I'm outta here

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Too Good To Be True series

Bob Reynolds x Fem! Thunderbolt Reader

In progress / HIATUS

Summary: One sleepless night, Y/N and Bob cross paths in the kitchen. When he admits he can’t sleep because of recurring nightmares, Y/N offers to help, without knowing that this would bring them closer than they both imagined.

Under the Radar

Bob Floyd x Fem! Pilot Reader

In progress

Summary: Life after the Uranium Mission should have been simple: training flights, late nights at the Hard Deck, the Dagger Team closer than ever. But for Robert "Bob" Floyd and Y/N "Firecracker" Y/L/N, keeping their new relationship under wraps is harder than pulling G’s at Mach speed. Between nosy teammates and a few too many close calls, secrets don’t stay secret for long and they're going to have to work hard to keep their relationship under the radar.

Pecan Pie

Bob Floyd x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bob's and Y/N's first 4th of July together don't go as well as they expected.

Loopy Confessions

Bob Floyd x Fem! Pilot Reader

Summary: Bob hit his head, and as a result of taking strong painkillers, he ends up talking too much in front of his girlfriend.

Systematic Desensitization

Bob Reynolds x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bob has a thing about people touching him, but he craves it at the same time. So he seeks help from Y/N, who, wanting to be a good teammate, helps him cope with his touch anxiety through systematic desensitization.

Todd Stevens x Fem!Reader

Can you? pt.1

Summary: Going on a date with a frat boy wasn't exactly a good idea. Now Y/N finds herself having to talk to the frat president.

Can you? pt.2

Todd Stevens x Fem!Reader

+18

Summary: Y/N reluctantly agrees to go to the party, but the night doesn't end as she expects.

Spooky party

Todd Stevens x Fem!Reader

Summary: Kappa Nu Alpha throws a Halloween party, But Todd is more interested in knowing what costume his girlfriend will wear.

Heartbeat

Rhett Abbott x Fem!Reader

Summary: Rhett finds comfort , and a good night's sleep, by listening to Y/N heartbeat every night. But that's his little secret.

Takes one to know one

Rhett Abbott x Fem!Reader

Summary: Inspired by the song "Cowboy Like Me," Rhett meets a hustler at a rodeo.

The dirt keep secrets

Rhett Abbott x Fem!Reader

Summary: It was well known in town the strange rumor that circulated around Y/N since she was a child, that she could see things. Now, with a Tillerson dead, she was in the crosshairs.

Darkness fades at dawn

Ben Mears x Fem!Reader

Summary: Ben returns to his hometown, the place that had haunted him since he was a child. But he didn't go alone; Y/N was with him, his wife and the mother of his future child.

Unnatural

Ben Mears x Fem!Reader

Summary: After the events in Salem's Lot, Ben knew the world wasn't a safe place, but he didn't expect to find out that so many people in the world already knew about this.

The morning sun crept through the thin curtains of the bedroom, painting soft streaks of gold across the floor. For the first time in weeks, there was no alarm jolting him awake before dawn, no mission briefings or checklists racing through his head. Just the quiet hum of the air conditioner and the rhythmic breathing of Y/N, curled against his side.

It was strange, really, how quickly things could shift from life and death in the skies to the stillness of home. Bob had spent so long focused on surviving, on precision and instinct and trust. The Uranium mission had pushed every one of them to their limits, and somehow, miraculously, they had all made it back. He was grateful, of course, but something inside him had shifted.

He turned his head to look at Y/N, her hair spilling over the pillow, her hand resting lightly on his chest. She looked peaceful, unaware of the weight in his thoughts. He’d always known she was the center of his world, the one who grounded him when everything else was chaos. But now, after what they’d gone through, the thought of waiting, of letting life just drift by, felt unbearable.

He wanted more with her. He wanted a future.

By the time the morning rolled around, they were packing for a short trip to visit Y/N’s family. Her sister had just had a baby, and the whole clan was gathering to welcome the newest member of the family. Bob had been there before, countless times over the years. Y/N’s parents adored him, and her siblings treated him like one of their own. The jokes, the meals, the teasing, it always felt like home to him.

He couldn’t help but think about that word “home” as he folded his shirts into the duffel bag.

“You sure you’re okay with this weekend?” Y/N asked, peeking into the bedroom doorway. “It’s going to be a full house, and the baby’s schedule is all over the place.”

Bob smiled, glancing up at her. “You’re asking if I’m okay with a little chaos? I've been there thousands of times. Chaos is easy.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I love you, really.”

His eyes softened. “Yeah, I love you too.”

He froze for half a second, watching her as she turned back toward the hallway. He’d heard her say it before, of course. But somehow, it hit differently today. Maybe because he knew exactly what he wanted to say back. Not just “I love you”, but “I want forever with you”.

The drive to her parents’ house was long enough for reflection but short enough that the nerves hadn’t completely consumed him yet. Y/N was humming softly along to a playlist she’d made for road trips —Fleetwood Mac, The Lumineers, a bit of Taylor Swift— and Bob found himself smiling just watching her.

The scenery blurred past. Golden fields, a few scattered clouds drifting over the hills. Every so often, Y/N would reach over and squeeze his hand, and he’d squeeze back, comforted by the simple rhythm of it.

When they finally pulled into her parents’ driveway, the sound of laughter and conversation spilled out before they’d even opened the car doors. Her dad was outside grilling, her mom setting up a long table under the patio lights. Her older brother, Nick, waved from across the yard, a beer in hand.

And then there was the baby. Tiny, swaddled in pastel blankets, sleeping in her mother’s arms. Y/N’s sister, Maia, looked exhausted but radiant.

“Y/N! Bob!” Maia called softly, careful not to wake the baby. “Hey, look who finally made it.”

He smiled and gave her a small hug. “Hey, Mama. How are you holding up?”

“Tired. But happy,” she said, grinning. “Want to meet her?”

He glanced at Y/N, who was already leaning in close, cooing over the newborn. Her eyes shone with warmth and wonder. Bob’s heart caught in his throat as he watched her. She looked so natural, so right like that.

When Maia gently passed the baby into Y/N’s arms, Bob felt something deep and quiet stir inside him. Y/N’s fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted her hold, her voice soft and full of awe.

“She’s so tiny,” she whispered. “I can’t believe she’s real.”

Bob couldn’t tear his eyes away. The way Y/N smiled down at the baby —the tenderness, the gentleness— it was everything he didn’t know he’d been waiting to see. He could almost imagine it: her holding their child someday, the same soft expression on her face. Maybe even more.

He swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat.

Someday, he thought. Maybe someday soon.

Dinner that night was a lively affair. Her family was the kind of warm, noisy household Bob had always admired from afar. Stories flying across the table, inside jokes, the occasional argument about who’d forgotten to pick up dessert. Y/N’s dad, a tall man with kind eyes, handed Bob a beer and clapped him on the back.

“Good to see you again, son,” he said. “How’s the Navy treating you these days?”

“Good, sir,” Bob replied, smiling. “It’s been busy, but… We made it through the last mission in one piece. Can’t ask for much more than that.”

Her dad nodded knowingly. “That’s good to hear. You’ve done some incredible things, Bob. We’re proud of you, you know.”

The words hit him harder than he expected. “We’re proud of you”. It wasn’t something he heard often, and hearing it from Y/N’s father felt like something deeper than simple praise. It felt like belonging.

Across the table, Y/N caught his eye and smiled. He smiled back.

Later, when the baby started to fuss, Y/N was the first to stand.

“I’ll get her,” she said, already heading toward Maia’s room.

Bob watched her go, the familiar warmth rising in his chest. Her mother leaned toward him with a knowing grin.

“She’s wonderful with babies, isn’t she?”

Bob chuckled. “Yeah. She really is.”

“Y’know,” her mother said, lowering her voice, “Maia was saying how nice it is for cousins to be close in age. You two have been together for what, five years now?”

“Almost six,” he said, smiling faintly.

“Six years,” she repeated. “That’s a good, solid foundation. Don’t ya think?”

He nearly choked on his drink. “Uh-yes, ma’am. Definitely.”

She patted his arm kindly. “You don’t have to tell me your plans, sweetheart. But just so you know, we’d be thrilled. All of us.”

Bob felt his ears go red. He mumbled something about getting more ice and excused himself, though he couldn’t stop smiling.

Later that night, the house was finally quiet. Y/N and Bob were staying in the guest room upstairs, the one with the floral quilt and the view of the backyard. Y/N had just finished helping her sister settle the baby again, and when she came in, she looked tired but content.

“You were amazing with her tonight,” Bob said softly as she slipped under the covers.

Y/N gave a little shrug, brushing her hair back. “I just wanted to give Maia a break. She hasn’t slept more than two hours straight in a week.”

Bob reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re going to be an incredible mom someday.”

Her eyes widened a little, searching his face. “You think so?”

“I know so,” he said, voice steady. “You have this… Kindness in you. You make everyone around you feel safe. Even me.”

She smiled, eyes soft. “You make me feel that way, too.”

He leaned in and kissed her. It started softly, tenderly, a gentle reaffirmation of their love as their lips met. Bob's hand gently cupped Y/N's cheek, tilting her face to deepen the kiss, which gradually grew more passionate, more urgent.

Y/N's fingers tangled in Bob's hair as she pressed herself against him, feeling the warmth of his body, the strength in his arms as they wrapped around her. Their tongues danced, exploring, tasting, each deepening the connection between them.

As their make-out session intensified, the room began to fill with the sounds of their escalating arousal: a breathy moan from Y/N, a low growl from Bob. The air grew thicker, heavy with anticipation and desire. Bob's hands started to wander, slowly, reverently, caressing the curves of Y/N's body through the thin fabric of her nightclothes. Each touch ignited sparks beneath her skin, stoking the flames of her want. She could feel the evidence of his own desire pressing against her, hard and insistent.

As their kiss broke, Y/N pulled back slightly, a playful smirk on her lips.

"Someone's eager tonight," she teased, her voice low and breathy.

"I love you, too," she murmured sweetly after a few seconds, her voice still somewhat shaken. "Just... God, I needed a moment to recover."

"Don't be a tease," he complained, gently bumping their foreheads together as he began to rub against her.

A low moan escaped her at the sensation. "I think someone's got baby fever."

She punctuated her words with a teasing wiggle of her hips, rubbing herself against the prominent bulge in Bob's boxers. He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound in his chest.

"Guilty as charged," he admitted, his hands slipping under her nightshirt to caress the soft skin of her waist. "Seeing you with your niece today, the way you naturally cared for her…  It did things to me, Y/N. Made me imagine you like that, but with our child."

His voice took on a deeper, more dominant tone as he rolled them over so he was hovering above her.

"The thought of you, all mine, carrying my baby..." His lips trailed down her neck, his teeth grazing her pulse point.

Bob's hands gripped Y/N's wrists, pinning them above her head as he continued his sensual assault, his lips now trailing down to her collarbone. He nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps and the promise of love bites in his wake.

"You like that, don't you, baby?" he growled softly against her skin. "You like it when I take control, when I manhandle you like this. I know you do."

He rocked his hips into hers, the friction delicious even through their thin clothing. Y/N could feel his hard length throbbing against her core, a delicious pressure that made her squirm beneath him.

She was completely lost in the feeling of Bob around her, enclosing her in his embrace, touching her the way only he knew how. It was too much for her to handle every time.

"I'm going to worship this body of yours," he promised, his voice a deep, seductive rumble. "Every. Single. Inch."

With that, he released her wrists in favor of gripping the hem of her nightshirt. In one swift motion, he peeled the garment up and off, tossing it carelessly to the side. Y/N lay bare beneath him, her chest heaving, her nipples hard and aching for his touch.

"So fucking gorgeous,"

Bob's calloused hands began to explore Y/N's newly exposed skin, his fingers tracing the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips. He took his time, savoring each curve, each valley, committing every inch of her to memory.

"Fuck, Y/N," he breathed against the shell of her ear before nipping at her earlobe. "You feel what you do to me, baby? How hard you make me? I'm going to fill this tight little pussy so full of my cum. Gonna stuff you so full, you'll be dripping for days."

He punctuated his filthy words with a roll of his hips, grinding his cloth-covered erection against her aching core. Y/N couldn't help but whimper, her back arching off the bed as she sought more of that delicious friction.

"Shhh, not so loud, love," Bob reminded her, his voice a low, intimate murmur. "Remember where we are. We don't want to wake your parents with the sounds of me fucking you senseless."

"Fuck! You’re right." she mumbled, her excitement momentarily fading as Bob reminded her where they were. But it quickly returned when she felt one of his hands slid between their bodies, his fingers finding her slick heat through her panties. Bob could feel the damp patch on Y/N's panties, a testament to her arousal.

"Shit, already so wet for me," he purred, rubbing slow, teasing circles around her clothed clit. "You're practically dripping, baby. Your pussy is begging to be filled, isn't it?"

He captured her lips in a searing kiss, swallowing her whimpers as his fingers pushed the crotch of her panties aside. He ran a single digit through her slick folds, gathering her essence before bringing his finger to his lips.

"God, you taste divine, baby" he groaned quietly.

Bob settled between her thighs, his broad shoulders pushing her legs further apart. He placed open-mouthed kisses along her inner thighs. Bob was usually pretty neat, but these last few days he had forgotten to shave and his stubble was scraping beautifully against her sensitive skin.

"I'm going to eat this pretty pussy until you're shaking and silent, until you're biting your lip to keep from screaming my name," he promised darkly. Gone was the normally respectful and sweet Bob, and Y/N knew that when that happened it meant a fucking good time.

Bob leaned in, his warm breath ghosting over Y/N's most intimate area, making her shudder with anticipation. He left a tender kiss on her hip before running his tongue along her slit in a slow, savoring lick. Her taste exploded on his tongue, sweet and tangy, and he groaned in appreciation.

He dove in, lapping at her folds like a man starved, his tongue delving between them to stroke along her inner walls. His hands gripped her thighs, holding her open, keeping her exposed to his hungry mouth. He focused on her clit, flicking the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue before sucking it between his lips, his tongue swirling around it mercilessly.

Y/N's hands fisted in the sheets, her hips rolling desperately against Bob's face as he ate her out. Her breathing grew ragged, panting harshly through clenched teeth to keep her moans to a minimum. The obscene sound of Bob's lips and tongue working her over filled the room, punctuated by his own low groans of pleasure.

Bob's lips and tongue worked Y/N's pussy with a fervor that bordered on reverence. He lapped at her dripping folds, savoring her essence, his tongue delving deep to stroke along her clenching walls. He focused his attention on her throbbing clit, flicking the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue before suckling it between his lips, his tongue swirling around it mercilessly.

The wet sounds of his mouth working her over filled the room, mingling with Y/N's ragged breathing and muffled whimpers. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him against her as she ground her hips desperately against his face, chasing her rapidly approaching orgasm. The coil in her belly wound tighter and tighter, her thighs trembling, her core clenching around nothing.

Just as Y/N teetered on the brink, her body tensing, ready to tumble into ecstasy, Bob pulled back. He sat up shaking his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes dark with lust and a wicked glint.

"Ah, ah, ah. Not yet, baby."  Bob whispered hotly, his hand delivering a sharp smack to Y/N's dripping sex, the obscene sound of the impact barely contained by her whimper of surprise and pleasure. He could see how close she was, her body trembling, her chest heaving as she struggled to remain quiet in the darkened guest room. "Not until I'm buried deep inside this needy cunt, want to fill you up, Y/N. I want to breed this tight little pussy until it takes."

With deliberate slowness, Bob peeled off his boxers, his hard, thick cock springing free. He stroked himself once, twice, smearing the bead of pre-cum at the tip with his thumb. Y/N's eyes were riveted to the sight, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

“Bob, c'mon, don’t be like that…” She whimpered as she tried to get closer to him.

Bob smirked, a wicked, knowing grin. He knew she was desperate to be filled, to be stretched and claimed and bred.

And he was going to make her work for it.

Keeping his eyes locked with hers, Bob brought his fingers to his mouth, the ones he'd used to tease her entrance. He sucked them clean, making a show of it, his tongue swirling around each digit.

“You taste fucking amazing, Y/N," he murmured, his voice a low, intimate rasp.

Bob teased Y/N mercilessly, his fingers circling her entrance, dipping shallowly inside, but never giving her the deep penetration she craved. His cock throbbed, rock hard and leaking, as he watched her squirm and whimper with need. But he held back, determined to make her fall apart with desperation first.

"Please," Y/N mouthed silently, her expression a mix of frustration and raw desire. She reached for him, but Bob caught her wrists, pinning them above her head once more. He claimed her lips in a searing kiss, all tongue and teeth, swallowing her needy whines.

Only when Y/N's body was trembling, her eyes glazed with lust, did Bob finally relent. He notched the broad head of his cock against her entrance, the heat of her searing him. Y/N's eyes widened, her breath catching, as she felt him start to push forward.

And then, in one smooth, deep thrust, Bob sheathed himself fully inside her. They both froze, a moment of pure sensation, as her walls fluttered and clenched around him, drawing him in. Her nails dug hard into his shoulders, biting her lips to swallow the moan that wanted to escape her throat at the feeling of Bob buried deep inside her.

But then, overcome with the feeling, Bob began to move.

He savored every inch of Y/N's tight heat as he slowly sheathed himself inside her, a low groan building in his chest. Her walls stretched deliciously around his thick length, welcoming him, hugging him like a velvet glove. He paused for a moment, buried to the hilt, reveling in the exquisite sensation of being one with her.

Y/N's eyes fluttered closed, her back arching slightly as she adjusted to the fullness. She could feel every ridge and vein of Bob's cock as it pulsed inside her, a delicious pressure that made her ache with need. Her nails dug into his lower back, urging him closer, silently begging him to move.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Bob began to withdraw, his hips rolling back in a slow, deliberate motion. He watched, transfixed, as his cock emerged from her glistening folds, only to push back in, deeper this time, stretching her further. He set a steady rhythm, each thrust measured and deep, grinding against her cervix before pulling back, only to plunge in again.

Bob's eyes were locked onto Y/N's face, watching every play of emotion, every micro-expression.

As Bob continued his deep, deliberate thrusts, Y/N could feel the tension coiling tighter in her core with each pass of his thick cock against her sensitive walls. Her breathing grew more ragged, soft moans and whimpers escaping her lips despite her best efforts to stay quiet. Bob felt her start to tighten around him, her body tensing, and he knew she was close.

With a quick, almost rough motion, he covered Y/N's mouth with his hand, muffling her cries as he picked up his pace. His hips snapped forward, driving into her with short, sharp thrusts, the wet squelch of their coupling filling the room.

"Fuck, your pussy feels incredible," he grunted quietly, his eyes dark and intense as they bored into hers. "So fucking tight, like you were made for my cock. I'm going to fill this cunt so full, you'll be dripping for days."

His dirty talk spurred Y/N on, her body writhing beneath him as she climbed closer to her peak. Her teeth sank into the flesh of his palm as she struggled to keep her moans at bay, her eyes squeezing shut in bliss.

As Y/N's climax approached, Bob's thrusts became more urgent, more demanding. He could feel her walls fluttering around him, gripping his cock like a vice. Sweat dampened his brow from the exertion and the intensity of their fucking.

"That's it, baby," he grunted, his voice a low, passionate rasp. "Fucking take my cock. You’re mine, all mine. I'm going to pump you so full of my cum, breed this hungry little cunt until is full of my babies."

With a sudden, almost feral growl, Bob flipped Y/N onto her hands and knees. He gripped her hips, lifting her ass high, exposing her dripping sex to him. The new angle allowed him to plunge even deeper inside her, the head of his cock kissing her cervix with each powerful thrust.

"Oh god, fuck yes," Y/N whimpered into the pillow, her fingers fisting in the fabric as Bob pounded into her. She could feel every thick inch of him stretching her, filling her so completely. She bit down hard on the pillow, stifling her scream of pleasure as her climax crashed over her like a tidal wave.

Y/N's walls clamped down around Bob's pistoning cock, rippling and fluttering as her orgasm overwhelmed her. Her body convulsed, back arched, as waves of intense pleasure radiated through her. Bob never faltered, driving into her spasming heat with relentless, powerful thrusts, chasing his own release.

"Fuck, just like that," he growled, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips hard enough to bruise. "Milk my fucking cock. Take every last drop."

He could feel his own end approaching, his balls tightening, his thrusts growing erratic. With a final, brutal snap of his hips, Bob buried himself to the hilt inside Y/N's quivering core. His cock throbbed, pulsing as it unleashed a torrent of hot, thick seed deep into her womb. He ground against her, stirring his essence inside her as he rode out his climax, ensuring her fertile womb was flooded with his potent sperm.

"Ah, fuck, Y/N," he groaned, low and ragged, his breath coming in harsh pants. "Take it. Fucking take it all."

As the final waves of their shared climax washed over them, Bob gently collapsed forward, covering Y/N's back with his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as they both struggled to catch their breath in the aftermath of their passion..

Slowly, tenderly, Bob rolled them onto their sides, spooning Y/N from behind. He brushed her sweat-dampened hair away from her neck, pressing soft kisses to her shoulder and the side of her neck. His hands roamed her body, caressing her skin with a gentler touch now, tracing the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips.

"I love you," he whispered, the words heartfelt and sincere.

He helped Y/N lower her hips, both of them shuddering at the sensation of his softening cock slipping free, followed by a gush of their combined fluids. Bob carefully turned Y/N over onto her back, brushing sweat-dampened hair from her face. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a deep, loving kiss, pouring all his passion and affection into the embrace.

They stayed like that for a long moment, simply holding each other, their chests heaving as they caught their breath. The room was filled with the intimate sounds of their ragged breathing and the occasional soft, sated moan.

"I love you, too," she murmured sweetly after a few seconds, her voice still somewhat shaken. "Just... God, I needed a moment to recover."

Sated and spent, Bob and Y/N clung to each other. The adrenaline that had been coursing through their veins slowly ebbed, replaced by a warm, contented lethargy. Y/N's eyes fluttered closed, her body going limp and pliant against Bob's as sleep began to claim her. Bob, too, felt the pull of exhaustion, his limbs heavy and his thoughts slowing. He tightened his embrace around Y/N, spooning her close, his warmth enveloping her. He pressed one last soft kiss to her temple before surrendering to the inevitable, his breathing evening out into the slow, deep rhythm of sleep.

The hum of fluorescent lights filled the Thunderbolts lab, a steady drone beneath the faint hiss of air filters. Y/N’s world had narrowed to the microscope in front of her, her gloved hands moving with quiet precision as she adjusted the focus. On the glass plate beneath, the strange, bioluminescent veins of a weird-looking plant pulsed faintly, almost as if alive in the way that made her heart skip.

She barely noticed the sound of footsteps in the corridor until they stopped just outside her door. Then came a hesitant knock, too soft to belong to Walker, too polite to be Bucky.

She smiled to herself without looking up. It was a knock she knew very well.

“Come in, Bob.”

The door opened with a low hiss. Bob stepped inside, shoulders hunched slightly as though trying to make himself smaller, no easy feat for a man with a frame that could blot out a room when he forgot to hold it back. His dark hair was a slightly managed mess, as usual, and he carried that uncertain half-smile he always wore when he wasn’t sure if he was welcome.

“You always know it’s me,” he said, closing the door behind him.

“You knock like you’re afraid of the hinges,” Y/N replied dryly, not lifting her eyes from her work. “It’s distinctive.”

Bob chuckled and wandered in, glancing around the lab. It was as quiet and sterile as always: her sanctuary. She never let the others in unless absolutely necessary. He liked it here. The quiet hum of machines was easier on his nerves than the hum of people.

“How was the mission?” he asked, leaning against one of the counters, careful not to touch anything.

She exhaled through her nose, finally looking up at him.

“Successful. We secured the compound, neutralized hostiles, retrieved data.” Her tone softened slightly as she added, “Bucky handled the infiltration like clockwork. Walker, well… Let’s just say subtlety isn’t his strongest suit.”

Bob smiled faintly, looking at the work table with curiosity. “And you found something weird again.”

“Yes. That.” Her eyes flicked to the plant beneath the glass dome.

He followed her gaze, curiosity brightening his features. The specimen looked like something out of a fever dream: silver-green tendrils twisting in patterns that made his eyes ache if he looked too long, topped with a bud that shimmered faintly like starlight trapped in petals.

“What is it?” he asked, stepping closer.

“I don’t know,” Y/N admitted. “And that’s what makes it exciting and frustrating at the same time.”

Her tone warmed as she spoke, and Bob found himself smiling again. He loved watching her talk about things that lit her up when she was all focus, all brilliance. She always looked like she belonged more to her work than to the world.

He leaned a little closer to the glass dome, brow furrowing. “Looks kind of pretty for something that probably kills people.”

“That’s usually how it works. Pretty, dangerous, or both.” Y/N gave him a side glance. She reached for her notes, scribbling something in a tight, angular script. “Don’t touch it, Bob.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were thinking about it.”

He chuckled softly. “Maybe.”

For a while, the only sounds were the faint whir of instruments and Y/N’s quiet murmur as she took readings. Bob stayed nearby, content just to watch her. It was strange, how calm he felt in here. How she never looked at him like he was a distraction or something out of place.

Then, it happened.

He shifted slightly, intending to rest his hand on the edge of the counter, but his fingers brushed the corner of a silver tray instead. It clattered off the metal surface and hit the floor with a sharp clang.

“Damn! Sorry, I-” Bob bent to grab it, but the motion sent a tremor through the table. The glass dome wobbled.

“Bob, don’t-”

The dome tipped.

Y/N lunged to steady it, but it was too late, it hit the floor with a crystalline shatter, and the strange bud inside twitched, unfurling in a sudden burst of motion.

A cloud of shimmering red pollen exploded into the air. For a moment it hung suspended, glittering in the light like dust caught in sunlight.

Then it hit them both.

Y/N coughed, stumbling back and waving a hand in front of her face. “Oh, no! No, no, no-”

Bob froze, eyes wide, as particles clung to his hair and skin like fine gold ash. “I- I didn’t- Shit! I’m sorry. I just-”

“Don’t breathe too deeply!” she snapped, trying to stay calm even as her mind raced. “I don’t know what it does yet, we could be-”

She stopped herself. Panicking wouldn’t help. She grabbed the emergency decontamination switch and hit it hard. Alarms blared softly and a cool mist hissed from the ceiling, trying to neutralize whatever had just entered the air.

Bob stood motionless, shame written all over him.

“I ruin everything I touch,” he muttered under his breath.

Y/N turned toward him, chest still heaving lightly from the coughing. “Stop it. You didn’t ruin anything. You made a mistake.”

His gaze lifted, vulnerable and uncertain. “Yeah, but when I make mistakes, people usually die.”

Her expression softened, even as she tried to stay focused. “No one’s dead, Bob. Look at me.”

He did. For a second, the air seemed thicker, not from the pollen but from something unspoken… Tension, worry, and something else entirely.

“You’re okay,” she said, voice steady now. “We’re okay. I’ll analyze what’s left of the sample, figure out if it’s toxic or reactive. But until then…”

“Quarantine?”

“Quarantine. I have to tell the others.” She said as she took her phone out of her pocket.

He nodded, guilt still heavy in his shoulders. “I’ll… Stay here, then.”

She arched a brow. “With me?”

He hesitated. “Unless you’d rather…”

She shook her head, cutting him off.

“No. If something’s going to happen, I’d rather monitor it myself.” Then, quieter, “And I trust you not to touch anything… Again.”

He gave her a sheepish look. “I’ll try.”

Despite herself, she smiled. A faint, reluctant curve of her lips. “That’s a start.”

The first half hour passed in uneasy quiet.

The decontamination mist had cleared, and the air in the lab felt sterile again, though something about it still shimmered faintly, as if the pollen hadn’t entirely left, only settled somewhere unseen.

Y/N busied herself with notes, readings, anything that would keep her mind sharp. Bob sat nearby, on one of the metal stools, elbows on his knees, eyes trained on the floor. He’d barely spoken since the incident.

“How are you feeling?” she asked after a while, voice weirdly agitated but professional.

He blinked, as if the question had come from far away. “Fine, I think. Maybe a little warm?”

She frowned, noting it. “Warm how?”

He lifted one shoulder in a helpless half-shrug. “Like inside. My skin feels tight. Everything’s… I don’t know, humming.”

Y/N paused. That made two of them.

She rubbed her temple, suddenly aware of the pulse at the base of her throat. It had been subtle at first, just a heat under her skin, a light sweat on her palms. But now it was deepening, a restless burn that made her lab coat feel stifling and the room somehow too small.

She tried to ignore it, focusing on her notes, but her handwriting had begun to drift, the letters looser, slanted. Her head felt foggy.

“Y/N?” Bob’s voice cut through the haze. Low, worried. “You okay?”

She swallowed, forcing her eyes up to meet his. His pupils were dilated, blue eyes darker than usual, and his breathing was just slightly uneven.

“I think,” she said slowly, rushing to take notes. “we’re experiencing some kind of physiological reaction to the pollen. Elevated body temperature, accelerated heart rate, possibly a neurochemical-”

She stopped mid-sentence. The clinical words sounded distant and useless.

Bob stood then, the motion fluid and uneasy, as if even he didn’t trust his balance.

“Should we call it in? Medical?”

“No.” She was too quick to answer, then caught herself and softened her tone. “Not yet. I need to know what this is first. If it’s airborne or biological or-”

“Or?” he asked quietly.

The words hung between them.

She looked at him, really looked. The fine shimmer of red still clung faintly to his hair, catching the sterile lab light, and for the first time, it struck her just how human he looked. Not the Sentry, not the weapon the world feared. Just Bob, nervous and uncertain, playing with his hands because he didn’t know where else to put it.

Her throat went dry.

He tilted his head slightly.

The silence that followed was heavy. The hum of the lights, the faint thud of her heartbeat in her ears, everything felt magnified. Y/N tried to breathe deeply, but the air itself seemed charged, like the moments before a lightning strike.

She turned away, focusing on the data pad. “We need to monitor vitals. I’ll- I’ll set up a scan.”

But her hands shook as she reached for the console, and she heard Bob shift behind her, the sound of his boots on the floor.

“Y/N,” he said again, quieter now. “You’re shaking.”

She froze. “I’m fine.”

“No,” he said, moving closer. “You’re not.”

She could feel the warmth radiating from him even before he reached her, a presence that felt too close, too alive. The air between them was thick, almost electric, and she realized she hadn’t taken a full breath in several seconds.

“I think the pollen’s affecting our dopamine or adrenaline response,” she managed, her voice soft and unsteady. “It’s amplifying something.”

“Feels like it’s amplifying everything,” he murmured, and the way he said it sent a tremor through her she couldn’t quite rationalize.

Her pulse thundered. She needed distance, logic, control. All the things that usually defined her. But right now, none of those were winning.

She forced herself to step back, exhaling slowly.

“We need to stay calm,” she said, more to herself than to him. “It’s just a reaction. It’ll pass.”

Bob nodded, though his jaw was tight, his voice low. “Right. Wait.”

But neither of them moved.

And in the quiet hum of the room, the heat between them felt almost alive, something unseen, something waiting.

Suddenly, Y/N noticed a faint flush spreading across Bob's cheeks.

"Are you feeling hot?" she asked, her voice laced with concern and a hint of unease. As the words left her mouth, she realized that a similar heat was beginning to creep over her own skin.

Bob nodded, his eyes widening as he noticed the flush on Y/N's face as well.

"Yeah... I think something's happening," he stammered, shifting uncomfortably in his place.

The air between them seemed to thicken, charged with an unfamiliar energy that made their hearts race and their breath quicken. Y/N's mind raced as she tried to make sense of their sudden discomfort.

The pollen.

It had to be the pollen. But what was in it? What effect could it possibly have on them? Fear and curiosity warred within her as the heat intensified, spreading from their faces down their necks and across their chests.

Y/N's heart pounded as the heat engulfed her, her skin flushing and tingling with a desperate, aching need. She could see the same hunger reflected in Bob's eyes, his pupils dilating as he stared at her, his chest heaving with each ragged breath. The air between them crackled with a primal energy, the scent of the unknown pollen filling their lungs and clouding their minds.

"I... I don't understand," Y/N gasped, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and desire. She stumbled to her feet, her legs shaky and unsteady, drawn towards him like a moth to a flame. "What is happening to, Bob?" 

Bob reached out for her, his hands grasping at her arms, pulling her closer. His touch seared her skin, sending jolts of electricity coursing through her veins.

"Y/N, I- I need... I need..." he groaned, his words dissolving into incoherent pleas. "Please... What's going on? You're the smart one, what-"

Y/N could feel her own desperate urges rising to the surface, consuming her rational thoughts. She needed him. She needed to feel his skin against hers, to have him inside her, filling her, complete her.

Overcome by the primal urge coursing through her, Y/N surged forward, capturing Bob's lips in a searing, desperate kiss. Her hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss with a hunger that bordered on feral. Bob hesitated initially, his mind still fogged with worry and confusion, but the intensity of Y/N's passion quickly consumed him.

His hands moved to her waist, gripping her tightly as he responded to her kiss with equal fervor. Their tongues danced and twined, tasting, exploring, devouring. Each touch ignited flames of desire, the heat between them reaching a fever pitch. Y/N's chest heaved against Bob's chest, his hands began to slowly and hesitantly explore her body, anxiously hugging her hips as the kiss deepened.

Breaking the kiss, Y/N trailed her lips down Bob's neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. The taste of him, the scent of him mingling with the heady perfume of the pollen, drove her wild with lust. She could feel the evidence of his desire pressed against her, hard and insistent, and it made her throb with need.

Panting heavily, she squeezed his shirt in her hands, desperate to feel his bare skin against hers. She shrugged off her own lab coat, letting it fall to the floor. With a sudden burst of urgency, Bob grabbed Y/N's hips and lifted her onto the lab counter, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat of her skin. She gasped at the unexpected movement, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, drawing him closer.

The counter was cluttered with beakers and test tubes, but neither of them cared. The world had narrowed down to just the two of them, lost in a haze of desire and desperation. Bob's hands gripped her clothed thighs, fingers digging into her soft flesh as he positioned himself between her legs.

"Y/N," he breathed, his voice a low, guttural rumble. "I want you. I've always wanted you. Please let me..."

She nodded, completely lost in the fog of excitement that clouded her mind. Bob, completely shaking with emotion, tried to unbutton Y/N's shirt, carelessly ending up tearing the last buttons, completely desperate for a little contact with her skin. 

One of his hands went up her ribs until reaching the edge of her bra, lowering the cups carelessly. Her breasts, full and perfect, heaved with each ragged breath, the rosy peaks of her nipples just begging for Bob's touch. He was really fighting to contain himself, but there was a fire inside him that only asked him to continue, to take all of her. 

Bob felt his last bit of hesitation melting away in the face of Y/N's unbridled passion, quickly shed his own clothes. His eyes darkened with lust as he took in the sight of her half-dressed form, a low groan escaping his lips. He pulled her back into his arms, skin sliding against skin, igniting nerve endings and stoking the flames of their desire.

His hands roamed her body, caressing, squeezing, worshipping every curve and contour. He cupped her breasts, thumbs swiping over the sensitive peaks, drawing gasps of pleasure from Y/N's lips. She arched into his touch, desperate for more, her own hands exploring the hard planes of his chest and the lean muscles of his abdomen. Quickly he placed his lips on Y/N's collarbone, leaving slow kisses, savoring the strange combination of her perfume, her sweat that had remained from the mission and something strangely hers.

"Bob..." she whimped desperately, her hands tangled in his hair before slowly lowering herself down his bare back.

Y/N's fingers traced the defined lines of Bob's abdomen, marveling at the feel of his burning, smooth skin. She let her hands wander lower, brushing against the waistband of his jeans, teasing and tormenting. Bob's breath hitched in response, his hips instinctively canting forward, seeking more of her touch.

"Y/N," he breathed, his voice rough and ragged with desire. "We shouldn't- not like this. Not in this state..."

Despite his words, his body betrayed him, his hardness straining against the confines of his jeans. Y/N silenced him with another searing kiss, her tongue delving deep, claiming him, consuming him. She popped the button of his jeans, slowly lowering the zipper, each tooth releasing a soft click that seemed to echo in the charged air. She slipped her hand inside, wrapping her fingers around his hard, throbbing length, stroking him slowly, teasingly. Her touch was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through him.

"Don't think about that now, please." she murmured against his lips, "I need you so badly. Please, Bob."

She punctuated her words with a roll of her hips, his hard length brushing against her covered core, drawing a sharp cry of pleasure from her lips, Bob could only whimper in response. His lips colliding with hers roughly, a moan of both desperation and relief coming from deep within her chest. Her body was aching, empty, desperate to be filled by him.

With quick, nervous hands, Bob rushed to unbutton Y/N's pants, effortlessly lifting her up so he could pull them off completely. Y/N let out a little squeal of surprise, momentarily forgetting the serum running through Bob's veins; though she'd be lying if she didn't say that  that had sent a surge of excitement between her legs.

Forget the pollen, this was pure Bob.

She reached down, grasping his length, guiding him to her entrance. With a single, powerful thrust, he hilted inside her, stretching her, filling her completely.

Bob withdrew slowly, almost completely, before slamming back into Y/N with a primal grunt. The force of his thrust rocked her body, her back arching off the counter, her nails raking down his back. He set a brutal, animalistic pace, pounding into her again and again, each thrust driving her higher, stoking the flames of her pleasure.

"Bob! God, just like that..." she whimpered, her words dissolving into mindless moans. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the lab, mingling with their grunts and cries of ecstasy. She could feel every inch of his hard length stretching her, filling her so completely, so perfectly.

Bob's hands roamed her body, squeezing, kneading, leaving no part of her untouched. He latched onto a nipple, sucking, biting, sending jolts of electricity straight to her core. He could feel her walls fluttering around him, gripping him like a velvet vice, urging him closer to the edge.

"Can't believe this, I-" he growled, his hips never faltering in their relentless rhythm. "Wanted you for so long, it's- it's unreal... You're so- fuck!"

Bob slowed his thrusts, savoring the newfound submissiveness in Y/N. It was a stark contrast to the usually serious, focused her, and it ignited a primal, possessive streak within him. He wanted to unravel her completely, to make her forget every thought but him.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice a low, appreciative rumble. "So responsive, so eager. You love this, don't you? Love feeling me inside you, claiming you." 

His hands slid up her sides, cupping her breasts, thumbing her nipples. He rolled and pinched the hardened peaks, drawing breathy moans from her lips.

He continued to thrust slowly, deeply, grinding against her with each roll of his hips. He could feel every clench, every flutter of her inner muscles, and it drove him wild with desire. He dipped his head, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, swallowing her cries of pleasure.

"That's it," he purred against her mouth. "Forget about everything else. Focus on me, on how good I make you feel."

Bob's words, his movements, his hands running over her body and his cock burying itself deep inside her broke what little sanity was left in Y/N. Her unexpected climax crashed over her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing, back arching as wave after wave of ecstasy coursed through her. She cried out Bob's name, a litany of desperate praise on her lips, her nails digging into his shoulders as she clung to him.

But even as her inner walls fluttered and clenched around him, Bob didn't stop. He was far from satisfied, his body driven by a primal hunger that couldn't be sated. He continued to thrust into her, his pace unchanging, determined to bring her to the peak again and again.

Y/N whimpered, oversensitive and trembling in the aftermath of her orgasm, but her body responded eagerly to his touch, his thrusts. She could feel herself building again, faster this time, her pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in her core.

"Bob, I- I can't..." she gasped, even as her hips lifted to meet his, seeking more, needing more. He silenced her with a kiss, a deep, claiming kiss that stole her breath and her thoughts, leaving her lost in sensation.

Y/N's second orgasm didn't take long to arrive, it hit her like a freight train, her body seizing, back bowing as ecstasy exploded through her. A silent scream tore from her throat, her nails scoring deep red lines down Bob's back. Her inner walls clamped down around him like a vice, pulsing, milking, demanding his release.

With a guttural roar, Bob finally let go. His hips stuttered, losing their rhythm as his own climax overtook him. He buried himself to the hilt inside Y/N, his length throbbing, pulsing as he spilled himself deep inside. He continued to grind against her, working them both through the aftershocks, his hot seed painting her inner walls, marking her, claiming her.

They clung to each other, trembling and gasping, sweat-slicked skin sliding against skin. Bob's face was buried in the crook of Y/N's neck, his breath coming in harsh pants against her sweat-dampened hair. Slowly, their heart rates began to return to normal, the haze of lust and desperation fading, leaving them in a sated, blissful afterglow.

Bob's bliss was short-lived as the realization of their unprotected encounter hit him like a punch to the gut. He pulled back, his eyes wide with panic as he surveyed the scene: Y/N's naked form splayed out on the lab counter, their mixed cums trickling down her thighs. He swallowed hard, his stomach churning with dread.

"Y/N, I... We..." he stammered, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "I didn't use- fuck. I'm so sorry, I got carried away and I wasn't thinking straight."

His heart raced as he considered the potential consequences, his mind spinning with worst-case scenarios. Y/N, sensing his distress, reached out to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing over his skin in a soothing gesture. She offered him a small, reassuring smile.

"It's okay, Bob. I suppose the pollen has some kind of aphrodisiac that alters the brain in a way that generates such a level of excitement that-," she murmured to herself, stopping when she noticed Bob’s worried –and now confused– look. "Don't worry, I'll get the morning after pill, ‘kay?... After I clean and disinfect everything thoroughly."

She looked to the counter and the floor around them, kicking herself mentally for having been so careless with her workplace, but if her assumptions were correct, there wasn't much she could have done about the pollen.

Y/N's reassurance did little to calm the rising panic in Bob's mind, but the sight of his naked body glistening with sweat and his labored breathing, quickly rekindled the desire that smoldered within her.

"Anyway. I mean, we already messed up everything and I'm going to take the pill anyway so you... Y'know, wanna keep going?" She murmured, wrapping her thighs around Bob's waist to pull herself closer to him again.

Bob felt a slight heat on his face, but he wasn't sure if it was embarrassment or something else. His rational thoughts were swiftly drowned out by the primal urge to take her again, to claim her, consequences be damned.

He captured her lips in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving deep, conquering, consuming. His hands roamed her body, squeezing, kneading, teasing. He lowered his kisses to her neck, nibbling the skin with devotion, drawing sharp gasps and moans from her throat. His hand delved between her legs, fingers stroking, circling, dipping inside her, feeling her wetness, her readiness.

"Bob, please," Y/N whimpered, her body writhing beneath his touch. "Too much, it's too much."

But even as she begged, her hips lifted, seeking more of his touch. He could feel her growing slicker, her walls fluttering around his fingers.

Undeterred by Y/N's pleas, Bob continued his assault on her body. He added a second finger, pumping them in and out of her dripping core while his thumb found her clit, rubbing tight circles over the sensitive nub. He could feel her tightening, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he drove her closer to the edge.

"That's it," he whispered against her skin, his voice low and dark with desire. "Let go for me. Come all over my hand."

He curled his fingers inside her, stroking that spongy spot that made her see stars, his thumb pressing hard on her clit. Y/N could only moan as the pleasure crested higher and higher. Her head falling forward on Bob's shoulder, her hands clasping his sides searching for some kind of support while the waves of pleasure attacked her body. Her thighs trembled, her abs clenched, and then with a strangled cry, she came undone. Her orgasm crashed over her, her walls clamping down on Bob's fingers.

As Y/N's orgasm peaked, a powerful surge of fluid erupted from her spasming core, spraying out around Bob's plunging fingers and splashing onto the lab counter below. The sheer force and volume of her release took even Bob by surprise. He felt the warm, slick liquid gushing over his hand, dripping down his wrist and forearm as he continued to pump his fingers, working her through the intense sensation.

The countertop beneath her hips quickly became slick with her essence, the clear fluid pooling and spreading, dripping down the sides to puddle on the floor. The scent of her arousal filled the air, musky and heady, a testament to the overwhelming pleasure Bob had inflicted upon her. Y/N's body shuddered and convulsed, her inner muscles rippling and grasping at Bob's fingers, trying in vain to draw him deeper as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over her.

Bob watched in awe and fascination as Y/N's body responded so intensely to his touch, her pleasure reaching new heights he had never witnessed before. The sight of her squirting, the sound of her ragged moans, the feel of her essence coating his hand and arm, it was incredibly erotic and deeply satisfying. He gentled his touch, slowly bringing her down from her peak, his fingers now gently circling her entrance, teasing the sensitive flesh.

"Look at you, so responsive, so easy. I've never seen anything so beautiful." he murmured, his voice rough with admiration and lust. He brought his slick fingers to his mouth, making a show of licking them clean, savoring the tangy-sweet taste of her arousal. "And your taste... I could get used to this."

Y/N could only whimper in response, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of her intense orgasm. She felt raw, exposed, every nerve ending heightened and sensitized. But despite the overwhelming pleasure, she craved more of him, more of this feeling.

The air between them felt too thick to breathe.

Y/N pulled away from him slightly, looking at him with teary eyes, and it did nothing to cool the heat between them. The dark red shimmer from the pollen still lingered on their skin —subtle, ghostlike— as if the lab itself was holding its breath.

Bob’s eyes met hers, and something wordless passed through that space.

It wasn’t logic. It wasn’t science. It was recognition. That strange, magnetic pull that had been humming under their friendship since the day they met.

She told herself to speak, to tell him to sit, to focus, to let the reaction fade. But instead she found herself whispering his name.

“Bob…”

He closed the distance before she could stop him. His hand hovered near her cheek, hesitating, as if asking permission without words, and when she didn’t pull away, the contact was soft, grounding.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low, rough at the edges. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted. “Don’t apologize, please.”

Something in her tone, quiet but certain, broke what little restraint was left between them.

The next moment was a blur of breath and closeness and the sound of the world falling away. His touch wasn’t desperate anymore, and hers wasn’t rushed. It was careful, tender, human. The kiss came slowly, inevitable.

When they finally pulled apart, both were breathing fast, eyes wide as if they couldn’t believe what had just happened.

Y/N was the first to speak, a shaky laugh slipping through. “So, that second time, uh?.”

“Guess the pollen’s still in the air.” Bob swallowed hard, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Maybe,” she said, though her voice had softened into something almost teasing. “Or maybe it’s just us.”

The tension was still there, pulsing and electric, but now it carried something lighter, almost amused. She brushed a strand of hair from her face and looked toward the lab’s sealed door.

“You know,” she said slowly, a spark of mischief cutting through the haze, her hands tenderly caressing Bob's chest. “technically we’re supposed to remain in quarantine.”

“Right. Quarantine.” Bob blinked, still catching his breath.

Her lips curved. “And quarantine protocol says we have to stick together. For observation, of course. I mean, I still don't know exactly what the flower does."

That drew a real laugh from him, quiet, warm, the kind that reached his eyes.

She tilted her head toward the door that led to the aisle.

“Come on, Bob. My room is closer, and I’d rather not risk the rest of the lab.” Gratefully she got off the counter, Bob having to help her when she couldn't really stand because of her shaking legs.

Y/N began to arrange her clothes, adjusting her bra and buttoning her shirt, taking her pants from the floor and putting them on. Bob hesitated only a moment before following her, his tall frame stumbling around the lab to get the clothes he had carelessly thrown out the moment he had her sitting on the counter.

And as the door slid shut behind them, the soft hum of the lab returned to silence.

The only trace of what had happened a faint shimmer of dark red dust still hanging in the air.

Y/N wasn’t the type to suffer in silence. If she had something to say —whether it was about the weather, the mess in the shared fridge, or the absurdity of early morning drills because "it's proven that people function better after 8 a.m."— everyone knew about it within five minutes of her arrival. That morning at the base was no exception.

Dragging herself into the ready room alongside Nat, Y/N carried a to-go coffee cup in one hand and a scowl in her face.

“I swear, if Ikea doesn’t send me a replacement frame soon, I’m gonna march into their warehouse myself and build it there. I am not meant to live like this.”

Nat smirked as she dropped her bag on the chair. “You’re not exactly sleeping on rocks, Y/N. You said the mattress was fine.”

“Fine,” Y/N repeated with dramatic emphasis. “Fine is what you say when your date shows up twenty minutes late but still pays for dinner. Fine is not what I say about my sleeping arrangements. I deserve luxury. I deserve plush. And instead, I’m on the floor like some college freshman.”

Her rant earned a laugh from Payback, who was lounging nearby with a protein bar.

“Aw, poor Y/N. Having flashbacks to dorm life already?”

“Don’t even start, Fitch,” Y/N warned, sinking into a chair. “This is not dorm life. Dorm life had loft beds. I’d kill for a loft bed right now.”

Fanboy strolled in mid-conversation, catching only the tail end. “Why are you always planning a murder before breakfast?”

Before Y/N could retort, Nat leaned forward, grinning.

“She’s just mad because her fancy new bed broke on night one.”

Mickey’s jaw dropped, and he immediately latched onto the information like a dog with a bone.

“Wait, what? You bought a new bed and broke it the first night? What’d you do, wrestle a bear on it?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, blowing on her coffee. “No, genius. It was defective. Came apart like a stupid Jenga tower.”

“Uh-huh. Sure it did.” Fanboy snorted.

Payback added fuel to the fire, leaning back smugly. “I’m just saying, a bed doesn’t break unless it’s seriously stressed. What exactly were you doing to stress it, Y/N?”

That earned him a swat on the arm from Nat, who muttered, “Don’t be gross.”

But Y/N only smiled sweetly, refusing to give them the satisfaction of flustering her. “You think I’d let you two idiots in on the details of my personal life? Not a chance.”

“Personal life?” Fanboy repeated, eyes gleaming. “Oh, this is getting good.”

“Drop it,” Y/N warned again, though she was clearly amused herself.

It was at that very moment that Bob walked into the room, still adjusting the strap of his backpack. He’d been running a little behind, having stopped for gas on the way, and he had no idea what kind of conversation he was walking into.

But the first words he caught were Y/N's voice.

“-and then the whole damn bed collapsed on me. Total disaster.”

Bob froze mid-step, his brain short-circuiting. She was telling them about the bed. The bed. The one that had broken because of them. His ears went hot instantly, the tips turning bright red as he ducked his head and pretended to busy himself with setting his bag down.

Payback spotted him immediately.

“Oh, hey, Floyd. Maybe you can help us. She broke her brand-new bed, and apparently, it’s a mystery why.”

Y/N's head snapped around, her eyes locking onto Bob like a warning signal. For half a second, they stared at each other, and he could swear she was daring him to react.

Bob cleared his throat.

“Uh… Maybe it’s not the best quality,” he said quickly, adjusting his glasses. “Sometimes stuff just, y’know, breaks.”

Y/N jumped in before Bob could dig himself deeper. “Exactly what I said! Thank you, Bob. Finally, someone logical around here.”

Bob busied himself with pouring coffee from the communal pot, his back to the group. He could feel his pulse in his throat, praying they wouldn’t notice how his hand shook just slightly as he stirred in sugar. Behind him, the teasing continued.

“So,” Fanboy said, clearly unwilling to drop it. “If the bed’s broken, what are you doing now? Sleeping bag? Couch cushions?”

“The floor,” Y/N said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Payback let out a dramatic groan. “The floor? Good luck that you don't take up much space..”

Fanboy leaned forward, grinning. “She’s hiding something. I can feel it.”

“What I’m hiding is how close you two are to getting kicked in the ass if you keep this up.” Y/N sipped her coffee with deliberate calm. Then she turned to Payback, "And I'm not that short, okay? My height is fucking normal."

“Don’t test her, guys. She had a bad night,” Nat laughed.

Bob risked a glance over his shoulder, catching Y/N's eye for just a second. Her expression was cool, unbothered, just a small trace of a frown, which by now Bob was used to seeing and found adorable. Not that he'd ever tell her that; she'd kill him for it.

The conversation eventually shifted as Hangman strolled in, immediately derailing the topic with his usual drawl and ego. Y/N leaned back in her chair, hiding her smirk behind her coffee cup. Across the room, Bob sank into a seat with his own mug, trying to calm the flush still lingering on his face.

No one suspected. Or if they did, they hadn’t put the pieces together yet. But Y/N knew how close that moment had been. Too close, maybe. And judging by the way Bob kept fidgeting with the rim of his cup, he knew it too.

She let the others banter around her, her thoughts already spinning with how much fun it was going to be, teasing Bob about his poker face later.

Because one thing was clear: as much as he tried, Bob could not hide the truth when Y/N was involved. That was going to complicate things, she needed to talk to him about it.

The day dragged on in a blur of drills, briefings, and the endless noise that came with being part of the Dagger Team. For Y/N, though, her mind wasn’t on the tactical notes Maverick scrawled on the whiteboard or the checklist Cyclone hammered into their heads. Her thoughts kept drifting to the morning, to the teasing, to the way Bob’s ears had turned red when she’d mentioned her broken bed.

By the time afternoon rolled around, she’d had enough. She needed to clear the air. She needed to talk to him.

The base was alive with the usual hum of activity. Footsteps echoing down hallways, the metallic hiss of doors, the faint roar of jets outside. For most of the team, it was background noise. For Y/N, it was the perfect cover.

She had been waiting for the right moment all morning. They really needed to talk, to clear the air, to decide what this thing between them was before it slipped out of their hands. So, when she spotted him leaving the simulator bay after a debrief, she caught his wrist and tugged him down a side corridor.

Bob blinked, startled. “Wha-”

“Just come on,” she insisted, tugging him toward the exit before he could protest. His long legs stumbled to keep up with her determined pace.

“Y/N?” Bob’s voice was low, startled, his eyes flicking nervously toward the more crowded spaces they’d just left. “What are you-”

“Shh,” she said, dragging him somewhere.

They cut down a quieter corridor of the base, away from the noise of the others, until Y/N ducked into an empty storage area tucked near the back. The room was dimly lit, quiet but for the faint hum of air conditioning. Y/N let go of his sleeve and turned, crossing her arms.

Bob lingered awkwardly near the door, glancing around as if expecting someone to walk in at any second. “Y/N, what are we-”

“Relax,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Nobody’s coming in here. We’ve got five, maybe ten minutes. That’s enough.”

"Oh...” His brow furrowed.  “No, no. We shouldn’t.”

She blinked. “What?”

He pushed his glasses up, visibly flustered. “I mean, it’s not… This isn’t really the place-”

“It’s the only place,” Y/N interrupted, folding her arms. “Unless you want the entire squad to overhear us talking about last night.”

That effectively silenced him. His cheeks went pink again, and he fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve before finally meeting her eyes.

“Right. Yeah. Last night.”

She hesitated for half a beat, realizing how this must look, dragging him into a secluded spot.

“Bob, you think I drag you here to make out?” She asked, slightly indignant, although when the words left her mouth she thought about it for a bit. “Well, not that it’d be a bad idea- No! Wait, I just wanted to talk.”

“Okay.” His shoulders slumped, relief washing over him. “Right. Talking. That makes more sense.”

“Pervert.” Y/N muttered as she leaned back against the wall, arms still crossed. “So. About, y’know. The other night.”

“Yeah. I figured we’d have to talk about it.” Bob shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with the strap of his watch.

She raised an eyebrow. “You thought we were just gonna pretend it didn’t happen?”

“No!” he said quickly. “I just wasn’t sure when the right time would be.”

“Well, if not now, then when?” she asked. “We’ve been dancing around each other all morning, and the guys are already sniffing blood in the water with their teasing. We need to be on the same page.”

Bob nodded slowly, clearly weighing his words. “You’re right.”

There was a long pause, the kind where Y/N usually filled the silence with a joke. But this time, she didn’t. She waited. And finally, Bob met her gaze, earnest and steady despite the nervous flush coloring his cheeks.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Y/N was still against the wall, nervously scratching her arm while Bob shifted his weight from foot to foot like he wanted to flee and stay all at once.

Finally, Y/N sighed. “Look, Bob. We can’t just… Pretend it didn’t happen. And I don’t want to, anyway. But we need to figure out what this is. What we’re doing.”

Bob adjusted his glasses, taking a long breath before answering.

“I know. I just... This is all new to me. With you, I mean. And at work? It feels risky. Like if someone found out-”

“They’d never let us hear the end of it,” Y/N finished for him. She pushed off the wall, stepping closer. “I know. That’s why we’re here. Because I don’t care what Payback or Fanboy or even Nat thinks about it. But I do care about you. And I don’t want us to mess this up.”

His expression softened at that, his shoulders relaxing just a little. “You care about me?”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile gave her away. “Of course I do, dumbass. Why do you think I practically tackled you on my mattress last night?”

That pulled a laugh out of him, quiet and self-conscious, but genuine. “Fair point.”

Silence stretched again, but this time it was less uncomfortable, more like they were both waiting for the other to say what needed to be said.

“I like you, Y/N,” Bob admitted, the words tumbling out as if they’d been stuck behind his teeth for months. “I’ve liked you since... Well, since the start, probably. I just- I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same. You’re loud, and confident, and everybody notices when you walk into a room. And I’m…”

He gestured vaguely at himself, as though the rest were self-explanatory.

Y/N blinked, stunned by the honesty of it. She hadn’t expected him to lay it out so bare. But then she stepped forward, cupping his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

“Bob Floyd, you’re a lot of things. Smart, funny, responsible. Ridiculously hot when you’re building furniture, by the way. But you are nothing slightly bad. Not to me.”

His breath hitched, eyes wide behind his glasses. “You mean that?”

She smirked. “Would I lie to you?”

That broke the tension. Bob’s smile spread slowly, like sunlight creeping across a room. Y/N felt her chest tighten, a strange warmth blooming there she wasn’t used to. It scared her, if she was honest. But it also thrilled her.

“Okay,” she said finally. “So we both like each other. That’s step one. Step two is figuring out what we do about it.”

Bob nodded quickly, slipping into problem-solving mode.

"We could take it one step at a time? Start getting to know each other as a couple? Not just as friends or coworkers.”

“I can do one step at a time,” she said. “But, Bob, I need to be clear. I don’t want the others knowing yet.”

His brows furrowed. “You don’t?”

“Think about it. The second they get wind of this, they’ll never leave us alone. Hangman’ll make it his personal mission to drive us crazy. And Nat-” she hesitated, then smiled fondly. “Okay, Nat would probably be supportive, but she’d also watch us like a hawk. I want this to be ours for a while. Just you and me.”

Bob considered that, his expression thoughtful. “I don’t like lying to them.”

“Me neither,” Y/N countered. “It’s just… These first few weeks, the getting-to-know-you part? I want that to be ours. Not theirs… At least until we know what this is.”

His gaze softened. “I already know what it is.”

Her breath caught. “You do?”

Bob nodded, quiet but certain. “It’s you and me. That’s all I need to know.”

Y/N felt her chest tighten, warmth spreading through her. For once, she didn’t deflect with a joke. Instead, she reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his.

“Look at us. Agreeing on strategy. Guess we make a good team after all.”

“You knew that already,” he said, smiling shyly. “We’ve always been a good team.”

They stood like that for a long moment, the quiet of the storage room wrapping around them. For once, there were no eyes on them, no teasing voices, no need to explain themselves. Just two people admitting the obvious—that whatever line they’d crossed, neither of them wanted to go back.

They stood there for a long moment, the hum of the air conditioner filling the quiet. Y/N wanted to kiss him, badly, but the risk of someone walking in kept her anchored. So she just squeezed his hand.

“So we keep this between us for now. It's kinda hot, y’know? The whole secrecy thing.” she teased, though her voice was gentler than usual. She glanced toward the door, reluctant to let go. “We should get back before someone notices we’re missing.”

Just as Y/N reached for the door handle, ready to step out of the storage room and back into the bustling workplace, Bob surprised her. He gently but firmly grabbed her wrist, stopping her, and in the next instant, he had her pinned against the door. One hand braced beside her head, the other resting on her hip as he leaned in and captured her lips in a searing kiss.

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise for a moment before fluttering shut, a soft moan escaping her at the unexpected but welcome contact. She melted into the kiss, her body molding against his, hands coming up to grip his shoulders. 

Bob's lips were firm yet soft, moving over hers with a skill that sent shivers down her spine. He angled his head, deepening the kiss, and Y/N gasped softly, the air catching in her throat. The sound seemed to spur him on, and he took advantage, his tongue sliding along hers, tracing the contours of her mouth, committing every inch to memory.

But even as she lost herself in the kiss, a mischievous thought crossed her mind, and she couldn't resist the opportunity to tease him. Breaking the kiss with a soft gasp, she pulled back just slightly, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

"Oh no! Bob!" She mockingly gasped out, her tone dripping with feigned scandal. She tilted her head, batting her eyelashes at him in exaggerated innocence, while he looked at her confused.  "We shouldn't. Not here, it's not right. What if someone catches us? Oh, it's so unprofessional!”

Bob snorted at Y/N's playful mocking him, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear.

"C'mon now." he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "If I recall correctly, you said it wouldn't be a bad idea, right?"

His hand on her hip slid around to the small of her back, pressing her more firmly against him. He punctuated his actions with another quick, playful kiss, nipping lightly at her lower lip.

"But if you really think we shouldn't, lead the way." He stepped back, holding his hands up in mock surrender, a challenging grin on his face.

"Teaser." Y/N murmured at Bob's challenge, a sound of amused disbelief.

She couldn't let him think she was that easily deterred. In a flash, she grabbed the front of his shirt, fisting the fabric, and yanked him back to her. This time, she initiated the kiss, capturing his lips with a fiery intensity. Bob groaned into the kiss, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her flush against him as they lost themselves in the heated embrace once more.

Bob's lips moved against Y/N's with a hungry intensity, his tongue delving deep to explore the warm cavern of her mouth. She tasted faintly of the coffee she'd had earlier, with an underlying flavor that was uniquely her. His hands roamed her body, one tangling in her hair, the other still splayed across the small of her back, pressing her tighter against the hard planes of his body.

Y/N arched into him, a breathy moan escaping her as she matched his passion kiss for kiss. Her fingers clenched in his shirt, anchoring herself as the world seemed to spin around them. The kiss was a dance, a battle for dominance, their tongues clashing and retreating, each trying to consume the other.

He hummed against her lips as the kiss continued, their tongues dancing and twining. But even in the throes of passion, the respectful, well-raised gentleman in Bob refused to be silenced.

"We should go on a date," he said, his voice slightly muffled as he tried to continue the conversation mid-kiss. "A real one, I mean. Wanna do this right, take you out properly."

Y/N's chest ached with the sweetness of it, of him. She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, seeing that earnest honesty shining there.

“Okay,” she said, a little too fast, a little too eager. Then she grinned, tugging him closer by the collar. “Later, now shut up and kiss me.”

As the passionate kiss continued, Y/N let her hand drift down between their bodies, her fingers deftly working at the fastenings of Bob's pants. She could feel his surprise, a slight stiffening of his body as he registered the new contact. But he didn't pull away, too lost in the taste and feel of her to protest.

"Fuck..." He groaned softly into the kiss, his hips involuntarily canting into her touch as her hand slid inside his pants, her fingers wrapping around his hardening length.

Y/N stroked him slowly, her thumb brushing over the sensitive head, smearing the bead of moisture she found there. She could feel him throbbing in her grip, growing harder with each pass of her hand. The sensation, combined with the deep, hungry kisses they were sharing, was intoxicating, sending waves of pleasure through them both.

"Y/N..." Bob gasped out, his voice ragged as he broke the kiss, his head falling forward against the door with a soft thud. His hips rocked into her touch, seeking more of that delicious friction.

Y/N pumped Bob's hard length faster, feeling it throb and grow with each stroke. Her hand tightened around him, twisting slightly as she stroked, giving him a teasing preview of what a more thorough exploration might feel like.

"We need to be quick," she murmured, her voice low and breathy. She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear as she whispered. "Think you can handle quick, Bob? Can be quiet for me?" 

She punctuated her words with a firm squeeze, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she felt him twitch and throb in her grip. To that Bob let out a shaky breath, trying to maintain some semblance of control even as Y/N's skilled hand worked him closer to the edge.

"I- Fuck, sweetheart, yes..." he managed to grit out, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

He knew they couldn't afford to draw attention, not when they were in a storage room in the middle of the base. But god, it was hard to think straight with Y/N touching him like this, her fingers like velvet fire around him.

"Just don't stop," he pleaded, his hand covering hers, encouraging her to continue her maddening strokes.

"Oh, don't worry. I have no intention of stopping," she purred. She could tell he was getting close, his breathing growing heavier, his hips rocking into her hand with more urgency.

Y/N smirked, a glint of mischief in her eye. She shifted her stance, changing the angle of her strokes, and Bob let out a low, guttural moan, his head burying itself in Y/N's neck, leaving sloppy kisses because of his labored breathing. 

"Shh, not so loud," Y/N chided playfully, even as her hand continued its relentless pace. She could feel him pulsing in her grip, knew he was teetering on the brink.

As Bob's desperation mounted, he cupped Y/N's face with his free hand, tilting her head to the side as he crashed his lips against hers in a bruising kiss. In his fervor, his grip tightened, his fingers inadvertently catching on her jaw, her neck, as he sought to deepen the kiss. Y/N gasped, a mix of surprise and pleasure at the sharp sting of his grasp. But she didn't pull away, instead melting into the kiss, her own passion rising to match his.

"Bob," she breathed, the name coming out as half plea, half warning.

But there was no real admonishment in her tone, only a dark, heady desire. Her hand continued its relentless stroking, squeezing him just shy of too tight, the drag of her palm deliciously rough against his aching flesh.

"Come on, babe," she coaxed, her words a sinful purr against his lips. "Let go. Wanna make you feel so fuckin’ good. Don't hold back."

Bob couldn't hold back any longer, Y/N's words, her touch, the sheer desperation of his arousal pushing him over the edge. With a low, guttural moan, he came undone, his body stiffening as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over him.

"Fuck, Y/N!" he gasped out, his hips jerking, spilling himself into her hand, onto the floor between them. “God, that was... You're... Fuck,”

Y/N worked him through it, her hand gentling, stroking him down from his high, lightly biting her lower lip at the sight of the mess they had caused.

Bob rested his forehead on Y/N's shoulder, she brought her hand that had been idle to his hair to gently stroke it. A lazy, sated grin spread across his face as he looked down at her, his eyes hazy and warm.

"Come here," he murmured, pulling her closer in his arms.

He kissed her again, slower this time. His hands slid down to her cheeks, grounding her against him. Y/N could barely remember the last time a kiss made her feel so alive, so dizzy.

When they finally broke apart, foreheads resting together, Y/N was smiling so wide her cheeks hurt. Bob looked dazed, lips kiss-swollen, glasses fogged slightly.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured.

“As if you didn't like it,” she whispered back.

He chuckled, the sound soft and warm against her skin. “Guess I can live with that.”

For a moment, they just stayed pressed together, breathing each other in, letting the world outside the storage room fade away. Finally, Y/N gave his chest a playful shove.

“Alright, Lieutenant, let’s get out of here before someone actually comes looking. We’ll save the rest for that date of yours.”

Bob straightened his glasses, trying to compose himself, though the goofy smile plastered on his face betrayed him. “Deal.”

Unfortunately, working for the Navy didn't leave much free time for secret dates.

The next week was surprisingly calm. At least, on the surface. Y/N and Bob had settled into an unspoken rhythm. At work, they were the same as always: steady, composed, professional. But when no one was looking, there were little tells. A brush of hands when passing a clipboard, an extra-long glance in the ready room, the subtle curve of Y/N's mouth whenever Bob spoke.

They were getting used to the secret. It had a thrill to it, like flying low over the desert with the radar off. Dangerous, exhilarating, and completely theirs.

Bob, of course, was still determined to take Y/N on that date. Every few days he’d bring it up, usually mid-conversation or when they were supposed to be focusing on something entirely unrelated.

“Dinner,” he’d murmur while they walked to the hangar. “Proper dinner. Not takeout, not the Hard Deck. I’ve got a place picked out.”

And Y/N, grinning, would answer, “We’ll see, Floyd. I’m a busy woman.”

She loved how flustered he’d get. He’d tug at his collar, mutter something about scheduling, and she’d laugh under her breath, enjoying every second of it.

But between long hours at the base, briefings, and endless post-mission checkups, their time together was reduced to quiet moments. A stolen kiss in the back hallway, or whispered goodnights through the phone.

Their peace shattered on a Thursday morning though, courtesy of Phoenix.

The laundry rotation had been Y/N's idea.

“We’ll trade off,” she’d said weeks ago, when they moved in together. “One week I do it, one week you do. That way neither of us has to deal with laundry every single week.”

Nat had agreed easily. Simple system, easy enough.

Until that particular Thursday.

She was standing in the building’s laundry room, music playing from her headphones as she sorted the piles: her darks, Y/N's lights, the towels. Everything was going smoothly until she grabbed one of Y/N's pants and something unfamiliar tumbled out onto the table.

Nat frowned, tilting her head.

It was a pair of boxers.

Men’s boxers.

And not the kind you bought as a joke or stole because they were comfortable. These were distinct; black, soft cotton, neatly folded once over at the waistband. Very… Not-Y/N.

Phoenix blinked at them, eyebrows slowly rising. “Well,” she muttered to herself, “this is interesting.”

She looked around, as if someone might appear and explain it. When no one did, she smirked.

“Y/N, you sneaky little thing.”

Wabang High School wasn’t kind to Y/N. No one threw gum in her hair, no one tripped her in the hallways, and no one scribbled insults across her locker. But sometimes she thought she might’ve preferred that. Because being invisible, being treated like a ghost who happened to take up space, hurt in a way she couldn’t quite explain. The girls in their trendy tops, their lip gloss shining, their voices high and bright, they didn’t notice her. The boys certainly didn’t. Teachers praised her work but didn’t look at her twice outside of class. Y/N existed in that strange in-between space: not disliked, not mocked, just ignored.

She wasn’t plain, though she thought so often enough. She wasn’t trying to be different. She just… Was. And in high school, sometimes that was a sin in itself.

Rhett, on the other hand, wasn’t at the very top of the popularity chain like some of the other boys with their trucks and charm, but he was close. He was the kind of boy who could walk into a room and make everyone look up, mostly because he carried himself with that easy Abbott confidence, broad shoulders, steady stride, sun-browned skin. So Rhett was the kind of person who wouldn't look at her, not on purpose, but because it just happened that way.

It was Cecelia Abbott, Rhett’s mother, who officially pulled Y/N into Rhett’s orbit. Cecelia had a way of knowing when someone needed help, whether it was in math or in life. She had asked politely if Y/N might consider tutoring Rhett in the evenings, just twice a week.

"He’s smart, that boy," Cecelia had said, smiling fondly, "but his mind’s just not in the books. If you’d sit with him, it’d mean a lot."

Y/N had hesitated. Spending time with Rhett —actually sitting across from him, guiding him through assignments— felt like stepping onto a stage when she had never been meant for the spotlight. But Cecelia was kind, and she needed the extra cash. So she agreed.

The first session had been awkward. Rhett had leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, like he was bracing himself for a lecture. But when Y/N started explaining how to break down an essay question into smaller arguments, Rhett leaned forward, his brow furrowing in concentration. He asked questions, thoughtful ones. He scribbled notes with his pen gripped too tightly. And when he got something right, he gave her a grin so wide it was like the sun cracking through clouds.

They found a rhythm after that. Twice a week, sometimes at the Abbott kitchen table, sometimes in the library, sometimes at the booth in the back of Dean’s Café. Rhett always had a pencil tucked behind his ear and a notebook that was just a mess. Y/N always had her folders organized, her pens lined up neatly. He teased her about it sometimes, but never unkindly.

High school rolled on around them, noisy and careless. Y/N still walked hallways without anyone really seeing her. At lunch, she sat with a book instead of in a crowd. But those study sessions began to carve out a space where she wasn’t invisible. Rhett saw her, and not because he had to. He listened. He asked about the stories she read. Once, when she confessed that she wrote short stories late at night, Rhett looked at her with something like awe.

"Bet they’re real good." He said, his grin crooked.

One evening, when the sun had set and the Abbott kitchen was lit only by the dim overhead light, Rhett asked, "You ever think about leavin’?"

Y/N blinked at him, caught off guard. "All the time."

"Where’d you go?"

She hesitated, then shrugged. "Somewhere bigger. Somewhere no one knows me. Maybe a city where I could just write, I guess."

Rhett nodded, thoughtful. "Bet you’ll do it, too."

The certainty in his voice startled her. No one else had ever spoken about her dreams like they were possible. She carried that with her long after the session ended.

By the time graduation loomed, Y/N and Rhett had logged countless hours across from each other, their notebooks filled, their conversations tangled in ways she didn’t quite know how to name. He wasn’t her best friend. He wasn’t her crush. He was something in between an acquaintance and a friend.

She promised herself then that she would leave Wabang behind. She wouldn’t let herself linger in the shadows of what-ifs.

So it's safe to say that Y/N hadn’t planned to come back. Not really. For years she had told herself she’d never set foot in that town again, not after she’d slipped away to college. She told herself she had outgrown Wabang’s dusty streets, its gossip, its smallness. She had.

And yet, here she was.

Ten years had passed since she left. Ten years since the shy, bookish girl with too many notebooks and not enough friends had walked across that graduation stage, promising herself she wouldn’t look back.

She had made something of herself, or at least enough to count. Her novels hadn’t hit bestseller lists, but they had carved out their own corner of the literary world. Enough acclaim to pay her rent. Enough recognition to keep her publishers interested. People sometimes stopped her at book fairs and told her that her words had touched them, and that mattered more than money ever could. Still, she carried the restless itch of every writer: The hunger for the next story, the next spark. Lately, that spark had gone dim.

Which was why she found herself back in Wabang.

She told herself it was only temporary. Her sister, Claire, had taken over an old café on Main Street, turning it into a cozy little spot with mismatched chairs, good coffee, and pastries that actually made Y/N reconsider her diet. Claire had invited her to stay, to help out, to breathe for a while.

"You need quiet," Claire had said. "And quiet’s the one thing this town still does well."

Quiet. Yes. That’s what Y/N needed. Or maybe she just needed to see if she could write again where it had all begun.

Of course she didn't think that when she set foot in Wabang, her sister would use her as an employee at the cafe.

The bell above the café door chimed on her first morning back, and Y/N looked up from wiping down a counter, muttering under her breath that she should be relaxing and not cleaning a coffee stain. She froze.

Rhett stood in the doorway.

At first, she almost didn’t recognize him. The years had filled him out. His shoulders broader, his jawline sharper, his presence somehow heavier. He wore his cowboy hat low, dust on his boots, that same sun-browned skin she remembered. But his eyes, blue and steady, were the same. And when he saw her, those eyes widened.

"Y/N?" Rhett asked, his voice low and warm. He took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. "Well, I’ll be damned."

Y/N’s heart thudded, but she forced herself to keep her composure. "Rhett. Didn’t expect to see you walk through that door."

He grinned, and for a moment it was like nothing had changed. "Didn’t expect to see you behind the counter. Thought you ran off to some big city, writin’ books or somethin’."

She blinked. "You… Knew about that?"

"Course I did," Rhett said, leaning on the counter. "Mom was thrilled when your sister told the whole town that you published your first book. Made us proud."

Claire, watching from the kitchen, raised an eyebrow and smirk, Y/N shot her a look that said "don’t start."

"So what brings you back?" Rhett asked.

"Needed a change of scenery. Thought I’d visit my sister, maybe work on something new." Y/N shrugged, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Good place for it," Rhett said. Then, as if on impulse: "There’s a rodeo tonight. You oughta come."

Y/N almost laughed. A rodeo. Of course. But she saw the spark in his eyes, the invitation that was more than casual. He was offering her a glimpse into his world again. And truthfully, she had nothing better to do.

"Alright," Y/N said. "Why not?"

The rodeo grounds were exactly as she remembered; dust rising in the twilight, country music spilling from speakers, the smell of popcorn and dirt and adrenaline. Families filled the bleachers, kids ran with sticky hands, and cowboys tightened ropes with focused precision. Y/N hadn’t been here since high school, but the energy was the same. She found a seat near the middle, feeling oddly out of place among the cheering crowd.

When Rhett rode out, the noise swelled. He was a force: confident, powerful, riding with the kind of ease that only came from years of muscle memory and grit. Y/N couldn’t look away. The boy she had known had been determined, a little reckless, but the man before her was something else entirely. Watching him, she understood why people came to these events.

He won, of course. The crowd erupted. Y/N felt herself clapping, smiling despite herself. After the dust settled, she made her way down to where the riders were gathering. Rhett spotted her immediately, his grin wide and unguarded. He strode toward her, sweat still on his brow, hat in hand.

"Well?" he asked, catching his breath. "What’d you think?"

Y/N tilted her head, pretending to consider. "Not bad."

"Not bad, huh? That’s all I get?" He laughed, shaking his head. He leaned in, breath still ragged from the ride. “Did you see the way I landed out there?”

"Yeha. You’ve improved since high school," she teased.

“Improved?”

“Yep.” she said, nodding earnestly. “You were good then, but you’ve clearly trained hard. It shows.”

“That didn't impress you?”

She tilted her head, confused. “Well, yeah. But, like, you have to impress the jury.”

He stared at her. Y/N blinked again, then laughed as if he’d told a joke. Then she patted his arm, moving on.

Rhett was left standing there, hat in hand, wondering if he’d lost his touch entirely. He was flirting, so openly, undeniably. And she didn’t get it. She registered it as the same easy kindness he’d always shown her. Nothing more.

“C’mon, we have to go celebrate, right?” He asked, approaching her.

They ended up at a bar after, celebrating the win. Rhett stayed near her side all night. He leaned close when the room got too loud, his shoulder brushing hers. He asked about her books, about the city, about what it felt like to live somewhere that wasn’t defined by cattle and land. He listened, but every answer she gave, he found a way to lace it with something playful.

"You write love stories too, Y/N?" he asked, his voice teasing.

Y/N laughed, caught off guard. "Not really romances. More, like, character-driven, I guess."

"Shame," Rhett said, his eyes narrowing slightly in a smile. He placed his bottle on the table, slightly moving closer to her. "I can’t believe you never dated anyone back in high school.”

"Can’t believe it? I find it perfectly believable.”

“No, really,” he said. “You were… Different. Special. Any guy with sense would’ve seen that.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “That’s sweet, but you don’t have to rewrite history. Nobody saw me. And that was fine. I was busy.”

He looked at her like she’d missed the point entirely. “I saw you.”

“Course you did. You needed me to explain algebra.” Y/N turned, smiling faintly.

Rhett wanted to groan, wanted to slam his head against the table. That wasn’t what he meant. Not even close.

As the night stretched on, it became a pattern. Rhett leaning closer, saying something that made her heart flutter without her realizing why. His hand brushing hers as he passed her a drink. A compliment disguised as casual talk. Each time, Y/N responded with politeness, a smile, a change of subject. And each time, Rhett’s jaw tightened just a little before he covered it with another grin.

Every time she brushed off his attempts, Rhett nearly groaned. He wasn’t being kind. He was being obvious. But Y/N didn’t seem to notice. She never had. Even in high school, when he’d tried little things —a smile held too long, a compliment slipped into their study sessions— she never saw it for what it was. And here they were, a decade later, repeating the same dance.

As the bar began to empty, Rhett walked her back to her sister's house. The night air was cool, the stars spread wide above them. Y/N pulled her jacket tighter, and Rhett immediately shrugged off his and draped it over her shoulders.

"You don’t have to-" she started.

"Don’t argue with me, Y/N," Rhett said, his grin lazy but his tone firm. "Chivalry’s alive and well in Wabang."

She laughed, shaking her head. "You haven’t changed much."

"’Course I have," Rhett said quietly. His eyes held hers, and for a moment the world stilled.

"Thanks for inviting me," she said softly. "It was fun."

Fun. Rhett shoved his hands in his pockets, biting back the frustration burning in his chest. Fun. She had no idea.

"Anytime," he managed. "You’re home now. Gotta make sure you remember what makes this place worth stickin’ around."

She smiled, oblivious. "Goodnight, Rhett."

"Night, Y/N," he said, watching her disappear inside the house.

He stood there for a long while, staring at the closed door, torn between laughter and despair. Because after ten years, he was still chasing her. And she still didn’t see it.

Y/N  wasn’t sure what to expect when Rhett Abbott’s old truck rolled up her sister's driveway the morning after the rodeo. The sound of the engine was deep and familiar, like something that had lived in the background of her youth. She stepped out onto the porch and saw him leaning out the driver’s side window, grinning like he had no business looking that good so early.

"What are you doing here?"

"Damn, mornin’ to you too." He said simply, tipping his hat. "Figured you could use some fresh air. Country’s got a way of clearin’ out the cobwebs. Might even help with that writer’s block you’re wrestlin’.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I’m struggling with inspiration?"

"I know you.” Rhett replied without missing a beat. "C’mon. Humor me."

Against her better judgment, Y/N found herself sliding into the passenger seat. The cab smelled faintly of leather and dust, undercut by something warm and distinctly Rhett. The kind of smell that lodged itself in memory. The truck groaned as he shifted gears, and they rolled out of the driveway toward the wide stretch of road.

The ride was quiet at first, the windows down, wind tugging her hair. The fields spread out in every direction, golden and endless. It was a view Y/N hadn’t let herself miss, though now, sitting here, she realized maybe she had.

They parked in a wide field Rhett seemed to know by heart. Wildflowers bent in the breeze, the sky stretched endless above. Rhett shut off the engine, and the silence wrapped around them, broken only by the chirp of cicadas and the occasional lowing of distant cattle.

They walked side by side. Rhett slowed his steps to match hers, hands tucked into his jeans pockets, shoulders loose but eyes sharp. He started with small talk —her books, her time in the city— but it wasn’t long before he slipped into something else. Something heavier, threaded with intent.

"You ever think about writin’ a story out here?" Rhett asked. "Bet the prairie could give your characters somethin’ they can’t find in the city."

Y/N chuckled. "Maybe. Though I’m not sure cowboys and cattle make for compelling fiction."

"Depends on the cowboy," Rhett said. His grin flashed, quick and deliberate. "You could write me in. Make me the hero."

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. "You wouldn’t like the way I write. I don’t make my characters’ lives easy."

"Never thought life was supposed to be easy," Rhett countered. His gaze lingered a beat too long. Y/N missed it, already looking at the wildflowers.

It went on like that. Rhett dropped line after line, his voice playful but loaded. He told her her laugh was better than a birdsong. He said the sunlight caught her hair like it had been waiting all morning just for her. He leaned closer when he didn’t have to, brushed her hand when he could have avoided it, offered his arm when she tripped over a rock.

Y/N, oblivious, smiled at every comment, thanked him, or teased him back as though he were just being kind. As though Rhett had spent his life out here in the dust and sun simply to play at politeness. It was enough to drive a man mad.

Back at the truck, Rhett gripped the wheel and let out a breath through his teeth. He looked at her, sitting there with her notebook on her lap, hair a little tangled from the wind, and couldn’t hold it in any longer.

"Y/N," he said roughly. "You really don't get it?"

She blinked, startled. "Get what?"

"That I’ve been flirtin’ with you this whole damn time." His voice was edged with frustration, but his eyes stayed locked on hers. "Since last night, hell- since high school, if we’re honest. And you just keep smilin’ at me like I’m some neighbor bringin’ over a cup of sugar."

Y/N stared, stunned. And then, to Rhett’s absolute disbelief, she laughed. "Right…C’mon Rhett, be serious."

"I’m dead serious." He turned toward her fully. "You think I brought you out here just to look at flowers? You think I’ve been watchin’ you all night and all morning just outta kindness? Y/N, I’ve been tryin’ to get your attention since we were kids."

She shook her head, still smiling, still not believing. "That's ridiculous."

"Maybe," Rhett said, his voice dropping low. "But I ain’t wrong."

And before she could argue again, Rhett cupped her cheek and kissed her.

It wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t careful. It was all the years of quiet patience, of swallowed words, of frustration and longing finally breaking loose. Y/N gasped against his mouth, shocked, but the heat of him, the certainty of him, stole the protest from her lips. His thumb stroked her jaw as if memorizing her, his other hand anchoring her where she sat.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his breath ragged. "Still think I wasn’t flirtin’?"

Y/N opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her world tilted, and for the first time, she wasn’t sure of her footing. And then, God help her, she kissed him back.

The cab of the truck filled with heat. His hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer across the seat. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, desperate. The windows fogged, the old truck rocking slightly as they pressed into each other, years of tension unraveling in a single, consuming moment.

Y/N’s mind finally quieted, her thoughts dissolving into the feel of his mouth, the taste of his breath, the steady strength of his body. For once, she wasn’t overthinking, wasn’t analyzing. She was just there: in Rhett’s arms, in his truck, in the place she’d sworn she’d never return to. And it felt so good.

Rhett's hands roam feverishly over Y/N's thighs as she sits astride him in the truck cab, the fabric of her dress riding up. He grips her legs, thumbs tracing circles on the soft skin beneath as he pulls her hips flush against his own. Y/N gasps, feeling the evidence of his arousal pressing insistently through their clothing. Rhett takes advantage of her parted lips to deepen the kiss, his tongue delving into her mouth, exploring and claiming. He breaks away with a groan, trailing hot kisses along her jaw and down the column of her throat.

"God, Y/N." He murmurs against her skin.

His hands slide higher, pushing her dress up around her waist as he kneads the bare flesh of her ass, grinding his hips up to meet hers in a shameless display of need.

Y/N whimpers and writhes on his lap, her nails digging into his shoulders.

"Rhett," she pants, but her hips betray her, rolling against his, seeking more of that delicious friction. "We shouldn't... Not here..." 

Rhett's hands caress Y/N's thighs and hips with a gentleness that surprises her, given his earlier boldness. He seems to be seeking her approval, wanting to ensure she desires this as much as he does. His lips find hers again in a deep, sensual kiss, pouring his longing into it.

Breaking away after a long moment, Rhett rests his forehead against Y/N's, his voice low and rough with emotion.

"Tell me you want this, Y/N. Tell me you need me as much as I need you. I don't want to rush you, but god knows I'm struggling to hold back."

He peppers soft kisses across her neck, his hands still caressing her body with tender care. Y/N can feel the tension in his muscles, the barely restrained desire thrumming through him. She knows he's waiting for her answer, giving her the power to set the pace.

"I want you, Rhett. Always have."

It's as if something inside him snaps. His tender restraint melts away, replaced by a burning urgency.

With Y/N's consent, Rhett unleashes a decade's worth of pent-up desire. His hands grip her hips tightly, pulling her flush against him as he claims her mouth in a searing, demanding kiss. He kisses her like a man starved, devouring her moans and whimpers.

His fingers find the straps of her dress, pushing it down in one swift motion. The fabric gathers right in the middle of her belly, forgotten, as Rhett's hands map the newly exposed skin of her body. He cups her breasts, thumbs brushing over peaked nipples straining against the thin fabric of her bra.

Rhett breaks the kiss to blaze a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down Y/N's neck and collarbone, pausing to lavish attention on the sensitive spots he finds as he explores her body. His hands never still, one sliding down to palm her ass while the other deftly unhooks her bra, freeing her breasts.

He pulls back just enough to drink in the sight of her, half-naked and wanton in his lap. Taking a moment to admire her, his gaze hungry and admiring. He leans in, placing reverent kisses on the swell of her breasts before taking one hardened nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak. His hand mirrors the action on her other breast, rolling and plucking at the nipple until Y/N arches into his touch.

He lavishes attention on her breasts until Y/N is writhing on his lap, panties damp. Only then does Rhett slip a hand beneath the fabric, fingers brushing over her slick folds. He groans around her nipple at the evidence of her desire.

Rhett pulls back, breathing heavily. In one swift move, he shifts their positions, laying Y/N down on the truck's bench seat. He hovers over her, taking in the sight of her disheveled hair, kiss-swollen lips, and heaving chest.

Y/N's hands shake slightly as she fumbles with the button of his jeans, his arousal straining against the denim. Rhett kicks off his boots and shoves his jeans and boxers down, freeing his hard, thick length. Y/N's eyes widen at the sight, a fresh gush of moisture flooding her panties.

He settles between her thighs, the heat of his body seeping into hers. His fingers hook into her panties, dragging the scrap of fabric down her legs and tossing it aside. Rhett takes a moment to admire her naked form, his calloused hands caressing her skin, igniting sparks of pleasure in their wake.

He notches the head of his cock against her entrance, teasing her with shallow thrusts. Y/N whimpers, trying to cant her hips to take him deeper, but Rhett holds himself back. He leans down, capturing her lips in a deep, filthy kiss as he finally hilts himself deep inside Y/N, stretching her, filling her completely. Her inner walls flutter and clench around his thick length, drawing him in further. He pauses for a moment, savoring the exquisite feeling of her heat enveloping him. Y/N's breath hitches, her fingers digging into the muscles of his back as she adjusts to his size.

"Y-you can move." She assures, noticing that Rhett was still, waiting for a direction.

Slowly, almost torturously, Rhett begins to move. He withdraws until just the tip remains inside her, then pushes back in, setting a deep, deliberate pace. Each thrust grinds his pelvis against her sensitive clit, sending jolts of pleasure racing up her spine. The wet, obscene sounds of their coupling fill the truck cab, mingling with their harsh breaths and needy moans.

Rhett's hands roam Y/N's body, caressing every curve and hollow. He cups her breasts, kneading the soft mounds and rolling her nipples between his fingers. He leans down, taking one into his mouth, suckling and flicking the peak with his tongue. The dual stimulation of his mouth on her breast and his thick cock driving into her core quickly pushes Y/N towards the edge.

"Rhett..." Y/N's inner walls begin to quiver and tighten around Rhett.

Rhett takes his time, savoring each deep, languid thrust into Y/N's welcoming heat. He leans down, capturing her lips in a slow kiss, his tongue delving into her mouth to dance with hers. His hands map her body, caressing every dip and curve, committing every inch of her to memory. 

"Rhett!" Her breath hitches as Rhett's lips find a particularly sensitive spot on her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. Her fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close.  "Shit! You're driving me crazy. I feel every inch of you..."

He nuzzles into her touch, his voice a low rumble against her skin.

"That's it, baby. I want to feel every inch of you too. Want to make this so good for you."

Rhett rolls his hips, grinding against her, his thickness throbbing inside her fluttering walls. Y/N's head falls back, a low moan spilling from her lips.

Rhett's hips roll languidly against hers, his thickness stretching her, filling her so completely. Y/N arches into him, her nails raking down his back. He gazes down at her, his blue eyes dark with desire and adoration.

"You feel incredible, Y/N. Better than I ever imagined," he murmurs, his voice low and rough. He brushes a sweat-damped strand of hair from her forehead, cupping her face tenderly. "Tell me what you need, honey."

"Rhett, please... Just harder. I need... I- Oh God!" She bites her lip, lost in sensation, her inner muscles clenching around him.

Rhett takes Y/N's plea to heart, determined to give her everything she asks for. He increases his pace, his hips snapping forward in a way that has the head of his cock kissing her cervix with each deep thrust. The new angle has him rubbing against a spot inside her that makes stars explode behind her eyelids.

"It is good, Rhett. So good. Don't stop, please don't stop..."

He starts to thrust in earnest now, his hips snapping forward in a steady, driving rhythm. The truck cab fills with the erotic symphony of their bodies colliding, the slick sounds of skin on skin, their escalating moans and gasps of ecstasy. He shifts his angle slightly, ensuring that with each deep stroke he hits that special spot inside her that makes stars burst behind her eyelids. His thumb finds her clit, rubbing tight circles around the sensitive nub, pushing her closer to the edge.

He can feel her body tensing beneath him, her nails raking down his sweat-slicked back as she clings to him. He doubles his efforts, driving into her with deep, powerful thrusts that strike that secret spot inside her with unerring accuracy.

He strat trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses up her neck to her ear.

"That's it, honey," he growls. "Wanna feel you come undone on my cock. Wanna feel this tight little pussy squeeze the cum from me."  

Y/N's voice rises in pitch, her walls starting to flutter and tighten around Rhett's pistoning length. He can feel her body tensing, coiling like a spring ready to snap. Determined to make this good for her, Rhett takes Y/N's thighs and places them on her chest, snapping his hips forward with increased vigor while his thumb finds her clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight, quick circles.

"Come for me, Y/N," Rhett growls against her neck, his hot breath fanning over her damp skin. "Let go, baby. I've got you."

His thrusts become more urgent, more demanding, his own release fast approaching. Y/N can only whimper and moan in response, lost in a haze of pleasure. Her body tenses, coiling tighter and tighter.

His words, rough with desire, combined with the relentless stimulation prove to be Y/N's undoing. Her back arches sharply as her orgasm crashes over her, wave after wave of intense pleasure radiating out from where they're joined. Her inner muscles clamp down around Rhett like a vice, rippling along his length as she cries out her release. 

Y/N's climax crashes over her in waves of intense, all-consuming ecstasy. Her inner walls clench and spasm around Rhett's thick length, gripping him like a velvet vise. A gush of liquid heat envelops his pistoning cock as her body responds to the overwhelming pleasure.

Rhett groans, a deep, guttural sound, as he feels Y/N coming apart beneath him. The sensation of her fluttering, grasping walls pushing him over the precipice. With one, two, three more powerful thrusts, he buries himself to the hilt inside her and finds his own release. His hot, thick seed pulses into her, coating her inner walls, marking her, claiming her. Rhett's body shudders and jerks with the force of his climax, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips as he holds her in place, ensuring she takes every last drop.

They remain joined, their chests heaving as they struggle to catch their breath. Rhett collapses onto his elbows, careful not to crush her, his face nestled into the crook of her neck.

Rhett presses soft, reverent kisses along Y/N's neck and shoulder, his breathing gradually returning to normal. He murmurs against her skin.

"That was... Incredible. You're incredible, Y/N."

Y/N hums in contentment, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. She feels sated, boneless, completely wrecked in the best possible way.

"I could say the same about you, Rhett. I had no idea..." Her voice drops a little, as if too caught up in the moment. "Well, I had no idea you felt that way about me. All this time..."

He lifts his head, blue eyes filled with sincerity and a hint of sheepishness.

"I've always wanted you, Y/N. Even back in high school. But I was too unsure of myself to ever act on it. You were smart and kind, destined for great things. And then you left... I thought I'd lost my chance."

Y/N cups his face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone.

"Well, you have me now. For as long as I'm here, for as long as you want me." She smiles softly.

Rhett chuckled, pressing her against him to accommodate her in the seat. "Don't tell me that, I'll never let you go."

Rhett smiles back at Y/N, his heart full and content. He rolls to the side, gathering her close, their bodies still intertwined. He strokes her hair, her back, marveling at the softness of her skin. Y/N nestles into his touch, feeling safe, cherished.

"Well, we have a lot of lost time to make up for." she murmurs, tracing patterns on his chest.

Rhett nods, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. They lay there for a while, basking in the afterglow, the truck cab filled with a warm, intimate silence. Eventually, Rhett's stomach grumbles loudly, making them both laugh.

"What you say we go back, huh? Could you get your sister to give us a discount?"  He joked, nuzzling her neck. A silly smile on his face at the sound of her giggle. "C'mon, I still gotta show you what makes this place worth stickin’ around, honey."

Y/N had joked about it the moment Bob tightened the last bolt.

“Guess we’ll see if this thing holds up when I actually sleep on it,” she had said, stretching out on the brand-new mattress with exaggerated relief.

Bob, ever the meticulous one, had nodded and said something about structural integrity, but the way his eyes flicked toward her betrayed a different thought entirely.

Not even an hour later, that thought wasn’t theoretical anymore.

The bed, however, wasn’t as trustworthy as Bob.

They hadn’t meant for it to happen, not really. One moment they were kissing on the couch, laughter bubbling between them, and the next they were in her room, the new mattress still smelling faintly of factory plastic, the bed frame gleaming under the lamp. Y/N shoved him down onto it, climbing over him with a grin.

“Hope you built this thing sturdy,” she teased, straddling in his lap. She could feel his growing arousal through their clothing, sending a shiver of anticipation down her spine.

“Guess we’ll find out.” Bob, cheeks scarlet but smiling, leaned in, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, pouring all his pent-up desire into the passionate embrace.

Bob’s hands gripped her hips, pulling her flush against him as he deepened the kiss, his tongue delving into her mouth to dance with hers. The kiss was electric, igniting a fire that raced through their veins, consuming them in its intensity.

Y/N’s fingers tangled in Bob’s tidy hair, tugging lightly as she ground her hips against his, seeking friction, craving more of that delicious pressure. Bob groaned into her mouth, his hips bucking to meet hers, the evidence of his desire growing more insistent with each passing second.

Breaking the kiss, Y/N trailed her lips along Bob’s jaw, down his neck, her teeth grazing his pulse point. She could feel it racing  beneath her touch, matching the pounding of her own heart.

“Y/N-” Bob growled, his hands gripping her pants tightly, trying to hold on to the last shred of sanity.

Y/N’s hands slid under his shirt, her fingers splaying across his chest, feeling the heat of his skin, the firmness of his muscles. She was pleasantly surprised by this, she knew that by the simple fact of being in the navy he must be fit, but she never thought that this would be the case. Mentally cursing all the times at the beach or when Mav made them do push-ups and she had to put up with seeing everyone else shirtless and not him —fuck his modesty, really– she pushed the fabric up and off, breaking the kiss just long enough to remove it, before diving back in, her lips now blazing a trail down his newly exposed torso.

Bob shuddered under her touch, his own hands roaming her back, slipping under her shirt to caress the soft skin beneath. He tugged at her shirt, a silent plea for more, for her to remove the barriers between them. Y/N obliged, reaching back to unclasp her bra, letting it fall away as she shrugged off her shirt.

Naked from the waist up, she pressed herself against him, the feel of skin on skin sending a jolt of pleasure through them both. Bob's hands cupped her breasts, thumbing her nipples into hardened peaks as they kissed with a fervor bordering on desperation.

The world narrowed down to the point where their bodies met, to the slide of lips and tongues, to the dance of fingers on heated flesh. The rest of their clothing began to feel like an unwelcome intrusion, an obstacle to the ultimate goal.

Y/N reached for the hem of Bob's jeans, popping the button and lowering the zipper with deliberate slowness, teasing them both. Bob's breath hitched as she slipped her hand inside, wrapping her fingers around his hard length, stroking him through the fabric of his boxers. He bucked into her touch, a guttural moan escaping his lips as he arched into her hand. Y/N smirked, enjoying the power she had over him, the way she could unravel him with just a touch. But she wanted more, needed to feel all of him.

"Y/N, may I... May I take control for a moment? I wanna taste you," Bob asked, his voice low and thick with desire, even as he seemed to be holding himself back, seeking her consent first.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes dark and hazy with lust, a small smile playing on her kiss-swollen lips, and nodded. Bob's eyes darkened with lust as he flipped their positions, gently laying Y/N down on the bed and hovering over her. He cupped her face, his thumb brushing her lower lip, seeking her consent.

“You sure? I need to know it's okay," he murmured, his voice rough with desire.

Y/N bit her lip and nodded, a breathy "Yes, please" falling from her lips.

That was all the encouragement Bob needed. He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss as his hands slid under her back, arching her towards him. His mouth trailed from her lips, down her neck, where he began to place hot, open-mouthed kisses, his teeth grazing her skin, leaving a trail of hickeys in his wake. He had to adjust their position, moving them towards the center of the bed to balance her weight. Y/N let out a surprised gasp that turned into a moan as Bob's mouth descended upon her neck.

Bob's lips felt like a brand against Y/N's skin as he lavished attention on her neck and collarbone, suckling and nipping, determined to mark her as his. He could feel her pulse fluttering wildly beneath his lips, could hear the desperate little whimpers escaping her as he worked his way down her body.

His hands slid under her ass, squeezing it as he ground himself against her, letting her feel how hard he was, how much he wanted her. Y/N's fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to her as she arched into his touch, craving more of that delicious friction.

"Oh god, Bob..." she whimpered, her fingers tangling in his hair, holding him to her as he worked her neck with his tongue and teeth. He seemed to know exactly what she needed, alternating between long, slow licks and quick, teasing bites. All while continuing to rub against her.

Bob's mouth trailed lower, his tongue swirling around one hardened nipple before drawing it into his mouth, suckling greedily. His hand came up to tease the other, rolling and pinching the sensitive peak, sending jolts of pleasure straight to her core.

Impatiently, he tugged at her jeans, urging her to lift her hips so he could yank them off. Y/N complied eagerly, lifting her hips and letting him strip her lower half bare. But Bob wasn't satisfied yet, not by a long shot. His hands slid up Y/N's thighs, pushing them apart as he settled between them, her legs now draped over his shoulders as he knelt on the bed. He could smell her arousal, could see the damp patch darkening her panties.

Bob's eyes darkened with hunger as he took in the sight of Y/N splayed out beneath him, clad in nothing but a pair of damp panties. He could smell her arousal, could see the evidence of it on the thin fabric stretched across her mound. Slowly, teasingly, he ran a finger along the damp fabric, feeling the heat of her through the barrier.

"So wet for me already," he murmured, his voice a low, appreciative growl.

He leaned in, placing a hot, open-mouthed kiss on her clothed sex, his tongue pressing flat against her and dragging up to her clit, which he circled with the tip teasingly.

"Oh god, Bob," she gasped, her head thrown back, her chest heaving with each ragged breath.

"You have no idea what you do to me, Y/N. You’re so hot…  So intoxicating." He leaned in, his breath ghosting over her sensitive flesh, making her shudder.

Hooking his fingers in the waistband of her panties, Bob slowly peeled them down Y/N's legs, his eyes never leaving her exposed center. He could see her glistening folds, hear the needy whimper that escaped her as cool air hit her heated flesh. Tossing her panties aside, discarded on the floor near the bed, he settled between her thighs again, his hands gripping her hips as he looked up at her with a wicked grin.

"I'm going to devour you until you're screaming my name," he promised darkly, before diving in, his tongue delving between her slick folds in a long, slow lick.

Bob's tongue swirled around her clit, flicking the sensitive bud as he explored her depths with a fervor that left Y/N writhing beneath him. He groaned against her flesh, the vibrations adding to her pleasure as he suckled and licked, determined to drive her to the brink of ecstasy. His hands gripped her thighs, pushing them further apart as he feasted on her, his tongue delving deep to taste her essence. Y/N's fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to her as she ground her hips against his face, chasing her rapidly building pleasure.

"Don't stop, please… " Her words ended in a moan as he sucked her clit between his lips, flicking it mercilessly with his tongue. “Don't you dare to stop!”

Bob could feel Y/N's thighs trembling around his head, hear the desperation in her voice, see the way her body tensed and coiled, ready to snap. He doubled his efforts, his tongue delving deep, swirling around her entrance, teasing her, tasting her, savoring the way her essence flooded his mouth.

Bob felt a deep sense of twisted pride and exhilaration seeing Y/N like this. The fiery, outspoken woman he knew reduced to a quivering, pleading mess beneath his touch. Her usual sharp tongue and defiant spirit were nowhere to be found, replaced by breathy moans and desperate pleas for more of his attention. It was intoxicating, knowing that he could unravel her so completely.

He took his time exploring her, savoring every inch of her slick heat. His tongue delved between her folds, stroking along her inner walls, relishing the way they fluttered and clenched around him.

He could feel her clit throbbing against his lips, could taste her arousal spiking as he pushed her closer to the edge. Releasing her sensitive nub with a final, hard suck, he plunged two fingers deep into her tight channel, curling them just right as he pumped them in and out, matching the rhythm of his tongue.

"Come for me, Y/N," he growled against her flesh, his voice vibrating through her. "Please, I want to feel you, want to taste your pleasure as you let go."

He sealed his lips around her clit, suckling hard as he thrust his fingers deep inside her, curling them to hit that sensitive spot that made her see stars.

He could feel her getting closer, her thighs starting to tremble, her grip on his hair tightening.

"That's it, sweetheart," he murmured against her flesh, his voice rumbling through her. "Let go for me. Wanna feel you come apart on my tongue."

Those words, the vibration of his voice on her clit, his breath hitting her flesh, was all it took for her to fall over the cliff. Y/N's back arched off the bed, her mouth falling open in a silent scream as her orgasm crashed over her, his name falling from her lips like a mantra.

The sight of Y/N coming undone, her body writhing with pleasure, back arched beautifully, was seared into Bob's mind. He continued his assault slowly, fingers pumping in and out with laziness, tongue flicking and swirling calmly, drawing out her climax until she collapsed back onto the bed, spent and panting.

Bob crawled up her body, peppering kisses along the way, in her thighs, in her belly, pausing to lavish attention on her breasts, kissing the hickeys that were starting to take on a more burgundy color than a reddish one. He could feel her heart pounding, her skin flushed and dewy with sweat. She was utterly gorgeous, lost in the aftermath of her intense orgasm.

Reaching her lips, he kissed her deep but softly, letting her taste herself on his tongue. His knee nudged her thighs apart, and he positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his cock nudging her slick folds. He broke the kiss to look into her eyes, his own dark with desire and something softer, more tender.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion and need, wrapped in deep concern for her. "You wanna keep going? You feeling okay?"

Bob gazed down at Y/N, his expression soft and tender, even as desire darkened his eyes. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear with a gentle touch. His voice was low and concerned, always prioritizing her comfort and consent.

Y/N, still basking in the afterglow, looked up at him with hazy, content eyes. A small, satisfied smile played on her lips. She nodded, reaching up to cup his cheek.

"Please, Bob. I want you, all of you." She whispered, her thumb brushing over his lower lip. "I need to feel you inside me, filling me up."

Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, aligning their bodies intimately. Bob's heart swelled at her words, at the trust and desire he saw in her eyes.

"I'll take care of you, sweetheart. I promise," he murmured, before slowly, carefully, he began to push inside her, inch by inch, allowing her to adjust to his size.

Bob entered Y/N with deliberate slowness, savoring every tight, wet inch of her as he filled her up. He could feel her stretching around him, her inner muscles fluttering and clenching, trying to draw him deeper. It was exquisite, the feeling of being enveloped in her heat, surrounded by her softness.

"Fuck, Y/N," he breathed, his forehead coming to rest against hers as he bottomed out, fully sheathed inside her. "You feel incredible, so perfect around me."

He stayed still for a moment, just basking in the sensation, letting her get used to his size before he started to move.

Y/N let out a soft gasp as Bob filled her completely, her eyes widening in surprise. She had expected him to be well-endowed, despite the way he carried himself, he just had that big dick energy. But the reality was even more impressive than she had imagined. She could feel every thick inch of him stretching her, reaching depths she hadn't known she had.

"Gosh, Bob," She breathed, a hint of awe in her voice. She tightened her legs around him, tilting her hips slightly to take him even deeper. "You're... Fuck... It feels amazing."

Bob chuckled softly, a smug but affectionate sound, as he felt Y/N adjust to his size. Slowly, he began to move, withdrawing almost completely before sliding back in, setting a steady, gentle rhythm.

"I'm glad you like it, sweetheart. I want to fill you up so good, make you feel so full and stretched and satisfied," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. His hands slid under her ass, tilting her hips to change the angle of his thrusts, letting him hit that special spot inside her with each deep stroke. "You take me so well, sweetheart. Like you were made for my cock."

He punctuated his words with a roll of his hips, grinding against her clit.

Bob continued his steady, gentle thrusts, savoring the feeling of Y/N's tight heat surrounding him. He could feel her getting more comfortable, her hips starting to rock in time with his, meeting him thrust for thrust. His hands roamed her body, caressing every curve, every dip, every mark, mapping out her soft skin.

"You're so beautiful, Y/N."  he praised softly, his eyes locked with hers. "Love seeing you like this, taking everything I give you."

He leaned down, capturing her lips in a deep, sensual kiss, his tongue delving into her mouth, tangling with hers. As he kissed her, he picked up the pace of his thrusts, slowly but surely building in intensity, his hips snapping against hers with a delicious, rhythmic sound. The room filled with their shared moans and the creaking of the bed, a symphony of their lovemaking.

Y/N was a moaning, writhing mess beneath Bob, her nails raking down his back as he filled her over and over.

"Fuck!" She panted, her voice high and breathy with pleasure. "So good..."

She arched her back, pushing her breasts towards him in an unconscious silent plea for attention. Bob obliged, ducking his head to capture one hardened nipple in his mouth, suckling and swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud.

His hands gripped her hips, pulling her harder against him with each powerful thrust. The new angle had him hitting that perfect spot inside her with every stroke, making Y/N see stars.

"Yes, right there!" She cried out, her head thrashing on the pillow, her hair a wild halo around her face. "Don't stop, please!" 

Bob growled against her skin, the sound vibrating through her. He could feel her getting tighter, her inner muscles starting to flutter around him. He knew she was close.

"C'mon, sweetheart," he encouraged, his voice a low, rough rumble.

Y/N suddenly placed her hands on Bob's chest, stopping his movements. Bob's eyes widened in concern, a flicker of worry crossing his face. He immediately stilled, his hips freezing mid-thrust.

"Y/N? 's everything alright? Did I do something?" he asked, his voice laced with worry, the urge to continue his deep strokes inside her was completely ignored.

Y/N snorted slightly at his concern, her heart warming at how sweet he was, but her eyes were sparkling with mischief and desire.

"No, Bob, you're doing amazing. I just want to change things up a bit." She purred, before gently pushing on his chest, encouraging him to lie back.

Bob complied, a intrigued smirk playing on his lips as he watched her maneuver on top of him. She slowly lifted herself off him, only to realign and sink back down, taking him to the hilt in one smooth motion. A low moan escaped her at the new position, the feeling of him so deep inside her.

She gasped, bracing her hands on his chest as she began to move. She started slow, savoring the sensation, rolling her hips in a testing grind, trying to find the perfect way to move as she adjusted to how deep Bob was going inside her in that position.

Soon she found a rhythm, lifting up until just the tip remained inside her, before slamming back down, taking him into the base. Her breasts bounced with each movement, drawing Bob's hungry gaze.

"Fuck, Y/N," he groaned, his hands gripping her hips, guiding her movements.

Y/N rode him with wild abandon, her hips undulating in a sensual dance as she took her pleasure from him. Bob's hands roamed her body, squeezing her ass, caressing her sides, cupping her breasts, encouraging her movements. He could feel her getting tighter, her moans growing louder and more desperate as she chased her release.

"That's it, sweetheart," he encouraged, his voice strained with his own rapidly building pleasure. "Take what you need. Use me, fuck yourself on my cock. You feel so fucking good."

Y/N leaned forward, changing the angle of her thrusts. She cried out as Bob hit that perfect spot inside her with every drive of her hips.

"Yes, right there! God, I'm so close," she panted, her nails digging into his chest.

Bob could feel his own climax approaching, but he was determined to make her come first. He reached down, finding her clit, rubbing tight circles over the sensitive nub with his thumb.

"Cum for me, Y/N," he commanded, his voice a deep, seductive rumble. "I want to feel you come apart on my cock, sweetheart. Please."

Y/N's body tensed, her inner muscles clamping down on Bob as his words and touch pushed her over the edge. She threw her head back, a scream of ecstasy tearing from her throat as her orgasm crashed over her.

"Bob!" she cried out, her hips jerking and stuttering as she rode out the intense waves of pleasure.

The feeling of her coming undone, her pussy fluttering and milking his cock, was too much for Bob. With a final, hard thrust, he buried himself deep inside her and let go, his own climax overtaking him.

"Fuck! Y/N!" He roared, his body shuddering as he emptied himself inside her, filling her with his hot, thick seed.

They clung to each other, lost in the throes of their shared passion, their bodies moving in tandem as they rode out the aftershocks of their intense encounter. Finally, spent and satiated, Y/N collapsed on top of him, her head resting on his chest. Bob wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, stroking her hair as their breathing gradually slowed.

"That was-"

Bob could not continue because a sudden, sharp crack filled the room. The newly purchased bed, unable to withstand the intensity of their activities, gave way on one side. The frame splintered, one of the wooden support slats snapped under the strain, causing the bed to tilt dramatically.

"Whoa!" Y/N yelped, as the bed tilted abruptly, sending them both sliding towards the broken side.

As the bed tilted and cracked, Bob reacted swiftly, his protective instincts kicking in. He rolled to take the brunt of the impact, shielding Y/N from the broken furniture. They landed in a tangle of limbs on the slanted mattress, gasping in shock.

"Y/N, are you alright?" He asked, his voice filled with concern as he quickly assessed her for any signs of injury. He knew the bed was a lost cause, his only thought was for her safety and well-being.

Y/N, on the other hand, was seeing red. Her short temper, always simmering just beneath the surface, flared to life at the sight of her new, broken bed.

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?" She snapped, wriggling out of Bob's arms and storming over to the ruined furniture. She kicked at a broken beam, cursing under her breath. "I just bought this fucking bed! It was supposed to last, not break in half the first time someone uses it properly!"

She whirled around to face Bob, her eyes flashing with anger and frustration.

"What the hell am I supposed to do now? Sleep on the floor again? Damnit!"

Bob held up his hands in a placating gesture, taking a step back from Y/N's wrath. He knew that look, that tone. He'd seen it before, usually directed at inanimate objects or Jake. It was best to let her vent, to get it all out, before trying to reason with her.

"I know you're upset, Y/N. This is frustrating as hell," he said, his voice calm and even. "But getting angry at the broken bed isn't going to fix it. We need to figure out a solution, not place blame."

He got out of bed and took a tentative step towards her, his hands outstretched in a peace offering, as if he were approaching a scared little animal... Actually a very, very angry one. 

"I'm sorry about your bed, really. But I'm more concerned about you. Are you hurt?"

Y/N's anger seemed to deflate a bit at Bob's calm and concerned demeanor. She sighed heavily, running a hand through her disheveled hair.

"No, I'm not hurt. Just... Really fuckin' pissed," she muttered, staring at a broken piece of the bed frame. "And now I'm going to have to sleep on the floor or the couch, because apparently my new stupid bed can't handle a little action."

He took a deep breath, considering their options. She looked up at him, her eyes still flashing but her voice softening.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you. I know it's not your fault. I'm just... Pent up energy and no place to sleep it off." A small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"Look, you're more than welcome to stay in my place tonight, sleep on something stable."

Y/N considered Bob's offer, but hesitated, a frown creasing her brow. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, biting her lower lip as she thought.

"Bob, I... I appreciate the offer, really. But what do I say to Nat?" She trailed off, glancing away, a light blush coloring her cheeks.

They both knew what she meant. They had just slept together for the first time and didn't want it to become everyone's problem. Because they knew that even if Nat kept it a secret, one way or another the others would find out.

The situation was already sensitive enough without Y/N spending the night at Bob's and the rest of the team finding out.

"She would ask questions. Questions I'm not really equipped to answer right now," Y/N continued, her voice soft but resolute. "It's not that I don't want to, because god knows I do. But it would be... I don't know. We're friends, this just happened... I need some time to process before I go announcing it to the world."

Bob nodded, understanding her position completely. He respected her need for discretion and time to process their new situation. He didn't want to imagine how awkward it would be for them to explain why Y/N was spending the night at his place to Nat, especially given that their unspecified status was still fresh and unspoken.

"Yeah, right. Totally get it, Y/N. Completely," he said, his voice warm with understanding. "We don't need to rush into anything or make any grand announcements..."

Y/N watched, her mind racing but her mouth wordless, as she bent down to pick up her shirt and carefully slipped it on, watching Bob quickly copy her actions and pull on his pants. With a dramatic sigh, Y/N dragged the mattress out of the wreckage, trying to lift it and place it on the floor.

"Help me?" she asked, looking at him.

Bob immediately set about helping, lifting the mattress like it weighed nothing, guiding it into place with his usual careful efficiency. He crouched to pick up a rogue piece of wood, already inspecting the break with furrowed brows.

“Uh… Bob the Builder,” Y/N called, throwing some blankets and pillows on the mattress. “What are you doing?”

“Checking the damage.” His tone was almost apologetic, trying to ignore the nickname. “I should’ve double-checked the joints. Maybe if I—”

“Fuck, why me?” Y/N groaned, rolling her eyes.  She reached for the nearest pillow and tossed it at him. He caught it easily, laughing under his breath. “Just leave that and come here.”

He hesitated, screw still in hand.

“Bob,” she warned. “I mean it. Put that down. Bed’s dead. Mattress is fine. And we have approximately, like, an hour before Nat barges in here and ruins the peace.”

That got his attention. Slowly, reluctantly, he set the screw and wood aside, straightening to his full height.

“Good boy. Now come sit before I lose what little patience I could muster.” Y/N patted the mattress.

He sat, a sheepish smile breaking through, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. Habit. I don’t like leaving things half-finished.”

“Well, now you’re going to have to,” Y/N said, sliding beside him.

The two of them collapsed onto the mattress, side by side, staring at the ceiling. The broken frame loomed against the wall like a crime scene, pieces of wood and bolts scattered in a messy circle. Y/N stretched her arms overhead, letting out a satisfied groan.

“You know what? Worth it,” she declared.

Bob turned his head toward her, incredulous. “We destroyed your brand-new bed, and you’re saying it was worth it?”

“Bob,” she said, rolling to face him. “It had a warranty. I’ll call tomorrow, tell them it collapsed as soon as I sat on it, and boom! I get credit. Free upgrade.”

He frowned. “That feels a little dishonest.”

“I’m not lying. It did collapse when I sat on it.” Y/N poked his chest, grinning. “I'm just not specifying what I sat on.”

Bob shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. He couldn't hold it in and laughed, low and reluctant, but real. Y/N grinned in triumph, scooting closer until her head rested against his chest. Bob’s arm came around her automatically, his touch warm and steady even as he tried to hide how flustered he was. Y/N could feel the steady thump of his heart beneath her cheek, faster than usual, as though he still hadn’t come down from the chaos of the last half-hour.

“You’re smug,” she accused, tilting her head up to look at him.

He blinked. “I am not.”

“Oh, you so are. You’ve got this look. Half embarrassed, half pleased with yourself.”

Bob turned pink to the tips of his ears.

“That’s not-” He cut himself off, sighing. “Maybe a little.”

Y/N laughed, delighted. “Knew it.”

He shook his head at her, glasses slightly askew, and for a moment she thought he might retreat back into that quiet shell of his. But instead, he tightened his arm around her, drawing her closer.

“You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” she said, settling against him. “But you like it.”

He didn’t deny it.

The mattress wasn’t much to look at, dumped right on the floor with sheets and blankets tugged hastily across it, but for Y/N it felt like heaven. For the first time in weeks, she was horizontal on something resembling a real bed, and more importantly, she had Bob Floyd stretched out beside her. Her head rested against his shoulder, his arm looped protectively around her waist, and she couldn’t help the small, satisfied hum that slipped from her lips.

She hadn’t expected Bob to be like this afterward. If you’d asked her yesterday, Y/N would have guessed he’d be shy, maybe awkward, unsure of what to do with himself; but completely at his partner disposal, cause he was just that type of person. Instead, she discovered that Bob was, against all odds, a cuddler. A full-on, no-reservations, warm-and-solid presence who fit against her as though the space between them had been carved just for him. He brushed his thumb absentmindedly against her hip, his touch unselfconscious in a way that made her chest ache.

“You’re full of surprises, Floyd,” she murmured into the quiet.

Bob turned his head, his glasses slightly askew, hair messier than she’d ever seen it. “Surprises?”

“Yeah.” She tilted her face up toward him, smirking. “Didn’t think you were the clingy type.”

His ears flushed red instantly, but his arm didn’t move. If anything, he pulled her closer.

“I just… Like this. Being close.”

Her heart twisted in a way she didn’t care to examine. She brushed it off with a teasing grin. “Well, lucky for you, I don’t mind being clung to.”

They both laughed softly, the kind of laughter that belonged only to them, private and fleeting. For a while, it felt like the world outside didn’t exist. Just the two of them in their ridiculous bubble, wrapped in warmth and quiet.

The spell broke when Y/N’s ears caught something faint but familiar: the unmistakable rattle of keys in the front door.

She shot upright so fast she nearly knocked Bob in the jaw. “Crap.”

Bob blinked at her, dazed. “What?”

“Nat,” Y/N hissed, already scrambling for her clothes. “She’s home.”

For a man trained to react under pressure, Bob looked comically unprepared. He fumbled for his shirt, tugging it on backward before Y/N reached over and yanked it off him again.

“Other way, genius.”

“I usually don’t have to dress at combat speed,” he muttered, ears flaming.

Y/N, who was wandering around the room trying to find something to wear, looked at him in confusion. "You're literally in the Navy! You should be prepared."

She shoved her legs into sweatpants and yanked her hair into a messy bun, all while trying to suppress the nervous laughter bubbling up in her chest. The mattress creaked as Bob hurriedly tucked his shirt in properly, his glasses sliding down his nose as though mocking his frantic state.

By the time Natasha’s footsteps reached the hallway, Y/N and Bob were sitting on the edge of the mattress, hair still damp with sweat but otherwise presentable, as if nothing monumental had happened an hour ago.

Natasha pushed Y/N’ door open with her usual confidence, eyebrows lifting the moment she spotted the wreckage of the bed frame against the wall.

“What the hell happened here?”

Y/N didn’t flinch. She leaned back on her hands, cool as could be. “It came like that.”

Nat’s eyes narrowed. “Like that?”

“Yep,” Y/N said, nodding earnestly. “Straight out of the box. We tried to salvage it, Bob even gave it a shot, but it was a lost cause. Absolute trash.”

Beside her, Bob nodded along, though the tips of his ears betrayed his nerves. “Yeah. Pretty bad quality. Nothing we could do.”

Natasha eyed them both suspiciously, then glanced at the neat stacks of screws and bolts Bob had collected earlier.

"And you didn't collapse like the bed?" she asked, looking carefully at Y/N, who seemed pretty calm in a situation where she'd at least be kicking the broken bed and threatening to unleash hell on Ikea.

Y/N shrugged, not knowing what to say. Bob, behind her, mouthed to Nat, "She did kick the bed."

Nat nodded and crossed the room, giving the broken bed one last glance before plopping herself down on the edge of the mattress. “You guys eaten yet? I was gonna throw something together for dinner.”

Y/N’ stomach dropped. She opened her mouth to answer, but Bob was already standing, smoothing the front of his shirt.

“I should probably head out. Don’t want to intrude.”

Nat tilted her head, eyeing him. “It’s not intruding. You helped Y/N today, right? Stay. We’ve got enough food.”

Bob hesitated, clearly torn between politeness and the sudden, pressing need to flee. Y/N jumped in quickly. “He’s got stuff to do, Nat. Next time.”

Nat shrugged, apparently unconcerned.

“Suit yourself. I’m gonna shower before I cook.” She pushed to her feet, heading toward her room. “Try not to break anything else while I’m gone.”

Y/N giggled, her mind twisting Natasha's words with amusement. Bob, for his part, thought he had never blushed so much as that day.

The moment Nat’s door clicked shut, Y/N rounded on Bob.

“Leaving already?” she whispered, her grin mischievous.

Bob adjusted his glasses, looking both guilty and reluctant.

“It’s safer if I do. She’s not stupid. She’ll put it together.”

“She’ll put it together eventually,” Y/N countered, stepping closer until she was standing right in front of him. Standing on her tiptoes, she left a kiss on his jaw. “Might as well make it worth the risk.”

He swallowed hard, and Y/N caught the flicker of hesitation before his resolve cracked. When she slid her hands up his chest and tugged him down, he went willingly, their mouths meeting in a kiss that was softer than the ones earlier but no less charged.

It wasn’t the frantic heat of before. This was different. Lingering, savoring, a quiet rebellion against the world outside their bubble. Bob’s hands settled at her waist, anchoring her as if he had no intention of letting go.

They kissed until Y/N heard the faint rush of water through the pipes, Nat’s shower running in the other room. With a reluctant laugh, she pulled back, breathless.

“Go. Before she comes out and catch us in a worse situation.”

Bob pressed one last kiss to her temple, his voice low. “See you tomorrow?”

“Count on it,” she whispered.

And just like that, he slipped out the door, leaving Y/N standing in the middle of her room with her hair messy, her bed broken, and a grin she couldn’t quite wipe from her face.

The hangar still smelled of engine oil, hot steel, and jet fuel when the Dagger Team was called together. They had expected a quick debrief, maybe a congratulations from command, and then the inevitable orders to scatter back to their respective bases. But the air felt different that afternoon—expectant, heavier than the summer haze that blurred the San Diego horizon.

The briefing room was buzzing with the low hum of voices, the shuffle of boots against the floor, and the faint clatter of chairs as pilots took their seats. It had been a little over a week since the mission. The impossible mission, as Hangman had christened it. The one that had taken everything out of them and somehow given them all back a little more than they thought they had.

Bob sat quietly in his chair, hands folded neatly on the table in front of him. His glasses slid a fraction down his nose, and he pushed them back up absently as he glanced around the room. Phoenix dropped into the seat beside him with her usual calm energy. Y/N arrived a few moments later, sliding into the chair in front of him. She turned and gave him that easy smile he had grown accustomed to, the one that felt like sunlight through the canopy after a storm. Bob’s heart gave an odd little jump, and he quickly gave her a small, nervous smile, as if to say, "Here we go again". They’d become fast friends over the course of training and the impossible mission that had nearly cost them all their lives. Bob’s quiet humor and steady presence had been a grounding force for Y/N; she liked to think she offered him the same.

Cyclone walked in with Warlock at his side, the murmur of conversation dying immediately. Maverick was there too, hovering just far enough back to look like he didn’t belong at the center of official business. Their presence drew the room to attention. Even Hangman leaned forward a little, his cocky grin tempered by a seriousness that hadn’t left any of them since the mission. They had lived. All of them. That was more than any of them had expected when they strapped into their jets.

"At ease," Cyclone began, his voice carrying over the expanse of the hangar, "congratulations are still in order. You all accomplished something that by all accounts should not have been possible. You brought each other home."

There was a beat of silence, weighted by memories of near misses, frantic maneuvers, and the terrifying moment when Maverick and Rooster didn’t return, followed by the shock of their parachute blooming against the mountainside. Y/N felt her chest tighten, but then Phoenix muttered a quiet, "Damn right we did," and the tension eased with a ripple of subdued laughter.

"We won’t waste your time." Cyclone cleared his throat. "Command has made a decision regarding the Dagger Team’s future.  You’ve all proven what you’re capable of. The Navy recognizes that, and so do I. Which is why command has decided that the Dagger Team will remain active. Effective immediately, you will all remain stationed here at NAS North Island." 

The words hung in the air for a second before they sank in. Coyote blinked first.

"Wait, you mean permanently?"

Warlock stepped forward. "For the foreseeable future, yes. Your skill sets are unique. Command wants you together, available for specialized assignments. This is your new home base."

A ripple went through the room. Hangman raised his brows, Phoenix exchanged a quick look with Bob, and Y/N leaned back in her chair, her lips parting just slightly in surprise.

Warlock stepped forward, his voice steady and warm. "For now, your role will be both active and supportive: training future aviators and staying sharp as a unit. Command wants to keep this team together."

The weight of that statement settled over the room. Together. The mission had bonded them in ways none of them could deny, but none had been certain whether they’d be scattered to new squadrons or pulled back into routine deployments. To know they’d stay here, in San Diego —alive, grounded, together— felt like a strange favour none of them had expected.

Cyclone continued. "You’ll have down time. But don’t mistake this for shore leave. You’ll train. You’ll prepare. If your country calls, you’ll be ready. Dismissed."

The moment the admirals left, the room erupted into chatter. while Phoenix leaned back with a groan, then threw her hands up.

"Are you kidding me? I just finally broke the lease on my place because I thought this was temporary!"

Fanboy let out a long, theatrical sigh. "Yeah. Guess I’ll be living out of hotels until I find a place that doesn’t drain my entire paycheck."

"San Diego rent isn’t cheap," Payback added grimly. "I looked it up before training started, just in case. We’re screwed."

Even Rooster, usually quick with a dry or funny comment, rubbed the back of his neck. "My stuff’s still in storage back in Virginia Beach. This is gonna be a nightmare."

Y/N turned to Bob, her eyes sparkling.

"Looks like we’re stuck in San Diego," she said.

Bob ducked his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "There are worse places to be stuck."

Hangman caught their exchange and groaned. "Oh, don’t tell me you two are excited about this."

Y/N shrugged, trying not to laugh. "I’m not excited, I’m… Resigned. Besides, at least the weather here beats anywhere else."

"Except the rent," Fanboy shot back. "That’s worse than the weather in Death Valley."

"True," Y/N said, her grin widening. "The beach isn’t a bad consolation prize. Right Bob?"

Phoenix snorted, leaning on the table between them. "Don’t let him fool you, Y/N. Bob here isn’t much of a beach guy."

Bob adjusted his glasses again, flushing slightly. "I don’t mind the beach. I just… Burn easily."

That earned him a laugh from both women, and he couldn’t help but join in, even if it was at his own expense. The tension that had clung to them since the mission eased a little, replaced with something lighter.

"Poor Bob, you're going to have to spend a big part of your salary on sunscreen then." Y/N joked.

The team erupted into overlapping chatter again, half teasing him and half still genuinely shocked because they were going to stay there. 

“Damn,” Coyote muttered from a few seats over, rubbing a hand down his face. “Now I’ve gotta call Vanessa and tell her we’re moving to San Diego.”

Everyone froze. Rooster blinked, Phoenix’s head snapped toward him, and Hangman actually sat forward.

“Vanessa?” Hangman repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. “Hold up. Who's Vanessa?”

Coyote hesitated, clearly regretting saying anything at all. “My fiancée.”

Hangman smirked, shaking his head. “And you didn’t tell your team? Man, Javy, that’s cold. Thought we were brothers.”

Fanboy’s jaw dropped. "Dude! The betrayal!"

“Since when?” Phoenix asked, grinning like she’d just uncovered the world’s greatest secret.

Coyote rolled his eyes, though his ears flushed red. “We’ve been engaged a few months. I didn’t exactly have time to bring it up between flight drills and, oh, you know, saving the world.”

Y/N laughed, leaning forward on her elbows. “That’s fair. Still, a fiancée is big news. You can’t just drop that on us casually like it’s no big deal.”

“I’ll remember that next time,” Coyote muttered, though a smile tugged at his lips. “But seriously, she’s back in Atlanta. Now I’ve gotta figure out how to tell her we’re moving across the country.”

Rooster raised his brows. "How you think she will take the news?"

"Not good, she has her job back home…" Coyote admitted with a wince. "That’s gonna be one hell of a phone call tonight."

Bob tilted his head thoughtfully. “If she’s stuck by you through Navy life this long, she’ll understand. It’s not exactly a nine-to-five job.”

Phoenix agreed and muttered about how men could keep entire life stories under wraps. Fanboy immediately demanded pictures. Hangman and Payback murmured something about a bachelor party.

The group dissolved into overlapping complaints. Someone cursed about furniture shipping rates; someone else muttered about roommates. Even Maverick cracked a small smile at the collective misery. He let the noise go on for a while before he finally barked.

"Figure it out. You’re aviators. Adaptability is in your job description."

The complaints died down, though not without lingering grumbles. As the team began to disperse, Y/N nudged Bob with her shoulder. "Hey, change that face, it's not so bad. We’ll figure it out."

Bob adjusted his glasses, a faint blush rising in his cheeks. "Yeah."

San Diego had always looked beautiful from the cockpit of a jet, sunlight flashing off the ocean, the sprawl of the city stretching endlessly along the shore. But when the Dagger Team was told they would be stationed there for the foreseeable future, the romance of the view quickly gave way to a more earthly challenge: finding a place to live.

The announcement had hardly left Warlock’s mouth before the pilots were already making mental calculations. None of them were particularly settled; their lives had been marked by deployments and rotations. Staying put for more than a handful of months felt like a luxury and a complication.

It started innocently enough. Phoenix tossed her hair back as she leaned over the table in the Hard Deck, her expression practical.

“If we’re going to be here, I want someplace that isn’t a shoebox and doesn’t cost half my paycheck.”

“Good luck with that,” Rooster said dryly, flipping through his phone. “This is San Diego. Half your paycheck gets you a shoebox without windows.”

Y/N nudged Phoenix with her shoulder. “We could always split rent. Roommates. Two bedrooms. Makes sense.”

Phoenix raised a brow, but a smile betrayed her. “You sure? I don’t know, Y/N. Don't want you to explode at me for how I store silverware.”

"I'm not going to!" Y/N said, both indignant and amused. Then she murmured "As long as you do it the right way."

And just like that, a pact was made. Within the week, Nat and Y/N found a modest two-bedroom apartment not far from the base. The bedrooms were small, the kitchen barely big enough for two people at once, and the living room had just enough space for a secondhand couch and TV stand. But it had a balcony that caught the evening breeze, and it was theirs.

Meanwhile, the rest of the team was caught in various states of disarray. Rooster had started ambitiously, swearing up and down that he knew the best real estate hacks from years of travel. Two weeks later, he was still living out of a suitcase at a hotel near downtown, complaining loudly to anyone who would listen about rental scams and hidden fees.

Coyote fared only marginally better. His fiancée, Vanessa, had flown in from Atlanta to help him. She was sharp, decisive, and far more practical than Javy himself. Within days, she had wrangled a townhouse rental on the northern edge of the city. The only problem? It was unfurnished, and Coyote owned nothing beyond the clothes in his duffel bag. The man hadn’t even thought to bring a toaster.

Hangman, of course, made a production out of it.

“Gentlemen, ladies,” he announced at the Hard Deck one night, leaning against the bar like he was about to deliver a TED Talk, “the key to securing an apartment in San Diego is confidence. Landlords can smell desperation, and I, as you all know, do not do desperate.”

“Translation,” Phoenix murmured to Y/N, “he still doesn’t have a place.”

She wasn’t wrong. Hangman bounced between Airbnbs, claiming it was all part of his grand strategy. The rest of the team wasn’t convinced.

And into all this chaos, there was Bob.

Bob had always been the quiet one, the steady presence in the background. But where the others floundered, Bob thrived. Within three days of the announcement, he had found a clean, affordable one-bedroom apartment fifteen minutes from the base. He had signed the lease, arranged utilities, and neatly unpacked his belongings before Rooster had even scheduled a single viewing.

“Wait, you already moved in?” Mickey asked, incredulous, when Bob casually mentioned it during a training debrief.

Bob adjusted his glasses, ducking his head. “It wasn’t that hard. Just needed to make a checklist.”

“A checklist,” Rooster repeated, half-amused and half-annoyed. “Man, I’ve been living on takeout and hotel coffee for two weeks and you’re telling me all I needed was a checklist?”

Bob only shrugged, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “Helps me keep track.”

Because he was the first to settle, Bob quickly became the team’s unofficial moving coordinator. He got a truck, printed out spare copies of his “moving day essentials” list, and volunteered his free time to haul boxes, build furniture, and wrangle paperwork.

The first move he helped with was Nat and Y/N. The two women had signed their lease with surprising speed, but actually getting their stuff into the apartment was another matter entirely. The stairwell leading to the second floor was narrow, and the borrowed couch they were trying to maneuver had a mind of its own.

“Pivot!” Phoenix shouted, sweat streaking her temple as she tried to angle the couch around the bend.

“That doesn’t help if you don’t tell me which way to pivot!” Y/N grunted, her back pressed against the opposite wall.

Bob, standing calmly at the bottom of the stairs, tilted his head. “If you tilt it thirty degrees and slide the base first, it should clear the railing.”

Both women froze, then looked at him.

“You could have said that five minutes ago,” Phoenix accused.

Bob only adjusted his grip on the frame. “Didn’t want to interrupt.”

"Bob, you better stop being so polite and help us with this, because I'm this close to murdering someone," Y/N said desperately, getting Nat and Bob's attention, because when she started threatening like that, it meant that she would soon prove why her calling was firecracker.

With his guidance, the couch slid neatly into place, and Y/N collapsed onto it with an annoyed snort.

“Bob, I swear I'm going to buy you your Ginger Ale and peanuts at the bar for the rest of the year.”

“Great, Y/N is back to normal.” Phoenix added, shaking her head. “But really, I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Helping Rooster, on the other hand, was an ordeal.

By the time he finally settled on an apartment —a studio loft with questionable plumbing— he had accumulated three boxes of mismatched kitchenware, two guitars, and a vintage record player that weighed as much as an engine block.

“Careful with that!” Rooster yelped as Bob and Coyote maneuvered the record player up the stairs. “It’s a 1960s original.”

“It’s built like a tank,” Payback muttered, adjusting his grip. “Pretty sure it’s heavier than a tank too.”

Bob, steady as ever, guided the load up each step without complaint. Once inside, he pulled out his toolkit and began assembling Rooster’s bedframe while the others debated where to put the guitars.

“Do you ever stop being helpful?” Rooster asked, leaning against the wall as Bob tightened the final bolt.

Bob glanced up, blinking behind his glasses. “Would you rather sleep on the floor?”

“Keep goin’.”

Hangman’s move was, predictably, the most theatrical. After weeks of insisting he had everything under control, he finally admitted he needed help.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he told Y/N, who looked at him with daggers in her eyes, because thanks to him she was going to spend her day off lifting boxes. “I could have done it myself, but why deprive you all of the joy of my company?”

“Joy isn’t the word I’d use,” Phoenix muttered, but she grabbed a box anyway.

Hangman’s apartment was sleek and modern, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows and a rent price that made everyone raise their brows.

“How are you affording this?” Y/N demanded, setting down a box of… Something.

“Charm,” Hangman replied smoothly. “And a discount for military service.”

Bob, meanwhile, was already unpacking the kitchen with quiet efficiency, organizing plates and glasses with a precision that made Y/N shake her head.

“You’re unbelievable, Floyd.”

"Why are you complaining?" Bob only smiled faintly. “Just easier this way.”

By the time the Dagger Team had finally settled into their new apartments, most of them were at least sleeping on proper beds. Most of them, except Y/N.

Her old bed had been a casualty of years of rushed relocations and half-hearted packing jobs. The frame creaked if you so much as breathed near it, and the mattress had long since given up on being supportive. So Y/N had declared, with her usual fiery conviction, that she was buying herself a brand-new, high-quality bed.

“I deserve it,” she had told Nat, while she was putting her card numbers on the website. “After everything we’ve been through, I deserve one good night’s sleep.”

Nat had agreed wholeheartedly. The problem, however, was that Y/N had decided to order from Ikea. And Ikea had its own sense of time.

For nearly a week, Y/N had been alternating between sleeping on her old mattress on the floor of her room or on the couch in the small living room. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t what she wanted either. So when she stomped into the Hard Deck one evening, groaning dramatically and dropping onto a barstool, the team immediately took notice.

“Rough day?” Rooster teased, sliding a beer her way.

“My bed,” Y/N muttered darkly. “Still hasn’t arrived. I swear, they’re delivering it by rowboat.”

Mickey laughed from the next stool over. “You’ve been sleeping on the floor this whole time? No wonder you’re cranky.”

“Cranky? I’m practically feral at this point.” Y/N scoffed.  She took a long sip of her drink, then added with a sigh, “If it doesn’t show up soon, I’ll be sleeping on Nat’s bed like some kind of desperate stray cat.”

Bob, seated quietly at the end of the bar, adjusted his glasses. “When it does come, I can help you put it together. Ikea furniture can be tricky.”

Y/N blinked at him, then broke into a grin. “Of course you’re good at building furniture. Is there anything you can’t do, Floyd?”

Bob flushed slightly, ducking his head. “I just… Like instructions.”

The bed arrived the next afternoon. Y/N had been half-asleep on the couch when the delivery men knocked, leaving behind three massive boxes stacked in the middle of her living room. She stared at them for a full five minutes, debating whether to call Phoenix, but her roommate had already made it clear she was busy getting ready for a date. And besides, Nat had an unintentional way of making Y/N feel even more incompetent when it came to household tasks.

So Y/N called Bob.

He showed up fifteen minutes later, toolbox in hand, wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt showing his forearms. Y/N would deny it to her deathbed, but she found the sight unexpectedly… Distracting.

“Thanks for coming,” she said quickly, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Sorry to drag you into this mess.”

Bob glanced at the boxes, then back at her, and offered a reassuring smile. “It’s not a mess. We’ll get it sorted.”

Y/N watched as he knelt beside the largest box, carefully slicing through the tape. He worked with quiet efficiency, laying out each piece, checking the instructions, organizing screws and bolts into tidy piles. Y/N, who had opened the fridge in search of bottled water, found herself leaning against the counter, staring.

It wasn’t just that he was good at this. It was the way he moved. Steady, focused, calm. There was something grounding about it, something that made her feel like even Ikea’s worst nightmares couldn’t stand a chance against him.

That she couldn’t stand a chance against him.

“Need me to do anything?” she asked, shaking herself from her thoughts.

“Hand me those bolts, please,” Bob said, pointing to a small plastic bag.

She grabbed them and knelt beside him, watching as he aligned two beams and slid the bolt through.

“I envy that you make it look so easy.”

Bob chuckled softly. “'ve just do it a few times. Moved around a lot when I was younger. so…”

Y/N smirked. “Well, at least you got a good furniture-building skill out of it..”

“Exactly,” he said, glancing up at her with a grin that made her stomach do a small, inconvenient flip.

They worked together for the next two hours. Y/N held pieces steady while Bob tightened bolts, or she fetched tools while he aligned frames. She made sarcastic commentary about the sheer number of screws involved, and he responded with dry humor that always managed to catch her off guard.

At one point, she tried to hammer a stubborn peg into place and nearly smashed her thumb. Bob gently took the mallet from her hands. “Here, let me.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.” She leaned back on her heels, crossing her arms.

Bob gave the peg a single firm tap, sliding it perfectly into place. “It’s satisfying when it works.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though her smile gave her away. “Yeah, yeah. Mr. Perfect.”

 “Not perfect. Just…” He shook his head, “patient.”

The comment, simple as it was, lingered between them. Y/N glanced at him, really looked at him, and felt a warmth spread through her chest that had nothing to do with the effort of building furniture.

"That's a good way of telling me I'm out of patience," Y/N cut the tension, Bob only chuckled and apologized.

When the bed frame finally stood assembled in her room, sturdy and gleaming under the soft light, Y/N let out a dramatic sigh and flopped onto it.

“I could cry. Look at this masterpiece. Floyd, you are a hero.”

Bob stood at the foot of the bed, adjusting his glasses, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “It’s just a bed.”

“It’s not just a bed,” Y/N insisted, sitting up. “It’s the difference between me being a functioning human being and me slowly descending into madness.”

Bob chuckled, the sound soft and warm. “Glad I could help prevent that.”

Phoenix was out for the evening, leaving the apartment unusually quiet. Y/N, still riding the high of her new bed, popped open a couple of drinks and handed one to Bob.

“Least I can do for my savior,” she said lightly.

They settled onto the couch, the boxes now broken down and stacked neatly by the door thanks to Bob’s thoroughness. The city lights flickered beyond the balcony, and the hum of traffic drifted faintly through the open window.

“To beds,” Y/N said, raising her bottle in a mock toast.

Bob clinked his bottle against hers, his smile small but genuine. “To beds.”

They drank, and for a while, the conversation was easy. Teasing their teammates about their disastrous moves, marveling at how Vanessa seemed to wrangle Coyote better than any of them ever could.

But beneath the jokes was something else. A current, subtle but undeniable.

“You know,” Y/N said at one point, tilting her head at him, “manual labor really suits you. You should wear tool belts more often.”

Bob nearly choked on his drink. “Tool belts?”

“Yeah,” Y/N teased, her grin mischievous. “Very… Rugged. I like it.”

He flushed to the tips of his ears, ducking his head as he tried to hide his smile. “You’re making fun of me.”

“Maybe a little,” she admitted. “But only because you take it so well.”

He glanced at her then, and the look lingered just long enough to send her heart skipping a beat. It wasn’t overt, not quite. But it was something.

The couch wasn’t particularly comfortable —too many years of use by strangers before Y/N and Nat had claimed it from a secondhand store— but it was enough. She and Bob sat with their shoulders angled slightly toward each other, bottles in hand, laughter spilling between them like it had nowhere better to be.

They had been talking about nothing and everything for over an hour. Teasing Rooster’s obsession with vintage records. Wondering how long it would take before Fanboy broke his brand-new stovetop. Y/N had even confessed to her disastrous attempt at cooking pasta the night before, which ended with half the noodles glued to the pot. Bob had chuckled quietly, offering to teach her a foolproof method.

It was easy. Comfortable. Until suddenly, it wasn’t.

The shift was subtle at first. Bob went quieter, his responses shorter, his eyes drifting anywhere but directly at her. His fingers fidgeted with the neck of his bottle, turning it slowly, over and over, until condensation slicked his hands. His knee bounced in small, nervous jerks, as though he had too much energy bottled up inside.

Y/N noticed. She always noticed when it came to him.

She tilted her head, studying him in the soft light of the living room. The edges of his glasses caught the glow from the lamp, his jaw tight, ears just the faintest shade of pink. Something in the air seemed to buzz, alive with tension she couldn’t quite name, but very much could feel.

“Hey,” she said lightly, breaking the silence. “You okay?”

Bob glanced at her, then quickly looked away. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

But he wasn’t fine. Not really. And Y/N, never one to let a mystery sit unsolved, pressed further.

“You know,” she began, swirling the last sip of her drink in the bottle, “I still can’t believe Coyote hid a whole fiancée from us. Like, he just casually drops that on us after the mission? Who does that?”

Bob smiled faintly, still not looking at her. “Guess he didn’t think it was important until then.”

“Important?” Y/N scoffed, leaning closer. “Bob, he’s engaged. That’s important. Makes me wonder if anyone else on the team is keeping secrets.”

At that, his knee bounced faster.

Her eyes narrowed, the teasing edge in her voice disguising the seriousness in her chest.

“You don’t happen to have someone waiting for you at home, do you? Some mystery girlfriend or secret fiancée you’re hiding from the rest of us?”

She meant it as a joke. Half-joking, at least. But the truth was, inside, the question was deadly serious. Because in her mind, it was impossible —impossible— that someone like Bob Floyd was single. He was kind, patient, smart, steady. He was perfect in ways most people didn’t even notice until it was too late. The thought that he could belong to someone else made her chest tighten.

Bob’s fingers stilled on the bottle. His eyes darted to hers for a brief second before dropping again. He shook his head, voice soft. “No. No one’s waiting for me.”

Y/N blinked. “Seriously?”

He nodded once, ears turning a deeper shade of pink. “Seriously.”

And that was all she needed.

Later, she would tell herself it was the alcohol. Or the long day. Or the relief of finally having a bed frame in her room. But in truth, it was none of those things. It was the way Bob’s answer had left the air heavy between them, the way his eyes had flickered toward her with something he didn’t dare put into words.

Her bottle clinked softly against the table as she set it down. She shifted closer, so close she could see the nervous rise and fall of his chest, the way his breath caught as she leaned in.

Then she kissed him.

There was no hesitation, no testing the waters. Y/N moved with the same boldness she carried into the cockpit, the same instinct that had kept her alive. Her hands slid against his checks as she pressed her lips to his, firm and certain.

Bob froze for a split second, like his brain had short-circuited. And then he snapped out of it.

Gone was the quiet, careful Bob who followed rules to the letter. The one who blushed when teased, who spoke softly and gave space. In his place was something sharper, hungrier, more primal.

His hands came up to her waist, strong and sure, pulling her into his lap as though she weighed nothing. The kiss deepened, fierce and consuming, his lips moving against hers with a fervor that left her reeling. Y/N had thought she was the one making the move, but Bob met her fire with his own, and it stunned her.

She pulled back for half a breath, eyes wide, lips tingling.

“Wow,” she managed, her voice rough around the edges. “Where’ve you been hiding this side of you?”

Bob’s glasses were askew, his hair mussed from her hands. He looked at her with eyes darker than she’d ever seen them, his lips curved in the faintest, most dangerous smile.

“You never asked,” he murmured.

And then he kissed her again.

Time blurred. The world narrowed to the feel of him. His hands steady and insistent, his mouth demanding yet somehow reverent. Y/N had always been quick, decisive, the one to dive headfirst. But Bob’s intensity surprised her. It was like he had been holding back for years, and now that the dam had broken, there was no stopping the flood.

And she welcomed it. With open arms, with laughter caught between kisses, with the kind of abandon that felt like freefall but without fear. She tangled her fingers in his hair, relished the way he pulled her closer as if he couldn’t get enough. Every touch burned, every sound hummed with something that had been waiting far too long to surface.

They shifted, the couch creaking beneath them, Y/N straddling his lap, Bob’s hands steady at her hips. The hum of the city outside felt distant, irrelevant. All that mattered was here, now, the quiet storm they’d both been ignoring until it broke open.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, Y/N rested her forehead against his, her chest rising and falling in sync with his.

“Well,” she whispered, a grin tugging at her lips. “Guess that answers my question.”

Bob chuckled, low and a little shaky, but there was no hesitation in the way he held her. “Guess it does.”

She kissed the corner of his mouth, softer this time, playful. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Floyd. Thought you were all patience and politeness.”

His thumb brushed her waist absentmindedly, and he met her gaze without flinching. “Patience only goes so far.”

The plains had a way of keeping secrets. Flat stretches of gold and rust-colored grass rolled on forever until they bled into the dark cut of the mountains. To an outsider, Wyoming could seem endless, hollow, a place so open it left no room to hide. But Rhett Abbott had grown up knowing the opposite: this land swallowed things whole. Time, cattle, men, and sometimes even truth. The soil remembered them, maybe. He wasn’t sure. He only knew the dirt under his boots always seemed heavier these days, as though it bore the weight of every lie and every sin his family had stacked upon it.

The Abbott ranch had seen better years. Fences sagged in places where wire needed pulling, and the barns, painted red once upon a time, now carried more sun-bleached pink than anything vibrant. Autumn had settled early, bringing with it a sharpness to the night air, and Rhett worked his way through the chores without complaint. He didn’t need to be told twice when Royal barked orders. Not anymore. Things had changed too much for the comfort of rebellion. After Perry's... Accident with Trevor Tillerson, every move the Abbott men made felt stitched with consequence.

It wasn’t just the act itself —though God knows that would’ve been plenty— it was everything surrounding it. The way time seemed bent and broken on this land. The hole. The strange presence of Autumn. The haunting sense that fate was circling them, waiting for one more misstep. Rhett wasn’t sure if he believed in curses, but if there was ever a place where curses clung to the soil, it was here.

Still, the days passed with cattle, with dust, with the mechanical rhythm of ranch work. And in that rhythm, Rhett found himself falling back into something he thought he’d left behind: Y/N.

Y/N wasn’t an Abbott, though she might as well have been. Their families had been neighbors for generations, land divided by a few miles. She and Rhett had grown up side by side, running through tall grass, daring each other to climb wind-bent cottonwoods, whispering secrets under stars when they were too young to understand the weight of keeping them.

By the time high school came around, people assumed they’d end up together. They went to the same football games, same bonfires, same rodeos. But life wasn’t as simple as that. Y/N was stubborn, always had been, and Rhett. Well, Rhett carried that Abbott restlessness, that tendency to burn bridges before realizing he’d need them to get home. They drifted. He dated other girls, she went her own way. Yet no matter what, she was still there, a fixed point in his life like the mountains on the horizon.

It wasn’t until the past couple of weeks, after too many beers on a night when neither of them could sleep, that things shifted.

One kiss, then another. It led them to end up tangled up in Y/N's bed by the morning. A promise of nothing serious. Friend with benefits, as Y/N had called it, almost daring him to laugh. He hadn’t. He hadn’t wanted to. She was familiar, safe, and in the chaos of everything unraveling around his family, she was the one thing that didn’t demand anything from him but simplicity in the moment.

The trouble was, moments didn’t last.

Y/N had her own shadows, though Rhett didn’t know half of them. Everyone in town had heard the whispers years ago. Rumors about the Y/L/N girl with the strange habit. Dirt-eater, they’d called her behind her back. Said if she pressed her tongue to the soil, she could see things nobody should see. Missing hunters, dead deer, even the neighbor’s lost dog. Most wrote it off as small-town gossip, the kind of nonsense bored kids made up to scare each other or make fun of her.

Rhett had laughed along when he was younger, later when he noticed how Y/N’s face stiffened when those stories came up, he made it his mission to beat any child who dared to mention it.

He never asked her if it was true. Not once. Maybe because part of him was afraid of the answer. Maybe he didn't care, couldn't believe it. Maybe because he knew that if she ever said yes, he’d have to look at her differently, and he didn’t want that. Y/N was just Y/N: the girl who punched him in the arm when he teased her, the woman who leaned against his truck bed on long nights with a beer in hand, the only person who could cut through his temper with a single look. He wanted to keep her human. Not strange. Not burdened.

But the land had a way of dragging secrets into the light.

That evening, Rhett found her on the fence line between their ranches. She sat on the top rail, boots dangling, hair catching the last fire of the sunset. Y/N never looked out of place on the land, she belonged to it the way mesquite or cottonwoods did, weathered and rooted. She raised her chin as he approached, a half-smile curling on her lips.

"You look like shit," she said, greeting him the way she always did: blunt and without ceremony.

"Thnks," Rhett drawled, wiping sweat off his brow with the back of his sleeve. "Been fixin’ fence since dawn."

"Well, the fence don’t fix itself."

"Wish it do." he said, and the corner of her mouth tugged upward just a little more.

There was comfort in the banter, in the way they fell back into rhythms older than they were. He leaned on the fence beside her, close enough to feel the warmth of her knee brushing his arm. She didn’t move away. She never did anymore.

"Your brother holdin’ up?" she asked, her voice softer now. "Y'know, after Rebeca and Amy."

Rhett stiffened, then shrugged. Perry was a weight he carried like a stone in his chest. "As much as he can."

Y/N nodded, eyes fixed on the horizon. She didn’t pry, not like others would have. That was one of the things Rhett liked about her, she knew when silence was better than words.

They stayed there for a while, the light fading, the land settling into its nighttime quiet. Somewhere out in the distance, a coyote howled. Rhett glanced at Y/N, at the way her fingers toyed absentmindedly with the frayed edge of her shirt sleeve. He wondered, not for the first time, if she knew more than she let on. If she carried truths in her that he couldn’t begin to understand.

He pushed the thought away. Whatever ghosts haunted her, they weren’t his to name.

"Beer?" he asked finally.

She smirked. "Always."

The Abbott porch creaked under their boots as they settled into chairs with bottles in hand. Royal was inside, his presence as heavy as a stormcloud even when he wasn’t in the room. Cecelia busied herself in the kitchen, humming hymns to keep from hearing too much. The whole house felt strung tight these days, but Y/N cut through it like she belonged. She always had. Even when they were kids, she was welcome at their table, a daughter Cecelia never got to raise.

Now, though, there was a different electricity in the air between her and Rhett. One neither of them named, though it was obvious to anyone with eyes. They weren’t a couple. They weren’t anything, not really. But every time their shoulders brushed, every time her laugh slipped out low and easy in the dark, Rhett felt that tether pulling tighter.

He told himself it didn’t matter. That what they had was temporary, casual. But out here, in the quiet of the ranch with the night folding in around them, he couldn’t ignore the way she felt like the only real thing he had left.

And somewhere, deep down, he suspected that the land wasn’t done with either of them yet.

Especially when the weight of what Perry had done, and how he'd dragged him down with it, still lingered in the back of Rhett's mind.

Luke Tillerson was not a man who let things go. Everyone in town knew that. If Wayne, his father, was the wild storm that tore through people without warning, then Luke was the relentless drought that withered you down slowly. He didn’t shout, not usually. He didn’t throw tantrums the way Trevor used to, singing his strange songs and swaying like a prophet in the dirt. Luke was the kind of man who fixed his eyes on a thing and did not look away until he got what he wanted, or until he burned it to the ground.

And what Luke wanted now was the truth about his brother.

The Tillersons didn’t grieve like other families. Grief, to them, was a weapon. A reason to hunt, to blame, to gnaw down into the marrow of whoever might be responsible. And everyone in town suspected that if Trevor Tillerson had vanished —or worse— then the Abbotts had something to do with it. Luke didn’t have proof. Not yet. But he had an idea, and an idea was enough to sharpen into suspicion. Enough to send him circling around the edges of Y/N's life like a wolf who’d caught the faintest whiff of blood.

Y/N wasn’t naïve. She knew Luke would come. After Trevor disappeared, the whole town hummed with speculation. Some folks whispered about the Abbotts, some about the strange girl named Autumn who was new in town. But she just hoped Luke didn't remember the rumors about her from when they were kids.

Y/N had spent her entire life stomping down those whispers. She laughed them off when she could, got into fights when she had to. It was one thing for kids to call her a freak back in school. It was another for grown men with guns and grudges to look at her like she was their last chance at answers.

So when Luke Tillerson showed up at her door two weeks after Trevor disappeared, she wasn’t surprised. She was angry, yes. But not surprised.

"Evenin’, Y/N," Luke said, tipping his hat like he was stopping by for coffee instead of looming on her porch like a shadow.

"Luke." Y/N leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Can’t say I was expectin’ company. Especially you."

He smiled, sharp and thin. "Figure you knew I’d come around sooner or later."

"Don't know why you're here." She let out a heavy sigh.

"I’m here about Trevor."

"Well, I can’t help you. I don’t know anything."

"See, that’s where we disagree," Luke said, his boots scraping the porch wood as he shifted closer. "Word’s been ‘round for years, Y/N. Word that you’ve got… A little thing."

Y/N rolled her eyes so hard it almost hurt. "Christ, not this again."

"You can laugh it off if you want," Luke said, voice steady. "But I believe there’s truth in rumors. And I believe you can help me find out what happened to my brother."

"There ain’t nothin’ to believe. I don’t know what happened." Her skin prickled. "You want answers, go ask the sheriff. Don’t come sniffin’ ‘round here like I got some magic trick up my sleeve."

Luke studied her for a long time. Then, without another word, he tipped his hat again and stepped off her porch. But Y/N knew better than to think that was the end of it. Men like Luke didn’t walk away. They waited. They pressed. They circled back until you gave in or broke.

She didn’t tell Rhett. She couldn’t.

Rhett had a temper. Always had. That Abbott fire burned hot in him, sometimes too hot, and Y/N knew if she breathed a word about Luke lurking around, Rhett would march himself straight to the Tillerson ranch and pick a fight he didn't need right now.

God knows the Abbotts had enough blood on their hands already.

So she swallowed it. Every knock on her door, every quiet threat downtown, every heavy look Luke laid on her when he caught her in town. She told herself she could handle it. That if she stood firm, if she kept insisting she didn’t know anything, he’d eventually get bored and move on. That’s what bullies did, right? They moved on.

Except Luke Tillerson wasn’t just a bully. He was a man grieving and hunting, and men like that didn’t stop.

The night it all came to a head was supposed to be simple. Just her and Rhett. No family, no rumors, no ghosts of the dead pressing at their backs.

Rhett had shown up at her place late, after chores, smelling like hay and sweat and the faint spice of the beer he’d downed before driving over. Y/N let him in without hesitation. Her little house, modest and tucked against the cottonwoods, felt different when he was inside it. Smaller, warmer. Like the walls leaned in to listen.

They didn’t talk much that night. Words had never been the thing between them. They knew each other too well for that. Instead, Rhett pressed her against the kitchen counter, lips hard and hungry, and she laughed against his mouth before kissing him back with equal fire. His hands were rough, callused from work, but they found her waist like they belonged there. She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, the beer bottle clattering forgotten onto the counter.

They were a second away from stumbling away from the kitchen and into the bedroom —the living room sofa if we're honest—. Breathless, clothes half-peeled away, the kind of kiss that left no room for thinking. For a moment, Y/N forgot everything else. Forgot Luke. Forgot Trevor. Forgot the strange weight of the dirt beneath her fingernails which remained even when she washed her hands over and over again.

And then came the knock.

Hard. Heavy. Relentless.

Rhett froze, lips still pressed against her collarbone. "You expectin’ someone?"

Her stomach dropped. She knew. Even before she moved, before she pushed Rhett back and scrambled for her shirt, she knew.

"Y/N!" Luke’s voice came muffled through the door. "We need to talk."

Rhett’s eyes snapped to hers, sharp and furious. "The hell’s he doin’ here?"

Y/N’s heart pounded so loud it drowned out everything else. She grabbed his arm, nails digging into his skin.

"Don’t," she whispered, fierce and desperate. "Please, Rhett. Just leave it, he'll go eventually."

He looked at her like she’d lost her damn mind. "He has been botherin’ you? And you didn’t tell me?"

Another knock, harder this time.

"Y/N!" Luke’s voice carried, cold and demanding. "Open up."

Y/N’s throat tightened. She wanted to explain, to tell Rhett everything, but the words jammed up in her chest. She had thought she could handle Luke on her own. She had thought she could keep Rhett safe from this. But now here they were, cornered, the night collapsing in on them.

And Luke Tillerson was not going away.

Y/N’s palms were pressed flat against Rhett’s chest, her heartbeat thudding so hard she could feel it in her teeth. He was a furnace under her hands, his breath ragged, his jaw clenched so tight she thought it might crack. His eyes, usually that stormy blue-gray that could soften when he smiled at her, were sharp now, like steel catching firelight. He wasn’t yelling, not yet, but she knew the line he was standing on. One more step and he’d explode. Rhett Abbott didn’t simmer. He boiled over.

The pounding at the door came again. Luke’s voice followed, calm but insistent. "Y/N. Don’t make me wait all night."

She pressed harder against Rhett, forcing him back a step.

"You need to stay here," she whispered, low and urgent. "Let me handle this."

Rhett stared at her like she’d lost her damn mind. "Handle this? He’s at your door in the middle of the night, Y/N. You call that handlin’ it?"

"Please," she said, her voice breaking just enough to make him falter. "Just… Let me talk to him. If you go out there right now, you’ll make it worse. You know you will."

He was breathing hard, chest rising and falling under her hands, but he didn’t push past her. Not yet. That was as close to calm as Rhett Abbott got.

Y/N smoothed her hair with shaky fingers, tugged her shirt down over her bare stomach, and walked toward the door. Every step felt heavy. When she pulled it open, the cool night air rushed in, carrying with it the sharp scent of sage and dust. Luke Tillerson stood on her porch, tall and smug, his hat tipped low and his mouth already curved in that infuriating half-smile.

"Well, there she is," Luke drawled. "Was wonderin’ how long it’d take."

Y/N planted herself in the doorway, arms crossed tight over her chest. "What the hell do you think you’re doin’, comin’ ‘round here this time of night?"

"What? You alone?" Luke said, his gaze flicking past her shoulder like he knew Rhett was there. "But I reckon I already got my answer."

Her cheeks burned, but she stood her ground.

"I told you before, Luke. Whatever you think you know about me, you don’t. Those rumors? That’s all they are, rumors. Kids made up stupid stories ‘cause I was different, and folks been runnin’ their mouths ever since. But I don’t know nothin’. I can’t help you."

Luke tilted his head, studying her like she was a riddle.

"See, Y/N, I don’t believe that. My brother’s gone, and you’ve got a reputation for… Seein’ things. If you expect me to believe you can’t do it, well-" He clicked his tongue. "That’s a tough sell."

Y/N’s hands curled into fists at her sides.

"I’m sorry about Trevor. I really am. But I don’t know what happened to him, and I can’t give you what you’re lookin’ for. So you need to stop knockin’ on my door and start mindin’ your own business."

"You talk pretty tough for someone hidin’ behind a half open door." Luke’s smile widened, all teeth now.

"Shut up." Her voice cracked like a whip. "I’m done talkin’ about this. You want answers? Go dig ‘em up yourself. But don’t come draggin’ me into your family’s mess."

For a moment, silence stretched. Then Luke leaned in just slightly, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

"Careful, Y/N. Dirt’s got a way of revealin’ things. You might not like what comes up."

Her blood ran cold. She didn’t flinch, though. She stared him down until his smirk twisted, until the threat in his words settled deep in her bones.

Behind her, loud, heavy footsteps echoed up to the door. Rhett stormed out, fury etched in every line of his body.

"That’s it," he growled, stepping onto the porch. "You’re done here."

Luke didn’t move at first. He looked Rhett up and down, amused. "Night’, Abbott. Didn’t know you were keepin’ company."

"Get off her property," Rhett said, his voice low but deadly. "Now."

"Didn’t mean no harm. Just askin’ a neighborly question." Luke tipped his hat like he was humoring a child.

"Don’t give a damn what you want. You don’t come knockin’ on her door like this again. You don’t speak to her. You don’t look at her. You so much as breathe in her direction, and I’ll-" He stopped himself, jaw working, fists clenching so tight his knuckles went white.

"Always the hothead, huh, Rhett? Guess some things never change." Luke chuckled, stepping back off the porch. He turned his gaze back to Y/N, sharp as a knife. "Think about what I said. ‘Cause I ain’t goin’ anywhere."

With that, he strolled off into the night, his boots crunching gravel until the sound faded into silence.

Y/N shut the door, her hands trembling, her chest heaving like she’d run a mile. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Rhett paced the living room, running both hands through his hair, muttering curses under his breath. Finally, he spun to face her.

"How long?" His voice was rough, angry. "How long’s he been botherin’ you?"

Y/N swallowed hard. "Couple weeks."

"Couple-" Rhett’s laugh was humorless, sharp. "Jesus Christ, Y/N. And you didn’t think to tell me?"

"I didn’t want to make it worse, okay?"

"Worse?" His voice rose, booming in the small space. "You think keepin’ it from me made it better? That son of a bitch has been harassin’ you, and I’ve been sittin’ at the ranch like a goddamn fool while you-"

He broke off, too angry to finish. Y/N stepped forward, her own anger sparking now.

"What was I supposed to do, Rhett? Run to you every time some man looked at me sideways? You can’t fight all my battles for me."

"This ain’t just some man lookin’ at you sideways! It’s Tillerson! He’s dangerous, Y/N. And he thinks you know somethin’ about Trevor."

"I told him I don’t!" she snapped. "I told him it’s all bullshit. But if you’d gone stormin’ over there, we’d be dealin’ with a hell of a lot more than angry words. You know that as well as I do."

Rhett shook his head, pacing again. "You should’ve trusted me."

"And what would you have done, Rhett? Punched him? Shot him? Ended up in jail while your family’s already hangin’ by a thread? You think that would’ve helped?"

His silence was answer enough. He didn’t know what to say, because deep down, he knew she was right. But that didn’t stop the fury in his eyes, the way his hands still twitched like they needed to hit something.

Her chest tightened. Y/N’s voice softened, but only a little. "I was tryin’ to protect you. Protect both of us. I thought I could handle it."

Rhett looked at her then, really looked at her, and what he saw made his anger twist into something else. Hurt. Betrayal.

"You don’t get it, do you? I don’t need protectin’ from you, Y/N. I need you to trust me. We’ve been through too much for you to keep shit like this from me."

Y/N blinked hard, her throat tight. She wanted to explain, to tell him everything, but the words wouldn’t come. Because even now, even after Luke’s threats, she wasn’t sure Rhett could handle the whole truth of what she was.

They stood there, the space between them heavy with words unsaid, anger sharp enough to cut. The night outside was quiet again, but inside Y/N’s house, the storm had only just begun.

Rhett was still pacing like a caged bull, his jaw working, his fists clenched at his sides. Y/Nstill stood near the door, arms crossed, her skin hot with leftover adrenaline. They were both breathing hard, as though they’d been running, though neither had moved more than a few steps.

"You should’ve told me," Rhett said again, voice raw. "From the start. I had a right to know."

Y/N let out a bitter laugh. "A right? Since when do you get to decide what I do or don’t tell you, Rhett? Last I checked, my life’s still my own."

He stopped pacing, spinning on his heel to glare at her.

"This ain’t just about you, Y/N. When Luke Tillerson shows up at your door, it’s about all of us. You keepin’ secrets like this- damn it, it puts me in the dark, makes me look like a fool, and it puts you in danger."

Her voice sharpened, cutting through his anger. "Yeah, well... I’ve handled it just fine without you."

"Handled it?" His eyes narrowed, his chest heaving. "You call lettin’ that bastard corner you in your own house handlin’ it?"

"I called him out, didn’t I?" she snapped. "I told him to his face that it was all bullshit, that I don’t know a damn thing about Trevor. That’s more than anyone else in this town has the guts to say to a Tillerson."

Rhett’s laugh was sharp, humorless. "And what’d that get you? More threats. More nights lookin’ over your shoulder. You think he’s gonna stop ‘cause you said some big words?"

Y/N’s throat burned, but she refused to back down.

"What do you want me to do, Rhett? You want me to run cryin’ to you every time he shows up? You want me to sit around and wait for you to swoop in like some goddamn hero? That’s not how this works. This is my life, my fight."

Rhett’s voice dropped, low and furious. "It’s my fight too."

Her chest tightened, her anger folding in on itself until it was sharp and dangerous. She hated how much he could get under her skin, how easily he made her feel cornered.

"And why’s that, huh? Why’s it your fight?" she demanded. "We’re not together, Rhett. You made that real clear. You didn’t want labels. Didn’t want serious. Just fun, just casual. So why the hell are you actin’ like my problems are yours all of a sudden?"

The words hit him like a blow. She saw it. The way his shoulders stiffened, the way something in his eyes shuttered. For a second, he looked less like the furious, restless man she knew and more like a boy again, blindsided and hurt.

But Rhett being Rhett, he didn’t say that. He didn’t show it, not really. He just let the silence stretch, his jaw tight, his hands flexing like he wanted to punch something, anything. Then he turned, grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair, his hat, and stormed out the door without another word.

The slam of the door rattled the walls. The sound echoed through Y/N’s chest, leaving her hollow.

She stood there in the quiet, her own words replaying in her head, sharper and crueler with every echo.

God, what had she done? She hadn’t meant it like that. Not really. She’d only wanted to push him back, to keep him from blowing up worse than he already had. But instead, she’d cut him deep. She knew it. She felt it in her bones.

Y/N pressed her palms to her face, groaning into the silence. She wanted to chase after him, to grab him by the shirt and drag him back inside, to say she hadn’t meant it. That she didn’t know how to do this. Didn’t know how to let someone in without shoving them away first. But her pride held her in place. And her fear. Fear of what it meant to admit that maybe, just maybe, she wanted Rhett Abbott to be more than what they’d said they were.

The clock on the wall ticked loud in the stillness. One minute bled into another. Her regret gnawed at her.

So when someone knocked on the door, her heart leapt. She rushed, already rehearsing what she’d say. She’d apologize. She’d tell him she hadn’t meant it. She’d tell him that maybe she needed him more than she wanted to admit.

She flung the door open, breathless.

But it wasn’t Rhett.

Luke Tillerson stood on her porch, hat still tipped low, eyes glinting in the porch light like a predator’s. His smirk spread slow, like he’d been waiting for this moment all night.

"Hi again." he drawled. "Looks like we got some unfinished business."

The cold that rushed into her house wasn’t from the night air. It was from him. From the realization that he’d been waiting for Rhett to leave.

And now, she was alone. With him.

Y/N’s hand froze on the doorknob as the weight of Luke’s words seeped into her bones.

"Gonna let me in?" he had said, his voice slick with satisfaction, like a hunter stepping into a trap he’d set himself. And when she didn’t slam the door in his face fast enough, he slipped past her, uninvited, into her living room.

The air changed when he entered, thick and sour. Luke carried the stink of oil and money, of something rotten under the skin of a man who thought the world owed him. His boots clicked on the wooden floor as he looked around her modest space, like he was cataloging every detail, every weakness.

"Get out, Luke," Y/N said sharply, her voice low but steady. She shut the door behind him with a snap, heart pounding. "You’ve got no right to be here."

Luke turned, his smirk curling as his eyes raked over her.

"See, that’s where you’re wrong. I got everything right. My brother’s dead. And you… Well, you’re sittin’ on answers, aren’t you?"

Y/N crossed her arms, trying to make herself look bigger, stronger than the trembling in her stomach allowed.

"I told you already, I don’t know anything. The rumors, they’re garbage. Kids talkin’, that’s all."

He stepped closer, and his shadow stretched across her floor.

"You know, I never put much stock in gossip myself. But then I got to thinkin’… Every rumor’s got a seed of truth, doesn't it? And when it comes to you, Y/N Y/L/N, that seed goes back a ways. Back to your momma."

Y/N flinched before she could stop herself. He caught it, of course. Luke was the kind of man who fed on weakness.

"Yeah," he said softly, almost gleefully. "I know ‘bout her. Whole town pretends like she was just quiet, calm girl. But I heard the real stories. Heard she wasn’t exactly… God-fearin’. Heard she had herself a different way of prayin’. Somethin’ dark."

Y/N’s chest tightened. "Shut your mouth."

Luke chuckled, slow and cruel.

"Hit a nerve, did I? That’s ‘cause you know it’s true. Your momma played with things decent folks don’t even dare to think. And then one day, her little girl’s caught eatin’ dirt, and suddenly she’s seein’ things. Like the earth itself is revelin’ secrets through you."

Y/N shook her head hard, but the protest caught in her throat. The truth of it, her earliest memory of soil between her teeth, of the strange way her stomach twisted and her mind split open to images that weren’t hers, was a shadow she could never outrun. But she’d never spoken it aloud. Not to anyone. Not even Rhett.

"You don’t know a damn thing about my mom," she spat.

Luke’s grin widened. "I know enough. And I know you’ve been lyin’ to me. But that stops tonight."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small jar, glass smeared with dust, the lid screwed on tight. Y/N’s stomach dropped as soon as she saw it. Inside was soil, dark, clotted with bits of gravel and dead grass.

Luke shook it lightly, the dirt shifting with a dull sound.

"Look at this. Took it from the floor of the tree that Trevor liked. Thought maybe you’d have a harder time sayin’ no if I brought it to you myself."

Y/N’s breath caught in her chest. She backed up a step, hitting the edge of the kitchen counter.

"You sick bastard."

Luke’s voice hardened, losing its mocking lilt. "You’re gonna eat this, Y/N. You’re gonna chew it down and tell me what you see. You can fight me all you want, but you and I both know you’ll see somethin’. You always do."

Her heart pounded, memories crashing into her. Being five years old, dirt gritty between her teeth as the face of a missing hiker slammed into her vision; being twelve, gagging on mud after kids dared her, her body convulsing with the sight of the dead body of a missing girl miles away. She had spent years refusing it, denying it, burying it.

"If you think for one second I’m gonna let you shove that down my throat, you’re out of your damn mind." Y/N steadied her voice, though her hands trembled.

Luke stepped closer, jar in hand. "You ain’t got a choice."

"I’ll scream," she warned, chin lifted. "Someone will hear."

Luke chuckled. "You think anyone’s comin’ runnin’ if you scream? Out here? Nearest neighbor’s half a mile off. And besides... Folks already think you’re strange. What’s one more story about Y/N Y/L/N losin’ her mind in the middle of the night?"

Her nails dug into the countertop behind her, grounding herself, stopping her knees from buckling. Fear coiled tight in her stomach, but beneath it, rage sparked. Rage at him for standing in her house with his boots dirtying her floor, for spitting her mother’s name like poison, for dragging her curse out into the open.

Y/N’s voice dropped to a low growl. "You don’t know what you’re playin’ with."

"Then you can show me." Luke leaned in close, so close she could smell the sour whiskey on his breath.

He unscrewed the jar with a deliberate twist, the scrape of metal against glass echoing in her ears. The scent of damp earth filled the room, heavy and raw, and Y/N’s throat constricted. Her body remembered before her mind did, the taste of it, the visions clawing at her skull.

"Eat. And tell me what happened to my brother." Luke held the jar out like an offering. Or a demand.

Y/N stared at it, heart slamming, terror and fury warring inside her. She knew if she gave in, if she let that dirt touch her tongue, there would be no going back. She’d see Trevor’s end. She’d see everything.

"You're sick," she murmured, a strangled cry escaping her throat as he lunged at her.

Luke’s hand was iron on her jaw, rough fingers digging into her cheeks as he forced her mouth open. Y/N struggled, twisting, clawing at his wrist, but he was stronger, fueled by desperation and anger. The grit of earth scraped her lips as he shoved a fistful from the jar into her mouth. The dirt was damp, tasting of earth and rain and rot. Her gag reflex fired instantly; she choked, coughed, spat, but too much of it clung to her tongue, thick and coarse against the back of her throat.

And then it began.

The world tilted sideways, vision tunneling as the taste of soil seeped into her bloodstream. The floor vanished beneath her feet, replaced by darkness and the distant sound of hooves pounding like drums. Y/N’s chest tightened as the earth opened its mouth inside her mind and poured the truth into her.

She saw flashes.

Trevor Tillerson standing outside the bar. Perry stood opposite him, fists clenched, his rage shaking the air. His hands on Trevor.

The sound of Trevor's body hitting the ground rang in Y/N’s skull like thunder. Dirt and blood mingled beneath him. Perry's face—God, his face— was twisted with horror as he looked down at what he had done.

Y/N’s breath rasped against the dirt still in her throat as the vision seared itself into her bones. She felt Perry’s panic, his helplessness, Trevor's last broken breath fading into the night.

And she knew —knew beyond denial— that the Abbott were tethered to this death inescapably.

Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the floor, coughing violently, spitting clumps of soil onto the hardwood. Luke loomed above her, eyes wide with fevered expectation.

"Well?" he demanded. "What did you see? Tell me, Y/N. Tell me now!"

Y/N wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, forcing her breathing steady. Her mind was reeling, her heart shattering with the weight of what she’d witnessed. The thought that Rhett —her Rhett— maybe was dragged into Perry’s violence, caught in the snare of it all. The image of his face haunted her even as she sat shaking on the floor.

But she couldn’t tell Luke. She couldn’t give him the satisfaction, or the weapon. If she confirmed the truth, she’d condemn the Abbotts.

She’d condemn Rhett.

Y/N hacked and gagged, doubling over like the dirt was still choking her. She forced a bitter laugh through her tears.

"You’re insane," she rasped. "You really believe this crap? That if you shove dirt in my mouth I’ll see somethin’? Jesus, Luke. You’re pathetic."

Luke’s expression twisted, first confusion, then disbelief, then fury. He crouched low, his face inches from hers.

"You’re lyin’."

Y/N shoved at his chest, weak but defiant.

"I didn’t see a damn thing! You hear me? Nothin’. Just dirt. Just filth, like you! Whatever you think you know about me, about my mom, it’s bullshit. Just a stupid story this fucking bored town made up! Now get the hell out of my house!"

Luke’s jaw worked as if he were grinding his teeth to dust. His eyes bored into hers, searching, demanding. But Y/N held firm, masking the terror in her chest, masking the truth clawing at her tongue.

Finally, he stood, towering over her, the jar clutched tight in his hand.

"You’re a terrible liar, Y/L/N," he said, voice low and venomous. "And I don’t believe you for a second."

He moved toward the door, his boots striking heavy on the floorboards. Before he left, he turned back, his mouth twisting into a cruel smile.

"You can hide it all you want. But the truth’s gonna come out. And when it does, you’ll wish you’d been honest with me tonight."

The door slammed behind him, rattling the frame. Silence crashed into the house, broken only by Y/N’s ragged breathing. She sat trembling on the floor, soil smeared across her lips, her hands, her shirt. Her chest ached with the vision still burning inside her.

Trevor’s death. Perry’s hands. Rhett’s face.

Her secret was intact, for now. Luke didn’t believe her denial, but he couldn’t prove it. She had bought Rhett and Perry time, but at a cost: the weight of the truth pressing down on her ribs, suffocating her. She pulled her knees to her chest, rocking slightly, the taste of earth still bitter on her tongue.

And for the first time in years, Y/N wondered if her mother had cursed her, or gifted her. And whether that gift would destroy the people she loved most.

Y/N hadn’t slept. She’d lain awake on the living room floor long after Luke had left, dirt still caked at the corners of her mouth, stomach aching from where she’d forced herself to gag it up. The vision wouldn’t leave her, it pressed against the inside of her skull every time she closed her eyes. Perry’s fury. Trevor's face. All of it etched into her mind with a permanence that felt like fire burned into wood.

By the time dawn came, her body was heavy, but her thoughts were sharper than ever. And every one of them was about Rhett.

She’d seen the truth. The truth she’d tried so hard to deny, even to herself: The Abbott's were tangled in Trevor’s death.

She knew them, there was no way they didn't know. Not by choice at least but tangled all the same. The knowledge sat inside her like a stone. It made her want to run to Rhett, to wrap her arms around him, to tell him she understood that he carried a weight no one should bear alone.

But it also made her stomach twist with something colder. Fear. Because now she had proof, and proof meant danger.

If Luke ever found out that she really did see it, if anyone ever found out what she knew, it would destroy them both.

She tried to push it all aside. She scrubbed her face until her skin was raw, brushed her teeth four times, but the taste of dirt clung stubbornly to her tongue. When she looked in the mirror, she barely recognized herself. Her eyes were darker, ringed with exhaustion, her lips cracked. She looked like someone who carried secrets. And maybe she always had.

By midmorning, she forced herself to town. She needed groceries, needed to remind herself that life still ticked forward. That the world didn’t stop just because hers had cracked in half.

The general store was crowded, faces she’d known her whole life nodding politely as she passed. Y/N smiled where she had to, muttered greetings, kept her head down. But she felt the stares, the way people’s eyes lingered a second too long, even if it was all in her mind. She wondered if they knew, if somehow it was written on her skin what Luke had made her do.

Her hands shook as she bagged her groceries. Paper crinkled loud in her ears. She was halfway to the truck when she heard it: "Y/N."

Her heart stuttered. She turned and there he was, Rhett. Broad shoulders tense, eyes soft in that way that always undid her. Just the sight of him almost split her in two.

For one aching second, she felt relief. Relief that he was there, alive, whole. Relief that she wasn’t carrying the vision alone. Relief that maybe she could still lean on him.

And then it hit her: he didn’t know she knew. He didn’t know she’d seen all that night. And if she let him see anything in her eyes now, anything at all, it could unravel everything.

So she forced it down. The softness. The urge to fall into him.

"Rhett," she said, flat as she could manage.

He stopped just in front of her, searching her face like he could peel back every wall she was throwing up.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low, careful.

Y/N’s breath caught. No, she wasn’t okay. She wanted to scream, “No, Rhett, I know it all, I know about your brother's secret”.

But the words stayed trapped, her chest a cage.

"I’m fine," she said instead, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "Just tired."

He didn’t believe her. She could see it in the way his brow furrowed, the way his jaw tightened.

"You sure?"

Her grip tightened on the grocery bag. If she let herself falter now, even a little, she’d spill everything. So she hardened her voice.

"I said I’m fine, Rhett."

She moved to step past him, but his hand caught her elbow. Gentle. Too gentle. And it nearly broke her. She froze, every part of her wanting to lean into that touch, to let him anchor her. But she couldn’t, not now. Not when she knew.

He let go quickly, eyes full of words he wasn’t saying. "Look, about last night-"

"Don’t," she cut him off, sharper than she meant. She looked up at him, heart pounding, and the sight of him —his worry, his confusion— almost undid her. "Just… Don’t."

His face twisted like she’d gutted him. She hated herself for it, hated the way the pain flickered across his features. But if she let him close, if she opened her mouth and let the truth slip, she’d damn them both.

She turned before he could answer, marched to her truck, groceries clutched like a shield. She didn’t look back until she was behind the wheel, and when she did, she saw him standing there on the sidewalk, cigarette in hand, staring at the place she’d just been like he could still feel her there.

Y/N gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles went white. She wanted to run back, to throw the door open, to tell him everything. That she knew, that she wasn’t afraid of him, that she could carry it with him. That he didn’t have to be alone.

But she didn’t. Because she knew the second she did, the secret would stop being hers. And then it would destroy them both.

Driving away, tears blurred the road. She bit them back, pressing her lips tight. She told herself it was better this way. Safer. If she kept the secret, Rhett had a chance. If she didn’t, if Luke ever found out she’d lied, it would all come crashing down.

And yet, the image of Rhett’s face haunted her, the way he’d looked at her, like she was the only one in the world. Like he wanted to trust her with the weight he carried.

Y/N’s hands shook on the wheel. She wanted nothing more than to comfort him, to ease that burden. But she couldn’t. Not yet.

So she drove on, the space between them widening, both of them carrying the same cross in silence, pretending it wasn’t breaking them apart.

Y/N had promised herself she wouldn’t cry again. She’d spent the whole drive home from town swallowing her tears, forcing them down like stones. But by the time she reached her front porch, she was already unraveling. The house felt wrong when she stepped inside. Too quiet, too heavy, as though the walls themselves knew what she carried. She dropped the groceries on the counter and leaned against it, her arms trembling under the weight of everything unsaid.

She told herself she’d keep it all inside. That was safer. For her, for Rhett, for Perry. If she never spoke it, it could never hurt them. She’d done it all her life, hadn’t she? Keeping secrets, burying truths under layers of silence. This would be no different.

And yet… The image of Rhett’s face wouldn’t leave her. The way he’d looked at her outside the store: worried, hurting, wanting to reach for her. It pressed against her chest until it was hard to breathe.

So when the knock came at her door later that afternoon, sharp and insistent, she knew before she opened it who it would be.

Rhett stood there, hat in hand, shoulders tense, his eyes burning with something between anger and desperation.

"Y/N," he said, voice low, ragged. "We need to talk."

Her stomach twisted. She should’ve sent him away, kept her silence. But instead she stepped back, wordless, letting him in.

He paced the living room, hat twisting in his hands, while she stood by the window, arms wrapped around herself. The air between them was taut, ready to snap.

"You’re not okay," Rhett said finally. His voice wasn’t accusing, but it wasn’t gentle either. "I saw it today. Somethin’s wrong, and you’re tryin’ to keep me out of it."

Y/N’s throat tightened. She shook her head, tried to muster a lie, but it caught on her tongue. Her eyes burned. And before she could stop herself, the words tumbled out.

"I know," she whispered. Her voice cracked. "Rhett… I know what happened. With Trevor and Perry."

The world went silent. Rhett froze, his chest rising and falling like he’d been struck. Slowly, he turned toward her, face pale. "What’d you just say?"

Tears spilled over before she could hold them back.

"I saw it," she confessed, words breaking loose like floodwaters. "I saw Perry. I saw… everything."

Rhett stared at her, stunned, color draining from his face. His lips parted, but no words came. His whole body looked like it was carved from stone, except for his eyes: wild, panicked, searching.

"How?" he rasped finally. "How the hell could you…?"

Y/N sank onto the couch, covering her face with her hands. "You don’t want to know."

Rhett stood frozen for another moment, then dragged a hand over his face, swearing under his breath. And then he remembered. His mind flashed back to childhood, to whispers on the playground, to the cruel way kids teased Y/N. Eating dirt, seeing things. He’d never wanted to believe it, never wanted to ask her if it was true. But now, looking at her crumpled form, it clicked together in a way that made his skin crawl.

"Fuckin' Christ," he muttered. "It’s true, ain’t it? That-"

Y/N lifted her head, eyes red and shining. She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Rhett dropped into the armchair opposite her, elbows on his knees, running his hands through his hair.

"Christ, Y/N…" He shook his head, like he could rattle the thought loose. "I don’t even know what to say."

"You don’t have to say anything," she said quickly, desperation in her tone. She leaned forward, clutching her hands together. "Just... Don’t talk about it. Don’t ask me to explain. Just leave it where it is."

But Rhett’s eyes narrowed, suspicion cutting through the shock.

"You said you saw it. Which means… You had to..." His voice dropped. "Someone made you or you...?"

Y/N’s chest tightened. She looked away, but Rhett was already piecing it together. His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking.

"It was Tillerson, wasn’t it? He came back after I left."

Her nod was subtle. That was all the confirmation he needed.

"Goddammit!" Rhett surged to his feet, pacing hard across the room. "I knew somethin’ was wrong! I felt it in my gut and I still walked away like a damn fool."

He slammed a fist against the wall, the sound making her jump. Y/N rushed to her feet, grabbing his arm before he could storm for the door.

"He touched you? He hurt you?"

"No-no, not like that. He just-" Her voice broke, the memory of his hand forcing dirt into her mouth making her gag. "He made me. He had the dirt. He shoved it down my throat. I didn’t have a choice."

Rhett turned, fury blazing in his eyes. "Son of a bitch."

Y/N shook her head quickly.

"Rhett, stop. Listen to me. I didn’t tell him anything. You hear me? I pretended it didn’t work. I told him it was all just a stupid rumor, that he was crazy for even thinkin’ it. He doesn’t know."

Rhett’s chest heaved, but he froze under her grip. His gaze searched hers, desperate. "You sure?"

"I swear." Her voice trembled. "I’d never give you away. Or Perry."

For a long moment, silence hung heavy between them. Then Rhett sagged, the fight draining from his shoulders. He pressed a hand to his face, dragging it down slowly.

"Christ almighty, Y/N. What kind of mess are we in?"

They sat together, words spilling out in halting pieces. Y/N told him everything. Luke at her door, the threats, the way he brought up her mother. The way he forced her to eat the dirt. The vision. All of it. She cried as she spoke, but her voice never wavered from the truth.

Rhett listened, silent at first, his hands knotted tight in his lap. When she finished, he let out a long, ragged breath.

"I should’ve stayed," he said hoarsely. "Should’ve never left you alone last night."

"It’s not your fault," she whispered. "You couldn’t have known."

"I did know," he said bitterly. "I felt it. Somethin’ in me knew. But I let my pride keep me from turnin’ back. And because of that, Tillerson came into your house and…"

"Rhett. I’m okay." Y/N reached for his hand, tentative, her fingers curling around his.

"You ain’t okay, Y/N. You’re sittin’ here tellin’ me a man forced dirt down your throat to drag visions out of you. That ain’t okay." He broke off, shaking his head and then looked at her, eyes dark and stormy. "I’ll never forgive myself for that."

Her grip tightened. "I’m okay because I didn’t give him what he wanted. I kept you safe. That’s what matters."

The words hung between them, fragile and heavy all at once. Rhett squeezed her hand back, thumb brushing over her knuckles, rough and gentle at the same time.

"You shouldn’t have to carry this alone."

Y/N swallowed hard, tears welling again. "Neither should you."

For the first time, their eyes met without walls, without defenses. Both of them raw, broken open by the weight of what they carried. And in that moment, the silence between them wasn’t distance. It was a fragile kind of closeness, the kind that came from knowing the worst of each other and staying anyway.

Rhett leaned closer. Hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure he had the right, even after all the nights tangled in the sheets. This was different. Y/N didn’t pull away. Their foreheads brushed, breath mingling, and then their lips met. Slow, soft, trembling with all the things they couldn’t say out loud. It wasn’t passion, not yet. It was a promise. A way to show how much they loved each other, even without being able to put it into words.

The kiss deepened only slightly, just enough to seal what words couldn’t. His hand came to rest at her jaw, hers pressed around his neck, both of them steadying each other. When they finally broke apart, foreheads still touching, there was no need for explanation.

They were on the same page, even in the chaos, even with shadows all around them.

The fluorescent lights hummed above the curtained-off recovery bay, casting a soft glow over the white sheets and the pale face resting against them. Lieutenant Robert "Bob" Floyd wasn’t used to being the one lying flat on his back, certainly not under the watchful care of medical staff. But the world had a funny way of humbling even the steadiest hands in the sky.

The mission had gone smoothly—at least, until clumsiness and bad luck collided. One moment he’d been climbing out of the cockpit, helmet tucked under his arm, the adrenaline of flight still rushing through him. The next, a slip, a bang, and the kind of pain that sent stars dancing across his vision before everything went black. A concussion, they’d said. Nothing life-threatening, thank God. But he’d been out cold for long enough to worry more than a few people.

Now, blinking awake under the haze of the lingering taste of a cocktail of painkillers, Bob was fighting a losing battle with coherence. The edges of the room blurred when he tried to focus too hard.

The steady beep of a heart monitor, the faint whoosh of the air-conditioning unit, the fluorescent lights above. A nurse quietly checked IV lines and monitors, making notes on her chart. On the bed, Bob blinked his eyes open, disoriented and trying to process his surroundings.

He wasn’t in the cockpit. He wasn’t even in the ready room. The ceiling tiles were all wrong.

"Wha…?" His voice came out gravelly. He tried to sit up, but the dull, heavy ache in his skull reminded him not to. Bob hissed and let himself sink back against the pillows.

"Easy there," the nurse said kindly. "Concussion, remember? You’ve been out for a while. Just rest."

Bob frowned, confusion thick in his brain. "Con…cussion?"

The nurse nodded. "Yeah. You got a pretty good knock. Doctors also had to put you under for some scans and stitches. But you’re fine. You just need time."

Time. He nodded weakly, but already his mind was drifting. Not to jets. Not to numbers or safety procedures. To her.

His girlfriend. His anchor. His favorite person in the whole damn world.

Where was she?

"‘S she coming?" he asked, words slurring together. His pale blue eyes —normally so shy and careful— were wide, frantic, and unfiltered. "Did someone call her? She’s gotta be here. She always comes. She- she likes me, y’know. Loves me."

The nurse bit back a smile. She’d seen this before: painkillers this strong could do funny things to people. "Yes, Lieutenant. She’s on her way."

"Good." Bob grinned, doped up and dreamy. "She’s so pretty. Prettiest girl in the world. Bet you don’t even believe me. But wait ‘til you see her. You’ll be like, ‘Wow, that quiet little guy pulled her?’"

Words slipped from his tongue without permission, and his own laugh sounded strange in his ears—too giddy, too loose. It wasn’t like him at all.

He chuckled, his voice louder than usual. "And I’ll say, ‘Yup. That’s my girl.’"

The nurse shook her head fondly and turned to leave. "You should rest your voice, Lieutenant."

But Bob didn’t rest. He had too much to say.

The door creaked open a little later, and in stepped a woman in a flight suit. She was carrying her helmet tucked under one arm. Her boots clicked softly against the linoleum. Her gaze darted immediately to the bed.

"Bobby."

His head lolled toward the sound of her voice, and instantly, his whole face lit up. The goofy, uninhibited grin that spread across his face was unlike anything the usually bashful Bob would dare in public.

"There she is!" he announced loudly, throwing one hand into the air like he was introducing royalty. "That’s Y/N! My girl! Look at her-look at that! Isn’t she the most gorgeous person you’ve ever seen?"

The nurse chuckled as she slipped out, leaving the couple alone. Y/N blinked, caught off guard by his uncharacteristic volume, but then she smiled warmly.

"Hey, babe," she said, setting her helmet down and moving closer. "Heard you scared everyone half to death while I was in the sky."

Her voice was loaded with the warmth of a safe landing after a storm. His girlfriend. Whether or not she was in uniform beside him in the skies, she was a constant in the hangars and the quiet spaces in between. In this moment, though, all Bob could process was that she was here. She was real. And she was beautiful.

"You-oh wow," he murmured, voice dreamy. "You’re… ’re so pretty. Did I do something good? ‘Cause you’re, like, my prize, right?"

She bit her lip to keep from laughing, stepping closer to the bed. "No prizes, Lieutenant. Just came to see how you’re doing."

Bob turned his head slightly on the pillow, squinting at her as though she might vanish if he looked away too fast. His cheeks flushed crimson, the tips of his ears burning hot beneath his messy hair.

"I think… I think I might be in heaven," he whispered, his words slurred with both sincerity and the fog of drugs. "’Cause you’re an angel. My angel."

Her heart twisted, tender and amused all at once. She reached for his hand, carefully threading her fingers through his. He sighed contentedly at the contact, thumb brushing lazily over her knuckles like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She laughed, brushing hair out of his face gently. "You’re loopy."

"I’m being honest!" Bob declared, pointing at her like he’d just won an argument. "I usually get all… Quiet ‘n awkward. But not right now. Nope. Right now? I wanna say what I really think. Which is: you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And also…"

He trailed off dramatically, staring up at her with wide, worshipful eyes. He blinked at her, his usually sharp blue eyes hazy and unfocused, though a grin tugged at his lips.

"I wanna marry you someday."

Her eyes widened. She froze, her hand still cupping his jaw.

"Bob…"

He blinked, then grinned dopily. "Guess I ruined the surprise, huh?"

"What? You already have a ring?" She joked, but he just shrugged. She let out a shaky laugh, her heart fluttering. "You’re really something else right now."

Bob just leaned toward her, gaze locked like she was the only person in the universe.

"Something else? I’ll tell you what you are. You’re-" He stared at her, trying to decide which of the many words of love he had to define her would be the best. "everything."

Y/N ran a hand through her hair again, caressing it gently, as if that way she could take away all the pain. Oh, how she wished she wasn't in that position right now. But she wasn't going to complain about Bob telling her he wanted to marry her either.

With a sigh, Y/N lowered her hand, intertwining it with Bob's, still a little lost.

"You gave us a scare, Bob," she said gently, her thumb smoothing over the back of his hand. "Banged your head pretty good."

"Mm. Yeah. Felt it." He chuckled softly, though his laugh wavered. "But it’s okay now. You’re here. And when you’re here, everything’s okay."

His words spilled out like honey, thick and sweet and entirely unfiltered. Normally, Bob was careful, measured in his words, shy in his affections unless they were behind closed doors. But right now, his inhibitions were stripped bare by the lingering drugs, leaving nothing but raw adoration on display.

She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, her palm lingering against his warm skin.

"You’re kind of out of it," she teased softly. "You’re going to regret all this sweet talking when you wake up properly."

Bob shook his head weakly, his lips quirking.

"Nope. Not regret. Never regret you." He tightened his hold on her hand as though she might slip away. "I should… I should tell you more. All the time. That I’m lucky. So lucky. Do you know that?"

Her chest ached, and she bent down to press a kiss to his temple. "I know, Bob. But it’s still nice to hear."

His eyes fluttered shut briefly, and he smiled like a man utterly at peace.

"You're better than flying," he whispered, his words barely audible. "And I love flying."

She laughed softly, her forehead resting against his. "You’re going to make me cry."

Bob’s eyes opened again, blue and dazed, but locked on hers like she was his only fixed point. "Don’t cry. Smile. Please? I like it when you smile. Makes me feel… like I’m not so invisible."

"You’re not invisible, Bob," she said firmly, her throat tightening. "Not to me."

But he shook his head slightly, stubborn even in his haze.

"You see me. Really see me. Even when I don’t say much. Even when I… hide in the back. You still see me. That’s why I…" He trailed off, lips trembling between a grin and a confession. "That’s why I love you."

The words hung in the air, heavy and light all at once. He hadn’t said them before, not quite like this. There had been hints, unspoken in the way he looked at her, the way he lingered when they kissed. But hearing it, raw and unguarded, was something else entirely.

She cupped his face in her hands, her eyes burning as she searched his.

"I love you too, Bob. More than you know."

His smile widened, boyish and dazzling despite the IV in his arm and the bandage against his temple. "Really? You do? Oh man… Best day ever."

She couldn’t help but laugh, kissing him softly before pulling back just enough to meet his eyes again.

"Best day ever," she agreed. "Although it would be even better without the blow to the head."

Outside the room, a few of the Daggers had gathered. Phoenix, Coyote and Hangman had gone there to check in on Bob. They lingered near the cracked-open door, listening.

Phoenix raised her brows. "Since when does Bob talk like that?"

"Since he got concussed, apparently," Coyote said with a grin.

Hangman smirked. "Well, well, looks like Baby on board has a romantic side. Loud one, too."

Inside, Bob continued without any awareness that his teammates were eavesdropping.

"Y’know," he said, voice dropping into an exaggerated whisper that still carried, "I love you... But I love your butt. Best butt in the Navy. Don’t tell anyone, though. Secret."

"Oh God! Bob!" Y/N scolded him, looking around to check that no one was there, even if they were the only people there.

He tapped his finger to his lips, utterly serious, before breaking into giggles.

Outside, Phoenix covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. Coyote nearly choked trying not to burst out.

Hangman leaned against the wall, smirking wickedly. "Oh, this is gold man."

But if Bob noticed the laughter at the door, he gave no sign. His focus was entirely on his girl, his expression open and unguarded in a way it rarely was when he was fully lucid.

"You’re my favorite person in the world." he murmured, softer now, almost childlike. "like I love my momma and my whole family, but you're... You're my favorite."

Her throat tightened. She smoothed his hair back gently. "I love you too, Bob."

"So pretty." He beamed so hard it was almost comical. "And all mine."

Then his eyes fluttered, the exhaustion finally winning. His hand found hers, clinging loosely, even as sleep pulled him under again.

A couple minutes later, after the nurses had shooed her out to let him rest, she found herself in the hallway— only to discover Phoenix, Coyote, and Hangman lounging there, smirks plastered on their faces.

"So, he's good?" Phoenix started carefully. "Was pretty talkative for we can say."

Y/N's cheeks heated. "You heard all that?"

"Every word." Coyote chuckled.

Hangman grinned like a devil. "Congratulations. You’ve apparently got the best butt in the Navy"

"Don’t you dare give him a hard time about it." She threatened the three of them, but her smile almost betrayed her.

"Oh, don’t worry," Hangman said, clearly planning to do just that. "Would never do that."

Phoenix elbowed him. "Lay off. He deserves a break."

But as they walked away, her heart swelled with warmth. Bob might have been loopy and unfiltered, but everything he’d said had come from somewhere deep and true.

And she wouldn’t trade that glimpse into his heart for anything.

Bob had stayed overnight for a check-up, and when he finally woke the next morning, the haze was gone. His head still throbbed, but his thoughts were clearer. He blinked groggily and found Y/N sitting in the chair beside him, reading some files, her hair tied back in a tight bun.

"Hey," he rasped.

She looked up, smiling softly. "Hey, sleepyhead."

Memories flickered at the edge of his brain, hazy and incomplete. "Did I… Say anything…Weird last night?"

She shut the file in her hand, her expression amused and tender all at once. "Oh, nothing too weird. Just… A lot of truths that you, I suppose, usually keep to yourself."

Bob’s ears turned red instantly.

"Oh yeah." she teased. "But don’t worry. I loved every second of it."

He groaned, covering his face with one hand. "Please tell me I didn’t embarrass you."

"You didn’t." She leaned forward, prying his hand away gently. "You made me fall in love with you even more."

Bob’s blush deepened, but his shy smile crept through. "Really?"

"Really. Even if it was that loopy, silly version of you... Although I never want to see it again if it means you staying away from head injuries. "

For once, he didn’t hide. He let the silence settle comfortably, her hand finding his once more. This time, he was awake, aware, and fully present. And though he was quieter than his concussed self, he still whispered:

"I meant every word."

And she believed him.

How couldn't she?

The rodeo lights had always felt like a promise Rhett could never quite cash in on. The dirt, the dust, the roar of the crowd when he stayed on longer than eight seconds. It was a momentary glory that slipped through his fingers as easily as the Wyoming wind. And when the lights dimmed, when the adrenaline quieted, there was only him, the ache in his bones, and the silence of home that was never really home anymore.

That’s when he met her.

It wasn’t love at first sight. Rhett didn’t believe in that sort of thing anymore. But she stood at the edge of the ring, arms folded, a smirk tugging at her mouth as if she knew every secret he’d ever tried to bury, even if she wasn't smiling at him. She didn’t clap like the others when he dismounted. Didn’t rush up to get his name or number. She just watched. And Rhett, against his better judgment, watched back.

Her name was Y/N.

She wasn’t from the rodeo world, not really, but she wore the dust like she’d been born in it. Rumor had it she used to run cons on the circuit; poker games, hustles, quick deals in the neon lights of dark bars where drunk cowboys dropped their paychecks without thinking. Rhett didn’t know if any of that was true. He only knew she had eyes that dared him to stay a little longer, drink a little deeper, gamble with something he swore he didn’t have left: his heart.

The first time they spoke was outside the chutes. Rhett was rolling his shoulder, trying to shake off the stiffness that had settled there since Cheyenne last year. She lit a cigarette, leaned against the railing like she owned it.

"You ride pretty good back there," she said.

"Thanks." Rhett glanced up, brow furrowed. "I didn't think you were paying attention, you seemed quite distracted."

Y/N grinned, smoke curling from her lips. "So you were paying attention to me?"

He should’ve walked away. God knew he didn’t need more trouble than he already had. But Rhett Abbott had never been good at walking away from a dare. So he stayed, let her introduce herself, let himself get drawn in by her sharp tongue and the softer look she tried to hide when she thought he wasn’t paying attention.

It started with late nights. Cheap whiskey in backwater bars, poker hands where neither cared who won, long drives under endless stars with music low on the radio. She told him pieces of her past in half-truths. He told her about the ranch, about Perry, about Royal. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t laugh. She just listened, which felt like more than anyone else had done in a long time.

"Can I ask you why you keep staying?" she asked one night, her head tipped back against the truck window, the Wyoming sky spilling over her in constellations. "If the land takes more than it gives?"

Rhett thought of his father, of duty, of the way the soil felt like it was stitched into his very skin. But all he could do was shake his head and snort at the question as if it were a joke.

"Like, I get it, sometimes you don’t get to choose what you’re tied to." Y/N’s eyes softened, just for a second, while speaking, noticing his discomfort. "But sometimes you do."

They fit like two edges of the same broken glass. Sharp, dangerous, but somehow whole when pressed together. The rodeo became their cover, their playground. He’d ride, she’d hustle. He’d bleed, she’d laugh and clean him up after, calling him a fool with hands gentler than her words.

They were a con, both of them, pretending they weren’t falling when they were already too far gone.

Rhett told himself it wouldn’t last. Couldn’t last. Girls like Y/N weren’t meant to stay, and boys like him weren’t meant to be saved. But then there were nights when she curled against him in the cab of his truck, her voice quiet when she whispered, "You make me want to stop running."

And for the first time in his life, Rhett Abbott thought maybe he didn’t have to lose everything he touched.

But of course, nothing gold stays.

Not for an Abbott.

It started with money gone missing. A rodeo promoter, drunk and angry, swore throughout the whole circuit that he’d been hustled by a pretty woman with a smile too sweet to be true. Rhett’s stomach turned cold when he heard it. He didn’t ask Y/N, didn’t have to. She admitted it with a shrug, like it was nothing.

"Old habits," she said. "I’ll fix it, though. Working on it."

But old habits had a way of catching up. Soon there were men asking questions, debts stacking up higher than the fences on the ranch. Rhett tried to pull her out, tried to tell her they could leave it all behind, start fresh somewhere else. She only laughed, kissed him hard enough to bruise, and told him he was the only thing she’d never wanted to cheat.

Still, the storm rolled in. And Rhett, loyal fool that he was, stood in the middle of it.

The night it all came down, the rodeo lights burned too bright, the crowd too loud. Rhett could barely hear over the pounding of his own heart. Y/N was supposed to meet him after his ride, supposed to slip away with him, just the two of them against whatever came next.

But when he climbed down from the bull, when he searched the stands, she wasn't there.

He found her later, in the shadow of the arena, after everyone had left, hands shaking as she shoved a ridiculously large envelope full of cash into his chest.

"They’ll be looking for me," she whispered. "But they won’t look for you. So- So please, take care of this."

"Y/N-"

"Don’t." Her eyes glistened, fierce and broken all at once. Desperately scrubbing her face with her hands. "You... Fuck, Rhett! You deserve better than a girl who doesn’t know how to quit. Better than a mess like me. Just... Just take care of that. Use it, throw it away, bury it, set it on fire. I don't care."

And just like that, she was gone, swallowed up by the dark. Resisting the urge to turn and run towards him when Rhett yelled her name.

Rhett never saw her again.

Sometimes, late at night, he swore he could still smell her perfume on the collar of his old rodeo jacket. Sometimes he thought he saw her in a crowd—just a flash of hair, a tilt of a smile—but it was always someone else. Always a ghost.

He stayed on the ranch, because that’s what Abbotts did. He worked the land, rode when he could, tried not to let the hole in his chest consume him like the one in the west pasture had threatened to. But he carried her with him. Carried the memory of the way she looked at him, like he wasn’t just another man bound to fail. Like he was worth betting on.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

The car made a soft hum on the road, shuddering in its protests as Ben shifted it into third. The sun slanted across the windshield, blinding him until he flipped the visor down. Y/N shifted in the passenger seat, brushing her hair away from her flushed face.

"You’re making the baby seasick," she said with a small smile, though her tone carried the sharp edge of her seriousness. She rested her hand against her belly as if shielding their unborn baby from the car’s temper.

Ben grinned. "Hasn’t even seen the sea yet."

"Doesn’t need to. Not if has you for a father and this heap for a car."

It groaned again, and Y/N chuckled, though it dissolved into a wince as she adjusted her seatbelt. She was seven months along, almost eight. An elegant, glowing presence with her hair pulled into a messy knot and a strange mix of calm and fire in her eyes.

She had been skeptical of Salem’s Lot when he first proposed it. "You want to take your heavily pregnant wife to a town in the middle of nowhere because you once saw a creepy house there?" she had asked. "Ben, you know how that sounds, don’t you?"

But she had relented. Stubbornness wasn’t the same as cruelty. She had believed in him, and more than that, she knew the haunted look in his eyes when he spoke of the Marsten House. She wanted to be there, to see him face it, to make sure he didn’t drown in it alone.

Ben had always believed he understood the essence of fear. He’d carried it with him from the moment he’d first laid eyes on the Marsten House as a child—looming, brooding, casting shadows far longer than its timbers. But this time, when he returned to Salem’s Lot, he got something more important than the fear inside him, he got her.

Now, as the town’s spire came into view like a small dot miles away, she let out a slow breath.

"So this is it," she whispered. "Your little haunted town."

Ben glanced at her. He didn't say anything for a few seconds until he sighed at the sight of the cracked and faded "Welcome to Jerusalem’s Lot" sign.

"Yeah. Haunted’s a good word for it."

She squeezed his hand, her eyes warm even in the dusky twilight. "Lucky I'm with you."

The words stayed with him, though he said nothing.

Because while Ben had come to Salem’s Lot to exorcise ghosts, to write away the lingering trauma of the Marsten House, Y/N had come carrying the promise of their future.

They found a boarding house that would take them both despite Y/N's condition —because apparently no one wanted the problems that a pregnant woman could cause—. The landlady sniffed about the inconvenience of children but was mollified by Y/N’s warmth and the promise of timely rent.

The room was small but clean, with lace curtains that fluttered when the wind pushed through the cracked frame. Y/N unpacked her notebooks, smoothing her hand over the worn leather covers. Ben caught her eyes softening as she placed them on the small table beside his typewriter.

"Poetry meets horror," she teased, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "What a household our little one will be born into."

Ben kissed her temple. "She’ll be alright."

Y/N raised a brow. "She?"

"Yeah. I mean, there's like a 50% chance it's a girl, so I'm not that wrong, am I?" he said, shrugging to downplay it.

She tried to joke but couldn’t fight the tenderness in his words. Instead, she reached for his hand, pressing it against her stomach. The baby kicked in response.

"See?" Y/N's said softly. "She agrees."

The days passed quietly at first. Ben doted on Y/N endlessly, insisting she stay off her feet. He set up his typewriter in their rented room, trying to find the rhythm of his novel, but his eyes kept drifting to Y/N as she sketched nursery plans in her journal. They spoke of colors —soft yellows and creams mostly— and names, though they never settled on one.

At night, however, Ben dreamed of the house on the hill. Of windows like black eyes. Of laughter that wasn’t laughter.

Y/N soothed him when he woke in a sweat. She traced circles on his back until his breathing steadied.

"You’re safe," she whispered. "We’re safe."

But as the days grew shorter, the town seemed to shrink under some unseen weight. People whispered about missing pets. About strange noises at night. The shadows stretched longer than they should.

And Ben began to wonder if bringing his wife here had been a terrible mistake.

He didn’t tell her when he first visited the Marsten House. She had been napping, exhaustion weighing heavily on her. He told himself he’d just drive by, just look.

Now he sat with the car window down, eyes fixed on the looming structure. There was an undeniable wrongness to it, as if the very wood had been steeped in despair. His feet lightly patted the floor of the car rhythmically. He’d watched the warped front doors, feeling the air grow colder, heavier. It was exactly as he remembered it. Rotting, silent, yet alive with something foul.

When he came back down the hill, he found Y/N waiting on the porch of the boarding house, her face pale.

"You went up there," she said softly. He tried to protest, but she shook her head."Don’t argue. Pregnant or not, I don't like you brooding on some hilltop by yourself."

Ben finally looked at her. "It hasn’t changed."

"But you do. That house doesn’t own you." Her words settled over him like a shield. "Ben, I... I feel it too, okay? Every time I look up at that hill, I feel something staring back."

He wrapped his arms around her, though his heart hammered with guilt. But he couldn't leave, not yet.

A couple of days later, the town began to unravel.

First it was the missing Glick boy. Then Danny, feverish and pale, drifting toward something unspeakable. The whispers of a strange new man in town, Straker, and his mysterious interest in having the Marsten House. The sense that something strange and dangerous had slipped into Salem’s Lot and was making itself at home.

The town had its gossip about what was happening, and Y/N soon noticed something that unsettled her more than the Marsten House. People seemed… Weary. Not just in the way small towns were, but hollow-eyed, subdued. And though she tried to act strong, she kept a baptized rosary under her pillow, a relic of her childhood faith she had once left behind, but she carried it with her because it was a gift from her mother.

Y/N grew restless as the days passed. The baby kicked more often, as though unsettled by the change in the air. She told Ben she felt watched, even during the day.

"It’s like the whole town’s holding its breath," she murmured once, staring out the window. "Just waiting for something."

That night, scratching sounds came at the window of their room.

Ben leapt from bed, heart hammering. He saw nothing but darkness beyond the glass. Still, he locked the window tight, asking Y/N to stay in bed.

"Don’t look," he whispered.

But she already had. And she swore she saw two glowing eyes in the dark.

Then the most important and hard moment of their lives happened.

It was late, with the wind tearing through the trees, when Y/N’s water broke. She gasped, clutching her belly, her face pale.

"Ben," she whispered, "it’s time."

Panic surged through him. The town was unraveling, neighbors vanishing, whole streets swallowed by silence. Yet here was his wife, bent with pain, bringing their child into the world. Y/N’s cries broke it, sharp and determined, as Ben panicked and scrambled to fetch help, to call Dr. Cody. But the baby wasn’t waiting for anyone.

So Ben prepared himself, fumbling through instructions he’d once read but never thought he’d need.

Hours blurred in that cramped boarding room, Y/N gave birth. Her face shone with sweat, stubborn jaw set, knuckles white around Ben’s hand. And then, at last, the small, fierce cry of their daughter filled the room, filling it with the sound of new life: a wailing, red-faced infant, lungs strong against the encroaching silence of the town.

It was a girl.

Ben held her, his throat tight, before placing her against Y/N’s chest. She kissed the child’s damp hair, whispering promises only mothers can make.

"She born into this darkness. That means she’ll shine all the brighter. She’s our light," Y/N said, voice breaking. "Our little Aurora."

"Aurora," Ben whispered hoarsely, caressing the tiny, fragile thing. He looked at Y/N, exhausted but smiling through her tears. "She’s perfect."

For a brief moment, the room was full of light.

But Salem’s Lot never stopped.

The very night their daughter was born, the scratching returned at the window—louder this time. Ben barred it shut, clutching the infant close while Y/N tried to rest. He felt the darkness pressing in, hungry.

He could not let the evil of that town have them.

The strangeness grew thicker in Salem’s Lot. People grew sick, pale, withdrawn. Neighbors vanished. And though Aurora filled their days with fragile joy, Y/N could not ignore the dread that lurked at the edges.

One evening, while rocking Aurora to sleep, she looked at Ben. "There’s something feeding here. Something unnatural. I can feel it in my bones."

Ben met her gaze.

"Vampires," he said at last, the word tasting ridiculous, even as the truth of it sank between them.

Y/N’s arms tightened around Aurora. "God, if you had told me that a couple of days ago I would have laughed in your face, but... I'm so scared for her."

The days that followed were war.

Ben fought with cross and stake, with fire and fury. The protectiveness that only a husband would have for his wife and that a father would have for his daughter. Y/N, weak from birth, stayed hidden with Aurora, singing softly to drown out the sounds of scratching at the walls, the whispers in the night. But her eyes never lost their fire, and when Ben felt weak, she was his anchor.

"Come back to us," she whispered everytime. "Come back to me."

And he did.

When the Marsten House fell to fire. They could breathe a sigh of relief for once.

But the evil in Salem’s Lot could not be fully destroyed.

They left Salem’s Lot under a blood-red dawn. Y/N cradled Aurora as Ben drove, Mark asleep in the back seat, either of them looking back at the smoking ruins. The town would never truly die, Ben knew that. Darkness had roots too deep. But they survived. And they have Aurora with them.

"Where will we go?" Y/N asked softly, rocking the little baby.

Ben took her hand, his eyes fixed on the long stretch of road ahead. "Anywhere. Everywhere. As long as it’s away from here."

And with that, they drove into the rising sun. Haunted still, but together. Alive.

Rules:

Requests are: OPEN

Only accept them when the requests are open, for organization.

Write sfw and nsfw. Only nsfw for +18, if you are a minor, please dni.

Write Fem!Reader mostly, it's what I feel comfortable with and I don't think I could portray any other type of x reader well.

Do not repost, translate, copy, share or alter my work on any other platform (The only places where you can find my work is on my ao3 and on my bmc)

Didn't mind anon with emojis, if anyone was wondering :)

Why do I write for:

Fluff/Comfort

Smut

Angst

Requests (the more specific, the better).

Fem!reader, GN!reader on request.

OC's (again, the more specific, the better).

If unsure on if i'll write something (for example a specific kink or a sensitive situation) just send an ask!

The reading tense and narrative style must be specified.

For now, I'm going to continue focusing on Lewis Pullman characters (except Owen, I don't write for him).

But don't hesitate to ask about any other Marvel characters!

What i will not write for

Anything that goes against the rules above.

Anything that goes against basic human rights (racism, homophobia, etc).

dub-con/non-con (Maybe if there is alcohol consumption, but not enough to doubt consent).

Incest.

An underage reader with an adult character in a romantic/sexual relationship.

Male reader or any trans reader (I feel I couldn’t properly portray these types of reader).

The past few days had been unusually heavy for Y/N. The sort of heavy that didn’t come from training, bruises, or missions gone wrong, but from thoughts that refused to settle, questions about her past that spun like shadows around her.

Bob noticed it. He wasn’t oblivious, not when it came to her. The way her eyes wandered when she thought no one was looking, the slight frown between her brows when she was alone, how she seemed only half-present even when she was sitting right across from him. He noticed, and it hurt.

He knew better than to press her. Y/N was her own person, strong and proud. She had the right to her secrets, the right to her own pace. And Bob, more than anyone, understood what it meant to get lost in thoughts that weighed you down. He’d spent far too much of his life wandering his own mazes of fear, self-doubt, and loneliness. He didn’t want Y/N to go through the same, not if he could help it.

So Bob decided: if she wouldn’t tell him what was wrong, he could at least help in another way. He’d find a way to give her space to breathe, to relax, to just be. Just Y/N. Just her. And him, simply as a boy who cared more than he could put into words.

He thought hard about it. What kind of thing could they do that wasn’t the same as their usual training sessions or their nights talking and watching movies before going to sleep? Something outside the tower, away from the constant weight of missions and chaos. Something simple, comfortable, but still special enough that she’d feel the effort behind it.

And so, after a few days of quiet planning, Bob gathered his courage. He found her in the common room one afternoon, sprawled with a book but clearly not reading it. Her eyes were somewhere far away. He scratched the back of his neck, trying not to sound too nervous.

"Hey, Y/N?"

She looked up, blinking out of her haze. "Hm? What’s up, Bob?"

"I, uh…" he smiled awkwardly, trying not to fidget. "I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me tonight. Like… out-out. Not- Y'know, just me and you."

Her head tilted, and for a second he thought maybe he’d messed it up. Then her face softened, a small but genuine smile curving her lips.

"Out?" she repeated. "You mean a date?"

Bob swallowed. "Yeah. Like a date. I mean, I already planned it, so you don’t have to do anything. Just… Say yes?"

The quiet beat that followed felt like an eternity. Then she closed her book, stood, and walked closer to him, placing her hands on his chest tenderly. The smile widened, and there was something warm in her eyes that made his heart jump.

"You plan it? And you didn’t tell me?"

"It's a surprise, although now that I asked you, the surprise thing is spoiled." he said, his grin a little sheepish but proud. "But it’s nothing big, okay? I wanted to do something to make you feel better. You’ve seemed… I don’t know. Tired lately"

Her smile faltered just slightly, enough for him to notice. But instead of brushing it away, she let out a small laugh and shook her head. "You’re too sweet, Bob. Really. And yeah, of course I’ll go with you."

Bob’s heart swelled with relief and excitement. "Great! Then… uh, meet me by the lobby at six? I’ll take care of everything."

"Deal," she answered, giving him a teasing look. "You’d better not stand me up."

"Never," Bob said, with more seriousness than he meant to, but it made her laugh again. And that, more than anything, reassured him that he was doing the right thing.

At six sharp, Y/N found him waiting by the lobby doors. He’d dressed better than usual. Not a suit or anything -Bob couldn’t imagine himself pulling that off-, but clean jeans, a dark jacket, and even a scarf that she was almost certain Yelena had bullied him into buying when winter began. He held himself a little awkwardly, like he wasn’t sure if he was underdressed or overdressed, but his bright smile as she walked toward him erased any doubt.

Y/N herself had gone simple: dark boots, a soft sweater and warm jacket, her hair pulled back loosely. Comfortable, but with enough effort that she knew Bob would notice. When his eyes lingered a little longer than usual, she felt heat rise to her cheeks.

"You look…" He stopped, fumbling for words. "You look great, Y/N."

"Right." She smirked. "So do you, scarf-boy."

He flushed, tugging at the scarf. "Yelena said it makes me look less like a lost puppy."

"Well, she's right," Y/N teased. "You look cute. Very cute."

That seemed to fluster him enough that she decided to let him off the hook, slipping her arm through his casually.

Once they were outside, walking side by side in the crisp air, Y/N tugged her scarf tighter and glanced sideways at him.

"So where are we going?"

Bob only smirked and shook his head. "Not telling."

"You know, secrets are kind of my thing." She leaned closer, her voice low and teasing. "I could just pull it out of you if I wanted to."

"You wouldn’t."

"Wouldn’t I?"

Bob shot her a look, and she grinned, knowing he was right. She wouldn’t use her powers on him like that, she never did, not unless it was absolutely necessary. That line between them was sacred.

After a few more blocks of playful banter and stolen glances, Bob stopped in front of a building whose glass windows revealed warm, golden light spilling onto the sidewalk. Inside, rows upon rows of books stretched high, ladders tucked in corners, cozy seating scattered throughout like invitations. The smell of roasted coffee drifted out each time the door opened.

"So, what do you think?" he said, voice low but sure.

Her heart clenched, and she laughed lightly, shaking her head. "I think it’s perfect."

Bob rubbed his hair, suddenly self-conscious. "I thought you might like it. Big bookstore. But warm. Quiet."

Her smile was small but so real it softened every line of her face, something that only happened when she was with him. "It’s perfect."

Inside, the air was warm and thick with the scent of books and freshly ground beans. Y/N slipped her hand into Bob’s —She loved the moments alone where she could do that, because it was something she never would’ve dared do around the rest of the team— and tugged him along, eyes already wide as they scanned the shelves.

"You realize you might lose me in here, right?" she teased.

"That’s the plan," Bob said, though he didn’t let go of her hand. In fact, he squeezed it tighter. Y/N shot him a sharp look at that, but he quickly added. "I- I figured you could use some peace. No training, no missions, no listen to Alexei ramble about his past in Russia."

Her chest tightened. She squeezed his hand. "You’re too good for me."

"Doubt it." He kissed her temple quickly before finally letting her wander off into the maze of shelves.

They split up but not really—Bob hung back, trailing after her in the way one does when they know their partner’s in their element, leaving her free to wander at her own pace but at the same time wanting to keep an eye on her. Y/N’s fingers skimmed spines, her expression softening more with each title she read. Every so often she pulled a book out, flipped through it, and then set it back with a contemplative hum. Bob couldn’t stop smiling; seeing her so calm was worth every ounce of effort it had taken to pull this off.

Finally, she stopped in front of a small table stacked with worn poetry collections. She picked one up, thumbed through its yellow worn pages, and then glanced over her shoulder at him. "I like this one."

"You want it?"

"What?"Her lips curved. "You're paying?"

Bob chuckled. "If you let me."

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, tucking the book under her arm and moving on. After an hour, they ended up in a cozy corner with mismatched chairs. Bob had collected two mugs of hot chocolate from the café inside the store, and Y/N had her poetry collection open across her lap.

"Y'know," Bob said, "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this relaxed."

Y/N smirked over the rim of her mug. "What, you prefer me cranky and stressed out?"

"I mean, I’m used to it," he teased, earning a light kick to the shin from under the table. But then his expression softened. "I like seeing you like this. Makes me think maybe we can do this more often."

"Dates, you mean?"

"Yeah. Normal people stuff."

Her heart gave a strange, warm lurch. "I’d like that so much, Bob."

They talked as they sipped their drink. Nothing heavy, nothing complicated. Just little things. Y/N teased him about him planning a date; Bob teased her back about almost falling during a training when she laughed too hard because Yelena was cursing in a strange mix of Russian and English.

For a while, it really was as if they weren’t powered individuals with dangerous lives. They were just two people on a date, laughing over cocoa, stealing glances, sharing warmth.

At one point, Y/N leaned her chin on her hand, watching him. "You know, Bob… you really didn’t have to do all this."

"I wanted to," he said firmly. "You’ve… seemed like you needed a break. I just wanted you to have a time where you don’t have to think about anything else."

Something in her chest ached, but in a good way. She reached across the table, caressing his cheek with love and care. "Thank you. Really. You have no idea how much I needed this."

Bob’s smile was shy but radiant. "I think I do."

Later, when the sun was setting and giving way to the moon in the gray sky, Bob suggested another stop. Y/N followed him willingly, her new book buried at the bottom of her bag as they made their way to a nearby park. The snow from the previous days had softened into a sparkling blanket, and though it was cold, the light from lampposts made everything glow.

They walked slowly, shoulders brushing, occasionally pointing out squirrels darting across the path or the way the light caught on frozen branches. At one point, Bob stooped down, scooped up a handful of snow, and shaped it into a lopsided ball.

"Don’t even think about it, Reynolds." Y/N warned.

He tossed it lightly from hand to hand, grinning. "Oh, I’m thinking about it."

"Bob-"

Too late. He lobbed it at her, deliberately missing so it landed against the trunk of a tree beside her. Y/N gasped in mock outrage. "You’re dead."

She bent, scooped up her own snow, and fired back. It exploded across his chest, leaving him blinking down at the wet patch on his coat.

"Oh, it’s on now."

What followed was an impromptu snowball fight that left them both breathless and laughing, hair damp with melted snow and cheeks flushed. At one point, Y/N tackled him into a drift, pinning him down while snowflakes clung to her lashes.

"You surrender?" she demanded, breathless.

Bob looked up at her, grinning despite the cold seeping through his clothes. "To you? I wouldn't mind."

She blushed slightly, leaning down to brush a quick kiss against his lips before rolling off him. "Alright, truce. Before we both freeze."

They decided it was best to head back to the tower, maybe they could stop at some fast food place before that and get something quick to eat. Y/N rested her head against Bob’s shoulder, her hand tucked into his, and for the first time in days, she felt the weight in her chest ease.

"You really know how to plan a date," she murmured.

Bob shrugged, trying to play it cool, though his heart was hammering. "Guess I just know what makes you smile."

She tilted her head up, eyes soft. "You do."

And though neither of them said it out loud, the unspoken truth sat warm between them: whatever storms were coming, whatever secrets and shadows threatened Y/N’s past, for this moment, they had each other, and that was enough.

The street back to the tower was quiet, as quiet as a New York street can be, the snow crunching beneath their shoes with each step. The city had quieted under its white blanket, as though even the noise had been softened. Bob walked close to Y/N, his hand occasionally squeezing hers, his cheeks pink not only from the cold but from the warm thought that their date had gone well.

Y/N had been laughing, really laughing, her face glowing with the joy she had allowed herself to feel. Bob, though still carrying the nervousness of someone who couldn’t believe his luck, felt light. His mission to distract her from whatever shadows had been weighing her down seemed to have worked.

But then, as they turned down a narrower street on their way back to the tower, Y/N’s steps faltered.

There, across the road, a little girl was shrieking with laughter as her father scooped her up and twirled her around. She was maybe six or seven, wrapped in a pink coat and a woolen hat with pompoms, her mittens flailing as she kicked at the falling snow. The father’s laugh was deep, genuine, his eyes fixed on her with unguarded love as though the rest of the world had disappeared. He lowered her gently, crouching down to fix her scarf, his gloved hands careful and tender. Then the girl pounced, throwing a snowball at him, and he fell back dramatically, feigning defeat while she laughed so hard she nearly toppled over.

Y/N froze. Her smile, which only moments ago had been soft and open, slowly closed. The warmth in her chest drained as quickly as the cold seeped in through her coat. It wasn't the first time she saw a father and daughter together -hell, it wouldn't be the last either- but for some reason she refused to accept seeing him now it hurt a little. Her mouth tightened, and she turned her gaze away, but not before Bob noticed the shift.

Bob glanced at her, puzzled. He hadn’t really paid attention to the father and daughter at first, but Y/N’s sudden silence made him follow her line of sight. He caught only the tail end of the moment: the man scooping his daughter into his arms again, holding her close like she was the most precious thing in the world. Bob smiled faintly, but then he realized Y/N wasn’t smiling at all. Her eyes had gone distant, far too distant for someone who had been laughing not even five minutes ago.

Bob slowed his steps, letting the pair pass behind them as the man carried his daughter down the snowy path, their laughter trailing off in the crisp air.

"Hey," Bob said softly, trying to catch her eye. "You okay?"

Y/N blinked, as if shaking off a fog. She gave him a small smile, the kind that wasn’t really a smile at all but a shield.

"Yeah. Just cold," she muttered, tucking her chin into her scarf. "We shouldn't have played in the snow."

Bob didn’t push. He wanted to, but he knew better. Y/N had walls, high and carefully constructed, and even though she was letting him in more and more, there were still places he wasn’t allowed to tread yet. He could feel it, that heaviness she carried in her chest, that ache she never voiced.

They walked in silence for a while, the snowflakes drifting lazily down around them. Bob kept sneaking glances at her. She had been radiant during the date, teasing him, rolling her eyes when he stumbled, sharing kisses and touches like it was the most natural thing in the world. But now, her shoulders had drawn in, her arms wrapped a little tighter around herself, like she was bracing against something heavier than the cold.

Finally, Bob decided to do what he did best: he reached out, brushing his fingers lightly against hers, then gently sliding his hand into hers again. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to ask questions she wasn’t ready to answer. He just held on, his gloved hand wrapping around hers firmly, grounding her in the present.

Y/N glanced at him, startled by the sudden touch, but when she saw his small, reassuring smile, something in her eased. She squeezed his hand back. Not much, just enough to let him know she was grateful.

The walk back continued like that, quiet, but steady. Bob kept the conversation light when he spoke, pointing out the way the icicles glimmered like glass, joking about how he’d probably fall flat on his face if he tried to run across the icy sidewalk. Y/N answered when she could, sometimes smiling faintly, but her mind kept drifting back.

The image of the little girl safe in her father’s arms clung to her. She remembered being small, her mother’s voice a lullaby she could barely recall. She remembered warmth, fleeting, before it was stolen from her. And now, after what Adrian had told her, after learning that maybe —maybe being the key word— she had a father who had chosen to live without her, who had let her grow up in the shadows, alone...

Envy burned in her chest. Not of the girl herself, but of the safety she felt, the certainty that her father would always catch her if she fell. Y/N never had that. Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. She hated herself for the thought, for wanting something so simple, so ordinary. Something she had gotten used to that she didn't have.

Bob squeezed her hand again, unknowingly anchoring her to the moment. He didn’t know what ghosts haunted her. Not yet. But his warmth was real, and she clung to it.

When they reached the tower, Bob opened the door for her and followed her inside. He didn’t mention the shift he’d seen in her mood. He didn’t press. But Y/N knew he had noticed. Bob always noticed.

Once inside the elevator, Y/N was surprised by the sound of a notification on her phone, and she felt her chest tighten when she read it.

Bucky: Y/N, meet me in the Rec Room, I have something.

"Uh, Bob." She called, just as the elevator doors opened. "I remembered I have something to do, I'll catch up with you later. Okay?"

She didn't wait for Bob's confirmation before heading down the hall.

The rec room was nearly empty when Y/N slipped inside, her boots squeaking faintly on the polished floor. Bucky was already there, sitting on one of the low couches with a thick file balanced on his lap. He looked up as soon as she entered. His expression was serious, jaw tight, eyes grim. The way he shifted the folder in his hands made Y/N's stomach twist even before a word was spoken.

"You came fast," Bucky said, voice low. He gestured at the file. "I think you'll want to sit down."

Y/N moved closer, perching on the edge of the couch opposite him. Her fingers fidgeted in her lap, and she couldn't shake the pulse of anxiety in her chest.

"So you found something." she said, trying to keep her voice steady. She could feel the weight of whatever he had discovered before he even spoke.

Bucky exhaled through his nose and tapped the cover of the file. "Not about Nicholas directly. He’s… Clean enough on paper. No shady dealings, no obvious skeletons in the closet. But his father? Christian? That’s another story."

The name felt like a stone hitting the inside of Y/N’s ribs. Her throat tightened, but she nodded for him to continue.

"Well, as you know, Monroe Tech changed its name in the early 2000s when Nicholas took over. Before that, it was called MindArc Systems... And I found some interesting things in that company name."

Bucky flipped the file open. Inside were copies of reports, scanned documents, yellowed papers that looked like they had been buried deep in archives not meant to be touched. He tapped the first page, his finger landing on a bold.

"Early eighties. When Christian Monroe founded the company, a good chunk of their startup capital was siphoned into a government contract. There is nothing in the records about that." Bucky gave her a pointed look. "At least not under the company's name, but I found something called project HOPE: High-Output Protocol Engineering."

Y/N leaned forward, her brows knitting together. "High-Out what?" she echoed.

"That was the cover, apparently they were working on developing software or something like that. What it really stood for was ‘Human Optimization & Psychic Experiments’." He turned another page, showing her a heavily redacted government ledger. "Monroe’s company funneled millions into it. That project was never about communications... It was about experimenting on people’s minds."

Y/N blinked at him, her pulse stuttering. "Experimenting how?"

Bucky hesitated before flipping to the next section. It was a stack of declassified but fragmented reports, each stamped with a black "GOVERNMENT USE ONLY" label.

"At first? They targeted the homeless. Rounded up people who wouldn’t be missed, promised food and shelter, then tested neurological drugs and tech on them. But the results were unstable. Too many deaths, too many variables."

With stiff hands, Y/N took the folder Bucky pointed at, skimming it anxiously.

Subject cohorts consisted of [REDACTED] individuals, acquired via [REDACTED] in compliance with operational discretion guidelines. The target demographic (ages 26–54, unregistered or socially untraceable) was selected to mitigate detection risk and ensure minimal external inquiry. [...] Lead investigators concur that the adult neural framework may present irreversible cognitive rigidity, preventing stable adaptation to HOPE protocols. Preliminary simulations suggest greater neuroplasticity in [REDACTED] populations may yield improved integration rates.

Y/N’s chest tightened. His hands gripping the paper tightly in an attempt not to shake. "And when that didn’t work?"

"They tried different angles." Bucky’s voice was quiet, almost reluctant, handing another folder to Y/N. "Genetic mutation trials in pregnant women. They thought if they could alter brain structures before birth, they might create the perfect test subjects. Soldiers. Weapons."

She hesitated a moment before looking down at the papers in her hands, an unpleasant feeling in her stomach.

Subject Acquisition – Secure volunteer and non-volunteer candidates in the gestational window of 8–16 weeks. Priority given to: [REDACTED] refugees without medical tracking. Rural and urban populations with minimal access to prenatal care. Controlled "medical outreach" operations under philanthropic cover.

The air between them felt thick. Y/N pressed her hand to her mouth, staring down at the floor. The weight of his words sank into her like iron.

"It failed," Bucky went on, flipping another page with a sharp movement. "Most of the babies didn’t survive. The ones who did... They did not show any kind of development of psychic powers or abilities."

Y/N continued reading.

Total pregnancies monitored: 74 Viable live births: 61 Incidence of severe congenital anomalies: 37%

Targeted Psi-Marker Alleles were expressed in fetal neural tissue in 92% of cases; however, no subjects displayed measurable telepathic or telekinetic capacities at birth. [...] Early childhood observation (up to age 3) indicated normal cognitive and motor development in 58% of surviving subjects, with remaining exhibiting minor neurological deviations likely due to genomic interventions.

She quickly threw the papers down on the table, as if they were burning her skin. Unable to truly understand what she was reading, she couldn't believe it, didn't want to believe it.

Damn, she'd done a lot of bad things —really bad, illegal things— in her life, but this?

"They abandoned it after that. Buried it. But then..." He trailed off and shook his head. "Years later, they realized that several of the babies who survived, although they did not develop psychic abilities, had children who did have the abilities... And then they launched a new project. NEST. "

Y/N’s stomach dropped. A wave of nausea rolled through her, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. NEST. The place that had stolen her childhood, the nightmare that had defined her life.

Her voice cracked when she finally spoke. "No... No, that's not-"

Bucky closed the file slowly, his metal hand pressing firmly on the cover.

The silence that followed was deafening. Y/N stared at him, her throat dry, eyes burning but refusing to let tears fall. A thousand thoughts clawed at her brain at once: Adrian, showing up at the tower; the way he had looked at her with nervous hope; the photo of a baby in his father’s file. Her own life, ripped apart by NEST...

And now this connection.

She whispered, more to herself than to Bucky, "I searched for so many years. I tracked down so many former employees... How come I never found any of this?"

"It was all very well hidden." Bucky’s eyes softened, but his voice stayed steady. "I know this is a lot. But you needed the truth. Better to know what you’re dealing with than walk blind into it."

Y/N pressed her palms into her knees, grounding herself against the swell of panic inside her chest. She couldn’t shake the image of that little girl she’d seen earlier, playing safe in her father’s arms, compared to her own memories of sterile white walls, cold hands, and endless tests. The idea that the blood running in her veins might be tied to the people who funded that agony made her stomach churn.

She finally looked up at Bucky. Her voice was rough, jagged around the edges. "So what do I do with this? What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

The lights hummed low, flickering faintly in uneven intervals. It wasn’t the kind of flicker that came from bad wiring. No. This was different. It pulsed almost in rhythm with Y/N’ breathing, ragged and unsteady as she paced across the wide open space. Her boots thudded against the floor as though each step was the only thing keeping her from falling apart entirely. Her hands trembled in restless circles, clenching into fists, opening, clenching again. She tried to suppress it, but her power bled into the air anyway. The way it always did when emotions clawed too deeply into her chest.

She hasn't felt this lack of control over them for years.

The file Bucky had given her sat on the table, thick, immovable. The pages spread out in uneven stacks like scars, every single one holding a piece of truth she had never asked for. The truth of the Monroes. Of the money that had paved the halls of her nightmares.

Bucky sat in the corner, arms crossed, watching. He didn’t say a word. He had learned not to, when rage like this poured out of someone. He knew —better than most— that nothing could stop a storm once it started. You just had to let it run its course. And Y/N? Y/N was a storm, contained only by the thin thread of her own will.

Her eyes burned, red-rimmed, not from lack of sleep as usual but from the sting of tears she refused to let fall. Her jaw was set tight, but the words kept slipping, ragged, angry, bitter:

"Do you get it, Bucky? Do you get it? All this time- I thought it was just them. Just NEST. Just- just those bastards who thought they could play god with kids, with me. But no. No, it was... My family. Family, who didn’t even know me, didn’t even care to know me, throwing money at the people who ruined my fucking life!"

Her voice cracked at the end. She dug her nails into her palms. The lights overhead flared, then dimmed, then flared again, humming so loud Bucky almost expected one of them to explode.

"I was a child," Y/N hissed, pacing again. "I didn’t choose to be like this. I didn’t ask for this. And they- they sat in their nice houses, with their expensive clothes, and just- just-"

She broke off, choking on her words. Her chest heaved, pulling air that felt too thin, too sharp. Bucky shifted but stayed where he was. He knew she needed to let it spill. However, he was ready to intervene if things got out of hand.

And then.

The door creaked open.

Bob.

He weirdly had felt it before he saw it. The prickle at the base of his neck, the hum under his skin, the pulse in the building’s veins that wasn’t mechanical at all. He had been in the kitchen when the lights flickered, and something inside him just knew. It was Y/N. It was always Y/N when it felt like this. He had gone looking for her without a second thought, heart hammering, dread in his chest. And when he pushed the door to the rec room open and saw her —shoulders hunched, eyes shining wet, body trembling with too many emotions at once— something inside him snapped taut.

Gold flickered in his eyes.

"Y/N." His voice was soft, careful. But there was an edge under it, like steel wrapped in velvet. He was on high alert, scanning her, scanning the room, scanning Bucky. His whole body vibrated with the need to fix whatever was wrong. To tear apart whatever had caused this.

Y/N stopped pacing, head whipping around at the sound of his voice. The moment her eyes met his, she froze. She saw it, the flash of gold that meant he wasn’t just Bob inside his skin. That meant his Sentry side was already pushing to the surface, ready to rise, ready to burn the world if she asked him to.

"Bob, I..." she breathed, voice cracking again, the last thing she needed now was for him to see her like this.

For a moment, her defenses wavered. The tears she’d been holding back brimmed higher, threatening to spill. Her shoulders slumped as though just saying his name had taken the last of her strength.

Bob took a step forward, then another, and another. His hands flexed at his sides, itching to reach for her but waiting for permission. He could feel that raw protective need pressing, feel the weight of that instinct: Protect her.

"Y/N," he said again, quieter this time, almost a plea. "Tell me what happened. Please."

Her lips parted, then pressed shut again. She looked back at Bucky, who was still sitting silently, watching. And then she shook her head, whispering. "Could you give us a minute, Bucky?... Please."

Bucky hesitated. His gaze flicked from Y/N to Bob, then back to Y/N. He gave a short nod, no questions asked, and stood. He picked up nothing— not the files, not the notes, not even his coffee cup. Just left it all there on the table as he slipped toward the door.

Before he left, he murmured, "I’ll be around if you need me."

The door shut behind him with a low click. Silence followed. The hum of the lights overhead was the only sound, still unstable, still wavering with Y/N’ breathing.

Finally, she let out a sharp exhale and slumped down into one of the couches, pressing her palms tightly against her face, "Shit."

Bob follow her quickly, not too close at first, but close enough to kneel down in front of her. He leaned in, searching her face, careful, hesitant, but desperate.

"Y/N. Please. You’re scaring me." His voice cracked, and the gold flickered again, stronger this time, threading through the blue of his eyes like veins of molten metal. He swallowed, forcing it down, forcing himself to stay there. For her.

Y/N lowered her hands slowly, staring at him. Her eyes were wet, rimmed red. For a moment she didn’t speak, just reached out and touched his cheek with shaking fingers, grounding herself.

"I didn’t… I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure. Until I knew it all."

Bob leaned into her touch instinctively, his hand rising to catch hers, holding it to his face like a lifeline. "You don’t have to tell me everything. Just… Tell me enough so I can stop feeling like I’m useless right now."

Y/N’ throat tightened. She took a deep breath, but it came out shuddering. She glanced at the stack of files on the table, then back at him. "It’s my family. Or—maybe. I don’t even know anymore. I don't even know if I want to keep digging in this shit."

Bob blinked, confused. "Your family?"

Y/N nodded, bitter laughter bubbling out of her.

"Turns out my father, the one I never knew, his family… They’re not just rich. They’re filthy powerful. And they’ve been powerful for decades. They poured their money into projects. Government projects. Ones that experimented on people. Ones that-" Her voice caught, broke. "Ones that eventually led to me."

Bob’s heart slammed against his ribs, his brain doing double duty to understand the few clues she was giving him. "What?"

Her hand slipped from his cheek, curled into a fist in her lap. She looked down, unable to meet his eyes. "All those nights in NEST, all the pain, the cages, the tests… It wasn’t just them. It was funded. Sustained. By my blood. By the family I never knew I had." Her voice cracked, and finally, finally the tears broke free, sliding hot and fast down her cheeks. "And I didn’t even know. I’ve spent my whole life hating strangers, and it turns out my own name, my own bloodline, was behind it all along."

Bob’s chest ached so badly he could hardly breathe. He wanted to tell her she was wrong, that it didn’t matter, that she wasn’t defined by them. But the look on her face —the raw, broken truth spilling out of her— it stopped him. He swallowed hard and moved closer, sitting beside her now, gathering her hand in both of his.

"Y/N…" His voice trembled, softer than ever. "You are not them."

Her head jerked up, eyes wide, shining with tears. Bob's voice was fiercely, the gold in his eyes flashing again, stronger, hotter. Sentry was close, closer than ever, drawn by her pain, by the thought of her hurting herself with words like that.

"You couldn’t be. You’re- you’re you. You save people. You care. You fight like hell every day just to do the right thing, even when it costs you. That’s not them. That’s not their money or their projects or their names. That’s you."

Y/N let out a sharp, strangled sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh, and pressed her forehead to his shoulder. She finally broke then, shaking in his arms as the tears came harder, unstoppable. Bob wrapped her up after a moment of shock, holding her tight, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other clutching her waist like he’d never let her go. He could feel her shaking, feel the way her power trembled through her veins, sparking against his skin. But he didn’t care. He held her tighter.

"I’ve got you," he whispered against her hair, voice cracking. "I’ve always got you. Doesn’t matter where you came from. Doesn’t matter what they did. You’re not alone, Y/N. You’ll never be alone. Not while I’m here."

The lights flickered again, twice, then steadied. Slowly, the room stilled, her breathing evening out against his shoulder, though the tears still came.

The rec room was quieter now. The storm of emotions Y/N had released was finally ebbing. She had let Bob hold her, let herself lean against him, let herself remember what it felt like not to carry everything on her shoulders. For once, she had allowed herself to be vulnerable and not shatter apart. Bob had sat through her tears, through her trembling, through the hollow anger that had shaken her powers into flickering the lights. He hadn’t left. He never would.

Bob still had one arm wrapped around her when she finally exhaled a shaky sigh and leaned back a little, pulling away just enough to see his face. His golden eyes, now dimmed, Sentry receding, were watching her closely, protective but also uncertain. She smiled weakly

"Thanks," she murmured. "Seriously. You didn’t sign up for all this drama, but you’re here anyway. Guess I owe you one."

Bob tilted his head, giving her that crooked smile that always seemed so disarming. "You don’t owe me anything, Y/N. But if you want to pay me back… maybe don’t make the lights flicker next time? My heart can only handle so many horror movie vibes."

She let out a surprised laugh, the sound sharp but real, and nudged his shoulder. "Shut up."

"I'm just saying." Bob teased, but his voice changed to a softer tone, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "You okay now? I- Well, don't wanna sound corny, but I really worried about you, you looked so sad."

Her chest squeezed tight at his words, at the simple way he said them. Bob wasn’t dramatic, not when it came to her at least. He meant every word. She laughed under her breath, shaky but real.

"Careful, if you keep saying stuff like that I might actually fall for you."

Bob blinked, a little startled, then his lips curved in the most boyish, nervous grin she’d ever seen.

"I thought I'd already done that..."

She arched her brow, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. "Maybe a little."

And then, almost without thinking, she leaned in. She took him by the cheeks and their lips brushed once, lightly, and when she didn’t pull away, Bob kissed her back. It wasn’t desperate, wasn’t fueled by adrenaline or uncertainty. It was slow, tender, warm. Y/N cupped his face with her hand, her thumb brushing his cheek. Bob melted instantly. It wasn’t the first time, but each kiss still left Bob stunned, undone, like it was the very first. His heart thundered in his chest, and he felt every ounce of his nerves and affection press into it. Like the world narrowed down to her and the simple miracle that she wanted him.

Bob melted. Utterly, helplessly melted. One of his hands instinctively slid down her back up to her hip, the other cupped her cheek as if she might vanish if he didn’t hold her close enough. She smiled into the kiss, amused by how he always seemed so overwhelmed by her.

Before long, the kiss deepened. Y/N giggle against his lips when Bob let out a tiny, nervous laugh between breaths. She let go of his cheeks and wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him closer, to which he responded by squeezing her hip by reflex, like he couldn’t quite believe this was real. They shifted closer until there was hardly any space left between them, the fact that they were in plain sight to anyone who entered was forgotten, the rest of the world drowned out.

"What the hell!?" The sharp voice cracked through the air like a whip.

They both jolted apart, Y/N snapping her head toward the doorway, Bob’s face immediately flushed red. Standing there, clustered together with expressions ranging from smug to bewildered, was the rest of their team.

Yelena stood front and center, arms crossed, lips twitching like she’d been waiting for this exact moment. Beside her, Ava smirked knowingly, like this was old news. John, on the other hand, looked like someone had just punched him square in the brain, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open. Behind them, Alexei was beaming, hands clapping together with fatherly delight, as if he’d been rooting for this since day one. And of course, Bucky stood further back, leaning against the wall, arms crossed with his usual stoic face, but there was the tiniest flicker of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He wasn’t surprised. Not even a little.

Y/N groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Oh fuck me.”

The house was quiet except for the ticking of the old clock in Y/N’s living room and the faint hum of wind outside her window. Rhett lay on his side, his arm draped lazily over Y/N’s waist, his cheek resting against the pillow. His body was bone-deep tired after another long day on the ranch, and the kind of sleep he wanted was the kind that would swallow him whole and spit him out in the morning sun.

But there was a problem.

Y/N was still awake.

He could feel it in the way her body shifted against him, the restless twitch of her legs beneath the blanket, the steady rhythm of her breaths that weren’t quite slow enough to mean sleep. Rhett squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to ignore it. If she’d just close her eyes and drift off, he could do what he always did. He could rest his head against her chest and listen, let her heartbeat drown out the noise in his head, let it lull him like nothing else ever had.

But Y/N wasn’t sleeping. And Rhett couldn’t ask her to.

“You still up?” her voice finally came, low and dry, like she already knew the answer.

Rhett grunted, keeping his eyes closed. “Mhm.”

Y/N rolled onto her back, and Rhett’s arm slipped from her waist to the mattress. He cracked one eye open, just in time to see her staring at the ceiling, her hair spread out over the pillow. She didn’t look tired. She looked thoughtful. Stubborn, even, like she’d decided that sleep wasn’t happening tonight and she was perfectly fine with that.

“You’re exhausted,” she said, glancing at him. “Why don’t you just go back home if you can’t sleep here?”

“Because I can’t sleep there either,” Rhett muttered, his voice muffled by the pillow. “I sleep better here.”

That earned him the faintest smirk, quick but visible in the glow of the streetlight that leaked through her blinds. Y/N didn’t reply, and Rhett knew that meant she was about to stay awake even longer just to prove some point he didn’t fully understand.

He sighed and rolled onto his back, staring at the same ceiling she was. The silence stretched, broken only by the clock’s tick and the distant groan of the wind outside. Rhett swallowed. His whole body wanted to shift closer, to drop his head where it belonged, right on her chest, right where the sound that soothed him waited. But she was awake. He couldn’t just do it.

Not without giving himself away.

It started weeks ago, maybe a month now. At first, it was innocent, just the comfort of lying close, his head against her shoulder or collarbone every time they slept hugging each other. But the first time he dozed off to the sound of her heartbeat, it had been like stumbling onto something sacred. A rhythm steady and alive, soft but sure, one that slowed his own racing thoughts. Ever since then, he needed it. Needed her. But it wasn’t something he could explain, not without sounding ridiculous.

Rhett Abbott —bull rider, ranch hand, tough as they come— couldn’t sleep without listening to his girlfriend’s heart.

He turned his head, sneaking a look at her. Y/N’s eyes were open, reflecting the pale light. She noticed his glance and raised an eyebrow.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing.” Rhett looked away quickly, heat rising in his cheeks despite himself.

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious, but didn’t press. That was both a relief and a danger, because Y/N never let things go for long.

She shifted onto her side, propping her head on her hand. “You always get this weird look when you’re tired.”

Rhett frowned. “What look?”

“That one. Frowning and grumpy. You look like a scolded kid.”

He swallowed hard, suddenly wishing she would just close her eyes and drift off. Because if she kept staring at him like that, sharp and curious, she’d figure it out. She always did. She was too smart for him, for that town. But she was still there, still at his side.

Rhett forced a half-smile, trying to deflect. “Maybe I’m just thinkin’ about how annoying you are when you can’t sleep.”

Y/N laughed, soft but genuine, and shoved his shoulder. “Oh, shut up.”

The sound of her laugh made his chest ache, not in the same way as the beat he craved, but close. Familiar. Like it had all his life.

Y/N eventually settled back against the pillow, but her eyes stayed open, glinting in the thin stripe of moonlight from the window. Rhett could tell by the twitch in her jaw that she wasn’t even trying to fall asleep anymore. That was Y/N, stubborn as the Wyoming winters, too proud to admit defeat even to something as stupid as insomnia.

Rhett stared at her profile, his body taut with an ache he couldn’t explain out loud. He wanted to lay his head against her chest so badly it almost hurt. The urge wasn’t about comfort in the way most folks thought of it. It wasn’t about sex, wasn’t even about closeness, though he’d take any excuse to be close to her.

It was about the sound, the rhythm, the steady reminder that she was there and alive, that she hadn’t gone anywhere, that she chose to be with him.

His eyelids drooped, exhaustion tugging him under, and his thoughts slipped loose into the past.

He could still see her as a kid, grease smudged across her cheek, sitting cross-legged on the cold concrete floor of Rick’s auto shop. She was smaller then, but her eyes had been the same— sharp, unflinching, always daring him to try something she had already figured out. While Royal talked with Rick and Perry poked around the stacks of tires, Rhett had usually ended up circling Y/N like a restless colt, looking for some way to get under her skin.

“You can’t even hold a wrench right,” he’d teased once, picking one up and dangling it over her head.

Y/N had snatched it back with a glare that could have cracked glass. “At least I know what this does, dummy. You just like shiny things.”

He’d laughed, but secretly he’d liked the way she said it, like she was always a step ahead, always unbothered. Perry didn't play with them back then, used to say that he was "too grown up" to get involved in their childish fights, although sometimes he would join Rhett in annoying Y/N if he got bored enough. But Rhett had always orbited Y/N, even before he realized why.

When they were older, the orbit hadn’t stopped. He remembered the shock on everyone’s faces when they started showing up together, side by side, like it was the most natural thing in the world. The town had pegged Y/N as the kind of girl who didn’t need anybody, let alone a boyfriend. And Rhett— well, he had a reputation of his own. They didn’t match on paper. But it had felt right, as natural as breathing.

And that’s why he couldn’t tell her now. He couldn’t risk giving her one more reason to laugh at him. Even if it would’ve been the sweet kind of laugh, the one that ended in kisses and she murmuring about how cute he was.

Rhett blinked, tugged back to the present by the faint rustle of sheets. Y/N had shifted again, turning toward him. Her face was close now, closer than he expected, and for a dizzy second he thought she’d caught him.

“You ever think about when we were kids?” she asked suddenly, her voice quiet but cutting through the dark.

Rhett swallowed, careful with his words. “Sometimes.”

She gave a small huff, almost a laugh. “You were such a pain in the ass back then.”

That pulled a grin out of him, lazy but real. “Still am.”

“Yeah, but now I find it cute.”

The room went quiet again, but Rhett felt the air shift between them. Her confession was casual, tossed like a stone into water, but the ripples moved through him deep. He wanted to close the gap, to bury his face against her chest and hear what that admission sounded like from the inside, the thud of her heart when she said she liked him, not just as a childhood nuisance but as the man who made her fall in love —in some way he didn't understand yet—.

He almost moved. Almost.

But Y/N’s eyes were still open, watching him. Waiting. And Rhett, stubborn in his own way, just lay there, the secret pulling him in two.

The clock in the living room struck midnight. Its faint chime rattled through the walls, too soft to be loud, too persistent to be ignored. Y/N groaned, tossing her arm across her forehead.

“I hate nights like this,” she muttered, closing her eyes in another failed attempt to sleep. “It’s like my brain forgot how to shut off.”

Rhett turned onto his side, propping his head on his hand. His eyes stung from exhaustion, every muscle heavy with the need for rest. But none of it mattered unless she closed her eyes.

“You gotta stop thinkin’ so hard,” he said. “Just… Relax.”

Y/N cracked one eye open at him. “Oh, thanks, Doctor Sleep. That’s real helpful advice. Why didn’t I think of that?”

Rhett smirked despite himself. “Hey, I’m serious. You get wound up about not sleepin’, then you can’t sleep ‘cause you’re wound up.”

Y/N rolled onto her side to face him, mirroring his posture. “And what about you? You’re lookin’ pretty wound up yourself.”

That hit a little too close. Rhett felt his jaw tighten, his hand flexing against the pillow. He forced a shrug, casual. “Long day on the ranch. Muscles don’t know how to quit yet.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, skeptical. She was too damn sharp. Always had been. “Mm-hm. Or maybe you just want to be a good boyfriend and not leave me awake alone right now. That it?”

Rhett’s throat caught, too quick, too guilty. He barked a laugh to cover it, shaking his head. “Don’t flatter yourself, love.”

“Oh, come on. Admit it. You used to be out drinkin’ half the night, fallin’ asleep God knows where.” Y/N grinned like she’d won the shiniest prize. “Now you’re at my place every night like some big loyal dog.”

Rhett rolled his eyes, but the heat in his cheeks betrayed him. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe.” She leaned closer, her hair brushing his arm. “But you like me impossible.”

And she wasn’t wrong. He did. He liked her fire, her sharp tongue, the way she never let him skate by with half-truths. But right now it was dangerous. Because the longer she looked at him with that smart grin, the harder it got to keep his secret pressed down where it belonged.

Rhett tried to change the subject. “Remember when your uncle Rick caught me sneakin’ into the shop after hours?”

Y/N snorted. “How could I forget? You were tryin’ to ‘borrow’ spark plugs for your beat-up truck. He nearly wrung your neck.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t ’ve needed ‘em if Perry hadn’t fried the damn ignition.”

Y/N’s laughter filled the room, bright and unrestrained, and for a second it eased the tightness in his chest. He loved that sound. Almost as much as the other one. Almost.

When the laughter faded, silence fell again, thicker this time. Y/N reached out and traced a finger absently along his jaw, not looking at him, just feeling him. And Rhett, in his tired haze, leaned into the touch without thinking. His head dipped a fraction closer to her chest before he caught himself, snapping upright again.

Y/N noticed. Of course she noticed.

Her brows lifted, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “What was that?”

Rhett froze, searching for an escape. “What was what?”

“That little move you just pulled. You looked like you were about to-” she mimed laying her head down dramatically on her own chest, complete with exaggerated sighing noises.

Rhett groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “Y/N...”

She grinned wickedly, sensing blood in the water. “What? You gettin’ shy on me, cowboy?”

He glared at her, but it only made her grin wider. Y/N thrived on his irritation, always had.

“Go to sleep,” he muttered.

“Can’t. Too busy wonderin’ why you’re actin’ like that.” She poked his chest, playful but probing. “C’mon, Rhett. What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”

His heart thudded, loud and uneven. If she pressed much harder, she’d have the truth spilling out before he could stop it. And wasn’t that the thing about Y/N? She always found the crack in his armor, and once she spotted it, she never let go.

Rhett shut his eyes, praying she’d lose interest, praying exhaustion would finally drag her under. But when he opened them again, she was still there, bright-eyed, waiting.

And he realized he wasn’t gonna last much longer.

Rhett thought maybe, just maybe, he could tough it out. If he kept quiet, if he held still, Y/N would eventually get bored of poking at him and drift into that restless half-sleep. He could wait. He’d waited every night before.

But Y/N was no ordinary opponent. She was stubborn, clever, and most dangerous of all, she knew him better than he knew himself.

One minute passed. Then five. The clock ticked, wind scraped against the siding, and Rhett’s eyelids kept falling heavy only to snap open again. Y/N hadn’t moved. She lay there on her side, studying him with that smug little curl of her lips, like a cat who’d cornered a mouse.

Finally, she broke the silence.

“You know,” she whispered, “if you keep starin’ at me like that, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you’re obsessed.”

The word landed too close. Rhett swallowed hard, his pulse betraying him. He turned his face toward the ceiling, hoping the shadows hid the truth. “I ain’t starin’.”

Y/N hummed, unconvinced. Then she shifted closer, so close he could smell the faint trace of motor oil that never seemed to leave her skin no matter how much soap she used. She lowered her voice, teasing but gentle. “Rhett Abbott… What is it you’re hidin’ from me?”

His chest tightened. He wanted to say nothing, wanted to shrug her off. But his body betrayed him. Exhaustion weighed him down, and the pull —that stupid, irresistible pull— had him leaning in before he realized it. His head dipped, brushing against her collarbone, lingering just above where her heartbeat thrummed.

Y/N went very still.

Rhett froze too, shame crashing over him like cold water. He pulled back instantly, cursing himself under his breath. “Shit-”

But Y/N caught his jaw in her hand, gentle but firm, keeping him from retreating further. Her eyes were wide, glimmering with amusement and something softer.

“Wait a damn second,” she murmured. “Is that what this is?”

Rhett’s mouth went dry. “What?”

Her smile spread slow, victorious. “You’ve been tryin’ to sleep on my chest, haven’t you?”

Heat flamed his face. He tried to jerk away, but she held on, laughing now, low and sweet. “Oh my God. You have. Haven’t you?”

“Y/N-” Rhett groaned and buried his face in his hands, knowing that his secret had ended there. “It’s not that, it’s just... I- uh. I sleep listening to the sound of your heartbeat.”

She pried his hands away, still laughing. “Rhett Abbott, tough rodeo star, can’t fall asleep unless he listens to my heart like a baby with a lullaby. That’s the cutest damn thing I’ve ever heard, baby.”

“Don’t,” he muttered, half-growl, half-plea. “Don’t make fun of me.”

Y/N’s laughter softened, but her grin stayed. She slid closer, pressing her forehead against his. “Oh, I’m never lettin’ you live this down. But only because it’s adorable.”

Rhett’s chest ached, a mix of mortification and relief. “I knew you’d tease me.”

“Of course I’m gonna tease you, it's my job as your girlfriend.” she whispered, brushing her lips across his cheek. “But I’m also gonna let you do it. Every damn night until you get sick of that.”

He opened his eyes, meeting hers. For once, she wasn’t smirking, not fully. Her expression held something gentler, a tenderness she didn’t show often. It unraveled him, left him raw.

“You really don’t think it’s stupid?” he asked quietly.

Y/N shook her head, cupping his face in her hands again. “No, Rhett. I think it’s sweet. Kinda silly, yeah. But sweet. And I like that you need me that way.”

Something in him loosened. The tension he’d carried for weeks slipped free, replaced by a bone-deep calm. Carefully, hesitantly, he lowered his head again, this time with her permission. Y/N shifted to make room, guiding him down until his cheek rested over her heart, relaxing her breathing to calm her heart rate.

The sound rushed into him at once. Steady. Strong. Alive.

He exhaled, a shudder of relief rolling through his body. His arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer. For the first time that night, his eyelids didn’t fight him. The weight of exhaustion began to ease.

Y/N’s fingers threaded through his hair, her touch absentminded but soothing.

“See?” She whispered into his hair. “Told you I don’t mind. In fact… I love it.”

Rhett cracked one eye open, peering up at her from his new perch. “You’re just sayin’ that.”

“Nope. I love knowin’ I’ve got somethin’ you can’t live without.” She smirked, pressing a kiss to his temple.

He groaned into her chest. “You’re gonna hold this over me forever, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

But her voice was softer now, her hand steady in his hair, her heartbeat drumming the rhythm he craved. And Rhett, finally, finally, let go.

The last thing he heard before sleep claimed him was Y/N’s laugh —quiet, fond— and the heartbeat that had become his favorite sound in the world.

Extra (unedited, but I couldn't not put it here)

Rhett woke to the smell of coffee and sunlight. It was the kind of light that spilled lazy through thin curtains, soft and golden, the kind that made everything feel slower than it really was. He blinked against it, groggy but rested, more rested than he’d been in weeks. His cheek still tingled faintly with the memory of where it had been pressed all night.

Y/N's side of the bed was empty. The sheets were cool, her imprint fading, but the faint sound of her humming drifted in from the kitchen.

He rubbed his eyes and sat up, hair sticking up in about twelve directions. As he pulled on his shirt, he remembered —with a sinking mix of dread and fondness— what had happened last night.

She knew.

Y/N knew his secret, and there was no takin’ it back.

By the time he shuffled into the kitchen, she was already leaning against the counter, mug in hand. Her hair was tied up messy, her sweatshirt hanging off. She looked at him over the rim of her cup with that sly, knowing smile he’d come to fear and love in equal measure.

“Morning, heartbeat.”

Rhett stopped dead in the doorway. “Don’t.”

Y/N grinned, taking a slow sip. “Oh, I’m absolutely gonna.”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You promised you wouldn’t-”

“I never promised that,” she cut in, eyes dancing. “I promised I’d let you keep doin’ it. The teasing comes free with purchase.”

Rhett dragged himself to the counter, leaning beside her. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re adorable.” She bumped his hip with hers, then handed him the spare mug she’d already poured.

Despite himself, Rhett felt a smile tug at his mouth. He took a sip, watching her over the rim. She didn’t look like she was mocking him. Not really. She looked… Proud. Fond. Like she’d been let in on something that meant more than a joke.

Y/N set her mug down and leaned into him, casual but warm as she wrapped her arms around him.

“Y’know,” she said, “when I was a kid, I used to fall asleep in the shop when Uncle Rick was workin’. I’d lay on the old sofa he had in the back, listen to all the engines tickin’ and hummin’. It always made me feel safe. Maybe it’s the same thing for you.”

Rhett tilted his head, surprised. “Never knew that.”

She shrugged, smiling softly.

“Guess we both like steady rhythms.” Her eyes flicked to his. “Just so happens mine comes built-in.”

Heat rose in his chest, not the embarrassed kind this time but something steadier, stronger. He set down his mug and slid an arm around her, pulling her close. She went willingly, resting against him, her heartbeat pressed right where he liked it most.

“Careful, cowboy. You’ll get addicted.” Y/N smirked against his chest.

Rhett kissed the top of her head, his voice low but sure. “Too late for that.”

For a moment, the world outside didn’t matter, not the ranch, not the weight of his father’s expectations, not the eyes of a town that never stopped whispering. It was just them, the sound of coffee dripping in the pot, and that steady beat under his ear.

And Rhett thought, for once in his life, he could live with being teased forever, if it meant nights like this, mornings like this, and a heart that always kept him steady.