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81astriss · 15 hours ago

Text

might as well be drunk in love | oscar piastri

fem!reader x oscar piastri

fanfic & smau (mostly fic)

NOT PROOFREAD !! apologies for any mistakes

you and lando have been friends since you were children—you were practically siblings at this point. you knew his deepest, darkest secrets and he knew about your secret crush on his teammate, oscar piastri. but after accidentally sharing a drunken kiss at a party, fans don't really have anything positive to say about your situation.

a/n: okay wow this was longer than i expected HSJKDSASHJD not my best tbh i didn't really know how to execute this that well but it's finee.... i think 🙏😇 idk i don't usually do fics but this idea was consuming my mind so yep!! IF anyone wants to remake this, go ahead but give me creds & tag me THANKYEUWWWHHH also if this is inaccurate its bc dont drink and ive never been to a party 😬

⎯

Post-Monaco GP called for a celebration. A party! And of course, you were invited. Honestly, you wouldn't have said yes if Lando didn't tell you that Oscar would be there. He's been trying to set you up since last year when Oscar first became his teammate.

One part of Lando's that rubbed off on you was being a party person. As long as you had some social battery left, you enjoyed parties. Music loud enough to block out your thoughts, drinks strong enough to drain out your emotions, it was perfect.

Right now, you weren't really in the mood. But he had somehow convinced your long-time crush, Oscar Piastri to attend a party so who were you to decline?

⎯

The venue was bigger than you imagined. People were everywhere but no matter, you could probably sit in a corner, pray Oscar would want to leave early but no.

Oscar found his spot on a table near the door while you made your way to the open bar to loosen up. A few minutes later, Lando came up to you and took a seat right next to you.

"Well this is new." He said, before ordering another drink. "You're sitting alone and not mingling with others."

"I didn't really want to come in the first place."

"And yet you agreed to come nonetheless." He smirks before taking a sip. "I wonder why." He glances over at Oscar who was then approached by a girl, who was clearly drunk.

Their conversation seemed to be flowing and you couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy in your chest.

Charli XCX's 'party 4 u' played loudly in the background. Great timing, isn't it? Lando watched with much amusement as every emotion played out on your face.

You waited for the girl to leave.

And waited.

And waited until it had been over an hour or two. You had too much to drink, lost track of time, and Lando was nowhere in your line of sight. To make matters worse, two more girls were now chatting up Oscar. Two!!! None of which were you. God knows if he's really enjoying it but he had that charming smile on his face and it pissed you off.

A few more drinks later, Lando noticed his teammate looking over at you every now and then and made his way back to you with a smug yet somehow empathetic look on his face.

You've had just about enough so you went outside, took off your shoes and dipped your feet in the pool. Only 3 other people were outside with you. 2 making out and one shirtless, trying to convince his girlfriend to not leave him (which was slightly funny because she was on speaker so you could hear the whole thing).

The moonlight reflected off the surface of the pool, tempting you to jump in while a Kendrick Lamar song was playing faintly from inside.

You would've driven yourself home despite being drunk but this time you were just a bit too exhausted to do so.

Your best friend sat down beside you, trying to find the proper words.

"He almost never goes to these kinda functions."

"Is that supposed to be comforting?"

"I told him you would come."

No words came out of your throat. Without warning, your curly-haired friend pushed you in the pool and you made a sound that could only be described as demonic.

It was the alcohol making you act without thinking. Both of you. You locked eyes with your drunken best friend and instinctively leaned in and your lips met.

"Well that's not how I expected this conversation to go." Lando says after you pulled away after about 3 secods.

"This is like the time in high school when you asked me to practice kissing with you for this girl."

"Yeah but this time you're the one who needs practice to kiss a boy."

"Are you saying I'm a bad kisser?!"

"No, but I'm saying Oscar's a good kisser and you might not on his level."

"So you're—what—wait how do you know how Oscar kisses?"

"I don't! I'm just guessing. Pure assumptions!"

The two of you were laughing at your ridiculous conversation when you suddenly felt nauseous and ran to the nearest bathroom. Lando took that as a signal to call Oscar (and pray he didn't get drunk) so he could drive you home.

⎯

↳ user1 i knew oscaryn was real since 2023 🤞

f1gossip ‼️ Oscar Piastri was seen walking out of the Monaco afterparty with Y/n L/n. The two were seen being unnecessarily close while walking together. 👀

liked by 42,304 others

↳ user2 oh he's so fine 😍😍 and she's there too i guess.

↳ user3 i have a bad feeling abt y/n

↳ user4 i fw landoyn childhood bsfs to lovers more 🙄

user5 both lando AND y/n have publicly stated that they are and will only be friends, nothing more. user6 ^^^^ they're more like siblings even user4 idk i don't buy it 🫤

↳ user7 idk abt y'all theyre kinda cute ???

↳ user8 "unnecessarily close" maybe bc y/n was DRUNK??? and having trouble walking?????

user9 she should control her liquor then or something rather than demand her bsfs teammate to bring her home

⎯

↳ user1 HELLO WHAT THE FUCK

f1gossip Y/N L/N AND LANDO NORRIS WERE KISSING AT THE SAME PARTY SHE AND OSCAR WENT TO????? 😱😱⁉️ Follow f1gossip for more updates about this crazy situation.

liked by 50,093 others

↳ user2 OH NAHHHHH

↳ user3 what did i say 😇

↳ user4 i fucking told you all

↳ user5 this being posted 2h after the oscaryn one is crazy timing

↳ user6 so is this considered incest or...?

↳ user7 oh what the fuck oscar and lando deserve better than that cheater

↳ user8 she's just drunk !!! y/n babe get behind me

user9 drunk actions are sober thoughts user8 isn't it drunk words are sober thoughts user10 works for actions too

↳ user11 does she even qualify as a wag? 💀💀

user12 if she does, shes the worst one

↳ user13 idk she must be doing sumn right if she pulled both mclaren boys

user14 and the best in manipulation award goes to... user15 Y/n M/n L/n 🤢🤢

⎯

↳ user16 WHORE

user16 omg who said that...

↳ user17 wow slut

You stare at your phone screen in shock when you saw everything. The hangover was killing you and when you walked out of the room, Oscar was there? In your hotel's kitchen?

You didn't say anything. He didn't say anything. The both of you sat there in an uncomfortable silence, just waiting for the other person to say something.

"Drink too much?" He attempts to talk to you while taking a bite out of the toast he made while you were sleeping.

"Maybe a little." You drink your coffee which had cooled down a bit thanks to you waking up late.

Silence.

"Have you been online in... I don't know, the past 6 hours maybe?"

"Lando called," He says, ignoring the question. Or maybe he just didn't hear? "He told me everything. And yes I have, I've seen what they're saying. How are you holding up?"

You're not sure whether to be relieved that he hasn't cursed you out or be nervous at how calm he is about this.

Instead of questioning him any further about his conversation with Lando, you cry. You were physically exhausted from the night before and now even mentally exhausted thanks to what people on the internet are saying.

You would much rather be anywhere else, having a breakdown in front of someone else than here in front of Oscar. Hell, you'd rather cry in front of a serial killer who has it out for you! At least they would end your misery instead of stare at you while you let every emotion you've been feeling for the past 12 hours.

Oscar doesn't waste a second. He pulled you in and let you sob in his chest. Without asking for permission, he opened your phone (your password was 0406, quite easy for him to guess), and logged out of all your social medias.

"It's okay, I understand." Those words felt like a knife to your chest. You weren't sure what exactly he understood but in that very moment, you just felt safe.

"I know it was an accident that you kissed him, I know that you got way more drunk than you were supposed to last night," He explains. "And I know that you like me."

You probably should've cared more about that but given the situation you were in, it felt like you could not care less anymore if he likes you or not.

"You're just saying that to make me feel better, aren't you." You try to lighten the situation (and avoid the fact that he knows about your feelings for him.)

"Well, yes obviously. But also because I like you too. This isn't the situation I was hoping for when I'd tell you that but eh. When life gives you lemons..." He rambles on. "Anyways what I'm trying to say is I'd still be with you even with all that's going on. Okay saying that is also bad timing but—"

You cut him off with a kiss on his cheek as one on the lips felt a bit too much right away.

"But aren't you afraid of me ruining your reputation or something?"

"Then our reputations will be ruined together."

He didn't care about what anyone else had to say about you. Thanks to him, anything and everything they said just dissipated into thin air and it all felt irrelevant.

Only Oscar Piastri can make a situation this bad feel like the best day of your life.

⎯

comments were limited by the creator.

ynln you know it might be worth it for once?

liked by oscarpiastri, lando, nicolepiastri, and others

↳ oscarpiastri ❤️

⎯

comments were limited by the creator.

oscarpiastri we'll pay the price i guess.

liked by ynln, lando, hattiepiastri, and others

↳ ynln 🫶

↳ lando oh god thank the heavens i thought my ship was gonna sink

oscarpiastri never

⎯ end

ending was VERY rushed but i'm very sleepy and i have training tmrw so good luck to me </3 i tried smth new with this and i honestly wanna do more works that are just fics but for now this is all i got 😭🙏

tysm for the support on my kimi smau !! im working on another smau (i barely started but i have the plot n everything ready) so maybe it'll be finished in like 4 days bcs im kinda busy over the weekend. anywho that's all hope u liked this and if you didnt pLS LMK HOW I CAN GET BETTER AT WRITING FICS :)

♡ xine

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #f1 smau #f1 x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #op81 #op81 x reader #formula 1 x reader #x y/n #y/n #fanfic #f1 fanfic #smau #fem!reader #f1 fic

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chezzywezzy · 3 days ago

Text

Yandere Joshua Washington (3/?)

WC: 3.5k

“No, R…” Josh sighed. There was a strange look in his eyes. Almost… happiness. Has he truly been so starved of human connection? “You never deserved this either. I fucking hate them. All of them. I fucking guess I always will, honestly. But you should’ve never had that happen to you. I’m sorry you have to live with that. If it’s any consolation - it - it… It fucking isn’t even my sisters being dead that makes me hate them. It’s the fucking aftermath, how they acted, how I acted, how everything happened. How I acted was fucked, R. Honestly, I'm not even better than them, either!

“I mean, you were right. I was fucking suffocating. I was selfish and I never even thought about you. I only thought about me, and how angry I was, and how much I needed you, and… Fuck. I should’ve been there for you, or listened. I guess I regret drinking too much, but I regret putting all the pressure on you to fucking… fix me. But… I’m going to fix it myself. You’re right. I’m the only one who can, so… I guess what I mean to say is that… this trip is gonna fix everything. I… I promise.”

R gulped and broke eye contact. Her heart was drumming across her entire body. In that moment, it was hard to interpret his words beyond face value. It was strange to her, because it seemed that his eyes were darker, angrier, more desperate than before, ever since she’d gotten here. But his words reflected a world of change.

“Joshie… you don’t have to ‘fix’ yourself alone. You’re not someone who needs fixing,” she comforted, sending a smile. “You just need healing and support. And I’m sorry, too, because I was not kind to you, either. We’ve both done things wrong, but neither of us to blame, I think. I wish… I could’ve been there for you better.”

“Do… do you think we would still be together if I, like, grieved differently?”

R blinked in surprise, the mood shifting. Suddenly, Josh’s eyes weren’t so wide, instead half-lidded and eager with hope. His throat bowed as he gulped, and his grip on her hips were slowly drifting higher and dancing against her arms.

Ben’s face flashed in her mind and she leaned against the marble counter, attempting to create distance. Her hands pushed gently against his chest as she chuckled dryly. “It’s not… good to speculate, Josh. I think it’s nice that we’re such good friends.”

A frown threatened to show but his head suddenly craned to meet her’s. She felt the distance between their faces - it was nothing more than mere inches, and it frightened her. R knew that it was never attraction she felt to Josh anymore; it was guilt, concern, and the love that she’d have for a friend. Besides… she had Ben.

“Yeah, I guess so, so… uh, do you think there’s a world where we —“

“No, Josh. I mean, I guess I can’t know, but this isn’t something to talk about right now. Seriously, give me some space.”

“Please, R, if he wasn’t around, would there ever be a chance?”

She frowned and wanted to shake her head, fingers applying pressure against his chest. But before she could vocalize, Josh had shut his eyes and closed the distance. After two years, his chapped lips felt foreign against her’s. Unnatural, even. R’s gasp gurgled in her throat as she felt his hands weave into her hair and his body pressed against her own. In that moment, R had frozen from shock.

The kiss had lasted but a moment before Josh fully stepped away. His brows were furrowed, but he was breathless. He gripped at his t-shirt. R couldn’t even muster a glare as she watched the man mutter an insincere apology and disappear from sight.

R was left stunned for several minutes, replaying the conversation in her head. It’s been two years, but the man still felt that way? He’d played his cards right - but R could not even call him manipulative when all his words seemed truthful. Perhaps it was a fluke - a mistake. Nothing more than a mere reflection of the past.

Either way, R did not want to be left in the unknown any longer. She felt somewhat tipsy from the wine she downed. And with one more quick swig, she ventured upstairs. Her movements were quick, stumbling, and thoughtless as she pulled on a pair of sweatpants and an additional sweater and grabbed her cell phone.

She wanted to call Ben, even as a small snow storm had begun outside; one that wasn’t nearly as harsh as that night, but somewhat aggravating nonetheless. She couldn’t help but wonder why Jessica and Mike weren’t around yet, even though hours had passed. And why Sam had vanished off the planet. And why Matt and Emily still weren’t back from town.

R began tramping downstairs toward the front entrance. The entire lodge was eerily silent.

And then, darkness. The dim lighting faded and R was left to adjust to the pitch black. Not even moonlight escaped through the windows.

It was uneasy for R as she called out a hello and asked if Josh was there. However, she wished she’d been met with silence, because instead, a muffled cry for help escaped the floorboards beneath her.

R was quick to cover her mouth. That sounded like… Josh. Suddenly, her blood ran cold. Something strange had been happening ever since she’d arrive, and it started with Ben. Had someone broken in? Was there an attacker?

She immediately ran to the kitchen and threw open drawers, using nothing but her dim phone flashlight. R was nothing short of surprised by the fact that every knife had disappeared. Even the forks, too. So, instead, she grabbed the wok off the hanging rack and clutched it firmly in one hand.

It felt stupid to admit, but she was stuck. Somebody had orchestrated… something. All she could do was hide or investigate. Without electricity, which stemmed exclusively from the ski lift, everyone was trapped here and could not call for help. It felt like the work of more than one person - someone cut the power while the other infiltrates.

Right?

R slowly approached the basement stairs. Every step was methodical and slow. A single creak would reveal her location above. As she stood on the other side of the door, she gulped. Perhaps whoever was inside was already waiting on the other side of the door. She primed the wok in her hand and shut off the flashlight.

She’d been here before. Strangers would not know the layout as easily, right?

As she swung the door open, she swung the wok. But it hit nothing but air. And as she gazed down into the overwhelming darkness, it did not stir. Nobody was waiting to ambush her. Yet.

Some light from the doorway followed her as she descended. Every time a step creaked, she flinched. But what scared her further was the utter silence. It was almost as though it had been to draw her there and nothing else.

As she made it to the bottom and stepped onto the cold cement as the basement lacked any heating, she shivered. R stared into the darkness beyond. The basement had always been large - so large she’d never explored it.

Creak.

R swerved and peered at the top of the stairs. Standing in the doorway as the door was slowly pulled shut behind them was a dark figure. They wore several layers of black winter clothing, a jean jacket, and heavy boots. But was most concerning was the gleaming white mask covering their face and the machete gripped in their hands.

A frightened gasp escaped her lungs and darkness consumed her vision when the door shut. The figures’s boots thudded seamlessly down the stairs.

He either knew the layout or…

R was frozen in that moment. It took effort to unfreeze herself. She broke free when the figure was but a few feet away. R swerved and dashed down the hallway. Her arms followed the lining of the walls before making a right. As she grasped the side and made an immediate swerve, her knee collided with a small cardboard box and her body splayed on the ground. Her ankle throbbed, caught in the contents of the box. A weak scream whispered from her lungs - no-one but her could hear it. It was as though her fear reaction was the freeze in the moment, just like before. There was no fight or flight - only… this weakness.

She clawed back up to her feet and made sure to hold onto the wok tightly. However, when her eyes adjusted and she came to a slow, R realized she was in a dead end. There was nothing but a small side-room for expensive wines or shelves that held various holiday decorations. Nonetheless, she entered the wine room and pressed herself next to the doorway.

Her heartbeat clamored in her eardrums and it took focus as she strained with the wok at the ready. The footsteps were consistent and calculated; almost reluctant, even. And then, they halted just before the doorway. R felt her body shrink and tremble. Her eyes were wide and despite how she shivered, beads of sweat rolled down every part of her body. Her eyes felt dry while waiting for the figure to enter.

And then, they did. The mask was the first thing she could identify. Realizing a painful shriek, she swung the wok at the mask. The figure seemed caught off guard and stumbled back. The machete swung out and scraped the wok, sending it to the ground. R immediately reached for a wine bottle on the shelf next to her. The figure recovered quickly, although the groan that escaped him almost sounded filtered. R immediately threw the bottle, and the man was barely capable of blocking it with the machete. The glass shards and liquid shattered everywhere.

The man stumbled into the room, holding the machete as a makeshift shield. R did not remove her eyes from the figure as she pressed herself against the wall of bottles. She grabbed two at once, waving them in front of her.

“S - stay back,” she whimpered.

The man froze momentarily before a low, sadistic chuckle broke through and the head tilted to the side. Gloved hands angled the machete in a strange way; almost as though it was the handle he was attempting to attack her with.

A moment frozen in place occurred and R was only aware of time from each drum of her heart. R knew defense was the correct choice, and yet…

She swung one bottle at the man, but he suddenly ducked and the handle of the machete rammed into her stomach. R brought the other bottle down onto his head, but he suddenly threw R to the side. Her head rang as it hit the side of a shelf and her arms could barely push her off. She was cold, wet, and injured.

Her legs kicked out and she mustered as loud of a scream as she could. The man had suddenly straddled her waist. The machete was tossed to the side out of reach and R could barely coordinate her arms enough to paw at the selfing behind her. Her nerves were on fire and, even though a normal human might have more strength, her entire body hurt and her bones cracked with every stretch.

She trembled as one gloved hand grabbed and pinned her wrists together above her head. The other was fishing through the pockets before withdrawing a syringe. Her eyes widened and tears slid down her cheeks.

“God, please, no…! Please —!”

The syringe was suddenly stabbed skillfully into her neck. The cold liquid sent shivers down her body and R blinked. She was not moving but the world began to circle around her. Her eyelids felt heavy and although she thought of cries for help, she could not muster the strength.

The breathing of the man grew heavier and louder, almost from excitement. Her body went limp and the hand that held her wrist suddenly slid down her face and shut her eyes for her. One last sigh escaped R.

It was a similar headache like she had earlier, if not of a different caliber. R was cognizant of every sensation but could not form thoughts. It was like she was both deeply in her bones but also out of her body. She heard the rumblings of movement and arms slid underneath her. R’s body rag dolled against the figure’s back and felt every step.

She opened her eyes for but a brief moment. She was only being led further into the basement. And once she was set in an uncomfortable wooden chair, her mind went silent.

~~~

R’s eyes blinked open at the sound of two familiar voices: Ben and Josh. Her entire body ached, but when she went to stretch, she realized her body was completely restrained. Her hands and feet could wiggle, but her over arms, legs, and torso were tied to a limp wooden chair. Her eyes shot up and she gazed at the light source. Beyond a chainlink fence, were two pleading men who dangled from the ground with their wrists shackled to a wooden plyboard. R immediately released a shriek, even as her head pounded.

“R, baby, are you okay?�� Ben shouted, flailing his body desperately. “Please, you gotta help us —!”

Josh was all but silent, although wide eyed and afraid. His eyes were glued to the sharp, horizontal blade that had a mechanical path to aim straight at them. And as R looked at her hands, she realized there were two buttons in reach of her fingers; each with a photo of one of the men.

“Where - what —“ R started, only for a speaker to turn on.

“Hello, and thank you for joining me.”

Screams and cries echoed in the room form all three. R struggled against her restraints, even craning her neck to try bitting the rope. Even the chair itself seemed glued to the ground and didn’t budge.

“What is this?” Josh shouted out.

“We’re going to conduct a little experiment. A test of loyalty. Now, for this experiment, we’ll need the cooperation of R. Our brave participant will decide which subject will live and which will die.”

R let out a gargled beg and tears cascaded her vision.

“Fuck! R! R, you gotta get me out of here, babe! I fucking love you! Fuck!”

Josh was quiet beside him, intense eyes glued to R in horror. “Please, oh god…”

“Please. Everyone, calm down. It’s all very simple. R, you will find two buttons directly in front of you. All you have to do… is choose who you will save!”

Before R could truly comprehend the words, the mechanical blade began to whir. R’s mouth became dry as she gaped at the horror in front of her.

“Shit, okay, okay… things will be okay,” Josh trembled, his body limp against the chains. His eyes held an intent focus on the blade that was slowly approaching both.

R let out a squeal and tried hurling out of the seat again. “Fuck, what the fuck is this!” R bellowed, fingers treating each button like the plague. “But if I…”

“R, Jesus, you know who you have to pick. Please, babe! You’re my everything! I’m sorry, Josh, but fuck! R, I’m your future! I love you! Please, I don’t want to die!”

She blinked at the man, guilty and nausea erupting in her stomach. She watched as the blade grew nearer, and it was impossible to ignore that both would die without her choosing. Her eyes switched between the two as her breaths heaved.

“I… I can’t… why…! Who, why…”

“R, l - listen to me,” Josh’s voice suddenly boomed, despite how terrified he was. “It’s… it’s not your fault, okay? Y - you can choose me if you really want to! I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t blame you if you did, okay?You don’t owe me anything…! But… I don’t…”

R blinked away tears and her eyes flew between the buttons. The blade was mere feet away from killing both.

There was no moment for logic or even feeling.

One last agonized cry escaped her lungs as she pressed a button.

The blade suddenly swerved left. Ben’s eyes widened in horror and he let out agonized roars of fear. Josh was wide eyed and could do nothing but watch.

“Me? Me? Why me, R? I… I’m sorry. No… This isn’t your —“

Pained howls escaped and the whirring was suddenly conjoined with splattered of blood. R didn’t want to, but she could not look away as she watched the blade cut and sear into Ben’s flesh.

“I - I’m sorry, Ben! I love you! I love you so much!”

Ben only watched R weakly as his lips blubbered. His lungs tore and blood coated everything around him. The screams did not last long as his torso dangled underneath him. The pleads turned into gargles and the gargles turned into silence as Ben’s head hung. And then the legs detached, collapsing to the ground.

And then, there was nothing but the ringing silence as even the blade came to a halt.

R’s head hung and her body trembled with contained sobs. She was almost dazed, completely unaware at the click of restraints from beyond the fence. Josh fell to the ground - but so did the upper half of Ben’s corpse.

And so, unless if she were to look up, she was blissfully unaware of the maddened grin that blossomed across Josh’s cheeks and how his eyes gleamed with adoration for the woman beyond the fence.

She peered up as the fence jangled. Josh’s blood-soaked body trembled as he clambered up the fence before his body dropped onto R’s side. R gasped a cried quiet apologies, not daring to stare at her boyfriend’s remains.

R felt like such an awful, evil person. But she refused to let them both die. What else could she do? Back then, could R have found a way to save at least Beth?

Her fuzzy vision was dutifully aware of how Josh nimbly untied R’s restraints. Small apologies and thanks were muttered from him - almost fondly. She gulped as her body immediately collapsed into the man in front of her when she was set free. Ben’s blood smeared across her body, but she clutched him desperately, hands trembling as warm, living arms held and comforted her in the moment.

Josh was on his knees in front of her crying and thanking her with such sincerity. R allowed her body to fall forward and she sat on the ground, allowing Josh to hush her. R’s ears rang with the cries of the dead. And now, it wasn’t just Beth or Hannah - Ben had joined the cacophony.

“R, it’s okay. There’s nothing you - you could have done,” he gasped into her ear, hands pawing and grasping at her back.

The woman sat up suddenly, eyes glossed over with despair. She grasped at the front of Josh’s shirt, and although entranced, swayed from side to side. His lips trembled as he watched, hands at her waist to keep her upright.

“Joshie, what have I done…? Who’s doing this? Where’s everyone else? I just… I just killed someone - my boyfriend —“

“No, R, please,” Josh pleaded, pawing at her face. She flinched at how wet his hands were. “You didn’t kill anyone. It’s not your fault, okay? Thank you. Thank you, R. You didn’t kill him - you saved me. I didn’t… I didn’t think you would. Please, you did the right thing, okay? You shouldn’t… you never should have been involved.”

R barely bast an eye at his strange wording, accepting his kind and gentle words. Had she made the right choice? Was there even a right choice? Ben had been her lover, yes. But she’d known Josh for four years - surely there was a sense of loyalty in that, right? But logically, shouldn’t Josh had been put out of her misery instead? Josh had lived a hard, traumatized life - and Ben had a normal, happy upbringing and adulthood —

“Listen, we have to get out of here, okay? We don’t know where that guy is or if he’s working with someone. A - and we have to get help, right?”

Josh was handling himself with a surprisingly clear mind. R recalled that when Hannah and Beth had died, he had been violent, angry, and discombobulated. He could barely speak a proper sentence and had to be drugged for his own safety. He had been suicidal, manic, and bipolar. But now… he was speaking so plainly.

It was surely the adrenaline of it all. R limply nodded, allowing Josh to wrap his arms under her armpits and stabilize her while she stood up. R was wobbly from residual drugs and leaned against Josh. She gripped his splotchy panel in her hands.R then noticed how cold it was.

A scream suddenly rang throughout the basement and both went stiff as a board. Josh was quick to wrap his arms around her protectively.

“W - we should —“

“Yeah. Come on, R, it came from that way.”

The pair stabilized one another as they both limped down the hallway. Josh seemed to be able to navigate the large basement with ease. And then, as they rounded a corner, a light activated and blasted into the room.

Matt and Emily were tied precariously - it was almost like a tug-of-rope situation: their hands were tied together and were blocked off from one another and R with glass walls. However, there was a hole that allowed the rope to go through. And strangle, it was like the ground was inverted and tilted, dipping down to the middle. The slopes also had several drains.

“Hello, Matt and Emily. It appears we have an audience.”

#yandere #x reader #x y/n #self insert #yandere x reader #yandere until dawn #until dawn #yandere josh washington #josh washington x reader #josh washington

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lipglossanon · 1 day ago

Text

Kiss Goodnight

Ethan Winters x fem!reader

fic commissioned by @porcelainseashore; thank you 😭 💜 Ethan was an interesting character to tackle!

word count: 3k 🫣

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, feelings, sweetheart Ethan, slight degradation, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), deepthroating, slight choking, unprotected sex, creampie

proofread but apologies for any mistakes; title taken from an idkhow song of the same name

The restaurant seems more crowded than when you and Ethan first arrived. The cacophony of separate conversations mixed with the clinking of glasses and dinner plates nearly drowns out your talk with your boyfriend.

“A bit loud in here, huh?” Ethan remarks, hazel eyes squinting in mirth.

“Just a bit,” you laugh, feeling seen.

Your relationship with Ethan is fairly new… well, you guess you two are closing in on a year, so it’s not that new anymore. But it is one of the best relationships you’ve ever been in, and it means a lot to you. He’s struggled with opening up to you, and that includes talking about his previous marriage.

”Mia is…” he trailed off, body language screaming at you it pains him to talk about it. “She and I just had our differences. I don’t want to badmouth her or anything, but she did have a tendency to be pretty secretive.”

”Ethan, it’s okay. We’ll move at your pace.” You reach out and grasp his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “I’m perfectly fine with it. I’d rather us be on the same page. You’re worth it, okay?”

He smiles, and it sloughs off the tightness around his eyes. “Thank you.” He squeezes your hands once and then laces your fingers together. “I want us to be on the same page, too.”

The waitstaff pulls you from your reminiscing when they drop off the bill; Ethan hands them his card before you can even argue about splitting it. With his attention on the attendant, you prop your chin in your hand, elbow braced on the tabletop, and look him over. His hazel eyes and light brown hair make him seem unassuming at first glance; you think he’s handsome in an understated way. Ethan’s sense of humor sparked your interest, but it’s his personality and caring demeanor that kept it piqued.

You consider yourself lucky you accidentally ran into him at a tech conference your job hosted all those months ago. You both working in the same field led to polite small talk that eventually morphed into something more. (You’ve joked with Ethan that it’s the one time you thought being a system admin was worth the headache). A few no-pressure coffee dates that morphed into late dinners after work that then led to romantic weekend getaways landed you where you’re at currently, and you couldn’t be more pleased.

”You ready to go?”

Blinking, you focus on Ethan’s amused expression. ”Sorry, zoned out on ya for a minute there.”

He shrugs. “I think it’s cute.” A teasing grin crosses his face. “Besides, I know I’m easy on the eyes.” He pumps his eyebrows up and down, trying to look sultry, but it just gives him a look of surprise.

Laughing, you shake your head gently. “Well, we better get out of here, stud, before someone comes along and steals you away.”

His lips twitch before a little huff of laughter slips out. Standing up, he helps you from your chair—ever the gentleman—and walks alongside you out of the restaurant, his hand on the small of your back. Warmth suffuses you at the simple gesture. It solidifies the decision you’ve been waffling on for the last couple of weeks.

Tonight is the night that you’re going to ask Ethan for something a little more in the bedroom. Body on autopilot, you wait with Ethan on the sidewalk as your ride pulls up to the curb. Holding open the door, he ushers you into the cab first before getting in next to you. You smile and thank him, mind still churning over the conversation you plan on having with him once you’re in the privacy of your home.

”Honey.” Ethan’s voice pierces the fog of your thoughts. Giving him a sheepish smile, you bump his shoulder with yours.

”Sorry, I keep getting distracted.”

”You’re fine.” He drops a kiss on your temple. “But I’m sure the cabbie is ready for us to get out of his car.”

”Oh!”

Ethan steps out first and extends his hand to you. Grasping his palm, you use him as leverage to climb out of the car, shutting the door behind you. Instead of letting go, Ethan readjusts his grip so it’s more comfortable to hold hands while walking up to your place.

”Got something on your mind?” Ethan muses, unlocking the front door and letting you enter first; he follows behind, kicking his shoes off next to yours.

“It’s just…” You purse your lips, feeling out the words you want to say. “Well, I’ve been thinking for a while that I’d like to try something new.”

His brows furrow quizzically. “New? Like what?”

Now’s not the time to be bashful, you think sardonically. Blowing out a breath, you face Ethan head-on.

”I want you to be rough.” A pause, then you tack on, “Sexually.”

You cringe a little at the look of puzzlement on Ethan’s face. “Maybe we should sit down and talk about it.”

“Uh,” he clears his throat, “sure, yeah.”

Making your way into the living room, you each take a seat on the couch facing one another.

Biting your lip, you smooth your hands across your lap. Seeing his open and earnest face, you just take the plunge.

”I’m not saying that our sex life is boring or that I’m unhappy. There are no problems with that whatsoever.” Your fingers drum a random beat against your thighs. “I just would like it if you would be a bit more aggressive, y’know?”

He hums, contemplatively. “So, you want me to be mean to you?”

”Kind of, but not like hateful mean. Like dirty and hot kind of mean. You’ve actually done it a few times.. on accident.”

Comprehension dawns, and his eyebrows relax back down. “Oh, okay. Not that I wouldn’t try, but I don’t know if I could be really mean to you.”

You relax with his teasing tone. “I don’t want that either. But you’re okay with trying this? I don’t want to pressure you into it if you really don’t feel up to it.”

”Yes, I’m okay with it.” He reaches out to lace your hands together, thumbs brushing the knuckles on your forefingers. “I feel comfortable enough with you that I’d tell you right away if it’s not something I want.”

Smiling, you tug him toward you to drop a quick kiss on his lips. “Good. I want to be open with you, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to make me happy by just blindly going along.”

He noses across your cheekbone, planting soft little kisses across your skin. “I promise to be upfront about my feelings as long as you do the same.”

“Promise,” you murmur, head tilting back as Ethan drops kisses along your throat. His lips part, and you feel the ghost of his tongue leave a bead of wetness behind, growing cool once his mouth moves away. Arousal sparks as quick as a road flare, heating your body with excitement.

It doesn’t take long for you both to get worked up, Ethan’s tongue-filled kisses wiping your thoughts clear of anything but him. His hands grope your breasts through your shirt, finding your nipples through the flimsy material of your bra. Tweaking the hard buds, he groans into your mouth. Your own hands tangle in his short hair before dragging down his neck to dig into his shoulders. He pulls away from your hold, relaxing back against the armrest, one leg extended along the length of the couch with the other bent and foot flat on the floor. With you kneeling between his legs, he undoes his slacks—the zipper sounding loud in the quiet.

“Want you to give my cock a little kiss. Can you do that, honey?” He reaches forward to guide your head down, rubbing your face against the bulge in his briefs. “Yeah, you can. Look at you, drooling for it already.”

Whimpering, you mouth at the outline of his dick, breathing in his musk and wanting more. His hands slip into your line of vision, and he tugs his underwear down, cupping it under his balls. Gripping the base, he smacks his cock against your cheek, smearing drops of precum against your skin, leaving a sticky trail behind.

”C’mon, give me some kisses, baby. Taste how much I want that pretty mouth on my cock.”

You follow his directions, kissing the tip and coating your lips in precum. Whining, you kiss his drippy tip all the way down to his fingers still wrapped around his thick length.

”Good girl,” he coos, with faux sweetness. “You know how to listen so well.”

Lips parting, you run your tongue up from the base to the slit, lapping up the sticky mess coating his cock. The bitter taste does nothing to deter you from sloppily sucking on the head. He pulls his dick out of your mouth, tapping it against your lips.

”Did I say you could suck me? Hmm?” He grips the back of your neck, smushing your face against the side of his dick. “Maybe I should fuck that greedy throat, teach you a lesson.”

You press the dough of your thighs together with a moan, panties sticking to your slick-coated cunt. The hand holding your neck gives it a quick squeeze.

”Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.” Ethan’s hazel eyes darken even further when you do as he says. “There we go. Now, keep still.”

Your soft keens become muffled as he feeds you his cock inch by inch. His weeping tip bumps the back of your throat, and it sends saliva flooding your mouth. You gag slightly, and he pauses—the heat from his palm on your neck keeping you grounded.

”You can take it,” his tone brooks no argument. “Be a good girl and let me into that hot, little throat.”

Eyes watering, your throat clicks when you try to swallow around his cock. His dick flexes, and more precum coats the back of your tongue. Each of his hands grips either side of your head, thumbs framing your jaw. He pulls out halfway before sliding his cock back into the soft vacuum of your mouth. The head of his dick drags against the soft palate of your mouth, and he groans, eyes pinching shut in pleasure. The momentum doesn’t stop; he presses your face down towards his pelvis and thrusts his cock deeper into your throat.

His head knocks against the soft tissue, making you gag, but he doesn’t let up, grinding himself into the slick heat of your mouth.

”You sure know how to take a cock, don’t you, honey?” He chuckles under his breath. “Bet your poor, empty pussy has soaked those panties of yours.”

Not able to speak, you only whine in response, glossy eyes blinking and tears running down your cheeks. Hips stuttering, you rock back and forth, never letting him pull out of your mouth, his cock rutting against the back of your throat. Precum coats the inside of your mouth, and it makes your cunt drip slick, panties totally saturated by this point. Feeling him thicken against your tongue, you whine when he tugs your mouth off of his dick.

“Disappointed you couldn’t swallow it?” He pouts at you, mocking your own expression. “Too bad. I want to cream that cute pussy instead. Undress for me.”

Standing up from the couch on shaky legs, you divest yourself of every single piece of clothing. Ethan doesn’t remove even one stitch, eyes watching you greedily. Once you’re totally nude in front of him, he runs an appreciative hand down across your breasts, flicking each nipple and making you gasp.

”Aren’t I lucky to have such a good girl?”

Not waiting for—or expecting—an answer, he manhandles you down onto your front, chest pressing down into the cushions with your ass up in the air. Smacking his dick against your soaked mound, he laughs at your moan.

”Look at this, such a messy pussy, honey. You need to be dicked down that bad?”

“Please!” You cry out as he bullies his cock into your hole. The stretch feels so good, dick spearing you open in the bestway.

”Fuck,” he bites out. “You’re so wet I basically slid in. Fuck, so slutty.”

Hiccuping a whine, your mouth drops open to suck in a shaky breath. He slowly ruts his cock in and out of your fluttering walls, taking his time to fill your pussy. Ethan’s hands reach under and push up on your hips, arching your back so he can fuck into you at a better angle. Rocking your ass back, you bounce yourself on his dick, pussy aching and clenching around his length. Keeping one hand gripping your hip, he leans over your body and slips one arm under your chest, forearm pressed to your sternum as his hand grips your throat.

“This slutty pussy just needed a cock, didn’t she?” His voice goes soft and sweet, like he’s whispering a secret. “She just needed someone to stretch her out and make her cum. Isn’t that right?”

”Yes, uh huh,” you slur, feeling his hand tighten around your neck, threatening to choke you harder. “Ethan, oh god.”

He growls and squeezes your throat, making you wheeze and gasp, clit pulsing in time with your heartbeat. As he chokes you, he pumps his cock roughly into your cunt, grazing your g-spot and making you thrash against him.

”Take it,” he sounds wrecked, voice deeper than usual. “Fucking take it, yeah, that’s it. Be a good girl and take my fucking cock.”

His cock pulls out of your pussy with an obscene wet schlick, your hole now clenching around nothing.

”Ethan, please,” you gasp out, fingers digging into the fabric of the sofa.

“Aww, is your greedy pussy empty? Need me to stuff her full?” He clicks his tongue. “Poor pitiful thing.”

His words burn hot in your core, leaving your clit pulsing and needy. Sensing movement, you feel him slide his forearms under your knees and lift you up. Squealing in surprise, your hands latch onto his arms. Ethan’s hands dig into your thighs, squeezing until fat dimples between his fingers. His cock prods against your ass, sticky with a mix of your slick and his precum.

”Don’t you want me in that fat pussy, baby?” He whispers against the shell of your ear. “Don’t you want me to fill her up, creampie this sweet hole?”

Wiggling in his grip, your head digs back against his shoulder. “Please, please, Ethan, want it so bad.”

”Aww,” he croons, grinding his cock against your slit and parting your soaked pussy lips to tease against your hole and clit. “Work that cute pussy down on my cock if you need it so bad.”

His simpering sends fresh slick leaking from your fluttering cunt, hips humping against him. Ethan’s cock nudges your entrance before slipping away, and it sends you into a spiral.

”Ethan, please,” tears clog your throat, already raspy from him fucking it earlier. “Please, give me your cock.”

Grunting, he lifts you up a little higher, thrusting his cock upwards until it finally notches against your hole; he eases you down, letting gravity work your body onto his dick until he’s buried snugly inside your hot, slick walls.

”Fuck, you’re so tight,” he hisses, hot breath gusting across the back of your neck. “Pussy sucking me in like you can’t function without my cock in you.”

Keening, you try your best to grind him deeper inside, cunt aching with the stretch. In a combination of lifting you up and dropping you back down paired with his hips thrusting upward, he begins to fuck you with hard, deep strokes that send pure pleasure skittering up your spine and into your brain. Muscles jumping, you can only be held and take what he gives you. It feels so good; you end up babbling utter nonsense—no actual clue as to what you’re saying.

“So cockdrunk,” he croons condescendingly. “Looks like I’ve fucked you stupid.”

Your answer is just to whine in agreement. Groaning low in his chest, you feel the vibration, and it turns you on even more, pussy leaking so much you’re sure you’re dripping all over the floor.

”Play with your pretty clit, honey,” he grunts, pace picking up speed, balls slapping against you with every thrust. “Want to feel you squeezing down—work my cock for that load you’re so hungry for.”

”Oh, fuck,” you whimper, fingers shakily circling your swollen bud. It only takes a couple of swipes of your fingers before it sends you careening into an orgasm that shakes your whole body.

Squirming in Ethan’s arms, your back bows, mouth dropping open with a loud cry while pleasure explodes like a firework. It sends static buzzing through your veins, while your cunt flutters and milks his cock. Sights and sounds slowly seep back into focus, and you realize Ethan is chasing his finish.

”God, fuck, you’re so good, so fucking good,” he mumbles into your shoulder. “Fuck, gonna cum, gonna fill you up, so good, so—fuck!’

He lets out a series of groans, growing deeper with each exhalation, hips rabbiting against your ass until he stills, burying his cock as deeply as possible. Hot, thick cum coats your pussy walls, his dick spurting rope after rope until he’s spent. It feels like a lifetime until he’s finished stuffing your cunt full of cum; once he’s finished, he staggers, easing you onto the couch before collapsing next to you. You both sound like you’ve run a marathon.

”Sorry,” his sheepish voice grasps your attention, and you sluggishly turn to face him. “Think I got a little carried away.”

A sudden bark of laughter bursts from you. “Ethan, it was totally fine. More than fine. That was… wow.”

He grins crookedly, brown hair sticking to his sweaty face. “Not to yank my own chain, but I agree.” He tries to do the sultry eyebrows, like earlier at the restaurant, and it just makes you laugh harder.

”Alright, Casanova, let's go grab a shower.”

”Will do.”

Neither of you moves to get up.

”Maybe once I can feel my legs again,” he jokes. “We’ll head that way.”

#ko fi commissions #kofi commission #fic request #ethan winters #ethan winters x reader #ethan winters x you #ethan winters x fem!reader #ethan winters smut #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil smut

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cocoa-dile · 1 day ago

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Sebek x Fae! Reader Writing Attempt

Warnings / Notes: This is my first time ever writing anything related to fan fiction (and it's terrible), reader is not Yuu/MC and is loosely based on a Twisted Wonderland OC of mine, gn! reader, OOC Sebek (?), reader's parents are more "traditional" in the sense that they dislike humans, story probably has a few holes in relation to canon and I'm not a very talented writer but it's all just for fun and not meant to be taken too seriously :) Also not proofread! So I apologize in advance for any mistakes

What type of fae, how reader looks, etc. is not described outside of one instance of the word "beautiful" being used (intended as a gender neutral compliment). You're pretty much free to let your imagination fill out whatever you want with this

Story is completely fluff (no smut or otherwise 18+ scenarios, no gore, etc.) with some implied and in some parts heavy romantic feelings / tension but is mostly platonic(?)

If anything here is wrong and you think it needs to be fixed please let me know! I have no idea what I'm doing and would really appreciate any constructive criticism. I think I'll probably end up redoing this at some point because I think I can do much better with a bit of practice

Story / bullet points located under the cut

You, Sebek, and Silver grew up together in Briar Valley, but your parents didn't really approve of you spending time with a human and a half fae

Despite your parents disapproval, you continued to pursue a friendship with the two of them (though in secret)

You probably proposed to Sebek as a child and bring it up as a joke to embarrass him, it still makes his face get a bit red (especially if it's in front of other people)

You loved hearing stories from both Lilia and Baur about their adventures or past experiences, and they ultimately fueled your desire to learn more about cultures outside of Briar Valley

After Sebek left for Night Raven College, you two would send letters to keep in touch (as neither of you were particularly skilled with technology as a result of your upbringing, and hand written letters "are more fitting of a knight" after all)

However, as the school year went on, Sebek noticed that you were writing him less and less

This upset him a bit, but unbeknownst to him you just didn't want to distract him from school and his responsibilities relating to Malleus

Sebek has always admired your strength and affinity for magic, and even asked his grandfather and Lilia if you could train with him and Silver when they first started

The two of you swap books with annotations and notes in them, and if he notices that you've highlighted or underlined something that might be interpreted as flirtatious or romantic, even if just to mess with him, it makes him short circuit

Before the Ramshackle Dorm was completely fixed up (between Book 2 and Book 3), Crowley invited you to the campus to help out the Prefect

With what exactly? He wasn't very clear. However, you were starting to make a name for yourself in Briar Valley and word was starting to spread across Twisted Wonderland, and Crowley believed you might be able to find a way for the Prefect to get home

When you arrive on campus, Crowley goes with you to pull the Prefect out of class so you could learn more about the world that they're from - and when Sebek sees you, he almost screams

What were you doing here? How long would you be here? Should he approach you? You hadn't been writing letters like normal, perhaps you were trying to avoid him. But despite all of his questions running around in his head, making him dizzy, he couldn't help but notice how beautiful you looked as you waited for the Prefect to gather their things, and he feels heat crawling up his neck as you glance over at him and give him a small wink

You stay with the Prefect and Grim in Ramshackle Dorm, and almost immediately get to work with cleaning everything up. As was drilled into you as a child by your parents, the state the dorm was in was simply unacceptable

Cleaning and fixing up the furniture didn't take too long with a bit of elbow grease and magic, but you decided to leave the major renovations for tomorrow, when the Prefect and their friends, Ace and Deuce, were done studying

By the time tomorrow had rolled around, you decided to see the Equestrian Club and watch Silver and Sebek

"Wow Sebek, you're such a talented horse rider" "Sebek, you're so handsome!" "Oh Sebby, you're such a valiant knight" <- All said to get a rise out of him and see him blush (which you succeeded in)

When you compliment Riddle for how good he is at riding horses or when you comment on how Silver is so gentle with the horses, Sebek can't ignore the pinpricks that he starts to feel spreading across his body

Riddle is good at horse back riding, that's why Sebek chose to join the club, and Silver is good with animals, he always has been, but Sebek couldn't help but worry that you noticed the way that the horses flinched away from him or that he couldn't hold perfect form because of the nerves from your eyes on him

Sebek truly admired you and wanted you to have a high opinion of him as well, so surely all of those weird feelings he got around you or thinking of you or rereading the sweet letters you sent him were just a product of that

Right?

As you bid him goodbye, you lightly squeezed his hand and watched as his slit pupils dilated even further

He insisted on "escorting" you back to Ramshackle Dorm, and after you gently opened the door and stepped inside, you pulled his face towards yours and pressed a kiss to his cheek

"Thank you, Sebek," you giggled. "I'll see you soon, okay?" You closed the door to the dorm, and he could hear you calling out to the Prefect. "Prefect, Grim, I'm back! Perhaps you should show me about those "movies" you were discussing with Ace the other night?"

As Sebek stood outside the door to Ramshackle Dorm, he tried to gather himself so he could head back to Silver, and eventually the dorm. He prayed that Lilia wouldn't comment on how flustered he seemed, unable to get the feeling of your lips against his skin out of his head

★ I still have quite a bit that could go with Sebek and a Fae! Reader and this didn't really end up going in the direction I had intended (I was possessed as I was writing this I guess lmao), so I think I might do a part 2 or redo this entirely. Please leave any recommendations or feedback in the comments ★

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader #sebek zigvolt #twst sebek #sebek x reader #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland

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norrisprincess · 3 hours ago

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Happy and Married

Summary: Sometimes the pressure before getting married can be too much, and Max knows it, so he's going to take care of his favorite girl and make her feel better.

Pairing: husband!Max Verstappen x wife!reader

Warnings: no use of yn, short, fluff, angst and smau

Face Claim: Adriana Lima

Author Note: English is not my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes I may have. Some things were written with Google Translate.

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yourusername ❤️🤍 almost a bride!

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Your heels echoed through the large wedding hall that was still being decorated. You and Max were getting married in a week and there were still some decorations left.

You turned on your heels to see one of the decorators putting things the opposite way you requested.

“No, no! That shouldn't go there, some flowers go there.”

Your nervous voice was heard throughout the room and all the employees turned to look at you, making your nerves increase. You weren't bad, you were nervous.

Max entered the room with a smile and a bouquet of flowers, but when he saw his fiancée nervously playing with her fingers, he immediately knew something was not right.

Max approached you and stroked your shoulder but you sighed before starting to head for the entrance.

“Not now Max..”

Your voice was heard almost as a whisper while the sound of your heels became weaker as you walked away.

Max stared at the door and left the flowers on one of the many tables before he decided to follow you.

Your tears fell from your eyes and rolled down your cheeks as you clutched the pillow next to you, sobbing.

Max opened the door to the room and immediately his shoulders tensed when he saw you sobbing like that. It broke his heart to see the woman he loved crying.

“Schat…”

He approached you and sat next to you on the bed.

Almost immediately you clung to him, crying harder, your tears staining his shirt and your body shaking slightly against his as your sobs turned to babble as you tried to speak.

“I...I don't know what's wrong with me, I can't think clearly...I just—I want to rest”

Max stroked your back while murmuring soft nothings in your ear.

“Ik weet het, mijn liefste, alles komt goed. Ik ben er voor je.” (I know, my love, everything will be okay. I'm here for you.)

Your head moved a little, making it so that you and Max could see each other's eyes.

“What if something goes wrong? What if our special day isn't...special?”

Max shook his head as he continued to gently stroke your back in an attempt to calm you down.

“The simple fact that I'm going to be marrying you that day already makes it special. I don't need the decorations, the balloons, the desserts or your dress to be perfect. The simple fact that you're the one who will be by my side for the rest of my days already makes everything perfect.”

Max's hands moved up to your face, wiping away your tears and gently caressing your cheeks as if he was afraid he might break you.

“I love you…”

The words come out softly and slowly from your mouth as you look at him, those blue eyes that captivated you from the beginning, those blue eyes that you would never want to stop seeing.

“Ik hou ook van jou, van hier tot aan de maan en verder” (I love you too, from here to the moon and beyond)

You smiled at him and you lay down on the bed cuddled up together, not caring about anything. You felt a weight less on your shoulders as you snuggled more against his chest. You felt safe, you felt secure, and you loved that feeling.

The music stopped, your hands trembled, the doors opened and you started walking down that long hallway while the sound of sweet trumpets resonated throughout the room harmoniously with each step you took.

Your eyes shifted to your closest relatives, they were present, some with tears in their eyes and others smiling as they watched you walk down that aisle, you were no longer a little girl, now you were almost a newlywed.

You looked at your friends, all sitting and smiling at you while some nodded and gave you thumbs up.

You looked at your bridesmaid, your best friend, she had a light smile while some tears ran down her cheeks and she quickly wiped them away.

And finally, you looked at the most important man in your life, the man with whom you decided to spend the rest of your days, and to whom you decided to give the-

“Yes, I accept.”

“Then by the power vested in me by the church, I pronounce you husband and wife..you can kiss the wife”

Max's lips gently rested on yours and you wrapped your arms around his neck while everyone stood up and applauded, your heart was racing, you were finally with the one who makes you happy, with the one who appreciates you, and you never wanted to let this moment go.

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yourusername and maxverstappen1 after a lot of time, we are finally happy and married 💍

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Taglist! 🫶🏼

@theholyharp @chlodavids

two persons already omgggg 😭

#f1 smau #f1 #formula 1 #max verstappen x reader #x reader #fem reader #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen angst #angst #angst with a happy ending #fluff #f1 fluff

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reiiv · 2 days ago

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Girls written by the men of LADS

I saw this idea on TikTok, but with aesthetic photos, I needed to share my opinion in words...English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any possible mistakes.

Caleb - Outgoing girls, who maintain friendships for years, signs up for any activity that is fun, athletic and very protective of those they care about, don't mess with them because they listen to crime podcasts.

Xavier- Girls who take life calmly, don't get stressed easily and enjoy the little things, like eat sunflower seeds in a park with their friends at sunset; their circle is small but everyone trusts them easily, usually the best at giving advice and curious by nature.

Rafayel - Chicas que disfrutan de la belleza de las cosas, son extrovertidas pero conf��an en pocas personas, aprecian mucho los pequeños detalles y el tiempo de calidad, son atentas y pueden ser tan amables como peligrosas.

Sylus- Girls who know what they want and how to get it, with a sybaritic taste, they know that expensive is not always synonymous with quality; independent because the rest just gets in the way, they just want someone who doesn't give them more work.

Zayne- Girls who prefer functional things but can't resist something sweet, they are rational most of the time but melt in the face of sincere affection; they strive to make life easier for others, they will help you if you ask them but they will not be anyone's servants.

What else would you add?

#love and deepspace #lads #love and deepspace fluff #lads caleb #lads xavier #lads rafayel #lads sylus #lads zayne #lads headcanons #love and deep space

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sirjaketkiszka · 3 days ago

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Ride - Jake Kiszka

“What an awful way to go.”

Jake Kiszka x Fem!Reader

Summary - Jake wants you to try something new.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: 18+!!, sexual content, cursing, fast-paced, slight dirty talking, oral fem!receiving, face riding, masturbation, and literally no plot whatsoever.

(Let me know if I missed any.)

Disclaimer: Apologies for any potential spelling errors or grammar mistakes.

a/n - Well, clearly I’m on a roll. Here’s a third quick write for you all. I promise the next thing I post will be longer and thought-out. I just had to get this one out of my mind!!!! Enjoy!

“Come on, baby,” Jake encourages, looking up at you from his lying position, your legs straddling his hips, “you’re not going to suffocate me, I promise.” He snickers.

“Are you sure?” Your tone is uncertain.

“I am so sure.” He assures, slightly flexing his hands resting on your bare thighs, giving you a gentle squeeze. “I’ll tell you if I can’t take it, okay? But I promise I can.” A smug smirk pulls at his lips, his pupils dilating at the thought.

“You better.” You squint, attempting to be threatening.

“Swear.” He places a hand over his heart, “Go ahead, take your underwear off, princess.” He nods once, releasing his remaining hold on your one thigh.

You playfully roll your eyes, sliding off of him to quickly remove your underwear, tossing it elsewhere. Slowly, you crawl beside him, coming closer to where his head lies upon the plush pillows. You’re reluctant, sitting back on your heels, wondering how exactly you’re supposed to do this.

“Do I just…” Your voice trails off.

“It’s exactly how it sounds, baby. Give it a try.” He explains, watching you intently, but being sure not to push.

“Don’t be mad if I suffocate you, okay?” You half-joke, lifting yourself and shifting closer.

“What an awful way to go.” He shoots back, his pupils blown as he watches you lift one leg over his head, and resting that knee onto the pillow beneath him.

Your legs kneel on either side of his head, caging him in as you look down at him. You’re careful to avoid his hair, afraid you might pull it by kneeling on it. He looks… delighted.

A grin melts on his lips, his eyes observant and pleading. He licks his lips as his gaze flicks to your cunt just inches away from his face, glistening with arousal.

You tense when you feel his hands rest on your hips, and he patiently waits. It’s torture for him—just wanting to devour your cunt, be smothered by you, but having no control.

Carefully, you lower yourself, your walls clenching once when you feel the heat of Jake’s mouth between your legs. His lips part in anticipation, his eyes holding yours as you bite your lip, slowly resting your cunt onto his mouth.

You flinch slightly at the sensation, feeling overly susceptible to this new position. With your legs straddling his face, your cunt is spread for him, and the simple brush of his lips makes you release a shuttered breath.

He groans slightly, his eyes nearly rolling when you apply more pressure. You remain hovering, just to give him enough space to work his magic.

Jake lifts his head slightly, swiping his tongue along your folds and humming when the arousal collects on the tip. Using the headboard as support, your hands grip the solid wood, letting your head fall back to release a breathless moan.

“Holy shit, Jake.” Your breath is shaky, and your head rolls forward to look at him.

His eyes trail along your body, watching as your hardened nipples peek through the flimsy fabric of your white t-shirt.

You want a better look, releasing the headboard with one hand and lifting the bottom hem of your shirt. The sight makes your mouth water—his pointed nose is buried in your flesh, his top lip resting against your aching clit, as his tongue toys with your pulsing entrance. Your other hand travels down, running your fingers through his soft hair before finding a good grip, using him as support.

Still, you remain in place, afraid of making sudden movements that may make his position uncomfortable. You control yourself, being sure not to get lost in pleasure, keeping your hips still for him.

“Ride my face, baby.” He mumbles against you, sending ripples of vibration to your core. His hands on your hips nudge you, moving you forward a bit, just to pull you back in a repeated motion.

“Jake, what if—” God, but it feels so good. “Fuck~” The word drags, your eyes fluttering close as you tilt your head back.

“That’s it, ride my fucking face,” He hums, his words being lost when you take control, losing yourself in the building pressure in your gut and rolling your hips deeper.

Your arousal coats his lips, the tip of his nose, and his chin, leaving a shine on his face and a satisfied look in his hooded eyes. He’s enjoying this as much as you, though you can’t imagine why.

An incoherent string of curses and silent pleas claw their way from your throat, rolling off your tongue as you close your eyes, focusing on chasing a release that’s not far behind.

The pure pleasure that emits from the action nearly distracts you from the physical exertion—your thighs tremble against the sides of his face as you exhale quickened breaths between each mindless phrase.

Jake doesn’t have to do much work, simply letting his tongue lay flat as you use him, rubbing your cunt along the soft muscle. Unable to speak, he only grunts and hums in encouragement, and you feel one of his hands leave your hip.

Your eyes open, watching as his eyes are shut, his brows furrowed in concentration, and his free hand gone behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, your cunt clenches when you see it—his hand stuffed down his boxers, gripping his erection, and pumping swiftly to match your pace.

“Jake, I’m so close.” You whine.

Needing to use the headboard, you shove the bottom hem of your shirt between your teeth and bite down. You release the hold on his hair, your hands grasping at the wood, and your nails digging into it as you move your hips faster.

You’re sure you look like a mess—hair sticking to your temples and neck, your shirt riding up to expose your breasts, and features tense as you focus. Muffled whines are swallowed by the fabric of your shirt, and Jake notices.

Opening his eyes, he groans at the sight. A drawled “Ohhh, fuuuck.” exits his mouth and is silenced by your cunt. It’s enough stimulation to push your orgasm off the edge it was once teetering on.

“Fuck, Jake!” You cry out, letting go of the shirt as your hips frantically grind your cunt along the lower half of his face, your climax crashing into you. It takes everything in you not to squeeze your thighs, your legs threatening to close from the overwhelming release.

Jake’s body jerks beneath you as his strained grunts melt into you, braiding into your repeated moans and breathless sighs. You slow to a halt, your lips still parted as you breathe shallowly, catching your breath.

Your head rolls from side to side, before finally looking back down at Jake, who’s taking in your flushed state.

His hand taps your hip, and you lift yourself, noticing the way he takes a deep breath and licks his lips to swipe away any remaining release. You giggle breathlessly, lifting your leg back over his head and moving down so you’re sitting beside him, leaning back on the heels of your feet.

His hair is disheveled, a product of your closed fist pulling at the roots. His chin still shimmers with your release, and his eyes are nearly black from just how turned on he is.

You glance down, noticing the damp spot on his boxers.

“You came.” You point out, smirking.

“I did,” He huffs out a laugh, propping himself up on his elbows, “You were so focused on coming on my face—I just couldn’t help myself.”

Your face heats from subtle embarrassment.

“You asked for it.” You remark, shifting your position so you’re lying beside him, throwing a leg over his waist and an arm across his chest.

“I sure did.” He hums, leaning in and capturing your lips in a soft kiss.

Tags:

#greta van fleet #jake kiszka #jake kiszka fanfic #jacob thomas kiszka #jake kiskza x reader #jake gvf #jake kiska fic #gvf fic #jake kiskza smut #gvf smut #jealous jake kiszka #jake kiszka one shot #jake fluff #jake x reader #gvf #gvf fanfiction #greta van fluff #greta van smut #greta van fic

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sunnydbeam · 3 months ago

Note

I want to politely ask Alpha to bend down so I can kiss him on the cheek and see his reaction (whatever happens, I'm ready)

SFW. Fluff Word count: 1500+ I can't draw, so I'm trying to get back to writing.

edit: Link to AO3

______

Alpha isn't quite sure what to anticipate when you ask him to stoop down a little to meet you. In his optical sensors, you register as polite, perhaps even... endearing. So, after a slight tilt of his head, he complies, leaning his tall frame forward. Even bent, the height difference remains significant, almost comically so.

Alpha lowers himself further, bringing his face level with yours. Your gaze meets his; the red eyes are void of expression, yet somehow intensely questioning. That signature robotic seriousness washes over you, unsettling.

You feel judged somehow, a wave of nervousness making you feel small and foolish. The truth, however, is far simpler: Alpha isn't thinking about anything in particular.

"Like this?" he asks simply, his voice a flat monotone.

You manage a hesitant nod, doubt flickering within you. The robot tilts his head again, a minute adjustment, and a knot of anxiety tightens in your stomach. Was this really a good idea? What intricate calculations were running through his complex positronic brain as he stared? Would delaying anger him? Would your intended action infuriate him even more? Unbeknownst to you, Alpha's mind remains a blank slate regarding your intentions.

Taking a shallow breath, you edge closer. Tentatively, trying not to make any sudden movements, you gently rest a hand against his cheek. You instantly notice a flicker of confusion in his red eyes, though his imposing frame remains perfectly still. He doesn't push you away, but your doubt blossoms into genuine fear. Will this next action sign your death warrant?

You decide words are useless now. Instead, you lean in further and finally, delicately, press your lips against his right cheek. It's brief, just a fleeting pressure, but firm enough, you hope, for the contact to register.

His reaction is instantaneous and explosive, startling you so badly that you fling yourself backward, scrambling away as fast as your legs allow. And thank whatever higher power exists that you did, because you know, with absolute certainty, that if you hadn't moved, the robot would likely have grabbed you, and that would have ended very badly for you.

Alpha snaps upright to his full, intimidating height, towering over you. His eyes blaze wide and bright, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. He stares down at you as if he could bore holes straight through your skull with his gaze alone. He doesn't move an inch, yet every fiber of your being screams at you to apologize profusely and flee for your life. The way he looks at you feels like a terrible, deadly omen. You swear your intentions were completely innocent!

You stumble as you try to get to your feet properly, poised to turn and run when Alpha makes a sudden, stiff movement. You freeze mid-motion — partly from shock, partly from fear, and partly from a morbid curiosity desperate to know what he thinks, what he'll do. But the sight of those four flexible, weaponized limbs extending slightly to his sides certainly doesn't look friendly.

"What was that?" he questions, his voice surprisingly less agitated than his threatening body language suggests.

Your mouth opens, your mind racing for a convincing explanation, but nothing comes out except the unvarnished truth, which you fear might enrage him further. "Just... a kiss? Out of curiosity..."

The words tumble out before you can stop them, your posture radiating nervousness, timidity, and worry.

To your immense surprise, honesty turns out to be the best possible approach. Alpha stares at you as if you've suddenly sprouted a second head, yet simultaneously, as if he's just encountered the strangest, most baffling phenomenon imaginable. The robot steps closer, looming, almost cornering you. You tremble like a leaf.

"Kiss?" His voice is softer now, less aggressive than you'd expect, laced with a strange sort of curiosity. Thoughtful, almost, as if he's genuinely pondering the concept. "Why do humans do that?"

"I-it's just... a way to show affection..." You stammer, unable to meet his intense gaze. You could cry right now from sheer stupidity, from acting on impulse without considering the potentially lethal consequences. "I-it wasn't anything bad, I promise..."

"Affection," he repeats the word, tasting it, analyzing it. He leans closer again, his face near yours, his gaze scrutinizing. "Why would you do that?" Why him, of all beings?

You don't answer. He doesn't press.

"Are you afraid?"

You shake your head quickly, a blatant lie contradicted by your trembling body and the tears welling in your eyes. Everything about you screams, "Don't be angry, please don't hurt me." Alpha may or may not fully parse the sentiment, but he certainly observes you with a softening gaze, perhaps finding your vulnerable state... adorable. To him, you are a lovely creature. You, however, remain oblivious to this internal assessment.

Alpha places a large hand gently on top of your head. "Were you being... affectionate... with me?" he asks, a surprising note of naïveté in his tone.

You blush crimson, the heat rising in your cheeks. "Huh..."

He analyzes your reaction. "I still make you nervous. Scared?" His hand drifts down, the tip of one gloved finger lightly tapping the bridge of your nose. "Don't be afraid."

You give him a pathetic look. "... You're not angry… ?"

"No."

"You're not going to kill me...?"

"Why would I do that?"

You avert your gaze, deciding not to answer that. Instead, a reckless impulse takes over. "C-can I give you another kiss?"

Okay, what on Earth possessed you to ask that?

Alpha's eyes narrow fractionally. His hand lowers, fingers curling under your chin, gripping firmly, tilting your face to the side as if forcing you to look away. The grip is strong, bordering on painful. Yet, you can distinctly feel his red eyes boring into your very soul, a threatening, ominous aura surrounding him.

"Don't move."

With deliberate slowness, Alpha leans forward. He presses his brief, experimental “kiss” to your cheek, a light brush of coolness mimicking your earlier gesture. Even as he holds you fast in his steel grip, seemingly ready to counter any hint of movement or escape, he then surprises you by sweetly nuzzling his face against your hair.

"Like this? Am I doing it correctly?" he whispers, his voice muffled slightly against the soft strands. His grip on your face loosens but doesn't release you entirely. "Showing you... affection."

Your face flushes hot again. What is even happening?

"Yes... I mean— W-why would you do that?" You stammer, your voice slightly distorted by the pressure on your cheeks. Your question seems to mildly irritate Alpha; apparently, he doesn't know the answer either. But he felt the impulse — the need to investigate, to understand why that brief contact had felt... surprisingly not unpleasant. Why does it make him feel less cold?

"Curious," he states simply.

A particularly brave part of you wants to argue, to question why he had to grab you like that just to try it, but something in his simple admission feels... oddly endearing.

"...And? What conclusion did you reach...?" You venture, emboldened.

Alpha regards you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He traces the line of your jaw with a gloved index finger, a flicker of fascination in his otherwise impassive features. "Uncertain. I still don't understand it... Why do it that way..." He touches his cheek briefly as if committing the strange, yet not disagreeable, sensation to memory. "What conclusion did you reach?"

You blush for the third time, a reaction the robot does not miss. "I don't know... Honestly, I thought you were going to murder me for trying."

"Is that what you want?"

There is no way he just asked that as casually as discussing the weather. Now you're profoundly disturbed and feel an urgent need to escape.

Alpha releases your chin as you instinctively try to pull back, and you just pray he isn't serious. You stumble backward on unsteady feet. He watches you from his still-crouched position, a massive question mark seemingly hovering over his head.

"Oh, look at the time! They must be looking for me, haha..." You spin around to leave, but a large hand clamps onto your arm, pulling you back firmly to face him again, bathing you once more in the red glow of his optics.

“If you’ll allow me, I’d like to show you my favorite human gesture of affection before you go.”

You're too stunned to react. When you don't struggle, he gently pulls you towards him, against his chest. His four arms wrap around you, engulfing your smaller frame. You're initially surprised and tense, bracing for the worst. But then, slowly, you feel one of his hands carefully stroking the hairs on the back of your neck, and you realize... He's holding you with such unexpected tenderness, such comfort, that you feel yourself practically melting against him.

Alpha rubs your shoulders and back with slow, careful, circular motions as if consciously trying to soothe you. It works. Soon, your tension drains away, and you find yourself relaxing, hesitantly wrapping your arms around his torso. He is incredibly good at hugs.

"Cute," he murmurs.

You stay like that in silence for a while, enveloped in the strange, secure embrace. Eventually, Alpha seems to decide it's sufficient. He loosens his hold, though he doesn't let go completely. You, however, don't release him yet.

"You may leave now," he informs you.

You cling tighter.

"Just a little longer..." you mumble, your face buried against his chest. "They can wait."

_____________

[ Have to be honest here: I was one sentence away from making Alpha go weird, but the only thing that stopped me was how long this was getting :p ]

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bluejulius · 8 months ago

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eretlout arm wrestle for your dash

a great winning tactic tbh 🤷‍♂️

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internetegoist · 11 months ago

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Of Shidou Ryusei ; And how his character connects towards sexual trauma

(Content warning: Major mentions of SA/CSA and abuse, minor mentions for NSFW behaviour. Most of them aren't in graphic detail, but please please be wary of it 🙏 There's also spoilers for CSM and A Clockwork Orange)

Shidou's character is one of those that sticks with you throughout the entire series. It feels like we know everything about him, yet there's something so mysterious about his behaviour that makes you wonder, what's with this guy? We know how he acts, his violence and vulgarity injected in his brain and blood, but yet we don't know why he acts the way he is. It is very heavily implied that he went through a sort of restriction, born in a bird cage which he freed himself from through going to Blue Lock, but what is that restriction? What was the bird cage which trapped him? What was it that was holding him back from searching for freedom and exploring the world?

Since then, there's been a large speculation of theories on what his backstory could be. But one of them I want to talk about is about how his backstory is connected to SA, and how he could have experienced it at a young age. At first, I was extremelyyy hesitant to follow it due to how it made me a bit uncomfortable to discuss about, and how I saw a majority of people supporting the theory use it for shock value rather than a chance to devolve into darker topics. Of course, not the case for everyone who supports the theory, just from my own personal experience in the fandom.

But now, I can see the extremely, deeply discomforting vision on how this could be true in a way. From both his favourite manga and movie involving SA as an integral part in the story, to the concerning side of him being slightly revealed in the Egoist Bible. (Eg. crying at the end of the day, when he's feeling nothing or when he's empty, as well as his dislike of gifts)

Due to my heavy interests, I wanted to explore this theory into a more deeper matter. I decided to analyze more of his behaviour, as well as doing some of my own research. I must say, Shidou's behavioral manner can be one that is similar to those of SA survivors, especially male survivors.

Okay okay, enough yapping around. Let me get straight to the point.

Shidou and his instinct's responses

Generally after experiencing sexual abuse, one's entire personality will change. Every behaviour change is different for every sexual abuse survivor. Sometimes they'll isolate themselves more often, sometimes they turn into a much aggressive and violent person. Because the world has failed them, the world is putting them in a place where they are no longer safe and are more vulnerable. Because when your entire sense of self and personal power is taken away by your abuser, you are left with nothing but fear and new survival instincts. Why I bring this up is because Shidou's entire personality is built on instincts. His instant response to even the slightest hint of dislike or threat is to immediately beat them up, no matter who they are. A noteworthy thing to mention is that one of the main responses from males following sexual trauma is anger, because it is more socially acceptable for men to react that way. Attacking someone is the best way of defense, and Shidou follows this way of defense entirely. This also follows up with the stigma with the male ethic of self-reliance, in which help-seeking behaviours can be seen as cowardly or unmasculine.

It's most likely the reason why he also dislikes Kunigami's philosophy of heroes; Considering the fact his entire character is based on wanting to be free from restriction, he must have lived in an environment and/or went through a sort of restriction which influenced his ideals of "I can fend myself, I won't need anyone". The world he has grown up in was nothing but survival against the abuse he went through, so for what purpose should he believe in the principle of a savior, if he himself could have never been saved? It doesn't help either when in real time, there have been many cases where survivors of sexual abuse are either never believed when they speak out about it, or never speak out at all in fear of not being believed.

And besides the fact he uses violence as a defense method, one thing I noticed about Shidou is that during the time he was locked up by Ego for inducing violence onto Rin. We see him, perhaps for the first time, being calm and offering a promise that he'll make sure to stop fighting and hitting others, as long as he is let out of that prison he's trapped in. You see, a common reaction victims will use during the process of the SA is to freeze. To stay silent and still. It's like how animals freeze to avoid fights or further harm to themselves, or play dead in order to prevent getting eaten by predators. Although the outer self may seem to be in a calm state, the inside are on high alert, because they are afraid on what will be their abuser's next moves. The option to fight or run away may seem easy to those who haven't experienced SA, but to the victim it may seem harder than you think. Because freezing is a body's instinct response to abuse, and it'll stay frozen until the abuse is over, it's almost like a human's way of playing dead, so that the assault induced will end sooner. Among the instincts of 'fight, flight, freeze', Shidou seems to use fight the most out of the three. However, when necessary times come necessary measures, Shidou, perhaps for the first time, switches to 'freeze' instead of 'fight'. Not only because he basically, cannot physically fight anyone at that moment, but also because he is afraid. Afraid of being restricted yet again, afraid of not having the chance to live his life, which is to play football. The worst position to be in when you're being hurt or abused is limitation. You can't move, you can't fight, you can't run away from your abuse from happening. Nothing but hope that the abuse happening to you will end soon, that your abuser will stop hurting you. That's exactly what is so terrifying about the freeze responses.

Shidou and his sexual behaviour

If any fan knows anything about Shidou, it's that he's not afraid to speak out what's on his mind, especially lewd and inappropriate words. More or less, this can be connecting to something called hypersexuality. Accordingly, hypersexuality is defined as an intense focus on sexual fantasies, urges and behaviours that can't be controlled. Hypersexuality can not only cause distress, but also problems in school and workplace.

Survivors of sexual abuse cope in one of the two ways: Either by avoiding sexual or intimidate interactions entirely, or seeking said interactions on a large and unhealthy scale. According to this article, a majority of men who suffer from hypersexuality or sex addiction have been either physically or sexually abused in their childhood.

We see Shidou quite literally compare scoring a goal in football, to sexual intercourse. (And also the part where he says he's gonna blow his load, with Sae also dismissing it, but it's just partners supporting each other!)

By now, we know that two things that Shidou is unable to separate from each other is life and football. Both the act of life and the act of playing football is interconnected. Because football is something that allows him to leave a mark, allows him to be known by the world. Because football is a biological phenomenon to him, rather than just a sport.

And yes sure, this is supposed to be a connection to his philosophy of leaving a mark on others, so that you can be remembered. But also remember what he says in his monologue: "Those who create something, those who want to become something, and of course, those who make children." The way humans create life is through intimacy, through intercourse. The two people engaging leave a mark on each other through creating that life, that child.

And while speaking about his monologue of leaving a mark, Shidou also mentions that wounding others are a way of leaving behind a proof of existence. Inducing abuse whether it'd be physical, emotional or sexual, can also be one of the ways to make someone remember you.

The abuser leaves the mark on the victim, the mentioned mark left on them can be seen as PTSD or trauma symptoms.

Abuse is not something you can just simply turn away, forget or overlook. Whether the effects of trauma are short-term or long-term, they are there, they are a proof of existence that it happened. Shidou's inability to separate the physical act of football and the biological act of life's desires, especially sexual desires, can be seen as hypersexuality. Hypersexuality can also be seen as a mark left onto the victim. And it's extremely lengthy to recover and remove those marks left on you.

Of Freedom and Shidou Ryusei

I think Shidou Ryusei and his obsession with freedom is something so interesting about his character, yet so many people tend to ignore it as a significant part of him. Because imagine if one day out of the blue, your entire bodily autonomy gets taken away from you, you're trapped in a cycle of repetitive abuse onto you. When it's finally over and you have control over everything again, the world suddenly feels so utterly different. So what do you do? Of course, cling onto that freedom that is now yours.

Bite any other hand that may seem like it's trying to take it away, because if there is one thing you do not ever want to repeat, it is someone isolating you once more against the world. So hold on tightly to the freedom you now have, and make sure it stays with you for eternity.

All of Shidou's favourite things, his favourite film, manga and song, are also connected to this in a way.

It would take too long for me to get into detail about both Chainsaw Man and A Clockwork Orange, but I want to say that both media and their protagonists have approaches to freedom of life and choice.

In Chainsaw Man, Denji is a child that has been depraved of even the basic of human needs; Just like Shidou, he wants to claim everything in his current life and not return to when he had nothing when he was a child. In A Clockwork Orange, Alexander who in the beginning of the movie has been committing heinous crimes with no one to stop him, is captured and put through inhumane experiments in order to rehabilitate him. His entire freedom is taken away from him and for the next hour, we see him go through immense suffering and torture by those who he had wronged to the point he attempts to commit suicide through jumping off a window. In the end, it doesn't seem like his mindset has changed at all. It makes us question whether or not letting someone be free to do anything they want is the better option even if it hurts others, rather than attempt to isolate them in order to transform them into a better human being.

I would like to talk a little about his favourite artist. For a bit of context, hide is popular for being an icon of rebellion against Japan's conformist society, and one of his songs PINK SPIDER, is listed as Shidou's favourite song according to the official Blue Lock Egoist Bible. I've seen a lot of interpretations of what the song truly means, but the main story is that it's about a spider trapped within and kills anything near it. Because it wishes to free itself away, it steals a butterfly's wings. It attempts to fly, and fails, and tries again. Whether or not the spider did actually succeeded in flying away is unknown to us. But, that's not all!

Around the chapter where Shidou scores a goal, the commenter calls it a 'rocket diving header'. This can lead to one of hide's other songs in the same album as PINK SPIDER, rocket dive; a song with the similar approach of freedom but with different tones. Compared to PINK SPIDER, rocket dive has a more cheerful approach. In the end of the song, the star mentioned in rocket dive successfully flies away and appears as a new shooting star in the sky.

Which brings me to point out something: Shidou Ryusei's birthday is on Tanabata, a type of Japanese celebration called the Star Festival which is celebrated on the seventh day of the seventh month.

His name, Ryusei, is also a homophone for shooting star in Japanese.

Shidou, born as a star on the day where two lover stars meet, yet when he was born, he was not allowed to fly and join the others in the sky.

But he overcame everything, achieved that dream of having the freedom to do whatever he wants. And even though he went through all that pain, all that abuse, and most likely had to learn how to escape by himself through football before Blue Lock, he made it come true, like a spell.

And eventually, he learnt how to fly, and let the world knew who he was.

#cw child abuse #cw csa #shidou ryusei #blue lock #bllk #ryusei shidou #shidou ryuusei #character analysis #bllk analysis #character study #character examination #i deeply apologize for the repetitive words and any mistakes i made it's so late i can't be bothered to fix it until tomorrow #this is my first time writing such a long analysis and posting it publicly. please be nice to me.#i worked on this shit for TWO WEEKS and will probably not like it later but you know what it's better to never post anything at all

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cubesugarss · 2 years ago

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cnstars hiiai impression translations!

first two are in the context of alkaloid, second two are keito lecture

tl notes and original text under cut

the phrase 一窍不通 (yī qiào bù tōng) - knows nothing is used several times across all slides to describe hiiro's inexperience

slide 1: hiiro says he keeps aira's words close to heart 至今 (zhì jīn) - to this day slide 2: 懵懵懂懂 (měng měng dǒng dǒng) - ignorant is also used to describe hiiro's inexperience, 迷茫 (mí máng) - confused/lost and 脆弱 (cì ruò) - fragile are used to describe hiiro's mental state after the incident with his brother slide 3: hiiro uses the phrase 拓宽眼界 (tà kuān yǎn jiè) - broaden horizons, 亲切 (qīn qiè) - kindly slide 4: 欲望 (yù wàng) - desire is used to describe hiiro's passion for learning, aira describes hiiro's practicing after lectures as 热衷 (rè zhōng) - (to be) keen on/eager to do so

original text

#hiiro amagi #aira shiratori #hiiai #enstars #i dont translate often so i apologize if the wording is confusing!!#and feel free to point out any mistakes #breathes heavily. the keeps close to heart to this day line absolutely destroyed me j was half crying while typing it out #hiiro hasn't mentioned that day specifically at all since it happened so seeing him finally say it is so. ragh #its not mentioned explicitly but i interpreted “those words he said to me” as The Lines from thermometry (mainstory ch 160)#EVEN TO THIS DAY!! TO THIS DAY!!!!!! HE WILL NEVER FORGET!!!!!#also the last line in aira -> hiiro keito lecture version kind of confused me #but i think its just aira being grateful that keito made him join keito lecture bc he is Not Very Good at school #and hiiro remembers everything they learn and can help him out even more #okay i need to do my actual homework now #bye bye #happy hiiai #⭑ tea rambles

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autisticlee · 2 years ago

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i've noticed that there's always a lot of discourse about trying on labels like for sexuality and gender for example. people saying if you dont know, don't claim am identity. people complaining about people using labels lying and being fakes. complaining when someone changes their lable/identity.

you even see it in conservatives who whine and cry about gender and sexuality saying stuff like "you can't know that yet/you're too young/what if it changes/you can't just decide now and change later" and seeing queer people say the same things can be super discouraging and alienating.

because the thing is, humans do change. It's a natural phenomenon we can't do anything about. it's perfectly ok to feel one way now and then realize you feel differently later on. it can be because life experiences changed who you, or you realize/discover something, or etc.

also, how will someone know who/what they are without trying things out to see what fits? to see what feels right? not everyone just KNOWS who they are or what they want or how they feel automatically. telling people they can't experiment to see what works does nothing but alienate them and make them feel even more lost and alone.

i know it's a bit more of a touchy and difficult subject and im debating adding it in, but I see a similar discourse for example in the autistic community where people try to gatekeep the identity for only "officially diagnosed" people. (I was trying to think of something else that's not only gender/sexuality because my whole point should apply to more than just queer identities but this is all I could think of atm) i've seen it in other communities as well (mental or physical illnesses and disabilities and stuff for example) you have to relate to an identity basically, in order to bring it to a doctor. usually a doctor won't just say "oh you have this!" on their own; you have to tell the doctor "I think I have this" and sometimes it takes you years of research to figure out things yourself (because we all know doctors can be useless at times) by that point, if someone is putting that much time into a thing, there less chance of them faking it. if they think they have a disorder like DID but don't, then they still need help. but there shouldn't be so much aggression towards people who get evaluated or reevaluated and realize they were wrong. it's actually ok to be wrong and correct yourself later, contrary to popular belief. 1 or 19 or even 100 people being wrong doesn't mean we should let that reflect on *everyone* and let people with ill intent call everyone a "faker"

even if it turns out you were wrong, there's no real harm in trying on things until you reach a final conclusion. it's other people's opnions and reactions to it that are the harmful part.

[imagine if you had to guess what clothes and shoes would fit you, look good on you, and feel good without trying them on, you have to decide on one only, and then you have to keep wearing only those clothes and shoes after that and can never change out of them. that's so silly, right?]

sometimes you have to make guesses about your identity first and get confirmation later. sometimes you guess that you are a cishet man and date a cishet woman and realize a few years into the relationship that you are actually a trans lesbian. It's perfectly fine and normal to change after some time! we all need to not gatekeep and instead support each other. accept each other either way.

if someone feels they are trans for years and transitions and then realizes they are actually nonbinary and maybe slides into a more androgynous state or even stops transition or detransitions, don't call them fake! if someone is aroace and then starts dating, realizing they felt that way due to trauma in the past but were able to heal from it, don't call then a fraud! if a lesbian falls in love with a man and realizes she's actually bi, don't say she lied or tricked you!

yes, I know that there's often stigmas and stereotypes about changing. the whole "it's just a phase" thing for example. or accusing people of "following a trend." and the whole fact that the phobes always try to force their harmful belief that these identities are a "choice" and "choosing" them is wrong. change can mimic "a choice," but change does not always equal choice! someone changing does NOT always mean they are choosing something different. many times in life change isn't a choice!!! the fact that reflects poorly on the lables/communities by those who already have a bias against them is what needs change.

but that's the thing. that's precisely what i'm saying. we need to break down those stigmas around change. so what if it's a "phase" ???? why can't someone have an experience for a short time and then change it later due to whatever reason or circumstances? why can't someone try something out and then realize it's not right later on? why do we have to decide on a label or identity for life while still trying to figure out who we are? why is someone naturally changing or realizing something about themselves considered lying and fake? why do we let other people's bad opinions create stigmas and stereotypes around everything and then let that dictate everything we do? instead of gatekeeping and hurting potential new community members, why can't we break down those stereotypes and stigmas instead? instead of shaming people who try out your lables, why not shame and demonize the people that throw stereotypes and stigmas at you just because someone else is trying to figure out who they are still????? why let haters dictate how you treat others?

choose the right battles. fight the right people.

#lee rambles #lgbt #lgbtqia #lgbtq community #queer #what do i tag this as???? too many words. brain tired from words and cant think of tags now #maybe those few will be fine for now #i hope this ramble made sense. it was hard to put into words. so not sure if it came across correctly or not #took forever to write. dont feel like proofreading. apologies for any typos or mistakes

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ichorai · 2 months ago

Text

xerox ; robert reynolds ; part one.

part two. | part three. | part four.

pairing ; robert (bob) reynolds x reader, thunderbolts & reader

synopsis ; you had one last job before you were free. no more splitting, no more deaths. unfortunately, that job seemed to rope in four other assassins and a... a man in hospital-wear?

words ; 7.8k

themes ; action, angst, slowburn, the beginnings of romance

warnings / includes ; violence/gore/death, human experimentation, reader has the ability to split into multiple bodies (think dupli-kate from invincible), foul language, walker is an asshole, everyone's mental health sucks!

a/n ; this is part one !!! a second part is already in the works :) this was written all today so apologies if there are any mistakes!

main masterlist. read on ao3!

listen to a xerox playlist on spotify / youtube music! xerox's face claim :)

It didn’t seem a hard task. One kill. One more. Then you could go. Quit the clean-up business for good. You could practically hear Valentina’s sickly sweet smile through the phone.

“You’ll be in and out of there in no time,” her voice crooned. “And I wouldn’t worry too much about your target. After all, you’re rather… disposable, aren’t you?”

You frowned at that. “My self-copies aren’t disposable. I feel it every time one of me dies.”

Valentina laughed—a high-pitched keening noise. You assumed she was waving her hand about in a dismissive manner, as she usually did with you. “You’ll get back up. That’s kind of your thing, isn’t it? Good luck. Try to have some fun. It’ll be your last one, anyway—make the most of it.”

“Yeah,” you said. Your free hand wound around your midriff, almost as if you were cradling yourself. “I’ll take care of it.”

You hung up before you could hear Valentina say one more word.

There were ringing gunshots, muffled grunts, and resounding thuds when you arrived. Who else was here? Your target was only one person—an untouchable woman. A Ghost. Would a thousand of you be able to tackle one of her?

Or perhaps the better question was… were you willing to sacrifice yourself a thousand times to kill one woman? You definitely have before, on previous missions. Over and over again, the bitter taste of death was stuffed into your mouth, dry as a sock, tainting your innards like black tar.

You waited outside the junk room’s entrance, counting the voices you heard. One man, for sure. One unidentifiable. Two women. You split yourself into two, then three. With a begrudging sigh, you spliced once more to make four.

Three copies ran in. One stayed out.

You spotted the ghost immediately. She was phasing between the shield of another masked assassin. Were they also here to kill her? Another copy spotted a woman being pinned down by another man, a blade inches away from her throat. Not your mission, not your problem.

Though, it certainly became your problem when the woman croaked, “There you are!” upon seeing you. “Holy shit, there’s three of you.”

She bucked the man off after tasing him, scrambling towards her gun. A click, a point, a shot. Your copy dove behind a pile of sturdy cases, but clearly not fast enough. You felt the bullet pierce your chest, the warmth of the blood pool across your ribs—and then you were dead.

“Fuck,” you winced, feeling the resounding ache of the gunshot in your own body, eyeing your dead self. Without a second thought, you split once more. Your copies scattered from your assailant, off to find the ghost.

You tackled your white-masked target as soon as she materialized once more, managing to get only one powerful strike in before you fell to the ground, the ghost phasing away and disappearing once more. Then your head pierced with the terrible, agonizing pain of a bullet fracturing your skull, and you were dead. Again. And again, and again. Impaled by a shield, stabbed by the ghost.

You gasped from outside the room, crumpling to your knees. How many more times were you willing to die? How many times could you?

Then there came a nauseous, gagging sound from inside the room. For a moment, you wondered if one of your copies had miraculously survived and was making that sound. You split yourself and crawled inside. Maybe you could save yourself. Spotting you coming in, the man with the shield seemed to realize there was one of you waiting outside. He sent the shield—already covered with your blood—arcing outside and striking you clean across the throat before you could react. Your decapitated head hit the metal floors with a disgusting, bloody noise, lolling to the foot of the entrance.

That left one copy inside the room. You gasped for breath, air painfully dragging within your esophogas as you clutched at your neck, the veins beneath your skin popping. For safety, you duplicated yourself once more.

“Woah,” came a voice beside you. There was a man in… hospital clothes? You scrambled away from him. He watched you with an open mouth, blinking in a manner not unsimilar to an owl.

One of the assassins was dead already, bullet wound in the head, not unsimilar to one of your deaths here. You could see your own bodies scattered about, in varying states of mutilation. The three assassins left were all pointing their guns at each other, then you and your copy, then to the man gagging next to you.

“Which one of you is the real you?” said the blonde woman.

“I’m all me,” the both of you said at the same time.

She shuddered. “Well, that’s not creepy at all.”

The man on the ground made a disoriented noise, as if realizing that he really shouldn’t be in a room full of people with guns trying to kill each other. “Actually, I—” He struggled to his feet, then turned to run. Thick metal shutters fell down over all the entrances before he could leave. It crushed your decapitated head as if it were a grape, your blood splattering all over you, your copy, and the hospital-man.

Shit. If you were still outside, you could have gotten away.

The assassins all trained their guns at the man, spooked by his skittish movements.

“No, no!” he exclaimed, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m—I’m Bob.”

It didn’t look like he had any place to hide weapons. Still, just to be safe, you split yourself again, now three of you. The faux Captain America flinched. “Fuck!”

“Who?” said the ghost, eyes trained on Bob.

“Bob,” said Bob, shrugging.

“Who sent you, Bob?” asked the blonde woman.

“Nobody, why would I be sent?” he said, hands trembling. He was afraid. “You were all… you guys were all sent?”

His question went largely ignored. The woman’s eyes, lined with hazy blue makeup, darted to you. “You—how am I meant to kill you if you can’t die?”

You raised your hands in surrender now, mimicking Bob. “I can die. It’s the one thing I’m really good at.”

Something flickered in her gaze. She lowered her gun just slightly. “Who sent you?”

The ghost rolled her eyes and lowered her gun. “I’m not sure what’s happening here, but my job is done.” She gestured to the dead assassin on the ground and stepped forward to go.

One of your copies blocked her way. “My job isn’t.”

She scoffed, then phased straight through you. You felt a cold chill traverse down your spine.

“Neither is mine,” said the blonde woman, turning the barrel of her gun to you.

“Don’t waste your time,” you snarled. “I have infinite lives. You have finite bullets—do the math.”

The man with the shield tilted his head at the woman. “Convenient cover for someone stealing weapons from O.X.E.”

“I’m not stealing, Copy-Cat here is ste—” She paused, and realization came over her bloodied face. Then, she raised her hands in the same way you did. “Okay. It’s clear we have all worked for Valentina in some sort of shadow ops capacity.”

“Yeah, so?” said the man.

“So all of this shit is O.X.E’s secrets. And so are we.” She gestured to the mountainous stacks of boxes and crates.

You felt your heart sink to your stomach. You should’ve known Valentina would pull something like this with you. It should’ve been suspicious how easily she accepted your request to leave. How could you be so stupid? So naive?

“We’re liabilities no one would miss,” said Ghost.

The man scoffed. “Speak for yourself. I was sent here on a mission.”

“Look around!” said the blonde. “We are the evidence, and this is the shredder! She wants us gone.”

The three began to bicker over who was in the right. From their argument, you learned that the man with the shield was John Walker, officially Captain America for about three seconds before he had murdered a man in public. And the blonde woman—tasked with the impossible mission of eliminating you—was Yelena. Former Red Room assassin.

Bob began to shuffle closer to you, and you tensed.

“Hey—” he said, reaching out a hand to help you up. “Are you okay? I watched you die, like, fifty times or something.” He fidgeted when you hesitantly accepted his hand, pulling yourself up with his help. Bob took turns smiling at you and your clones, all lopsided. He was so… off-putting. You scrutinized him with a narrowed gaze.

“What are you doing here, Bob? You clearly aren’t… like us.”

“Wh… Why not?”

“You’re in a patient uniform. It’s the kind of shit I always wore as a kid,” you said, beckoning to his pants.

Bob was about to respond, but clammed up when John Walker began stalking closer to the two of you. Subconsciously, Bob edged behind you, almost as if he were using you as a shield. You sure as hell didn’t know who Bob was, or what he was doing here, but he certainly didn’t seem deserving of the piercing glare Walker was sending his way.

“I’m not leaving here without completing my mission,” said the man. “Valentina gave me a clean slate, guaranteed—I’m not screwing that up.”

“And you believe her?” you said in disbelief, almost a whisper. You stepped back, bumping into Bob in the process. He felt strangely solid behind you. “She promised to let me go. A rogue, powered assassin let loose out of the cage. I was stupid for letting myself believe her. And you are, too.”

Walker’s face crumpled with anger. “Listen here, you freak. You multiply like… like bacteria. Obviously Valentina doesn’t trust you. She may be lying to you, but she trusts me. And you—” He rounded on Bob. “You were part of my job, so I gotta know. How’d you get in?”

You shifted so you’d be able to see Bob. He seemed to shift with you slightly, unhappy that you were no longer between him and John. Fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve, Bob shrugged. “I don’t… Pfft. I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

One of Walker’s eyes twitched. “Terrific answer. Great. Well, alright!” He beckoned to you, Yelena, and Ghost. “Tie yourselves up. I’m sure there’s rope in here somewhere.”

“Wow,” said Ghost—Ava, you remembered reading her name from your mission casefile. “No.”

“Hey,” whispered Bob, tugging on one of your copy’s utility belts. “I just realized I don’t—I don’t know your name.”

“Now’s probably not the time for niceties,” you said. After staring at him for a moment longer, you sighed. It was pitiful how lost he looked. “I’m known as Xerox.”

“Xerox—that’s a… that’s a cool name. Way better than Bob.”

To your surprise, you found yourself giving him a small twitch of a smile. “Bob’s a palindrome. Same backwards as it is forwards. That earns it at least half a point on the cool scale.”

Bob paused, regarding you with an equally twitchy, uncertain grin. “I never thought about it that way. Yeah, that’s… thanks.” He let out a nervous laugh that was obviously forced—and yet still somehow endearing.

As you spoke with Bob, Ghost walked on ahead, intent on leaving. She phased out of tangibility, so you knew there was no way you could stop her even if you tried. You watched her go passively—you no longer cared if you failed your mission. It was clear it wasn’t a real mission, anyway. You were glad that Yelena had come to the same conclusion. She didn’t seem intent on wasting any more bullets in your copies’ skulls.

When Ghost drew within an inch from the door, a piercing sound echoed throughout the chambers. You and your copies keeled over in pain. The noise made violent shudders ripple through your body. It reminded you of all those times you had to be strapped down when you were a child before you could control your powers, riding out your seizures with a belt across your mouth to muffle your screaming.

You could feel shaking hands drift to cover your ears for you. Bob’s. Your head snapped up, meeting his worried gaze.

Eventually the noise subsided, and his touch fell away.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, eyeing him cautiously. What did he want from you?

“You were hurting,” was all he said in response, tone hesitant and soft, as if worried he’d done something wrong.

You felt your face soften and you let out a weak exhale, suddenly feeling as if your heart was going to fall out of your chest. Why was he making you so flustered?

The five of you were left sitting around for the next ten minutes. Walker and Ava took to raiding the dead assassin, Taskmaster’s body. Yelena didn’t seem too happy with that, snapping at them to respect the dead, job or not.

“You knew her?” you quietly asked the blonde as she paced to and fro like a caged tiger, watching as Ava took a gun off the corpse.

“I did,” she said, nodding solemnly. Then, she gestured to your own dead bodies strewn about. “Sorry about—”

“It’s fine. Comes with the job,” you mumbled, voice soft.

Yelena nodded grimly. “You live and you die, right? You more than most, I suppose.”

You blinked at her. Before you could say anything back, a siren blared across the room. The lights turned an angry shade of red that made the blood on your hands look black as tar. You felt your stomach roil.

Ghost looked upward. “It’s not a shredder,” she said. “It’s an incinerator.”

There was a large timer by one of the entrances that started to count down from two minutes. “Two minutes before Valentina’s slate is wiped clean,” said Yelena.

“Don’t know that for sure!” John protested. “Could be for when they come to pick me up.”

You could only barely withhold yourself from driving your fist into the smug look on his face. It did, however, make you feel slightly better that you weren’t the most stupid, delusional one in the room.

“Do you not feel that? The temperature rising dramatically, as if heat were involved?” Ghost pointed up at the gaps in the ceiling, where heat was filtering in, so strong that space warped and wobbled looking through the columns of air.

“Oh, boy, that is no way to go,” said Bob, nervously wringing his hands.

Walker scowled. “Well, how would you like to go, Bob? With a hand around your throat choking the life out of you or a bullet to the head? Either could certainly be arranged!”

“Stop,” you barked. “You really want to spend your last moments alive being a complete asshole?”

The man clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Yelena stepped in before another fight could start. “Listen, Ghost-lady—”

“Ava.”

“Sure, whatever. We need to get you through one of the walls so you can open the door.”

“She tried that already,” said John, eyes rolling up to the pipes on the ceiling.

“I know she did, but we haven’t tried shutting off the sound barrier!”

“If they built a barrier specifically for her,” you said, recalling your casefile. Her weakness was high-frequency sounds that caused interference with her suit’s technology. “The emitter must be in close-range. Somewhere inside the room. Outside would be too weak and dampened to work.”

Immediately, you spliced a few dozen times and scattered, looking for some sort of power source.

“What—what exactly are we looking for?” asked Bob, hurrying alongside one of your copies.

“Not stupid questions, Bob!” John said.

“Ignore him. Look for something with circuitry. Wires, a battery cell, that kind of stuff.” You tore through a few crates, feeling up the nooks and crannies of the walls.

Fifty seconds left on the clock, rapidly ticking down. You were no stranger to dying, but this was strangely a different experience altogether. True, complete death. It sounded like both a blessing and the most terrifying thing possible. You could feel the panic rise up like bile in your throat.

To your relief, Ava found the power source, and John immediately hacked away at it without thinking, orange sparks flying with the power of his strike. You would’ve been angry with his impulsive behavior if it hadn’t worked—Ghost successfully phased through the walls and disappeared.

Twenty seconds.

She was going to come back, right?

Ten.

The furnaces above grew hotter and brighter.

Nine.

One of your copies pushed Bob forward, since he was loitering directly beneath one of them. “Don’t stand under there.”

Five.

One of you caught sight of Yelena shutting her eyes in solemn acceptance.

Four.

You heard Walker curse under his breath.

Three.

You braced yourself. Would death be kind to you this time, despite all of its ugly cruelty before?

Two.

And then—a blaring siren. The slabs of metal began to shirk upwards. The four of you dashed out just as the columns of fire began to spew out.

Bob was slow. You split yourself multiple times to keep shoving him forward. You could feel fire engulf your body, shrieking as the searing flames tore through your suit, into your skin, eating at your flesh, burning you to a crisp.

Some of you escaped, thrown by the explosion. One died instantly with a broken spine. Others clung to the walls, injured but alive.

You watched in horror as many of your selves wailed in agony, dying a slow, agonizing death. You curled up into yourself, a few tears silently rolling down your cheeks. You supposed that was another one of your talents—you were very good at crying quietly.

“Thanks for coming back,” you heard Walker say to Ava.

“I had to use someone. They cut the power to the elevator.”

“Hey,” the ghost said, reaching out a hand to you. You looked up at her, furiously wiping the tears away with the back of your hand, trying your best to ignore the pain. “Come on. Up you get. We need to find a way out of here.”

When she helped you up, she noticed that you were shaking violently. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve never been set on fire before,” you murmured. “Burned alive is a new one to add to the books.” You kneeled down to close the eyes of one of your corpses. You caught sight of Bob on the other side of the room, having just woken up from being knocked unconscious beside Yelena. He was uninjured, to your relief.

“You helped me out,” he said, once you neared him. “Why did… Why did you do that? You died for me—so many times. I’m not…” He fidgeted uncomfortably. You could see the guilt weighing heavy in his eyes. “I’m not worthy enough for that.”

You didn’t know what to say. You were never good with sentimentalities.

To your dismay, John cut you to the chase. “I won’t disagree with you on that,” he told Bob. He stormed forward until he was nearly nose-to-nose with Bob, who cowered away just slightly before straightening himself to his full height. “I’m tired of your bullshit! Tell me how you got in here right goddamn now!”

“I swear I just woke up in this place,” he said, placating, as if he were talking to a spooked mare. “One minute I’m having my blood drawn for this medical study, and the next I’m here. I don’t know what’s happening, I really don’t.”

“Okay, then show me where you woke up!”

Bob hesitated, then pointed into the incinerated room. “In—in there.”

“Where everything’s on fire,” John deadpanned. “That’s real convenient.”

“Walker, relax,” said Yelena.

“You don’t remember anything?” asked Ava. “Bag over your head, a needle in your neck?”

“Chokehold? Nerve pinch?” Walker asked. It was beginning to feel terribly like an interrogation of sorts.

Bob stepped back again. “No, none of those.”

“I think he’s just a civilian,” said Yelena, eyeing Bob carefully.

With an edge to his tone, John hissed, “Okay, well, if he’s a civilian, he knows too much and if he’s an agent he sucks. Either way I say we throw him back into the fire!”

“No,” you said, glaring daggers at the man. “I died multiple times just to get him out. We’re not murdering an innocent man.”

“What do you want, a medal? And we don’t know he’s innocent!” Walker fired back.

Suddenly, Bob started to laugh. It was a wheezy, chuckling noise. You looked at him in surprise.

“You said you’re… Captain America?” he said, smiling incredulously.

John’s countenance grew even stonier than before. “What’s funny about that?”

“It’s just, heh, you’re… you’re an asshole,” Bob said between his peals of laughter.

There was a beat of tense silence. Then John smiled, wolfish. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. In an instant, he was an arm’s length away from you and Bob, grabbing Bob by the throat and shoving him back so hard his back crashed into the wall behind him. You scrambled forward, multiplying twice to place enough hands on Walker’s chestplace to shove him back. Yelena also came to help, physically placing herself between the two men.

“Okay, woah!” said Yelena, shooting a warning glare at John. “We swung our tiny dicks—it was a lot of fun, but we need to have some space now. Walker, you go over there. Bob, come with me.”

You watched the blonde woman whisk Bob off to the side, who followed her with no complaint. When you looked back at John, he was toeing one of your burnt corpses with his boot. He caught you staring at him and stopped.

“Sorry,” he said. Even he knew that crossed a line.

“Force of habit?” you taunted him with a tilt of your head.

John apparently had nothing to say to that. He turned away from you. Then, he began hacking at one of the walls with the shield. “There has to be a way out of here if we go in one direction for long enough, right?”

You shrugged. “Go right ahead. Be my guest.”

After a few more pummels, the solid concrete gave in and revealed metal doors. He pried them open, grunting with exertion, revealing an empty elevator shaft. There were no wires or indented surfaces to climb. Just sheer, smooth metal walls for as far as the eye could see. Likely even further than that. You gulped as you stared up.

“Hey, are you guys done with your therapy session yet?” John snarked to Yelena and Bob.

Yelena, after saying a final few words to Bob, let him go. Bob made his way to you. Whatever it was that Yelena said to him, Bob didn’t seem particularly settled. You decided not to dwell on it for too long.

“So, this is—our way out?”

“Looks like it. No way to climb, though,” you said. You glanced at his head. “You okay? That looked like it hurt.”

Bob glanced at you strangely, not used to others being concerned over his well-being. First Yelena, and now you. “Yeah, I’m fine. Can’t have been as bad as you.”

“It’s no competition,” you said, pursing your lips. Then, to the rest of the group, you asked, “Should we all get in there? Maybe we’ll figure something out once we scope it out.”

All of you crowded into the bottom of the elevator shaft, staring up at the endless void above.

“So… none of us fly? All of us just… punch and shoot?” Yelena asked, looking around.

“Don’t worry,” said Walker. “I got this.”

He pushed you and Ava to make more space for himself, ignoring both of your startled noises. Then, he leaped up. An insane distance for a regular human, and what you assumed was just above average for one pumped with super serum. You watched him disappear into the darkness for all about four seconds. And then you heard screaming as he came back down. Bob tugged you back just in time not to get crushed beneath John crashing back down on his shield.

“You should try that again,” Ava suggested, grinning down at him as he struggled back to his feet with a pained groan.

John looked at you and you clones expectantly. “You can multiply. Why don’t you, I don’t know, make enough copies for us to climb up there?”

“You want me to form a human ladder for you guys?” you asked, horrified.

“Well, yes—”

“My clones have limited range,” you interrupted, voice curt. “We’re a collective mind. If we don’t all stick within a few meters of each other, I get seizures and lose control.”

Walker frowned down his nose at you. “Is it not worth a shot?”

“Not unless you want to risk me spazzing out mid-climb and all of us falling to our deaths,” you retorted. “We need to think of something else.”

Then, Walker turned his gaze to Ava. “Can’t you just phase up there and throw down a rope for us, or something?”

“First of all, someone other than you would have to ask me,” she hissed. You had to admit, you were starting to warm up to her. “Second, I’ve only ever been able to hold it for a minute, and who knows how long it would take to get up there—I’d be crushed under the weight of it before I could phase back.”

“Just a minute?” Walker deadpanned. “What is it with you lab rats and your limitations?”

“Shut up!” both you and Ava exclaimed at the same time.

“I… have an idea,” said Bob, raising a tentative hand.

All of you turned to him expectantly.

Your backs were pressed up together, your legs splayed out onto the metal wall as the group slowly inched upward. For the plan to work, there was only space for one of you, so you reabsorbed your copies into one body again. The rest of the group watched you do it in a mix of muted curiosity and horror. Bob gave you an awkward thumbs up, which made you smile despite the ridiculousness of the entire situation.

A part of you wanted to leave a copy down on the ground in case something happened, but you couldn’t risk having a seizure if you got too far away, and with everyone else on the line, too.

“Ew,” said Yelena. “Which one of you is wet?”

“Sorry,” Bob winced. “I run hot.”

You shifted the arm looped around his, grimacing at the sweat dripping down your own face. “I get it. It’s fucking sweltering in here.”

“Someone’s got a weird, hard butt,” Walker groaned.

“That’s not my butt, that’s my suit,” Ava hissed in return. “Pardon me for the inconvenience—I only spent my entire life in labs, hooked up to machines so I could create this physical cage to keep my material body from disintegrating at all times!”

You heard Yelena let out a bark of a laugh. “You don’t want to start the whole sob story game. I’d win. Enslaved child assassin over here.”

For some reason, John said, “Well, you were just a kid, so—”

“Oh!” said Yelena. “Does that make it better? Gee, I wish someone had told me that earlier! That makes me feel so much better.”

“Not that it’s a competition, but I’ve spent my whole life quite literally dying over and over again,” you said.

“Oh, really?” said Walker. “Sounds like you’re making it a competition.”

You fell silent, not wanting to waste your breath arguing. The group, panting in ragged, short breaths, simultaneously decided to fall silent. You were so high up now that you couldn’t see the bottom of the shaft anymore.

After what felt like eons, Walker finally gasped out, “I see a door!”

“Now what?” Yelena asked.

“Uhm—I guess one of us should… go first…” said Ava from your other side, uncertainty weighing her words.

“No, then the rest of us would immediately fall!” protested Yelena, breath trembling with the strain of holding herself up.

“Shit… sorry guys, I guess I didn’t really think this through,” Bob muttered.

“Genius fuckin’ plan, Bob!” Walker exclaimed.

“Always making things worse,” the man on your right muttered.

Your brows furrowed. “Bob, we’re all the way up here because of you. Come on, we’re so close. I can duplicate and—”

“We can’t risk your additional weight,” Walker barked out. “One slip and we all come tumbling down!”

“Then what do you want to do?” you asked.

“Hand me a baton, I can reach it!” he said.

Immediate protesting ensued. “No way, you’re just going to leave us!” Yelena gritted out.

“We have to hurry, I don’t know how much longer I can keep my bloody boots from slipping!” Ghost said. True to her word, you caught sight of her shoes slowly gravitating downward.

Yelena inched upward. “Spin us around and we’ll—”

“No! Are you crazy?”

Bob shook beside you.

“Bob, are you alright?” you asked, wondering why he was tossing his head from side to side like a dog shaking off excess water.

“Cucumber—cucumber, cucumber!” he said, scrunching up his face.

“What the hell is happening?” Yelena asked.

“Growing up, somebody told me if you have to sneeze, you yell out cucumber to confuse your brain. I have to sneeze, but if I do, I’ll lose control and we’ll—”

“This is insane!” Walker bit out. “I can get us all out of here, I just need to go first!”

“NO!” Ava said. “There must be another way!”

Bob tilted his head back, knocking against yours. “Oh, no,” he said.

“Oh—” You began to panic. “Cucumber! Cucumber, cucumber! Bob!”

Yelena and Ava both began chanting with you. John, his patience worn thin, reached behind and grabbed Yelena’s baton. Then, he jumped out of formation.

You felt yourself falling, your heart dropping to the balls of your feet in sheer horror, trying your best to grip onto the slippery metal walls. In your panic, you duplicated yourself in an attempt to slow down your descent. Just above you, Ava punctured the walls with her dagger, braking to a halt.

Then, to your shock, you were abruptly smacked against the wall when Ava grabbed hold of your wrist. But only one of you.

“No!” you exclaimed, watching as your copy plummeted downwards with a blood-curdling shriek. After several seconds, you could feel your mind grow hazy, dizzy with the distance. “No, I’m—”

Your pupils rolled into the back of your head and you began to convulse. You didn’t register that Yelena had grabbed a hold of your ankle as she fell, and she sent a grappling hook down to catch Bob.

He tried his best to catch your copy, but you had streaked past so fast that you slipped right through his arms, and fell into the darkness below.

The rest of the group, minus Walker, who had climbed through the opening, watched as you shook about violently. After several agonizing seconds, there was a resounding thud and splattering noise. It seemed a twisted sort of blessing that the fall had killed your copy immediately. You broke free of your seizure but immediately fell into a bout of pain, doubling over. It felt as if you were on fire all over again, and someone had carved you open, poured honey all over your innards, and released a thousand fire-ants to crawl over you.

You were so out of it that you only barely realized Ava was pulling you through the entrance with John’s help. Yelena hauled herself up after that, Bob shortly following her.

The ghost kneeled down beside you, gently tapping your face as you came in and out of consciousness. “Hey. Don’t fall asleep on me.”

With slow, painful movements, you nodded, sitting back up. It took you another moment to realize that the entire group was huddled around you. “Oh, God. I felt my brains spill out down there.”

“What did you go doing that for?” Walker said in an irritating I-told-you-so tone, kneeling down beside you. “I told you not to duplicate yourself, didn’t I?”

“I really don’t think a lecture is needed right now, thank you,” Yelena told him.

“I’m sorry,” said Bob, looking wearing yet another expression of guilt. “I tried catching you, but—”

“Thanks, Bob,” you said, nothing but sincerity in your eyes. “I felt you. Thank you. And thanks for holding onto me, Ava. Even though I tried to kill you.”

The woman averted her gaze, clearly embarrassed. “Yeah, well. Would have been a terrible weight on my consciousness. So really, I did it for my own benefit.”

“Alright,” you said, not believing her in the slightest, but you decided not to comment on it.

With the help of Ava and Yelena, you stood up on your own two feet, albeit a little wobbly, and completely exhausted from the climb up.

“You selfish prick,” Ava spat at Walker. “If you had just waited for one goddamn second—”

“I made a tactical decision to secure my own safety before ensuring all of yours,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Pretty ungrateful, if you ask me.”

Then, something strange happened. Bob placed a hand on John’s shoulder, saying, “Thanks for saving us, Captain.”

Instead of making a snarky comment, John’s face grew dazed. Unfocused. He turned and stepped closer to the elevator shaft, feet just a few inches away from joining your dead clone on the ground.

“Walker?” Yelena asked, wondering what on earth he was doing. Both she and Ava stepped closer to check him out.

You looked to Bob, one of your brows arched. “What’s up with him?”

Bob spared you a cursory glance. “I don’t know,” he said. You chose to believe him, but frowned nonetheless. “Are you okay, though? You were—you were shaking really badly in there.”

“A seizure,” you whispered. “Sorry I scared you guys. I panicked and duplicated. It wasn’t very smart on my end.”

“No, I get it,” he muttered. “The only one you can truly trust is yourself. I get it.”

You tilted your head, regarding him curiously. As much as you thought Bob was a perfectly ordinary civilian, he said some very cryptic things sometimes. “Right… yeah.”

“I know I haven’t given you any reason to, but… you can trust me,” he offered. His hand trembled, and you could read the anxiety plainly across his features. When you took a second too long to respond, he retracted slightly. “But, I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t—”

“I trust you,” you said, cutting him off. You spared him a downturned smile, which made him relax just a smidge. “You haven’t given me any reason not to, Palindrome.”

The mellow blue of his eyes shone with mild amusement. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Is that my nickname now? Palindrome?”

“If you want it to be,” you said, shrugging. “It is a bit catchier than just Bob. The same forwards as it is backwards.”

Bob looked back to John, who still wouldn’t move away from the shaft's sheer drop. “I guess that’s fitting,” he whispered. “Nothing changes even if I want it to.”

Before you could ask him what he meant by that, John finally seemed to snap out of it. He stumbled back from the edge of the shaft.

“Jesus Christ,” Yelena said, completely bewildered. “Are you crazy? What did you do that for?”

“Do what for?” John grouched, waving her away as if she was a fly. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Ugh, nevermind, then,” said Ava. “It’s time we all get out of here.”

Once Ava pressed a button for the exit to slide open, light spilled in from outside. But—it was nighttime. You knew because you arrived at 10 PM on the dot, and you also knew for certain that not enough time had passed for the sun already to be rising. The lights were coming from cars. Multiple of them, at least three dozen. There was chatter as well. Boots. Guns. Tactical armor.

It was an entire squadron out there. No doubt sent by Valentina.

Ava, John, and Yelena then started bickering about a plan and who was in charge.

“I think I might just surrender, probably,” said Bob.

“I suppose she won’t hurt you if you’re just a citizen,” you said. “Maybe it’s for the best.”

“Okay, fine,” John said, shrugging. “Every man for themself, then.”

“Why should you be in charge?” snarked Yelena. “You almost killed all of us right there!”

John propped his fists onto his hips. “Well, let’s see—I’ve been in the trenches of every war-torn country there is, rescued God knows how many hostages, and shook the hands of two US presidents!”

“And how, pray tell, does any of that help us in the slightest way?” you hissed.

Walker ignored you. “What else—oh! High school state football champs, back to back to back. Go bears!”

You stared at him incredulously. You never met Steve Rogers, but you wished you had that Captain America rather than this one in front of you right now. You were sure Steve was infinitely more tolerable than Walker.

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Oh, wow. When I was five, I was in a peewee soccer team named the West Chesapeake Valley Thunderbolts, sponsored by Shane’s Tyre Shop. We won zero games, and one time one of my teammates did a poo midfield! Anyone else have any pointless stories to share?”

Exasperated, Ava pointed to herself. “Grew up in a lab prison.”

Bob scratched the back of his neck. “Meth-addicted sign twirling chicken. Was a… summer job.” He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Had my entire skeleton pulled out of my body once. Took me twelve minutes to die,” you said, bouncing on the balls of your feet. The rest of them turned to you, horrified. “What?”

“... Great,” said Yelena. “Now that we’re all done sharing, here’s the plan…”

It wasn’t a great plan, but it was the only one on the table. You and Walker take out the first wave of soldiers coming through, wait for Yelena (and Bob) to turn the lights off and back on once the second wave of soldiers came in with night vision goggles, effectively blinding them, all while Ava went out to find an escape vehicle.

Naturally, Walker didn’t wait. He went barreling into the wave of second soldiers, knocking them all down with his shield and picking them off one by one. You hadn’t even bothered to step in, watching him punch through all of them on his own.

“Thanks for the help,” he spat at you once he was done.

“Didn’t want to get in your way,” you snarked in return. “Now come on. Let’s get their gear on and head out.”

Eventually, Yelena and Bob came back, the former angry that the two of you hadn’t waited for her. John was quick to defend themself, but you merely tossed Yelena and Bob their own sets of tactical wear.

“No time to argue. We can’t keep Ava waiting.”

Walker sneered. “If she’s even waiting for us at all.”

Once everyone was changed, the four of you walked out, dragging Bob as if he were a fallen soldier.

“I don’t think I want to be carried anymore,” Bob groaned, arms stiff and aching from where they were grabbing him.

“Shut up, Bob. You’re injured, remember?” Walker gruffed, which made Bob fall silent.

“Just a little further. Ava should be here somewhere,” came your gritted mutter.

“We don’t know where she is. She could be halfway to Mexico for all we know,” Walker retaliated. Behind your visor, you rolled your eyes.

And then, from the corner of your vision, you spotted Valentina. Pristine as always, sipping a warm cup of coffee. Envy and white hot rage scratched within your chest, but you swallowed down your anger. It took everything you had in you not to storm right up to her, chug down her coffee, and punch a hole straight through her pearly whites. You had a cover to keep up, after all.

Finally, after a few minutes of dragging Bob, a truck pulled up to the four of you. Ava materialized in the driver’s seat. “Get in,” she said.

You smiled. A small part of you really did think she was going to abandon you. You were glad she came back.

Yelena and John clambered into the front while you and Bob sat in the back of the tactical vehicle, where there was nothing inside but two wooden benches for seats. “Will you be okay back there?” Ava asked, and the two of you sent her tired thumbs-ups.

Both you and Bob swayed back and forth as the truck began to purr to life and rumble ahead. “I wonder what they’ll think once they see all my bodies down there. Can’t be a pretty sight,” you whispered.

Bob gave you a sympathetic grimace. “Do you still feel them? After they…?” He motioned vaguely with his hands.

“After they die?” you finished, sucking on the back of your teeth in thought. “I don’t feel them, no. I feel the pain right before they die, though.”

Bob slumped into the truck’s wall across from you. “Sorry,” he said, to which you just shook your head.

“So…” You started, eager to change the subject. “What did Yelena say to you back in the incinerator after your little argument with Walker? You seemed a bit… downcast.”

Bob squinted in thought, trying to jog his memory. “Oh… that. Well, I told her that sometimes I have… really high highs… and then really low lows… and it’s hard to remember things in the middle.”

“Must be a really low low right now, hm?” you said, a laugh lacing your words.

“Hah… yeah. No, I mean… right now I’m fine, I think. Compared to other times, now is… much better.”

“Yikes,” you said, now only half-laughing. “Glad you’re having a relatively good day, then.”

Bob laughed along with you, awkward as ever, then cleared his throat. “Ahem. And then I, uh, to Yelena I said there’s this… darkness… inside me. Never-ending. Like, uhm, I called it a void. Anyways, she said she felt the same way, so I asked her how she dealt with it.”

You motioned for him to keep going, leaning forward. “And?”

“She—she just said she pushes it down. Deep, deep down. Heh. I mean, i-it makes sense, I guess,” Bob said, stumbling over his words a little. “Like, what else is there to do, even?”

Judging from the way your brows knitted together, Bob came to the conclusion that you didn’t seem to think it made much sense. The thought crossed his mind that you looked rather endearing the way your nose wrinkled in thought. You would be a terrible poker player—the cards were written all across your face. Bob liked how easy it was to read you. It made him feel safer to be around you. But these thoughts were quick to wash away when he remembered that you were just—another bump in the road. You would pass, and everything would go back to being… nothing. A void.

“It makes sense for an ex-red room assassin,” you told him, not unkindly, roping him out of his drifting thoughts. “Doesn’t mean you should take the same advice, seeing as you’re not an assassin. Right?”

Bob itched at his wrist. “Right.”

The truck slowed to a grueling halt when a few soldiers stopped the group. Walker, to no one’s surprise and everybody’s dismay, insisted on being the one to talk. They asked for identification and a reason for leaving the base, since the medbay was northside, and they were currently heading southward. Walker tried to bluff his way through, but it was clear that the soldiers were not buying his story.

Bob’s expression twisted as if he had swallowed something sour.

“I’m sorry for this,” he said.

“What?” you asked, watching in confusion as he softly took your hand.

And then, strangely, you were no longer in the truck.

You were in a hospital. The air smelled distinctly of sterilizing chemicals with the sharp twinge of copper—blood. There was a belt in your mouth. Screaming muffled around the stale leather as they hacked away at your leg. Your copy stood off to the side, also bound, but whole. There were tears streaking down both of your faces. You looked younger then—your hair was longer, your face rounder. The years had weathered you.

“Again,” said one of the surgeons. Your younger, whole self trembled, then split into another copy. It took longer back then. An entire minute of straining yourself just for one duplicate. Now, you could make hundreds of yourself in an instant if you wanted. Nurses came in and took the other copy away. Off for more screenings, more tests, more surgeries, more experiments. That’s what you were to them—an experiment.

“Please stop,” you croaked. You weren’t sure whether that came from the younger you or just—you. “Please… I don’t want to die again.”

“Oh, sweetie,” said the surgeon, coming around the dissecting table to push sweaty strands of hair away from your head. “You’re not actually dying, though. Not really. None of these—xeroxes of you are actually you.”

You broke down into silent, heaving sobs when he returned to the other you, and began hacking away more parts of you. “For science,” they’d always told you.

Present-you turned, desperate to leave. Only, you were met with… Bob?

You searched his face, completely dumbfounded. “Palindrome?” you whispered.

“That’s where Xerox comes from?” he asked, clearly perturbed by the scene he was watching. You didn’t spare him a response.

His lips pursed and he reached out to take your hand again. In this strange, hazy world that you knew not to be real, his touch was cold. You rather liked how it felt against the warmth of your own palms, sticky with blood. Was that yours or one of your copies? You couldn’t remember. Was there any difference at all?

You held onto him tighter, shutting your eyes. Bob’s free hand raised to cradle the back of your head, shielding you from your own memories.

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” he murmured. “I’ll fix it. Leave it to me.”

Then, he pulled away from you despite your protests, and the nightmare realm seemed to spin and spin and spin, caving in on itself—

By the time you came to, Ava was shaking your shoulders and calling your name, as you were passed out on the floor of the truck. You glanced around with glassy eyes, confirming what you already knew to be true.

Bob was gone.

#thunderbolts x reader #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x reader #thunderbolts bob x reader #thunderbolts bob #robert reynolds fanfiction #robert reynolds x you #robert reynolds fanfic #thunderbolts fanfiction #robert reynolds #bob reynolds fanfiction #thunderbolts

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kaiist · 2 months ago

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𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐌𝐈𝐃-𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

The tension between you and Xavier had been building for the past ten minutes. The living room felt smaller with each passing second, the space between you charged with unspoken frustrations. He remained still as always while you gesticulated wildly, your frustration mounting as you paced back and forth.

“You can’t just disappear for hours without telling me, Xavier! I was worried sick!” Your voice cracked on the last word, betraying how genuinely frightened you’d been.

He stood with perfect posture by the window, hands clasped behind his back. “I apologize. I was helping a neighbor downstairs with their computer system. Time escaped me.” The words were perfectly reasonable, delivered in that maddeningly measured tone he always used.

His calm demeanor only fueled your irritation. How could he be so composed when you’d been imagining the worst? Fatal accidents. Hospital rooms. All the terrible possibilities that had played through your mind on repeat.

“That’s not the point!” you snapped, closing the distance between you. “This is the third time this week you’ve vanished without a word. Do you have any idea what that feels like? To call and text and get nothing back?”

Standing this close, you noticed subtle changes in his expression—his eyebrows furrowed slightly and the corner of his mouth turned down just enough to be noticeable. The tiny muscle along his jaw twitched, and you caught the quickening pulse at his neck despite his outward composure. These microexpressions—so small anyone else would miss them—revealed the emotions he struggled to articulate.

“I didn’t intend to cause distress,” he said quietly, and for once, his voice carried a hint of genuine regret. “The repair was more complex than anticipated. The family had lost access to critical medical records.”

“Oh, so you’re suddenly a mechanic or something?” You exhaled sharply, running your hands through your hair. “Just... call next time. Or text. Anything.”

His eyes met yours, searching. “The thought didn’t occur to me. That was... an oversight.”

Something in his admission—the rare acknowledgment of an emotional mistake rather than a logical error—made your frustration shift into something else entirely. You suddenly become aware of how close you were standing, you can faintly smell the subtle scent of his cologne. Your anger was still there, but beneath it stirred something warmer.

Without thinking, you stepped forward, fingers gripping the soft fabric of his hoodie, and pressed your lips firmly against his. For a moment, everything froze—the argument, your racing thoughts, even time itself.

Xavier went completely still, clearly caught off guard by this abrupt change. You felt the slight intake of his breath against your lips, the momentary tension in his shoulders. Then, like ice melting in the sun, he yielded. His shoulders relaxed, and his hands—initially hovering uncertainly—found their way to your waist, steady and warm through the fabric of your shirt.

The kiss lingered longer than you’d intended, your anger dissolving with each passing second. His lips were surprisingly soft, with the faint taste of the mint tea he always drank in the evenings. What had started as impulse deepened into something tender, the physical connection saying everything words had failed to express between you.

When you finally pulled back, his eyes were wider than usual, pupils slightly dilated. Xavier’s carefully composed expression had cracked completely open, revealing vulnerability you only got to see. A flush colored his cheekbones, making him look younger, more boyish.

“What was that for?” he asked, his voice softer than before, slightly breathless in a way that made your heart skip.

“I... I don’t know,” you admitted, equally breathless. “I’m still mad at you, though.” The declaration lacked conviction even to your own ears, and you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

He nodded slowly, thoughtfully, as if processing a complex equation. His thumb traced a gentle circle on your hip where his hand still rested. “I understand your concern,” he said finally, each word carefully chosen. “Next time, I’ll message you.”

You sighed, feeling the last remnants of your anger slipping away. “I just... when I couldn’t reach you, I imagined all these terrible scenarios.” Your forehead dropped against his chest, suddenly exhausted from the emotional whiplash.

“That hadn’t occurred to me, because I usually came back just fine,” he admitted quietly. His arms encircled you fully now, pulling you into an embrace. His heartbeat was steady against your ear, reassuringly present and real.

“Though if this is how our arguments conclude,” he whispered, that subtle teasing tone emerging that only you ever got to hear, “I might be tempted to provoke them more often.”

You smacked his chest lightly, but couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “Don’t you dare.”

“Noted,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Though I make no promises about forgetting the time again. But I will promise to let you know where I am.”

“That’s all I’m asking for,” you whispered against the soft fabric of his hoodie, breathing in his familiar scent. The argument had dissolved, leaving something stronger, more honest in its wake—another layer of understanding between you and this complex, fascinating man you’d fallen for.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

The harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital cast everything in an unflattering glow, including Zayne’s stern expression as he worked on your arm. The sharp antiseptic smell permeated the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood—your blood—that had soaked through your uniform.

“Hold still,” Zayne commanded as he dabbed antiseptic on the gash along your arm. The cool liquid burned against the raw wound, making you inhale sharply.

You winced at the sting but tried to maintain a brave face. “It’s just a scratch,” you said dismissively, though the throbbing told a different story.

His eyes flicked up momentarily from his work, dark with barely contained emotion. “A ‘scratch’ that nearly severed your brachial artery,” he countered, his deft fingers working methodically on the sutures.

You watched his hands as he worked—steady, precise movements born from years of practice. The precision of his gestures contrasted sharply with the tightness around his eyes and the muscle jumping in his jaw. The silence between stitch pulls felt heavier than artillery fire.

“What were you thinking, charging like that without proper clearance?” he finally asked, voice too controlled, too measured to disguise the emotion underneath.

With each stitch, you could feel his conflicting emotions—the methodical doctor warring with the man who clearly cared for you more than he wanted to admit. His eyes remained focused on the wound, but the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes.

“I had intelligence that couldn’t wait,” you defended, though your voice lacked conviction. The pain medication was making it hard to maintain your stubborn front, and his proximity was distracting. Zayne had always been handsome, but there was something about the intensity of his focus, even while angry, that made your pulse quicken in ways that had nothing to do with your injury.

Zayne’s jaw tightened visibly as he reached for the surgical thread again. “Intelligence. Right.” He tied off a stitch with perhaps more force than necessary, making you flinch. His eyes immediately softened with regret for causing additional pain, though his voice remained stern. “And that intelligence was worth risking your life?”

“The mission was—”

“The mission would have failed entirely if you’d bled out in that alley,” he cut in, his voice sharp as a scalpel. “Do you have any idea what it was like—” his voice wavered, “—knowing you’re out there, but not knowing if you’d come out alive?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with implications. The rhythmic beeping of medical equipment filled the silence, counting the heartbeats where neither of you spoke. You hadn’t considered that perspective—hadn’t thought about Zayne possibly remembering other battlefields where he’d arrived too late.

As he reached to wrap your arm, you noticed the slight tremor in his usually steady hands. It was subtle—anyone else might have missed it—but you knew those hands too well. They had patched you up countless times, had grabbed you out of harm’s way, had steadied you during your hard times. Now they betrayed his composure in a way his disciplined expression never would.

“You could have died,” he said more quietly as he smoothed the bandage over your skin, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary.

Something in his vulnerability made your chest tighten. The walls you’d both maintained through professional necessity suddenly seemed absurd in the face of how close you’d come to never seeing him again. The realization hit you with unexpected force—what if this had been your last interaction? An argument in a sterile hospital room?

Without overthinking it, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his, effectively silencing his lecture. You felt his momentary surprise, the stiffening of his shoulders before something like surrender washed through him. The kiss was gentle, an apology and a reassurance wrapped into one. His lips were surprisingly soft against yours.

For a suspended moment, the hospital, the mission, the injury—everything disappeared except the point where you connected. His hand came up to cradle the side of your face, careful to avoid jostling your injured arm. The professional mask he wore so carefully had slipped entirely away, revealing the vulnerability underneath that only you were trusted to see.

When you pulled back, his expression had transformed. The stern doctor was gone. His breath came slightly faster, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

You gave him your best innocent look, trying to lighten the suddenly charged atmosphere. “Doctor, am I going to make it?”

For a moment, he appeared stunned, lips slightly parted in surprise, a flush rising from beneath the collar of his medical coat. Then he exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders visibly releasing. The corner of his mouth twitched upward—not quite a smile, but getting there.

“Your prognosis is favorable,” he murmured. He finished securing the bandage, his touch had gentled considerably. “But I’m prescribing close observation for the next twenty-four hours. My office would be the appropriate location for such monitoring.”

He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then traced a path down to your lips again. This second kiss was different—unhurried and deliberate, carrying promises neither of you had voiced aloud. You felt the last of his anger dissolving.

You smiled against his lips, victory achieved. “If that’s your medical opinion, Doctor.”

“It is,” he said, carefully helping you sit up. His hand lingered at the small of your back, steadying you. “And next time, wait for backup. Please.” The ‘please’ was barely audible, a rare moment of naked vulnerability.

It was a plea from someone who couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.

“I promise,” you said softly, reaching for his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

“Three hours, thirty-seven minutes, and—” Rafayel checked his watch with exaggerated timing, spinning around to face you as you entered his studio, “—fourteen seconds. That’s how long I’ve been waiting.” He threw his hands upward. “Do you know what I could have done in that time? I could have watched Titanic. I could have baked a soufflé—actually, no, three soufflés! I could have learned the basics of Spanish!”

You closed the door behind you, exhaustion evident in your movements. Your muscles ached from the tension of the mission, and your uniform still carried the faint smell of smoke and sweat. The emergency operation had taken everything out of you, but Rafayel was clearly in no mood to be sympathetic.

“I’m sorry, Rafayel. The situation was critical and—”

“Critical enough to not send a single message?” He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. He paced the room with exaggerated steps, hands gesturing wildly as if conducting an invisible orchestra of grievances. “We had plans. Specific plans that involved a sunset and a dinner reservation that I can’t get back. Do you know how many strings I had to pull? How many favors I called in?”

You dropped your bag with a heavy thud, wincing as your bruised shoulder protested the movement. “Rafayel, please—”

“The restaurant had a two-month waiting list!” He spun again, his silk shirt billowing slightly with the movement. “The chef was going to prepare that ridiculous flaming dessert you like—the one with the sparklers that always makes you smile like a child at a festival.” His voice softened momentarily before hardening again. “I even wore the shirt you like. The one that’s actually uncomfortable but makes my eyes look nice or whatever.”

He wasn’t wrong—the color of the silk did make his eyes look particularly striking, even now as they flashed with indignation. You noticed he’d styled his hair as well, and the realization that he’d put such effort into the evening made your heart twist with guilt.

“There wasn’t time to message anyone,” you explained, sinking onto the couch, too tired to remain standing through his complaints. “The comms were jammed. We barely made it out at all.”

Rafayel narrowed his eyes, studying your face for any sign of deception. “Oh, so it’s technology’s fault now?” He threw his hands up again, accidentally knocking a decorative vase that he caught with surprising reflexes before it could shatter. “Humans and their excuses. Always something or someone else to blame. ‘The sun was in my eyes! The dog ate my homework! The communications were jammed during my super-secret mission!’”

He set the vase down with care despite his agitation—a reminder that for all his dramatic flair, Rafayel was actually quite meticulous. “Next you’ll tell me there were explosions and car chases, like some absurd action movie.”

The accuracy of his sarcastic guess made you hesitate just long enough for his eyes to widen.

“Wait, there were actually explosions? And you’re just walking in here like it’s nothing?” Something flickered across his face—genuine concern breaking through the outrage—before he quickly composed himself again. “Well, that’s... that’s beside the point! The point is I was abandoned. Left to wither away on my own.”

Despite your fatigue, irritation sparked. “I didn’t exactly choose to be ambushed and pinned down for two hours! I wasn’t having fun, Rafayel!”

“And I didn’t choose to sit alone at that ridiculous restaurant while the waiter gave me pitying looks!” he shot back, voice rising as he threw himself into the armchair across from you. “Do you know how humiliating that was? Waiting and waiting while everyone whispered about the poor abandoned man? The maître d’ actually patted my shoulder, like I was some... some tragic figure!”

He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, mussing it in a way that somehow made him look even more attractive—an infuriating talent he seemed unaware of. “I ordered wine. I checked my phone approximately nine thousand times. I made up elaborate excuses about my date being a super great hunter called into an emergency mission to save Linkon City.”

The genuine hurt beneath his outrage became suddenly clear. Behind the dramatic gestures and exaggerated language was real pain—the vulnerability of someone who had been genuinely worried.

You rose from the couch, crossing the small space between you. He continued his rant, though his voice lost some of its conviction as you approached.

“And then I had to walk home alone, past all those disgustingly happy couples who—”

You stepped forward, cupping his face in your hands, and pressed your lips firmly against his. You could feel the exact moment his indignation melted, his body language transforming from rigid offense to relieved surrender. For a moment, he remained stiff, clearly determined to hold onto his righteous anger. Then, with a small sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan, his arms encircled you, pulling you closer until you were practically in his lap.

The kiss tasted faintly of the expensive wine he’d mentioned—he hadn’t been exaggerating about waiting at the restaurant, at least. His fingers tangled in your hair, gentle despite his earlier theatrics, cradling your head as if you were something precious he’d feared losing.

When you pulled away, his pout remained, though considerably less convincing. His lips, slightly reddened from the kiss, contradicted his attempt at maintaining his anger. His fingers traced your cheekbone with a gentleness that contradicted his dramatic words—the clearest sign that you’d been forgiven, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it.

“This changes nothing,” he mumbled, even as his fingers gently traced patterns on your back, discovering and carefully avoiding the spots where you’d been injured. “I’m still upset.”

“I know,” you acknowledged softly, resting your forehead against his. “And I really am sorry about dinner. I know how much trouble you went through to arrange it.”

“You should be,” he huffed, but then rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your face. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? The things I imagined? You could have been hurt or—” He stopped himself, swallowing hard.

“I’m okay,” you assured him, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone. “A few bruises, nothing serious.”

His eyes searched yours, seeing through the minimization. His hand found the tender spot on your shoulder that you’d been trying to hide, his touch feather-light. “Liar,” he said softly, with none of his earlier accusations. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s part of the job,” you reminded him gently. “But I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“A job that consistently interrupts my meticulously planned romantic gestures,” he complained, but his voice had lost its edge. His fingers moved from your shoulder to your neck, then to your face, as if reassuring himself that you were really there, whole and safe. “But I suppose I’m glad you weren’t permanently damaged. That would have been extremely inconvenient for my future plans.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

“You seem distracted today,” Sylus remarked, watching you from across his office room in the Onychinus’s base. His voice carried that peculiar blend of observation and judgment that never failed to set your teeth on edge. “Something troubling that brilliant mind of yours?”

You’d been on edge all morning, his casual observations hitting every nerve. The mission report in front of you blurred as you tried to focus on anything besides his piercing gaze from across the room. Each time he passed behind your chair, you could feel his presence like electricity, deliberately invading your space as if testing your limits.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you replied tersely, gripping your pen tighter.

“Clearly.” His lips curled into that infuriating smirk that made you want to either slap him or— No. You refused to follow that train of thought. “That’s why you’ve been glaring daggers at the same report for twenty minutes. Fascinating reading material, is it?”

“I’m concentrating.” You made a show of turning the page, though you hadn’t absorbed a single word from the previous one.

“On setting it ablaze with your eyes, perhaps?” He chuckled, the sound rich and smooth like aged whiskey—a sound that would be pleasant in any other context, from any other person. He pushed away from his ornate desk, crossing the room with that grace that seemed to define his every movement. “Come now, sweetie. You know I can see right through you.”

Your grip tightened on your pen until your knuckles whitened. Today, his typical banter felt like sandpaper on raw skin. The weight of the failed mission hung heavy on your shoulders—a mission he’d asked you to accompany him. The subtle way his eyes had followed you since your return suggested he knew exactly how it had gone wrong, and was simply waiting for you to admit it.

The mission had been stressful enough without his commentary, and you’d specifically chosen to work in his office for the quiet atmosphere, not the running commentary. The irony wasn’t lost on you—seeking peace in the devil’s lair—but the alternative was the bustling common areas where questions about the mission would be impossible to avoid.

“Perhaps it’s the negotiations?” he continued, leaning against your desk, invading your personal space with calculated precision. The subtle scent of his cologne—something expensive and custom-made, no doubt—wrapped around you like an unwelcome embrace. “Your strategy was... unconventional. Though I must say, watching you attempt to outmaneuver your opponent was quite entertaining. Like watching a chess novice challenge a grandmaster.”

His words struck with precision, targeting exactly where you felt most vulnerable. The negotiations had fallen apart spectacularly, though not for lack of preparation on your part. Sylus had blamed it on a few of his henchmen, he’ll deal with them later for forgetting to mention some details that caused you to stress yourself out.

“Or maybe it’s that little encounter with one of my rivals the day before yesterday?” he pressed on, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that forced you to incline toward him despite yourself. “I heard of how that meeting concluded.”

That was the breaking point. The pen in your hand snapped, ink staining your fingers like evidence of a crime. In one fluid motion, you stood from your chair, the sudden movement causing Sylus to straighten, a flash of surprise crossing his features before his customary smirk returned.

“Would you just—” The words caught in your throat, frustration making it impossible to articulate exactly what you wanted from him. Silence? An apology? Some acknowledgment that he’d set you up to fail although it’s not entirely his fault?

Instead of finishing your sentence, you grabbed his perfectly pressed collar and yanked him down, crushing your lips against his. It wasn’t gentle or sweet—it was pure frustration translated into action, teeth clashing, fingers gripping fabric tight enough to wrinkle the expensive material.

The stunned widening of his eyes gave you a flash of satisfaction—finally something had caught the ever-composed Sylus off-guard. For a heartbeat, he remained completely still, his usual grace abandoned in genuine surprise. Then his hand moved to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he responded with unexpected intensity.

What had started as an impulsive act of defiance quickly transformed into something more. The kiss deepened, his other hand finding the small of your back, drawing you closer with surprising strength. Heat bloomed where his fingers pressed, spreading through your body like wildfire. The taste of him—bitter coffee and something sweeter underneath—was intoxicating in the worst possible way.

When you broke away, breathless and disoriented, you glared up at him. “Shut. Up.”

For perhaps the first time this week, Sylus appeared genuinely caught off balance. His usual perfect composure had slipped, collar askew, a hint of color high on his sharp cheekbones. Something flashed in his eyes—surprise, certainly, but also something darker, more intense that made your pulse quicken despite yourself.

Rather than appearing offended, Sylus looked thoroughly entertained once he recovered, eyes gleaming with intrigue. He straightened slowly, adjusting his collar that drew attention to his long fingers.

“Well,” he murmured, voice slightly rougher than his usual polished tones, “that’s certainly one way to request silence.” His tongue darted out to touch his lower lip briefly, as if sampling the taste you’d left there. “Effective, if unorthodox.”

But true to your demand, he didn’t speak further. Instead, he returned to his chaise lounge across the room, picking up his own work with an amused expression that should have infuriated you but somehow didn’t.

The silence stretched between you, no longer suffocating. You returned to your report, finding it suddenly easier to focus with Sylus’s voice no longer needling at your concentration. Occasionally, you felt his gaze on you, but whenever you glanced up, he was seemingly absorbed in his own work, though the ghost of a smile played around his lips.

After you’d made significant progress through the stack of files, a steaming cup of your favorite tea appeared at your elbow without warning. The delicate china cup—part of an antique set Sylus guarded jealously—was filled with the precise shade and aroma that you preferred, complete with the exact amount of honey you favored.

When you looked up questioningly, Sylus merely raised an eyebrow, as if to say, ‘See? I can be helpful when not talking.’ His smirk had softened around the edges, a truce offering in the form of perfectly brewed tea.

Despite yourself, you felt a smile tugging at your lips. You raised the cup in silent acknowledgment, a momentary peace established in the aftermath of that impulsive kiss.

As you sipped the tea—prepared exactly as you liked it, proving he’d been paying far more attention than you’d given him credit for—you wondered which one of you had actually won this particular skirmish. Based on the satisfied gleam in his eye whenever he glanced your way, Sylus clearly thought he had the upper hand.

But as the afternoon wore on in productive silence, punctuated only by the occasional meaningful glance, you weren’t entirely sure you’d lost either.

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

The drive back to Caleb’s apartment was suffocating with silence. Rain streaked across the windshield, city lights blurring into watery halos as he navigated the evening trafficking Skyhaven. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, jaw set in that way that meant he was holding back words—a dam of frustration ready to break at any moment.

You stared out the passenger window, your reflection ghostly against the glass, unable to look at him directly. You’d avoided him for three days after the mission went sideways. Three days of ducking into supply closets when you heard his footsteps in the corridor, of swapping shifts with anyone willing, of ignoring the increasingly terse messages on your comm unit. It wasn’t rational—you knew that—but facing him after your mistake in the field felt impossible.

The car stopped at a red light, engine humming. Raindrops raced down the window, merging and separating like the strategies you should have coordinated better during the operation. In the reflection of the glass, you could see Caleb’s profile—strong jaw tensed, eyes fixed straight ahead, the small scar above his eyebrow more pronounced in the harsh street lighting.

Neither of you had spoken since he’d found you in the briefing room, simply saying “We need to talk” in that Colonel voice that brooked no argument. Now, pulling into the parking space at his building, you still hadn’t found the words to bridge the chasm between you.

He unlocked his door, letting you enter first. The familiarity of his place—the orderly bookshelves, the single plant you’d given him that somehow thrived despite his frequent absences, the subtle scent of coffee and cologne he wore—made your chest ache with a complicated emotion. You couldn’t meet his eyes, focusing instead around the room—everything in its place except for the emotions threatening to spill over between you.

The moment the door closed behind you with a soft click, the tension broke.

“Three days,” he stated, voice unnervingly calm as he set his keys in the exact same spot they always occupied on the entryway table. “No communications, dodging my calls, switching shifts.” Each offense listed with the precision of military charges being read.

You shrugged, aiming for casual while removing your jacket, though your hands betrayed you with a slight tremor. “I’ve been busy.”

“Lying doesn’t suit you,” he said, stepping closer, the controlled anger in his voice making it lower than usual. “Never has.” He moved into your space, not touching you but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him, smell the rain on his uniform mingling with his cologne. “I know exactly what you’re doing. Running away because you think I blame you for what happened.”

Your breath caught. Of course he’d figured it out—he always did. Caleb could read encryptions and enemy movements with uncanny accuracy, but his ability to decode your thoughts sometimes felt even more disarming.

“People could have died because of my call,” you whispered, finally voicing the fear that had been haunting you for days. Your hands clenched and unclenched at your sides, the phantom feeling of your weapon during that critical moment when everything had gone wrong.

“But they didn’t,” he countered. His voice remained firm but had lost some of its edge. “The team is safe. The mission objectives were achieved, if not in the way we planned.”

“That’s not the point,” you argued, finally meeting his gaze. The intensity there nearly made you step back. “I ignored direct orders—your orders. I put everyone at risk because I thought I knew better.”

“You made a judgment call in the field,” he corrected, running a hand through his rain-dampened hair. The gesture, so uncharacteristically nervous for him, revealed just how deeply the situation had affected him, too. “What I can’t accept is you avoiding me afterward. Avoiding the team. Avoiding the debrief where we could have addressed what happened.”

“And avoiding me doesn’t change what happened or help us prevent it next time,” he continued, his voice softening. “The team needs you. I need—” He stopped, seeming to catch himself. “The mission requires all officers and you, Miss Hunter, to be present for debriefing. That’s protocol.”

The retreat behind protocol stung worse than his anger. The distance he was deliberately placing between you—falling back on rank and procedure—felt like a physical wound. The intensity in his eyes was too much to bear.

Before he could continue his lecture, before he could retreat further behind the wall of Colonel, you surged forward, grasping his collar and pulling him down into a desperate kiss. The kiss was both surrender and defiance—an apology you couldn’t voice and a desperate plea to move past the wall building between you.

For a heartbeat, he remained rigid, hands stiff at his sides. Then, like ice thawing, he responded, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other wrapped around your waist, drawing you flush against him. The rain had chilled his lips, but they quickly warmed against yours, the taste of something uniquely him making your heart race.

What had begun as impulse deepened into something more profound. His fingers tangled in your hair, angling your head to deepen the kiss. The carefully maintained distance of the past days dissolved with each passing second, replaced by an urgency that spoke of relief and lingering fear—fear that the rift between you might have been permanent.

When you finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, his expression had transformed. The stern Colonel was gone, replaced by just Caleb—your Caleb—with unguarded emotion in his eyes. His shoulders relaxed for what felt like the first time in days.

“Don’t be mad at me like that...” you whispered. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart where your bodies pressed together.

His expression had softened even more, he could never stay mad at you for long, not when you looked at him like this.

“That won’t work every time,” he murmured, though the smile playing at his lips suggested otherwise. His thumb traced gentle circles at the small of your back.

“Seems to be working now,” you replied, relieved to see the anger dissipating like morning fog. You pressed your forehead against his chest, listening to his heartbeat gradually slow to its usual steady rhythm.

Caleb sighed, one hand still tangled in your hair, gently massaging your scalp in that way he knew always calmed you. The rain continued to patter against the windows. “You know why I was angry, don’t you?” he asked quietly, his voice rumbling through his chest against your ear.

You nodded slightly. “Because I disobeyed a direct order.”

“No,” he said, pulling back just enough to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Because you disappeared afterward. Because for three days, I didn’t know if you were okay—not physically, but here.” He tapped gently at your temple. “Missions go wrong. Plans fall apart. That’s the nature of what we do. But we process it together.”

“I thought you’d be disappointed in me.”

“I was disappointed you didn’t trust me enough to face me,” he corrected, his hand moving to cup your cheek. “We’re partners in this, in all of it. The good calls and the bad ones.”

“I promise,” you whispered. “No more running. No matter what happens, we face it together.”

Something in your tone must have convinced him, because the last traces of tension left his body. He pressed his lips to your forehead, the gesture tender in a way that made your heart ache.

“Good,” he murmured against your skin. “Because the next time you go dark on me for three days, I’m sending the entire squadron to find you.”

After five hours of writing with plenty of breaks (read: procrastination and distraction), and I finally finished my longest scenario yet. This ended up being one of my favorites, as I truly enjoyed the writing process and got completely carried away.

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