#what if every normal pause in a conversation was slightly too long?

[sightseertrespasser]

Sunny Side Screw-Up part 2

Me: Hey, what if Bluestreak was a great sniper because Tacnet enabled him to view the world in slow motion, kinda like bullet time?

Later me: Wait, what if he experienced Bullet Time All the Time and THAT’s why he’s like that?

The mecha AU was spawned by @keferon, go check ‘em out!

———————————————————————

For hours, Prowls processor continued to spiral well after Jazz disconnected the drift bond. The steady crackle from Bluestreaks currently inactive comm lines did little to settle him.

Individually, Prowl curled each of his digits, then released. The fingers Ratchet replaced were still numb. But the phantom pains stayed sharp.

“Hey.” A hoarse whisper at his hip got Prowl to online his optic.

“You should be resting, Jazz.” The Praxian whispered back. If Ratchet saw them both up the doctor would likely make good on some of his threats. Or Deadlock would.

“I’m gonna.” The human leaned against his side, shoulders wrapped in a spare blanket.

“You’re lying.” Prowl stated as flatly as if he’d pointed out Jazz was bipedal.

“Hmm, just getting it out of my system so you know I’m gonna be serious next.” When the pilot moved to climb up Prowl’s thigh, he gave him a slight boost with one servo. Weak as Prowl was, Jazz still weighed basically nothing.

“Ratchet said you already pushed past your limits for the day. I do not think it’d be wise to reconnect right now.” Prowl watched Jazz for every minute tremble, delicately adjusting the plane of his servo to support him as evenly as possible.

“We pushed it today. And s’alright. Wasn’t going for that.” Jazz laid back in Prowls palm, getting comfortable.

Given the pattern of their past interactions, Prowl preemptively readjusted to lay down on as well, before Jazz could begin guilting/bargaining/tricking him into resting properly.

Jazz, knowingly, smiled.

“I know you’re scared for him. But Bluestreak is gonna be fine Prowler. He’s got you, and you’ve got us.”

“I had myself and you and I still got vivisected.” It was a low blow and still a raw wound for the both of them. His missing platting stung.

Jazz closed his eyes. Prowl could still hear the echos of what thoughts that would be racing through his head.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. This is a nightmare scenario and I can’t believe you aren’t completely loosing your shit right now.” A sour note came through his field. “I just don’t want you to fry yourself with worrying.”

Prowl sighed, “I have come to terms with our current limitations. The plan currently underway is definitely the best chance we can possibly give him.”

“I do not have enough information to predict how the Twins will conduct themselves..” Prowl briefly paused to send a scheduled Check In ping to Bluestreak. Continuing once he received the Return ping.

“But I know my brother, and that’s what has me worried.” Despite himself, Prowl felt his face almost twitch a smile when Jazz’s EM field chimed against his palm. He could feel the human silently laugh.

“Little brothers are something else, but have a little faith in him okay? Bluestreak just needs to play it cool until we can debrief the Twins. He doesn’t even have to actually lie. All he needs to do is walk and shoot, and I’ve seen him shoot.”

Jazz rolled onto his side to face Prowl, who still frowned but was coming around.

“Look, it took me nearly two days to figure out I was literally surrounded by aliens who weren’t even trying to hide it.”

“You had a concussion.” Prowl grumbled.

“And I’m a very clever fucker.” Jazz raised a pointed finger.

The human snuggled back into his blanket, “Never in a million years is anyone just gonna guess he’s an alien shaped like a mecha.”

Prowl hummed in assent, choosing to let his systems wind down, save for his Comms.

Yawning, Jazz finished his thought, “The only way they’d find out he’s from space is if Bluestreak straight up told them.”

———————

“And that star cluster is about where Cybertron is!”

The fading red-gold of the sunset had given way to dusty dark blue twilight. This far from any civilization, the stars did not shy from taking the stage early, casting the desert in a cool toned glow.

Sideswipe looked where he was pointing and nodded along. Sunstreaker likewise examined the sky for a moment before continuing their trek.

“You guys are good listeners.” The Praxian smiled.

Bluestreak shifted how he was holding his rifle for the nth time that afternoon. “I wish I could just subspace this but Jazz said that would be too openly weird and you guys might try tearing my hip apart.”

Unsurprisingly, Sunstreaker showed no sudden comprehension of Bluestreak’s native language. The yellow mecha was too preoccupied with digging out a quint fang from his plating. Similarly unaware, Sideswipe had found a small boulder and played an improvised game of how long he could kick it along their path.

Bluestreak checked his Tacnet Dilation: 25%.

“Did you know I taught Prowl and Smokescreen how to use Tacnet to shoot better? Cause I did. They taught me pretty much everything else though about how to function. They’re my brothers by the way, which is kinda funny to think about since you guys are brothers too but ‘organic brothers’ are kinda different from ‘Cybertronian brothers’. We’re all Cold Constructs designed by the same people but that doesn’t actually have anything to do with being brothers.” With family on his processor, the Praxian flicked a ‘Hey guys!’ out of habit without thinking. He didn’t notice the twins simultaneously pause for a second beside him.

“The word translates directly into English but I think the origins are totally different. A literal translation of “Brothers” in Cybertronian would be something like “Those who are most familiar to me.”

He counted the decimal points of each passing click to pace himself. Making sure he was talking at a socially acceptable level. After 4 clicks, his will broke down and the gap of silence was filled.

“Hey want to hear how we met?” Bluestreak looked up at the hulking mechas with wide optics, questioning tone riding through the air.

The twins looked at each other briefly before shrugging.

Aside from his brothers, mechs that knew his particular reputation would take that pause in his chatting as an escape route from the conversation.

Bluestreak understood. It’s why he tried to leave gaps in. He scuffed his peds in the dirt while waiting for a response.

A curled servo came into his peripheral vision. With a little difficulty, Sunstreaker gave him a crude thumbs up, his mecha not really built for fine motor controls.

“Really?” Bluestreak beamed, checking in with Sideswipe as well who was also nodding in the positive.

The Praxian began his tale, “So it happened a little under two million years ago.”

——————

The crowd around the train station moved in a tightly packed slow motion torrent.

“-taken at specified slots-“

“-one hundred and fifty shanix is-“

“-consult the map if she really-“

Words, sentences, broken paragraphs and contradictory orders buzzed across his processor. His internal dictionary pulling up definitions and explanations almost too fast to keep up with.

Tacnet Dilation: Increase to 75%?

Huh?

[Yes]?

Oh!

That’s so much better.

If he picked out one voice at a time, he could decipher each glyph as they came and string it together. Mildly entranced by how they interlocked and changed the information they carried as it dripped into his echoing memory banks.

For example:

“Get out of the way you useless cop!”

An upward swing from behind struck him, jamming his doorwings at the apex of their mobility.

The mech would have fallen forward if the density of the crowd allowed it. They stumbled, struggling to stay upright as the mass of mechs around him pushed inexorably toward the trains.

New information came through. Bright boxes burst across his vision and new words wrote themselves on his processor. This new sensory input was competing with every other piece of stimulus for his immediate attention.

He didn’t like it.

What is it?

[Pain]

Oh, is this a setting that can be changed?

[Pain - Repair - Reset- Doorwing (1)]

[Pain - Repair - Reset - Doorwing (2)]

How? How do I fix them?

[Pain - Repair - Reset]

I don’t understand?

[Pain - Repair - Reset]

The logic branch repeated incessantly, almost as bad as the distraction of the pain itself.

The praxian began asking every mech who passed nearby how to reset his doorwings. Sometimes, they’d kindly tell him they couldn’t help. Other times they’d push him off harshly, fields flashing with hostility. One even told him to go jump on the tracks. Before he could actually consider how that’d help, an orange mech scolded the harsh one and pulled the praxian to where they could speak into his audial.

They told him they couldn’t fix his problem, but if he found other mechs with doorwings like his, they would help him.

“How do I find them?”

The orange mech adjusted a pair of spectacles, smiling, “Just listen to your wings young one, you’ll get there.”

It was then he realized something else was coming through the sensor net of his doorwings. A muffled, irregular pulsing, coming from one of the train cars.

He forgot to thank the skinny mech and pushed through the crowd, past the overwhelmed conductor.

Reduced Sensory Input, Tacnet Dilation: Decrease to 25%?

[Yes]

The inside of the train car was packed, no one would be leaving without numerous scraps and dents by the end of their journey. He tried not to flinch every time a passenger bumped into his back with very little success. Spurred on by pain and desperation, the Praxian pushed rudely past the other passengers who each added new and exciting expletives to his steadily growing lexicon.

He followed the signals like a lifeline to the back of the train.

Two Praxian enforcers sat side by side, doorwings flicking intermittently. Both of them leaned forward with their elbows on their knees, either from the exhaustion clearly written across their faces or simply because the bench they sat on wasn’t made to accommodate the extra limbs on their backs.

One was blue with a yellow chevron, lazily leaking smoke to pool against the ceiling. Seemingly absorbed in people watching.

{ ···· · -·--     ·--· --··--     ··· · ·     - ···· ·     --- -· ·     ·-- ·· - ····     - ···· ·     ···- ·· ··· --- ·-· ··--·· }

The other was monochrome save for a bright red chevron, scanning the crowd with a critical optic, locking onto his approach.

{ ··     ·-· · --· ·-· · -     - · ·-·· ·-·· ·· -· --·     -·-- --- ··-     ·- -· -·-- - ···· ·· -· --· }

{ ·· ’ --     ···· · ·-·· ·--· ·· -· --· }

{ ··- -· -·- -· --- ·-- -·     · -· ··-· --- ·-· -·-· · ·-·     ·- ·--· ·--· ·-· --- ·- ---- ·· -· --· }

The praxians straightened, the blue one offering a casual smile and a welcoming field.

“Hey there! Can we help you?”

He almost crashed to the floor, stumbling to stand before them.

“Yes! Yes! Hello! I need help! I’ve been trying to find someone to help with my doorwings for what feels like forever but everyone I’ve talked to has told me to go away or go frag myself or go ask someone else and then somebody told me to come in here or really they actually told me to follow my doorwings which was actually kinda hard because they hurt a lot and all the warnings I’m getting are making it kinda hard to focus on anything and nobody has let me finish talking the entire time!”

The optics of the black and white praxian got steadily wider as he spoke, taking in the information with an otherwise motionless posture.

The blue one took it in stride, waving him to get closer, “Alright, c’mere and turn around real quick.”

Gratefully, he followed the clear instructions and did just that.

The blue one hummed, “Oh that’s an easy fix.”

His doorwings twinged in their slots at the feeling of the mechs servos on his back. “Sorry, this’ll pinch a little.” And with two practiced twists, the mech braced one servo against his back and popped the hinges back in place.

He hissed at the initial sting but relief immediately flooded his sensor net.

“Is the Doorwing injury related to why you are covered in ash?” The monochrome mech spoke for the first time.

“Hmm? Oh no, someone just ran into me from behind. He was yelling something about useless cops?” He could see the irises of the praxians optics cycling as he spoke. The mechs mouth thinned to a line as his brow furrowed.

The other didn’t seem to notice, laughing heartily, “Oh trust me that’s not the last time you’ll hear that. Next time call your squad in to book the guy for assault on an officer. You new here?”

He smiled, doorwings fluttering involuntarily at being asked a non clinical question for the first time ever. “Yes! I’m very new! Everything is so new! Who are you two?”

Something clicked for the other mech. Doorwings drooping, “Um, Smokescreen?”

The blue mech, Smokescreen, ignored him. Instead, he wrapped an arm around the mechs shoulders and pulled him in, “Well this here is my little brother Prowl, I promise he’s slightly less of a stick in the gears than he first appears. We’d show you around our precinct, but it kinda burnt down this morning.”

“Smokescreen.” Prowl hissed.

“So what’s your designation and your placement new guy?” Smokescreen beamed at him with a sooty grin.

“My designation is P-E 2102. Aaaand the building I was being tested in caught fire, so I have no idea!” He rocked on his peds.

Smokescreen gave him a slightly curious once over.

Meanwhile, Prowl crossed his arms and looked unimpressed with his older brother.

Prowl turned back to him, “A follow up question, if you are able to answer, P-E 2102. When were you constructed?”

He checked his memory banks, “Two cycles ago!”

Smokescreen choked, coughing up a small cloud of exhaust. Prowl automatically thumped a servo against his back to help.

“Right.” The elder Praxian recovered, coughing into his fist and straightening up again. “So you’re two cycles old huh? That explains.. some things.”

Unconsciously, P-E 2102 pulled his doorwings in, not yet knowing what to call the awkward energy that spilled into the train car. The only mech seemingly unaffected was Prowl.

“Typically, once you make it through Quality Control a mech is assigned to act as your mentor to answer questions and bring you up to speed on how to function in society.” Prowl glanced at his brother. “Their designation should be tagged with your factory designation. We’ll assist in contacting them for your retrieval.”

Internally, P-E 2102 pulled his factory designation back up, and did indeed find what Prowl was talking about.

“Oh okay, it looks like I’m assigned to someone named Barricade?” He smiled again, happy to have a clear path forward after so much uncertainty. The two older Praxians immediately, silently looked at each other.

Optics wide, Smokescreen gave him a massive showman style grin, announcing loud enough for the whole train to hear, “Nooope!”

“Um, what?” He new forge looked confused, optics flitting between the two of them.

The eldest praxian nudged Prowl to scoot over. “Nope!” He clapped his servos on his knees for emphasis. “That is not happening. You’re actually going to be my ward now. Last minute update. You know how office work gets.”

“This is a terrible idea.” Prowl grumbled but still moved to make room. “You aren’t qualified to mentor more than one ward. You wouldn’t even be my mentor if the Council hadn’t lowered the age requirement.”

Smokescreen patted the new space between them, “Go ahead and take a seat newbie. And Prowl? C’mon. You haven’t needed me for literal vorns.”

He squeezed into the space between them. It took a bit to figure out how to overlap their doorwings, but once they folded together, the new forge felt more secure than he’d ever been in his life.

Which wasn’t very long but still.

“First things first, you need a proper des.” Smokescreen poked him in the chassis. Briefly frowning at the grime left on his digit. “And a proper paint job.”

“Oh can I be red? I think I like red. And orange. And yellow. I like warm tones in general really. But I think just red for now.” He pointed up at Prowls chevron for reference.

“It is a striking color.” Prowl nodded sagely. “It will suit you fine, though I request you do not completely copy my appearance to avoid future confusion.”

He hummed, already considering the ash grey covering his plating. He didn’t think it looked too bad actually.

“We’ll get the paint sorted later, now how about a proper name? I don’t believe in assigning one over your own choice, so you gotta pick.”Smokescreen leaned back, not giving away any clues of what options laid before him.

“Hmm.” He studied the signage outside the train. “Something with blue in it?”

“Blue?” Prowl raised an eye ridge. “Didn’t you just say you wanted to be painted red?”

“Well yeah. I like the color red but I like the word blue.” He said rationally and sensibly.

Prowl could find no argument and accepted the information for what it was.

Smokescreen tapped his shoulder. “Gonna need something a little more complex than just Blue, buddy. It’s a pretty popular des.”

“Oh how about Blueline!”

A few eavesdroppers snorted at the announcement, a small wave of mirth echoing around the mostly reserved fields of the crowd.

There was a long pause.

“That.. is the name of the train we are currently riding.” Prowl slowly pointed out.

“Ah.”

Voice an octave higher, Smokescreen gave a slightly pained albeit encouraging grin. “Yeeeah. Maybe try one more time?”

The young mech rested his chin on his servos, rapidly tapping his digits. “Is Blue streak taken?”

Prowl and Smokescreen considered the name. Internally, Prowl scanned over something for a moment. “I do not see any other registrations for that designation. It is indeed available.”

“Then Bluestreak it is!” Proclaimed Smokescreen, who clapped a servo around Prowls far shoulder, squishing Bluestreak between them.

Bluestreak whooped, sirens he didn’t know he had briefly going off before Prowl rushed to teach him how to turn them back down.

With a sense of finality, the train at last closed its doors and pulled out of Praxus. Bluestreak watched the skyscrapers dance in streams of gold and red.

Tacnet Dilation: 125%

The sounds of the train car moved treacle slow. Bluestreak turned to his new brothers and in a voice that sounded strangely deep to his own audials, asked them “Why is Praxus burning?”

They glanced at each other again, passing silent communication born of familiarity. When he eventually spoke, Bluestreak could hear the buzz of Smokescreens vocalizer activating the click before the consonants of his words rumbled forward like distant thunder, “There’s a war, a civil war. We’re still deciding where to go.”

“Can I come?” The question came so easily.

A pause that lasted a thousand years crawled by, as the train swept into a long dark tunnel with no clear end.

“Yeah.” Smokescreen said, “You can come.”

——————

“And to make a long story short, we ended up joining the Decepticons because well, the Functionalist Council kinda claimed all surviving CC Praxian Enforcers as ‘Government Property’.” Bluestreak made quotations with his digits.

Not for the first time, Bluestreak glanced at his audience. It was difficult to read the twins, Sunstreaker especially, but Bluestreak thought he was starting to get a hold of their personalities.

He vaguely remembered Jazz saying he had an unusually high affinity for piloting mecha, and hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Now that he was spending time with “regular” pilots, Bluestreak couldn’t help but stare at the stark difference.

Jazz made it work, easily translating laid back body language and a friendly demeanor through several tons of non living machinery.

But the twins? There were times when the Twins reminded him of Empurata victims, their fine movements unnaturally stunted and their incredibly restricted means of self expression coming off as awkward at best. Drone like at worst.

And yet, like clouds passing through an Uncanny Valley, Bluestreak would see bits of their true selves slip out.

For example, the three of them had just come up to a broad shallow stream running across the sandy earth. Sunstreaker stalked right up to the shore, knelt down to dip a cupped hand into water and wasted no time in splashing it across his plating. While his brother attempted to clean himself of the filth they’d accumulated from the day, Sideswipe pointedly looked Bluestreak in the optics and raised a single finger to his visor.

Bluestreak tilted his helm, understanding the meaning of gesture but not the why.

Casually admiring the scenery, Sideswipe tiptoed behind his brothers back, hands clasped in the picture of nonchalant innocence.

And then kicked him square in the back.

Tacnet Dilation: 50%

BLUESTREAK: [Uh Prowl?]

Abruptly flattened face first into the sand, Sunstreaker raised one arm and punched into the earth beneath the stream. He rose with a measured, predatory speed.

BLUESTREAK: [Not an emergency. I think.]

Regardless, the Praxian still backed away from the beach. Tacnet stretching out the clicks for Prowl to answer into wisp thin strands of time.

BLUESTREAK: [But please still respond.]

Sideswipe made a show of pointing a finger at his brother while almost doubled over. Frame absolutely shaking with silent laughter.

PROWL: [I’m here. What is it?]

Whip fast, a clawed hand fisted itself around Sideswipes collar, yanking him off his feet. The red mecha vanished, reappearing on the opposite bank, laying prone in a brand new crater.

BLUESTREAK: [So the twins are fighting.]

Tacnet Dilation: 100%

Bluestreak watched as Sideswipes arms rotated backwards, punching off the earth with explosive momentum and launching himself towards the yellow mecha.

In a clear display of practice, Sunstreaker caught him with a shoulder to the chest, slamming his brother back first into the water with enough force to make it rain.

PROWL: [Each other?]

BLUESTREAK: [Yep.]

Sideswipe twisted his waist around almost 90 degrees and suddenly had the leverage to dig his clawed feet into the ground, flipping Sunstreaker back into the water.

Tacnet held steady at 100% dilation, slowing the fight to a pace that Bluestreak could actually follow. To anyone else, it’d be a blur of red and yellow plating churning through indecipherably dense sprays of water droplets.

Once, back on the Lost Light, Bluestreak had asked Prowl what was it that drew him to Jazz. Prowl, naturally, gave a highly clinical answer, “Jazz is highly competent. Tacnet likes competence.”

Of course, Bluestreak made fun of him at the time for hiding his feelings behind his battle computer.

But uh.

He was kinda getting it now.

Every awkward gesture, every stilted performance at normal body language from before evaporated instantaneously. There wasn’t a hundred feet of separation between their hands and their brains anymore, the pilots filled their mecha out to the very finger tips. Swift and precise and alive.

To Tacnet, these weren’t machines anymore, but men.

Very competent men.

PROWL: [This is apparently normal behavior for them. Keep your distance and wait it out.]

Bluestreak nearly dropped his rifle, juggling it in slow motion as his frame struggled to move as fast as his processor.

BLUESTREAK: [Yep got it.]

BLUESTREAK: [Will be observing closely.]

BLUESTREAK: [From a distance.]

BLUESTREAK: [I’ll be observing closely from a distance I mean.]

BLUESTREAK: [I am completely fine.]

By the time he’d pinned the stock against his chassis, he’d sent Prowl about half a dozen more messages, all following in a continuously self correcting pattern.

PROWL: [Bluestreak. Paragraphs please.]

He reeled Tacnet back to the standard 25% dilation and watched the fight continue at normal speed. Occasionally, Bluestreak noticed one of their visors would turn his way before snapping back to focus on pummeling each other into the ground

Are they watching to make sure I didn’t leave? Or… are they watching to make sure I’m watching?

When they were younger, Smokescreen would sometimes get a hold of fuzzy holovids of old gladiator fights, (or questionably sourced security footage) and drag Prowl and him to his hab suite to watch. On a purely superficial level, he claimed it was for “Tacnet training” and taught them both how to zero in on hundreds of little tells that’d determine who’d the winner of the match would be right from the opening move.

They played a game where whoever correctly guessed the outcome of the match first would be the winner. Bonus points for predicting the correct finishing move. Prowl and Smokescreen would get ridiculously competitive. Or rather, Smokescreen always won and it drove Prowl up the wall. Years later, Smokescreen would whisper what the secret was to him over a bottle of high grade: Prowl never considered not all mechs fight to win.

This was a performance.

Every blow the twins traded landed on the thickest parts of their armor. The flashing exposures of their most delicate components were brief but frequent, always left untouched.

His digits twitched where he held the rifle.

Two targets (moving, distracted) within close firing range. Estimated reaction time: 2.2 clicks. Estimated time between shots: 1.4 clicks.

Tacnet Dilation: 100%

Manual Override, Tacnet Dilation: 25%

Bluestreak turned up his ventilations and stamped down on Tacnet, blocking out anymore suggestions by tunelessly humming some random jingle he’d heard about a million years ago.

Eventually, the fight wound down on its own without a winner. Sunstreaker helped Sideswipe up, and that was that.

Watching the two stomp out of the water, Bluestreak raised a thumbs up, “You guys good?”

The twins responded in the affirmative, each giving the other one last shove before resuming their flanking positions beside the sniper. Setting out once more.

Several hours later, the stars had dimmed as the sky turned powder blue.

The broad flat expanse of the rocky desert begged to be raced across. The variation in the terrain with its short stoney shelves and dried river bed roads would have been fantastic tracks for a spur of the moment race.

If I was allowed to that is.

The sand and grit from the environment was starting to grind uncomfortably in his joints. His peds ached more from the knowledge that he didn’t need to walk than from the physical exertion of the hike itself.

“On a scale of one to ten, how badly would you guys react if I turned into a car right now?” He panted, keeping careful watch of his coolant levels as the sun rose over the horizon. “Like a five maybe? A five seems about right for the situation.”

The twins simultaneously stopped.

Bluestreaks doorwings flicked nervously, “Is this your way of saying it’s a three?”

Steadily, Sideswipe lowered into a low crouch, vents hissing steam and visor going dark. There was a subtle click of joints locking into place.

Sunstreaker picked a rocky shelf and sat, keeping both of them in his line of sight

BLUESTREAK: [The twins are doing something weird and new. Sunstreaker is just watching but Sideswipe is squatting for some reason and it looks like he just went into recharge?]

While Bluestreak worried the inside of his cheek, Sunstreaker waved at him and patted the stone by his side.

Hesitantly and not wanting to potentially offend the alien hunter, Bluestreak took the offered seat. Thankfully, Sunstreaker seemed mollified by this and went back to staring at the horizon.

PROWL: [Ratchet says it sounds like they’re taking shifts resting. Given the length of time you’ve been traveling together, they may expect you to “power down” for a while as well.]

BLUESTREAK: [So what you’re saying is I have to fake being in recharge while sitting upright, outdoors in the sun and in heavily implied to be quint infested territory?]

PROWL: [Yes.]

BLUESTREAK: [Great. Awesome. Thank you. This is totally fine.]

PROWL: [I’m sorry.]

Okay now that was a red flag.

Angry Prowl meant “There is a problem and I will not physically stop until it is obliterated.”

Apologetic Prowl meant even he couldn’t deal with the problem.

The sheer scale of how fucked he was finally set in.

Tacnet Dilation: 125%

Tacnet Dilation: 150%

Tacnet Dilation: 225%

Time curled up into a little ball on the floor.

The only thing that stopped Tacnet from going past 300% was a wedged in bit of coding Bluestreak had forcibly added after a truly nightmarish near death experience at 500% dilation.

Logically, he knew he still had control over his frame, but the sheer delay in response felt like he was paralyzed.

Don’t force it. Don’t force it. Don’t force yourself to move, everything you try to do will add to the queue and it’ll hit all at once.

He wished Sunstreaker could talk, Bluestreak couldn’t deal with silence. Silence was like trying to keep track of passing time by staring at a blank wall. At least when there was noise, the pitch could clue him in and keep his mind semi tethered to the actual rate of things happening around him.

The dinks of his digits curling against his servos finally registered from when he started the motion all the way back when Prowl said he was sorry.

The faint pressure just was enough to start his thought process again.

Manual Override, Tacnet Dilation: 200%

Manual Override, Tacnet Dilation: 150%

Manual Override, Tacnet Dilation: 100%

Feeling spread back into his frame as sensory input raced back to his processor. From Bluestreaks perspective, it felt like he’d just lunched forward, helm between his knees. From the outside it probably just looked like a slow miserable curl.

He tried not to purge.

When his doorwings picked up on movement from Sunstreaker, he froze. Hyperaware of how bizarre his behavior must look.

A heavy hand not designed for anything other than ripping and tearing settled between his doorwings, lightly patting.

Bluestreak chanced a glance at the yellow mecha. Sunstreakers visor was as impassive as ever but with his unoccupied hand he raised an “OK” symbol, tilting his head inquisitively.

Letting his vents run at max, Bluestreak swallowed, raising an “OK” back.

“I’m gonna go ahead and pretend to be unconscious now. Thanks for not killing me so far.”

Bluestreak crossed his arms and dimmed his optics, flaring out his doorwings to compensate for the drop in input.

To execute his performance as an unfeeling empty husk of machinery, Bluestreak clenched his jaw and vowed not to speak or move for the next several hours.

Tacnet Dilation: 50%

Or however long it felt like.

———————————————————————

Jazz: “So if you use Tacnet to crunch the numbers on crazy complicated battle simulations, and Bluestreak uses his Tacnet to pull off insane sniper moves, what does Smokescreen use his for?”

Prowl: “Gambling.”

——————

Cybertronian ages are weird and don’t really align to human developmental rates but I do roughly equate 1 millennia to about a decade in human years.

So Prowl is in his late twenties, Smokescreen is in his thirties and Bluestreak can legally buy alcohol, depending on the country.

Also, Prowl and Smokescreen don’t know about the constant time dilation Bluestreak lives with. It was an experimental feature that got turned on for testing and when Bluestreaks factory got blown up there was nobody around to disable it.

Sometime after they started living together, he asked Smokescreen what Tacnet Dilation actually was, and Smokescreen basically just went “Oh yeah that thing. Yeah just don’t touch it and you’ll be fine.” Not knowing it was already on.

As far as Bluestreak is aware, 25% is “normal speed” because that’s the lowest setting.

-SSTP

[suliigwp]

Hi Suli! I just read your My Woman and it was amazing! I loved it! It was really beautifully written. I devoured all three versions!

Would you be able to write an Oscar version?

If not then that's perfectly fine, no pressure :)

Have a great day!!

MY WOMAN

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Other Versions: Charles Leclerc , Carlos Sainz, Lando Norris, Max Verstappen, Lewis Hamilton

SULI: Hii!! Oh thank you so much for the support I saw you reposted all of them and that means so much! I'm so glad you enjoyed them! Yes, of course I'll give you an Oscar one I'm obsessed with that man - The "My woman" series has been receiving so much love and I'm so thankful for every one of you!

Also! I didn't notice but this ended up being like the same universe of this fic! That I had written earlier because mean!reader x Oscar is the only thing I'll accept- hope you enjoy!

Warnings: men.

It was the kind of silence that crept in around the edges of a conversation. The kind that stretched too long between glances. The kind that said something happened—but no one was saying what.

Y/n noticed it the second Oscar walked into her flat that night. He was on time. He kissed her cheek. He even brought her favorite drink from that coffee place two blocks down.

But his shoulders were stiff. His eyes didn’t linger the way they usually did.

She didn’t ask right away. She didn’t need to.

They had dinner like normal. He asked about her new project; she asked about his next sim session. But every answer was two degrees too distant. Measured. Careful.

And finally, when she caught him staring off toward the window instead of at her, she set her fork down and leaned back.

“Okay,” she said. “What did they say?”

Oscar blinked. “What?”

“Whoever it was. What did they say about me?”

His jaw tensed.

“You’re imagining it,” he said after a pause. “It’s nothing.”

That was when she knew it wasn’t nothing.

“Oscar.”

He stood up slowly, walking to the kitchen, his back to her. “It’s not worth repeating.”

She stood too, something sharp pressing into her ribs. “Tell me.”

He didn’t move for a second. Then finally, carefully:

“One of the senior sponsors pulled me aside today. Said you were bad for my image. That being around someone ‘like you’—someone with a reputation—wasn’t smart. Said it made people nervous.”

She laughed once. Cold. “Of course they did.”

Oscar turned then, eyes unreadable. “They said you’re manipulative. That you’re only with me for the attention.”

Her lips parted slightly. She didn’t move.

“And what did you say?” she asked, voice flat.

“I didn’t say anything,” he answered softly.

A long, aching pause.

Y/n took a step back, arms folding. “Wow.”

“I didn’t say anything—” he repeated, “—because I told him to leave. Immediately after.”

She blinked.

“I didn’t argue. I didn’t explain you. I didn’t give him a list of reasons why he was wrong.”

Oscar’s voice was low now. Focused. “Because you’re not a public relations problem. You’re not some PR line I have to fix.”

He stepped closer, slowly.

“I didn’t defend you because there was nothing to defend. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She swallowed.

“And then,” he added, “I told him if he ever speaks about you again, he can go find another driver to sponsor.”

Her eyes widened. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“Are you insane? Do you know what that could do?”

“I do.”

“Oscar—”

“Let them be uncomfortable,” he said, firmer now. “Let them be nervous.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my woman.”

She froze.

He never said things like that.

But he did now.

“I know what people say about you,” he continued. “I know what they think. That you’re too much. Too cold. Too clever. That you get what you want and don’t care how.”

She stared at him.

“I also know you stay up till 2 a.m. to help your friends with job applications. I know you carry three glosses if anyone needs any. I know you push people away before they can leave. But you don’t push me.”

His voice softened again.

“They can say what they want. They don’t see what I see.”

She blinked hard. Bit her lip.

He stepped forward again. Took her hands.

“You don’t need me to fight your battles,” he whispered. “But I will. Every time. Whether you want me to or not.”

For a long time, she didn’t say anything. Her throat was tight. Her fingers curled into his shirt.

And finally, quietly:

“Next time, you tell me first.”

Oscar smiled—barely, gently.

“Next time, you’ll be too busy burning them down yourself.”

[lindsaynathi0n]

Rafe hates your apartment. He really hates it. The insulation is poorly done, the walls have ears, and it's falling apart.

Tonight, you and Rafe were supposed to have a normal evening. Rafe had returned from one of his top-secret missions that he never talks about. 

You have no idea what he does, but he disappears for months at a time but you're happy when he can call you.

Your father invited you both over for dinner. Rafe wasn't happy about it, but you knew it was important to make your parents happy.

During dinner, Rafe was quiet, not as if it wasn't normal on the contrary Rafe was very quiet. He kept glancing at his watch, clearly impatient. 

Your mother notice and tried to engage him in conversation, asking about his latest trip. "Nothing much to tell," he replied gruffly, cutting off any further questions.

He really didn't want to be here.

Then your father asked the question that made everyone slightly uncomfortable, "And the baby? When are you having one?" 

You looked at Rafe, the situation was quite awkward. "Rafe and I aren't ready yet..." you said, trying to deflect the question.

Rafe wanted a family with you, but being in the military wasn't easy. He was constantly deployed, and the thought of starting a family while he was always away weighed heavily on him.

Your parents exchanged knowing looks, clearly not convinced by your answer. Your mother smiled politely, "Of course, dear. You two are still young." She paused, then added with a wink, "But don't wait too long, okay?"

"Don't wait too long" Those words were the breaking point for Rafe. He had been struggling with the idea of having a family, always pushing it to the back of his mind due to his demanding career. But hearing those words, seeing the expectation in your parents' eyes... something snapped inside him.

As soon as you got back to your cramped apartment, it didn't take much for Rafe to lose control. He grabbed you roughly, tearing off your little white dress with a feral growl. His hands were suddenly everywhere, his mouth crashing against yours in a desperate, almost violent kiss.

Rafe towered over you, his military training evident in every perfectly toned muscle. He was literally a beast— powerful, intense, and completely focused on you. The contrast of his rough hands against your delicate skin sent shivers down your spine.

You struggled to pull down his pants, your trembling hands betraying your desperate need. "Fuck." he growled, helping you by kicking off his boots and ripping down his pants. "Lift your legs." he ordered gruffly, lifting you up against the wall.

You wrap your legs around his waist. "Don't talk to me like I'm one of your soldiers." you snap. He chuckles, grinding his hard length against your wet panties. His big hands squeeze your ass cheeks, pulling you closer. "Sorry, ma'am." he teases, voice dripping with sarcasm, rubbing harder.

Rafe hooks your panties to the side. "Your parents basically told you to go get knocked up." Rafe jokes, his thick length rubbing against your wet opening. You throw your head back, moaning loudly as he spreads your thighs wider apart. “Maybe we should give them what they want.” he says with a smirk, and without warning, he thrusts into you.

It takes Rafe a few seconds to adjust, his cock throbbing intensely within your tight heat. He hasn't been with a woman in months, his body overwhelmed by the sudden intimate contact. “Shiiiiiiiit.” He groans, brows furrowed as he grits his teeth, trying to regain control.

You gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as he fills you completely. He's so large, stretching you in ways that can make you come right out. "Rafe!" you cry out, your voice trembling with pleasure and slight discomfort. He's unmoving for a moment, letting you adjust to his size.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Rafe groans, his forehead pressing against yours. "I forgot how good it feels." He pulls out slowly, his hands gripping your hips tightly, and then thrusts back in, harder this time.

You look up at him with a vulnerable expression, the pity he loves so much evident in your eyes. He starts his thrusts, fast and a bit too rough, his body taking over as he chases his release. He's not making love to you —he's fucking you like an animal.

He's not being gentle, his fingers digging into your thighs to spread you wider. He knows he's being rough, his body slapping against yours loudly. He sees your small body absorb each thrust without complaint, making him even rougher.

You moan loudly, your neighbors likely hearing everything but you don't care, and neither does Rafe. Some couples are literally trying to get pregnant here!

Rafe's breathing is ragged, his face contorted with primal need. He wraps his arms around your thighs, pulling your legs up to his shoulders, hitting impossibly deeper spots within you.

Rafe's thrusts become more erratic, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper as he leans down, his mouth near your ear. "Imagine if I got you pregnant right now…" he growls, his pace faltering for a moment. "One of these rough fucks knocking you up..."

"Please..." your voice is soft and pleading, your high-pitched moans driving him wild. Before he even realizes it, he bursts inside you, pouring his seed deep. Your small body trembles with pleasure, convulsing around his cock as the orgasm hits you both hard. 

"Look what you do to me," he pants, still pumping slowly as he finishes inside you. "One of these days, your belly's really going to show." His hands move down to your hips possessively, imagining you pregnant with his child. "Such a good girl, taking it all..."

He gently sets you down on your feet, but you're still shaky so you cling to him for support. You look up at him with those big doe eyes and pout. "I want a kiss..." It's so innocent and cute after the rough sex he just had with you.

Rafe chuckles softly at your adorable request, his stern features softening. He cups your face gently, He leans down to press a gorgeous kiss on your lips.

From that moment forward, Rafe's new life goal was to get you pregnant as quickly as possible.

[starsforxavi]

further examination

·······•✦ description: It had been so long - too long - since you had the opportunity for some alone time with your boyfriend, so when he asked for help with an assignment, you became a little too excited. But all you had to do was be a good girl, and he would grant you all your wishes and more.

·······•✦ pairing: zayne x fem!reader ·······•✦ word count: 5.4k ·······•✦ genre: smut, porn with little plot ·······•✦ general tags: Fluff and Smut, Smut. Fluff, Porn with Feelings, Well kinda plot, AU!College/University, Zayne is a med student, fluffy zayne, Body Worship, Medical Kink, Riding, Aftercare, Marking, Kinda possessive Zayne, No Spoilers, no one has an EVOL, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering, Penis In Vagina Sex, Established Relationship

·······•✦ posted on: ao3

“Okay, so, I just have to sit here and pretend to be sick, right?” You were currently sat at the kitchen island, leaning on your elbows to get a better look at your boyfriend. His white coat fit snugly on his shoulders - if he works out any more, he will have to obtain a more significant size - and you fight everything in you that wants to comment on how hot he looks.

“You’re exactly right, darling. Just sit there and answer my questions like you’re coming into the hospital with an ailment.” Zayne nodded, staring down at his notes. He was utterly oblivious to your gaze, just as he always was. More often than not, you would find your eyes trailing his figure, admiring how handsome he looked.

Humming, you sat back in the chair, your hands falling to your lap. His eyes met yours, and you snapped into your assigned role. The thrill of the roleplay - even if it was just supposed to be innocently helping him practice for an upcoming exam - caused your thighs to rub together.

It had been a while since anything intimate happened between you, and the need you felt for the man in front of you only heightened after seeing him walk through the door to your apartment only half an hour ago. Instead of the enthusiastic response you hoped for, you were met with the smell of delicious food and the question to help him with his clinical for an upcoming exam.

While you did want to jump him right then and there, you relented, placing the food on the counter before digging in. Conversations flowed from exciting things in classes to vocabulary words you learned in your recent readings. That all led to where you sat now, Zayne walking around to your side of the kitchen island, his eyes still reading through whatever was on his clipboard.

Trying to play the part, you sniffled, looking at Zayne through hooded eyes. “Hello, Doctor.” It wasn’t easy getting the hoarse tone to come through but you managed, sinking in your seat. Your skin tingled as Zayne looked up at you, the slight twitch in his eyebrow causing a rush of heat to flow through your body.

“Hello, Miss…” He paused momentarily, looking you up and down before writing something down in his chart. “How are you feeling? What brought you to the hospital today?”

His normally soft voice toward you morphed into something a bit colder. This was the voice he usually used towards patients: gentle and caring but not overly warm. He was a professional; it was his job to help others, not to overstep any boundaries. The unusual shift in his tone sent a shock through you. It was different, but you liked it—you really liked it.

Zayne didn’t tell you exactly what ailment you should pretend to have; after all, he was just practicing general clinicals. It didn’t really matter exactly what it was, just that he followed every protocol on his assignment page and remembered what questions to ask.

So you made something up, the best thing you could think of after sitting there momentarily. Sniffling again, you coughed into your hand, gesturing to your throat. As you tried to speak, your voice came out soft and hoarse, the words cutting off slightly while you coughed once or twice.

“I came down with a nasty cough…” You shivered to make it more realistic, pulling your arms around your body. “And I’ve been really cold, even wearing a sweater.”

Zayne hummed along as you explained, setting his clipboard down and walking toward you. All thoughts of him abandoning his assignment flew out the window as he leaned closer, his hand outstretched. “May I feel your throat?”

After a curt nod, his cold fingers touched the sides of your neck. He brushed over your sensitive spot, causing you to wiggle in his hold. As part of his assignment, he acted like it was causing you pain, and he cleared his throat. Instead of pulling back wholly, his left hand moved to the back of your neck, fingers massaging the muscles to feel how tight they were.

“Any pain or discomfort?” His voice seemed far off as you tilted your head back, pleasure spiking through you as he worked at the knots in your neck. Fighting back a moan, all you could do was nod, and Zayne had to stop entirely so you could come back to reality. “Did that hurt?”

It wouldn’t have been very professional, nor would it have helped him if you flat-out said it felt fucking fantastic, so you nodded slowly, a fake wince causing your nose to scrunch up. “Yes, Doctor. It hurt more on the sides of my neck.”

The stethoscope that hung around his neck was pulled free, his hands positioning the earpieces before he looked up again. His jaw was clenched tight, and the effect you had on him made it very clear how he was hanging on a thread. It took everything in him not to abandon his assignment, but he persisted. After all, he prided himself on his amazing self-control.

Moving around behind you, his hand played with the edge of your shirt. “May I check your heartbeat?” This wasn’t in the assignment, not the teasing at your shirt or gently caressing your lower back.

“Yes, you can,” You gasped when the cold instrument pressed into your back. A chuckle fell from your lips as you looked over your shoulder. “But you may find my heartbeat is faster than normal, Doctor.”

It was minimal, the way he pressed the bell of the stethoscope against your back just a little harder. Or how his jaw tightened for a split second before returning to normal. He knew the effect he had on you just as much as you knew your impact on him. A mutual respect for how you had each other weak in the knees.

“Handsome men just have that effect on me, I guess.” Deciding to play it a little more daring, you pressed the limits. This was an assignment, yes. Yet the excitement and need grew in you as you played the patient, only causing heat to build between your thighs.

The feeling of the stethoscope on your back disappeared, and Zayne’s stoic face came into view, his eyebrows knitted together. “Calm down, darling. Just help me finish this assignment.” He picked up his clipboard again, his fingers noticeably clutching the pen a little too tight as he scribbled down notes. “You’re lucky they didn’t make me film it this time.”

His statement caused you to suck your bottom lip into your mouth. How hot. Though the topic of people watching you never came up, you could assume it would be a hard no from your boyfriend. He was gentle, but he rarely kissed you outside of your apartment or his office. Having others around meant having a hand on your waist or holding your hand, and that was it.

“I just need your help, Doctor.” Every time you used that word, Zayne’s left eye twitched slightly. To the average person, it wouldn’t be noticeable, but you - who had been in a relationship with him for two years now - could pick up on these things. “It really, really hurts.”

Another clench of his jaw, and you knew he was close to giving in. It had been a few weeks, the need in yourself almost certainly mirroring his own. Even though he was better at hiding it, there wasn’t much he could get past you. The lingering touches as he left for class in the morning or the strangled sigh that fell from his lips when he caught you for a few moments between exams. The kisses always seemed the best, the heightened awareness of the deadlines you both faced only causing excitement to spark between you.

“I can only help you if you play along, darling.” He looked up from his paper to lock eyes with you, the pleading look on your face making his cock jump in his black slacks. “Only a few more assessments, and I’ll take care of you. Just be a good girl for me.”

He knew just how to make you listen to him, and he fought a grin as your back straightened up. Another cough was forced out, and he shook himself mentally, pulling himself back into his role. Your skin prickled, and your nerves were on edge as he gently grabbed your wrist, his two fingers pressing into your pulse point.

“Let me just check your pulse,” He continued, keeping an eye on his watch as he silently counted the beats. It was deafening, the silence that pushed in on you. Your heart rate sped up as your eyes scanned his face, down his neck, all the way to his black slacks. Unfortunately, you couldn’t catch a glimpse, but if his tells were giving you anything, you could bet he was at least slightly turned on.

After a minute passed, he released your wrist, moving back to write some numbers on the page. He pulled a flashlight from his pocket, gesturing to your throat. “I’m just going to check your throat. Say ‘Ah’ for me, please.”

The light flashed as you opened your mouth, sticking out your tongue. It brought back memories of tasting Zayne’s seed as it spilled all over your lips, licking up the remnants that didn’t land in your mouth. Zayne seemed to think the same thing because he cleared his throat, looking around for most likely nothing. Your throat felt fine.

The silence was interrupted by the click of the flashlight turning off, his eyes meeting yours before he looked back at his clipboard for one final time. He spent a minute writing until he moved his attention to you. “All finished, Miss. I will prescribe some medicine, and you should feel better in a day or two.”

“Is there anything you could give me now to help me feel better?” Batting your eyelashes at him, you placed your hand on his chest. On instinct, he stepped closer, his hips fitting perfectly between your open thighs. His hands held your hips gently, fingers threatening to dip under your shirt.

“Hm.” He pretended to think, his eyes trailing over your face before his nose brushed yours. “I know a thing or two that could help alleviate the pain, but we need to have you lying down so I can treat you.”

With a tug, you wrapped your legs around his waist, a slight noise falling past your lips as he hoisted you up. His hands cradled your ass, giving it a few squeezes as he walked toward your shared bedroom. Warm breath spread across his skin, and he shivered, his cock now straining in his pants as he thought of all the time he had to make up for not being with you.

Zayne set you on the bed, ensuring a pillow was under your head. Playing along, you looked up at him, crossing your hands over your stomach as you awaited his next move. That next move consisted of tugging his white coat off and unbuttoning the top three buttons of his shirt. Heat radiated from him, and the need to just take everything off almost overwhelmed him, but he held it in. He wanted to take his time with you.

“I think that I need to assess more of your body.” His hand held your ankle gingerly, pressing a kiss to your shin before trailing his eyes up your body. “Let me know if anything hurts.”

Zayne let his fingers massage your ankle, feeling the muscles loosen. Pleasure rocketed through your body, and you moaned, eyes closing automatically. The feeling stopped as you shut your eyes, Zayne’s fingers halting their movements.

When you finally looked back at him, he had moved to your calf, doing the same ministrations. The same feeling shot through you, and the same moan fell from your lips. Next came your thighs; both of his hands were now going to work. Zayne always commented how he loved your thighs, and it seemed that he spent more time on them as he worked. The tips of his fingers got oh so close to your core, teasing you with the ghost of touch when he worked his way up to your stomach.

“Doctor.” You sighed, his fingers walking up your navel and into the valley of your breasts underneath your shirt. Goosebumps appeared on your skin, and if this was the effect he had when you were dressed, you couldn’t imagine what it would feel like when you were both finally bare.

His hand cradled your neck, similar to before but more gentle, more desperate, and more Zayne. Not Doctor Zayne, but your boyfriend Zayne, who just wanted to give you a treat for behaving and helping him with an important assignment.

“It’s just Zayne now, darling.” His voice was just above a whisper as he leaned down, lips ghosting over yours for a second. You could feel his breath on your face, and you tilted your head up, pressing a soft kiss on his awaiting lips.

Then, it was like a dam broke. The moment you kissed him, his hand pulled you to meet his lips again. Every muscle in your body relaxed, and your nerves stood on end as he kissed you, his tongue poking at your bottom lip. A breath he didn’t know he was holding escaped into your open mouth as your tongues met for the first time in a while.

“Zayne,” It had been a while since you whispered his name like that, and he had to pause, his resolve dwindling until almost nothing was left. “Please just touch me.”

A chuckle brushed against your lips, the statement hanging in the air as he pulled back. Fingers deftly pulled the buttons of his shirt from their hold, the fabric coming untucked from his slacks and falling to the floor in record time. Instead of taking off the piece of clothing you wanted, he climbed onto the bed.

“Your wish is my command, darling.” His hands pushed your shirt over your head, one trailing behind your back to unclasp your bra. Quickly, he unbuttoned your shorts and pulled them down your legs; much to your dismay, he kept your underwear on. But he often chose to leave them on until he was ready, and obviously, he wasn’t ready yet. It took him a moment of admiring your body, memorizing every dip and curve in your skin, both with his sight and his touch, before he spoke again. “You’re absolutely beautiful.”

His thumbs brushed across your nipples, the ridges and peaks becoming extra sensitive both from the lack of contact and the sudden cold air. Leaning down, he took one nipple into his mouth, the warm contrast causing you to arch your back, pressing your chest further into him. His tongue worked wanders, circling and flicking as he listened to your moans becoming higher and sharper in sound.

For a moment, his teeth scratched against your skin, and you gasped, the mixture of pain and pleasure causing heat to rush to your lower half. At the sound of your gasp, Zayne pulled away, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort. “I’m okay. It hurt a tiny bit…” You paused for a moment, biting your lip. “But I kinda liked it.”

Zayne nodded, cataloging that in his memory for the future. Even after two years together, he still liked to try new things to see your reaction to them. “Well, why don’t we try it on the other one?” Before he leaned down again, he whispered, his breath on your nipple causing you to twitch slightly. “Just tell me if the pain is too much, darling.”

As he dove back down, it took everything in you not to moan too loud. Your apartment walls were only so thick, and if you weren’t careful, another noise complaint would come your way in the morning. It was hard, however. The way his tongue flicked across the ridges around your nipple before finally teasing the most sensitive nub caused arousal to dampen your underwear further.

“Zayne,” You pleaded. The sensations were almost too much. No matter how many times you were intimate, the pleasure amounted to nothing anyone else could have given you. You were sure you had found your person, and you intended to keep him close. Close enough that your fingers threaded in his hair, caught between wanting to pull him closer and push him away.

Almost as if he could read the thoughts that spun in your mind, a smirk grew on his lips, causing cold air to seep in and sting against your damp skin. He pulled away just enough to trail his lips down your body, sucking a mark into the skin above your right hip. His eyes trailed up to meet yours, his arousal growing as he saw the effect he had on you. More than anything, he adored seeing just how much pleasure he could bring you.

The lamp on your bedside table cast a shadow on one side of his face, the lighting causing a sparkle in his left eye. His nose nuzzled into the inside of your thigh, just below your underwear. Warmth fanned over your core as he breathed out in a sigh, his tongue teasing the plush skin before he sucked another mark. His second one of the night, yet he so desperately wanted to stake his claim on every inch he could reach. It wasn’t that he was a possessive man, but he yearned to be remembered, and a surefire way to do that would be to make marks that you would see for days to come.

“Zayne,” Once again, his name fell from your lips like a mantra, a prayer to whatever deity above brought this man into your life. Except maybe it wasn’t a celestial being… Perhaps it was just fate that decided you two belong together.

“I need more words than just my name, darling.” He purposefully blew air against your core, his cock straining in his pants when he saw the damp spot that was beginning to form. “Although I must admit, I really love hearing you say my name like that.” A smack echoed through the air as he lightly snapped the band of your underwear against your skin. “Like you’re desperate, pleading, needy.”

“Please, I need you.” Your hand returned to his hair, gently stroking the locks. “Please, Zayne.”

A satisfied hum rumbled through his chest, and he decided that his own need to have his face buried between your thighs and the way you begged for him were enough. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, and he slowly sat up on his knees, pulling the piece of fabric all the way down until it was flung onto the floor.

“There you go, good girl.” His hands trailed from your ankles to your thighs, spreading them apart even farther. Taking in your arousal that glistened in the minuscule light that shone from the lamp, he smiled from his place between your thighs. “I think… You need further examination.”

After he spoke, his tongue licked a long stripe up your pussy, collecting your arousal. His hips met the bed, grinding against it for a moment of reprieve before diving back in. Cold air tickled your skin as he spread your lips, the warmth of his tongue immediately following. He memorized every inch of you; a catalog of every noise or face you ever made to every mark on your body was tucked away in his mind.

When he finally ventured up to flick his tongue against your clit, you jerked your hips up, a spark igniting in your lower belly. With a low moan, you tilted your head back against the pillow, a louder noise falling from your lips as he suctioned his lips around your sensitive spot. The thumbs that were spreading you open pulled back, one of his hands quickly moving to tease a finger around your entrance.

“So beautiful,” Zayne commented before sucking on your clit again, pulling back with a pop. “Are you ready for me, darling?”

You nodded quickly before opening your mouth, knowing exactly what he wanted. “Yes,” Your voice came out more like a whine, and you wiggled your hips. “I’m always ready for you.”

His resolve broke momentarily, the way he sucked in a sharp breath or his hips ground into the bed beneath him. Even through the veil of pleasure, you caught the minuscule tells. You saw the reactions and tugged lightly at his hair, causing him to look up at you.

“Who am I to deny you, then.” Gently, he pressed his index finger into you, eyes focused on how your walls welcomed him in. It had been too long since he felt that, felt the warmth surrounding him, and he slowly pulled all the way out before easing back in. Your tight hole offered slight resistance as he pushed in, but as he continued licking and sucking at your clit your arousal helped his gradual thrusting.

“There you go, darling.” The rush he got as he ate you out was unlike anything he ever experienced before. If he could spend eternity between your legs, he absolutely would. His straining cock was an afterthought as he listened to your moans pick up in speed and volume. “I’m going to add another one.”

His middle finger made the intrusion turn into a beautifully tight stretch as he spoke, your grip on him only causing shockwaves to run to the tips of your toes. Once up to his knuckles, he curled his fingers, trying it a few times until he felt your fingers tighten and tug at his hair.

“Zayne, oh my god, right there!” Your thighs threatened to close around his head, and if these were Zayne’s last moments, he would be the happiest man on Earth. However, to prolong his life, his left hand wrapped around your thigh and pulled, spreading you back out for him.

He kept going, stroking that spot over and over. His hair could always grow back, and there wasn’t anything that he wouldn’t endure to hear your orgasm run through you. With each thrust and press against the squishy spot, your back arched, and your nerves built higher and higher.

Out of nowhere, the height reached its peak and avalanched back to Earth, your orgasm washing over you like snow barreling down a mountain. It was intense and prolonged by the gentle licks Zayne delivered to your clit. After you were buried under inches of snow, you pushed Zayne’s head away, overstimulation beginning to prick at the edges of your vision.

Heavy breaths mingled together as Zayne trailed his lips back up your body. A line of wet kisses followed until he finally reached your mouth, where you tasted your orgasm on his tongue. His fingers left, and an emptiness filled their place. While he was inches away from your lips, he sucked his fingers into his mouth, collecting the slick that was still there.

He felt drunk, his senses dull, and his need growing. Insatiable hunger grew in him, and he very nearly dove back down for seconds, but he was cut off from that thought by your hands tugging at his belt. His stomach tensed as he felt your fingertips against his skin, teasing the buckle as you tried to remove it.

“Go ahead, darling. Take them off for me.” His voice lowered to a whisper, and his eyes trained on your hands. Your beautiful fingers finally pulled his belt from their loops. It rattled to the ground as you immediately went to work on his slacks. A simple button and zipper before you were pushing them down his thighs. “Let me do the rest.”

Standing up, Zayne hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs, pulling them down along with the rest of his slacks. His thighs tensed as his cock stood, impossibly hard and aching. Kicking them off, he stood there for a moment, a shiver and goosebumps ripping through him as your eyes trailed up and down his body before landing on his cock.

“Lay down.” You started, sitting on your knees and holding out a hand to him. “I think that you need to be examined too.”

A smile curved on his lips as he sat down, his thighs slightly spread and welcoming you. His head tilted towards you, and his hand cupped your chin, pulling you in so your lips were centimeters apart. “Don’t need your mouth, darling.” A soft kiss enveloped you, and he grabbed your hips, sitting you down on his lap. He pulled you down so you ground your wet pussy against his cock, emphasizing his words with a low groan. “I need your perfect pussy wrapped around my cock, right now.” A pause. “Please, darling.”

He didn’t try to hide the need that dripped at the edges of his words, making exactly what he so desperately desired abundantly clear. You. Always and forever you. Nothing else in this world could satisfy him like the sight of you sitting so beautifully in his lap, your body all his to worship.

Giving in to his pleas, you lift your hips, stroking his shaft a few times just to tease him. It wasn’t until a low growl rumbled through his chest that you fulfilled his desire, lining him up with your entrance and slowly lowering down. The stretch was delicious, his thumbs massaging your hips as he guided you.

Once you were sat fully down, you both shared a breath, eyes locking with each other. Time paused; the only sensations you felt were his warm cock buried fully inside you and the gentle rubbing of his thumbs on your hips. To others, being the recipient of Zayne’s intense stare would be intimidating, yet to you, it only brought comfort and the feeling of being loved unconditionally.

“Stunning,” His voice was just a whisper against your skin as he tucked his face into your neck. For a few seconds, the only sounds were your sharp breaths and the light sucking as Zayne made another mark, this one just above your collarbone.

His hands massaged your ass, pulling you apart to rock yourself on him gently. It was a slow pleasure that began building as you ground on him, his fingers gripping your flesh like at any moment you would melt. Each movement caused his curved cock to rub against your walls, his tip pressing into your sensitive spot.

“Go ahead, darling.” The rocking didn’t stop, but Zayne’s hands moved to your hips, no longer guiding you but playing a more passive role. His lips were pulled into a smirk as he leaned back onto the headboard, eyebrow raised slightly as he took in the sight where you were connected. Your arousal dripped down his shaft and would surely ruin the sheets, but all he could think of was the warmth around him and the sight before him. “Grind on me, fuck yourself on my cock.”

Raising so only his tip was still nestled inside you, the emptiness was short-lived, your body missing the feeling and chasing it. The bed creaked slightly each time you brought yourself down, his cock hitting places that neither his nor your fingers could reach.

Need bubbled up inside you as you chased your high, your walls stretching around him each time you fully sat down. Grinding your clit into his bare pubic bone, a loud moan escaped you when you felt him thrust up into you. His own groans fell from his lips as you clenched around him, threatening to suck him dry. And it was all he wanted, to be sucked dry and entirely used by you.

“Zayne…” Your hands rested on his chest as you let the man below you chase his orgasm. It wouldn’t take much longer for you to come, and you wanted to reach it together. “I’m so close.”

“I- I know, darling.” His voice caught in his throat, head leaning back against the headboard and eyes closing momentarily. A small wrinkle formed between his eyebrows as he scrunched them together, his own pleasure amounting to something uncontrollable. “Me too.”

Thrusts became more erratic, and you let your body chase his hips, the smack of his pelvis on your clit sending shockwaves through you. It became too much; your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you tried to quiet your moans. But you couldn’t hold back. It was hard to hold back when Zayne was fucking up into you so perfectly that nothing could come close to the euphoria that washed over you.

“Come for me,” Zayne strained his voice, his hands gripping your hips so tightly that they would probably bruise in the morning. But that’s okay. He would always trail kisses along the marks he made, ensuring that he didn’t actually hurt you. “I need you to be a good girl and come for me.”

Nearly slamming you down onto him, the avalanche fell once again, burying you in indescribable pleasure for the second time that night. Except this was more intense, your hands and feet prickling with the sense of hypothermia. Your vision almost went white as you felt Zayne’s cum filling you. It was too much, his seed escaping from your hole and coating his cock in your mixed releases.

Cool air settled on your sweaty bodies as you sat there, his softening cock still deep inside you. Gently, Zayne pulled you off him and set you on the bed. He knew that you would want to cuddle, and he absolutely could not fall asleep on soiled sheets. While you finished coming down from the peak, Zayne turned the warm water on, setting a washcloth and body soap on the side of the tub.

Once it was complete, he shut it off, returning to the room to find your eyes closed and chest rising and falling consistently. He never liked waking you up, especially when you looked so beautiful under the lamp's soft glow.

“Darling, I ran a bath for us.” His arms cradled you, picking you up and walking the few steps into the master bathroom. While you relaxed, your eyes finally opened, and you took in the change in surroundings.

Zayne changed the sheets in nearly record time, and the need to be back in your presence was so high that he almost couldn’t take it. As soon as he was done, he walked back into the bathroom, settling into the space behind you. With the washcloth and body soap, he lathered your body, taking special care not to tease your sensitive nipples or clit too much. Relaxing in his arms, you leaned your head against his shoulder, eyes closing and body welcoming his loving touch.

His hands wandered up and down your thighs to the plush skin of your stomach, finally caressing the few marks that littered your neck and shoulders. A breath fanned across your skin as Zayne leaned down, soft kisses pressed to each mark. Though the water was warm, a shiver ran through you.

“Did I hurt you?” His voice was nearly silent, words meant for your ears and your ears only. Only a shake of your head was there to answer him. Sure, they would sting slightly for a few days, but the following pleasure was worth it.

“No, you didn’t.” You turned your head, kissing his jaw. “You were perfect.”

A small smile graced his lips as he wrapped his arms around your waist, enjoying the moment between you. These came few and far between now that he was so busy with school, but when the time did come, he never wanted to let go. He tried his best to satisfy you, make sure you didn’t decide you could find someone else who could give you more. But he didn’t know that you looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky, that you knew no matter how busy he was, he would always make time for you, and that there was no one else in this world you would rather be with.

“Thank you… For helping me with my assignment… For everything.” He countered, pulling you impossibly closer to him. “You’re always perfect.”

© starsforxavi

[enwoso]

Would you do a follow up to 'Pretty Chains' where Leah gets Tiny a Hamster and Less freaks 😂

you better be joking | alessia russo x child!reader

hey guys! long time no see ay? but this will probably be my last normal fic of the year as i have next the twelve days of christmas uploads coming. there may be a few before the new year but if not i’ll see yous all in the new year!

i’ll be here and there over the next few weeks, dw i’m not disappearing and if you ever wanna drop something in my inbox feel free, whether that’s a question about a fic, series or character.

but if not i’ll see you on the other side🙃

grumpy masterlist

“le?” you paused looking up to the blonde as leah walked you around the arsenal complex hoping to keep you occupied for the half an hour while your mummy was in a meeting. leah hummed as you held her hand.

“when am i getting my hamster, the one you promise me” you asked so casually. it having been playing on your mind ever since your first match.

your football had actually progressed too as you had actually started playing your games and alessia and some of the girls had shown up in their numbers — as always — but they were yet to break the spell where you’d spend the entire warm up picking at the ground and making daisy chain.

but with each one you gave your mummy, she kept the daisy chains in her long black puffer coat pocket — well until they died.

it had been a week and half since you had been promised your hamster — much to alessia being non the wiser of the promise actually being made come true.

a small cough came from leah as she was slightly caught off guard as the topic was slightly different from the previous conversation you’d just been having with the blonde about your new favourite colour — of the week.

“oh-“ leah hummed, “i- i have been trying to get you one. i promise!” leah rambled out as she opened a door to the canteen for you.

“okay, just i have my named picked out already and i’ve already started making him his own little arsenal corner in my room!” you said so proudly as leah internally awed, it being such a you thing to have done.

“well i’ll get searching then! but as for right now should we go and get lunch before katie steals all your favourite crisps again” leah smiled as she swung your arms hoping to change the topic and hopefully you would forget about the hamster as you began to pick the pace up a little bit, not wanting katie to steal your favourite crisps from the canteen.

much to leah’s dismay, you didn’t forget about the hamster. quite tho opposite actually as for the last three days every time you saw the english captain all you spoke about was your hamster which you didn’t have, yet.

so which is how leah found herself sneaking a hamster into her girlfriend’s house hiding it under a blanket as she brought other bags in to hide the rest of the things she had been convinced to buy in the pet store.

this hamster was going to live like royalty.

so while alessia was on a call downstairs, leah had strategically gotten the hamster up the stairs with a little help from you as you’d been too busy watching the tv but you noticed leah sneaking around up and down the stairs.

“what under there?” you asked as you peered around the doorframe pointing at leah who was carrying a large-ish box which was covered by a red blanket as she looked down at you looking like a deer who’d just been caught in the headlights. but she was quickly telling you to shush and to follow her.

so with a small shrug of your shoulders you followed the blonde up the stairs along the landing and into your room where leah placed the box onto your set of drawers.

“take the red thing off-“ leah pointed to the blanket as you cautiously pulled it off a loud gasp coming from you as you a huge smile appearing on your face as you turned back to hug leah, repeating thank you over and over again.

“can we take it out?” you asked looking back at leah as you peered at the crate with the hamster which had grey and white fur. leah nodded as she moved to help you take the little fur ball out of the crate.

“you wanna hold it?” leah asked as you nodded, the two of you sitting down on your floor, leah telling you how to hold it which admittedly was just how the lady in the pet store had instructed leah how to.

small giggles came from you as you could feel its little feet across your hands and legs. you falling in love with the little fur ball it being more than you had dreamed of for the past two weeks.

“is it tickling you?” leah asked as you nodded, a wide smile on leah’s face seeing how happy this small hamster had made you as she started to show you all the accessories she had got the hamster. from hamster balls, tunnel to weird little snacks she had seen for it in the shelve which looked well interesting.

“what you gonna name it then?” leah asked as you looked in awe of the small hamster humming and haring for a few minutes mumbled names to yourself to see which fitted best.

“benny” you smiled as you lifted benny the hamster up, a proud look on your face as leah grinned, “hello benny” she cooed as she stroked his head with her finger.

the two of you sat and watched benny crawl along the floor, small giggled coming from you a his feet tickled your legs. leah almost forgetting the fact that alessia was also in the house and she had no idea about benny well until-

“leah!” alessia called from the bottom of the stairs, hearing her sock covered feet start to climb them. leah scrambling to get to her feet to stop her before she had a chance to explain the hamster.

“yes love” leah smiled as she stood a few metres from the doorway of your room hoping she was blocking the view of you sat with a hamster in a small hamster ball.

“where’s lovie?” alessia asked as she could of swore she could hear the two of them laughing from downstairs, knowing that when the two of you were quiet it meant you were more than likely up to no good.

“oh- i- she’s um, she’s asleep” leah stuttered out as she tried to play it off cool, failing miserably though.

“swear i heard her voice less than five minutes ago?” alessia questioned as leah hummed shaking her head, a confused look starting to faze over alessia’s face.

“no noo- she’s been asleep for at least 15 minutes” leah was dragging her words out something she did when she was lying as she looked down at her watch on her wrist making up a reasonable amount of them for how long you’d been asleep.

“well i’ll just quickly check on her then we can have lunch” alessia smiled sweetly, still slightly wary of leah’s odd behaviour but shrugging it to further back in her mind.

“oo lunch why don’t we go now. i’m pretty hungry, are you?” leah rambled taking a step towards alessia who quirked an eyebrow confused as to why her girlfriend was acting weird. alessia made a move to take a step closer to your room but leah moved in front of her.

alessia tried a few times more but leah kept moving in front of her completely blocking her attempts to try and get into your room.

“leah, move. i would like to see my daughter.” alessia sighed as she was starting to get a little agitated with the small childish antics.

“baby i’ve told you she sound asleep-“

“mummy! look look at benny the hamster!” you giggled as he crawled up your arm, alessia’s jaw dropping as leah blinked wincing slightly as she saw alessia’s initial reaction.

“and where has benny the hamster come from?” alessia asked so sweetly and for a moment leah thought maybe the blonde wasn’t going to do annoyed about the new furry addition to the family.

“leah got me him!” you smiled so innocently as did alessia before sending a glare towards leah and that was when leah realised, alessia wasn’t annoyed — she was furious but of course she wouldn’t show that in front of you. not wanting to dampen your excitement.

“oh lovie he’s lovely, why don’t you put him back in his little crate while we have lunch” alessia cooed so sweetly as she had kneeled down to your height, probably more inspecting the small fur ball in your hands.

“leah. you better be joking me.” alessia said with an angry look on her face once you’d scurried back into your room.

“i love you?” leah winced not really knowing what to do or say that may make the situation the slightest bit better.

“you’ve got five seconds to run, leah cathrine williamson”

[meadowfics]

first date

cho sang-woo x f!reader

a first date was needed for the both of you, even if it feels like you were with sang-woo for ten years already

warnings: post squid game au, where sang-woo survives and not gihun. age gap relationship, since reader is intended to be between 21yrs-24yrs. sang-woo did not k*ll sae-byeok in this au. angst. reader was in the games too and survived with sang woo, not sure how but anyways... reader is a yapper and sang-woo is a listener.

sang woo arrives at the restaurant first, always one to be punctual.

he sits by the window, back straight, hands resting on the table as he waits for you.

when you walk in, he notices immediately.

you’re wearing a simple ivory colored sweater and blue jeans, looking cozy and effortlessly beautiful.

the older man's lips twitch up slightly, the closest thing to a smile you’ll get from him in public.

you slide into the seat across from him, resting your chin in your palm.

"you got new glasses,"

you point out, eyes twinkling.

he adjusts them slightly, feigning nonchalance.

"my old ones were broken,"

he says, as if that’s the only reason.

he knows that you know.

you were there in the games when he lost those old ones.

you grin.

"i like these. they suit you."

for a second, his ears turn a shade of pink.

he glances away, pretending to focus on the menu.

but you see it. the look.

the soft affection he always tries to hide.

"what are you getting?"

he asks, eyes scanning the menu like it’s a financial report.

you shrug.

"probably something warm. i don’t care as long as it’s good."

"that’s not a real answer," he says, but there’s a teasing lilt in his voice.

"neither was yours,"

you shoot back, making him huff a quiet laugh.

you both order, the conversation flowing naturally.

it always does.

it did during the games.

there’s an understanding between you two, something unspoken yet solid.

"do you ever think about them?"

you ask suddenly, voice soft.

this might not be appropriate during your first dinner with sang-woo as a couple, but you know that you can talk to him about anything.

he knows exactly who you mean. he takes a breath before answering.

"I do."

"gihun would’ve dragged us to some barbecue place instead,"

you muse.

"and he would’ve argued with the owner about the price,"

sang woo adds, lips curling slightly.

you laugh, then sigh.

"and sae-byeok… she would’ve just sat there, barely eating, watching us argue."

there’s a pause. a heaviness settles over you both, the weight of memories pressing against your ribs.

"i wish they were still here,"

you admit.

sang woo nods, fingers tapping lightly against the table.

"me too."

the food arrives, and for a while, the two of you eat in silence.

it’s comfortable.

there’s no need to fill every moment with words.

eventually, you shift the conversation.

"cheol’s doing okay, you know."

sang woo looks up, interest flickering in his eyes.

"yeah?"

"yeah. my mom loves him. she says that he’s… adjusting. still quiet, but he smiles more."

context: your mother adopted sae-byeok's orphan brother. after you promised a dying sae-byeok that cheol would be okay.

sang woo nods thoughtfully.

"that’s good. he deserves a normal life."

"so do we,"

you say, watching him carefully.

he doesn’t respond immediately, but you see the way his jaw tenses.

"normal,"

he murmurs, almost like the word is foreign to him.

you reach across the table, taking his hand.

his fingers are slightly calloused, warm against your softer skin.

he stills for a moment, then gently squeezes your hand in return.

"we’re doing okay,"

you reassure him.

his thumb brushes against your knuckles, absentmindedly.

"we are."

when you finish eating, you don’t leave right away.

you linger, just enjoying each other’s presence.

"it’s kind of funny,"

you say suddenly.

"most people date for a while before moving in together. we’re just jumping straight to it."

he raises an eyebrow.

"you’re the one who suggested it."

you grin.

"I know but you didn’t say no."

he shakes his head, a small, fond look in his eyes.

"of course i didn’t."

you study him for a moment, admiring the way the dim restaurant lighting reflects in his new glasses.

you like looking at him, even if he never quite believes it when you say so.

"you really love me, huh?"

you tease, tilting your head.

he scoffs, but his grip on your hand tightens just slightly.

"what do you think?"

you smirk.

"i think you do. i think you’ve been in love with me for a while now, actually."

since the first game back in that hellhole..

he sighs, shaking his head.

"and here i thought you were shy."

"only when i first met you. now i just like bothering you."

"that much is obvious,"

he mutters, but there’s no real bite to his words.

when the bill comes, he grabs it before you can.

you open your mouth to protest, but he gives you a look.

"just let me do this,"

he says simply.

you shut your mouth.

it’s not worth arguing over, and honestly? you don’t mind.

it’s just another way he shows love...through actions, not words.

as you both step outside, the air is crisp, cool against your skin.

you don’t say anything at first, just standing side by side.

then, suddenly, he reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

the touch is fleeting, but it lingers, making your heart skip a beat.

"come on,"

he murmurs, starting to walk.

you follow, smiling softly.

you don’t need anything grand or extravagant.

this...just being with him, knowing he’s yours...is enough.

masterlist

[forzarma]

Between the lines

Lando Norris x Law student!reader

A/N: ok amma just act like i didn’t ghost this app for months and came out if nowhere but here we are ig. Also the Brazilian gp??? What the heck like wild race istg😭

It all started one night in Monaco, on a break from law school. You were on vacation with a friend, celebrating the rare freedom that came with a brief pause in your intense study schedule. A night at the casino was not usually your scene, but your friend had insisted.

After about an hour, she’d struck up a flirtatious conversation with some guy who’d been lingering by the bar. You waved her off, telling her you’d be fine, and took a seat on your own near a roulette table.

That’s when he walked up. Unassuming at first, with that messy hair and a slightly cocky smile that had “trouble” written all over it.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, a hint of an accent in his voice.

You shrugged, amused. “Go for it. But I’m not particularly good at this.”

He chuckled. “Neither am I.”

You exchanged a few more jokes, but it didn’t take long for him to introduce himself, giving you his number in a smooth, unhurried way.

“Lando,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief.

You stashed the number away without much thought. It was only the next day, when you mentioned the encounter to your little sister over FaceTime, that you realized who he actually was.

“Some guy named Lando gave me his number at the casino,” you’d said offhandedly. Her jaw dropped.

“Wait, Lando who??.”

You blinked, stunned, and then laughed. “I don’t know, apparently he’s famous”

“so it’s lando fucking norris what” she said wide eyed

She rolled her eyes, muttering, “Only my sister would be this oblivious to F1 drivers. I’ve been a die-hard fan since I was, like, ten, and you meet one without even knowing?”

From there, you let yourself get to know him, intrigued by how normal he seemed compared to the hype you’d suddenly realized surrounded him. When he asked you out, you thought, why not? You were used to focusing on your studies and keeping your personal life private, so it didn’t seem like much would change. But with Lando, everything was different.

-

Months later, you’d fallen into an unexpected but steady rhythm with Lando. Despite his career, he managed to keep things low-key. Neither of you posted much about each other. Hell, you barely posted anything at all. You were still a law student with a private life, and the last thing you wanted was for the whole world to know who you were dating.

One evening, you were lying on his couch, scrolling through your phone, when Lando turned to you with a sly grin.

“Babe, you know… you’re eventually gonna get caught, right? Someone’s going to snap a picture of us, and then the cat’s out of the bag,” he teased, nudging your leg with his.

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Oh, sure, because every random person with a camera is just dying to know who you’re dating.”

He snickered, leaning in closer. “Maybe. But you know, it could be kinda nice… to go out sometimes. Like, properly. We don’t have to make a big deal of it.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. As much as you loved being with him, the idea of being recognized—or worse, photographed—made you cringe. Your accounts were private, your life simple, and you weren’t sure how you’d feel about people seeing you with him.

But, at the same time, you knew it wasn’t fair to keep him hidden away forever. So, you took a deep breath and gave him a small smile. “What if we make a deal?”

His eyebrows shot up in interest. “I’m listening.”

“You can have me at the paddock,” you said, already dreading the idea. “But my accounts stay private, no tags, no ‘girlfriend reveals’ on Instagram. I’ll show up, I’ll be there for you but I’m not trying to become some celebrity.”

He grinned, leaning in to kiss you softly. “Deal. Although I can’t promise you won’t end up in a couple of team photos. You know how they love to catch every damn moment.”

You chuckled, trying not to think too hard about what you were signing up for.

-

A couple of weeks later, you were lying in bed with Lando, scrolling mindlessly through Instagram, when you felt a pang of guilt.

“I never actually told you about my sister,” you said suddenly.

“Oh?” He looked over at you with interest.

“Yeah, she’s been obsessed with F1 since she was like, ten,” you explained, laughing softly. “She’s begged me to take her to a race for years, but I was always too busy with school. Now she’s a full-on Ferrari fan… and she’s probably never going to forgive me for dating you.”

He grinned, intrigued. “A Ferrari fan, huh? That’s rough. Maybe I can convince her to switch sides.”

You snorted. “Good luck. She’s already sworn allegiance to Sebastian Vettel. In her words, McLaren’s colors are ‘an offense to her soul.’”

Lando laughed, shaking his head. “Well, in that case, we’ll have to win her over somehow. Why don’t we bring her to a race? I’ll make sure she gets the best seats, full experience,

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. “She’d lose her mind. Seriously. Are you sure? Because I can tell you right now, she’d never root for McLaren.

“Absolutely,” he said, squeezing your hand. “If she’s as big a fan as you say, she deserves a proper race weekend. Plus, I think it’s time we officially break her ‘Ferrari-only’ heart.”

-

On race day, you and Lando arrived at the paddock, and immediately, heads turned. You’d chosen a classic, chic outfit and despite your initial nerves, you managed to keep your cool.

You spotted your sister down the row, and her jaw dropped as soon as she saw you. She approached, barely able to contain her excitement, though she shot a mock glare at Lando.

“Such a shame I don’t like McLaren,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied with a grin. “You just wait. One lap, and you’ll be a fan.”

She rolled her eyes, but you could tell she was thrilled, practically bouncing on her heels as she looked around at the spectacle. She turned to you, eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re really here… at a race. I don’t know whether to thank you or disown you.”

You laughed, nudging her playfully. “I’m still not a fan, if that helps.”

She huffed, pretending to be offended. “I guess I’ll forgive you. But only if you bring me every single time from now on.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of cameras, fans, and the hum of engines. You couldn’t deny the rush of excitement that came with being part of the chaos, even if it meant being in the public eye. And when you saw your sister’s face, completely lit up as she took in every second, it felt worth it.

-

The relationship slowly became public, just as you and Lando had agreed. You kept your accounts locked down, but fans began to recognize you, and a few photos of you two at the paddock circulated on social media.

Your sister stayed true to her Ferrari fandom, texting you regularly to tease you about your “betrayal.” But every now and then, you’d catch her slipping in a comment about McLaren usually something along the lines of, “Okay, that car looks pretty badass.”

One evening, Lando turned to you with a satisfied grin. “I think we’re doing alright, don’t you think?”

You looked around the Monaco apartment you’d somehow started calling “home” without even realizing it, at the life you’d built together. You leaned over, giving him a soft kiss. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

In the end, you realized you didn’t need to post, announce, or shout your relationship from the rooftops. Being there for each other was enough, even if it meant sharing some of the spotlight.

After all, Lando may have been the one the world wanted to see, but you were his, and that was more than enough.

[mosaickiwi]

For Two

Hello, content specifically catered to me. This might be the whole damn month.

Just an Angel that works at a BnB all alone with their stalker future spouse... :3c

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

You started your morning a little later than usual that Saturday, grateful for the extra half hour of sleep as you gathered ingredients. Only one pot of coffee to brew, one breakfast to make, one room to turnover while the guest went about their day touring the city.

You couldn't believe it. 

Normally, the weekend was completely booked. This one was too, except there'd been not just one, but six no-shows yesterday. Almost every single room at the inn was empty despite being fully paid for. 

Right at the usual check-in time, a single guest had shown up. Dressed in all black, a whole head taller than you, eyes that looked as tired as you felt from rushing around all day, and only a small duffel bag slung over one shoulder, they didn't look like the type of tourist you usually had this time of year. But who were you to judge?

The refreshments you set out didn't go to waste, though. He went back for seconds and thirds as you showed them to their room… then around the house… then around the garden while constantly on the lookout for other guests pulling up in their rental cars.

Oddly, he seemed more interested in you than the city. Rather than attractions on the pier or night life, the conversation flowed towards a few hobbies you found in common. Before you knew it, the sun had long since set, and no other soul had arrived for check-ins. You carried on with him a while longer, ending the night in a good mood despite the strange, once in a lifetime occurrence.

It felt like talking with an old friend. You wondered if the chat over breakfast would be just as nice.

The coffee machine loudly beeped, disturbing your current task. You stopped and poured it all into a thermos, then set it in the small woven carrier you'd prepared with a mug, creamers, sugars, and a pair of neatly wrapped shortbread cookies. You quietly took it up the stairs to your sole guest's room to set it at the door.

Just as you approached, the door opened with messy black hair and lightly flushed cheeks in greeting. He was the smallest bit shorter without the boots. No piercings in this early in the morning, but even his pajamas were all black. The tiny ghosts on his pants were cute. 

The man's blue eyes came to life at the sight of you and he smiled. "Mornin'," they spoke in that soft, raspy voice you'd gotten acquainted with yesterday.

"Beat me to it. Good morning, Ren." You smiled back with ease. "Did you sleep well?"

"Perfect, actually." They yawned, eyeing the basket in your hands as they stretched. "All that f'me before 7am.? Fuck, y'might really be an angel." He paused and rubbed at his lower lip. "Sorry."

You held the basket out to him. "I heard nothing. No worries," you said. It was hard to tell if he was apologizing for cursing or flirting. Was he flirting? 

He took the carrier, but still stood in the doorway, drumming his fingers on the sides as if thinking of what to say. "Soo… how d'you usually do these cute little coffee baskets for two people?"

"Two?" You hurriedly racked your brain. You were pretty sure his reservation was for one. He did have the door code already. Maybe he let his companion in late last night?

Did you need to make more coffee? Or tea? Did they have dietary restrictions you didn't know about for breakfast?! 

Shit, shit, shit. 

You never got to greet them and get their name and if they were still sleeping it'd be rude to wake them up just to ask and you couldn't expect a five star review anyways at this point but this—

"Ah, I meant…" The man interrupted your silent panic with a surprisingly nervous tone. He shifted slightly, fingers tapping even louder. "If ya wanted t'join me. I mean, I'm the only one here so I thought y'wouldn't be too busy with breakfast."

Ohh. He was flirting. Your job be damned. 

"Breakfast would have to be a little late… but if you don't mind, okay."

Ren smiled a lot brighter this time. "Great. I'll get changed and meet you downstairs in a few, yeah?"

You wanted to tell them there was no need to change with how adorable his PJs were, but kept it to yourself. You couldn't tease them like that yet. "Sure thing."

[feverish-dove]

Secrets in the Stone World

moments when you share a hidden language with the worlds favorite scientist (well technically he’s the only one, so does it really count?). “this is normal japanese” “this is english” Senku Ishigami x Reader warnings: oneshot, fluff word count: 1,051 cross posted on ao3 this is intended to be a sequel to my other post, Sun Kissed Science, yet can be read as a standalone work!

It had become a daily ritual.

Each morning before the village awoke you sat near the river, carefully applying Senku’s homemade sunscreen. The mixture, though slightly grainy, had saved your skin from the brutal Stone World sun, and you weren’t about to risk another burn.

Today was no different. You were finishing up, rubbing the last bit onto your arms, when a familiar voice interrupted your thoughts.

“You’re up early.”

You glanced up to see Senku standing a few feet away, arms crossed and that usual confident smirk tugging at his lips. His clothes were slightly disheveled, as always, and a few stray strands of hair fell down even more than usual.

You smiled. “I could say the same to you.”

He let out a chuckle. “Science doesn’t wait.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the warmth in your chest. Ever since Senku had made the sunscreen, you’d started spending more time around him—not just because of his intelligence, but because he made the Stone World feel a little less… overwhelming.

He stepped closer, eyeing your sunscreen application with an approving nod. “Looks like you’ve got it down.”

“Of course. I take my sun protection very seriously.”

He smirked. “Good. I don’t feel like making another batch every few days just because you forgot.”

You nudged him playfully, and he easily dodged, chuckling.

Then, before you could say anything else, a voice called out from the village.

“Hey! Senku! We need your help with—”

You winced, struggling to catch the rest of the sentence. The villagers spoke fast, and even though you had learned Japanese before the petrification, it still took you a few extra seconds to process what they were saying.

Senku, of course, noticed immediately.

His gaze flickered to yours, sharp and calculating. Then, in a lower voice, he said something that made your heart stop.

“Do you want me to translate?”

Your breath hitched.

English.

Your native language.

It had been so long since you’d heard it spoken fluently that for a moment, it almost didn’t register.

You stared at him, stunned, before managing a hesitant, “You… speak English?”

Senku smirked, eyes glinting. “Of course I do. I learned it when I was a kid. Comes in handy, don’t you think?”

A slow smile spread across your face. “You have no idea.”

For the first time in years, you felt a sense of ease wash over you. No struggling to find the right words, no awkward pauses while you pieced together sentences—just effortless conversation.

And judging by the look in Senku’s eyes, he understood exactly how much this meant to you.

From that day on, English became your secret language.

Whenever you got stuck in a conversation with the villagers, Senku would subtly switch to English to help you out. Whenever you were overwhelmed, he’d make an offhanded joke in English just to see you smile.

It became second nature.

The others, of course, were completely baffled.

“Why do you guys always talk in that weird code?” Kohaku had asked one day, arms crossed. “Is it some kind of secret science language?”

Senku had just smirked. “Something like that.”

You had to stifle a laugh.

The only person who caught on was Gen.

One evening, as you sat near the fire, Gen plopped down beside you with a lazy grin.

“So, you’re fluent in English, huh?”

You nearly choked on your food. “Wait—you too?”

Gen chuckled, resting his chin on his hand. “Of course~! I used to travel a lot before the petrification, so I picked it up along the way.”

You gaped at him before turning to Senku, who looked entirely unsurprised. “You knew?”

He shrugged. “Gen’s annoyingly talented. It’s not that shocking.”

Gen feigned offense. “Annoyingly? Senku, I’m hurt.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Okay, so it’s just the three of us, then.”

Gen wiggled his eyebrows. “Ooooh, does that mean we have a secret club?”

Senku rolled his eyes. “It just means we have another way to communicate. Which, by the way, could be useful if we ever need to discuss something privately.”

You nodded, understanding immediately. Having a language that no one else knew could be an advantage—especially in situations where secrecy was necessary.

But even beyond that, it was nice.

Nice to speak without stumbling over words. Nice to feel completely understood.

Nice to share something with Senku.

One night, you found yourself sitting beside Senku near the edge of the village, watching the stars.

It had been a long day. You were tired, but your mind was too restless to sleep.

Senku seemed to notice.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, glancing at you.

You sighed, hugging your knees. “It’s nothing. Just… thinking about the past.”

He hummed in understanding. “You miss it?”

You hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, in a softer voice, he said, “You’ll see it again, you know. Civilization. Science. Everything we lost. I’ll bring it all back.”

You turned to him, studying his profile in the moonlight. His expression was unreadable, but there was a fire in his eyes—a determination so unwavering that you almost believed he could rebuild the world overnight.

Your heart clenched.

“I know you will.”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Damn right I will.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“I prefer ‘brilliant.’”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest didn’t fade.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The night air was cool, the sky endless above you, and for the first time in a long time, you felt at peace.

Then, without really thinking, you murmured, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Senku blinked, caught off guard.

You felt your face heat up. “I mean—not that I’m glad you got petrified too, but—just, if I had to be stuck in this world, I’m glad you’re part of it.”

He was silent for a long moment. Then, to your surprise, he chuckled.

“You’re such a sap.”

You huffed, nudging him with your shoulder. “Shut up.”

But as you turned away, you caught something unexpected—something rare.

A small, genuine smile.

Not his usual smug grin. Not his teasing smirk.

Just a quiet, sincere smile.

And suddenly, the Stone World didn’t feel so lonely anymore.

[sweetbans29]

Back to You (5) - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: Caitlin is the same Caitlin you fell in love with but you can't forget the pain.

Warnings: pain, I guess

Word Count: 2.5k

Previous Part

Back to You Masterlist & Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: Sorry it has taken me so long to get this updated 😞

A few weeks pass and things somehow become bearable.

The team has been traveling and you have felt more peace walking into work (mostly because you know you won't be running into Caitlin but you like to tell yourself it is due to you turning a new leaf).

The real test will be when the team is back in the gym and you have to work with Caitlin again.

It is a Tuesday morning and you make it into the film room a little earlier than you planned but decide to capitalize on it. You pull up some film from the previous game.

You don't mean to, but you find yourself focusing on Caitlin. You watch as she completely breaks down the opposing defense. Every time she has the ball walking up the court, you can see it in her eyes. She has the gift of reading the defense before it shows its hand. You watched her do the same thing in college.

When you don't think she has time to think, she is already ten steps ahead and is making a move by either getting to the cup or drawing a foul. You watched the game live, but watching it again and seeing what she is seeing in the moment helps you understand her even more.

You are too engrossed in the tape to notice someone has joined you in the film room.

Caitlin has quietly made her way in to watch you watch her on film. She watches the way your eyes never leave her movements on the court, pausing the film every so often to jot down a note. A note she will probably never hear from you directly but will hear through Keith or some other trainer during practice.

When you are done, you cut the film and just sit there for a moment, thinking you had some time alone before players started rolling in.

"Why don't you come to away games?" Caitlin asks, scaring the shit out of you.

You jump up to a standing position, holding your clipboard like a weapon and are about to have to fight to survive.

"Why are you going around scaring people?" You ask, short of breath and slightly relieved to know you aren't dying today.

Caitlin knows how easily you jump scare - it is one of the many things she knows about you, even after all this time.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," she says, hands up in surrender. She leans forward in her seat and her hands come down into her lap.

"You never do," you mutter just above a whisper, more to yourself than to her.

"Why don't you come to away games?" Caitlin asks again, her eyes never leaving you.

"There is no need for me to be at away games," you say and it's the truth. It doesn't matter if you are wanted there or not, Caitlin wants you there - not that she is going to say that.

The work you do as director is not game day work, it is all the work leading up to game days. You know this and Caitlin knows this. You have your staff at all games to work with the players then they come back and you all debrief. It's what makes sense.

Caitlin wants to fight you on this but knows that would push you away and she is finally starting to make progress. If you could call this progress.

You recompose yourself and begin to make your way to the door.

"Will we ever go back to normal?" Caitlin asks and you really can't do this right now.

You stop, not looking at her and ponder your response. You saying 'you can't do this right now' just opens the door for it at a later time. You are tired of having the same conversations.

"We never had a normal," is all you say as you walk out of the film room.

It was true, the 'normal' that the two of you had before your break up was being hidden from the world and people Cait loved most. That is not how you ever want to spend a relationship again. You deserved to be shown off and to be introduced to family and friends for what you actually are.

Your words stung, they stung you and you knew they would sting Cait but it was the truth.

You don't go to practice that day, instead you spend it tied up in your office working on drills that would benefit the team's chemistry with Caitlin.

Ben comes in and checks on you.

"I brought you lunch," he says as he places it on your desk. He knows you rarely eat at work but still always brings you food.

"Thanks, Ben," you say as you push the plate aside and keep working on the spread you have laying in front of you.

He fights back and sits across from you, pushing the plate closer to you. The only time he fights is when he knows you haven't had breakfast.

The two of you enter into a staring contest. You are determined to continue working but Ben is even more determined to make sure you don't starve to death.

After a long 30 seconds, you cave and pick up the sandwich. Taking a bite, you give Ben a 'are you happy?' look and go back to what you were doing. He stands and leaves your office with a smile.

As Ben heads out to his desk, where he meets a very unexpected face.

"Kayla," he says with surprise. "What brings you here?"

"Our game is here tonight," Kayla says.

You don't tell Ben much, but it is Ben's job to know everything going on with you. He has seen the hidden conversations. It is his job to observe and he does it really well.

He nods and the two stand semi-awkwardly.

"Ummm, can I go inside?" Kayla finally asks. Ben hesitates but nods.

Kayla walks into your office and sees you locked in on what's in front of you.

"I'm eating, don't you worry," you say, not looking up. It wouldn't be the first time Ben drops off your lunch then immediately checks to make sure you are still eating.

"Dang, I was hoping to take you out to lunch,' Kayla says and your head whips up. A light blush creeping into your cheeks.

"Kayla, what are you doing here?" You ask, both surprised and pleased.

"I came to see if you wanted to grab lunch, but by the looks of it, you are already eating," she says as she comes and takes a seat.

"Ya...it has been kind of a busy day," you say as you lean back in your chair. Your hands come to rub your temples as you try to not think about your run in with Caitlin earlier that morning.

"Why don't we get some fresh air," Kayla suggests.

You look at her and nod.

"Only if you split this sandwich with me," you say, going to offer her the plate. She smiles and nods and the two of you walk out of your office.

The two of you go on a walk around the Fieldhouse. She has you laughing and smiling and you couldn't be more grateful. Yet, as you are walking around, you can't help but think what life would look like if this was you and Caitlin. Out in the open and free to love each other with a love that has been locked down for so long.

You slow down as you are nearing your office again and you know it isn't fair.

"I'm sorry, I can't do this," you say softly. Kayla has been nothing but kind and patient with you and you know she deserves someone who is going to be all in for her.

She smiles, but you can see the pain in her eyes.

"I mean I tried, right?" Kayla says and she did. She did try, but you are still so broken and messed up that you can't let anyone in. And the only person you brain doesn't want to let in seems to be the only one your heart does.

"This may be cliche, but can we still be friends?" You ask, hope full in your eyes.

Kayla takes a minute to and you hold your breath.

"Not my first choice, but ya," Kayla says and you pull her into a hug.

The two of you stand there for longer than a moment. You head leaning into her shoulder and just allowing to be enveloped in her arms. Both of you are oblivious to the world.

What you definitely do not see is Caitlin heading into the gym from the training room. She stops dead in her tracks when she sees you in someone else's arms. To say that Caitlin's blood was boiling doesn't even begin to describe what she is feeling. All she can see is red.

You wish Kayla 'good luck' as the two of you part ways before getting ready for the game. You don't have time to go home before the game and break out the emergency outfit you have hanging on the back of your door.

You head to the floor while the team is warming up and observe. The team looks good as you watch them during shoot around. You watch each player for a little, finishing with Caitlin.

When your eyes land on hers, you see the rage in her eyes. She has never hid it well. You brush it off as getting revenge for the previous loss against the Lynx.

The game commences and you and Ben watch from your respective spots.

You watch as Caitlin plays with a dominant confidence that you have rarely seen since she has joined the W. Her first half is a masterclass as everyone watches her in awe. You watch her in awe.

That only changes when something breaks out on the floor. It happens so fast that you miss it. Whistles are being blown, players and coaches are on the floor, it is pure chaos. You step out of your square to try to see what the hell is happening.

You look up to the jumbotron as it replays. You watch as Kayla commits a pretty hard foul on Caitlin which causes her to get up and come right after Kayla, pushing her to the floor. Caitlin stands over Kayla as teammates finally intervene and pull Cait back while others try to help Kayla up but she just lays on the ground.

You don't know what to do.

You watch as part of the coaching staff guides Caitlin to the bench, she hits the bench before sitting down.

Kayla is finally up and on her own bench.

You know the call is going to be a flagrant 1 on Caitlin, you were worried they would call a flagrant 2 and toss her from the game. Which if anyone asked you, she deserved.

The refs come back and announce a common foul on Kayla, followed by a flagrant 1 on Caitlin. You turn and watch Caitlin throw a chair back and you have seen enough. You tell Ben to remove Caitlin and you head back into the lockers.

A few minutes later. You hear Caitlin fighting with Ben as he is doing all he can to get her into the locker while the game is still going on. You have to remember to give him a raise with all that he has to deal with.

Once Caitlin is mostly through the door and is cursing Ben out you grab her arm, pulling her into the room and slamming the door shut.

"What the fu-," Caitlin yells then realizes it's you.

"Go ahead, finish your sentence," you say matching her fury.

She turns away, still fuming but she shuts up.

"What the hell was that?" You as, trying not to yell.

Caitlin doesn't turn to look at you or respond, She just takes a moment to fix her ponytail and headband. She is ignoring your question.

"Clark!" You end up yelling, "What was that?"

She is laughing now and it has you even more frustrated.

Before you know what you are doing, you are right in front of her giving her shoulders a little shove.

You don't know why you just did that but you let your emotions get the best of you.

Caitlin's eyes darken as she backs you up, you are losing ground and are losing control of this whole situation.

You feel your back hit something hard, you guess a wall or the door. Your heart is beating a mile a minute - anger still being the biggest emotion you are feeling.

"What was that?" Caitlin asks, voice low. "She fouled me first."

"And that makes it okay to shove someone?" You say. "What is this really about."

Caitlin doesn't say anything, but her eyes fall from yours.

"Are you still hung up on that Nike event?" You ask, annoyed.

You sigh. Your hands come up to rub your face. Caitlin has no right to be angry with you. She is the one that ended it.

"I saw you and Kayla earlier and my blood began to boil," Caitlin says, still not making eye contact with you. "She had you wrapped in her arms and I lost it."

You deep sigh and your run down your face. You look at Caitlin and for the first time, you see the girl you loved. She is standing in front of you, not hiding but showing her full self.

Before you know it, your hands come to her arms with the intention of pushing her back, she shakes you off and places her hands on each side of your head. She has you completely trapped.

Caitlin's eyes finally meet yours, looking deep into you and time stops. The anger disappears. The hurt disappears. The world disappears. it is just the two of you.

You are not in your right mind, you know that. But you can't stop yourself from bringing your hands up to her torso - tugging lightly at her jersey. You place your hands on her stomach and drag them down to her waist.

Caitlin is scared to move, she hasn't had your hands on her in so long that this feels like a dream.

Your hands come up and run across her neck.

She closes her eyes and her head comes down to your shoulder, taking deep breaths. Your breathing syncs with hers.

Both of you standing in front of each other. Broken and vulnerable. Neither of you are really in your right mind.

You lift her head and before you can think, you bring her lips to yours.

The second your lips meet, Caitlin is a puddle. She has waited so long for this to happen again, honestly never believing it would.

Caitlin runs her tongue along your bottom lip, scared you wouldn't let her in but you do. Her hands come down to your waist, holding you in place - scared that she would wake up.

It takes a moment but Caitlin begins to taste something salty in the kiss and she reluctantly pulls away. Her eyebrows immediately furrow as she sees you standing in front of her, eyes still closed, tears streaming down your face.

Cait brings her hand up to wipe them away but the second she touches your face, time snaps back.

You step to the side, away from her as your arms come to wrap around yourself. You can't stop the tears from falling.

Caitlin says your name and you feel trapped - that night is the only thing you can hear or see. Her walking away without any explanation.

You find the door and walk out. You don't know where you are going but your legs are moving.

How could you do that to yourself? Put yourself in that position? You are the one that pulled her in.

Your feet lead you outside. You are standing in the back parking lot.

You inhale. And the second your lungs take all the air they can hold, you scream.

Next Part

AN: Forgiveness is hard. Let me know what you think! And as always, thank you for your love and support 🤍

[brookghaib-blog]

Silence between hearts - IV

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Reynolds x reader

Summary: After Project SENTRY fails, Robert Reynolds is declared dead and sealed in a glass coffin to be hidden by O.X.E. Y/N, a doctor who secretly fell in love with him after a complicated path between them, refuses to believe he’s gone—fighting to save what’s left of him while grief and denial consume her, the path to look for him would ruin her, but to what extreme.

Word count: 7,1k

Warning: self-esteem issues, parental negligence, death

Chapter III

--

Y/N had barely slept.

She’d left Bob’s room without another word. Just a soft parting glance. The kind you give when you’ve already said too much, and anything more might make you crumble.

Now, she stood in the sterile bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror, her toothbrush hanging loosely from her mouth. Her lips still tingled faintly. Not from the pressure. From the meaning.

She turned the faucet on too hard. The water splashed.

She told herself to stop thinking about it. About him.

But the lie didn’t stick.

He’d held her like she was something he’d never been allowed to touch before. And it wasn't lust—not the kind she was used to. It was... longing. Slow, cautious. Honest.

It terrified her.

Bob hadn’t slept either.

He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall like it might provide some answers. His shirt was on now. Pants too. But he still felt bare. Exposed.

She kissed him.

And he kissed her back.

His heart had hurt. Not in a bad way. In a way he hadn’t let it feel in years.

No. Longer.

And now?

Now he didn’t know what the hell to do.

They saw each other again just after seven.

Y/N entered the lab with her tablet in hand, her hair tied back, white coat buttoned up to the collar like usual. On the surface, everything looked normal.

But the second their eyes met, something invisible passed between them.

Bob was already seated on the medical bed, legs swinging slightly, waiting like he always did for the morning checkup.

“Morning,” she said, casual. Maybe too casual.

“Hey.” His voice was low, quieter than usual.

She looked down at the file in her hands. “You slept?”

“No.”

“Yeah. Me neither.”

A pause.

She stepped closer, reached out to take his pulse like she did every morning. Her fingers touched the inside of his wrist, and for a second, it was like last night had never ended. Her hands stilled.

He looked at her—not intensely, but gently.

Like he was asking: Are we going to pretend that didn’t happen?

But Y/N didn’t meet his gaze. Not yet. Her throat tightened slightly. She cleared it and moved to take his temperature instead.

Bob said nothing.

Not because he didn’t want to.

Because he knew. If he said the wrong thing now, she might retreat completely. And she was already slipping into her walls again.

Instead, he offered her something soft. Something careful.

“I, uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I liked talking with you last night.”

That was all.

Her hands paused. A beat of silence.

Then she finally looked up at him. And she nodded—just once.

“Me too.”

The day moved on. Tests. Readings. Silence broken by clinical terms and scribbled notes. But every now and then, something shifted:

—She handed him a glass of water and their fingers brushed just a little longer than necessary. —He cracked a joke about the ECG machine stuttering whenever she got close—and she didn’t deny it. —She sat closer than usual during their conversation at lunch. Not touching. Just... there. Present.

They didn’t talk about the kiss.

But everything had changed.

Their laughter was warmer. The silences were heavier. The space between them—the physical distance—felt charged now, like the air between magnets waiting to click.

And maybe they didn’t know what they were yet.

But they were something.

--

It began with a kiss. And then it kept going.

Not in declarations or confessions—those were too loud for the world they lived in. Their affection became a shadow, slipping between the cracks of duty and responsibility. Quiet, but constant. Never acknowledged in daylight, but always there—undeniable.

For days on end, Y/N and Bob carried on their secret like glass between their fingers.

It started subtly: she’d check his vitals longer than she needed to, her fingers brushing over his skin like she couldn’t help herself. Bob’s eyes would follow her when she walked across the room, his gaze soft, reverent, like she was some painting he was still trying to understand. At night, when the lab was dark and cold, they began to meet in secret.

Y/N had quietly programmed a five-minute camera loop override. It wasn’t perfect. It was dangerous. But it gave them enough time.

She never said why she did it.

And Bob never asked.

The first few nights, they only talked. Sitting across from each other, knees barely touching. Her hair would be down by then, her face stripped of the formal steel mask she wore during the day. Bob always looked at her like he couldn’t believe she was real. Like if he blinked, she might disappear.

Sometimes he would just stare at her in silence, then apologize.

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You don’t,” she always said. Even if it did. Even if the way he looked at her made her feel things she wasn’t supposed to feel here.

One night, she turned off the cameras and walked into his room, and instead of sitting on the couch, she sat beside him on the bed. It was small. Cold. Not built for comfort.

But it became theirs.

He reached for her hand like he’d done it a thousand times. Her fingers hesitated—then laced through his.

No words.

They weren’t ready for words. They didn’t talk about what they were doing. Not really.

To speak it into existence might make it too real—might make it vulnerable, and they couldn’t afford that. Not when everything else in their lives was clinical and cold. Not when the world around them was full of white walls and threat analysis and the smell of antiseptic in the air.

So they built a world inside the silence.

In that world, he told her things he didn’t know he remembered: about the time he was six and fell off a tree and cried because his dad didn’t care, about the first time he tried meth in a motel bathroom. About the months before Malaysia when he’d stayed in an abandoned building, waiting to die, waiting for his powers to consume him or the drugs to finally dull it all for good.

And she listened. She didn’t look away. She didn’t flinch.

She held his hand tighter.

She told him things too—though never as easily. She told him about the university lab where she used to work, where her theories got mocked until her father stepped in and suddenly everything she did was "a gift from a legacy." She hated how they never saw her. Just a replica of a man she didn’t even trust.

“I didn’t want to use his methods,” she whispered one night, curled under a blanket beside him. “But I didn’t believe in my own enough to stand on them.”

Bob touched her hair, brushing it behind her ear like it was instinct. “Then why did you keep going?”

Her voice cracked when she said it: “Because when I found you, I had a feeling I wasn’t wrong.”

During the day, they went back to playing roles. Doctor. Subject.

Cold. Professional.

But it wasn’t clean anymore.

Sometimes her hand would linger just a little too long when checking a reading. Sometimes he’d lean too close when answering a question. Sometimes they’d lock eyes in the middle of a room and both forget where they were for a split second.

Dr. Ilari noticed the change. He never said anything directly, but the way his eyes lingered on her longer than usual after team briefings told her he was starting to suspect. One afternoon, he passed her in the hall and said, “You seem… lighter.”

She only nodded. Didn’t offer more.

He didn’t press.

But she could feel the edge of danger now. The tightrope between what was growing and what would happen if anyone found out.

And yet she kept going back.

They were sitting in his bed again. No camera, no clipboard, no reason. Her head was on his shoulder. One of his hands played absentmindedly with the hem of her shirt. Neither of them had spoken in almost ten minutes.

“Why do you keep coming back?” he asked softly.

She lifted her head. Looked at him. “I don’t know.”

He turned his face toward hers, so close now their noses brushed.

“I think I do,” he whispered.

Their mouths hovered.

He kissed her again. Slower this time. Gentler.

The kiss deepened, and time lost all meaning.

Bob's hands, careful and trembling, held the back of Y/N’s neck like he was afraid she’d break—or worse, pull away. But she didn’t. She leaned in. Pressed harder.

Her shoes had already dropped to the floor, and now her fingers were splayed across his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through the thin shirt the lab had issued him. She could feel his heartbeat—it wasn’t steady. Neither was hers.

When they finally pulled apart, the silence was heavy. Not awkward. Just... fragile.

Bob searched her face like he was trying to read a language he didn’t speak.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he whispered, voice rough with something that wasn’t just shock—it was self-doubt, buried shame. “You don’t owe me anything.”

Y/N exhaled shakily. Her fingers lingered near the collar of his shirt.

“I know,” she said softly. “I wanted to.”

He stepped back slightly, like he needed to be sure. “Why?”

Her voice caught for a second. Then, after a pause:

“Because I think I’m starting to feel something. And I don’t know what to do with it.”

Bob blinked.

“I understand,” he said. “I thought after a couple days you go grow tired, part of him thought that maybe this...was just another psychological experiment from you.”

She shook her head. “I was scared.”

His brows drew together. “Of me?”

“No. Of this.” She gestured between them. “I don’t know what we are. I don’t know what this means. But… when I’m with you, I feel like myself. And I don’t remember the last time I felt like that.”

He looked at her, stunned. Like someone had handed him something too valuable to touch.

“I thought I ruined it,” he admitted quietly. “After what I did that day. Hurting you.”

“You didn’t,” she said, her voice breaking just slightly. “That wasn’t you. And I knew that. I just didn’t know how to separate the parts yet.”

He stepped closer again, cautiously. “And now?”

“I see you, Bob,” she whispered. “And you make it easy to forget everything else when I do.”

Something shifted in him. His hand found hers again, tentative and reverent. “So what do we do?”

She let out a breath, half a laugh, half a sigh. “We keep quiet. We don’t name it. We don’t plan ahead. Not yet.”

“And if it grows?” he asked, almost afraid to ask.

“Then we let it,” she said. “One moment at a time.”

He nodded, then leaned forward again—his forehead gently resting against hers.

“I’ve never had anything like this,” he said. “I didn’t think I’d be allowed to.”

Y/N’s hand slid up to his face, her thumb brushing across the stubble on his jaw. “Me neither.”

And then—slowly, tenderly—they kissed again.

How could everything go down so easily.

--

2 weeks after - New York

The heavy oak door creaked closed behind her, muffling the hum of the Manhattan street outside. The air inside the townhouse was still—unchanged from her childhood years. The scent of aged books, old leather, and her father’s cologne clung to the air like ghosts she never quite escaped.

She walked slowly down the hallway, her heels echoing against the hardwood. Every step forward brought memories she had long buried—standing by the doorway after school with trembling hands, waiting for him to ask about her grades, to see if she had earned his approval or punishment. The hallway was still lined with framed articles, academic degrees, newspaper clippings of her father’s accolades. Not a single photo of her.

“Y/N.” His voice rang from the study down the corridor. Crisp. Controlled.

She straightened her spine, walked through the doorway of the room that had once terrified her, and saw him—Dr. Marcus L/N—sitting at his desk, papers spread before him, a glass of scotch half-full in his hand. He didn’t rise to greet her. He never did.

“Father,” she said curtly.

“About time,” he muttered, not looking up yet. “You were supposed to be here yesterday.”

“There were weather delays in Singapore,” she lied. “I came as soon as I could.”

His eyes flicked up at her then. Piercing, familiar, and devoid of warmth. “Excuses. You always had those.”

Y/N’s jaw tensed. She walked forward and placed a black folder on the desk between them.

“These are the results of the latest testing. Neural response time, muscle adaptation, cognitive expansion. He’s stabilizing. The uncontrolled episodes have decreased in frequency and strength since I took over the project.”

Her father snorted, flipping through the pages with practiced speed. “Stabilizing,” he repeated mockingly. “After how long? Two months and he’s still barely showing what the serum was designed for.”

“It’s not just a serum. It’s psychological conditioning. Emotional triggers. This is a different approach.”

“A soft one,” he muttered, setting the folder down. “That’s what I read between the lines. You’ve been coddling him.”

“I’ve been rehabilitating him,” she said firmly.

“And how does sleeping in his room fit into rehabilitation?”

Y/N froze.

Her breath hitched—barely, but enough that he noticed.

“I have eyes everywhere, Y/N,” he said, with a smug look. “You really thought Valentina wouldn’t mention the inconsistencies in your schedule? The missing footage logs? You think you’re smarter than us now?”

“No,” she said, calmer than she felt. “I think I’m better than the methods you forced down everyone’s throats. You turned every subject into a corpse. I'm trying to create something alive.”

“You were always too emotional,” he said. “Too delicate. You want them to like you. That’s your weakness.”

She felt her fists clench at her sides. “He’s not just them. He’s not like the others. He’s surviving—he’s responding to this. He’s not disposable.”

Her father stood up, slowly walking around the desk. Towering, still. His voice lowered.

“And what happens when he turns on you again? When he snaps your neck in his sleep? He doesn’t love you, Y/N. He’s addicted to whatever comfort you’re giving him. You’re playing nursemaid to a weapon.”

“I don’t want him to love me,” she lied, trying not to let it crack in her voice. “I want him to live.”

Her father scoffed. “That’s why you’ll fail. Again.”

She bit down on the anger. The shame. The way his words always cut too deep.

“I’m going back in a few days,” she said. “I’ll be done with the supplementary files and analysis by then.”

“Good,” he replied coldly, already walking back behind the desk. “Try not to lose sight of your purpose, Y/N. You weren’t hired to fix broken men. You were trained to make them useful.”

She didn’t answer.

She turned and walked away, her chest tight, heart heavier than when she arrived. The house felt smaller now. Colder. She passed by the childhood photos stored in drawers.

Y/N moved up the familiar staircase slowly, her fingers trailing over the polished mahogany railing. Her father’s words still echoed in her head—cold and clinical, weaponizing every inch of her life’s work and threading it back to her old insecurities. But it wasn’t over. Not in this house.

She hesitated outside the guest room at the end of the hall—her mother’s room now. A soft classical tune filtered through the door, piano-heavy, somber. She raised her hand to knock, but before she could, the door flew open.

“Y/N!” her mother cried out, eyes wide, arms outstretched.

Y/N didn’t have time to prepare. The woman nearly crushed her in a perfume-heavy embrace—familiar and suffocating. Her mother’s touch had always been too much, clinging like guilt.

“Oh my baby, finally. I was told you arrived hours ago! You didn’t think to see me first?”

Y/N gave a tight, awkward smile, her arms barely reciprocating the hug. “I had to meet with Dad. Project work.”

Her mother pulled back, holding her face between her manicured fingers like she was inspecting a glass figurine. “Mmm. You’re pale. Not sleeping, are you?”

“I’m fine.”

Her mother clicked her tongue, eyes trailing down. “Your hair’s dull. And what are you wearing?” She stepped back slightly, waving her hands at Y/N’s plain blouse and slacks. “You look like a secretary. Not a researcher.”

Y/N resisted the urge to roll her eyes a second time. “I didn’t come here to walk a runway.”

“Well, clearly. You could’ve at least done your lips. Or something with that hair.”

“Mom,” Y/N sighed, shifting her weight. “Can we not start this?”

Her mother blinked, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying, you used to be so pretty when you tried. You used to turn heads in this house.”

Y/N gave a dry smile. “Yeah. I remember. It’s probably why Dad ignored my science awards and only mentioned my prom dress.”

Her mother laughed lightly, missing—or ignoring—the venom in the words. “He’s old-fashioned, you know that. But you were always my little star. You could’ve done anything with that face. TV, fashion, even modeling.”

“I didn’t want to be looked at,” Y/N said under her breath, almost too soft.

Her mother didn't hear—or didn’t care. “But now?” She touched Y/N’s shoulder lightly, like she was brushing off dust. “There’s still time. You just need to take better care of yourself. A few spa days, maybe a personal stylist. You could still be stunning.”

Y/N stepped back, her smile completely gone now. “I'm working. I’m building something. That’s what I care about.”

Her mother tilted her head. “Working so hard you forgot how to be a woman?”

Y/N clenched her jaw and looked away, biting back the sudden rise of heat in her chest.

She’d come here for a week. A handful of days. And she was already fighting the ghosts that raised her.

“I’m going to bed,” she said abruptly.

“Oh, don’t be so sensitive—”

“I’m not,” Y/N cut in. “Just tired. Of being dissected like one of my subjects.”

And without waiting for a response, she turned and walked out of the room.

--

The sun hadn't even reached its peak when Y/N sat curled on the old study chaise, papers spread around her like fallen leaves. Her laptop hummed quietly as she updated her final findings to send to the board—gene response patterns, neurological baselines, all the data from the last month. Her fingers moved mechanically over the keyboard, but her mind was elsewhere. On gold eyes. On the way his voice changed when he was tired. On the way they hadn't said a single word about what was happening between them, but couldn't seem to stop touching.

Then the screen lit up.

Dr. Ilari - Incoming Call

She blinked. Clicked. “Doctor?”

His voice came in strained, shaky. “Y/N. How fast can you get back to Malaysia?”

She paused, blinking. “Uh, I don’t know—maybe two or three days. I’m finishing the reports now—why?”

There was a long, breathless silence on the other end. Then—

“Bob lost control.”

Y/N froze.

Ilari’s voice cracked through the line like broken glass. “It just—happened. We don’t know what triggered it. Two of the doctors are dead. He—Y/N, he tore through the lab like a storm. We barely got him contained. He’s locked in his room. Still not responding. His vitals are erratic. Whatever’s inside of him... it's awake. We need you here now.”

She was already moving before the call ended.

Y/N slammed her laptop shut and scrambled to her feet, swiping all the papers off the table into her bag. Her mind was racing. This couldn’t be happening—not now. Not after everything. You promised to keep this one alive.

She grabbed her phone, throwing open her bedroom door.

Down the hallway—her parents' voices.

“Y/N?” her mother called as she appeared in the doorway, startled. “What’s going on?”

“Why are you packing like this?” her father followed behind, voice sharp. “What happened?”

“I have to go. There was an emergency—back at the facility,” Y/N said, yanking open drawers, stuffing clothes into a suitcase with frenzied hands. “Something went wrong. Bob—he—” Her voice caught for a second. “He lost control.”

Her mother gasped. “Isn’t he the subject you said—?”

“I don’t have time,” Y/N snapped. “I have to be there. Now.”

Her father stepped into the room, arms crossed. “You’ll send me the research before you go, then.”

She stopped, mid-zipper.

“I’ll email it to your lab by tomorrow. I’m done here.”

“You know that’s not how we do things. I expect a full debrief. In person.”

Y/N turned to him, eyes blazing. “You want me to sit across from you while you rip it all apart? While you tell me I failed—again?”

“You can’t run every time—”

“I’m not running,” she snapped. “I’m choosing. For once.”

He glared at her. She didn’t care.

“You’ll get your report. You always do,” she said bitterly, hoisting the bag onto her shoulder. “But this time? I’m not giving you the satisfaction of killing it in front of me.”

“You’re being dramatic,” her father said, exasperated.

Y/N looked him in the eye. Cold. Certain. “And you’re still pretending you understand what I’m building.”

She turned to the door.

“I’ll tell you I failed over the phone. That’s what you want anyway.”

And without another word, she pushed past them and ran down the stairs—out of the house, out of her childhood, out of the old world that never saw her worth—and into the storm she was now part of.

Bob needed her.

She doesn't recall how many hours she was there stuck on that plane full of anxiety, her gut was telling that everything would be okay, but at the same time, she had only gone by two days how could this happen, she would only be gone by a week.

Her mind is foggy, going on autopilot, doing all of her ride and hours it took thinking about Bob and how he's suffering. Her team had received strict orders on what to do, but she had only schedule some trainning for him, knowing even if they wanted, they could hurt him, but could understand how to make his powers manifest and how strong he was getting.

The car ride from the airstrip blurred past her window like a dream she didn’t want to remember. The moment the vehicle stopped outside the hidden entrance of the facility, she was already sprinting. Her ID badge barely scanned before she was storming through the corridors like a hurricane, ignoring greetings, ignoring protocol, ignoring everything.

Lab coats turned as she passed. Some stepped back. They knew better than to get in her way.

“He’s in Operating Room 3,” a nurse called out. “Still unstable.”

Y/N’s throat tightened. Her legs pushed harder. Faster.

When the automatic doors hissed open, her heart nearly stopped.

Bob was strapped to the operating table, wires and sensors taped to his chest, arms, and head. His body was shaking—convulsing—his veins glowing faintly gold like molten cracks in stone. His skin was slick with sweat, chest heaving erratically. He looked half there. Half gone.

A team of doctors stood around him, frantically typing into tablets, adjusting IVs, shouting measurements. Panic radiated through the room.

“What the hell are you doing to him?!” Y/N screamed.

Heads turned. Her voice cracked the sterile silence like lightning.

She stormed across the room, pushing through the cluster of scientists without care.

“Move! Move!” she shouted, yanking a man away from Bob’s side. “You’re scaring him! You’re hurting him—get the hell away!”

“Y/N, he’s seizing—” someone said.

“He’s confused!” she barked. “None of you even know what’s happening—he’s not a machine! He doesn’t respond like one!”

She grabbed Bob’s face with both hands. His eyes were fluttering open and shut, dazed. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

“Hey. Hey, it’s me,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I’m here. I’m here now, Bob. You’re okay.”

She stroked the side of his cheek. “I got here as fast as I could.”

His fingers twitched.

Then—

Flatline.

The monitor behind her let out a sharp, deafening wail.

A long, straight line stretched across the heart rate monitor.

“No.”

Y/N turned, frozen.

“Get the defibrillator!” someone yelled.

People rushed forward—but Y/N held up a hand, stepping between Bob and the rest.

“Don’t touch him!”

“Y/N, we have to restart his heart!”

“No!” she screamed, her voice cracking in agony. “He’s in there—I know he is. Just—give him a second. Please.”

“His heart stopped—”

“I SAID WAIT!”

She turned back to him, leaning down until their foreheads touched. Her tears slipped onto his skin.

“You promised me,” she whispered. “You told me I gave you a reason to live. You don’t get to leave me now. You don’t.”

She pressed her lips to his temple, desperate, trembling. “Come back to me, Bob. Please. Please, come back.”

A cold, crushing silence fell. Time seemed to freeze.

“Bob... no.” Her voice was barely a whisper, broken.

Tears welled unbidden, blurring her vision.

The team scrambled to restart him, but Y/N felt frozen, her hands still on his cold skin.

He was gone.

The man she had begun to care for, the man she promised to keep alive... was dead.

Y/N’s world felt like it shattered into a thousand pieces, the sterile walls closing in around her as she stared at Bob’s lifeless form. The frantic beeping of the defibrillator ceased, replaced by an eerie, suffocating silence.

Suddenly, the heavy doors swung open with a sharp clang.

Valentina entered, her presence commanding and cold, eyes scanning the scene with clinical detachment.

She had arrived just as the finality settled in, her heels clicking sharply against the floor, slicing through the heavy air.

Dr. Ilari had called her as soon as Bob spiraled out of control, and now, standing before the still form of the man they all feared and pitied, she wasted no time.

Valentina’s voice was low but sharp, slicing through Y/N’s panic like a blade.

“Protocol 6X. Initiate termination.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her body trembling with disbelief and rage.

“No,” she whispered, her voice cracked and desperate. “You can’t just—he’s still—”

Valentina’s eyes narrowed, her tone unwavering.

“Bob is unstable, uncontrollable. The risks outweigh any potential benefit. You know this, Doctor. The project’s safety comes first.”

Y/N’s hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms, fighting the overwhelming wave of helplessness crashing down on her.

Tears burned her eyes, but her voice was steadier now, fierce with unspoken defiance.

“He was more than an experiment. He was a person... someone I cared about.”

Valentina’s gaze flicked coldly to Y/N, unyielding.

“Feelings don’t change facts. The termination will prevent further loss.”

The lab team moved quickly, cold and efficient, beginning preparations to remove Bob’s body from the room, as if he were nothing more than a failed project to be discarded.

Y/N stumbled back, her heart breaking anew with every step they took away from her.

She wanted to scream, to fight, but the weight of the moment pinned her down, crushing hope beneath the sterile lights.

She runs, trying to stop everyone, someone, took him away from them, there's no way Bob was dead.

--

The glass was thicker than it needed to be. Reinforced, sealed with polymer layers, and bolted into an alloy cradle designed to survive a small war. But none of that mattered to Y/N. All she could see was him inside it.

Bob.

Still.

Cold.

Lying there like a man who’d simply fallen asleep with no promise of waking.

The O.X.E. lab—once bright, bustling, and full of scientific ambition—now reeked of sterilizer and silence. They were shutting everything down. His project had failed, they said. Too unstable. Too dangerous. Too powerful. And now—too dead.

“Project SENTRY has been terminated. Containment protocol 6X is in effect,” droned a voice over the speakers. The kind of voice that never wavered. Not for ethics. Not for grief. Not even for love.

Y/N stood frozen as technicians fastened the final clamps onto the glass coffin. Her coat, still stained with dried blood from trying to stabilize him, hung limp around her. Her hands trembled. Her face was pale. Her lips parted, as if to speak, but no sound came out.

Two security guards hovered behind her.

“Dr. L/N,” one of them said gently. “You need to let them take him.”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she stepped forward, eyes locked on the body within. Bob’s chest didn’t rise. His face was pale, serene—eerily calm for a man who had been made of light and rage. His golden hair framed a face that once radiated warmth, now drained of it entirely.

“No,” she whispered. Her voice cracked like splintered glass. “You don’t get to box him up. You don’t get to just erase him.”

“Doctor—”

“He’s not dead!” she snapped, finally spinning on the guards. Her voice echoed through the corridor, sharp and broken. “He’s not dead, he’s not—he’s not—”

But her knees buckled before her words could finish. She collapsed to the floor, her hands catching her barely an inch above the cold tile. Her breath came in shallow gasps, each one scraping her throat like rusted nails.

The guards hesitated, unsure whether to comfort her or restrain her.

Valentina didn’t.

Her heels clicked against the floor as she approached—always polished, always calculated. “This isn’t a romantic tragedy, Doctor,” she said, arms crossed. “This is containment. He was compromised. If you’d like to keep your clearance and your career, I suggest you walk away now.”

Y/N lifted her head slowly, tears streaking her face.

“I don’t care about clearance,” she hissed. “I cared about him.”

Valentina’s expression didn’t change. “Then you’re a liability.”

The moment stretched like wire pulled too tight.

And then, Valentina gave a cold nod.

“Seal it,” she ordered.

Technicians obeyed.

Y/N watched as a final hiss of hydraulic steam sealed the edges of the glass. The lighting inside dimmed, bathing Bob in a faint blue glow, like he was being buried beneath a glacier.

They strapped the coffin to a magnetic dolly, preparing to roll him out—out of the lab, out of history, out of her reach. Like he’d never existed. Like the nights they’d spent in quiet corners of the lab, whispering about the sky and everything he’d forgotten about being human, had never happened.

Like she hadn’t kissed his trembling hands after his first breakdown.

Like he hadn’t told her he was scared of the darkness inside him.

Like he hadn’t looked at her the night before the meltdown and said, “If I lose myself, don’t let them lock me away. Just tell me you loved me once. That it mattered.”

She scrambled up, stumbling toward the coffin, arms outstretched. She never told him that loved him. Once.

“Wait!” she cried.

The guards tried to intercept her, but she ducked around them, slamming her palms against the glass.

Her voice cracked as she spoke, forehead resting against the cold surface. “Bob. I’m here. I didn’t leave. I—I couldn’t save you, I’m sorry. But I remember you. Do you hear me? I remember everything. I do love you.”

No response.

She pressed her hand over his heart, her eyes tracing the shape of his closed eyelids, the curve of his lips. She could almost believe he was sleeping. Almost.

“Please,” she whispered, softer now. “Please come back. Just open your eyes. Just—just breathe. I’ll take all of it, everything I did to you. Just come back to me. I'm sorry I went away, I'm sorry I wasn't here, I'm sorry I never told you.”

Silence.

Valentina made a gesture. The guards pulled her away, gently but firmly.

“NO!” Y/N screamed, kicking and fighting. “You don’t get to take him! He’s not—he’s not a thing! He’s a person! He was mine! He didn't get to live what...what I promised, no, we didn't have our time yet Pleasee!”

But Bob remained still, and the glass began to fog slightly with the temperature shift as the containment unit rolled toward the freight elevator.

Valentina didn’t look back.

And Y/N—struggling in the arms of men who didn’t know who Bob was, what he had become, what he meant—finally went limp.

Her voice, barely a breath now, rasped, “Please don’t leave me here without you…”

The elevator closed with a heavy clang.

Then he was gone.

--

The days after Bob’s death passed like smoke. Thick. Suffocating. Fleeting. Y/N found herself moving through them without weight, her steps soundless on the cold tile floors of the lab, her hands numb even as they gripped report files, tablets, clipboards—anything to feel tethered to something.

His room remained sealed, but sometimes she still stood outside of it, pressing her fingers to the keypad even though she knew the access had been revoked, even though she knew he wasn’t inside. Not anymore. The air still felt like him. The silence was heavier than when he was there. And every time she blinked, she could see his face again—bright-eyed the night she’d kissed him first, tired and grateful the mornings after their stolen moments, hollow and terrified in that final room.

She didn’t sleep. Nights had become tormenting. The moment the lab’s synthetic lights dimmed and the halls emptied, her mind rushed back to them. Sitting cross-legged on the floor of his room, laughing about stupid things. Her curled under his arm while they watched old movies from a pirated USB. Him whispering into the shell of her ear that he didn’t deserve her, and her telling him to shut up and just let it be good for once. Just let it be soft.

The bed was too big now. She hadn’t noticed how small she was until she tried to lie still, pretending it was his arm wrapped around her waist. His warmth. His breathing slowing. Her hand still clutched the bracelet he gave her one night—a silly little leather band he found during one of their “raids” of the storage closet, where they'd been looking for snack rations and instead ended up wrestling on the floor like teenagers. She had scolded him for acting like a child. He had kissed her like it was the last time.

But she hadn’t told him she loved him.

And now it was too late.

Every hallway held a ghost. Every chair, every lab monitor, every sample. There were notes in her drawer still written in his handwriting, things like: Don’t forget your coffee, boss. You get mean without it. She used to roll her eyes. Now she kept that note folded in her pocket, as if maybe, by having it on her, she could pretend he was still here. Still smirking behind her.

Dr. Ilari had tried to talk to her. Repeatedly. She hadn’t said a word. Not since the day of Protocol 6X.

Valentina had stood over Bob’s body like it was a failed machine. Cold. Ready to dispose. She hadn’t cried then. Not in front of her. Not even when she’d screamed that he wasn’t an object to terminate—that he was a man. That she loved him.

The tears only came when she was alone, curled in front of the door of Bob’s room, replaying the sound of his heartbeat disappearing from the monitors. Now she uses them to help her go to sleep, listenning to them as if he's there, somewhere. A sound that cut through her more violently than anything she’d ever known.

She hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye.

She would never again hear him laugh. Never again feel his hand in hers. Never again hear that shy, broken voice asking her, “Why would you care about someone like me?”

And now, all she had was the answer she never got to give him. That he made her feel alive. That he reminded her she had a heart. That maybe, just maybe, broken things could still love, and be loved, and heal.

She didn’t tell him. And she would regret that for the rest of her life.

The lab hummed around her like a distant storm. The world was moving on.

But she wasn’t.

And she didn’t know if she ever could.

The lights in the lab had never felt so sterile.

Y/N stood in the same office she had once stormed into, full of confidence and bright-eyed ambition. The walls hadn’t changed. The old monitor still flickered faintly on the far desk, and the whiteboard behind Dr. Ilari was still covered with scrawled calculations, doodles from late nights when they’d been too tired to keep their minds on science, but too stubborn to give in to sleep.

But now, all of it felt like an echo of someone else’s dream.

Dr. Ilari leaned back in his chair, watching her. He wasn’t smiling this time. His usual warm humor was gone, replaced by something quieter. Sadder.

“So,” he said, softly, “you’re really leaving.”

Y/N nodded, arms folded across her chest like she was holding herself together. “I already booked my flight. I should be back in New York by tomorrow evening. My father... he’s expecting me. There’s a position open in his lab.”

Ilari sighed, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Of course he is. And I’m sure he’s thrilled to hear his daughter’s project failed. He always struck me as the ‘told you so’ type.”

A hollow smile tugged at her lips. “He said he’d keep the seat warm.”

“Is that really what you want, Y/N? To go back to him? To... that lab?” Ilari’s voice was still gentle, but the concern in it was unmistakable. “After everything, after what you built here... you’re really going to let him pull you back?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her fingers dug into her sleeves as she looked down at the floor, her voice strained. “The project’s done. Labeled ‘infeasible’ and ‘dangerously unstable.’ It’s over. And honestly, I can’t... I don’t have it in me to start over. Not again.”

Ilari’s brows knit. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I do,” she replied quickly. “I know.”

He waited. Gave her space to speak if she wanted. And for a moment, she almost told him everything. About the nights. The stolen time. The kisses, the laughter, the soft way Bob used to look at her like she was the only person on earth who hadn’t given up on him.

But instead, she only said, “He was the first subject I chose myself. The first time I felt like the project was mine. And I ruined it. I used my father’s methods. I treated Bob like a blueprint, not a person. I was so focused on proving myself that I forgot he wasn’t just data. He was...”

Her throat closed. Her eyes burned.

Ilari didn’t push her. He just waited, his silence louder than anything he could have said.

Y/N turned away from him, pacing toward the window that overlooked the jungle canopy outside. She watched the birds in the distance—free, weightless. The opposite of everything she felt. “Bob made me feel something I hadn’t felt in a long time,” she said, finally. “Alive. Like I wasn’t just surviving for someone else’s legacy. Like I mattered. To someone.”

Ilari rose slowly from his chair, stepping around his desk. “You loved him.”

She turned to him. Didn’t confirm it. She didn’t have to. Her eyes did the talking.

“I suspected,” he added quietly, “when the cameras started glitching every night at the same time. I didn’t say anything because... I figured it was the only joy either of you were getting in that place.”

She let out a soft, broken breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He placed a hand on her shoulder—steady, kind. “I just wish you’d told me sooner. I wouldn’t have stopped it. Hell, I might’ve encouraged it. God knows that man needed someone in his corner.”

Y/N’s lip trembled, and she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“Yes, it does,” Ilari said firmly. “Because you loved. You risked it. That’s more than most people can say by the time they retire. And it meant something. Even if it ended.”

Y/N dropped her eyes. “It didn’t just end. It was ripped away.”

She hadn’t cried in front of anyone—not since the room. Not since his body went still under the operating light, while she screamed for someone to do something. But now, in front of Ilari, the tears came. Silent, hot, unapologetic.

Ilari wrapped her in a gentle hug, like an older brother or uncle—safe, understanding. “You don’t have to go back to him, Y/N. Not your father. Not that place. You can do something else. Something you want. Anything. Just... don’t let this grief turn into a cage.”

She nodded into his shoulder but said nothing.

When she pulled back, she wiped her face and gave him a crooked, sad smile. “You were always the best part of this lab.”

“Damn right I was.” He chuckled, but his eyes were misted, too. “You’ll always have a place here. If ever you decide to stop letting your dad control your career—or your life. Just say the word. I’ll make room.”

She laughed softly. “If I ever come back, it’ll be for the mango tea and your terrible jokes.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” He grinned, but it faltered at the edges. “Goodbye, Y/N.”

“Goodbye, Ilari.”

She turned toward the door, suitcase in hand. But before leaving, she paused in the hallway, just once, and looked back over her shoulder—like maybe, just maybe, he’d come walking through one more time. Laughing. Teasing. Kissing her softly like the world outside didn’t exist.

But it was just silence.

And she left.

Back to New York. Back to the city that raised her. Back to the legacy she never asked for. But this time, something in her heart had changed. Because even if she never said it out loud, she had loved someone—truly, deeply. And now that love would live in her like a scar.

[uconnic]

Everywhere, Everything - Pazzi

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

summary: paige helps azzi navigate through her rehab process and they finally meet up again in person. not sure if this was what everybody was looking for in this chapter, but it felt needed for what's to come. it's a bit short and sorry for the wait but hope you enjoy!!

part 1 part 2

word count: 2.2k

Everywhere, Everything: Part 3

They Got Their Own Thing

Paige didn’t answer right away.

She reread Azzi’s message – twice. Then a third time. The words blurred slightly, as if they were something sacred, not meant to be consumed too quickly.

“Thank you, Paige. And of course I remember you, superstar. How could I not? 💗”

She let the phone rest on her chest, staring at the ceiling of her darkened bedroom, heartbeat uneven. It was ridiculous – how a single message from someone she barely knew could make her feel like she could finally exhale.

She typed, deleted, typed again. Eventually, she sent a picture.

It wasn’t one she normally showed people. She was waist-deep in a therapy pool, hair slicked back, visibly crying behind a pair of fogged-up goggles. It was raw. Unfiltered. Taken by her mom on a particularly brutal day in month three of her recovery.

Attached was the message, “that was me. 7am hydrotherapy. my knee throbbed so bad i couldn’t see straight. i think i told my mom i hated her that day. still feel bad about that.”

It was a strange way to start a conversation, but Azzi didn’t hesitate. “I’ve thrown a resistance band at my physical therapist twice now lol. He still says I’m his favorite tho 😂”

Paige smiled. It wasn’t long before their messages turned into conversations – real ones. Long, meandering, sometimes vulnerable, sometimes simply stupid. They talked about knee braces and scar cream, about which podcasts made rehab tolerable, about their least favorite exercises (Azzi hated wall sits while Paige hated – well, apparently everything).

But it didn’t stop there. They talked about everything.

Sleep. Or lack thereof. Paige confessed that she hadn’t had a full night of rest in over a year. Azzi admitted she sometimes stared at the ceiling for hours, her mind replaying every play, every jump, every pivot – trying to find the moment it all slipped. She would take melatonin just to quiet her own thoughts.

They talked about pressure. How the second you were “the next big thing,” everyone stopped treating you like a kid. Paige told her about the time a scout cornered her after a game and asked if she was “finally ready to stop being cute and disrespectful to opponents and start being a leader.” Azzi said someone once told her her smile would “only get her so far” in the sport.

“Do you ever feel like people are waiting for you to mess up?” Azzi wrote one night.

“yeah. like they want you to fail. just so they can say they were right about you.”

There was a pause. “Same.”

The texts became a lifeline. Whenever the world felt heavy, they reached for each other. And slowly, something shifted. Paige noticed herself waiting for Azzi’s messages. Checking her phone more. Feeling lighter every time her name lit up the screen. She hadn’t meant for it to happen – whatever this was. But she also wasn’t fighting it.  

Two weeks after their first message, Paige hesitantly sent her number.

“texts are easier than dms. unless you’re one of those people who still uses android 😬”

Azzi grinned at her screen. “1. I’ve never been more offended in my life and 2. What took you so long?”

Their texts naturally became imminent parts to their daily routines. Sometimes Paige would wake up to a two-paragraph rant from Azzi at 3am and respond hours later with a photo of her breakfast and a caption like, “you’re insane. also you’d think i would have mastered smoothie-making by now. this tastes disgusting.”

They talked about everything vulnerable to do with rehab. Azzi confessed she was scared to push herself too hard. That every time she landed from a jump, she couldn’t help but hold her breath and brace for the worst.

“What if I just… never feel like myself again?” she asked once.

Paige sat with that message for ten minutes before responding. “then we find a new version of you. an even better version than you already are. one who doesn’t have to be fearless all the time.”

Another night, Paige admitted something she’d never said aloud. “i think i used to judge my own worth by how many points or assists i put up in a game. like if i didn’t hit 20, i wasn’t enough. that no school would want me and nobody would take me seriously. i hated that.”

Azzi responded almost instantly. “I think I still think that.” There was a long pause. Then: “Or at least… I did. Until you started texting me.”

The vulnerability hung between them like it was the first time the had ever admitted these things aloud, and it was.

For months, while texts and phone calls came often yet, they hadn't yet FaceTimed. Not until one night – three months after their first exchange. Azzi called. No warning, just a ring.

Paige answered, expecting a joke, a meme, something stupid. Instead, she saw Azzi’s face on the screen, eyes wet, lips quivering. Her voice was hoarse and barely audible. “I can’t find my rhythm,” she whispered. “It’s like I’ve lost everything. I shoot and it doesn’t feel right. Like my body’s betraying me. I can’t even pivot without overthinking it.”

Paige blinked, sitting up straight in bed. “Azzi-”

“I don’t know how to fix it,” she choked out, wiping her face furiously. “I go to the gym, I do all the right things, and it’s like… nothing clicks. Like I’m going through the motions just to prove to everyone else that I’m trying. My parents think I’m improving… And maybe I am. But it never feels like it.”

She stopped. Lowered her eyes. “But I’m not okay, Paige. I’m really not okay.”

Paige didn’t speak right away. She just watched Azzi cry – like really cry – for the first time. Unfiltered. Vulnerable. Completely lost in who she was meant to be. 

Paige comforted Azzi for the rest of the night. Knew exactly what to say every time Azzi countered with another cloud of doubt. Talked her down until her breathing steadied again. Whispered, “We’ll get through this, I promise” until Azzi eventually fell asleep. 

And as she watched her friend through the screen, something inside her moved. Without thinking, she whispered, “Good night, Azzi" and ended the call.

Thirty seconds later, she was texting Katie Fudd.

“hi Mrs. Fudd. i hope this isn’t weird that i’m texting you. i know we’ve talked on the phone a bit before, but this is a first. i don’t want to overstep, but i don’t think azzi’s doing okay and i know what that looks like because i’ve been there. i wanted to ask if you would would be open to me visiting? just to stay with her for a few days or a bit longer to be there for her. i really think i can help and that she just needs someone who understands. if not, i completely understand. we haven’t even met in person before so it’s okay if you’re not comfortable with it.”

Katie responded five minutes later.

“Paige, if your parents are okay with it, we would absolutely love to have you here any time. You’re a good kid and I know how good of a friend you’ve been to Azzi. Let me know when you book your flight and I’ll be sure that Tim or I can free up our schedules to pick you up from the airport.”

“will do. thank you so much, i’ll see you soon. also, could you maybe not tell azzi? kind of want it to be a surprise.”

“Of course, Paige. See you soon.”  

------

Three days later, Paige landed at Ronald Reagan National Airport with a backpack, duffel bag, and a stuffed unicorn that she picked up from the gift shop. 

Katie and Azzi was waiting for her at baggage claim. Azzi was about to start complaining about why she had to come with her mom to the airport (she was told they were just picking up her grandparents) when she and Paige locked eyes. Smiles bloomed on both of their faces. There were no cameras. No fanfare. Just two teenagers who had grown impossibly close without ever really sharing the same space.

They didn’t hug right away. They just stood there, staring, both of them a little awkward and breathless.

“Hey,” Paige said, adjusting her backpack and handing over the unicorn. "I saw this at the gift shop and thought you'd like it."

“Hey,” Azzi replied, looking at the stuffed toy. "I love it, thank you."

Paige laughed softly. “Yeah, whatever. You’re shorter than I remember.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “And you’re exactly as annoying as I expected.”

Then they hugged. And something settled. That week changed everything.

They trained every morning. Paige designed mini workouts tailored to Azzi’s comfortability – closeouts, spot-up drills, form shooting, balance exercises. They watched film together, breaking down footwork frame by frame. They talked late into the night. About fear. About the mental part of recovery. About the anger of being forgotten, the resentment toward teammates, coaches, and schools who moved on too fast and too easily.

Paige didn’t try to fix Azzi. She just listened. And in turn, Azzi stopped pretending.

Slowly, the rhythm returned. Not perfectly. Not every day. But in moments. A clean crossover. A fluid step-back. A jumper that didn’t just swish, but sang for the entire world to hear. The two learned everything about one another on the court. Began to notice each other's tells, knew exactly where the other wanted the ball to end up. Paige made perfect passes to spots on the floor before Azzi even got there. Azzi screened for Paige as she curled around perfectly for a midrange. It was as though they had studied playbooks of each other beforehand for an exam and had passed with flying colors. 

By the second week, Katie and Tim found them on the driveway, playing one-on-one at sunset, both of them laughing so loud it echoed across the yard.

“First to eleven,” Paige said, spinning the ball on her finger.

Azzi narrowed her eyes. “Loser has to do dishes for a week.”

“Neither of you ever does the dishes,” Katie chimes. 

“Fine. Loser starts doing the dishes.”

“You’re on.”

They were tied 10-10 when Paige hit Azzi with a hesitation step, then drove left. Azzi cut her off perfectly and stripped the ball away. Paige didn’t care, because in that moment, she saw a glimpse of the same Azzi she was mesmerized by all those months ago at North Tartan. Not just in the way she moved, but in the way her eyes lit up from making a good play.  

“God,” Paige gasped, shaking her head in awe. “You’re back.”

Azzi didn’t answer. She just smiled, raised an eyebrow, and nailed the game-winner right in Paige’s face. 

Paige threw her hands up in surrender. “Okay, Fudd. I see you.”

Tim and Katie watched with soft smiles from the porch as they saw their daughter’s love for basketball creep back in. 

Later that night, Azzi sat on the couch with her knees folded under her, head resting on her arms. Paige sat across from her. “I was really gonna quit,” she said softly, tracing circles with her finger on the carpet. “Like… I meant it. I was done.”

Paige didn’t say anything.

Azzi looked up to meet Paige's eyes. “But then you messaged me... You saved me, Paige. Probably more than you’ll ever realize. And I'm gonna sound so stupid for saying this because I wouldn’t even be in this mess if it weren’t for my injury, but I keep thanking God that it happened to me because it brought you into my life.”

Paige’s eyes were glassy, but her voice was steady. “You saved yourself, Azzi. I just reminded you who you were. Plus, I was just being selfish. You really think I was about to let the best shooter in the country go out like that? When I hadn’t even gotten the chance to play with her yet?”

The silence settled between them, a thousand words unspoken between them and yet, an understanding of one another deeper than they ever thought possible. 

—--- 

A week later, an envelope arrived at the Fudd house. Azzi read the first line and screamed: “USA Basketball invites you to try out for the 2017 U16 Women’s National Team.”

The whole house seemed to shift as they jumped in celebration. Her parents, brothers, and Paige celebrated as though it were their own major accomplishment. It was a letter that nobody had expected in the mail. It wasn’t that Azzi wasn’t good enough, but given her recent absence from competition, it had kind of become the safe assumption that she’d have to wait another year for her opportunity to prove herself again. 

Azzi barely had time to process it before Paige’s phone buzzed. A text from her dad, sent with a photo of the same invitation she had just received back in Minnesota. The house shook again – and it was funny really. The Fudds, who had really just met Paige a couple weeks ago, celebrated her news like she was one of their own.

Paige and Azzi looked at each other, stunned.

Azzi spoke first. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Paige smiled slowly. “That the universe might want us on the same team?”

Azzi’s eyes sparkled. “No,” she whispered. “That it already put us there.”

[rikudaa]

Casual Talk

Jason Todd x reader

TW: Jason (it’s his sassiness) ╰┈➤── ── ── ── ── .✦

You shift slightly before decided to speak up, your tone softening.

“So…”

Your voice is casual, almost lighthearted.

“How was your time away? Spent it with anyone?”

You ask it without pressing, like it's just a normal conversation everyone would discuss but your eyes linger at his frame, curious. Maybe even a little hopeful.

Jason looks caught off guard by your sudden question that is definitely out of blue. He lets out a low sigh, dragging a hand through his jet black hair and a tuft of white with a bit more force than necessary.

“Really?” he mutters, half a scoff, half a laugh. “Outta all the things we could talk about, you’re going for my love life?”

His voice is rough, sure-

But there’s a sliver of something else there. Tiredness, maybe. Or something he’s trying not to name. “Didn’t think I needed to bring a dating resume”

“Damn… is it that bad that you don’t want to talk about it?”

Jason can’t help but let out a short, humorless laugh at your question. He’s not sure how to answer that. His love life has been less than stellar.

“Tch. I wouldn’t call it bad, just… not worth writing home about”. He looks off to the side, jaw tightening for a second before he shrugs like he’s brushing it off.

“People come and go. You learn not to get too comfortable with any of it”

There’s a pause, just long enough for it to feel like maybe there’s more he’s not saying then his gaze flicks back to you, a little sharper now.

“Why? You gonna psychoanalyze me next?”

You shrug, all casual, like this isn’t a big deal. Fingers absently twirl the end of your hair as your eyes linger on him.

“I’m bored,” you say. Then you add, with a hint of a smile, “And curious. It’s inevitable when you were gone for years”

You don’t press, just let the words hanging there, inviting him to decide how much he wants to give in and ranting about it.

Jason can’t help but roll his eyes at your nonchalant reply, barely able to hide his irritation.

Of course you’re bored. You’ve always been like that-impossible to ignore, even when he tries. You’ve always been a pain in the ass. But you are his pain in the ass.

He lets out a low, gruff sigh, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re insufferable,” he says, shaking his head. “But… maybe that’s why you’re the only one who gets away with it”

You roll your eyes in annoyance, slightly offended by his small insult so you cross your arms at the front chest just to express how angry you are, playfully, of course. “Yeah yeah, heard that a lot coming from your snarky mouth”

Jason’s smirk grows a little at your response. He can practically see the roll of your eyes, the annoyed expression on your face.

It’s familiar.

He crosses his arms over his chest again, his expression turning serious again.

"Right. So I'll keep it simple. My love life has been.... nonexistent" He replies gruffly.

.

.

.

You blink, incredulous, unable to hide the disbelief in your tone.

“Are you seriously jackshit with me? Don’t play around, Jason”

There’s a playful edge to it, but beneath that, you’re still trying to wrap your head around what he just said.

Jason’s expression turns to a deadpan look at your ridiculous question. He’s not surprised by your question, but he still finds himself annoyed by it.

“No.” He replies gruffly. “I’m not messing with you. My love life has been at zero and six feet underground.”

Why does he sound so damn annoyed saying that?

“Damn…”. The word come out of your mouth, again. Like a natural response to every his answers.

Purses your lips make it into thin lines while looking off to the side.

“I thought you had that kind of partner—you know, the love-hate dynamic. They’re all sexy and teasing you like cat and mouse, while you’re the serious one, going along with the whole motto ‘gotta stay locked in’ ” you speaks in a low, deep voice for the quote, gesturing with hands waving around like an idiot, trying to describe things that words just don’t quite cover.

Jason can’t help but raise an eyebrow at your description.

You make his non-existent love life sound like some kind of… romantic comedy?

He can’t help but scoff at the thought. Him, a rom-com? No chance in hell. He shakes his head again,

”What kind of movies have you been watching?” He grumbles teasingly.

You flash a grin, leaning in just a little like you're letting him in on some secret he’s too stubborn to admit.

“The kind where the grumpy one secretly has a heart and falls for the chaotic one,” you say, tone light, teasing.

Your eyes flick over him, clearly amused.

“You’d be surprised how well you fit the role.” You tuck a piece of stray hair behind your ear, clearly enjoying yourself now.

“All that brooding? Classic love interest energy.”

Jason’s smirk turns into a small, genuine smile as you tease him. He has to admit, your description fits him a little too well.

But he’d never admit that. Not to you, at least.

He lets out a gruff huff, shaking his head again.

”I don’t brood” He retorts gruffly.

“Denial is a river in Egypt, Jason. You and Bruce are so alike… when it comes to brood”

Jason lets out a low groan, dragging a hand down his face like he’s already regretting engaging with you. “God, don’t compare me to him,” he grumbles, voice sharp but not without amusement.

“I’ve got way more personality than Bruce—and better hair.”

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“And I don’t brood. I... strategize. With mood lighting.”

Jason’s smirk deepens, and for a second, it actually reaches his eyes. You can tell he’s trying not to laugh, but he’s already lost the battle that he’s not going to win at the beginning .

“Strategize with mood lighting, huh?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow.

“Sounds a lot like brooding with extra steps.”

He huffs again, but it’s more amused than annoyed now. He nudges your arm with his elbow.“Keep talking like that and I’m charging you for therapy.”

You roll your eyes, dramatically placing the back of your hand on forehead mimic a Victorian person who’s in absolute shocked. “Oh no, not the Red Hood hourly rate. What is that-five bullets and a sarcastic life lesson?”

Jason chuckles under his breath, shaking his head as he stands up and stretches.

“Nah. Today’s special: one grumpy vigilante and a side of existential dread.”

“Tempting,” you say with a grin. “But I think I’ll just take the grumpy vigilante to go.”

He snorts at that, glancing at you sideways.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.”

You bumping shoulders around as you walk side by side with him into whatever chaos the night’s about to bring-because with you and Jason, it’s never just quiet.

But at least it’s never boring.

───────── ୨୧ ─────────

Author’s note: Soooo I was actually bored and decided to write…again. Hope you enjoy this because it was intended to be a small silly fic that I didn’t even serious about it but turns out even longer than last one.

Anyway-

Reader’s gender is neutral, can read as platonic or romantic but I wrote it leans slightly more to romantic. It’s still up to you how to view the fic be.

©𐙚 rikudaa—Please do not repost or copy this content to other websites.

▄︻デ══━一 ˗ˏˋ ´ˎ •. —— —-♡

[mahalkitamully]

the girl next door 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

一 movie night (p3)

: neighbor ! modern ! ellie williams x fem! reader pt 3 !

FLUFF :3

read the other chapters here !

MEN GO AWAY GOOO AWAY BOOOOO

ladies.. this for you smirks

一

past week has been restless. since schools finals are coming up, people are always at the cafe studying and huge groups will come in at a time. sure you need to study too but you had to make money!!

one night, you came home very late, around 1 am. suddenly you heard footsteps and you quickly turned around before locking eyes with your neighbor, ellie williams "...did our date get canceled?" she tilted her head, almost pouting. she reeked of weed, her hands rubbing the back of her neck. she was more direct when she was high you noticed.

you paused before it dawned on you- the date you two had planned together was today. your eyes widened as you shook your head, talking with your hands. "no i'm sorry- shit i- I had to pick up someone elses shift today and I just- it didn't cross my mind I'm sorry els.." you rambled when Ellie gripped your hands, her voice slightly lowered to a whisper. "I get it.. no need to get all worked up." she smiled as your gaze locked on hers. she's so pretty.

"sorry again i-"

"if you say sorry again- i'll make you shut up"

"what?"

she got a little flustered, before nodding. "you heard me-." the two of you laughed, yours more because of how flustered you were and hers from your reaction. "dude i'm just joking chill-!" she laughed as you rolled your eyes.

"if you want we can do that date now-.. i won't be asleep till later- wanna come inside-?" you were a little embarrassed to bring her inside your apartment but honestly you didn't mind. Ellie however- she seemed more taken aback. "yeah that's- that's cool." she rubbed the back of her neck before you nodded, opening the door for her. "ladies first.." you teased as she rolled her eyes.

the two of you talked for a long while, laughing as y'all added onto the conversation. "hey wanna watch a movie?" you suggested, as she nodded.

as y'all scrolled through and picked a movie you two found interesting, you both leaned towards each other, the distance closing every minute.

by the time the movie started your shoulders were touching. ellie wanted to put her arm around you- to get closer to you in general but she found herself hesitating. fuck it she finally thought to herself before wrapping her arm around your shoulders, your head leaning against her shoulder. the two of you melted together perfectly, fitting into each other as if you two were missing parts of a piece.

ellie found herself looking at you more than the movie. whenever you laughed at something the movie said she'd smile, thinking to herself how pretty you looked with the glow of the movie reflected across your features.

maybe it was the weed, but ellie seemed so fearless. "..your laugh is so pretty." she mumbled out, her gaze fixated on your smile. you turned your attention to her, your breath hitching ever so slightly as you both realized how close the two of you were. "thanks els." both of your gazes flickered between each other's eyes and lips, the tension thick.

"..what're we doing..?" you whispered as ellie tilted her head slightly. "whatever you want us to." she spoke softly, her gaze still locked on your lips. just as you two slowly leaned in, an explosion happened in the movie, scaring the both of you. you two laughed, before cuddling closer.

"that was fun." ellie smiled, her hand resting against the doorknob of your front door. she didn't want to leave, she missed you too much for that. "maybe next time we could have a date at a much normal time" you joked as she nodded, chuckling. "yeah I agree," she smiled "monday, a new movie comes out- it's a horror movie. wanna see it together? i'll pay and drive and all that shit" she spoke with the feigned nonchalant attitude she tried to keep up around you. "i'd like that" you smiled as she nodded.

"cool."

"cool."

"oh- lemme give you my number in case something comes up?" she gently took your phone, your fingertips brushing against each other. (haha y'all touched tips heh)

"thank you-.. and- good night ellie."

"g'night-."

and with that she left with a click of your front door.

i need a masc lesbian in with me now

[m4rv3l-girl]

Not the kind of partner I’m used to..

Bucky is referred to a paired therapy program..

Warnings: None, little bit of angst…Kind of?

The chair was too small.

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, arms crossed over his chest, shoulders hunched like a caged animal. The walls of Dr. Raynor’s office were the same off-white shade of every other government-sanctioned therapy clinic he’d been forced to visit, and the fluorescent lights hummed in a way that made his teeth itch. He hated it here. He hated therapy. And, most of all, he hated whatever new hoop Raynor was making him jump through this time.

"This is stupid," he grumbled, voice low and flat. "I don't need a - what do you even call this? A therapy buddy? A trauma pen-pal?"

Raynor gave him that look. The one that said she was just barely tolerating him. "It’s a paired therapy program."

Bucky rolled his eyes.

"You agreed to try," she reminded him, flipping through her clipboard. "The point is to help people with… let's say, complicated pasts, to build social connections. Get used to interacting. Being normal."

"Great. So you’re admitting this is a group project."

"Not a group," Raynor corrected, sitting back in her chair. "Just the two of you. One-on-one. You can do that, right? Make one friend?"

Bucky sighed through his nose, glaring at the ceiling like it had personally wronged him.

"Well, lucky for you, she’s not thrilled about this either," Raynor continued, glancing at the door as voices echoed from outside the office. "I warned her to be civil, but fair warning - she's not exactly a social butterfly."

Bucky’s interest piqued at that. He listened, keen ears picking up the muffled sound of a woman’s voice.

"Look, Doc, I’m just saying - do I actually have to?" The voice huffed. "I don’t need a therapy partner. I’m doing just fine avoiding people all on my own."

Bucky smirked.

"Y/N, you promised," the other doctor’s voice responded, a familiar level of exhausted patience in her tone.

A pause. A groan. The sound of a doorknob turning.

Then she stepped in.

Y/N had the kind of posture that screamed reluctant participation. She entered the room like it physically pained her to do so, crossing her arms and scanning the space with an expression that read: ‘this was not my idea, and I hate it here.’ When her eyes landed on Bucky, she froze for a fraction of a second - just long enough for him to notice. He was used to that reaction. The pause. The flicker of recognition. Like she was debating whether to acknowledge who he was or pretend he was just some guy.

Bucky arched a brow. "You must be thrilled about this."

She gave him a flat look. "Over the moon."

Raynor clapped her hands together, the universal therapist signal for ‘let’s begin.’ "Great! Now that you’ve met, let’s set some ground rules. The goal here is casual interaction, low-pressure conversations. Just get to know each other."

Y/N’s mouth twitched like she had about ten sarcastic things she wanted to say, but she bit them back.

"I’ll leave you to it," Raynor announced, already making for the door. "Try to keep the glaring to a minimum."

Then she was gone.

The silence stretched. Bucky stared at Y/N. Y/N stared at Bucky. The tension between them was less hostility and more… mutual disinterest. Like two kids forced to work on a school project together, neither wanting to be the first to break the silence.

Bucky sighed. "Guess we should start with the basics. Name’s Bucky."

"Y/N," she responded, shifting her weight. "But I already know who you are."

He tilted his head, not really surprised. "Yeah?"

She gave him a look like he was an idiot. "Because you’re Bucky Barnes. The white wolf. The Winter Soldier. Avenger. Internationally recognized brooding champion."

Bucky blinked, caught off guard. "Brooding champion?"

She shrugged. "You do have a very… ‘resting murder face’ thing going on."

Bucky stared at her for a beat, then snorted. "That’s a new one."

Y/N shifted again, looking slightly less miserable than before. "So, uh… what exactly are we supposed to do? Just talk about our feelings until we magically become better people?"

Bucky smirked. "Pretty sure that’s the idea."

"Gross."

"Agreed."

A beat. Then-

"Wanna get out of here?" Y/N blurted out.

Bucky blinked. "What?"

"Not, like, run away forever," she clarified. "Just… sneak out. Get a coffee or something. We can pretend to do the therapy thing and check it off the list."

Bucky considered this. On one hand, Raynor would definitely give him hell for it. On the other… he really didn’t want to sit in this room for an hour talking about his feelings.

He stood, stretching. "Alright, partner. Lead the way."

Y/N looked surprised for a split second before masking it with an easy smirk. "Try to keep up, Grandpa. We have an hour."

They stepped into the hallway, and Bucky couldn’t help but feel a twinge of nostalgia. It reminded him of old missions—sneaking around, trying to keep a low profile. Only this time, there were no explosions or rifles. Just the muted sounds of people trying to put their lives back together. The smell of over-brewed coffee and sadness.

"This way," Y/N whispered, jerking her head towards the stairs. "The café's less crowded." They descended the stairs, Y/N moving with the kind of ease that came from spending too much time in places like these. Bucky followed, watching the way she moved—like she was trying to be invisible, but couldn’t quite pull it off. She had a presence about her. Something that made people look, even when she didn’t want them to.

When they reached the café, it was indeed quieter than he’d expected. A few patients nursed their drinks, staring into the abyss of their pasts. The barista looked up, giving them a nod that suggested he’d seen this sort of thing before. Bucky couldn’t blame them—therapy was a weird gig.

They claimed a table in the corner, far from prying eyes and eager ears. Y/N slid into a chair, her eyes scanning the room with the kind of wariness he understood all too well. She was checking for threats, even though the biggest threat here was probably someone asking how their week had been.

"So," she said, breaking the silence. "What’s your damage?" Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?" "Your tragic backstory," she elaborated, rolling her eyes. "You know, the reason you’re stuck in that soul-sucking building." He leaned back, arms crossing over his broad chest.

"You first."

Y/N’s smirk grew. "Okay, fine. I was in the military. Mission went tits up, ended up with a few too many pieces missing. Now I’ve got metal where there should be meat and therapy where there should be… well, anything else."

Bucky nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. He liked her. "Sounds like a blast," he said, voice dry.

Y/N chuckled, a low, dark sound. "It was. Literally."

The conversation flowed from there, surprisingly easily. They talked about their military backgrounds - Bucky’s HYDRA days, his time as a SHIELD agent. It was like two old soldiers swapping war stories, except the enemy was less about bullets and more about inner demons. She had a sharp wit, he noticed, and a way of cutting through bullshit that was refreshing. No pep talks, no pity. Just raw, honest words that stung a little.

As they talked, Y/N’s defenses slowly started to lower. She spoke about her past missions with a passion that was palpable, her eyes lighting up with a fierce intensity that made him want to lean in closer. And as she spoke, he realized that she wasn’t just some girl with a tragic past - she was a fighter. A survivor. And she’d earned every single one of those metallic scars.

Bucky found himself telling her more than he’d ever told anyone else. Stories of Steve, of the Avengers, of the endless nights spent trying to drown out the echoes of his past with a bottle of whiskey. The words poured out of him like they’d been damned up for too long, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t feel the need to censor himself.

Y/N listened, really listened, without judgment or the need to fix him. It was a strange feeling, one that made him feel both exposed and oddly at ease. They talked about their fears, their regrets, their hopes for the future - things that Bucky hadn’t allowed himself to think about in a long time.

The bell over the door chimed, and they both looked up, startled by the sudden intrusion of reality. The café was emptying out, the sun setting outside the window in a wash of orange and pink. They’d talked for hours. And they’d be in deep shit. Oh well.

Y/N’s eyes searched his, something unspoken passing between them. "Thank you," she murmured, voice low. "For not making me feel like a freak." Bucky’s smirk grew into a small smile. "You’re not a freak," he said softly. "You’re a survivor."

They stood, gathering their things. As they made their way back to the clinic, Bucky realized that maybe, just maybe, this therapy buddy thing wasn’t going to be so bad after all. It wasn’t fixing his life - not by a long shot. But it was a start.

They re-entered the building, the sterile air hitting them like a slap in the face after the brief taste of freedom. Y/N’s shoulders squared up again, the wall sliding back into place.

"You know, Bucky," she said as they approached the elevator. "I didn’t hate that." He chuckled. "Me neither, kid." The elevator doors dinged open, revealing the all-too-familiar corridor. Y/N stepped in, punching the button for their floor with a little too much force.

"So, what now?" Bucky asked, leaning against the railing. "We just go back to her office and pretend we talked about our feelings?" Y/N rolled her eyes, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "If that’s what it takes to keep them off our asses." The elevator lurched to a stop, and they stepped out into the hallway. As they approached the room they were supposed to be in, they could hear the muffled sounds of a conversation - Raynor’s voice, and another therapist, discussing their patients.

"Looks like we’ve got company," Bucky murmured, glancing at the clock. They were cutting it close. Y/N nodded. "Let’s make it look good." They both took a deep breath and stepped into the room, trying to look like they hadn’t just blown off their session.

Raynor looked up from her notes, raising an eyebrow. "You two look… enlightened." Bucky and Y/N shared a look, the unspoken challenge passing between them.

"We had a breakthrough," Y/N said, deadpan. "A real emotional rollercoaster." Raynor’s gaze flicked between them, trying to gauge their sincerity. "Well," she said, after a beat. "I’m happy to hear that. Why don’t you sit down and tell me all about it?" Her voice was skeptical.

They sat, and Bucky launched into a half-true, half-exaggerated story about their heart-to-heart. Y/N filled in the blanks with sighs and eye-rolls, and somehow, it was convincing. They had a rhythm, a way of finishing each other's sentences that made it seem like they'd been friends for years instead of minutes.

"So, you've discovered the importance of sharing your feelings," Raynor said, scribbling on her clipboard.

"It's life-changing," Bucky deadpanned, and Y/N snorted. This might not be so bad…

——————————————————————————————————

Here you go, My Lovelies! I just love the thought of someone matching Bucky’s energy in total contrast to the usual grumpy/sunshine trope 🫶

[lyvhie]

hi there!!! can you write a friends to lovers that's sooooo ☁️☁️fluffy☁️☁️ for jeno!! where reader and jeno are friends but need to sit down for a ~conversation~ 🙂‍↕️ because they always end up subconsciously touching/holding hands whenever they hang out 😩🫨🥰

more than friends | lee jeno

lee jeno x fem!reader ꒰ summary ꒱ you and jeno are definitely more than just friends. ꒰ a/n ꒱ hiiiiiii anoooon!! it took me a while, but i did not forget about you! i hope you like it <3 ꒰ cw ꒱ just fluffyyy.

Your friend's words had been echoing in your mind for days now: You might really like Jeno.

At first, you brushed it off, laughing nervously and insisting it wasn’t like that. But as the days passed, you couldn’t shake the thought. You had never consciously looked at Jeno that way, as someone you could have feelings for. Yet, the more you reflected on it, the more undeniable it became.

The connection between you wasn’t ordinary. You were practically inseparable, rarely spotted without the other. Jeno was a constant presence in your life, always there, always close. And then there were the small gestures that spoke volumes: hands that naturally found each other, hugs that lingered just a moment too long, and the way his eyes softened when he looked at you.

It wasn’t just friendship, no matter how much the two of you claimed otherwise. Now that you were beginning to see it clearly, it was becoming increasingly difficult to act normally around him.

You couldn’t control the way your heart did a little happy dance every time you were with him. What once felt like simple, friendly, affectionate gestures now left you breathless. Like when he intertwined his fingers with yours, letting your hand rest on his lap as his thumb gently caressed the back of it. And if it wasn’t that, he had his arm draped around your shoulder, holding you close, as if he constantly needed you by his side.

Not to mention the kisses—on your forehead, your cheek, the tip of your nose, or even the back of your hand. Then there were the cuddles; movie nights seemed like his favorite excuse to hold you close. He was always this affectionate, but only with you. It was moments like these that made you even more certain he might feel the same way about you.

That's when you decided it was time to address everything. You couldn’t keep going like this, not anymore.

It was the good moment, just the two of you, walking back to your place. As usual, his hand was holding yours, and there was a comfortable silence between you. At least, it was comfortable for him. For you, otherwise, your mind was racing, going over all the different ways you could bring up the topic, unsure of how to start.

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before speaking. "Jeno," you started, your voice soft but steady, "can I ask you something?"

He glanced at you, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Of course, go ahead."

You hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right words. "I don't know if it's just me, but... do you ever feel like what we have... isn’t just friendship?" you bit your lip, hoping your question didn’t sound too out of place.

Jeno slowed his pace, his fingers tightening around yours as he processed your words. "What do you mean?" he asked, his tone gentle yet unsure.

“I don’t know. It’s just… sometimes it feels like there's more between us. Like... we’re not just friends anymore,” you paused, searching his face for any sign of understanding. "Do you feel that too?"

“Yes, I… I do,” he nodded slightly, his words sending a flutter through your chest. You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. “It feels like we’re…”

“In love!”

“Best friends!”

Both of you froze, staring at each other with wide eyes, a mix of surprise and confusion etched on your faces.

“In love?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Best friends?” you echoed, your voice tinged with disbelief.

For a moment, time seemed to stop as you stared at each other. The embarrassment washed over you in waves, making you want to sink into the ground. Could you really have been imagining things? It didn’t feel that way—not with the way he acted, the way he looked at you. Surely, you weren’t the only one feeling this way… right?

The thought made your stomach churn, and regret began to flood your mind. But just as you were sinking deeper into self-doubt, Jeno’s soft chuckle broke through the tension. You blinked, snapping out of your spiraling thoughts, only to meet his gaze again, now filled with amusement.

“I couldn’t hold it in anymore,” he said, his laughter bubbling up. “You look so cute when you’re flustered.”

And just like that, he was openly laughing, leaving you even more bewildered.

“Are you… messing with me right now?” You tilted your head slightly, unsure of what was happening.

“I couldn’t resist,” he said, his playful, puppy-like grin making it impossible to decide whether you should be mad, happy, or just utterly confused.

“Jeno, that’s not funny!” You pulled your hand away from his and gave his shoulder a light shove—not enough to hurt, but enough to show your frustration. You took a step back, crossing your arms and avoiding his gaze.

He chuckled, clearly enjoying the moment, but that only made your annoyance grow. Stepping forward, he cupped your face gently, making you meet his eyes once more.

“Don’t give me that look,” his voice softened, the playful smile still lingering on his face.

“You made me look ridiculous,” you muttered.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said quickly, leaning in to kiss the tip of your nose in a way that instantly melted the tension. “I’m sorry, I know it wasn’t cool. I was being an idiot.”

“You were,” your lips forming a pout as he playfully squished your cheeks. “So, what does all of this mean?” you asked, searching for an answer in his eyes.

Jeno paused, his fingers gently caressing your cheek as if he was considering his next words carefully. The playful spark in his eyes softened, replaced by something more vulnerable, almost shy.

“It means...” he started, his voice softer now, more serious. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this for a while,” he exhaled quietly, his thumb brushing lightly across your lips. “I really like you. A lot. You have no idea. And I know this sounds cliché, but I didn’t want to risk ruining what we have if I was wrong.”

And there it was—your heart threatening to race out of your chest. You suddenly became incredibly aware of every little detail: how close you were, how he held your face, how his thumb absently traced along your lips. Not good for your heart.

“You’re not wrong,” you whispered, your gaze locked with his, feeling something electric between you. “I like you too, more than I ever thought possible. And I think I’m falling for you even more right now.”

The way his eyes squeezed shut with that huge, genuine smile made your heart do flips. It was almost criminal how adorable he was.

Before he could even respond, you beat him to it.

“Can we kiss?”

Jeno’s smile faltered for just a second, his gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips. His hands slowly slid from your face to the back of your neck, pulling you closer with a gentle force. You could feel the heat of his breath, and your heart raced even faster. When his lips finally met yours, it was like your entire body ignited.

The kiss started out hesitant, both of you gauging the moment, but it quickly grew bolder, more certain. Soft and slow, more intimate than you expected. You could feel every movement, savoring each second. Instinctively, you gripped his shirt, pulling him closer, as if you couldn’t get enough of the connection.

When you pulled away just enough to catch your breath, you couldn't help but laugh as Jeno buried his face into your neck, his warmth radiating against your skin. You could feel his flushed cheeks pressed against you.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice soft with amusement.

He exhaled, his voice muffled against you, but the words were clear.

“God, I really like you.”

↝ taglist: @yizhrt, @sinisxtea, @peterm4rker.