LOVERS CREEK

The ghost I left behind- III

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x reader

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

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

Word count: 6.3k

Chapter II

--

O.X.E Research Lab. - Malaysia

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

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

Bob stared at that picture like it was oxygen.

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

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

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

And then he left.

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

And now?

Now the power was eating him alive.

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

“Subject 44. The team is ready.”

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

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

“Begin neurological synchronization,” a voice echoed overhead.

Bob closed his eyes.

At first, there was silence.

Then came the whispering.

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

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

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

But it was too late.

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

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

Then — darkness.

Bob woke up on the floor, shivering.

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

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

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

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

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

There she was.

Still smiling. Still beautiful.

Still waiting.

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

He buried his face in his hands, shaking.

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

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

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

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

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

“Please… wait for me.”

--

2 months after

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bob doesn’t answer. His jaw trembles.

“What do you do to control it?”

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

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

She walks ahead without waiting for a response.

He starts walking behind her.

--

Back in New York

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You already are,” Cooper said.

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

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

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

--

Bob was indeed not okay

The room was colder than he remembered.

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

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

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

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

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

His breath hitched. “Where am I?”

“Home, for now” she said sweetly.

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

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

“Don’t,” he muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She slid a photograph across the table.

His heart stopped.

It was her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’ll hate me.” he whispered.

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

She walked to the door, heels clicking.

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

The door closed behind her with a final click.

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

His fingers trembled as he whispered her name.

“How did I ended up here baby...”

--

Y/N's pov

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N stared. She forgot to breathe.

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

Y/N blinked. “He?”

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

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

A boy. She was having a son.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s everything.” she whispered.

--

2 years ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He couldn’t stop looking at her.

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes snapped to hers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She winked and started the car.

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bob blinked. “Wait, what principle?”

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

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

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

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

Then he paused.

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

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

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

“Tada.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She raised an eyebrow. “Something you like ?”

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

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

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

But then, she shifted.

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

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

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

And he knew.

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

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

--

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

Y/N stirred first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bob—”

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

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

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

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

Bob blinked.

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

“We could just… share the bed?”

Bob froze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They lay there for a moment in silence.

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

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

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

“Good. Me neither.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She noticed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he froze.

Just for a second.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want me, Bobby?”

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

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

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

False Confidence Masterlist

Pairing: Javy “Coyote” Machado x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: The Athletic named Javy Machado the fifth sluttiest player in the NHL last year. He’s a known playboy who leaves every game with a different girl. As far as he’s concerned he’s living the dream, playing his dream job with the dream lifestyle. Unfortunately his friends and bosses don’t agree. At 33, they think it’s time for him to settle down. You’re a kindergarten teacher at an esteemed private school. You don't expect much when you finally accept your colleague’s invitation to attend her husband’s hockey game but when you accidentally get separated in the post-game rush, you find yourself in a compromising situation with the last person you’d ever expected to meet. When his PR rep suggests a mutually beneficial agreement, your hands are tied. How long will you have to keep up the act? And how long will you be able to?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, angst, fluff, fake relationship, suggestive language, anxiety, school system inaccuracies, hockey inaccuracies etc. There will be individual chapter warnings. No use of Y/N.

A/N: This is a partial repost and continuation of my series False Confidence that originally started in March 2023 and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Main Series

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Oneshots

Nothing here yet!

Blurbs

Nothing here yet!

me: i love reading angst

me reading angst:

When you wanted angst, you got your angst but at what cost. I hurt my own feelings

The ghost I left behind

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Reynolds x reader

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

Note: I wrote this with Sunshine & Rain.. By Kali Uchis, feel free to enjoy this with that on repeat to really feel it burn. Also please somebody give me HD gifs asap. Also if you hadn't read the preview yet, I recommend it!

Word count: 4,7k

Preview

--

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting an ugly green tinge over the already-drab walls of the 23rd Precinct. Y/N pushed the door open with her elbow, hands full—one holding a stack of wrinkled flyers with Bob’s photo on them, the other clutching the hem of her coat closed.

The front desk officer didn’t even look up.

The bell above the door had long since stopped ringing for her.

She shuffled to the counter. She was wearing the same hoodie she always wore—his hoodie, oversized and faintly smelling of old laundry detergent and smoke. Her stomach was just beginning to curve outward, subtle but undeniable beneath the fabric. Four months.

“Hey, Ms. Y/L/N,” the desk sergeant mumbled without meeting her eyes. “You’re back.”

She placed the flyers down with quiet urgency. “I printed new ones. Better quality. I added a note about the reward this time, in case someone’s seen him.”

The sergeant sighed, his pen clinking on the desk as he leaned back.

“I told you last time. No new leads.”

“I’m not asking for a miracle,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Just—please check if anything came in since last week. A tip. A sighting. A… a body, no, not that, but anything really.”

A uniformed officer behind the counter—young, smug, cruel in that casual way people are when they forget you’re human—snorted. “Lady, you know the guy was a junkie, right? Odds are he got tired of playing house and ran off when the stick turned pink.”

Y/N’s heart splintered. Her hands clenched the flyers. “Don’t—don’t you dare say that about him.”

He shrugged. “C’mon. You don’t have to be a detective to figure it out. He got high and vanished. People like that don’t come back. Especially not to play Daddy.”

“He’s not like that!” she shouted, her voice cracking.

The room went quiet.

A throat cleared gently behind her.

“Y/N?” came the familiar rasp of Officer Cooper, stepping out from a side hallway. Silver-haired and weathered, he’d been on the force longer than most of the others had been alive. He always spoke softly, like he didn’t want to scare away whatever kindness he still believed in.

Y/N blinked back tears and turned.

“Let’s take a walk,” Cooper said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get some air.”

--

Outside, the sky was overcast. Cold. Cooper lit a cigarette but didn’t offer her one.

They stood in silence next to the station’s rusted bench. She stared down at the pavement, at her frayed shoelaces, at the grey world around her.

Then she broke.

“I can’t sleep, Mr. Cooper,” she whispered, voice small. “I dream about him every night. I wake up thinking maybe he’s home, maybe I missed a call. But then it’s just me. Just me and this baby. I don’t know what I’m doing—I don’t have money, I don’t have family. He was my family.”

Cooper nodded slowly, his expression unreadable.

“I know you’ve been kind,” she said, her voice rising. “You’ve listened. But I need more. I need you to put more people on this. I need you to look for him like he’s not just some addict you all gave up on.”

She wiped her face with her sleeve. Her tears soaked through it instantly.

“Please. Just… just try. For me. For him. For our child. Bobby wouldn’t leave me. Not like this. Not without a word. Not him.”

Cooper took a long drag from his cigarette. Then sighed.

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

She froze.

His eyes softened, like he wished he could lie. Like he hated what he was about to do.

“We finally traced a lead. Someone matching Bob’s description was seen boarding a flight out of the country.”

She couldn’t breathe.

“Where?”

“Malaysia,” he said quietly.

The word hit her like a sledgehammer.

“No,” she whispered. “That’s… no, he wouldn’t… He didn’t have money. He didn’t have a passport.”

“He did,” Cooper said, sadly. “We checked. It was valid. Bought the ticket in cash. No forwarding contact. No signs of foul play.”

She staggered back, her body suddenly too heavy. Her hand flew to her belly as if to anchor herself.

“So… you’re saying he left me.”

“I’m saying,” Cooper murmured, “that we don’t believe he vanished. We believe he made a choice.”

“No,” she choked. “No, he didn’t. He loved me. We were building a life. He called me his miracle. We were deciding on a name. He cried when I told him. He held me all night and said he’d never leave.”

Cooper looked down at his shoes.

“I know, kid.”

Tears streamed down her face now, silent and relentless.

“I waited. Every day, I waited,” she sobbed. “I believed in him. I still do. He’s sick, not a monster. You’re telling me he abandoned his child before the baby was even born?”

Cooper said nothing. There was nothing to say.

Finally, she whispered, “Is he coming back ? Did he buy two tickets? He did, right, to come back to me, to us?”

Cooper crushed the cigarette beneath his boot.

“One way ticket. Maybe it's better if u go home, take a breath, and just... you can call me, ok ? I have a daughter just like you and she's an amzing mother, you will be too. You have to go to work, just rest.”

She just looked at the flyers in her hand. For months he just disappear, all her money spent in paper, organizing searches, paying potential dealers for a tip of his whereabouts.

"So this is it?"

--

2 years ago

The Cluckin’ Bucket wasn’t exactly a place dreams were made of.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like a swarm of angry flies, flickering over cracked linoleum tiles and chipped yellow walls. The scent of fried oil hung in the air like a second skin, clinging to every surface. It was 11:43 PM, just seventeen minutes before closing, and the only two souls left inside were Y/N, wiping down tables, and Bob, in the back room, peeling off the heavy, foam-rubber chicken costume that had been slowly cooking him alive for eight hours.

He winced as he pulled the beak off his head, his sweat-damp hair sticking up in odd places. His T-shirt clung to his back, his jeans sagged slightly on his hips, and his bones ached in that weird, chemically induced way that only came from a cocktail of meth and shame.

He hadn’t wanted this job.

He sure as hell hadn’t wanted the chicken suit.

But here he was—twenty-something, barely scraping by, dancing on a street corner in 95-degree heat to try and convince people to buy discount wings.

He tucked the suit away in its plastic bag, sighing, and padded into the dining area, rubbing the back of his neck.

And then he saw her.

Y/N.

The new waitress.

She was crouched in front of the soda machine, elbow-deep in the syrup line, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, earbuds dangling from her neck. She was humming something—Fleetwood Mac, he thought—but he couldn’t be sure.

She wore her name tag crooked on her chest, and there was a smudge of sauce on her cheek.

But to him? She looked like she belonged in a painting.

He froze for a second too long, just staring.

God, she was pretty. And he was in a chicken suit just minutes ago. And probably still smelled like sweat and fryer grease. Cool. Real smooth.

She glanced up—and caught him.

Her eyebrows rose a little. Her mouth quirked.

“Robert, right?” she asked, tilting her head. Her voice was warm, amused, like she already knew the answer.

His throat caught. “Uh. Yeah. Bob, actually.”

“Bob,” she repeated, like she was trying it on. “Can you help me with something?”

“Sure,” he said too quickly.

She straightened, gesturing toward a box at her feet. “I’m trying to get this up to the top shelf, but it’s heavier than it looks and my arms are, like, noodles right now.”

He nodded and stepped forward, kneeling to lift the box without much effort. He was wiry, but stronger than he looked. She watched him, subtly biting the corner of her lip.

“Thanks,” she said as he set the box down on the shelf. “You’re stronger than you look.”

He gave a sheepish laugh, rubbing his arm. “Yeah, well… spinning a giant arrow for eight hours a day builds muscles, I guess.”

She smiled. “Don’t sell yourself short. That costume? Kinda iconic.”

He turned bright red. “Oh, God.”

“What?” she teased. “I think it’s cute.”

“Cute?”

“Yeah,” she said, wiping her hands on a rag. “I mean, it takes a certain kind of confidence to dance in a chicken suit and not die of embarrassment.”

He snorted. “More like a lack of options.”

There was a pause—just a second too long.

“Still,” she said, voice softer now, “You’ve got a good smile, Bob.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I said, you’ve got a good smile.”

He swallowed, heart hammering for no reason he could explain. She was looking at him. Not through him. Not with pity. Just… seeing him. And it had been a long time since someone had done that.

They started talking more after that.

Little things. Jokes during their shifts. Late-night scraps of conversation while wiping down counters or restocking sauces. She’d bring him a free soda when she noticed him flagging. He’d sweep her section when her feet were too tired to move. Neither of them said it out loud, but it became something—a rhythm, a comfort.

He never told her about the drugs.

But she saw the shadows under his eyes. The way his hands shook sometimes. The way he chewed his inner cheek when he thought no one was looking. She didn’t ask, and he was grateful.

Until that one night.

They were walking out together. The parking lot was empty, bathed in yellow streetlight. The air was thick with humidity. Bob carried his bag over his shoulder, still fidgeting with the zipper.

Y/N was quiet beside him, arms crossed over her chest.

They reached the edge of the lot. Her car was parked beneath the flickering sign.

He stopped. She didn’t.

Then, she turned back.

“Hey,” she said. “Can I ask you something?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

He blinked. “Uh. No. Why?”

She smiled—and it knocked the air out of him.

“Just wondering,” she said, stepping a little closer. “Because if you don’t… I was wondering when you were going to ask me out.”

He stared at her, stunned.

“I—I mean—I didn’t think you’d—why would you—” he stammered.

She laughed, shaking her head. “Bob. I like you.”

He swallowed. “You do?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Even with the chicken suit.”

And then, because his body moved before his fear could stop him, he smiled—wide and real.

“I… would really like that.”

“Good,” she said, walking backwards toward her car, grinning. “Then don’t keep me waiting.”

He stood in the parking lot long after she drove away, heart pounding, a dumb grin on his face.

For the first time in years, the night didn’t feel so heavy.

--

Central Park in the early evening was dipped in gold.

The last fingers of sunlight threaded through the leaves like warm lace, casting dappled shadows on the grass. It was one of those rare New York days—cool but not cold, the air kissed with early autumn, the sky a watercolor blend of lavender and peach.

Bob stood awkwardly near a bench beneath a sycamore tree, tugging at the hem of his second-best flannel. His fingers twitched in his jacket pocket, where he kept the meth pipe he hadn’t touched in two days.

He was sweating.

Not from the weather.

From her.

Because Y/N was there, spreading out a gingham blanket on the grass near the edge of a pond, her hair tucked behind her ears, a small cooler bag next to her feet.

She looked like someone who belonged in the light.

He still wasn’t convinced he deserved to be sitting beside her in it.

“Okay,” she said, brushing imaginary dust from the blanket. “Don’t laugh. I made too much.”

Bob walked over slowly, hands in his pockets, watching as she pulled out a series of plastic containers and neatly wrapped foil packets. Sandwiches. Potato salad. Tiny cupcakes with blue frosting that had clearly been made with care. Even folded napkins.

“Holy crap,” he said, blinking. “Did you raid a deli or something?”

She grinned. “No, I made it. I… I like cooking.”

“For me?”

She looked at him like it was obvious. “Yeah. Who else would I be trying to impress, Bob?”

He knelt on the blanket, legs crossed, still a little stiff, watching her with barely restrained disbelief. “I just… I’ve never had anyone… you know. Do something like this. For me.”

She shrugged, setting a container between them. “Well, now you have.”

He picked up a sandwich, still stunned. “You made all this… for a guy who dresses like a poultry mascot?”

She chuckled. “I happen to like that guy.”

Bob opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He just smiled—a shy, crooked thing—and took a bite.

Bob sat on the edge of the picnic blanket, chewing slowly, trying not to look too shocked by how good the sandwich in his hand was. “Okay,” he said between bites, “you’re going to have to explain to me how you made this taste like something from an actual restaurant. What’s in this?”

Y/N grinned, tucking a napkin under her leg to keep it from blowing away. “Nothing fancy. Chicken, basil, a little Dijon, homemade aioli—”

“H-homemade? Who even makes aioli? That’s, like, elite-level cooking.”

“I like cooking,” she said simply, with a shrug. “It calms me down. Helps me feel like I’ve got control over something, you know?”

He nodded slowly, finishing the last of the sandwich. “Yeah, I get that. It’s like spinning that dumb arrow—kinda zen, if you ignore the back pain.”

She laughed. “That’s tragic. I cook to relax, and you give yourself arthritis.”

“Hey, I’m not proud.”

She passed him a small container of fruit salad, their knees brushing slightly under the blanket. There was a breeze picking up, threading through the grass, fluttering the corners of the gingham cloth. In the distance, a dog barked, and somewhere near the pond a violinist had started playing faintly.

“You live with roommates? Alone?” Bob asked suddenly, trying to picture what her place might look like. “Your kitchen’s probably better than mine. Mine’s got, like, one working burner and a fridge that sounds like it’s dying.”

She hesitated, then looked down at her hands. “Actually… I live alone now.”

His brows lifted slightly, sensing the shift in her voice.

“I didn’t always,” she continued. “My ex boyfriend and I used to live together, in this little apartment off Bedford. It was cramped, noisy, walls were paper-thin… but it was kind of cozy. It felt like ours.”

Bob stayed quiet, letting her speak.

“He left about nine months ago,” she said. “For someone else. Someone with shinier hair and a ‘real’ job, probably. I don’t know. One day he said he didn’t love me anymore, and that was that.”

Bob’s chest tightened.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

She waved a hand, but her smile was tinged with something older than the moment. “It sucked. But if he hadn’t left, I wouldn’t have taken the job at Cluckin’ Bucket. Wouldn’t have ended up on night shifts. Wouldn’t have met you.”

He blinked, thrown. “That’s… wow. You really think that’s a good trade?”

She shrugged again, but this time with a little smile. “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

Bob looked down at the cupcakes, the homemade food, the folded napkins. All for him.

He cleared his throat. “I just don’t get it. How someone could be with you and let you slip through their fingers. That guy had the f—freaking lottery ticket and he just… walked away?”

She glanced at him, visibly surprised by the fire in his voice.

“I mean it,” Bob said, quieter now. “If it were me… I’d never let you go.”

The moment stretched between them, warm and tender.

She looked at him for a long time, something soft and wounded behind her eyes.

“You’re sweet, Bob,” she said quietly.

“I’m not,” he replied without thinking. “Not really. But I want to be.”

Her lips parted like she wanted to say something else, but instead she reached for another sandwich.

They sat in silence again, this time heavier.

Then Bob spoke, his voice rough.

“I don’t have anyone either,” he said. “No family. No ties. Just a bunch of mistakes and a backpack that smells like old socks.”

She looked at him. “No one at all?”

He shrugged. “Not since my mom passed. My dad was… not really in the picture. I’ve kinda just been floating since then.”

“Me too,” she said. “It’s like… we’re both ghosts in a city full of people who have somewhere to be.”

That hit him harder than he expected.

He nodded slowly, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“I always thought,” he murmured, “that maybe I was just built to be alone. Like I was meant to burn out early. Some people are just… too messed up to fit.”

She leaned toward him, brushing a thumb gently against his hand.

“You’re not messed up,” she whispered. “You’re just… lost. And that’s not the same thing.”

His heart nearly stopped.

“You’re the first person who’s ever said that,” he admitted.

“Then everyone else was wrong.”

He didn’t know what came over him then—maybe it was the sunset or the food or the warmth of her fingers against his—but he turned toward her, and for once, he didn’t feel ashamed.

“Can I… see you again?” he asked.

Her eyes crinkled with a smile.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

--

present day

The apartment was still.

Still in the way a place only gets after someone is gone—not just physically, but really gone. Like the soul of the place had followed them out the door and taken all the warmth with it.

The late afternoon sun filtered weakly through the dusty blinds, casting long stripes across the bed where Y/N lay curled on her side. Their bed. His side still had the indent of his body, even after months. She hadn’t brought herself to sleep on it, like maybe the dip in the mattress could hold his shape long enough for him to come back and fill it.

Her hand cradled the curve of her growing belly. Just past four months. She was showing now. Her body knew, even if the world didn’t care.

Across from her on the nightstand were the pictures—cheap Polaroids and one dog-eared photo booth strip from Coney Island, taped crookedly to the wall. Bob’s stupid half-smile grinned back at her in every frame. The one where he was pretending to flex with a corndog in hand. The one where he looked away, caught off-guard, cheeks red from laughing at something she said.

Her thumb brushed the edge of the picture. Her throat burned.

“God, Bobby…” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

A fresh wave of tears pressed from behind her eyes and spilled freely down her cheek, soaking into the pillow. She clutched the blanket tighter with one hand and her belly with the other.

“You left,” she murmured. “You really left.”

She bit her lip so hard it nearly split, the ache in her chest unbearable.

“I defended you. I told them you’d never run. I called every hospital, every shelter. Put up posters with your face in every goddamn corner of this city. I begged the police to keep looking because I knew something was wrong. I thought maybe you were in trouble, or hurt… or…”

Her voice broke, raw and low.

“Turns out you were just gone. Just—just done.”

She sat up slowly, wiping her face with the sleeve of Bob’s old hoodie—still too big on her, still faintly smelling like him, like cologne and smoke and something warmer.

“You saved up that money. You actually planned this,” she whispered, hollow. “You looked me in the eye… kissed me goodnight, touched our baby, and you already knew you weren’t coming back.”

Her breath hitched as her hand moved over the swell of her belly, as if trying to protect the child from the truth pressing in.

“You knew I was pregnant. And you still left. That’s what makes it worse. Not the addiction. Not the lies. That. You knew, and it didn’t stop you.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“I gave up everything trying to find you, Bobby,” she said, louder now, choking on the grief. “I drained what little savings I had. Every cent I scraped together went to flyers, gas, private search sites. I even hired some guy off Craigslist who said he could ‘track people down for a price.’ That was three hundred dollars I’ll never get back.”

She laughed bitterly through her tears.

“I work double shifts now just to stay afloat. Still serving greasy food to assholes who think I’m invisible—coming home to this empty fucking apartment, sleeping in a bed that feels like a coffin.”

She fell back onto the pillow and stared up at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling in short, shallow breaths.

“I really thought you were different,” she whispered. “I did. I thought… maybe this time, it wouldn’t end with someone leaving. I really get left for everything else at this point, not good enough, prettier women, drugs. And maybe that’s worse. Because at least he looked me in the eye and said goodbye. Or maybe…did you find a better woman Bobby?”

Her lips trembled as another sob escaped.

“You said you loved me. You said we were in this together. We made something together, Bobby. We made a life. And you just… vanished.”

She reached for the ultrasound photo tucked into the drawer and held it to her chest.

“I swear he moves and grows everytime I cry,” she whispered. “Like he knows I need a distraction.”

She ran her hand down her belly again, slower this time.

“But I won’t let them grow up thinking he or she was a mistake. Or unworth staying for.”

The room felt unbearably quiet now. Still, again. But this time, colder.

She closed her eyes and curled tighter around herself, the photos, the baby. Everything she had left.

“I’ll do this without you,” she said softly. “Even if it breaks me.”

And in the stillness, in the tiny home they had built, she stares at the ceiling. Thinking. Doubting. Is this all that life can be ? How would she be able to take care of a little human? Maybe this baby wasn't meant for her. Maybe it was someone else's place to be their mom.

Maybe that's it.

Then I will wait. Just until the baby comes.

HELPPP WHAT

when im tryna fuck but my bitch with ptsd is having a breakdown

remember when.. I had this exact tea set growing up and miss it terribly

Secrets out

Summary: The daggers know now...that's good....right?

Warning: Contains alcohol, cursing, teasing, mentions of labour, postpartum, mentions of smut, not detailed smut, nudity.

Word count: 3918 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader

English is not my first language so I apologies for mistakes

Could be read alone or as part 5 of the little life universe

Three weeks later, Jake was sprawled out on the couch in the apartment he shared with Javy, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. The lazy afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow across the room. His mind was wandering, somewhere between half-asleep and awake, when a loud knock echoed through the apartment.

Frowning, Jake pushed himself up, glancing at the door. Javy wasn’t home, so he wasn’t expecting anyone. Another knock, this time more insistent. He stood up, running a hand through his hair as he padded across the floor, pulling open the door without much thought.

Standing in the doorway was Y/N.

For a moment, Jake blinked, his brain not fully processing the sight of her standing there in front of him. She was dressed casually, a light jacket over her shoulders, her hair loose around her face, and a suitcase by her side. She smiled at him, that familiar spark in her eyes, and it was only then that it hit him—she was here.

“Y/N?” he asked, completely shocked. “What… what are you doing here?”

Y/N leaned against the doorframe, her smile widening as she took in the sight of him standing there in just his boxers. “Nice to see you too, Jakey,” she teased, but there was a warmth in her tone that softened the surprise of her sudden arrival.

Jake ran a hand over his face, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. “I mean—God, it’s good to see you, but what are you doing here? You didn’t say anything about coming to San Diego.”

Y/N tilted her head, her smile turning sly. “I have a meeting here about my book.” She paused, watching his expression shift. “They’re talking about a movie adaptation.”

That stopped him cold. Jake stared at her, his eyes widening in disbelief. “A movie adaptation? You’re serious?”

Y/N nodded, a soft laugh escaping her. “Yeah, pretty big deal, right?”

He was speechless for a moment, his mind racing. He had known she was an incredible writer, but the idea of her work being turned into a movie? That was huge. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asked, still processing the news.

Y/N shrugged, her gaze flickering over his face. “Well, I haven’t exactly heard from you in a while.” Her voice was playful, but there was an edge of teasing accusation there.

Jake rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling guilty. “I’ve been… busy,” he muttered, though he knew it was a weak excuse. He hadn’t been great about calling as often as he should have, between missions and keeping up appearances at the base.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I noticed. So, I figured I’d come see you in person.”

Still reeling from her unexpected arrival, Jake’s eyes narrowed as he looked around, half-expecting Ellie to pop up from behind her. “Wait… where’s Ellie?”

Y/N smiled softly, stepping inside the apartment and shutting the door behind her. “She’s with your parents. I left her in Texas.”

Jake let out a breath, feeling a mix of relief and disappointment wash over him. “Oh… okay.” As much as he missed Ellie, there was a part of him that was glad to have Y/N here, just the two of them, even if only for a short time.

Y/N stepped closer to him, her hands sliding around his waist as she looked up at him with that knowing smile. “I missed you,” she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of the distance that had grown between them over the last few weeks.

Jake wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer, feeling the warmth of her body against his. “I missed you too,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

As Jake held Y/N close, feeling the familiar warmth of her body, something shifted. The weeks of separation, the missed calls, the teasing pictures—all of it came rushing back. His grip tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against him, and before he could think twice, his lips were on hers, kissing her more deeply, more passionately than he had in weeks.

Y/N responded instantly, her fingers threading through his hair as she pressed herself closer, the tension between them melting away. His hands roamed down her back, sliding over the curve of her hips, gripping her tighter, but as he started to guide her toward the couch, Y/N pulled back slightly, her breath a little ragged as she smiled against his lips.

“You can touch me everywhere, Jake,” she whispered, her voice low and filled with a playful heat. “I’m past the postpartum weeks. Doctor gave the all-clear.”

Her words sent a thrill through him, and Jake’s heart pounded as his eyes darkened with desire. He met her gaze, that familiar smirk spreading across his face. “You sure about that, darlin’?” he asked, his hands already moving to slide underneath her shirt, feeling the warmth of her skin against his palms.

Y/N nodded, her lips brushing against his. “I’m sure. So, stop holding back.”

That was all the permission Jake needed.

With a low growl, he scooped her up in his arms, lifting her off the ground as he carried her over to the couch. Y/N let out a soft laugh, wrapping her arms around his neck as he laid her down, his hands already exploring her body with a renewed urgency. Every touch, every kiss felt like a reconnection, a way to make up for all the lost time between them.

His fingers traced over her skin, moving with a confidence that came from years of knowing exactly how to make her melt beneath him. And Y/N, for her part, didn’t hold back either—her hands roamed over his chest, down his back, her lips following the path of her hands as she revelled in the closeness they hadn’t had in weeks.

As Jake’s hands found their way under her shirt, pushing it up to reveal more of her skin, Y/N’s breath hitched. She arched into his touch, her body alive with anticipation, and Jake couldn’t help but smirk at the way she responded to him, the way she always did.

"You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?" he murmured against her neck, his voice rough with desire.

Y/N let out a breathless laugh, her hands sliding down to the waistband of his boxers. "You have no idea," she whispered, tugging him closer.

And with that, all the space, all the time between them disappeared as Jake gave in completely, losing himself in the moment with her, finally able to let go of everything except the woman in his arms.

---

Jake lay on the couch with Y/N curled up against his chest, their bodies tangled together under the sheets. The warm glow from the setting sun filtered through the blinds, casting a soft light across the room. His fingers traced lazy patterns along her back, and she sighed contentedly, resting her head on his shoulder. It had been weeks since they had this kind of time alone, and the silence between them was comfortable.

Just as he was about to close his eyes, fully content, his phone buzzed loudly on the coffee table, breaking the peaceful moment. He groaned, reluctant to leave the warmth of her body, but reached over to grab the phone anyway. Unlocking it, he was met with a flood of texts—messages from the squad and one from Javy.

The first message was from Phoenix: Phoenix: Hangman, where the hell are you? We’ve been at the Hard Deck for over an hour. Don’t tell me you bailed again. Then Rooster chimed in: Rooster: Man, this better be good. You keep dodging us. Fanboy followed: Fanboy: If you don’t show, you’re buying all the drinks next time. And Bob, the most polite of them all: Bob: Everything okay?

Finally, a message from Javy: Coyote: Bro, where you at? You’re supposed to be here. You better not be pulling that “family business” excuse again.

Jake chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. Y/N stirred slightly beside him, her head lifting from his chest as she looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. “What’s so funny?” she asked, her voice still soft from the afterglow.

He turned the phone toward her. “The squad. I was supposed to meet them at the Hard Deck tonight.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow as she read the texts. “The squad?” She leaned back a little, curious. “You mean, the ones you barely ever talk about?”

Jake scratched the back of his head, a sheepish grin forming on his face. “Yeah, those guys. Phoenix, Rooster, Fanboy… They give me hell for not showing up to things.”

Y/N smirked. “I’m guessing they don’t know about me either?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Only Javy knows, and even he doesn’t know you flew down here today.”

Y/N chuckled, her fingers brushing lightly against his chest. “You’re keeping me a secret from your friends, huh?”

Jake sighed, running his hand through her hair. “It’s not like that, babe. I just… I like keeping things between us for now. Less drama, less questions.” He paused, glancing down at her with a grin. “Besides, you’re my best-kept secret.”

She rolled her eyes playfully but didn’t press him further. She knew Jake valued his privacy, especially when it came to their relationship. Still, she couldn’t help but be a little curious about the people he spent so much time with. “What do they think you’re doing all the time? You’ve bailed on them a lot.”

Jake chuckled again, locking his phone and setting it aside. “They’ve got their theories. I just tell them I’ve got family business. They think it’s something serious, but I’m not giving them any details.”

Y/N propped herself up on her elbow, looking down at him. “You know, one day they’re gonna figure it out.”

Jake met her gaze, his smile softening. “Maybe. But for now, I’m enjoying having you to myself.” He slid his hand down to her waist, pulling her closer as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

As she settled back against him, Jake’s phone buzzed again, and he reluctantly glanced at it.

Phoenix: Hangman, last chance. If you’re not here in 20 minutes, you’re buying every round next time.

Y/N laughed softly, her breath warm against his skin. “I think they’re serious.”

Jake groaned, shaking his head. “Yeah, they’re not letting this go.” He looked back at her, mischief in his eyes. “But I’d rather stay right here.”

Y/N grinned, tracing her fingers over his chest. “Well, when you do go back, you better buy them all those drinks. You can’t keep ditching them forever.”

Jake sighed dramatically, pulling her even closer. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll deal with that later. Right now, I’m exactly where I want to be.”

Y/N shifted slightly in Jake’s arms, resting her chin on his chest as she gazed up at him. A playful smile tugged at her lips, her fingers tracing slow circles on his skin. “You know,” she began, her voice teasing, “if you’re so worried about them being curious… why don’t I just meet them?”

Jake blinked, caught off guard by her suggestion. He tilted his head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “Meet them?” he repeated, as if testing the idea out loud.

“Yeah,” Y/N continued, her smile widening. “I mean, it’s not like I’m some big secret. We’ve been married for a year, Jake. Maybe it’s time they knew about me.”

Jake looked down at her, his expression thoughtful. “You want to meet the Daggers?” He asked, half-amused, half-serious. “You know they’re a lot to handle, right?”

Y/N laughed softly, the sound light and warm. “I think I can handle them. I’ve heard enough about Phoenix, Rooster, and the others to feel like I know them already… even if you don’t talk about them much.” She teased him, poking his chest gently. “And besides, it’s better than you making up excuses every time you disappear.”

Jake chuckled, running his hand through his hair as he considered her words. He hadn’t introduced her to his squad, not because he was hiding her, but because he liked the privacy their relationship afforded. The idea of his squad knowing about Y/N and Ellie-Mae felt like crossing into uncharted territory. But looking into her eyes now, with that familiar warmth and playfulness, he realized she was right. They had been married for years, and there was no reason to keep her separate from this part of his life.

“Well,” he said slowly, a grin forming on his face, “if you’re sure about it, I’m not against it.” He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. They’ll grill you about everything—and once Phoenix gets going, there’s no stopping her.”

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. “Please, I think I can handle Phoenix.”

Jake laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Alright, darlin’. We’ll make it happen. I’ll figure out a way to get everyone together without causing a scene.”

She smiled, resting her head back on his chest, feeling a little thrill at the thought of finally meeting the people Jake spent so much time with. “Good,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “I’ll look forward to it.”

Jake held her close, his mind already spinning with how he’d make the introduction. It wasn’t just a casual meet-and-greet with the squad; it was Y/N stepping into his other world, and the thought of it made his heart race with excitement—and just a little bit of nerves.

-----

The next day, Jake stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his shirt as he got ready to head out to the Hard Deck. The plan was set: the Daggers would meet up for drinks, and for the first time, Y/N was going to join them. He felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness about how it would all go down.

As he finished fixing his shirt, Jake could hear the low hum of conversation coming from the living room. Y/N and Javy had been chatting for the last ten minutes, laughing like old friends. He couldn’t help but smirk to himself as he listened in on their conversation from the bedroom.

Walking into the room, he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. “Y’all are getting way too close,” Jake teased, eyeing the two of them. “What are you gossiping about this time?”

Javy grinned from where he sat on the couch, leaning back comfortably with one arm slung over the backrest. “Oh, nothing too serious, man. Just giving Y/N the inside scoop on your time with the squad,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N chuckled, turning to look at Jake with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Javy’s been very informative. Apparently, you’ve been quite the pain in everyone’s ass lately.”

Jake rolled his eyes playfully, shaking his head as he walked over to grab his keys off the table. “Yeah, yeah, don’t believe everything he says.” He pointed at Javy, narrowing his eyes in mock warning. “And you, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

Javy raised his hands in surrender, grinning. “I am! But I’ve also gotta prepare her for Phoenix and Rooster’s questions, man. They’re gonna want to know everything.”

Jake groaned, knowing Javy wasn’t wrong. Phoenix and Rooster wouldn’t hold back once they found out Y/N was his wife. They’d dig for every little detail. “You two are trouble,” he muttered, shaking his head as he pocketed his phone. “Remind me why I invited both of you into my life?”

Y/N stood up, smiling sweetly as she walked over to him. “Because you love me and because my best friend crashed into your wall,” she said, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “And you need Javy to keep you grounded.”

Jake smirked, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Fair point. And that wall took ages to fix.” He looked between her and Javy, shaking his head in amusement. “But I swear, the two of you are like a couple of old ladies when you get together. Gossiping about everything.”

Javy laughed, standing up and grabbing his jacket. “Hey, it’s not my fault your wife’s cool to hang with. You’re just jealous.”

“Damn right, I am,” Jake shot back with a grin, giving Y/N a quick squeeze before letting her go. “Anyway, we should get going. Don’t wanna keep the Daggers waiting. They’ll start texting me again if we’re late.”

Y/N smiled, grabbing her bag and giving Javy a quick wink. “Let’s do this. I’m ready to meet your friends—and give them something to gossip about.”

-

As Jake and Y/N walked into the Hard Deck, the familiar buzz of voices and the clatter of drinks greeted them. Almost instantly, the Daggers spotted them, and the teasing began before Jake could even find a seat.

“Well, look who finally showed up!” Rooster called out from his spot by the pool table, spinning a cue stick with a mischievous grin.

Phoenix’s eyes landed on Y/N, standing close to Jake, and a smirk crept onto her face. “What’s this? Your younger sister, Hangman?” she teased, clearly sizing up Y/N with curiosity.

Fanboy and Bob exchanged confused glances, while Coyote tried to stifle a chuckle, knowing exactly what was coming. Jake rolled his eyes, keeping his arm casually wrapped around Y/N’s waist as they approached the group.

Phoenix’s gaze lingered on Y/N. “Wait, hold on a second…” she started, squinting as if she recognized her from somewhere but couldn’t place it. “You’re Y/N Y/L/N, aren’t you? The author of Eclipsed?”

Y/N smiled, nodding politely. “That’s me.”

Phoenix’s eyes widened, excitement bubbling in her voice. “No way! I love that series! I can’t believe this! Hangman, how do you know her? Are you her bodyguard or something?”

Jake let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Not quite, Phoenix,” he said, his voice thick with amusement. He glanced at Y/N, then back at the group. “She’s not my sister or just some author I know. This is my wife.”

The room went silent, the group of Daggers collectively staring at Jake in shock.

“Wait, wife?!” Rooster exclaimed, looking between Jake and Y/N with wide eyes. “You’re married to her?”

Jake grinned, looking down at Y/N with a hint of pride. “That’s right. We’ve been married for a while now.”

Fanboy’s jaw practically hit the floor. “You’ve been married this whole time and didn’t tell us?”

Bob pushed his glasses up his nose, looking bewildered. “I mean, we thought you were dealing with some mysterious ‘family business,’ but we never thought you were hiding a whole wife!”

Phoenix, still in shock, finally found her voice. “Hold on. You’re telling me that you’ve been married to Y/N Y/L/N, the author of Eclipsed—the same series I’ve read a thousand times—and you never mentioned it? How did you keep that under wraps?”

Before Jake could reply, Javy stepped forward with a wide grin, clapping Jake on the back. “Oh, trust me, I’ve known for a while,” Javy said, clearly enjoying the moment. “Y/N’s my bestie. We’ve been tight for years.”

Y/N laughed softly, shooting Javy a playful look. “Javy’s been great. He’s known about us since day one and has kept Jake in check.”

Jake groaned in mock frustration. “Alright, alright, you two are ganging up on me now,” he said, shaking his head.

Javy laughed, shrugging his shoulders. “Hey, someone’s gotta keep you in line, man.”

Phoenix, still staring in disbelief, slowly shook her head. “This is insane. I can’t believe you managed to keep this a secret. And Y/N, I mean—Eclipsed is one of my favorite series! I’m going to need the full story on how you two met.”

Rooster, still leaning on his pool cue, shook his head with a grin. “I gotta hand it to you, Hangman. You talk a big game, but I didn’t think you had this level of stealth in you.”

Jake smirked, pulling Y/N a little closer. “What can I say? Some things are worth keeping private.”

The group erupted into more laughter and teasing, with Phoenix diving headfirst into questions about Y/N’s books and the rest of the squad buzzing with curiosity about how Jake had kept this secret for so long.

As the lively chatter filled the Hard Deck, Jake leaned in close to Y/N, a playful grin tugging at his lips. His arm stayed comfortably around her waist, and he lowered his voice so only she could hear.

“I can’t wait to see their faces when they meet Ellie,” he whispered, his tone filled with excitement. “They’re barely handling the fact that we’re married. Wait ‘til they find out we’ve got a daughter.”

Y/N chuckled softly, her hand resting on Jake’s chest. “They’ll never see it coming. We might break them,” she teased.

Jake smirked, shaking his head. “They’ll lose it.”

But just as they exchanged those words, Rooster, who had been standing closer than either of them realized, froze. His eyes widened as he processed what he’d just heard.

“Wait—daughter?” Rooster blurted out, his voice cutting through the noise around them.

The rest of the Daggers turned toward Jake and Y/N, their shocked expressions slowly forming.

Phoenix’s eyebrows shot up. “Hold up. You’ve got a daughter?” she asked, blinking in disbelief.

Fanboy let out a low whistle. “Hangman with a kid? Now I’ve heard it all.”

Jake sighed, realizing they’d been overheard, and gave a half-shrug. “Yeah. We have a daughter—Ellie-Mae. She’s almost four months old now.”

The reactions were immediate. The group exploded with shock, questions, and disbelief, their voices overlapping.

“You’re telling me you’ve been married and had a baby this whole time?” Rooster asked, shaking his head like he was trying to piece it all together.

Bob stared wide-eyed. “You’ve been living this secret life? With a kid?”

Phoenix crossed her arms, still processing it. “This is insane. First, you’re married to Y/N Y/L/N, who writes Eclipsed, and now you’re a dad? I can’t keep up.”

Jake chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah. I wanted to keep things private. Ellie’s been our little secret.”

Coyote, who had been standing back watching it all unfold, finally spoke up, clapping Jake on the shoulder with a laugh. “Jake here couldn’t hide something like that from me. Best friends don’t keep secrets.”

Phoenix’s jaw dropped. “Javy, you knew all this and didn’t say anything?”

Javy shrugged, grinning. “Hey, it’s not my secret to spill. Plus, I’ve met Ellie—she’s the cutest little thing you’ll ever see.”

The rest of the squad stared at Jake and Javy, dumbfounded. Rooster finally shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know whether to be mad or impressed.”

Fanboy pointed between them. “So you’ve been plotting this whole time, just waiting for us to figure it out?”

Jake smirked. “Something like that. I had to keep a few cards close to my chest.”

Phoenix sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “Well, now I need to meet this kid. And hear the full story about how you managed to hide a wife and a baby from us.”

Jake shrugged again, a satisfied grin on his face. “Hey, what can I say? I like to keep things interesting.”

As the Daggers laughed and continued throwing questions at him, Jake glanced at Y/N, relieved that the secret was out. Meanwhile, Javy was practically glowing with pride, having kept his best friend’s secret under wraps the whole time.

So I feel like this is the end of the main series in order but I will continue in one-shots so If you'd like to be tagged let me know!

Contract Spouse Masterlist

A contract spouse is someone who marries a military service member for the benefits. Contract marriages are illegal though rarely prosecuted.

Jake Seresin x Reader (nicknamed Pip)

Warning: Angst

I was thinking about this series and I realized I need to do a better job at warning people that it’s going to get dark at times, not just angst but touching on the realities of war.

Main Masterlist

Prologue: The Phone Call

Chapter 1: The Past

Chapter 2: The Letter

Chapter 3: Moving

Chapter 4: Living the Lie

Chapter 5: Interviews

Chapter 6: Crashing

Chapter 7: Realizations

Chapter 8: The Fallout

Chapter 9: The Wedding

Chapter 10: The Divorce Papers

Epilogue: The Future