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mrsmandalorian · 4 months ago

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short n' sweet tour

--pedro pascal x singer!f!reader

summary: on the debut night of your arena tour, you pull out all the cheeky tricks to grab Pedro's attention while the crowd goes wild.-this fic features a tiny bit of 'Bed Chem" and the whole song of 'Juno" by Sabrina Carpenter !!

lyrical genius masterlist / main masterlist / wc:4.9K

warnings: 18+ mdni, reader is able-bodied, smut!!!, and fluff!, p in v, hard and quick FUCK, sexual TEASING, pet names, pillow humping, dry humping, wandering hands, makeout.

a/n: the next part is finally here! thank you for all the love on this series. hope you guys enjoy this part! pls leave some feedback and let me know what you guys might be interested in seeing in the future! much love, maddie <3

The electricity from the crowd vibrates backstage as you nervously wait for your cue to run onstage. All the hard work throughout your career has led to this moment—the first concert of your North American leg of the arena tour. It started in Staples Center in Los Angeles and concludes in Sweden next year.

The pre-show recording starts as your team quickly helps you with your earpiece and offers words of encouragement. Take a few deep breaths to calm your nerves as you hear the team start a countdown to your entrance over the earpiece.

“Three, two, one-go, go!” the stage manager says from behind you.

As the crowd roars, you dash onto the elaborate stage to begin the show with one of your many comedy bits, acting as if you are half-ready for the show to start, still in your sequined bath towel. You finally end up center stage to find your microphone and strip from your fake towel to a custom sparkling bodysuit with sheer sparkling tights, which causes an uproar from your fans.

Looking into the sea of people and phones, you give your best smile and take the moment as best as possible. The tune of your first song starts as your dancers slowly come out to join you on stage. It was showtime.

The crowd was whole of thousands of fans and familiar faces from family, friends, and celebrities. The cheers and joy in the room made all the struggles and hard work behind the music worthwhile. The impact your music has on people truly makes it all significant. You released your album, and it was a fantastic experience; it topped the charts for weeks and went viral on social media. It has undoubtedly been the best year of your life. Your career has already taken off, but the overwhelming success you've experienced in the last six months has been remarkable in more ways than one.

Your nerves disappear as you sing through the setlist and entertain your fans with your cheeky comedy bits and lovable personality. Your setlist consists of songs from your new album, older hits and gems, and karaoke from your favorite artists. Much like your most recent singles, your latest album is very sex-positive and cheeky, which sets your performance to the same tone. You were expecting a good reaction from the crowd, especially someone.

After a few songs and the addition of a sheer robe, it was finally time for one of your more sexual songs off your album, Bed Chem, which had a very sensual tone of dance to it. The lights dim as you get into position on a retro circular bed part of your elaborate makeshift apartment stage. You position yourself seductively in the middle as you stare up at the camera above you, which will project onto the large screens for the audience.

The song starts as you twirl your hair with a massive smirk. As you go through the first few lyrics on the set bed all by yourself, you can't help but imagine your bed chemistry with your lover, Pedro, which causes you to blush heavily.

Your imagination halts as your dancers join you on the bed to continue the song and choreography. The canopy opens to the audience, but you have been so caught up in your performance that you haven't taken a second to look at those chocolate eyes in the audience.

As you continue the song sensually and playfully, you are met at the edge of the bed with your dancers. Staring into the crowd to find his eyes, you meet them with a large smirk, holding them as you sing the following few lines.

“And I bet we'd both arrive at the same time (bed chem)

And I bet the thermostat's set at six-nine (bed chem)

And I bet it's even better than in my head (my, ooh).”

Your gazes hold until you give him a wink, which earns you a smirk and wink back from him. The tension between you and him burned hotter than the stage lights, igniting every inch of you—even in a room packed with thousands. You were so smitten with him as you continued your choreography with your female dancers.

During the song's outro, the ladies leave you to dance with the guys as you kneel on the bed. One of the male dancers joins you, holding a camcorder that projects onto the screens, and he joins you on the bed. Playfully actingout a scene with him until the canopy curtain closes and your reflections show you both undress and embrace onto the bed as the lights dim to darkness.

After the song ends, the crowd erupts, and you run backstage for your first outfit. As you change, one of your few mini videos and dancers entertain the audience. Touching up your makeup and dabbing the sweat from your brow, you quickly grab your phone to send Pedro a selfie of you winking and making a kissy face: “All for you, baby.”

The concert flows on—another outfit change, playful banter, and electrifying moments with the crowd—all in a desperate attempt to distract yourself from the thoughts of your irresistibly fine man. After an intensely emotional song, your setlist picks back up with cheerful, fun music that has gone viral for your whole tour. You walk yourself down in your long, custom, sexy dress down the catwalk of the stage as you talk with the crowd. You compliment and express your gratitude to your fans as you prepare for the next song. Before the song, your team and you have been doing a comedy bit before to give the spotlight to a fan.

You complimented the crowd on their fabulous outfits, which you knew took them a while to pick out or make. The best part of the bit happened once your dancers joined you just off the main stage onto the catwalk.

“Oh my, everyone, look! Who is this hottie in the front row right here?” You let out a shocked expression as you fan your face dramatically. The camera for the large screens directs the camera to the person you are referring to, who happens to be Lux Pascal. The crowd goes wild as Lux starts to blush. “ You are breathtaking! Whoever made you, God bless them. God bless their genetics.” You joke with her as you twist your hair in a fake, flirtatious way. “Um, what's your name, gorgeous?”

The camera pans back to Lux, where she plays her part and screams, “Lux!” to you. You both laugh together. “Such a beautiful name! Our names would be perfect for us to be in a relationship together. Oh my god! My clothes just fell off thinking about us. I will have to arrest you for being too hot!” You say as your long skirt falls to reveal your shorter skirt underneath. A brief glimpse of Pedro standing beside his sisters and your friends sends the arena into a deafening uproar, the sheer volume making you giggle into the microphone.

Your dancer hands you a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs, which you give to the security guard with a wink and blow a kiss to Lux before you start to get into position for the next song, which the intro has begun.

The dancer brought a chair for you to sit in between them to start the song. They all still wave and send Lux flirtatious signals as part of the bit. The music begins, which causes you to smirk because of the context.

“Don't have to tell your hot ass a thing

Oh yeah, you just get it (get it)

Whole package, babe, I like the way You don'tt

God bless your dad's genetics, mm, uh”

You promise yourself just one glance. Flashing him your brightest grin, your eyes meet him—and the instant connection sends a deep blush rushing to your cheeks. It remains on your face throughout the song as you continue to sing.

“You make me wanna make you fall in love

Oh, late at night, I'm thinking 'bout you, ah-ah

Wanna try out my fuzzy pink handcuffs?

Oh, I hear you knockin', baby, come on up”

“I know you want my touch for life

If you love me right, then who knows?

I might let you make me Juno

You know I just might

Let you lock me down tonight

One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love (Oh)”

Your blush never fades as you pour yourself into the sultry song about your lover, every lyric a teasing confession. Your movements are sensual and playful, and the choreography pulls the audience deeper into your world. They sing along to every word, their energy electrifying, reminding you that moments like this make it all worth it.

“I showed my friends, then we high-fived (Ah-ah)

Sorry if you feel objеctified (Ah-ah)

Can't help myself; hormonеs are high

Give me more than just some butterflies”

You quickly make your way down the catwalk as you sing and dance, smiling at the sea of people around. You get right to the tip of the heart at the end of the stage and give your cheekiest smile.

“You make me wanna make you fall in love

Oh, late at night, I'm thinking 'bout you, ah-ah

Wanna try out some freaky positions?

Have you ever tried this one?”

As the lyrics leave your lips, you drop to your hands and knees at the center of the heart-shaped stage, rocking your hips in a slow, sensual tease. With a playful bite of your lip and a cheeky wink to the crowd, the message is crystal clear. The arena erupts at the bold display, but you’re already back on your feet, slipping seamlessly into the next move. The cameras cut to Pedro—his head shaking, a knowing smile on his lips as he chuckles with your friends. The stage slowly rises above the crowd as you continue to sing.

I know you want my touch for life

If you love me right, then who knows?

I might let you make me Juno

You know I just might

Let you lock me down tonight

One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love

“Alright, LA, sing this next part with me at the top of your lungs!” you exclaimed to the crowd, shimmering in the air. “Let me hear every single one of you!” You seamlessly kneel and place your hand on your chest as you sing the bridge.

“Adore me

Hold me and explore me

Mark your territory (Ah-ah)

Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one (Ah-ah)

Adore me

Hold me and explore me (Ah-ah)

I'm so fuckin' horny

Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one”

Behind you, the screen flashes the song’s lyrics in bold, glowing letters, each word pulsing with the rhythm. As you reach the bridge, your mind drifts—those lyrics, once just melodies, now feel like a private confession, each line a tantalizing reminder of your lover. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, but you keep singing, letting the emotion seep into every note.

“(Oh, I) I know you want my touch for life

If you love me right, then who knows?

I might let you make me Juno

You know I just might (Might)

Let you lock me down tonight

One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love”

The concert rolls on for a few more songs, each moment more electrifying than the last. A hint of sadness creeps in as the night nears its end, but the thrill of an unforgettable show lingers. Still, excitement bubbles within you—soon, you’ll be backstage, ready to celebrate a night that was nothing short of magic.

“LA, this has been the most unforgettable night of my life. My first big tour, my first night, and I got to spend it with you. I can’t even put into words how much this means to me—how much you mean to me. Thank you for believing in me, for screaming with me, and for making this dream a reality. I’ll never forget this night… unless the adrenaline wears off and I completely black out. But seriously, I love you all more than words can say. Thank you for everything!” You express your gratitude, trying not to get too emotional about the overwhelming feeling. You gently wipe your few happy tears from your face.

You blow kisses and wave as you gracefully go backstage with your dancers. Your team is waiting for you to help take your earpiece out and celebrate with you. They all give you compliments and congratulations. If there is any criticism, they will let you know tomorrow.

After returning to the greenroom, the energy from the performance is still buzzing through your veins, and your friends and family pour in from the audience. Laughter and praise fill the space as they hug you and gush about their favorite moments of the show. Their words warm your heart, but before you can respond to them all, a familiar touch sends a shiver up your spine.

Strong, warm hands settle on your hips, grounding you instantly. You turn swiftly, already knowing who they belong to, and are met with Pedro’s soft, adoring smile. Before you can say a word, he pulls you into his embrace, his scent wrapping around you like a comforting haze.

“You were incredible, baby,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with pride. His hands trail down the fabric of your outfit, savoring the texture beneath his fingertips. The simple gesture sends a wave of goosebumps across your skin, and you can’t help but smile, leaning into his touch.

Still basking in the moment, you slowly pull away just enough to meet his gaze, your voice warm with gratitude. “Thank you,” you whisper, the connection lingering between you.

With his presence still humming through you, you turn back to your loved ones, laughter, and conversation effortlessly filling the space once more.

As the last of your friends and family trickle out of the arena, heading off to prepare for a celebratory late dinner, you stay behind in your dressing room, savoring the moment. Pedro remains by your side, a comforting presence as you decompress from the night. The air between you crackles with unspoken energy, and it’s clear you both can’t keep your hands to yourselves.

“You were quite the tease during your set, angel,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours in a sweet, lingering kiss. His warmth envelops you as you sit on the small couch, his hands exploring your body with a playful familiarity. You giggle at his words, nodding in agreement, the tension between you both palpable.

“You knew exactly what you were doing to me,” he adds, his fingers dancing along your waist, drawing you closer. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes that sends your heart racing. “I’d love to see your stage set.”

A rush of excitement floods through you, your smile growing as you meet his gaze. “I’d love to show you,” you say, your voice soft but laced with promise. Taking his hand, you lead him toward the stage door, the lingering buzz of the night still thick in the air. A few crew members move about, cleaning up and prepping for tomorrow’s show, but your focus is entirely on him.

Waltzing onto the stage, you gesture to the elaborate setup, walking him through the details as you chat about your performance. His hands never leave you, fingers tracing idle patterns against your skin as he listens intently, slipping in jokes that send both of you into laughter.

But as you near the infamous round-shaped bed at center stage, warmth floods your cheeks. His smirk deepens. “You looked blissful the whole night,” he murmurs, his voice a low hum against your skin. “But there were two moments you looked absolutely delectable.”

His lips brush your neck, trailing soft, lingering kisses that send a shiver through you. A nervous giggle escapes as you instinctively tilt your head, granting him more access. Slowly, he eases you back onto the bed, his touch growing more assured, guiding you into surrender.

That’s what you do—surrender to him. It had been weeks since your schedules aligned, since you’d had a moment like this, and you weren’t about to waste it. You let him take control, guiding your body with ease, his fingers threading through your hair as his lips capture yours in a slow, lingering kiss.

A soft whimper escapes as he presses closer, his hands trailing down the front of your body, leaving a path of heat in their wake. “You were such a tease tonight, baby,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and thick with amusement. His grip tightens around your thigh as you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. The warmth of his body and how he moves against you sends a shiver through you, the anticipation crackling between you like electricity. “I think you might have been trying to get a reaction out of me.”

His hips dip into yours as you feel his warmth glide against yours, which causes you to squeeze your legs around me. His hands wander down to your bum, and he holds you close for a moment. With one swift movement, he flips you and positions you on top of him. Gripping your ass before giving a quick slap against your behind, which causes you to let out a yelp. You bury your head into his chest because you are embarrassed by being too loud and getting caught.

He gives you two more slaps that make you whimper against him and cause him to snicker. “Two can play the game, love,” he says as he grips your hips and pushes you against his clothed member. You buck your hips to create some friction between the two of you, which makes you let out the slightest whimper in need. His hand remains on your hips as you throw your head back as you let yourself hump him against him. He enables you to ride him as his hands roam towards your breast and knead them roughly, which causes a noise of frustration to erupt out of you. The slickness in your panties makes your determined hips work furiously against his hardened member.

You were so caught up in the moment that you didn’t notice Pedro’s smirk, the glint of mischief in his eyes. He had a plan—one carefully crafted to make you pay for every playful tease, every bold move you pulled on stage.

Your breath hitched as his hands moved with deliberate slowness, his touch both gentle and commanding. “You had your fun tonight,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your skin. “Now it’s my turn.”

With a wicked smirk, he tightens his grip for just a moment before effortlessly sliding you off his lap, the loss of his warmth sending a desperate ache through your body. His hands linger—slow, deliberate—tracing over your skin as if memorizing every inch of you. Then, just as your breath catches in anticipation, he leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head. It’s tender, almost reverent, yet it only leaves you craving more.

As he rises, his gaze locks onto yours, dark with satisfaction, knowing exactly what he’s done. Without another word, he strides off the stage, vanishing into the shadows, leaving you there—breathless, flushed, and utterly undone, your body still humming with the need only he can satisfy.

For a moment, you lay there, catching your breath, your mind racing. You wouldn’t let this old dog win—not yet. Your teasing wasn’t over. But damn him, he’d left behind something deeper than just a game. The ache he ignited wasn’t one to be toyed with; it demanded more than just playful taunts. It needed to be answered.

Your body still burned from his touch, every nerve alive with the memory of him. You could still feel the ghost of his lips on your skin, the soft press of his kiss on the top of your head—a contradiction of tenderness and control that made your pulse quicken.

No, this wasn’t over. But first, you had to deal with the fire he’d so effortlessly set ablaze.

And that’s just what you start to do.

Slowly, you push yourself up, your body still humming with the aftershocks of his touch. A quick glance around confirms what you already suspected—the crew has cleared out for the evening, leaving the stage bathed in dim, moody light, the perfect setting for what you’re about to do.

A wicked smirk tugs at your lips as anticipation curls low in your stomach. If he thought he could leave you like this, aching and undone, he had another thing coming. This wasn’t just about need; it was about control and claiming the upper hand. And what better way than here, on his stage, where every move was meant to captivate an audience?

Especially when that audience was him.

With a slow, deliberate breath, you step back onto the fluffy pillow-covered bed, already imagining the look on his face when he realizes just what kind of show you’re about to put on.

You glance across the bed, your eyes drifting over the pleasurable options laid before you, each a temptation, a promise. The sight alone tugs you back to past nights, to the moments when distance kept you apart but never truly separated. You’ve performed this wicked little act for him before, in the privacy of your own home, a sinful display meant only for his eyes—his voice in your ear, coaxing, commanding, praising.

But tonight, it’s different. Tonight, this is your stage. Your domain.

The empty venue hums with silence, the stage lights casting a soft glow, illuminating the space where you captivate crowds with every note you sing. But now, there’s only one audience member you care about. He thinks he’s won, leaving you breathless and aching, but you smirk to yourself—this game is far from over.

Your hands find the subject to your pleasure, which happens to be the firmest and fluffiest pillow on the bed. You mount the pillow as you had just previously mounted your lover. Your determined hips start at work again, creating your own friction against the softness of the pillow against your soaked panties. You couldn't hold back your soft moans as you rode in a familiar rhythm.

Caught up in your own pleasure, you barely registered the weight of unseen eyes on you—though deep down, you felt it. That familiar heat, that electric prickle along your skin, warning you that you weren’t alone. But it didn’t matter. Not anymore.

The game, the teasing, the push and pull—it all faded into something raw, something uncontrollable. You weren’t performing anymore. This wasn’t for show. This was need, pure and aching, a fire burning too hot to be tamed.

Your breath hitched, your body surrendering to the moment, lost in sensation, in the hunger that refused to be ignored. And somewhere, hidden in the shadows, he watched. Silent. Waiting. Taking in every movement, every sound, every unguarded moment of you unraveling before him.

Before you knew it, rough, familiar hands were on you—firm, possessive, claiming what had always been his. A sharp gasp slipped from your lips, quickly followed by a frustrated groan. You had been so close, teetering on the edge, almost lost in your own pleasure, only to have him interrupt just as you were about to tip over.

But even through the frustration, you didn’t mind. Not one bit.

His touch and presence were precisely what you had been craving all along. The heat of his body pressed against yours, the unmistakable dominance in his grip, the way his breath fanned hot against your skin. He had been watching, waiting, letting you think you had control. But now, he was done watching.

His lips ghosted along the shell of your ear, his voice dark and dripping with satisfaction. "Did you really think I'd let you finish without me?" His fingers tightened, his body caging you in, making it clear—you weren’t going anywhere. "You put on quite the show, sweetheart… but now, it’s my turn."

Hands worked quickly, rough and unyielding, as he maneuvered you with ease—his strength undeniable, his intent unmistakable. Before you could catch your breath, you found yourself in the position you had so proudly displayed in your performance tonight, the one meant to tease, torment, and tempt him beyond reason.

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest, his grip firm as he held you there, ensuring you understood exactly what would happen. His lips barely grazed your skin, his breath hot and taunting. "You wanted my attention, didn’t you?" he murmured, his voice laced with hunger. "Now you have it. Let’s see if you can handle what you’ve been begging for."

His boldness caught you off guard as you felt your slickness become bare, and the sound of pants unzipping rang through your ears. Before you knew it, his thickness probed at your walls, determined to finish what you both had started. His fingers make quick work to find your bundle of nerves, forcing you to moan deeply into the pillows.

His hands gripped your hips firmly, but his eyes flickered to the pillow beneath you—still damp with your wetness, carrying the intoxicating scent of your need. The sight of it, the evidence of just how lost you had been in your own pleasure before he caught you, sent a dark, satisfied smirk across his lips.

"Look at this," he murmured, his voice thick with desire as his fingers ghosted over the damp fabric. "You were really putting on a show for me, weren’t you?"

He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as his hands worked quickly, positioning you exactly how you had so boldly displayed yourself during your performance. "But now that I’m here," he continued, voice dripping with wicked promise, "let’s see if you can handle what you were begging for."

His promise was quickly answered as his hips brutally thrust into trying to relieve his ache of desire as well as yours. All at once, his thrust and fingers worked you up to mold effortlessly beneath his movements. You were moaning and gripping onto the fuzzy bed before you knew it. You heard his groans as you both were about to finish in sync. There was no more game at play, so you relinquished it and rode out your high together as he moaned heavily into your ear. His heavy moans are replaced with deep gasps from exhaustion, which match yours, and an adoring smirk on both of your faces.

"I guess this means the war is over," you murmur, your breath still uneven as he eases away gently, cleaning himself off with slow, deliberate movements.

He exhales a quiet chuckle, his smirk softened but still present. "Maybe," he muses, casting you a knowing glance. "Or maybe we just found a new way to fight."

His fingers trail over your skin one last time before he leans back, watching you with the kind of satisfaction that promises—truce or not—this was far from the end.

In quick motion, he finds your discarded panties, using them to clean the two of you the best for the situation. He leaves kisses down your body as he does so, being the gentle lover again. He might fuck hard, but he is always a gentleman in the end (literally).

The two of you return to your dressing room, the air still warm with the remnants of what just transpired. There’s a quiet intimacy in how he lingers, watching as you slip into something more comfortable, his hands occasionally brushing against you in small, affectionate gestures.

You take a moment to clean up, smooth your hair, and touch up your makeup while he stands behind you, his presence steady and familiar. Every now and then, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, a silent reminder of just how deeply he adores you.

Falling into your usual rhythm, the playful teasing and gentle touches return, the two of you wrapped in the sweet comfort of each other. As he helps you fasten a necklace, his fingers grazing your skin, he meets your gaze in the mirror, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Ready, beautiful?"

With one last glance at yourselves, you take his hand, feeling nothing but warmth as you step out together, heading off to meet your loved ones for a late dinner—still lost in the afterglow of the night and of each other.

As you settle into the car, the city lights flickering past the windows, he suddenly turns to you with a smirk, his tone light and teasing. “I do have a question: why are all the songs you write about me pertaining to sex?”

You roll your eyes, laughing as you shove his arm playfully. "Oh, shut up and drive."

His chuckle fills the space between you, the perfect sound to end a perfect night.

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fanfiction #ppcu #mrsmandalorian #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro x you #pedrohub #pedro pascal fandom #pedro x reader

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superplastics · 2 years ago

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Elevate your outdoor space with LED circular planters that create a stunning evening ambiance. Discover how these innovative and energy-efficient planters can transform your nights into magical experiences.

#LED circular planters

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tickerplay · 2 years ago

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Circular LED ticker tapes are unique displays that provide scrolling text or information in a circular format. Instead of the traditional linear ticker tape that moves horizontally or vertically, circular LED ticker tapes create a continuous loop of text that rotates around a circular display. These displays are often used in various settings such as public spaces, transportation hubs, stadiums, stock exchanges, and corporate offices to convey important announcements, news, advertisements, or other information to a large audience.

Circular LED ticker tapes offer several advantages:

Eye-Catching: The circular motion of the display naturally draws attention, making it more likely that people will notice and read the information being displayed.

360-Degree Visibility: Since the text scrolls in a loop around the entire circle, the information is visible from all angles, maximizing visibility in crowded environments.

Continuous Information Flow: The circular display ensures that there is no starting or ending point, providing a continuous flow of information without any interruptions.

Flexible Content: These displays can show various types of content, such as text messages, stock prices, news headlines, images, and videos, making them versatile for different applications.

Space Utilization: Circular LED ticker tapes are often installed in locations where space might be limited or unconventional, making them a creative solution for displaying information.

Branding and Advertising: Circular LED ticker tapes can be customized to display branded messages, logos, or advertisements, enhancing the visual appeal and providing an opportunity for effective marketing.

Real-time Updates: Many modern circular LED ticker tapes can be connected to data sources, allowing them to display real-time information like stock market updates, news feeds, or social media posts.

Remote Management: These displays can often be controlled and managed remotely, enabling easy updates and adjustments to the displayed content.

Circular LED ticker tapes can come in various sizes, resolutions, and designs to fit the specific requirements of the installation location. They are typically composed of multiple LED panels seamlessly connected to form the circular shape. The text or content is programmed to scroll along the circular path, creating an engaging and dynamic display.

As of my last knowledge update in September 2021, circular LED ticker tapes were becoming more popular, but specific advancements or developments in the field since then are beyond my current knowledge.

#newsticker #financial ticker #sportticker #business school #led ticker tape #Circular Led ticker tape

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brookghaib-blog · 1 month ago

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The ghost I left behind- III

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x reader

Summary: Y/N and Bob had a life before he disappear, full of love, hope, and a lot of chaos, but they managed each other, she was the only one who truly could make him avoid the void inside his mind. How could he turn his only light into a shadow in his mind ?

Note: I kinda wanted to make this more of a filler chapter, because I didn't want to write the whole movie when it doesn't really make sense for this idea, I promise you a more fullfilling chapter next, and the emotions and action will be there!

Word count: 6.3k

Chapter II, IV

O.X.E Research Lab. - Malaysia

The hum of fluorescent lights was constant — like static pressed against Bob’s skull. The air was cold, colder than it should’ve been for a place buried under the jungle. Concrete walls closed in around him like a tomb.

He sat alone on the cot in the corner of his cell — no, not a cell, they called it a room. White-walled, sterile, like something out of a hospital, only there was no comfort here. Just observation windows and cameras that never blinked. On the wall across from him, a single metal shelf held the only thing they’d let him keep — a small, worn photograph of Y/N, curled slightly at the corners. She was smiling in the picture, standing barefoot in their kitchen, holding a mug of coffee. Her hair was messy, her eyes tired but warm.

Bob stared at that picture like it was oxygen.

He hadn’t seen her in months. He hadn’t heard her voice, hadn’t felt her hand on his back when the nightmares got bad. But he remembered everything — the sound of her laugh when she teased him about the chicken suit, the way she’d breathe when she fell asleep next to him. The feel of her lips against his shoulder. The way she’d told him she was pregnant — shaking, terrified, and hopeful all at once.

He remembered what he’d said to her that night.

“I’ll get clean. I’ll be better. I want to be the kind of man our kid looks up to.”

And then he left.

He hadn’t told her. Hadn’t said goodbye. He boarded a plane with a one-way ticket and a pocket full of cash he’d scraped together, believing that leaving would present her with a greater good. They promised change. Power. Control. All the things he’d never had. All the things he thought he needed to deserve her.

And now?

Now the power was eating him alive.

The door to the room opened with a hiss. Two armed guards stepped aside as Dr. Lenhart entered, clipboard in hand, eyes cold behind her glasses.

“Subject 44. The team is ready.”

Bob didn’t look at her. His fingers grazed the edge of the photograph once more before standing. He didn’t resist as the guards strapped a control collar around his neck and led him down the corridor.

The room he entered was massive. Sterile. Circular. Glass walls separated the observation deck from the inner chamber. Bob stood in the center, machines humming to life around him, sensors pulsing against his skin.

“Begin neurological synchronization,” a voice echoed overhead.

Bob closed his eyes.

At first, there was silence.

Then came the whispering.

Not in words — not exactly — but in feelings. Rage. Hunger. Emptiness.

He clenched his fists, his breath growing erratic. The air around him shimmered, warped. Lights above flickered, then dimmed to nothing. A black mist seeped from beneath his feet like smoke rising in reverse.

“Restrain output—he’s losing control!” came a panicked voice behind the glass.

But it was too late.

The shadow lashed out like lightning — instinctive, desperate, alive. It slammed against the walls, shrieking with a sound that wasn’t made by any throat. Two technicians in hazmat suits tried to flee, but the black tendrils struck faster than thought. One hit the floor, his body shriveling in seconds. The other screamed — then there was only silence.

And in the middle of it all stood Bob, hovering inches above the ground, his eyes pitch-black, veins glowing faint blue beneath his skin.

Then — darkness.

Bob woke up on the floor, shivering.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Minutes? Hours?

He pulled himself to his knees, the collar around his neck heavy like guilt. His head pounded, his limbs ached, but worse was the silence in his mind — not peace, but absence. Like something had used him, then left.

He looked up and saw the bloodstains. The security footage, replaying silently through the tinted glass window. Two lives lost. His hands.

“No,” he whispered, scrambling back, pressing his back to the wall.

His breath hitched as he fumbled for the shelf — for the photo.

There she was.

Still smiling. Still beautiful.

Still waiting.

“I didn’t mean to…” His voice cracked. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want this, Y/N. I just wanted to be enough.”

He buried his face in his hands, shaking.

“I miss you,” he whispered into the silence.

A sob broke loose. He clutched the photo against his chest like it could stitch his soul back together.

“I’m trying to fix this. I swear I’m trying. I just… I thought that I would be dead by now.”

No answer. Only the sound of the distant hum of machines and the slow drip of water somewhere in the corner of the room.

He leaned his head back against the cold wall, eyes glassy, voice no louder than a prayer.

“Please… wait for me.”

2 months after

The corridor had no way out, and the new team was looking for an exit, Bob just stays put.

“Bob,” Yelena snaps over her shoulder, pausing. “You’re falling behind.”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes are hollow, shoulders hunched under the weight of guilt and grief. The ground beneath them trembles—security drones are drawing near.

“I'll stay” he finally says, voice like crushed gravel. “I’ll just slow you down. It's better for everyone if a just...stay put.”

Yelena walks back toward him. “No, Bob, if you stay you will die.”

“Well it's...whatever” he breathes out. His jaw is tight, his fists clenched. “I don't deserve people saving me, I'm just being a burden to you guys, it's ok, go.”

Yelena’s expression softens, barely perceptible beneath her hardened demeanor. She steps closer.

“Hey, hey, wow, ok, I get it, we all have a void inside of us, we all feel like shit, and alone, but don't let that consume you, you are someone. You just have to control it.”

Bob doesn’t answer. His jaw trembles.

“What do you do to control it?”

Yelena gives him a small smile. "You push it down, like down, you push it."

Walker turns, a huge hole he punched in the wall. “Hey! If the therapy session is over, we have to go.”

She walks ahead without waiting for a response.

He starts walking behind her.

Back in New York

Across from her, Mr. Cooper grunted as he settled onto the floor with a sigh of relief, one leg stretched out, the other bent to cradle his back.

Sunlight poured through the open windows, warming the small apartment with its soft, golden glow. The living room was a mess of wooden planks, screws, and folded instructions spread across the floor like a chaotic puzzle. In the center of it all, Y/N sat cross-legged, squinting at the manual with a furrowed brow and a pencil tucked behind her ear, like that somehow made her more capable of interpreting the impossible hieroglyphs IKEA had decided passed for “assembly instructions.”

“I think I pulled something just by looking at that Allen wrench,” he muttered, rubbing his hip.

Y/N giggled softly, setting down the manual. Her belly, now visibly showing as she reached five months, shifted with the movement, and she instinctively rested her hand on it. “We’re not even halfway done. Are you telling me you’re tapping out already?”

“I’m old, sweetheart,” he said with a gruff smile. “I tap out every time the weather drops below seventy.”

She shook her head with a grin and leaned over to pick up a wooden side panel of the crib. It was pale honey-colored oak, sanded smooth, gentle with age. It had once belonged to Cooper’s granddaughter, and now it would belong to her baby.

“You really didn’t have to give me this,” she said, her voice softening.

“Yes, I did,” he replied without missing a beat. “No child deserves to sleep in one of those plastic nightmares. And no mother should go through this alone.”

That word — mother — still settled strangely on her shoulders. Like a coat she was trying on, not quite fitted yet.

She glanced at him, her smile more subdued now, thoughtful. “Thank you.”

He waved it off, leaning back against the wall. “Enough of that. Tell me how the new job’s going. Still wrangling tiny lunatics all day?”

Y/N laughed, genuinely this time, the sound echoing off the walls of the small room. “Yeah. It’s chaos, but kind of... perfect chaos. I mostly work with toddlers. I feed them, change them, read stories. Try to keep them from painting on the walls or eating glue. It’s exhausting sometimes, but... I really love it.”

Cooper watched her closely as she spoke, the weariness on her face dulled slightly by something new—something lighter. Peace, maybe. Or the distant shape of it.

She picked up a small wooden bar and held it like a sword. “Today one of them tried to put mashed peas in my shoes. Another fell asleep on my lap mid-story and started snoring like a little old man. And during snack time, this one girl kept hugging my belly like she knew. Like she knew, you know?”

Her voice softened. “And every day I’m there, I realize more and more... I want this. I want to do all those things with my baby. The feeding, the stories, the naps. I want to see them take their first steps. Hear their first words. I don’t want to miss that.”

She paused, tears stinging lightly at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away before they could fall. “I stopped looking for couples. I think I knew deep down I couldn’t go through with it. I was just scared... not of the baby. Of doing it alone.”

Mr. Cooper didn’t speak right away. He reached over and gently patted her hand. His weathered fingers were rough but warm.

“You’ve been through hell and back, Y/N. And you’re still here. That baby’s lucky already.”

She gave a teary smile. “Sometimes I still hope he’ll come back. That Bobby will just... walk through the door one day, stupid grin on his face like nothing happened.”

“That kind of love,” Cooper said, after a long moment, “is the kind people go their whole lives never finding. But love’s only half the battle. Raising a child, choosing to stay... that’s the rest. That’s the hard part.”

Y/N nodded, looking down at the crib pieces. Her fingers grazed over the smooth wood, the future taking shape beneath her hands. She felt a soft flutter inside her, the baby moving, stretching gently like they knew she was talking about them.

“I just want to give them a better start,” she whispered. “Better than what I had.”

“You already are,” Cooper said.

They sat in quiet for a while, sunlight casting long shadows on the floor. The crib still unfinished, the future still uncertain—but for the first time in a long while, the air felt different.

A thought crossed her mind. "You think he's okay Mr. Cooper?"

He looked at her, a sad smile in his face, "I hope so sweetheart, I really do."

Bob was indeed not okay

The room was colder than he remembered.

There were no windows. No clocks. No reflections. Only the hum of warm orange lights above. He was laying on a bed, rather confortable if he's allowed to say.

The door creaked open, slow and theatrical, and in walked Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, a ghost in high heels and silk. She didn't sit immediately. She liked to hover, to stalk, her movements measured and deliberate.

“Hi Bob! How are you? <Are you confortable?” she said casually, as if they were old friends catching up over coffee.

Bob didn’t answer. His jaw tightened, but he kept his eyes on the floor. The room felt like a trap, but he was too tired to pretend he wasn’t already caught.

“I imagine you’re wondering why you’re still alive,” she continued, circling him. “I thought you were another failure, turns out here you are.”

His breath hitched. “Where am I?”

“Home, for now” she said sweetly.

She finally took the seat across from him, folding her arms on the table like a therapist in disguise.

“You’re a miracle, Bob. My miracle. A walking success story. Do you know how many billions were poured into the O.X.E. Project before we got it right? You’re the first. You’re what we’ve been trying to make for years. You’re the product of patience. Genius. Sacrifice.”

“Don’t,” he muttered.

Valentina’s voice sharpened. “I’m not here to coddle you. I’m here to offer you purpose.”

“You signed up for a medical study, which was, as advertised, at the cutting edge of human improvement. But not everybody could handle the amount of greatness that we had in mind—”

His gaze flickered up to her, hazy and wet. “You used me.”

“We made you,” she snapped, then caught herself, letting the corners of her mouth twitch back into a smile. “And you’re more than even you realize. You just need someone who believes in you. Someone who knows what you’re capable of.”

Bob swallowed, teeth gritted. “Where's Yelena ?..., they’re good people. They don’t deserve whatever you’re planning.”

Valentina tilted her head. “They’re weapons, Bob. Trained killers. Criminals really. You think they’ll stop if I tell them to go after someone? You think they won’t? That’s the kind of world you’re in. And that’s the kind of world she’s in, too.”

She slid a photograph across the table.

His heart stopped.

It was her.

The same photo he almost forgot he had on his room in the facility he went to for the experiment.

Bob reached for the photo like it might disappear if he blinked. His fingers trembled as they hovered over it, then finally closed around the edge.

“She’s okay,” Valentina said, almost kindly. “Five months now. Still looking for you. Still crying over you. Still believing in you. Kinda of a bummer that she's alone isn't it?”

A tear slipped down Bob’s cheek as he stared at the image. “I never wanted to leave her. I—I thought if I got better, if I could just fix myself, I could come back. I wanted to come back.”

Valentina leaned in, voice low. “You can.”

He looked up at her. "Where is she? How did you find her?"

“I know a lot about you. I know about your mom’s mental illness, I know about your addiction,your fathe. But does that matter? You can come back stronger. Better. As someone who can protect her. Provide for her. Be a real father. A real partner. But you have to work for me, Bob. You have to give me loyalty. Just a little time. Just a few assignments. And then, I promise—on my name—she’s yours again.”

Bob shook his head slowly, horror creeping in. “You’re threatening her.”

“I’m protecting her,” Valentina said calmly. “From you. From the others. From this world that doesn’t care who she is or what she’s been through. You want to keep her safe? You work with me. You do what I say. Because if you don’t... there are people out there who won’t hesitate to use her against you.”

Bob’s hand clenched around the photo, crumpling the edge.

“You don’t understand my love,” he said, voice cracking.

“I don’t have to,” she replied. “But I can use it.”

He looked at her then, really looked. The truth was a blade in his chest. He was powerful, but powerless. Strong enough to rip holes in the sky, but too broken to say no.

“She’ll hate me.” he whispered.

Valentina stood, brushing invisible dust from her lapel. “Maybe. But hate is a lot like love, Bob. It sticks. It burns. It means you still matter.”

She walked to the door, heels clicking.

“I'll be back when you're feeling better, it's your best interest to control yourself and all your powers.”

The door closed behind her with a final click.

And Bob sat there in silence, holding the photo of the only person who ever saw him as more than his darkness.

His fingers trembled as he whispered her name.

“How did I ended up here baby...”

Y/N's pov

The lights were dimmed in the small examination room, a soft hum of fluorescent bulbs vibrating overhead. Y/N lay back on the cold, paper-covered chair, the crinkling noise far too loud in the silence. Her shirt was rolled up, exposing the gentle curve of her belly. She was twenty weeks now, and this was her first real appointment.

She hadn't meant to wait this long, but money and despair had a cruel way of making even basic things feel unreachable. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Cooper, gently reminding her, pushing through her deflection, she might’ve kept pushing it off until she gave birth alone.

The doctor entered with a warm smile, her presence calm and kind, a middle-aged woman with soft eyes and a practiced touch.

"Hi, sweetheart. I’m Dr. Hale. Let’s have a look at this little one, okay?"

Y/N nodded, her throat too tight for words. She tucked her hair behind her ear and tried to relax. She hated that her hands trembled.

Dr. Hale squirted the cold gel onto her stomach, and Y/N winced. "Sorry about the chill. It’ll warm up in just a second," the doctor said, already moving the wand across her skin.

The screen flickered to life beside her. Grainy black-and-white shapes slowly came into focus — shifting, fluttering motion, something alive. Her baby.

Y/N stared. She forgot to breathe.

"There we are," Dr. Hale whispered, smiling at the screen. "Look at that heartbeat. Strong little one, isn’t he?"

Y/N blinked. “He?”

"It’s a boy," Dr. Hale said gently. “Congratulations, mama.”

Y/N’s mouth opened but no sound came out. Her eyes welled up fast, tears rising before she had time to prepare for them. Her lips trembled and she brought a hand up to cover her mouth, the other resting gently over her belly.

A boy. She was having a son.

“He’s measuring well, right on time,” the doctor continued, her voice soft, respectful of the emotion clouding the room. “You’ve done a good job, keeping him strong.”

But Y/N was crying now — quiet, broken sobs — as she stared at the screen. Her baby. Bobby’s baby. And she was seeing him for the first time. A little fluttering shape that would one day have Bobby’s eyes. Maybe even his shy smile.

Dr. Hale handed her a tissue. “It’s okay. First appointments can be overwhelming.”

Y/N laughed softly through the tears, nodding. “Yeah. That’s one way to put it.”

“Your partner must be so happy too,” the doctor added casually, glancing at the monitor. “First-time dads are always in awe during these appointments.”

Y/N’s face froze. She didn’t correct her. She just offered a small, practiced smile. “He is. He… just couldn’t be here today. But he..he's really happy.”

Dr. Hale nodded, not pressing. “Well, this little boy is lucky. You clearly love him very much.”

Y/N looked back to the screen, to the blurry shape moving softly on it, and swallowed hard. Her fingers tightened around the paper sheet beneath her.

“He’s everything.” she whispered.

2 years ago

The scent of warm fries lingered in the car, mingling with the soft hum of the engine and the quiet tune playing from the radio—something 90s, something nostalgic. Rain tapped gently on the windshield, coating the windows in glistening beads that shimmered under the glow of the streetlight outside the McDonald’s parking lot. The inside of her old sedan was cozy and dim, fogging slightly from their breath and the comfort of shared laughter.

Bob was in the passenger seat, slightly turned toward her, his long legs awkwardly folded into the too-small space. A crumpled paper bag sat between them, half-spilled fries poking out. He held a burger in both hands, but he hadn’t taken a bite in at least a minute—too caught up in the way she was telling her story, animated and full of wild hand gestures, her eyes lit with mischief.

“No, no, wait,” Y/N laughed, nearly choking on her own drink as she swatted his arm. “You have to picture it—this man, right? Full suit. Hair greased back like he’s somebody’s boss. He’s barking at me because his order had pickles when he said no pickles—like it was a personal betrayal. So I’m standing there, biting my tongue, trying not to say ‘Sir, I don’t make the sandwiches, I’m just handing them to you.’”

Bob chuckled, already smiling because he could hear how this story ended. “And then?”

She grinned, pausing for dramatic effect, fries in hand like a microphone.

“He turns too fast, slips on his own spilled soda, and I swear to God, it was like a slow-motion movie scene. Both arms flail, legs go out, and bam—on his ass. The sandwich goes flying. The drink lands on his lap. And everyone just… stares.”

Bob was wheezing, struggling not to spit his drink out. “You’re lying.”

“I swear,” she said, holding up two fingers in mock oath. “The ketchup packet even exploded. Right on his white shirt. Like something out of a damn Tarantino film.”

They both laughed so hard it hurt, leaning toward each other in the cramped space of the car. Bob wiped a tear from his eye and looked at her, still giggling with her hand pressed to her chest, eyes watery from the laughter.

He couldn’t stop looking at her.

He’d never met anyone like her before—someone so unapologetically alive. She wasn’t like the people from his past, people who only spoke in hushed tones and looked at him like he might break. She was loud and kind and brilliant and chaotic in the most mesmerizing way. And somehow, for reasons he still didn’t understand, she liked him.

Y/N caught him staring, mid-fry. She tilted her head. “What?”

Bob blinked, startled. “Nothing. You’re just…”

“What?”

He gave a shy shrug, reaching down for the last fry in the bag. “You’re just…funny.”

“Funny?” she repeated with a smirk. “That’s it?”

“And cool,” he added quickly. “And smart. And, uh—” he hesitated. “Your storytelling is…top-tier.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes playfully and leaned back in her seat. “You’re weird, Bob.”

He smiled at the dashboard, face warming. “Yeah. I get that a lot.”

She nudged his arm with hers, shoulder to shoulder. The warmth of her touch buzzed through him. “Wanna come back to my place?”

His eyes snapped to hers.

“I mean,” she added, lifting an eyebrow. “We could watch something. A movie or whatever.”

Bob turned red instantly, so red it almost glowed through his hoodie. “Uh…”

“Oh my God,” she laughed, leaning toward him with her lips curled in amusement. “What were you thinking I meant?”

“N-Nothing!” he stammered, though his voice cracked. “Just—just a movie. Yep.”

She tilted her head and smiled wider, teasing. “You totally thought I was seducing you.”

“No, I didn’t!” he said, his voice too high, too defensive.

“You absolutely did.” She laughed again, softer this time. “I could see it in your eyes. You went all deer-in-headlights, Bobby.”

He looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean… It’s our third date…”

“And we haven’t even kissed,” she said, more gently this time. She was looking at him, really looking. “That’s okay, you know.”

Bob nodded slowly, still not meeting her eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

The car grew quiet for a moment. The kind of quiet that wasn’t awkward—just full of unspoken things. The rain was heavier now, soft and steady, a lullaby on the roof.

Then Y/N leaned over slightly, not enough to make it too serious, just enough that her shoulder brushed his again. “So… you wanna come over or not?”

He turned toward her again, finally smiling that crooked, shy smile of his. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

She winked and started the car.

Y/N unlocked the door with one hand and flicked on the hallway light with the other, her apartment filling with a warm, amber glow. It was a small space—cozy more than cramped, cluttered with personal touches: a stack of books that lived on the coffee table, mismatched throw pillows that had clearly been collected over time, a framed Polaroid of her and some friends stuck to the fridge with a glittery magnet shaped like a donut. It smelled faintly like vanilla and old incense.

“Home sweet home,” she said, kicking off her sneakers and tossing her keys into a little ceramic bowl by the door.

Bob stepped in behind her, moving like he didn’t want to disturb the air. His eyes flicked around the space, taking in everything, silently noting how her this place felt. It was lived in. Warm. Safe.

“Nice,” he said with a shy smile. “It’s… you.”

She grinned. “That better not be your way of calling it messy.”

“Messy’s charming,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, uh… where’s the TV?”

She pointed to the living room. “Couch is yours. I’ll get the snacks. No movie night without popcorn, it’s illegal.”

Bob shuffled into the living room and plopped onto the couch, sinking slightly into the cushions. A large fuzzy blanket was already thrown over one armrest, and the TV remote rested on the other, just waiting for someone to grab it. He picked it up and started scrolling through her cable channels—no Netflix login anywhere in sight.

From the kitchen, she called out, “Don’t bother looking for Netflix, by the way. I refuse to pay for it on principle.”

Bob blinked. “Wait, what principle?”

“The principle that I already pay for internet, rent, utilities, and my crippling caffeine addiction. Something’s gotta give.”

He laughed, glancing toward the kitchen where she was pouring kernels into an old stovetop popper like a professional. “So, no Netflix. What are our options then?”

She popped her head out from behind the doorframe, holding up a giant metal bowl with flair. “Cable roulette, baby. Let the gods decide.”

Bob chuckled as he continued to flip through. A couple of random sitcoms, a rerun of a baking competition, something that looked like a low-budget horror movie.

Then he paused.

“Oh—this one,” he said, perking up. “It’s just starting.”

It was one of those timeless adventure films—part comedy, part heart, with a little magic thrown in. The kind of movie people quote years later like it shaped their childhoods.

She returned a minute later, carrying the giant bowl of buttery, still-warm popcorn, and proudly presented it to him.

“Tada.”

Bob looked up at her, eyes soft. “Is it bad that all your surprises are food-related?”

She gave him an offended gasp. “Food is a great love language.”

He took a handful of popcorn and grinned. “I’m just saying—at this rate, our next date’s gonna have to be a jog.”

“You calling me out on my snack habits, Reynolds?”

“Just looking out for future me,” he joked. “Don’t want to get fat and slow while trying to impress you.”

They both laughed as she curled up beside him on the couch, pulling the blanket over their legs without even asking. She sat close, the bowl between them, legs pressed lightly against his. He tried not to think about how good that felt—how even the slightest brush of her thigh against his sent a heat curling into his chest.

The movie played on, and they made the occasional sarcastic comment under their breath, snickering over cheesy dialogue or pointing out ridiculous plot holes. Bob tried to focus on the screen, but every so often, his eyes drifted to her. The flicker of the TV cast soft shadows across her face, highlighting the curve of her cheek, the way her mouth twitched when she was trying not to smile. She didn’t know she did that. He found it endlessly fascinating.

And then, their knees bumped again—just slightly—and she turned her head, catching him.

He froze, mid-popcorn bite, like a raccoon in a trash can caught with a flashlight.

She raised an eyebrow. “Something you like ?”

He flushed instantly, face going pink. “Wasn’t— I wasn’t—”

“I’m gorgeous, I know,” she said with a grin, bumping his leg. “You’re so lucky.”

He let out a small, bashful laugh, looking down at his lap, embarrassed beyond belief.

But then, she shifted.

Her teasing smile softened into something quieter. She reached out, gently brushing her hand against his arm, and leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder, then slowly, against his chest. She tucked herself under his arm like she belonged there, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I really do like you, Bobby,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Like, a lot.”

Bob didn’t breathe for a second. He just stared down at the top of her head, her hair catching the light. He felt her heartbeat, steady and close, against his ribs.

And he knew.

He wrapped his arm around her, holding her close, letting himself melt into the moment he didn’t think he’d ever deserve.

“Guess I was the one who got the lottery ticket in the end,” he whispered.

The soft flicker of the television still lit the room, casting warm shadows over the now half-empty popcorn bowl that had long gone cold on the coffee table. The movie had played on quietly in the background, its third act slowly winding into an emotional crescendo neither of them saw coming—because somewhere between one of her whispered jokes and his quiet chuckles, they had both drifted off to sleep.

Y/N stirred first.

A sudden loud crash from the film’s climax jolted her upright, eyes wide and heart pounding. She blinked a few times, trying to process where she was. The room was dim now, just the blue glow from the credits rolling across the screen. Bob, still curled up beside her with his head resting slightly back against the couch cushion, blinked awake seconds later, startled.

“Wha—what happened?” he mumbled groggily, sitting up, his voice rough with sleep. “Did something explode?”

Y/N grabbed her phone from the armrest and squinted at the screen, the harsh light making her wince. “Shit—it’s past 1 a.m.”

Bob straightened up quickly, suddenly aware of the late hour. “1 a.m.?” he echoed, rubbing at his face with both hands before reaching for his jacket on the couch arm. “I should get going then. Damn, I didn’t mean to pass out.”

She sat up beside him, still blinking the sleep from her eyes. “Wait—are you seriously going to walk home right now?”

He was already halfway standing, slipping his phone into his pocket. “I mean... yeah? I live like forty minutes away, but it’s not that bad—”

“Bob,” she said, more firmly now, placing a hand on his arm to stop him. “It’s freezing outside, it’s stupid late, and you’re literally half-asleep. I’m not letting you walk home like that. Stay.”

He looked at her, hesitating, his hand resting awkwardly on the back of his neck.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice softer now, uncertain. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not,” she said without missing a beat. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want you to.”

He opened his mouth to protest again, but she was already grabbing the blanket from the couch.

“You can take the bed,” she said over her shoulder. “It’s comfier. I’ll grab some blankets and crash here.”

Bob's eyebrows shot up. “Wait—what? No, no way. You’re not giving up your bed for me.”

“Bob—”

“I’ll take the couch. Seriously. You already cooked the popcorn and laughed at all my dumb jokes. I’m not about to kick you out of your own bed.”

Y/N stopped mid-step, holding a pillow against her chest.

She looked at him, a little sheepish now, something almost shy in the way she bit her lip.

“Well…” she started slowly, “the couch isn’t exactly five-star hotel material. Springs kinda poke you if you sit the wrong way.”

Bob blinked.

She hesitated, clearly fighting her own nervousness, and then said it:

“We could just… share the bed?”

Bob froze.

It wasn’t a suggestive offer—it was soft, hesitant, spoken with a touch of nervous laughter that told him she wasn’t trying to rush anything or make it weird. Her cheeks were pink, and she wouldn’t quite meet his eyes.

“I mean,” she continued quickly, “we could do the whole back-to-back thing, or throw a pillow wall in the middle. Just sleep. It’s really not that big of a deal, right?”

He could feel the heat rising in his face, all the way to the tips of his ears.

“I—uh…” He swallowed hard. “Yeah. Okay. That makes sense.”

She looked up at him now, really looked at him, and smiled—gentle, reassuring.

“We’re comfortable with each other, right?”

Bob nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, we are.”

A few minutes later, they were both in her bedroom.

It was small and soft, the kind of room that smelled like lavender detergent and something warm and feminine. There were string lights hanging above the bed, giving off a golden glow, and the sheets were already turned down from earlier.

Y/N had quickly slipped into a pair of pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt in her bathroom, her hair tied up messily. Bob stood at the edge of the bed looking impossibly awkward, holding a folded blanket in his arms like it was a shield.

“I promise not to snore,” she teased lightly, climbing into her side of the bed and fluffing her pillow.

“I make no promises,” he mumbled, still blushing, as he awkwardly lowered himself onto the other side of the bed, fully clothed, stiff as a board.

They lay there for a moment in silence.

Then she turned to him slightly. “You okay?”

He exhaled. “Yeah. Just, you know… never done this before. Like this. Not with someone who—” he paused, “—who makes it feel like something more.”

She smiled faintly, turning her face toward him in the dark.

“Good. Me neither.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other—barely visible under the soft fairy lights, but everything was clear in their expressions. They were still new, still learning, but something about it already felt like home.

Bob shifted slightly, adjusting to face her fully. His arm folded beneath his head, and hers rested lightly on her pillow, fingers curled near her chin.

“That movie sucked,” Y/N whispered with a grin.

Bob laughed under his breath. “You were the one who picked it.”

“Excuse you, you said it looked ‘promising.’ I distinctly remember that.”

“Only because the poster had, like, three explosions and a dramatic tagline,” he teased.

She snorted. “Yeah, and it delivered… exactly none of that.”

They giggled together quietly, their voices softened by the late hour and the closeness of the room.

Bob let the laughter fade into a quieter breath, and for a beat, he just watched her.

She noticed.

“What?” she asked softly, her lips curving gently.

He hesitated, visibly battling the nerves crawling under his skin. His fingers twitched slightly on the sheets between them.

“I…” he started, voice quiet but sincere, “Can I kiss you?”

Her breath caught slightly, a small smile forming — but not a teasing one this time. It was soft, touched with warmth and surprise.

“Yes,” she said, her voice just as quiet. “Yeah. Please.”

He moved closer, slow like he was approaching something sacred. Their noses brushed, and he hesitated one last second—then kissed her.

It was gentle. Soft. The kind of first kiss that made the world feel like it shifted ever so slightly beneath you.

She responded immediately, her fingers lifting to gently brush his jaw, encouraging him, guiding him. The kiss deepened slowly, breath mingling, hands finding each other. It was warm, explorative, delicate — but full of something real.

Bob’s hand slid around her waist, his thumb stroking just under the hem of her shirt. Her own hand, featherlight, slipped under his t-shirt, her fingers skimming across his chest. The touch made him gasp softly against her mouth, his heart racing.

Then he froze.

Just for a second.

He pulled back slightly, breath shaky, eyes searching hers with something between awe and panic. “Sorry,” he whispered, “I didn’t mean to—was that too fast? I didn’t want to mess anything up, I—”

She only looked at him, calm and radiant in the glow of the lights, and leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Hey,” she murmured, brushing her fingers through his hair. “It’s okay.”

His eyes blinked up at her in awe, lost for words.

Then she shifted, slowly, confidently — straddling him with ease and grace, the quiet rustle of the sheets following her movement.

She pulled her shirt over her head and let it drop to the floor beside the bed, the strands of her hair falling loose around her shoulders. There was no nervousness in her gaze—only love. Trust. And a bit of playful spark.

Bob's breath hitched, his hands hovering as if afraid to touch something so precious.

She leaned down and kissed him softly, her lips brushing his cheek before she whispered close to his ear:

“Do you want me, Bobby?”

His voice came out in a breathless rush. “Yes. Yes.”

She smiled at his answer, biting her lip. “Then you’ve got too many clothes on, Bobby.”

He looked up at her, stunned and overwhelmed in the best way, his heart thudding so hard it echoed in his ears.

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ssahotchnerr · 5 months ago

Note

reader helping aaron relax and make out session in the hot tub!!!!!!

hot and heavy

😵‍💫❤️‍🔥🦋!!!! cw; fem!reader, established relationship, playful teasing, a lot of heated kissing, very suggestive content, partial nudity 🫢 wc; 1.2k nsfw - mdni

It didn't take long during your conversation with Aaron for it to become clear that the case he'd just finished had been awful.

You could hear the stress in his voice, the kind that only came from days filled with long hours, endless frustration, a sad ending. There was a tightness in his words, a strain that made it clear just how much he needed to let go and turn his brain off for a while.

And so, once you hung up, you quickly devised a plan to relieve some of those tensions upon his arrival home. Or rather, a nice surprise to return to.

You strategically selected his favorite robe of yours - a short silk one that nearly floated atop your skin - and a bathing suit that barely covered up what it was made to.

You were in the middle of tying up your hair when the familiar sounds of his arrival home echoed up the stairs and into your bedroom. He called out -

"Sweetheart?"

His gaze lifted at the sight of your approach, you having rushed downstairs to greet him. He was in the middle of getting settled when he caught sight of you and froze.

He was far from subtle, letting his gaze linger over you for a moment, breath catching in his throat. Hesitantly with transparent amusement, he asked, "What're you up to?"

"Heading for the hot tub," you answered nonchalantly, making your way to the door that led to the backyard. "Thought it'd do you good to relax. Go get changed, I'll meet you out there."

As if he needed any further persuading, you turned towards the door, cleverly dropping your robe and heading out. A clear indication you'd make it worth his while.

The message was well received. You felt his intense gaze follow your form, not leaving until you were completely out of view.

The steam was curling up at the surface, illuminated by the blue-toned lighting underneath. You got in, enjoying the instant warmth of the water enveloping you, the night air chilled in juxtaposition. You slouched a bit deeper, the water pooling atop your shoulders.

You weren't alone for long; you opened your eyes at the sound of the door sliding open, Aaron joining you in record time.

"C'mon, get in." You pushed your forearms back to lift yourself out of the tub, sitting on the edge with your feet remaining inside. You also indulged yourself, checking him out also. His torso, the veins protruding in his forearms, his muscles openly flexing as he moved about.

He gave you an almost offended look. "And you're getting out?"

"Just hush and listen to me," you ordered lightly, playfully glaring your eyes at him.

He obeyed, getting in. You gestured for him to come near; he sat with his back to you, situated between your legs.

After ensuring he was comfortable, you started working at his shoulders. Really pressing your fingers into his skin, kneading at the lingering tension. It immediately caused a groan to leave his parted lips.

"Feel good?"

He nodded, his head falling back in satisfaction, practically involuntary.

"God honey," you sighed, referencing the case, the one that had achingly kept him away from you for a week. Your eyebrows drew into a troubled line at his stiff muscles. "That bad?"

"Mhm," he mumbled, his eyes closed as he leaned back into your touch. "Amongst other things. Needed you."

You laughed softly, leaning forward to press your lips behind his ear. The touch lingered for a moment before you whispered, "Well, good thing I'm here now."

You continued to massage his shoulders, paying attention to the areas that held the most rigid of his knots. You worked slowly, easing the pressure with gentle, circular motions. You prolonged each squeeze, each touch, hoping it would relax him while simultaneously rile him up in all the right ways. Long intimate contact such as this, after not seeing each other, easily comparable to foreplay.

And it was working. After a minute or two, he turned around, eyes locking onto yours. You raised an eyebrow, biting down onto your lip to hide your smirk. The glint in your eyes, however, certainly noticeable.

Aaron reached for you, using one arm to pull you down and onto his lap. He shifted to the side of the tub, allowing his back to be against it this time.

You looked at him, questionably yet innocently, awaiting his next move.

"You want to help me relax, don't you?" His voice was low, eyes dark with a small smile tugging at his lips.

You hummed in confirmation, quickly tracing a finger along the stubble producing at his jaw, unshaven for a day or two. Brushing away a lone water droplet that had come from the bubbling surrounding the two of you, you added, "I'll do anything."

He leaned in and kissed you, hard. Although expected, a surprised squeak still left you. Your arms found home around his neck and you pressed your front firmly to his, ever so subtly grinding into him as you forced yourself closer. You needed to be as close as you could manage.

His lips moved against yours in practiced yet feverish ease, with both the equal amounts of gentle and rough. He held onto your waist tightly, his fingertips digging into your skin, forceful enough to leave an imprint.

Your hands were soon all over him. To the nape of his neck, back to his shoulders, his broad chest. Indulging in the way his toned, strong muscles felt. Aaron's breath picked up, heavy into your mouth.

You knew each and every one of Aaron's scars. Location, how they felt, size. Your fingertips landed on a newfound, raised line, alerting you out from the haze you had entered.

"This is new," you stated against his lips, pulling away with a swollen pair of your own. Despite the darkness, you could see the red scrape, identifying its freshness. Panting, you manage to say, "It got physical?"

"It's fine. Nothing really. Something we can worry about later." He readjusted you on his lap, against the ongoing currents - again driving you further into him as his lips transferred to your neck.

His plan was to switch the topic, and he was doing a fantastic job. You turned to putty within a second, especially when his lips traveled down to your chest.

Your head fell back to give him more space to work, he sucked bruises into your skin. He took his time, wanting them to be as distinguished and dark as they could - you were his.

You frantically clutched his hair, bringing his lips back to yours. There was no feeling like kissing Aaron. It was exhilarating. You had to remind yourself you were grounded and not floating amongst the clouds.

Desperate sounds were leaving the back of Aaron's throat, hard under you, and they were driving you wild. Your body was practically shaking with need, and an uncomfortable layer of sweat was building on your skin. Hot from both the temperature of the tub and from the heated exchange. You obviously chose to ignore it.

His fingers expertly found the string holding your top, fumbling a moment before tugging it loose.

"Aaron," you laughed with a touch of warning in your voice, peering over your shoulders as your top dipped. No need to give the neighbors a show if you could help it.

"What?" He chuckled darkly, his breath fanning hot. He pried the wet top off you, discarding it onto the floor as your hands dove underneath the water to his waistband. "No one can see. Besides, we have high fences for a reason."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x fem!reader #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds smut

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joemama-2 · 1 month ago

Text

𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 & 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒚

・❥・ pairing: veteran! levi x fem reader

╰┈➤ synopsis: known as ‘marley’s darling’, your father, a high-ranking marleyan diplomat, introduced you as his pride and joy since you were out the womb. dazzling smiles, coy and subtly flirtatious remarks, an innocent but seductive allure that keeps you in the eyes of the public. with concerns for your safety, your father hires levi ackerman as your personal bodyguard, a war hero to some, a warm criminal to others. the same man who fought against your people.

・❥・ wc: 7k

・❥・ tags/warnings: age gap, levi is in his late thirties, reader is 26, angst, fluff, smut, alcohol, drugs, war veteran! levi, reader takes inspo from marilyn monroe, mentions of ptsd, depression, death, post! war, prejudice, guns, knives, violence, reader is marleyan, slow burn, sorta opposites attract?, dark themes, cussing, gross men, no titans! modern au, may have some canon divergent elements (e.g. levi has both legs still lol)

・❥・ series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

“Don’t you already have bodyguards? Multiple of them?”

“Yes, but apparently I’m this one’s specific responsibility.” You sip from your mimosa, leaning back casually in the pool chair. The summer rays of the warm Sunday morning shine down on your little posse. Circular black shades obscure your vision, wearing a red checkered, halter, one-piece swimsuit. White manicured toes wiggling out in front of you, gazing at your French tips. God, I need a new set.

“Is he handsome?” Isabella asks, smiling dreamily. Resting her chin on her palm, she moved a strand of red hair away from her light hazel eyes.

You playfully roll your eyes, having grown accustomed to your best friend’s antics after years of friendship. “He is. However, he's a little on the short side.”

“Well, height isn’t everything, Y/N.” Naomi sits to your right. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She holds a cool glass of soda, opting away from any alcoholic beverages. It’s a running joke between you three, one where you and Isabella would call her the prude of the group.

“Oh, it totally is!” Isabella huffs, leaning over to look at Naomi. “A man should be tall. Tall, handsome, strong—”

“Rich,” you add.

“Kind,” Naomi tacks on, giving you a look.

“And charming,” Isabella finishes off, leaning back in her chair.

You sip your mimosa once more, head tilting up towards the sky. “Well, I just met him. I can’t exactly say he’s my dream man. In fact, I’m already growing slightly irritated with his presence.”

“What? Why?” Isabella asks, standing up. She stretches before stepping into the jacuzzi.

“Why?” You echo back in disbelief, scoffing. “For one, he’ll be all on my ass 24/7.”

Naomi pats your arm. “It’s for your protection, Y/N. It may not be completely ideal, but try to look at it from the bright side.”

You love Naomi. However, her optimism and headstrong, realistic ways of thinking tend to get on your nerves. But you suppose it’s much needed with you three. While she’s the more measured, grounded one, Isabella is all heart and heat—led by whims, wild dreams, and red wine. A flirty, extroverted bimbo, labeled by some. And you? You’re somewhere in between. Sweet enough to charm a room, sharp enough to carve through it if you had to.

You glance at Naomi and give her a soft, sarcastic smile. “The bright side? Sure. Maybe he’ll be so bored of guarding me, he’ll ask to be reassigned.”

“I don’t think anyone could be bored of guarding you,” Isabella calls from the jacuzzi, flipping her wet hair back with theatrical flair. “You’re chaos in lipstick.”

“And diamonds,” you remind her, raising your glass. “Don’t forget the diamonds.”

Naomi shakes her head but smiles all the same. “Just be careful around him, okay? Especially if he’s been assigned by your father. You know how he operates. He doesn’t place people unless they serve more than one purpose.”

You go still for a moment, her words settling over the group. You swirl the mimosa in your glass, the citrusy scent tickling your nose as your lips press into a faint smile, one without amusement. “Yeah,” you murmur, “I know.”

There’s a pause. Just long enough for the weight of unspoken truths to stretch between the three of you.

Isabella tries to lift the mood. “Well, if he’s cute, maybe you’ll get over it. Who knows—maybe he’ll fall hopelessly in love with you, and it’ll all turn into some scandalous forbidden romance.”

You laugh, but there’s no real humor in it. “If he’s smart, he’ll keep his distance.”

Naomi’s eyes narrow slightly behind her sunglasses. “You think he’s dangerous?”

You shrug, setting your glass down on the small table beside you. “I think he’s not just a bodyguard. And I think my father doesn’t hand me off to strangers unless they’re there to report back.”

Isabella sinks deeper into the water, lips pursed thoughtfully. “Then why does it feel like this one’s different?”

Because he is. You’re not sure why yet, but something about Levi Ackerman is…off-script. Off-brand. Like he’s not here to play the part your father gave him, but hasn’t told anyone what script he’s reading from. Or maybe that’s just your own trust issues coming into play, rearing its ugly head.

“I don’t trust him,” you finally say. “But I don’t think he trusts me, either.”

Naomi tilts her head. “Then you’re a perfect match.”

You snort, reaching for your glass again. “God forbid.” But still, your mind drifts back to the moment he looked at you—not with lust, not with obedience, but with evaluation. Like he was dissecting the game before even agreeing to play.

“Well,” Isabella wonders, tilting her head. “Where’s this short man now?”

“Meeting with my father in his study.”

Isabella’s face lights up. “Do you think he likes redheads?”

“Sure. Or one of those Eldian freaks.” You laugh, Isabella joining in. It takes a few seconds for you both to realize the mistake you unintentionally made. Glancing at Naomi from the corner of your eye, you tone down your laughter as you notice her awkwardly looking away.

Damn it.

“It’s okay,” she’s quick to placate you, head shaking. “It was a joke. It was funny.”

“Dammit, I’m sorry, Naomi. It just…I didn’t mean that. I know you’re…you know, too. That was insensitive of me.”

Isabella frowns, scratching her neck. “I’m sorry, dearie.”

Naomi waves it off with a small smile, but her fingers tighten slightly around the condensation of her soda glass. “Seriously, it’s fine,” she says, eyes still averted. “You’re not the first to say it without thinking. Probably won’t be the last.”

The silence that follows isn’t hostile, it’s just… heavy. A little too honest for a summer morning by the pool.

You sit up a little straighter, mimosa forgotten. “No, but I should’ve thought. Especially around you. You know I don’t actually—” You stop yourself, biting back the hollow defense that it was just a slip. That it didn’t mean anything. Because it did mean something. To her. And if Naomi didn’t always speak up when she should, you sure as hell needed to.

Naomi finally looks at you, meeting your gaze. Her smile is faint, but warmer this time. “It’s okay,” she says again, more softly. “I know where your heart is. I just… I guess sometimes I wish people wouldn’t use ‘Eldian’ like it’s a slur. Even if it’s just for a punchline.”

You nod, a lump forming in your throat that you weren’t expecting. Guilt always hits harder when it’s deserved. “You’re right,” you say, quieter now. “I’ve grown up hearing it tossed around like nothing. I guess some of it is still stuck without me realizing.”

Naomi leans back in her seat, exhaling slowly, as if releasing something she’s been holding onto for a while. “It gets exhausting,” she admits. “Having to constantly remind people you’re not less than. That your blood doesn’t define you.”

Isabella’s expression softens, her usual airy playfulness dimming to something more grounded. “We’ll do better,” she says, and for once there’s no dramatics—just sincerity.

You glance between your friends, two women who’ve stood beside you through everything—your father’s schemes, the unbearable galas, the endless expectations—and wonder how many other things you’ve overlooked.

Then Naomi shifts the mood with a small laugh, nudging her soda glass toward the edge of the table. “But if he does like redheads, Isabella, please don’t seduce him on the first day. Let the man settle in.”

Isabella gasps, hand over her heart. “I would never—well, maybe just a little harmless flirting.”

You roll your eyes, tension easing from your shoulders. “God, imagine him trying to flirt back. He’d probably just grunt and walk away.”

Naomi chuckles. “Sounds like your type.”

You throw your head back with a groan. “Don’t start.”

But despite the heat, despite the awkward moment that still lingers in the edges of your conscience, the day begins to feel lighter again. There’s still so much unspoken between the three of you—but maybe that’s the thing about friendship in a world like yours. You learn when to speak, when to listen, and when to simply stay.

“This is Coco. You treat her as if she were me. With respect, pride, and dignity. I expect you to lay your life on the line for her, as well.”

Levi’s arms cross, staring down at the tiny Pomeranian in your arms. You’ve even got the little thing wearing some pink sweater, a sparkly collar around her neck. “Coco,” he repeats lowly, not bothering to hold back a grimace as you bring the dog up close and personal to his face.

When he tries to pull back, you smile. “Don’t worry. She just needs to get accustomed to your smell. Almost like I do, too.”

Levi scowls, leaning ever so slightly away from the tiny dog’s excited sniffs. “I’m not getting close enough for either of you to ‘adjust.’”

“She likes you already,” you tease, nuzzling Coco’s head affectionately. “See how she didn’t bark? That’s rare. She only likes people with good instincts.”

“Or maybe she just knows I could punt her halfway across the garden.”

Your jaw drops. “You wouldn’t dare.”

His eyes narrow. “Try me.”

Coco lets out a dainty sneeze, wiggling in your arms, her fluffy tail wagging. Levi’s scowl deepens as you coo at her and plant a kiss on the top of her head like she’s royalty.

You look up at him with a sweet, dangerous smile. “If anything happens to her under your watch, I’ll tell my father you laid a hand on me.”

He stares at you, deadpan. “So you’re threatening me now.”

You shrug. “No, I’m just stating facts.”

He glances down at Coco again, who stares back with big, sparkling eyes and a crooked little smile.

“…She blinks weird.”

“She’s got a lazy eye. Don’t be rude.”

Levi exhales through his nose, hands resting on his hips. “Great. I’m babysitting a glorified dust mop with attitude.”

“And she bites.”

He raises a brow. “So do I.”

You grin. “I’m counting on it.”

You follow your remark with an airy chuckle, walking through the foyer of the estate and into the kitchen. Levi follows. You open a pantry door that reveals seven rows of varying dog foods, treats, toys, bowls, and collars. “This is where her food is. I’ll show you her room later.”

“Your dog has her own room?” He asks in veiled disbelief.

“Why, of course. She’s just as important, if not more, than anyone else here.”

Levi follows the sweep of your hand with a blank stare, as if processing the absurdity before him. “Right,” he mutters. “Priorities.”

You bend down to grab a bag of organic grain-free kibble, the kind that smells vaguely like roasted chicken and bankruptcy. “She also has very specific dietary restrictions. No wheat, no soy, no artificial preservatives. And she eats twice a day—sharp times, Levi. Eight a.m. and six p.m. Not a minute later.”

He watches you pour a sample into a tiny, crystal-trimmed bowl that probably costs more than a person’s monthly salary. “You know, there are political prisoners in internment camps who eat less gourmet than this.”

You glance at him, head tilting. “And that’s Coco’s fault, how?”

He doesn’t respond. He just blinks slowly, like he’s trying to disassociate from the moment.

You straighten up and gesture for him to follow again. “Come. I’ll show you her closet.”

“Her closet.”

You nod, already halfway out of the kitchen. “Yes. You need to familiarize yourself with her outfits. She doesn’t repeat looks unless it’s for rainy days, and even then, only in rotation. Oh, and she has allergies, so avoid the lavender detergent on her bedsheets.”

Levi stands there for a beat longer, as if silently cursing whatever life decision led him to this point. “Do I get hazard pay for this?” he finally mutters, trailing after you and the prancing fluff ball upstairs like a man walking toward his doom.

“I didn’t know my father hired such a comedian.” You smile, looking back over your shoulder at him. “Have you tried stand-up?” Your hand curls around the doorknob, twisting it open.

Levi doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even blink. He just stares at you with that same unimpressed expression, as if your joke barely registered on his humor scale. “Only if the stage’s on fire,” he mutters. “And I’m dragging someone off it.”

You laugh anyway, amused by the dry delivery, the way his voice stays low and flat. “So that’s a no?”

The door swings open, revealing Coco’s room. Or rather—Coco’s suite. The small space is decked out in pastel pinks, custom pet furniture, plush carpeting, and a miniature chandelier hanging delicately from the ceiling. One wall displays an array of dog couture, another holds framed photos of Coco at various events, some of which Levi suspects had a guest list and press coverage.

You step aside proudly, gesturing. “Welcome to the queen’s quarters.”

Levi exhales slowly through his nose, staring into the room like he’s just found out this dog lives better than most humans. “She’s got better security than the embassy,” he comments.

“And now she has you,” you tease, nudging his arm lightly as you move past him again. “Aren’t we lucky?”

He looks down at the tiny pink bed with Coco’s name embroidered in gold thread, then back at you. “You mean me, right?”

You grin over your shoulder. “No, I meant her.”

Levi watches you trot around the room, grabbing a pair of nail clippers and a small comb. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Watching you fuss over your dog’s appearance as if she were your own child. Maybe in a way to you, she is. Levi’s always felt weird about people treating animals—especially tiny dogs like this one—with such lavishness. And some people can barely afford food on the table.

“Your father never mentioned anything about this dog in my contract,” he decides to speak up, head tilting slightly.

You glance up from where you’ve crouched beside Coco’s plush vanity stool, pausing mid-brush. “Is that so?” you hum, like it’s mildly interesting but not surprising. “Well, consider her an extension of me. Where I go, she goes. When I’m out, she stays with someone I trust. That someone is you.”

Levi’s arms remain crossed, his gaze fixed on you with a slow-burning skepticism. “I’m not a dog sitter.”

You stand and walk toward him, the nail clippers swinging loosely from your fingers. “No,” you agree, stepping close—close enough for Coco to bark once from her seat like she’s watching a drama unfold. “You’re my bodyguard. Which means you protect what matters to me. And Coco matters.”

Levi exhales, more out of habit than exasperation. “I thought I was protecting you from political threats. Not from… chipped nails and improperly brushed fur.”

You shrug, eyes glittering with amusement. “Threats come in many forms, Mr. Ackerman. A single snag in Coco’s coat could be a national tragedy. Now hold her.”

He gives you a look like you’ve lost your mind. “You’re serious.”

You place Coco delicately into his arms, ignoring how rigid he becomes. “Completely.”

As you return to her vanity to grab her tiny sunglasses, Levi stares down at the fluffy dog in his arms, now yawning in a way he’s sure is mocking him. His nose twitches, already feeling his allergies begin to act up. Walking back over, you slide the sunglasses onto her face. “So, why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself?”

Levi shifts uncomfortably with the delicate weight in his arms. He cleared his throat with a small grunt. “What do you know?”

“What should I know?” You easily reply back, innocently raising your eyebrow and holding back a small smile behind your hand.

Your attitude really ticks him off. It’s like you never fully answer what he asks you, like you’re trained to veil yourself behind an alluring persona. “I’ve been assigned to protect you, that’s all you need to know.”

“Oh? Secretive man, aren’t you?”

“Reserved,” he corrects.

You hum in response, eyes trailing leisurely down his stiff posture, the way his hands hover just slightly off Coco’s fluffy pink sweater like he’s afraid of contaminating her, or himself. He’s already visibly uncomfortable, the dog nestled against his broad chest with all the ceremony of a royal child, and yet you can tell he’d rather be anywhere else. It makes you smile.

“Well, reserved,” you say, tone breezy as ever as you gently reach out to adjust Coco’s sparkly sunglasses. “That doesn’t help me sleep any easier at night. You’ll be shadowing me, probably listening to every private call and watching every awkward wardrobe change. I’d think the least you could offer me is your favorite color. Or—I don’t know—what you do when you’re not threatening men in suits with your eyes.”

Levi’s jaw tightens, eyes narrowing just slightly. “I don’t need you to sleep easier. I need you to stay alive.”

You blink once, lips parted slightly at the bluntness of it. His voice is low, calm, but edged with something colder than you expected. A kind of calculated disinterest. You wonder if that’s how he’s been trained—or if that’s just how he is. The silence between you stretches long enough for Coco to give a huff, burying her snout into his arm like even she’s growing bored. You cross your arms.

“You know,” you murmur after a moment, voice a touch softer, “for a guy who’s supposed to be keeping me alive, you sure seem like you can’t stand being around me.”

“I don’t need to like you to do my job,” he says coolly, handing Coco back to you with the delicacy of someone handling an explosive.

You cradle the dog with ease, pressing a kiss to her head as she lets out a yip of approval. “Mm. That’s a shame. I was hoping we’d at least be friends.”

Levi gives you a once-over. Not suggestive. Not admiring. Just assessing. “Friends don’t let friends carry designer rats in rhinestones.”

You gasp dramatically, hugging Coco closer to your chest. “How dare you? She’s royalty.”

“She’s shedding on my shirt.”

“Your shirt should feel honored.”

Levi turns to leave the room, muttering under his breath as he goes, “This is going to be a long assignment.”

You scoff, trailing after him with Coco in your arms. “I’m counting on it, short king.”

The look he throws over his shoulder could freeze the sun.

It’s later that night that you find yourself dressed up. Hair styled neatly into pin curls, wearing your signature red lip, a neutral, subtle gray shadow coating your lids. Your figure is adorned in a satin, champagne, form-fitting gown that reaches just past your knees, with an off-the-shoulder neckline. You’re wearing a diamond choker with a shawl draped loosely across your arms. In your hand, you hold a small, jeweled clutch. And finally, you’ve topped the outfit off with red, pointed-toed, stiletto heels.

Your father is dressed in his usual, steam-pressed suit, hair neatly swooped back. His hand finds your lower back as he leads you into the high-end casino he’s been invited to for the night. Usually, casinos aren’t your thing. Too rowdy and gross for your liking, but you have nothing else on your agenda for the night. Flashes blind your vision, people shouting out your name or your father’s. A flank of his men crowd you both as you enter, Levi closely packed to your right.

It’s the kind of casino only the important can get into, hence the tight security and lavish building.

Crystal chandeliers hang from the gilded ceiling like falling stars, refracting light off rows of polished marble floors and deep velvet carpets. The air smells faintly of expensive cigars and stronger egos, underscored by the delicate sound of piano keys humming in the background. Every man in this room is either rich or pretending to be. Every woman sparkles under the weight of diamonds too big to be discreet. You fit right in—and you know it.

Your father nods to familiar faces, shaking hands and murmuring greetings with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His grip on your lower back tightens as the two of you walk deeper into the opulence, a silent reminder: be charming, be seen, but don’t speak unless you have to. Levi trails behind. He blends in well in his tailored black suit, but there’s something about him that doesn’t quite match the rest of this place—maybe it’s his perpetual scowl, or the way his eyes never stop scanning the room. He’s not here for the champagne or the poker. He’s here to calculate threats. To make sure no one gets too close to you.

“Smile,” your father murmurs as you pass a pair of high-ranking politicians. “Senator Moreau’s daughter is here tonight. Keep your head high.”

You do as you’re told, turning just enough to offer a warm, practiced smile to the right people. Levi’s eyes meet yours briefly in the reflection of a mirror near the bar.

After a while, your father excuses himself to a private table with the hosts, flanked by security. He gives Levi a nod, a silent command to watch closely over you. You’re left standing alone near the bar with Levi hovering by your side.

“Do I look like I’m enjoying myself?” you ask without looking at him, nursing a glass of something that tastes like flowers and money.

“You look like you’re about to rob this place blind,” he replies dryly, watching the room.

You laugh softly. “Flattering. But I think you just mean I look expensive.”

“No,” he says. “I mean, you look dangerous.”

Your smile lingers a moment longer before you take another sip, letting the tension between you settle somewhere behind your ribs. “You know,” you say slowly, turning to face him more directly, “you could at least pretend you’re having a good time.”

“I’m not paid to pretend,” he says, eyes still on the crowd.

“Well, that’s unfortunate.” You glance toward the roulette tables where a crowd has gathered, already making your way toward it with a small tilt of your head. “Because this is my favorite part.”

He follows without protest, his expression unreadable. And as the casino lights dance off your diamond choker and the slit of your dress glides with every step, you feel the burn of his gaze again, unmoving, attentive, and just maybe a little curious.

“Hello, boys,” you greet the small group of four men who meticulously play whatever game they’re glued to. Hand drifting to the shoulder of one in particular. “My sweet James, I haven’t seen you in ages.” With a smile, you lean in to plant a tiny kiss on his cheek.

James Starton—son of a shipping magnate, heir to a fortune you could recite the layers of in your sleep—grins widely when he sees you. His golden Rolex glints under the lights as he chuckles, reaching up to touch the spot on his cheek where your lips just left a trace. “Y/N. As stunning as ever,” he says, leaning back in his seat with practiced ease. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about us common folk.”

The other three men offer you similar greetings, none as familiar as James's, but polite enough. They each take a moment to rake their eyes over your figure, the way the satin clings to you like a second skin. You can feel Levi’s presence close behind, a solid shadow that seems to grow heavier the longer you linger.

“I could never forget you, James,” you purr, fingers lightly trailing across the back of his chair as you circle to the empty one beside him. “But you know how it is. Daddy keeps me busy, and this city doesn’t exactly run itself.”

James laughs. “Well, I hope you’re here to play. We could use a little more luck at the table.” He gestures to the chips in front of him, plenty of them, because, of course, he’s doing well tonight. But then again, James always likes to look like he’s winning, whether he is or not.

You cross your legs as you sit, angling yourself just enough to maintain control of the room—and the conversation. “Maybe I’ll play a few hands,” you muse, glancing at the dealer. “If only for the company.”

Levi doesn’t move, but you know he’s dutifully watching. You can feel the tension radiating off of him like heat. The way his gaze probably narrows at how close James leans, or how you’re toying with the man’s cufflink like it’s a nervous tic.

James leans in just slightly, voice low. “And who’s that, then?” He nods in Levi’s direction without bothering to hide the amusement in his tone. “New arm candy? Your type’s changed.”

You smile sweetly, flicking your eyes up at Levi before returning your gaze to James. “Bodyguard,” you say simply. “And you’d do well to remember that.”

The warning is soft, almost playful—but not quite. It’s enough to make James raise his hands in surrender, even as he chuckles. “Duly noted.”

Levi remains resolute, unreadable, and silent. But when you catch his eye again, just for a moment, you could swear there’s a flicker of something there.

Levi can’t even count the number of times he’s checked his wristwatch throughout the night, holding back groans of annoyance as he’s forced to spend the entirety of his time following after you like a lost puppy. And it’s no better for him since you seem to be just a peachy, social butterfly. There hasn’t been a single minute you weren’t talking to someone, either approaching or being approached. Of course, the blatant nasty stares thrown his way piss him off even more. He ignores them to the best of his ability, but even he has his limits. Your father has been nowhere to be seen for the past few hours, and he’s debating whether or not he should just call it a night himself. He knows for sure, however, that you’re on your fourth glass of champagne and your cheeks look more flushed, definitely not the pretty pink-red blush you applied to the apples of your cheeks before leaving the estate.

He’s unsure if this job of his entails making sure you’re not getting shit-faced. As long as you’re in one piece, everything should be good, right?

At least, that’s what he tries to tell himself. Just keep her breathing, Levi. That’s all you’re here for. But then you laugh—loud and carefree—throwing your head back, fingers lightly brushing the arm of a tall, square-jawed politician’s son. The guy’s been hanging around your table for the past half hour, saying too many words and standing too damn close. Levi watches your champagne flute teeter in your hand as you wave it around mid-conversation, the golden liquid dangerously close to splashing over the rim.

That’s four glasses, he reminds himself. Almost five. He knows because he counted. Keeps count of everything when he’s bored out of his mind. Which is every second you’re not sitting down quietly or keeping to yourself, which, apparently, is never.

Still, he does nothing. Not yet. He’s not exactly your babysitter. If anything, it’s his job to be invisible—out of the way, just close enough to act if things go south. And this? This is just champagne and annoying men with soft hands and louder mouths. It isn’t a threat.

Until you start to sway just slightly when you get up from the table.

Levi is at your side before you can even blink. “I think it’s time to sit down,” he says, his voice low and steady as he grips your elbow, not tightly, but firm enough to halt you.

You blink up at him, lashes fluttering. “Am I wobbling?” you ask sweetly, drawing out the word like it’s part of some performance. “You know, I think the floor here is uneven.”

“Yeah,” Levi mutters. “That must be it.”

The man you were speaking with raises a brow at Levi’s interruption, but one look from the bodyguard has him shifting back in his seat. Not wanting to pick a fight. Smart.

“You’re really no fun at all, Levi,” you pout, but you don’t resist when he guides you toward a quieter corner of the casino.

“Not here to be fun,” he grumbles, pulling out a chair for you anyway. “Here to make sure you don’t end up passed out in someone’s Bentley.”

You sit with a dramatic sigh, smoothing your hands over your dress. “You’re too uptight. Have a drink. Loosen up.”

He doesn’t respond. Just crosses his arms and stands beside you like a stone wall.

But he does notice the way your smile fades a little after a few quiet moments. How your gaze trails toward the floor instead of the crowd now. And how your fingers slowly start to fidget with the edge of your clutch. Maybe you are a little drunk. Or maybe you’re just tired.

Either way, Levi doesn’t question it. Not his job.

“Hello, beautiful.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters lowly under his breath, looking at the newcomer.

The man standing before you is exactly the type Levi’s has grown to despise—tall, smug, with a perfectly bleached smile and a designer suit tailored to say I’ve never worked a real day in my life. He reeks of money, cologne, and confidence he clearly didn’t earn. Levi doesn’t miss the way your eyes light up, unsure if it’s with affection. You plaster on your most charming smile, the same one you’ve been wearing all night like a mask. “Hello, darling,” you purr, tilting your head just slightly. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

“And miss a chance to run into you again?” the man replies, stepping closer as if Levi doesn’t exist. “Not a chance.”

Levi shifts subtly, just enough to stand half a step closer to you. Not touching, not speaking, but clearly there.

The man finally acknowledges him with a passing glance, tone dropping a notch. “Your new shadow?”

“He prefers bodyguard,” you say dryly, sipping the last of your champagne. “But yes.”

“Seems a little tense,” the man muses, eyes raking over Levi without a hint of concern. “Relax, man. You’re not needed here.”

Levi stares back, unblinking. “Try something stupid. You’ll see how needed I am.”

The smile on the man’s face falters just enough to satisfy him.

You exhale through your nose, amused despite yourself. “Alright, boys, no pissing contest tonight. I already have a headache.”

“Then maybe I can walk you out, give you some air?” the man offers, extending his hand.

Levi tenses, but he doesn’t move. Not until you decide.

You pause—a moment too long—before setting your empty glass down. “Tempting,” you hum, “but I’ve already got company tonight.” Your hand brushes Levi’s arm ever so lightly. He doesn’t flinch, but you feel the way his muscles tense beneath your touch.

“Aww, well that’s not fun.”

“I’m always fun with you, Michael.”

Michael’s grin returns, smug and knowing. He steps back just enough to give you one final once-over, eyes lingering a little too long on the curve of your hips, the bare skin of your shoulders, the long stretch of leg revealed by the slit of your gown. “That you are,” he says smoothly. “I’ll hold you to that. Another time.”

You don’t answer—just offer a wink and a flick of your fingers as a farewell, already turning your back to him. Levi doesn’t move until Michael is a good five strides away, swallowed up by the casino crowd and whatever other equally self-obsessed suits are waiting for him.

Only then does he finally exhale, sharp and quiet. “Friends like that, huh?” he mutters.

You shrug, barely glancing at him. “He’s harmless. Annoying, but harmless.”

Levi scoffs, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You’ve got a strange definition of harmless.”

You glance sideways at him, watching the stiff line of his jaw, the way his eyes are still scanning the room. Still on edge. “You really don’t like him.”

“I don’t like most of them,” he replies flatly.

“Most of whom?”

“The men who think they know you. Who think they’re entitled to touch you, look at you like you’re already theirs. Makes me sick.”

You blink at that—caught off guard not by the words themselves, but by the way he says them. Not possessively, not jealously. Just matter-of-fact, like it’s a truth he carries around all the time and only now decided to share. For a moment, you say nothing. Just let the silence settle again. And then, softer, “Is that part of your job too?”

Levi turns to you, expression unreadable. “No,” he says. “That part’s just me.”

And somehow, that answer makes your chest tighten in a way you weren’t prepared for.

“Don’t play father,” you sigh softly and stand up.

Levi’s hands automatically move out, hovering above, actually holding your arms. “Forgive me for hoping you’d have a little more respect for yourself.”

You chuckle, eyebrow raised. “Self-respect?” You echo, fingers dancing up along his broad shoulders. “My, if I didn’t have any of that, I would’ve had my time with you the minute I met you.”

“I still barely know you.”

“Does that mean you wouldn’t be opposed?” Your arms wrap fully around his neck, he feels the soft tingle of your breath fan across his cheek as you lean in. The tip of your nose skims his jawline.

His face remains stony, arms stiff by his sides. After a few seconds, he gently untangles your arms from his neck, stepping back enough for some space between you two. “You’re drunk, we’ll go find your father, then head back.”

The tip of your lip downturns into a frown. However, before you can respond, yet another manly voice interrupts.

“Her father is already waiting for her outside.”

You both look to your right. Standing there, an average-height man, his blonde hair parted to the side, it reaches just before the end of his ears. Light blue eyes darting between Levi and you, narrowing just slightly in suspicion. He steps forward wordlessly, taking your hand in his and subtly stepping between you two. Levi’s own suspicion rises, confused by the way this man nonchalantly laces his fingers in yours. You twitch briefly.

“You must be the new guy,” he says, chin tilting up like he’s silently one-upping him.

Levi already doesn’t like him.

“Oh, Daniel. I haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“Your father sent me abroad, remember? Today’s my first day back.”

“Oh, right,” you hum, heavy-lidded eyes looking back at Levi. “Well, here’s the newest addition.”

“I can see that,” Daniel focuses on the other man across from him, lip briefly moving up in a self-satisfied smirk. He only offers Levi a nod. “Daniel Foster. Head of security for the Suzukis.”

Head of security. Levi doesn’t need to ask the obvious, the guy already seems to be trying to display some shitty air of dominance over him already. Levi crosses his arms. “Levi.”

Daniel’s smile tightens, but he keeps his tone casual, almost too casual for the tension in the room. “Levi, huh? Heard a bit about you already. Can’t say I’m thrilled to have competition, but it is what it is. Just wish it wasn’t someone of your background.”

Levi doesn’t respond immediately, his eyes locked on Daniel’s with a cool, assessing gaze. There’s something about Daniel, the way he moves, the ease in his voice, that reeks of control, authority, and a hint of entitlement. Not the type to back down easily. Not the type he can stand to be in a room with.

You tug lightly on Daniel’s hand, your voice soft but firm. “Let’s not start a turf war tonight, boys.”

Daniel glances at you with a smirk. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to cause trouble. Just making sure you get home safe.”

Levi’s jaw tightens. “Same here.”

A quiet moment passes, the three of you standing there under the dim casino lights, an unspoken challenge hanging between Levi and Daniel like a thin wire ready to snap. You clear your throat, stepping between them with a graceful but commanding presence. “Enough of that. Tonight’s over. Let’s get out of here.”

Daniel gives Levi a final look, nods once, and then turns toward the exit, pulling you gently along. Levi falls back, watching the two of you go, his mind already working through the layers beneath this simple encounter.

The ride back home is a silent one. Sitting in the blacked-out limousine are you, Makoto, Daniel, and Levi. Unfortunately for the other two men, they’re made to sit next to one another, directly across from you and your father. You’re leaning against the door, eyes closed and softly snoozing. Makoto is on your left, holding a small glass of Brandy, looking out the tinted windows.

“So,” Makoto speaks up, swallowing his dark liquor and looking at the two across from him. “Daniel, I don’t think you’ve formally met Levi here.”

“Not that I mind,” Daniel shrugs, grinning.

Levi’s jaw clenches.

“Well, he’s Y/N’s personal guard. There may be times I’ll have you two work together. So I want no issues between you two.”

Levi doesn’t break eye contact with Makoto, even as he feels the weight of Daniel’s smirk settle beside him like a bad itch.

“Understood,” Levi replies flatly, voice cool and unreadable. His arms are crossed, legs slightly apart, posture steady and grounded.

Daniel chuckles under his breath and leans back, one arm resting casually along the leather seat. “Don’t worry, sir. I play nice when I have to. Long as he knows his place, I don’t see why there’d be any trouble.”

Levi turns his head slowly toward Daniel, the flicker of a glare igniting in his steely gaze. “I don’t take up much space,” he says, voice quiet and edged, “but I don’t move for people like you.”

Makoto raises an eyebrow, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Good,” he murmurs, more to himself than anyone else. “It’s about time someone made things interesting around here.”

The silence afterward is tense but calm. Heavy. You’re still asleep, blissfully unaware, your head resting against the cool glass as the city lights blur by. And Makoto, ever the puppet master, just sits back and enjoys the quiet unraveling.

When you all get back, Makoto easily exits the car. Barely moving a wave of his hand towards your slumped figure, silently communicating the order to have someone get you out of the car. Levi takes a step forward, but Daniel beats him. Opening your side of the car and carefully maneuvering you into his arms, bridal style.

Levi halts mid-step, jaw ticking as Daniel effortlessly lifts you into his arms like he’s done it a hundred times before. You stir faintly against Daniel’s chest, murmuring something incoherent as your head nuzzles into his shoulder, completely unaware of the tension thickening behind you. “Got her,” Daniel says, glancing over his shoulder at Levi with an irritating air of familiarity. “She’s used to me doing this.”

Levi doesn’t respond immediately—he simply watches. The way Daniel’s grip is secure but deliberately gentle, the way his stride toward the estate is confident, unbothered, like he owns the ground he walks on. Like he owns you.

Levi follows at a steady pace, fists tucked into his coat pockets.

Used to it, huh?

Something about that doesn’t sit right. Maybe it’s the implication that you need rescuing this often, or maybe it’s just the casual claim Daniel seems to be making over you. Makoto is already gone, vanished behind the estate doors, leaving Levi and Daniel alone with the weight of unspoken rivalry between them. The massive entrance opens at their approach, and Daniel doesn’t wait. He strides up the grand staircase, taking you toward your wing without a second glance.

Levi stops at the base of the stairs, eyes tracking the retreating pair.

A strange feeling resides in his gut, jaw clenching tightly. He doesn’t exactly understand why he feels so utterly put off by this guy and the way he acts towards you. It’s like he’s trying to engage in a competition of sorts, one Levi did not sign up for. Must be the way people around here work. It would probably be best not to think too much of it. After all, he’s been sought out specifically for your help. Not some pompous, Ken-looking asshole like Daniel.

Still, as Levi watched Daniel disappear down the hallway with you in his arms, that uneasy feeling in his gut refuses to settle. It coils like a slow burn in his stomach, fed by the smug glint in Daniel’s eyes and the way you unconsciously leaned into his touch, like your body knew him—trusted him.

Levi scoffs under his breath.

He doesn’t get people like Daniel. The polished, playboy types who waltz through life with effortless charm and empty grins, hiding ambition behind every compliment and promise. He’s seen too many of them in the military and on the field—too many snakes in custom-tailored suits pretending to protect what they only want to possess. The thought irritates him more than it should. Because this isn’t his game. He’s not here to win hearts or charm anyone. He’s here to protect. To observe. To keep you alive.

And yet.

Why the hell does it matter who carries you to bed?

Levi rolls his shoulders back and exhales slowly through his nose, trying to shake the tension that’s settled deep in his bones. It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t. It doesn’t. He heaves a sigh, scrubbing a hand down his face. Reading his watch, it says 2:00 am. It doesn’t help that he’s been trying to fix his disordered sleeping.

So, with a turn of his heel, he exits the estate, heading back to the less-than-glamorous place he calls his home.

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