#and always mind the warnings in the stuff I post

[deliwrites]

ℝ𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕘𝕖 // Baby Saja

// DATE // 23rd of June 2025 -> 26th of June 2025 // WORDS // 16.7k+ // SUMMARY // Reader is a member of Huntr/x, Rumi's twin sister to be precise. Y/n doesn't want to hide who she is anymore. Wanting to prove to Rumi that Mira and Zoey will trust them, she shares what she is knowing Rumi will back her up. Only they don't trust her and Rumi sends her to her death or so she thought, now it's time for revenge.

- Everything below this until the gif can be considered as spoilers. Be surprised and skip straight to the story or read the rest in this section at your own risk. MDNI! PS. This whole story is a spoiler for the movie if you have not seen it yet! -

// PAIRING // Baby Saja x femHuntrix!reader, Rumi x Jinu, Zoey x Mystery, Romance x Mira x Abby // WARNING // angst, fluff, (soul)mates, explicit smut, again, minor do not interact with this post, dom!baby/sub!reader, p in v, unprotected sx(wrap it before you tap it please), fingering, oral fem receiving, praise kink, biting, mating, possessive behavior, (I think it is) slight humiliation kink

// Main Story // Bonus Chapters //

“Rumi?” I start as I pull on the costume for the Golden promo with her. Did she release Golden maybe a bit early. Most definitely but I will always support her decisions.

“Yeah?”

“I want to tell them,” my voice is quiet, a little afraid of what her reaction will be.

“Y/n, Celine told us to wait,” she almost hisses, fear clear on her face.

“I know, I know,” pulling on the tight white shorts. “But they know us, they know were not like the other demons. Hell, all the other ones are ugly,” Rumi chuckles at that, shaking her head.

“That’s true, but I still think we shouldn’t tell them.”

“Okay, what if only I tell them about me. You don’t have to get involved. I’ll prove to you that they’ll accept us and then you can tell them too!” I tell her with full confidence. No doubt in my mind.

“Okay, I’ll back you up,” I squeal as I pull her into a tight hug.

“Couch! Couch! Couch! Couch!” I hear Mira and Zoey chant as they shuffle their way to the couch arms filled with snacks. Dropping the snacks on the white fluffy couch. Dropping right next to snacks.

“Oh, yeah. That’s the stuff,” Zoey sighs.

“So relaxing,” Mira murmurs sinking into the couch.

“Hey. Have a good break?” Rumi asks appearing behind the two.

“Huh?” Mira looks at her bewilders. “What? No. We literally just sat down!” chuckling I walk around the couch and take a seat on the coffee table.

“Why are you two in your new costumes?” Zoey asks as both sit up, eyes shifting between the two of us.

“Rumi, you didn’t,” both Mira and Zoey turn to Rumi, knowing if it would be either of us it would be Rumi. “Did you announce the new single?” Rumi's only response is a wide grin.

“The promo starts tomorrow- Tonight?”

“Tonight?” Mira and Zoey say in surprise. “Rumi, no! No!” the two start to whine playfully with a sense of true disappointment lacing their voices.

“No!” I hand Zoey her costume while Rumi hands Mira hers.

“But before we leave,” I begin, as the two of them begrudgingly start pulling on the costumes. Their eyes going to me as they keep getting dressed. Not bothered at all about changing in front of us. “I have something to share,” my voice goes from excited to nervous. My eyes flickering between all three. “It’s hard for me, but I don’t think I can hide it for much longer,” I stare down at my shaking hands. Zoey takes one of my hands, squeezing in reassurance.

“We will always be here for you,” she says, a gentle smile gracing her face.

“Well, I-” shaking off the jacket from my costume. The patterns slowly coming into view, drawing gasps from Mira and Zoey. Who pulls away her hand. Both of them drawing their weapons making me jump back standing up at the other end of the coffee table. My heart beating faster than it already did.

“You’re a demon,” Mira’s voice is angry as she spits the words out like she’s disgusted by the sight of me.

“I thought you would-” my voice is shaky and quiet as I stare in disbelief. “Rumi…” my eyes lock on my sisters, a desperate call for help. Zoey and Mira turn to Rumi with a hint of betrayal in their eyes.

“Did you know?” Zoey asks Rumi threateningly. A tone Zoey has never used against us before.

“No,” Rumi’s voice is cold. Detached. But her eyes burn. Drawing her own weapon, pointing the long end of the blade at me as she jumps over the couch. “I can’t believe you would betray us like this,” it’s like she’s saying it to herself for betraying her sister like this. With no other options, she steps up onto the coffee table - like it’s a stage. Like this moment has been building since the day we were born. Driving the blade through my chest. Tears in both our eyes as I shudder. The pain from the tear in my chest making me scream silently and then I implode, collapsing inward in a burst of magenta smoke - silent and final.

I didn’t die like I expected. Instead I found myself leaning on my knees, crying into my arms in front of Gwi ma. The flame entity laughing at my despair.

“Y/n, Y/n, Y/n,” he tsk’ed like he was disappointed to see me. “Guess you should have kept it hidden,” he laughs again deep and evil. “Now you’re my demon!” his voice booms across the crowd of demons who start laughing with their king. The events of tonight start playing over and over in my head loud, feeling like it gets louder and louder. I had no control over it. I couldn't stop them, couldn't dampen them. My hands cover my ears but it doesn't change anything.

I don’t really notice until I open my eyes again. The laughter has died down after I had been moved by Gwi ma, is my guess, to just beyond the crowd of demons.

I tried walking away but kept being dragged back. Making me sigh and stay at the edge of where I was apparently allowed to be. I could barely see any of the other demons through the smoke and deemed myself alone enough. If this was all the space I was allowed to have now, I would take it. Sinking to the lava rock ground. I pull my knees up to my chest. Wrapping my arms around them.

The ground wasn't comfortable. Far from it. But sitting was better than to stay standing. The moment I thought everything settled the voices came back louder than ever before, making me bury my face in my arms.

“Did you know?” “No.” “Okay, I’ll back you up” “I can’t believe you would lie to us like this.”

The voices sounded like screaming, ringing in my ears. Tears running down my face again filled with the pain of betrayal. The feeling of her sword driving into my chest solidified the feeling of betrayal. If there was someone I thought I could trust it would be Rumi.

I don't know how long he tortured me for like this. Making it go silent, giving me a false sense of control before returning it in full. But it feels like an eternity.

Little did I know I was being observed by a group of 400 year old demons who looked awfully human compared to the others. Nor did I notice when one of them approached me. First the male just sat beside me, keeping a bit of a distance. Almost like he didn’t want to startle me.

It was like his calm aura surrounded me, softening the voices that were screaming at me. Blinking away my tears in confusion. Looking right, then left. Finding him sat there. Leaning back on his hands, left knee up, his right leg stretched out.

I couldn't stop my brows from furrowing. Shuffling a little further away from the male. Demons are bad. They can’t be trusted. I tell myself, my gaze falling onto my own patterns. Right, I am one. The patterns hadn’t spread this far before I was sent here. Now I looked like a full demon, even if I knew I was only half a demon. My hands turning into fists realizing I would be stuck here forever.

I didn't acknowledge him. Turning away from him. But it felt like he was too far away. Shaking my head I tried to ignore it. Though it didn't take long for me to break the silence we sat in.

“Why are you here?” I dare to ask. Hating myself for going against everything I believed in.

He doesn't say anything making me sigh. Turning back to him my body relaxes, just a bit as the distance becomes smaller. Loosening the stiffness in my legs. Not understanding why I’m suddenly feeling relaxed, I continue. “Here to mock me? 1 huntress down 3 to go.”

“No.”

It’s short. Stopping me from continuing. I look at him, eyes wide. Taking in his pale purple skin, bright golden eyes, blue hair, traditional black Korean attire. He didn’t look at me. Instead staring off into the distance, not that there was much to see. The area mostly covered in smoke.

“I’m here in case you need someone who understands-”

“Understand? You’re a demon, you feel no emotions! How could you possibly understand?”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he stays calm even after my accusation, like he was expecting me to react this way. “We feel double that what humans feel. We feel extremely. It might shock you, but Gwi Ma keeps us pushed to the edge, so far into madness that we seem numb. But we do feel...” his voice is gentle as he speaks, shifting his gaze away from the smoke, to me. His golden eyes drawing me in.

“What do you feel now?” I ask cautiously curious. Shifting to sit on my side, leaning on my hands - closer to him.

“Sadness,” he confesses. I sense no lies in his eyes. “Seeing my m- you like this, it hurts.”

“You’re what?” he closes his eyes, grunting in annoyance at himself for miss speaking. He doesn't answer, instead he disappears. Immediately Gwi ma's power returns in full force. Falling to my side, my hands cradle my face. Eyes shut tight. My screams are silent at the pain the events cause me.

It feels like I'm in pain for days. My throat hoarse from my crying. I open my eyes suddenly. An unexpected calm falling over me again. He's stood over me this time. I can't read his expression.

I'm not sure what to say, or if I should even say something. Last time he disappeared on me. My eyes follow him as he returns to sit in the same spot as he did before.

"I guess it's in our best interest if I just tell you," he sighs, not facing me just yet. I find the strength in my arms to push myself in a sitting position. Subconsciously dragging myself closer to him. “Give me your hand,” I hesitate a little. Not sure if I should trust him even though he had revealed something I never knew about demons. Something I don’t think a demon would easily confess to, either. His gaze meets mine as I shuffle closer. Carefully placing my hand left hand in his right hand.

A slow ripple spills out from our connected palms. Like black stardust unfurling beneath our skin, soft and shivering. Leaving goosebumps in its wake. Light and shadow dancing like twin spirals up our arms. Disappearing into our chests where our hearts sit. Creating a magnetic pull. A sudden blast surged outward like an orb tearing through the smoke around us. My head seamed to clear only one word occupying my mind.

“Baby.”

“That’s me,” a gentle smile played on his lips. “And you, Y/n, are my mate.”

“Mate?” I repeat it, stunned, like saying it out loud might make it make sense. For years I was told demons didn’t have feelings, that they were all bad, that all should be killed. And now I was mated to one?

But I had to be honest. I didn't mind. He made me feel calm. I don't think I've ever felt this calm. Always on edge. Scared to reveal my secret. Regretting that I shared my secret. I was pretty much powered by anxiety.

“Yes, I understand it’s hard to believe-”

“Oh, no, I believe it’s just… unexpected?” he chuckles soft and gentle making a blush decorate my cheeks. I started to make sense the longer I looked at him. Really took him in. He was my complete opposite, perfect to soothe my racing thoughts.

“Cute,” he says squeezing my hand which he still held.

“Also, I thought all demons were supposed to be ugly,” the bluntness of the comment gets him to full on laugh, the sound low, warming up my chest. I crawl closer without thinking, like the space between us suddenly became unbearable. Now that I know we’re mates, distance feels wrong.

“We are sad to have to share this news on the day of our new singles release,” Rumi tells the host. “But Y/n has left Huntrix.”

“Oh no, what happened?” the host asks with concern, genuine curiosity behind her words.

“We don’t know, it was unexpected,” Mira says, there is sadness in her normally stoic voice.

“She decided she didn’t want to do this anymore,” Zoey adds to the lie.

“We couldn’t convince her to stay.”

“She is your sister, I suppose you’re still in contact with her at least?” the host asks making Rumi’s hard hammer in her chest, the face of her sister silently screaming as she killed her.

“Ah, no,” Rumi keeps it short.

“Golden is the last song Y/n will be featured on from now on,” Zoey quickly takes the attention away from Rumi.

“We will be going on hiatus for a little while to get used to the loss of our member.”

"So, do you..." I start, eyes up at the sky. Baby and I laid on the ground, I used his stomach as a pillow. Forced to even, he would not let me rest my head on the lava rock surface.

"Do I what?" he asks while we watch souls dance above us. None of them flying in the direction of Gwi ma, thankfully.

"Do you get to go up there?" my voice soft, afraid of the answer. He pauses, stilling. Turning my head I look at him. He has his head propped up by his arms. I can just see his golden eyes. Watching them shift ... anxiously?

"No," he finally says. "I'm glad for it," he adds softly. Turning on my side, I can tell he doesn't want to share just yet. So I reassure him in the only way I can think of. Sitting up, I place a gentle peck on his dark lips. Smiling at the way his eyes widen just slightly at my action.

That's not the last peck we share. Far from it. I can't stop stealing them. He doesn't give me them nearly as often, but I know that every time he does, it's sincere.

He lingers, holding on to me like I could slip from his fingers any moment. Whenever we meet his friends there's always this possessive arm around my waist. Not that I mind.

I still remember the first time he introduced us. "Y/n," Baby starts, his arm not leaving my waist. Sending pointed looks at the four demons before me. "These are Jinu, Mystery, Abby and Romance," gesturing from a black haired, smirk wearing one, to a grey haired, not looking at me - I think. To a taller pink haired one who wore a smug look, to the last one. Another pink haired one, this time long flowing locks.

This hand had dared to step forward. Taking my hand swiftly pecking my knuckles before he got smacked in the face by Baby. Who pulled me behind him. Growling possessively.

Laughter bursting within the group and I wouldn't lie. I couldn't stop myself from giggling either.

That moment was pretty much the start of my friendship with the group. There was obviously not a lot to do. But when they showed me they could pretty much create things out of thin air. I asked them if they ever thought of creating game pieces.

Which they hadn't, like how.

In the end they had created game pieces for games out of their time, but I wanted to play something newer. Like UNO. When I asked if they knew what it was, Baby sent an image in my head of something. Confusing me to the point I looked at him like he had just sent me a unsolicited dick pic.

"How did you do that?" I ask after recovering from the random image.

"We're mates," is his simple answer. I arch my brow like, 'okay, so now I'm supposed to understand how that works'. He chuckles at my expression, pecking my cheek. "I just think of what I want to show you, and I sent it to you."

"Oh, okay, I wanna try," instantly thinking of the UNO game. Looking at him wide eyed like that will do it. "Do you see it?" he shakes his head. Thinking... louder? "Am I doing it?" my voice stressed, eyes closed.

"Uhm, no, but you do look constipated," I gasp, opening my eyes at his words in offence. Smacking his chest playfully as the others laugh their asses off. With that I gave up on the whole image sending for a while.

- Spice below, skip to next image divider if you do not want to read it -

While we spend most of our time all together, I did steal Baby from them a lot. Wanting to spend time with him one on one. Get to know him more and more.

He wasn't much of a talker, so it was tough at times. It seemed enough time had past as I could go further than before. Allowing for us to have a private space between a few rocks.

Never the comfortable place of course. Pressing my lips against him hungrily. Sat on the ground, his back against a rock, a tight grip on my hips where I sat in his lap. Keeping me from moving them against him.

"Why are you holding back?" I ask breathless when I pull away. I stare at him, eyes shifting from one to the other. Anxiety rolling over me like a realization. "Do you not-"

"Of course not," his voice gentle as he cups my cheeks, staring loving into my soul. "I just don't want to loose control," I nod, not entirely believing him, my gaze falling from his. "Hey, listen to me," he caresses my cheeks so gentle, getting me to look back up. "If you think you need to pleasure me to make sure I love you," my eyes widen at the fact he can read me so well. "You don't," he waits till I nod. "But," he smirks. "If it's pleasure you want, I'll be happy to give it to you," my cheeks darken at his words. Warmth spreading to more places than one.

To the point I can't stop myself from nodding eagerly. Anxiety, completely forgotten.

"Okay, darling," he pecks my lips. "Turn around," I follow his command like a life line. Leaning my back against him, his arms circling my waist. "Knees up, either side of mine."

Again, like an obedient pet, I do as he asks. Shaking with anticipation. His left hand, caresses the bare skin of waist. Owning just my Golden costume in this realm. Other hand smoothly slipping under the waist band of my shorts. Gasping when his fingers find my heat.

"So wet already," his voice is a sin, whispering in my ear. I can feel his smug gaze on the side of my head. I enjoy it. Just two of his finger play with the slick that gather on my outer lips.

"Please," I'm not even sure I said anything with how soft I spoke. But he heard, loud and clear. Chuckling evilly.

"What do you want, darling?" he teases, sliding his finger tip over my slit, but not parting them. I bite my bottom lip, cheeks red with embarrassment. I felt so filthy having to say it out loud, but I knew I had to. If I didn't he would just tease me for all of eternity. He lays a gentle peck on my neck as if to encourage me, putting light pressure where my lips cover my clit with his fingers.

A moan like gasp and I finally utter. "Touch me."

"Hmm, not precise enough," just those words have me whining in desperation. "But, I'll let you have it this time."

Before I can exhale in relief he parts my lips. Slipping a single finger straight in. Thumb landing on my clit, a shaky moan escaping me instead. Instinctively my legs start to close around his hand.

"Hold them open for me," with shaky hands I hold my thighs open. Breathing heavily at the slow pace his fingers are using. A second had joined inside me, but it wasn't enough.

"F-faster," I beg, head rolling onto his shoulder. A dark chuckle and a third finger gets added. Along with a faster pace. I'm gasping like I can't get enough of this feeling. I'm surprised that his sharp claw like nails don't seem to scratch me, but I'm not complaining.

Moaning at the way his fingers curl inside me, stretch me open. Thumb rubbing smooth circles on my clit. My ears pick up his own grunting. Are my feelings causing him to enjoy it just as much as I am?

The hand that held a grip on my waist, moves up. Slipping under my top. Fingers finding my pebbled buds, squeezing, first testing the waters. The action causing me to subconsciously squeeze around the finger inside me.

"So sensitive, aren't you?" I'm not even sure what exactly I'm nodding to, but I do it anyways. Reaching the edge quicker with every squeeze, every thrust of his fingers. "Go on darling," he whispers in my ear, pointy tongue flicking against my jaw teasingly. "Cum for me."

I do, shuddering franticly as my orgasm rolls over me. Taking over my entire body as he keeps the movements up until my hips move in shocks against the touch. Suddenly overstimulated, breathing heavily.

"Good girl."

Curiosity strikes Abby one random day, while we're playing games again.

"By the way, how did you get here?" it's so out of the blue. Everyone's eyes shooting at him. Baby and Jinu glaring at him like a warning. "What? I'm curious."

Baby tells me I should not feel forced to tell them, his glare not leaving Abby. I place my hand on his thigh, reassuring him that its okay.

After explaining it is when the revenge plan start brewing to life. I don't think I've ever liked feeling this evil until now.

There once was a mighty demon king Stop me if you’ve heard this one before He was in total control He feasted on souls The world trembled when he roared But then some Hunters sang some songs Now all he does is starve Can’t get at the souls, and his flame grows cold Just a whisper in the dark And will he let the fire go out? Is this the end of him now? Dying king with a crumbling crown? Will he let the fire go out?

“I let you keep that voice, Jinu,” Gwi ma says as Jinu approached him with his song. “And you dare to mock me with it?” I stayed near Baby as we slowly followed Jinu closer to Gwi ma.

“I’m not here to mock you. I’m here to help you,” Jinu tells Gwi ma. “It’s time for a new strategy,” the six of us fly up the long staircase. Them in their traditional attire, me still in my Golden promo costume. Safe for the jacket. “We fight the Hunters where they least expect it. Go after the very thing that powers the Honmoon. The fans.”

“A demon boy band?” Gwi ma questions. Bursting out laughing, the crowd following awkwardly. “What makes you think that could work?” Transforming just enough to make them look more human.

“I can help,” I speak up, appearing from behind Baby. “I am from that world, I know how it works. I can be their manager. I won’t be seen. I can make sure they become big.”

“You?” Gwi ma chuckles evilly. “What makes you think I’ll trust you.”

“They betrayed me,” I tell him. “I might not be doing it for you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t pull through if it gives them what they deserve for stabbing me, quite literally.”

“Hmm, alright," he says. "But, that can't just be it, what is it the rest of you expect out of this?" he hums, impatiently waiting for an answer.

"Our memories from before this life, erased," Jinu speaks for them.

“Okay! I have planned for your first performance to be just around the corner from here,” I tell the five as we walk down the alley. Romance, Abby and Mystery walk in front, Jinu following behind them. While I walk with Baby, his arm wrapped possessively around my waist, not that I minded. I wore one of Baby’s sweaters, and a cap to hopefully hide my appearance enough. “You guys know the song, I’ll make sure to make it go viral. Flyers have been handed out and people have already started gathering,” I had my phone out while Baby guides me safely. Making my twirl suddenly before holding me in front of him.

“uh… watch yourself,” I hear Jinu speak to someone. Baby’s hold on me leaving me unable to check to who. But as we walk away I recognize who.

“Watch my… Watch yourself!” Rumi. Looking up at Baby he turns me to face him and places a gentle peck on my lips. As if saying ‘I got you’. Returning at his side we continue walking to our destination. “Oh, Jinu! After the performance don’t forget to announce that you’ll be at everyone’s favorite variety show.”

“Yes, I’ll remember,” I peck Baby on the cheek and let them do their thing. Staying close and keeping my eye out for Rumi, Mira or Zoey. I film their performance. Posting it on social media, creating edits, shorts, posting a prerecorded video of a dance practice I had them do. Watching as the numbers went up and up. The Saja Boys getting more popular by the minute.

Looking at the crowd I could see how much they were enjoying the Saja Boys. The moment they started it had drawn even more people to come check them out.

I couldn’t stop myself from clapping with the crowd when they were done with their performance. Giving Jinu a pointed look as I pulled up the slide for on the screen behind them that showed the variety show they would be at tonight. Jinu first wiped his shoulder clean of nonexistent dust while staring at Rumi who stood scarily close to me.

I thought I had paid enough attention. I catch Baby’s eyes who with just a flick of his eyes moved me away where our eyes connect again. A sigh of relief leaving my body while he sends a wink which has the crowd around me going wild some more. That’s my man, I think I hear a chuckle in my head as I return my gaze to his where he smirks his lips forming one word. Mine.

“That’s it for now. See you tonight on everyone’s favorite variety show,” selecting the slide on my phone it appears behind them as Jinu speaks. “Saja Boys love you!” posing for just a second longer before disappearing with the magenta smoke. A second later, a hand slips into mine before I’m ingulfed in that same magenta smoke. The smoke dissipating around us when we appear in the apartment I got the band.

“You guys did so good!” I clap with excitement, pulling my phone out as I sit down with Baby like a magnetic pull to always be close to him. Baby wraps an arm around my shoulder pulling me closer to him.

“Of course,” Abby smirks. “We’re charming,” as if to prove his point he flexes his arms making me roll my eyes.

“Barely,” I tease, sticking my tongue out at him. “The fans like you because 1, the song is catchy, you’re welcome by the way. 2, you’re hot, we’ll figure out if you’re charming on that variety show. And 3, you guys dance really well,” Abby sticks his tongue out right back at me. Quick learner, I chuckle. “Anyways, we have a bit of time before the variety show-” I don’t even get to finish before four of them literally poof out of existence. “Wha-”

“Don’t worry, they’ll be back,” Baby speaks up besides me. Shifting my gaze to him, his now nearly unnatural blue eyes half lidded. Taking my phone from me, I try to protest, but he just tsks, like I’m a child testing limits. “No phone for you,” he says, voice stern making me shiver. “You have to be able to get out of sight from the Huntrix. Without me.”

“But you can do it,” I pout and he sighs, getting up from the couch, pulling me with him. Then he smirks, just a little. That smug, knowing tilt of his mouth that makes me want to punch him and kiss him at the same time.

“You get a kiss for every step further you are able to make,” he knows that will make me comply. He’s not shy about kissing me, but it’s not nearly as often as I wish it was. So if this is how I can get it, I’ll take it.

“Okay, okay,” I nod vigorously. “How do we start,” I had told him that I obviously knew how to fight, but I didn’t know how to teleport like they can. Not like I could learn that from Celine. All she ever did was told us to hide our patterns. No one could know what we were.

“It’s a lot about visualizing where you want to go,” his voice calm as he starts to explain. Giving me examples by teleporting around the room as he does. “Now you try, don’t start off difficult. From where you stand, try to go in front of the coffee table.”

“And if I do it,” a little smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “I get a kiss, right?”

“Yes,” he chuckles deeply. “If you can do it, you get a kiss,” he nods. “More if you behave and make it to me,” excitement fills up my body in more ways than one, the smirk on his lips not helping in stopping the heat from forming between my legs. Nodding I focus on the rug under the coffee table. Visualizing the edge where I want to go. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. Hoping that I did it when I open my eyes again.

Nothing.

I was still stood in the same place. “Ugh,” I shake my head. “Okay, one more,” Closing my eyes again. I visualize once more. Maybe it needs to be more detailed. Edge of the rug. The rug is red, the border fluffy, the rectangle table white marble. That is where I want to go. Opening my eyes once more. Nothing. “I can’t do it, if I can’t even get 30cm further how am I meant to get to yo-u,” in the blink of an eye I’m in front of him. Eyes wide in confusion and surprise. A smirk plays on his lips as he leans down and pecks my lips.

Recovering from my initial shock, I shake my head before crossing my arms.

“Nah ah, you said I would get more if I could make it to you.”

“That’s true,” his voice deeper than before. His strong hands reach my hips. Placing a nearly bruising grip on them, my knees weakening. Reaching for him, I wrap my arms around him and pull him closer. Our lips connect, gentler than I expected. But I turn the kiss hungry within seconds. Tracing my tongue over his lips asking for entrance, which he gives only to quickly over power it. Showing me who’s boss, not that anyone would ever question that. He pulls away making me whine. I don’t let go and neither does he. “I will let you have this, cause you have no idea how much I need you, but we will continue practicing after this,” the whine turns into a moan at his confession. He trails kissing down my jaw to my neck, making me bend over backwards.

- Spice below, skip to next image divider if you do not want to read it -

His hands slide up, under his sweater over my bare stomach. Lifting the sweater as he goes, leaving goosebumps in his wake. Pulling back long enough to throw the sweater away before lifting me up. A squeak leaving my lips, returning my hold around his neck tighter as he moves us to the bedroom. I kiss and bite his neck as well as I can with his outfit still on. Trying to get his sweater off him is a struggle. I only manage it because he tosses me onto the bed and I yank it off mid fall.

He at least helps me by taking off his blouse himself, crawling over me right after. Our lips connecting in a heated kiss. My hands roam his toned chest, nails scraping his skin with need. His right hand cupping my face while the other held him up right. His sharp teeth tugging at my bottom lip, pulling away with a grin.

“So needy,” his voice deep, eyes flashing golden. A needy whimper leaves my lips. Watching him back up, just enough to unzip my shorts. Tapping my ass to make me lift off the bed, I quickly do as he asks. Sliding it sensually slow down my thighs, his own nails trailing after the fabric. Every inch they drag lower sends another jolt up my spine.

I want him so desperately at this point I want to drag him back up to me. I don’t even care that he’s still half dressed. I just need him, right now!

Shorts finally gone, abandoned on the floor. He holds my ankles, pecking both. With a strong grip his hands slide back up, followed by more pecks. Turning into bites, along with creating hickeys on my thighs. Marking me his. I loved it.

The moment his head is within my reach I try to pull him back up, but he denies me. An impatient whine leaving my lips though it quickly turns into a gasp when he surprises me by blowing air on my damp panties. Swiftly sliding the fabric to the side, the cold air of the room momentarily startling me. Though my lips are quickly engulfed with his. Legs almost instantly turning to jelly.

Pushing one thigh up, he spreads my legs, giving him more room to explore. My breathing turning into desperate gasps. Sucking on my clit like it’s a life line, plunging his tongue so far inside me it seems impossible. Leaning up on my weak trembling arms, I look at his head between my legs. His eyes open shortly too look me in the eyes. His eyes golden, his patterns showing. He’s half shifted. It all made sense now. He had shown me before that his tongue was longer when in demon form, teasing me with it. This was just half of what it could be and this was already sending me to heaven.

I couldn’t hold myself up anymore, falling back down with a heavenly moan. I could feel that he was enjoying this just as much as I was, being this close allowing me to feel his emotions just like he did mine. My hands find his hair, gripping tight on the strands. Drawing a groan from him, the vibrations of his voice only getting me closer to my release.

“So close,” my voice soft, laced with desperation. But I shouldn’t have said anything. The second the words leave my lips, his leave my heat. A wet smirk curls on his lips, glistening and smug.

“Didn’t think I was gonna let you cum that easy, now did you?” he arches a brow, the wicked look in his eyes making my body ache even more. He licks his lips, groaning at the taste of me. In an instantly his completely naked before me, his patterns beautifully on display. My denied orgasm forgotten, I find the strength to get up. On my knees in front of him, my lips just able to reach his strong collar bones.

I start there, biting hard. I can tell he enjoys it, his eyes stay on me watching me as I claim his body just like he did mine. Smirking my way down, leaving hickeys and indents of my teeth. Marks that say mine in every shade of red. Following one line of his patterns, all the way down the length of his chest. Though he doesn’t allow me to reach my destination.

With a rough push, I’m on my back once more. Somehow, while falling back he was able to remove both my bra and my panties. Demon magic, I'm sure. My legs pulled up into the air, a single hand holding them together against his shoulder.

“Think you’re ready for me?” It’s like his voice got even deeper, like he was growling while talking. That same smug smirk curves his lips as he teases me, pressing the tip between my thighs. My eyes widen the further he pushes, realizing just how big he actually was.

While I’m terrified, I don't control my head as it nods repeatedly with need.

Leaning down he folds me in half, the stretch in my muscles an ache I crave. My legs pushed up, pressed tight on either side of my head. “Use your words, darling,” he whispers, face to face now. His breath brushes my lips, voice thick with command and something darker. The tone betraying just how close he is to loosing it all.

“Please, please, please,” the words are breathless. The pressure on my chest makes it hard to breathe, but not enough to stop the begging. “Fuck me,” it’s rough, more like a demand. Desperate to get him inside me. Now!

He lets out a low, wicked chuckle. “Good girl,” instantly thrusting all the way in. The stretch punches a high-pitched gasp out of me, more squeak than moan, and I clamp down around him without meaning to. My body’s trying to slow him down, fighting the pace I just begged for. All air leaves my lungs when he bottoms out. It feels so good I could cry.

“Sooo… gooooood…” the words slur right out of me, brain to far gone to care what I say anymore. A hitched gasp slips past my parted lips as I feel him pull back. Not all the way, but enough to start making me feel empty. His lips join mine in a surprisingly gentle kiss. His kiss is slow, loving, completely at odds with the way he’s wrecking me. Caressing me with love as he slowly starts to thrust back in. Keeping the pace slow but deep while I gasp into kiss. Barely able to kiss him back.

To the point I just give up, wrapping my arms around his neck. Pulling him impossibly closer. The ache in my legs starting to make them tremble, but I don’t care. I need him, crave him. The angle of our position getting me closer to edge with every thrust. My entire body shivering from the intensity.

“You’re doing so good,” his voice cuts through the haze, sudden enough to startle me. Though I relax almost instantly. “Just a little longer,” his right hand caressing my trembling leg, seemingly soothing the ache. Reaching between us in the impossibly small space between us. Pinching my clit between two fingers making me spasm and squeeze around his thick length. “Cum for me,” it’s like a command that breaks the dam. Squeezing his shoulders once before my arms go lacks at the feeling of ecstasy.

Both his arms secure around me as he thrusts a few more times. He moves my head to the side, just enough to give him space. With a low groan, which is quickly muffled by my skin, he cums inside me. A gentle peck where my neck meets my shoulder. Then a scream leaves my lungs when his teeth tear my skin.

The same black stardust seems to ripple over us, starting from where he just bit me. Suddenly I’m overwhelmed. I freeze up. A gentle lick over the wound, then a peck before his eyes come into view.

“Now,” he whispers. “You’re completely mine,” and I feel it. I feel him, not just physically. Our souls completely connected.

Slowly the shock fades, as does the pain. He starts to pull away, but I don’t want him to. Letting him leave just enough space for me to lower my legs before I pull him right back.

Connecting our lips, exploding with emotions. So much raw emotion of both him and me.

We had just finished showering, but he had been done getting dressed quicker. Pecking my lips as he left the room. A lingering feeling of adoration from him warming my chest.

“Wow, you look thoroughly fucked,” Mystery points out the obvious when I enter the living room again after what had just transpired in the bedroom. I hadn’t tried to hide the marks Baby had left on me, but they were relatively hidden. But I guess not as hidden as they had seemed when I looked in the mirror.

An instant flare of anger washes over me. But it’s not mine.

“Watch it,” Baby hisses at his friend. I just stick my tongue out at Mystery and plop myself down on Baby’s lap, who instantly wraps a possessive arm around my waist. I peck his cheek before turning my attention to the rest of the boys.

“Okay, but, we should actually get going,” I say while I look at the time on my phone, now that I have it again. “We don’t wanna be la-”

Before I can finish, magenta smoke slowly reveals we arrived at the studio.

“Ah! Saja Boys!” we get greeted, the second we get spotted. In panic I touch my head, glad to find the cap there. My eyes meet Baby’s, he’s already staring, handing me tinted glasses. Which I quickly put on.

They get called on stage not long after our arrival. The studio filled to the brim with press and new fans. I stay on the side, out of sight of the crowd. Instead focusing on my phone where I check their social media and their growing popularity.

Unbeknownst to me, three pairs of familiar eyes had spotted me. Unsure and stunned all the same. I should not be there and yet I was.

“It’s a dead heat between my handsome co-host and Baby Saja,” my attention drawn to the stage, at the mention of Baby. Surprised he’s so casually drinking hot sauce like it’s water. “Can our host catch up?”

“So spicy! So spicy!” the co-host utters, giving up.

“He can’t! Baby Saja is the winner!” the crowd cheers.

“Goo goo, ga ga,” Baby mocks, unable to stop me from giggling at the idiocy of it. Shaking my head.

“Hard to say goodbye when we’re having fun.”

“So hard. So hard,” to my shock I watch Jinu take the mic from the host. I’m about to scold him from the sideline when he speaks.

“Then why say goodbye when we have extra special guests coming up?”

“What is he doing?” I mutter. Little did I know that Rumi muttered those exact same words.

“Please welcome Huntrix!” stunned I follow the spotlights as it highlights the - now - trio. Shit.

“We just wanted to stop by and congratulate our hoobaes on their debut and-,” Rumi waves awkwardly, obviously caught off guard.

“And of course, Play Games with Us! Bring out the slides!” Jinu cuts her off. The other four grabbing the slide from my side of the stage.

“This is not a good idea,” I hiss at them. Baby just winks as a feeling of reassurance waves over me.

“Slide! Slide! Slide!” the crowd chants, I watch anxiously.

“Oh no. We couldn’t possibly,” Rumi tries to back out, to no avail of the crowd. Their chants changing to ‘In the balls!’. Which seems, you know, just a little in appropriate, but oh well… “Sure,” voice a little higher now. “For the fans.”

Though its immediately met with more regret. Their leather pants stopping them for a smooth slide. An ear-piercing sound echoing through the studio. Just like Baby I cover my ears, dampening the double effect of what this sound does to us.

Finally they land. “And Huntrix is in the balls!” I notice their eyes flash gold, smirks plastered on their faces before they mask it.

“Well, this was fun,” Rumi says awkwardly as the three of them exit the ball pit. Standing in line across from the boys.

With a hand on his chest. “It was truly an honor to share the stage with you,” Jinu says, the five of them bowing respectfully to the trio. I cover my mouth with my hand to muffle my chuckle at their faces.

“Oh no. The honor is ours,” they bow. They’ll do anything to keep the fans on their side it seems.

“No, it was ours.”

“It’s ours.”

“Ours.”

“Ours.”

“Ours.”

“Ours.”

They all bow deeper and deeper. The boys quite literally folded in half in the end. Baby smirking through his legs at me, making me shake my head at them for the nth time.

Before the curtain is even fully closed, Baby grabs my by the waist, throwing me over his shoulder as they run out. Abby giving Romance a piggy back, just to rub it in the girls faces. Flicking my gaze to them, I see their anger growing.

“Where are we going?” I ask, not really able to do much, stuck in the tight grasp of Baby. Trying to peak around his head I see the bath house sign. “Why are we going to a bath house?”

I get an answer quick enough when I hear their collective voices. “Mens?”

“Wow. Did you really follow us in here?” Jinu says with fake surprise.

“I knew they would. That one’s always looking at me,” Abby says matter-of-factly.

“No we’re not,” Mira and Zoey say, obviously staring at Abby. Rumi ignores the comments completely. Her eyes finding mine where I’m stood next to Baby. A possessive and protective hand on my waist. He glares at them like they had personally hurt him.

I guess unintentionally they had, but without what they did. We wouldn’t have met.

“Y/n?” soft, filled with disbelief. Rumi’s words seem to shake Mira and Zoey out of their staring trance as they too turn to me.

“Told you,” Mira starts. “She’s just as bad as the rest of them,” Baby makes a threatening move, growling slightly. It’s enough to make them take a step back.

“I wasn’t,” I state calmly. Placing a hand on Baby’s shoulder to calm him and to tell him to trust me this time. “Not until you betrayed me that is,” I continue, sending a glare their way. “Especially you, Rumi. What a sister you are,” I shake my head with disappointment.

“So, now you’ve sent a demon boy band after us?” Zoey asks, surprised and offended at the same time. “To what? Steal our fans?”

“Yes,” the six of us state clearly, a smirk pulling at my lips. “When I came back to this plane, it was fun to see how many you had already lost. And all that because I “left”,” their eyes widen at my words. “Now we’re here for the rest of them.”

“You think we’re just going to let you steal our fans?” Rumi’s voice laced with anger. “You’re gonna have to fight us for them.”

“Yeah. Keep your hands off our Honmoon,” Zoey adds.

Jinu chuckles. “We’re not here to fight,” tears in the Honmoon appear in the baths. “They are,” demons rise from the tears.

“Water demons.”

“Oh great. My favorite.”

“Get rid of the Hunters,” Jinu says to the water demon closest to him. I can’t stop the spike of fear puncturing my heart as my eyes shift from him to the people I once called family. “Then you can eat all the souls you want,” Baby squeezes my waist, but it doesn’t sooth the pain in my chest.

With that said, the water demons start fighting. Romance, Mystery and Abby swiftly making their way to another exit. Baby starts pulling me, but I hesitate. While he’s obviously upset at what they had done to me. He understands what I’m going through at this very moment.

“Have fun,” Jinu smirks evilly, nearly slipping on a small pool of water on the tiles. Turning around he starting running towards the exit. I finally find my willpower back and start moving. Holding onto Baby’s hand tight. Letting him drag me through the door. Running through the sauna as Rumi follows us quickly. She manages to cut Jinu off from the group.

“He can handle himself,” Baby reassures me and finally we go up in smoke and appear in our apartment. Out of breath, I let myself fall on the couch. Soon joined by him. He picks me up bridal style. Sits down himself before placing me in his lap. Leaning me so my head is resting on his shoulder.

“I can’t- I-”

“Shh, it’s okay,” his voice is soft. Warmth blooms in my chest and again I’m reassured. He’s not mad at me. He knows I was meant to be one of the good guys. “You don’t have to talk.”

We stay like that, unbothered by the other three. Until Jinu returns, face laced with realization and confusion but before he can say anything. All six of us get pulled back into the demon plane by Gwi ma.

A single soul flies overhead, straight into Gwi ma’s flame.

“My Little Soda Pop,” Gwi ma… sings? “It’s catchy. Surprisingly, your plan is working,” he says to us as we get up off the ground. Standing before him.

“I know, and that soul is just a starter,” Jinu says, his expression changing to please Gwi ma. “So let me get back to work, and you’ll be feasting in no time.”

“Two of the Hunters bear my mark, one of which I now have control over,” if Gwi ma had eyes they would be on me now with how intense the air around me got. “The other I do not.”

“This is good,” Jinu says, taking the attention off me. “This means she has shame. I’ll find out what it is and we can use it to destroy her and the Hunters for good.”

“I’ve taught you well, Jinu,” with that Gwi ma lets us return to our apartment on the human plane.

“Okay, issue,” Jinu says, sitting on one of the arm chairs in the room. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees. Covering his face with his left hand.

“What is it?” Romance asks, confused. Finding himself a seat on the couch. Abby returning from the kitchen with a bottle of water. Sitting in the other arm chair. Mystery finding his spot between Romance and Baby. I stood by the large open windows which had a view of the city sky line. From here I could see the Huntrix tower, the logo lit up in the dark of the night, in the far distance. Leaning against the glass as I subconsciously rubbed the patterns on my arms.

“Is it because of the look on your face when you first came back?” Baby asks, though I know his eyes don’t leave my frame. Watching over me protectively but letting me keep the space I need right now.

“Yes,” Jinu sighs, taking his hand away from his face. “Rumi appears to be my mate,” my eyes focus on his reflection in the window. Silence engulfs the room, almost like time stands still. I don’t think anyone knows what to say with this new information. “But that doesn’t change anything,” he chuckles awkwardly.

It’s very divided. Baby and I sure as hell can’t say shit about it. Me, technically, being a huntress and us being mates. Having just completed said mating bond.

“We’re going to stick to the plan,” Jinu ends up deciding. “We have to,” the words are whispered. My brows furrow in confusion. He can’t just be talking about the revenge. Baby fills my head with images of what Gwi ma could do to us if we fail.

It’s early morning, I think I got maybe an hour of sleep before I woke up from my running thoughts. Baby was a deep sleeper, if he hadn’t been, I was sure he would have jumped awake at the same time I did. Sneaking out of his hold. I grab my phone from its charger.

3:36 am

Sighing I get up. Pulling Baby’s sweater over my head. The hem falling just mid my thighs. My sweater now, really. Exiting the room I head for the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water. Swiftly taking a sip.

“Ah,” I sigh, walking to the living room, I just sat down on the couch when Jinu suddenly appears in front of me. Making me jump, Jinu reacting the same at seeing me awake.

“What are you doing awake?” he whisper hisses at me.

“I could ask you the same thing,” I hiss right back. He sighs and takes the same seat as before. I relax back in my seat, pulling my legs on the couch beside me.

“Fine,” he sighs. Tiger comes up from the floor. First letting himself be pet by Jinu before circling the coffee table. Jumping on the couch next to me, resting his head on my thigh. Placing my hand on his big head, I start petting him. Purrs slowly rumbling from his chest. “I went to meet Rumi,” anxiety spikes my chest, my eyes meeting his instantly. “I know, I know,” he puts his hands up. “I just, I had to tell her.”

While my heart is still running like a marathon, I sigh. “I get it. Once you realize it’s hard to keep it from them. Baby showed me what it felt like for him when he found out,” I explain in understanding. Jinu sighs in relief at my words.

“Thank you,” it wasn’t often Jinu got sincere, so I knew this was real. Just by the tone in his voice. “She did not react well,” he adds. “I shouldn’t be surprised of course, but I had hope with the way you reacted to Baby.”

“You have to understand that the situations are different. I had just been banished by my own family. She’s still in hiding,” I try to reason with him. “If Mira and Zoey knew, she would be with Gwi ma just like me.”

“What exactly happened that day?” the question is cautious. Testing the waters carefully. "I know you told us in part, but..."

“I wanted to tell Mira and Zoey about my patterns,” I state, my voice void of emotion. “I didn’t want to hide anymore. Rumi didn’t want to. Which I understood, but she said she would back me up,” I glance at him before focusing my attention on Tiger as I continue. “They reacted by drawing their weapons on me,” I pause for a moment. Throat swelling up with emotion. Unable to stop the betrayal from taking over me. “Rumi was the one to send me to Gwi ma,” I croak out, my hand trembling as I continue to pet Tiger as a distraction. Taking a deep shuddering breath. Baby appeared behind me suddenly. His calm aura settling over me. Looking back, up at him, his gaze is focused on Jinu. Glaring at him.

“What are you doing?” he asks accusingly. His hands settle on my shoulders. Comforting me.

“It’s okay. I’m okay now,” I smile gently at him, squeezing one of his hands. “It’s not his fault really,” he doesn’t seem to fully believe me. Tiger had looked up, almost offended that I had stop petting him. Though this did give Baby the opportunity to sit down himself and hold me close.

“What happened then?”

“I may have asked what happened that day,” Jinu explains.

“And this became a topic, because?”

“He apparently met with Rumi,” I tell him. “Telling her about them being mates, and it did not go as he hoped,” Baby nods, waiting for more information.

“I also may have offered to let Rumi talk to Y/n,” Jinu confesses, awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

“WHAT!?” Baby and I say at the same time. Baby out of worry, me out of anxiety.

“Yeah, well,” Jinu sighs, struggling to find the right words. “I thought, since you’re sisters. And you being mated to Baby. You could maybe, I don’t know. Convince her it’s okay..?”

“You want my mate,” Baby’s voice is stern, threatening even. “ who got sent to Gwi ma by yours. To talk to Rumi?”

“I know, I know.”

“No, I don’t think you understand,” Baby’s eyes turn golden. “Her anxiety just woke me up, I am de deepest sleeper you know this. I will not allow Rumi to meet with Y/n.”

The conversation ends there. The next few weeks a filled with award shows where either the Saja boys winning or Huntrix. All the while I see the secret longing looks Jinu sends Rumi, and Rumi tries to hide the new pull that the mating bond created.

It’s conflicting with everything.

I want Jinu to be happy, and I hate that I want Rumi to be happy too. Becoming Baby’s mate has made me so happy. While I still hear Gwi ma’s voice it’s not nearly as loud as it was before we completed the mating. It doesn’t rule over me. I wish that for Jinu. I know his past haunts him, more than he dares to show.

And while it obviously hurts to be betrayed by my sister, I still cared for her. Can I still go through with this?

“Let’s bring ‘em in,” Bobby’s voice announces as the doors to the signing open. Hiding in the crowd, I watch as the guys waddle in. “Hey, single file, no pushing.”

“And who should I make this out to?” Rumi asks, grabbing the stack of her posters, closer to herself.

“ 'To our biggest fans' ,” Jinu says, all of them casually revealing themselves. No longer hidden by the sleeping bags.

“It’s the Saja boys!” while everyone is focused on the boys, the frustration of the girls doesn’t go unnoticed by me.

“It is an honor!” Bobby regards them politely. “Table, now!”

“Joint signing!” while the room splits into two sides. I teleport behind the Huntrix banner, having practiced a lot since that first try.

“We lose half the fans?” I can just hear Rumi’s murmured words. “The Saja Boys will sit with us!”

“What? Rumi?” Mira and Zoey react quietly. “What are you doing?”

“Huh? Same table?” the crowd joins together again as the table gets moved next to theirs.

“We need every fan,” Rumi tells the other two.

“Hm. We keep meeting like this,” Romance says, sitting down next to Mira. Draping an arm over her chair. Leaning his head on his other hand. Staring at Mira while she glares back at him. Abby taking a seat on Mira's left, smirk tugging at his lips.

“I am not sitting with no Saja boy-” Zoey cuts herself off when Mystery sits down next to her, giggling like a high school girl with a crush. “What’s up?”

“I didn’t think you liked sharing,” Jinu whispers to Rumi when he sits down beside her.

“I love sharing.”

“Oh, so you shared your secret with your friends?”

“If only I could smash your demon face in right now,” Mira hisses quietly. Her eyes shifting from Romance to Abby as she signs her poster. “Thanks for coming!” she puts up a sweet face as she hands over the signed poster.

“Should I tell them?” Jinu asks.

“No, I can’t tell them,” Rumi reminds him.

“Are you whispering?” a fan suddenly cut their conversation. The two of them stuttering as they frantically sign the Rumi poster and hand it to the fan. “Your secret’s safe with me,” she says pointing at her shirt which has a drawing of the two of them along with their ship name; Rujinu. They chuckle awkwardly. “Oh, so cute!”

“Thanks for coming!” Zoey speaks with a sweet smile on her lips, while Mystery sits next to her. Arms crossed, pretty much staring down the Huntrix fan in front of them like he had seen them kick a puppy. Softly growling. “No! Bad Saja Boy!” Zoey scolds him which surprisingly stops his growling.

“I’ll sign first,” Mira fights with Abby and Romance over who will sign the cast of a fan. Dragging his foot from left to right on the table like he isn’t struggling to keep his stability on his crutches.

"If Y/n were still with Huntrix," I catch the whisper of a fan. An image of said fan being sent to me by Baby. The fan standing directly in front of him. "I would ship you," he doesn't reply. Simply smirks and sends the fan a wink making them squeal.

“I’m not gonna talk to someone who’s helping Gwi ma,” Rumi whispers, trying to focus on the signing.

“What if that’s not the plan anymore.”

“Like I would believe you, you have my sister helping you.”

“And who’s fault is that,” he whispers in her ear making her kick his foot under the table.

“I had no choice!” She whisper yells at him. “They didn’t accept her. If I revealed what I am we would never stand a chance at defeating Gwi ma. I’m supposed to hate all demons, like I hate Gwi ma.”

“If hate could defeat Gwi ma, we would have done it a long time ago,” Jinu tells her calmly, truthfully. “Trust me.”

“Excuse me, mr. Jinu,” the voice of a little girl cuts their moment. “I made this for you,” both turn to the girl. Jinu surprised, not expecting this in the slightest.

“Uh, for me?” she holds out the drawing to him. He takes the paper like its a porcelain plate. Fragile, breakable. The two stare at the drawing for a little while.

“Maybe listen to those voices instead of the ones in your head,” Rumi says referring to the time they met up, she’s trying to be rude about it, but it sounds more sincere than I think she meant to.

It had been a couple of days since Tiger had been at the apartment. He finally appeared again when it was just me, Baby and Jinu in the living room. The other three had been disappearing into their rooms more often than not.

Tiger sat in front of Jinu, waiting for his attention. I was stretched out over the couch, using Baby’s thighs as a pillow while he read above me. Fingers running through my hair soothingly.

“Oh, my-” Jinu’s sudden excitement has my eyes shoot open in surprise. Baby sighed but closed the book nonetheless. How he did it, I don’t know, but he would just remember the page number he left on. Not caring about a bookmark. Who does that?

“What is it?” I ask, sleepily.

“It’s from Rumi, she’s agreed to meet you,” the anxiety spike returns, just that has Baby reach for my hand. Squeezing it gently.

“I thought, I had been very clear, last time we spoke about this,” Baby glares at him. Sitting up slowly, I take the card from Jinu.

Fine, I’ll take that talk with Y/n. But not for you! She’ll know where to meet me. - Rumi

Stubborn as ever, I shake my head. “You think she’s feeling the pull?” I ask Baby. He sighs, not liking the way my anxiety melted away for warmth of the potential happiness that could come out of this.

“Yes, she probably is,” he answers me, voice gentle, unlike how he spoke to Jinu. “I’m surprised she held out this long. “

“Is that were Tiger was?” I ask Jinu, who nods.

“I’ll do it,” I announce after a moment of me just staring at her neat hand writing.

“I’m coming with you,” Baby immediately says, but I shake me head.

“No, she won’t trust you,” it’s true and he knows it. “I can protect myself. I can get away from her, thanks to you,” I peck his cheek. Lingering to reassure him that I’ll be okay.

“Alright.”

I arrive first. Kneeling in front of our moms grave.

“Hi mom,” my voice soft. “I know it’s been a while since my last visit. I’m sorry,” I apologize. A crunch of a branch tells me Rumi has arrived. Placing a kiss on the tips of my fingers, I press them against her headstone before standing up. Turning to Rumi.

“I didn’t think you would actually show,” she says, a sullen expression on her face. Hands stuffed in her sweaters pockets.

“When Jinu first told me of his offer to you, I wouldn’t have come, no,” I tell her honestly. Moving at a wide radius away from our moms grave. Giving Rumi the opportunity to talk to mom like I just had.

She does just that, I give her space to do so. This is the first time we talk to her separately. We always went to her grave together every now and again.

“Is this… mates thing… a lie?” she hesitates, when she’s done talking to mom. Getting up, keeping the same radius I had. Ten paces apart we take our seat on separate grass patches.

“It is not,” I shake my head, pulling the zipper down of my turtle neck top. Show her my mating mark that has now healed completely. Leaving holographic scars in the shape of his teeth. “Jinu did not lie to you about that, and I think you believed him. Even before you wanted to.”

She nods, seemingly ashamed that she did, but unable to deny the pull she now feels to him. “Did Jinu lie when he said he wasn’t going to help Gwi ma anymore?”

“Yes and no,” she looks confused at my answer.

“What does that mean?” she frowns.

“I think, that after finding out you were his mate, he stopped wanting to help Gwi ma.”

“But?”

“But because of what you did to me-” anxiety spikes as the memories play again. Warmth spreads within seconds, allowing me to take a deep breath and continue. Thank you Baby. “And the memories that haunt, not only Jinu, but the others too. They became my friends, I know it may seem like they do all this for Gwi ma. But they don’t. They will continue if it means they can get rid of their memories. Probably until its too late.”

“I guess… I guess I can’t blame them for that…” she sighs, gaze falling to the grass in front of her, like she can’t bear to meet mine. “For what it’s worth… I am so-rry,” her voice cracks. Her mask faltering as tears roll freely off her cheeks. “… I’m so- so sor-ry…” her shoulders shake. “I- I panicked! I never-” she sniffles. “I never wanted to hurt- you.”

“It hurt… so much,” I croak out, unable to keep from crying myself. Being this close yet so far from my sister. It was agony. “Not just the betrayal…” a quick intake of breath which does little to stop my emotions from going haywire. “It was like I was- like I was being burned… in, I don’t know, hell fire,” I struggle to find the words. Trying to paint a picture she would - hopefully - never feel. "Gwi ma, tortured me... with it... making it play- over and over," I pause. "Louder, every time," my voice just above a whisper. It hangs in the air for an uncertain amount of time.

“Can I please- hug you?” her voice is so soft, I barely catch her words. Looking up in surprise. Wondering if I even heard her right. My eyes find hers already staring at me. Switching between either one in desperation. I barely finish my nod and she on her feet.

We crush together in the middle. Arms wrapped tightly around each other. Tears ruining each others clothes, not that we cared about that in the moment, or ever.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” her voice is shaky as she whispers the words, over an over. Hiding her face in my shoulder. I feel us sink to the gravel, never letting go.

I don't know how long we stay there, just crying while we hold onto each other desperately.

“I missed you so much,” she whispers when we finally stopped crying. Pulling away enough to look at me up close. A shaky smile forms on my lips as I nod in agreement.

“I missed you too, even though I felt betrayed,” I sigh, using one hand to wipe away left over tears. “Mira and Zoey too.”

“I know they miss you too,” it surprises me. Her voice is so full of raw emotion I know she’s not lying. “We regret it so much, me the most,” she points at her own chest. “I lost my voice, I couldn’t sing anymore. I didn’t think I deserved to either way.”

We are hunters, voices strong

I start, which she quickly catches on to. Joining me.

Slaying demons with our song Fix the world and make it right When darkness finally meets the light

Our foreheads meet in the middle. It held a lot more meaning now. We weren’t singing about slaying literally demons. It was about our thoughts. How we can speak our truth to each other now. Where her darkness meets my light and we can still fix all this. “That is the first time I’ve sang since the performance before… you know.”

“Meeting Jinu, my voice returned. I had someone who I could talk about my patterns with again,” Rumi confesses. “Someone I could be completely me with, but it was different.”

“It is,” I nod, separating our connection. “Because he is your mate. I had the same with Baby. Even if I didn’t want to believe demons could be nice at first,” I shake my head, getting a smile from her. “Also, would you believe it! Not all demons are ugly like we thought,” this gets her to laugh uncontrollably, happy tears playing on the rims of her eyes. She pulls me impossible closer, letting out a shuddering sigh of relief.

“Hey, can demons only have demon mates?” I ask, still confused by Romance, Mystery’s and Abby’s recent behavior changes.

“Uhm, no,” Mystery answers my question surprisingly. His expression unreadable. “Could be a human too,” the way he drags out ‘too’, only confirms my suspicions.

“Am I correct in assuming you three have found your mates in my human band members?” it’s hard to hide the smirk that starts tugging at my lips. Abby is the first to react, his gaze flicking to me in an instant. Got you. “I knew it!” I fist pump the air in excitement.

“Why does our misery excite you exactly?” Romance asks, sinking lower into the couch.

“Well,” I draw out the word as I get off of Baby’s lap. Much to his dismay. “Because it changes everything!”

“What are you talking about?” Abby asks, confusion written on all over their faces. Except, Baby, which surprises me only a little. Maybe my feelings about this have bled into him more than I thought.

“Don’t you see,” I start, pacing in front of them. “All of you have mates on this plane. Hunters to be precise,” I explain it like it’s obvious. “If we destroy them, you’ll never be with them!” this seems to make all of them pause.

“They hate demons, remember,” Romance’s voice is edged with a depression I had never seen on the man.

“That doesn’t mean they can’t change!” my voice is almost desperate. Trying to get them to see what I see. “If- if,” my thoughts go too fast for my mouth to keep up. A hand takes mine, Baby. I breathe. “If we can convince Rumi that we will help them seal the Honmoon-”

“What!?” that comes from all three of them at once.

“Listen to me!” I snap, gripping Baby’s hand tighter. “If we help them seal the Honmoon, while we are on this plane. It will keep us here!” slowly their gaze shift from disbelief to something I can’t place. Something like… hope. Or maybe fear of even the thought of hope. “Gwi ma won’t have control over us.”

“How are you so sure?” Mystery asks, his voice soft. Unrecognizable from his normal confident self.

“Because Rumi and I were already born when the Honmoon was last sealed,” I tell them. “We stayed here, lead normal human lives. Even if we had to hide our patterns.”

“Alright, I’ll trust you on this,” Abby says sitting up straight. This gets the other two to agree soon after.

“How do we make it happen?”

“Jinu, you need to talk to Rumi. Tell her our plan,” I turn to Jinu. “She’ll do whatever she can to ensure Mira and Zoey will not harm us. I’m sure of it, but we will have to keep pretending to do this for Gwi ma,” the plan was simple really. It would all end tomorrow at the International Idol Awards.

“Two bands, one award,” the intro starts playing on the tv in the Saja Boys’ dressing room. “Every snowflake is special. But one snowflake is probably the best. Who will be the top the the mountain?”

“Is this guy for real?” Abby asks in disbelief. I smack his arm playfully.

“Hey, this is a respected award show,” I tell him. “We are five-year reigning champions, I’ll have you know,” Baby chuckles at my defense, squeezing my side.

“Fans from around the universe will decide!” The stage comes into view. The stadium filled to the brim with fans. “Finally, the moment you’ve been waiting for. Here are the five-year reigning champs of the International Idol Awards, Huntrix!”

“Okay, it’s time,” I tell them. “Fake the fight,” immediately they start arguing about stupid things like stolen shoes. Men, am I right? But it sounds believable, especially through he nearly sound proof door.

“Versus the heart-stealing newcomers, the Saja Boys! Who will win?” “Please welcome to the stage, the Saja Boys!”

“The Saja Boys, are having a fight,” I tell a staff member as I open the door just a peep. “They will not be performing tonight,” Their eyes seem to widen. Rushing away. Most likely to tell other staff and Bobby of the earlier performance of the Huntrix.

Closing the door behind me, I give them a thumbs up. “Now we just let it play out.”

Everything quiets down in the room. Watching in anticipation, hoping it would work.

“Uh, okay, there’s been a slight change in schedule,” the host announces.

Baby is sat on the arm rest of the leather couch in the room. I sit right on the edge between his legs, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist. Possessive, protective. Afraid of loosing me, just as I am to loose him if this goes bad.

Romance, Abby and Mystery actually sit on the three seater leather couch. Jinu, nervously sat on the other arm rest. Tension was high.

“Here to preform their hot new single, Golden, it’s Huntrix!”

“What?” my voice is laced with confusion. The door to the dressing room slams open. Startling everyone in the room.

“Y/n, quick.”

“When you told me to wear my golden costume, you could have told me this was the reason for it,” I tell Rumi while she throws a headworn microphone at me.

I lock eyes with Baby, portraying that I didn’t know.

“You go this,” he winks confidently. “I’ll be right here when you return,” I smash our lips together in a desperate kiss. Pouring all my fear into it along with anxious hope. “Go, darling,” his voice soft as he wipes a tear I didn’t know escaped off my cheek.

Breaking away, I watch as Rumi pulls away from a similar kiss with Jinu. A blush covering her cheeks. With that we run out the room.

“Do Zoey and Mira know I’m here to perform?” I ask on the way.

“Uhm, kind of?” Rumi admits, grimacing.

“Rumi!”

“I told them to trust me, alright!” we reach the girls just in time. It luckily doesn’t give the two the chance to ask any questions as we get lifted up to the stage.

I start my part, the crowd cheering in surprise.

I was a ghost, I was alone. Eo du wojin, ap gil sok e Given the throne I didn’t know How to believe I was the queen that I’m meant to be!

Thankfully, it all goes smoothly as we continue the song. Leaving the stage when its time for Rumi’s solo. I anxiously keep my distance from Zoey and Mira. Though I’m not too worried with so many people around.

“She’s killing it out there!” Zoey nearly screams overjoyed to see my sister sing well once more. Mira on the other hand doesn’t seem to be sure whether she should be glaring at me or feel grateful that I’m actually still alive. In the end she shakes her head.

“Let’s go finish this,” but commotion backstage draws our attention. We watch Bobby being dragged away by to people, their eyes flashing gold before disappearing around the corner. “Bobby?” Zoey turns to glare at me instantaneously.

“This isn’t us, I swear,” I hold up my hands trying to prove my innocence. “I didn’t do this!”

“Stay away from us,” Mira hisses at me as I go to follow them to help Bobby. My breath quickens as I watch them run away. The staff yelling after them that they’re on in 20 seconds.

“What is happening?” I mutter, dashing in the other direction. I crash straight into the dressing room. All five of them are still sat there, watching Rumi perform.

Baby is at my side in seconds. “What’s going on?”

“Who took Bobby!?” my voice is more confused than accusatory, but its there. Their brows furrow. “I thought we agreed.”

“We did,” Mystery stands up confused. “What do you mean, who took Bobby?”

Realization dawns on me, my eyes darting to the screen. “Rumi…” I breath, watching as the music changes from Golden to an entirely different song. One I didn’t know. Mira and Zoey join her back onstage… but something is off about them. “I have to get to Rumi!”

Emotion crowds my chest as I teleport in bursts, racing closer and closer to the stage. But I’m too late.

The fakes have already exposed her patterns.

“No!” Rumi’s voice pierces the air. Lights break in her wake. Her patterns start glowing purple. Unable to hide them anymore. She’s trembling. Frantic, scared, exposed.

Out of the corner of my eye I see the real Zoey and Mira return on the other side of the stage. Stopping in their tracks at the sight of Rumi. And slowly they step back. Back… away from her.

Rumi gains enough control of herself and runs off stage. I quickly run after her, but I’m not fast enough to stop her from running into Mira and Zoey. Witnessing their conversation from the stairs.

“How are you here?” I hear Rumi’s shaky voice. “You were just on stage. That wasn’t you?” She trembling like crazy. “Oh, thank goodness,” she takes a step closer to them. But they just take a steps back. “No. No!” her gaze falls to her hands, the patterns on full display. Not hidden like she expected them to be.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Zoey’s voice is surprisingly soft as she questions Rumi. “You knew about Y/n because you are one too.”

Her breath hitches. “Yes, but-” she stutters. “I didn’t have a- have choice.”

“You lied to us,” Mira’s voice is sharp. “This whole time?”

“No, I-” she shakes her head vividly. “We had a plan.”

“We?”

“Sealing the Honmoon,” I finally speak up. Revealing myself to them. Joining Rumi. Mira and Zoey take another step back, drawing their weapons on us, but not yet pointing them at us.

“You told us to trust you,” Zoey's voice is colder than I have ever heard it.

“And it back fired, on not just us, but on you too,” if looks could kill, Mira’s gaze would have sent us straight to hell.

“No,” I tell them, shaking my head. “This wasn’t us,” I say referring to me and the Saja Boys. “We wanted you guys to seal the Honmoon tonight.”

“It was supposed to save us,” Rumi adds, taking my hand with her shaky one. “We were supposed to become normal… and be together again.”

“How could we be together if we can’t tell your lies from your truths, Rumi?”

“I knew it, I knew it was too good to be true,” Mira’s voice is filled with disappointment.

“Mira, no! Didn’t you see?” Rumi tries once more as a desperate attempt. “See the gold? We’re so close!” instead they only back up further as she tries to get closer to them. “No, don’t leave! We can still…”

“Fix this!” my voice combines with hers makes the Honmoon ring magenta. Loosing us whatever trust that would have been left from the two. Mira pointing her woldo at us.

“Zoey, please,” my voice trembles. Tears in my eyes. It doesn’t change anything. She too readies her kunai’s. Before they can try to use them on us. I squeeze Rumi’s hand and teleport her with me.

I wasn’t entirely sure where I took us. But it became clear as our eyes followed how the Honmoon was breaking apart. Our gaze landing on the Shinmok. Celine stood there, back to us. But she knew we were there. Turning around with her nat suddenly, as if to catch us off guard.

“Rumi? Y/n?”

“I thought we could fix it,” Rumi says. Staring blankly at the ground. Voice going static.

“They know of both of us now,” my voice seems to do the same as we near Celine.

“There is no denying it now.”

“There is no fixing it.”

“This is what we are,” The slow tearing of the Honmoon had both of us looking mostly demon, mirrored glowing patterns, one gold eye each.

“Y/n, how?” they had to have told Celine the truth of what happened that night. She wouldn’t have been as surprised to see me if they hadn’t. They thought I had been dead. “I tried to protect you,” Celine continues, stepping cautiously closer to us. “When we lost your mother, I swore to protect you both. But I never thought that you would be children like this,” her voice trembles as she reaches out to us but can’t seem to touch us. Doesn’t dare to touch us. “Everything I was taught told me you two were wrong, but I made a promise. So I did my best to accept you and help you-”

“Accept us?” Rumi asks, meeting Celine’s tear filled gaze. “You told us to cover up, to hide.”

“Yes, until we can fix everything-”

“And look where that got us,” I scoff. “If we had been honest… from the start,” I choke on my own emotions. “We wouldn’t look like this now.”

“The Honmoon would have been golden already.”

“We can still fix this,” Celine mumbles she steps away from us.

“Don’t you get it!”

“This is what we are!” Rumi and I speak sentence after sentence like we had rehearsed this. But we hadn’t, we just knew exactly what we were trying to get across to her.

“Look at us,” we state when she will no longer dare to look us in the eyes. To truly see what she caused. “Why can’t you look at us?! Why couldn’t you love us?!”

“I do!”

“Every part of us!” our combined cry for acceptance creates another magenta ripple to run over the Honmoon around us. Spreading wider than before.

“This is why we have to hide it,” Celine sounds desperate and out of breath. Looking around frantically at the Honmoon. “Our faults and fears must never been seen. It’s the only way to protect the Honmoon.”

Silence.

“If this is the Honmoon we’re supposed to protect, we’re glad to see it destroyed,” with that we leave her there.

Our agreement is silent as we meet at moms grave once more. “We’re going to have to create a new Honmoon,” I tell her. The both of us pacing the ground.

“Yes, we do.”

“I have a plan, one sec,” I leave her for approximately five seconds before returning with the Saja Boys. Jinu immediately takes Rumi in a protective hold.

“Do you know, how hard it was for me to not follow you,” Baby whispers in my ear as he stands behind me. Wrapping an arm around my waist.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize, turning sideways to peck his cheek. “Thank you for trusting me,” he responds to my words with a bite to my mating mark making me shiver deliciously. “Not now," I scold him.

“Anyways, plan,” Romance asks.

“Right, have you guys spoke to Gwi ma yet?”

“Yes,” Abby answers. “He believes we are still on his side. He just thought it took too long. Sorry for that Rumi,” he apologizes awkwardly to my sister.

“We genuinely didn’t know this would happen,” Jinu adds, squeezing the girl who accepts the apology.

“That’s good, did he miss me there?” I ask.

“I don’t think he could care less,” Baby says, seemingly relieved knowing I’m pretty much not a target for Gwi ma. “But Gwi ma has everyone in a trance. They are all going to Namsan Tower.”

“Okay, we can work with that,” Rumi says, running her brain for ideas.

“Including, Zoey and Mira,” Mystery adds, worry lacing his voice.

“Okay, that makes it a bit harder,” I admit.

“Gwi-ma wants us to do a show there, to keep the people tranced,” Jinu goes to explain Gwi ma’s plan. “That way they will willingly walk into his fire.”

“Do it,” I tell them, seriously. All six of them stare at me like I grew three heads. “We can put a stop to it,” I point my finger between me and Rumi. “Trust me.”

It doesn’t take the boys a lot of convincing, they nod. Jinu leaves a linger kiss on Rumi’s lips. “Take care of yourself,” he tells her sincerely. She nods in silent promise.

“If anything goes wrong, I will protect you,” Baby says to me. “Even if it kills me,” I want to tell him no, but he connects our lips and disappears before I can melt into it.

Rumi and I meet eyes, scared but ready.

Oh!

Rumi’s voice rings loud and clear through Namsan Tower. Cutting the boys off. People clear the way for a view of Rumi. Stood there, broken but true.

We are hunters. Voices strong. Slaying demons with our song. Fix the world and make it right. When darkness finally meets the light.

“You come here like this?” no one is walking towards the flames anymore, just like I suspected. “You think you can fix the world? You can’t even fix yourself,” Gwi ma plays with her shame and insecurities.

“I can’t,” she admits, sullenly.

“And now everyone finally sees you for what you really are.”

“They do.”

“And the Honmoon is gone.”

“It is,” Gwi ma thinks he’s won. “So we can make a new one,” her gaze grows serious.

Nothing but the truth now. Nothing but the proof of what I am.

She walks as she sings, closer. Transforming unknowingly, but I see it. Patterns glowing like iridescent glass, shifting though colors with every note she sings.

The worst of what I came from Patterns I’m ashamed of Things that even I don’t understand I tried to fix it I tried to fight it My head was twisted My heart divided My lies all collided I don’t know why I didn’t Trust you to be on my side

That’s when I join, appearing right next to her.

I broke into a million pieces, and I can't go back But now I'm seeing all the beauty in the broken glass The scars are part of me, darkness and harmony My voice without the lies, this is what it sounds like

My eyes find Zoey, who is emerging from the crowd, soul glowing bright. Rumi finding Mira just the same.

Why did I cover up the colors stuck inside my head?

Zoey joins with her own truth.

I should've let the jagged edges meet the light instead

Mira, putting her trust in us more than she ever could.

Show me what's underneath, I'll find your harmony The song we couldn't write, this is what it sounds like

“Stop this song!” Gwi ma demands. Three tears open at the center of the stage. Demons crawling out fast. But we don’t stop.

We're shattering the silence, we're rising defiant Shouting in the quiet, you're not alone

We draw our weapons. Rumi, her sword, Mira her woldo, Zoey her Kunai’s. And me, I draw my dual daggers.

We listened to the demons, we let them get between us But none of us are out here on our own

We fight through the demons with ease, continuing our song. Souls lighting in the crowd as our voices harmonize and grow strong.

So, we were cowards, so, we were liars So, we're not heroes, we're still survivors The dreamers, the fighters, no lying, I'm tired But dive in the fire and I'll be right here by your side

Meeting in the center, we hug, creating a brand new Honmoon.

“I promise you, I am on your side,” I tell them.

“We know,” Zoey breathes with relief.

“Trust me, when I tell you that the Saja boys are on our side,” they hesitate for a moment when our eyes connect. But with a nod from Rumi, they nod too.

We broke into a million pieces, and we can't go back But now we're seeing all the beauty in the broken glass The scars are part of me, darkness and harmony My voice without the lies, this is what it sounds like Why did we cover up the colors stuck inside our head? Get up and let the jagged edges meet the light instead Show me what's underneath, I'll find your harmony Fearless and undefined, this is what it sounds like

More demons spawn, crawling their way to us. The Saja boys flying up into the air. Rumi pushes forward while, Zoey, Mira and I take care of the crawling demons coming at us.

Though, Gwi ma, quickly calls them back. Abby and Romance swooping down, pretending to attack Mira. A spike of fear runs through me at the sight. Afraid she’ll attack them anyway, but she pretends right back.

Mystery lands before Zoey, staring her down menacingly. Baby, grabbing a hold of me from behind. I know he’s trying to protect me and fight away a smile that’s threatening to break on my face.

“You’re voices cannot ... defeat ... me!” Gwi ma yells, sending a blast directly at Rumi. She reacts quick enough, using her sword as a shield.

“No!” I scream out. Jinu and I seem to have the same plan.

He is there first, taking the brute force of the blast.

But I teleport behind him. Pushing him at Rumi, they both gasp. Turning to me.

“Y/n!” my eyes shift to Baby. He tries but fails to get to me. Teleporting in spurts before collapsing on the ground. Feeling exactly what I feel.

It’s not just physical. It’s like my body and soul are being torn apart from the inside out. It's that hell fire all over again, but triple the pain.

“Y/n, no,” Rumi’s voice is filled with fear. Jinu’s eyes shift from mine to Baby where he lays on the stage floor.

“I’m sorry,” I whimper. “for wanting revenge.”

“No,” she shakes her head vividly. Not agreeing with what I said. “I deserved it!” she nearly yells at me.

“It’s okay,” I struggle to smile. The pressure of the blast almost becoming to much. My heart pounds in my ears, louder and louder. Deafening me as my eyes slowly blur to a close.

But I don’t wither away like I expect. I can feel my body fighting the blast. A war raging beneath my skin. I don’t need to see it to know what’s happening.

The iridescent patterns, spread. Like veins of molten light weaving across my skin. Swallowing my entire body, covering every inch of me in the iridescent glow.

Growing brighter like a blinding radiant light, gasps ring in my head as my body blinds everyone present. Drowning the tower in an otherworldly glow.

This is what does it. All souls seem to come to life. I can’t see it, but I can feel it. From where I’m floating. The crowd sings the song. Letting Rumi, Mira and Zoey use their souls to defend themself against Gwi ma.

We broke into a million pieces, and we can't go back But now I'm seeing all the beauty in the broken glass The scars are part of me, darkness and harmony My voice without the lies, this is what it sounds like Why did we cover up the colors stuck inside our head? Get up and let the jagged edges meet the light instead Show me what's underneath, I'll find your harmony Fearless and undefined, this is what it sounds like

My eyes finally seem to open as I float with them. High, higher. My voice returns and I’m able to join them in over powering Gwi ma. Our voices sealing the new Honmoon.

My voice without the lies, this is what it sounds like Fearless and undefined, this is what it sounds like Truth after all this time, our voices all combined When darkness meets the light, this is what it sounds like

“Shit, Y/n,” Mira curses when the four land back on stage. But Y/n doesn’t stay standing. If it weren’t for Mira’s quick reaction time to keep her up.

Rumi is quick to help her keep, Y/n up. Worry running through her body. It’s Zoey who checks for a pulse.

“She’s alive,” she announces quietly. Their eyes find the Saja boys, still there, back in human form. Mystery and Abby carrying a, in a similar state, Baby.

A groan escapes me lips, turning around. Or trying to anyway, to face away from the light shining onto my face. The sharpness of it, not helping my headache in the slightest.

I finally manage to turn around in the tangles of my covers, taking in a deep breath. Snuggling my face into the pillow in front of me. Why is it so hard tho? I go to punch it, so it's soft but my hand finds a chest instead.

"Ow," it's not a sound of actually pain, but my eyes shoot open anyways. I instantly regret it when I'm hit with a sharp spike from the headache. Squeezing my eyes shut, arms wrap around me tighter. Pulling me closer to the person. Opening my eyes again, slower this time.

I look up, finding Baby already lazily staring back at me. A gentle smile on his lips. "Hello, darling," his voice deep from sleep.

"Hi..." I melt back into him. Snuggling my face back into his chest. Wrapping my right arm around him, grabbing hold of him tightly. The room stays silent for a while, apart from our soft breathing.

"Wait," I mumble, my eyes opening once me. "I'm alive...?"

"I guess we are," Baby agrees. A flash of him not being able to make it to me in time has chills running down my spine.

"But..." I'm so confused. "But how?" I don't remember anything of what happened after I closed my eyes when the blast got too much. "How long have we been asleep for?"

"I don't know, but it could have been longer had you not punched me," he smirks teasingly, making me pout. He kisses it away, his hands finding my waist, tickling me.

Laughter filling the room, headache gone with the wind.

"What is going on!?" the door to the room gets thrown open. Smashing against the wall. Startling us, our gazes turning to said door.

There we find, Rumi, Jinu, Zoey & Mira, Mystery, Romance and Abby close behind them.

"You're awake!" Zoey scream, rushing over to what I now realize is old my bed at the Huntrix apartment. Pulling me from Baby, she hugs me tight, Rumi and Mira not far behind. Engulfed in a hug of the people I love the most. Well, besides Baby of course.

"You guys," my voice muffled by Rumi's hoodie. "I need to actually breathe," I chuckle when they actually give me some room. "What happened?"

"Later, first food," Mira says, pulling out of bed. Had they put my pajamas on me? I wonder as I stare down at my llama pants. The men in the room just chuckle, including Baby. He to gets out of bed, wearing his own set of pajamas. Not once I had ever seen before though. They matched mine too, only his were black and white, while mine were white and black.

Before I can ask anymore questioned we're being ushed out the room. Straight to the living room where I'm made to sit down. In an instant I'm being handed my flavor ramyeon. I don't question why they had it ready already. Baby taking a seat next to me, being handed a cup of my flavor ramyeon.

They all gather around us, just staring at up with grateful smiles which kinda creeps me out. But I let it slide for a second when I notice Zoey sitting close to Mystery. My eyes shooting to Mira, happy to find her as she takes a seat between Abby and Romance.

"... Okay, now tell us what happened," I demand as we eat slowly. Wanting them to stop gawking at us.

It's a story told like a disoriented bird. It goes left, right, up down, never straight. But it's nice to hear them talking. I sink against Baby.

Listen to them explain how they all thought we were dead, pointing at both Baby and me. Relieved when they found a pulse on both of us. "Going to a hospital wasn't gonna do anything," Zoey rambles, shaking her hand dismissively. "So we brought you here."

"And we waited," Mira adds.

"And waited," Rumi adds, grinning.

"And totally did not prepare two ramyeon for you everyday in anticipation or anything," Zoey continues. Making my eyes widen. Turning my head I look at our kitchen. Stacks upon stacks of opened, hopefully empty, ramyeon cups stood on the counter.

"Oh don't worry, thats only like, idk 50 cups," Jinu shrugs.

"What!? We were OUT for 25 days!?"

"Uhm..." Rumi, Mira and Zoey both count on their fingers. "No, 26 days," they say casually, pointing at the cups we were currently holding.

"Wha-" I look at Baby whose eyes are just as wide as mine.

"We knew you two would be fine," Romance says, shrugging his shoulders. "The fact that you two sealed your mating bond protected you."

"You can feel each others pain, yes," Jinu continues. "But you also take. So while yes, you took the full blast of it. Baby over here, took half if away from you."

"That saved you from it being a lethal blow," Mystery finishes. "It just took a while to recover," he smiles sweetly.

"Okay, wow," is all I can think to say. Leaning forward to put the now empty Ramyeon on the coffee table, taking Baby's before he can protest. "But I'm still confused, did we ... win?"

"Yes," Mira chuckles. "You actually sung with is, do you not remember that?"

"No, I don't remember anything that happened after I closed my eyes. and thought I would die," Baby sat cross legged. So I swiftly placed my self between his legs. Instantly his arms wrap around my shoulders. Pecking the top of my head, lingering.

"It was so cool!" Zoey goes off. "You turned like fully iridescent! It was blinding! But that is what let us defeat Gwi ma."

"Okay, one more question," I state. "Is everything good, are we good? Did you guys tell them...?" instantly Zoey blushes and Mira turns surprisingly red. A rare sight.

"Yes, we are mated," Mystery smiles lovingly at Zoey, who turns to him. Pecking his lips sweetly.

"Us, too," Abby smirks. "We managed to tie this beauty down," he says squeezing Mira's waist who sends him a playful glare. Romance chuckling and pecking her cheek.

The end!

// Main Story // Bonus Chapters //

[friendlyneighborhoodcat]

Forsaken Yandere HC-3

Took a while for me to actually start on this because of homework, sorry for the delay:(

I still got 2 pounds of assignment I gotta finish but regardless, enjoy the food<3

This one is for the killers, Noob, and n7 btw. The other survivors are in my two other post

Coolkid will automatically be a platonic yandere, romantic yandere Coolkid writers DNI.

Jason will be the only non-yandere in all three parts. I HC him to be aroace and refuses to look past that.

Warning: Might be ooc

1x1x1x1: She's a narcissistic, sadistic, and pathetic wet cat. Will def target anyone BUT you. Always leave you for LMS (She still kills you, tho, she just likes the thrill of it). Would definitely be grumpy if u ended up winning the LMS and went back to the killer's cabin to stab the wall with her Daemonshank. She resents you, a lot, for being on her mind 24/7. She has long taught herself that affection is weakness(HC), so she doesn't know why it was much different when it comes to you. She's too prideful to admit shit, so if anything you'll just get absolutely mauled if you ever mentioned or teases her about it. It always feels wrong to kill you specifically, and she's fuming that it is.

John Doe: He's a gentleman when it comes to you, mainly because the feeling he has for you reminded him of the feelings he still has for ____. He'd give you small things like flowers he found in a round, or things he made by hand. He doesn't understand much of humans' emotions, but he still tries to for your sake. He always leaves you for LMS before coming up to you and trying to communicate. It always scares the living shit out of you, but you eventually let your guard down a little and share with him some things abt you. You're still wary of him, though, that's for sure. But he's always patient with you. He'll literally do whatever you tell him to, seriously. Tell him to go fight The Spectre, and he WILL actually try it. The Spectre ended up throwing him back to the Killers' cabin with a warning.

C00lkid: Strictly platonic yandere!! He loves you mainly because you're friendly and open around his dad. Would definitely target you first because you're 'his new fav tag buddy', it's only cuz n7's clone fools him every time and he got grumpy from that. You pity him, you really do, since he has to be forced to kill in order to survive as a child. So you're always forgiving and patient when it comes to something that he did. Even if it's server wiping and ripping you to pieces, you'd still forgive him. He thinks of you as a second parent because of that, so he'd always try to get you to 'marry' n7 so it can be official. He's not, in any way, possessive of you. He just gets upset when you show attention to anyone else who isn't his dad.

Jason: Yell at me all you want, but Jason is NOT a romantic yandere. Nor is he a platonic yandere. He's not the type to get jealous or protective over someone. He does think you're cool, tho. Doesn't stop him from hitting you with gashing wound. He only kinda likes you because his mother likes you, but even then, he still wouldn't hold back from server wiping. Overall, he doesn't give a fuck. Ki ki ma ma

Noob: He's tripping over his own feet running around trying to please you. Nervous as hell when it comes to interactions regarding you. You would have to be the one to start a convo with him, cuz he's too scared to even be in your vicinity. He does share his bloxy colas with you during rounds, only if you ask cuz he's fucking terrified of you. You find his nervousness endearing in a way, while he's just trembling when you're around. It's bc of him thinking that you're too cool and stuff to be hanging around him, and he thinks you're judging him for everything he does. He's pathetic, I know. Your patience does get him to warm up to you a little, but he's still somewhat closed off.

007n7: You're one of the few people who don't mind his past, hence why he likes you. He wouldn't show himself much during rounds, but he would leave bloxy colas and medkits near your area(referencing YFAT AU, peak AU btw yall should check it out). He'd apologize for Coolkid's behavior whenever his son tries to get you to 'marry' him. You both find it quite amusing, though. He loves it when you start convos with him regarding the CoolGUI, though he does get uncomfortable when he mentions his past. He'd sometimes get dirty looks from Elliot when he was around you, and he'd visibly flinch from that(Elliot heavily resents him for burning his workplace several times and fears something like that might happen to you).

-----

UEUEUUEUEUE

This is so painful to write, especially when I don't know most of their personalities *sobs*

I'd love to write additional characters like Noli, Azure, or Mafioso but this post would be too long and I'm too tired for that sighs.

I'm considering taking requests, but it's not decided yet since I have to see if I have the time

BYE SILLIES<3

[orlaunderrated]

The Edges of Us: Chapter 13

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Will Lenney x fem reader; George Clarke x fem reader

Summary: Y/N has always been close to George—but everything changes when she catches feelings for his sharp-tongued, infuriatingly charming friend, Will. Torn between loyalty and desire, Y/N finds herself caught in a messy tangle of friendship, secrets, and unexpected love.

Word Count: 7.0k+

Note: SMUT again!!!!! i had SO many requests to write more so im trying!!! any authors want to give me tips id love that xxx

18+ only, MDNI

content warnings: blowjob, face fucking sorta, cum swallowing, exhibitionism I suppose?? idk what to call it. if I'm missing any let me know <33

xxx

The last three weeks? A blur.

It’s been… about as close to "not casual" as you can get without admitting it’s something real with Will. And I don’t know whether I should feel relieved or like I’m teetering on the edge of some emotional cliff.

He’ll wait for me to finish work, and then we’ll go out to dinner. Always somewhere low-key, somewhere we can avoid prying eyes.

But he hasn’t made me a cup of tea, not once. Not even when I’ve been on the edge of exhaustion, when a cup of Earl Grey could fix everything.

He’ll text me job opportunities his friends are posting—always practical, always thoughtful—but he doesn’t ask about my day, not in the way someone who’s really invested does.

Or maybe he's trying to keep it casual, like me.

And we never meet when the sun’s still high in the sky. It’s like he has this rule, a silent agreement we’ve never discussed: after dark, we exist. Before then? It’s as if we’re just... separate lives.

He hasn’t met my friends. Not Ruth, not anyone. It’s like I’m hiding him away, but I don’t really mind. I don’t want him to be friends with Ruth—she’d ask too many questions, and I’m not ready for that.

We don’t know what the other gets up to when we’re not together, but over text, we’re funny. We send memes, random jokes, and stupid updates, like we’re in some constant, low-stakes conversation. But it’s never about anything real. No talks about our days, no checking in on anything that matters. It’s just… banter.

It’s like we exist in parallel, connected by inside jokes and little moments, but never touching the deeper stuff. Until we come together for our stolen moments.

But god… it’s fun. It’s so much fun. He’s fun. He’s wild and unpredictable, and when we’re together, it’s like the world falls away.

And yeah, he’s pretty. He’s ridiculously pretty. Like it’s almost unfair.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? It’s easy to get caught up in all of it. The thrill. The mystery. But I’m starting to wonder… is that enough?

xxx

Work was hell. One of those days where every email felt like a personal attack and the printer chose violence for the third time this week. My manager spent the afternoon breathing down my neck like I was personally responsible for the state of the global economy, and by the time I got on the tube, I felt like a chewed-up receipt someone had stomped on.

So when I finally unlock the front door, all I want is silence, maybe tea, maybe death.

Instead, it hits me immediately—music, laughter, and the low thrum of voices carrying down the hall from the living room.

Shit.

I thought I’d dodged this.

Chris texted something earlier about “lads round before the pub,” and I’d purposely stayed late at work, hoping I could sneak in, grab a snack, and vanish into my room unnoticed. No small talk. No beer breath.

No Will.

I’m not ready for him to see me like this. In my work clothes, Absolutely destroyed. My limbs are heavy, my brain is fried, and I have zero patience for banter or flirtation or pretending to be even remotely charming. I feel frayed at the edges, like if someone so much as asks me how my day was, I’ll burst into tears or flames—whichever comes first.

I try not to think about the last time I came home like this. When I’d been this wrecked, this worn down, and he saw it—all of it. I remember the quiet way he looked at me, like I wasn’t pathetic for falling apart over spreadsheets and deadlines. I remember how he kissed me like I made sense to him, even when I didn’t make sense to myself.

I almost get to my room. But then—

“Y/N!” Chris’s voice cuts through the noise like a boomerang of guilt. “You’re back! Come sit, we’ve got room!”

I freeze at the corner of the hallway, fingers still curled around the strap of my work bag. Just a second’s pause. Too long. George’s head turns. He sees me.

There’s no escape.

“Just for a bit,” I call back, keeping my voice light, masking the internal oh-for-fuck’s-sake that’s bubbling up behind my ribs .I step into the room and it’s like a spotlight swings right onto me. Seven pairs of eyes. A half-empty bottle of rum on the table. And Will—

Will, lounging across the couch like a Renaissance painting that got bored and discovered sarcasm. Long legs stretched out, one arm draped over the backrest, beer bottle balanced loosely in hand. He clocks me immediately, and his mouth curves—not into a smile, exactly, but into something far worse.

Our eyes meet.

It’s electric. Sharp. Stupid.

He's got that knowing tilt. That lazy smirk. That look that says: You came here for me, didn’t you?

So painfully obvious that I look away almost instantly, like that’ll stop my cheeks from heating up.

Chris kicks the beanbag next to him, indicating the spot he's 'found' for me. “Don’t be antisocial. You’ve earned a drink, coder queen.”

“Only if the drink contains morphine,” I mutter, letting my bag thunk to the floor. I move into the room slowly, careful not to look too long in Will’s direction, which of course just makes me more aware of every molecule of him.

George offers a vague nod from the armchair, glass coke-and-probably-rum in his hand. “Rough day?” he asks.

I shoot him a look that could curdle milk. “Define ‘rough.’” I don't mean to be so curt with him. But its hard not to be recently.

Will hums, eyes glinting. “Did someone interrupt your TikTok scroll with a meeting invite?”

I give him a saccharine smile. “No, just got emotionally waterboarded by capitalism. But thanks for your concern, William.”

He raises his beer in my direction, grin tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Cheers to emotional trauma.” The room laughs, Arthur snorts into his glass—but Will’s eyes don’t leave mine. Not really.

He’s joking. Obviously. That’s the game. We throw jabs, deflect with sarcasm, act like neither of us is keeping score. But there’s a flicker underneath it. His brow arches just slightly, the tilt of his head barely perceptible—but it’s there.

You alright?

He doesn’t say it out loud, and I don’t answer. Not with words. Just a half-smile, quick and crooked, the kind that says I’m fine even when I’m not. Especially when I’m not. I'm sure he sees right through it but that’s okay.

I take the spot Chris offered me on the beanbag, it's just close enough to feel the heat of Will’s gaze, but far enough that I can pretend to ignore it. The voices swirl around me, but they feel distant. My focus is too busy tuning itself to him. Chris hands me a rum and coke he's just mixed. I take one sip, holy fuck it's strong. I know I insinuated I wanted one with heavy drugs in it but goddamn. I mutter a thank you to him.

Will leans slightly forward, one elbow resting on his knee now. His fingers tap absently on the glass bottle. His eyes flick to mine again, like he’s checking I’m still there, still looking.

I am.

I always am.

The stress starts to slip off me in layers—first my shoulders, then my jaw. He doesn’t even say anything to me. Just exists in the room the way he does, all ease and quiet smugness. This always happens. I show up bristling and bitter, decide I won’t even look at him, and five minutes later I’m laughing at nothing, forgetting why I was mad in the first place.

I scan the room, counting names like mental flashcards. Chris. George. Arthur—both of them. Bach, curled up with a cider and a fresh haircut, hoodie sleeves pushed up like he’s about to solve a mystery or maybe start a band. But then there's a face I don’t recognise.

He’s shorter, with could-be curls and the kind of cheekbones that suggest he’s good at five-a-side. His football shirt is vintage, or at least cool enough to pretend it is. He catches me looking and offers a polite, not-unfriendly half-smile.

I nod, reflexively. Then—without thinking—glance at Will.

And he’s already looking at me.

He clocks the exchange immediately. Doesn’t miss a beat. “This is Stephen,” he says, voice pitched just that bit louder than necessary—like he’s introducing him to the room, but really, the message is mine. A soft thread tugging: I see you.

The conversation ripples with laughter, someone says something about Stephen being “the designated wildcard,” and I manage a real smile this time. Not forced. Not polite. Just… easy.

Will’s eyes find mine again. That same look—subtle and steady, with none of the usual bite. Not quite a smile, but something warmer than neutral. Something careful. Protective. Like he’s flicking the corner of a post-it note stuck to my ribs that says, You’re not invisible.

I want to thank him, for throwing me that social lifeline, for always noticing. For being the first and honestly only person who introduces me to people. It seems like everyone just assumes I should know them.

But the words catch in my throat, too heavy with everything we’re not saying. So instead, I shift on the beanbag, tuck one leg underneath me, and look away—pretending not to blush while the heat creeps up my neck like he lit a match inside me.

Still, I feel it.

That invisible line drawn across the floor. The energy between us shifts. It’s no longer sweet — it’s something else. It’s…

I meet is gaze, steady on me.

Like a secret that doesn’t need to be spoken to be known.

So I take a sip of my too-strong drink, pretending it doesn’t taste like his name on my tongue.

It’s…

Hot.

Heavy.

It’s…

everything I didn’t want to admit.

The conversation rolls on, picks up speed again like it never noticed I tried to derail it by existing. It’s normal. Casual.

I feel anything but.

Every nerve in my body is hyper-aware of Will’s presence. Of the three inches of space between his leg and George next to him. Of the way he isn’t drinking much, just slowly nursing a beer and glancing in my direction whenever someone else is talking.

I try not to notice.

I fail spectacularly.

“So, Will,” Chris says, stirring something neon and suspicious, “what’s going on with you? You seeing anyone? What happened to that girl from Dublin?”

My stomach tenses. I blink hard at the rim of my glass. I didn't know there was a girl from Dublin.

Will grins, infuriating and deliberate. “She moved back to Dublin, plus we couldn’t understand a word each other were saying.”

George scoffs. “Translation: she ghosted him after one mediocre date.”

“Excuse you,” Will says, hand on chest in mock injury. “My dates are never mediocre.”

He says it to the room, but he looks at me when he says it.

Direct. Unapologetic.

Like he’s daring me to contradict him.

Laughter breaks out around us. Chris chuckles into his drink. Arthur-who-i-don't-live-with claps once, delighted. George chuckles too at first. But I feel it. That subtle shift. The way his body leans back, almost imperceptibly, like he’s just remembered something, or just noticed something he hadn’t meant to see.

Will sits back again, smug. His fingers brush the rim of his bottle, slow and rhythmic.

Arthur-who-i-DO-live-with raises his eyebrows. “So what—you are seeing someone now?”

Will shrugs, slow and maddeningly nonchalant. “Yeah, sorta. It’s… early. Kind of nice, actually.”

The word nice lands on me like a spark. My heart flips.

I see George go stiff.

Arthur-who-i-don't-live-with lights up. “Is that an exclusive soft launch?”

Will tilts his head, grinning like he knows the chaos he’s about to cause. “Wouldn’t be very soft if I confirmed that, would it?”

More laughter. But I see it—the small clench in George’s jaw. The way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

My pulse is in my ears, like the room just tilted slightly and no one noticed but me.

I stare at glass, trying to focus on the ice melting. I don’t look at Will. I don’t look at George.

I try not to look like I’m thinking too hard about any of it.

The conversation has shifted again, and now I'm pretending to listen to whatever Arthur’s saying about Fantasy Premier League. Will’s directly across from me, half-lit by the warm lamplight, that same lazy posture like he hasn’t moved in an hour. But I can feel him.

Not see him.

Feel him.

The way his gaze keeps drifting—pulling across the space between us like a taut string. It slides over my cheek, down my collarbone, lingers somewhere just below my neckline. Never obvious. Never quite bold enough to be caught by anyone else. Well, except maybe George.

But I feel it. God, do I feel it.

I keep my face carefully neutral, sipping at my drink and nodding like I’m tuned in. I’m not. I’m hyperaware of everything else—of the way Will’s thumb rests along the bottle’s edge, slow circles, absent-minded but precise. Of the way his knee bumps against George’s once, shifts, then angles ever-so-slightly toward me. Of the flicker of his tongue as he licks a bit of beer from the corner of his mouth.

He hasn’t said a word to me in ten minutes.

And he doesn’t have to.

That silence between us? It’s louder than anything.

Someone jokes about going out soon, about being already half-cut—and the room laughs, the energy rising. I laugh too, a bit too high, a bit too fast. Will notices. Of course he does.

He lifts his bottle and tilts it slowly toward me. Barely half an inch. Just a twitch of his wrist. But it’s deliberate. Drink, love, it says.

I blink. Tilt my glass back in quiet rebellion.

He smirks.

The bastard.

Chris throws a cushion at Arthur, and the room devolves into a tangle of boys and half-empty mixers. But I stay grounded—anchored by Will’s eyes. Every time I glance up, I find him already looking. Like he doesn’t trust me to be in the same room without watching me.

I shift slightly on my beanbag, tug my work cardigan off my shoulders like it’s casual, like it’s just warm in here. It’s not. I’m ice inside and overheating all at once.

He doesn’t look at the cardigan. He watches my hands as I pull the sleeves over my wrists, watches my fingers fiddle with the hem like I’m trying not to fidget. Like I’m unravelling, slowly, and he’s enjoying every second.

George says something beside him, and Will nods along, doesn’t break eye contact.

Doesn’t need to.

His gaze is that constant hum under my skin. That pressure behind my ribs. That memory of last week’s hands on my skin—of mouths, too fast and too familiar, of breathless laughter tangled in the dark.

I press my knees tighter together, shift again.

Will’s brow lifts—subtle, cocky. Like he knows exactly what I’m doing.

I clench my jaw. Look away.

Then, under the coffee table—light, so light—I feel it. The brush of his foot. Just barely grazing the side of mine.

I don’t move.

I don’t flinch.

But my pulse kicks up like I’ve been yanked out of my own skin.

I glance up again, carefully, slowly. Will’s talking now. Joking about something, deflecting someone’s dig, probably Stephen's, but his eyes flick back to mine mid-sentence. And the corner of his mouth twitches.

That almost-smile. That “I know what this is doing to you” look.

I hate him. I hate how well he reads me. How much I want to close the distance between us in front of everyone. How I can’t.

Someone’s asking me a question—Arthur, maybe—but it doesn’t land. I answer with a nod I barely register. My brain is half-fog, half-fire, and all of it is him.

He shifts again, knees spreading wider, then lets his hand drop to his thigh. His thumb taps once. Still watching me.

I sip my drink just to give my hands something to do. I’m going to combust.

And he knows it.

Xxx

There is a lull in the conversation, and I can feel another story starting, another distraction spinning through the air like glitter. I use the moment and push myself to my feet.

“Gonna crash,” I say casually, stretching like the act of standing isn’t a full-body escape. “You lot have fun.”

There’s a scattered chorus of goodnights. George offers a warm “Sleep well,” and Chris winks like I’ve just admitted defeat to my own social battery.

Will doesn’t say anything.

But I feel his eyes follow me as I walk out.

I don’t look back.

Upstairs, my room is dark and quiet, the low hum of bass from downstairs barely bleeding through the floor. I close the door gently, not quite clicking it shut. Just in case.

I exhale.

Then I sit on the edge of my bed, the silence thick around me, hands pressed into the blanket like I need the grounding. The energy from the night still crackling across my skin.

Two minutes later—barely enough time for me to even kick off my shoes—I hear the floorboard outside my door creak.

The faintest knock.

Then the door opens. Will slips in without waiting for a reply, like it’s not a question. Like this has always been the plan. He clicks the door closed behind him.

He’s holding his half-finished beer. His brows lift when he sees me still sitting on the edge of the bed, like he expected something different—maybe pyjamas, maybe distance.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he says, voice low and easy, like the joke’s been waiting on his tongue all night.

I glance up. “Like what?”

He tips his head toward the clutter. “You. Me. This cursed little museum of other people’s bad purchases.”

I snort. “Hey, don’t knock the early-career YouTuber aesthetic. George says the broken drone adds character.”

He glances at the corner like it personally offends him, eyes landing on the toppled ring light still leaning sideways against the wall.

“That tripod’s still knocked over,” he says, mouth twitching. “Should’ve known you’d leave it exactly where we kicked it.”

I shoot him a look. “Technically, you kicked it. While trying to multitask.”

He steps a little closer, slow, smug. He’s still standing. I’m still seated, spine straightening without meaning to as he closes a bit of the distance. “I was very focused,” he says.

“On making a mess?”

“On you.”

God.

That look on his face—just barely smug, but warm underneath, like he’s remembering the exact moment he lost focus. The way his voice drops when he says you.

It does something to me.

I try not to let it show. But suddenly I’m hyper-aware of the way he fills the doorway. The way his shirt clings to the dip of his collarbone. The light catching on the edge of his jaw. He smells like citrus and beer and something faintly like heat.

He’s not even trying, and I feel like I’m about to go up in flames.

That shuts me up for half a second too long. He notices—of course he does—and the smugness softens, just a fraction. Not gone, just folded beneath something quieter.

“Yeah, well, I live here rent-free. I don’t get to be picky.”

“There’s a monitor from 2011 under your bed.”

“And yet you keep showing up.”

He smiles at that—slow, crooked. Dangerous. “Yeah. Wonder why that is.”

He doesn’t move closer. Just lingers near the door, like he's giving me the choice. Like if I said go, he would.

I don’t. Obviously.

He scans the room again, like he’s seeing it for the first time—even though this isn’t new. He's been here before. More times than makes sense, actually.

More than makes sense for two people pretending not to mean anything.

His voice softens. “You alright?”

“I am now,” I say, quieter than I mean to.

He nods like he already knew. Like it’s not the first time I’ve said that to him.

Then a beat. Just enough silence to feel like gravity.

He looks at me, just looks, still standing, beer in hand, five feet of electric space between us, and says, “Funny, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“This keeps happening.” His eyes flick around the room—the clutter, the quiet, me sitting there in the middle of it all like a scene he keeps returning to. “Me ditching my mates. You sitting here like you didn’t plan on letting me in.”

I try to look unimpressed. “I didn’t.”

He takes one slow step forward. “You always leave the door open.”

“I always forget to close it.”

“Sure you do.”

His voice is lower now, steadier, pulling something out of me like thread from a seam. I should say something clever. I should move. But I can’t. I just sit there, heart thudding, skin flushed, and think—

He looks so fucking good.

And then I do move.

I stand slowly, like I’m not entirely sure why I’m doing it, like gravity’s just pulled me to my feet instead of common sense. We’re closer now—barely a foot between us—and he watches me rise like it’s happening in slow motion.

He opens his mouth like he might say something else, but I don’t give him the chance.

I kiss him.

Soft at first, but insistent. Like I’ve been thinking about this all night—and I have. His mouth tastes like beer and something sharper underneath. I grip his collar and feel his breath catch against mine.

He kisses me back, of course he does—hands sliding to my hips, grounding me, anchoring us—but there’s something restrained in it. Like he’s kissing me carefully.

I know that version of him. That cautious, thinking-too-much version.

So I tip things.

My hands slide lower, thumbs brushing under the hem of his shirt. I toy with the edge of his waistband, tug lightly, just enough to make a point.

He breaks the kiss with a soft, breathy laugh. “All of my mates are literally a door away.”

I look up at him, deliberately unfazed. “So?”

His breath hitches again.

It’s almost funny, how flustered he gets when I push things. He’s all bark in the living room, teasing across the room with smug little comments and those eyes. But in here, with me? His confidence slips just a little when I’m the one steering.

"I think they're about—” he starts, but he doesn’t finish.

I kiss him again, firmer this time, my hands threading through the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer like I own this moment. “We’re already being stupid. Might as well commit.”

Will leans back against the door, just like the first time he pressed me here—his body a solid frame against mine. The heat between us sizzles, silent but undeniable, like electricity sparking in the tight space.

My fingers move to his chest. I pull back just enough to catch my breath, eyes locked on his. “I need five minutes and a hairtie,” I say, voice low, teasing with a dangerous edge.

He arches a brow, a slow, reluctant smile curling his lips. “Five minutes? What’s the plan, boss?”

I step forward, voice dropping to a sultry whisper as I lean close, so close he can feel my breath against his jaw. “You’ve been looking at me like you can’t resist me all night," I murmur, "may as well give you what you want."

He laughs, rough and easy, but there’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, I know he's nervous, with all his mates next door but let's be real, he's a guy. He won’t think about the consequences of a blowjob if it means getting a blowjob.

“Alright, alright. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” I murmur, my lips brushing his ear, “because I like you exactly where you are.”

I step back just enough to grab the scrunchie from the messy bed, my fingers trembling slightly over the pile of clothes and tech junk. The crooked ring light teeters but doesn’t fall.

Will watches every move, his gaze sharp and hungry, the light catching the planes of his face—jawline, collarbone, that subtle crease above his brow.

I twist my hair up slow, deliberately, locking eyes with him the entire time. When I turn back around, he’s still by the door, eyes dark, lips slightly parted.

Without warning, he reaches out, fingers sliding around my waist, pulling me close again. His touch is firm, possessive, and completely sure—like he’s claiming every inch of me without holding anything back.

My hands press against his chest, feeling the steady pulse beneath his shirt, matching the wild racing in my own veins. I let my lips drift lower, tracing a slow path along his jaw, brushing against the sharp angle, every kiss deliberate, every breath warm against his skin.

Will's breath catches. I bite lightly at the curve of his neck, my teeth teasing, my tongue on his skin just enough to make him shiver. My fingers find their way back to his waistband, and I feel his bare skin under his shirt, my fingers ghosting along his hips.

Without breaking the kiss, my fingers fumble hurriedly at his belt buckle, the tension making my hands tremble just enough to slow me down. It catches on the metal, stubborn. He leans in, breath warm against my ear, and with a quick, practiced motion, frees the clasp.

His hands slip around my waist again, fingers pressing into my skin, pulling me impossibly closer—solid, grounding me in the wildfire sparking between us.

His eyes darken, shadows deepening into something fierce and hungry, raw and unfiltered, completely caught in this moment like nothing else exists beyond us.

I can feel the heat radiating off him, the steady thrum of his heartbeat syncing with mine, every second stretching out, heavy and electric.

Theres no hesitation now, just the undeniable pull, the raw energy crackling through the air.

I kiss him again—no time for pleasantries—my tongue sliding boldly down his throat, hungry and demanding, like I’m trying to swallow every word he’s left unsaid.

I push his jeans down his legs, just enough to give me access to his briefs. I palm his dick through them, a moan escaping his mouth into mine. His knees buckle just slightly, but enough for me to notice. I giggle softly, breathless, and he responds by moving his hands up, cupping my face gently—his touch warm and steady, grounding me even as everything else feels like it’s spinning.

I want to tease him a little longer—draw this out, keep the heat simmering—but I’m wary of the time, the situation.

I told him five minutes. I’ll deliver on my promise.

So I pull back just enough to flash him a sly smile, my fingers trailing teasingly down his chest before stepping away, leaving the tension hanging between us like a spark waiting to catch fire.

“Five minutes,” I remind him softly, voice low and mischievous.

I drop to my knees faster than he’s expecting. I know because when I look up, his eyes widen—surprise flickering across his face.

My hands work quickly, sliding his briefs down, then his jeans, the fabric slipping and pooling around his ankles like they don’t belong.

He’s exposed and vulnerable now, and somehow it only makes my grin widen.

His hands find my hair, fingers curling tightly around my locks, tugging firmly—sharp enough to sting but slow enough to tease—setting the tone so fast it knocks the breath out of me.

Heat surges through me, but I have to steady myself, remind myself we don’t have all night to make this flirty or even sexy.

There’s no time to ease into it, no room for slow burns or soft teasing.

Just this—raw, urgent, and real.

I take him in my mouth, my tongue swirling around his tip, trying to make it as slick as quickly as I possibly can. I can taste his precum, and I catch every last drop.

I move forward, taking him into my mouth as deep as possible, my hand covering the rest. I'm still not over how big he is. For a skinnier guy hes a) strong and b) hung. I press one hand lightly on his bare thigh, using it to steady myself—feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my palm, grounding me in the moment.

I look up at him, drinking in the way his chest heaved and how his eyes were screwed shut. His mouth is hanging open, He's trying to not moan, I can see it in how he bites his lips, how tight the grip is on my hair. I wish he would, he has the prettiest little moans I've ever heard.

He tells me late at night, when we’re soft and happy and talking about anything and everything, that he doesn’t moan.

I’ve learned otherwise.

And tonight? Tonight is just more proof.

“holy fuck.” he breathed out, as quietly as he could. He's not able to stop himself from thrusting down, his eyes blinking open, a shocked face looking down, looking at me. I look back, hollowing my cheeks, taking him deeper. He hits the back of my throat over and over, im gagging slightly, but not too loud.

I hope.

His hips were shaking now, and he was twitching in my mouth.

"Love can I - " he breaths softly, looking down at me. One of his hands is now detangled from my hair, finding its way to my cheeks.

Even now, like this, he’s soft with me.

Despite everything, there’s a gentleness in the way he holds me, in the way he lets himself be vulnerable—right here, right now.

“Can I move? Can I…” It’s so cute and honestly downright hot when he says things like that—when he asks sweetly before taking the next step, like he’s checking in, making sure I’m okay. Before he fucks my face.

I nod, mouth still full of him. He smiles at me, hands returning to my hair, further back now, and much tighter.

his hips set a restless pace, it's hard to breathe, but god. If he looks like that he can do anything to me.

My name spills from his lips, soft and quiet—like a prayer. Like a plea.

It catches in my chest, a tender weight I didn’t expect but don’t want to ignore.

He moves a hand,  ushing a stray lock of hair from my forehead, my fingers trembling just a little.

Tears start to well in my eyes, blurring my vision until I can’t see him clearly anymore. My body feels like it’s on fire—every nerve alive, every breath catching like it’s too much and not enough all at once.

“god, fuck, yeah-,” he stumbles over his own words, the pleasure taking over him completely.

Will's muscles are strained in his long sleeves, and he pushes my head further down him.

He groans quietly—low, guttural, a sound that vibrates through me and sets something deep loose.

I blink, tears falling from my face. His pace falters for a second, but I softly move my fingers on his thigh.

Its okay, keep going.

His pace resumes, but not for long. “sh-shit, I’m gonna… fuck.” his body began to shake, and I restrict my mouth around him one last time. His pace stops, and his body shudders forward. Hands still firmly tangled in my hair.

I felt his hot, desperate load down fall down my throat. 

and I swallow all of it, like a goddamn champ. I clean off his cock with my tongue and finally let him drop from my mouth, wiping the sides of my lips with my thumb. He whimpers, clearly overstimulated, and is looking at me like I just sucked his soul clean out of him.

Maybe I did.

Will is still catching his breath, chest rising and falling as he recovers. I revel in the site. A silent I did this to him.

He pulls his jeans back up his body, fixing his belt. Then, slow and steady, he extends a hand to lift me off the floor.

His fingers brush the tears from my face, wiping them away gently. He smiles at me—sweetly, innocently—as if we hadn’t just committed filthy sin in his mate’s storage cupboard.

He kisses me, deeply, and tastes all of himself on my tongue.

"Holy… Fuck" he says. Our faces only inches away. "You weren't kidding about five minutes. I've never cum that quick in my life".

"What can I say? I'm a woman of my word, I say, cheeks very warm. I can feel my own heat sticking through my underwear. I'll have to sort myself out later, when the flat is empty.

Oh my god. The flat isn't empty.

If anything its very full.

Will’s breath is still warm on my neck.

We haven’t said anything in a minute, he's holding me close to him, his back still against the door, like he didn’t actually want to pull away. My chest is flush against his and his hands are still resting on my waist like he's forgotten how to let go.

“Think they’ll notice I’m gone?” he mutters, voice low against my skin.

I don’t get the chance to answer, because right then, through the door, we hear it:

“Oi, where’s Will?” George.

Will stiffens. I feel it immediately — every muscle in him goes tense.

Shit.

We’re still standing way too close. I try to move but he doesn’t step back. Not right away. He just lifts his head, eyes flicking toward the door like he can see straight through it.

“He was just here?” says Arthur-who-i-do-live-with.

They don’t sound suspicious. Yet. Just drunk. Loud. Careless.

Will finally shifts, just enough to ease the weight between us, but he doesn’t step away.

His arms stay around me, loose but certain, like letting go isn’t an option yet. One hand trails slowly down my arm, brushing my skin in a way that sends shivers up my spine—but instead of stopping, he links our fingers together, holding me there.

Close.

Warm.

Silent, but full of something neither of us dares to name.

I take a shaky breath, still wrapped in him, pretending I’m fine.

Not flushed.

Not trembling.

Not wildly aware that we’re tucked away in my bedroom with friends just metres away and his heartbeat still thudding against mine.

And even though we should be moving, disappearing before anyone notices—we don’t.

Because neither of us wants to be the first to pull away.

“Bathroom?” someone says. Then there’s the sound of doors opening — hallway cupboard. Not mine.

“This is bad,” I whisper.

He shrugs, but his eyes are still locked on the door like it might vanish if he stares hard enough. “Only if they find me.”

I look up at him quickly. He grins. Bastard.

“Come on, we’re heading out!” Chris calls. Muffled, but definitely closer. “Will, don’t make me come find you!”

Outside, someone knocks on the bathroom door. A beat of silence. Then George again: “If he’s having a tactical, he better hurry the hell up.”

They’re all still yelling and fumbling around out there, no idea he’s right here, ten feet from them — hair messy because of me, shirt untucked because of me. I hold onto him, heart racing.

Will and I both freeze when we hear the bathroom door open.

“Nope,” George calls. “He’s not in there. Ghosted us.”

Will glances at me. He looks amused.

I don’t.

Outside, footsteps echo down the hallway — Chris stomping like he’s on a mission, Arthur’s voice somewhere behind him, probably making sarcastic commentary, and Stephen mumbling something about just leaving without Will entirely.

Will leans his head closer to the voices, listening carefully.

He holds up a finger: wait.

And then, the second their voices fade past my room and toward the front of the flat, he opens the door just enough to slip out.

It happens fast. Quiet. Like he’s done this before.

But right before he disappears fully into the hallway, he glances back at me — not a smirk this time, not a wink. Just… a look.

I don’t know what it means.

Then he’s gone.

I hear his voice seconds later, chiming in with the group like he’s been there the whole time.

“Oi, I was getting my jacket. Calm down.”

They laugh—one of those tired, half-drunk bursts of laughter that echoes down the hall.

Chris curses him out, but it’s half-hearted, more fond than furious.

And I can hear Stephen’s already halfway out the door—his voice going all echoey as it carries from the shared hallway, fading in and out between open space and walls.

They’re leaving.

They think Will’s just behind them.

And I’m still here, tangled up in him, trying to catch my breath while pretending this doesn’t feel like more than it’s meant to be.

But then there’s a pause.

A beat.

Arthur's voice isn’t loud — just close. “…You didn’t get your jacket from Y/Ns room, though.”

Silence.

My phone buzzes.

I ignore it.

It’s probably Ruth. Or maybe it’s Chris asking if I want to come with them. Either way, I don’t have it in me to check right now.

I curl onto my bed, knees pulled in, face pressed to the pillow that still smells like his shampoo. I can still sort of hear them, I guess they're at the front door, dicking around with the uber app, realising they need an XL.

Will’s voice is the first I catch.

“yeah were… It’s… a thing. Kind of.”

The words hit like a slap I saw coming but didn’t move fast enough to dodge.

I don’t even know what the question was. Doesn’t matter.

The way he says it — awkward, hesitant, like he’s embarrassed to say more — that’s the part that sticks.

Not a relationship.

Not I really like her.

Just a thing. Kind of.

God.

What happened to "it's kind of nice, actually." from before?

There’s a short silence, and then George pipes up, far too quickly.

“I’m happy for you, mate.”

But his voice betrays him. There’s something sharp under the words. Brittle.

And the others go quiet, like they heard it too.

I go still, barely breathing, straining to hear anything else — but the silence that follows says enough.

Because I know George, better than most.

Will doesn’t reply right away.

I imagine him there — shifting uncomfortably, maybe rubbing the back of his neck like he does when he’s not sure if he should push or back off.

I almost wish I could see his face.

Almost.

A few minutes later, I hear the front door shut. Voices blur into the street noise—Chris yelling something, someone laughing too hard—and then the house finally settles.

Quieter. But not quiet.

Not in my head.

I don’t move. I just sit there, staring at the chipped edge of my bedside table like it might tell me what I’m meant to feel.

I want to be angry.

At George, for whatever that was.

At Will, for saying "It’s... a thing. Kind of.”

Like I’m a side quest. A rumour. A shrug.

But the worst part is—

he's not wrong.

That’s what we agreed to. No pressure. No label. Nothing real.

Just fun.

But it's not just fun anymore. I'm sure of it. It's changed somewhere.

Somewhere between when he notices when I’ve had a bad day before I say a word.

When he brings me the crisps I always pretend I don’t want. When he lingers after everyone else has left — just long enough to ask if I’m okay, but not long enough to make it obvious.

Somewhere in the way he kisses me like he means it.

I rub my palms down my jeans, still not sure if I want to scream, cry, or just disappear into the mattress entirely. There’s a twisting feeling in my chest—hot and stupid and hard to name.

Not heartbreak.

But definitely something cracked.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand, screen lighting up in the dim room.

 lol cat’s out the bag

The boys are teasing me for how fucked my hair looks.

I don’t respond to him, not yet.

You alright? Want me to come back up?

I stare at the screen, thumb hovering over the reply bubble, but I don’t type anything. Because I don’t know what I’d say. Not yet.

Lol

Probably should've thought that more through

Enjoy your night!!

I feel so tired now. The heat in my cheeks is long gone, replaced by something strange and hollow—like whatever was burning in me has cooled too quickly, leaving just the ash behind.

I want to forget about George, I really do. Because this—this sharp edge under his words—it's not just a random mood swing. It’s personal. And it’s unfair. Because he was the one who rejected me. Not the other way around. But I don’t want to think about George. I don’t want to untangle the way my chest tightens when I hear his voice. Or the way his eyes flicker when he catches me looking. I want to focus on Will.

But George—George is a weight I can’t shake, and it feels like he’s dragging me back every time I try to move forward.

And it’s not fair. Not to me. Not to anyone. I rub my palms against my trousers , willing the knot in my stomach to loosen.

But it won’t.

xxx

Taglsit: @meglouise00@migilini @thankyoulovely @mosviqu @formulaal @jonnybernthalslover @tiredqzl @mrswillne @ravenaz

[teagrl]

I'm not writing, but I miss posting SO MUCH, so let me dust off a draft of an extra long really fun sparring scene I wrote as part of my "Luke and Mara are raised in the temple as Jedi" AU fic. In this AU she's two years younger.

Luke stood there, stunned, caught between happiness and confusion. Why hadn’t she answered any of what he sent her?

Without giving him a chance to speak, Mara grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the sparring area. “Come on, you might be all important and stuff now, but I bet you’re rusty. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Luke hesitated. She never wrote back. Not once. “I don’t know…”

Mara’s eyes sparkled as she teased, “I’ll go easy on you.”

She took her spot and launched a series of quick slashes, aiming for his wrists and shoulders, testing his defenses. Luke barely managed to parry, feeling the sting of each near miss. Her strikes were calculated, probing for openings. When she lunged, her blade extended in a clean, direct line, forcing him to retreat just a step or two. A crowd began to gather and he heard his name being whispered about.

But he was far more focused on Mara’s subtle shifts in weight, the way she twisted her hips to add power behind each slash, and the way her training lightsaber flicked out in short, controlled bursts rather than sweeping arcs. She hadn't been remiss in her drills those six months he'd been away.

Luke took a deep breath and adjusted his stance. His own lunges were slower, heavier, but he focused on timing—waiting for the right moment to counter. Had he really been away from the mats that long? The months away had sharpened his mind but dulled his reflexes. His strikes felt heavier, less precise, and his footwork sluggish compared to her. 

He deflected a slash, stepped in with a sharp thrust of his own, and saw Mara barely blink before sliding aside with a quick sidestep.

A tight knot of frustration formed in his chest. He forced himself to breathe evenly, recalibrating. Raw speed wasn’t everything. 

Clarity came as it always did. Luke’s breath slowed, drawing in cool air through clenched teeth. His feet found solid purchase on the mats beneath him. The noise of the gathering crowd faded, the chaos of the day shrinking until there was only Mara as his opponent.

He shifted, sliding from his defensive crouch into a poised, deliberate stance. Instead of meeting her strikes head-on, he let them come—ducking, weaving just beyond the edge of her reach. It was easy– she was still sixteen to his eighteen. Her blade sliced through empty air. This was familiar, though he seldom toyed with his opponents for long. This time though...a smirk tugged at his lips as he shifted his weight, her movements so clear it was easy to give her glimmers of false openings, coaxing her to slash and lunge faster, harder.

She had slowed fractionally, breath coming faster now. Each strike she sent his way was sharper, but she was chasing shadows—his own counters.

“What the kriff,” he heard her hiss. “Stop dancing around and fight.”

“Language,” he chided and felt the flare of anger grow with every wasted lunge.

When she overextended, he’d started slipping in with a clean tap to her side, refusing a sweep or a drop, not bothering with a disarm. She was too disciplined to cry out, but the sting made her recoil, made her flush a deeper red, made her next movements sloppier as the fight lost all its friendliness. That suited him fine. So he tried it again and again.

The crowd had caught up. Every tap drew titters now.  

​​As her lightsaber dipped, the moment of stillness between them snapped. The Force pulsed. Luke’s blade swept forward almost lazily, a simple twist of the wrist, and the hilt clattered from Mara’s grip to the mat with a dull, final thud. There. Disarmed.

But the Force flared in warning a split-second later.

Her fist came at him, fast and low. He caught it, their hands locking hard enough that their knuckles ground together, her Force-fueled momentum snapping through her shoulders. She didn’t stop—only twisted, and her leg came around in a vicious upward arc. It was no controlled sparring kick; it was a fight-to-win kind of strike heading straight for his ribs--again buttressed by the Force to amplify her strength.

Luke reacted without thinking, shoving back with the Force, just enough to knock her off balance.

But she was already moving—already too close.

She’d grabbed a fistful of his tunic as she stumbled, and the Force shove only threw them both to the floor.

They hit the mat in a tangle—elbows jarring, knees knocking, limbs slamming hard enough to bruise. The impact sent them skidding sideways in a clumsy sprawl. Mara came up first, breath ragged, eyes wild. She snarled low in her throat, her braid snapping across his cheek as she threw her weight into his shoulder.

He rolled with it, grunting, catching the torque of her movement and using it, anchoring his knee, dragging their locked bodies over with a grunt of effort. She kicked, twisted, but it was useless.

One breathless second and he had her—his bicep braced just under her collarbone, weight centered, her back flush to the mat. Her legs were still kicking, but he knew this position. He could feel the win in his teeth. Just one more adjustment, one more shift, and—

Her teeth sank into his bicep.

“Stars—Mara!” he squawked, breath hitching as she twisted beneath him, a blur of motion and searing intent. There was no universe where she lost this fight.

Startled, his grip had slipped, his balance faltered—

Her hips rolled with a snap, and her legs came up fast—one knee brushing his ribs, the other sliding across his shoulder. He barely had time to react before her thighs clamped around his neck, tight as durasteel, cutting off air and leverage in a blink. The pressure hit hard, dizzying, his vision already prickling at the edges as her heels dug in and locked.

The blood rushed to his head. He clawed at the mat, legs kicking once for leverage, vision already spotting at the edges—and he tapped out.

Mara rolled off him and stood in one fluid motion, sweat-slick and flushed. She didn’t gloat, didn’t even look at him. Just dragged the back of her arm across her brow and stood, breathing hard. Her hair had come loose in places, wild and stuck to her temples. 

A sharp gasp rippled through the crowd, a collective intake of breath that sucked the air right out of the training hall.

“That was a forfeit!” someone shouted, voice pitching high with disbelief. “Dirty tactics. Total disqualifier.”

Her voice came out low and breathless: “Wasn’t a real match, idiot.”

“What is with you?” another voice cried out, a girl maybe, thick with judgment. “Biting? He’s bleeding. Even initiates know better!”

Mara didn’t answer. She didn’t even turn around. Just shouldered her way out of the ring of onlookers, fast and silent.

"She's in so much trouble," someone said nearby.

[lovejongseob]

hi again! i was thinking, could you write a small chested + nipple pierced reader x jongseob (sfw and nsfw as you prefer) ?

i would really like to have my nipple pierced btw do you or/and you community have some warnings or anything to say abt that?? ∩^ω^∩

also i’m going through the last part of my exams i can’t see the end of it!! that being said, thank you for your recent works!

byyye, take care (*^▽^*)

-🐢anon

Jongseob x Reader w Small + Pierced Chest

I struggled so hard w the title i cant lie it looks like a math equation or something. hiii again 🐢 !! you know me so well, ofc !! ill talk to you a little more in the a/n, but thank you so much for requesting, i hope you enjoy !! tried making it as gn as possible, sorry if theres an over usage of the word chest (there has to be 💔)

Sfw

When you tell Jongseob you got your nipples pierced, he tries to act casual, but is honestly going insane. He can't help but feel slightly flustered, his head feels light just imagining it. He's unmistakably supportive of everything you do, especially in this decision.

He doesn't mind helping you clean them, no matter what's going on with the development. "But they get gross!", Jongseob will never view your tits as gross, that as an intrusive thought would make him feel sick. Yes, in reality, there are some odd and unflattering aspects to it all, but he would never get unsettled because of the natural healing process.

Just can't stop himself from looking a little. Jongseob really tries not to, he never wants to be perverted, but in some situations he's helpless. When you're in private and without a bra, Jongseob finds himself seeking out the metal. Genuinely loves how flat baggy clothes make your chest look, even more so with the occasional peek of hard metal. Bonus points if you're wearing his shirt. Doesn't realize he's been staring until you lightheartedly tease him. You understand it's mostly from a place of curiosity.

Nsfw

You wouldn't be able to tell because of how sweet and patient Jongseob is to you, but he's losing his mind during the healing process. He really just loves your chest so much, especially because of how small it is. While he could never make a choice because he just loves you so much, he is unconsciously drawn more to that area. Arguably obsessed, wants to show you so badly how pretty he thinks they look, but waits.

When you say it's okay to start doing things again, he's still fairly nervous. But he's so cute when he's a bit shy, softly massaging and kissing around your breasts. His eyes are a little glossy and fixed on the metal. Still careful not to overlap with your nipples or the piercings, even though he's eager for the day.

Once you're both sure it's completely safe, he's still tender with his touch, but a bit more bold. He'll suck lightly at your nipples, letting his tongue somewhat swirl around them. Jongseob is so into how he can cover and fit one of your breasts in one hand. It feels even better with the metal, he can't help but roll them around a bit.

At the end of the day, on a personal level, Jongseob needs them in his face while you ride him. This has always been a weakness of his, but the piercings just make him feel even more sensitive. Loves the small shakes and bounces, and how he can fit a good portion of them into his mouth at once. The visual is enough to bring him to the edge.

yap warning im saying so much and so little at the same time. actually so tired writing this im ssoo sorry i need to pass out now. its been a minute since this req was put in, hopefully all your exams went super well !! I've had a post w my advice and other stuff up, i hope you've seen it !! due to my paranoia im gonna take it down soon, but it'll be up a lil longer just in case. so sorry if im accidentally missing something you said, i honestly loved this req so much its one of my favs. and thank you for reading the recent posts (⁠*⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠/⁠～⁠♡ I'm absolutely talking my ass off, here and at the beginning which i usually dont want to do but i did and im actually too sleepy to care. so so sorry i will make a misc post saying anything extra if needed but I think I used the last of my brain power to write and now extra words are just falling out oh my god i need to stop typing. thank you so much for requesting 🐢, i hope you enjoyed !!

[silvasreblogs]

yeyyyyy thanks !!

i already mentionned it before but i like being called a dragon. dunno, it makes me feel good ?

i play violin ! i went at an orchestra concert as one of the musicians today :3

my room is purple as it is my favourite colour, i plan to stick a lot of random stuff on the walls to make it prettier soon

i spend too much time inside my head. i mean, i try to do introspection and understand what's going on in my mind but i do not have enough perspective over it i think.

i listen to music a LOT, always my headphones whether on my shoulders or my ears. my parents often complain about it and warn me that i'll become deaf if i continue like that, which wouldn't be very convenient tbh

i'm finally free from school, so except more posting from me (perhaps ?)

i have two cats and they are my dear children.

i'm. very and perpetually confused about my gender, my sexual and romantic orientation. and even my identity as a whole. this is very blurry wtf

my fav band is Muse !!!

i love listening to music that makes me imagine a whole ass animatic of my OCs.

daydreams my beloved

you may have noticed it but i love to ramble a lot. doesn't always make sense tho.

@xxx-ang3l-w1th-a-sh0tgun-xxx @t3m1 @theartsynebulawhodoodles @nys-deadartist and anyone who wants to join !!!!

IT’S TAG GAME TIME!!

Share as many fun facts about yourself as you want! Tag other beings to do the same! I’ll start:

•I’m a mod on the Officalverse Discord server

•All the walls in my room are moss green

•My mom made flap jacks dipped in melted chocolate today and they’re great

•I’m a big fan of boxes (small to big, Idc)

•I love it when mutuals wanna get to know me because anyone who follows me is guaranteed autistic n also it’s fun

@the-angst-k1ng @popsicle-fish @silvashapeshifter @kelpseahorse @astersselves @wizardex-yt

[oozedninjas]

Hello! Not exactly sure what’s all covered under “dark stuff” but I thought I’d shoot my shot.

Do you have any ideas or head canons concerning how badly the turtles might um…. Mark someone up during a close encounter? Like how badly the animal instincts might take over, or if they were even aware of it happening?

18+ /NSFW / Leo's the oldest with 29 / Everyone is susceptible to leaving marks at one time or another. In this essay, I will—

Leo is more susceptible to this act during his rut, when you're having angry sex, or those nights when he feels like acting a little mean (just because you love it). He sucks on your skin, and it's that suction that leaves the mark—most of the time reddish, almost purple. Always heals fast, for which he's gotta keep making them.

Raphel adores biting you. His marks are always deep purple and borderline black. Looks more like you had an accident, which makes them extra hard to hide under makeup or clothing. They take forever to heal, and he kind of gets offended if you cover them up.

Donatello is respectful while marking you. If you request him not to place his love bites in visible areas he'll listen. There's a catch, however. No neck marks? Perfect. How about splattering your entire torso with multiple different-sized hickeys? Sounds fair, right? I swear he'd be the most smooth talker, and yet somehow has an absolutely ravishing mischievous smirk.

Mikey uses them more when he's feeling slightly more possessive of you. Typically, the urge to mark you intensifies as his mating season comes close to its peak. My dude goes feral. He loves it when you mark him too (I mean if somehow you could go through that hard surface of his skin). And you can bet he shows them off proudly!

[em1i2a3]

Cherry Waves

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Avengers!Fem!Reader

Summary: You’ve been sick for a few days, so while the rest of the team goes out to do a recon mission, you’re on your own watching over Bob. One morning he comes to your room with a weird request.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Minor Spoilers for Thunderbolts! Fluff, Mentions of low self-esteem/ self-deprecation, Smut

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (Y’all…You know the drill…Protect yourselves lol), Some hair pulling (very light hair pulling), Reader is being a little bit dominant (if you squint), Bob is being a softie (and it’s hot as shit), Fingering, Squirting, Teasing, Biting, and Some marks are left.

Author's Note: Had this boy lined up and really wanted to post it. Loved the little hint that Bob was not liking the blonde that Sentry had lol so this is definitely something that would probably have happened if he didn’t return back to normal in the movie 😅Also, y’all are awesome and I appreciate you guys for enjoying my little blurbs!❤️ Thank you.

Word Count: 14,094

You were buried under layers of sweat and crumpled tissues when the knock came against your bedroom door.

Three soft taps.

So quiet, they could’ve been the compound settling. It was hesitant–polite almost. It was the kind of knock someone does when they’re not sure if they’re allowed to be asking for anything at all.

You barely stirred in your bed. The flu had you pinned to the mattress like a paper doll, aching and clammy and convinced the walls were breathing in sync with you. Hallucinations had become your new roommates–so when you heard the knock, you assumed it was just one of them, wandering through your mind again.

But then came a fourth tap. Just one. Sharp enough to make your headache throb like it was answering.

”Y/N…It’s Bob…Can I come in?” You winced at the sound of his voice, even though it was always super gentle and timid.

Bob.

Of course it was Bob.

You’d almost forgotten in the haze of your sickness that you were technically on Bob duty. Because apparently being half-dead with the flu made you the least threatening option to keep an eye on the world’s most powerful man while the rest of the team went on recon. Bucky had said it so casually, like the fate of the planet couldn’t possibly unravel while you were tucked under three blankets with a thermometer hanging out of your mouth.

“All you gotta do is check in on him every hour or so,” He’d told you. “Make sure he eats. Make sure he’s not spiraling, and doing something to keep himself occupied. Y’know. Normal people stuff.”

It had been simple, at first. When the worst symptoms you were experiencing was a runny nose and a dull headache, you’d shuffle past Bob every so often with a thumbs up and a mumbled “You good?” While he nodded earnestly over his book, asking you the same thing back.

But once you started coughing so hard you felt like your ribs were breaking, and the chills that you were experiencing gave way to night sweats and dry heaving, keeping tabs on Bob Reynolds fell hard to the bottom of your to-do list–somewhere below “don’t die” and “get a new tissue”.

“…It’s open,” You rasped, your voice raw and thin from all the coughing you had been doing.

The doorknob turned slowly, like he was still asking permission even after you gave it. Then Bob stepped inside with that careful kind of energy that people only reserved for hospital rooms or museums–like one wrong step might unplug or break something important.

He hovered in between the doorway, not coming too close–being mindful that you had told him a few times to keep his distance because you didn’t want him getting sick, even though it was nearly impossible for him to catch anything. His baggy navy sweater hung off him like a weighted blanket, and the sleeves were stretched over his knuckles, worn from the way he would always pick at the fabric. He looked small in it–even though he was quiet muscular underneath all the layers. His posture was slouched, and his shoulders were drawn up like he was nervous about something. On top of all that though, he was wearing his new wardrobe staple–a dark brown beanie that he shoved his bleach-blonde hair under, he never came out of his room without it.

You stared at his figure through half-lidded eyes, watching as he avoided looking directly at you.

”You okay?” You croaked, reaching up to your face to rub the sleep off your face, attempting to sit up to get a better look at him. He glanced over at you, nodding quickly.

”Yeah. Of course…I mean…I’m good, I just…” He trailed off, the sentence losing momentum halfway through as his gaze drifted around the room.

He wasn’t just avoiding your eyes anymore, it was like his attention had been dragged elsewhere–behind you, beside you, and all around you. His brows twitched slightly as he took in your space for the first time, and slowly you connected the dots that Bob had never actually been inside your room before– the first time was always an experience for people who didn’t know you were a secret collector of everything.

His eyes swept over the cluttered desk in the corner that sported wires, pliers, circuit boards and half built gadgets, before going to the large overstuffed bookshelf beside it, which was packed tight with thrifted novels and comic books that were still in their original plastic sleeves. There was a milk crate of vinyls on the floor near your speaker, with the old record player you insisted on fixing instead of replacing, even though you would complain every few days about it.

There was a flicker in his expression–surprise, maybe. Or something quieter, like he’d just stumbled into a part of you that he didn’t expect to find. You saw it in the way his jaw went still and the way his shoulders shifted slightly, like he was dying to ask you questions about everything you had, but he was holding himself back.

”…Bob,” You said hoarsely, trying to draw his attention back to you. He didn’t blink, his eyes were fixated on something in the far corner where your posters were. You reached your hand up over your head, waving slightly, and snapping your fingers, “Earth to Bob. Are you sure everything’s okay?” He shook himself out of his trance, and glanced over at you.

”Sorry…Sorry,” He said quickly, his voice a little higher than usual, as he cleared his throat, “Didn’t mean to, uh…Y’know, snoop or anything. I’ve just never seen your room before, you’ve got a lot of cool stuff.” You raised your eyebrows at him with a small smile on your face.

”You’re lucky I feel like death. Otherwise I’d be giving you the grand tour right now…I also include a quiz at the end.” Bob let out a nervous laugh and looked down, picking at the loose thread on his sleeve.

“I’d definitely fail…So I’m kind of glad…Well I’m not glad you’re sick, I’m just glad I don’t have to do a quiz.” Your lips twitched, amused despite the ache that was still clawing at your skull.

”Very smooth recovery Bob, very smooth.” Bob made a quiet noise–somewhere between a breathy laugh and a groan–keeping his eyes pinned to the floor as his cheeks turned a soft pink. You pushed yourself up a little more than before, elbows trembling from the effort of holding yourself up.

”So…What’s going on? Why’d you knock on my door at…” You paused, glancing over at your alarm clock, “Seven fifty three in the morning?” Bob sighed.

”Well…I need to go to the drug store,” He admitted, his voice sheepish, “And I know Bucky’s not really a fan of me going out alone so…Thought I’d ask my babysitter.” You squinted at him through your blurred vision, feeling the room tilt slightly, as you brought your hand up to your face, pressing gently at your temples.

”Are you getting sick or something?” He immediately shook his head.

”No, no it’s nothing like that. I haven’t really gotten sick since I took the Sentry serum…” You quirked your brow at him.

”So…What’s the reason for the drug store trip then?” Bob shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the floor creaking under him loudly as he did so.

“I um…I need to buy something. For myself.” He responded, dancing around the truth. You stared at him.

”Is it serious?”

”No,” He said quickly, “It’s not like…Health-serious or anything, I’m fine physically, I just…” He paused, clamming up again, not knowing how to explain himself. You narrowed your eyes at him, coughing into your arm, clutching your ribs when a dull ache pulsed through the area.

”You do realize I’m gonna find out anyway if I go with you , right?” Bob sighed and dragged his hand down the side of his face, like he was physically wiping the resistance off of himself, letting his hand drop down to the hem of his sweater.

”Fine…Fine…I need to buy…Hair dye.” He mumbled under his breath. You tilted your head slightly, blinking through the fevered haze that clouded your vision.

”Hair dye?” Bob winced at the way the words left your mouth, even though you didn’t mean for it to sound like you were judging him.

”Mhm…” You stared at him for a second longer than he could handle, as his eyes began to wander again, his hands wringing the fabric of his shirt, wrinkling it.

“You woke me up at seven-fifty-three in the morning…For hair dye?” You asked again, trying to confirm what you were hearing once more, hoping that you weren’t experiencing an odd version of delirium at this point.

”It’s not just–“ He started, then shut his mouth again, biting the inside of his cheek, shaking his head, “I mean…It is…But I just…” The sentence fell apart in his throat, as his cheeks began to heat up. He looked genuinely embarrassed, and you could see himself curling even more into his sweater, “I just don’t like what it looks like anymore.” There was something raw about the way he said it, and you couldn’t help but feel empathy for him, your heart clenching at the way his words cracked in the air.

“The bleach… The whole look,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the floor, “It was for him. For the Sentry. That’s what they said, anyway– they said that it would help. That it would make people see someone new. Something brighter…Like it would somehow separate us…But I still have to live in this body when he’s not around.” Bob continued, his throat swelling with a lump, “I still have to see myself…And the longer I look like him, the harder it is to remember who I am when I’m just…Bob.” You didn’t say anything at first–not because you didn’t want to, but because there was something about the way he was talking about himself that made your chest cave in a little. The words hung in the air like mist, as he bowed his head even lower, keeping his eyes on the floor, not daring to look at you or anything else in the room.

“It’s not stupid.” You could see his hands stop moving at your words, watching his eyes glance up at you hesitantly. You gave him a tired but sincere look, hoping that it was enough for him to understand that what you were saying was coming from a place of care, “Wanting to see yourself again isn’t stupid Bob…It’s just you trying to cling to the one thing you have control of…I get it.” His mouth parted, like he was going to thank you, but no sound came out. He was relieved that someone was finally understanding what he meant, it was like he had been running around talking to walls when he would speak about how he was feeling, but with you in this moment…It was like he felt seen.

”So I’ll help…But I need to see what we’re working with first.” You added, motioning to his head. Bob looked like a deer in the headlights when you said it, caught off guard by your suggestion, but also scared to even follow through with it.

”W-What?” You sighed.

”That hat Bob…Just take it off…I haven’t seen your hair since we moved you in here and you’ve been hiding it like it’s some sort of radioactive test subject.” He felt his heart gallop in his chest a little bit, as the nerves began to build up in him.

”I-I really don’t think that’s necessary,” He stammered, already figuring out a way to retreat out of the conversation, eyeing the hallway that was in the far corner of his vision.

”Bob, you dragged me out of a flu coma to ask me for help…So let me help you…Let me see it.” The gentleness in your voice was always something that got to him. Even on your toughest days you would use that tone with him, and for some reason it was the only thing that truly had him melting like putty in your hands.

You could see the conflict playing out within him, like he was weighing out the risks, until a look of resolve appeared on his face, a small sigh escaping his lips as he gave in to your request.

Bob’s fingers trembled as he slipped them beneath the edge of his beanie, hesitating for a second before slowly tugging it off his head. The static cling made the knit fabric resist him just a little, like even the hat itself didn’t want to let go of the safety it provided him.

The moment it came off, a curtain of hair fell across his face. You blinked through your fevered haze, eyes widening slightly–not in shock, but in recognition. His hair was longer than you remembered–shaggy, uneven, the ends fried from months of bleach. The top was still harshly pale, the yellow-white of it stark under the low morning light, but underneath, near the roots, his real hair was coming back in–soft, and light brown, just like you recalled from the brief glimpses you got of him before it all got changed. But the line where bleach met natural color was harsh and jarring, cutting across his scalp like a bad decision frozen in time.

He looked like someone in between versions of himself, not quite Bob, not quite Sentry–just…Stuck. You studied him for a moment, your body heavy with exhaustion but your chest buzzing with quiet sympathy. There was something so tender about the way he stood there, hair falling into his eyes, his beanie clutched in his hands like a comfort object. He looked younger somehow. Not in age, but in vulnerability–like this was the version of himself that never got the chance to just be soft and carefree.

“It’s not that bad,” You started, the rasp still thick in your throat, “Really. It just needs some love, patience…Maybe a deep condition…And the right shade of brown.” Bob’s head immediately shot up to look at you, like he couldn’t believe what you were saying.

”S-So you’re actually going to help? Y-You didn’t just try to trick me into showing you my hair right?” You shifted yourself down to the edge of your mattress, groaning at the way your bones protested and pulsed with each movement.

”No I didn’t try to trick you… I’m going to help, but first, I’m gonna need you to come here and make sure I don’t fall, because I think my legs are going to wiggle like they’re made of jelly.” For a split second Bob wasn’t sure if you were serious or not about needing actual help, but he moved anyway, shuffling towards you with his socked feet sliding across the floor. He opened his arms hesitantly, elbows bending like he wasn’t sure where they were supposed to go, offering himself up into your space.

”Alright…Whenever you’re ready I g-guess.” He said softly, his voice cracking a bit on the ‘guess’ like he was more nervous about touching or dropping you than you were about falling on your own.

Your hands found his forearms instantly, fingers curling into the soft, worn cotton of his sleeves, watching him brace himself. He looped one arm under yours, while steadying the other against your back as you pushed off the mattress, feeling your knees buckling beneath you like a baby deer on ice.

“Woah–woah, okay.” Bob muttered quickly, tightening his arms around you without a second thought. He adjusted himself accordingly, trying his best to be gentle while still being secure enough to hold you upright. You ended up closer than either of you really expected, with his chest pressed against yours, and your cheek inches away from his shoulder.

Despite everything—the fever baking your skin, the chills clinging to your limbs, and the flu that had knocked you down hard enough to rattle the walls—you still smelled…Good.

Bob noticed it the moment you got within his arms reach.

It wasn’t some kind of artificial, pampered scent. It wasn’t perfume or lotion or anything curated. No, it was just you–fresh soap, soft worn cotton, and that barely-there trace of eucalyptus from the body wash and shampoo combo you swore by. He heard you muttering something about it being the only thing strong enough to trick your sinuses into opening, and Bob had thought it was actually going to work because the sniff you gave him from the bottle made him have a sneezing fit, but he heard your frustrated grunt in the shower when it had not been the case.

”You alright Bob?” You asked, feeling the tension in his body against yours. He let out a short breath, which fanned across the crown of your head. He didn’t say anything right away, he just gave you a quick nod.

”Yeah, yeah I’m okay.” You could feel how careful he was being, feeling his arms flexing around you, not too tight, and not too loose. He was warm, and steady, while trying so hard not to be in the way, even though you requested his help. You couldn’t help but think about how strangely nice it was to be close to him, despite the situation.

You stood like that for another moment longer, your body leaning against his, the rhythm of your fevered breathing matching the rise and fall of his chest. Even through the blocked sinuses you had you could smell his laundry detergent on his sweater–fresh from the dryer, another thing you seemed to like about the moment.

Though you snapped yourself out of your self-induced daze once the floor felt less like a rocking ship beneath your feet. You pulled back just enough to glance up at him.

”You can let go now,” You whispered, startling Bob with the cue. Quickly he stepped back, like he just realized he was touching a hot stove or something, trying not to seem like he had been enjoying the odd moment of closeness. Despite the warmth of his body leaving yours, his hands still hovered around you just in case.

”I’m good,” You reassured, wobbling slightly but managing to keep yourself upright, “Just give me a few minutes to brush my teeth and get my bearings so I don’t scare the public by looking like a corpse.” Bob nodded immediately.

”Yeah, of course, I’ll just…I’ll wait in the hallway. There’s no rush or anything, uh…Just take your time. Seriously, I mean it.” He said, backing away while he clutched his beanie in his hand, “Just call me if you need anything.” He added, slipping out of your room and pulling the door shut behind him.

The moment he was gone, you sat back down on the edge of the bed with a slow, rattling breath. God. Your whole body felt like it had been microwaved–sweaty, sore, and buzzing with leftover adrenaline. You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes for a second, trying to reboot your nervous system. Not just from the fever, but from how close Bob had been. How soft he’d been. How good it had felt to be held with such warmth and gentleness even if it was for a fleeting moment.

You let out a sigh, before getting up again, dragging yourself into the ensuite bathroom you shared with Yelena, flicking on the bright fluorescent light. You let out a hiss, catching your reflection in the mirror. Surprisingly, the damage was minimal, sure your hair was an absolute mess from spending the night tossing and turning, but you looked half-awake at least.

Quickly, you got yourself ready, brushing your teeth, splashing some water on your face, fixing up your hair, and changing into a fresh set of clothes. By the time you were done, only fifteen minutes had passed–your new personal best. You cracked the door to your bedroom open, finding Bob sitting on the floor waiting with his back against the wall and knees drawn up. He looked up quickly when he heard the creak, and gave you a soft smile.

“Let’s get outta here.”

——————

Twenty minutes later, you found yourselves shoulder to shoulder in front of the painfully fluorescent wall of boxed hair dye in your local CVS.

It was still early, so thankfully not a lot of people were in the store. You actually thought that it was just you and Bob who were customers and the rest of the people there were employees and managers. On the overhead speakers there was a faint crackle of old 2000s music groaning throughout the store. The air smelled like plastic and dryer sheets, which was an odd mix for a drugstore of all places.

Bob stood stiffly beside you, his hands jammed into the front pocket of his jacket, eyes wide as he took in the absurd variety of brands and colours in front of him. His mouth was parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t decide on what panic stricken sentence he was going to go with. So you spoke first.

“Well…We know what row we need to look at.” You said, motioning toward the more natural leaning colours–rows of caramel, ash, chestnut, and espresso–pushing the cart gently in that direction as Bob trailed behind you like a nervous shadow. Your eyes scanned over the various boxes and brands, trying to find ones that would do minimum damage to his hair while actually doing the job.

“I didn’t think it was going to be so complicated…” He murmured from behind you, “I just thought there would be straight forward choices…” You looked up from the boxes, seeing the way his jaw was clenched.

”It’s just overwhelming because all the companies who make this stuff create different versions of the same thing. See…” You pointed at one box “This one is ammonia free, and is semi-permanent,” Then pointed to the other one right beside it,”While this one is permanent and has argan oil infused in it so it doesn’t do a lot of damage, but they’re the same colour.” Bob squinted at the wall of labels, then back to the boxes you had motioned to, visibly confused, shaking his head.

“Alright…But what if I just want…Normal dye?” You looked up at him, one brow arching in mild amusement.

”Bob…This is normal dye.” He turned a sharp shade of red, as the heat rose to his cheeks, taking over the paleness.

“W-Well yeah but–but you know what I mean don’t you? It doesn’t have to be so complicated, just have one of every colour.” You let out a small laugh.

”Welcome to the wonderful world of capitalism, Bob. You want brown? Well, first you gotta pick from thirty-seven kinds of brown. Do you want cocoa chestnut or honey almond toast? Because those are apparently different.” Bob took his hand out of his pocket, rubbing the back of his neck.

”Okay…I guess you’re right.” He replied nervously.

”We’ll find your colour, I promise.” You said calmly, continuing to look over the boxes in front of you.

“Should I, uh…Take my hat off? Would that help?” You tilted your head at him, and nodded.

”It would definitely make this a much quicker process…But if it really bothers you, I’m pretty sure I could go off of memory.” Bob shrugged a little, his eyes flicking around the store for a moment.

”I don’t mind, it’s basically just us in here anyway.” You nodded, watching him remove the beanie again, tucking it into the crook of his elbow. He tried to not make a big deal out of it, but you could tell he felt exposed, so you were going to attempt to make things quick.

”Alright,” You said, stepping a little closer to him, grabbing a few boxes from the shelf, “Bend down a bit, I need to get a good look at the roots so I can compare.” He obeyed, ducking his head so you could see the top of his hair properly. In doing so, he stepped closer than you expected—closer than he expected, probably. Your foreheads were nearly aligned, noses maybe a breath apart. He was tall enough that you had to tilt your chin slightly to get the right angle, and Bob found himself frozen there, inches from you, not sure where to look. So, he looked at you.

You smelled like cherry cough drops–sickly sweet and medicinal—and it hit him instantly, like a quiet little exhale in the space between you. He remembered the moment you popped one into your mouth earlier, halfway to CVS, saying it was the only thing keeping your throat from giving out. And now the scent lingered on your breath, mingling with the warmth of your skin and the faint trace of eucalyptus from before. Bob swore his brain short-circuited for a second.

You were focused, eyes narrowing slightly, as you held one box up beside his roots, then another. Your fingers brushed through the longer strands near his crown, gently separating pieces to get a clearer view of where the bleach ended and his real colour began. You were so precise about it, so tender, and Bob didn’t know where to put his hands or how to keep breathing without accidentally inhaling you.

Then you paused, lips turning up as you caught the way his chest rose a little faster, how his fingers curled and uncurled in his sleeves

A soft rattling sound reached your ears then–the kind of nervous, involuntary vibration that sometimes came from him when he was overwhelmed. You smirked slightly, brushing your thumb against his temple on purpose as you pushed a few more strands aside.

“Is the Sentry getting a bit flustered?” You teased, your voice still raspy from the flu but still playful. “Or is that just you rattling like a soda can?”

Bob made a noise–half sigh, half laugh–ducking his head a little more like it would hide the warmth that continued to spread over his skin, all the way down his neck. “It’s definitely just me. He’s, uh…He’s fine.”

“Good,” You hummed, still close, eyes flicking between the swatch and his roots. “Because I don’t think he’d let me manhandle his hair like this.”

“You’re not…Manhandling anything,” He mumbled, trying to cover up the wavering tone. “Feels…Kinda nice, actually.” You paused at that comment, your eyes glancing down to his, seeing little glints of sparkling orange through the sea blue that his irises normally sported. For a second, neither of you said anything. The store had faded by that point and all that was left was the faint scent of cherry and the feel of your fingers still resting lightly in his hair.

“…This is your shade,” You said finally, voice soft, motioning to the box in your hand. He didn’t move at first, it was as if his brain hadn’t caught up to the moment yet, or his ears were ringing so much he didn’t hear what you had said. Then you shifted your weight, easing back slightly, giving him some space as you cleared your throat, dropping the box into the cart with a clunk. He quickly slipped the beanie back on, shoving his hair up into it, sealing away the moment beneath it.

“Now we need to get you one of those conditioning treatments, and after that I’m grabbing some snacks, cause I’m getting hungry.” He looked away from you, nodding.

”Yeah, okay…Conditioner and snack. Got it.” You glanced up at him, seeing the way he was avoiding you eyes again, before turning back to the cart, pushing it down the aisle with him following close behind. You turned into the next section without fanfare–the shampoo and conditioner area–and skimmed over a wide array of labels until your eyes landed on the exact jar you were looking for: the rich brown packaging, the heavy text that scrawled out all the promises of repairing and restoring.

“This one,” You muttered, reaching up for it and dropping it into the cart with a soft thunk, “Will do miracles for the damage, you’re gonna love it, smells like sweet coconuts.” Bob glanced at the package.

”Does it…Sting?” Your eyebrows drew together.

”Bob…It's conditioner, not acid.” He bit his inner lip.

”No, I-I know, I’m just asking cause when they bleached my hair it really really burned…Then my head was super sensitive for like a whole week after, j-just don’t want to go through that again.” You could hear the way his voice tapered off, like he didn’t really want to talk about it, but he just wanted to let you know.

“I promise this will be way less abrasive.” You said, with a small smile tugging at your lips, nudging the cart forward again, “Now let’s get to that snack aisle before my stomach eats itself.” Bob chuckled softly at your words, following you again as you turned into the next section, noticing the sharp fluorescent lights had dimmed just slightly. The sterile smell of the store had completely faded by that point, being replaced with sweet confectionery items; gummy snacks, granola bars, marshmallows, anything you could think of really. You stopped your cart, feeling Bob’s chest bump into your back, as your eyes began to skim over the shelves, squinting at the shimmering bags, the look of contemplation drawing up into your eyebrows.

“So…What’re you craving?” He asked softly, watching your eyes dart around the wide variety, “Sweet? Salty?” You hummed.

”Might buy the whole aisle to be honest…” He laughed under his breath, the sound quieter than the store’s staticky music, but warmer than anything you’d heard in days.

”Seems like your appetite has come back.” You turned to look at him, letting your body sway slightly toward the cart to brace yourself.

”Yeah, I think the fresh air has put me on the road to recovery…Just don’t touch my lower back…It’s a little sweaty.” There was a beat of silence, before you continued “My stomach might also be trying to fool me into a false sense of security and I’ll end up throwing it all up after I eat it.”

“Well that took a turn…” You shrugged, plucking a bag of sweet chili chips, throwing it mindlessly into the cart.

”I like to keep you on your toes Bob.” You replied with a smirk.

—————-

Back at the compound, you retreated into your room to change, making quick work even though you were feeling a faint headache coming back, but it was more manageable than your prior ones.

You swapped out your clothes for a pair of beat-up black compression shorts and an old t-shirt from your days at training camp–frayed at the collar and speckled with faded bleach stains from when you touched up Yelena’s hair. The crooked letters on the shirt were faded but you could make out the words “I SURVIVED CAMP HAMMOND” on the front of it, a great memory of how long it’s been since you were actually training.

You grabbed your dye bowl and one of the brushes from under your bathroom sink, tucking them against you as you headed down the hall. Your bare feet padded softly against the cool flooring of the compound, reaching the bathroom that Bob shared with Bucky, seeing the door was already cracked open. You gave it a slow push with your knuckles, poking your head in.

Bob stood in the middle of the tiled space like he wasn’t sure where he was going to sit, clutching the CVS bag with both hands, wringing it in his grip, the sound crinkling plastic echoing off the walls. He already had taken off the beanie, fully prepared for what was coming.

“Alright,” You announced as you stepped inside, “Your hair hero has arrived.” Bob looked over at you quickly, his shoulders dropping slightly when he laid eyes on you and your outfit. The tension in him bleeding out of him in small waves.

”You brought your own bowl?” He asked, trying to cover up the fact he was staring at your bare legs for longer than he intended.

“Of course I brought my own bowl,” You replied, holding it up slightly before setting it down on the porcelain counter, “What kind of amateur do you think I am?” You asked jokingly, earning a small smile from Bob, motioning for him to hand you the bag.

You unpacked the contents onto the sinks edge–the dye, the conditioner, the gloves, and a couple of CVS coupons that the cashier had stapled to the receipt.

“Okay,” You said, flipping the box of dye around to double-check the instructions even though you were seasoned enough to know what you were doing without them, “Let’s get you situated hm?” Bob hovered behind you awkwardly, watching your hands move with precise, and practiced ease. You pointed at the closed toilet lid.

”Go sit on the makeshift barber chair, hope you like stiff seats.” You joked, watching him go over to where you pointed, sitting down without protest, seeing the way his long frame compressed itself into the small space. He looked over at you with a soft smile, his hands clasping together, as you slid on a pair of gloves.

“Uh…Just wanted to say thank you for doing this, especially with being sick and everything…I didn’t mean to be a bother.” You cracked open the box of dye, flipping the flaps back and pulling out the developer bottle and aluminum tube of colour, the gloves squeaking slightly as you did so. You opened the cap with a satisfying pop and reached for the dye bowl beside you.

”You’re not a bother Bob.,” You said, glancing over at him as you squeezed the thick brown sludge into the bowl, “I don’t mind.” He blushed a bit at the softness in your voice, letting out a sheepish laugh, nodding before taking his eyes off you, his fingers finding the hem of his sweater.

You turned and flipped the small ceiling fan on, letting it whirl to life with a soft click and hum, it was your little attempt to keep the room from smelling like a chemical spill before you started stirring in the developer with the dye.

It was quiet for a moment–peaceful almost. Just the faint humming of the fan and the soft scrape of the plastic bristles rubbing against the inside of the bowl. Bob’s eyes drifted down toward your shirt absentmindedly, reading the faded words that were scrawled over the fabric that was clinging to your frame.

”What’s…Camp Hammond?” He asked quietly, with genuine curiosity in his voice, as he looked down to his hands. You didn’t look over at him immediately–still focused on making sure the mixture reached that perfect pudding-like texture–but your mouth twitched slightly.

”Did you think I was born with the skills of a mercenary?” You asked, glancing over at him with a teasing glint in your eye, “Hate to burst your bubble, but I wasn’t that cool.” Bob felt his cheeks heat up as it spread to his ears and down his neck.

”So what is it? Like…A boot camp or something?” You shrugged, looking down at the bowl again.

”Kind of. It was a training facility for recruits who showed promise in their assigned roles. I was a teenager when I got scouted, actually. They stuck us in bunk beds and we ran drills at five in the morning. Sometimes we were able to go home to see our families but I spent about three years there just learning the ropes and honing my skills.” He leaned forward a bit.

”Was it…Bad?” You paused the stirring for a moment, biting the inside of your cheek when you heard the way he asked.

”No. Not always. It was intense, but not all of it was horrible. I met my first team there actually, so that should tell you something about the experience.” At the mention of your first team, the conversation had faded, because true to Bob’s nature he was observant enough to catch on that you weren’t going to answer any questions about them. He just nodded, and sat still, with worry tucked beneath his lashes. You cleared your throat, breaking the silence.

”Before I forget–you should probably take that sweater off. This stuff is probably going to stain it and there’s a really low chance you’re going to be able to get it out.” You said, motioning with the brush, “Unless you actually want brown splatters all over it.” You added, seeing him look down at himself.

“Oh…Uh…” He said, curling his fingers into the hem of it, hesitating, “I’m not…Wearing anything under it.” You paused.

”You could go find something you don’t mind ruining, I can wait.” Bob shook his head, not looking at you, avoiding your eyes.

”I don’t really have anything…I wear pretty much all of my clothes, and donate the ones I don’t.” You put your hands on your hips, biting the inner side of your cheek.

”Guess we have a dilemma then.” You said jokingly, looking around the bathroom for a towel–a solution of sorts.

”I mean…I could take it off, I just…Just promise me you won’t laugh.” You stopped your movements immediately, looking back at him, raising your eyebrows.

”Okay. I won’t laugh.” You said, feeling your chest tighten. Bob nodded once, his fingers finally tugging up the hem of the sweater. It caught slightly on the undersides of his arms—he had to peel it upward with a bit of a twist—and then suddenly, it was gone, crumpled in his hands and resting in his lap.

You froze.

The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding caught somewhere in your throat, stalling completely as you took him in.

The heat that burned inside your body hit you like a second fever.

He was…Lean. But solid. Not showy or overly built, but undeniably strong. His chest and shoulders were broad in a way that looked natural. There were fine lines of definition that carved down his sternum and stomach, soft traces of light and shadow where his muscles rested. His skin was fair, with scattered freckles that dotted across his collarbones and shoulders like sunspots. A small scar cut just under his left rib–thin and silvery and healed long ago–and there was a faint stretch of color along his ribs, a faded birthmark maybe, or it was the aftermath from the serum he was given. Tying it all together though were the very very small stretch marks that were scattered around the expanse of skin, which made your brows raise a bit in admiration…

And his arms–Jesus Christ, his arms–were gently corded with strength, biceps not flexed but still clearly shaped beneath smooth skin, dusted with barely-there hair in the hollows of his elbows. The veins on his forearms sat just under the surface, pale blue and almost glowing under the harsh light of the bathroom.

He wasn’t perfect. But you didn’t want perfect. This–this was so much better.

The heat rushed up your neck and onto your cheeks so fast it was like your body had short-circuited, and you were suddenly very aware that your own shirt was threadbare and clinging to your frame. You tried to clear your throat quietly, to ground yourself, but the sound came out shakier than you liked. Bob caught it immediately, and his cheeks went a dark hue of pink. Now you were able to see the pale skin of his chest matching the same colour.

You felt nauseous looking at him, but for all the right reasons. How the hell were you supposed to get close to this man now without passing out? And how the hell was he able to hide this so well from you– Or anybody else for that matter?

“Wow…” Was all you could say, and you didn’t even mean for it to come out of your mouth. Bob’s head tilted up at you, noticing the way your eyes were glued to him like he was some sort of museum exhibit. He clutched the sweater in his lap a little tighter, curling in on himself a bit as if he was trying to hide, looking down at himself.

”Yeah I know…” He muttered, tone awkward and clipped, like he was attempting to defuse the silence before it got worse, “I know it’s bad…The serum kinda…I don’t know made me grow a little too quickly, and-.” You raised your hand to stop him.

”Woah woah…Don’t even go there Bob. I wasn’t saying wow in a bad way.” He looked up at you instantly, his eyes glistening in the lighting, the soft blue still shimmering with those little flecks of orange.

”…You weren’t?” He questioned, his lips parting a bit.

”Bob…You’re built like a fucking house.” You said bluntly, the edge in your voice softening from the next wave of nausea that sloshed in your stomach. Bob made a noise like he was suppressing a laugh, his throat closed a bit.

”That’s…A very generous interpretation, but you don’t have to lie to me…” Your expression twisted slightly, not in offense, but in something rawer than that. It was as if his words scratched at a place in you that was already tender.

”Bob, I’ve never lied to you…And I’m certainly not starting now.” Bob’s lashes fluttered like he was processing your words, like no one had ever said something so plainly true to him in a long time. You could see the way he swallowed hard, almost like he was choking back his words, “You look amazing, and I mean it.” That was when you heard it again–the faint rattling sound, you assumed he was shaking something in one of the cabinets, it didn’t really matter at this point though. He drew in a shaky breath to quiet it, his fingers tightening around the bunched-up sweater.

Then you stepped towards him, taking up the space between his knees. You were close enough to feel the warmth coming off his bare chest, to see the smallest cluster of freckles that laid just beneath his collarbone, and to feel his breath against you. Bob tilted his head up, slow and steady, his eyes finding yours immediately, seeing more orange taking over his irises.

“…You’re really not going to laugh at me?” He asked, almost like he truly couldn’t believe it. You sighed, tucking a piece of bleached hair behind his ear.

”Bob, the only thing I’m going to be doing right now is wondering how I’m supposed to function with you sitting in front of me like this…Does that make you feel any better?” Bob let out a soft, startled breath–almost like a laugh or like he didn’t know what to do with the surge of warmth that spread through his chest.

His hands, still knotted around the sweater in his lap, flexed–then unclenched. The tension there began to melt, bit by bit.

“I…” He started, then stopped. His voice caught, his tongue wetting his bottom lip like he was trying to steady himself. His eyes searching your face, shining under the light “I think that makes it so much worse, actually.”

“Worse?” Bob nodded faintly.

“Yeah…Because now I’m trying really hard not to kiss you...” His voice was barely above a whisper when he said it, and all consideration for the flu you had been battling was thrown to the curb.

The rattling came back. Louder this time. Almost a tremor that ran through his chest–not violent, not dangerous, but charged. Like there was a wire humming under his skin that was just barely holding.

And still, somehow, he smiled.

The kind of smile that only showed up when he was trying to hide how badly he wanted something.

You swallowed. Your hand was still in his hair, fingers brushing at the soft edge of his temple. You could feel his warmth, his nerves, the small, careful gravity that existed between his body and yours. You let your gaze drop to his mouth, just for a second, and then back to his eyes.

“Well,” You said, keeping your voice low and playful, in an attempt to mask your heart beating out of your chest “You’re gonna have to wait until after your hair’s done. I’m not making out with someone mid-dye job–this stuff stains.” You added innocently, a smirk drawing up on your lips. You could hear Bob’s breath catching in his throat at the sheer mention of making out.

”Right, right, of course.” He said, trying to cover up the excitement that bloomed in him.

”Now, be a give boy and stay still, so I can work my magic.” You whispered tilting his chin up even more with your gloved hand.

”Y-Yes, ma’am.” He responded breathlessly, without even thinking–so soft, and so automatic that it made your pulse spike. You cleared your throat a bit before dipping the brush into the bowl, letting the creamy dye coat the bristles, then gently you began to cover the stark blonde lengths of his hair in the dark brown colouring. The scent of it—chemical but faintly sweet—mingled with the warm air drifting down from the little ceiling fan, and you tried to keep your breathing steady as you worked. Bob’s hair was softer than you expected, silken even after all the damage. And the way he tilted his head just slightly to give you better access made your chest ache.

He closed his eyes at the first touch, his jaw going slack as you parted the strands with careful fingers, keeping your brush strokes slow and methodical. You could see his throat move as he swallowed, the faintest tremble still present in his frame–but now it was quiet, more soothed than shaken.

You worked in silence for a little while. It wasn’t awkward—just thick with the kind of tension that lingers when two people are trying not to break a moment that’s humming with too much energy. You kept your movements fluid, coating each section with care, your free hand occasionally grazing the side of his neck or the curve of his temple to steady him.

Bob let out a slow, shaky breath.

“…Can I touch you?”

The question barely made it past his lips. His eyes were still shut, but his lashes fluttered like he wasn’t sure if he should open them yet. You paused, brush hovering midair.

“Touch me?” You asked, like you were confirming what he just said. He nodded, just once.

“Not in a weird way I just–I need to…To do something with my hands.”Your lips parted, the heat returning in full force, knowing that he was probably making an excuse to put his hands on you, to feel you, to take you in, but deep down inside, you didn’t mind one bit.

“Yeah,” You said quietly. “You can touch me.”

The second you said it, you felt his hands move. Slow, careful. The sweater slipped from his lap and landed with a soft thump on the tile floor. Then his palms came to rest on the sides of your thighs, just above the hem of your compression shorts.

They were warm. Gentle. And a bit shaky.

Bob exhaled like the contact untied something in him, his fingers curling lightly around your skin as if he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to hold you like that. His thumbs swept slow arcs along the fabric, and then you saw it–his bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyes still closed like he was savoring every inch of sensation, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you beneath his palms.

You could barely focus on the hair in front of you. Your hands just kept moving, but your entire body was tuned to him–how he sighed when your knee brushed his, how he flexed his hands slightly when your knuckles grazed his cheek. How he chased what little touch he was getting from you.

“You okay down there?” You asked, voice low, and tinged with amusement. His eyes finally opened–heavy-lidded, and flushed with emotion, as his fingers stayed firm on your legs.

“Yeah,” He breathed. “Just…I think this is the most relaxed I’ve felt in weeks.” You couldn’t help but smile at the softness of his voice.

“Well, I’m glad I could contribute to that…Even though now you’re going to have to wait thirty minutes for this to set in.” He wet his bottom lip with his tongue, nibbling on the inside of it, as you placed the empty bowl and stained brush onto the counter, taking off your gloves and letting them drop in the garbage all while staying in the space between his knees. You set a timer for yourself on the speaker radio that was near the conditioner.

“…What could we possibly do to make the time go by faster?” He asked shyly, almost like he already knew the answer, but he just wanted you to initiate it, because he was too nervous to do it himself.

You weren’t going to give in that easily though.

“Oh I’m sure we could think of something.” Allowing your voice to be a bit more breathier than before. He blinked up at you, hopeful and unsure all at once, but he still didn’t say anything, he Just kept holding you like he was afraid that any sudden shift he did would scare you off.

You didn’t move much at first–just enough to lean a fraction closer. Just enough to let your shirt brush his bare chest as you planted your palms on the edge of the shelf behind him, caging him in without pressure, while also being mindful of his dye coated hair. Bob inhaled, and you felt the tremble of it, the way his breath shuddered as your faces moved closer.

You dipped in–slow, and teasing–until your lips were just above his. A hair’s breadth away from connecting.

But then you stopped.

Bob was dazed. His lips parted, breath warm in anticipation, waiting for you to do it…But you just stayed there, close enough for him to swallow the air you breathed out into him, and to smell the faint hint of cherry that was still clinging to your lips from the cough drop.

“…Y/N.” He whispered, his voice almost breaking off into a whimper. You tilted your head with a knowing smirk.

“What?” You asked quietly.

“Y-You know what…You’re driving me crazy…” He tried to lean up but you moved back just enough for him to lose the air you were giving him.

“That’s the point.” You replied, brushing the tip of his nose with yours. His fingers tightened a little on your thighs, but he didn’t move you closer, even though he could’ve. He stayed obedient. Soft. The way he was in his everyday life and you smiled down at him, leaning in again to brush your lips across his bottom one, feeling him shiver against you.

Bob let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering half-shut from the close proximity of your mouth. His palms on your thighs shifted upward, sliding under your baggy top so they could rest against the waistband of your compression shorts, his fingers brushing the skin of your hips.

“…You don’t know what you’re doing to me…God…You have no idea.” He said, his voice aching and on the verge of spilling over into begging.

”I think I have a pretty good idea,” You murmured back, trailing your lips across his again, feeling the wetness of his saliva this time before going to the shell of his ear “You’re the one shaking, Bob.” You whispered, your breath hitting against his skin.

”I’m t-trying my best to be good for you…But you’re making this so hard.” The heat between you curled together, tightening in your belly. You drew back just enough so you could look him in the eyes again. “…You can do whatever you want to me…” He whispered, “Just please…Please don’t stop touching me.” Your breath caught at his word, not just because of the desperation that laced them, but because of the truth that hung below them.

It was the kind of truth people usually only say in the dark, or when they were half-asleep or drunk, but Bob was fully sober, wide-eyed, and trembling beneath your hands as if he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. It was like you were pulling a loose thread from a shirt and it was completely unraveling the whole thing. You stared at him for a long moment.

”…The timer is going to go off in about twenty minutes,” You said softly, “And I think we’re both a little overheated, aren’t we?” Bob’s eyebrows knitted together, almost like he was preparing himself for you to stop this from going any further.

”W–What do you–“

”I think we should take a shower together when the timer goes off,” You interrupted, tilting your head to the side, “That okay with you?” There was a beat of stunned silence. Then a choked little nod, as Bob’s fingers gently pressed into your hips on reflex.

“I’ll rinse out your hair, get the dye out…Then maybe–“ Your voice dropped into a whisper, “–I’ll let you kiss me…Think you can manage to wait?” Bob let out a small broken sound–between a laugh and a groan.

”I-I can try,” He whispered, not even sounding convinced by his own voice.

The next fifteen minutes passed in a kind of suspended quiet. You didn’t step away from him entirely–just retreated enough to clean the brush, rinse out the bowl, organize the conditioner and the towel you’d need for later. But the whole time you felt his eyes on you. And every time you glanced over at him out of the corner of your eye, he was still perched on the makeshift barber chair, elbows on his knees, trying not to look like he was counting the seconds.

With five minutes left on the clock, you went over to the shower and reached in, twisting the handle on the built-in panel. The pipes groaned quietly as the water surged out, spraying onto the shower floor. Within seconds steam was curling out from behind the frosted glass enclosure. The room warmed fast, the mirror fogging slightly at the edges, the air heavy with moisture and the faint scent of developer and dye.

The heat from the shower stuck to your skin as you turned your head back to look at him–still seated, trying to play it cool like he wasn’t about to explode from the anticipation. Bob leaned back against the tank, making room for you without hesitation, his knees parting instinctively like muscle memory, like his body already knew what was coming. You crossed the tiled floor with quiet, deliberate steps, the steam from the shower weaving between you both, making the bathroom feel smaller, more intimate–like the air itself was folding in to watch.

You stepped between his knees again, standing tall in front of him, the light of the ceiling fan casting a warm haze on your skin.

Your hands found his shoulders again, fingertips skating lightly along the curve of them.

“Want to undress me?” You asked, your voice like a secret you were offering just to him. No teasing this time–just heat, thick and warm and sweet in your chest. He exhaled like you punched the breath out of him.

”Y-Yeah, o-of course I do.” He said, barely above a whisper. You took his wrists into your hands, and guided him to the hem of your shirt, giving him the signal to do it.

He took his time with it–not from hesitation but from wanting to tease you back just a little. His knuckles brushed against your stomach as he gathered the worn fabric up, pausing briefly just beneath your ribs, looking up at you just to make sure you were still okay with this. You gave him a nod.

He peeled it up off you, slow and careful, taking in the way the shirt slowly revealed everything he wanted to see in short increments. Your ribs, the soft swell of your breasts, your collarbones, your shoulders, all the way up until he was able to take the shirt off entirely. He let it drop to the floor behind you.

Bob’s gaze dropped before he could stop it, letting his eyes roam over you like he was witnessing something holy–like he wouldn’t blink in case you suddenly vanished. His mouth parted for a moment as he audibly gulped. He was silent, his expression flickering between awe and hunger, tangling up in the open and stunned way he drank you in.

He was memorizing every inch of your skin. The gentle rise and fall of your chest, the soft curves and defined edges. Every freckle, birthmark, scar, or stretch of the skin, it was all there in his head, committed like it was a sacred text. You were completely unhidden, and you trustingly offered yourself to him with nothing but openness, and it was breathtaking to him.

“Jesus…” He said quietly, like your body was rewriting something inside him. He reached up and touched the soft skin of your stomach, the tips of his fingers tracing along your navel, before his eyes met yours again, revealing the beautiful haze of blue blurring together with the specks of orange that lived there. You brought your hand up to his face, caressing his cheek carefully, running your thumb just below his eye.

“You’re so beautiful…” You whispered, feeling Bob’s fingers curling beneath the waistband of your shorts.

“And you’re immaculate…” He responded, slowly tugging your shorts down, his eyes never leaving yours as he did it. He just wanted to look at you, to take you in, to hold you close until you didn’t want to be held by him anymore. He wanted you so bad he felt like he was going to explode, and the heat in the washroom wasn’t helping him control that. The shorts dropped around your ankles with a soft flutter, and you stepped out of them slowly, brushing your hand down to his jaw.

“I’ll meet you in the shower,” Your voice was low and soft like a promise. Then you turned, and walked behind the frosted glass, sliding the door shut in one swift movement. Steam swirled around you like a second skin as you stepped fully beneath the stream of water. It hit your scalp first, then your shoulders, pouring down your body in comforting waves. The warmth soaked into your tense muscles and melted along your spine, rinsing away the leftover ache of your fever and the lingering hum of restraint you’d been nursing for the last hour.

From beyond the frosted glass, you saw movement. Bob had gotten up and walked over to the alarm, clicking it off with a single beep–because what was a minute going to do for him. Then you heard the shuffle of bare feet on tile, followed by the soft rustling of clothes dropping. You could see his shadow moving, leaning down then straightening up again, seeing him step out of his sweatpants and his underwear before reaching for the handle.

He slid the door open and stepped into the steam. You could see him squinting at the change in scenery, until his eyes caught yours. Under the dimmed lighting that the shower had you looked ethereal, like a siren calling to him to come closer. You tilted your head at him.

”Remember, we gotta wash your hair out first.” Bob nodded silently, too stunned to speak or protest, and stepped closer to you until he was right against you, letting the water cascade down his body. You reached up without hesitation, brushing your fingers along the slope of his neck as you cupped his jaw gently, feeling the very faint stubble against your fingertips.

”Close your eyes,” You murmured, and he obeyed immediately, trusting you with all of him. You reached for the bottle of shampoo, flipping the cap open with a soft click. The scent was clean, crisp–something like cedar and citrus–and you poured a generous amount into your palm before lathering it between your fingers. He hunched forward slightly to help you because of the height difference, the muscles in his back bunching as he bent, his hands braced loosely on his thighs.

Your fingers found his scalp and began to move, slow and deliberate, massaging through the dye-stiffened strands with practiced ease. His breath hitched at the first touch–soft and barely audible over the rush of water–but he relaxed into you, the tension easing from his shoulders as you worked through his hair, your nails dragging along his scalp gently, sending shivers down his spine despite the warmth of the shower that was smothering him.

He tried to peek down at you through his lashes, but flinched the moment some suds landed on his brow. You caught the twitch of frustration in his mouth and grinned faintly to yourself.

”No peeking,” You teased, your voice low and sultry, “You’ll get soap in your eyes, and that’ll just prolong the process.” You added, with a smirk.

”I-I’m not peeking,” He muttered back, clearly lying.

But while he couldn’t see you, you saw everything.

Your eyes dropped as your fingers moved through his hair, and your gaze caught on the rest of him–completely, gloriously bare under the water’s fall. And it hit you like a weight to the chest.

He was hard. Completely, achingly hard.

It curved upward from between his thighs, thick and flushed and dripping from the spray. Your breath caught in your throat involuntarily. He was…Big. The kind of big that made your pulse thrum deep in your core, the kind that made something flutter behind your ribcage. The kind of big that made you a bit nervous. His thighs were braced, strong and trembling slightly as the water poured down over both of you, and yet he stayed still–eyes closed, waiting, unaware of just how deeply you were watching him.

You swallowed, trying not to stare too long–but your fingers slowed in his hair for just a beat before you lathered more shampoo and brought it back to the roots, working it all through. You focused on your task, rinsing gently, letting the water carry away the suds and the last traces of harsh dye. As the dark rivulets streamed down and swirled at your feet, the natural color beneath began to reveal itself.

The soft brown, the colour that belonged to him, and only him. Not the Sentry.

You smoothed your hands through the damp strands with a smile on your face, and you could feel him relax further at the calmness of your touch.

”There you are,” You whispered, more to yourself than to him, “Back to you…” You could see his brows lift slightly at your words, still not opening his eyes.

”…W-What does it look like?” He asked softly.

”Like it’s all you…It’s perfect Bob…” You responded, seeing his eyes slowly flutter open, the soft blue still burning with those beautiful flecks of orange from the Sentry. When they locked on yours, something in him snapped completely, and he blinked a few times, steadying himself against you.

”…Can I kiss you now?” He whispered, breath catching in his throat.

You nodded.

And the second you did, he surged forward, his hands finding your face like he’d been aching to hold you there for days. His palms were warm and a little shaky, fingers threading gently into the damp strands of your hair as he tilted your head just right. He kissed you like it was the only thing that would quiet the trembling in his chest–deep, and full of the kind of hunger that had nowhere else to go.

His lips parted against yours with a soft sigh, molding to your mouth like he already knew every shape of it. You responded in kind, letting your hands press flat to his chest before sliding up, feeling the slick heat of his skin, the steady thump of his heart beneath your palms. One hand drifted upward to cradle the back of his neck, the other anchoring at his side.

Bob shifted, pulling you flush against him, his hands sliding down to your waist, gripping gently as he tilted his head and deepened the kiss. There was nothing hesitant about it anymore–only quiet desperation, the need to be close, the need to feel you pressed against every inch of him. His thumbs rubbed slow, anchoring circles against your ribs as he kissed you over and over, his breath catching between each one like he couldn’t quite get enough.

You felt your knees wobble when he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, and he steadied you instantly, one hand sliding down to the back of your thigh, coaxing your leg to lift so he could hold you open against him.

You gasped softly into his mouth when he did it–because now you could feel all of him. His length, hot and heavy, brushing between your thighs. But he didn’t push it. He just held you there, breathing hard through his nose as his mouth broke from yours for a second, bumping his forehead with yours.

”I-I have to touch you…Can I p-please touch you?” His words vibrated against your chest, shaky from the kiss he had just pulled away from. Immediately you nodded, drunk off of the way he held you, the way he kissed you so desperately. You were his, and you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you.

He dropped his hand from your thigh, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he guided you back, each step careful, like he was afraid to rush a single second of this. The warm tile met your spine gently, as the steam curled around your shoulders–like it was dying to be part of the moment too. Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, the anticipation tugging at you like a puppet.

Bob’s hand, still curled gently around your hip, gave it one reassuring squeeze before sliding away. The loss of his hand made you let out a desperate sigh, wanting to feel him again. He looked down at you as he brought his fingers up to his lips, his tongue darting out of his mouth to coat the tips of them slowly, not for show, but for purpose. For you. His gaze never dropped from yours as he did it, and when his hand fell again between the both of you, he didn’t hesitate.

His knee eased your thighs apart gently, and then his fingers found your clit. The first contact made your knees buckle slightly, and he caught it, pressing in with his knee to steady you, his free hand braced against the wall beside your head. His touch was gentle at first–soft circles, slow and attentive. You gasped, head tipping back, exposing your throat without thinking.

That was all the invitation Bob needed.

He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the base of your neck, just where your collarbone met your shoulder. The kiss was wet and open-mouthed, like he needed to taste you and the saltiness of your skin. He breathed in like he could anchor himself in your scent. Another kiss, and another, working up the side of your neck as his fingers circled your clit with more confidence now, slick from the water and his spit, moving with practiced pressure.

”So…So soft,” He whispered into your skin, voice shaking, “So goddamn soft…” Your breath caught as his pace shifted. You could feel your body responding–arching into him, a wet heat building between your legs. You whimpered, and that sound nearly undid him. His teeth grazed your neck but didn’t bite, his lips returning to kiss it better as if he could soothe the tremble in your body.

Then his fingers dipped lower, and he felt it immediately.

You were soaked–slick, warm, and pulsing beneath his touch. His breath hitched at the sensation, at the way your body welcomed him without hesitation. And when he eased two fingers inside of you ever so slowly you gasped, arching into his hand like your body had been waiting for that very moment.

“F-fuck,” You breathed, the word slipping out as your nails found purchase in his shoulders. You clawed at him instinctively, dragging across the muscle there, needing something to anchor you while he pushed them in deeper. He didn’t flinch at the scratch–he moaned. A soft, broken sound that came from the back of his throat like he liked the way it felt, like it made him feel wanted in the most primal sense.

His forehead dropped against your shoulder, his mouth kissing along your collarbone with a tenderness that contrasted the stretch of his fingers inside you. He mouthed at the skin there–kissed it, licked it, sucked until it was sensitive and bruised. He pulled back looking at the little love bites, each one tinged with hunger. Bob wasn’t the possessive type but there was this ache in his chest to mark you as his, and even if the water washed it away, he wanted to be sure he left something on your skin.

“Y-You feel so warm…” He said, his voice fraying at the edges. His fingers curled gently inside you, causing your knees to buckle again. Your body shuddered as the pads of his fingers dragged against that spot inside of you that made your entire frame light up. Bob’s hand moved to your hip, keeping you steady as his other hand worked in smooth, slow thrusts, each one more confident than the last. He found a rhythm, watching you, studying every moan and gasp like it was gospel.

And when you whimpered his name, when your body clenched around him so tight he had to grit his teeth, he gave a quiet, shaky laugh–utterly wrecked by how responsive you were.

“You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?” he asked, lips brushing your ear, breath heavy and hot. “I can feel it…God, I can feel you squeezing me…”

You nodded, unable to form a word, your nails biting into his shoulders again as your hips rocked against his hand.

Bob adjusted his angle, changing the pressure, and that’s when you saw stars.

Your head dropped forward, forehead against his collarbone, the air thick with steam and the sharp scent of him—clean, masculine, tinged with desperation. His fingers moved faster, wetter, the slick sounds between your legs obscene and perfect, echoing between the tiles. He was muttering praise now—soft, reverent things that fell from his lips like prayers.

“Just like that, baby—so good for me… You’re doing so good—feels like heaven—fuck, I want to see you fall apart…”

You felt it hit like a wave rolling up your spine.

A tight, burning coil of pleasure twisted inside you and then snapped. You gasped—loud, broken, as the climax ripped through you. You trembled, back arching hard into him as your thighs clenched and a rush of wetness gushed out around his fingers.

Bob stilled for a second in awe.

“…Oh my God,” He breathed, stunned, his eyes wide as he held you through it. You collapsed into him, breath heaving, skin flushed and shining under the steam. He kept his fingers buried inside you, not moving, just holding you close, letting you ride it out as you trembled against his chest.

He looked down between you both, seeing the slick mess on his hand, the way your body had responded so violently to him–and his mouth dropped open slightly. Not because of shock, but because of wonder and awe.

”You…You did so good.” He praised, his voice barely holding together under the weight of what he just experienced with you. His lips brushed your temple first, then your cheek, before finally reaching your mouth.

The kiss wasn’t hungry nor urgent, it was adoration in its purest form. His lips moved like they were tasting something he’d only ever imagined–careful and soft, like he was trying not to overwhelm you. He trembled against you, being crushed from everything unspoken between you. His hand was still between your thighs, cradling you like something precious, and you could feel how hard he was, pressed just barely against you, restrained only by the shivering line of self-control that hadn’t yet broken.

When he finally, carefully, slipped his fingers out of you, you let out the tiniest gasp from the absence–but before he could fully draw away, you grabbed his wrist.

He was still in his movements.

Your eyes met his, holding steady as you lifted his hand–and then you took his soaked fingers into your mouth.

Bob made a sound that almost didn’t make it out of him–a soft, wrecked sigh that died at the back of his throat. His lips parted slightly, eyes darkening as he watched you suck him clean, your mouth warm and wet, tongue dragging along the pads of his fingers slowly, like you were claiming every last drop of yourself from his skin.

He could barely breathe.

You kept eye contact the whole time. It wasn’t a power play–it was intimacy. Connection. And it unraveled him.

Once you were done, you let his fingers slip from your mouth with a soft pop, and he dragged them–slow and reverent–down your chin. Then your throat. The hollow of your chest. His fingertips were wet with saliva, and he trailed it down like he was painting you–smearing it across your sternum, over your ribs, and finally down to your hips.

“Y/N…You’re so…So perfect,” He whispered, in disbelief, shaking his head as his hands ran down your waist, going straight to your thighs, before lifting you effortlessly. You let out a soft breath as your legs bracketed around his hips instinctively, your arms wrapping around his shoulders for balance.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the middle of your chest, and his voice came out barely above the noise of the shower

”Do you want to…Still have sex with me?” You looked down at him, caressing the side of his neck.

”Of course I do,” You responded instantly.

Your lips found his right after–soft and sure. You kissed him with everything you had, as if answering his question with your entire body. His breath caught, his hands clutching at your thighs with a startled need, grounding himself in the reality that you weren’t going to vanish, that you really did want this–want him.

As the kiss deepened, you felt one of his hands slowly slide down your thigh, tickling the skin, but this time there was a purpose in his touch. He shifted beneath you slightly, and then you felt it–the soft brush of his tip against you. Hot. Heavy. And trembling in his grasp.

You broke the kiss for just a breath, resting your forehead against his, your eyes fluttering shut as he lined himself up. His hand shook slightly, like he couldn’t believe this was happening. Like he was terrified of getting it wrong. But he didn’t rush. And neither did you.

“I want you,” You said, your breath warm against his mouth. “All of you.” Bob let out a wrecked whimper from his mouth, before kissing you once more.

Then slowly he began to push in, moving his hips gently.

Your mouth parted in a silent gasp, your eyes flying open as your body stretched to take him. It was so much–thick and deep and slow. He paused when he was just a couple inches in, his forehead still pressed to yours, panting.

“Is that okay?” He asked, voice cracking. “I—I can stop if it’s too much…”

You shook your head immediately, curling your fingers into his shoulders, drawing him closer.

“No. Please don’t stop.”

Bob exhaled a breath that shook all the way down to his spine, then kissed you again–slow, sweet–before sinking deeper inside.

You both moaned at the same time, and your tongues met in between the space your mouths made.

It was like he was imprinting himself into every inch of you. His hands gripped your hips with the kind of gentleness that made your chest ache, guiding your body until he was fully seated inside you, hips pressed flush against yours.

“Oh…God.” He whispered, eyes squeezed shut, trembling as he held still. “You’re so…So perfect… I can’t–God–”

You kissed his jaw, whispering against the sensitive skin just beneath his ear. “You’re okay, Bob. You’re doing so good…”

He began to move–shallow at first, rocking his hips into you in slow, reverent strokes. Each one pulled a quiet gasp from your lips. The water cascaded around you both, steam curling at your shoulders as you clung to him, your body humming in time with his.

He found a slow and steady rhythm, thrusting as deep as possible with each movement of his hips.

He kissed you everywhere he could reach–your cheek, your mouth, your jaw, the slope of your shoulder and his praise was neverending. Whispered fragments between kisses and gasps.

“You’re so beautiful…”

“You feel so good around me…”

“I want to make you feel everything…”

Your hands were tangled in his hair, your body arching to meet every thrust, until your forehead was pressed to his again and your breaths mingled in the tight space between you. Each slow movement of his hips sent sparks crawling up your spine and you rocked against him, chasing every moment, trying to keep it from ending too soon.

Bob looked completely undone in front of you though. His mouth open, cheeks flushed, hands gripping your waist like you were his lifeline.

Then his thrusts started to falter.

You felt it in the way he gasped–sharp and helpless–the way his hold on you tightened and his voice pitched higher.

“I—Y/N, I—oh God, I’m—”

You kissed him, hard, your voice hot against his mouth. “It’s okay. Let go. I’ve got you.”

He came with a broken gasp.

The lights flickered.

Just once–flicker, flicker, black–and then back on again. The overhead bulb buzzed faintly, a hum that matched the pulse of his release as his hips jerked forward, holding deep inside you while his whole body tensed. You could feel the warmth filling you in thick ropes, his body instinctively pushing up into you as if he was trying to keep it from spilling out.

And then he went still.

Completely, and utterly still.

He stayed buried in you, face tucked into the crook of your neck, breath hot and ragged as the water pounded softly over your bodies. You felt the way he trembled, felt the heat of his skin and the wild thud of his heart against yours.

He didn’t move for a long time, he just stayed there, clutching you like you were the one thing that was bringing him down slowly.

And then you felt it–the slow exhale against your neck, the soft tremor that followed. His voice came out low, cracked with embarrassment.

“I-I’m sorry,” he whispered, still breathless. “That was so fast. I didn’t mean to-God, I just couldn’t hold it…”

You pulled back, just enough to see his face, his brows drawn together with worry, his mouth still parted from the weight of what just passed between you. And yet, even flushed and wrecked, he looked beautiful. Lit up from the inside out, like he still couldn’t believe any of this was real.

You shook your head gently and brought your hand up to brush a damp lock of hair off his forehead, tucking it behind his ear with the same tenderness he gave you. “You didn’t finish too fast, Bob.”

He blinked, lips parting like he didn’t believe you.

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then whispered against his skin, “You were perfect. I loved every second of it…Because it was with you.” His features softened at your word, that shy smile blooming across his lips, one you felt in your ribs. You saw the glow of it before you felt his body move. He kissed you again, this time gentler, slower–like he wanted to say thank you with his whole mouth.

Then, carefully, he pulled out of you. You both shivered a bit at the sensitivity, and you caught the way his brows knit together, like he didn’t want to stop touching you. But your body welcomed the shift, and your legs dropped from his hips as the moment passed, leaving behind only warmth and steam.

He reached for you instinctively, his hands skimming your waist like he was still trying to keep you close, like he couldn’t quite accept that you were separate again. You smiled at him, brushing your fingers along his jaw, watching the way he leaned into the contact, like it was his oxygen.

”You really like touching me, huh?” You teased lightly, watching his cheeks turn a deeper red, the corners of his mouth curling up shyly.

”…Yeah…I really do.” He admitted. You let out a soft laugh, then looked toward the water still streaming from the showerhead behind him.

“As much as I’d love to stay in here and get all wrinkly,” You said, thumb brushing the hollow of his cheek, “If we don’t rinse off soon, the compound’s water bill is gonna bankrupt Valentina.” Bob let out a breathy laugh, head dropping against your shoulder for a second.

“I guess you’re right, but once we get cleaned up…I want to just lay on the couch with you and hold you for a little while…If that’s okay?” You nodded.

”Of course it’s okay.” You replied, guiding him under the steady stream of water. You each took turns, helping the other wash up. He was gentle when he touched your body as if you hadn’t just taken him completely inside you minutes ago, and he ran his hands over the marks he had made on you, smiling proudly at his work. You matched his care, running soapy fingers down his spine, over his shoulders, through the strands of his newly darkened hair, rinsing the last of the evidence down the drain.

And when the water finally cooled, you stepped out first, digging around the towel closet for a spare. Bob followed right after, grabbing the one that he usually used, with steam rolling off his shoulders, making the air thick and warm as he wrapped the towel around his waist, pausing by the foggy mirror, wiping it off with his hand.

You watched from the side, pulling your towel around you gently, as he lifted his gaze slowly–like he wasn’t sure what would be staring back at him. When he caught his own reflection, something shifted in his expression.

A smile. One of relief. Like a weight had been lifted off his chest.

You stepped behind him, and gently kissed his shoulder, looking at the small little scratch marks you had left on him.

He turned toward you slightly, reached out, and pressed a soft, grateful kiss to your lips–barely more than a breath, but brimming with emotion.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

You smiled into him, nose brushing his. “Don’t thank me yet,” You whispered. “I hope you don’t get the flu from all of this.”

He laughed, his eyes shining as he bumped his forehead against yours.

“If I do,” He said, “It’ll be worth every damn minute.”

And then he kissed you again.

[underskz]

➪ ‘TIL NEXT TUESDAY

➪ mark lee x cisfem!reader ✩ w.c 8.5k — NSFW ✩ 18+ minors dni —

✰ NON-IDOL AU

pov: you're a camgirl with a secret admirer who's a little (okay maybe a lot) obsessed

note: y'all do not understand the pain,,, the struggle,,,, the trauma that this fic has inflicted upon me <//3 i quite literally started writing it last year on mark lees stupid lil bday and have been typing away at it for so mf long and have had to dig into the deepest filthiest depths of my brain to finally finish this,,,,, anyways welcome to my twisted mind and we can all blame mark lee my greatest enemy,,,, i hate u… anyways pls make note of the warnings !!! btw don’t ask me what website they’re using idk i couldn’t be fcked to think that hard

warnings: NSFW CONTENT, aka smut, obsessive behavior, viscerally lewd comments, uh lying LOL, wolf in sheep’s clothing energy (good church boy mark lee and his hidden demons <3), honestly both reader and mark r freaky (aww they match each others freaks!), readers thinly veiled shame kink, unsafe sex/no condom, barely any prep lol, not beta read bc im a full send girl (sorry for any typos etc LMAO)

There’s clearly something wrong with user ‘66golden_boy99’ and you can’t quite figure it out. Sure, he seems to be just another fan of your work. And maybe his comments tended to be on the imaginative side.

i wanna dick you down til next tuesday

stuff your guts this thursday and stay buried in you thru the weekend

til youre cryin to me about how you can feel my dick in your throat

how pretty would you cry for me?

That little voice in the back of your head whispers (the one that sounds far too much like Donghyuck), an annoying little I told you so, someone was bound to get obsessed. It wasn’t like you never considered or even feared the possibility. 

But these comments, this person, there was something there. You click into a different video, scrolling down to a specific cluster of comments.

i wanna ruin you so fuckin bad

ruin that pussy for anyone else

wanna hear you beg me to stop 

until it turns into begging me for more

sound fun sweetheart?

Every video, every clip, every single little teaser you post; there’s a thread from him. His stupid username right there, ‘66golden_boy99’ and a digital paper trail that ranges from being unforgivably horny to borderline demented and most of the time a combination of both. 

fuck if i could keep you in a little cage…

i’d fuck u every day all day

turn you into my perfect little pet

made just for my cock

don’t you want that too?

You can’t help but let your mouth gape at that one, a cage? Your head spins at the thought, trying (and failing) to not let your imagination wander.

There’s a certain thrill that crawls down your spine, twisting itself deep into your gut and lodging itself there. An ache that you can’t quite sate yourself, barely sated by these comments. 

So yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with user ‘66golden_boy99’ but that could only mean there’s something wrong with you.

“Mark, read this! Isn’t it insane?” Donghyuck all but smacks him in the face with your phone.

“Oh! Um.” He immediately flushes, no doubt flustered by the nature of the comments along with the fact he’s one of your few friends who still gets a little red in the cheeks by your choice of profession. 

Good church boy Mark Lee at your service. Who thankfully plucks your phone from Donghyuck and passes it back to you— most likely to avoid further being subjected to such filth in broad daylight. 

“Don’t bust a tit Hyuck, it’s just some dude living out his freaky fantasy while hiding behind a screen.” You knew it was going to be brought up the moment you saw your friends, but you had hoped that Donghyuck would have the decency to not mention it while seated outside a popular cafe on a busy street.

Jokes on you for thinking he could keep his cool about this. The moment you had sent a screenshot to the group chat Donghyuck had been rearing for a fight, overly scandalized and always righteous whenever he thought his friends were being treated badly.

There was no way in hell you’d tell him those comments piqued your debased interest.

“It’s a little creepy.” Jungwoo settles on, stealing a blueberry off of your parfait. “He doesn’t message when you’re live though.”

“Nope, only comments on clips and videos.” You bite back your disappointment, maintaining an almost clinical tone.

“Does he even watch your streams?” Jungwoo questions as he attempts to swipe a strawberry this time, narrowly thwarted by you whacking his hand with your plastic spoon. 

“What difference does it make? He’s a fucking perv!” Donghyuck snipes.

The answer is yes, he does watch every single one of your streams. Occasionally donates too, yet no messages. No live interactions.

“Hyuck, my whole fanbase are pervs.” You ignore the glare of an elderly woman as she passes by your table. “When did you become such a prude?”

It’s enough of a jab to send the man into a fit, ranting and raving about how he’s perfectly freaky enough and that his boyfriend(s) is (are) so into how weird and kinky he could get. 

“Seriously though, is he scaring you?” Mark whispers, careful to not catch Donghyuck’s attention lest he starts laying into you about your “creepy” admirer again. Mark’s considerate like that.

For a moment you sit with the question, mindlessly spooning around your half eaten parfait. Were you scared? You knew full well you were bound to deal with the occasional creep when you decided to pursue camming as a full-time job after university. 

But you weren’t— aren’t scared, initially you had maybe been a bit unnerved. Yet you hadn’t shared the messages because you wanted your friends to “save” you or anything. More so because you were shocked by the sheer audacity and of course by what was being said.

If Donghyuck wasn’t so busy talking about getting spit roasted much to the horror of Jungwoo, he’d be pestering you for the answer too. And you would’ve lied, told him that you were a little nervous but nothing that’d keep you from carrying on as usual.

Instead you have Mark asking, no trace of judgment behind his thick rimmed glasses, just a curious glint with a healthy dash of concern for a friend.

“He’s not.” Is what ends up coming out. It’s simpler than the whole truth, cleaner as well. 

You couldn’t admit to one of your best friends that it sent a thrill down your spine, to have someone so obsessed they comment utter depravity on every post you make. That you’ve checked to make sure this mystery creep was watching your every stream. And that there’s nothing you’ve ever wanted more than to be craved so deeply, to be ached for, to be someone’s sole obsession. 

“If you do get freaked out or anything, uh understandably so, we’ll figure something out. I’ll beat him up?” Mark offers one of his dorky smiles, and despite his statement inspiring little hope — seriously Mark is way too sweet to ‘beat’ anyone up — you still appreciate the sentiment. Offering him a big spoonful of whipped cream and strawberries for his valiant statement.

“Hey! Why does Mark get fed and I have to fight for a crumb?” Jungwoo cries out only causing you to roll your eyes and spark even more outrage from him.

You're thankful that the rest of the outing goes on without another mention of a certain fan of yours. Though Mark seems to be shooting more indiscernible looks your way than usual, but that’s easy to chalk down as him just projecting his own anxieties onto you.

When you all start to bid farewell Donghyuck wastes a few minutes to preach about the dangers of internet strangers, while Jungwoo goads and teases him until his nagging is turned onto Jungwoo.

Again Mark offers comfort — though you really have no need for it, considering the fact you honestly are enjoying the debased behavior more than you maybe should — and you pretend to appreciate it.

needa fuck you over and over and over

til your pretty lil pussy is gaping open

so i can see the way i paint you up inside

wouldn’t you like that?

Yes, you dig your teeth into your bottom lip, fuck yes.

You had just posted a teaser for your next video, a simple reaction to some random threesome video your subscribers had begged you to watch. 

And as always without fail, only a few minutes after you’ve hit post your phone lights up with notifications from ‘66golden_boy99’. You should hate how much you look forward to it— how you’re practically gagging for it (him).

You remember his first thread of comments, remember the scandal that pumped through your veins as the words registered in your brain. 

The thrill.

well aren’t you a sweet thing

He had started it off so normally.

you look like you dont care for just any kind of fun

you look like u need to be fucked within an inch of your life

thrown around and violated like a stupid little toy

i could do that

It’s the only time he hadn’t ended with a question. The only statement needed to stake his claim, to solidify his place. 

It planted the seed right in your lust ridden mind, the growing need to see more and more. It becomes a sick little ritual, to go looking for his comments just after you tuck yourself into bed under the guise of resting for the day. 

You’re desperate enough to reread old ones, to stare at the same comments from days or even weeks ago. Sometimes he’ll throw you a bone, coming back to leave another thread of comments for you to find. 

wanna fill you up so bad

make you take it over and over and over

til my cum is dripping outta you for days

so that all that’s in your pretty head is the thought of my cock pumping you full

wanna make it happen?

Maybe it’s the way you’ve never replied to them, or even acknowledge them in a stream. It doesn’t deter him from continuing, his perverted dedication proving something to you. Something twisted and delicious and all too tempting.

need you so bad

just need to use you over and over and over and over so fuckin bad

turn you into my own pretty fleshlight to use whenever i please

just wanna use you all up baby

how much can you take?

Thursday streams are one of your three weekly streams, and while it had marginally less viewers therefore profit than your Friday and every other Saturday ones, it was by far your favorite.

The chat is far more relaxed, which means you have a better chance to interact with viewers, to have a more intimate stream.

It means you can instead sit at your desk, dressed in nothing but an oversized white tee, playing with your hair and batting your lashes. While making idle conversation as your viewers dutifully pay you compliments and donate small amounts as a hello.

66golden_boy99: hey there

“Oh? Golden boy? And here I was thinking you weren’t interested enough in having a live convo with me.” You wonder if he waited for this, a Thursday stream with an even lower than usual number of viewers to finally send his first message in chat. Was your little freak shy? Only able to sling his filth when nobody was paying attention?

Too late for that, he was in your sights now. 

66golden_boy99: nah just liked sitting here and watching you too much

“Is that so?” You feign distraction, looking off towards the side as you tap your chin thoughtfully. “But here I am, doing nothing. Isn’t that boring?”

There’s a flood of no’s in the chat, messages ranging from horny to sweet about how some like just chatting and others saying that you should at least take off your shirt.

“My shirt? It’s only been twenty-ish minutes since I’ve started and you all don’t wanna butter me up first? Tell me how pretty I am?” You’re accused of being a tease, which is of course your exact angle. Some of them bite, sending cooing comments about how they’d love to see your shirt off, some going as far as to send in a few dollars. 

$200 from 66golden_boy99

it’s okay sweetheart, show em what’ll be mine

Your jaw drops, because while he had tipped in the past, it was never this much. You can’t help the shiver that itches down your spine, ‘what’ll be mine’ he says, like he already has you in the bag.

“Aww you wanna see me that bad? Everyone say thank you to Golden Boy!” You goad, making a show of hooking your thumbs in the hem of your shirt. Slowly you drag the fabric across your flesh, inch by inch exposing how you truly had nothing under your flimsy excuse for clothing. 

66golden_boy99: and where’s your thank you?

“That’s right, you were so generous after all, I should give you a little treat to show my appreciation.” Again you flutter your lashes. “How do you want me?”

66golden_boy99: spreading your legs like a desperate slut

66golden_boy99: wanna see you fuck your fingers

66golden_boy99: cmon babe show off your perfect pussy and open yourself up for me

“Anything for you.” And maybe you’re a little fucked in the head for how much you mean it. 

You’ve never had a favorite before. Nobody in your chat, comments and so on have ever caught your attention. They’ve never bothered to be so interesting, to be so openly obsessed.

Slowly you let your hands wander, cupping your tits before letting your fingertips dance along your ribcage, inching down, down, down. 

You pathetically think of him, wonder who’s on the other side of the screen. It could be some old man, or some greasy incel, maybe it’s someone you’ve met on the street. It could be anyone, and it sickens you almost as much as it excites you.

Carefully, you plant your feet on the edge of your desk, sliding down a few inches in your chair as you spread nice and wide for the camera. 

“This what you want?” The words jumble in your mouth as your fingers continue to  find their way south. You dig your nails into your thighs, moaning loudly at the bite of them into your tender skin.

Shame was something that had long escaped you in this field of work, only the tastefully faked sense of it ever gracing you these days. But there’s that all too familiar burn crawling back into your chest after almost years of nothing. Scorching away at your insides as your fingers drag along your waiting pussy. 

You’re wet, you’re wet and it’s because of some fucking freak on the internet. Your eyes zero in on the chat, hoping to catch a comment from him.

66golden_boy99: fucking perfect for me always so good

It’s all you need to keep going, to let wanton moans tumble out left and right as your back arches into your own touch.

The sense of shame doesn’t diminish, doesn’t fade as you tease your clit and pump your fingers pitifully into your sopping cunt, loudly bemoaning the fact you didn’t grab a toy. 

66golden_boy99: you’ll cum just like this baby, no toys, just your fingers and wishing it was me instead

“Nnn- please.” It’s whiner than you’ve ever heard yourself, because goddammit you are wishing it was him. Old man be damned he had a wicked way of speaking, of sneaking into the dark recesses of your mind and ripping you open. Exposing a side of you that you’d long since buried, a side of you craving to be devoured wholly.

Pleasure snakes through your body, dropping down into your belly as you cum with a whimper. You make a show of bringing your fingers to your lips, tongue flicking out to taste yourself, that sick part of you hoping it makes him want you more. 

You slump against your chair, mindlessly answering chats as you fix yourself into a more comfortable position. You don’t bother looking for your shirt, letting your viewers enjoy watching your chest rise and fall in panting breaths, admire the way the sweat gleams on your skin.

You hope his eyes are glued to his screen. You hope you’re driving him absolutely insane.

“I fear I might be tapped out for the night, but don’t worry there’s always Sunday.” You manage to get out a real sentence, your brain still a little mushy from the post-orgasm haze. “Sweet dreams everyone!” 

You take a moment to let the chat fill with well wishes, a few more donations and scan for a message from one user in particular.  

66golden_boy99: good night sweet thing, dream of me

And oh, you just might. 

Ending streams were nothing special, just a click of a button and your privacy was all yours again. Leaving you with a plethora of thoughts, a tiny remnant of that formerly elusive shame and a craving for something or more accurately someone. 

Send a friend request to 66golden_boy99?

What did you have to lose? What did you have to gain? 

There’s a little angel on your shoulder in the shape of Donghyuck, your ever annoying moral compass, telling you to go shower and to never feed into this anonymous man’s delusions again.

While the little devil on your shoulder shaped like Yuta does nothing, sits there and smirks at you knowing full well you’ll choose his route. 

You always do. 

Sorry Hyuck.

Friend request sent!

Three days go by, no comments, no messages on stream, nothing. Absolute silence.

You can’t help yourself but watch each excruciating second tick by, waiting for something, anything from him. Three whole days of obsessively checking your phone, every social media tied to your occupation and nothing.

It’s like he up and fucking forgot about you. And maybe three days seems too short of a timeline to be losing it, but this is a man who has been all over your account — and notifications — for months.

And he gets scared off by a friend request. 

God, you should’ve known better than to trust Yuta, even if he was just a figment of your imagination at that moment. Though the real Yuta would’ve said the same thing anyway, therefore still making this whole ordeal his fault.

But as fun as blaming your friend and obsessing over whether your twisted little admirer would accept your request, let alone give you something to work with nowadays. It was driving you up the fucking wall. 

You need a distraction, and you need it badly.

Your usual and immediate reaction to having nothing to do and needing attention would be to ask Donghyuck to go out and do something stupid, but the lucky bastard was on vacation with his boyfriend(s?) probably getting fucked into the new year.

So you’re left to consider your options but Jungwoo is definitely still at work and Yuta just left to visit his family. And your other friends lived too far.

That only left you with Mark. God, you need more friends in close proximity. Not because you don’t like Mark, you adore the man if anything and still consider him one of your best friends. It's just that despite all the years of friendship the two of you just haven’t figured out how to quite mesh conversationally like the others. 

You need more spark, conviction. Mark Lee talks like a wet noodle came to life and decided to use ‘yo’, ‘dude’ and ‘woah’ on a permanent rotation. 

At least he’s a great listener.

And since he’s one of your closest friends nonetheless, he would have no problem with you coming over to eat his snacks and lounge on his couch while he works from home. 

So you shoot him a text.

TO: marky markmarkly sparkly can i cum over ;P 

FROM: marky markHaha sure dude! I told you stop spelling it like that > < 

TO: marky markprude be there in 10 want coffee ?

FROM: marky markSure! Caramel latte please :3 

He even texts like a good and innocent church boy. But he’s definitely had girlfriends, and that one boyfriend, so there’s no way he’s a virgin. Is it possible to be a blushing virgin in spirit and at heart?

“Hey beautiful, what can I get ya?” The barista’s stare is nothing short of sleazy, not even bothering to make eye contact as he tries to magically see through your clothing. 

“I’ll take a caramel latte, lemme double check what my boyfriend wanted, hmm just a regular coffee.” And okay it’s a little demeaning to Mark to switch your coffee orders in front of this greaseball. 

The boyfriend comment works well enough, if you take the guy opting to just stare at your ass as you walk out the door instead of bullying you for your number a win.

Thankfully Mark's apartment is just around the corner, and somehow you manage to key in the code not once but twice despite carrying two drinks.

“Marky! Coffee!” Immediately he comes tumbling down the hallway, eyes wide with confusion. His hair is sticking up in different directions, his glasses crooked and half-hanging off his face. His sweat stained white tee, and low hanging gray sweats only the cherry atop the homebody trainwreck sundae of a man before you.

“Hey, yo, shit! Uh dude!” He stops a few steps in front of you, scratching his head sheepishly. “I thought…you would take longer.”

“Do I look like Jungwoo? Or worse, Yuta?” You feign offense with a dramatic gasp. 

“Nah! Ha…ha, um come on in, it’s a fuckin’ mess but like you know, ‘m swamped with work and…”

You hand him his latte and push past him, barely batting an eye at the nightmarish state of his apartment. There’s mountains of paperwork and books stacked along the walls, empty food boxes, bags and wrappers scattered across the floor (along with any other available surface) and you’re trying desperately to not gag at the state of his kitchen.

“Johnny would clean?” You muse as you kick aside an empty pasta box. 

“Johnny would clean.” He sighs. Johnny, being Mark’s roommate, along with (one of) Donghyuck’s boyfriend(s???) is currently on vacation. On top of that, from what you've heard, he’s barely been at the apartment at all the past few months. Definitely too busy catering to every single one of Hyuck’s whims and dramatics.

“I could help?”

“Woah! I couldn’t ask you that, I made this mess on my own. I’ll clean it er.. eventually.” He gestures loosely.

“Mark Lee.” You muster up your best deadpan tone. “I’m so bored I’m gonna chew my own hand off, please let me help you clean your awfully disgusting apartment.” 

“That bad?” He snorts.

“I think that pile of dust moved on it’s own.” At least you’re hoping it’s a pile of dust and not some undiscovered rodent that thrives in the apartments of bachelors with piss poor cleaning habits.

“…I think you’re right. Hey um, lemme just shower and change, I think I’m just as gross as this place. We can clean together. So just…” He shoves aside the pile of laundry inhabiting the couch just enough to give you a place to sit. “Sit for a second?”

The poor guy looks like he’s on the brink of a meltdown, and if you didn’t know Mark as well as you do you would’ve called an ambulance. But he just always has that air around him, exhausted and overworked— but always smiling through it.

“I’m in no rush.” You pat his arm before taking a seat in the space he so generously carved out for you. The second Mark walks off to the bathroom you make yourself nice and comfortable, switching on the TV, straightening out some of the magazines and assorted papers on the coffee table. 

Mindlessly you even start folding some of the laundry next to you. The thought of taking pictures and sending them to Donghyuck so he could show Johnny just how far his roomie has fallen in his absence promptly interrupts your side task.

But to your dismay you find your phone is barely holding on by a few measly percentages. Looking around the living room you know there’s definitely no hope in trying to find a charger on your own. So instead you head off towards the bathroom, following the sound of the shower pouring down.

“Mark!” You knock harshly, hoping he can hear you okay. 

“Yeah?” His voice comes through clear, sounding only a little startled by your sudden presence.  

“Need to charge my phone!” 

There’s a moment of pause and you can only assume it’s because his room is so hellish he can’t even remember where he put the thing.

“By my bed!”

“Thanks!”

His room is actually better than the living room and kitchen, not by much, but still better. You navigate around the clothes and books strewn about the floor. Giggling at his wastebasket full of balled up tissues and a used up bottle of lotion, you definitely couldn’t wait to tell Donghyuck when he gets back. 

Making fun of Mark was an art, a beloved pastime of your friend group. And he always took it like a champ.

You plop down on his unmade bed, looking around for his charger. It’s half under the bed when you spot it, tugging the cord only for there to be a bit of resistance. Carefully you lower yourself to the floor, yanking at the charger and forcing Mark’s IPad to come flying at you.

“Shit!” It lands next to you face down on the hardwood and you pray to whatever gods that you haven’t cracked it. Slowly you pick it up, carefully flipping it over as you prepare yourself for the damage.

“Oh, my god.”

Because it’s not cracked, it’s not even locked, it’s still open to what Mark had been watching last to be exact.

One of your streams, one of your streams with you bent over one of your pillows, both holes stuffed with toys in the perfect position for the camera to see everything. It’s not even a new video, you haven’t done anything like that in months. 

There’s a blur in your vision as you shoot up, lightheaded from standing up straight so suddenly. A scorching heat begins to burn in your gut, creeping through your veins. 

You can still hear the shower going, and you know it must be wrong, to go through his private device like this but…it’s you. He’s been watching you, one of your most bible-thumping, prude-built friends who can barely look you in the eyes and blushes whenever you or your friends make dirty jokes, has been watching your debaucherous streams and has never said a word. 

Sure, Yuta and Jungwoo have confessed to watching more than once and Donghyuck is a fucking mod for your streams. It never bothered you if your friends watched, it wouldn’t bother you now.

But this is…this is different. He kept his viewership a secret, and you weren’t sure what to make of it. Was he too embarrassed to say? Was he afraid it’d ruin your friendship?

You close out the video, looking through his watch history which consists solely of your videos, looking at who he follows — you, only you, and you can’t tell if that’s a good thing yet — and now the used tissues in his trash bin don’t feel so funny anymore. 

“Oh.” You mutter lamely as you open up his comment history. Fucking oh. 

66golden_boy99: wanna fuck you with my tongue til youre squirting all over my face

And your world collapses, punctuated by the sound of the shower turning off— yet that’s lost on your ears. You can’t hear anything but the furious pound of your heart trying to dismantle your ribcage, your blood rushing through your veins and sloshing around your head. 

Mark Lee, sweet, kind and innocent. Mark Lee, who stutters just talking about who he likes. Mark Lee, the resident saint of the group.

Is him. 

The man who’s been peddling filth into your mind, who’s been haunting you every time you decide to start your stream or post a video, skulking around every comment section with your name on it. 

Is Mark fucking Lee.

“Heya! Did ya find…it.” It’s cinematic honestly, the way his stride slows as his eyes frantically flicker back and forth between you and the IPad. “Y-Y-You!”

It’s instantaneous, his face turning a brilliant crimson as he trips over himself to grab the tablet and throw it haphazardly to the side.

His chest is heaving, panic creasing his features as you look him over. He kept the same color scheme, you think emptily, white tank top and gray basketball shorts. It does nothing for your brain as you stare at him mouth agape.

“I c-can explain?” He has the audacity to squeak, to look ashamed even. He’s trying to hide behind his bangs as they fall over his eyes, trying to look so innocent despite his filthy secret coming to light.  

“Why didn’t you accept my friend request?” It’s probably not what you should open with, and Mark’s jaw simply hanging open at the question might be a testament to that.

“…What?” His croaks, voice hoarse.

“You didn’t accept it, why? And where have you been, it’s been three whole days? I’ve been fucking waiting for—”

“You’re not mad?” His voice is still uneven, and even a pitch higher. 

“Mad? Mad? I’m pissed, you, you idiot!” And you are. Probably. Your mind so fucked from trying to comprehend this newfound piece of info you don’t even know where to begin with how you’re feeling. So mad must be the best place to start. 

“For months I’ve been wondering who had the fucking balls to send these freaky borderline insane comments.” He flinches. “Wondering just who the hell was making me feel like, like…that.”

“I—”

“And it was you! Right under my nose, looking at me with those stupid round eyes and big glasses a-and you just pretended like you knew nothing? …I got off to you on stream?” You hate the way your voice sounds so high in your ears, teetering on the edge of full blown shrieking.

“Please, I’m sor…”

“When Hyuck showed those comments were you even ashamed?” You hiss.

He’s blubbering now, eyes pinned somewhere to the ground; half cooked sentences or maybe excuses scattering about the floor with the rest of his mess. It’s all lost on your ears, a million different thoughts in your head drowning it all out. 

His hands raise as if admitting defeat, even beginning to back away in a pitiful attempt at escaping but like hell you’ll let the fool get away from you now. 

“Goddammit, Mark Lee, look at me!” And he does, his mouth snapping shut and eyes focusing on you. His stupid glasses are nowhere to be seen, giving you an unfiltered front row view of how his pupils are blown wide. “Did you mean it?” 

“Mean…what?” You could kill him, you really could because how after all these months of sending you towards the edge with the crudest, filthiest words he can barely say a proper sentence standing before you.

“Any of it! All of it, was it all just talk?” You must’ve hit a nerve. He’s silent again, eyes narrowing for a moment at the accusation. But it slips away, a fickle persona he shoves down. 

His hands lower to his sides.

“...What do you want?” His voice is more even, eyebrows knitting together. 

You know what he’s asking — he was obvious like that, his heart always worn so proudly on his sleeve — because even now with his disgusting secret out in the open between the two of you. He has the audacity to try to take the gentlemanly route of getting you to explicitly state what you want from him, if you want him. 

When all you’ve been waiting for was for him to take.

“What do I want, huh? Let me tell you what I think first.” You know this will definitely make or break what happens next, and maybe even your friendship. But you’re sick of his games, of dancing around whatever the hell was going on between the two of you. “I think you’re all bark and no fucking bite, I think you hide behind a screen because you’re a coward and you probably couldn’t fuck your way out of a wet paper bag.”

His eyes narrow once more.

“You hide behind your good little god fearing boy next door persona when you’re a freak who likes watching one of his best friends get off on camera!” 

He takes a step closer.

“I think you’re filthy and depraved, a repressed weirdo with disgusting kinks. A borderline incel!”

And another step.

“I bet the second you actually got inside of me you’d cum and cry yourself to sleep in a matter of seconds.” His expression darkens at that, and now you’re starting to think that you should stop. 

But where’s the fun in that?

“You couldn’t handle even half the shit you said online, you cowardly little prude, you tiny dicked—”

You don’t realize his hands are on you until you're backed against the wall, one tightly gripping your hip while the other lands on your chest keeping you firmly in place.

“You never shut up. Even in your streams and videos you're constantly yammering on, whimpering and whining and begging.” His voice is low, buzzing around your ears and in your head. You look down at the tent forming in his shorts, mouth drying and watering simultaneously.  

“That for me?” Your tongue feels thick as you look up at him through your lashes.

The hand on your chest inches up, until his palm settles against your throat and you're left wondering if he’ll indulge you by tightening his fingers. Even just a little.

“Even now, can’t shut the fuck up.” He moves in closer, until his hardened cock is against your thigh and he’s forcing his knee between yours. “I asked what you wanted, not for you to insult me.”

“You-”

“So I’ll tell you what I want.” And you feel so wildly out of your depth, there’s a cognitive dissonance you can’t quite escape. Good church boy Mark means wholesome activities, ice cream in the park, farmer’s markets and, and–  

“And then you’re gonna try again for me.” 

“M-Me?” It comes out lamely. Is this really Mark Lee? You think belatedly. Looking at you like he wants to tear you apart inch by inch with nothing but his teeth and tongue.

“I want you on my tongue, on my cock, want you begging for me to stop but it’s all just a filthy fucking lie. I want you to want me to ruin you, this, us.” His voice is raspier, laced with a desperation and craving you’ve never heard before and damn do you need to hear more, so much more.

“So try again. Tell me what you want.” And you can see it, that plea in his eyes for you to just say it. To know you want this as badly as he does, the promise, the threat of him finally letting go looming over the two of you.

“Want.” You grab him by the face, pressing your nose against his and staring into the black depths of his pupils. “Want good boy Mark Lee to die right before my eyes, wan’ you to eat me ‘til nothin’ is left.”

It’s slurred, you’re delirious, so drunk off the way he’s already hard off of you screaming at him (or maybe it was getting caught), at the way he’s demanding you to express your want for him when you’d rather just be on your knees.

But the thing is you always have wanted, craved. That underlying itch to see one of your best friends let loose, the borderline wanting (what you thought was) a random stranger to break into your apartment and do filthy, unmentionable things to you. When you flipped over that IPad thinking you broke it to find yourself being the object of his debauched desire, when you saw his username on the site. 

You ached.

It’s stupid and toeing the line of embarrassing with how badly you want, no, need him, how turned on by the fact he doesn’t even know which person to be in front of you. Doesn’t quite know how to be both.

“Let him die.” Is all he can say, having the audacity to take advantage of your stupor to kiss you. To push you back up against the wall and slot his lips against yours, pulling back just to dive back in before you could truly feel his absence. Over and over each one messier, hotter than the last as a debaucherous hunger flows between the two of you.

“You don’t get it.” He mumbles, pressing himself firmly against you, sweat starting to prickle against your skin. “When y-you started camming I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

And suddenly you could see it, vividly. Just behind your eyelids was Mark hunched over in his bed, one of your streams or videos playing in the background as he furiously chased his release. Only to be left wallowing in the shame of jerking it with cheap lotion to you, forced to clean himself off with even cheaper tissues and spending the rest of his night completely alone.

“Your perfect fucking pussy, for everyone to see…when I’ve been waiting.” He rasps, hands finding their way back onto your body. “Couldn’t stand it, couldn’t fuckin’ stand it.”

“Mm, Ma-ark…” Without hesitation he twists his head, allowing himself to sink his teeth at the base of your throat. Pulling away to focus another dark look at you, that heady mixture of unmitigated want and wicked promises swirling in his eyes.

“S’All I could think about, even with our friends.” He noses along your jaw, nipping at your earlobe as his breathing turns ragged. “Wanted to haul you onto the table and fuck you ‘til your head went dumb, ‘til all was left was you squealing like a fuckin’ whore while they all watched.”

There’s a cartoon halo of stars around your head, surely there is, each word from his mouth adding another to the ditzy constellation circling your brain. This is him, this is Mark ‘Golden Boy’ Lee and his once hidden (and so deliciously unhinged) silver tongue. 

“Pl-Please, oh fu— please.” His lips are back to working against your throat, and just as you try to reach up and grab at him, to try and sway him into relieving some of the tension building in the air. 

He steps back, yanking at your arm.

Yet he doesn’t give you a chance to simply fall, or even react. Instead he uses your off-kilter balance to push you onto your knees, thankful that he’s a sloppy loser when you land on a pile of clothes.

“This.” He doesn’t bother being shy about tugging his shorts and boxers off in one fluid motion. “This is how I want you.”

He pauses, as if to let you admire the view and you’re not nearly above doing so as your eyes roam so shamelessly. 

Of course he’s cut, with neatly trimmed hair adorning his groin. And though he's just above average in length, he definitely makes up in girth. You think hazily that calling him tiny dicked was definitely a lie.

Your mouth waters.

He lets out a low chuckle of all things, surely laughing at the way your eyes have widened. And maybe you did let your tongue swipe over your lips in anticipation.

“Go ahead, before I make it hurt.” His words are delayed, understanding creeping in slowly; impaired by having long let that fog of desperation cloud your mind. 

You move before you can think, nosing along the side of his cock, pressing a kiss to a cute little mole that you hope to revisit at a later date. But for now you’re flattening your tongue against the base of his shaft and dragging it up his length at a frustrating rate.

He’s heavy on your tongue, thick and heavy and so so hot, and fuck he tastes good or maybe you’re just already addicted. Doomed from the start. 

There’s a war raging in your mind, whether to try your hardest to please him with your mouth, all too tempted to hear the pretty, desperate sounds he’ll make and maybe it’ll earn you a bit of praise. Or to tease until he’s pissed off enough to throw any regard for you and your (throat’s) wellbeing out the window.

The latter is far more appealing.

Coyly you look up at him again through your lashes once more, bringing your tongue to tease at the tip of his cock, licking off a bead of precum forming.

“Are you tryin’ to blow me or piss me off?” Ah, so he has you all figured out.

“Haven’t decided.” You reply properly by taking his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before sinking further down and ignoring the slightly uncomfortable stretch of your lips. You could get used to this.

Languidly you try to mind your teeth as you sink further down, your jaw aching at the unprecedented stretch. Shallowly you bob your head, barely giving anything as you look up to meet his burning gaze.

“Enough.” He groans, clearly sick of the teasing as his hand comes around to hook his fingers around the back of your head.  

It’s enough of a warning as your hands come up to grip at his bare thighs, whimpering at the first tentative thrust. Unable to escape, knees aching and you can’t help but wonder how damp your panties will be by the time you get them off.

He’s careful at first, not to be too rough in his movements, trying to be considerate of your comfort. It’s ridiculous, and you let him know as much by stabbing your nails into his thighs only forcing him to accidentally bottom out. 

Tears well in your eyes as you choke, gagging around the sinfully thick intrusion into your throat.

“Woah! Fuck, I’m sor-”

He starts to pull away, and desperately you chase after him. But the fucker pulls out, grabbing you by the cheeks to look you in the eyes. 

“Do I have to start calling you names again?” Your voice is already wrecked, but not nearly enough, it could be worse, so much worse. If he would just fully let go. “Or are you just scared?”

He blinks at you, once, twice, those stupidly big eyes of his narrowing into something dangerous. 

“Two taps if it’s too much.”

“It won’t be.” You barely finish the sentence as he grabs you on either side of your head with both hands, pressing the leaking head of his cock against the seam of your lips, precum smearing across. You barely open your mouth before he’s shoving his entire cock down your throat again. 

You can see him, blurred by the tears stuck to your lashes, watching you with such reverence as you pitifully try to relax, still unable to avoid gagging and choking. Yet this time he offers no reprieve, keeps you firmly in place as tears stream down your face and your nails continue to dig into his thighs.

“T-That’s it, choke.” The break in his voice sends something hot through your chest, snaking through the rest of your body and creeping into your veins. How embarrassed would you really be if you came just from having your throat fucked? 

“Where are you?” Your wandering thoughts immediately cease, drawn back in by his fingers dancing along your cheekbone before settling at the back of your head.

He doesn’t even have the decency to let you catch your breath after pulling your attention, shallow thrusts turning reckless as he fucks your face with little regard for you— it’s everything you’ve every wanted from him.

It sends another surge of heat down into your belly, pooling between your thighs and now you’re wondering if your poor panties will even be salvageable after this. 

“Fuck that’s it, so fuckin’ good for me.” He bites his lip, and a part of you wishes you could be tugging on it too with your teeth. 

Use me, use me, use me. The thought fills your mind, leaving room for nothing else but Mark and his cock and your jaw and throat struggling to keep up. 

Frantically you tap on his calf, his response instantaneous.

“You good?” He pulls out again, swiping his thumb along your bottom lip to wipe away a mess of spit and precum.

“Need you,” and you could care less how your voice shakes and rasps, “need you in me so bad. Fuck me.” 

Your fingers dig into his thighs as you muster up the best pitiful look possible, silently begging for more. 

“C-Condom, need, condom.” He huffs, looking around his room frantically.

“Like hell, what happened to painting my insides huh?” Shakily you stand up, managing to push him towards the bed which he doesn’t even bother resisting. “Thought you wanted your cum dripping from my pussy for days.”

And he fucking growls, the sound so wildly animalistic you can barely believe it came from him.

“That what you want? You wanna feel me for days?” You’re on your back in a matter of seconds, his forearms landing on either side of your head to cage you in. He’s staring you down with an uncharacteristic intensity; a predator sizing up his prey.

“Ruin me for anybody else.” It comes out broken, desperation seeping from each word. How much more do you need to bend before he finally breaks?

He’s back on you, a barrage of teeth and tongue assaulting your flesh as his hands leave no part of you untouched, kneading and feeling. Just as you try to bring your own shirt over your head he pushes away your hands, allowing him to take over stripping you bare. 

Each caress of his fingers leaves a trail of fire, almost too hot to bear.  

“Please Marky, please.” It comes out high and whiny and so very needy. “Touch me more.” 

“I’ll give you what you want, just lemme…fuck lemme look at you.” He catches your wrists just as you try to bring your hands up to cover your face, pinning your arms against your sides as his eye shamelessly trace over your figure. There’s a glint of something hungry, swirled with something akin to adoration.

“Y-You like m-me, you’re obsessed.” You

“Yeah, I really fucking am.” He’s grinning, all teeth with a hint of gums that makes your heart somehow pound even harder and you know you’re well and truly fucked. “Like you s’much gonna keep you on my cock forever.” 

He lets go of your hands, grabbing at your thighs to spread them apart, callused fingers dragging up until he’s almost carelessly pressing a finger into you.

“Fuck, you can… o-oh keep me!” You whimper as he bullies one, then two more fingers into your throbbing cunt— there’s a determination bordering on desperation creasing his brow in order to prep you as quickly as possible. 

“Next time, I’ll spend fuckin’ hours doin’ this.” You whine as he drags his fingers out of you.

His hands hook under your thighs, pressing up and up until he can hook your legs over his shoulders and he’s pressing the blunt head of his cock against your hole. There’s a slight sting as he pushes in, the stretch unfamiliar and despite how wet you are some lube would’ve helped. 

But you well and truly could care less.

“I don’t care who sees this, you, I’m the only one who gets to touch, the only one who gets to fuck you like this.” He rasps, bottoming out in one harsh thrust and punching the air out of your lungs.

He’s kind enough to let you catch your breath, indulging you with a few soft kisses along your jaw and nipping at your bottom lip. But it doesn’t last long, following a sloppy kiss with a tentative grind of his hips, then a soft thrust. 

Those desperate whines you usually play up for your streams easily escaping your lips as he builds a steady rhythm. 

“Yes, yes, yes, Mark.” It’s perfect, every single thrust is perfect, the way you're folded in half, the feeling of his fingers digging into you, the strain of toned muscles under flushed skin; so fucking perfect. “Only you.”

And you mean it, fully, wholeheartedly without any hesitation. Only Mark, if that’s what he wants then you want it too, whatever Mark wants he can have.

“M’Close, fuck, I’m so close.” You whimper, raking your fingers through his still damp hair.

“Already?” It spears through your chest, harsh and burning and tears down your belly. 

There’s a split second of perfect silence interrupting the sound of skin slapping against skin, a ringing in your ears followed by the crash of your heart into your ribcage. 

Pleasure slices down your spine, rippling through your body in crashing waves and leaving your head spinning.

He fucks you through the high, any chance of a coherent thought spilling right out of your ears, his name garbled and strained as it forces it’s way past your lips. 

He slows, as if he’s about to waste both your time and do something stupid like pull out and finish on your stomach. And like hell you’re letting that happen, grabbing at his head with both hands and smashing your lips together, pulling away just enough to stare into blown pupils.

“Cum inside me, you bitch!” His teeth come down on your bottom lip, the bite of iron and tang of sweat and spit swirling together on your tongue dizzying, intoxicating. He slams back into you with a force you didn’t know he had, swallowing down a broken moan from his lips as he spills into you. 

“I’m still gonna stream.”  The two of you have settled on his now made bed, tucked under the covers. You had no problem letting Mark dress you in a clean tee and boxers, watching sleepily from his desk chair as he made his bed before depositing you in it.

“I’ll still watch.” He hums. 

“And comment?” It brings up the matter from earlier, the one you never got an answer to. “Why didn’t you?”

“I…I didn’t know what to do. Uh, it was one thing, hiding, but then I thought you…didn’t…”

“Didn’t?” You raise your head, trying to level your gaze to his. 

“Didn’t like m- it, the comments, those messages in chat, all of it. Thought you were just tryin’ to message me to stop. And then I got scared you somehow knew it was…me.” He has that sheepish look smearing his features, a hand coming up to scratch at his nape. 

You stare at him silently, watching as his eyes bounce around your face searching for some hint of what you could possibly be thinking.

“Look where that got us, I can’t even feel my legs, oh my god you have to fuck me on stream, please!”

“H-Huh? Live? Yo I can’t just-”

“Think about it, Marky.” Aching hips and sore muscles be damned, you somehow manage to climb into his lap and straddle his thighs. “Fucking me, on camera, for everyone to see just what you do to me. I’d be so good for you.”

You can see it, what little resolve he had starting to crumble, just a little more.

“Don’t you want that?” It’s his words and he knows it, starting to see the monster he’s created. You run your fingers along his jaw, settling one hand on his shoulder while the other comes up to muss up fluffy brown locks. “Stretching me on your fat cock for my pitiful little viewers to see, wishing it was them driving me insane.”

“Baby…” The pet name from his lips is instantly addicting, and you need so much more of it.

“Please.” And now you’re not sure what you’re begging for, your body screams for you to stop, to not roll your hips against his because it’s far too soon to be fucked into the mattress again.

“If, if you don’t stop doing that.” He groans. “You’re not gonna be able to stream tomorrow.” 

You blink. 

“Wow you really are my biggest fan.”

“Huh?”

“Got my schedule memorized and everything, does that mean we could do it tomorrow? You’ll fuck me on stream tomorrow?”

“I’ll think about it.” 

“Seriously I–”

“Actually, cancel it.” He’s hooking his hands under your thighs, drawing you closer. “Don’t look at me like that, I said cancel it.”  

“Mm, I don’t know if I can go again yet.” But there’s no conviction behind your words.

“You’re fine, I’ll do all the work.” You’re fine he says, it sends a thrill up your spine right into your brain, reworking the entire chemistry in there. It had been there in the back of your mind, slipping in somewhere between finding out his secret and that first kiss. 

You’re absolutely hooked, simply addicted, to Mark Lee. 

“Okay.” You grin at him.

[eddiesfaerie]

who you let in

Summary: Jack has a soft spot. He didn't expect you to be the one to find it. (6.9k words) read on ao3 here

Pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader

Warnings: NSFW, porn with plot (the storyteller within me can't help it), unspecified age gap, hurt/comfort for both of them LOL, canon typical gore? medical stuff? idk, panic attacks, trauma, angst, power dynamics (reader's a med student), suicidal ideation, Jack being flustered, oral (m receiving because he needs it), big dick Jack, fingering, rushed sex despite how long this fic is i'm sorry, unprotected PIV sex, Jack's sort of a soft dom, semi-public sex, praise kink, competency kink, lots of fleshy bodily words in here to describe lust idk

AAAAA i just spent all day writing this yes i'm embarrassed <3 also haven't posted my writing in like actual years at this point.... anyways be nice to me

It’s unlike you, Jack thinks to himself, to look so out of it. 

GSW to the chest. A young girl in her early twenties maybe. She’s lost a lot of blood. Her blonde hair somehow already matted with it, so much so that she could pass as a natural brunette. It’s gone dark with oxygen and coagulation. 

Your team huddles around her, as do the other units around the dozens and dozens of gurneys being brought in one after the other, unrelenting and without promise to end soon. 

All protocols you’ve learned in the last year are out the window. Disregarded for the mass casualty event that was PittFest. None of the residents had ever seen anything like this, you’d never seen anything like this. This was the most action you’d ever witnessed and suddenly you felt like there was a balloon in your own chest, compressing air flow or blood flow or something to your head. 

All the blood, the smell of metal inescapable no matter which section of the ER you were suddenly rushed to. 

Your knees go weak, they shake, your hands shake. Everything’s wrong- 

“She’s going white Abbot pull her out.” 

You hear your attending huff from right behind you before his hand finds your bicep, curling around it and pulling you from where you leaned over the patient. You can hardly protest, your mind elsewhere and your feet blindly follow Dr Abbot who leads you to the family room. 

“Robby I need you to cover over on the GSW to the chest for a sec.” He calls over, his voice ringing in your ears, your mind trying to focus on one single thing but everything’s registering all at once. His hand on your arm, all the beeping, the cries of agony, tubes being intubated and balloons being puffed into chests. It all seems a lot further away when Abbot closes the door. 

You never thought you were particularly his favourite. You’re much younger and typically too upbeat. You clash naturally, he’s not drawn to you and you’re not drawn to him.

Dr Abbot is unafraid of correcting you in front of your peers. After a year now of him being your attending you’ve become familiar with his ways but that doesn’t mean you’re any more appreciative of the public humiliations.

There’s something about these older ex military men, the ones who joined too young and have been in the system ever since, climbing up and up the ranks, hardening at each level to a point where disassociation is expected. Hold it in, hold it together. There’s is no I in team. All for one and one for all. All that bullshit. 

Dr Abbot wasn’t really that guy to a T but hell was he uncrackable, unshakeable, hard as stone. No doubt it’s helped him here in the ER, you’ve never seen someone as laser focused and capable as Dr Abbot. It’s almost effortless for him, it seems. Like he doesn’t have to think twice about anything. His confidence is unmatched and you’d always admired that, no matter how much you thought he disliked you. So yeah it was kind of surprising when he was the one to pull you away for a time out. 

Jack never meant to become so attuned to you. He didn’t do it on purpose. He blames it on being your attending for a while now, he’s worked with you the closet over this past year and he knows how you work, how you operate. He didn’t mean to but it happened. He feels like he can read you like an open book, you wear your emotions on your sleeve, on your face. You’ve never been one to conceal how you were feeling, unlike him. So when you stopped talking, stopped making little remarks and little jokes, nearly frozen and clearly dissociating, he knew what was happening long before the resident called for you to be pulled out. He wanted to give you a moment to bounce back as you usually do. 

Dr Abbot closes the curtain to the family room, shutting the door. He turns around and finds you still awkwardly standing there, eyes far off, elsewhere. He had expected you to take a seat immediately, he doesn’t know what you’re still doing up considering how close you look to collapsing. 

“S-sorry I don’t know what’s happening, I-” You stammer, embarrassed yet not in control of whatever’s taking over your mind and body. 

“Hey, hey stay with me, kid. Don’t go to that place.”

Abbot puts his hand softly on the middle of your back, guiding you to the chair. You sit down reluctantly, unable to move your body in a coordinated way for some reason. He kneels in front of you, groaning as he goes down and his knees cracking. 

“Listen, don’t tell anyone but I’ve had my fair share of panic attacks, okay?”

“Is that- is that what’s happening?” You ask dumbly, squeezing your eyes shut. You suddenly feel dizzy. Not enough oxygen to the brain.

“How does your chest feel? Can you breathe?” 

“I feel like I can’t.” 

“Then yeah, that’s what’s happening.” 

Your lip wobbles despite how much you’re still trying to hold it together, that much Abbot can tell. You’re fighting like hell against this panic attack which might only threaten to make things worse. He grabs your hand in his, squeezing lightly. You’re barely able to return it. 

“What are five things you can see?”

“W-What?” You sniffle.

“Tell me five things you can see, come on.” He squeezes your hand again, reassuringly. 

You try to take a deep breath but your diaphragm spasms and it comes in all shaky, causing you to hiccup like a child. 

“Y-you.”

Against all odds, Dr Abbot smiles. Incredibly small but you see it. 

“That’s right. What else?”

You try to take a deep breath again. “Uh, the paintings on the wall.”

Abbot nods. You continue. 

“The curtains. The chairs. The door.”

“Good. That’s good. What about four things you can touch?”

“Your hand.” You say most obviously, since he’s still holding your clammy hand in his. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so shaken up. 

Dr Abbot squeezes your hand again and this time you squeeze back, a silent thank you of sorts. 

“Um, my scrubs, my hair on my neck, the wind from the fan.” 

“Okay, now three things you can hear.” 

“Your voice.” Dr Abbot chuckles, like he was expecting it. 

“Sure.” He nods.

“You’re breathing.” You take a deep breath now, as if it reminded you. Abbot breathes deeply with you. 

You try to motion lazily to the door, “The doctors outside, I can hear them talking.”

“That’s right, and they’re being pretty loud, aren't they?” He tries to joke, to lighten the mood. 

You nod your head, yeah. 

“What about two things you can smell?”

You go to open your mouth but Abbot cuts you off again. 

“And don’t say me, we’re about an hour into this shift and I know I’m not smelling too pretty right now.” 

You laugh, you actually giggle a bit, albeit a bit breathless, your body still trying to catch up to your more relaxed mind. Jack smiles. 

“I can smell metal and disinfectant.” 

“Okay and one thing you can taste.” 

Your cheeks burn a bit. You know it doesn’t mean anything but when you started each sentence with something relating to him… You can’t help but think. 

“My stale gum.” 

Jack chuckles a bit, shaking his head. What were you doing with mouth in your gum. It’s not allowed on shift but everything had started so suddenly you hadn’t had a moment to toss it and you got scared on choking on it if you swallowed it. 

Abbot clicks his tongue at you in disapproval, holding out his open hand near your mouth. You look at him confused, but he just gestures to his outreached hand. 

“Spit it out, let’s go get you a new one, hmm?” 

Your face burns again, but you do what he says for some reason. 

Because he asked. 

He closes his palm around your gum for a moment before easily tossing it into the trash can in the corner of the room. 

Dr Abbot stands back up, knees cracking again. He helps you up, holding your elbows in each of his hands. You’re still a little wobbly, weak in the knees from your body’s sudden breakdown. You haven’t yet regained all your strength. 

You try to steady yourself, your hands gripping his forearms, trying to concentrate on the strength of him holding you up. 

You suddenly feel oddly close to him. Not just physically seeing as how close you two are standing but in the air, it feels like something’s shifted, like something’s irreparably been changed between you two. He’s just seen you at your most vulnerable, talked you through your first panic attack and even admitted to having experienced them himself. How many people in the ER can say they know that much about Dr Jack Abbot. 

Maybe you’re just over analyzing what’s transpired. 

“How you feeling?” His voice sounds out and you realize you had your eyes squeezed shut, when you open them Jack’s peering down at you, trying to give you the softest look he can muster. 

“I’m okay.” 

“Yeah? You don’t have to be.” You shake your head no. 

“No, no I’m good. Promise.”

“I’ve got my best med student back?”

You can’t help but look at him quizzically, laughing a little. 

“I don’t think I’m your best med student but sure, I’m back.” 

“Come on, take the compliment.” He quips and it surprises you. You didn’t think he’d press your objections. 

“I actually thought you-” Hated me, you want to say.

“I know.”

Oh. 

“I know I’m hard on you. But I only do it because I know you can take it. I think it makes you better.”

Your lips go into a hard line, you nod. Right….

“I mean, it doesn’t hurt to be told I’m doing good every now and then. I do think I’m tough, you’re right, but I don’t know… I like this side of you.” You admit before you can stop yourself. 

Now it’s Jack’s turn to blush. His cheeks go red in that boyish way and it blossoms all the way to the tips of his ears. Your heart leaps a bit. 

If you weren’t back to yourself before, you were now. You’re suddenly very aware of how close you’re standing even though you’ve both let go of each other. It was sobering. 

“Alright kid, as long as you don’t tell anyone.” He winks. 

You burn. 

“Promise.”

/

Things did, in fact, change after that.

Dr Abbot pulls you for huddles, just you and him now for feedback, no longer doing it in front of the other med students, doctors or attendees.

You stand closer to him, he stands closer to you in general. 

He’s not afraid to grab your hand and stop you from doing something. Or start something. The amount of times he’s guided you through a procedure you’d never done before with his steady hadn’t engulfing yours, guiding a blade smoothly through a patients skin or a thin tube through an incredibly small incision. 

You wondered if anyone noticed. If anyone had become attune to the fact that you followed each other around like each other’s shadows. Never one without the other. You could see Princess and Perlah whispering to each other whenever you stood close to Dr Abbot, you couldn’t help but smile at the fact that at least someone noticed how he’d picked you as his favourite and warmed up to you. It made you feel special, all girlish and giggly even though it absolutely shouldn’t. 

A new unusual sound had started to fill the ER. Jack Abbot’s laughter, even quiet giggles fuelled by none other than you. Not even Robby, once his rival now best friend in the ER, could get that sound out of him as often as you do. 

Jack gets you sandwiches, juice boxes from the cafeteria when you look particularly out of it or if the moment granted a quick escape for food. He’d find a chocolate bar or anything to perk you up on days where you weren’t doing so hot, or had a particularly anguishing patient. Death was inescapable in the ER, everyone knew that but not everyone handled it well, it didn’t matter how well versed or experienced you were in the medical industry. 

Not even Jack himself. 

The night shift was now coming to a close, meaning the clock was close to striking 7am. That awkward time before the day shift shows up and the night team goes home to sleep through the day, all to start again in 12 hours. 

It was weird working in the off hours, you felt like a vampire or a bat, you thought to yourself as you climbed the steps to the roof, trying to find Jack. You knew him well now, and you know where he goes to run away when he can’t handle the weight of the shift anymore. 

You open the door, it creaked open annoyingly loud, announcing you rather ungraciously. 

Jack drops his head low at the sound of the door opening. He knew it was you coming to find him. He leans back against the railing behind him. 

“What are you doing up here?” He asks, calling out to you without turning his head. The wind carries the sound of his voice to you. 

The sun is threatening to come up over the city line, light only beginning to spill upwards into the sky, painting the clouds all pretty shades of light blue, pink and orange. You struggle to take in the beauty due to the night that just transpired. 

The vet hit and run. It was a hard one on Jack. He’d known guys like that in the military. They seemed untouchable, surviving tour after tour. It was never easy to watch one go, especially the ones that made it home and get taken out in some seemingly avoidable way. 

Some church bell tolls in the distance. You approach him, unsure how to answer what you’re doing up here. Checking on you, wanting to make sure you’re okay, everyone’s worried but the reality was no one batted an eye at him escaping after spending the last two hours coding this guy into the system. This was how Jack operated. Disassociate, dissociate until he couldn’t anymore and his feet carried him up to the roof. Contemplating. 

So you don’t say anything, you just stand behind him. 

Jack’s skin looks golden up here. The light passing through his curls, catching the greys. Your heart tightens. 

“It’s always a rough way to end the night.” You offer, unsure of what else to say. 

“I must’ve had a reason at one time to keep coming back but… I can’t think of it right now.” Jack grips onto the railing, leaning forward and looking down below him. 

You instinctively reach out to him, your hand going for his bicep, it’s closest to you. Despite the cool early morning air, his skin was still hot to the touch, still coming down from what had just gone down in the ER room. 

“Jack…” You can’t help but sigh, silently pleading with him to stop. 

His head turns, dark eyes meeting yours. God he looks so sad, a man worn down. 

And you realize you’ve never called him by just his name. Just Jack. 

“D-Dr Abbot, I mean- sorry.” 

He doesn’t correct you. He doesn’t particularly care right now. And the way you said it makes his heart tight like your hand is on his arm. Palms clammy with being so high up and so close to a ledge. You never liked heights and you hate that he’s always flirted with them. 

He clicks his tongue, sighing before crouching down and reeling himself back over to your side of the railing. You sigh in relief, you hadn’t realized you were holding your breath. 

Jack is completely distraught. He looks wrecked, broken. 

Your hand still on his arm, he comes to face you, standing so close but you can’t find it in you to step away from him, not when he’s like this. 

Jack drops his forehead to your shoulder, you try not to freeze up at the sudden extreme closeness.

“Are you okay?” You ask dumbly, voice gone quiet because of how close he is. Your lips ghost over the shell of his ear, plush flesh on soft cartilage. Jack shivers, turning his head slightly and his nose pushes into your neck. 

What else is there to say to such a quiet man, lost in his own solitude of reflection. 

“No.” He says simply, plainly. 

Your heart aches for him. 

Your hand is still on his arm, you flatten it and trail it up to his shoulder, squeezing him there. 

He presses himself closer to you. You hold your breath, your heart threatening to leap up out of your throat. You swear he must feel it beating through his own chest. You think you can feel his. 

He trails his nose along your neck, up your ear. You can feel that subtle white beard that carves the angles of his face so sharply, so perfectly, colour so soft and white it nearly blends into his skin seamlessly. They catch at your skin in that scratchy way and its almost too much. 

His hands, they move and suddenly they’re on your waist, sliding around the circumference of you until he’s enveloped you in his strong arms. You can feel how sturdy he is, how solid and strong from years of exertion and force and yet you feel like you could blow away at any moment. This cannot be real. You can smell his hair, the remnants of his cologne peaking through the smell of antiseptic and disinfectant. You can smell him. 

He knows this shouldn’t really be happening. You both do. You’re both very much aware of that fact. Even though its just a hug its just a hug. Jack had been aware of it ever since that day in the family room when he first worried about you. Because that’s what friends do… they worry about each other, right? Friends….

Jack lets his nose travel higher, along your hairline behind your ear, relishing in the closeness of  another living, breathing human being. Warm flesh against flesh, closeness of muscles and organs. Hearts, beating. When was the last time this happened? When was the last time he let his walls down like this? You both wondered. 

“I’m sorry.” He offers lamely, voice quiet and matching yours. He tries to pull away from you but his body doesn’t get the memo, he stills clings to you. He’s afraid of what would happen if he were to let go now. Surely he’d crumble into nothing off this roof. 

He moves his head, nose against your cheek as your hands move to his chest, bunching up the fabric of his shirt in your palms. You don’t want him away either. You need him close, suddenly very close. Despite your breathlessness at the closeness, you think you’d stop breathing if he were to pull away now. You wouldn’t bear it. 

You shake your head no, “Don’t be.” You reassure him, voice still quiet. 

Something posses you and you nudge your nose with his, Jack sighs loudly, arms tightening around you and you sigh too. Your mouth opens in an innocent way, trying to get more oxygen to your brain. But you can feel his breath on yours, feel it fanning against your lips and you lean closer, pushing your nose into his again and he has to use every iota of strength within him to not lunge into you. 

This shouldn’t be happening, he reiterates to himself. All the alarms are going off in his head. He shouldn’t be touching you like this, he shouldn’t have grabbed you, you shouldn’t be letting him. You could both get in serious trouble for this. 

But you fist at his shirt, hands trembling against his chest, feeling him, muscles under supple flesh. Your lips part, small breath fanning against his lips and he breaks. He’s just a man. 

Jack presses his open mouth to yours, and you let him again for a reason he doesn’t quite understand. It’s sloppy in a desperate way, passionate and sad. You could cry if you weren’t so wrapped up in the feel of being completely encompassed by him, his soft lips on yours. 

You open your mouth wider, your hands moving from his chest to wrap your arms completely around his neck, hauling his body into yours as if you couldn’t get any closer. You wanted to meld into him. Bone fusing to bone. You let your tongue poke out and suddenly he’s right there with you, his tongue going as far into your mouth as it possibly can, trying to get to every inch of you. Jack whines and you burn at the pathetic sound. A grown man, whimpering for you. Your knees threaten to buckle. 

His body flush with yours, you can’t help but feel how his body reacts to you. Hard and solid against your hip, your leg as your bodies writhe against the other, pleading to get closer. 

“Jack,” you whimper into his mouth, unsure, testing. 

Jack lets his lips travel to the corner of your mouth, kissing every inch of you that he possibly can, your teeth as you say his name, your cheek, earlobe, the spot underneath your ear. 

“Tell me to stop.” He groans, hands moving back to their spot on your waist, trailing down to your hips where he grinds you against him, making that aching part of him known. 

You whimper again, eyes threatening to roll into the back of your head like the sun threatens to come over that edge and catch you both where you ought not to be. 

“I don’t want you to stop.” You admit, face burning even though you’re both as debauched and pathetic sounding as the other.

Boldly, you let one hand travel down from his neck, down his body to softly touch in between his legs, feeling where he’s hard, aching between his legs. He groans again, this time absolutely pained, his forehead dropping to yours. 

“W-We shouldn’t be doing this.” He admits, like you both don’t know that already. He’s practically begging you to give him a reason to stop this now, even though he knows he’s already too far gone to do anything at this point. You’re too warm, too welcoming and soft and willing. Salvation. 

“Especially not here.” You manage to laugh a little. Suddenly you pull away from Jack and he thinks that’s it, you’re calling it. His instincts propel him to check his watch to check the time. T.O.D. Time of death. He’s being dramatic. 

You pull him to the opening of the stairwell, creaking open that squeaky door once again and you lightly press him against the wall furthest away from the stairs.

It’s an enclosed space, a room up on the roof. You have to open another door to get to the stairs which lead all the way down to the ER, blocked by another set of doors. If someone were to go into the stairway, you’d hear them from a mile away. At least that’s what you hoped.

Jack let’s you move him, lets you press your body against his and kiss his tanned, freckled neck. Your hand finds its spot on his crotch, feeling him through his pants. God he hasn’t gone down an inch. He feels huge, painfully hard. You can’t believe you’re feeling him like this. You can’t believe The Jack Abbot is letting this happen, you can’t believe he wants it. With you. 

“Can I?” You ask, already lowering yourself to your knees. 

Jack just looks at you in complete and utter disbelief, mouth agape as he watches you get down on your knees, pressing your face to his clothed dick, kissing him through the fabric. Kill me now, he thinks. If anyone were to find you both like this… 

He feels like a dirty old man as you pull his cock from his pants, watching it spring up and slap his belly with wide eyes, like you need it, like you’re suddenly starving. 

His cock is huge. You don’t know what you expected but it wasn’t this. You try not to look frightened by it, by the prospect of shoving it into your mouth and hopefully, your cunt. 

He’s your attendee, you try not to think about that. Try not to think about how you’re his subordinate and he’s so much older than you, experienced, well versed. This is all completely wrong, incredibly fucked up but fuck if it doesn’t turn the both of you on just a little more in the worst way. 

His dick is hot in your hand, skin like silk and you salivate at the pure sight of it. You look up at him, his face flushed all the way up to his ears and down to what you can see of his chest poking out through the small v in his shirt. Skin on fire. 

You give him a sort of inquisitive look and he realizes he never answered you. You looking up at him with those big, needy eyes. He can only bring himself to nod his head, at a lost for words. 

You smile up at him, hand already gliding up and down his thick length. Jack hisses at the near foreign sensation, in this moment he can’t bring himself to remember the last time this happened, let alone a time when it wasn’t his own hand. Yours is much smaller, more delicate than his, you can barely wrap it around the entirety of him and suddenly he feels dizzy. 

You lean forward, kissing the tip of him and he squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, they open and close into fists at his sides. God does he want to touch you, to have you let him take what he wants but he’s afraid. Afraid of over stepping, afraid of scaring you. 

Suddenly you’re opening your mouth and kissing at the head of him, licking at his slit, collecting whatever’s pooled there and humming to yourself at the taste. You’re worried you’ll become addicted to this.

More of him slides into your mouth, all the way until he’s hitting the back of your throat. Suddenly his hands are flying to the side of your head, holding you there. His eyes open and he looks down at you, eyes intense, mouth set into a hardline like he’s barely hanging by a thread. You make eye contact with him and he groans, loud. You’ve only ever seen him like this leaned over a patient, intense focus, blinders on to anything except the task at hand. But this time its you. Your pussy throbs. 

Jack let’s himself thrust into your mouth a couple of times, eyes squeezed shut again, head leaned back against the wall behind him in complete surrender to you and your mouth. He says your name so broken, like its the only thing he can remember, the only thing keeping him grounded. 

You wonder if he’ll let you fuck him. 

A few more thrusts and suddenly Jack is pulling you off of him, looking back down at you again and hauling you back up to your feet. You give him the saddest eyes and he swears his heart breaks. 

“I’m- I was gonna cum if you kept that up.” He sort of laughs to himself. Jack’s never felt more out of practice than he does now, pants down around his ankles, cock heavy and begging still in your hand, and a young, pretty girl looking at him with wet eyes, hungry for him. 

What did he do in a past life to deserve this? 

“That was kind of the idea.” You smile, bitting your lip and your hand continues to move up and down on his aching length. 

Back face to face now, Jack can’t believe he has you like this, lips plump and swollen with exertion and slick with spit. Your eyes are dark with greed, hunger for something else. He never though this would happen, not between the two of you. Not that he ever explicitly thought about it but there were moments of weakness. Moments where he let his mind wander as he held your hand in his, guiding you through a procedure, noticing your body and its proximity, its warmth, that girlish smell you carry around you. You’ve always been intoxicating, a temptation just begging to be indulged in. Had he mentioned how wrong he thought all of this was?

“Jack?” You ask, pulling him out of this thoughts. 

“Hmmm?” He basically slurs, distracted by the continuous movements of your hand on his cock, it was on the verge of turning painful. 

“I asked you if you’re gonna fuck me.” You ask, devilish grin plastered on your face like you’re the cat who got the fucking cream. Or is at least trying to.

Jack lets out a broken laugh, voice cracking from your particularly harsh grip on him. 

“Is that- Is that what you came up to the roof for?” He jokes but suddenly you think he’s being serious. 

You worry thats all you thought of him, of this. A quick fuck, a need for release, a need to forget what happened tonight. 

“No, Jack that’s not- I swear-” You struggle to find your words. 

Jack smiles at you, it alleviates some of your worries. His hand moves and finds the waist band of your pants, he shoves it down until he’s cupping your sex. You gasp, his hand hot, feeling your hotter core and whats embarrassingly seeped out of you ever since you pulled him from the railing. 

Jack clicks his tongue at you, like he always does. 

“Yeah, I bet you want me to fuck you, alright. You’re soaking for it.” 

Oh fuck. 

You whimper, leaning easy into his touch, letting him feel you. 

“Fuck, baby.” He groans, his fingers gliding easy through your glossy folds, playing around in the mess you made. Its embarrassing. So much so that you almost miss him calling you baby. 

Jack doesn’t fight the temptation long, no matter how much he wants to tease you about it. His two fingers find your hole and push in steadily, afraid to hurt you. You gasp, body falling into his, letting him hold you with his other arm. Your hand on his cock stutters but is determined to keep pleasuring him. 

You moan when he pushes his fingers all the way in, crooking them to press up against that spongey spot inside of you, your eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head. 

“Fuck-” You choke, head heavy on his shoulder, your lips grazing his neck as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you, switching it up between that and toying with that fucking spot inside of you. 

“Jack, I’m-”

“Oh I bet you are.” He chides and you burn. 

This could have been so humiliating if you chose it to be. How quickly you folded for him, how badly and desperately you needed him. As if he hadn’t folded just as quickly, if not faster, for you. 

Suddenly his fingers are ripped from your core and he’s ripping your pants down along with your underwear. You step out of them quickly, letting him manhandle you around to get you were you wants you. 

“Look at you listening to me so easily now.” Jack remarks, turning you around and pushing you up against the wall. 

“I always listen to you.” You admit, voice breathless and breaking and sounding completely debauched. 

You feel him step in to your space, you arch your back instinctively and Jack basically purrs all soft for you. You feel the head of his cock at your entrance, threatening your folds. You whimper, shiver. You try to push into him but his hand flies to your neck, holding you still where you are. 

He leans over your back, rucking your shirt up with the hand that was holding his dick. He hadn’t meant for this to happen like this, all dirty and rushed and in his fucking workplace. He thinks about the rest of you, hidden under your scrubs, how he’d kiss every inch. Maybe that was for another time. Hopefully. 

“I know you do.” He praises, kissing the back of your neck and pushing into cunt in the same breath. You both groan way too loudly, pure relief coming over the both of you. 

Jack breaches you slowly, he knows he’s big. He’s not even being any type of way about it, he just knows its a lot from past…. flings. But God do you take him like a champ. You push your hips back into his, needing him to fill you completely you’re fucking whimpering for it. 

But Jack’s still got his hold on you, pinning you down so he can work you onto his cock slowly, at his own pace. He’s in control here. 

You both moan again once he reaches the end of you, fully seated in your velvety pussy. His head falls onto your back, his arms wrapping around you to hold you to him, anything to get closer. You scramble to gain purchase on anything, the wall, his strong arms, anything. You feel dizzy, you feel full, you feel drunk. 

“Always so good for me. Such a good girl” He moans, hips pulling back to just thrust back in punishingly. It punches a moan out from your gut. 

You nod your head, unable to speak. I try to be good, I try to be.

Jack doesn’t wait, this has to be quick anyways, you both have been gone for far too long, he’s suddenly reminded that the day shift will be showing up in a matter of minutes and God knows Robby will be looking for him up here. His dick throbs at the thought of being caught balls deep inside of you, his little med student. 

He pulls you back by the ass to meet his hips, pumping himself in and out of your creamy pussy at a brutal pace, his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head. He says your name, you’ve never heard him say a name quite like that and it breaks you. 

“I-Is this good?” He asks, trying to be sexy but it comes out broken, desperate and pathetic.

You nod your head frantically again, trying to turn your head to look at him and Jack’s heart soars at the sight. Your pupils blown black, eyes big and watery from the feel of his cock filling you up to the absolute brim, hair matted to your sweaty forehead. He wants to lick the sweat from you. Next time, next time. 

Jack leans closer, kissing you on the open mouth and you moan debauchedly into him. As he moved closer to you to keep kissing you it pushed his cock that much further into you, his hips grinding into your ass and his cock into the absolute end of you. You can barely keep yourself standing, you’re thankful for Jack’s strength keeping you up, you could’ve had both feet off the ground and you’d have no idea. 

His cock pummels into you, moan after moan being punched from your chest, your gut, the deepest part of you. 

You whimper into his mouth at his sweet kisses in contrast with his harsh thrusts, it was enough to make your head spin, your pussy clench, threatening to burst. 

“Tell me it’s good, need you to say it for me.” 

“S-So good, Jack. You feel-”

“Yeah?” 

You cry, you think a lone tear falls from your eye and maybe Jack kisses it away or licks it but his cock doesn’t stop and suddenly you’re cumming, completely surrendering your body to his. You shudder and twitch and your pussy squeezes his dick so tight he nearly sees stars, it takes everything in him to not blow his load inside of you in that instant. 

That would be bad, that would be really bad, that would be messy and irresponsible and fuck he’s not wearing a condom how could you both have been so stupid and drunk off each other to not grab a condom. It’s not like you have them in your scrubs but theres a dispenser in the bathroom and - 

“Jack please,” You beg, voice so small and worn out. Your hand reaches out behind you, grabbing for him and suddenly he’s pulled back to the very real reality where he is fucking the shit out of you and he’s about to cum about it. 

“Please what?” He asks, needing to hear you say it. 

“Need you- need you to cum for me. Please Jack.” 

Fuck, he doesn’t want this to be over, he needs this to go on forever, needs you to suddenly be his salvation, he’s not quite sure how he’s gone on this long without you but he knows he can’t go forward without it. 

Jack’s body tenses, his cock somehow gets impossibly harder, you feel it thicken inside of you and you moan again, another orgasm threatening to rip through you. 

But suddenly he’s pulling himself out of your greedy hole, his voice breaking as he spills himself onto the concrete floor beneath the both of you. Your cunt pulses, desperate to have him fill you again. Before you can protest his fingers lunge up into your abused hole again and he grating at that spot inside of you, the one that has you seeing stars. 

“Need another one, yeah?”

“Jack- fuck!” It complete takes over you. 

Somehow without having to even tell him, he felt the way your pussy spasmed and cried around him right before he pulled out, he knew you were close to cumming again. And ever the gentleman he is, he’s going to give you another one. 

He’s unrelenting, just like he was with his cock. His two fingers crook up against that spot again and suddenly you’re seeing stars. 

Jack’s arm wraps around the front of your shoulders, hauling your back straight against his chest, holding your trembling body to his. You can feel his slowly softening cock against your lower back, cum still dripping from it onto your ass. 

“Do it, please.” He begs of you this time, the muscles in both arms trembling from his own orgasm. 

Jack feels your pussy spasm again, feels the way your chest quickens its breathes, the way your feet nearly kick out from under you with the strength of it all and your cumming on his hand, your eyes going black and blind from the force of it. 

You slump back against him, letting him hold you once again. Jack wraps both his arms around you, swinging you around so that his back is pressed against the wall so he can lean on something. You both try to catch your breath, clinging to each other with leftover desperation. 

Greedily, he lets a hand swipe through your abused folds, collecting what you’ve given him. You whimper, leaning your head back to hide it in his neck, embarrassed. 

“Jack,” you whine in a pathetic attempt at protesting. 

He clicks his tongue at you, “Let me.” He tells you, plainly. 

His fingers linger, scooping up what he can and bringing it to his lips. He licks everything, groaning at the taste and letting his eyes close. You whine, pushing your face further into his neck, smelling him. He smells manly, like sweat, cologne and sex. You let it envelop you. 

Jack holds you like that for as long as he humanly can. Before the thoughts of getting caught inevitably come crashing down upon him again. 

“We have to move, kid. Can’t stay like this forever.” He tells you in a sad tone. You press a final kiss to his neck, breathing him in before pulling away. 

“I know.” 

You both pull yourselves back together. Jack puts his own pants back on as he watches you pull your underwear on slowly. Mindlessly, he reaches for your pants and holds them out for you. You put your hands on his shoulders while you step into them. 

“Thank you.” You tell him, voice gone quiet again, like you already have to be hush hush about this. 

Jack kisses the top of your head sweetly. You wonder what’s to come after this. You look up at him and he gives you that slick side smile you’ve only seen him throw Robby or Dana. 

“Didn’t know you could make noises like that.” He smiles and you push him back against the wall you were both just fucking up against, your face absolutely burning. This motherfucker likes making fun of you. 

“Jack I swear to God-”

He grabs you and kisses you again, holding your face to his. You let him kiss you, fighting the want to just melt back into him and stay here. 

Jack pulls away first. His anxiety getting the best of him. 

“Can I drive you home?” He asks, unsure of what else to say. He needs to get you out of the workplace and have a normal fucking conversation with you that doesn’t revolve around grief and dying kids and elderly on life support. 

And besides he knows you take the bus. 

“Yes please.” 

/

okayyy i literally had to cut it short because this shit was getting too long LOL, i had a full final act outlined but maybe that could be a shorter part two if anyone's interested..... lmk <3

[likeafeverrr]

CLEAN UP ON AISLE, MY PANTS!

WC ~600

lee heeseung x fem!reader

Warnings: lowk perv hee... js a lot pf smut, implied pnv (WRAP IT UP!), lowk dry humping, pet names (i think), i most likely forgot some stuff...

a/n: i kinda hate this, i js rlly miss heeseung... ALSO THIS ISNT PROOF READ I PROBABLY MADE SO MANY TYPOS

gooner roommate!heeseung who seems to be a loser but is actually the biggest freak known to man

gooner roommate!heeseung who sits in his room all day. you assume he’s playing some stupid game but he’s most likely getting himself off to one of your instagram posts of you in a itzy bitzy bikini

gooner roommate!heeseung who has folders upon folders of porn. either it’s girld that remind him of you, or its stuff he’d like to do with (to) you. 

gooner roommate!heeseung who has a countless amount of your panties stuffed in a little box under his bed. he sprayed them all with your favourite perfume so they smell like you.

gooner roommate!heeseung who yes, is a freak that absolutely needs to be inside you, is also respectful as hell and will only do things with you (if he ever works up the courage to ask) if you give him the clearest of the clear okay

gooner roommate!heeseung who came home from one of his night classes to you crying in the living room of your shared apartment.

gooner roommate!heeseung who makes you a bowl of ramen and sits you down in his bed as you tell him about your stupid boyfriend and how he’s been cheating on you for months

gooner roommate!heeseung who wipes your tears as he tells you how perfect you are and that your (now ex) boyfriend was always an asshole and never deserved you

gooner roommate!heeseung who got off that night to the image of you crying in his bed as he comforted you. he can’t help but imagine what you would look like crying beneath him

gooner roommate!heeseung who did his best to distract you from your messy breakup. from teaching you how to play call of duty, to telling you about this new anime he’s been watching.

gooner roommate!heeseung who’s let you fall asleep in his arms almost every night, waking up with a hard on that becomes increasingly painful every day.

gooner roommate!heeseung who lets you sit in his room as he’s on call with his friends while playing video games. he checks over his shoulder every 5 minutes to make sure you’re okay.

gooner roommate!heeseung who goes afk for 20 minutes as you tuck yourself into his bed, trying your best to get him to leave the game and come lay beside you

gooner roommate!heeseung who somehow convinces you to sit on his lap as he’s plays his game, your lets straddling him as you rest your head on his shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck as one hand scratches the back of his head.

gooner roommate!heeseung who’s absolutely unashamed of how hard hes become just by having you close to him

gooner roommate!heeseung who grips your hip with one hand, massaging small circles into one of the dips.

gooner roommate!heeseung that immediately stops whatever game he’s playing when he hears your small, pathetic whimper, calling his name in your sleepy and horny state.

gooner roommate!heeseung who’s let doesn’t waste a second taking off his headphones and crashing his lips onto yours, his hands immediately travelling under your shirt to grip your breasts.

gooner roommate!heeseung who’s watched so many videos of this exact scenario, imagining it was you on his lap, calling his name, making you fall apart.

gooner roommate!heeseung who disregards all your clothes and wastes no time slipping his surprisingly hung cock into your drenched pussy.

gooner roommate!heeseung who fucks you so hard and tells you about how many times he’s thought about this, how many times he’s gotten off to your voice, how many times he’s almost bent you over nearly every possible surface and just taken you right then and there

gooner roommate!heeseung who literally fucks you for hours. you’re crying, shaking, overstimulated out of your mind. you can’t form any coherent thoughts. you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve came, how many times he’s came inside you. you’re absolutely wrecked. and he has absolutely zero plans on stopping.

“y- you’re so good baby~ so good… ngh f- oh fuck i love this pussy s’much… love you s’much baby…” 

[redlinespeedster]

pretty please oscar piastri degradation im feral over his post-spain photos

CRAVING THE NEW !! ☆

oscar piastri 𝒙 fem!reader

[summary] Oscar was the perfect boyfriend—sweet, thoughtful, chivalrous to the extreme. You were used to his soft whispers, those breathy I-love-yous even in the middle of moans. But that night, right after he took the win at the Spanish Grand Prix, you looked at him with this different kind of spark in your eyes and dropped a request that knocked the air out of him: you wanted him to degrade you, no holding back. And there was no way he could say no. (1.7k)

[warnings] smut !! rough sex, degrading dirty talk, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, Oscar is mean. Spanish is my first language, and I usually write all my fics in Spanish first, then translate them myself with a lot of effort. Sorry if anything sounds off or if there are mistakes.

[notes] I’ve been drooling over those pics for like three days. Damn, he looks so freaking good. Wish I were Lily, seriously. 😫

Your whole life, you had always liked the good guys—the ones with sweet words, the ones who brought you flowers on dates and opened the car door or any door wherever you went together. You always thought good guys were simply better. And Oscar proved it every single time.

He blushed every time he talked about you. He loved showing you off, and his words always carried that sweet tone—even when he had you tangled in his sheets. Oscar was talented at many things beyond motorsport, but his greatest gift was knowing exactly how to make you feel desired, cherished… one of a kind.

But over time, your darker desires began to awaken inside you. They were fantasies you’d been suppressing for years, but now they became frequent—impossible to ignore. It wasn’t about wanting someone else or being unsatisfied with the way you and him made love—not at all. There was simply a smoldering hunger within you, a need to explore something new… with him.

At first, you felt afraid. Afraid that Oscar might get offended, that he’d take your request as a criticism or a warning that your sex life wasn’t working. A lot of people don’t even have a mind open enough to understand that wanting to try new things doesn’t mean what came before was bad; sometimes, it’s simply about the curiosity for the unexpected.

You waited all race weekend to tell him officially. You wanted to do it when you were both home, alone, with no one who could interrupt the conversation by knocking on the door.

Oscar was genuinely happy—you could see it on his face, mostly in the way his cheeks lifted when he smiled. You, on the other hand, were anxious, anticipating how things might go, and unfortunately, he noticed.

“Baby… is everything okay? You’ve seemed kinda off since we got off the plane,” he asks, placing a hand on your knee in a gentle, understanding gesture.

Your eyes fill with tears from the anxiety. You didn’t mean to cry, but the idea of telling Oscar what’s going on makes you uncomfortable. You knew you could trust him with anything; what you didn’t know was how he’d react.

“Something’s going on with me. It’s not that I don’t love you or that I don’t like the way we have sex, but…” You stop when you see Oscar looking at you, confused and worried, so you decide to just be direct. “I want you to degrade me.”

The weirdest part? He doesn’t even seem surprised. There’s no trace of disappointment on his face either—none of that dramatic “you want this because you don’t love me anymore” stuff. Nothing like that. On the contrary, he grabs you by the hips and pulls you into that perfect space between his legs. His warm breath brushes against your ear—soft, steady—as his fingers slowly slide through your hair.

“You really want that? How come you never told me?” he asks. You turn your head to look him in the eyes, and there’s something about the way your pupils dilate that sparks an odd tenderness in him.

“It’s just… I didn’t know how you’d take it” you admit. Your body shivers when he lets out a low laugh, dry and almost amused.

There’s a sexual tension in the room that practically scorches you, stealing your breath. You feel his hands rest on your shoulders, then slowly slide down. He traces your collarbone with the tip of his fingers in a way that makes you shiver, and starts unbuttoning your tiny shirt. Your cheeks flush instantly, intimidated by how his gaze stays locked on you.

“Embarrassed, huh?” he asks, but you’re not really sure what to say—you just stay quiet. His hands move over your chest on top of your shirt, and your heart starts racing. “Why though, babe? It’s not like you’ve ever had a dirty mind or anything.”

His thumbs start teasing your nipples through the thin fabric of your white shirt. He immediately notices you’re not wearing a bra and smirks. Not a big smile—more like a cocky one, like he’s lowkey amused by how easy it is to get you like this.

“I bet you’re soaked. You always get like this. Acting like a bitch in heat.”

A slight jolt of arousal runs through your body. His voice, deeper than usual, and his words catch you off guard. You’re still not completely used to hearing him talk like that, but you don’t mind… if anything, you want more.

He's not wrong, your pussy is dripping.

He notices the second his hand moves down and his fingers slide over the denim fabric of your shorts. Your nose brushes against his; he’s calm, eyes half-lidded, with an almost taunting stillness. You, on the other hand, are a mess—you can barely breathe.

“You’re not even trying to hide it. I spent the whole damn weekend focused on my race, stressing about losing, and all you could think about was riding me like the filthy little slut you are. Am I wrong, babe?

His hand unbuttoned your pants until they dropped and bunched up around your ankles. He can see the wet stain on your panties—sticky and damp. You’d soaked through the fabric. He presses his fingers gently over it, and as a result, they get wet too. But what really gets to you is the moan that slips out, caused by how sensitive you are.

He doesn’t even bother taking your panties off; he just lazily pushes the fabric aside, leaving you completely exposed. Eager anticipation made your clit throb.

Oscar used to touch you slowly, taking his time to gently slide his fingers through your wet folds and then sweetly rub your clit. But this time, it’s different. He quickly slips two fingers into your hole, curling them into a hook to hit that exact spot inside you. Then, once you’ve gotten used to it, he starts moving them in and out with steady force, pulling deep moans from your throat that fill the room.

“Fuck, Osc!” you moan out loud, and you feel him pull his fingers out just to slap your pussy gently—a move that sends an instant jolt through your body and makes you squirm.

“Shut up, slut.” he orders, and you feel his fingers curl back inside you, pounding your poor hole with a near-brutal rhythm, thrusting in and out without mercy. The way he timed each thrust to hit that perfect spot inside you before pulling back was just unreal.

His hand grips your hips, trying to pull you even closer, making your ass rub against his hardness. You can feel his erection—still clothed—pressing firmly against your skin. His hands move down with urgency to get rid of the fabric in the way, unbuckling his belt without wasting a second.

His damp hands grip your hips tightly before he throws you onto the bed without a second thought, making you bounce against the mattress with a muffled moan. He grabs you by the ankles and drags you toward him, settling between your legs as his body drops over yours, trapping you with no room to escape.

“I can only imagine the agony,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours while his hands grip your bare thighs. Then he lifts them firmly, spreading them and pushing them toward your body until your knees are nearly pressed against your stomach. “You spent the whole week watching me race, dying for me to wreck you. You don’t like it when I talk sweet, do you? When I tell you how good you look or how amazing you feel. What really turns you on is when I treat you like my throwaway toy.”

You feel him drip slowly onto the lower part of your stomach—warm and wet—leaving a sticky sensation clinging to your skin. Then his cock slides gently through your folds, not entering, just teasing; he only wants to watch you lose control.

“Oscar… please.” you sob between moans, clinging tightly to his back like letting go would mean losing your mind. “I can’t take it… I can’t.”

He shifts, kneeling in front of your pussy—completely exposed, utterly wrecked. The tip of his cock slides in slowly until it disappears inside you, filling you up completely. He pauses for a second to let you adjust, and in the next, he’s thrusting hard, the sound of your bodies slapping echoing through every corner of your house.

Oscar moans too. He moans because you’re squeezing him just right—hot, wet, and perfect—driving him insane. His hands dig into your thighs, pushing your legs toward your chest to spread you open wider, so he can bury himself as deep as possible and fuck you without mercy.

“Fuck…” he groans, voice rough as his face twists in pure pleasure. The look on his face—that mix of ecstasy and desperation—sets you off instantly. Your walls tighten around him, like your body’s trying to keep him there till the very end. You’re right on the edge, seconds away from turning the moment into a glorious mess. “You want me to fill you up? I will. I’ll stuff you so full my cum’ll be dripping out of that pathetic pussy for days.”

You can feel how tightly you’re clenching around him, until you finally make him come inside you, milking him for every last drop. Your pussy takes it all in, savoring every bit until you’re left a creamy mess, mixed with your own orgasm that bursts inside you too. The pleasure hits so hard it leaves you dazed, gasping, your body trembling and your legs on the verge of giving out.

He looks at you tenderly, finally letting go of that dominant side once he sees you’re satisfied with what he gave you. He smiles softly and leans in again to kiss your forehead. Your cheeks, inevitably, flush all over again.

“I like this…” he murmurs quietly, his hand gently caressing your cheek. You raise an eyebrow, curious, not really getting what he means. “Fucking you till you can’t breathe and then watching you blush like a virgin. That’s just something I’ll never get tired of, huh baby?”

[jeondesu]

ೀ⋆ SKZ + PRINCESS TREATMENT !

── ✧ ˚. ꒰ 𝓹airing ꒱ ˒˓ rich bf!skz x gf!reader ˒˓ established relationship 𝓰enre/𝓽ags. fluff, kissing, minor profanity, mentions of alcohol, jealousy/possessiveness, skinship, petnames, the boys are soo whipped for you, slightly suggestive but nothing explicit 𝔀ords. 2.6k

[ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. ] — so.. i’ve had this in my drafts since forever ago and i just decided why not post it lol, i wrote most of this like months ago but i did try and edit some stuff so hopefully this ain’t too bad !

방찬/BANG CHAN — “ eyes full of desire, a soul full of fire ”

Chan doesn’t just spoil you— he worships you.

You’re the jewel of his empire, the one person he always makes time for, no matter the chaos surrounding him. When he’s not finalizing contracts in glass-walled boardrooms or flying across continents for meetings, he’s home— on his knees, lacing up your strappy stilettos with fingers that tremble slightly from desire and reverence.

His touch is careful, almost ceremonial, like he’s handling something sacred.

“Damn, baby,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your ankle bone. “You’re gonna be the reason I lose my mind tonight.”

He buys you dresses in silk and velvet, personally approves every outfit sent by your stylist, and only wants you in heels that make you stand taller— closer to his lips when he pulls you in for a kiss.

At parties, you’re not just a date. You’re the moment. Every man in the room glances your way, but none of them matter— not when his hand stays on the small of your back, his arm slung over the booth with a dangerous smirk. “Eyes off,” he warns anyone too bold, “she’s mine.”

After too many glasses of Dom Pérignon, your heels dangle from your fingers and you’re barefoot in the back of a Rolls-Royce. He cradles your feet in his lap like they’re precious, rubbing gentle circles into your arches.

Later, in the bathroom of his penthouse, he removes your jewelry piece by piece. Each kiss that follows tastes like champagne and sin.

“Every man in that room wanted you,” he rasps against your collarbone. “But they’ll never touch you. You’re my queen. My only one.”

리노/LEE KNOW — “ he’s got a diamond mind. cold and hard, and brilliant ”

Minho is as sharp as the rings he wears— cold platinum, perfectly polished. To the world, he’s a calculated tycoon in black-on-black suits, the man who never cracks, never falters. But with you?

He melts.

You’re the only one who sees the cracks in the diamond. The softness buried deep beneath the cold precision. And he spoils you— subtly, intentionally, and always on his terms.

He doesn’t send you roses. He sends your favorite rare orchids, personally grown in his rooftop garden. Doesn’t give you a black card— he hands you a new Amex encased in velvet with a lazy, “Here. Don’t hold back.”

You’re perched on the marble countertop one morning, oversized button-down barely hanging on, as Minho fastens the dainty clasp of a new necklace around your throat— rose gold, with a sapphire he hand-picked to match your eyes.

And then comes that signature move: neck kisses.

“You wear my shirt better than I do,” he hums, mouth grazing your skin. “But next time… leave something on underneath. Or we’re not getting out of this house.”

Despite the stoic front he wears in public, Minho makes time for soft things. Coffee dates with just the two of you in private rooftops. Moonlit car rides where his fingers absentmindedly trace patterns on your thigh as he drives with one hand on the wheel.

But jealousy, oh, it turns him into something else.

One night, at a high-profile fashion event, a designer flirts a bit too comfortably with you. Compliments your neckline. Suggests a private shoot.

Minho’s jaw ticks.

He’s subtle— always— but you feel the way his grip on your waist tightens, the faint curl of his lip when he leans in and presses a possessive kiss just under your ear, hands splayed over your exposed back.

“Do you want him to lose his contract?” He murmurs against your skin, low and sweet like honey over broken glass.

You laugh, brushing your fingers through his hair.

“Relax, Min. You’re the only one I want.”

“I know.” He pulls you even closer, “but I hate when other people forget.”

And that’s the thing: to Minho, you’re not just his girl— you’re his weakness in a world where he allows none. He’ll slice through empires for you. And if someone touches what’s his?

He makes sure they regret it.

창빈/CHANGBIN — “ he’s like a song she can’t get out of her head ”

Changbin doesn’t date you. He composes you— in verses, in rhythms, in the way he memorizes your laugh and turns it into art.

You’re everywhere in his life. His phone wallpaper, the reason he wears color now, the girl who turned his penthouse into a second home instead of a museum of expensive furniture. And he doesn’t just want to impress you— he wants to drown you in the knowledge that you are it for him.

He flies you out to a private beach house on a whim— “You looked tired. I wanted you to breathe somewhere pretty.”

You’re barefoot, wine-drunk, and giggling under fairy lights when he plays you a new track on his portable speakers. It’s all soft bass and yearning piano.

You recognize the lyrics.

It’s you.

Your voice.

Your phrases.

Your name, laced with adoration and something so achingly desperate it makes your chest burn.

He pulls you to him, lets the wine and music blur the night. “You’re stuck in my head,” he breathes, lips ghosting yours. “I can’t write a damn thing without you bleeding into it.”

Changbin isn’t flashy, but he’s relentless. You mention liking a certain perfume? It’s already sitting on your nightstand in every size. You love vintage vinyls? He’ll bid half a million at an auction to get you the rarest edition.

He treats your smile like it’s the hook of his best chorus— repeating it, obsessing over it, addicted to the feeling it brings.

And when he kisses you? It’s never just a kiss. It’s a confession. A climax. A plea to never let him go.

현진/HYUNJIN — “ for she is his poet, and he is her poetry ”

Hyunjin lives like he’s stepped out of a sonnet— and loving you is the most extravagant poem he’s ever written.

You’re his muse, obsession, and masterpiece all at once. And he shows it in the grandest ways: silk sheets painted with roses, handwritten letters sealed in wax, moonlit portraits of you sprawled across his studio in nothing but his shirt and an entire chandelier’s worth of candlelight.

When he sends you flowers, they’re never basic bouquets.

They arrive in curated color palettes.

Blush, cream, and wine-red for love.

Lavender for the days you feel low.

Once, he sent 100 white roses— each with a note tucked into the petals:

‘For every time I thought of you today.’

His kisses are soft— reverent.

He doesn’t kiss like a man in a rush. He kisses like he’s studying art with his mouth. Like he wants to taste every emotion that made your heart beat that day.

And when you read to him— bare legs over his lap, glasses slipping down your nose— he looks at you like the heroine of a tragic romance film.

“Read slower,” he spoke softly, voice thick. “I wanna remember the sound of your voice for the rest of my life.”

On nights when the world gets too loud, he takes you to his gallery—one he privately owns, hidden in the hills. There, in a room filled only with paintings of you, he pours you wine and tells you about the constellations in your eyes.

Sometimes the moment turns heated— almost desperate. Passion rising like a crescendo as you press him against the canvas, smudging paint between fevered touches.

“You’re art,” he whispers into your skin. “Every inch of you.”

한/HAN — “ my entire sky craves your only star ”

Jisung’s love is loud, messy, and utterly devoted. He acts like you invented the concept of romance— like you crash-landed into his world and rewired the stars just by smiling at him.

He’s the type to fly you across the globe because “the moon looks better in Florence, babe. Come see it with me.” The type to sneak up behind you mid-morning and tuck his face into the crevice of your neck like you’re home, like he’ll suffocate if he doesn’t touch you every 10 minutes.

You are, quite literally, the only girl in his world— and he makes sure you know it.

His penthouse is littered with photos of you: polaroids from date nights, selfies you didn’t know he took, your face mid-laugh framed in gold on his nightstand. When his producer teases him about being “whipped,” he just grins and shrugs.

“She’s my star. My oxygen. You want me to breathe without her?”

He keeps you close in every way possible. His lyrics? About you. His passwords? Your name. His favorite hoodie? Now smells like your perfume.

But Han’s love language? Affection. All. The. Damn. Time.

Kisses when you wake up, featherlight and lingering, paired with sleep-drenched words like:

“Still dreaming about you.”

Kisses at parties, where he grabs your face in both hands and kisses you like you’re the only reason the lights are still on.

And kisses when he’s drunk— messy, dramatic, whiny kisses where he keeps telling you how hot and smart and amazing you are, face buried in your chest.

He’s never been good at subtlety.

He buys you matching jewelry— because, “If I get hit by a bus, I want paramedics to know you’re my soulmate.”

He keeps your favorite snacks in every car he owns.

And once, during a red carpet interview, he straight up walked off mid-question to bring you your forgotten lipstick because, “she can’t go without her lucky shade, are you insane??”

필릭스/FELIX — “ he smiled, and his face was like the sun ”

Felix is your personal sun— bright, constant, and utterly devoted to orbiting you.

He doesn’t just love you. He cherishes you. In his world of tailored suits, gold cufflinks, and first-class flights, you are the one thing that keeps him grounded. While his wealth might buy him anything, you are the one thing he never stops feeling lucky to have.

And he never lets you forget it.

Showering you with endless compliments (and gifts) was standard for him, he just couldn’t help himself— not a single minute went by where he didn’t think you were the most angelic little being to have ever graced this earth.

He’s sat on the edge of the bed while you’re getting ready for a gala, his eyes following every move intently, like a painter observing his subject. With his chin resting in his palm, gaze warm and unblinking, he proceeds to utter, “You’re so beautiful,” for the fifty-fifth time that night. “I doubt I’ll ever move on from it.”

He holds your shoes as you slip into your dress. Carries your clutch. Stands behind you at the mirror, fixing the necklace he bought you—a delicate chain with a charm shaped like the sun. “So everyone knows who you belong to,” he says with a wink, even though his eyes go warm with something much deeper.

And when you’re tired? He runs you a bath filled with rose petals, lights candles everywhere, and sits beside the tub just to massage your feet and tell you stories about his childhood in Australia.

His kisses are soft and lazy— like summer afternoons under silk sheets. The kind that makes your skin grow hot even after he pulls away. He holds your face in both hands like you’re made of crystal, brushing his lips over yours like he’s asking permission each time, even after years of being yours.

Felix doesn’t get jealous. He gets possessive in the gentlest way.

You catch a waiter lingering too long with your wine at a rooftop event, and he slips beside you like clockwork, arm wrapped firmly around your waist, lips brushing your temple.

“You doing okay, baby?” He whispers, voice light, but his eyes never leave the waiter’s.

Afterward, he doesn’t bring it up— just holds you a little tighter and tucks your hair behind your ear like a silent reminder: mine.

승민/SEUNGMIN — “ passionate and glowing, burningly real ”

Seungmin’s love doesn’t scream. It simmers. Beneath the rolled eyes and sarcastic quips is a man who burns for you— constantly, intensely, and without apology.

To the outside world, he’s calm, dry-humored, a little aloof— the heir to a clean-cut dynasty with a jawline that’s made headlines. But with you?

He’s yours. Only yours.

He shows up at your apartment with your favorite takeout and a scowl because “the chef was taking too long, so I made them re-do it with less salt. You’re welcome.”

But it’s the little things— the deliberate things— that give him away.

Like how he memorizes your coffee order down to the temperature. How he always opens your car door, even while pretending to grumble about it. How he lets you steal his hoodies and pretends not to notice, but secretly buys more just so you never run out.

At night, when his walls fall, his passion flares like firelight.

You’re wrapped in sheets, faces inches apart, your fingers tracing the lines of his collarbone. His voice lowers, serious and breathy.

“I don’t care about anything else. Not the company, not the press. Just you. Just this.”

And then he kisses you like he’s afraid the moment will disappear. Slow. Intense. Real.

He’s not touchy in public— but his eyes never leave you. If someone flirts with you at a fundraiser? He won’t make a scene. He’ll wait—cool and quiet— and when you’re alone in the car afterward, he’ll say, “Didn’t know I had to mark my territory so obviously.”

You’ll tease him.

“Were you jealous, Kim Seungmin?”

He just smirks, pulling you into his lap.

“I don’t share.”

And that’s the truth of it: he treats you like his world, because in a life that feels built on glass, you’re the only thing that feels solid.

아이엔/JEONGIN — “ you’re a love that i’d cross oceans for ”

To everyone else, Jeongin is the golden boy. Rich. Well-mannered. The face of his family’s empire with a smile that could charm billionaires. But to you?

He’s soft. Boyish. Yours in the most tender, achingly steadfast way possible— as if loving you is the only thing he’s ever known how to do.

It’s all or nothing when it comes to Jeongin. He doesn’t know how to be half-hearted. He brings you breakfast in bed— every Sunday, even if he’s jet-lagged. Keeps extra hoodies in his car just in case you get cold. Carries your lipstick in his pocket like it’s sacred.

He spoils you with the quietest kind of luxury. Not just designer bags or black cards, but experiences no one else could give you— like a private boat ride at golden hour where he kisses your shoulders under the sun and whispers,

“I’d sail across the world if it meant I got to come home to you.”

He kisses like he means it— sweet, slow, and then suddenly desperate, like he’s just remembered you’re real and he’s terrified he might lose you.

His favorite thing is watching you sleep in his shirts, sprawled across his massive bed while the morning light catches on your skin. He’ll sit at the edge, brushing hair from your face, cheeks flushed.

“You look too good,” he whispers. “It’s unfair how much I love you.”

But sweet Jeongin has a possessive streak— one he hides under soft eyes and polite smiles.

At a friend’s yacht party, someone calls you “gorgeous” a little too casually. Jeongin doesn’t say anything at first— just wraps an arm around you, kisses the top of your head. However, you can sense the tightness in his hold and the smile that stops short of his eyes.

He draws you in later on the balcony.

“I don’t like people talking to you like that.”

You laugh gently, “He was just being nice.”

He leans in, lips brushing your throat, voice low.

“Don’t care. You’re mine.”

And then he kisses you like he’s trying to erase any memory of someone else touching your air.

He’s soft, but he’s also the kind of man who’d fight the ocean for you— and win.

perm taglist: @justwonder113 @emilyywhyy @leeknowslefteyebrow @min-doesnt-know @velechi @kayleefriedchicken @jeonginsbaee @thelittletobsterthatcould @queenofdumbfuckery @met30rc1ty @mouthfullobats @geni-627 @amarecerasus @emma-your-goofy-girlfie @n4tr3ad5 | if you wanna be tagged in any of my future posts fill out this form here. ♡

[ichorai]

xerox ; robert reynolds ; part two.

part one. | part three. | part four.

pairing ; robert (bob) reynolds x reader, thunderbolts & reader

synopsis ; you had one last job before you were free. no more splitting, no more deaths. unfortunately, that job seemed to rope in four other assassins and a... a man in hospital-wear?

words ; 11.8k

themes ; action, angst, slowburn, the beginnings of romance

warnings / includes ; much more intense violence/gore/death than in part one, suicide, self-harm, human experimentation, child abuse, reader has the ability to split into multiple bodies (think dupli-kate from invincible), foul language, mentions of pregnancy, everyone's mental health sucks!

a/n ; the support so far has been so sick guys! thank you so much! i initially wanted to cover all the events of the movie in two parts and move on to avengers tower type of stuff in the next part but i decided this part was already long enough and was itching to post LMAOO regardless, i hope you all enjoy!

main masterlist. read on ao3!

There was rarely a time in your early life when you weren’t being under surveillance. Cameras, everywhere. Nurses making their rounds. Scientists probing you. Surgeons with their hands on you, over you, inside you. 

But once, when you were sixteen, there was a black-out in the facility, which you later learned to be a total power outage through the entire city. No cameras to watch you. The nurses who had been drawing your blood scurried out with owlish eyes, spooked. Moving gingerly, you pulled the needle out of your arm, bandaged it with the gauze on the medical cart, and glanced out of your barred window. The past few weeks, the scientists had been trying to use your DNA to perfect biological cloning technology. As revolutionary as it sounded, you really didn’t like the idea of someone having to live your reality, death and pain constantly hovering over your shoulder.

For a few minutes, however, you got to be alone with yourself. Nothing but you and your own thoughts. You began to shake, but you didn’t register it. The only thing you clearly remembered was the scalpel on the medical cart. A pale silver, but reflecting the hazy green of the emergency exit signs from outside your cell. You’d always thought the sign taunted you. Exit here, just in case you have to, even though you can’t.

The blade was cold in your touch, cutting the warmth of your skin. 

You watched the blood drip down the first arm, and then sliced through the next. It hurt, of course it did. But then it wouldn’t hurt anymore, and it would all be over. 

Your shaking had intensified so much that the bed frame rattled like bones. Then, you began to split. Whether it was subconscious or your body’s natural, instinctive reaction, you weren’t sure. You sobbed, a mangled noise caught in the back of your throat, trying to merge back together. But this had never occurred before—you had never tried to stop yourself from duplicating. Typically when you split, you carried forth the same wounds as the original, but that wasn’t the case this time. 

It was as if your body had stored a clean, woundless back-up in case of a singular copy’s dire emergencies. You still felt it—the throbbing, searing pain on your arms—but no signs of the gash on you at all. You were wiped clean from your choice. A fresh restart. 

That was the first time you had to watch yourself die by your own hand. You tried to give your copy some sense of comfort during the last few moments, but it felt futile knowing you craved the very same thing. You never tried committing suicide again. Mostly because, well, you were a walking paradox. Unkillable, yet you’ve died a thousand and one deaths.

And so—when you watched Valentina’s cavalry pierce poor, innocent Bob with round after round of bullets, a guilty, nasty part of you thought about how lucky he was to be able to die so quickly. Of course, you felt terrible as soon as the thought entered your mind. You rather liked Bob and his warbly doe eyes, his skittish but considerate demeanor, and his eagerness to help. It was an awful shame you didn’t get to know him better. You were still reeling over seeing him in your nightmare—was that your mind playing cruel tricks on you or was Bob less innocent than he came off to be? 

His sacrifice certainly wasn’t going to be in vain. Walker had begun to drive the truck out of the compound down winding, sandy paths. 

Except—it seemed Bob was a lot more similar to you than you thought. When someone shot you down, another cropped right back up. Bob, to your relief and utter confusion, did just the same.

The streaking figure across the sky was no star. It was flailing about amongst the grey clouds and bore the pale, baggy silhouette of hospital clothes. 

Bob. Your Bob. He was alive!

“Palindrome,” you whispered in awe, face just about pressed up against the warm glass of the truck’s window. It was only a few seconds that he was suspended up in the air, but it felt like ages. Then, he began to plummet back down to the earth. “Oh, no.” 

His landing was not a graceful descent—in fact, the impact was so massive that it sent a strong gust of wind billowing across the base, knocking your truck clean off its path. The vehicle tumbled in rotation as it made its way down the sandy slopes. You would’ve likely gotten a concussion from being jostled about had you not split yourself into as many copies as you could fit, which was nearly forty, and stayed nice and tight amongst your own nervous copies.

It landed on its side, and you reabsorbed all the duplicates into one body. Moonlight spilled into the vehicle when John hacked at the truck’s metal with his shield. It caved noisily beneath the initial strikes, then eventually split. You might not have liked the man, but he was impressively strong. Was he super-serumed up just like the previous Captain America? The scientists in Madripoor that had been working on you were sure as hell trying their best to make their own formula of super serum, to no avail. 

“Oh,” he said, peering into the dark belly of the truck and seeing your deer-in-headlights expression. “I was worried you’d died in here. Good.”

“Xerox,” Yelena had said, helping you climb out of the truck. You took caution to avoid the sharp edges of the gap Walker carved for you. “Are you okay? Did you see that?”

You nodded. “That was Pal—Bob. Right? I wasn’t just seeing things?”

“Not unless all of us had a collective hallucination,” Ava put in. The group began to walk away from the totaled truck. There was no point in trying to get it up and running now—it was ruined beyond saving from the crash.

“Weirder things have happened,” you said, looking around the great expanse of nighttime desert. “Where did he land? Maybe we can help him.” 

“On the other side of the base. We couldn’t possibly get to him in time before Val and her crew,” Yelena said. Then, she handed you a file. “Valentina did this. To test on someone like that… it’s inhuman. She plans to use him.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, then you looked down. It was designs of superhero suits—a collage of striking gold and blue, all sharp angles and bold flares. Lacking all the soft gentleness you would’ve attributed to Bob. It even had a cape. 

“The power of a thousand exploding suns? Golden Guardian of Good?” Ava read over your shoulder, scoffing. “That’s a mouthful.”

“Sentry,” said Walker, taking the case file from you, to your annoyance. He wrinkled his nose in distaste as he took a quick gander. “Very shiny. I didn’t think any of them were still around.”

“Did you know about this?” you asked. 

Walker shoved the file back into your awaiting hands. “There was a rumor that O.X.E. had some kind of big breakthrough. I don’t know much, but whatever it was, it was apparently way too extreme. Test subjects were dying. And then when the government looked into it, Val shut it down, and she put me on clean-up duty. I was meant to take care of him.”

“Take care of him,” you scathingly echoed. “Kill him.”

“Well, yeah,” John bit back. “We all were sent to kill each other. Haven’t you gotten over it by now?”

Your eye twitched. “I’m sorry I haven’t warmed up to the idea just yet!”

Ava drew a large, heaving sigh. It seemed she had no energy left to bicker. “Let’s just get home without getting caught.”

John, to your delight, found cactus berries for everyone to eat. You were starving. When you thanked him, quietly, he twisted his mouth to the side and nodded. Not embarrassed, not prideful, but… something more muted, as if he wasn’t sure how to accept gratitude. 

The rest of the group ate and walked in relative silence, save for the occasional complaint, grumble, and irritated tongue-click. 

The Red Guardian—and Yelena’s adoptive father, which you later came to find out—had come to pick her and everyone else up in the middle of the desert, waving his arms about and screaming like a madman. He was a giant of a man, so large that he had to drive his beat-up limo hunched over the steering wheel, despite putting his seat as far back as it would go. His shoulders were broader than the sticky leather seat itself. He donned a shoddy red suit that looked like it belonged in a museum dedicated to decades-old artifacts. And he was terribly loud, always spouting out something about collaboration, family, and the terrific rag-tag team the lot of you made. He seemed intent on calling the group the Thunderbolts in honor of Yelena’s peewee soccer team.

You found him rather amusing, even if he was obnoxious, overstimulating, and smelled of stale tortilla chips.

Both Yelena and Alexei were arguing about the next course of action—the former wanting to hunker down and hide, while the boisterous latter seemed intent on defeating Valentina with the power of… friendship. You decided to stay silent on the matter. You couldn’t deny that going home sounded like a brilliant idea. But… so did saving Bob. 

Before a proper conclusion could be reached, Walker announced a convoy approaching the limo from behind, three chunky vehicles gaining speed. Alexei tried to engage “defensive measures”, but he’d forgotten which of the several buttons to press, and instead engaged a “party mode”, where the lights turned flashy pinks and purples, and a ridiculous EDM song began to blare from the built-in speaker system, nearly shocking you into splitting. 

And then the gunshots started firing. Walker made himself useful by deflecting the majority of the bullets with his shield. Ghost tried to climb out one of the windows, only to be met by a piercing blast of concentrated, high-frequency sound waves, instantly disabling her suit’s phasing abilities. Yelena currently had nothing but a gun, and Alexei was busy driving. That left you.

With a determined puff of breath, you multiplied once, then climbed out the car window. Distantly, John barked at you to stay behind the shield but he went largely ignored. 

This was going to hurt like hell. But, on the plus side, you never really knew if you had a limit to the number of clones you could produce before you exhausted yourself. Maybe today you could find out. Within the blink of an eye, there were a hundred of you, growing exponentially by the second. 

Yelena realized what you were doing before the others. You were forming a human wall. 

One of the military vehicles plowed right through the weakest part of the wall, your blood and guts splattering every which way, staining the sand a deep shade of crimson. Another tried to swerve around, but ended up skidding too quickly, tipping over and crashing to the side, tires moving fruitlessly in the air. Your copies, still multiplying, swarmed the vehicle like angry, hell-bent ants, slipping into the open windows and pummeling the few soldiers in there. You could feel the bullets empty into your body, but you swallowed down the pain and kept going. But exactly as you told Yelena before—limited bullets, inifinite of you. And good Lord, did it hurt like—well, like you were being run over a thousand times over because you quite literally were. 

The remaining car was taken care of by an explosion so loud that it seemed to reverberate through the very ground. Initially, you wondered if someone from the car had thrown back a grenade, but when you caught sight of the sleek motorbike, you knew it was a newcomer. 

You heard Walker distantly yell, “Bucky!”

And true to his word, It was Bucky Barnes, in the flesh. Your eyes widened ever so slightly. You reabsorbed your copies—the few remaining that were still alive—and watched from a distance as he swerved past the last car’s gunfire, pinned a cable to its underbelly, and fell back to hold the wire down with his metal arm. The car flipped in the air as if it were an omelet on an oiled skillet. You blinked, impressed. 

Then, to your dismay, Bucky took off his sunglasses, and proceeded to shoot an explosive disk at Alexei’s limo. Similar to the previous car, it did an uneven pirouette before crashing onto the road upside-down. You winced, hoping none of them were killed in the crash. Even if they weren’t your friends, you thought that killing them went a step too far. 

Bucky was a little ways ahead of you, but he turned and fixed you with an expectant stare. Was he going to shoot you, too?

But you should’ve known—Bucky Barnes was smarter than that. He pulled out a different gun—and when he shot, electric ropes shot out as if they were sticky webs. You came crashing to the ground as they wound about your body, spasming with the sharp current frying your skin. To your panic, duplicating was not an option if you were bound. 

“If—” you choked out as he drew nearer to you. “If you’re going to kill me, please do it quickly.”

The ex-Winter Soldier looked down at you with a cocked head. “I’m not going to kill you. You’re evidence.”

Bob couldn’t remember the last time he woke up in a nice bed. In fact, this was probably the nicest bed he’s ever been in. His fingers twitched beside him—silk sheets. Just from that, he knew that this wasn’t his home (thank God for that), nor was it a hospital. He sat up.

There was a woman sitting by his bedside, watching him.

“Hi,” she said, voice soft and meticulously tender. “How are you feeling, Robert? Are you comfortable?”

He stared at her for a moment before awkwardly saying, “Yeah.”

She nodded in satisfaction. “Good, good. My name is Valentina Allegra de Fontaine.”

The name immediately had Robert backing up to the headboard, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “No, you—you tried to kill us!”

She began shushing him as if he were a child throwing a fit. On the glass table beside her, she put down what looked and sounded to be a metal plate.

“Let me explain. Would you like that?”

Bob stared at her for a moment, before looking down at his hands fidgeting with the silk. “Yeah,” he whispered. 

“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—”

As she spoke, Bob took to looking around. The room was rather empty save for the bed, the glass table, and the chair Valentina was sitting on. Where was he? He hoped he wouldn’t have to stay here long… he didn’t like empty spaces very much. The blankness of the walls always made him worse than usual. When he was younger, he wasn’t even allowed to put up posters because his father would tear them down the minute he saw them. Bob swallowed the lump in his throat, realizing he hadn’t been listening to what Valentina was saying.

“Where—where is everyone?” he asked, interrupting her long-winded explanation. “Xerox? Yelena?”

“Xerox?” she repeated, pulling a distasteful face. Bob frowned. “Yelena… Oh, Bob, those people you were with… they’re not honest people. They’re criminals. Villains, really.”

Bob inched closer to the headboard until his back was flush against the leather. “No, but they… they helped me.” 

Well, if they weren’t here, he hoped everyone managed to get to safety. That he was useful for once in his damn life and not just… in the way.

Valentina stood up from the chair and sat down on the bed, inches away from him. Bob stiffened at the sudden movement.

“Let’s just forget about them for a bit. Let’s focus on you,” the woman said, “and how perfect you are.”

Perfect? Him, perfect? Perfect Bob. It sounded like an oxymoron. An embedded contradiction.

“You always thought of yourself as the victim. But you overcame it! You went to Malaysia—you were lost. You were searching for something, someone to help you. And you found me,” she crooned. 

Bob could feel his breath hitch in his throat. “How do you know about that?” 

It was embarrassing—mortifying, even—that someone found out that he was looking for help because he was a pathetic loser who couldn’t do anything on his own, as if he even deserved help to begin with. And now she was confronting him about it! Bob wanted a hole to open in the ground so he could crawl inside of it and hide away for the rest of his stupid life.

“I know all of it,” Valentina assured, though it wasn’t very reassuring. “I know about your mom’s mental illness, I know about your addiction, your juvenile record, and, you know—I even know about the times your father—”

Bob felt his insides seize at the mention of his father. “Stop!” he said, hands immediately coming up to cup his ears. “No, I didn’t say you could know that.” The lights began to flicker, a dangerous hum filling the room.

Valentina shook her head, scooching even closer. “Robert, I know everything about you—and I still want you to be my guy! All the bad things you’ve done… and I accept it. I accept you. Isn’t that what you want? To be chosen? No one else sees it. But I do. I see you. And I think, Robert, that your past is what makes you so special.”

At this, Bob could feel a small part of him cave. She wanted him. Out of all people, she thought he was capable! Capable of what? Did it even matter? He was picked. Wanted, chosen, special, needed, valuable, a true asset!

That was what he wanted. Yes, a dark voice whispered in the back of his mind. She’s your ticket out. You won’t be a useless fucking loser anymore. 

Then, Valentina took his hand. His eyes narrowed a fraction. He dove into her mind and he saw it all—her father, the tears on her chubby nine-year-old cheeks, the bullet in his chest. When he pulled away, he regarded her with a mixture of pity and confusion. 

This woman was just as sad as him. Was everyone equally messed up in the head or did he just attract like-minded people?

Valentina cleared her throat, trying her best to give him a warm smile, but it ended up looking more like a grimace than anything. “Would you excuse me for just a moment?” she said, getting up from the bed. She looked a bit frazzled. Bob supposed being forced to live your most traumatic memory again did that to someone. 

Before she could leave, she picked up the metal disk. He caught a glimpse of the shiny golden S engraved on the front side.

Your ticket! the dark voice hissed. You fucking idiot.

“No,” he croaked out, scrambling away from the headboard. “No, wait!” He swallowed the bile in his throat. “I can control it.”

She smiled, victorious. “Great,” she said. Then, she turned and left, leaving Bob alone in the empty room.

Bucky Barnes was very good at ignoring you. He only seemed to listen after tying the super soldiers up with bent metal rods, and you, Ava, and Yelena with special power-defusing cuffs. And even then, he dismissed everyone trying to tell him about Bob, Project Sentry, and how Valentina betrayed all of you. He made a scathing remark to John about his wife and kid deciding to leave him—it was clear the two had a tense, troubled history. 

Finally, after about half an hour sitting around and wasting time, Bucky got a phone call. Who with, you didn’t know. Someone close to Valentina, maybe. But she mentioned Bob, and suddenly Bucky straightened. His scowl deepened upon realizing that this group of misfits and criminals—were telling him the truth all along.

“So…” he said after hanging up the phone. “Bob.”

“Bob,” the rest of the group echoed in both exasperation and relief.

“We have to help him,” you said, emphatically wriggling your wrists and shoulders to indicate the cuffs. “Valentina is only going to hurt him or use him to hurt others.”

“Or both,” Ava chimed.

Bucky thought on it for a long second, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Finally, he stalked over and uncuffed you, Yelena, then Ava. He unwound the metal pipe around Alexei as if he was snapping a string. He paused behind Walker, clearly unhappy to let him back on his feet, but he also broke him free of his bonds.

“You guys know Valentina,” he said. His eyes met yours. “Like you said—people are going to get hurt. And if your knowledge of this Bob can help… then you’re coming with me.”

“Us?” Yelena said, incredulous. “Bucky, you have the wrong people. Isn’t there anyone else you can call? Thor?”

“Off-world.”

“Captain America?” you asked, venturing a glance at Walker.

“Busy. Out of the country.”

“The Hulk?” Ava asked.

Bucky shook his head, patience wearing thin. “Listen. I’ve been where you are. You can run, but it catches up. It doesn’t go away. I’m giving you guys the opportunity to do something about it now. It’s either you come with me, or it’s a prison cell. Take your pick.”

Alexei needed no convincing. “This is great!” he roared. “All of us will be fighting together, like a team!”

More reluctant, Yelena drew in a breath. “Stop Val. Save Bob.”

You nodded. “I’m in.”

Walker pursed his lips. “Fine,” he gruffed.

Ava nodded, solemn. “Come on, then.”

Alexei looked around with a wide, oafish grin on his face. “YES!” he yelled. “Come on, then, you slowpokes! What are we waiting for?”

The plan to save Bob was really no plan at all—which was to be expected from a group of mercenaries and assassins who were typically used to working alone. 

Crash into the Avengers Tower. Beat up the guards. Find Valentina. Take care of her (you still weren’t very sure what this bit meant). Save Bob. Easy, right?

Well, crashing into the tower and beating up the guards certainly were a piece of cake. Finding Valentina, which you suspected to be one of the harder steps, turned out to be handed over to you on a silver platter. 

Her voice echoed on the intercom, effectively halting everyone mid-punch or mid-kick. As for Bucky, he dropped the guard he’d been strangling. “Jesus, you guys,” Valentina sighed. “I literally just had a new drywall installed. Should’ve known you lot would mess that up, too. I left the door unlocked for you. Come up.”

Yelena stood beside you, chest heaving. “Think it’s a trap?”

“Probably,” you said. “But do we have a better plan?”

“We didn’t have one to begin with,” Ava retorted. She gestured to the elevator. “Come on.”

The elevator took the group up to one of the very top floors of the tower. You stepped in with wide, scrutinizing eyes. Most of the original Avengers were dead now, weren’t they? Dead or retired. A vague memory of heroism and destruction. You were gone during the Blip—and you thanked God for that—so the Avengers bringing you back was more of a curse than a blessing on your end. 

“Crazy, isn’t it?” Valentina greeted everyone from behind an island counter. There was the pop of a champagne bottle as she poured herself a glass. “Think of all the monumental fights that happened exactly where you’re standing. I mean, I don’t really care—the place wasn’t cheap, but it’s got good optics.”

That’s all she ever seemed to care about, wasn’t it? Image. Branding. It was no wonder she always sent you on undercover missions. You weren’t marketable. No little girl or boy would buy your figurine when there was an Iron Man or Black Widow to pick from. 

“It’s over, Valentina,” Bucky said, expression stoic. “This ends now.”

“Congressman Barnes,” Valentina greeted, voice snippy. “I never thought you’d have a promising career but—you managed to disappoint even the lowest of expectations. Not even half a term, huh? Yikes.”

“We’re taking you in, Val,” Walker interrupted. 

This made her laugh, though it was inauthentic and hollow. “I don’t think so… junior varsity Captain America.”

His hand fell on his gun, and he only paused when Bucky said his name with a warning tone.

“It’s good to see you, Ava. Yelena. You look awful, by the way. You sure you’re really ready for that public-facing role you asked me about?” 

“Eat shit, Valentina.”

“Where’s Bob?” you said, feeling the tensions creeping up until it felt near suffocating. “What did you do to him?”

“Xerox. I thought you wanted to leave… And yet here you are. Just makes me wonder why you haven’t left. You had every opportunity to. Are you getting attached already? That was always a weakness of yours, wasn’t it?” She took a long sip from her champagne flute. “You know, he asked about you. Even mentioned the little nickname you gave him. Palindrome, right? It’s a little bit of a mouthful, but that’s just me.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Why were you still here? You didn’t owe Bob—or anyone else in this group—anything. 

Your evident hesitation made Valentina’s eyes light up. “Just look at you guys! So adorable, really. I sent you all down there to kill each other… but you made nice, and you form a team. Who would’ve thought?”

To your relief, Bucky cut through her condescending tirade by asking for Mel, who you assumed to be the person he was on the phone with earlier. 

“Oh, Mel,” she said, dismissive. “She’s having loyalty issues. But I’m just so grateful that she stuck around long enough to lure you all in—”

As she spoke, Bucky took the flute of champagne from her hands and placed it onto the island with a resounding tink. His hand then moved to close around Valentina’s throat.

But it never got there.

His hand froze mid-air, vibrating with strain. Bucky stared down at his arm with furrowed brows.

With a sharp, satisfactory grin, Valentina hummed, “I’m not alone. Robert?”

You turned to see a pair of dark boots descend down a flight of stairs. Each step revealed more of him—flashy golden suit, cinched blue belt, a dark, flowing cape. Blonde hair. A confident stance. A set jaw.

“Oh, my God,” Yelena said. 

“That’s Bob?” Bucky asked, words laced with disbelief.

“He looks… a little different from when we last saw him,” Ava said.

You stayed silent, watching him with what could only be described as a crestfallen expression. This wasn’t the Palindrome you remembered. What did Valentina do to him?

“It is my great honor to introduce to you… the Sentry,” Valentina beckoned to Bob as if he were a shiny new car she was parading. 

Bob nodded at the rest of you. “Hey, guys.” His eyes met yours for a brief second, but he was quick to look away. Your insides felt as if they were curdling.

“All powerful. Invincible. Stronger than all the Avengers combined—and soon to be known as Earth’s mightiest hero,” Valentina announced. 

Ava narrowed her eyes at him. “Have you dyed your hair?”

Bob blinked. “Yeah. It was—”

“My idea,” Valentina nodded.

“I preferred the dark hair,” you said, though you weren’t sure if you were saying it to spite Valentina or because it was the genuine truth. Perhaps both. “Brought out your eyes.”

Bob looked at you as if you had slapped him.

“People love a classic hero,” Valentina said. “All the strongest and most beloved were blondes. The original Captain America, blonde. Thor, blonde. Hawkeye, blonde-ish. Black Widow… blonde for some time.”

The mention of her sister made Yelena flinch. Valentina didn’t seem to notice.

“So what’s the plan?” Bucky said. He wasn’t here to discuss frivolities like hair color.

“You haven’t figured it out yet, Bucky? Geez. Did all that time in the freezer slow your brain down? At least you’re kinda cute—you have that going for you.” 

“You’re not going to hurt people?” the Guardian intervened, his inflection cautious and mildly confused. 

“Oh, no! No. I’m not going to hurt people. I’m going to hurt you—or, well, Robert here will. You see, the press is on their way here now. They’re going to witness the magnificent power of Sentry as he takes down this group of ruthless, rogue agents. Thus beginning a new era where I decide how to keep the American people safe, answering to no one. I’ll be unimpeachable.”

“Cool,” you snarked, lips curling into a snarl. “You got the villain monologue down and everything.” Then, you turned to Bob, trying your best to ignore Valentina’s presence right beside him. Your expression softened considerably. “You told her about Palindrome?” 

Bob froze, as if pondering if he’d done something wrong. “Ye–yeah. I thought—at first, I thought it would be a cool hero name. But yeah, uhm… Sentry is… better. Rolls off the tongue.”

You nodded. “Okay. No, you’re right, maybe. But Palindrome—same backwards as it is forwards, remember? Are you the same Bob I met down in the vault? Because I liked that Bob a lot more than what I see in front of me now.”

Initially, Bob’s expression crumpled. Any hope of seeking the team’s approval was immediately crushed under the heel of your foot. Then, to your dismay, Bob—no, Sentry’s—face grew stony.

“Valentina fixed me,” he said. “I’m better now.”

The team’s incredulous, disbelieving faces told Bob all he needed to know. None of you were on his side. 

Valentina nodded at the tall, now-blonde super. “Sentry. Your first mission is to take out these criminals.”

Bob swallowed heavily, brows furrowed as he weighed between his options. “I don’t want to hurt you guys,” he finally said. “Why don’t you just turn yourselves in?”

With a scoff, Walker said, “You don’t wanna do this, Bobby.”

A vein jumped on the side of Bob’s neck. “You can call me Sentry.”

“Please, you do not need to listen to her,” Yelena attempted to rationalize. 

“See?” Valentina exclaimed. “It’s exactly as I told you—they don’t think you’re good enough.”

“That’s not true!” Yelena asserted. “You can trust me, Bob! I know you!”

Bob fixed her with what looked to be a disappointed gaze. “I don’t think that you do.”

“But—you saved us. Only a few hours ago, you sacrificed yourself to help us escape. What was any of that for?” You loathed how your voice broke with desperation. 

Bob had a hard time swallowing around the rising lump in his throat. His mind darted back to the many times you died just to save him. None of this sat well with him, but… it needed to be done. 

“It was a mistake,” he said, simply. He chanced a glance to Valentina, who nodded in approval.

You recoiled like a wounded snake. 

“ENOUGH TALKING!” Alexei bellowed. Bob still wasn’t very sure who he was. “No one messes with the West Chesapeake Valley Thunderbolts!” 

Just as Val incredulously echoed, “Thunderbolts?” Alexei stormed forward, pulling all his weight into a barrel-slam. It was as if he were hit with a solid, thick wall of dense lead. Bob punched him straight in his round belly, and like a ragdoll, the super soldier went flying backwards, crumpling into a red heap against a nearby pillar. Immediately, the rest of the team dove into action and attacked Bob. Save for Yelena, who was still trying to make peace with him.

Bob was, as Valentina had alluded to earlier, seemingly invincible. Able to fling people away without having to disturb a single dyed hair on his head. Stop special-grade bullets mid-air and send them right back to the assailant at twice the speed. Withstood the sharpest of blades and the strongest of punches. 

You split into two copies. One to assist Walker, whose shield was embedded into a sofa, nearly cleaving it in two, and another running after Valentina, who you spotted hurrying to hide behind a corner.

“You lied to us,” you hissed, grabbing the collar of her dress shirt, yanking her close until her nose was inches away from yours. “I came to you for help. I thought you would save me.”

“I did,” she said, and began to howl and laugh like a maniac. “When I found you, you were an empty husk of a person. Now look at you. Fighting with your friends. There’s a spark that wasn’t there before. You know, if I hadn’t only stuck you to do my dirty work, you would’ve made a good hero. A lack of planning on my end, I’m afraid.”

You felt your eyes sting with the promise of tears. “I could’ve been good?”

“Yes,” she said, shrugging. “But you chose this. Sure, I gave you the order… but who, in the end, pulled the trigger?” Without giving you the chance to respond, she lolled her head to the side. “Oh, Sentry!”

Bob, who had been preoccupied smashing Alexei through the windows as if he were playing frisbee, snapped his head to see you holding Valentina. Immediately, his eyes started glowing, and you were ripped away. 

There was no hope in fighting against a man more powerful than all the Avengers rolled into one. You braced yourself for pain, squeezing your eyes shut. But there came none. Instead, when you cracked an eye open you were suspended midair outside of the penthouse. 

“How far?” he asked you, striding to the window, its frames lined with shattered bullet-proof glass.

“What?” you choked out, trying to struggle, though you knew that if he dropped you, you would be met with a terrible fall that was likely worse than the fall you had in the vault. 

“How far until you lose control and get a seizure?” He turned and bent Walker’s shield until it caved around his arm, now shaped like a curved taco shell. “I don’t want to send you too far. I’d prefer not to hurt you.”

“Fuck you!” you snarled. A second too late, you realized that was probably a terrible thing to say to him when he had you floating mid-air, completely at his mercy. “Wait, Bob—please just stop this—!” The rest of your plea was lost to the wind as he sent you streaking further away from the tower, going so fast that the civilians down below must have thought you were some sort of high-tech drone.

Your duplicate watched in horror, knowing there was nothing you could do for your other-you. You were taken farther and farther until you grew limp, convulsing hundreds of feet above the ground. The copy in the tower crumpled to the ground with not a sound. Ava, battered and bruised, dragged your convulsing body away from the action so you were less likely to be struck while down. 

And when the rest of the team gave up and turned to retreat, Bucky was the one to pick you up by the scruff of your dark suit, dragging you into the elevator. He was missing his metal arm, which Sentry had torn off like it had been attached with paperclips, hot glue, and a dream. Ava picked it up on her way into the lift.

Sentry advanced on them with glowing eyes. “Forgetting someone?” 

He reached out behind him, fingers curled into a beckoning motion. Your copy came flying back into the tower, crashing into the rest of the team as if you were a bowling ball, and the rest of the team the pins. Your skull rattled as it knocked into Alexei’s, and you gasped for air, dizzy and disoriented. If you had been more lucid, you would have apologized to Walker for your boot crashing into his eye. That was likely going to leave a terrible bruise. Yelena took your arm and wound it around her to help you stay upright. 

“I’m so glad you were able to catch a glimpse before your… retirement,” Valentina called out, slinking out from the shadows she was hiding in. “Camera crews are assembling. Finish the job, Robert.”

Bob waited until the elevator doors slid to a close, hiding all the fearful faces from his observant gaze, and he could hear the lift move downwards.

“Finish the job?” he echoed. “No. They’re not a threat to me, so… why do I need to kill them?”

Valentina gave him a tight-lipped smile. “You need to do what I say, Robert.”

Confusion washed over his polished, golden features. “Why?” 

“Why?” Valentina parroted, almost mocking. Bob could feel anger bubble behind his chest.

“I just…” He exhaled in frustration. “I feel like there’s an… unwarranted power imbalance here.” He motioned between himself and her. “There needs to be more of a collaboration between us if this is going to work. Like, the hair—I don’t know. Maybe I should have more of a say.”

She rolled her eyes to the broken ceiling from when Yelena was flung upwards. “Don’t let those idiots get to your head. The blonde is great.”

“You sure?” said Bob, now pacing back and forth, wringing his hands. “I thought I liked it, but now I’m not so sure. Xerox said—”

“Forget Xerox!” Valentina exclaimed. “That’s enough about the hair, Sentry.”

“It’s not just about the hair, though—”

“Well, you keep bringing it up, so—”

“No, but it’s everything!” Bob asserted. “It’s all of it. My suit, my name, my missions. I didn’t even want to be Sentry. I thought Palindrome was good. It… it is good.”

As if she were consoling a child, Valentina relented. “Fine. If you want to change it so bad, be my guest. We’ll just have to re-do all the paperwork all over again and—”

Bob shook his head. “Why would a god… take orders from anyone at all?”

Brow cocked, Valentina slowly said, “I think you’re throwing the word god a bit loosely there.”

“No,” Bob said. “No, but you said… I was all-powerful and stronger than the entire team of Avengers, which includes at least one God. I’m starting to think that maybe you don’t actually know what I am, nor what I’m capable of. I’m the only survivor from the medical trials, aren’t I? I’m the only one left.” 

Val drew in a sharp breath, folding her hands behind her back. “Oh, God.”

“Yeah,” said Bob. “Yes, that’s more like it.”

Before she could draw out the emergency killswitch, Bob took her by the throat and sent her flying across the room, pinning her against a metal support frame. She struggled against his hold fruitlessly. 

“You were going to turn on me,” said Bob, narrowing his eyes. “Just like the rest of them.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Robert,” she croaked before he began to apply more pressure against her esophagus.

“It’s not Robert you have to be afraid of,” he said, voice as cold as the steel behind her. His eyes began to glow a terrifying golden hue and—

There was a click and a zap, and Bob’s hold on her loosened. Sentry crumpled to the ground in a heap of golds and blues. Mel was standing behind the pair, holding the killswitch, legs shaking. 

“I want a raise,” she demanded. 

“Fine. Order cleanup and it’s yours,” said Val, gripping the support beam with shaking hands. “And help me up, damn it!”

The two eventually stumbled into the elevator, leaving Bob’s body alone in the Avengers tower. A minute after Val abandoned his corpse, however, the floors darkened to an inky blank around him. His suit and face was now pitch-dark, absent of any sort of color. His finger twitched. First his pinky, then his thumb, then his whole hand. By the second minute, he began levitating, floating a meter above the cracked floors.

Bob, Palindrome, Robert, Sentry, the Golden Guardian of Who Gives a Flying Fuck—what he used to be… was gone now. And what was left of him?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

Just a void.

Once outside the Avengers Tower, you reabsorbed into one body, stumbling away from Yelena to sit on the curb. Behind you, they were bickering, as always. Alexei wanted to go somewhere to regroup and try again. As if being completely beaten to a pulp wasn’t enough. 

Yelena was done. She was fed up with his bullshit. 

“Stop. Just stop! There is no us. There is no we. Bob is gone. He changed into that thing—and there is nothing that any of you could do about it,” she hissed. 

“Right,” Ava said, rolling her eyes. “And what did you do, exactly? Because I seem to remember you getting your ass beat way worse than mine. Xerox didn’t even try to stop Bob.”

“Because we didn’t stand a chance. There was no point,” you gritted out, getting back up to your feet. “Sorry I prioritized getting Valentina over him.”

“Fat load of good that did!” Ava exclaimed, throwing her hands up in defeat.

“Yeah, I get it! I suck! We suck! We’re all terrible!” Yelena screamed. The pedestrians going about their day eyed the rag-tag team of bloodied, bruised, suited individuals. “Ava, you’re not a hero. You’re not even a good person.”

Ava pretended that didn’t sting. “Bitch,” she muttered under her breath. 

When Alexei tried to step in, Yelena exploded at him, too. “I am not your little girl! I haven’t heard from you or seen you in a year! It’s like you didn’t even care about Natasha. You’re a fucking fake and a coward and I wish you never pretended to be my father!”

Walker stepped in, saying, “Come on, go easy on him.”

“Oh, so you’re nice now?” Yelena said, rounding on him.

“What, is it my turn?” he said, tone flat and unimpressed.

“No, you know you’re a piece of trash,” Yelena spat. “And so does your family.”

“Jesus,” said Walker, grimacing at how much that stung.

“Yelena,” you said, weary of her biting your head off for even speaking. “We tried. We failed. We move on. Can we do that?”

“No, but you didn’t try, did you? I saw you talking to Valentina. You could’ve done it. You had the chance to kill her, but you didn’t. You were too caught up in your selfish fantasies of self-fulfillment that you’ve doomed the rest of us!” 

You nodded, withdrawing, clearly wounded. “Mhm. Okay.”

Maybe she was right. Maybe it was your fault. You had Valentina. You did. Was your need for closure selfish? Did it cost everyone a potential victory?

“We lost,” Yelena said with a tone of finality. She turned around and began to stalk away. “This fucking team was built on delusions. We were never anything, not ever.”

Alexei went after her. The rest of the group slowly started to retreat into different directions. You looked to Bucky with sad eyes he thought resembled a kicked animal.

“Does it get better?” you asked. Your gesture to your head was vague and hard to interpret, but Bucky seemed to understand you almost instantly.

“I wish I had an easy answer for you, kid.” The soldier pursed his lips, regarding you with furrowed brows. “But not like this, it won’t. Not like this.”

“What are you going to do now?” you whispered. 

Bucky clenched his jaw. It was clear that he had no idea what the protocol was for a situation like this. “As of now, Valentina’s intentions with Sentry are unclear. She could be planning out acts of terrorism as we speak. I think the smartest course of action is evacuating the premises.” He eyed you warily. “You can go home. You’ve done enough.”

“I want…” The words lodged in your throat. “Bucky, I know I’m a fuck-up. I’ve done bad, terrible things. I know there’s no coming back from that. But I want to help. I want to be better.”

Something flickered in the blue of his eyes, as if he was recalling something. Someone. “Okay, kid,” he said after a brief pause. “Come on.”

The two of you began to usher the crowd away. You multiplied a few dozen times, scattering to hoard as many people you could off the streets. You heard many shocked whispers amongst the passerby. Is that Congressman Barnes? No fucking way—that’s the Winter Soldier. Is Captain America around? Why are there four of you? That’s freaky as shit.

“I’m Xerox,” you hurriedly told a family loitering by the entrance to the subway station, trying your best to seem friendly but you likely came off as a raving lunatic instead. “You need to evacuate the premises now. Someone dangerous could be—”

“Are you a hero?” a little girl asked you in wonder, taking a gander at your suit, which was battered and covered with dust and soot. It definitely had seen better days. “You don’t really look like one.”

The mother flinched with shock, and began to frantically apologize for her daughter’s lack of a filter.

“It’s okay,” you reassured. “I’m no hero. I just want to help.”

The mother nodded, looking worried. “That’s good enough for me.” It was clear she was no stranger to bizarre happenings in New York. “Come on, Adeline. Let’s go.” They hurried off, and you returned to Bucky, who was urging a gaggle of laughing teenagers not to go into a theater.

“Good. You cleared the street,” said Bucky. “We should set up some sort of blockade to—”

Abruptly, Bucky stopped mid-sentence. His eyes were trained up to the sky, and you turned to follow his gaze. You felt your heart painfully skip a beat in your chest.

A dark figure floated above the city. Caped, with a suspiciously similar silhouette to Sentry. You squinted, straining your vision, barely making out his arm extending out as if he was mimicking grabbing something.

“That’s—” Bucky started.

“Bob,” you breathed out. 

You watched in horror as helicopters came flying towards him. At first, you thought they were press, just as Valentina promised—until they started shooting at him. The bullets seemed to disappear through him. And after a second, the helicopters came crashing down, as if they were completely void of pilots. The vehicles spun into construction scaffolding, pieces of unfinished building breaking apart and falling to the world below.

You and Bucky were quick to move then, yanking civilians out from under falling rubble. You multiplied more in an effort to help, even if it meant getting hit by falling concrete once in a while. You caught sight of Alexei using a metal sign he had torn off a shawarma restaurant to protect citizens as they escaped down the subway tunnels, and Yelena saving an elderly woman from getting run over by a news van. Another helicopter was tumbling down from further down the street, and Ghost phased through rapidly-rotating blades to shove people out of the way. Walker was stopping a large slab of concrete from crushing a civilian. Your clones being as scattered as they possibly could meant you had eyes in all directions. A dozen of you hurried over to help him push it upwards, gritting your teeth with the solid weight.

Another one of you dragged the woman out from underneath. She was sobbing profusely, praying in a language you couldn’t understand. But she signed something—the tips of her fingers touching her lips, then beckoning out to you. Thank you.

It felt like something finally clicked into place. Was it inherently selfish of you to want to help people because it made you feel good? Or did it cancel out?

Yelena joined, then Alexei. Ghost phased through and began pushing beside Walker. Bucky put all his weight in with his metal arm, and the slab finally tipped over, crashing onto the street with such a weighty thud that the asphalt beneath fractured. 

And then the crowd around you started clapping. Quietly at first, but rising up to a deafening applause. 

“Mom?” called a small child across the street. There was a shadow falling over her, growing larger. Alexei was there before anyone else, shielding the little girl from the falling debris that would certainly have crushed her to death if he hadn’t been there. 

“You’re safe, little one,” said Alexei, kneeling down to her height. 

The dry tear tracks on her chubby cheeks bent as she smiled at the red giant before her.

And then she was gone. The only thing left in her place was a shadow in a blobby, vague shape of the girl, spilling darkness across the street. 

You flinched. Three civilians across from you disappeared in the same way. Then two to your left. Another pair behind you. Your eyes flew upwards to see Bob—Sentry—whoever that was descend down to hover only a few feet above the totaled street. 

“You will all know the truth,” his voice echoed. “You can’t outrun the emptiness.”

Screams erupted around you as people fled every which way. You reabsorbed your copies closest to the growing darkness.

“Come on,” Walker said, yanking your arm. “We need to get people off the streets!”

You nodded, rushing ahead to direct people into the subway tunnels. 

“Yelena!” you heard Alexei bellow. “Yelena, what are you doing?”

You turned to see her calmly striding towards the darkness. 

“No,” you whispered. Your closest copy ran towards her, only a few feet away.

“It’s like you said,” the dark figure murmured, his voice somehow loud enough to reverberate in your ears like a piercing drum. “We’re all alone. All of us.”

“Yelena,” you said, taking her forearm. “Yelena, we have to go.”

“Aren’t you tired of fighting?” Bob asked. Instinctively, you knew he was speaking to you. “I can fix it. Let me fix it.”

“No, Pal,” you said, edging away from the darkness, which was eating at the streets. “I don’t need you to fix me, thank you. I haven’t even tried a licensed therapist yet. Come, Yelena, please.”

Your words fell on deaf ears. The assassin shut her eyes and let out a sigh. She stepped forward, and then she was gone. You heard Alexei’s anguished screams somewhere behind you. 

The Void reached out and turned a few more panicked civilians into shadows. Before you knew it, the entire street was blackened, leaving only a circle around you.

“I promise it won’t hurt,” The Void said. He floated down to the ground to stand in front of you, just inches away. If you reached out, you would be able to touch him. You could feel the cold emanating off his body, tempting you to just—fall into him. “The darkness will keep you company.”

“And that’s you?” you whispered, trying your best to look for an expression in such a blank canvas of darkness. “Where’s Bob?”

“He doesn’t matter anymore,” the Void said.

“He does,” you insisted. “He did to me.” 

“You died for him,” he said, tilting his head.

You nodded. “And I would again.”

“Why?” 

The question, though it was just one word, weighed heavy on your mind. 

“I’m not the bad guy I thought I was,” you finally told him. You stared at the darkness closing in around you with a heavy heart. “If I went in—would I find Bob in there?”

“Your Palindrome is hiding. He isn’t looking to be saved.” The Void motioned around him. “Look at this mess. This is no place to be. Step in with me. I’ll take care of it. You wouldn’t need to worry anymore… it’ll be just us.”

“Can I try to help him in there?” Your voice broke, betraying your own fear.

The black figure’s shoulders trembled as if he were smothering a laugh. “You can try. I’d advise giving up, though. It’s never worth it. Now… come.” 

His arms spread wide open, inviting you in. Distantly, you could hear Bucky and Ava call out your name. You swallowed heavily.

Then you fell forward, willingly embracing someone for the first time since you were a child. He was solid for a split moment. All frigid edges and hard muscle—then you collapsed into the soft darkness, and sat back up in a hospital room.

It was the same vision as before. Two of you. One whole and one cut. Without hesitating, you kicked at the surgeon, grabbing a scalpel from the table and slitting his throat. You watched the blood gush out of his wound, dark and bubbling. Too dark to be real blood. 

You turned to free yourself with the missing leg from the operating table, slicing at the leather straps. And then, to your shock, young-you began attacking yourself. 

It was disorienting to see your younger self snarl like a rabid animal, leaping from the table to claw at you, sinking sharp little teeth into your exposed throat. You made a garbled noise of pain, and threw the kid off. Your throat stung, but it was a hollow pain that was quick to fade back into nothingness.

“I’m you!” you screamed before the kid could leap at you again. “I’m you!”

“I don’t know you,” little Xerox said. “You’re not real. You can’t be real.”

“I’m you,” you whispered. You put the scalpel down and approached like one would a nervous horse. “Honey, I’m you. I’m okay, see? You’ll be okay.”

Little-you swayed. You began to cry in the silent way you always did, smaller frame wracking. 

“It’s okay,” you said with an aching chest, gathering yourself up in your arms, stroking the back of your head. “Let it out. There you go.”

The child began to bawl into your chest. You reached over for the scalpel again, slicing through the bonds of the young, whole copy. “Here. Take care of each other, okay?”

“Okay,” the whole copy said. Both of the younger Xeroxes held onto one another. You stepped away with a heavy heart. 

“Palindrome?” you called out. “I’m here to help. Come talk to me.”

Nothing.

With a huff, you turned out of the hospital room, shoving your way through the doors, though not before bidding a respectful goodbye to your younger copies. 

You found yourself in a different room now. You had escaped the hospital at this point, now living off of the meager cash you earned by doing the dirty work for Madripoorean crime lords. Your gun was trained on a woman as she sobbed for mercy.

“I didn’t mean to—” she said, wiping away the snot that dribbled from her nose. “I didn’t mean to, please tell him that for me!”

“I don’t speak to my bosses,” your copy said. Current-you rounded about to look at Xerox’s face here. Gaunt, with glassy, empty eyes. “He wants you gone.”

“I can be gone!” she said, nodding. “Please. You can pretend you shot me. I can disappear without a trace.” When you said nothing, she doubled over, wailing out a pitiful noise. “I’m pregnant. Please. Please don’t kill me.”

Past-Xerox’s eyes thinned into disbelieving slits. “Lie.”

“I’m not lying. Please. It’s his child, but I can—”

“Don’t tell me that.”

“Just listen to me—”

Your younger self began to panic. “Why would you tell me that?”

“If you could—”

“Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up.” 

“Is—do you need money? Is it money you want?”

“No.” Yes. “I don’t need your charity.”

The woman shakily pulled out crumpled bills from her bag, offering them to you. You gritted your jaw and pulled the trigger. She fell to the ground with her mouth frozen mid-plea. Before you left, you took the bills and stuffed them into the holey pockets of your ratty trousers. You took the silver necklace the woman was wearing for good measure, too.

Your past-self looked up at you. “Do we ever find out?”

“What?”

“Was she really pregnant?”

You stared down at the dead woman with horror. “I don’t know.”

Young Xerox straightened, shoulders rolling back. “We don’t deserve to be forgiven. Not for this.”

“Maybe not,” you agreed. “You’re also only eighteen.”

“So?”

“You were just a kid. You had no money. No food. No home. No family. Just you and your copies and your missions,” you whispered. 

“Tch. Sounds like a bunch of excuses to me.”

You nodded. “It is. It’s an excuse.” You looked down the alleyway. “Valentina will be coming soon for you. She’ll be too good to be true at first. A house. A clean bed. Food in the fridge. But it’ll be the same thing again. Just… repackaged.”

Your younger self’s face twisted with a rotten, disappointed look. “Do we ever get better?”

“We try to. I try to.”

“Good.” Young Xerox pointed up a rusty metal fire escape. “He’s up there. Your Pal.”

“Thank you,” you said, about to make your way up the creaky stairs. 

“He wants to be found,” said young you, nodding. “He made the rooms easy for you. There’s a lot worse that he could’ve chosen from.”

“That’s true,” you whispered, though saying that made you feel all the more terrible for the dead woman on the ground. “What about you? Did you want to be found?” you asked, unsure if you wanted to hear the answer.

“You tell me,” retorted the younger you with a wolfish grin. “I’m all me, remember?”

Your final room was when you lived in America. It was dark in your apartment. You were twenty-five, looking a bit healthier than you had been at eighteen, but still just as miserable. 

You stood in front of the stove, which held a pot that was almost halfway full to the brim with boiling water. “Come on,” younger you said, jumping up and down on the spot, psyching yourself up. Your palm raised to slap yourself across the face. There was a belt tied about your mouth so as to not alert your civilian neighbors. “Come on, you pussy,” you hissed at yourself from behind the belt.

Inhaling sharply, you held in your breath as you dove your left palm into the boiling water. Your scream went muffled behind the belt. After a moment, you quietened to an occasional whimper. It was strange being able to watch yourself and not feel the same pain. Only the memory of it. 

It wasn’t self-harm. At least, you didn’t consider it to be so back then. It was endurance training. Upping your pain tolerance for the job. Valentina had told you that you were useless if you couldn’t handle dying. 

Younger you pulled your raw hand out of the pot after about thirty seconds, then flipped the tap on to its coldest setting, sticking it beneath the running water with a hiss. The next day, you would repeat the process until you lost all feeling in your left hand, frying your nerve endings to shit. 

As the room began to repeat itself, you stopped your younger self from plunging a hand into the pot by grabbing your wrist. “You don’t have to do that,” you said. “There are other ways of being strong.”

“If I don’t do this, I’m not worth anything,” young Xerox said. “I’d be nothing.”

“Hurting yourself doesn’t make you stronger,” you deadpanned. “You’re wasting your time.”

“I know,” the younger you sighed. “I know that. It’s just nice to be in control of my own pain for once.”

“You can be in control by consciously trying to keep yourself from the pain,” came your soft whisper. “Hurting yourself doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t solve anything. It only leaves scars that take way too long to heal. Trust me. I still can’t wear short sleeves.”

Younger you barked out a laugh. “Oh, I know. Summers are hell.”

“I know, right?” you said, smiling for the first time in what felt like weeks. “You know what helped me?”

“What?”

“Crosswords,” you said. “The newspaper stand across the store sells entire books. Every time I had the urge, I would solve a puzzle or two.”

“Oh, God,” said the younger you, bending over into what sounded like a cry, but it was actually an incredulous laugh. “I’m such a nerd. Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Just try it. It helps.”

“Okay, okay. Fuckin’ geek.”

“We memorized every single element of the periodic table in order by age eleven. I think the nerd has been with us all along.” As you spoke, you took the pot of boiling water and carefully maneuvered to dump the steaming water into the sink. You turned off the stove, and past-you didn’t try to stop you.

Your younger self smiled, and it was clear that it’s been a while since that happened, too. Then, it faded just as quickly as it appeared. “What happens if we run out of crosswords?” 

The question didn’t seem to be just about crosswords.

“We can always try something new,” you ventured. “I think crocheting is all the rage now.”

“Is it?” 

“Probably not, no. I’m not really sure what the youths are into these days. It changes every other day.”

“We can try crocheting anyway,” past-you laughed. Then, you pointed into the living room. “Look in the TV. He should be there.”

“Alright. Thanks.” You gave mid-twenties Xerox a two-fingered salute, then turned to sit down in front of your TV. 

And, as promised, you caught a glimpse of Bob in the reflection. When you looked behind you, it was still your regular, dim living room. You looked back at the dark screen.

“Found you,” you murmured, a relieved smile playing at the corner of your lips. “Hey, Bob? It’s good to see you.”

Despite the warped reflection, you could see him look up with a creased, almost guilty expression. “You found me,” he said, surprise evident in his tone. 

“I did. Will you let me in?”

“... I don’t know.”

“Please let me in. I want to help.”

Bob drew his knees up to his chest, cradling himself. The darkness surrounded you, and in the blink of an eye, you were in a different room. One you didn’t recognize. Your gaze flickered about. This must’ve been one of Bob’s rooms. An attic, by the looks of it—cluttered with junk.

You sat down in front of him. He was fiddling with a Rubix cube. “I used to love solving those,” you told him. 

“I’m—” He handed the cube over to you. “I’m pretty bad at it. I don’t know.”

“I was, too,” you said, turning the squares about. Bob watched you gradually align the colors together—orange with orange, green with green, blue with blue. You struggled with one side, but after moving back a few paces, you managed to get it right. “I was terrible at it. I kept giving up and reshuffling. But I got better with time and practice.”

You handed the cube back to him, neatly solved. Bob took it with soft fingers, inspecting your handiwork. “I don’t know how.”

“I can help you,” you said. “And there’s people out there that can help you, too.”

“They can’t help me. I’m… broken.”

There was screaming coming from downstairs. The noise made Bob flinch, his hands instinctively going up to his ears. As you listened, you could hear a man yelling, the sound of skin smacking skin, and the sound of a woman crying. A little boy intervened. More thuds, smacks, a shattering glass. The woman began berating the little boy for making things worse. It made your heart sink low to the pits of your stomach.

“Just ignore that, please,” he said once the noise died down, as if afraid you would leave now. “Don’t mind them.”

You drew in a breath. Tentative, you asked, “Can I touch you, Bob?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice croaky. “Yeah, you can. What are you doing?”

“I’m going to give you a hug. Is that okay?” 

Bob nodded again. His mom used to give him hugs, but that was a long time ago. Before she…

“Yeah,” he said, and he felt shame wash over him when tears pricked the corner of his eyes. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held him. He patted at your back awkwardly, but eventually took to mimicking your embrace when you sank into him, holding you close. 

“This is the first time I’ve hugged someone else in a very long time, you know. I’ve mostly just hugged my clones, as sad as that sounds,” you mumbled into his shoulder. 

“I don’t think that’s sad. I like to hold myself, too.”

“I like your hair like this, by the way,” you said as you tried to pull away, but he was holding onto you rather tightly. “Bob.”

“Oh!” He cleared his throat shyly, forcing himself to relinquish his grasp on you. “Sorry. Thanks. That was nice.”

“It was,” you agreed. There was some more silence. Bob put a fist up to his mouth and began to weep, utterly overwhelmed but nearly silent. You placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing circles over his back. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“No, I’m—” Bob let out a quaky breath and began to cry all over again. You scooched closer to him and let your hand lay over his. He enjoyed feeling your fingers trace shapeless patterns over his skin.

“Bob,” you murmured after he began to calm down. “I don’t want to stay here forever. Do you?”

He swallowed around nothing, and avoided the question. “It’s quiet here. Quieter than the other places. The rest are… worse than this.”

“Hm.”

“It’s not me, you know. I wish I could fix it, but I just can’t. I can’t stop it,” he muttered. “It’s—it’s the Void.” 

You nodded. “Could you let Yelena in here, at least? I saw the Void take her. We can help you together.”

Bob blinked back his tears. He nodded. The room slowly rotated ninety degrees, and you could hear creaking footsteps outside. Yelena busted the door open with a sharp kick to the doorknob, which you found amusing, considering the door didn’t look to have a lock on it. The team had a troubling tendency not to check if doors could just open on their own without breaking them down first.

“Bob!” she exclaimed. Then, her brows rose upon seeing you. “Xerox.”

“Hi,” you greeted. Bob waved at her besides you.

“What’s going on?” she asked, surveilling her surroundings in typical assassin-fashion. 

“Therapy session,” you said, only half-joking, patting the spot beside you. 

There was screaming downstairs again. Yelena wandered over to look down the attic’s opening, where she could see a man with a glass bottle in his hands. She looked up at you and Bob, then sat down where you gestured. 

“I’m sorry, you had to live through this, Bob. And listen,” she said, lips pursed, meeting his watery gaze. “What I said to you before was wrong. You can’t stuff it down. You can’t hold it in all alone. No one can. Nobody should. We have to let it out. We have to spend time together. Even if it doesn’t make the emptiness go away, I promise you… it’ll make you feel lighter.”

Bob sniffed. “How do you know?” he whispered.

“Because it already has for me,” Yelena told him. “I found a team of people I could trust.”

At this, she looked to you, expression apologetic. “I’m sorry for what I said to you out there, too. You are not selfish. In fact, you’re probably the most selfless person I know. Not a lot of people are willing to die all the time for others.”

“Thanks, Yelena,” you said, simultaneously warm with sincerity and stiff because you weren’t at all used to receiving compliments. “So what do you say, Bob? Will you help us get out of here?”

To your delight, Bob nodded. You smiled, taking his hand. Yelena’s eyes bounced between the two of you—absent-mindedly wondering what the two of you were talking about before she arrived. She didn’t have much time to dwell on it, however, because the walls and furniture began to hum with a low-tone frequency.

“Look out!” Bob exclaimed, pulling Yelena down as a lamp flew across the room, nearly hitting her square in the head. A plastic kiddie chair whizzed into his back, striking him painfully. There were papers—monstrous childhood drawings—flying every which way. The curtains broke free of their hooks on the railing, wrapping around you and Yelena. Bob hurried over to try to claw the fabric off you, to no avail. It wouldn’t let go.

“Just try to get used to it, okay?” he called out over the whizzing and smashing of objects. “If you try to resist—the pain only gets worse!”

You could feel your vision swim with black dots as you gasped for breath—and all of a sudden, there was a slicing noise, and you were falling to your knees, filling your lungs with air. It was Ava, holding a sharp blade in one hand. 

She nodded at you, helping you up to your feet. “I should start keeping track of how many times I’ve saved you.”

Before you could respond, Walker and Alexei burst in through the walls, followed by Bucky through one of the windows. You only narrowly managed to dodge his metal arm cuffing you across the head with his dramatic entrance. 

“You came for us,” Yelena said, looking at her father with a touched frown. “What did you see? Are you all okay?”

Bucky only shrugged. “Oh, I’m fine. I have a great past, so I’m totally fine.”

“We’re probably going to need another one group therapy session once we’re out of here,” you said, which made both Bob and Yelena smile to themselves, nodding. 

“Thank you guys,” said Bob. “Really.” He was about to say something about how he didn’t deserve this—but when you put a hand on his arm, he bobbed his head again and kept his mouth shut.

“How do we get out of here?” asked Walker, glancing back at the ruined walls. “I’d prefer not to have to go through my rooms again.”

Bob scratched at the back of his head. “As far as I know, it’s just… endless rooms.”

“You said that this was the quietest room, right? That all the others are worse?” you asked, and Bob nodded hesitantly. 

The Thunderbolts team all exchanged determined looks. Alexei cracked his neck, John rolled his shoulders, and Ava flexed her fists. 

You gave Bob a gentle push towards the broken doorway. “Okay, Palindrome. Show us the worst of ‘em. We’ll take on whatever comes our way together.”

[salthusiast]

Who you truly are

Viltrumite Mark x Female Reader

Summary: When the Invincible variants arrived on Earth, you never expected to get involved. It’s not like you knew Invincible personally. What you didn’t know was that you’d ended up housing one of these variants, and you didn’t know for weeks. Basically Viltrumite Mark pretends to be the Mark you know.

Word Count: 5.1k

Next parts: 2 , 3

Warnings: None! Maybe some violence, but if you watched the show, it’s basically nothing. Maybe slight ooc? In my defense this guy is pretending to be another person though.

Quick A/N: Hey, this is actually my first post on Tumblr so sorry if the formatting is weird or anything. Let me know if you guys want a part 2 :D

Life was so much simpler when you didn’t know. Who knew that in a singular month, your life would change so much? You could lie and say that you expected it to happen, but again that'd be a lie. Hell, even now you can barely believe the course of events that went down.

Sometimes you think about how many others got hurt during the war and its aftermath. You were so oblivious. You think about how he spared you like he did.

--------------------------

“Mark! Eve!” You call out, waving your hand to your friends across the hallway. Mark stops in his tracks, along with Eve.

Mark is more of your friend than Eve is, but you get along with her well. You walk purposefully to Mark, feeling like he may disappear if you take too long to get to him. It seems like he disappears all the time now.

“I haven’t seen you recently. Where have you been?” You approach him smiling.

Mark shares an indecipherable look with Eve, and chuckles awkwardly, “Around… You know, I’ve been busy with… stuff.” He says gesturing to his backpack. You raise an eyebrow seeing his backpack filled with books. 

“Studying? You? My, we really haven’t talked in a while. The last time we all hung out, you bailed halfway through.” You smile teasingly, not truly mad, but more concerned than anything.

He grimaces, “I know, I know. I’m sorry. It’s just been so hectic lately.” He looks over at Eve once again, she seems to empathize with whatever Mark is going through. You can’t help but feel… insignificant.

Mark was once one of your closest friends. What happened for them to grow so close? You can’t even bring yourself to be mad, Eve seems to understand him way more than you ever could.

Perhaps at one point, you would have felt different about that truth, but Mark as your friend is more important.

“Woah!” You chuckle, “It’s okay, really. I just want to make sure you aren’t, ya know, dead.” You smile, jokingly gesturing to your neck as if it was slit. He smiles and shakes his head, “Nope! Still kicking. I’ll be around for a while.” He glances at Eve, who seems to find what he said extra funny.

You laugh, “Yeah huh... Hey, I was wondering if you’d wanna hang out with us sometime soon. You, William, me, maybe one of my friends? Serena perhaps?” You raise a finger for each person you talk about. “Eve is free to join us too of course.” You smile at her, which she returns in good nature. 

Mark nods, “Yeah, I’ll make time for it. It’s been a minute since we’ve all hung out. Eve, would you wanna join?” Mark asks, turning to Eve.

“Sure. It’s been a while since we’ve all hung out as a group. I look forward to it.” She smiles at you. “I should be busy for a bit, but I’ll let you know when I’m free.”

You smile, “Great! That works for me!” You start to walk off before you stop abruptly and turn around. “You know we’re always here right?” You look at Mark and glance at Eve. He smiles back, but it looks more like a grimace. 

”Of course.” Suddenly he stands up straight. “Oh shoot I gotta go.” He announces before looking at Eve silently expressing… something? 

“No worries, see you guys…” They’re already speeding off to who knows where. They certainly have a mission in mind. They weren’t that rushed five minutes ago. Could whatever Mark forgot be that important?

(You didn’t know it at the time, but the reason he left was actually important. You later found out the reason on TV, even if you weren't aware it was him under the suit.)

“Hey, did you see what happened on the news?” Your friend, Serena, asks you later that day back in your apartment. She would often come over after classes to hang out.

You raise an eyebrow shaking your head, “No? Why? Anything interesting?” You sit down on the couch, leaning your head on the back as you respond.

“Somebody was trying to get Invincible’s attention earlier. He was talking for ages. Was claiming that he was the one who killed all those people in Chicago. I don’t know, he definitely has some issues he needs to sort out.” She waves a hand dismissively. 

That catches your attention, “Really that happened today? How’d I miss that? Wait, he was mad that Invincible ‘killed those people,’ but he is trying to kill people to get his attention?” You ask, doing air quotes as you say “killed those people.” 

“I’m not sure, it mainly just seemed like he wanted Invincible. I don’t know, I stopped questioning these villains a while ago. I only know the bare details.” She sighs.

You nod in agreement, “Fair enough.” You search for the remote and find it between the couch before turning on the TV. Perhaps this story is on the news?  

“ . . . just in! The newest villain, going by the name “Powerplex” has been arrested. Invincible was there to stop him this time, but that did not come without a cost. There were two casualties during this specific attack by him, not even counting his other attacks during this week. The casualties of this attack were his wife and child, who were electrocuted to death. It appears he took them hostage to get Invincible’s attention. You will all be happy to know that he has been arrested. . .” 

“That’s awful.” You frown. “Can’t believe he brought his wife and kids into it. That’s such a cruel thing to do… You think she knew what she was getting into with him?” You ask, turning toward Serena. 

“I mean maybe he was just a good actor? Perhaps he was able to blend in for a while?” Your friend throws out suggestions. “She could’ve also known though. Not that it’s my business. We’ll never know, and I don’t think I want to know.” She sighs before standing up.

“It’s horrific in either scenario. Imagine living with somebody for that long and not truly knowing who they are.” Serena chuckles, but there is no humor. You both stare at the TV screen, watching as the reporter drones on about the details.

“I think I’m going to head back home.” Serena stands up, grabbing her keys and swinging them in her hand. You nod, “Okay, drive home safe… Don’t get electrocuted.” You give her a thumbs up and smile. Is it wrong to joke about events like this? Probably, but if you don’t laugh you cry so…

She gives you an unamused expression “Ha. Ha. Very funny.” She rolls her eyes good-naturedly,  “I’ll see you later.” You wave as she walks out, turning your attention back to the TV. 

You have no connection to Invincible or any of that “superhero” life. The idea of superheroes excites you, but after seeing what occurred in Chicago, you can’t help but feel like it’s not all it’s made out to be.

It’s not like you’d be able to help. You’d end up as a casualty, another body to clean off the field. The thought makes you shiver.

Every time you see a story like this you wonder if there is a universe where it was you that died. It’s easy to just brush these events off like nothing when you aren’t living them.

That was how most people do it nowadays. Doesn’t affect you? Not your problem. It was a frustrating way to live. You didn’t like to think about how people are dying every day due to these villains.

However, you can’t not think about them. Hearing about this whole situation with, what’s his name, Powerplex? It creates this feeling of dread, a feeling you’re unable to ease. Who is to say that you aren’t going to be the next casualty mentioned on the news?

It truly was easy for the whole world to live in that ignorance. It was easier for you to live in ignorance, then they appeared.

--------------------------

DAY ONE

Honestly, the first day wasn’t that eventful for you. It wasn’t until the late evening you even heard about it.

You didn’t live in an area that was immediately affected by the attacks, so it wasn’t as if your apartment suddenly came crashing down on you. Instead, you got a call from Serena. You raise an eyebrow before picking up the phone. 

“Uh hey?” You wonder why she called you, it wasn’t like you got calls often.

”Oh my God, you’re okay.” She breathes out in relief, and now you know something is up. “Please tell me you’ve seen the news.” Her voice is filled with worry.

You stop moving, “No… You know I don’t check the news that often.” You respond. Admittedly, that's on you. You probably should keep up with the news more often.  

She sighs, “Turn it on. There’s like over a dozen Invincibles out destroying major world cities.” You feel your heart drop before immediately moving to your TV and turning it on. You switch to the news.

No words are being spoken, they don’t have to. The screams of panic strike fear into your heart.

The camera shows a gigantic building in Chicago crumbling down. The cameraman focuses their lens on the figure floating above it all. Whoever it is, they’re wearing a white uniform.

The camera isn’t advanced enough to zoom in on their face, but you don’t find yourself doubting Serena’s information. Suddenly a white blur knocks the camera away, and it fades into static. You watch in horror. 

“Oh shit…” You whisper to yourself, forgetting that you are still on the phone. 

“It’s being recommended that we don’t exit our homes. We just pretend like nobody is home.” Serena’s words barely register, but you nod, forgetting that she can’t see your visual response.

“Okay… So we just sit here until they leave?” You ask, feeling stupid for asking the question. What else could you do? Fight them? You’d sooner kill a bear with your bare hands than somehow survive facing off one of them. 

The silence between you two is loud, “Not like we have any other choice.”

--------------------------

DAY TWO

By this point, you had been living in relative darkness for a little over a day. Serena sent you a link to an article advising citizens what to do: keep the lights off, and stay away from windows. You don’t want them to know you’re there. You had occasionally gone to get some food and drinks from the kitchen, but besides that, you were pretty much locked in your room.

The small peeks you took of the outside world showed promise. Realistically, the chances of one of the variants coming to your suburban neighborhood to wreak havoc aren’t high.

You close the curtains and look away from the window. To be fair, they also aren’t zero.

After being bored and doing nothing for over a day, you were instantly aware when something changed in your environment. You felt your heart stop for a moment. It sounded like somebody entered your apartment. 

You remain frozen as you try and listen for any more signs of life outside your room. Eventually, you hear something. A voice calling your name, whoever it is sounds familiar. However, that doesn’t mean you’ll come running out. You don’t respond immediately, sitting there in silence and fear, slowly inching towards the closet to hide.

On the way, you pass by your door, which was slightly cracked open. The intruder could walk in whenever they wanted. It wasn’t the most brilliant move you’ve made, but it wasn’t like you were expecting guests okay?

Your eyes widen as you take in who it is. “Mark?” You push the door open hesitantly. His attention immediately snaps to you. “What are you doing here?” You ask, exhaling slowly and calming your pounding heartbeat. 

He stares at you stoically, before walking over to you, his steps are unhurried. Suddenly you realize that he left the door open behind him. You feel your heart rate spike up again. 

“WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU!?” You whisper yell as you push past him to the door. You accidentally bump your shoulder onto his while walking by, causing him to halt and falter in surprise.

”How did you get in? I thought you said you lost that emergency key I gave you.” You lock the door and turn to him again. He observes you silently.

“I found it.” He responds, tone even. 

“Well yes, I kinda assumed that.” You respond dryly before feeling the anger leave your body.

“Hey…” You place your hand on his shoulder and he stiffens. “Are you okay? Did one of those variants attack you or your mom?” He finally looks you in the eye for the first time since he unexpectedly entered. His stare is piercing, it feels like he’s looking at your entire soul. 

He pauses for a moment before answering, “They came through and destroyed my house.” His voice sounds detached like he’s somewhere else right now.

You feel your eyes widen and your heart drops, “Oh my God, is your mom okay?!” You guide Mark back to your room, he seems to follow with no resistance. You sit on the floor, but he remains standing.

“She’s fine. She wasn’t there.” He responds, and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

“That’s good… I mean not good that your house was destroyed, but good that she got out of there. I mean have you seen the damage that these Invincibles have done?” Mark looks at you like he’s expecting something, and you feel slightly unnerved. Maybe he’s in shock? You can’t exactly blame him. You do feel kinda awkward though. How exactly do you comfort somebody who just had their home destroyed and almost had their mom killed?

“I was watching the news when it started, there was this one I saw. I think it was Chicago he hit?” Mark freezes slightly, his eyes narrowing in on you, but you don’t notice.

“It was crazy… He didn’t look like Invincible at all. However, judging by how many of the other attackers look like Invincible, I want to say that this one was probably some weird Invincible variant in white.” Mark gives you a weird look.

“What’s wrong? Still worried? Don’t worry we should be safe here. I don’t see why an Invincible variant would attack me. I don’t even know who is under that mask. We’ll be safe here if you wanna stay until it’s over.” You feel like you’re talking too much at this point, so you stop before you embarrass yourself more than you already have. 

“So I can stay.” Mark eventually speaks, getting your attention. The phrase is less of a question, and more of a statement, like he needs you to reaffirm what you already said.

You nod, “Of course, stay as long as you need.” You smile at him. Mark stares down at you before nodding and sitting right next to you on the floor. 

You raise an eyebrow, “You know you can sit on my bed right? You don’t have to sit on the floor.” He looks at you and slowly nods. 

“Right…” He sounds hesitant, but eventually stands up walking over to your bed. He sits down on it and looks back at you. He stares at you expectantly. You feel scrutinized under his gaze.

"Uh, is there something on my face?" You ask. He continues to stare at you before he looks away.

"You look different." Well okay then. Is that an insult or compliment?

“Uhh, I don’t exactly look much different than the last time I saw you. Maybe it’s the lack of sunlight.” You joke. He looks at you like you’re stupid. “Hey don’t give me that. Come on wanna play a game or something? I’ve been bored out of my mind here.”  You stand up stretching.

“A game…” He repeats dryly. “What ‘game’ would you wanna play?” He asks.

You hold your hand out giving him the “wait” gesture. He watches as you search around your room before finally finding what you're looking for. “Here we go!” You show him your deck of Uno cards. 

“Uno?” Mark responds confused. “You want to play this... ‘Uno?’” He gestures to the cards. You raise an eyebrow looking back at the cards.

”Yes…? Something wrong with that? I only have the original one if that’s what you’re upset about. Couldn’t find the Seance Dog version, I must've lost it.” You sit next to him starting to shuffle the cards.

”That’s not the problem…” Mark starts to sound unsure looking at the deck of cards. ”Do you perhaps have its original packaging?” He asks. 

You blink in confusion, “No, why?” You start giving him his cards.

”I just need to see its instructions.” He looks at the cards blankly.

You sigh, “No, stacking plus twos and plus fours is not in the rules. Yes, we will play with it anyway.”

You give yourself your cards before setting the giant stack down and flipping over the first card, it’s a green four. “I’ll go first.” You place a green seven down.

Mark stares at the cards, before looking up at you. He stares at his cards for half a minute. “You gonna play a card or are we just gonna sit here?” You joke. 

“Just…” He sounds frustrated, “Just give me a moment…” He looks at the cards. 

After another period of silence, you eventually break it, “Dude just place down a seven or green, please. Whatever strategy you’re thinking of, it clearly isn’t working.” You chuckle.

He looks at his cards before slowly placing a green five down. “Right… I was just planning something.” 

You immediately slam down a blue five. “Yeah sure, try all you want. You aren’t gonna win this time.”

He looks at you with the most serious look you’ve ever seen on his face, “I wouldn’t count on that.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“HOW?! YOU CAN’T DO THAT!” You point at the stack of cards in the middle, telling you to take 14 cards. 

“The rules are the rules. Take the cards.” Mark points to the deck of cards, his lips upturned slightly. 

You glare at him before smiling. That was the first time he’s "smiled" today. He’d been off all day, and if losing a game of Uno was what it took to cheer him up, it was a price to pay.

You both play a few more rounds before you get tired of losing. “Okay, you never win this much. Are you cheating?” You jokingly ask.

He scoffs, “Cheating? I don’t need to cheat to win.” He taunts holding his singular card in plain view. The words "UNO" in the back taunt you for the seventh time. The trace of a smile is gone from his face, but you can see the mirth in his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, enjoy it while you can.” You sigh placing down your only play. You look up at him, and he stares at you for a long moment.

“You know dramatically holding out your move doesn’t make you mysterious. Just draw more cards, I know you don’t have a yellow or two.” You roll your eyes. 

He looks at his card and sighs in the most contrived manner possible, a stark contrast to the serious demeanor he had when entering the apartment. “You’re right. I don’t have either…” He places his last card down, a wild.

You look at him blankly, he returns the stare with a smugness he didn’t previously have. You place your cards down before walking out into the kitchen, Mark follows you. “What are you doing?” He asks, the smug tone gone. 

“I'm gonna sacrifice myself to those variants running around, that fate might be better than having a seven-time losing streak.” You respond sarcastically.

“You know what,” You point out to the window, “at least I would beat them in Uno.” You say referring to the Invincibles out destroying the world.

Mark looks at you, then at the window, then back at you, “I doubt that.” 

You lean back on the counter dramatically, feigning offense, “Oh how you wound me! I think I could beat their asses in Uno! I bet at least one of them doesn’t even know how to play it!” 

“I’m sure.” He replies, there seems to be amusement in his voice, but you can’t imagine why. 

“Hey, I beat you in Uno all the time. Consider this your lucky day.” You grab a bag of chips. “I was going easy on you today.” You say before you begin grabbing chips out of the bag. “Want some?”

Mark looks at the bag, his face turning to a grimace, “I’ll… pass.” You shrug and continue snacking before putting the bag away.

”Suit yourself. Feel free to eat whatever I have, just don’t eat it all.” You gesture toward your pantry, his gaze following the direction you point. 

You start to walk away, “Where are you going?” He asks as you pause.

”Pillows? Blankets? I need to grab some extra for myself. You can take my bed.” You look into one of your cabinets, grabbing an extra couple of pillows and a blanket. 

“Is it not your bed though?” Mark asks, frowning.

”Well, yeah, but you’re my friend and my guest.” You smile walking towards your room, and he follows behind you. “I mean with everything you’ve been through recently, I’d feel bad if I forced you to the floor.” Mark remains silent.

You start to create a pile of blankets on the floor, rearranging the pillows how you like them. Mark watches silently. 

“Hey, could you turn my TV on? Make sure it’s muted. As long as the lights aren’t flashing too bright on it I think we’ll be okay.” You ask Mark, he gives a hum of acknowledgment before heading back to the living room.

You finish setting up the makeshift bed before joining him. You look around making sure all the windows are closed and secure before joining him. 

“Oh my God…” You whisper as you watch different clips play out on the TV. These Invincible are destroying cities. You can only stare in shock, you watch as buildings topple over, skyscrapers crumble to the ground, citizens get buried under rubble, and nearby life burns.

What you saw that Invincible in Chicago do was a fraction of the damage.

Mark doesn’t say anything, and the initial glance you took towards him when you walked in reflects that indecipherable look once again. Who knows what he’s thinking? These monsters almost killed his family.

You look over to him to see if he’s watching, his gaze looks detached and uninterested. You turn back toward the TV. “I’m sorry…” You mutter, feeling his eyes turn toward the back of your head.

“For what?” He asks, and he sounds genuinely confused. “You didn’t do it.”

You look back at him, his eyes reflecting disbelief at an apology. “No, but I’m sorry it happened to you.” You look at the screen, showing the burning buildings. It feels like you can hear their screams despite the muted volume. 

He looks at you, not that you can see, as if you're a puzzle. “Why apologize for something you didn’t do? Seems pointless.” He asks.

You look at him, your eyes meeting again, “Sympathy, perhaps.”

--------------------------

DAY THREE

You open your eyes to the blinding light of your window. You blink the sleepiness away before processing that your window is OPEN.

You stand up quickly, tripping over your pillow before you reach to close the window and curtains. You look at your empty bed, perfectly made. 

”Mark?” You call out. You open your door to see him in the kitchen with a mug in hand, windows all open, and lights bright as day.

You gape for a minute before walking over and closing all of them. Once you close them, you turn off the lights, you can still see, but you will admit you kind of missed lighting like that. “What are you doing?!”

Mark looks at you, raising an eyebrow.

You gesture wildly to the house around you, “Uhh I don’t wanna burst your bubble, but we are not Invincible. What are you gonna do if one of those variants attacks us? The attack on your house proves that nobody is safe.”

Mark looks at you uninterested, “Nobody will attack this place.”

”You can’t guarantee that, Mark.” You respond exasperated. “If you could, you wouldn’t be here right now.” You frown as Mark stares at you stoically.

“Look, I’m sorry. I really don’t want to take this out on you, but it’s scary out there. I don’t want to be this paranoid, trust me, but I can never be too sure what will happen.” You sigh looking at him.

“Hell I mean, one of those Invincibles could kick that door down, and we’d be toast. I mean how many even are there?” You ramble.

“Sixteen total.” 

“Sixteen?! Damn.” You exhale in disbelief. “That’s sixteen different Invincibles who could essentially destroy the world. Wait, how’d you even know there are sixteen?” You ask.

Mark gestures lazily toward the TV. “Righttttt, that was a dumb question.” You sigh. Suddenly you pause that train of thought, “Wait, what happened to Eve?”

Mark takes a slow sip of his coffee, “Not sure.”

You frown in concern, “Have you had contact with anybody since they invaded?”

”Just you.” He takes another sip.

”Damn, that’s sad… Do we want to try and contact her?” You ask hesitantly. It doesn’t seem like he wants to talk about Eve.

He shrugs, “Lost my phone.”

You frown, “Oh… Do you wanna. . .” You look up at him, his eyes dead set on you. “You know what, never mind.” You make a mental note to check if you have Eve’s number later, and maybe ask what his whole attitude is about.

“Anyway, were you up long before I got up?” You ask, changing the subject. 

He shakes his head, “No.” He responds. 

“Okay good, I was worried I had slept in or something.” You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. You pull it out and see that Serena sent you a new link, you’re so grateful that she keeps up with news better than you can.

”Hey it seems like the variants disappeared from the cities.” You casually mention, Mark looks up, suddenly interested. 

“Where did they go?” He asks. You shrug in response, reading the rest of the article. He walks over to try and read over your shoulder.

“It seems like they all left at roughly the same time, perhaps something called them. Maybe they have a ‘Boss Invincible’ or something.” You joke.

Mark chuckles humorlessly, “You think?”

“You don’t think that?” You retort, smiling.

“No, I mean you’re probably right.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “It just sounds strange.” He continues.

You nod understanding, “Yeah, but I mean what else could bring them together? They have to have a leader of some kind. This attack seems too coordinated to just be unplanned.” 

Mark sips his coffee loudly, “I guess.” It sounds like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. 

You feel your phone vibrate again. You check it and see a text from William. “Hey, William texted me! You’ll be glad to hear that he is okay.” You hear Mark hum in acknowledgment before opening the message. 

It’s safe. They’re gone for good.

You look at the text message surprised. You have multiple questions.

 

How do you know?

Just trust me on this, I know some people who work with the government. The Invincibles are gone. 

Mark notices your silence, “What is it?” He asks.

You turn towards him, “They’re gone gone. The Invincibles apparently vanished, completely. They didn’t just stop attacking the cities or get called away, they aren’t here anymore. They’re gone for good. ” This catches his attention. 

“Are you serious?” He asks. His eyebrows furrow, is he mad?

”...Yeah.” You pause before confirming. “Are you okay?” You walk up to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He immediately tenses up.

“Hey, they’re gone. They can’t do any more damage. Everything will be okay.” You try to reassure him.

He looks down before relaxing. “They’re gone.” He repeats, you nod. “All of them?” He asks quietly, you nod. 

“All of them.”

--------------------------

“What do you mean they’re not all accounted for?” Cecil yells out walking down the hallway as one of the assistants follows closely.

“You mean to tell me that there is still one of those Marks out there?”

The assistant nods frantically, “We accounted for every single one that died, and the ones that were sent to that alternate dimension. There is still one here, and he’s not our Mark.”

Cecil stops walking, “Does Mark know?” He asks.

The assistant shakes their head, “No… We weren’t sure if we should tell him. I thought it was best to tell you first.”

Cecil nods in approval, “I’m glad you did… Do you know where he was last seen?”

“It was the Invincible that destroyed Chicago, he left after decimating that city. We aren’t entirely sure where he went. He could be on the other side of the globe, but we do know he hasn’t left the atmosphere.” The assistant replies.

"Good, we need to see if there’s a way to locate him. For all we know, he’s already aware that his counterparts have been banished. I can’t imagine he’d serve himself up on a silver platter for us to eliminate." Cecil starts walking towards Eve’s room, there’s a large chance Mark is still there. 

“He can’t hide for long, sir. We’ll find him.” The assistant follows closely behind him.

"Like you already said, he could be halfway across the globe. We can’t leave a threat like that lying around ready to strike whenever. We need whatever leverage we can get right now. If we make it public information that he’s wanted, he might just leave the planet."

"I don’t know about you, but I don’t exactly feel safe knowing an evil version of Invincible is out there somewhere in the universe. We were unprepared for this attack, next time we’ll be ready." Cecil walks down the hall watching through the windows as more ReAnimen are being created. He continues to walk past them.

“There’s only one of him. We’ll bide our time. Keep me updated on any status updates on him. If you hear anything that sounds like Viltrumite sightings, I need to know as soon as possible. I will spare no expense, understand?”

”Yes, sir.”

[sceletaflores]

SINK IN ME WITH YOUR DOG TEETH!

ೃ⁀➷ pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

ೃ⁀➷ wc: 7.0k

ೃ⁀➷ contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, established relationship, feral nasty unhinged logan yes god, logan only slightly losing his humanity but like it’s a lot less sad than it sounds, maybe some toxic relationship dynamics but who cares it’s porn, predator/prey dynamics, p in v, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, HEAVY scent kink (like don’t make me say it…but beware of some very subtle armpit stuff), pain kink, biting is just another form of sexual penetration guys, blood, so much come and come talk, creampie, squirting, this is just gross, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

ೃ⁀➷ nat's note: hi…hi y’all…so here’s the winner of the poll and i need everyone to just hear me out for a second! walk with me! this is probably the most unhinged thing i’ve ever written, like omg those tags. this upsetting depravity was inspired by this post by @stupidfuckingwindow and this post by @monimccoythings which both altered the chemical balances of my brain so fiercely i blacked out for a while and when i came to this was in front of me. merry christmas and happy holidays! take this not at all christmas themed fic as my present to you my precious angels. kisses!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!

you notice a strange shift in logan...

There’s something off with Logan.

The changes were subtle, but you’ve been with him long enough now to pick up on them. And while he's always had a raw, untamed edge to him, a sort of wildness simmering just beneath the surface, this feels different.

It started with the way he would go quiet for longer than usual, like his mind was too far away for you to reach—lost to somewhere distant.

Logan has always been quiet, but this was a different kind of silence. Conversations that used to flow with ease now hang in the air, unfinished. All of his responses reduced to nothing but low grunts and clipped words.

And he was more territorial over you, so much more.

His hand has started to linger at the small of your back or the curve of your waist for a lot longer when you’re in public, his strong grip firm enough to remind you—and anyone nearby—that you’re his.

He would fume at even the slightest hint of someone else's interest in you, a low warning growl escaping his throat to anyone who spared you a second glance.

It wasn’t just the physical closeness, though. It was also in the way Logan has started to watch you—his sharp gaze a never ending constant. An all imposing, heavily looming shadow.

There were even times late at night when you thought he was asleep, that you’d find him staring at you in the dark.

Not the usual, protective gaze he’d have when he thought you were vulnerable, but something deeper, more intense. His breathing would be slow, measured, but there was this energy, this tension that hummed between the two of you.

The nights he did manage to sleep, he’d hold you close to him, his grip iron-tight, his face buried in your hair. If you tried to shift away, even for a second, he’d stir, his arms pulling you back with a quiet, possessive growl that sent a shiver down your spine.

There were bite marks on your neck when you'd wake up, small enough to pass off as nothing—at least, that’s what you tried to tell yourself, but each one felt like a brand. They were deeper, more deliberate.

Then there was the scent—his scent.

You swear it’s gotten stronger, more potent. It clings to you like a second skin, lingering in your clothes, your sheets, even your hair. An intoxicating blend of leather and pine and musk that makes your head spin.

Each time you left the house without him, he’d pin you to the mattress and rub himself all over you before begrudgingly let you walk out the door. His hands or his face running along the delicate skin of your neck, of your stomach, of your wrists.

Everywhere.

He was claiming you in ways—new ways—that left you both exhilarated and confused.

There were other things too, smaller but no less odd things that were starting to add up.

More and more of your clothes have slowly started to go missing over the past few weeks. Each morning when you open any of your dresser drawers, it seems like there are less and less filling them.

Shirts, shorts, socks, bras, panties. All things you’ve found shoved under his side of the mattress or tucked under his pillow. The most memorable hiding place was the front pocket of his leather jacket, your favorite pair of panties haphazardly stuffed inside.

You haven’t said anything about it yet, unsure if you should be concerned or amused.

It isn’t like he’s truly hurting anyone.

He’s just acting…strange.

A part of you can’t help but be drawn to it—the new intensity, the new rawness. There was something undeniably magnetic about the way he clings to you, like you're his anchor in a world constantly shifting beneath his feet.

You’ve seen Logan at his worst—bloody, broken, and lost. But this? It’s never been like this before.

Whatever it is, it has its claws in him deep, and by extension, you.

You just got home from a run, barely walking through the door and kicking your shoes off when a call of your name rings out from the bedroom.

Logan’s tone stops you in your tracks—low and rough, like gravel crunching underfoot.

Your reaction is nearly instant, breath hitching in your chest, heart skipping a beat as a warmth that has nothing to do with the temperature outside starts to pulse through you steadily.

It’s like you’ve become reprogrammed to respond to him this way, your body reacting before your mind can even catch up as his deep, familiar voice rolls over the sweaty expanse of your skin.

You drop your bag at your feet and slowly make your way to the bedroom, a bead of sweat trailing down your temple as you push the door open.

All the curtains are closed, the only light in the room a yellow glow that shines from your bedside lamp. 

Logan is sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his palms, but there’s nothing casual about his posture.

His gaze is locked on you, dark and intense, tracking every step you take, like a lion stalking a gazelle as it drinks from a watering hole.

“Didn’t tell me where you were going.” His eyes gleam as the lamp’s rays reflect off of them, his pupils dilated so he can see you better in the darkness that shrouds your room.

You swallow hard, trying to be as nonchalant as you can as your feet carry you to your dresser. “I went for a run,” you reply, your voice a little too steady, a little too casual.

You tug open the top drawer, rifling around for a clean shirt with a little more focus than necessary to distract yourself from the way his eyes burn a hole into your back.

“You didn’t tell me,” Logan repeats, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. “You know I don’t like it when I don’t know where my girl is.”

There’s a sharp edge to his words, but it’s not anger—it’s something far more primal.

The energy in the room crackles like a storm about to break, and you feel it in your bones, in the way your skin prickles under his gaze.

"I was only gone for an hour," you say, your voice measured, careful. "You were still asleep when I left, I didn’t want to wake you." 

You chance a glance over your shoulder, and the sight of him steals the air from your lungs.

Logan hasn’t moved an inch from his perch on the edge of the bed, but the sheer force of his presence keeps you rooted in place, heart hammering in your chest.

“Hmm, that’s real sweet, baby,” he drawls, sitting up straighter now, leaning forward.

The motion makes him seem larger somehow, shoulders broad and imposing in the dim light. His tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip, and the way his gaze rakes over you feels like a physical touch, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

Your fingers still in the drawer, fabric slipping from your grasp as your pulse pounds in your ears. You can’t bring yourself to look away from him, caught in the snare of his sharp, predatory focus.

You turn slowly, arms falling to hang limply at your sides. "I wasn't gone long."

Logan tilts his head, a low, amused sound rumbling in his chest as he rises to his feet with a fluid, deliberate ease that makes your stomach flip.

“Didn’t feel that way to me, darlin’.” His voice is a deep, gravelly purr. It sends a shiver down your spine. “Felt like forever.”

His eyes never leave yours as he crosses the room, the green completely swallowed by the dark black of his pupils as they seep into the color like oil spilling out over the surface of a lake.

You’ve never seen him like this before, so hungry.

"Logan," you say slowly, back pressed tightly against your dresser. "You're really starting to freak me out." 

Logan hums idly, head cocked to the side as he watches you. "I can hear your heartbeat." 

His tone is calmer now, but there’s still a dangerous edge to it, like a knife pressed just lightly enough against the skin not to break it.

Your pulse races, heat simmering in your stomach despite the slight edge of fear clawing its way through your chest.

He stops in front of you, so close that his scent invades your senses strong enough to make your knees feel like they’re about to buckle beneath you.

“There’s nothin’ to be scared of baby,” he mutters quietly, thick arms coming up to cage you against the dresser. 

Your hold on the wood tightens, your knuckles turning white with the strength of your grip.

It’s almost chemical, the way you can feel your body start to give in to him. The thought fills you with as much arousal as it does unease, a heady combination that churns in your stomach.

You muster up enough will to breathlessly nod in agreement, a quiet submission.

Logan’s lips quirk into the faintest smirk, his heavy gaze dipping to the curve of your neck, lingering on the rapid flutter of your pulse. “That’s my good girl.”

Any words you might say get caught in your throat as you stare up at Logan, wide eyed and steadily leaking wetness into the gusset of your panties. 

His nostrils flare, and a knowing sound rumbles from somewhere dark and low in his chest as his eyes flutter shut on a deep inhale.

Your thighs clench together instinctively, the overwhelming need to be filled wracking through your body like thunder.

When Logan opens his eyes again, there’s no trace of anything but pure animal need. The muscles in his jaw working furiously under his skin in time with the strain of his forearms still caging you in place.

“Yeah…” he trails off slowly, tone both condescending and soothing all at once. “I know you’re not all that scared, honey.”

He leans in, tearing a small whimper from your throat at the way his beard scrapes against your cheek as he crowds you.

His breath fans over the shell of your ear, hot and enticing as they brush against your skin when he speaks again. “I can smell how fuckin’ wet you are.”

Logan’s words send a sharp jolt through you, a broken moan falling from your parted lips as your cheeks heat up so fiercely it’s as if you’ve been slapped.

Your body moves without thinking, pressing up into his hard, unyielding frame like you can’t help it—and maybe you can’t.

“L–Logan…” Your voice trembles, a weak thing that dissolves in your throat as he noses along the skin of your neck.

His hands come down to rest on your waist, palms rough and possessive and warm and a perfect fit where they lay over your curves, anchoring you in place.

“Shhh.” His lips trail down your jaw, leaving wet kisses in their wake. “You don’t gotta say a thing, princess. I know what you need.”

Logan’s hands slip lower, cupping the backs of your thighs with ease before hoisting you onto the dresser like you weigh nothing. The sharp edge of the wood digs into your legs, but you can’t find it in yourself to care about the discomfort.

Your hands go to his shoulders without much of a second thought, nails digging into corded muscle as you try to keep your balance. 

Logan’s hands stay on your thighs, his grip strong enough for you to feel the power behind them without hurting you.

He noses along your sweaty skin like a hot-tempered hound, desperately inhaling greedy lungfuls of your scent wherever he can get it.

Behind your ear, in the crook of your neck, along your collarbone, the exposed swell of your breasts, dangerously close to your underarm.

He groans against your shoulder, a full body shiver jolting his frame. “Smell so fuckin’ good darlin’, drives me goddamn crazy.”

You can’t form a coherent thought, let alone a response. His mouth finally finds yours, claiming you with a ferocity that steals your breath.

Logan's tongue slides against yours, a messy, desperate kiss that has you moaning into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer.

It’s filthy, fueled by nothing but raw need and desperation. Spit drips from your chin to trail down the length of your throat until it gathers in the valley of your breasts. Whether it’s his or yours, it doesn’t matter.

It’s a perfect mix of the both of you, lewd and messy in the way it claims your skin.

Logan breaks the kiss with a low moan, his chest heaving the same as yours as you both inhale harsh lungfuls of air.

His lips are red and raw, swollen in a way that your own must mirror. A string of saliva keeps you connected, drooping thinner and thinner in the space between you until it breaks under the weight of gravity.

Logan doesn’t give you long to catch your breath. His lips trail down your jaw and latch onto the sensitive spot just below your ear, teeth scraping against skin before he sucks hard enough to leave a mark. 

Your head falls back against the wall as his mouth moves lower, dragging the strap of your sports bra down with his teeth.

The way he’s acting—like a man crazed, like he needs you more than he needs air—has you dizzy with need. But there's a part of you that’s still trying to hold onto some semblance of control, to hold onto something familiar in the chaos.

It’s only then that you realize this may be a bad idea. 

Whatever this is, is clearly an accumulation of all the things you’ve noticed over the last couple of weeks.

Maybe indulging Logan will only make things worse, like giving in to him when he’s in such a state could be the tipping point to a much deeper and all consuming issue buried somewhere inside of him.

It can’t possibly be healthy for him to act like this, and it can’t be healthy for you to bask in it as much as you are.

“W–wait.” Your thighs slip shut, hands coming up to push at Logan’s shoulders weakly.

There’s no real force behind your ministrations and you keep your neck bared to him all the while, but he stops anyway, rearing back with a displeased noise. 

His face hovers inches from yours, and for a moment, you swear he looks almost pained—his brows furrowing, jaw tightening as though reigning himself in is a Herculean effort.

His hands remain on your thighs, trembling slightly as he keeps himself rooted in place, clearly fighting every instinct roaring through him to just take what he wants.

“You don’t want me to stop, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and gravelly, a stark contrast to the restraint in his expression. His thumbs stroke idly against your skin, his touch soothing even as his words drip with pure, feral confidence. “I can smell the way your pussy’s achin’ for it. I can feel it. You’re shakin’ for me.”

You are—your whole body feels like it’s on the verge of unraveling under his touch, your resolve crumbling faster than you’d like to admit.

Everything you were going to say gets clogged in your brain on the way out, leaving you silent as you hold his gaze.

You don’t even have the capability to feel embarrassed at the way you blanch, lost in the way his scent attacks your senses, in the rough drag of his palms over your bare thighs, in the way your lips still tingle from his kiss.

Logan sighs, long and all suffering as his hands come to rest on both of your shut knees. The impatient raise of his brow paired with the dissatisfied curl of his lips is enough to shake you to the core.

“Now, you gonna show it to me?” His fingers drum along your knee, his patience thinning. “Or am I gonna have to make you.”

And it may sound like one, but you know it’s not a question. 

It’s a choice.

Your mind races, hands clenching and unclenching on Logan’s shoulders as you weigh your options. His own hands squeeze your knees, just hard enough to let you feel it in your bones.

You spread your legs.

Logan doesn’t waste a second, dropping to his knees in front of you with a satisfied rumble and a predatory gleam in his eyes. His hands grip your thighs, pushing them even wider. Wide enough to make you feel exposed, vulnerable in the best way. 

Your head dips, chin falling to your chest as you watch the way Logan takes up the space between your legs. Your shorts are soaked, fabric so drenched that it’s melded to the shape of your cunt, your puffy folds on display for his greedy eyes.

“Fuck,” Logan breathes, his voice cracking like a whip in the quiet room. His hands find your waistband, and the dull sound of fabric ripping rings out.

The sturdy cotton tears like tissue paper in his hands, the scraps of your shorts falling carelessly to the floor, leaving you in nothing but the light blue panties you slipped on before your run. 

The way he gazes at the space between your thighs is feral, unrestrained, like he’s a man starving for his next meal—and you’re it.

“Look at that…” Logan mutters, almost to himself as he runs his knuckle along the wet cotton of your panties. His touch is featherlight, barely any pressure at all, but it’s enough.

Your breath hitches, a sharp intake of air at the teasing touch, and your hips instinctively cant forward, silently begging for more. 

Logan's eyes flick up to yours, a dark smirk curling his lips like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you—and how much you're already falling apart.

“Eager fuckin’ thing,” he drawls, voice rough with arousal. He leans forward, his hot breath ghosting over your soaked panties, sending a shiver racing down your spine. “You want me to give your pussy some kisses, baby?”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words never make it out. Logan’s lips press against the damp fabric, placing a kiss right over where your covered clit throbs with need.

Your head falls back to rest on the wall behind you, a shocked moan bursting from your lips.

“Logan.” His name is pulled from your mouth like a plea, but he doesn’t let up, the sharp edge of his teeth scraping over the sensitive bundle of nerves hidden beneath the soaked barrier of your underwear.

“Hmm?” He hums against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your core. “Thought you wanted me to stop?”

The taunt is maddening, the rasp of his voice and the teasing flicks of his tongue combining to unravel you piece by piece. 

You shake your head furiously, thighs trembling where they rest on his broad shoulders. “N-no—don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

Logan chuckles darkly, his hands sliding up your thighs to hook his fingers into the thin waistband of your panties. 

“That’s more like it,” he taunts. With a single, sharp tug, the ruined fabric joins the scraps of your shorts on the floor.

Logan groans at the sight of your bare cunt, slick with your juices and flushed with arousal. His mouth waters, his tongue running along the sharp points of his canines in anticipation.

You’re already so ready for him.

“You smell so fuckin’ good,” he growls, leaning in to drag his nose along the slick seam of your folds. The deep inhale he takes is obscene, sending a ripple of anticipation through your entire body. “Know that you taste even better.”

Logan licks a broad stripe through your folds, groaning like the taste of you is enough to satisfy him completely. His hands grip your thighs tighter, keeping you spread and utterly at his mercy as he begins to work in earnest.

He alternates between laving the tip of his tongue over your clit and dipping down to fuck into you, his beard scraping along the skin of your thighs in a way that’s almost too much. Your head falls back, hitting the wall with a soft thud as your vision blurs.

“God, Logan.” You squirm on the vanity, but he holds you steady, growling low and deep into your core like your moaning only spurs him on.

“That’s it,” he mutters between licks, his words unmistakably smug. “Make those pretty little sounds for me, baby.”

Logan circles your clit with the flat of his tongue, alternating between firm, deliberate strokes and light, teasing flicks that leave you gasping for air.

You cry out, fingers tangling in his thick, unruly hair as he repeats the motions, your thighs starting to tremble on either side of his head.

Every time your hips buck against him, he growls, the vibrations of it sinking into your skin and amplifying the pleasure coursing through your veins.

“Stay still,” he orders, his voice muffled against your dripping core but no less commanding. His hands tighten on your thighs, holding you in place with an unrelenting grip. “You’re not in charge, sweetheart.”

You whimper, your whole body trembling as you fight the urge to grind against his face. But it’s impossible to stay still when he’s licking into you like a man possessed, his mouth working you over with an intensity that has your vision going hazy.

“I know, you're just so damn needy, aren’t you, baby?” He drawls , pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening with your arousal. “You love this, hmm? Lettin’ me take care of you?”

You can only nod, words failing you as his fingers replace his mouth, sliding through your spit soaked cunt.

“You’re so goddamn pretty down here.” Logan mutters, almost to himself, spreading your puffy, abused folds obscenely wide. 

He teases your entrance, fingertips dipping into your warm heat only to retract a second later. You whine, high and embarrassing as your hips twitch with want.

Logan watches your face closely, his expression equal parts smug and adoring as he finally sinks one thick finger inside you, curling it just right.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your head lolling back he adds a second finger, stretching you in a way that has your toes curling. He pumps them slowly at first, each deliberate thrust sending waves of pleasure radiating through your body.

“Takin’ me so well,” Logan murmurs, his thumb brushes over your clit, drawing tight circles that make your thighs tremble. “So tight and wet for me. You’re makin’ me crazy, darlin’.”

Your moans grow louder, unrestrained, as he picks up the pace, his fingers plunging into you with a rhythm that has your skin burning hotter and hotter.

Logan’s mouth returns to you with renewed fervor, tongue and lips working in perfect tandem as he drags you closer to the edge. 

He shakes his head back and forth like an animal, his nose rubbing up against your clit deliciously as buries his tongue as deep in your cunt as it’ll go. The coarse hair of his beard scratches the sensitive skin of your inner thighs red and raw.

You can’t think, can’t breathe, your entire world narrowing down to the feel of his mouth on you. 

“Logan—” Your voice cracks, your head falling back against the wall as the spring of pleasure inside you winds tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. “I’m—fuck—I’m so close—”

“Good,” he growls, pumping his fingers in time with the flicks of his tongue. “I can feel you squeezin’ me. I want you to come for me, baby. Wanna taste every fuckin’ drop.”

You’re powerless to resist.

You cry out, thighs clamping shut on either side of his head as you come on his tongue. Your body shakes so violently you knock a few things off the vanity, the distant sound of glass shattering hardly registers. 

Logan growls, low and dragged from the back of his throat in such a way that makes it reverberate in the space between your legs. His own arms come up, grip strong and encouraging as he forces your legs around his head even tighter than before.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, licking and sucking and pumping his fingers to drag you through the aftershocks like a man obsessed. 

When you finally come back to yourself, panting and trembling, Logan’s holding your shaking thighs apart, his mouth still pressed to you in soft, languid strokes.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, voice rough and gravelly as he presses a final kiss to your oversensitive clit. 

Logan’s hands slide up to your hips, gripping tight as he rises to his feet, towering over you with that same dark, predatory gleam in his eyes. 

His lips are even redder than before, swollen and slick with your juices. His beard is damp and shining in the low light, and the smug, satisfied smirk on his face sends another pulse of heat through your already spent body.

“Good girl,” he purrs, not even bothering to wipe his mouth before leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss that’s all heat and possession. 

You can taste yourself on his tongue, the salt and musk mingling with the raw hunger. It’s filthy and intoxicating, and it leaves you gasping for air when he finally pulls away.

But Logan’s far from finished.

His hands slide under your ass, lifting you off the dresser with ease. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he carries you to the bed and tosses you on it with little preamble.

Your back hits the mattress hard enough to have you bouncing on it once, twice, three times before Logan is crawling up to blanket your body with his. 

The heavy weight of his metal laced bones sink you into the soft plushness, keeping you stuck beneath him with nowhere to go.

Which you know is exactly where he wants you.

He slots his hips between yours, dragging the straining jut of his cock along your sensitive cunt. You can feel the warmth of him even through the thick material of his sweats, a scalding plane of heat that makes your cunt ache with need. 

You can feel the damp patch where his clothed tip nudges against your clit, and you know from that alone he’s already soaked through the cotton with pre-come. His cock leaking like a faucet in the harsh confines of his bottoms while he ate you out.

“Feel that?” Logan asks, voice hoarse as he buries his head in your neck. “That’s all ‘cause of you, baby. Got me drippin’ like I busted a damn pipe.”

The sharp intake of air you suck in at his words does nearly nothing to help your breathlessness, your desperation bleeding through as your frantic hands push at the waistband of his bottoms. “Off. Off.”

Logan huffs a rough laugh against your neck, his warm breath skating across your skin as his lips ghost over your pulse. “So fuckin’ bossy.”

He doesn’t move to help you, not right away, savoring the way your hands fumble and tug, your frustration bubbling over in breathy little gasps.

“You want it that bad, huh?” he teases, the rough timbre of his voice a stark contrast to the gentleness of his lips pressing along your jaw. “Look at you, so damn needy. Can’t even wait for me to get my cock out.”

You only tug harder, patience nonexistent as your fingers curl into the waistband. “Please, Logan. Don’t tease.”

“Alright, alright.” Logan finally gives in, sitting back just enough to push them over his hips, freeing his cock.

It springs free, slapping against his stomach heavy and slick with pre-come, the ruddy tip glistening in the low light.

The sight alone has you clenching around nothing, a devastatingly desperate noise falls from your lips as the ache between your thighs builds to an almost unbearable throb.

He makes quick work of ripping his shirt over his head, carelessly tossing it behind him before he’s back on you.

This time, when he bullies his hips in between yours, there's nothing separating you.

You feel every inch of his cock as it grinds along the seam of your cunt. The velvety skin is almost scalding as it drags against your own, the drool of pre-come only adding more to your own wetness.

Logan presses you into the mattress harder, rutting against your cunt almost desperately as he noses along your damp, overheated skin.

His mouth is everywhere. Sucking marks where the junction of your neck meets your shoulder, lapping up the sweat that pools in the valley of your breasts, licking a filthy stripe across the side of your face that has your cheeks burning.

He buries his nose in the sweaty skin of your underarm, whining and panting like a surly dog all over again. Each breath is hot and wet against you, and it only seems to make him hungrier, greedier. His cock blurts even more pre-come onto your skin with every inhale he takes.

It should gross you out. 

It should be utterly mortifying, but the sight of Logan like this only leaves you thrumming with want. 

His desperation, the raw, unfiltered way he takes you in—like he can’t get close enough, can’t have enough of you—has your pulse racing and your mind spinning out of control. 

You feel his nose press harder against your skin, the heat of his breath fanning over you as he groans, a deep, guttural sound that reverberates right through you. 

“Fuck,” he rasps, voice gravelly and broken. “You smell so goddamn good. Can’t help it. Can’t fuckin’—” His hips jerk, the weight of his cock sliding slickly against your cunt, bumping up against your clit in a way that makes you shiver. 

“Logan,” you whimper, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders, nails digging into his skin. Your hips lift instinctively, chasing the friction, the relief, the unbearable stretch you know only he can give you. “Please, I can’t take it anymore. I need you—need you so bad.”

He smirks, his lips curling against your skin as he nips at the curve of your jaw. “Need me, huh?” he murmurs, his tone dark and teasing. “Need my cock inside you, stretchin’ you open? Tell me, baby. Tell me how bad you need it.”

“So bad.” Your hips tilt up instinctively, desperate for him to push inside. The head of his cock catches at your entrance, the blunt pressure sending a jolt of electricity through your body. “Need you so bad it hurts. Please—please don’t make me wait.”

Logan growls, a feral sound. “Such a good girl when you beg for me.” he snarls, big hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise so he can flip you on your front, gently manhandling you until you're on all fours. “Gonna fill you up, princess.”

His hands knead the soft flesh of your ass as he lines himself up behind you. The weight of his cock presses against your entrance, slick and ready, and for a moment, he just stays there, teasing.

Your arms shake beneath you, elbows locked as you force yourself to stay still, patient.

The head of his cock nudges against you, spreading your slickness, and your body trembles in anticipation. He sinks himself into you in one deep, unrelenting thrust.

The stretch is instant, the burn delicious as he pushes inside, inch by inch, filling you in one fluid, devastating stroke. A choked gasp spills from your lips as he bottoms out, his cock seated so deep you swear you can feel him in your stomach.

“Fuck.” Logan stills, his cock pulsing inside you as he lets you adjust, but the restraint is fleeting. 

His hands glide up your back, palms rough and grounding as they map every curve, every quiver of your body. He starts grinding his hips in slow circles, pressing every inch of his cock along your velvety walls. 

Your head drops between your arms, brows pinched together as you take in greedy lungfuls of air. You’ll never get used to this, the way Logan fills you so perfectly, no matter how many times it’s been.

“Come on, baby.” Logan leans down to press a soft kiss between your shoulder blades, his lips fever hot. “You wanted to fuck me so bad you could hardly wait. Now’s your chance, fuck me.”

It takes a few long seconds for his words to cunt through the molasses clouding your mind, the small thrust of his hips hinting at what he wants you to do.

You let out a pitiful whimper, hands digging into your bed’s puffy comforter as you start rocking your hips. 

You start slow, letting yourself build up a nice, steady rhythm as Logan purrs words of encouragement from behind you. His hands never leave your hips, thumbs rubbing soft circles over your skin as you start to pick up the pace.

“That’s it,” he encourages darkly, giving the rippling muscle of your ass a sharp swat. “Find the fuckin’ spot, baby. Write your name on this cock, tell everyone who it belongs to.”

You cry out at the sting of his palm, bouncing yourself on his length impossibly faster. Your arms burn under the strain of your movements, but you can’t stop chasing the high of pleasure that shoots up your spine.

The sound of skin on skin fills the room, a lewd slap slap slap as you fuck yourself on Logan’s cock like he’s a replacement for the cheap suction cup dildo collecting dust in a box hidden away in your closet—like he’s nothing but a expertly shaped lump of silicon molded solely for your pleasure.

You can feel yourself getting close to the edge, and in nearly no time at all. The telltale coil buried deep in your belly winding tighter and tighter as you work yourself on Logan’s cock hard enough that the cheap frame of your bed thumps against the wall.

It might be embarrassing if you weren’t so far gone already, so fuck drunk that the too loud moans falling from your lips hardly phase you.

It's like there's nothing but the feel of Logan inside you, bumping against that spot inside you that has stars shining behind your closed eyes. 

“Close already?” Logan taunts from behind you, voice just the tiniest but breathless, but the way his cock pulses and jerks where it’s sheathed in your cunt lets you know he’s right there with you. “I know you are, honey. I can feel how she’s squeezin’ me, so damn tight.”

His hands dig into your hips, not even waiting for a response as he starts thrusting in time with your bounces. He pounds into you, hips snapping against your ass hard enough to sting.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come too baby,” he bites out, the rhythm of his hips getting sloppier. “Gonna come so fuckin’ hard, fill you up so good. Shit–”

Logan pulls out enough that only the thick tip of his cock stays sheathed in the warmth of your cunt, his body falling to hunch over yours as he pumps his come into you with a feral growl.

You whine at the feeling of his release filling you, painting your insides with spurt after spurt of thick come. It’s so much, it’s always so much. A rush of warmth that floods your insides each time without fail.

And just like that, the feeling alone has you coming.

Your back arches as your cunt gushes over the tip of his cock, drenching his thighs and the rest of his shaft in your essence. You think you may scream, but it’s hard to tell over the white noise rushing through your ears.

Your arms finally buckle under you as Logan helps you ride out the last few tremors of your orgasm with a few slow rocks of his hips, and your spent body collapses onto the mattress.

Logan’s low noises of pleasure barely register as your chest heaves almost violently, your lungs desperately trying to get as much air as they possibly can.

But you barely have time to catch your breath before Logan plants his knees back firmly on the mattress and starts thrusting, again. 

“Logan!” Your hands scramble for purchase on the mussed sheets of your bed, the overstimulation making your legs kick out frantically.

“You thought we were done?” Logan asks, his tone equal parts amused and mocking. “You popped twice already, baby. S’only fair that you let me catch up.”

With no warning, he takes you in his arms, pulling his cock out just long enough to flip you on your back. He throws your legs over his shoulders before plunging back inside your fucked open cunt with a filthy squelch. 

He feels even bigger like this, yet your body swallows his cock like it’s nothing. The spongy warmth of your walls melding to the shape of him like it’s what you were made for. 

The coarse hair of his happy trail drags across your clit each time he thrusts, adding to the blistering feeling where the knife's edge of too much too much too much meets not nearly enough.

His come stuffed in your trembling cunt only makes it all the more filthy, his cock plunging inside you and coming back out slick and wet on every thrust. 

Your lips fall open on a broken moan, eyes screwing shut as you work your cunt around him, feeling the way his release gets fucked deeper and deeper inside you.

Logan notices, of course he does.

A dark chuckle rumbles against your own as he leans down enough to whisper into your slack mouth. “You like havin’ someone come in your pussy, baby?”

You moan into his mouth unabashedly, loudly. Both of your eyes burning as tears threaten to fall down the flushed skin of your cheeks, your throat going dry and scratchy in the best way possible. 

“Shit–” Your hands claw at the rippling muscles of his back desperately, nails digging into his skin hard enough that you feel the unmistakable slickness of his blood coating the tips of your fingers.

The pain spurs him on, his head tips down on a low groan and his eyes squeezing together for a split second before he’s spewing filth again.

“You want some more?” Logan asks, tone going dark like he already knows the answer as his hips speed up impossible faster. “You want me to come again?”

You don’t respond, you can’t respond. You can barely make a coherent thought. 

All you can manage are whiny moans that fall from your slack lips, broken little uh uh uh’s that get punched out with each new thrust. Your nails rake down his back mercilessly, leaving behind deep red welts that heal as you go.

“Yeah, I know you do.” He turns his head to nip at the skin over the delicate bone of your ankle where it bounces near his head, sharp teeth digging in enough to have you whining pitifully. “You love havin’ a messy fuckin’ pussy, don’t you? Love being stuffed so full of my come you can’t even hold it all, huh?”

His words hit you like a physical blow, lighting up your body from the inside out. Your thighs shake where they’re wrapped around his hips, ankles locking over his lower back so he couldn’t pull out if he wanted to.

His come mixes with your juices to coat his cock, completely drenched all slick and shiny in the dull light of your bedroom. It drips down almost leisurely compared to the near feral snap of his hips, trailing all the way down his length to his heavy balls. 

“Yes.” He groans, reverent. “Give it to me, baby. Wanna feel you come on my cock again, feels so fuckin’ good. Can’t ever get enough—”

You’ve never heard him like this, so high of pleasure that his speech slurs and his words all meld together into one filthy stream of ramblings that has you sinking your nails even deeper into his back and coming on his cock with a loud wail.

Your cunt convulses around him, shaking with the force of your release, milking him. 

“Fuck, princess.” Logan pitches forward, his sweaty torso covering yours as he keeps fucking into your shaking body, desperately chasing his own release.

Finally, with a muted roar of your name, he sinks his teeth into the tender skin of your neck and comes for you.

You cry out at the sharp sting of his teeth bearing down hard enough to draw blood, your vision whiting out with the pleasure of being claimed in every way imaginable.

Logan’s hips only stop when he’s drained of every last drop, his body shaking where it lays over yours. He laps at the broken skin of your neck, a soft gesture that isn’t quite an apology for making you bleed—because you know that he isn’t sorry whatsoever—but it’s nice nonetheless.

Your arms come up to circle around his neck, eyes fluttering shut as the exhaustion hits you all at once. You get lost in the steady rhythm of Logan catching his breath, in the way his heart pounds against his ribcage where his chest is pressed to your own, in the way his fingers twitch and flex on your hips.

The last thing you hear as you drift off, his come starting to leak down your thighs in thick streams of white, is a hushed whisper of “I got you, baby. I’m right here, I’m always right here.”

It puts you at ease, all the worry you felt over the last few weeks slipping from your mind like grains of sand through your fingers.

Maybe, this new side of Logan isn’t so bad after all.

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