#fem insert

Bob walked through the tower halls as his brain scrambled for answers. He’d just finished his shower when he realized his favorite navy blue hoodie was nowhere to be found in his room, which is where he swore he left it. 

He rubbed the back of his neck as he squinted down the hallway like his hoodie would magically appear. Maybe it got caught up in the laundry? Or maybe he left it in the living room last night after he had a movie night with you. He decided that the next best thing would be to ask you if you had seen it

You two had recently started dating, and you were absolutely his favorite person in this world.

You always complimented his hoodie saying that it smelt like him, and that it felt so soft when you’d curl up next to him. So he figured if anyone may know where this hoodie is, it’d be his girl.

He turned the corner into the tower’s living room to ask if you’d seen it, ruffling his damp hair as he walked. As he neared the open doorway, he called out “Hey, baby? Have you seen my-?

Only to stop dead in his tracks, because there you were. You were curled up in a blanket with your legs tucked beneath you on the couch. You were completely absorbed in your book as you leaned against the couch and your face contorted into a soft focused expression, one he adored getting to see on you.

But what really made him pause? You were wearing his hoodie. The exact one he was looking for. The sleeves were too long and bunched up on your arms so you could read your book freely. And the hood was bunched up behind your neck like you’d been cuddling into it.

Bob’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. He thought that you’ve looked beautiful since the day he met you, and that’s only intensified since you’ve started dating.

But there’s something so special about this moment of seeing you wearing his clothes while you do something as simple as just reading a book. Bob knew one thing, and that’s that he wanted to see you in more of his clothes as soon as humanly possible.

He muttered a soft “God I'm lucky” to himself before walking closer to where you were sitting and cleared his throat lightly, a soft smile sitting on his face.

You startled a little as you looked up to see your boyfriends grinning face, heat quickly rushing to your face. “Hi.” you muttered out softly, a bit embarrassed at being caught wearing his hoodie. “I hope you don’t mind, it was really cold in here and it was just sitting on the edge of the couch.”

Bob smiled even wider as he shook his head, “I don’t mind at all. You look adorable in it, Baby.” he murmured his voice full of fondness as he walked over. “Wouldn’t mind getting to see you in more of these either.” he said softly tugging at the sleeve of the hoodie as he sat down next to you.

You ducked your head with a shy laugh hitting his arm quickly. “You’re so sappy sometimes.” 

Bob chuckled before kissing the top of your head, one arm looping around your shoulders as he pulled you into his side. “Seriously baby, you can steal them anytime, I like seeing them on you.” You nudged him playfully but melted into his side, letting his arm tighten around you as you focused back on your book.

“Hey, sleepy head,” Michael greeted with a smile, toeing out of his shoes at your door; he was already changed into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

“Hey,” you reply sheepishly, clicking off your TV, “How was work?”

“Good, though I’m more interested in how your day was.” He replied, crossing the room to sit in the armchair, facing you, “Any brain fog, or issues focusing?”

“No,” you shook your head, “Just mind-numbingly slow, I didn’t have any clients today, just finished up some digital training, and was walked through the process of signing out digital and more traditional mediums. I think my supervisor still feels bad about the whole situation, but she promised I’ll be in sessions tomorrow. I have three patients in peds and one teenager in inpatient rehabilitation. Since I was able to go over all my patient files today, I will hopefully just have to sign out mediums tomorrow and be able to hit the ground running.”

“I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing, the last thing you want to do is-” Michael started, before you cut him off,

“Overexert myself?” you finished, “Mikey, it’s been two weeks, I’m fine, I promise.”

“Sweetheart, you’ve been saying you're fine since it happened.” He gently reminded you, “The last thing Jack or I want is you accidentally hurting yourself.”

“I know, but I really am fine, we’ve just been moving frustratingly slow.” You sighed, “I mean, the first proper kiss I had with either of you was today. And it didn’t go anywhere because of how drained Jack was.”

“Honey, kissing’s fine, but we don’t want to get lost in it and accidentally push you too far. You still should be avoiding overly strenuous activity.” Michael replied gently, “Even if we started to kiss now, we’re steps from your bedroom. You can see how fast that could escalate, can’t you?”

“I guess, it’s just not fair.” You said, “You guys can do whatever you want, and I’m stuck outside of it.”

“Love, we haven’t been unaffected. I mean fuck, I’ve taken more cold showers in the past two weeks than I have in my entire life. How am I supposed to not get hard when I wake up with you wrapped up in my arms?”

“Could we just kiss? Please?” you asked, looking up at him desperately. You see him actively making his decision as his face shifts with each emotion.

“Okay,” he finally relents, “but we’re just kissing,”

He couldn’t help but smile as your face perked up. You shifted to sitting on your lower legs as Robby sat down next to you, shifting your blanket to reveal a black ribbed bralette and soft sleep shorts.

“God, you’re killing me, sweetheart,” he groaned, taking in your outfit.

“Mhm, now you know how I feel,” you hummed, pressing up on your calves to pull him in for a kiss. What started out as sweet and gentle quickly devolved into desperation on both your parts. You pressed up higher to be as close as possible while Michael slipped his tongue into your mouth. Your little moans and whimpers went straight to his cock. His large hands bracketed your waist as you straddled him. His hands began to wander down to your hips as you pressed deeper into the kiss. You hesitantly rolled your hips as you tested Robby’s restraint. The second you clothed core made contact with his, there was no going back. Your arms wrapped around his neck, as he kneaded your ass while encouraging your gentle rocks as he thrusted up against you. A groan keened deep in your throat as he hardened with each swipe of your cores. You were too lost in each other to process the opening and closing of your apartment door or the glow of your strings deepening in color.

“Having fun?” Jack asked, making you both pull back, while you jumped out of your skin. You softly panted, forehead resting on Michael’s shoulder.

“What happened to taking it slow?” Jack asked from behind you.

“She was very convincing,” Robby responded, still shamelessly palming your ass.

“Yeah, like you don’t have the willpower of a kid in a candy shop,” Jack sighed, “Trouble, what did you say to get into this position?”

“I asked for a kiss,” you admitted shyly, looking over your shoulder at Jack,

“A single kiss,” Jack clarified,

“Yeah,” you nodded, biting your lip to contain your mischievous smile.

“God, you really are weak, Robinavitch.” Jack sighed in a disappointed tone.

“Like, you could do better,” Robby scoffed.

“She literally bathed me this morning,” Jack deadpanned,

“You also said you would have cum immediately if you weren’t too tired to get it up,” Robby snarked back,

A steely silence enveloped the room as the two men looked at each other fiercely, neither willing to look away first. That was until a pitiful whine escaped you, as Robby’s inadvertent hard grip on you caused all your movement to stop. You heard the creak of Jack’s prosthetic as he walked up behind you, frustrated tears blooming in the corner of your eyes.

“You okay, Sunny?” Jack asked softly.  

“I need to cum,” you sniffled, “I know you don’t want to hurt me, but I need it, so fucking bad.”

“Baby,” Jack attempts, before you cut him off.

“No, it’s not fair,” you whined, “You both can take care of yourselves and each other whenever you want. I haven’t even been able to touch myself without one of you stopping me because I might overexert myself, and you're always around.”

Another moment of silence passed before Robby’s hands shifted, and he manhandled you to be sitting with your back to his chest, Jack now kneeling in front of you.

“Sorry, Sunny,” he said, kissing your inner thigh, “Never meant to neglect you, sweet girl.”

“Is it okay if we get rid of these?” Robby asked, thumbing at your sleep shorts,

“Please,” you border on begging, eyes locked on Jack’s. You lifted your hips up as Jack fisted the soft material of your shorts and pulled them down with your underwear in one go.

“Fuck,” he groaned, tossing your clothing to the side, eyes locked on your core. You didn’t even have time to feel self-conscious as Robby hooked your legs on the outside of his own, leaving you fully on display.

“Jack, please,” you begged,

“God,” he groaned in response as he gently parted your lower lips and caught sight of your engorged clit.

“So, fucking pretty,” he said to Robby, “She’s soaked,”

“Yeah?” Robby asked,

“Yeah, Fuck.” Jack groaned,

“I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart,” Jack apologized as he gently traced your entrance with the tips of his fingers, before easing up to circle your clit. You couldn’t help but jerk and let out a cry as he lowered his lips to your clit and flattened his tongue against it.

“Fuck, fuck, Jack, please,” you whined, as he gently thrusted a finger into your heat. You were so wound up you doubted you’d be able to last. Between the stretch of his now two fingers in you, the scratch of his stubble, and his attention on your clit, it was over before it started.

“Fuck, can I? Can I please cum?!” you moaned loudly, too far to care if anyone would overhear.

“Go ahead, baby,” Robby encouraged, “Give it to Sir.”

That’s all the permission you needed to crumble in Jack’s hands.

“Fuck, Sir, please! Fuck so good,” you moaned, squeezing Jack’s fingers hard as his long, thick fingers easily filled you up, his teeth nipping at your clit. Robby had to strengthen his grip on your thighs to keep you from locking around Jack’s head to keep him flush against your pussy. Jack fingered you through it, only easing his fingers out as you feel lax against Robby. You could only whine as you watched Robby grab Jack’s hand and clean your release off his fingers. It wasn’t just a quick lick, no, Robby was thorough. He licked Jack’s fingers into his mouth and sucked hard.

“Fuck,” Jack cursed, as you unconsciously rubbed your thighs together.

“God,” Robby groaned, releasing Jack’s fingers, “I need a taste now,”

“You okay on your knees?” Jack asked, looking up at Michael.

“But, I wanna make you cum too,” you interrupted with a whine, “Please, Daddy,” you said, looking up at Robby over your shoulder.

“Fuck, baby-” he started, before Jack cut him off.

“Trouble, you’re still healing. You really shouldn’t be doing anything that will jostle your head.”

“What if I wasn’t being jostled?” you asked, looking down at Jack.

“You want to jerk him off?” Jack asked,

“Sorta,” you started, hesitantly, “I was thinking he could fuck my chest.”

“Jesus,” Robby groaned, “How long have you been thinking about that?”  

“Long,” you admitted, too horny to be bashful, “You’d be horny too if you were trapped on house arrest and not able to touch your soulmates.”

“I guess you can try,” Jack gruffed, “but if I see any head jostling or anything I don’t like, you’re stopping.”

“You’re saying that like I don’t want you to watch,” you teased as you slid off Robby’s lap down to your knees next to Jack,

“Trouble,” Jack warned,

“Just teasing, Sir,” you said, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. His stern look cracked, momentarily, as he fought a smile.

“Can I?” you asked, looking between Jack and Michael’s bulge,

“Go ahead,” he responded reluctantly. You smiled, pecking his lips before shedding your bralette, while Jack helped Robby out of his sweats.

“Fuck,” you cursed, taking in Robby’s unobstructed cock for the first time. Sure, you had felt it against you most mornings before he peeled himself off you for work, but it was still bigger than you expected.

“Still good?” Jack teased as Michael blushed in response.

“Yeah,” you nodded, your own face heating up. You shuffled forward between Robby’s open thighs as Jack crowded you in from his position behind you.

“Is this okay?” you asked, looking up at Robby as you warmed up your hands before lightly grasping his base.

“Fuck,” he groaned, “Yeah, baby, I’m good if anything happens that I don’t like, I’ll say code, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy,” you smiled up at him as his blush spread up to his ears. You tightened your grip a bit before licking the head of his cock and letting your drool stream down to wet the rest of his member.

“God,” Robby groaned, “Fuck, her hands are so soft, Jack.”

“Yeah, just wait til you feel her pussy,” Jack commented, smirk clear in his voice. You tested your limits by taking Robby down an inch past his head, only to have Jack’s hand firmly grip your hair and ease your mouth off him embarrassingly slow to let you sit in your decision.

“What, was that?” Jack husked in your ear, not loosening his grip.

“Just trying to-Fuck” you cursed as Jack tightened his grip.

“What, was that?” he asked again, tone clipped.

“I was just trying to get Daddy wet,” you replied.

“You can do that without bobbing your head.” Jack stated.

“He’s too big, it’s taking so long,” you whined.

“It’ll take even longer for him to cum in your mouth if you keep whining like a brat.” Jack said, “Unless you want to stop?” he said in a faux light tone, like he was genuinely asking.

“It’d go a lot faster if you help,” you quipped over your shoulder.

“Oh? You want me to help get Daddy wet?” he asked, stroking your slit.

“Yea-Oh!” you moaned as Jack slipped two fingers back inside you and curled them against your front wall as he pulled out torturously slow. Your face felt like it was on fire as you watched Jack spread your slick around the base of Robby’s cock, before going back for more.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Jack taunted, “Thought you were in a rush?”  

You couldn’t help but whine around the head of Robby’s cock as Jack started to slowly jerk the base of Robby’s cock; your fist bumping in the middle.

“Think Daddy’s wet enough, Trouble?” Jack husked in your ear as he released Robby’s cock before wrapping his hand around yours to guide it up and down his length.

“Yeah,” you whined, clenching around nothing as Robby pulsed in your hand.

“Learn forward,” Jack ordered. You nodded dumbly as your brain started to shut off and feel fuzzy under his direction.

“Good girl,” he said, cupping your breasts around Robby’s cock.

“Oh, fuck me,” Michael groaned above you.

“Be a good girl and stick out your tongue for Daddy,” Jack ordered,

“Yes, sir,” you responded with no fight. Robby moaned as he experimentally thrust upward through your tits, tip just breaching your lips.

“Fuck, perfect,” Jack praised, “now be a good girl and let Daddy use you.”

You couldn’t help but rub your thighs together. You didn’t know what was getting you wetter, the squelching of Robby thrusting up between your tits or how vocal he was getting the closer to his release.

“Holy-Oh fuck, fuck me, she’s so soft, Jackie, and her mouth’s so fucking hot.” Robby moaned, gasping as Jack pressed your tits closer together.

“Yeah?” Jack asked with a smirk, “Gonna cum? Gonna cum all over our baby girl’s face? Or do you want her to swallow it?”

“Fuck,” Robby gasped, “Want it-FUCK-want it in her, fuck want her to suck me dry.”

“Think you can manage trouble?” Jack said, looping you back into the conversation. You nodded your head lightly, moving so slightly that only someone focused on you could clock it, like Jack, whose gaze had never left your face.

“Go ahead, baby,” he encouraged Robby, grinding his own hard on against your back.

“Fuck, baby- huh, Fuck gonna cum, gonna cum sweetheart,” he said, warning punched out of his chest seconds before he came. All you could do was whine as Robby flooded your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your mouth, just shy of your throat, as his hips stuttered. You fell back into Jack’s sturdy form as you swallowed the last bit of cum and pulled off of Robby’s spent cock.

“You good, baby?” Jack asked softly, wiping away a bit of cum that had leaked out of the corners of your mouth with a gentle touch.

“Mhm,” you hummed, out of it to the extent you could only focus on your own desperate need for release.

“Baby,” Jack said firmly, “Gotta tell me with words.”

“I’m,” you paused, taking a breath, “I’m okay, Jackie,”

“Good,” he smiled down at you, pecking your forehead over the scar. You smiled up at him, leaning your full weight back on him.

“You okay, Mikey?” you asked, looking up at Robby.

“Yeah, I’m good, sweetheart,” he smiled down at you as he tucked himself back into his pants; his face still beet red.

“Why don’t we get you dressed and shower over at ours?” Jack offered,

“Can we cuddle after?” you asked, looking over your shoulder at Jack.

“Of course, love,” Jack said, before pulling you in for a quick kiss. He patiently waited for you and Robby to move after helping you back into your shorts and bralette. With a thankfully empty hallway, you all made the quick trip back to their apartment. Michael grabbed your hand and gently guided you back to their larger bathroom, fit with a shower that had a built-in bench. You smiled as Michael switched on the shower to adjust the water temperature, while you came mostly back into your body.

“This feel okay, love?” He asked, stepping aside so you could feel the warm water.

“Yeah,” you smiled up at him, as Jack walked in, in his arm-crutches. You pulled him for a kiss as you worked at his drawstring and dropped both his boxer briefs in one fell swoop. While you were busy, Robby came up behind you and helped you strip your own bottoms. You pulled away from the kiss, unrushed, sharing a smile with Jack as you both lost your tops.

“Fuck, you’re still so wet,” Robby groaned,

“Still feeling needy?” Jack teased lightly as your face heated up again.

“A little,” you confessed shyly, not wanting to be too demanding.

“Why don’t you take care of our girl?” he suggested to Robby, as he started to strip.

“What about you?” you asked Jack as he transitioned into the shower.

“I’ll be fine, baby,” Jack replied with a smile. You entered the shower and kissed him as Robby slid in behind you.

“This okay, love?” he asked, shifting you so your back was to the wall, below the head of the shower, facing Jack.

“Yeah,” you nodded, breath hitching at the sight of Robby lowering himself to his knees before you while Jack gripped his cock, eyes never leaving you. You bit your lip as Robby nudged your thighs apart, glancing up for one last confirmation before diving in. You nodded reassuringly as he immediately slipped two fingers in, tongue toying with your clit.

“Fuck,” you moaned as Jack locked eyes with you his own pace matching Robby’s fingers.

“Fuck, Daddy, please,” you moaned unabashedly, aware that your empty apartment was on the other side of the shared wall. You could only moan and whine as Robby quickly built up your orgasm.

“Fuck, that’s it, sweetheart,” Jack encouraged, “Taking his finger so well, God-fuck, God can’t wait to see you stretched out on his cock.”  A blush stained his own face now as he sped up in time with Robby’s pace. It was so much too fast, your orgasm bordered on painful as the tension in your stomach snapped. You rode out your orgasm on Robby’s face, eyes never leaving Jack’s. He moaned your name, quickly cumming all over his lower stomach. You and your soulmates basked in silence for a moment as you all calmed down. You lazily washed up and finished each of your nighttime routines in tandem, before piling into bed. A talk about boundaries and limits was needed, but that could wait til the morning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Hope this was okay 🫶 , even though there was like no plot lol. Not sure when the next update will be out, but definitely not done with these three 💛

Y/n followed her gaze down to herself. Ripped jeans, torn enough to show more skin than regulation would ever even dare to allow. A loose tank top hung off one shoulder, the edge of her sports bra visible beneath it. Her hair—brushed, loose, deliberately soft—fell around her shoulders instead of being yanked back into a tight, no-nonsense bun like every other woman on base.

She smiled, slow and unapologetic.

“I’m going out.”

Syd turned back toward the desk, one eyebrow still raised. “You’re going out,” she repeated flatly, like she was testing the sentence for hidden explosives. “As in… off base?”

Y/n leaned a hip against the wall. “There’s a club Yegor was talking about the other day. In town.”

Syd glanced back at the laptop screen, lips pressing together. The document was technically open—but the only thing written on it was the alphabet, typed out again and again in neat, irritated rows. ABCDEFG… over and over. A tell.

Y/n snorted softly. “You’ve been staring at that thing for an hour, haven’t you?”

Syd sighed, closing the laptop with a sharp click. “Paperwork after a solo op should be illegal,” she muttered. “My brain is still in the field.”

“Exactly,” Y/n said. “Which is why you’re coming with me.”

Syd blinked. “I’m what?”

“You heard me.” Y/n pushed off the wall and pointed at the desk. “You need noise. Alcohol. Lights. Something louder than your own thoughts.”

Syd hesitated, the ever-present internal rulebook visibly flipping pages behind her eyes. “Are we… allowed to?”

Y/n grinned. “I already cleared it with Nikolai. Otherwise I wouldn’t be strutting around base dressed like a bad idea.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s smart,” Syd said, though she was already standing.

Y/n laughed. “One of the best rules to break is sneaking out to drink. Besides, Nikolai doesn’t even sneak. He drinks in his office sometimes.”

“Nikolai is our boss,” Syd said, moving toward her closet. “He makes the rules.”

“Which is why he doesn’t care if we bend them—as long as we don’t make messes he has to clean up.” Y/n smirked.

Syd pulled out a pair of shorts and a tank top, tossed them onto the bed, then shut the door fully, as it hadn’t done so when it closed behind Y/n. She glanced over her shoulder, eyes narrowing just a touch. “You hate clubs. You like bars. Quiet ones. So why now?”

Y/n didn’t answer right away.

She folded her arms, jaw tightening just a little. “Sebastian’s being an asshole.”

Syd froze for half a second before turning back. “Of course he is.” A beat. “What did Sebastian do this time?”

Syd started stripping without ceremony, tugging her shirt over her head. Y/n automatically looked away—not out of modesty, but out of habit. Privacy was a loose concept in their line of work, but courtesy still existed.

“We were bantering,” Y/n said. “Like always.”

“Bantering, flirting,” Syd corrected lightly. “You two are mean to each other for fun.”

“Exactly,” Y/n snapped, frustration bleeding through now. “He was flirting with me during that mission in Gabon. Hard. And I was flirting back. And now?” She threw her hands up. “Nothing. No banter. No snide comments. Not even the usual passive-aggressive bullshit.”

She crossed her arms and huffed. “It’s weird.”

Syd tugged her hair free from its bun, fingers working through the tight knots. “And you’re shocked because…?”

“I’m not shocked,” Y/n said. “I’m annoyed.”

Syd glanced at her through the mirror. “You know he does that on purpose sometimes. Pulls back to see how people react.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Y/n admitted. “Until today.”

Syd paused. “What happened today?”

Y/n grabbed the brush from the desk and stepped closer, gently running it through Syd’s hair. “I was joking with Nikolai. About a plane ride I had once. You know the story.”

Syd hummed. “Airport security. The American guy?”

“The one where I flirted with the guy patting me down,” Y/n confirmed. “Normally Seb laughs. Or makes it worse.”

“And this time?”

Y/n’s hand stilled. “He snapped. Flat-out said it wasn’t funny.”

Syd’s reflection frowned. “That’s… not like him.”

“No,” Y/n agreed quietly. “It wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t dry. He sounded… serious.”

Syd’s lips pressed together as her mind churned. “That’s not about the joke.”

“No,” Y/n said. “It’s about something else. And I hate not knowing what.”

Syd turned to face her fully now. “So you’re going clubbing to poke the bear.”

Y/n’s smile was sharp. “If he’s trying to get a reaction out of me, I might as well return the favour and get one out of him.”

Syd studied her for a moment, then shook her head with a small, resigned laugh. “You know this is exactly what he wants, right?”

“Maybe,” Y/n said. “But I want to feel normal for a night.”

Syd grabbed her jacket. “Then let’s go drink somewhere loud before Krueger decides to glare holes through the walls.”

Y/n smirked. “That’s the spirit.”

Syd opened her door again, and the two of them stepped out into the hallway. The door clicked shut behind them, and Y/n waited while Syd locked it, the familiar metallic sound echoing softly down the corridor before they moved on.

The hall was quiet—not silent, but subdued. A few operators passed them, boots muffled against the worn floors, nodding in recognition but not stopping. Most people were either already out, holed up in their rooms, or asleep. “Clubbing hour” thinned the population on base in a predictable way: the ones who needed noise and distraction had already left, and the rest conserved energy like it was currency.

Private military companies were nothing like national militaries, even when they operated with the same level of force and discipline. Chimera especially didn’t pretend otherwise. Nikolai had never enforced mandatory wake-up calls or curfews. No lights-out. No mandatory morning formations unless there was training, security duty, or a mission briefing. Operators were expected to manage themselves—and most of them did.

That didn’t mean there wasn’t structure. It just meant it was internal.

Most people on base still clung to the schedules they’d come in with. Former soldiers woke up early out of habit. Others stayed up late, running drills alone or lifting in the gym at two in the morning. Those who’d just come back from a mission often disappeared for a day or two, doors shut, windows dark, bodies recovering from adrenaline, injuries, and the quiet that followed both.

Y/n liked that no one questioned it.

Chimera wasn’t just a PMC with rented barracks or temporary safehouses—it had a full, private military base. The bones of it were old, clearly once used by a national force before being quietly repurposed. Operators were encouraged to live on base, though no one was forced to. For Y/n, it was an easy choice.

She didn’t know what Nikolai had done—or who he’d paid—to secure a place like this, and she didn’t ask. Some things were better left untouched. Coming from Norway, where rules were layered thick and reinforced constantly, she found the base oddly comforting. Familiar. Clean lines, secure perimeters, predictable routines. It felt like home in a way she hadn’t expected.

She missed her country. She missed the forests, the cold that bit deep into your lungs, the language that felt automatic instead of chosen. She missed the military she’d grown up watching and eventually joined. But there were parts of Chimera she wasn’t sure she could ever give up now.

Like being allowed to drink—within reason. As long as you were sober when it mattered, no one cared. No breathalyzers. No random inspections. No treating grown adults like children who couldn’t manage their own limits.

She didn’t have to wake up at a specific hour unless she was scheduled. She didn’t have to justify skipping the gym for a day, or spending hours in the shooting range if she wanted. Fitness tests mattered. Performance mattered. Everything else was left up to the individual.

Back home, she’d been up at six every morning. Lights out by ten unless there was a damn good reason otherwise. No alcohol. No excuses. Late once, and it followed you. Late twice, and you paid for it.

Here, she slept when she needed to. No one dragged her out of bed by her feet in pajamas. No one banged on her door until she answered. Sleep was treated like a resource, not a weakness—and she was fairly certain Nikolai agreed, given that he was either in bed by nine or not sleeping at all.

Syd, walking beside her, followed a schedule closer to what she’d known in the American military. Early mornings. Constant training. Pushing herself until she had paperwork or something else that forced her to slow down. She called her family regularly—at least once a week. Y/n respected that. In their line of work, every goodbye carried weight. One day, a mission wouldn’t end with a call home.

Y/n had family too. They called her more than she called them. Her parents never stopped trying to convince her to come back—to rejoin the Norwegian Army, to use her experience, to climb ranks she’d already proven she could reach. Her brothers, both older and both still serving, pushed less. They didn’t care where she worked, as long as she stayed alive.

They were a military family. Five years minimum, everyone. Some stayed longer. Some didn’t. Y/n had done her five, finished her contract, and walked away clean.

She’d spent a year with KorTac after that. Liked the freedom. Liked the lack of flag-waving and politics. Another PMC followed, then another. And then Nikolai had asked her himself.

In person.

She’d said yes without hesitating.

Chimera suited her. The people. The balance between discipline and autonomy. Nikolai had been a soldier once—he worked alongside task forces from different countries—and it showed. He understood what operators needed to function long-term. He made sure they were fed, rested, paid, and not burning out under pointless restrictions.

As they walked toward the exit, Y/n glanced down the corridor one last time. The base hummed quietly around them, alive but restrained. She knew, without doubt, that she’d be here for the rest of her working life.

Some places let you survive.

Chimera let you breathe.

“You driving, or me?” Y/n asked as they finally reached the parking garage.

The garage sat beneath the main structures of the base, wide and concrete-heavy, lights humming softly overhead. Rows of vehicles were parked with deliberate spacing, every one of them clean, serviced, and ready to move at a moment’s notice. Nothing was left outside—not in this climate, not with the kind of enemies Chimera attracted. Weather ruined engines. People ruined everything else. Inside, at least, both risks were controlled.

“I’ll drive,” Syd said, already reaching behind herself.

She pulled her keys from her back pocket—somehow retrieving them without Y/n ever having seen her put them there—and pressed the unlock button as they walked. Somewhere to their left, a dark SUV blinked its lights once, then again, the soft honk echoing briefly through the garage before the locks disengaged with a dull, mechanical thud.

Y/n circled around to the passenger side but didn’t touch the handle until Syd was seated and the driver’s door was shut. She’d learned that lesson the hard way more times than she cared to admit. Some of the vehicles that people used were finicky—designed to prioritize the driver’s side first, locking everything again if you tried the wrong door out of sequence.

She slid into the passenger seat, the leather cool against her skin, and buckled in just as Syd started the engine. The low rumble filled the enclosed space, vibrating faintly through the floor as Syd eased the SUV out of its spot.

They drove toward the exit in comfortable silence. At the gate, one of the guards glanced up from his post, recognized them immediately, and raised the barrier without a word. The metal arm lifted smoothly, and Syd rolled them out into the night.

The air outside was colder, sharper. The base lights receded behind them as the road stretched out ahead—long, straight, and mostly empty. Forest pressed in on both sides, dark shapes blurring together as Syd accelerated. The tires hummed against the asphalt, a steady sound that settled into Y/n’s bones.

Syd drove the way she did everything else: controlled, deliberate, and with no wasted movement. Both hands on the wheel. Eyes scanning the road, mirrors checked at regular intervals. Even off-duty, she never fully shut it off.

Y/n leaned back in her seat, one knee angled toward the dashboard, fingers drumming lightly against her thigh. The radio stayed off. Neither of them reached for it. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was familiar.

“Still think this is a good idea?” Syd asked after a few minutes, eyes never leaving the road.

Y/n shrugged. “Depends what you mean by good.”

Syd huffed quietly. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got.”

They passed a sign marking the turnoff toward town, the glow of distant streetlights faint on the horizon. Civilization always felt strange after time on base—too open while also being too closed and too exposed. Y/n felt the shift in herself as it approached, the way she always did. A loosening. A tension she didn’t realize she’d been holding until it started to ease.

She thought, briefly, of Sebastian.

Of the way his eyes tracked everything without seeming to. Of the silence he wielded like a blade. Of how he’d looked at her earlier—measured, unreadable, and serious in a way that didn’t fit their usual rhythm.

She exhaled through her nose and stared out the window instead.

Syd caught the movement from the corner of her eye. “You’re in your head.”

“Yeah,” Y/n admitted. “Trying to get out of it.”

“That’s what the club is for,” Syd said. “Noise. Distraction.”

Y/n smirked faintly. “Liquid confidence.”

“Temporary,” Syd replied. “But effective.”

The road narrowed as they got closer to town, buildings replacing trees, neon signs flickering to life as they passed. Music thudded faintly through the air from somewhere ahead—bass-heavy, distant but unmistakable.

Syd slowed as they approached the cluster of parked cars near the club district, scanning for a spot. “We don’t stay too late,” she said. “And we leave together.”

“Always,” Y/n said easily.

The SUV eased into a space, engine cutting off with a soft click. For a moment, neither of them moved. The night waited outside the windshield, loud and bright and alive.

Whatever Krueger thought—whatever game he was playing—could wait.

Tonight was theirs.

“So,” Syd said as they shut the doors and merged into the slow-moving line outside the club, “how exactly is showing up here supposed to piss Krueger off?”

The night was loud in a way the base never was. Music bled out through the walls in heavy, rhythmic pulses, vibrating through the pavement beneath their boots. Neon lights flickered above the entrance, casting everything in washed-out blues and reds. People laughed too loudly, talked too close, and leaned into each other with an ease that came from alcohol and anonymity.

Y/n shrugged, hands shoved into the back pockets of her jeans. “Simple. I find a good-looking guy, flirt with him, maybe let it go a bit further if I feel like it—and then let the rumours do what rumours do.”

Syd glanced at her sideways. “You’re really going to do that just to get a reaction out of him?”

“Seb wants to stop flirting with me, stop bantering, and stop being a pain in my ass and suddenly be very serious with me while flirting with other girls?” Y/n said lightly. “Fine. I’ll stop giving him exclusive access to my attention.”

Ahead of them, two large men stood on either side of the doors. Broad shoulders, black shirts, practiced expressions. They checked IDs, asked questions, and waved people through with quiet efficiency. It wasn’t aggressive—more… watchful.

Y/n actually appreciated that. A club that actually cared whether people got home alive was a rare thing. Though, this club probably just wanted their customers to come back and not sue them.

The line shuffled forward, inch by inch.

“Are you two actually a thing?” Syd asked, casual but observant. “I’ve heard people on base whispering about it.”

Y/n let out a short laugh. “No. We’re not.”

“But,” Syd pressed, stepping forward as the line moved again, “you flirt constantly.”

“Yeah,” Y/n said. “Because it’s fun.”

Syd tilted her head. “Most people flirt because they’re interested.”

“Most people also think flirting automatically means feelings,” Y/n replied. “Or they take it seriously. Or they can’t keep up. Seb can.”

“That doesn’t answer why you only do it with him.”

Y/n frowned, irritation flickering across her face before she smoothed it out. “Because he doesn’t make it weird. He doesn’t think it’s romantic. He doesn’t expect anything from it.”

Syd hummed softly, unconvinced. “And you know that how?”

“I just do,” Y/n said, though her tone wasn’t as confident as she wanted it to be. “He’s… different. He flirts like it’s a game. Like sparring.”

“And you’re sure you’re both playing the same game?”

Y/n opened her mouth to respond—but the line moved again, cutting the moment short.

Syd tapped her shoulder lightly. “IDs.”

Both women pulled their identification from their pockets as they reached the front. One of the bouncers glanced at Syd first.

“Evening,” he said.

“Evening,” Syd replied, handing over her ID with a polite nod.

Y/n passed hers to the other man. “Hey.”

The bouncers compared faces to photos, eyes sharp but not unfriendly. One handed the IDs back after a minute.

“Do you have a safe way home tonight?” he asked.

“I drove,” Syd said easily. “But we’ll call someone if we need to. We’re not doing anything stupid.”

“And we’ll sober up before we leave,” Y/n added. “Plenty of time.”

They didn’t mention Chimera. Didn’t mention the base. Just two women out for a night, like anyone else. The bouncers exchanged a glance, satisfied.

“Alright,” one said, stepping aside. “Have fun. Be safe.”

The doors swung open, music surging forward as they stepped inside.

As the bass hit her chest and the lights swallowed them whole, Y/n felt the last threads of base-life tension loosen.

“Alright,” Syd said as they stepped fully into the main floor of the club, slowing just enough to take it all in. “Where exactly are we sitting?”

The place was packed without being suffocating. Music rolled through the room in heavy waves, bass rattling glasses and vibrating through the soles of Y/n’s boots. Coloured lights swept over clusters of people—some dancing, some drinking, some leaning close enough that whatever they were saying was clearly not meant for anyone else to hear. Tables were scattered unevenly around the edges, different styles mashed together like the club had been furnished by theft rather than design.

“One where we can see everything,” Y/n said, eyes already moving, tracking exits, the bar, the dance floor, and the darker corners. “But where people can also see us.”

Syd huffed. “Of course.”

They stood still for a moment, letting the crowd flow around them as if they were rocks in a river. Y/n scanned quickly and efficiently, the way she always did—even here. Old habits didn’t shut off just because the lighting was better and the drinks were stronger.

“There,” Y/n said, pointing.

It was a corner table with one of those semi-circular, squishy benches that clubs and restaurants loved to use. Big enough for four people, positioned just far enough from the dance floor to avoid being jostled but close enough to keep a clear line of sight. Corner tables were prime real estate—comfortable, contained, and defensible.

And empty.

“Move,” Y/n added.

They slipped through the crowd without hesitation, sidestepping elbows and spilled drinks with practiced ease. The table was theirs within seconds. Both of them sat down quickly, phones placed flat on the tabletop like markers staking a claim.

“I’ll grab drinks,” Syd said, already turning her attention toward the bar. The staff moved fast—black uniforms, confident hands, bottles flashing under the lights. “What do you want?”

“Vodka,” Y/n said immediately. “Whatever doesn’t taste like regret. I need at least one drink in me before I start picking my target.”

Syd stared at her. Then laughed. “You’re unbelievable. Just sitting here like you’re shopping.”

“At least I’m honest about it,” Y/n shot back. “And I’m not harassing anyone. Half the people here came for the same reason. You go to bars to drink with friends. You come to clubs to get drunk and flirt with strangers.”

Syd shook her head, amused despite herself. “You’re just as bad as the creepy guys.”

“Difference is,” Y/n said lightly, leaning back against the bench, “I’ll take a hint.”

“Mm-hmm.” Syd smirked. “Two vodkas?”

“And two shots,” Y/n added. “Dealer’s choice.”

“You are nasty,” Syd said, already stepping away.

Y/n blinked. “You’re the one who gutted a guy because he swallowed a USB.”

Syd paused mid-step, glancing back. “Krueger shot him before we could extract it. Digging through guts was still better than digging through shit.”

Y/n grimaced. “Should’ve let Seb do it.”

“He would’ve enjoyed it,” Syd said flatly, making a face. “Which is exactly why he was on sniper duty.”

She turned toward the bar again, tossing over her shoulder, “Now hush. Sit still. And try not to start a war before I get back.”

Y/n smiled to herself and let her gaze drift back over the room.

Somewhere between the lights and the music, she could almost feel Krueger’s absence.

And that, annoyingly enough, made the night more interesting.

Y/n didn’t even get the chance to start scanning the room for a target.

A shadow fell across the table, and a glass was set down with a soft clink near her phone. She looked up just as a man smiled at her—easy, practiced, not aggressive.

“Hey,” he said, lifting his chin in a casual greeting. “This table taken?”

Y/n didn’t answer right away.

She assessed him the way she always did—automatically, instinctively. It wasn’t judgment so much as habit, a survival reflex sharpened by years of needing to know who was safe, who was useful, and who was neither. Clubs were no different from crowded streets or transit hubs. People blended. People lied. People tried.

He looked… normal. Jeans, clean and well-fitted. A university hoodie that suggested he’d come straight from somewhere comfortable rather than trying too hard to impress. His smile wasn’t forced, and there was a faint flush to his cheeks that spoke more of alcohol than nerves. His hair was short, styled with care but not obsession. No ring on his fingers. No obvious scars on his hands, face, or neck—nothing that jumped out as a warning.

He smelled clean, too. A light cologne, subtle enough that she had to lean in slightly to register it. That alone put him several points above half the men she’d encountered in places like this. Too many thought cologne was a substitute for hygiene. She’d seen worse on missions—sweat, smoke, blood—but that didn’t mean she wanted to sit next to it voluntarily.

She tilted her head, resting her chin lightly on her knuckles.

“No,” she said at last, voice smooth. “We have room.”

Relief flickered across his face—quick, then gone. He slid onto the bench across from her and sat.

“We?” he asked, glancing at the empty seat beside her.

Y/n reached out and slid Syd’s phone closer to her own without breaking eye contact, the movement casual but deliberate. Clubs were prime hunting grounds for pickpockets, and in her experience, the smartest thieves never looked the part. They looked like him—clean, friendly, forgettable.

“My friend’s grabbing drinks,” Y/n said. “You here with anyone?”

“Yeah,” he laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “My brother and a few friends. They’re over by the pool tables, already making bad decisions.”

She clocked the gesture—nervous, but not panicked. Social nerves, not predator nerves.

“So you decided to abandon them and make new friends?” she teased.

He smiled wider. “Something like that.”

“I’m Kirsten,” she said, offering a hand.

She watched his fingers as he took it—callused just enough to suggest he worked with them sometimes, but not rough. His grip was firm without being possessive.

“Pierre,” he replied. “Nice to meet you, Kirsten,” he repeated, tasting the name. “You don’t hear that one often. And you’ve got an accent.”

She smiled, amused. “So do you.”

“Yeah?” He leaned back slightly, studying her. “You Swedish?”

She nearly laughed. “Norwegian.”

“Ah,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. “Close enough?”

“Careful,” she replied lightly. “That’s how wars start. You, uh—yours doesn’t sound perfect though.”

He chuckled. “Because it isn’t.”

“England?” She guessed.

“Try again.”

“Hmm, American?”

“Spot on.” He grinned.

She pretended to look surprised. “Really?”

“Shockingly,” he said, playing along. “On holiday. First time out here.”

“And?” she prompted.

He took a sip of his drink, eyes drifting around the club. “It’s… a lot. In a good way. I’ve never heard so many languages in one room before.”

“When people drink, they default,” Y/n said. “It’s easier to think in your first language.”

“That explains why my brother’s girlfriend gets louder in Spanish,” he said.

She hummed, glancing past him toward the bar. Syd was leaning casually against the counter, chatting with the bartender while their drinks were being poured. Comfortable. Alert.

“So,” Y/n said, turning back to Pierre, “I’ve got to ask. Pierre?”

He laughed. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“American parents feeling adventurous?”

“My mom lived in Quebec during university,” he explained. “Fell in love with the culture. Decided to pass that on.”

“That’s actually kind of nice,” Y/n said honestly. “Any story behind mine is boring by comparison.”

“Now I have to hear it.”

She shrugged. “My parents agreed—if I was a girl, my dad named me. If I were a boy, my mom would.”

“And the universe decided?”

“Apparently.”

“Well,” Pierre said, lifting his glass slightly, “the universe made a good call. It suits you.”

She smiled—not flirtatious, not dismissive. Measured. “So I’ve been told.”

Syd appeared beside them then, setting two drinks down on the table. Vodka, clear and cold, condensation already forming on the glass. She took in Pierre with one glance—curious, assessing, amused.

“Hey,” Syd said easily. “I’m Syd.”

“Pierre,” he replied, standing halfway before she waved him back down.

“No need,” she said, already sitting. Her eyes flicked briefly to Y/n’s phone, then back to him. Not territorial. Just aware.

Y/n wrapped her fingers around her glass and took a slow sip, letting the burn settle in her chest.

She could feel the night opening up around her—the music, the crowd, the possibilities.

“So,” Pierre said after a moment, lifting his glass and taking another sip, “what brought you two down here tonight?”

The music thumped steadily around them, bass heavy enough that it vibrated faintly through the tabletop. The air smelled like alcohol, perfume, and warm bodies, layered thickly enough that it blurred together into something almost sweet. Y/n leaned back against the cushioned bench, one leg tucked beneath her, posture relaxed in a way that was entirely deliberate.

“Just here to have a bit of fun,” she said lightly, flashing him a wink.

Syd immediately elbowed her in the ribs—not hard, just enough to remind her she wasn’t alone. “Work’s been stressful,” she added, her tone easy but grounded.

Pierre winced in sympathy. “Tell me about it. I’m in business management while doing uni at the same time.” He shuddered dramatically. “Absolutely miserable.”

“That sounds like hell,” Syd said sincerely.

“It is,” he confirmed. “So what about you two? Where do you work?”

“Security,” Y/n answered without hesitation.

The word came easily. Too easily. Lying like that was second nature—no pause, no overthinking. She and Syd had spent years perfecting the art of sounding honest while saying as little as possible. Being women only made it easier. People underestimated them constantly and saw what they wanted to see. A friendly smile. A pretty face. A harmless presence.

It was useful.

“Damn,” Pierre whistled. “That’s rough. Long hours?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Syd said, rolling her shoulders as if already tired just thinking about it. “Night shifts, day shifts, everything in between. And then trying to sleep when your neighbour decides two in the afternoon is the perfect time to blast music?”

She shot Y/n a pointed look.

Y/n lifted her hands innocently. “It’s not my fault you insist on sleeping when I’m awake.” She turned back to Pierre with another playful wink. “This woman guards her sleep like it’s classified information.”

Pierre laughed. “I don’t blame her. If I don’t get enough sleep, I’m useless.”

“Same,” Y/n hummed, lifting her glass and taking a slow sip.

Syd tipped her head toward Pierre’s drink. “What are you having?”

He glanced down at it, frowning slightly. “Honestly? No idea. My brother ordered it, decided it was too strong, and traded me.” He sniffed it. “It’s got a tang to it.”

“Let me try,” Y/n offered, already reaching for it.

Syd sighed. “Alcoholic.”

“I am not,” Y/n said automatically. “Nikolai is an alcoholic.”

“Just because he drinks more than you doesn’t mean you’re not one,” Syd replied, crossing her arms.

Pierre blinked, clearly lost.

“Nikolai’s a coworker,” Syd said smoothly. “He usually comes out with us, but he’s stuck working tonight.”

“Oh,” Pierre nodded quickly. “Got it. Didn’t mean to pry.”

Y/n took a measured sip of his drink, rolling it across her tongue thoughtfully. “Peachy. Vodka base. Sweet, goes down easy—but there’s that hand-sanitizer bite.” She handed it back. “I’m guessing rum’s mixed in too.”

Pierre stared at her. “That’s… impressively specific.”

She shrugged. “Practice.”

He laughed, then glanced sideways again, eyes lingering on a table off to the side. His voice dropped slightly. “You two feeling safe?”

Y/n followed his gaze.

Krueger sat with Yegor and a few others she recognized instantly—operators, all of them. Even dressed down, even in the low lighting, he was unmistakable. Blonde hair pulled back. Broad shoulders relaxed in a way that suggested coiled readiness rather than ease. He wasn’t drinking much. Just watching.

Their eyes met.

His expression didn’t change. But something sharpened.

“We’re fine,” Syd said easily, waving her hand dismissively. “Those are just people we know. That one”—she wiggled her fingers vaguely in Krueger’s direction—“gets moody sometimes.”

Krueger narrowed his eyes, then turned back toward Yegor like he hadn’t been looking at Y/n at all.

Pierre blinked. “You’ve got a lot of coworkers.”

“We’re part of an agency,” Syd replied smoothly. “Different contracts. Banks, hospitals, and schools. We rotate a lot—keeps things fair. Harder for anyone to get bribed.”

“Smart,” Pierre nodded. “Do you like it?”

Y/n lifted her glass again, deliberately slow, eyes flicking back toward Krueger once more before returning to Pierre. “It’s interesting,” she said. “What about you?”

He brightened instantly. “Honestly? I hate my job. Can’t wait to finish uni. I’m in environmental sciences.”

“Oh?” Y/n leaned forward, genuine interest lighting her eyes.

“I want to be a forest ranger,” he continued. “Or work in a national park. Somewhere quiet.”

“That actually sounds amazing,” she said. “Being outside all the time.”

“It’s been my dream forever,” he said, eyes drifting briefly over her before snapping back up, a little sheepish.

She smiled—not too much, not too little.

“I wanted to be a police officer,” she said lightly. “Didn’t quite work out. Now I just do security.”

“I bet you see some stuff though,” Pierre said.

Syd took a sip of her drink, watching the exchange closely.

Y/n reached for the two shot glasses Syd had brought back earlier. “Want a shot?”

Pierre hesitated only a second. “Why the hell not?”

They counted down together and knocked them back. Y/n barely reacted. Pierre, on the other hand, coughed and reached immediately for his drink.

“Jesus,” he spluttered. “What was that? Paint thinner?”

“Seventy percent,” Syd said cheerfully. “I was hoping Kirsten would gag.”

Y/n shot her a glare. “I’m not an alcoholic.”

Pierre squinted at her glass. “What are you drinking?”

She slid it toward him. “Try it.”

He took a careful sip, nose wrinkling. “Fruity—but a really strong vodka taste.”

Y/n laughed and reclaimed her drink. “Guess we’re just more used to drinking over here.”

She leaned back again, satisfied.

Across the room, Krueger watched her over the rim of his glass—expression unreadable, jaw tight.

Y/n took another long sip of her drink, the ice clinking softly as she tipped the glass back. The vodka burned less now—either the bartender had gone lighter this round, or her body had already adjusted. She let her foot drift forward, brushing Pierre’s leg beneath the table as if by accident, then pulled it back just as casually.

“So,” she said, leaning in slightly, eyes bright, “be honest with us, Mr. American.” She flashed him a grin. “European girls or American girls?”

Pierre’s ears turned red almost instantly.

Syd noticed and snickered into her glass. “Oh, you broke him.”

“I—uh—honest?” Pierre asked, glancing around the club, scanning faces as if he expected his brother or friends to materialize out of nowhere and catch him mid-confession.

“We appreciate honesty here,” Y/n said smoothly. “And I won’t tell anyone.”

He exhaled, shoulders sagging in mock defeat. “Alright. European women.” He shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know why. You’re just… different. Finer, I guess.”

Y/n smirked. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I’m American,” Syd said dryly, lifting her glass. “I’m staying out of this.”

Pierre blinked. “You are?”

“Yeah,” Y/n said before Syd could elaborate, angling her body slightly toward him. “She moved here for work and never left.”

“Brave,” Pierre laughed.

“Well,” Y/n said lightly, taking another sip, “you learn a few things over here. Like how to be independent.”

She brushed her foot against his leg again—less accidental this time.

Pierre swallowed, clearly trying to keep up. 

Syd shot Y/n a warning look. Y/n ignored it. “So… did you come here just to make friends?”

Her head felt pleasantly light now, warmth spreading through her limbs. The shot from earlier chose that moment to remind her it existed.

“Well,” Pierre hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck, his face going even redder.

Y/n nodded knowingly. “You wanted to go home and tell your friends you hooked up with a pretty European girl.”

Syd laughed into her drink just as Y/n finished hers in two quick swallows, setting the empty glass down with a soft thud.

“Don’t say that so loud,” Pierre groaned, half-laughing, half-horrified.

Y/n burst into laughter, Syd joining her. “Relax,” Y/n said, wiping at the corner of her eye. “That’s not a crime. As long as everyone consents—and the woman lets you brag.”

She winked.

Pierre buried his face in his arms on the table, shoulders shaking. “You’re evil.”

“Only a little,” Y/n grinned.

They kept teasing him like that for a few minutes—light, harmless, the kind of back-and-forth that made the music and crowd fade into background noise. Eventually Syd’s glass emptied, and she stood.

“I’m getting more,” she said, eyeing Y/n critically. “That shot hit you harder than you think.”

“Get me another one,” Y/n said immediately, blinking a bit too often.

Syd rolled her eyes. “This is your last shot. After that, you’re on water—or I’m calling Krueger over to escort you home.”

“Don’t,” Y/n pouted. “I’m having fun.”

“Then behave,” Syd replied, smirking as she headed toward the bar.

The moment Syd disappeared into the crowd, Pierre leaned closer. “If you want another shot, my brother’s got a bunch.”

Y/n blinked at him. “Really?”

“Yeah. She won’t notice if we’re quick.”

She pretended to think about it, lips pursed dramatically. “I don’t want to be called an alcoholic.”

Pierre laughed. “How much do you actually drink?”

“Like… once a month,” Y/n said, words starting to blur together just a little. “Can’t drink much when I’ve got work.”

“Then you’re fine,” he said easily, standing and offering her his hand.

She took it, wobbling slightly as she stood. “Fuck,” she laughed, bending forward a bit. “That shot was strong. I need to piss.”

“I’ll take you,” Pierre said, arm slipping around her waist to steady her.

Across the room, brown eyes followed them.

The bathroom was chaos—music muffled through the walls, women packed shoulder to shoulder, and laughter bouncing off tiled surfaces. Y/n ended up sitting on the floor for a few minutes, trying—and failing—to help another drunk girl fix her hair. They dissolved into giggles instead, Y/n brushing the girl’s hair with her fingers until it looked marginally better.

“Good enough,” the girl declared, helping Y/n up.

They staggered back out together, still laughing, before peeling off in different directions. Pierre caught Y/n by the arm just in time to stop her from walking straight into a wall.

“Careful,” he said gently, guiding her toward the stairs at the far side of the club.

A group of men stood there—similar build, similar clothes, similar accents. Americans. Pierre’s people.

Y/n leaned into him slightly, still smiling, the room spinning just enough to feel dangerous—but fun.

“Fuck,” Y/n muttered, the word dragging out of her mouth as she blinked hard, the room tilting no matter how much she tried to focus. The music felt too loud now, each beat thudding behind her eyes. “Okay. Maybe… maybe no more shots.”

She stared at the men around the table like they were arranged slightly wrong, faces blurring at the edges. Her head felt wrapped in cotton—warm, heavy, and distant.

“I think you’re good,” Pierre said quickly, leaning closer. “You alright?”

“Dizzy,” Y/n mumbled. Her tongue felt thick. “I need to sit.”

“Yeah—here.” Pierre pulled a chair out for her, steadying it with one hand as she swayed.

She barely registered the seat behind her before a hand—larger and firmer than Pierre’s—closed around her bicep and yanked her upright.

Y/n gasped softly, blinking up at the man in front of her.

There were two of him.

Both blond. Both sharp-eyed. Both unmistakably Sebastian Krueger, standing far too close. The double image swam before finally snapping into one as her vision struggled to cooperate.

Pierre took an instinctive step back, whatever buzz he’d been riding evaporating in an instant.

“What are you doing over here?” Krueger asked calmly.

His eyes never left Pierre.

“Just—uh—drinking,” Pierre said with a nervous smile. “Having a few shots.”

Krueger didn’t respond. His attention shifted abruptly to Y/n. He tilted her chin up with two fingers and pried one eyelid open, studying her pupil with unsettling focus.

Too wide.

Not just drunk-wide.

His jaw tightened.

“Hi, Seb,” Y/n slurred finally, the effort of forming words exhausting. She tried to pull away from his grip and promptly lost her balance, stumbling forward.

Krueger didn’t catch her.

Pierre did.

The American’s hands went automatically to her waist, steadying her as she giggled faintly and leaned into him, cheeks flushed, eyes unfocused.

Krueger’s mouth curved into something that looked like a smile—but wasn’t.

“What are you doing with this guy?” He asked, his voice deceptively light as he looked at Y/n.

She scrunched her nose, visibly fighting through the fog in her head. The thought process was slow, like wading through water. Then it clicked.

“He wants to fuck a Euro woman,” she slurred bluntly, leaning harder into Pierre, her legs refusing to cooperate.

Pierre froze.

Krueger’s eyes flickered—amusement, recognition, something sharper underneath. “Oh?” he said softly. “You flirt with him a lot, then?”

Pierre swallowed, suddenly very aware of how close he was standing to a man who radiated controlled violence.

“You were mean,” Y/n accused, pointing unsteadily at Krueger. Her arm dropped, and she pitched forward again.

This time, Krueger caught her.

He pulled her away from Pierre with ease and lowered her to the floor, guiding her back until she was sitting against the wall. She blinked up at him, dazed, breathing shallowly and unevenly.

“Yeah,” Krueger said quietly. “I know.”

He crouched just enough to bring his face close to hers, his voice dropping so only she could hear. “But you don’t get to put yourself in danger just to make a point and flirt with other guys when that is our thing.”

Her unfocused eyes tried to follow his face. The words didn’t quite land.

“I’ll take her home,” Pierre offered quickly, eager to be helpful, eager to escape the tension. “She’s had way too much.”

Krueger straightened slowly and looked at him.

“Really?” he asked, lips curling into a thin, knowing smirk. He stepped aside and gestured toward the exit. “Be my guest.”

Pierre blinked, confused—but he didn’t hesitate. He helped Y/n to her feet, then, realizing she couldn’t walk, scooped her up carefully and headed for the doors.

Krueger watched them go.

He didn’t move until they were almost out of sight.

“Krueger?” Syd’s voice cut in sharply.

She stood beside him now, eyes narrowed as she watched Pierre carry Y/n out. She set the drinks she’d been holding down hard on the table. Yegor immediately grabbed one.

“What’s happening?”

Syd stepped forward, but Krueger caught her wrist without looking.

“Don’t,” he said calmly. “I’ll take her back.”

Syd searched his face for a long second, then let go. “She’s not just drunk,” she said quietly.

“I know,” Krueger replied.

He waited a beat longer, then followed—moving not toward the parking lot, but toward the darkened building next door. Its windows were broken, its interior abandoned.

He slipped inside through a shattered pane with barely a sound.

Pierre was there, standing awkwardly with Y/n in his arms, her head lolling against his shoulder as she tried to make sense of where she was.

Krueger stepped out of the shadows.

Pierre turned too late.

His eyes widened as he registered the figure stepping out of the shadows, and the sudden shift in his grip sent Y/n slipping from his arms. She hit the concrete with a dull thud and immediately started whining, curling in on herself, disoriented and miserable.

Krueger watched it happen with open amusement.

He didn’t rush. He didn’t shout. He simply advanced, boots echoing softly in the empty space as Pierre scrambled backward, panic stripping the drunken bravado from his face. He backed up until metal met his spine—a support pole, cold and unforgiving.

“Feeling lucky tonight?” Krueger asked mildly.

The knife appeared in his hand as if it had always been there.

Pierre’s gaze locked onto it, breath hitching. “What—what are you—”

“Shhh.” Krueger lifted a finger, smiling faintly. “Talking doesn’t help you now.”

Pierre’s eyes darted wildly. “Who the fuck are you?”

Krueger didn’t answer. Pierre reached for his back pocket on instinct, and in a single smooth motion, Krueger caught his wrist and twisted. The phone clattered to the ground, skidding away before Pierre could react.

Krueger kicked it out of reach.

“You’re very lucky,” he said conversationally, stepping closer. “If she weren’t drugged, you wouldn’t still be standing.”

“I didn’t—” Pierre started, voice cracking.

Krueger tilted his head, the gesture curious, almost gentle. “Didn’t what?”

The knife pressed lightly beneath Pierre’s jaw—just enough for him to feel it.

“Didn’t drug her?” Krueger continued calmly. “Didn’t plan to walk her out of here while she couldn’t think straight?” He chuckled under his breath. “You’re not clever enough for that. And even if you were—she’d burn your whole world down before we found her.”

“You can’t fucking kill me,” Pierre spat, desperation leaking through.

Krueger laughed softly. “I can.”

The smile faded. What replaced it was flat and absolute.

“And I don’t like men who do this,” he added. “Especially not to someone who belongs to me.”

“Belongs to—” Pierre scoffed weakly. “She looks single.”

Krueger leaned in close. “You don’t need a ring to be claimed.”

What happened next was quick.

Pierre made a sound—short, strangled—then collapsed, hands clawing uselessly as his body hit the concrete. Krueger didn’t watch him finish falling. He was already turning away.

Y/n whimpered again, shifting where she lay, her face pale and unfocused. Krueger crouched beside her, studying her expression with sharp concern now mixing with the amusement.

“If you throw up in my truck,” he said dryly, “you’re cleaning it.”

He hauled her upright with ease, slinging her against his chest as she protested weakly. She clung to his jacket, confused and heavy-limbed.

Krueger didn’t slow as he carried her out.

peter's phone rang in his back pocket, and he pulled it out, checking the caller. he subconsciously smiled, seeing as it was his beautiful girlfriend. giddy, he answered.

"hey, y/n!"

"peter! peter! oh my god!" there was panic in her voice, and he felt the hairs on this neck rise. something was wrong, he knew it, given there was a tingling feeling at the back of his head.

"what's wrong? y/n—"

"hurry! i can't— i don't—" the scream she lets out makes peter's blood freeze. before he can get even another word in, the line goes dead.

"y/n? y/n!"

he clumsily stuffs his phone in the pocket and takes off the building. peter can't lose her. she's all he has. the yell echos in his head, urging him to go faster. an even worse thought enters his mind. what if he's too late? what if—

no, no. she's okay.

how will he get in? peter left the key back at home, along with literally everything else but his phone.

the window!

he lands on the side of the building, opening the bedroom window- not so gently. he's trying to hurry, but that's just making it harder. finally, the bug gets it open and jumps in.

"i'm here! i'm here! who i have to punch?!" peter looks around for her, before spotting her huddled in the corner of her bedroom, broom in hand. she's wearing one of his old shirts and... no pants? at least none that he can see.

no, no, bad spider, not now.

he rushes over to her, taking y/n's figure into his arms.

"are you okay? are you bleeding? hurt? broken bones? who's there?"

wordlessly, y/n gestures her broom to a spot in front of her, eyes wide. he frantically scans the surface, confused as to why he can't see anything there. peter holds her tighter.

"i don't— w-who's there?"

"look!" she hisses.

"i am!"

"look harder!"

"but— oh. wait, what? are you— is that a spider you're talking about?"

she nods frantically, poking him with the end of the broom. "go!" y/n yells, waving her hands around wildly.

"where?"

"go kill it!"

"i- no, i'm not gonna kill it. it's not even doing anything! you know, you scared the shit outta me, i was so scar—"

"well, tell it to leave!"

"...i'm sorry, tell it?"

"you're a spider! can't you talk to them?"

"...what?"

y/n shooed him. "you can't talk to it?"

"no. what? w-were you under the impression that i could talk to spiders for the last two years?"

"that was supposed to be one of the pros of dating you!"

"..."

he sighed and walked over to it, taking the arachnid into his hand. peter turned back around with a shit-eating grin in his face.

"babe..." she warned.

"look, darling! not even a little scary." he held in front of her face, and y/n held her breath.

"i'm gonna fucking break up with you, don't get any closer to me with that- that mini you in your hand!"

he snickered and moved closer.

"pete— peter benjamin parker, i swear to god that i will get a restraining order against you if you don't get the fuck away from me right now. what would aunt may say about that?"

peter sighed, and took a step back. he moved by the window and let it out, closing it afterwards.

she put the broom away, and went back to whatever the hell she was doing.

"no thank you?"

"oh, trust me, i was gonna give you more than a thank you, given you hadn't pulled that little stunt!"

swiftly, he pinned her again the wall, "like what?"

"now you won't find out."

"really?" before he could say anything more, she pressed her lips to his. "how's that for a thank you?"

Rhett was pacing the length of his porch back and forth.

His boots scuffed against the wood, while he held his hat firmly in his hands, his jaw tight and clenched.

He’d been pacing like this all morning. He didn’t head into town, he didn’t respond when Perry asked what his damn problem was. Just muttered some excuse about having a problem with his truck. But the problem definitely wasn’t his truck. It was you.

You had been walking down Main Street. You were wearing a sundress, the one that always made Rhett’s heart beat ten times faster. But it wasn’t the sundress that had caused this, no. It was the fact that there was a guy walking next to you, you were laughing, your shoulder’s occasionally bumping while the guy was carrying a bag like he’d just taken you shopping.

It had stopped Rhett dead in his tracks and made him feel like he was shoved underwater. He’d been halfway to the hardware store, a list in his hand when he saw you. And everything else just disappeared from his mind.

You didn’t even see him, too busy laughing at something the man next to you had said. And that had hurt him more than anything.

He’d liked you for years.

Hell, maybe he even loved you. But he never told you because you were his absolute best friend. You were the one person in town who didn’t see him as a complete mess or a rodeo star, you saw him for him, and you never made him feel like he had to prove himself around you.

With you, he felt like he could breathe. He didn’t want to screw that up, he didn’t want to lose the one good thing that made sense in his life.

You’d always show up on the ranch with two coffees and a bag of mini donuts. You’d dragged him to a county fair once just because he’d never been. You took him out of town and made him go shopping with you while he grumbled but the smile never left his face. But yet you never made a move. So neither did he.

And now? Now he was pretty damn sure he’d waited too long to tell you.

It was Thursday, the day you and Rhett have met for lunch at the same time for over a year.  

You sat at the diner table alone, the same booth the two of you always claimed in the corner of the diner. You had two coffees on the table while your stomach sat in knots that twisted tighter every time the door chimed open and Rhett wasn’t the one walking in.

You checked your phone, there were no texts, no calls, not even a voicemail. There was just nothing. Your mind raced with thoughts of what could’ve happened. Did something happen? Was he hurt? You knew he could be reckless sometimes, riding too fast, driving too far without saying anything.

But something in your gut said this wasn’t that, because no matter how reckless Rhett was, he always came back to you. This was something else, and something you didn’t understand.

You sat there for twenty more minutes. The waitress coming by and gave you a sympathetic look as you pushed your fries around your plate without really eating. You smiled through the ache that sat heavy on your chest and said “I guess he’s just busy.” But the truth? It really fucking hurt. It felt like something in you had cracked open, and now all the doubt and worry was rushing in, swarming your thoughts about what happened. What you did wrong. Because Rhett never skipped lunch, not once in an entire year.

That night you didn’t sleep. You stared at your ceiling, wide awake while your heart pounded in your chest thoughts running the worst scenarios through your head. Was it something you had said? Something you didn’t say?

Had he finally gotten tired of you and your chaotic antics? You didn’t even realize you were crying until you felt the wetness on your pillow, and felt the burn in your eyes.

The next morning you found him by the stables, tossing hay like it had personally wronged him in some way. He looked exhausted, dark circles lined under his eyes, his shirt damp with sweat and his jaw clenched like it was whenever he was upset. You walked closer, softly muttering “Hey.” Your voice quiet, but not weak.

Rhett turned slowly, wiping his hands on his jeans, his gaze not meeting your eyes before muttering back a  “Hey.”

“I brought lunch,” you said, lifting the bag, a small smile crossing your face as you looked at him. He nodded, still not looking you in the eye, before responding. “You didn’t have to.”

You stepped closer, your eyes softening as you felt that heavy weight on your chest “You skipped yesterday, Rhett.”

Rhett sighed, trying not to lose his temper as he mutters back “Was busy s'all.” before throwing another haystack.

You exhaled sharply, feeling his temper beginning to rise, something he was always careful to watch around you. You softly muttered “Rhett, come on. Don’t lie to me, we tell each other everything.”

That finally made him look up, and that’s when you saw it in his eyes, hurt, jealousy, anger. He laughed, but it held no amusement. “Figured you had other plans with your boyfriend.” he said as his eyes darkened

Your stomach dropped entirely as you stared back at him, your mind baffled softly muttering “My what?”

He shrugged his shoulders with a scoff “That guy you were with. You looked pretty cozy together.”

Your throat tightened, as you managed to get out, “You mean Caleb?” Rhett didn’t respond. Just turned back toward the haystack like the conversation was over.

You stepped forward, your voice sharp as you exclaimed “Rhett Abbott! Caleb Parker is a family friend. His uncle and my dad went to high school together. I was showing him around town while he and his uncle were visiting. He has a girlfriend!” 

Then complete silence before you continued, your voice still sharp and thick with emotion now. “You really think I’d be with someone and not tell you?” He didn’t say anything, the silence deafening to your ears.

You kept going, your voice trembling as you spoke. “I waited for you Rhett. I sat there by myself for almost an hour, waiting for a call, a text, anything. Do you have any idea how that felt? I felt like I didn’t matter to you, like I was discarded and thrown away.”

His shoulders tensed as he turned around and looked at you. The guilt shining through his blue eyes.“M’sorry. M’so Sorry. I just, I saw you with him, and God. I didn’t know what to do. I thought you’d moved on and found someone who actually deserved you, more than I ever did.”

Your eyes stung with tears, your body leaning in on itself as you stared at the man you’ve had a crush on for years. “I never moved on, because I never had anyone to move on from. I’ve only ever had eyes for one person.” you said softly. Rhett’s head snapped up comedically quick. And you stared straight at him before softly whispering. “You.”

He blinked as you stepped closed and said “It’s always been you Rhett. I just didn’t say anything because I thought maybe you didn’t want more than this, and I didn’t want to lose what we had.”

Rhett looked at you, his voice full of guilt “I was scared. Scared if I said something, you’d run away, that I’d ruin the only thing that’s ever made sense in my life.”

“You’ve always had me Rhett” You mutter softly, tears streaming down your face, while Rhett looked like he might cry too. He took a few steps forward and pulled you straight into his arms.

His hands wrapped around your shoulder blades and low back, while your arms wrapped tight around his middle and you stood there holding each other tightly as he mumbled a soft “M'so sorry, darlin'” Over and over, like he needed to make up for every second he made you doubt your worth.

“I know Rhett. But you’re here now, that’s what matters.” You whispered, pressing your face into his chest. He softly grasped your chin making you look up at him as he peered down at you, before pulling you into a soft kiss. A kiss that felt like home.

A week later you slid into your booth and smiled at Rhett who was already there with two coffees and a small bouquet of flowers.

“Hey, Darlin’ thought I’d beat you for once.” He said with a soft grin on his face.

You grinned widely looking at the man in front of you, softly muttering “You trying to impress me, Abbott?” He leaned closer, lacing your fingers together over the table. “Always, Darlin’.”

It’d had been an agonizingly long day by the time you had gotten back to the tower. Your shoulders were slumped as your boots thudded heavily against the tower floors, your body just defeated from the mission.

The mission itself had gone mostly fine, but you weren’t some majorly superpowered-being like the others. You weren’t a super soldier that could take a billion hits and be fine, and you weren’t some equivalent of a god either. You were a talented assassin and knew how to get jobs done when they needed to be, but you still got hurt, and when you did? It absolutely ached, and hurt like no other.

You knew from the moment you got on the plane to come back that you’d be feeling this mission for the next few days, and you knew the ache when you woke up tomorrow was going to be excoriating.

Each step you took through the now mostly quiet tower felt like your bones were being melted in molten lava as the ache spread due to the adrenaline wearing off. The large blisters on your feet rubbed against the tight leather of your boots and socks causing you to wince with each step you took. While there was a gash on your forehead from where you’d been hit with the back of a gun, and while the bleeding had stopped, the blood was now crusted along your temple line making you irritated as you knew that would sting to clean and be a pain to clean out of your hair.

You wanted exactly two things as you made the short walk to your room, your boyfriend, and some extra strength Advils. You finally reached your door and opened it with a groan, as your shoulder was killing you and even the motion of lifting it to open the knob was excruciating at the moment. But the sight you saw on your bed when the door opened made it entirely worth it.

Bob was laying on your bed in a pair of sweats and a hoodie, one you’d probably ask to steal later. He was laying against the headboard, his legs crossed as he read a book. And god if the sight of your boyfriend looking so cuddly on your bed didn’t make you just want to dive into bed and say fuck it to cleaning your wounds. But you knew the moment Bob spotted you, that plan wouldn’t be an option. 

Bob’s head snapped towards you the moment you fully stepped into the room, his eyes immediately widening in concern at the sight of you. Bob instantly put his book down, not even bothering to mark the page and got off the bed, quickly closing the space between you two as he raced over to you.

He reached out and gently placed his hands on your shoulders, his eyes quickly studying over your aching and bruised body. He didn’t ask if you were okay, he didn’t start lecturing you about being safer on your missions, instead he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you gently into his chest, wrapping you up in the hug you so desperately needed.

You slumped into him letting your body deflate into his and letting him hold you up. It felt like your entire body could finally exhale and breathe for the first time since you left.

Bob felt the way your body leaned into his, and gently kissed the top of your head before whispering. “You’re safe, you’re home, you're okay, baby. We’re gonna get you cleaned up.”

You just nodded, your face pressed into his chest and your hands gripping the back of his shirt like he was your lifeline.

You could feel him checking over your body, his hands gently sliding down your arms and back, trying to see where the worst injuries were, gently pressing down when he found a bad spot, trying to make sure that your injuries weren’t worse than you may be playing them off to be.

He pulled back just enough to look at your face, his hands gently reaching up to cup your jaw, leaning in to give you a gentle kiss before quietly muttering “c'mere baby, let me fix you up.”

You let him help you change out of your suit and into some sleep shorts and a tanktop, and then let him guide you to sit on the edge of your bed. He wandered into your bathroom and came back with the first aid kit that the two of you kept under there for moments like this. He quickly knelt in front of you as he gently opened the swabs and started disinfecting the cuts along your legs.

You winced at him cleaning one of the worse cuts on your knee, and he paused immediately, looking up at you with a concerned gaze as his other hand reached to your wrist and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Am i being too rough, darling?” You shook your slightly drooping head no, your hoarse voice muttering out a barely audible “no, just stung a bit. M’just tired.”

He kissed your knuckles softly before starting to clean them up too. “I know, m’sorry baby. I'll try to be quick and we can get you into bed.” 

He continued cleaning you up, making sure to be as gentle as he possibly could with you, stopping if you even let out the faintest wince to make sure you were alright.

He was finally almost done and was finishing up on your temple. He reached up to tilt your chin, his thumb tracing lightly along your cheek. “Thank you for letting me take care of you baby. I know it’s not easy for you to let others help, but m’grateful you let me take care of you, even if it’s hard.”

Your eyes welled up a bit, you were exhausted, your body ached, and your boyfriend was the most amazing person alive who has walked with you throughout countless missions where you once would’ve been too stubborn for him to even come near you. But now? Now you know you’re safer in his care than anywhere else.

“I love you.” you whispered back, reaching down to squeeze his hand. He just smiled and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, before finishing cleaning up the small gash on your temple. He quickly finished, and unwrapped a yellow smiley face bandaid, something that made your lips quirk up at the sides.

Bob saw your slight smile and gently chuckled as he said, “We ran out of the plain ones, so smiley faces is what you’re getting, baby.”  You shook your head before letting a shaky laugh for the first time that night. “smiley is good with me.”

Once he placed the bandaid, he gave one last kiss to your forehead before taking off his hoodie and gently placing it on you instead, letting you curl into the feeling of it. He pulled down the comforter on the bed, and gently motioned for you to lay down. 

You crawled into the warm bed and let out a huge sigh as Bob gently covered you up, before climbing into the bed next to you and pulling you into his arms, being as gentle as he could and minding the bruises littering your sides. You curled against him immediately, tucking your head just below his jaw and tangling your legs with his. The ache in your body, while still present, began to slowly fade at just the feeling of being in his arms.

Bob looked down at you, and ran his hand slowly up and down your spine, quietly whispering to you “I love you baby. Thank you for letting me help you. I know it’s not always easy.”

Your voice was quiet, but assured as you curled deeper into Bob’s hold “I always wanted your help, I just didn’t think I deserved it and didn’t wan’to be a burden to you.”

Bob just hugged you a bit tighter, his hands never stopping the gentle rubbing against your spine causing you to melt into him. “You’ll never be a burden to me. You’ve seen me at my worst and you didn’t run, so i’m not going to run at yours either baby. I’ll always be here to clean you up, even if it takes a lifetime to convince you of it.”

It was early in the morning, the birds had just started chirping and the morning light had just begun to slip softly through your parted curtains.

The sun casted warm hues of gold and yellows across your bedroom signaling the day that was to come. Your eyes fluttered open as you blinked groggily, your hands coming up to rub your eyes. You knew it was early, but you weren't quite sure what time it was.

You were met with a soft chill from where you and Bob had left the window open last night, a warm bed that was too comforting to even think of leaving, and Bob laying next to you his arm still slung over your shoulder.

Bob was fast asleep beside you, his mouth slightly parted and his long lashes that you’re so jealous of resting against his cheeks. He had a peaceful expression present on his face, obviously still dreaming.

All you could do in that moment was admire how beautiful your boyfriend was. You typically always wake up after him as you're not a morning person, so you never get to really see the way the sun lays on his peaceful features.

You shifted just slightly to get a better look at him as you rolled onto your stomach, resting your chin on your hands as your eyes traced him, taking in the way his hair seemed to illuminate under the morning sun, giving a gold hue to him.

Bob began to stir, his eye’s flickering open to meet yours. With you staring back at him, a soft smile present on your lips. “Morning” Bob’s voice rasped out heavy with sleep “You staring at me, Sweetheart?"

You smiled letting out a small laugh as you were caught red handed. You definitely were staring. “Maybe?” you said your voice equally heavy with sleep.

“Mhmm. Should I be flattered or should I be concerned, Baby?” He said with a soft smirk quirking up on his own lips. His eyes closed once again as he laid comfortably against the pillows.

You leaned in and brushed a soft kiss to his cheek before muttering “M’just admiring my golden boy, can you blame me?” 

That made him blush and a crooked grin spread across his face. “You can’t just say things like that first thing in the morning. Gonna be the death of me, Baby.”

He rolled over suddenly, his strong arms coming to wrap around your waist as he pulled you fully on top of him, blankets and all making you shriek as you burst into laughter.

You landed against his chest, now face to face with him. “Bob! What are you doing.” you giggled, swatting at his chest but not actually trying to escape your boyfriends tight grasp.

He just held you tighter and buried his face in your neck. “Wanted to see my 'golden girl'. I’m keeping you where I want you, baby. Golden boy privileges after all.”

You laughed even louder, rolling your eyes. “I never should’ve called you that, I’ve given your ego too much of a boost.”

“I don’t know sweetheart, I kinda like when you say it.” He said with a soft smirk before leaning in to kiss you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek while his thumb rubs gentle caresses across your jawline.