spent a great deal of his time going to school in Amity Park, he had years of experience interpreting the Observants' paperwork under his belt. "Yeah, it's just that I don't think this is the best way to, like. Do that."

"It is the best way to protect you!" said the Observant who had, apparently, been selected as the group's spokesperson.

"Maybe," agreed Danny, who wasn't entirely sure that was true. "But I feel like some of these modifications would kind of be a problem for wherever I wound up."

"Then they ought not to summon you."

While Danny agreed with that sentiment in spirit (getting summoned was almost always inconvenient and annoying), in practice, he wasn't so sure. "I don't think there's any way to communicate that to the guys who are summoning me. Like, some of them get me with old Pariah Dark rituals. And most of them don't really care if their mistakes screw over other people, so..."

"Next to the well-being of the Realms, that is a minor concern."

Danny didn't disagree with that, but he wasn't about to waste time arguing with the Observants about it. They just didn't get it. He tapped his finger on another section that was bothering him. "Also, this seems to keep me from getting out of the summoning circle at all. If someone is summoning me to ask for help, that's going to keep me from doing much."

"It will also keep you from inadvertently exiting into a hostile environment."

"Even in my home universe?" asked Danny, pointedly. "This seems like something more geared to imprisonment than protection."

The Observants were silent.

"Oh, come on, guys, really? Again?"

The Observants scattered.

Danny sighed and picked up the paperwork. He didn't think it was all bad ideas, honestly, but he needed a second opinion that hadn't tried to stuff him in the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep Mark 2.

Maybe Clockwork would look it over for him.

.

"It isn't an entirely terrible concept," said Clockwork, "except for the obvious drawbacks."

"The whole being trapped in the summoning circle bit," said Danny.

Clockwork nodded. "To be fairer than they deserve, there is no way to modify that portion of a summoning ritual in some types of universes but not others. Not from our own side of things, in any case."

"And I mostly can't get at the other side," said Danny with a groan. He perched on the back of Clockwork's chair. "I do want to make sure that I, I don't know, fit with other universes enough that I won't completely demolish them just by existing."

Clockwork hummed. "There are some ways to do that. There are drawbacks, however."

"Bigger drawbacks than accidentally nuking a planet because my radiation is different than theirs?"

"It depends on your perspective, I suppose."

Danny sighed. "Go ahead and tell me, then."

Clockwork picked up a pen. "You are a shapeshifter. You have multiple forms, one of which cannot be harmed through any normal means and which similarly would have little negative affect on the environment unless you acted to cause negative effects. Change the current ritual so that a summoning puts you in that form, and then further change it so that you cannot leave the circle unless you are in a form that will not automatically cause harm or be harmed by the laws of that universe."

"You mean my Ghost King form."

"All your forms are your Ghost King form."

"You know what I mean."

"I do," said Clockwork, smiling.

"It freaks people out, though."

"Your current form might, as you say, freak people out," said Clockwork. "If your summoners were, say, ants."

"Is that likely?"

"Not particularly. But consider the multiverse. Not all of your summoners will be human."

Danny crossed his arms, frustrated that there wasn't an easy solution. "I guess I could always shapeshift into something nonthreatening after. Hard to see if it's something safe without running into

"You can do more than that."

"I can?"

"Yes," said Clockwork, setting the pen to paper. "Let me show you."

.

The summoning circle shimmered and shivered as Constantine and Zatanna recited the chant, their voices rising and falling. Batman and other members of the League stood by, watching, waiting.

This, this ritual, wasn't their first choice. It wasn't their second, third, or fourth choice, either. But nothing else they had tried worked, and the entire world was at stake.

They were summoning the King of All Ghosts. An eldritch monstrosity that had once tried to conquer all realities. But the alternative was worse. Much worst. At least, with the King of All Ghosts, there was a chance that they could negotiate and that it'd want the Earth more or less intact for the sake of conquering it. At least, with this kind of summoning, they could offer a sacrifice, a bargain, a deal.

And if Constantine was good at anything, it was deals.

The lines of the summoning circle flared green, then pure white, and, without any other fanfare, the King of All Ghosts was there.

It filled the circle with starry darkness, struck with nebulae and aurorae. The clouds rippled as a star died near its heart, fiery cataclysms spreading throughout the being. A crown like the accretion disk of a black hole burned around its highest extremity.

Something like a voice, echoing and many-layered, emanated from the being. "Nghftùsh phlarûm âzgûm (1)." It paused, and the League felt it examine the area more closely. "Ko wgâ âzgûm nghftùsh derza. Ko gok hubhûfh fhtù gâh mglwnuh...(2)"

Constantine swore. "Oh, bollocks, I don't know that one. Would it be too much to ask that one of these things speak English? Just a little?"

"Nghftùsh ak. Ko ngngi. (3)"

"Zatanna," said Batman, "could a spell let us understand one another?"

"Kù-nghînku bùr fùmúu umni snîgûrip. (4)" It seemed to bend closer for all that it didn't move. "Nghftùsh laglúfhâk krîk ko phlî ak phlorza. Chthe nî hîhnâ, ka. (5)"

"I think I understand a little," said Captain Marvel, raising a hand. "I think it understands us just fine."

"Hagthu. Nghftùsh ngngi ùk nî chthe kûmpù nû gâ. (6)"

"It wants to get out of the circle," said Captain Marvel.

The veils of green light that shrouded the being rippled. "Dal phlù. (7)"

"Not without an agreement in place, you're not," said Constantine.

"Gagthashîzgathg. (8)"

"God," whispered Flash, "that hurts my throat just hearing it."

Batman shot him a glare, then stepped forward. They'd prepared a list of demands. Most of them were negotiable, but it was better to start something like this with things you were willing to remove or throw away. It took several minutes for Batman to read the whole thing.

"Ku. Chthal lohúfhâk hagthu. Fhta nghftùsh kâk phlorza ko thru. (9)"

"What did it say?" asked Batman.

"I'm... I think it said it'll do it, but it needs something from us in return."

Batman nodded. They'd expected something like this. Whatever it asked for, it would, without a doubt, be exorbitant. Then, they'd go back and forth, reducing each of their demands until they'd reached a deal both sides hated, but could accept. Constantine had bet that, at minimum, the King of All Ghosts would want the entire population of Earth as slaves.

"Nghftùsh kâk hû ko mglwno nî phnglâ gho-lobi. (10)"

"Uh," said Captain Marvel. "I think he said one of our lives."

"Hik! Rlo phlarâk kruk nîk ghû. (11)"

"Not just any of us," said Marvel. "It has to be someone who's a parent."

A tension fell over the room. They'd known they'd have to sacrifice something. A single life wasn't much, but for the King of All Ghosts to specify a parent...

"But are you sure it's just one?" pressed Constantine.

The King of All Ghosts gave off a sense of... exasperation? "Úzg, hû. (12)"

"One," said Captain Marvel. "Just one."

"And just us, not our kids or anything?"

"Nghftùsh ngngi ùk e nghuu. Gù phlarâk fush ko du? (13)"

"No, it doesn't want children. They're... wrong, somehow?"

"And it's not a sex thing?" Constantine sounded... strangely hopeful.

"Hik! Fhtùl! (14)"

"No," said Captain Marvel. "And... something about fat, maybe?"

"Oh, we're definitely getting eaten, then," said Constantine, with forced cheer. "I volunteer, then. It's not like my kids are sitting up waiting for me or anything."

"Hik nuk. Ngngi ko. E hâta phlarâk lerzaolûm. (15)"

"Not you, there's... something wrong with your soul."

"Oh, he's a picky eater, too, huh?"

"Let's not antagonize him, okay?" said Flash. "He's kind of-- He's kind of looming, right now."

And so it was. Somehow. Without moving.

"Who will... satisfy you?" asked Batman.

The entity did not move, but it managed to indicate Batman anyway.

"Very well," said Batman, before anyone could even attempt to talk him out of it. After all, his life for the lives of everyone in this universe was a very good deal. "Take me."

For the first time, the King of All Ghosts moved, all that darkness, all that light, rushing towards Batman.

There was a burst of blinding light.

When everyone opened their eyes again, a boy with black hair, blue eyes, and a jawline that bore more than a passing resemblance to Batman's was stepping out of the summoning circle.

"That's much better," he said, stretching. "No offense, dude, but you kind of suck at Ghost Speak." He turned to Batman. "What I was asking for was a template so I could exist in your universe and do what you want without accidentally blowing it up because of incompatible physics, but whatever. Not sure how you guys got me eating you out of that."

"You wanted a human appearance so you could better conquer this world?" asked Batman.

"Uh, no? You've got a pretty strong clause against conquering the world in your paperwork there. You're probably thinking about Pariah Dark, but he's old news." The boy smiled widely. "Let's get started on your problem, okay?"

I've been summoned.

You haven't summoned me before. You have a nice space station here...

I can. You can't.

Inter-dimensional language differences are so annoying.

I hope you can do something. This will be difficult, otherwise.

Good. I don't want to be in this circle forever.

Close enough.

Figures (literally, 'certainly').

Okay. That sounds good. But I need something from you.

I need one of you to be my template (literally, life-pattern).

No! It's like being a parent.

Yes, one.

I don't want your children. What is wrong with you?

No! Gross!

No way. Not you. You're crazy (literally, your soul is cracked).

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Norris Girls

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: none

If Lando were to ask, in his perfect world, his girls wouldn't go to kindergarten, and they'd be homeschooled later on. If he were to ask, you wouldn't be working either. Your main and only job would be to pack up the girls and follow him around the world so he could have you around non-stop. But unfortunately for Lando, that's not the case.

After you had Izzy, you couldn't wait to get back to work and get away from home. You loved being a mom to your girls, but considering that you were mostly alone with the two of them, it eventually became too much.

Besides, you wanted to give them as normal a childhood as possible. Although there was no need for the two of them to go to any kind of kindergarten, you decided that you wanted them both to go so that they could socialize and adjust to school more easily later.

Adjusting to kindergarten was quite easy for Isla and didn't take long, considering that Isla is four years old and very outgoing and sociable, while Izzy, who is only two years old and is the complete opposite of Isla, had a bit more difficulty adjusting.

One of the problems was that they were not in the same kindergarten group, given that they were of different ages. While Isla enjoyed spending time with her peers, Izzy would cry every day when she arrived at the daycare, and when you would come to pick her up, her eyes would sparkle with happiness.

Pre-season preparations were already in full swing and Lando already had his hands full. For him, vacation was long over and every day he was more and more prevented from spending as much time as he wanted with you at home.

Today, Lando was returning from a business trip and went straight to the daycare to pick up Izzy and then Isla. He was in a hurry to get there on time, but due to the traffic jam he was a little late, so every kid left earlier than Izzy.

When Lando entered the room, Izzy didn't immediately notice him because her back was turned to him. His heart broke when he saw her sitting on a small chair at a small table playing with some blocks, patiently waiting for someone to come pick her up and go home. He stopped for a moment and silently observed her.

"Izzy? Look who is here." The young teacher said making Izzy quickly turn to look behind her.

The moment her eyes met Lando's, Izzy burst into tears.

"Daddy.." Overwhelmed with emotion, she rushed from her chair toward him. At the same time, she was crying because she hadn't seen him in a few days and because, of course, she wanted to go home as soon as possible.

"Hey, baby" He knelt as she ran into his arms.

"Daddy" She kept saying crying into his neck.

"Is my little girl ready to go home?" He asked rubbing her back and kissing the side of her head.

"Yeah" She sobbed.

"It's okay, it's okay" He comforted her. "Why are you crying?" He asked putting her cheeks between his hands.

"I-I missed you, da-daddy" She said looking up at him with her big teary eyes.

"I missed you too, munchkin" He said picking her up in his arms.

"Daddy's girl, isn't she?" The teacher commented.

"All mine" He smiled proudly kissing her cheek before saying goodbye to the teacher and heading toward the car.

"Did you play with other kids today, baby?" He asked while putting her in the car seat.

"A yitto"

"A little?" Lando chuckled. "Did you have fun?"

"No"

"Why not?" He asked as he buckled her seat.

""I yike bein' wif you mowe."

Lando's eyes almost filled with tears at Izzy's words. He bent his head toward her and showered her face with soft kisses. "I like being with you too, baby. We have a whole week together in front of us, I promise"

"Otay"

When Lando and Izzy came to Isla's kindergarten to pick her up, Lando almost fainted when he heard that she wasn't there, knowing she should be.

"What do you mean she left?" Lando scoffed. "Did my wife pick her up?"

"No, it wasn't mrs Norris, it was a man that was already-"

"A what?!" Lando's eyes widened in disbelief. He didn't even let the woman finish her sentence, and the worst-case scenarios were already running through his head.

"Oh, no, no-" The poor woman was so confused when she realized what it sounded like.

"Who came to pick up my daughter?! How could you possibly let anyone but me or my wife come to pick up our daughter?!" Lando wouldn't let her get the word out.

"Mr. Norris, please calm down." The woman said a bit frightened. "Last week Mrs. Norris came with a man named Max to pick up your daughter and the gentleman left his personal information. Your wife said that in case she or you were ever unable to come, Mr. Max would come. I forgot his last name, but he showed me his ID and I remembered his face. I swear I would never put any child in danger and give it to a stranger, including your daughter."

As soon as Lando heard the name Max, a stone fell from his heart, but at the same time he turned red with shame and he immediately started apologizing to the poor woman.

"I am.." Lando sighed running his hands through his hair. "I'm so sorry. My wife didn't inform me about it and I reacted in the moment.."

As he drove, Lando couldn't stop thinking about how he had snapped at that woman. His thoughts also wandered to dark places like what if some stranger had really come for your daughter and taken her to who knows where. It was one of Lando's biggest fears that he couldn't shake from his mind all the way home.

"Daddy!!" Isla squealed with delight when Izzy and Lando entered the house.

He put Izzy down and grabbed Isla lifting her up as she ran into his arms. "Hey, pumpkin" He hugged her tighter to calm his thoughts from earlier. "I missed you" He said nuzzling his nose against her cheek.

"Look what I got" She said, showing him a new toy he hadn't seen before.

"Wow, who got you that?"

"Mom bought it for me"

"It's awesome, baby. Where is mom anyway?"

"Mom's here" You said as you appeared in the hallway. "She is waiting for her husband, whom she loves so much that she even made him his favorite lunch, which is already waiting for him on the table."

"Oh, yeah? If she loved her husband as much as she says she would have informed me that Max had permission to pick up our daughter from daycare." Lando smirked as he pulled you towards him into a hug and pressed his lips against yours.

"I didn't tell you that?"

"No, you didn't tell me that, so I attacked the teacher in the most wonderful way there is."

"Lan..you didn't.."

"Yup, I did. I insulted her before I even let her finish her sentence.." Lando said embarrassed, hiding his head in your neck. "You know that's your fault, right?"

"I know and I can't wait to face miss Jones on Monday" You said rolling your eyes and wrapping your arms around his neck. "I'll put her apology gift on your card just so you know."

"Make it generous, I'll survive"

When you were all ready to sit down at the table to have lunch, Lando wanted to check with his older daughter her knowledge about stranger danger so he decided to ask her some questions.

"If a stranger says, hey little girl you wanna come see the puppies in my car?, what do you say?" Lando asked Isla who was sitting across from him and peacfully enjoying her spaghetti.

"Um, yeah" She nonchalantly replied to which Lando lost his appetite.

"No.."

"Or yes..?" She asked raising her eyebrow.

"No, baby, no!" Lando started sweating. You watched them from the side trying not to laugh even though it really wasn't funny, but Isla's confusion was kind of funny.

"..si?" Isla tried in spanish and that's when you lost it.

"No, we don't switch the languages!" Lando said before turning to you to scold you for laughing. "Y/n, that's not funny?"

"I'm sorry, I know it's not. It's just that I think our daughter is a smart little girl and I trust her. She just got confused a little"

"Well, that's what I thought too, until now at least." Lando quickly switched to full protective parental mode. "Isla, baby, we never, ever, ever talk to strangers and we don't follow anyone we don't know, okay? That is not safe!"

"But what about the puppies? I love puppies, daddy" She said innocently, slurping a piece of spaghetti into her mouth.

"Oh this is going to be such a long day.." Lando sighed wiping away the beads of sweat that had already formed on his forehead.

"Lan, it's alright, calm down. We'll deal with it."

"What if my boyfriend is asking that? Can I go with him?" Isla asked sending Lando into an additional unexpected shock.

"Oh my God.." He whimpered looking at you.

"Yuck!" Suddenly Izzy spoke up after hearing the word boyfriend. Lando worked hard to teach both Izzy and Isla that boyfriend means yuck, but it seems that only one of his daughters remembered it.

"See? Someone is actually listening to me. That's how we do it! Good job, baby" Lando said giving Izzy a kiss on the cheek. "And you missy, you better eat that spaghetti quickly because you're about to have a whole lecture about people we don't know. Don't even get me started about boyfriends!"

And you knew it would be just like Lando said, one very very long day ahead of you.

[narcjsistx]

𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 | sae, kaiser, rin, reo and isagi

plot: domestic shit because I love fluff stuff 🌷 the characters chosen seem to me to be the most "visible" with little girls... so yeah. I'm actually not very sure of the result, maybe I'll delete it sooner or later to do it again

✶ 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

— sae itoshi

If there was one thing Sae had understood since becoming a parent, it was that having two children was complicated. On one hand he was now understanding all of his mother's concerns when, as children, Rin was unmanageable

We know however that males, if brothers, are somehow a little more manageable. Females, if sisters, are not. He was the father of two girls

As much as he loved them, he agreed with you when you said it would have been better to wait a few more years. But then he looks at his girls in the face, he regrets even thinking about it a little, because he loves them too much

In his eyes he sees him and Rin when they were kids: Sayami, the eldest, looks awfully like him because of her reddish hair, but in character she is like you. Semika, the youngest, is different from him in appearance but identical in character. Sayami brings out Semika's very hidden, but existing, sociable side. The only trait that makes girls similar are those damned undereyelashes that have marked the Itoshi family for generations

“Love, when are you going to let them go?”

"No."

"Sae, we've already talked about this..."

"I said no"

"Sae."

"I already said no, Y/n.”

"Y'know, they're already 7 years old. Sooner or later it will happen..."

"Not as long as I'm alive"

...a simple child had asked Sayami if she and her sister wanted to go play with him. Sae took their hand and walked out of the park as fast as he could with his treasures

✶ Sae tries hard to talk with her little girls. In a relationship not talking, or in any case having some communication problems, can be understood... with little girls no, because they would take it as a rejection. He ALWAYS goes out of his way to talk to them as much as possible, also because he loves the moments when they come home from school and, together, they chat about what happened during the day

✶ Let's be honest, Sae doesn't have much other knowledge or passions apart soccer, which was probably imposed on him as a child. He has not the slightest intention of making any of his girls leave school: if like him they end up having to change country to follow a sport, Sae will have to be absolutely sure that they are studying at the same time. He doesn't want them to be like him, because he knows how difficult is that life

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: resting with them. Sae is often busy with his career, training and of course with his beautiful wife, but he always tries to make time in the evenings (if he's not out of town for a match) with his daughters. He likes to lie down on the bed or on the sofa, before dinner, with the girls who tell him everything exciting they did that day

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: he hides it well but LOVES when you come to watch him play. If he is normally a prodigy, in front of his daughters he must seem even better. When he scores a goal the first thing he would do is turn towards you, no celebration because it's not his style, but he would wave to his daughters who are cheering for him from the stands. Once the game is over he would ignore the interviewers, as he normally does, and simply come to you to claim his victory kiss

— kaiser micheal

Having children, whether boys or girls, was NOT in Michael's plan. I mean, how can someone who had such a complicated childhood have children? Even if he hides it, he has an enormous fear of being able to make someone of his own blood suffer, voluntarily or not, what he has experienced. He just knows that if something has to happen, it happens. And he doesn't know what fate has in store for his possible heir. He might hate his kid and disown him or her like his parents, if they can be called in that way, did with him

When he found out that he was going to become a father, and with a daughter, he seriously thought for a few moments about simply walking away. Not that he hated you, he couldn't, but it was really strange for him to think that someone of his own blood, his kid, was about to born

Kaiser can't explain how all the worries he had collapsed the moment he held Anneliese, his daughter, in his arms for the first time. Just by seeing and hearing her, he wondered how he could even remotely think that he could hypothetically hurt such a wonderful being

Anneliese quickly became the center of Kaiser's world, along of course with the beautiful mother of his little girl. It can be said that his daughter is a shameless copy of him, both in appearance and character: long, blonde hair, proud and always challenging temperament. One might doubt that she is your daughter but not that she is not Kaiser's. She is liteeerally him

...Sitting on the sofa, Anneliese is watching one of her father's old match. The assist with a teammate ends badly, but the ball returns to Kaiser's possession again and he scores a goal

“Dad, the next time you pass the ball to someone unworthy, I will be even more angry than I am now!”

"I understand, don't worry. I can't make my little girl angry again, can I?"

"Mihya, on the field you have to do what you feel, don't listen to her..."

"How can I not listen to our little girl, Schatz?"

✶ Kaiser loves to take his daughter with him everywhere: whether it's to an interview, to training or to a match, Anneliese is almost certainly with him or next to you. He loves when you and your little girl cheer for him during a match, even more if he knows that if he scores there will be your lips kissing him and the little girl's little arms hugging him. He shows a lot his family and his being a fantastic father (you tell him too, he's a little insecure about this) in front of his teammates. The emperor's family!

✶ Ness is practically the little girl's uncle. He never stopped idolizing Micheal, even more so when he discovered that now there was no longer just one Kaiser but two. Micheal is slightly jealous, he doesn't like that his daughter spends so much time with Ness... he hates seeing his Anneliese so happy with an adult other than him or her mother

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: he loves when his daughter plays with his hair, especially with the blue parts. Seeing the cerulean blue on his little girl's pale hands, as she braids it or whatever it is, makes him tender. He once dreamed of Anneliese with the exact same hair as him and he admits he wouldn't mind seeing her that way. Maybe blue tipped hair could be the Kaiser's new trademark

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: whenever you and Anneliese come to a game, the first thing he makes sure to do is that you have a seat in the VIP section. He loves seeing the stadium celebrate for him because his family is there to see him, it's something that feeds his ego. As soon as the match was over he would have you go down onto the field with him, the little girl in his arm and his other arm around your waist as he holds you close to him

— rin itoshi

In his mind Rin, the few times he imagined himself, he always saw himself as the father of a son, and nothing more. Not brothers, as much as he actually liked the idea, just a child and above all a boy. He would have been happy like that

As much as he liked the idea of ​​a possible second child, with his job he wouldn't be able to dedicate the time he knows children deserve. At the same time he doesn't want to leave all the work to you, because parenting is something that is usually done by two. One child would have been enough

He doesn't know how but at a certain point in his life, he found himself with three daughters, all of whom were no more than two years apart. At first it was just a child, your beautiful Ayaka, then suddenly Homura also appeared and finally Rika

The idea of ​​just one boy dematerialized pretty quickly. But he loves his girls so much that, when sometimes he thinks of his original idea, he curses himself: how could he deprive himself of the presence and love of his girls?

All the girls resemble him tremendously, both in character (the one before the incident with Sae) and in appearance, obviously talking about the undereyelashes signed 'Itoshi'. Ayaka, only, is the female version of her father. Homura and Rika have taken something from their mother, but Ayaka could almost resemble Sae too... well, he is her uncle after all, right?

"Dad, Rika doesn't pass the ball when she plays!"

"You can't handle it either, Homura! You can't even pass me games at home!"

"Girls, calm down"

"Learn to score on goal first, before complaining"

...The situation seemed to be calm under Rin's control, but Ayaka broke the calm by scoring a perfect goal into the net of the private home soccer field. New prodigy?

✶ Rin often thinks about what might happen if, in the future, he ever does something that could divide her daughters. He has no preference between them, but he is always terrified that he might do something wrong that could create inequalities that he doesn't want, because in a certain sense, what happened between him and Sae must not happen in another generation of the Itoshi. He bond and love between his daughters must exist forever, not deteriorate as happened with his Nii Chan

✶ He would try to get his daughters to try as many sports as possible. As much as Rin loves soccer, his choice was influenced by the fact that Sae played it... what if he was now a world champion in, idk, volleyball? NO OKAY. He simply likes to make all 3 try new things, looking for something that maybe they could dedicate themselves with passion

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: when his little girls organize themselves to do makeup on him. He's got a pretty mysterious look to maintain, but if Homura has decided that he's going to show up at practice tomorrow wearing orange nail polish, he'll show up that way. Not that he has any problem fighting anyone who has something to say against him, but no one dares. Rin loves to see them concentrate while putting on mascara or a completely disgusting shade of lipstick

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: if he knows that you are there to see him play, he will do everything to score as many goals as possible and, above all, quickly: he wants to keep his girls' expectations high. Once he scored a goal he would raise his hand to the sky, waiting for his girls to do the same thing because it has now become a gesture that only each other understands. At the end of the game the first thing he would do is go up to the stands to be with you, fuck his lukewarm teammates

— reo mikage

Looking after Nagi was like taking a pre parenting course. Nagi essentially has the needs of a child if you ignore the fact that he is 17 years old and 1.90cm tall, so Reo knows quite well what a child needs. Then, he always saw the maids in his house bring their young children to work when possible: Reo loved playing with them or picking them up, or just generally spending time with them. The idea of ​​having children, sooner or later and with a special person, has actually always interested him. He always said to himself, but in reality he hoped, that he would find the person who would love him for simply being Reo and not for his money... and then you came along!

His idea has always been of only one child because he is afraid that, sooner or later, two possible children could fight over the money of the Mikage company. Everything is unpredictable, right? So he doesn't want to risk anything

His original idea was respected. When he held Hikari for the first time he simply understood that he wouldn't be able to create, obviously with you, such a cute and perfect being again

The only similarity that links Hikari to her father is the same hair color, that strong purple. For the rest she is completely her mother, and Reo loves this even more: it's cute to see a mini version of you, but with some of his features, walking around the house. His new sweet treasure!!

"So, this... this, yes, also this... that... this"

"Reo, honey, what are you doing with that newspaper?"

"Nothing dangerous. Don't worry"

"What are you doing though? You make me curious"

"I told you not to worry, honey. Trust me."

...Reo was marking all the objects, approximately 300, in a catalog of toys and children's products. If he has money, why can't he spend it if he knows it will make his daughter happy?

✶ The first person Reo told that he was going to be a father was obviously Nagi. Let's say that at first Seishiro wasn't really believing it, but when he saw that pregnancy test... oh... yes, he definitely believed it. It often happens that Hikari stays with Nagi for days at a time, as the little girl sees him as a giant she can annoy. Reo often tells his daughter not to bother Nagi too much, but it secretly makes him laugh to see Seishiro so awkward with Hikari because he doesn't know how to handle children (himself??)

✶ If there's one thing he would never do, it would be to push Hikari into running the Mikage company once she grows up. Reo hated living his childhood with the knowledge that he already had a predetermined destiny, and he doesn't want Hikari to have the same treatment. She want to become a doctor? It will become one. She want to become a farmer? It will become one. She want to become president of the world? It will become one. He simply wants her to do what she loves

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: travel the world with his daughter or of course with you too. The money is there, and what better way is there to spend it than learning and traveling? Hikari, at less than 5 years old, had already visited half the world. Reo loves taking her to different places and seeing her reactions so amazed. His favorite will remain forever when they arrived in New York, where Hikari didn't stop smiling for a second

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: it is obvious to say that he would pay to let you have the VIP of the VIP, his girls deserve the best, right?. He would feel amazing among all his teammates knowing that his family is there for him while there is no one for them. At the end of the game he would let the cameras record him hugging you and Hikari, why would he hide all the love he has for you from the cameras?

— isagi yoichi

Isagi was relatively happy as a child: his parents loved him, he played the sport he loved, he didn't do badly at school. Everything was happy for him in his early life. The only thing he often noticed were his classmates with older or younger siblings, who yeah argued with each other, but at the same time loved each other very much. He didn't suffer from loneliness from being the only child, not that, but he was always intrigued by the concept of not being the only child in the family

Since you've been dating seriously, and even before actually, he's always thought that his future family would model what he had: loving parents, one child, two if they had the chance

When Fujiko was born there was this plan in his mind: okay, now we dedicate ourselves to her, we give her everything she needs... then, if we want, we will have another child. Both you and Yoichi were very convinced that a max of 5 years after the birth of the kid you would try again, but Fujiko filled your lives so much that you decided that only she was good for the whole life

Fujiko's appearance bears little resemblance to her father's, maybe just a few facial features. If we talk about character, however, everything changes completely: it's a kind of Isagi 2.0, the same determination coupled with a lot of kindness. We will find out later if she also has bipolar disorder on and off the field like her dad- WHO SAID THAT??

"Fujiko, why aren't there any more pencil in your pencilcase?"

"Mom, I had to give them to some friends. Otherwise they couldn't write what the teacher said"

"This kindness reminds me of someone"

"Who? Who? Who?"

"Think about it: who do you consider to be the kindest person in the world?"

"My dad!"

...doing homework with your daughter, you noticed that some things were missing. Isagi is kind, one of the kindest in the world; when you told him about it he was perplexed, because he too would have done the exact same thing... just like his little girl

✶ Having now become a professional striker, he often does not have the opportunity to spend long periods at home due to champions or special training sessions. When this happens he is happy to leave because soccer is his passion anyway, on the other hand he dies inside every time he hugs his daughter or you for the last time. He loves his family, he would like to always be with you and Fujiko because you give him courage, but he understands that always moving with him from city to city, or even from country to country, is complicated and, above all, tiring

✶ He would like to direct Fujiko towards soccer, but at the same time he knows that he cannot choose something that is actually up to her. He has the belief that Fujiko would probably be good as him, unlocking her own version of the meta vision, but he prefers to see her little girl happy with the things she has chosen and loves

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: he likes when they watch the games Isagi has already played. Television often replays reruns of recent or even old matches, and whenever Isagi is present on the field, Fujiko is the first to ask to watch them together. Yoichi enjoys seeing her so amazed by the actions on the field, commenting on anything that she doesn't understand because she rightfully doesn't know the rules of soccer. The thing that amuses him most is explaining to her who are the people he passes the ball, whether they are his friends or not, but now for Fujiko there is only Bachira with the title of dad's friend

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: the mere fact that you come to see him play is a lot for him, but since you and Fujiko once showed up wearing a jacket that said "biggest fan of number 11" on the back, he understood that he didn't it would matter if he were to be burned alive if he did it for you. Unfortunately the insults would always be there, but he would try to contain himself in front of his little girl. At the end of the game the first thing he would do is come to you and let you onto the field, making you celebrate with him

[scarletmika]

Speak Now : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Summary: Bob Floyd is madly in love with you, and you're in love with him. The problem? You're getting married...and it's not to Bob.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY (I am not responsible for the media you choose to consume), some angst, some fluff, insane amounts of pining, idiots in love, language, female reader, maybe some incorrect descriptions of the Navy, suggestive and steamy but no actual smut, drunken confessions/moves, moment of cheating, miscommunication, happy ending!

Word Count: 16,268 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

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

You were twenty-two when you first met Bob Floyd.

Wide-eyed, naïve to the world, you had arrived at Officer Candidate School in Rhode Island with a bright smile, prepared for the future you had chosen for yourself. Your great-grandfather was in the Navy, your grandfather, your father, and now you. But you were determined to be special, to be the first of your family to become a fighter pilot.

It was that thought running through your head that distracted you, causing you to trip over your own two feet when you’d just barely made it inside the doors of the main building. Luckily for you, someone was there to catch your fall.

“Whoa-! Are you good?”

Baby-faced, sandy blonde hair, and glasses that you, frankly, found adorable were staring back at you when you’d finally straightened yourself out. Those blue eyes behind said glasses never left you as you dusted yourself off, taking hold of your suitcase again and giving the guy in front of you a kind smile.

“Just peachy. Lost in my own head,” you couldn’t help but giggle at yourself, the smile on the guy’s face growing as you stuck your hand out and gave your name. “Thanks for the save, there. Can’t already be bumbling around like an idiot before we’ve even gotten started.”

“Bob Floyd, and d-don’t worry, you weren’t,” he paused for a second, tilting his head slightly with a teasing grin this time as he let go of your hand. “W-Well, I can’t lie and say I didn’t see you swatting at that bee outside. Bumblebees and bumbling through doors…sounds like the makings of a pretty good call-”

“If I’ve managed to get a callsign this early on in my career, I’m never letting you forget it,” he only laughed at your pointed look and fell into step beside you.

“Noted, just a personal nickname for now, then. So, uh, where’d you graduate from?”

“Boston University, Bachelor's in Physics. You?” 

You both thanked the woman at the front desk who gave you your assignments for your bunks for the rest of the multi-week course.

“University of Montana, Bachelor’s in Mechanical Engineering,”

The two of you came to a stop in front of the hallway before you; your barracks down to the left, and his down to the right.

“Want to grab dinner tonight after we settle in?”

“Yeah, I-I’d love that,” that smile on Bob’s face turned shy as he looked down at his feet for a moment. “I’ll grab you a coffee, how do you like it?”

“Two sugars, a dash of cream,”

“Perfect,”

“Well, Bob Floyd, I guess this is it for now. See you at dinner?”

“See you there, Bumble,”

It was meant to be just a nickname; he was meant to be the only person ever to call you that. But after graduating from officer training together, then attending and graduating flight training in Florida, you’d been shipped off to your different squadrons. Bob was off to Naval Air Station Lemoore in California, and you had been assigned to Naval Air Station Jacksonville in Florida.

The man who had become your best friend, your rock throughout training, was being shipped to the other side of the country. Approximately 2,546 miles away from you, and three hours behind you. That didn’t stop the constant texts or late-night calls to keep one another updated in the way you used to when you lived in the same barracks; if anything, they became a constant in both of your lives.

And when you’d stumbled through the doors of the base on your first day, your squadron was quick to try to give you your callsign for your clumsiness. But you smiled, and said you already had one: Bumble.

It was at Top Gun training where you finally had Bob Floyd back in your life consistently; that is, at least for the duration of your 13-week training. And you’d never forget the smile on his face when he’d pulled away from the first hug you’d shared in years and gotten his first look at your helmet, adorned with your callsign that you had somehow managed to keep a secret for so long.

“Bumble,” he’d said it so adoringly, in a way that had you trying to ignore the strange feeling that bubbled up in your chest at the way he smiled and admired the yellow and black stripes along your helmet. “I really did give you your callsign, didn’t I? Bet they think it’s actually because of the bee and not the tripping.”

“Eh, let them decide. We know where it really came from. But I think we should focus on how the hell ‘Bob’ became not just your name, but your callsign, too,”

Leaving the program was hard, because leaving your best friend was hard. So, when just a few years later you had been called back to Top Gun for a specialized mission that took the best of the best, you couldn’t have been happier to be back with Bob. Then, with how quickly your new squad had taken to each other, it didn’t take any of you long to say ‘yes’ when you’d been offered a permanent position in San Diego as an elite squadron.

That’s how you found yourself here, seated in the same back-corner table of the Hard Deck on a Friday night as you always were, surrounded by the team that had become your family just a year-and-a-half after that special detachment became permanent.

Natasha laughed at your side, recounting some story for Fanboy and Payback about how Rooster had hit on a woman while the two of them were seeing a show downtown the night before. Hangman is instantly arguing back that Rooster ‘isn’t slick enough’ to pull that off, and Coyote is backing him up as he typically is. Maverick is at the other end of the table, simply shaking his head at you all as he thanks Penny for his next beer with a kiss on her cheek, something that quirks the corners of your lips up just slightly.

Bob sat right across from you, at the far end of the table from Maverick, and you can’t help but find yourself watching him. He’s dressed down, as you all are for once besides Mav, in a white t-shirt clinging to his skin with a blue flannel hanging haphazardly around him. You recognize it, since you’d bought it for him for his birthday three years ago. He’s laughing at Hangman and Rooster’s petty argument, sipping gingerly on a Diet Coke. You’d only ever seen him drink three times over the decade you had known him, so it wasn’t surprising. Neither was the cup of peanuts he was snacking on.

His eyes drifted to meet yours, and his smile grew wider the second he did. You swallowed the lump in your throat, shoving that flutter in your chest away into the locked compartment you always kept it in, and smiled back at him. Your best friend, your rock. One of the only people you could never imagine life without, and you never wanted to find out what life without him would be like. You weren’t even sure at this point how you’d survived your entire childhood without him by your side, because life didn’t make sense without Bob Floyd.

Lips suddenly pressed into the right side of your head, your body instinctively shifting over as the body next to you finally sat down, arm thrown around the back of your chair and fingertips ghosting over your bare shoulder for just a moment.

“Sorry, couldn’t decide on a drink! Figured you’d want another vodka cranberry, babe,”

Your reply was quiet, just a simple thank you, as you took the drink from your fiancée’s outstretched hand.

Austin Fletcher was what some called the perfect man. At least, that’s how your old squadmates back in Jacksonville described him. A Senior Financial Analyst in the company named for his own family, working his way within the next 5 years to take over as CEO from his father after his retirement. Chocolate brown eyes, perfect vision that he could thank his laser-eye surgery from 5 years ago for, forever tanned skin from too many days spent in the San Diego sun, and jet black hair that always seemed to be perfectly combed back. Combined with the expensive taste in outfits, given the watches that would cost an entire month of your Naval salary, he always looked like he walked straight off a magazine cover.

And he was yours, and you were his. And in just a month and a half’s time, now, you’d be Mrs. Fletcher. The wife of who was once considered San Diego’s most eligible bachelor.

Active, ambitious, efficient, a true entrepreneur. Everyone’s dream man.

“Couldn’t even bring us some refills, Austy?” Hangman teased the man from down the table. There were light snickers from your team at the comment, everyone knowing how much he hated that nickname. You could feel him tense slightly beside you, and didn’t hesitate to send Hangman a pleading look, begging him to stop.

“You’ve got the barmaid at your beck and call, didn’t think I had to!” Austin had joked, gesturing in the direction of Penny with his own beer bottle as he laughed at his own comment. No one else laughed, though, not that he seemed to care. Penny’s glare was obvious from down the table, as you averted your eyes to take a larger swig of your drink than necessary.

Austin…definitely had his faults. Callous was probably the best way to describe it when he made comments like that. Conceited might even be a good word for it. If you thought too long about it, there were probably a hundred other synonyms that you could dream up.

Your eyes caught Bob’s, already looking at you, and that easy smile he wore before was pitched down now. It was easy to track the movement of his eyes, the way they flickered to the hand holding your drink, to the shining silver diamond ring on your finger that would cost you at least six months of your salary, before they flicked away. That hand was quickly back below the table, lying in your lap where no one could see it before you even had a chance to really think about it.

“What we should really be focusing on is that drill from earlier today, and that insane move that you pulled off, Bumble,” it was Coyote speaking up, pointing down the table to you with a smirk as your friends whistled, getting a small laugh out of you. “Pulling off a fucking Herbst maneuver? I may have to finally concede and call you the best damn pilot I’ve ever seen.”

“Well, let’s not go that far,” Hangman cut in, as he usually did, with a wink sent your way that had you rolling your eyes playfully. “Still no confirmed air-to-air kills like me, so I think I still have an edge.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know. I bet those two kills are what you use to entice the ladies every night, instead of those two inches downstairs,” Natasha practically choked on her drink at your comment, a smirk etched into your lips. Payback and Fanboy were slamming on the table in laughter while you watched Bob shake his head with a grin out of the corner of your eye. “Wasn’t that hard of a maneuver, Mav has been trying to teach us it for weeks-”

“Sometimes I don’t fully understand what it is you guys get paid to do,” Austin had cut in, cutting you off mid-sentence with another laugh and swig of his beer. “I mean, if you aren’t out there fighting any wars, then what are our tax dollars paying you guys to do? Play around in the air?”

Apathetic. Yeah, that was another word you could use for Austin. He never cared to hear about work, or really anything that happened between you and the rest of the squad. Apathetic, hedonistic, ignorant…yeah, that list really did go on.

“Non sibi sed patriae…means not for self, but for country,” it was Maverick who spoke up this time, and just the sound of his voice had each member of his team sitting up just the slightest bit straighter. When Mav put on his serious voice, you listened, even at the Hard Deck. “Means we spend our days preparing to protect this country at a moment’s notice…I’m sure you do something similar as a financial analyst, though.”

Another snicker ran through the entire team, and Rooster was the one this time having trouble keeping his laughter in. Even you were trying not to shake with laughter. Austin bristled next to you again before he recovered, shifting the conversation elsewhere. You caught Mav’s eye, though, mouthing a quick ‘thank you’ in his direction. His only response was a cool smile and a wink.

There were only so many of Austin’s stories from work, from meetings with clients, that you could stand, and you quickly found yourself grabbing your drink and leaving the table for the bar.

Many of the locals up around the bar nodded in your direction, knowing you and the squad from your usual nights out here, sliding off to the side to let you walk up and place your drink on the bar. Penny was on you in a second, an eyebrow raised.

“Let me guess; he started talking about market data and economic indicators again?”

“Just like he does every night,” you shot back with a laugh, though Penny looked less than impressed. You simply refilled your glass again, this time going heavier on the vodka than the cranberry without you even having to ask. “You’re the best, Pen.”

She’s left you alone in your thoughts, which, granted, was the last place you wanted to be. Your eyes simply stayed locked on your drink, staring down into the reddish-pink liquid, and every once in a while glancing back at that diamond that weighed heavily on your hand.

“Looks like you’re thinking hard over here, bee,”

Even if you hadn’t recognized the voice, you’d recognize the nickname anywhere. The Navy had stolen the nickname of Bumble from Bob Floyd, so he’d made it his mission to find another one. It wasn’t that hard to settle on bee, given that first conversation you had together.

You glanced over to him. He was leaning against the bar, giving you a tiny smile as Penny passed by and passed him another Diet Coke without a word.

“Well, I’m not thinking about market data, if that’s what you mean,” he’d laughed at that, and you held your glass out to clink against his Diet Coke can. “Here’s to the longest month and a half I’m about to have.”

You watched him, like you always did, even when you didn’t mean to. It wasn’t hard to see the way his smile dropped just slightly as he turned, leaning back against the bartop and looking in the direction of your table in the distance. You mirrored his actions.

“The future Mrs. Fletcher,” he’d let out a sigh, but you kept your eyes trained on your friends instead of looking at him. “I-I know Rooster was pestering you the other day, and you refused to say, but I have to know…how much did that damn venue in Del Mar cost?”

“After vendors…somewhere close to $70 grand, if I remember correctly,” Bob’s cough that sounded a lot like choking got you to finally look over at him, laughing lightly as you patted him on the back. The second he found his breath, his wide eyes turned to look at you, and you could only nod embarrassingly, your hand never straying from his back. “Trust me, I’m not happy about it. I wanted 50 guests, now it’s somewhere near 200. I wanted a vanilla cake, now it’s red velvet–hell, did you know my dress was fucking $8 thousand dollars?”

Bob, still wide-eyed, shook his head with a tiny smile back on his lips.

“$8 thousand for fabric i-is…insane. I hope you plan to wear it every day for the rest of your life,”

With a quick shove to his shoulder and a roll of your eyes, Bob laughed, and you couldn’t help but laugh with him.

“No, trust me, I know. Almost an entire month’s salary for me, just so it can sit in my closet until the end of time,”

There was silence between you both for a moment as you really thought it all over. A venue you didn’t want, a guest count way too high for what you wanted, a cake you didn’t want, a dress you were terrified to wear given the price tag…it was, in fact, insane. It was just making this month and a half until you walked down the aisle even more exhausting. You just wanted it all to be over.

“You always wanted to get married at that country club, that one back home in Boston. Never near the beach,” Bob’s voice was soft when he spoke up again, just barely able to be heard in the rowdiness of the Hard Deck. But you heard him loud and clear, and you were listening. “Indoor or outdoor, whatever you preferred or whatever the New England weather allowed at the time. The perfect mix of rustic and modern. Perfect view of the city skyline in the distance. The fall, too, not the summer. You wanted to make sure you could see the changing colors in the leaves in the photos, and because you just love fall.”

When he finished speaking and turned to look at you, you were already looking at him. Your jaw was slack, lips just barely parted, and eyes wide as you stared at him in what you could only describe as wonder. Marveling at the way Bob Floyd, out of thin air, had just described to you everything you’d ever dreamt of for your wedding since you were a little girl.

“The same place my aunt got remarried when I was eight,” your head tilted as you spoke, a smile creeping up your lips. “I told you that, like, once back in officer training, when we were both on night duty. You…you remembered all that?”

“I remember everything about you,” was the only answer he gave back, combined with a tiny shrug of his shoulders. “You…you deserve the wedding you’ve always dreamed of.”

There it was again: that tug. That tug on your heart, on your very soul, that had happened sporadically throughout the last decade of knowing Bob Floyd. That tug that sent your stomach into your throat, as if you’d just been tossed over the hump of a roller coaster. It didn’t help when he looked at you like that, like the moon itself was forged by the very breath that left your chest.

He was the first to look away, clearing his throat as a flush crawled its way up his neck. You weren’t any better, tugging at the neckline of the halter top you wore to give yourself room to breathe, as if it was suffocating you.

“So, uh…you’re coming with Nat and me tomorrow, right? To my final dress fitting?”

“...wouldn’t miss it for the world,”

He didn’t. You knew where he was that next afternoon, standing out by that little black couch with Natasha, waiting for you to emerge from the boutique dressing room and stand on the platform before them. To twirl, to don your veil, to smile…like the perfect bride they’d dressed you to be.

The worker with you, Sasha, finished lacing off the back of your dress, exclaiming in excitement as she clapped her hands. You wanted her from the mirror in front of you as she fussed over the dress.

“Oh, you are just the most perfect bride!” Sasha exclaimed, swinging the door open and holding out her hand for you to take. “Most people might say that you’re a lucky woman to bag Austin Fletcher, but I’d say it’s the other way around!”

You’d laughed at her comment, taking her hand, but even you knew it was a pitiful laugh, your smile not meeting your eyes.

She’d paraded you out into the showroom, and you kept your eyes on the floor in front of you as she announced your presence to Natasha and Bob, placing you up on the little platform in front of the full-length mirror. You still didn’t look up as she bent you down to her slightly, draping the extravagant veil picked out by your future mother-in-law over your head. Only then did you finally look up.

Your eyes skipped right over Natasha and settled on Bob.

He wore a tiny smile, and even through the mirror, you could see the red blush to his skin, from his neck to his cheeks, dipping right under where his glasses lay. His hands were both in the pockets of his jeans as his foot tapped on the ground, a telltale sign that he was anxious. You knew him, you knew him too well. You knew that smile didn’t reach his eyes. You knew that little twinkle in his eyes wasn’t as bright as it could be.

“You are…” you could tell Natasha was trying not to get choked up, gladly taking a tissue from Sasha as you giggled lightly at her actions. “God, Bumble, you’re truly the most beautiful bride.”

“Well, let’s let our bride fully take it all in for a moment,” Sasha placed a hand on Natasha’s shoulder, guiding her off toward the room adjacent to your own. “The bridesmaid dresses just came in, and I think you’re going to love the way they look after those alterations.”

It wasn’t until they had fully left the room that you’d spun around on the platform to face Bob, throwing out your hands to the side gently with a little shrug of your shoulders.

“Well…what’s the verdict here, baby-on-board?”

He seemed to swallow most of his laugh and shook his head, taking a few steps toward you until he stood just a few feet from you. His eyes trailed from the veil, down to the edges of the skirt, and back up to the veil.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say this dress definitely wasn’t your mother’s pick,”

That had gotten a hearty laugh out of you and a genuine smile, as you spun back to the mirror. Bob had met your family plenty of times over the years, at every graduation event, just as you had met his. They adored him, thought of him as part of the family, like his own family thought of you as one of their own, too. Of course, he could clock that your mother hated this dress.

The skirts of the dress billowed with the movements, swinging with you as you examined your own reflection. A full princess ball gown, adorned with lace from head to toe. The fabric was heavy, the skirts thick, and the lace continued down the sleeves that came to rest at your wrists. The veil itself was more of that same lace, its length trailing down the train of the dress that was much too long for your liking.

“No, not at all,” was your response after a moment, your hands gliding over the lace of the dress. “This was a Mrs. Fletcher pick. With the way she cried, and his sister Melissa cried, it…was hard to say no. It really is a beautiful dress.”

“It's kind of hideous,” Bob put bluntly, taking another step toward you, but there was a tiny smile playing at his lips, a hint of teasing laced through his voice. “I think you’re the only thing saving it.”

You rolled your eyes at his comment, but couldn’t deny the smile that quirked up on your lips, or that tug in your chest once again. You eyed the dress again, eyes trailing over the lace along the sleeves.

“It’s not hideous, it's just… It's not-”

“It’s not you,”

In the mirror, your eyes found him again. The second he said it, that statement that you’d been begging someone to say since you’d first tried on the dress, had a weight visibly lifting off your shoulders as you let out a sigh.

“No…no, it's not me,”

You could see it, the way Bob hesitated for just a second, before he stepped up beside you at the platform. Even with that extra inch the platform gave, he was still taller than you, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him in the mirror.

“I’ve seen it, y-your dream dress. You showed it to me before,” his voice was light, not a whisper, but just light. As if the moment itself was delicate, and he wasn’t sure how to navigate it without shattering the glass. “A-line, not a ball gown. You always hated having too much fabric, found it too heavy. You wanted something freeing, flowy…something that reminded you of the feeling of flying your F-18, your favorite thing in the world to do. The lace is good, but…too much. Same with the veil, you always hated those things.”

There was another brief moment of hesitation, behind his hand came up, fingertips just barely ghosting over your arm. Your breath caught, eyes following him, as his followed the length of your arm.

“Sleeves…you hated these, too, at least like this. You wanted them shorter, flowy again. A v-neck neckline, too, not these sweetheart ones. You always said the sweetheart necklines made you think of your high school prom dress, which made you think of your asshole ex-boyfriend, which in turn landed them on your ‘banned forever’ list.”

A breathy laugh managed to escape you at the memory, your eyes still following him in the mirror.

“You describe my dream dress as if you’ve pictured me in it before…”

His eyes finally found yours again in the mirror. You weren’t sure what emotion it was you saw, what was crawling in his gaze as he looked at you, mouth slightly parted and tongue dipping out to wet his lips in a way that brought that tug back in full force. Whatever it was in his eyes, it was heavy, like it was holding the weight of a thousand words never said before.

And suddenly, when you pictured yourself walking down the aisle, you were in the dress that Bob had described. Flowy, light, and walking down the aisle in that rustic country club overlooking the skyline of the city you’d called home for so many years. But when you were handed off to the groom, your hand placed in his, it wasn’t Austin you were standing across from, that you were about to become the wife of. You weren’t standing there to become Mrs. Fletcher…you were standing there to become Mrs. Floyd.

“Hey…” you and Bob jumped away from one another, as if you were both suddenly a blazing fire that the other was trying to run from. Natasha was leaning in the doorway of the other room. Her eyes flickered back and forth between you both for just a moment before she nodded her head toward the room she’d just left. “Come on, Sasha wants you to take another look at these bridesmaid dresses before I give the okay on them.”

Wordlessly, you nodded and followed after her, never once glancing back at Bob. You refused to meet Nat’s eyes, even as they followed and watched you.

They kept watching you, too. You knew Natasha; she was observant. If she caught wind of something, she wasn’t going to let it go.

You were three weeks out from the wedding. Your dress was hung carefully in the spare bedroom of your apartment, alongside the bridesmaid dresses in their own bags. Everything was confirmed, vendors were a go, and everyone on the guest list on both sides had RSVP’d. Your mother and brother were in town for the month, staying in a hotel right on North Island. Austin’s family and extended family were all in town. You were in the homestretch, the finish line of what had become the most stressful time of your life in sight.

While Nat was your maid of honor, Austin’s sister Melissa had taken it upon herself to plan your entire bachelorette. Given the hectic work schedules that both you and Nat had, neither of you objected. Truthfully, she’d done well. An Airbnb, a gorgeous cabin, nestled right outside of Lake Isabella, north of Los Angeles, for the weekend. Relaxation, nature, and no stress of being in the city, just as you knew Austin was doing for his bachelor party with his friends.

Melissa and Terri, or ‘Dove’ as you knew her during your time in Jacksonville, were swimming together in the little alcove of the lake you’d all found during your hike after lunch. You and Natasha had taken to the man-made hot springs right on the edge of the lake, relaxing in the water and just watching the two women swim and converse from a distance.

“I can’t believe you convinced Maverick to walk you down the aisle and give you away,”

You laughed wholeheartedly at Nat’s comment. With your head thrown back against the rocks, you maneuvered your sunglasses to the top of your head to fully look at her.

“The second I told him that my dad has been out of the picture for me since I was 16 when he divorced my mom and remarried his comically young new wife, he didn’t hesitate. Besides, he knows he practically adopted us all as kids when he took us on as his full-time squadron,”

“True, I think he secretly loves it,” you hummed in agreement, turning your head back to the sky to soak in the sun. Nat was quiet for only a moment before speaking again. “I’ve been meaning to ask…how have you been, with everything?”

A complicated question. A loaded one, honestly.

“Doing the best I can,” you answered honestly, shifting in the warm pool of water surrounding you. “It’s just…stressful. Can’t wait until it’s all over.”

“Mhm…and you’re having no second thoughts?”

You hesitated for just a moment.

“Might have some issues with the fundamentals of the venue, my dress, and such, but…no, not at all,”

“Really? So the fact that you’re madly in love with Bob Floyd isn’t making you second-guess your wedding?”

Even in the warmth of the hot spring, your blood went cold. The water splashed as you fully sat up, now leaning back against the rocks. Your nervous gaze shot out to Melissa and Dove, but neither seemed to have heard the comment. Your gaze drifted back to Natasha, but all you found was an easy smile on her face. Not a single ounce of judgment.

That alone was enough to pull a simple sigh from you. There was no use in lying.

“How’d you put it together?”

“Always had a hunch,” she answered easily, sitting up as well and tossing her own sunglasses off to the side. “A few weeks ago, in the dress shop. I don’t know…I could just finally see it. More importantly, how long have you felt like this?”

“I’m not sure when it happened. He was just my best friend for a long time, even if I could always admit to myself that he was objectively attractive,” you shook your head with a slight laugh. Truthfully, you couldn’t believe you were finally admitting this out loud. “I hadn’t seen him for years, it was just texts and calls. Then, we both got into Top Gun, and the second I was back with him…there was this tug in my chest, and it’s just never gone away. I’ve…never told anyone this before.”

Natasha moved, the water around you both jostling, as she turned fully on the stone seating to look at you. You kept your eyes trained on the two in the water, terrified that one of them would overhear you.

“Bumble…why did you never tell him?”

“God, I tried to. Once,” you laughed incredulously at yourself, shaking your head as you willed the tears not to appear at the mere thought of the memory. “After we had become a permanent squad, we were at Hangman’s celebrating his new apartment. Somehow, we started talking about dating, and then we just went around in a circle giving an update on our dating lives.”

You tore your gaze from the girls in the lake, turning to Natasha now as those tears threatened to spill despite your push to keep them at bay.

“You spoke, and then it was my turn. And I looked at him, sitting beside me, and I thought…fuck it, what do I have to lose? You guys had put a few drinks in me, and lord knows I get a confidence kick when I’m drunk. So I confessed that I had a crush on a guy. Bradley asked if you guys knew him, and I said yes. I talked about how he was kind of nerdy, a little shy, but once you got to know him he was a sarcastic little shit just like they all were. That he was the perfect gentleman, the most chivalrous man I’d ever met, and objectively the most attractive man I’d ever laid eyes on. Mickey asked how long I’d known him for, and I said it felt like I’d known him my entire life. Even asked how often I would see him, and I said every damn day.”

“Oh god,” realization seemed to finally dawn on Natasha’s face, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as it dropped open. “Oh god, we were all too drunk to realize…you were talking about Bob.”

“Yup. Maybe I was just too drunk, but I thought I was being painfully obvious. So then it’s Bob’s turn, and what does he say?” you scoffed, furiously wiping at your cheek to rid yourself of the tears that managed to escape. “He says he’s been talking to some girl, and met her on an app. All this time–I’d spent years overanalyzing every moment between us–thinking there was a chance he felt the same. Instead, I laid my heart on the line to find out that my love had always been unrequited. So, while you were all passed out that night, I decided that I needed to move on. I downloaded those apps for myself, and a week later, I was on a date with Austin.”

The first time you had let yourself cry over Bob Floyd had been that night, when everyone was drunk and passed out around the living room. This moment, in a fucking hot spring on your bachelorette trip, you finally let yourself cry again over the man you’d been in love with for years.

Natasha let you, didn’t say a word. She only scooted in close, curling up into your side and letting your head rest on her shoulder, holding you as you finally cried, keeping her eyes on the other two girls, blissfully unaware of what was occurring on the edges of the lake. She didn’t speak up again until minutes later, when your silent sobs had finally subsided.

“Bumble…if you’re crying, then you still love him. Why are you getting married?”

“Because I have to,” your voice was broken, thick and hoarse from your own tears. “You know what my mother said when I told her I was engaged? ‘Good, your biological clock is ticking.’ And, fuck, I know she meant it as a joke, but she wasn’t wrong. We’re not getting any younger. Then, Dove and the rest of my fucking old squad, I told them and all they could do was make comments about how I ‘can’t fumble this man’ or how I’m ‘the luckiest girl in the world.’ Everyone just…expects this of me, and I can’t disappoint them. Plus...I can’t spend my entire life in love with someone who will only ever love me as his best friend.”

“What if you’re wrong, though?” Nat’s voice was gentle, reassuring, her arms squeezing you in the most comforting hug she could muster. “Babe, I see the way he looks at you. There isn’t a single one of us who doesn’t see it. He looks at you like you’re the sun, the moon, and every star in the damn sky combined. You got on those apps, you met Austin, to get over him. What if he was just doing the same?”

“He had plenty of time to tell me, then, if he felt the same, which I guarantee he doesn’t. He kept his secrets, just like I did,” was all the answer you could muster. You drew in a deep breath, trying to steel your nerves and bring a semblance of calm back to your inner self. “Maybe I don’t love Austin the way I love Bob, maybe I never will…I don’t think I’ll ever love someone the way I love him. Maybe he’s not my soulmate, not Mr. Right, but he’s safe. He has a job, he has goals, he has plans for the future…I can’t keep living in a world of what-ifs, Nattie, I can’t keep loving someone who doesn’t love me back. I need stability, I need someone sure of me. He put a ring on my finger; he wouldn’t do that if he weren’t sure of it.”

There was silence for a few moments after that, and you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince Natasha of this marriage…or yourself. Finally, you felt her sigh, and she just wrapped you up in an even tighter hug.

“I love you, Bumble, and I will always support you. We all will, no matter what you do, because it’s your life and in the end, it’s your choice. But, in the interest of being honest…you aren’t yourself when you’re with Austin. This entire wedding…it isn’t you. I don’t want to see you lose yourself to be with someone you feel you have to be with. If you marry the wrong person, the man you don’t love…you’re going to kill yourself trying to be the right person.”

Natasha couldn’t see it, nor could you, but you could feel it; the weight of those words, as they settled into your heart, and sowed the seeds of doubt into your brain.

❤︎

“Look, I’m just going to be the one to say it…we all fucking hate Austin, right?”

There was a chorus of laughter throughout Hangman’s apartment from each of the men sitting around, multiple boxes of pizza and cases of beer littering the coffee table of the living room. The ‘Real Bachelor’ party, as Hangman called it, since none of them had been invited to Austin Fletcher’s bachelor party in Las Vegas…not that any of them would’ve said yes.

“Hate him? More like loathe, detest, despise…must I go on?” there was a chorus of agreement around the room to Rooster’s comment, the man taking another swig of his beer. The Padres game was playing on TV, the volume so low you could barely hear anything, but no one was paying attention. “If he makes another comment about how he ‘doesn’t know what we do all day’ or ‘this is what my tax dollars pay for?’ I’m going to strap him to the wing of my fucking jet and do a couple hundred barrel rolls.”

Bob couldn’t fight his smirk, hiding it behind the neck of his own beer bottle from his place at the island counter overlooking Hangman’s living room. It wasn’t often that he drank, but being a month out from your wedding…yeah, he deserved at least one beer.

“You know, my cousin did some digging months ago when they flew home for my birthday,” it was Elijah who spoke up, your older brother. Already in town for the month for his baby sister’s wedding, he’d known Bob for years because of you, so it was natural for him to become friendly with the rest of the Dagger Squad and to be invited to the fake bachelor party. “That little degree he got, the prestigious one from Yale? Yeah…apparently daddy made a nice donation to the library, and by nice, I mean a heavily substantial one.”

There was another chorus of laughter from the men in the room. Payback laughed so hard Fanboy was beating him on the back, trying to keep him from choking on the bite of pizza he’d just inhaled.

“I’d say I’m surprised, but I’m not,” Coyote chimed in, shaking his head at the thought. “Dad’s company, I think we all knew he wasn’t earning the position of CEO in a few years, it was being given to him. No surprise there that a hefty check managed to get him through college.”

“You know, Eli, we might not know one another well,” Fanboy gestured toward your brother. “But honestly…I’m shocked that you’re okay with this whole marriage, given that you seem to hate the guy as much as we do.”

Bob swung off his seat, rounding himself into the kitchen to look out through the window into the living room, grabbing another cold beer for himself after finishing off the final swig of his. The night literally revolved around talking about your wedding after all; he was going to need some alcohol in his system to fight his way through it.

“I’m not okay with it, but you guys know my sister. Once she’s made up her mind, it would take a lot to talk her out of something,” Elijah shrugged, groans echoing throughout the boys in the room. “She talks about Maverick, your Captain, if I remember right, like some surrogate father-figure for our own. Why not ask him to talk to her?”

“Maverick once got busted in his early days for taking Penny Benjamin on a joyride in a fighter jet, and struck out with the ladies plenty of times before reuniting with Pen,” Rooster chimed in with a scoff of his own, a smirk on his lips. “That man should be the last person giving relationship advice.”

“Fair enough. Honestly, I’m surprised Robert over there didn’t put a stop to this before it got this far,”

Bob’s head shot up, and every eye in the living room was on him. And not a single man wasn’t slightly smirking in his direction, Hangman was even tilting his beer toward him in agreement with your brother. The WSO only shook his head with a short, clipped laugh, nerves already dancing through him.

“W-Why would I do that?”

Elijah cocked an eyebrow in his direction, casting a glance around the room, before his gaze settled back on him.

“Uh, because you’ve been in love with my sister since Rhode Island?”

Bob Floyd was caught, frozen like a deer in headlights, in the kitchen. Eyes wide, glasses almost slipping off the bridge of his nose, and he wasn’t sure if the beer bottle in his hand was just slippery from condensation or because he was suddenly sweating.

“You know, I have been wondering the same thing, too,” Hangman spoke up, taking a glance around at the group of men. “I mean, he only worships the ground that she walks on. How do you fumble a woman like Bumble?”

There was a chorus of agreement to Hangman’s statement, as Bob found himself back on the other side of the island counter and seated on his barstool once again. His eyes were trained on the beer bottle in his hands, fingers gliding over the glass and tracing patterns in the built-up condensation. After a moment, he looked back at your brother, who was just watching him with a tiny, almost knowing smile.

Bob let out a deep sigh.

“...was I that obvious?”

“Dude, when you guys graduated Officer Candidate School, your parents and sisters rushed up to hug you,” Elijah was laughing fondly at the memory, pointing his index finger in Bob’s direction. “But you? You never once stopped looking at her. This sea of Navy men and women, and you couldn’t stop looking at her. I remember watching you. You’d just graduated and officially joined the Navy; the rest of your life was about to begin with that graduation…but you were looking at her as if she were the rest of your life. If that wasn’t the most blatant depiction of love, then I don’t believe in it.”

“That look never left him, just so you know,” Fanboy hopped in, speaking straight to Elijah as if Bob wasn’t in the room. “The second we all got here and they saw each other at the Hard Deck, this man was out of his shell in seconds. The quiet, reserved Bob we’d been talking to was gone as he, like, lifted her and spun her around the room. It looked like a scene out of a damn Hallmark movie, we all legit thought they were already together.”

A tiny smile made its way to Bob’s face, his eyes just staring out into the corner of the living room as he relived those moments. Decked out in your Navy dress blues, greeting your mother and brother with tears in your eyes, laughing at something your brother had said. His mother was hugging him, talking about how proud she was, his father comforting his sisters who cried over how proud they were, but…he never looked away from you. It was the first time he’d seen you in dress blues, and the only thing he could think was how the color navy must’ve been designed specifically for you.

That day at the Hard Deck, his first time meeting his new team for the special detachment mission. He’d been so quiet, reserved, stumbling over his words as his friends had asked for his callsign, as he’d met his new front-seater. He was never good at meeting new people…and then, you walked in. Every nerve in his body dissipated in seconds, and he’d never shot up so fast to tug you into a hug, afraid if he let go, you’d be back in Florida before he could blink, and he’d lose you all over again.

“Bob,” it was Rooster who broke him out of his daze, his gaze trailing back over the expectant looks of all his friends, before settling on the man he considered one of his best friends. “Why did you never tell her?”

“Because how are you supposed to tell your best friend you’re in love with her? Especially after a decade?” Bob laughed at himself, adjusting his glasses and rubbing his jaw. “I-I don’t know what life looks like without her, and I didn’t want to get rejected. I’d rather have her in my life than push her away because I ruined it all.”

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself there, Bob,” Payback jumped in, and Fanboy nodded along with him. “You never even tried. How can you just assume she doesn’t feel the same?”

“I tried to. Once…I was going to tell her, once,”

The room looked at him expectantly as Bob sighed to himself, resigning to finally getting all of this weight off his chest. Hangman and Rooster immediately moved the pizza boxes off the coffee table, giving Bob room to plop himself down on top so that he sat right in the middle of all his friends.

“We’d just moved you into this apartment,” Bob pointed at Hangman, then to the couch he, Rooster, and Elijah were sitting on. “We were sitting right here: me, my bee, and then Nat. You guys got drunk, it was a long day of moving, and somehow we started talking about dating. We were trying to update one another on our dating lives, little ‘team bonding’ I think Coyote called it. A-And I thought to myself…okay, I’m going to do it. We’re having fun, we’re a permanent squad now, and she’s not going to get ripped away from me and sent back to Florida, so I’m going to tell her. Then it got to her…and she started gushing about Austin. With every little compliment she gave him, I realized that if I ever had a chance, I’d lost it. So when it got to me, I said I was talking to a girl off an app, and I told myself I’d just never tell her. It could be my little secret, forever.”

The weight was finally off Bob’s shoulders, and it felt like he could finally breathe again. Everything he’d ever felt, he’d kept bottled up inside for so long, and it was finally out in the open.

But every face around the room looked confused. Payback and Fanboy were quietly conversing to themselves, faces twisted in confusion. Coyote and Rooster were having a short, staggered conversation that Bob could barely make out as they tried to loop Elijah in on everything. Hangman? He just stared at Bob as if he had three heads.

“Hold up,” Rooster finally spoke up, drawing the attention of the room, as he pointed down to Jake at the far end of the couch. “Didn’t we move you in here the day after your birthday?”

“Yeah, because we were kicking ourselves for staying out all night at the restaurant downtown the next morning because of the move,” Jake snapped his fingers, eyes going wide as Rooster nodded along with him, both boys seeming to be on the same wavelength in seconds. “Shit! That’s right, we ran into that girl–Megan–the one I hooked up with on Tinder, like, a month before.”

“Bingo, bagman,”

Both men turned to look at Bob, smiling like they’d just guessed the winning lottery numbers on a whim. Bob, though, was more confused than he thought he ever had been.

“I’m sorry…w-what does that have to do with anything?”

“Because Bumble was complaining about Jake being a manwhore,” Mickey jumped in with the explanation, and Hangman snapped in his direction in agreement. “Hangman then made a stupid comment about how maybe he should try the app named after her callsign, and she told him not to use ANY of the apps because they’re dumb.”

“I remember asking if she was ever tempted to download the apps, and she said no. Even showed me her phone, she didn’t have them,” Coyote tacked on.

Bob was…so utterly confused by the direction that this conversation had gone, he didn’t know what to do with it.

“Again, what does this-?”

“Bob, your little bee hated those apps; she’d never had them, and proved it to us, and that was just a night before you thought about confessing,” Rooster explained to him, trying to lay it out for him as simply as he could. “When she first introduced us to Austin, she said they’d met on Hinge…so whoever she was talking about that night, it couldn’t have been him.”

Once again, Bob was frozen in place, trying to fully comprehend what the guys were all explaining to him at that moment.

“Bob, we were all plastered that night. Hell, I barely remember setting this place up that day,” Hangman leaned forward toward him, elbows resting on his knees, and his intense gaze never straying from Bob. “Tell us exactly what she’d said that night.”

Truthfully, Bob wished he didn’t know what you had said. He wanted to forget it, the way you gushed with that love-struck look on your face for a man who wasn’t him. But unfortunately for him, he remembered every word.

“S-She had a crush, said it was someone you guys knew,” Bob explained, eyes cast down to the beer bottle in his hands once again. “He was kinda nerdy, a smart dude. Shy at first, but once you got to know him, he was sarcastic. A gentleman, chivalrous, and it felt like she had known him her entire life. She…she said h-he was the most attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on, and that she spent almost every day with him.”

There was a beat of silence. Every man in the room seemed to look around at one another, before all chaos let loose.

Payback and Fanboy practically threw themselves off the loveseat, jumping around and high-fiving, fist bumping, chest bumping with yells that could be considered victory screeches. Hangman had gotten off the couch, grabbing himself another beer and almost chugging half of it as he paced around the room behind the couch, muttering ‘wow’ to himself over and over again. Rooster was almost in total hysterics, along with Coyote, while Elijah sat among the chaos, simply shaking his head with a smile.

Bob? He sat on top of that coffee table in pure disbelief of whatever the fuck was happening around him.

“Could she have been more obvious-?”

“No, honestly! How did we not clock it?”

“I FEEL LIKE WE JUST WON THE LOTTERY!”

“Maybe we all need to borrow Bob’s glasses, I think we all might be blind-”

“Baby-on-board, I’m so sorry,” Hangman was the one to apologize, running a hand through his hair with an incredulous laugh as he looked at the WSO sitting in the middle of the room. “I think we should all be banned from drinking after this information. If we hadn’t been drunk, we would’ve realized what she said–maybe we could’ve saved this disaster. My god, she poured her heart out, and you lied about a girl on a dating app and probably broke her heart! Bobby boy…she was talking about you.”

That alone was enough to stop Bob’s heart, to make him pause, to drop his jaw open and pop his eyes open a fraction wider than they had been.

That…that wasn’t possible. This was you they were talking about; his bee. His Bumble, who’d stumbled through the doors like the adorable idiot you sometimes were. The girl who’d stuck to his side like glue, who had been there for every major moment in his life. You were the girl who’d flown home with him for his older sister’s wedding, who spent a week with his family on a ranch in Montana as if you belonged there. The person who held him for hours, for days, after the bird strike, who had listened to every fear he’d voiced about what it felt like knowing he was going down, not knowing if he and Nat would make it.

This was you. Vivacious, patient, dependable, graceful, utterly perfect…you. Everything he could ever want, ever dream of, wrapped up into the human being he couldn’t dare live without. You couldn’t, there was no way-

“You’re wrong,” was what Bob finally said, his voice low and quiet. The noise of the room settled, and everyone noticed the shift in Bob. It was written clearly on his face, his own insecurities that were creeping in and eating away at him. “S-She…she’d never think of me like that. Maybe it wasn’t Austin she was talking about, but it couldn’t have been me.”

“It was,” Bradley chimed in, but Bob only shook his head immediately,

“No, it can’t be, because I’m me. She was top of the class, and everyone loved her everywhere we went. She was the light in every room, the best part of everyone’s day…and I-I was her shadow. My bee…she deserves better than me, she deserves everything that Austin can give her-”

“Austin’s pretentious self can go fuck off,” Fanboy practically shouted out from across the room, cutting Bob’s sentence off. “He’ll never amount to half the man you are, Bob. Bumble loves you, we all know you know that.”

“She loves me because I’m her best friend, and I always will be,” Bob choked out a laugh. His throat was constricting, and he could feel the pool of tears welling up behind his eyes. “If she loved me in any other way…she would’ve told me.”

“Unless she was scared, just like you,”

It was the first thing Elijah had said in a while, and Bob’s eyes drifted back to the older man. He leaned forward, with the softest smile on his face, and it brought a smile to Bob’s for just a moment; it looked so much like your smile.

“She once called you the best thing in her life to me, made me swear to never tell you that. It became pretty obvious to me that you were the one thing in this world she was terrified to lose. So…take the leap, because it’s going to have to be you, Bob. Forget Austin, forget the ring, forget the wedding, and tell her. If we’re wrong, so be it, but at least you won’t spend the rest of your life wondering what might’ve happened if you had just tried. Tell her before you lose the chance to, before you spend the rest of your life regretting it.”

❤︎

Natasha’s words hadn’t left your head, but you kept silent. You let them sit, marinate, stir up your emotions in the back of your head, deep within your heart. Each time they managed to flicker back to the front of your mind, invade your thoughts, you wanted to throw up.

You’re going to kill yourself trying to be the right person.

That simple phrase had taken hold of you again, that little timer in your head slowly counting down: two weeks. Two weeks until you’d be married, until you’d be Mrs. Fletcher. Those thoughts wouldn’t leave even as Maverick stood at the end of the Hard Deck table, raising his beer in toast to you where you sat at the other end.

“To our Bumble…you stumbled through the doors of North Island into our lives, and now you get to stumble through life’s next greatest challenge: marriage. They say love comes easy when you choose to love your best friend…and I’m happy that the pilot I consider my own kid has found that kind of love,”

The rest of the table raised their drinks in toast to you. Your entire squad, Penny and Amelia, your mother, your brother, even your old squadmates from Florida. Everyone who would sit on your side of the aisle, to marry you off, huddled together in the closed Hard Deck for a special, intimate celebration in your honor, moving tables throughout the bar all together to sit with one another. All for you.

Maverick held your eyes for a moment after his words, even as the rest of the group devolved into laughter and stories, or moved off to play pool or darts. You held his gaze. Your Captain’s eyes were intense, but soft, as if he was trying to instill something into you that he hadn’t quite spoken aloud. A moment later, he finally broke away, and that queasy feeling deep in your stomach was back in full force.

“Another glass?”

It was Natasha who asked, holding out another glass of wine to you, your first having been downed before Maverick had even given his speech. You could see it in her eyes, the concern floating there, like she was waiting for you to break. Honestly, you were waiting for yourself to break, too. You eyed the glass for just a second before your eyes found Bob sitting right next to her, and you were back in your head once again. 

You were back in the moment you realized you’d fallen in love with Bob Floyd.

“How in the world did you get the callsign of Bumble?” 

You groaned, shaking your head as the rest of your Top Gun classmates laughed at the question from Diver, another new classmate of yours now that you were officially in Top Gun. Bob laughed from beside you, too, his arm resting over the back of your chair in the mess hall of Naval Air Station North Island. 

“She was swatting at a bee back when we first got to officer training in Rhode Island, then stumbled straight through the door past me,” Bob was grinning as you lightly slapped him on the chest, shaking your head with a grin of your own as you thought back on that day. “She called herself a-a bumbling idiot, so…it wasn’t hard to figure it out.”

“Oh, so you got your callsign a long time ago,” it was Rogue, another aviator, who laughed with a shake of her head. “Damn, so you guys have been friends for years then?”

“Since that day,” your reply came easily, leaning into Bob’s side more than you realized you were. “Officer training, flight school, even stayed in contact when we got assigned to different squadrons.”

“She’s my bee, can’t go anywhere without my bee,”

Then, he looked down at you with that grin. That little smile, full of warmth and fondness that had just grown over the years, and that underlying mirth that was always present in him since you’d worked your way past that awkward exterior. And there it was–the tug–pulling at your heart and your soul like it had been for years.

“Bee? Might have to steal that nickname-”

“Nope,” Bob jumped in, an air of confidence to him that wasn’t typically present around people he didn’t know, shaking his head. “That nickname belongs to me only.”

And that tug just got more intense as you looked at him. His smile, his blue eyes, those smile lines that creased around his nose and mouth every time he smiled, those glasses that only made him more and more adorable every time you looked at him-

Then, it finally hit you. That feeling sank in, the feeling that little tug on your heart had been trying to tell you for years: love. You were in love with Bob Floyd.

It terrified you to look at Bob now, after all that had happened, after all that you knew lay on the 

horizon, and know that you still loved him. That you never stopped, and that every fiber of your being was sure that it was truly never going to go away.

So, you took that glass of wine and downed it faster than you’d ever drunk alcohol before. Then, you stalked off to the bar to pour another glass, ignoring the look of concern that Natasha sent your way, or the one she shot Bob as he chugged his own beer.

Without even realizing it, you had managed to avoid Bob for most of the night, as if your body was forcing you to avoid him. Every time you locked eyes across the bar, that queasy feeling was back, and you forced yourself to down yet another glass of red wine.

You weren’t sure of the time, but you knew you were on your fifth glass of wine; a desperate ploy on your part to keep the thoughts swirling around your head out of the way. Rooster was engaged in a game of pool with your brother Elijah, both conversing with your mother as she stood at the opposite end of the table from you.

“Thank you for always keeping my girl safe in the skies,” your mother directed her comment toward Rooster, who shot her that award-winning smile.

“Your girl doesn’t need anyone to keep her safe; she’s one hell of a pilot on her own. Though she does some of her best flying with Bob and Phoenix with her,” Rooster shot you a wink, and you responded with a playful roll of your eyes.

“No way, my sister loves flying with Bob?” Elijah quickly avoided the swift kick you attempted to land to his shins, bumping his shoulder with Rooster’s as they laughed together, as if they knew something you didn’t. “That’s only been, like, common knowledge for well over a decade.”

“Alright, there’s no need-”

“Well, I’m just glad she’s found someone she can depend on in life the way she can with Bob in the sky,” your words were cut off by your mother, her laughter light as she sipped on her champagne. “Now I’ve just got to wait around with my fingers crossed for some grandbabies!”

She laughed, but neither Rooster nor Elijah did. Their concerned looks turned to you, and you were frozen once again.

The air felt heavy, as if all the oxygen in the room was tugged out of the room, and pure panic settled deep within your bones. Your hands started to shake, the little bit of your wine left in your glass swirling around the cup. With a small ‘I need some air,’ you were out the door onto the back deck of the bar, shoes discarded on the wood as you took the stairs two at a time and stepped into the cool, nighttime sand.

Even in the cool of the night, that sea breeze carrying that salty scent straight to your nose and your feet dug into the sand, you still felt you couldn’t breathe. Your back hit the wooden post that stood over ten feet tall, from the sand and up over the deck of the Hard Deck to hold up the string of warm yellow lights that illuminated the seating. The second your back rested against something solid, your breath rushed back into your lungs, the wine glass fell from your hands, and you finally cried.

Honestly, you weren’t sure why you were crying at this point. Maybe you were crying over the fact that you hated your wedding venue, or that you hated your dress, or now that Natasha had brought it up, you realized that you did, in fact, act like a different person around Austin. A person you didn’t recognize.

Or, maybe you were crying because you were drunk on a beach, at a party meant to celebrate your wedding in two weeks, and you were still hopelessly in love with your best friend. The man you were not marrying.

Speak of the devil: there Bob Floyd was, in all his glory. Stumbling off the steps of the deck, clearly drunk. His skin flushed red, that same stupid blue flannel billowing around him in the nighttime breeze, and you were cursing the fact that he looked gorgeous like this: drunk, a hazy look in his eyes, glasses barely hanging onto his face, illuminated by the light of the moon that shone down on him and the ocean.

“I-I thought I saw you stumble out here-” he was giggling, the most adorable thing you’d ever heard in your life, as he turned to look at you. Even in his drunken state, you could almost see him sober up just slightly the second he caught sight of you. “Bee- Bee, baby, w-what’s wrong?”

You knew you looked like a mess. Tears were still streaming down your face, makeup running down your cheeks, which you knew had to be splotched red from your sobs. There was a stain of red wine against the edge of your white sundress, the liquid splashing against you when you dropped the glass to the ground.

It only took looking at him for a second for your sobs to resurface. You took two steps forward before Bob was on you, tugging you into his arms as you buried your head into his shoulder and just cried your heart out.

Bob did nothing but quiet you, whispering ‘you’re okay’ into your ear. His fingers tangled through your hair, nails scratching at your scalp in his own comforting way. And he just held you, just let you cry in the dead of night. The only sounds were your own crying, the rolling of the waves in the distance against the shore, and the faint sound of the music inside the bar reverberating through the walls.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bob whispered after a few minutes, when your tears had finally subsided. You shook your head, backing away just slightly as you wiped at your eyes to rid yourself of the stray tears and running makeup.

“No,” your voice was hoarse from the crying, and when you finally looked at those concerned blue eyes watching you intently, that stupid fucking tug was back, and the copious amounts of alcohol surging through your body weren’t helping keep the filter on your mouth. “I…I just want to be here with you.”

He smiled, that shy boy-ish smile, the one that reminded you of the day you had first met and asked him to dinner, and you couldn’t help the little smile that crossed your own lips at the sight of it.

“No arguments from me,” he’d laughed, his hands still ghosting over your elbows and fingers lightly tracing patterns into your skin, a shiver running up your spine at the slightest touch. “Last time I saw you cry was my sister’s wedding.”

You laughed, leaning toward him just the slightest bit as his hands fully enveloped your arms, properly holding you as fire almost spread through your skin at the slight touch.

“It’s not my fault they had the sweetest vows!” you’d managed through your hazy laughter, hiccuping as the full weight of the alcohol in your system hit you.

“Don’t forget my brother-in-law’s best man,” Bob shot back with a wide, teasing grin, the grip he had on your arms tugging you just a bit closer in his own hazy, drunk state. “I remember you calling him hot.”

“He was, but he wasn’t you,” you commented unfiltered, and Bob gave another one of those shy shakes of his head.

“You don’t have to flatter me, bee,”

That tug was back, and the words were flowing out of your mouth before your brain could fully catch up with what you were saying.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Bob Floyd…you’re the most attractive man I’ve ever laid eyes on,”

The most innocent little statement, such a little off-handed comment, but the effect it had on Bob was visible in an instant.

He paused, his smile dropped, and he hesitated for just a moment, as if those words had ignited something deep within his soul. An unknown emotion was swimming around in his eyes before he shoved you back against the wooden pole behind you, cupped your cheeks in his hands, and kissed the breath straight out of your lungs.

Bob Floyd didn’t kiss like the sweet, innocent, awkward boy that everyone chalked him up to be. At least, not when he was kissing you. The gasp in your throat died in his own mouth, swallowed by his lips and replaced with a groan, and there wasn’t a single moment of hesitation in you as your hands ran their way up his arms, his broad shoulders, and into that sandy blonde hair that was always so perfectly styled. The intensity could be felt in your bones, the heat trickling through your skin.

The large, way too large, calloused hands slid down your neck from where they cradled your face. Another gasp left your throat as his fingers ghosted down your collarbones, right over the curve of your breasts, before wrapping around your body. One hand pressed between your shoulders, the other to the small of your back, as Bob brought you as close to his body as humanly possible, molding your body to his own until it felt as if you were one and the same.

You weren’t sure whose tongue dipped in first, but they met together in the middle in a dance. You could taste the hints of the bitter beer he’d been drinking the entire night along his tongue, throughout his entire mouth, as you let yourself explore. His kiss became harder, more desperate, more heated, his mouth almost completely devouring and overpowering your own as his hips pressed forward into your own, the presence of the bulge outlining his jeans so prevalent against you that yet another delicious moan spilt through your lips and into his own, swallowed by his kiss.

The second your hips pressed back against his own, Bob didn’t waste a second. His hands trailed down, cupping your ass in those large hands of his as he lifted you up with ease, your body aching with need at the pure show of strength he showed in that move. The edges of your dress slid up your thighs, bunching up around your waist as your legs locked around his back as lust blinded you, your body almost begging for the touch you’d been dreaming of for years as he grinded himself into you absentmindedly.

His lips left yours, allowing you a breath, finally, until they found themselves attached to your neck. His tongue dipped out, swiping along your skin as his lips followed the same trail/ From your jaw, down your neck and over your pulse, to your collarbone and below. The softest moan slipped back your lips, your hands still curled into his hair, and nails scratched at his scalp. One of those stupid sexy hands left your ass, but just as quickly as it had left it was curled around your breast, squeezing in a way that shot both a bolt of pain of pleasure through your body as his lips ghosted right over the swell of your breasts. His hips dipped into yours again, the little lacy panties that were the only barrier left on your body, positively soaked from just this moment alone.

With a single tug, you brought his lips back to yours, this kiss softer, sweeter, but still just as heated and passionate as it had been since the start. That tug in your heart, on your soul, was gone, as if it was an ailment you lived with your entire life, and this kiss was the sole antidote.

“Bob…” his name was the first word out of your mouth since he’d kissed you. It was the only word you could say, the only name you cared to have falling from your lips. He looked at you finally, those blue eyes that you loved so much.

The second that your eyes met, it was like the world finally came rushing back to you both, and the bubble you’d been existing in shattered in an instant as you both sobered up to a certain degree.

His hands dropped from you like you were heated metal, and yours left his in a second. Your legs dropped back to the ground, toes digging into the sand as if to ground yourself, your hands folded over your abdomen as you wrung your fingers together. Eyes blown wide, lips puffy and red, and every ounce of breath in your body gone as you stared at Bob.

He’d taken a few steps back, his own eyes blown wide before those glasses that were slanted across his face now. That sandy blonde hair was tussled, sticking up in different directions, and his white t-shirt was ruffled up on his chest, flannel barely hanging onto his shoulders. You tried not to look at his pants, at the wet spot clearly left behind against the bulge that was still ever present.

The weight of it all came crashing down on you as you brought your trembling hand to your lips, covering your mouth, as you tried not to look at that shimmering diamond glinting in the moonlight.

“I…I’m sorry,” Bob’s voice broke you. He sounded broken, he looked broken, like he’d just taken something so precious and fragile and thrown it on the ground and shattered it into a thousand pieces. “I’m…fuck, bee, I-I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you managed to barely get out, your voice barely above a whisper as the wind whistled around you, picking up slightly in the nighttime air. “Bob, i-it’s okay-”

“It’s not,” he quickly shook his head, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. “It’s not okay. I-I shouldn’t have done that, that…that wasn’t fair to you.”

“Bob-”

“I wish I hadn’t done that,” his voice broke as he said it, and your heart broke with it.

Wish. That one single word had tears stinging your eyes once more.

“So you…you regret it?”

“No–I just–I meant…” he stumbled over his words, before he simply stopped. Time almost stopped for a moment as you both just looked at one another, that salty sea breeze flowing past you both, tears in both of your eyes. “...I’m sorry, bee. I’m so sorry.”

Then, he was gone, through the sand and up onto the deck and back into the bar before you could say another word. And when minutes later Natasha came outside and found you pressed against that wooden pole still, silent tears streaming down your cheeks as you stared out over the ocean, you shook your head and told her it was nothing. You were just drunk and emotional, that’s all.

You were on autopilot, and everything felt numb.

It continued to feel that way for days. Every day at work, when you avoided his gaze, that was, if he was even looking at you. The silence on the comms when you were in the air, when typically you’d both be jesting back and forth while in the air every chance you’d get. The team saw it, Maverick saw it, hell, you were all sure Cyclone even saw it.

Austin? He never noticed a thing. To him, you were fine, you were your usual self. He never even questioned it when you sat down for dinner together, 72 hours on the clock, and he informed you that Bob had sent him a text and said he could no longer attend.

You covered for him, simply saying there had been a family emergency back in Montana he needed to attend to, and Austin didn’t bat an eye. He broke your heart, and you were still covering for him, still defending him, still protecting him.

Because that’s what he had done that night on the beach, under the light of the moon: Bob Floyd had broken your heart without even realizing he held it in the palm of his hand. He’d always held it, long before even you realized it.

“Alright people, look alive! We are on the clock, and pretty soon I’m about to have a sister-in-law!”

There were cheers in the bridal suite, somewhere behind you, but your eyes were locked on your reflection. The makeup was too heavy, and your hair was too hardened by the hairspray, your dress was all wrong and was too heavy, the lace was itching at your skin-

Wrong. It was all wrong.

Your gaze flickered to Natasha in the mirror behind you, donning that soft pink bridesmaid dress just like Melissa and Dove were–god, even the bridesmaid dress color wasn’t what you wanted–and understanding seemed to pass through her eyes in an instant.

“Hey, let’s celebrate after the ceremony. Why don’t you two go find Maverick for me so we can get this rolling?”

The pair didn’t argue, simply left the room, still laughing and conversing. The second the door of the suite shut, Natasha stepped up to your side as a shaky breath fell from your lips.

“Nat, I can’t do this,” you were already shaking your head in the mirror as Nat’s hand came to rest on your back.

“Bumble, it���s okay-”

“Bob kissed me,” the words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them, spinning to face Nat with a wild look in your eyes as you continued to spew everything out to her before she could respond. “O-Or I kissed him, I don’t even know. But we kissed that night, on the beach behind the Hard Deck–fuck, I think I was seconds from fucking him in the sand, I was so drunk. And so was he.”

Natasha just watched you for a moment in silence as you finally took in a deep breath, the words hanging heavy in the air.

“Bumble…I know,”

Your eyes shot open wider, if it was even possible.

“You…you know?”

“Bradley and I came outside to find you, he said you’d looked kind of spooked after something your mom had said. We saw you. We just…went back inside,” she laughed lightly to herself, reaching out to take your hand in hers. You let out a shaky breath.

“He…he said he wished it didn’t happen, Nat. He regretted it. He’s not even coming anymore,”

“I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to watch the woman I love get married either. He’s scared,” Nat tried to reason with you. “Drunk words and actions are sober thoughts and wishes. Honey, he wouldn’t have kissed you if he didn’t love you too. You can still walk away from this…I will unlace this dress right now, and you can walk out those doors. You don’t have to do this.”

You wanted to believe her; every part of you was screaming to run. But your family was out there, Austin’s entire family was out there, and they were waiting. There was a ring on your finger…you’d made a promise, you’d said yes. People expected this.

“I do, though,” was all you could say, as a single tear managed to drip down your cheek.

There was a knock at the door, and there Maverick stood in his dress blues. 

It was time.

Natasha gave you one last pleading look, but your eyes shifted away to hide your tears. Her hand gave yours one last squeeze before she was out the door, leaving you alone with Maverick.

You took in a few deep breaths, trying to find it in yourself, and finally moved toward the door. Maverick didn’t say a word, simply took out a little tissue from his pocket and wiped the tears from your eyes as you gave him a watery smile. Then, he held out his arm, and you looped yours through his.

The walk through the hallway was silent for a bit, a heavy silence that hung in the air, before Maverick broke it.

“I hear tears are typical before a wedding, the wedding jitters and whatnot…but this doesn’t seem like that,”

You laughed, but there was really no amusement in your tone.

“It’s not,”

Melissa, Dove, and Natasha were lined up outside the doors, prepared to walk as you and Maverick arrived, taking your places. Two of them were smiling, but Natasha couldn’t bring herself to smile. You gave them a wordless nod, and they opened the doors. The music kicked in, and they walked.

“The other night, at the Hard Deck,” your breath caught at the mention of that night, those moments on the beach playing out in your head like a movie on repeat. The doors shut behind the final bridesmaid, and you and Maverick took your places behind them. “I told you that love comes easy when you choose to love your best friend…”

The music began to change, and the staff were mumbling around you, preparing to open the doors so that you could walk.

“...I wasn’t talking about Austin,”

Your head turned to him, eyes wide. Maverick only looked at you with a tiny smile, the kind a father would give to comfort their daughter.

“You don’t have to choose all of them. You can choose yourself…you can choose him,”

Then, the doors opened, and the music kicked in.

❤︎

Bob Floyd was pacing. Honestly, he was surprised he hadn’t burned a pathway into his bedroom carpet from the pacing he had been doing back and forth for the last hour.

His dress blues hung on the door of his closet, mocking him. The invitation to your wedding lay on the dresser right beside it, that same wedding he’d texted days ago to cancel on, even though there had been a pit in his stomach as he did it. A nagging voice was in the back of his head screaming at him that this wasn’t right.

He should be wearing those dress blues. He should be sitting in the stupid, uncomfortable chair laid out in that fancy resort. He should be watching you walk down the aisle, watching Maverick hand you away, and watching you, his best friend, marry your new husband.

Instead, he was in the same t-shirt and flannel from that night at the Hard Deck, the flannel you’d bought him so long ago. It still held a hint of the scent of your red wine that had spilled against your dress and pressed into his own clothing. Your perfume, sweet like cherries, lingered on the fabric. He had to wear it; he had to relive those moments with you wrapped around him, pressed against him, where you felt like his.

Bob Floyd wasn’t at the wedding, sitting in the chair reserved for him, because he was selfish.

He couldn’t watch you get married. Not when he wanted–no, needed–to be the one you were marrying.

The clock on his bedside table read 6:42 p.m.; barely 20 minutes until you’d walk down that aisle at 7 on the dot and become Mrs. Fletcher, wearing the fancy lace ballgown that you hated, in the venue that you hated, with the man you shouldn’t be marrying.

His feet were itching to run, so instead he grabbed his phone and dialed the number he knew by heart, shakily bringing it to his ear. It only rang for a moment but his call was picked up.

“Bob-?”

“Mom, I-I need you to talk me out of getting in my truck, speeding down the highway, and interrupting a wedding right now,”

Bob’s mother was silent for just a moment before she laughed lightly. Not mockingly, but almost knowingly, on the other end of the call.

“Mhm, so you’ve finally accepted that you’re in love with her, huh?”

“Mom, I really just need you to stop me from doing something really stupid right now,”

“It’s not stupid, Robbie. It’s fighting for the woman you love,” there was a shuffle on the other end, before his mother let out a sigh. Bob was still pacing the room. “I remember meeting her at every graduation, seeing how happy you were with her. I remember when you brought her home for your sister’s wedding. I got to spend a week with the girl you called your best friend, and the only thing I could think was…wow, I can’t wait until the day she’s my daughter-in-law.”

Bob paused for a second before letting out a laugh of disbelief.

“I-I never told you I loved her,”

“You didn’t have to, Robbie, I could see it. And if you can’t see that she loves you too, then we need to up the prescription on those glasses of yours,” there was another shared laugh, before silence fell again. Bob finally stopped pacing. “I don’t know what has all gone down, but if you feel the need to stop this wedding, then somewhere inside you, you know she loves you too. Go get your girl before you spend the rest of your life wishing you had.”

You know what they say: mothers know best.

The only time Bob Floyd was speeding was when he was in a jet, pulling g’s in the air with Natasha that no normal person was doing. But the second he was behind the wheel of his truck, caution was to the wind, and he was speeding up the highway toward Del Mar without a care in the world.

Nothing mattered but you.

He’d haphazardly parked his truck in some spot outside of the resort, pushing past the workers who shouted out for him to ‘stop running’ or that this was a ‘private event’ as he raced down the halls of the resort. None of that matters.

He skidded to a stop right between the open doors, right in the middle of the aisle still lined with petals. There were people still inside, huddled together in groups. There was one group, closer to the altar, huddled up in a group. But workers were prevalent, moving throughout the room, bunching up linens or grabbing empty chairs and carting them away. He pushed the sleeve of his flannel up, not even changing before he rushed out the door, to look at his watch: 7:34 p.m.

“I missed it,” he mumbled to himself. Disbelief, pain, anger, Bob wasn’t sure what he was feeling. He was too late.

“Bob?”

He glanced up to his right, and there the squad was. All dressed in their dress blues, standing together with Maverick and Penny. It was Bradley who questioned him, Natasha standing at his side in her bridesmaid dress.

“...I’m too late, aren’t I?”

There was silence for a moment before everyone looked around at one another with small smiles. His gaze flickered to Elijah, who wore a smirk, leaning down to whisper to your mother as realization seemed to cross the older woman’s face.

“She didn’t walk down the aisle, baby-on-board,” Hangman spoke up.

Bob’s breath seemed to catch as he looked around at his friends, before he glanced back to the altar area. And there he was: Austin Fletcher, in the flesh. He was surrounded by his friends, and what looked to be his father and mother, and Bob couldn’t tell if he was pissed or upset, where his feelings ended or began as his family and friends tried to calm him down. Austin’s eyes met Bob’s for just a moment, and realization seemed to pass through every feature of his face. His glare hardened as he simply shook his head, shrugging off his friends and family and stalking out of the room without another word.

“She…she didn’t get married?” 

“Never even made it down the aisle,” Nat spoke up, giving her best friend the brightest of smiles. “We’ve all waited a long time for this, Bob. Better late than never. She’s in the bridal suite…go get your girl.”

❤︎

They’d tried to stop you, tried to talk to you, tried to talk you back into it. Austin’s sister, your old squad from Florida, Austin’s family, and even Austin himself. But there was no changing your mind. Your squad knew that, your brother knew that.

Maverick was right. You wanted to choose yourself…you wanted to choose Bob. You needed to.

You’d wiped off every ounce of makeup piled on your face. It had taken way too long to brush out every single ounce of hairspray sticking to your hair. It was almost impossible to unlace your dress yourself, but you had managed, tossing it onto the floor in a heap and leaving it there. The sight of it made you sick.

The second you were back in your robe, standing on the balcony of the suite and watching the sun set out over the horizon on the ocean just two streets away, the weight of everything finally felt like it was off your shoulders. You felt free, and for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel sick to your stomach.

“Hey bee…”

That voice sent a shock down your spine, and you spun on your heels. And there Bob Floyd stood, like he’d just blown in from a hurricane, standing in the sliding glass doorway to the balcony. That stupid white shirt, that stupid flannel, an exact image of the man who’d ruined you forever that night on the beach.

“Well…” your voice broke just slightly, tone low and soft, as you pulled your robe tighter around you. “I bet I look like a mess.”

He’d laughed, and it was enough to make you smile, something you hadn’t done since that night. Since the last time you were with him.

“Maybe…” his own voice was soft, his eyes trailing up and down you with a sincerity and a genuine adoration in them that you had never once seen in Austin’s eyes. “Most attractive mess that I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

You’d laughed this time, your hand resting on your lips to shield your smile, and those tears burned hot behind your eyes. He was here, he was really here.

“Bob…what are you doing here?”

“Well…I came here to tell you not to get married,”

You hummed, jutting your thumb in the direction of your wedding dress, thrown haphazardly into a pile in the corner of the room.

“I beat you to it,”

“Yeah, I see that now,”

He took a step out onto the balcony, leaning against the railing. Your eyes danced over his features, lit up in shades of red, pink, and orange in the setting sun. You turned to face him.

“I don’t know when it really happened, or started, maybe when we met…but I know when I realized I was in love with you,” you could see his breath catch as you laughed lightly at yourself. “And it’s terrified me, for years, because I didn’t want to confess and lose you. I couldn’t lose you. Life without you doesn’t make sense. But we moved Jake into his apartment, we all talked about dating, and I decided it was time to confess…and you said you were talking to some girl. You broke my heart.”

“I know,” was his answer immediately. Bob sighed, glancing at his shoes as he pushed his glasses back up his face, before looking back at you. “I was scared. I hated the thought of you liking someone else-”

“I was talking about you-”

“I know that now,” he was quick to interject, taking in a deep breath. “I’m late…but I know that now.”

“Then you kissed me…you finally kissed me. Then you said you wished it didn’t happen,”

“I know,”

“You broke my heart again,”

“I know,” his words came out in a whisper. He took another step toward you, his hands cupping your cheeks, and you leaned into the feeling on instinct. “I know I did. So I came here today to selfishly ask you not to marry that prick. Not just because you shouldn’t…but because I love you, too.”

It was all you’d ever wanted to hear, and having those words spoken was like the missing piece of a puzzle that had gone unsolved for years. You shut your eyes, letting a tear slip, as you turned your head and pressed a kiss to the palm of his hand.

“Selfish, huh?”

“Yeah, because I’m so incredibly late,” Bob laughed at himself, and you laughed at him too. You finally understood what that was shining in his eyes, that emotion you could never quite decipher: love. “I have loved you since Rhode Island. I tried to be happy for you and Austin, I wanted you to be in love and be happy, but you weren’t with him. He’d never be able to love you like me. So, yeah, I came here to be selfish and ask if I-I’m not too late…and if I can have the chance to love you the way I’ve dreamed about for the last ten years.”

The smile that crossed your lips as you spoke was the most genuine smile you’d worn in weeks. It was stitched to your lips, and you weren’t sure it would ever leave.

“And how would you love me?” you responded, taking just another step closer to him, closing that distance as he still cradled you in his hands. “How has Bob Floyd dreamed of loving me?”

“Catching you every time you stumble, whether it’s on the tarmac walking to our jets or on a sidewalk or beach. Getting you your coffee every morning, just the way you’ve always loved it: two sugars, and just a dash of cream,” you laughed, and his thumb swiped away the tear that slipped down your cheek. “Waking you up every morning, tangled in my sheets, wearing my old University of Montana t-shirt that you stole the night before after you tore it off me. Holding your hand, your waist, just holding you close to me in every moment that I possibly can, because I never want to not be around you. Kissing you, every inch of you, like I do in the dreams that have plagued me night after night for a decade. Holding you when you cry. Having your back in the sky. Buying you flowers. Staying up late at night, talking about anything and everything, like we did all through our lives in training. Fucking you–lord knows I’ve dreamed about that enough. Then…proposing to you, with the ring I know is saved on your wedding Pinterest board. Marrying you, in the venue you’ve always dreamed of, while you’re wearing the dress of your dreams-”

You didn’t let him say another word. Your hand bunched up in his t-shirt, tugging him in, and kissing him with all the love and passion that had been sitting dormant in you both for years. And with every moment that his lips moved against yours, that his hands slid down your body like they had that night on the beach and rested against your hips like they were meant to be there, everything fell into place. For the first time, life felt like it made sense because your heart had only ever belonged to Bob Floyd.

“You have me. I’m all yours, I’m only yours. I’ve been yours since the day we met,”

The next time you walk down an aisle, it will be the fall. The leaves will be changing colors, and the air will be crisp. You’ll be wearing a light and loose dress that billows in the fall wind, and Bob Floyd will be waiting for you at the end of the aisle. It was only ever going to be Bob Floyd waiting for you at the altar.

You were twenty-two when you first met Bob Floyd, but you were also twenty-two when you fell in love with Bob Floyd. There was never going to be anyone else for you but him.

Taglist: @venuslayla23-blog @bluegardenn @fandomxo

[spidercatweb]

Your Embrace and My Collapse ★ Spencer Reid x reader

Warnings: fem!bau!reader, migraine!reid, angst, hurt/comfort, tiny bit of fluff at the end, established relationship, Spencer is snippy and a little mean but it's because of migraine, Spencer yells at reader, reader is sad for a bit, non-specific case details, mentions of women being murdered, a hint of misogyny from a suspect, one single swear word, umm nothing else I don't think? lmk if so. this is set in s6 :)

Description: Spencer has a migraine, he yells at r when it gets too overwhelming, he regrets this later, calling to apologize.

Word Count: 3.1k

Request: Hi! First off I loveee your blog!! Second off could I get a spencer reid x fem!reader where they r having an argument about literally anything and then a lot of spencer groveling? thanks for considering

A/n: thank you sm for the request, anon!! I am just now realizing that what happens in this isnt much of an argument 😬, but i quite like how it turned out. I hope you enjoy!! <3 Is it obvious i got carried away w this one?

After four years of working with Spencer, and nearly two years of dating him, it wasn't surprising that you were the first to notice that something was wrong. 

The past few days, Spencer hadn't gone on as many long rambles as usual. Maybe he was just tired this week, cases have been very time consuming lately. Not that they usually aren't.

You figured out what was wrong when you saw him squeeze his eyes shut and rub them with the base of his palms. Three times in an hour. Unusual. 

After the team finished delivering the profile for the current case, you took a moment to pull him aside. 

"Are you feeling okay?" Concern in your voice, you reached gently for his hand. 

He pulled away. "Yeah, I'm fine." His face scrunched up, he shut his eyes tightly and his nose crinkled up. You'd find it cute if it wasn't obvious he was in pain. He pressed into the bridge of his nose with two fingers,clearly trying to ease a headache.

"Okay," you gave him a small smile and nod, "let me know if you need anything, I've got Advil in my bag." 

"I know, thank you." He made an effort to return your smile.

"Reid, Y/l/n, we've got a lead. Garcia's about to fill everyone in." Hotch's commanding voice cut through the calm, quiet bubble around the two of you. 

The team filed into the briefing room of the BAU. Thankfully, the case was local. You were glad to be in a familiar place. 

Garcia was already seated at the small round table, tapping away on her laptop. You sat down next to Spencer, Prentiss sat on your other side.

"Lovelies, we have a small problem. I've found two men who almost exactly fit our profile."

"We'll bring both of them in for questioning, then. What do we know about them, Garcia?" Hotch directs the attention back to her.

"I was just about to tell you that, sir. First up, we've got Landon Adams, 27 years old. His childhood was... less than nice. Plenty of trips to the hospital, poor thing. Lots of injuries consistent with abuse. And I'm assuming everything going on at home was related to the multiple reports of violence towards his fellow students at school. Multiple suspensions, and he was expelled from his highschool." She takes a quick moment to switch the information on her screen.

"Second guy, Cole Parker, 29 years old. Similar childhood to Adams. Frequent hospital trips for supposed accidents, bad behaviour at school, suspensions, an expulsion. Oh and get this! They both work in construction! Different companies, though."

"Do we have home addresses and places of work?" Rossi chimes in.

"We do, sir, I've already sent them to you all." Garcia smiles proudly, always one step ahead.

"Thank you, Garcia. Alright, Prentiss, Morgan. You two go to Adams' home. Rossi and JJ, you go to his workplace. Seaver and I will go to Parker’s home. Y/l/n and Reid, you two go to his workplace." 

Everyone nods at Hotch as they receive their placements. The team splits up accordingly, each pair heading to a different SUV. Exiting the Quantico building, you see Spencer wince at the brightness of the sun. You sigh quietly. You don't like seeing him in pain, but you have a job to do. You'll talk more later.

The car ride is quiet. You drive, Spencer sits in the passenger seat. The silence isn't exactly comfortable, but it isn't awkward. You roll down his window just a little, to give him the fresh air he so obviously needs. You take the time to theorize about the suspect. Will he even be at work? Will he run? Put up a fight? You hope not.

As you pull into the small, gravel parking lot of the construction company, you sit for a moment to prepare yourself to talk to whoever is managing the place. In your experience, people in this line of work aren't often eager to talk to FBI agents. You look over at Spencer, he must have put on his sunglasses when you weren't paying attention. He now looks a little less irritated without the sun in his eyes. Good. 

You gently place a hand on Spencer’s knee, catching his attention. “You ready to go?” 

He brushes his hand over yours, giving it a light squeeze. “Yep.”

You both step out of the car into the bright sun. The sunlight reflects off of tiny, glistening specks in the gravel, and right into your eyes. You squint as you head to the front entrance of the building alongside Spencer, now wishing you’d also brought your sunglasses.

The inside of the building is similar to the outside. Concrete, dusty, smelling strongly of diesel. You noticed how Spencer scrunched up his nose at the pungent scent. 

The only other person inside is an older man who introduces himself as Mark, the manager of the building. 

“You two are FBI? Really? Well what are you two doin’ out here?”

You ignore the man’s questioning of your authority. “We’re here to ask you a few questions about one of your employees, Cole Parker?”

“Ah. Well, he called in sick today, and I’m not one to judge, but he didn’t sound very sick on the phone. If you ask me, he’s ditching work to be with that new girlfriend of his.”

“Girlfriend?” Spencer asks. He glances over to you, the unsub had been killing young women. If Cole Parker was your guy, this new girlfriend of his could be in danger.

“Yeah. He’s been yammerin’ on about her for the past week. Her name is Carol… or Christine? Somethin’ like that. Hard to keep up. He gets tired of em’ fast.”

Interesting.

“Have you noticed any shifts in his behavior lately? Short temper, violent outbursts, things like that?”

“Hm. Y’know I’m really not sure, I’m not around him long enough to notice. Might be better to ask some of the guys. I can give you the address of the site they’re workin’ if you’d like.” He offers.

Spencer pinches the bridge of his nose again, his vision beginning to blur. “We’ve already got two other agents headed there right now, but thank you.” 

The man notices Spencer’s clear discomfort, “You alright?”

“Yeah. Fine, thanks.” He runs his hands through his hair anxiously, further tousling his already messy curls.

“Thank you for your cooperation, sir.” You hand him a card with your work phone number, “Please call me if you remember any important details about Cole.”

He puts the card into his shirt pocket. “Of course. Have a nice day, you two.” 

As you both exit the building, Spencer stops right outside the door, running his hands over his face with a sigh.

You turn to look at him with concern. “Spence-”

“I just need a minute. I’m fine. I’ll meet you in the car.” His eyes are squeezed shut as he faces the ground, rubbing his temples.

You respond with a quiet “okay”, and silently head back to the car, where you wait for him. You put the air conditioning on blast as you pull out your phone to call Hotch.

“Hotchner.” He answers quickly.

“Did you and Seaver find Cole?”

“Yes, we’re just about to bring him in for questioning. How’s it going over there?”

“His boss told us that he can’t keep a girlfriend for too long, always switching between girls. He didn’t notice any other odd behaviors though. We’re just about to leave.” You spot Spencer walking over to the car.

“Alright, thanks. See you at the precinct.” He hangs up the call.

Spencer slides into the passenger’s seat, looking slightly calmer than before. “Who was that?” 

“Hotch. Him and Seaver are bringing Cole Parker in for questioning.” You turn the air conditioning down a little, so it’s still cool but not as loud, not as irritating for Spencer.

“Good.” 

***

Spencer leans his head back on his seat and closes his eyes. The drive back is just as silent as the drive there. By the time you get to the police precinct, Spencer is half asleep. He opens his eyes slowly. Squinting at the light coming through the windshield, he turns his head towards you.

“Hi.” You huff out a small laugh, earning a small quirk of his lips. “Feeling a little better?”

“Mm.” He sighs with a nod, “a little, I’ll be fine.”

You reach over and comb your fingers through his hair, he leans into your touch. You fix a few stray hairs that stick out, then give him a peck on his cheek. “Let’s go.”

***

The lights in the precinct are bright, filled with the chatter of nosy police officers. They flock around the team as you all enter with both suspects. Hotch and Rossi take on the task of interrogating, with the rest of the team on standby if needed. You stand behind the two-way mirror with Seaver and Reid. You listen intently to every word, you note mannerisms, you profile. That is your job after all.

Cole is becoming frustrated after only thirty minutes of interrogation. Hotch stays calm and collected as Cole’s volume rises. 

“I’m telling you! I was nowhere near there! I was out with some guys from work. Ask ‘em, they’ll tell you.”

“We did. They all had pretty different stories. We also got security camera feeds from the alley that night. Are you telling me that isn’t you?” Hotch slides a grainy photo across the table. The lighting is dark and the quality is less than ideal, but it’s clearly Cole in the photo.

He groans and mumbles something under his breath, “those bitches deserved it.”

“Pardon me?” Hotch prompts him to repeat himself.

“I said they deserved it! Every last one!” He yanks hard at the cuffs grounding him to the table, lunging at Hotch.

Hotch doesn’t move a muscle. “Alright, that’s enough.” He nods to the two officers standing at the back of the room. They move to restrain the man and bring him to a holding cell.

You look up at Spencer, who at first glance, seems fine, like he’s just thinking. But you notice his glassy eyes and flushed face. He tries to inconspicuously shield his eyes from the flickering fluorescent light above his head. Seaver notices this too, she gives you an “is he okay?” look, you give her a shrug and a worried look that says “I have no idea.” She exits the room to go check on Rossi and the others, leaving you and Reid alone.

You hover beside him, not wanting to worsen his pain any more. After a few moments of watching him silently suffer, you hear a sniffle. He’s crying. You get a sinking feeling in your chest, all you want is for him to be okay. 

“Spence,” you whisper. No response. “Do you want to sit down? I can get you some water,” you offer kindly. 

He shakes his head, massaging his temples again.

“Are you sure? The case is pretty much wrapped up. I’m sure Hotch wouldn’t mind.” Your voice stays soft, gentle.

He raises his voice “God, I’m fine! It’s fine! Nothing will help, just… Just stop trying to help me. I don’t need help.” You spot him wiping a tear from his face as he storms out of the room.

You don’t follow. Maybe he needs some time alone. You respect his wishes. You don’t help. Though you’d really, really like to. Instead, you follow Seaver’s trail to the second interrogation room where Rossi is still digging deep into the other suspect’s mind. You watch through the two-way mirror.

“Really, Landon? Were you really stopped on the side of that road for a nap? You were on your way home, weren’t you? Why not wait until you got back?”

“I was tired. I didn’t want to fall asleep at the wheel.”

“Alright. You’re sure you didn’t see anything suspicious? No … man lugging around a woman’s corpse? Burying her?”

“No, man! I was sleeping!” He throws his hands up in the air, as much as one can while cuffed to a table. He sighs defeatedly.

Hotch slides past you and into the interrogation room. He lets Rossi know that while he’d been interrogating, Cole Parker had fully confessed to the murders. He spared no detail, including  ones the police and FBI hadn’t yet shared with the public.

Rossi gives Landon a half-hearted apology and a pat on the back as the officers uncuff him.

***

You help Hotch to get a written confession from Cole, which takes longer than usual, because his handwriting skills aren’t exactly the best. But you sit in the room with him, waiting, as he drops the occasional rude comment directed towards you, his victims, or the police.

While sitting silently, you think about Spencer. You wonder if he’s okay. You think about what he said. He doesn’t need help from you. He doesn't want help from you. Leave him alone for once.

You shake the thought out of your head. He’s in pain. He didn’t mean it. This does little to ease the anxiety spinning in your mind.

“Hey, lady. I’m done writing.” He drops the pen down onto the metal table with just enough force to express his annoyance.

“Good. Did you sign it?” 

“Of course I did. What? Do you think I’m stupid or something?” He’s clearly looking for a fight.

Unamused, you respond. “No. I think you’re a serial killer with a severe lack of respect for women. I was just checking. A lot of people forget.” You slide the paper towards yourself and look it over before placing it into a file folder. You give a nod to the officers in the room and they take him away. You leave the room after them, meeting up with the rest of the team except Spencer, who’d reluctantly gone home per Hotch’s instruction. Thank goodness someone else noticed.

Hotch pulls you aside for a moment. “I wouldn’t mind if you left to help Reid. There’s not much left for us to do today anyway. You’re free to go.”

You hesitate. He doesn’t want help. He doesn’t need you. 

“Okay. Thanks Hotch.” You give him a faint smile as you go to grab your things.

***

Instead of heading to Spencer’s apartment, you go to yours. You want to check up on him, but don’t want to pain him with a blaring ringtone, and he was most likely staying away from screens, so he wouldn’t see a text. You keep him in your thoughts as you change out of your work clothes and settle down for the night. 

***

Spencer lies on his bed in complete darkness. At this point, the pain had brought him to tears. He hadn’t eaten anything due to the nausea looming in his stomach, which only made the headache worse.

He needed something. A distraction. Nothing loud. Nothing bright. Nothing that would irritate him further. He wanted you. He needed you.

He thinks back to what he said to you earlier. Why would I say that? Well, he knew why he said it. Scientifically. Higher sensitivity, more pain, more irritability, this leads to outbursts. He just wanted it to stop. He didn’t mean to yell at you.

He sighs, shifting to be face-down in his pillow. He just wants to feel okay. Why won’t it stop? What’s wrong with me? A pained whine escapes him as he decides to try to get some rest. 

***

Your phone’s ringtone pulls you out of your sleep. You grab it from your nightstand, checking the time first. Who’s calling me at 12:30am? Spencer. You answer with some hesitation, anxiety still whirrs in your mind, residue from hours ago. 

“Spence?”

“I really- I’m really sorry for what I said earlier. I didn’t mean it. And I know that’s not a good excuse but-” His voice is quieter than usual, strained.

“I know you didn’t mean it. You weren’t acting like… you. I was worried.”

“I said I didn’t need help but I’m um- really rethinking that right now. And I’d completely understand if you didn’t want to but um- could you maybe come over? I just really want someone here with me. I want you here with me.” 

You could tell from his voice that he was still hurting, he was scared. You get up without a second thought. 

“Of course, Spence. I’ll be right over.”

He sighs with relief. “Thank you.” 

***

Spencer hears the lock on his door click as you enter. He stays right where he is, in bed. 

You walk in as quietly as you can, leaving your shoes at the door and trying your best to navigate around in the dark. You nudge his bedroom door open and whisper a quiet “I’m here” as you spot the outline of him in his bed.

He sits up slowly with a small hum of acknowledgement. “Hi.” He reaches to turn on the lamp beside his bed.

“No, don’t, you don’t need to turn it on. It’s fine.” You reassure him. “Do you want me to get you anything? Water? Meds?”

“Both, please. Meds are on the kitchen counter.”

“Okay, I’ll be back in two seconds.” You head to the kitchen, spotting the meds once you turn on the lights. You fill a glass with ice, then water, grab the box of meds, then rush right back to Spencer’s room, turning off the kitchen lights as you leave.

You carefully hand him the glass of water, he thanks you, then takes a long sip. You hand him two tablets of his meds, and he swallows them with the water.

“You want to try to get some sleep?”

He nods, “Yeah, but these usually take about half an hour to kick in, hopefully they do kick in. I’ll probably be able to sleep then.” Your eyes have now adjusted to the dark, you can see him give you a small smile.

“You want me to stay?”

“I’d really like it if you did.”

“Alright, move over then.” You don’t wait to slide into bed next to him. It warms your heart to hear him giggle slightly from this.

***

Your next hour is spent with Spencer curled up to your chest, with your fingers carding through his hair. The room is silent, save for your breathing and the sighs he lets out every so often. You stay awake until you’re sure he’s asleep, then for a little while longer, just to make sure. Finally, you can’t keep your eyes open any longer, and you’re pulled into a calm sleep. You hope that when you wake up, everything will be okay. And it will be. Because it always is with Spencer.

Thank you for reading! <3

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[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

need to know!

ft; sakura haruka, suo hayato, umemiya hajime, ren kaji

synopsis ; how aware are they of your crush on them?

cw ; gn!reader, violence, some of them are stupid asf

now playing ; need to know by doja cat

sakura haruka

romantic sensor hard at work…! again.

sakura isn’t stupid. well, academically, he certainly is. but he’s aware enough to tell when you’re acting differently around him than with the others. for one, you don’t show up at suo’s doorstep every day with food while proceeding to eat it with him. you sure do that with sakura though. you don’t bombard nirei with texts whenever you can. you sure do that with sakura though.

his stupid little romantic sensor gives it away though. whenever you do anything for him, even if it’s picking up something that he dropped or making a sarcastic compliment about him, he turns bright red and his thoughts begins to ramble a mile a minute. it’s almost as if steam is rushing out of his ears.

his sensor is practically screaming “they have a crush on you! they have a crush on you!”

the biggest problem though? he’s too insecure to realize it.

logically—and even instinctively—it makes completely sense that you’re in love with him. but emotionally, sakura’s senses are completely blocked by his past experiences. i mean, what was there to like about him?

he’s internally aware, but externally too dense to figure it out.

suo hayato

he knows the tea. and he drinks it as well.

aware? oh, suo knows. he can tell. from the slight twitch of your fingers when his hand accidentally grazes yours to the slight, nearly unnoticeable pout on your lips when he leans in ever so closely to your lips only to brush a few strands of hair ever from your face and back away. he sees it all.

of course, he likes you back. a little bit too much, actually. so much that when he closes his eyes, you’re the first thing that he thinks of. that you occupy and consume all of his thoughts. he doesn’t mind confessing first, he just needs to make sure that you’re prepared. you’d probably melt and hyperventilate if he confesses to you in this current state.

you’re so damn obvious about your crush. he thinks it’s cute.

the worst part about suo is that he’s so damn nonchalant and vague about it as well.

when he finally confesses to you, after an excruciating year of crushing on him, it’s almost like an intentional slip of the tongue. “you think no one’s going to ask you to homecoming? well, i like you a lot, and if we went to the same school, i’d ask you out.”

suo is painfully aware. so much so that it’s incredibly annoying to have a crush on him.

umemiya hajime

“yeah, of course 1+1=2!” “how’d you solve it?” “…”

of course he can tell that you have a crush on him! how do you think he leads furin without good observational and emotional skills? he can obviously tell that you’re so genuine with your compliments because of your crush on him!

and yes, he can easily figure out which are the gifts you give him because you have a crush on him and which are the gifts you give him because it’s actually some sort of special day. usually it’s the former. well, at least he’s still getting the gifts at the end of the day.

the catch?

he can’t seem to process the fact that you have a crush on him.

it’s just like how it is with tsubaki’s crush on him. he’s not stupid; he can clearly tell that you have a crush on him. but he can’t seem to process it or act on it. it’s like knowing a formula for math but not knowing what the hell to do with it or where to put the numbers.

you don’t even know if you want to call him stupid or smart.

ren kaji

he’s just as in tune with your emotions as he is with music.

kaji is leagues more normal than the others. he’s keen enough to be in touch with the emotions of others, especially as a grade captain. despite how outwardly rough he can be sometimes, he can definitely take a good read on the emotions on someone else, especially someone he’s close with.

he’s not as cruel as suo or as dumb as umemiya. does he like you back? definitely. he couldn’t even deny it. but at the same time, he’s too awkward to confront you about it. he’s horrified at the thought of coming off of brash or abrasive if he ever confronts you about your crush on him.

so he just sucks on his lollipop, watching your face turn bright red whenever you catch him staring at you a bit too intently.

you’ll be fine. he’s sure that you’ll find out soon.

[hiddenlife-manager]

Hasan Piker x Reader

cw… creampie, plan b, some plot, nipple play, breast play, jerking off, hook up, alcohol induced sex, under the influence, not edited, etc…

notebook… I FELL IN LOVE WITH THIS HUNK OF A MAN! So yeah I’ve been gone, frankly my health has gotten worse plus school so I haven’t been in the best spot. Got this done while studying for an exam thanks for staying yall.

“I would have to disagree with you, see, as an economist…” There you were, sitting in front of the most influential political commentator, Hasan Piker. You had watched plenty of his streams, agreed with many, and disagreed with a few. He reached out to you; perhaps it was because your name was being mentioned in abundance. You were the young rising star, being asked for your own stance on the current administration, specifically economics.

“Frankly, your problem is that you think far too optimistically of the average American's comprehension of the market.” Handsome he was, and the way he spoke could impress even the highest of individuals. He was called many names, socialist and liberal, when he really is a leftist, communist, misogynistic, and other names. He was dressed in a brown suit, stylish as ever. His glasses on his face and the perfectly groomed beard.

“It can be done; I do think highly of the average American people. Where we can agree is that to make a difference is to change both parties, which has been proven nearly impossible.” You were a natural in front of the camera; you were not the type to speak in a complicated manner. Your whole existence and career were to make economics accessible to all classes of people in this diverse nation.

The two of you debated back and forth for almost an hour, his chat exploding. It was all split; some enjoyed your presence, others did not, and people hated Hasan or loved him. You reached the point where you answered one last time, and he began to close up. He got up and walked over to you, offering a hand.

“It has been a pleasure; greatly appreciated that you took up my offer.” He was kind; he was known for being brash and unapologetic. It was the type of individual he was. You found your cheeks warming up the moment he offered his hand to shake. You were slow and deliberate, not wanting your hand to be sweaty. You shook his and flashed a smile.

“Of course, I enjoyed this experience. Do reach out if you desire another opportunity to debate me.” He chuckled at your statement; the way you two still held one another’s hands was strange. No one wanted to let go in a strange way. It was quiet staring into his eyes while he stared at yours. He cleared his voice and pulled his hand away.

“Would you like to get a beer? It’s late; might as well offer.” He tried to let go of his professionalism. He knew you were a small Hasanabi head; he did not need to hide his true nature. He waited for your response; he enjoyed talking to someone intellectually similar to him.

“I am in need of a drink; I am not used to the West California area. Do you have a place in mind?” Nearly all economists lived on the East Coast, you included. You only flew in for a few events in the California area and this debate.

“I know a great place; I’ll pay.” He spoke, “Give me a second to inform my team I’ll be leaving.” You hummed, and he walked away. In seconds he returned with his car keys; you knew this would be a fun night; you needed a drink.

You shouldn’t have drunk as much as you did, and neither should he. The tension you two had from the debate, after it, and the bar was let out. You two stumbled into your large hotel room, your arms fumbling with his belt buckle. You walking backwards, his lips against yours, his arms around your waist. He was extremely muscular.

“Living room?” He asked between deep, long kisses; it was clear you two couldn’t make it to the bedroom. He knew you could afford a hotel that was nearly an apartment. It was clean and lived in. He lowered his hands from your waist to your ass; with ease, he lifted you up.

“Is that what your muscles are for?” You joked, whispering against his ear. He couldn’t help shaking his head.

“What can you say? I like women.” He humored you back; he reached the couch of the living room area of the hotel room. He sat down, and you were on his lap. The two of you are making out with passion, the taste of liquor lingering with each kiss. His lips were soft; his beard gently scratched your face.

“Clearly…” Your hands lowered back to his expensive belt, while he slowly removed your top. The two of you wanted this despite being extremely drunk. His hand went to the back of your bra with ease, and with one hand he undid it. “An expert, I see.”

“Of course, bras are a nuisance.” He responded; there he began to fondle your breast. He massaged them and carefully would pinch the nipples. You attempted to hold back moans, not desiring to be too loud, especially in a hotel. On his lap, you had to work trying to get his pants undone. They looked amazing on him, beige, which matched the entire outfit.

“Extremely experienced—mhm…fuck…” You gasped out and threw your head back, stopping right then and there from attempting to get his cock out of his pants. You could see the outline, his erection clear as day. You bit your lip and continued to try and get him free. He did not stop his attacks on your breast; he knew how to play with them. Leaving you out of breath, the world was already spinning from you being drunk; now you held this want…for him to let you ride him.

There, as your hands moved the leather out of the way, you quickly undid the first two buttons and then a zipper. White pristine boxers with the most tasteful outline of his large cock. You knew he was large, just from his mirror pics from his Instagram. Right when your hands reached the boxers, he pulled your nipple, causing your body to lean onto him. You grabbed his shoulder with a moan louder than before.

“Oh, is this the sweet spot?” He teased you; he enjoyed the way your body used his for support.

“You are making this—oh god! More difficult than it…mhm…needs to be.”

“Clearly you want to ride me, making this fun for you.”

“Hardly, this is fun—f-f-f-fuck, just let me get fucked by you.” It was a clear plea; he enjoyed it. This was fun; he was drunk, just as drunk as you, maybe a little less. Either way, he and you were extremely intoxicated; there was no filter.

“As you wish, Princess.” He let go of your nipples, allowing you to sit up once more. He continued to play with your breast, small whimpers forcing themselves out. You finally reached the hole between the boxers and his cock. The moment you moved the hole, it sprung out with such force it caused your lips to part ways and let out a gasp of surprise. “Bigger than you thought?”

“Yes…” He let out the smoothest of laughs, his hand raised up to your head and almost patting it.

“Come on…touch it, spit on it if you want.” Your cheeks felt warm; you moved your hands to his large cock. The moment you placed it around the base of his cock, it splurted precum from the tip. He groaned at the way your hands felt quite cold against his warm and throbbing cock. You moved a little on his lap, slouching a little, and spat on it.

There you began to move your hand; you twisted and pumped, attempting to get it covered in your spit. The way your hands moved had Hasan's head thrown against the back of the couch. His glasses were no longer straight; they were crooked, and hardly he looked presentable; neither did you.

“We don’t have condoms.” You let out; he raised his head up to see you actively pumping his throbbing cock. The erection reaches a point of pain and pleasure.

“I’ll pull out.” You hummed there was no protest, the way his eyes were glazed watching you, and your eyes were filled with lust. The alcohol was there; it was one of many factors as to the reason you landed here, about to ride his cock.

“I’ll get a Plan B.” There was a laugh shared between you, after all you two shared the same views. If you were to get pregnant, here in California it would be allowed and in your home state. You did not stop moving your hand while the two of you discussed the issue at hand.

There you felt him work on getting your pencil skirt raised. You looked professional before all of this; now you were a mess just like him. Your skirt lifted above your thighs, your panties shifted out of the way. The moment he moved the panties to the side, your lips parted to gasp; the cold air felt like a sharp touch.

“Come on…don’t be shy.”

“I am not…” You muttered as you began to hover over his cock. You held it in your hand while using your knees to stay up.

“You’re hesitating.” He teased.

“So what—AH!” You felt him thrust up and the first half of his cock being shoved inside you. The way your body had to use his to stay up. He chuckled; you slowly sunk in the rest while holding his shoulders with your hands. He groaned at the meticulous manner in which you moved down; you two were silently sitting there for a minute. “You’re an asshole.”

“Perhaps.” He could feel the way your hands held each side of his body. His shoulders were tense, the digging of your nails painful despite the hidden pleasure he felt. He found himself biting his bottom lip; you haven’t moved an inch yet, and here you are causing him to malfunction.

“Okay… I am going to move.” He nodded his head, his hands rested on your sides. There you began to move slowly and deep. Whimpers were the only sound you made while he attempted to stop himself from moaning. Simply by you being slow and deliberate, you had him as weak as could be; his bottom lip hurt as he continued to bite heavily on it.

Your spit and your wetness allowed the riding to be easier than if you did not. It was slow, and you continued to dig your nails in each of his shoulders. His hands were tight on you; he kept you up and balanced. You were incapable of moving quickly; he was so large, and you were not properly prepped; it hurt just a bit. Your adjustment happened while you moved your hips up and down.

“So…fucking big.” You cursed near his ear; it was a soft curse overpowered by your sounds of pleasure. The way your voice caused him to lose it, he bit his lip, and blood began to seep down it. He stared at you, raising a hand; he grabbed the back of your head and pulled you into a rough kiss. The metal of his blood mixing with one another kiss. You slowed the pace down of your hips to focus on the kiss, unknowingly frustrating him. During the deep and messy kiss, he thrust up between movements. “FUCK!”

You fell into his chest once more; he wrapped his arms around your waist, his large biceps keeping you in place. With his strength, he lifted you only a little, enough for him to thrust. He began to thrust into you, keeping you close. Your head fell between the crook of his neck, the blood and drool you two shared slipping down your mouth.

“Just take it, princess.” He whispered to you between grunts; you nodded in pure bliss. He was taking control, and you loved it. You were being fucked as if you were only a hole, even if he held you like the most delicate item in the world. The slapping of his balls against you echoed through the hotel room. You no longer attempted to hide your moans through whimpers; you were moaning fully.

“Y-yes!” The desperation from your voice is evident. He continued to buckle his hips; his legs were strong to be able to do this. He practically was lifting you while thrusting into you and keeping you in place. For him it was a full workout while all you had to do was be held and be fucked. Your eyes were glossy; you closed your eyes from the glossiness, and there your tears slipped down the crook of his neck.

“Such a perfect pussy.” Those words ignited a flame within you, your throbbing pussy clenching tightly on his cock that thrusts itself in the deep he so desired. You moaned louder than ever and wrapped your arms around his neck to keep him close. A groan of pleasure followed his movement when he slowed his pace. He wasn’t sloppy like the few men you fucked right before they came. He was precise; he actively thrust deep inside you. Not a single inch of his cock was outside of you when he thrust up.

The slowness kept your head lightheaded; clearly, he has been fucking you longer than your mind could comprehend, each thrust removing your ability to think. He was close; you were reaching the peak with him. Your thighs started to become uncomfortably tight; the arms around his neck moved to his thick dark hair and pulled, forcing his head to go back.

“Keep…going…ah-like.” Those words you muttered against him gave him an ego boost no man such as himself should have. Like most men who listen to that, they would speed up; he was not new to this; he kept the pace you told him you liked. If this was making you weak, he was doing something right. The tighter your thighs got, the closer you placed your bare chest against him. The arching of your back caused him to keep his grip tight.

A small twitch you felt within yourself; you gasped at the twitch. He tried to lift you after that twitch, except his body began to spasm, his cum seeping into your pussy at a quickened pace. You fell into his body, your hand letting go of his hair and your arms tightening to the point you were slightly choking him. He moaned while you were breathing heavily against his neck.

“You…” you gasped out only that singular word; your body was exhausted, and you were still buzzed. The room spun, and the way you were falling apart on top of him became overwhelming. “Are you going to pay for my Plan B?”

“Deal.” He breathed out with a chuckle, leaving you to laugh alongside him. “How about after we sober up?”

“Double deal.”

[misctf]

What You Wanted

Richard wanted to better himself. At first, as a wide-eyed new freshman, he was looking to make a change. Having always been more nerdy and unathletic, Richard prioritized his studies rather than his physical fitness growing up. But after years of fearing the gym, he took his first step. And the rest was history. He grew lean with muscle and learned the ins and outs of the gym routine. He found a gym buddy and quickly climbed the social hierarchy. Smart, fit, and now entering his junior year- he was living his best life.

“Richard!” Thomas’s nasally voice cut through the air, “Are you even paying attention?” Beady eyes narrowed behind his thick rimmed glasses.

Richard shrugged, “Sorry, I must’ve zoned out.” He was thinking more about his gym session earlier that day instead of paying attention to whatever nerdy movie Thomas picked, “I’m just not feeling it today.”

Richard and Thomas were friends since middle school. Both unapologetically nerdy, each surviving their fair share of bullying. But while Richard’s interests in fitness blossomed, Thomas remained entrenched in all things nerdy.

“You’re never feeling it anymore.” Thomas lamented, “I’m worried about you.” He looked at his friend closely, “Are you becoming like them? One of those stupid, smelly meatheads?” Richard knew Thomas never approved of his new friends- especially since many of them gave off the same vibes as their former bullies.

“Thomas, look.” Richard started, “I just... We’re obviously very different people now.”

“Not true! We both study Biochemistry! We’re both applying to graduate school in a few months!” Thomas interjected.

“Yeah, but Thomas, I’ve changed. I don’t really like superheroes and Battle Monsters and all that stuff anymore.” Richard sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I mean, its fun from time to time, but you’re obsessed with it.”

“Obsessed?”

Richard nodded, “Look, I need to get going. I have an exam.” He grabbed his backpack and started towards the door.

“Is that how it’s going to be?” Thomas yelled, “So you think you’re better than me too? Just like all those stupid jocks, right?” Thomas continued, “Fine, if you want to be a stupid, smelly jock so bad, go for it! Don’t come crying to me!”

“Whatever.” Richard said, “See you around.”

_________

Richard worked through his thermodynamics exam with ease. It became such a mindless activity that his thoughts wandered to Thomas. They had been close for years. And Thomas gave him an outlet for some of his more nerdier interests. Sure, he wasn’t as interested in all that nerd stuff like he was back in middle school, but Richard did value the time he spent with Thomas. He frowned. Maybe he was just a bit too harsh.  He’d apologize once he got done with his exam. But as he continued to write down the answers to these complex questions, he felt something welling up from within him. Something physical... something...

BUUUUURRRRPPPPP

Richard’s eyes widened and he quickly covered his mouth. He felt his cheeks flush red and looked around the room, noticing a few looks of disgust, as well as a few snickers from some of his classmates.

“Richard?” The professor said, looking up from her book.

“Yo, my bad dude.” Richard’s eyes widened, as did the professor’s, “Whoa, brah! Didn’t mean to say that!” His face reddened even more.

“Richard, please focus on your test.” She said sternly.

He nodded, trying to tune out the snickers from his surrounding classmates, ‘What the fuck was that?’ He thought to himself, trying to regain his composure, ‘Okay... just focus.’

But as he stared at the problems on his exam, he noticed small drops of water appearing on his paper. He raised an eyebrow as more drops appeared on his test, smudging his work.

“What the...?” He whispered, “Sweat?” He rubbed a hand across his forehead, “What the fuck?” He said aloud, again disrupting the class.

“Richard!” The professor slammed her book down.

“Dude, just back off.” Richard snapped back. He heard a few audible gasps from his fellow students and his face flushed red, “Bro, that came out wrong. I don't get why I'm sounding like this, bro.” His face flushed red again and he suddenly stood up and headed towards the door, “I gotta take a breather.” He said. But as he approached the door he could feel the same heaviness in his stomach, “No, no no... buuuuuuuuurrrrrpppppppp.”

He slammed the door behind him, and fled from the classroom.

_________

Richard walked across campus as fast as he could. He needed to get back to his apartment as soon as possible. Or maybe to a doctor. But wherever he went, he just needed to be somewhere private. The young man wiped some sweat from his brow and cringed.

“No way dude, I’m like a waterfall.” He whispered, “Oh fuck, look at my pits.” Dark pit stains rapidly formed beneath his arms and continued to grow larger. Richard stopped in his tracks and raised his arms, taking a deep whiff of his own stench, “Huhuhuh that’s ripe, dude.” He chuckled to himself. It was the judgmental stares of nearby students that broke him out of his train of thought, “I’m sorry!” He whispered, blushing deeply, “I didn’t mean to... burrrrppppppppp.” His face reddened even more.

“Haha nice one bro!” A nearby jock laughed.

“Yeah dude! Been dropping bombs all day.” Richard replied with a grin. He quickly shook his head and ran towards his dorm room, ignoring the jock's attempt for a fist bump.

_________

Richard slammed the door to his dorm room shut and threw his backpack across the room. At this point, he didn’t know what to do. His shirt had soaked through from his sweat and a new manly musk was clinging to his sweaty body.

“Okay, I just gotta go to an urgent care.” Richard whispered.

He walked over to his dresser to change his shirt, and he quickly stripped out of his soaked t-shirt. But when he looked down at his body, something wasn’t right.

“Yo dude, since when did I get abs?” Richard mumbled, “Oh shit, look at my boulders.” He rubbed a hand across his large shoulders, giving them a squeeze and chuckling dumbly, “Huhuhuh why do I need a shirt?” He flexed his bicep and watched as it bulged with strength, “Woah fuck look at that!” He watched as his bicep seemed to get a bit larger too, “Dude... that’s buuuuuuurrppppppp.” Richard chuckled, “Fuckin’ new protein powder. Makin’ my gassy as fuck.”

His plans to visit an Urgent Care were quickly leaving his mind. Instead, he continued to focus on his various poses, and amused himself with each growing muscle. Richard walked over to the couch and fell back onto it, grabbing his phone and posting a new picture of himself on his social media. All the white, he absentmindedly scratched as his massive chest, which was starting to sprout a light dusting of hairs. He grinned as various likes started appearing on his picture, and he felt his cock start to grow. He grabbed his massive cock and started stroking it, moaning with each tug.

“Fuck yeah.” He moaned, “Fuck people would be lucky to ride this dick.” He grinned, “Dick’s dick huhuhuh.” A knock at his door broke his concentration and he groaned with disappointment. His cock remained tented in his pants, but he didn’t care. He opened the door, casually scratching his hairy pit, “Oh fuck, Thomas dude! What’s up?”

Thomas grinned, “Richard?” He asked, “Wow.”

“Impressed broski? And don’t call me Richard. More of a Richy.” Richy grinned, “Come in, bro! Look, I’m like totally sorry about earlier. All that nerd stuff that you like. Didn’t mean to be a dick about it.”

“You don’t have to worry, Richy. You made it quite clear that you’re not a nerd anymore.” Thomas chuckled, “You wanted to be a stupid jock, well now you are.” 

Richy raised an eyebrow, “Stupid jock?” Something about that wasn’t right. Stupid jock? The words kept echoing in his head, “Stupid jock?” He repeated again, scratching his head, “That’s not... I...” Richy grabbed his head and looked at his friend. For just a second, the dull, dumb look in Richy’s eye was replaced by a knowing intelligence. A horrific realization evident in them. But it quickly lost its spark and his eyes dulled, “Huhuhuh yeah, I guess I’m pretty stupid. But doesn’t really matter when you’ve got this.” He grabbed his bulge and smirked, “Dude, you see that pic I posted? You think I could make it on OnlyFans?”

Thomas nodded, “Yes, I think you could. But I ought to go.”

“No wait bro!” Richy said, blocking his path to the door, “I mean... I know you always say you hate jocks. But its ‘cause you’re into us, right bro?” Thomas’s face reddened, betraying his secret, “So like...” Richy smirked and walked up to Thomas, who’s own khakis were now tented, “You wanna star in my first OnlyFans vid?”

_________

Richy stretched his hands above his head and sniffed his ripe pits. His dick twitched at the smell and he grinned. It’d been a few weeks since he posted his first video to OnlyFans. And yet here he was again, rewatching his first video: “buff jock fucks gay nerd.” Without fail, it always made his dick hard. And even though he posted several more videos since then, he always found himself coming back to this one. But even a masterpiece gets dull and Richy pulled out his phone. He ignored several horrified texts from his parents asking why he dropped out of school, as well as deleting multiple invites to interview for grad programs, whatever those were. Instead he found Thomas’s contact info.

“Hey bro.” He messaged, “Be at my place ASAP.” He took a quick selfie and threw in a few eggplant emojis to get his point across.

Afterwards, he tossed his phone somewhere on his bed. He didn’t need to see Thomas’s response. Sure he was stupid, be he did know one thing. No one, especially not Thomas, could resist this dick. And the knock on his door not even ten minutes later was all the confirmation he needed.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Mrs. R

Part Two

Notes: You know what anon, great point. This is gonna be a two-parter. Not beta-read.

If you read this and you haven't seen The Pitt....Come on in, the water's fine.

Warnings: Angst; fluff; all that good stuff

Summary: For as amicable as the divorce had been, the two of you had problems. When Michael was stressed, he shut you out from the source of it, determined not to bring it home. But as hard as he tried, the strain and drain of his work hung on him. You'd wanted to be a safe space for him, but as the pressures of his job mounted, he'd never allowed you to be.

"Didn't think you'd be working today."

It's the most you've said beyond your answering the basics. He hasn't said anything beyond asking the routine questions. He'd had the good grace to school his expression when he'd asked about any medications (blood pressure, cholesterol, birth control), and you'd said no to all.

“We’re slammed. All hands on deck.”

“Yeah, I know.” You wince as he takes careful hold of your wrist, lowering himself onto the stool beside your hospital bed and getting a good look at the jagged cut stretching the length of your palm. 

"So you were replacing a lightbulb in the living room?"

"Uh-huh."

"What were you standing on?"

"...A book."

He shoots you a disbelieving look from beneath his lashes.

"...On top of another book."

A further tip of his brows, and you sigh, finally conceding, "On top of a cardboard box."

He looses a soft, almost grudging laugh as he looks back down at your hand.

"Surprised you didn't stand on the coffee table."

"It's rickety."

"But the carboard box-book combo was stable? What happened to the lightbulb?"

"I lost my balance, my grip tightened and uh...The lightbulb didn't like that."

"You hit your head on the way down?"

"No."

"Alright." He fishes into his pocket for a small flashlight, leaning in to get a closer look. You hold still as he diligently examines the wound.

"It broke pretty cleanly, I don't think there are any other bits in there. I was able to piece it back together—not to use, you know. Just to check."

He hums, giving a small nod. "Couple of stitches and then we'll get you on your way."

"Not gonna summon one of the ducklings for the demonstration?" You ask, unable to stand the relative quiet. "Dana says it's their first day."

"Hm? Oh," He shakes his head with a smile. "Far as I could tell, they were all occupied when I headed back here."

“How are they doing?”

“Well, we’ve got a fainter, a nicknamer, a high-fiver—Local anesthesia—little pinch, don’t look,” He warns, and you turn your head, wincing as the needle dips into your palm. “There we go…And uh, a kid who’s wearing a different pair of scrubs every time I see him.” 

“Fashion show?” 

“Unfortunate series of fluids.”

“Yikes.” 

“Mm.” 

You tentatively glance back down, watching him draw the needle through your palm.

“How are you doing besides that?” You press. 

“...You know.” 

But you don’t know. For as amicable as the divorce had been, the two of you had problems. When Michael was stressed, he shut you out from the source of it, determined not to bring it home. But as hard as he tried, the strain and drain of his work hung on him. You'd wanted to be a safe space for him, but as the pressures of his job mounted, he'd never allowed you to be.

You sit in quiet for a few moments, allowing him to zone in on his work as you let yourself just focus on him.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him in months, though not the first time you’ve spoken. You’ve exchanged the odd texts for holidays, birthdays. The last time you’d seen one another had been brief—hauling a box of things from your car to his car. It marked the official end to your divorce, your possessions and daily lives extricated entirely from one another (save for one of his hoodies, which you'd tucked into your closet and sworn up and down that you simply couldn't find).

But that hadn’t stopped the hurt or the ache of your loss. It hadn’t sapped the warmth, the comfort of the memories of your good days together. It hadn’t lessened what you knew about him, what you could tell from a look.  

"You need a haircut." You tease, tipping your head to get a better look at him. You just manage to see the way a smile tugs at his lips. You hesitate to add anything else, to keep him in a good mood, but you just can't help yourself.

"You're not sleeping," You accuse softly. Robby draws in a slow breath as he threads the needle through your skin again. 

"No," He admits. You wait for him to set the needle aside before you reach out, gently combing your fingers through his hair. His shoulders sag, head tipping into your hand as you gently run your nails down to the nape of his neck.

"What's goin' on, Mikey?" You murmur. His chin tips up to meet your eye, and your palm slides around to gently cup his cheek, thumb smoothing across his beard.   

“…You know what today is?” He asks.

“Adamson?”

“Yeah.”

“S’why I didn’t think you’d be in today.”

“So you stood on two books and a cardboard box to change a lightbulb today, just in case you needed to go to the ER so that you wouldn’t see me?”

“No. Purely coincidental. Besides,” You lean a little closer. “I like seeing you.”

Another smile pulls at his lips, brighter and wider than the last, and your stomach flutters with his admission:

“I like seeing you, too.”

“You two sure you’re divorced?”

The sound of Evans’ voice makes the two of you reel away from one another, your hand lifting from his cheek guiltily. She casts a mischievous smile between the two of you before nodding over her shoulder.

“We’ve got incoming—pileup on the I-79.”

“Be right there.”

Evans casts you one more cursory glance and adds, “See me before you leave, Mrs. R,” before turning, tugging the curtain closed behind her. You try to get a good look at Robby after she calls you that, but he’s up and moving before you can.

“Let’s get you bandaged up and on your way,” Robby pats your knee before stepping around the bed. “We’ll need you to come in for a wound check in a couple of days, make sure it’s coming along nicely.”

“…Can’t be a home visit?” You venture, glancing back toward him. You don’t trust yourself to meet his eye; you still can’t believe you asked it. But you haven’t gotten a good enough look at him, and you just want to know what’s going on—really going on.

You’re not sure it’ll work. He didn’t trust you with those feelings when you were his wife—why should he trust you with them now? 

“We need it on the record.”

It’s a diplomatic answer, and you’re certain that it’s all you’ll get. You nod a bit, watching as he neatly wraps the bandage. 

“You’ve still got tylenol extra strength in the house?” He asks. 

“Mhm.” 

“Take that as needed, up to—”

“1500 milligrams a day, I know.” 

“Still gotta say it.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“There.” 

Robby looks up at you, his hands still wrapped warmly around yours. He draws his lower lip into his mouth, and for a moment, you’re certain that he’s going to say something else—but the curtain is drawn back again.

“Hey Robby, there’s a—Oh. Shit."

You close your eyes, fighting back your own curse before you turn your head, shooting the doctor a tight smile.

“Hey, Frank.” 

“Hey, Mrs. R. Am I interrupting—”

“Nope! I'm all set here. And you guys have incoming, so I should skedaddle.”

Robby lets go of your hand, scooching the stool back as you slide off of the bed, standing. 

“Nice to see you.” 

“Yeah, Frank, you, too.” You pat his shoulder with your good hand before turning to face Robby again. “I’m gonna head out.” 

“Take it easy with the hand. Rest it.”

“I will.”

“I mean it.” 

“Robby—” 

“I know you. You’ll get all cocky with the local anesthetic in your system and you’ll be in agony when it wears off. You drive yourself here?”

“Uber.”

“Good.” 

“Mhm.” You turn to the sandwich cart, eyeing the labels before fishing one out. “I’ll see you around.”

“You’re taking that, really?” 

“It’s for Earl,” You insist, taking a couple more steps back. "Get some rest, Robby."

“Yeah.” 

You let yourself get one last long look at him before you turn away, striding determinedly toward the exit. You just manage to skirt by Evans, taking advantage of the fact that she’s deep in conversation with one of the orderlies. You give the attendants at the front desk a quick wave before you pass down the rows of chairs, holding the sandwich out to Earl. His face splits with a wide grin as he takes it. 

“You’re the best, Mrs. R.”

“Take care’a yourself, Earl.”

“Hey, you, too!” 

-- 

You make it all the way into the parking lot before your phone buzzes with Robby’s message:  I can change that lightbulb when my shift ends

Part Two

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; 

@missswriter ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen

 ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ;  @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

[mindmelter]

A Better Marcus Than Marcus

It all started when my sister’s boyfriend, Marcus, did a complete 180. The guy used to be your textbook finance bro—straight-laced, all about stocks, cryptos, and protein shakes. He was also the type who’d casually flex his "intellectual superiority" at family dinners like he was the human embodiment of a TED Talk nobody asked for.

Then, out of nowhere, he turned into this fun, carefree dude. He started to grow his hair and beard and constantly walk shirtless, showcasing his unfairly perfect pair of pecs and set of abs. He even tattooed his arm—something I would never expect from him. It wasn’t just a change in style; it was like he had become a totally different person.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Then it hit me—my sister’s ex, Dylan, a scrawny hippie who could’ve been the poster child for essential oils and “love, man” vibes. Dylan and I had gotten along great back in the day, mostly because he shared a little secret with me: a drug. No, not this kind of drug. This stuff could turn anyone into a bodysuit. Yeah, you heard me. One hit of this thing, and you could empty someone out, leaving behind a perfectly usable, skin-tight vessel. Thanks to him, I solved my bullying problem at school by wearing the jock leader's body.

Then, one day, Dylan disappeared from our lives after my sister dumped him. No warning, no goodbye, nothing. I thought that was the end of it. Turns out, it wasn’t.

Fast-forward to tonight. We’re having a family dinner at my parents’ house, and Marcus is here, all smiles and carefree vibes, making dumb jokes with my parents. It was the perfect chance to test my theory. I waited until everyone was distracted with dessert and pulled Marcus aside to a quiet corner of the house.

“I need to talk to you,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice low.

He cocked an eyebrow but followed me. Once we were out of earshot, I didn’t waste any time.

“I know you’re not really Marcus,” I said, crossing my arms. “I know it’s you, Dylan.”

For a moment, he just stared at me, then a wide grin spread across his face. “Took you long enough, bro,"

He opened his robe even more to show me his muscular body, looking like he was showing me an outfit and not another man's skin, “Yeah, it’s me. Poor Marcus never saw it coming. Injected this asshole with the stuff after he dropped your sister at your house, and bam! Marcus went to bodysuit city.” He chuckled darkly. “I’ve been living my best life ever since and with the love of my life."

I’ll admit, I wasn’t surprised. But hearing it confirmed still left my mouth agape.

"So, what now? You gonna rat me out to your sister? You wouldn't do that to good old Dylan here, would you? Not after I helped you turn your jock bully into a bodysuit. I even helped you out at faking his disappearance, I had to drive to another state to get rid of that bodysuit."

I smirked. “That depends. What’s in it for me?”

Dylan—or Marcus, I guess—laughed. “Alright, how about this: I let you enjoy Marcus’s body anytime you want, as long as you keep your mouth shut.”

It was a twisted offer, but let’s be real—I’d had a thing for Marcus since day one. The chance to have him, even under these bizarre circumstances, was too good to pass up.

“Deal,” I said, extending a hand.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, bro,” he replied, shaking my hand. Before we could head upstairs, my sister caught us in the hallway.

“Where are you two going?” she asked.

Thinking quickly, Dylan—Marcus—flashed his charming smile. “Your brother wanted to show me his collectible…uh…vinyl record collection. Said he’s got some rare finds.”

She bought it. “Wow, bonding over music. Finally. I’m proud of you two. Don't take too long, we're going to have karaoke." She leaned forward to give Marcus a kiss and walked away.

As soon as we were in my room, the facade dropped. I locked the door, and he turned to me, that sly grin back on his face. “Alright, bro,” he said, taking off his already unbuttoned white shirt and letting it fall to the floor. “Let’s see what you’ve been fantasizing about.”

I immediately pushed him down onto his knees, grabbing a handful of his long hair to assert control. “You’re going to start by sucking me off like a good slut,” I whispered.

His grin widened as he complied, reaching for my pants and pulling them down. His warm mouth quickly wrapped around me, and I let out a satisfied groan as he worked his tongue expertly. Once my cock was slick and throbbing, I pulled him back by his hair, forcing him to look up at me.

“Get on the bed, on all fours, now! You're my secret boyfriend slut now,” I ordered. He obeyed, taking off his pants and crawling onto the bed completely naked with his huge ass waiting for me. It was the sight I've been dreaming of ever since my sister introduced Marcus.

I walked over to my desk and turned on some rock music to muffle what was about to happen.

Climbing onto the bed behind him, I gripped his long hair tightly as I positioned myself. Without hesitation, I thrust into him hard, using his hair as leverage. Dylan moaned as I filled Marcus' ass. This wasn't our first time together. When Dylan was wearing my hot bully's body, he let me fuck him as a final revenge before he dumped the bodysuit in another state.

Marcus' back arched, and he let out a muffled moan, the sound drowned out by the loud music. I didn’t let up, pulling his hair like reins as I pounded into him mercilessly.

I leaned down on his back as I filled Dylan's—Marcus' ass with my cum. “You make a better Marcus."

[lecsainz]

OMGGGG!!!! 🩷🩵 Love your work! Can you do a Percy X (halfblood of your choice) reader and maybe affection headcannons? Like how he stares at you 24/7 and maybe him falling asleep on our shoulder and all that!!!!

BEAUTIFUL GIRL

parings: percy jackson x fem!reader

an: two weeks without a new episode, I can't take it anymore 😭😭😭

summary: the one where you and percy met at yancy academy, and what your relationship would be like.

( my last work for riodanverse || go to my main masterlist )

You met Percy at Yancy Academy, and well, you quickly became friends – best friends, to be precise, since your room was conveniently next to his.

When Grover arrived at the school, he became more than worried about finding two demigod kids together.

As you excelled in your studies – you LOVED studying – you decided to help Percy out. However, Percy always seemed too distracted, often catching him staring at you.

Percy looks at the notebook where you were scribbling math problems and realizes he hasn't paid attention to anything you were explaining for the past twenty minutes.

"So, um, how do you solve this math problem again?" He asks.

You point the pen at him with a stern expression. "Percy, we've been through this like ten times!"

Percy gazes at you with a mischievous smile on his lips because, by the gods, he finds you incredibly beautiful with the braid you decided to wear today.

"Sorry, got distracted. You look really nice today." Percy says, shrugging.

"Focus, Percy! We need to get through this." You roll your eyes, but your cheeks are flushed, and Percy still finds it adorable.

You throw the pen cap at Percy, lightly hitting him on the head when you realize he wasn't paying attention again.

"Ow! What was that for?" He puts his hand where the cap hit him and pretends to be in pain.

"For not paying attention! Now, let's get back to work." You stick out your tongue.

Laughing, Percy tries to throw the pen cap back at you, but you quickly dodge, and poor Grover ends up being the target.

You two became an inseparable duo, like shadows to each other, and constantly causing Grover massive headaches.

Percy would talk about you to his mom.

Percy hesitated for a moment before dialing the number. As his mother picked up on the other end, he launched into a torrent of words about you.

"Hey, Mom, you won't believe what happened today. So, there's this new girl, Y/N, and she's amazing. Seriously, she's the smartest person I know, and she's always helping me out with my studies. And she's got this incredible sense of humor. We're like a team, Mom, inseparable. I don't know how I'd get through the day without her."

Sally listened with a gentle smile on her face, recognizing the familiar signs of her son being captivated. She knew Percy well enough to notice the subtle shifts in his tone and enthusiasm.

"Percy, it sounds like you really enjoy spending time with this Y/N," Sally said, her voice warm and knowing.

"Yeah, Mom, it's like... I don't know. She's just different, you know? Everything feels better when she's around. I can't explain it."

Sally chuckled softly, recognizing the telltale signs of young love. "Percy, sweetheart, sounds like you might be developing feelings for this girl."

Percy stammered for a moment, realizing that his mother had caught on. "I, uh, Mom, we're just friends. Really good friends."

Sally's laughter echoed through the phone. "Alright, Percy. But remember, love has a way of sneaking up on you when you least expect it.”

When you first heard about blue food, you didn't believe Percy's words, leading to a heated argument. It all ended when Percy pulled out a pack of blue cookies from his backpack. To your surprise, they turned out to be the best cookies you'd ever tasted.

During one of your study sessions, Percy calling you a beautiful girl, and the nickname sticking because you blushed every time he called you that.

Percy only realized he liked you when they arrived at the camp and you wanted to help Percy defeat the Minotaur, but he wouldn't allow it because he had already lost his mother and couldn't bear to lose his girl.

He told Grover not to let you follow him and instructed him to take you safely to camp.

The air in the forest was thick with tension as Percy and you faced off against the looming figure of the Minotaur. Determination burned in your veins as you gripped your weapon tightly, ready to fight alongside Percy.

But before you could make a move, Percy's voice cut through the silence, firm and commanding. "Grover, take Y/N back to camp. Keep her safe," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your heart sank as you realized what he was saying. "Percy, I can help. We can fight this thing together," you protested, your voice trembling with emotion.

"I need you to stay safe, Y/N," Percy said, his tone unusually severe. "Grover will take you to camp. I can't lose you."

Tears welled up in your eyes, the raw emotion of the situation hitting you like a tidal wave. "I can't just stand by and do nothing while you face that monster alone."

Percy shook his head, a mixture of frustration and fear in his gaze. "Y/N. I can't risk losing you. Not after what happened to my mom."

A heavy silence settled between you two, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Percy cupped your face gently, his eyes searching yours. "I need you to trust me, okay? Grover will take care of you."

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you nodded reluctantly. "Just promise me you'll be safe, Percy."

He gave you a solemn look before pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. "I promise. Now go with Grover. I'll find you after this is over."

Grover approached, his expression mirroring the somber mood. "We should go, Y/N."

After that, you swore to yourself that the next time you saw Percy, you would tell him you liked him. That seemed like the smartest thing to do.

As Percy stirred awake, his eyes met yours, and a small smile played on his lips. "Hey, beautiful girl," he greeted, a newfound warmth in his tone.

You blushed at the endearing nickname he had given you, but concern soon took over. "I thought I was going to lose you," you admitted, holding a small cup of ambrosia-infused nectar.

His expression softened, his hand reaching for yours. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

Relief washed over you, and you laughed, playfully nudging his shoulder. "Good. Because there's something I need to tell you."

Percy raised an eyebrow, curious. "What's that?"

He looked at you with curiosity, encouraging you to continue. With a deep breath, you confessed, "I... I really like you."

Percy's eyes lit up, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "You do?" he asked, as if surprised by the revelation.

You nodded, a shy smile gracing your lips. "Yeah, Percy, I really do."

"Well, beautiful girl, I think you're stuck with me now," he declared, a playful glint in his eyes. As you leaned in closer, he gently pulled you to lie beside him on the bed. When you rested your head against his chest, Percy winced in pain.

"Careful," he joked, "I just survived a Minotaur. Your head might be more dangerous than that."

You chuckled softly, and Percy couldn't help but smile despite the discomfort. "You know," he mused, "your laughter is my favorite sound in the whole world."