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em1i2a3 · 1 month ago

Text

Detonate

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolt!/New Avengers!Fem!Reader

Summary: Move in day is happening at the Thunderbolts/New Avengers Compound, and Bob is having a hard time dealing with the changes.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Angst, Smut, and Fluff (the triforce of fun!), Reader and Bob are very close friends, Bob is still coming down from the Sentry medical trial he went through (going through a bit of a rough time), Bob is nervous and a bit scarred, but he’s super comfortable with the reader, they’re very close.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex, Bob is a darn yearner in this (but that’s just how it is), would I say this is hot hot sex? Yeah. Oral (fem receiving), Fingering, Hair Pulling, Body Worship (like in general), Praise Kink on full display here, Overstimulation Kink, Cock Warming (kind of…The vibes are there lol)

Author’s Note: This was a request made by an anon, I did kinda insert smut in this but I thought it kinda fit nicely into the landscape of the story! I hope everyone enjoys it! It’s a long one!

Word Count: 22,288 (holy fuck)

“Okay! Car is packed! You sure you got everything, Bob?” You asked, straightening up from where you’d just wrestled your final duffel bag into the trunk, the zipper half-stuck from being too full. A strand of hair clung to your cheek in the early morning heat, and you swiped it away with the back of your hand. The hatch creaked shut with a groan of protest– and your poor car was now packed to the brim with what felt like your entire life.

Labeled boxes overflowing with tech gear, your clothes crammed into vacuum-sealed bags that had slowly started to reinflate. Half a dozen posters rolled into tubes. A shoebox full of knick knacks, mismatched cords, and pins from old missions. And of course, the plastic bin of tangled charging cables that had somehow followed you from dorms to safehouses to apartments since 2020 without ever being untangled.

You turned, squinting into the sun, and found Bob exactly where he’d been standing for the last five minutes–rooted by the passenger door like he wasn’t quite sure he was allowed to get in yet.

His hoodie sleeves were tugged down past his wrists, hands fidgeting near the frailed seams of it. His hair was still a little damp at the edges from his shower, and the morning light caught in the light brown locks that draped around his face, framing it and caressing it so nicely it was as if someone was holding his cheeks.

At his feet sat two cardboard boxes and that was it.

One was a store-bought shipping box, pristine and almost too clean, like it hadn’t been lived in yet. The other was older, more worn, marked in thick black Sharpie with your handwriting: Books for Bob.

He gave a sheepish shrug, his voice small.

“D-Didn’t really have m-much to bring. Just had those t-two boxes, remember?”

You paused.

It wasn’t the first time he’d said something like that. Not the first time he’d gestured vaguely to the corner of your shared living space with that soft, self-deprecating shrug–two boxes and a borrowed life. But it still hit you low and hard in the chest, like it always did, because he wasn’t being dramatic.

That really was all he had.

Two boxes.

One was filled with clothes you’d helped him pick out on a quiet Tuesday afternoon, just a week after he’d admitted–haltingly, almost ashamed–that the threadbare scrubs Valentina gave him weren’t actually his. Just something someone had tossed his way after the Void incident, like a temporary name tag slapped on a stranger. You’d taken him shopping that day not because he asked, but because you noticed. Because the way he tugged at his sleeves and kept checking if his shirt covered the scars on his wrists said more than any words ever could.

The other box…Well, it hadn’t started out as his. The books inside were yours. Dog-eared, tea-stained, a few with notes scrawled in the margins. But slowly–so slowly you almost didn’t notice–they’d migrated across the apartment. From your nightstand to the coffee table. From the coffee table to the arm of the couch. Until they found a home at the far end of the sectional, right next to the blanket he always folded the same way and the chipped mug he used whether it was clean or not.

That corner had become his sanctuary.

He didn’t say much when he read–just curled in on himself, long legs tucked up beneath him, blanket pulled over his knees, tea going cold in his hands while the soft lamplight pooled around his shoulders. He read them again and again, like the words were anchors. Like they reminded him that he existed. That he was still here. Still allowed to take up space.

And every time he said it–this is all I have–you felt the weight of how much he meant it.

And how badly you wanted to give him more.

Because you remembered the day where you agreed to take him in.

Not in the vague, hazy way people recall calendar events or checkmarks on a to-do list–but in the bone-deep, clear-cut way that memories get branded when they’re born from moments that matter.

It had been the night after the last press conference. The final gauntlet of public statements, forced smiles, and tightly controlled answers. Cameras flashing. Journalists circling like vultures around roadkill. Words like “recovery,” “reform,” and “containment” were getting tossed around like they meant something, like they could undo what The Void had done in New York.

And through it all, Bob had stood just behind Valentina’s shoulder–silent, unmoving, eyes glassy like he was watching it all from underwater. Like his body was there, but he wasn’t.

When the cameras finally shut off and the world stopped demanding things from him, it was like watching a puppet go slack. His shoulders caved. His posture buckled. Whatever thin thread that had been holding him together snapped the moment no one was looking.

Then, for the first time in what felt like weeks, the team finally had the opportunity to sit down and talk. No comms in their ears. No missions ticking like time bombs in the background. Just silence, pure uninterrupted attention, and a problem that none of you had the answer for.

Bob was still in the compound, still alive and kicking, but he was barely present. He spoke in short bursts, when prompted, and gave mechanical answers–like he was on a scripted loop with a shaky voice. His eyes never focused on the person in front of him. He ate only when someone put something in his hands, and even then, it was minimal–just enough to pass as functioning. Barely enough to keep him upright. He slept too much for days on end, then not at all for a stretch so long that the medical aides started whispering about sedatives again.

He hadn’t even been given a proper room, he was just tucked-away in a corner bed in the medical wing, hidden behind a curtain that never fully closed. The air in there always smelled antiseptic and medicinal in a nauseating way. The lights were always buzzing faintly, like they needed to be replaced but nobody would do it. And the nurses assigned to check in on him swapped out too fast for him to learn anyone’s name.

You had passed by his bed once that morning, and you had caught him sitting upright with the sleeves of his scrubs tugged down over his hands, staring blankly at the white wall. His tray of food was untouched, and the plastic fork had been snapped in half.

And because of you Valentina called that meeting.

The conference room was too cold and too bright, the overhead fluorescents were a jarring contrast to the hollow, silent fatigue hanging in the air. You sat near the end of the long, mahogany conference table, with a dull ache still pulsing under your ribs–healing fractures from fighting the Sentry that hadn’t quite fused. Every time you shifted in your seat, the pain reminded you of why you weren’t on active rotation anymore, and why you were the only one not running logistics or field reports.

Valentina stood at the head of the table with her clipboard. Yelena paced around because she couldn’t keep still, sharp eyes flicking toward the window every few seconds because she thought something was going to fly through it. Bucky leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, jaw clenched–stone-faced, but simmering beneath because he had other things to do and this was just another thing he needed to deal with. Walker was on edge, a spitfire as you would call him, always loaded up with something to say, but for once, he kept his mouth shut. Ava stood beside you in total silence, and Alexei…Well, even he had stopped trying to lighten the mood, because he knew how serious the situation had become.

The air was thick, and palpable, heavy with everything that was unspoken between the group. Everyone was waiting for someone else to offer a solution.

Because the homing of Bob Reynolds–The Sentry, The Void–was a question none of you knew how to answer.

Until you said it…

”I’ll take him.”

The words slipped out before you’d fully thought them through, though you had been mulling it over for a bit.

The room had gone still in those moments, and Valentina’s eyes lifted from her clipboard to look at you, she seemed caught off guard that you were willing to take him in–especially after all he had done.

You could feel Yelena stop pacing behind you, the sudden absence of motion louder than her footsteps.

”I’ve got the space,” You said, quieter now, “And I’m not on active rotation right now because of…Y’know…” You gestured vaguely to your side, where your ribs were still taped under your shirt, “So I can keep an eye on him until the Tower’s ready. Just a few weeks. It’ll give him some place quieter and less…Sterile.”

For a moment, nobody responded, it was as if you had sucked all the air out of the room like a vacuum seal.

Then Bucky gave you a slow, almost unrecognized nod.

Yelena muttered something under her breath in Russian that you were pretty sure meant “Of course it’d be you.”

Valentina tilted her head and scribbled something onto her notes without comment.

Walker shifted like he wanted to object, but thought better of it.

And everyone else…Had nothing better to offer up, so they had to agree to it.

That night, when you pushed open the curtain to the medical wing, you found Bob was already awake.

He was sitting on the edge of the cot, motionless, elbows balanced on his knees, hands limp between them like they’d forgotten how to hold anything. His hoodie–one he must’ve asked for or found from the pile of clothes Valentina handed him weeks ago–was bunched at the wrists, the frayed threads twisted around his fingers. He hadn’t put the hood up, but his hair had fallen over his face in soft, uneven strands, just enough to shadow his eyes.

He wasn’t looking at anything. Not the wall, not the bed. Just…Out. Like the space in front of him was wide open, endless, and empty.

You stepped in quietly. No sudden moves. Just a presence, steady and real.

“Hey,” You said, your voice a hush in the too-bright room.

His head lifted a little. Not all the way. But just enough for you to catch a flicker of blue under the fall of his hair. You took a few steps closer, not touching, but close enough that your presence could be felt in the air between you.

“Thought you might want to get out of here.” He didn’t speak, didn’t nod. But he didn’t shrink away either. His gaze found yours–and for a second, just a second, you saw the faintest crack in the fog.

“I–I don’t…” He started, voice barely audible, rough like it had been unused for too long. “I don’t know w-where to go.” You felt your heart swell slightly, hearing the way he croaked out the words, how timid he sounded, how scared he was.

”You’ll be coming with me just for a little while…Until the Tower’s ready.” You explained softly, keeping your distance still. You could see his jaw tighten, and he shook his head.

”I–I can’t…What if…What if he comes back?” His voice cracked on he. It was barely a whisper, thick with dread and self-loathing.

And your heart fractured a little at the way he said it–not like a warning, but a confession. Like he believed The Void was a thing still inside him, curled in the corner of his chest, waiting to be let out. Like he believed he wasn’t safe.

”Well,” You started, voice quiet but sure, “Then I guess we’ll just have to figure it out. Hmm?” You let the words hang there–soft but certain. It wasn’t a dismissal, nor a sugar-coated promise, it was just a truth from you to him.

And then you held out your hand.

Not quickly. Not dramatically. Just…Open. Steady. Waiting.

It was a gesture to show you weren’t afraid of him or his touch. You weren’t bracing for him to break something or bolt or pull away. You simply stood there with your palm outstretched, and your eyes on his.

It took him a second to truly process what was happening, but then, with the hesitance of a person who was afraid of themselves, he reached out and wrapped his boiling hot hand around yours. You immediately gave it a small squeeze of reassurance, and gave him the warmest smile you could muster.

And that’s how it all began.

The first few days weren’t quiet.

They were full of soft noises, background ones–drawers opening, kettle whistling, the low static of the TV at night. Bob didn’t talk much those first couple of days, but he hovered around you, and he listened when you would talk to yourself. You never pushed for conversation, you just offered him space, and food…Lot’s of it.

You hadn’t realized how deeply the Sentry serum had affected him until the end of day one, when you caught him standing in front of your open fridge like he was looking into a portal.

”Are you hungry?” You asked, causing him to jump ten feet into the air–literally–with guilt flashing through his expression.

“I–I didn’t want to ask, I–I know we just ate two hours ago…I–I just…I’m starving. It feels like my stomach is e-eating itself…I–It really hurts.” Your brain immediately jumped to the conclusion that his metabolism had gone haywire after the serum, which caused him to have this unresolved hunger–you couldn’t imagine the pain he had been experiencing throughout the time in the medical wing of the compound, especially with food that was not too appetizing. So in an instant you were there to help, shuffling around him to look into the abyss that was your fridge, grabbing a stack of Tupperware and piling them onto the kitchen island.

“Let’s get you something to eat then…” He had pasta, leftover chicken and rice, cold soup, some roasted vegetables, and half a loaf of bread.

He ate and ate and ate and you sat nearby, flipping idly through your phone but mostly just watching him out of the corner of your eye. He wasn’t rushing, it was just a constant conveyor belt of his fork travelling to his mouth. His hands didn’t tremble–but his shoulders stayed tense, like he was waiting for you to tell him to stop.

You didn’t though…You just kept refilling his water and asking if he wanted anything else.

By the time he finished his second bowl of rice and reached sheepishly for the rest of your peanut butter with a spoon, you knew what the rest of the week would look like.

Thankfully Val had given you her credit card, because you had restocked the fridge twice in four days, and he apologized every time you brought a new bag of groceries inside the apartment.

“You’re not eating too much,” You said flatly on day three, unloading yogurt and apples and protein bars onto the counter while he slowly restocked the fridge, looking guilty, “Your body’s catching up, just let it.” You added. He bit the inner part of his cheek.

“But–“

”Bob.” You interrupted gently, giving him one of your looks, the one that encompassed all the words of reassurance. He stopped and nodded, surrendering.

Though he still apologized the very next morning when he finished all your maple cinnamon oatmeal–which had eight packs left last time you had checked.

By the end of the first week, the fog started to lift–just enough for you to really notice the change.

You had caught him lingering in the hallway after his first night of catching two full hours of uninterrupted sleep. He looked confused and unsure. Like he didn’t know what to do with the energy that began to vibrate through him again. Like he was afraid that if he overdid himself things would happen again.

So you handed him a basket of laundry and asked if he wanted to help, and almost in an instant he took the offer. It was an easy pastime, and he didn’t mind helping you, especially with everything you had been doing for him.

By the second week, you finally managed to drag him to Target in the early hours of the morning–when there wouldn’t be chaos, or crowds, just the hum of employees and muffled pop music.

The mission was to get him some clothes. Just an array of hoodies, sweatshirts, sweatpants, boxers and undershirts, and of course socks. He didn’t ask for any of it, but you had guided him aisle by aisle, nudging his elbow to encourage him to pick out whatever he wanted.

Once you reached the bath and body care section you helped him pick through scents.

”Get what you want,” You said, “Do you like lavender? Mint? Vanilla?” He shrugged, popping one of the caps open to sniff, before returning it to the shelf. He ended up picking one that reminded him of your conditioner–a mix of coconut oil, sage, and grapefruit.

You didn’t call him out on it, but he knew you noticed just by the smirk that came up on your lips, and how you gently bumped shoulders with him on the way to checkout.

That week, he finally showered alone.

The week prior, you had to sit on the floor of the washroom with your back turned towards the door, and knees drawn up to your chest. You listened to him closely, and heard him take shaking breaths behind the curtain as the steam curled around you.

When he asked you to stay in the washroom with him he knew it was an awkward request, but you listened intently to his reasoning, even though you had already made up your mind to do it regardless. If it helped him, the awkwardness was secondary to you.

”I don’t w-want to be alone…I’m afraid I’ll…I’ll see him…W-Whatever I was.” And you had been there every time, until day eleven, when he said he wanted to try to be on his own. You gave him that privacy, and closed the door. He came out fifteen minutes later, wrapped in the towels you had left on the radiator smelling like a whole citrus section in a grocery store.

By the third week, the apartment smelled like lemon zest and something faintly burning at least once a day.

You had started waking up to the faint clatter of mixing bowls and the low creak of cabinet doors. The first time it happened, you walked into the kitchen at 2:43 in the morning, to find Bob standing at the stove barefoot, sleeves rolled up, squinting at a dog-eared page in one of your long-forgotten cookbooks,

You startled him when you padded in.

”S–Sorry–I didn’t mean to wake y-you,” He whispered, glancing over his shoulder, “I–I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d try s-something.” You looked at the mess—sugar scattered across the counter, a cracked egg leaking beside a whisk, flour dusting the air like snowfall. It should’ve felt chaotic, but it didn’t. It felt like motion. Like healing, somehow.

“Want company?” You asked, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with your knuckles.

He hesitated for only a second before giving you a tiny, grateful nod.

That happened again the next night.

And the one after.

He made banana pancakes at 1 a.m., grilled cheese at 3:00, and once attempted a souffle with comically disastrous results.

Eventually, you offered a different solution.

“How about we try watching a boring movie instead?” You asked as he stood in the living room one night, holding a bowl of half-mixed muffin batter. “Might help wind your brain down a bit more than cooking and baking.” He pursed his lips, looked down at the bowl, then back up at you.

”…O-Okay.”

You didn’t put on anything exciting, just some old obscure movie. It was the kind of film where nothing really happens, you didn’t need to observe and you certainly didn’t have to pay attention to it.

Bob settled onto the couch beside you, knees tucked up, arms wrapped loosely around them.

Halfway through, his head started to dip sideways.

You felt the soft weight of it first–hesitant but real–when he let it rest on your lap.

You froze. Not because it startled you, but because it meant something. The trust in that gesture was palpable. Heavy.

His hair, now finally growing out in soft, tousled waves, was thick and slightly uneven—darker at the roots, lighter where the sun had kissed it through your windows. A little unkempt, curling faintly behind his ears. You let your fingers hover over it for a second, unsure…

Then you touched him.

Gently.

You threaded your fingers into the locks at the crown of his head, letting your nails lightly scratch his scalp, slow and rhythmic. He didn’t pull away.

He sighed.

A soft, long exhale. And then–you felt it happen.

His breathing evened out. His shoulders softened. The tension in his jaw unclenched. He didn’t just rest his head on your lap–he slept.

It was the first time he’d truly let go.

The first time he’d let you hold him without flinching from the weight of being seen.

You stayed there for hours, barely moving, running your fingers gently through his hair while the muted light from the screen flickered across his cheekbones.

You didn’t dare wake him.

The next morning, you didn’t mention it.

Neither did he.

But something had shifted. A soft, invisible thing between you. A comfort that didn’t need words.

And when the email finally came through a few days later–Tower’s ready. Moving in next Friday–he was the one who walked into the kitchen holding a roll of tape and a stack of folded boxes.

“I can help you pack,” He said, and you let him.

Now after the weeks bonding with him you found yourselves in front of the car staring at the boxes that had defined his stay with you. You shrugged and opened the passenger door for him.

“Well, now you’ve also got the car full of my chaos to babysit with your boxes,” You teased, “Congratulations, you’ve been promoted to co-pilot-slash-box guardian.” Bob blushed at your comment and shook his head, stepping into the car with ease as you handed him both of his boxes.

“A-At least the ride is only half an hour. P-Please don’t drive like a m-maniac.” He commented, watching you place a hand on your chest, feigning offence.

”I follow the rules of the road…It’s everyone else’s fault that I have to drive the way I do.”

——————

The Tower loomed like a monument to a future neither of you were quite ready for yet.

All glass and steel, the building glittered in the late morning sun–its reflection cutting across the sky line in clean, perfect angles. The closer you drove, the more you felt the tension shift in the air. A pressure. Something expectant. It was the kind of silence that clings to the edge of change.

The security gate recognized your plates on approach, and the barrier lifted with a hiss, allowing you to pull into the underground parking garage that smelled like burning concrete. Your tires glided across the laneway, as you found your assigned spot–Bay 21A, right beneath the elevator hub.

With straight precision you backed into the spot, putting it between the lines perfectly without cheating–Bob liked challenging you by covering the screen that showed the footage of your review cameras, and every time you somehow managed to impress him with your pure skill of parking like an expert.

You let out a soft sigh and cut the engine, letting the silence envelop the car completely.

Bob sat quietly in the passenger seat, picking at the lid of one of the boxes in his lap. He was nervous to see everyone again–he had told you that multiple times when he was helping you roll up your posters in your room–and every time he said it you tried to reassure him there was nothing to worry about. This was another one of those times where his nerves were coming out to haunt him, along with guilt for what he had done to everyone.

Slowly, you reached over and covered one hand with yours, giving it the faintest squeeze, which brought him out of his trance.

”They’re not expecting anything from you,” You said quietly, “You being there is enough…Okay?” He nodded once, but didn’t look at you. His gaze was locked on the glossy dashboard, eyes wide with the kind of dread that sinks its claws in and pretends to be logic. You gave him a moment, then gently opened your door.

The air in the underground garage was cooler than the heat outside, but still held the faint echo of gasoline and ozone. You circled the car, popping the trunk and pulling out the first set of bags while Bob slowly emerged on the other side with his boxes in his arms. You could feel his nerves in the way he hovered, shifting his weight from foot to foot, watching you slowly empty your trunk and mentally checking off the things that you labeled.

Bob crouched down carefully, setting his two boxes on the smooth concrete with a quiet thud. You didn’t even have to ask what he was doing—because you already knew. It was in the set of his shoulders, the way he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows with precise movements, knuckles cracking once like a silent warm-up. You arched a brow as you slung one of your overstuffed bags onto the ground beside him.

“You’re gonna try to carry all of it, aren’t you?” He gave you a small, sheepish look as he reached for the nearest vacuum sealed bag.

“J-Just want to get it done in one trip…I-I can handle it.”

You didn’t doubt that he could. You’d seen what he was capable of–really capable of–once.

It had been during your second week together, when he’d sneezed of all things. A completely ordinary, human, unremarkable sneeze. But when he braced his palm against the edge of the counter, you heard the wood crack. Split straight down to the support beam. The look on his face afterward had been sheer horror. He apologized for an hour. Then he avoided touching anything solid for the rest of the day.

He hadn’t used his strength since.

Not until now.

You watched silently as he lined up the boxes like a game of cautious engineering. He braced your backpack against the top of the stack with his knee, then reached for the plastic bin full of tangled cords. You winced.

“You’re gonna throw your back out before we even get to the lobby,” You muttered, crouching beside him. But when you reached for one of the smaller bags, he stopped you with a gentle touch to your wrist.

“I got it.” He said firmly, with no stammer or nerves. You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Bob…” He didn’t look at you–just adjusted the bin one more time on top of the pile, his arms curling around the whole absurd tower of your combined belongings like it weighed nothing. And maybe it didn’t–not to him.

But the stillness in his face made you pause.

Without thinking, you stepped closer and gently reached out, fingers curling around his jaw to turn his face toward you. He resisted at first, a quiet kind of resistance–not physical, but instinctual. Like he didn’t want to be looked at too closely. But he didn’t stop you either. His eyes were closed tightly, as if he was shielding something from you.

“Hey,” You said softly, thumb brushing just beneath the sharp line of his cheekbone. “Open your eyes.”

He let out a soft sigh and blinked, once.

The gold shimmered faintly through the blue–just a soft hue, like the sun glinting off metal buried under water. You smiled, small and knowing, a breath of fond exasperation curling from your lips.

“Knew it,” You murmured, tracing the warmth of his cheekbone gently, “You better shake the gold outta those eyes before the elevator doors open, or Yelena’s gonna throw a knife at you on instinct.” He huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh. Might’ve been nerves. But it was something. And then he nodded, clutching the tower of boxes tighter as you stepped back and popped the trunk closed with a gentle slam. You locked the car with a chirp, then turned and motioned with your head.

“C’mon, Hercules. Eightieth floor, express ride.” Bob followed you closely, his steps careful but somehow steady beneath the weight of everything he carried. You led the way into the sleek glass elevator at the far end of the garage, pressing your palm against the biometric scanner until the panel lit up green. The numbers climbed on the display, fast and smooth, the elevator doors sliding open to reveal a surprisingly quiet car.

“Eighty,” you said aloud, and the panel blinked in acknowledgement.

The doors closed. The hum of the lift filled the silence.

You glanced over at him. “Still with me?”

“Y-Yeah,” He whispered. “Just…Trying not to break anything.”

“You’re doing great,” You said, and reached out to squeeze his elbow. His knuckles were white around the box edges, but his jaw was unclenched. That was progress.

The numbers blinked in rapid succession, each floor a soft ding that echoed in the space like a countdown. Bob stood beside you, arms wrapped around the towering stack of boxes and bags, the gold in his eyes dimmed now to a whisper. You could feel the nervous energy vibrating off him—not in any visible way, but like static on the skin. His chest rose and fell a little too fast. His fingers shifted to tighten their hold around the base box. You glanced up at him and gave his elbow another quick squeeze.

“Hey,” you murmured, “Deep breath. This isn’t the press room. It’s home…Kind of.”

And then–ding.

EIGHTIETH FLOOR.

The doors slid open.

And chaos hit like a brick wall.

“DUDE, THAT WAS MINE!”

“It was not, I CALLED DIBS!”

“I tagged it with my name!”

“Your name is not ‘BOOG’, Walker, it’s not exactly an ironclad claim!”

The common area was a battlefield of cardboard boxes, scattered shoes, half-assembled IKEA furniture, and rogue throw pillows that looked like they’d been used in an actual skirmish. Somewhere between the couch and the kitchenette, Walker and Ava were tangled in a tug-of-war over a branded coffee machine neither of them had apparently paid for.

Alexei was shirtless, inexplicably, perched on top of the breakfast bar with a screwdriver in his mouth and a kitchen cabinet door in one hand.

Alpine was sitting in the center of the chaos like some smug, unbothered little queen, tail flicking as if supervising the disarray, licking her paws and wiping her face.

Bucky stood a little ways back, arms crossed, eyes scanning the scene like he was trying to calculate how quickly he could disappear before anyone roped him into it. His hair was tied back messily and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing his polished vibranium arm.

Yelena whipped around the corner, sleek boots scuffing across the hardwood, hair cropped into the fluffy bob you remembered but now styled back with deliberate, greasy charm. It looked like she’d stolen a page out of Bucky’s post-pardon playbook: part assassin, part disgruntled congressman. The effect was wildly successful. She froze mid-step the second she saw you.

Her eyes bounced from you to Bob.

To the boxes.

To Bob’s arms.

To Bob’s face.

“…Holy shit,” She muttered.

The noise didn’t die instantly, but it dropped. Just enough for everyone to glance up from their various ridiculous activities and follow her stare.

Ava blinked twice.

Walker’s brows lifted in slow, dramatic awe.

Alexei whispered something in Russian that definitely sounded reverent.

Even Alpine paused her paw licking, like she knew something was off in the room suddenly.

Because Bob Reynolds didn’t look like the man they’d last seen sitting glassy-eyed behind Valentina at that press conference. He didn’t look hollow anymore.

He looked solid. Stronger in more ways than one. It was evident he had been eating well with how broad his shoulders had become. In addition, the group could see the slight confidence in the way he stood beside you–like he wasn’t a disappearing act anymore.

His hoodie sleeves were pushed to his elbows, forearms flexed under the absurd weight of what he carried, jawline more defined, face not quite as sunken in. The faint sun-kissed warmth of his skin, the way his hair curled slightly at the base of his neck from the shower, the steadiness of how he stood–all of it painted a picture none of them were expecting.

Bob stood there frozen for a breath, blinking like the elevator had transported him to another dimension instead of the eighty-fifth floor of the most secure building in the country. The silence that followed was thick, stunned, and oddly reverent.

Then, without fully realizing he was doing it, Bob crouched down and gently eased the tower of boxes to the floor, careful not to drop or jostle a single thing. He took a step back, pushed a damp strand of hair from his forehead, and gave the room the smallest, most hesitant wave imaginable.

“H-Hey,” He said, his voice quieter than it had been all morning. It wasn’t shaky, but it wasn’t loud either–just a soft offering. “Uh…Hi.”

There was a beat of silence before the reaction hit like a slow-building wave.

Walker, never one to play things subtle, gave a long whistle and crossed his arms. “Damn, Y/N has really been feedin’ you, huh?”

“You’ve grown into the size of a house.” Ava muttered, almost in disbelief.

“You look better,” Yelena said simply, “Much better,” Then she paused, a rare smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, “We’re glad you’re here Bob.”

“Da,” Alexei added from his perch atop the counter, “We thought you would show up glowing from the eyes shooting laser beams…This is better.” Bucky stepped forward at last, the quiet anchor among the chaos. He met Bob’s gaze evenly.

“You look good, man.” There was no flourish to it. Just truth. And it hit harder than any of the jokes or smirks.

Alpine leapt gracefully off the couch and padded over to Bob like she was the real authority of the floor, circling him once before rubbing up against his leg like she approved. That–more than anything–made Bob let out a shaky little exhale. You saw it in his shoulders. A sliver of tension released.

“I…Th-Thanks,” Bob said softly, pushing his sleeves back down and tugging them past his wrists again. “It’s good to see you guys. I-I didn’t think…you know…”

“We’d all be here together under one roof?” Yelena offered helpfully.

“I was gonna say ‘still like me,’ but–yeah, that too.”

“We’ve all had our Void moments,” Walker said, slinging an arm lazily around Ava’s shoulder, who ducked out from under it immediately. “Just glad you’re back. For real this time.” You gave Bob a small nudge with your elbow, and he glanced at you like he still wasn’t sure if he was dreaming this part. Yelena stepped forward, clapping her hands once.

“Alright, you two. You’re both in the south wing–rooms 804 and 805. Hopefully you two are okay with sharing the washroom.” You snorted softly.

”We’ve been sharing a washroom for the past four weeks, I’m sure we will manage just fine.” Bob’s ears turned pink, but the faint grin tugging at his lips told you he didn’t mind.

The others returned to their chaotic unpacking–Walker trying to assemble a lamp with brute force, Ava muttering about WiFi passwords, Alexei still shirtless for absolutely no reason–and Yelena waved you and Bob off with a lazy salute, “Go get settled!”

You nodded and turned down the hall with Bob trailing just behind you, his eyes darting over the sleek white walls and polished wood trim like it all felt too new to touch. When you reached the south wing, the hallway widened. Soft LED lights glowed inlaid against the baseboards. You reached two adjacent doors labeled 804 and 805.

“This one’s you,” You murmured, thumbing the pad on 804 until the panel clicked green. The door slid open, soundless.

Bob stepped in.

And stopped.

The room was huge. High ceilings stretched up, a soft echo already present in the sterile quiet. White walls. Pale oak flooring. A twin-size mattress resting on a raised platform bed frame with no sheets. A basic black desk and chair in one corner. A minimalist bookshelf built into the wall with three empty shelves, and natural sunlight beaming through the large window panes that lined the walls with a cityscape. That was it.

No color. No lightbulbs warm enough to feel like home. No blankets tossed over couch arms. No ceramic mug sitting on a coaster. No smell of your lemon-ginger tea or vanilla candles. Just newness. Cold and clean and…Blank.

You didn’t miss the way his body language changed. His shoulders didn’t drop. They stayed stiff. His mouth twitched–not with a smile, but with something like confusion and disappointment carefully stitched together.

Because sure he was back, but he’d lost something in the return.

The cozy warmth of your living room–the worn grey sectional with the throw pillows that never matched. The bookshelf bursting with novels stacked sideways and double-layered. The corner where the floor lamp glowed gold at night. The soft scent of cinnamon, lemon, and fresh laundry that clung to the fabric. The hum of your voice talking to yourself in the kitchen while he sat curled under the blanket with a book cracked open across his knees.

This place didn’t have any of that. This place was a reset button. And Bob–after weeks of slow, careful healing–was suddenly standing in an empty room with nothing that looked like it remembered him.

You stepped in beside him quietly.

“You okay?” You asked, voice soft. He nodded, but it was the kind of nod that didn’t carry truth behind it. His eyes were scanning the walls like he was waiting for them to close in.

“It’s just…Quiet,” He said finally. “Too clean…It kind of reminds me of the lab in Malaysia.” You touched his elbow, giving it a gentle stroke, a comforting smile appearing on your face.

“We’ll fix that.” He turned to look at you, brow furrowed, like there was no way that would be possible, “You’ve got your books. Your mugs. The blanket. We’ll get your lamp and your tea, and I’ll buy one of those weird lemon candles if you miss the smell.”

That got the tiniest laugh out of him. Barely there. But his eyes softened.

“I miss the couch,” He admitted.

“I miss it too.” You nudged him gently with your shoulder. “But we’ll make this work, Bob. Just give it time.” Bob gave you a small nod, slow and silent, eyes lingering on the bare bookshelf now, like he was trying to will it into holding memories that didn’t exist yet. You let out a small sigh and reached up to touch his warm smooth cheek to draw his attention down to you.

“Tomorrow, we’ll go out,” You started gently but firmly, like it was already decided, “And we’ll pick out paint, plants, decorations, throw blankets, dumb little desk trinkets…Whatever it takes to make this place feel like it’s yours okay?” Your thumb brushed just beneath the curve of his eye, and his lashes fluttered like he wasn’t used to being held this gently.

His eyes were glassy–not with tears, but something close. That strange shimmer of overwhelm that comes when your heart is too full of quiet things. When someone sees you exactly where you are. For a long second, he didn’t say anything. Then he sighed, low and quiet, and leaned into the touch–not all the way, but enough to press his cheek into your palm, like he was absorbing it.

“…Okay,” He whispered.

The single word carried a thousand more underneath it. Agreement. Gratitude. Hope. A soft kind of surrender.

You let your hand fall away gently, not wanting to make it weird, not wanting to overstep–but you caught the way his eyes followed the movement like he wasn’t quite ready for it to end. So you cleared your throat lightly and nudged him with your shoulder again.

“Alright. Enough brooding. Come help me set up my room before I lose my mind trying to untangle all those extension cords I packed like an idiot.”

Bob blinked, then let out a small breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

There wasn’t a single second of hesitation. No pause to overthink it. He just followed–like he always did with you now. Like he wanted to be where you were, because that was the only place that made sense anymore.

Bob went back to where he had left your boxes and gathered everything into his arms again, balancing everything with pure precision, cradling the whole mess in his arms as he walked down back to your room. You tapped the panel on your own door–805–and it opened with the same quiet hiss.

He followed you slowly making sure he didn’t bump into you in the process as the door closed behind the both of you once he stepped in fully. The quiet that settled over the space was immediate and unforgiving.

The room was the exact same as his. White walls, pale oak floors, empty shelves, the bed frame with no warmth, the desk, and the wonderful view of the cityscape. You stood there for a moment, expression unreadable, then sighed, letting your shoulders relax.

“Well,” You muttered, stepping into the room a little more fully and crossing to the wide, clean-lined windows. You pressed your thumb to the side panel, and with a soft click, the glass slid open, letting in a breeze that stirred your hair and carried in the smell of the city: hot concrete, wind, and faint smoke from a food truck somewhere below. Bob set everything down in a neat row near the foot of the bed–the vacuum sealed bags, and the labeled boxes with generic scrawl ‘Desk Stuff + Nightstand’, followed by ‘Y/N’s Books,’ and ‘THIS HAS BREAKABLE STUFF IN IT DON’T DROP!’. He set that one down with exaggerated care, like it contained lit dynamite.

You put your hands on your hips.

”Guess we’ll start with whichever box is first.”

Bob gave a soft huff of acknowledgement, already crouching down and slicing open the tape on the topmost one with the side of a key he pulled from his pocket.

The first item out was your worn, pilled blanket. Fleece, with a weird faded pattern of crescent moons and stars and old Sharpie stains you swore were from high school. You plucked it from the box and immediately tossed it across the bed, smoothing it out with a flick of your wrists. The effect was instant. The sterile mattress looked lived in now.

Bob handed you the next item without comment–your bedside lamp. An old brass thing with a twisted base and a shade that looked like it had been mauled by a cat in a past life. You plugged it in and clicked it on. The bulb flickered once, then glowed with a soft amber hue that made the whole corner of the room feel warmer.

“Better,” you said softly.

Next came a small cluster of mismatched mugs–two chipped ones with cartoon characters, one heavy ceramic thing that looked handmade, and one novelty mug that said ‘Running on Coffee’. You lined them up on the desk next to your portable kettle and stash of teas and hot chocolate packets–something that you also had in your old room in your apartment as well, it was just for convenience, especially if you were enthralled in whatever you were doing and didn’t want to leave your room.

Bob unpacked your books with care, handing you each one like it was fragile. You stacked them on the shelf haphazardly: poetry first, then science fiction, then a tiny shrine to emotionally devastating literary fiction. You placed your favorite–Never Let Me Go–face-out on the middle shelf like it was sacred. Bob didn’t question it.

There was a box of trinkets and sentimental chaos next. You fished out a tiny figure of a goat in a superhero cape–a gift from Ava–a tarnished lucky coin, a broken watch you hadn’t had the heart to throw away, a photo strip of you and Bob from the CVS kiosk. You pinned that to the corkboard on your desk without a word, right above your calendar–like it was something you wanted to remember, especially because it was one of Bob’s good days during the four weeks of staying together.

Soon, the space began to fill.

Your flannel was tossed over the desk chair. A plant was set by the window–half-dead, but stubborn. You arranged your pens in a clay cup. Bob found your spare set of fairy lights and handed them over without being asked, and you looped them around the headboard, twisting the cord to keep it tight.

And then…Came the collection of posters.

You pulled the long cardboard tube free from the box with a reverent sort of care and twisted the cap until it popped with a quiet snap. Bob glanced over as you began to slide the rolled posters out, one at a time–each print carefully preserved with tissue paper and worn edges. There were no fold lines. These weren’t flimsy college dorm reprints. These were theatrical releases.

Real ones.

Bob crouched down beside you looking at them closely with curiosity. You could imagine the questions going through his head.

“I used to work at a theatre during my internship,” You said, peeling the tissue from the first one and holding it up against the light. “Whenever we’d change the marquee, they’d let the staff take whatever we wanted from the promo bin. I fought for this one.”

The poster was tall and dramatic–Vertigo by Hitchcock. Bright swirls of orange and red, the silhouettes locked in that spiraling, dangerous fall. It was striking. You stood slowly, angling it toward the wall above your bed.

“They’re all long like this,” you added. “Old school sizing. And I want them to start high and cascade down like a film reel.” You grinned to yourself. “I know it’s excessive.”

Bob stood up behind you, brushing off his hands. “It’s you.”

You turned to glance at him.

He looked a little sheepish. “I mean…You love movies…So…The r-room wouldn’t be yours if you didn’t have s-something dedicated to it…” You rolled your eyes with a quiet laugh, grabbing the removable adhesive tabs from the supply pile and peeling one open between your teeth. But when you hopped up onto the mattress and tried stretching, the top corner still sat a full foot out of reach.

You frowned and leaned on your tiptoes, paper flopping awkwardly in your hands.

“Damn it…Maybe I could get a stool or so–.”

“I could, uh–“ Bob cut in, voice low and a little unsure, “I–I could…Put you on my shoulders?” You paused mid-stretch, glancing back over your shoulder.

He was standing just behind the edge of the mattress now, hands half-lifted like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you or if he’d made some kind of grave error by suggesting it. His eyes flicked up to yours and then back down to the floor, as if it might open up to eat him alive to give him a better alternative.

You turned the rest of the way around, brows lifting, poster still in hand. “You’re offering to carry me like one of those boxes over there?” You asked, motioning to the discarded cardboard.

“No! I-I mean–not like that, I wouldn’t–” He flinched a little at himself, then groaned softly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Not like a box. I wouldn’t treat you like a box.”

You couldn’t help but grin at the way he stumbled awkwardly through his explanation.

“So, not like a box,” You teased gently, stepping closer to the edge of the mattress and letting the poster droop at your side. “You sure you’ve got me? Because I’m not exactly made of foam peanuts, and I just recovered from my broken ribs…” Bob looked up at you then, really looked, and something in his face shifted. Softened. You weren’t sure if it was the golden glint rising behind his blue eyes again or just the quiet steadiness that lived somewhere deep in his chest now—but it was enough.

He swallowed once and nodded “I–I know he’ll be c-careful…You’re…You.”

Your heart gave a traitorous little flip.

And then you held out your hands.

“Alright, alright…What’s the worst that could happen? Let’s do it…” He stepped close and braced his warm, soft palms at your calves, waiting for you to climb onto his shoulders with careful movements that bordered on meekness. You perched cautiously, gripping the top of his head gently for balance as you settled on the muscles shifting a bit to make sure you weren’t hurting him. His hands moved instinctively–large and steady–one resting just above the backs of your knees to keep you stable, the other hovering in case you swayed.

From your new height, the top of the wall was suddenly accessible. You could reach it easily now, the edges of the Vertigo poster fluttering against your chest in the soft breeze from the window.

“This…Is weirdly effective,” you murmured, peeling the backing off the adhesive tabs. “If anything fails with the Thunderbolts…Or New Avengers…Whatever we’ll be named…I think we could go do circus work.”

“Don’t tempt me…” Bob said, and you could hear the smile in his voice, even if you couldn’t see it. You turned the poster and pressed the top corners to the wall with slow precision, smoothing the paper down with practiced hands. The steadiness in him was almost soothing–warm and solid and unshakable. Bob shifted slightly beneath you as you pressed the last corner flat, moving his hands to the tops of your thighs–strong, but gentle. Always gentle. You could feel the warmth of his palms through the fabric of your shorts, and every so often, you caught the subtle rise and fall of his breath, steady like the rhythm of an old song you didn’t know you’d memorized.

“There,” you said softly, leaning back just enough to take in the full image of the Vertigo poster now secured high on the wall. It looked perfect–like it belonged. “One down, five to go.” Bob let out a quiet laugh, almost a breath more than a sound, and gently backed away from the wall to give you space. His hands never left your legs until the very last second–he steadied you instinctively as he shifted, his palms ghosting along your thighs before slipping away like the weight of a blanket being pulled off in slow motion.

You wobbled slightly, still perched up high, but Bob crouched at your side before you could even flinch. With practiced precision, he reached into the pile of still-rolled posters and plucked the next one out of the tube without looking. He offered it to you with both hands like it was sacred.

You took it with a quiet “Thanks,” but he didn’t move right away.

Instead, he tilted his head back to look up at you.

And in that moment, something flickered behind his eyes again–the soft, golden, like glow of a late summer sun cresting through the clouds. It wasn’t bright. It wasn’t overwhelming. Just there. Lurking in the blue like a memory half-awake. His mouth parted, barely.

You looked down at him and saw it immediately. That faint shimmer. That quiet power. That strange, ancient thing that gave him the ‘power of a million exploding suns’ as Val had coined.

Your free hand moved without thought. You reached down, ran the side of your thumb along the sharp line of his cheekbone with a featherlight touch, and felt him still completely beneath you, his eyes still locked on yours.

“Does he know me?” You asked softly.

Bob blinked once, then twice.

His lips parted again, and this time, sound came—barely more than a whisper, shaped around hesitation.

“H-He does,” He said, voice caught somewhere between himself and something deeper. “B-But he…he doesn’t remember what he did. When we all fought…” You felt his breath catch just slightly, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to say it aloud in this space. Like voicing it would make the memory real again. But he kept going.

”I think…He remembers you from the night that Val’s people gunned me down…” His eyes scanned over yours, unreadable, searching, “But I don’t know for sure…It’s like–like flashes.” Your thumb stilled against his cheek. You could feel the muscles in his jaw shift beneath the skin, tense and taut like he was trying to hold the rest of it back. His pulse was hammering against your inner thigh, you could feel it radiating into his muscles.

“W-We aren’t fully c-connected anymore,” He admitted. “At least…Not the way we used to be. It’s quieter. But also…Stranger.”

You didn’t speak. Just listened.

Bob swallowed hard, then added in a low, almost guilty murmur, “I can still do the whole s-super strength thing–I mean, clearly,” He gestured halfheartedly to where you were still balanced comfortably on his shoulders, “But I d-don’t know where he begins and I-I end anymore. It’s not like flipping a switch. It’s not that clean.”

You brushed his cheek again with the pad of your thumb. “Does it scare you?” He shakes his head immediately.

”I-It used to…A l-lot but I think I can manage it a bit b-better. You’ve been able to help w-with that.” You were about to say something–something honest, something warm, something just for him.

Maybe it was going to be “You’re doing better than you think.” Or maybe “I see you, Bob. All of you.”

But the words caught on the edge of your tongue like a thread snagging in fabric–because the door hissed open with a hydraulic sigh, and Walker’s voice cut through the room before you even had time to turn your head.

“Jesus Christ–”

Bob stiffened instinctively beneath you.

You both turned at the same time–which was unavoidable due to the position.

Walker was frozen in the doorway, one hand still braced against the panel, his eyes squinting like he couldn’t quite compute what he was seeing. His gaze flicked from you–perched high on Bob’s shoulders, one hand still cradling his face like a lover’s whisper–to Bob, who was blushing so hard it looked like he might actually combust on the spot.

Walker blinked. Once. Twice. Then gave a slow, amused whistle.

“Well…That is not what I expected to walk in on.”

“Walker,” You deadpanned, not moving from your place. “Knock next time.”

“You don’t even have a real door,” He said, walking in like he owned the place, arms crossed and boots heavy on the floor.

“I was just–s-she needed help with the posters,” He mumbled, carefully lowering his arms to begin letting you slide down. “I w-wasn’t–It’s not what it–”

”No need to explain yourselves….It’s all good.” You finally slid off Bob’s shoulders, landing with a soft thud on the hardwood, your hands brushing his shoulders gently on your way down. Bob looked like he wanted to retreat into the nearest drawer.

Walker, mercifully, spared him further commentary.

“Anyway,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “Lunch just got here. Got delivered a bit late, but it’s hot. Couple boxes of noodles, some dumplings, and that weird green juice that Yelena keeps pretending she likes. If either of you want in, better grab a plate before Alexei eats everything but the box liners again.”

“Thanks,” You said simply, brushing your hand on your shorts. “We’ll be there in a few.”

Walker gave Bob a wink that made him flinch like he’d been hit with a spotlight. “Don’t take too long.”

Then he was gone, the door whispering closed behind him like nothing had happened.

The silence that followed was thick with whatever had just almost happened–suspended, tender, delicate like breath on glass.

You glanced over at Bob.

His face was still flushed. His lashes low. But there was the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Embarrassed, yes. But not retreating.

You let the silence stretch for another beat, just long enough to let the moment settle without breaking it.

Then you turned to him, voice soft, but sure.

“We’ll finish after lunch,” You said, like a gentle nudge. “I don’t trust Alexei not to start sampling the furniture if we wait too long.”

Bob exhaled a short, nervous breath through his nose–half a laugh, half relief–and nodded.

“Y-Yeah…Okay.” You reached down to the scattered pile of posters and gathered them into a neat stack, tucking them carefully into the cardboard tube like you were handling film reels from an archive. Bob crouched beside you to help without being asked, his fingers brushing yours briefly as he adjusted the cap and clicked it back into place.

“Thanks,” You murmured. You meant it for the posters. And everything else.

He just nodded, eyes flicking up to meet yours, then back down again with a faint flush still clinging to his cheeks.

You rose to your feet first, offering him a hand to stand. He took it without hesitation, his palm warm and steady in yours. You didn’t let go right away–even once he was upright again. Not until you had squeezed once, just barely, and let it go as if you hadn’t done it at all.

As you both turned toward the door, Bob hesitated–just for a second–and looked back at the Vertigo poster on the wall. The first thread of something new stitched into this blank place.

His voice was low when he spoke. “It looks good up there.”

You glanced at him with a quiet smile.

“Yeah,” You said. “It does.”

And then you left together–out into the bright hallway, toward the sounds of laughter and clattering chopsticks, and the smell of soy sauce and scorched dumplings

———————

The next morning rose slowly, spilling honeyed light across the edge of the skyline just beyond your window. It kissed the walls in soft amber streaks, warming the pale wood floors and the flannel still slung over your desk chair. The city was just beginning to wake–quiet traffic below, a distant horn, the hush of wind curling through the slight crack in your window.

You stirred beneath the weight of your fleece moon blanket, legs tangled and one arm draped across your stomach. The pillow beneath your cheek was the same one from the apartment, the cotton worn soft from too many washes, still faintly infused with the scent of lemon detergent and something unmistakably Bob–clean, warm, a little tangy from that body wash he never bothered to read the label of. You turned your face into it without thinking, breathing in deeper, letting the scent settle in your chest as you thought about yesterday.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the way he looked at you. Head tilted back, lips parted slightly, eyes wide and gold-touched like he was seeing something divine.

Your chest tightened a little as the image flickered back to life behind your eyes.

You could still feel the curve of his hands on your thighs, the way they held you steady–not possessive, not hesitant, just… Sure. Like you belonged there. Like he couldn’t imagine you anywhere else.

You’d meant to say something.

You had–right before Walker burst in and shattered the moment with all the grace of a wrecking ball.

But you hadn’t forgotten.

Neither had your body. Your pulse thudded low in your belly, not urgent, but present. Like the idea of him had taken root in your blood and was now blooming slowly, quietly, just beneath the surface.

You turned onto your back with a soft sigh, eyes tracing the ceiling for a few slow seconds before throwing the blanket off and sitting up. The floor was cool beneath your feet as you padded across the room, pushing your hair out of your face to cool yourself down.

You crossed into the shared bathroom, the silence between your quarters familiar now, softened by the faint scent of mint toothpaste and warm skin left behind in the air. You knocked lightly on the frame–habitual, gentle–before stepping through into his room.

Bob was already awake, bent slightly at the waist as he tugged the drawstring of his dark sweatpants into a loose knot. The hem of his maroon sweater had ridden up with the movement.

Your mouth went a little dry.

It wasn’t even that much skin. Just a sliver. A glimpse of pale muscle right beneath his navel, the edge of the soft line that led lower, disappearing into the fabric of his waistband. But there was something about the way it caught the light–casual, unbothered, unknowing–that made your pulse jump traitorously against your ribs.

It was too early for this. Too early to feel like your skin was buzzing with the ghost of his hands. Too early for your brain to short-circuit over a slouchy sweater and a knot being tied.

Bob straightened slowly, letting his sweater fall back into place. He reached up and raked a hand through his hair, tousling it gently between his fingers, like he hadn’t bothered to check the mirror yet–maybe he didn’t need to though. A few strands stuck up stubbornly, and his palm lingered for a second at the crown of his head, like he was debating whether it was worth taming.

Then his gaze slid over to you.

His eyes lit up the second they landed on your face–gentle and warm, crinkling slightly at the corners, and you felt it hit you low and soft in the chest.

“M-Morning,” he said with a small, sheepish smile. It was the kind of smile that curled just a little to one side and took its time settling in like it had nowhere else to be. “You, uh…Slept okay?”

“Yeah,” You said, and you meant it. Then, after a beat: “You?” He shrugged, rubbing at the back of his neck.

”I got…Maybe an h-hour or two, b-but it’s a new place, so any sleep is good sleep.” You gave him a small nod, agreeing with him. Bob’s eyes flicked over you–just for a second. There was a blink of hesitation before they dropped down, tracing the loose hem of your sleep shirt where it hung just past the tops of your thighs. You were still warm from sleep, hair mussed from your pillow, collar stretched just enough to show the slope of your shoulder. Nothing scandalous. Nothing intentional. But his breath still caught.

You saw it.

The way his throat flinched with a quiet gulp as he tried–bless him–to return his gaze to your face like he hadn’t just nearly lost it at the sight of your bare legs and bed-warmed skin.

His ears pinked, and he gave a small, nervous chuckle–like he had been caught red handed stealing something, “Uh…W-we’re still doing the shopping thing, right? F-for the room and all?”

You didn’t hesitate.

“Yeah,” You said, smiling as you leaned your shoulder against the doorframe. “Of course. I’ll go get ready.”

You turned, heading back toward your room before either of you could combust from the tension curling quietly between you. Just before you slipped out of view, you looked over your shoulder.

”Oh, make sure you eat something by the way,” You added softly, “We may lose track of time…Don’t want to risk you passing out or something.” He let out a breath that was probably meant to be a laugh, eyes following you with something tender, almost awestruck.

“R-Right, I’ll d-do that.” You gave him a small smirk, then disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind you with a quiet click, letting the buzz in the air ebb.

—————————

The store was massive.

That was the first thing Bob said–softly, under his breath–as the automatic doors whooshed open in front of the two of you and the sheer overwhelming scale of the home decor superstore revealed itself like a cathedral of curated domesticity. Neatly stacked rugs, end caps of throw pillows arranged by season, hanging plants suspended like jungle chandeliers from industrial beams. It smelled like eucalyptus, lemon oil, and waxed wood floors. Music played somewhere overhead—something instrumental, cheerful, and entirely ignorable.

“Stick close,” You teased, brushing his elbow with yours. “You get lost in the storage section and I’m not coming to rescue you. That place is a labyrinth.”

“I-I won’t,” He muttered, eyes wide as they took in the sheer number of lamps.

Despite his nerves, Bob was easy to lead. You grabbed a cart–he insisted on pushing it–and you moved together aisle by aisle, your steps steady, his just a half beat behind. He didn’t say much at first. Just sort of…Hovered. Eyeing everything like he wanted to throw it in the cart. You gave him space to acclimate, letting your fingers trail over textured blankets and woven baskets until, eventually, his hand reached out too.

The first thing he touched was a throw pillow.

It was simple–soft knit, goldenrod yellow with a stitched sun on the front. He ran his thumb over the embroidered rays like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

You watched him for a moment, then smiled.

“That’s a good one,” You said. “Warm. Soft…And the design suits you.”

“M-Me?” He asked, pointing at himself.

”Yeah…It’s the sun…And you…Y’know…Have the power of a million exploding suns…Remember?” You murmured, nudging him gently, watching his ears turn pink as he looked down at the pillow again with a sheepish smile on his face.

Bob held the golden sun pillow a second longer, running his thumb along the stitched rays like he was trying to memorize the texture. Then, after a beat, he placed it gently in the cart.

From there, it got easier.

The two of you drifted down the aisles in quiet tandem, picking out what felt right and skipping what didn’t. In the paint section, Bob stood still in front of the wall of color swatches for a long moment, brows knit as he scanned shade after shade of white-gray-beige. You could see the hesitation brewing in his eyes–too many choices, too many wrong ones.

You touched his arm lightly, drawing his gaze.

“What are you drawn to?”

He hesitated, then reached toward a swatch a few rows up. It was a soft, cloud gray with the faintest cool undertone. It looked almost blue in some light, depending on how Bob held the little tile. You took it from his fingers and read the name.

“Cathedral.” You muttered.

“L-Little dramatic for a p-paint swatch.” Bob replied, his eyebrows crinkling together slightly.

“It’s fitting I think…Could’ve been named anything though, Dolphin Gray even.” That got the smallest smile out of him. The kind that tilted the corner of his mouth before he looked away like he hadn’t meant to do it.

The employee at the counter mixed the paint while you grabbed a tray, rollers, edging tape, and a drop cloth Bob insisted was overkill because he wouldn’t make a mess, but you threw it in anyway. While the shaker did its thing, you pulled him back into the decor section. That’s when he stopped at the string lights.

“Warm white,” He murmured, almost to himself, fingers brushing the edge of the box. “Not too bright.” You nodded and added two sets to the cart.

Next aisle over, you spotted a small section of candles on a recessed shelf–there were only a few options, and they were all tucked into recycled glass jars. Your fingers drifted over a few of them until you settled on one that caught your eye. You slid it off the shelf and popped the lid off before inhaling slowly. Vanilla. Lemon. Something faintly earthy beneath it all, like ginger or roots. It wasn’t exact, but it was close. You turned and held it out to him

“This one smells like my apartment.” He took it from you immediately, cradling it in both hands like it was something fragile. He slowly lifted it to his nose, and closed his eyes, as if he was absorbing every inch of the scent. You couldn’t help but smile at the moment, at the gentleness, the calm that invaded his face, like he was remembering your living room. When he opened his eyes again, they were soft and relaxed.

“I-It really does…” He responded before slipping it into the cart without any explanation.

A few minutes later, in a section of half-price indoor plants, Bob paused in front of a small hanging basket. A trailing pothos, lush and green, leaves curling over the edge like ivy from a fairy tale. He crouched slightly to get a better look, brushing the soil gently with his knuckle.

“I-I think I’ll get this one,” He said after a moment. “Room’s got a lot of light…Feels like something should grow in it, y’know?” You smiled at his train of thought, looking down at the greenery.

“I think it’s perfect.”

He picked it up, holding the pot carefully against his chest like he was already invested in keeping it alive. It suited him more than you could’ve imagined. This gentle care. The quiet desire to nurture something in his own space. To bring life into a place that had once only held silence.

By the time you circled back to pick up the paint, the cart was full: the sun pillow, the plant, the candle, two boxes of lights, a gray fleece throw blanket, a small framed print of an old seaside map Bob claimed reminded him of something he couldn’t quite place, and a wooden picture frame you nudged into the pile without comment. For the extra photo strip you had–just in case he ever wanted it on his nightstand.

It wasn’t much.

But it was something.

And when you caught Bob glancing down into the cart, his eyes tracing over the soft, mismatched collection of items, you saw it: the slow, quiet realization that this wasn’t just stuff.

It was the beginning of something that could finally feel like his.

He looked over at you, his hair slightly mussed from where he’d run his fingers through it too many times, and smiled–really smiled this time.

“Thanks for helping,” He said softly.

”Don’t thank me yet, we still have to paint and get all this stuff set up.”

——————————

Back at the compound, the city traffic gave way to the familiar hush of the underground lot as you pulled into Bay 21A. Bob unbuckled quickly, murmuring something about “not letting you carry anything,” before slipping out of the car and circling to the back. You barely had time to pop the hatch before he was already stacking the bags in careful tiers against his chest, paint can balanced on top with the plant cradled like a fragile infant in the crook of one elbow.

“I can help, you know…I’m not a piece of glass,” You said, raising a brow as he adjusted the throw blanket and tucked the bag with the candle under his arm like a seasoned pro.

“I-I got it,” He insisted, cheeks already pink with effort and pride. “B-Besides…This stuff’s important. I don’t wanna j-jostle it.” He glanced down at the plant with something bordering on reverence.

You rolled your eyes fondly, grabbing only the receipt and the keys before trailing behind him toward the elevator.

Back on the eightieth floor, the moment the door hissed open to the hallway, Bob adjusted the box of lights with his forearm and moved with quiet precision down the hall like a man on a mission. You tapped the panel for his room, and as the door slid open, he stepped inside and finally exhaled.

Everything was still as it had been the day before–blank walls, stripped bed, faint echo in the corners. But the weight of your shared errand buzzed in the air like something alive now. Potential. Comfort waiting to be built.

You breezed across the room and tapped the window control again, letting the breeze rush in.

“Not getting high off paint fumes today,” You said over your shoulder. “If we pass out mid-coat, Alexei will probably assume we were huffing it.” Bob let out a breathy laugh and carefully lowered the mountain of bags to the floor.

“I’m gonna change,” You added, already backing toward the door. “Don’t want to ruin my decent street clothes.” Bob gave a little nod, brushing the back of his hand across his brow where a stray curl had fallen.

“Y-Yeah, I’ll probably do the s-same,” He murmured, already toeing off his shoes by the entryway. You ducked out with a small smile and padded back into your room, flicking on the light. The process didn’t take long, you pulled on a pair of sleep shorts–soft and worn from years of laundering–and a baggy, sun-faded t-shirt, with the Stark Industries intern logo barely visible across the chest. The hem hung loose past your hips, and the neckline was wide and flimsy. A small smear of old red paint still clung to one of the sleeves from a project you’d long forgotten.

You grabbed a few bobby pins from your nightstand and pulled your hair back loosely, pinning the front sections away from your face, before returning back to Bob’s room soon after.

He was standing by the window, adjusting the drop sheet with one hand, the soft gray fleece blanket already tossed over the desk chair behind him. The sweatpants were still the same–dark, loose, slung a little low on his hips–but the sweater was gone now, and in its place…

A white undershirt.

And not just any undershirt. The kind that clung.

It clung to him like a second skin–thin cotton stretched just slightly across his chest and shoulders, outlining the sharp lines of his upper body like someone had sketched him in soft charcoal and left the strokes unfinished. The fabric hugged the slope of his collarbones and dipped gently over the muscles in his arms–biceps carved like they’d been sculpted by Phidias. You could see the outline of every ridge, and every subtle shift as he moved. The shirt was just snug enough across his stomach to trace the flat plane there, but loose enough around the hem to flutter when he bent slightly at the waist to grab the roller tray. The light from the window hit the curve of his deltoids, casting shadows you didn’t know cotton could catch.

He looked like a man carved from warmth. Golden light bled across his skin, tracing the veins in his forearms as he flexed his grip on the tray, veins that twisted like poetry across the backs of his hands and up toward the cuffs of his sleeves. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen him like this–but God, it still felt like it.

Every time felt like the first.

Bob looked over his shoulder and caught you standing in the doorway, his mouth parting slightly when he saw you in your baggy shorts and oversized shirt, your hair pushed back with a few stray wisps curling around your temple. His gaze flicked over you slowly–hesitantly–like he didn’t mean to look but couldn’t stop.

“Y-You, uh…Look ready,” He said finally, his voice a little rougher than before. “G-Good shirt for painting.” He added, motioning to the outfit. You stepped in slowly, trying not to stare. But he looked like something out of a sun-drenched dream. Still gentle. Still Bob. But the kind of quiet you wanted to trace with your hands.

“Same to you,” You murmured, voice soft. “Didn’t know we were modeling for a Carhartt commercial today.”

He flushed instantly, tugging the hem of the shirt like it might somehow hide the obvious breadth of him.

“I-It’s just an undershirt,” He replied, his face turning a deep red–even though his lips were twitching into a smile that was a slow bloom of nerves.

Bob’s hands moved with care as he peeled the lid off the paint can, the soft metallic creak cutting through the quiet of the room. The scent hit immediately–sharp and chemical, softened only slightly by the breeze curling in through the open windows. He crouched to pour the soft gray paint into the tray with slow, deliberate control, letting it pool into the rigid plastic until it settled into a smooth, mirrored surface.

You stood beside him, your roller already in hand, trying hard not to stare at the way the muscles in his arms tensed as he steadied the can. He looked…Absurdly good. The undershirt hugged his frame like it had been designed with reverence, clinging to every dip and line and curve that his oversized sweaters usually swallowed whole. The light caught the pale sweat glistening at his temple, and when he reached back to set the can down, his shirt pulled just tight enough across his back that you had to actually will yourself to blink.

“You ready?” he asked gently, offering you your tray like he didn’t know he looked like a golden-age painting of ‘boy-next-door who also bench presses cars for fun.’

“Born ready,” you murmured, grateful your voice came out steady.

You dipped your roller into the tray and began to work, and Bob followed without hesitation, starting from the opposite wall. The gray went on smooth and clean. It was a quiet shade–not dull, not harsh–something in-between that felt like soft stone or the sky right before a storm. It caught the light well, turning the blank sterility of the walls into something deeper. Something lived in.

You painted in tandem, the rhythm of your movements syncing without you even realizing it–dip, roll, sweep, and stretch. You didn’t speak much at first. Just worked. Occasionally you’d catch him glancing at your section, making sure your coverage was even, and you’d glance over a beat later and find that he had already finished another wall and was patiently waiting for you to catch up, roller dripping, his shirt sticking slightly to the curve of his spine.

After about thirty minutes, you both stepped back, breathing a little heavier now, speckled with the first coat and faint dots of gray flecked on your arms and calves.

“It’s… Already better,” Bob said softly, wiping his hands with a rag he’d found in the bag. His eyes were on the wall, but they flicked to you after a second. “It doesn’t feel so…Blank anymore.” You nodded, brushing a stray streak of paint off your wrist.

“Yeah. Kinda feels like a place a person might actually live now.” You both stood there in the middle of the room for a moment, shoulders relaxed, the hum of the city outside brushing the edge of the silence. And then he sat–right on the floor, cross-legged in his paint-streaked sweatpants, undershirt rumpled slightly at the waist. You followed, easing down beside him, knees knocking once before settling close.

Conversation stirred back up–light, easy and in hushed tones.

But you weren’t really listening. Not completely.

Because Bob was…Glowing.

Not in the Sentry way. Not that raw cosmic glare that split the sky. No–this was something else. Something low and golden and warm. It lived in the curl of his laugh, the tiny streak of gray on his collarbone where he’d bumped the roller against himself and hadn’t noticed. It shimmered in the way he looked at you–really looked at you, like he was trying to memorize the exact shape of your smile every time it curved. And when he talked, it wasn’t just words–it was an offering. A thread pulled between you. One you both kept holding.

You realized then that you hadn’t stopped watching him for the last five minutes.

And based on the way his eyes dropped to your mouth mid-sentence–lingered there, soft and stunned like it wasn’t on purpose–you weren’t the only one.

Bob blinked once–slowly–and then again, like he was trying to recalibrate his vision. His gaze kept flicking down from your eyes to your mouth, like he couldn’t help it, like something in him had given up on pretending not to notice the way you looked sitting there beside him, sun-drenched and soft and glowing in the afterglow of effort.

Then he cleared his throat, but it came out more like a gulp. A quiet hitch of breath that gave him away.

“You, uh…” His voice barely rose above the quiet in the room. He reached up and gestured with two fingers, a small motion toward your cheek. “Y-You’ve got paint… Right here.” His hand hovered near his own cheekbone, mirroring the spot. “Can I…?”

You didn’t answer with words. You just leaned forward, heart suddenly pressing against your ribs like it wanted to rip out of you and escape. Bob’s hand moved slowly as if rushing might ruin the moment that was simmering between the two of you. His fingertips grazed your skin with a featherlight touch, his thumb brushing the smear of gray just below your eye.

He didn’t pull away when it was gone.

Neither did you.

The hush that settled between you was different now. It wasn’t silence. It was a sound held gently between two people on the edge of something too big to name. His hand lingered against your face, thumb tracing the faintest curve of your cheek like he needed to memorize the texture. And when you looked up at him you saw it.

That same light.

Not the blinding kind. Not the kind that cracked the sky and split atoms. But the kind that came just before dawn. Soft. Resolute. The kind that touched everything gently and asked nothing in return. It lived in the blue of his eyes now, threaded through with something honey-warm.

“Y/N…” He whispered, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to say your name like that–soft and aching, like it meant something he hadn’t dared admit aloud yet.Your hand found his cheek the way it always did. That familiar path of comfort, of care. The one place he always let you touch, even when everything else in him trembled. Your thumb brushed just beneath the apple of it–soft and supple–and his eyes fluttered at the contact, lashes dark against flushed skin.

He leaned into it, just a little. Just enough to let you feel how much he needed it–how much he needed you.

And then the air changed.

It was subtle. A breath caught in a hush. A tremble at the edge of stillness. Like the second before rain kisses the ground. Bob’s eyes held yours–not with uncertainty, not with apology–but with care so tender it undid you. As if this–your hand on his face, your knees pressed close to his, the light painting silver across your bare shoulder–was the holiest thing he’d ever known.

“I–” he started, voice barely a sound, and then stopped. His throat moved around the words he didn’t have yet. Instead, he reached up–slowly, slowly–and covered your hand with his own, pressing it further into his cheek like he didn’t ever want it to leave.

You could feel the tremor in him.

Not fear. Not anymore.

Just the weight of everything he was finally ready to let you see.

Your other hand rose without thinking, fingertips tracing the edge of his jaw, then curving around the back of his neck where soft curls dampened with heat. You pulled him closer–just enough for your foreheads to touch. Just enough to feel the warmth of his breath ghosting across your lips.

“Bob…” You whispered.

Your lips were almost touching now, but you continued to let the moment swell, and ache.

His mouth hovered a whisper away from yours, the barest sliver of air separating you–shared breath, warm and trembling. You could feel the curve of his bottom lip brush yours when he exhaled, and that smallest touch–so light, so accidental–made your stomach coil with heat. You leaned forward instinctively, but he didn’t move back.

He didn’t move forward either.

Not yet.

You felt it when his lips parted. When the tip of his tongue darted out, barely grazing your bottom lip in an attempt to taste you. It wasn’t a kiss, it was a question. A pull. And it made your breath catch so sharply that your chest almost forgot how to fall.

Then he whispered it.

Something small.

Something that cracked your ribs open with its softness.

“…I-I’ve daydreamed about t-this moment.”

His voice was low and shaken, like a confession whispered in a church pew. He didn’t pull away. If anything, he inched just closer–his nose brushing yours now, and the tremble in his hands telling you this was costing him something to say aloud.

everything in you was focused on the man in front of you—on the tremble in his voice, on the way his breath feathered across your lips, on the reverence in his eyes like he was standing at the altar of something holy.

His confession lingered between you like incense—soft and heavy, curling into your ribs. You could feel it there, warm and aching, as your thumb swept the line of his jaw. His hand was still covering yours like it was a lifeline, like if he let go, the whole world might collapse inward.

So you didn’t let him fall.

You leaned in first.

Just a little.

Just enough that your lips brushed his again—deliberately this time.

A whisper of a kiss. A promise made in the hush between heartbeats.

He shuddered the moment you touched him, and you felt it everywhere—in the curl of his fingers at your jaw, the way his breath hitched low in his chest, the quiet gasp he let out like the wind had been knocked clean from his lungs.

And then—

He kissed you back.

Not rushed. Not greedy. But slow.

So slow it made your skin prickle.

His lips moved against yours with the kind of aching reverence usually reserved for relics and prayers. It wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t unsure. It was careful—like every second of it mattered. Like he didn’t just want to taste you—he wanted to remember you. Your shape. Your breath. The way your lips parted for him like a secret being told for the first time.

It was holy.

You tilted your head, deepening it slightly–your hand sliding from the back of his neck to tangle in the curls at his nape, anchoring him to you. His hands curved along your hips, firm and trembling all at once, like he wanted to pull you closer but didn’t dare.

And God–you wanted closer.

So you shifted.

One slow, smooth motion.

You moved into his lap, straddling his thighs like it was the most natural thing in the world–your knees pressing into the paint-flecked floor, your body fitting against his like you were meant to be there. Bob inhaled sharply against your mouth, and you swallowed the sound with a kiss deeper than the one before.

He melted beneath you.

You felt it–every inch of tension releasing from his body like a dam giving way to floodwaters. His arms wrapped around your waist now, strong and warm, pulling you in with a groan so quiet you could’ve mistaken it for a plea of mercy. His hands splayed at your lower back, fingers flexing like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to hold you like this.

Your lips danced together, slow and consuming, mouths parting just enough to breathe the same air, to taste the softness in each other’s sighs. His tongue brushed against yours in the subtlest question–timid but wanting–and you answered him by tilting your hips forward ever so slightly, deepening the kiss until your whole body was singing with it.

Your pulse thundered in your ears.

There was nothing else.

No city outside the window. No walls still half-painted. No ghosts of past lives or broken silences.

Just the quiet miracle of his mouth on yours–every kiss a verse in a psalm neither of you had ever dared to read aloud until now.

When the kiss finally broke, it was slow. Lingering. His lips chased yours for one last brush, like he didn’t want to stop. Like the parting itself was unbearable.

You pressed your forehead to his again, your breaths mingling, your chest rising and falling in time with his. He looked at you and his eyes were liquid sunlight, the warm glow invading the ocean blue of his irises–but they were unbearably tender.

And then he closed them tightly.

Like it was too much for him. Like having you this close was triggering something in him he needed to get control over. His hands at your waist tightened ever so slightly, as if anchoring himself. Bracing for impact.

You leaned in.

Not to tease. Not to rush. Just to give.

And with aching care, you pressed your lips to one of his eyelids.

A whisper of contact. A kiss that was less about passion and more about trust. You felt his breath stutter–his body going still beneath yours like he’d just been blessed. Like no one had ever done this to him. Not like this.

You kissed the other eyelid just as slowly.

And when you pulled back, his breath trembled out of him—ragged and low, laced with something that made your stomach tighten and your hands ache for more.

Then–

He surged forward, finally.

His mouth found yours again, harder this time. Still gentle, still reverent, but charged now. A hum of electricity laced through the softness. The kind of kiss that made your toes curl and your hands instinctively fist into the fabric of his shirt. You clung to him—not out of desperation, but out of instinct. Because of course you would hold onto him. There was nothing else in the room. Nothing else in the world.

Your fingers curled at his shoulders, dragging across the thin cotton, feeling every flex of muscle beneath it. He groaned softly against your lips when you tugged just slightly–his hands slipping lower, cradling the curve of your spine like you were something breakable and divine all at once.

You kissed him like you meant it.

And he kissed you like he couldn’t believe it.

When he finally pulled back–barely, just enough to breathe–his forehead pressed to yours again, his breath hot against your cheek. His lips brushed the edge of your mouth with every word.

“I–uh…” He murmured, voice cracked and raw around the edges, “I think maybe we should go to your room.”

You blinked, still catching your breath.

He swallowed, eyes fluttering open to meet yours. “I mean–just ‘cause–there’s a lot of paint fumes in here,” He added, clearly flustered, clearly not thinking about paint at all, “A-And I don’t wanna get dizzy and…Fall over or something while you’re…O-On my lap…”

The way he looked at you then–flush blooming down his throat, hands still cradling you like he didn’t want to let go–it was too soft to be funny. Too vulnerable to mock. You leaned in, brushing your nose against his and letting your lips ghost across his jaw.

“Right,” You whispered. “Wouldn’t want to pass out while kissing or anything.”

His breath caught again–so beautifully–and he nodded.

“Y-Yeah,” He murmured, dazed, “That would be…A tragedy.” Your lips hovered just over his skin, brushing the warmth of his jaw with a breathless smile. His hands stayed firm at your waist like he was still trying to convince himself you were real–that this was real–that you were really curled into his lap with paint on your legs and want in your eyes.

You let your mouth ghost lower, just to the edge of his neck.

Then, softly–like a secret–

“Take me to my room,” You instructed gently.

Bob inhaled sharply through his nose, fingers twitching at your hips like the words had struck something sacred in him. He blinked once, as if to double-check he’d heard you right, and then nodded–so small it was barely noticeable.

He rose with you in his arms, like it was nothing. Like you weighed less than air.

And he didn’t hesitate.

Instead of going through the hall like any rational person might have, he turned and headed straight for the bathroom that adjoined your quarters and his–taking the shortcut–the private path. You giggled under your breath at the way he moved with such gentle urgency, like the act of walking was suddenly too slow. Like he needed to get you there now.

You nuzzled into the crook of his neck as he carried you, your lips brushing the delicate skin just beneath his jaw, sucking gently at the faint stubble there. His steps faltered for a second when he felt your lips there–nothing more than a soft press of your mouth to his pulse and a little pull–but it was enough to make him grunt softly and pick up the pace.

“Y-You’re really not helping,” He muttered, breath shaky and hot, his fingers tightening just slightly around your thighs where he held you. You kissed his neck again, smiling against him.

“Didn’t realize I was supposed to be,” You replied.

He let out something that might’ve been a laugh, or maybe a groan–then fumbled with the bathroom door, kicked it open a little too fast, and spun the both of you through it like a man possessed.

By the time he reached your side of the quarters, he was a little breathless, and completely flushed–enough that you could’ve sworn you saw blush peeking through his white undershirt. You kissed his throat again, and that was it.

You felt his hands shift as he bent forward, setting you gently on the bed, your back sinking into the familiar comfort of your duvet. Bob hovered over you for a breathless moment, suspended between want and worship. His chest rose and fell above yours, his curls shadowing his forehead, damp from the warmth blooming beneath his skin. Your legs were still loosely looped around his waist, cradling him there, holding him in that weightless space between everything you were and everything you were about to become.

Then he leaned in.

And kissed you.

Not on the mouth this time. But everywhere else.

Soft, fluttering presses of lips to skin. A brush at your cheekbone. Another to the edge of your brow. A third to the tip of your nose, which made you let out the kind of breathy laugh that pulled something tight in his chest.

He kissed your forehead last, and lingered there, just long enough to let you feel the shape of it. When he finally pulled back, his hands slid gently to your thighs. He rubbed slow, reverent circles into your skin–paint-flecked, warm from effort, bare from mid-thigh down. His thumbs pressed into the dip just above your knees, and then, with a soft inhale, he murmured–

“Let me go lock the door…So we don’t get interrupted.”

His voice was low. Still frayed around the edges with awe.

You nodded, your legs loosening around his waist as he coaxed them gently down with the flats of his palms. You let them drop to either side of him, feet brushing the floor now, knees parted slightly around where he still knelt between them.

He rose with quiet care, and you sat up slowly onto your elbows, the hem of your oversized shirt falling back into place, bunched slightly around your hips. The cotton was thin and soft and stretched with sleep, one side still slipping off your shoulder. You shifted your weight just slightly, legs swinging idly off the edge of the mattress, watching him.

The room glowed with the kind of light that only happened at dusk.

Evening had begun to settle behind the skyline just outside your windows–cool shadows bleeding slowly across the hardwood floor. But the city’s sunset didn’t reach this far into your quarters. Not fully.

Instead, the soft amber glow of your nightstand lamp lit the space.

It cast everything in a warm, golden haze.

The bulb was shielded behind a woven linen shade, diffusing the light until it looked like honey melting through gauze. It hit the edges of the room with a quiet softness–just enough to turn skin to candlelight and shadows to velvet. The kind of light that made everything feel slow and sacred. That turned every breath into something you wanted to hold.

You watched him walk across the room barefoot, his white undershirt clinging to his frame like it was woven from sunlight and tension. The muscles in his back flexed beneath it, pulling at the thin fabric just slightly with every movement. His hand reached for the sleek panel on the wall near the entryway and pressed his thumb to the edge of the glass.

A quiet chime confirmed it. The soft swoosh of magnetic locks sliding into place.

And still–he stood there for a second longer, his hand lingering against the door panel.

You saw it, even from across the room.

The rise and fall of his shoulders.

The silent inhale. The weight of the moment catching up to him in the hush between the lock and the turning back.

Then he did turn.

And when he looked at you, it was like gravity itself had shifted–like you were the axis now.

That soft glow from your bedside lamp painted amber along the edges of his jaw, spilling gold into the hollow of his throat and casting his frame in the kind of warmth usually reserved for cathedral windows or old film reels. His undershirt clung to him in the most unfair way–ribbons of cotton stretched delicately over muscle and tension, bunched slightly at the waist from where your legs had wrapped around him only moments ago. And yet, he looked…Hentle. Steady. Like something you could pray to if you didn’t know better.

He came back to you slowly.

Each step measured.

Deliberate.

His gaze never left you–not once–as he returned to where you sat on the edge of the bed, your thighs parted just enough, feet brushing the hardwood, shirt draped long over your hips. You shifted as he approached, moving like you meant to scoot farther up the mattress, to lay back and make room. But his hand stopped you. Gentle. Firm.

“N-No,” He said, voice soft but sure. “I…I want to stay here. L-Like this…Trust me.” Bob leaned down, hunching slightly to meet your mouth where you sat at the edge of the bed–legs parted, eyes glowing in the lamplight, waiting for him like gravity waited for stars. His hands braced on either side of your thighs, and then he kissed you again–slow and a little clumsy this time, the angle not quite perfect, his spine bending to reach you. But it didn’t matter.

You moaned into it anyway.

Because he was right there. All of him. The weight of his chest against yours, the tension in his arms, the way his breath hitched as your hand slid back up beneath the hem of that cruel little undershirt.

Your fingers clawed at it. Not delicately. Not with patience. Like you needed it gone. And Bob–sweet, reverent Bob–broke the kiss just long enough to whisper,

“Y-Yeah, okay–hang on–”

His voice cracked as he tugged the shirt over his head in one rushed motion. The cotton caught briefly on the back of his neck, then slipped free with a quiet shh of static and landed somewhere near your feet.

And then there he was.

Bare.

Bathed in lamplight.

Your breath caught in your throat.

You had imagined this. Of course you had. It was always in flickers and flashbacks–like when his scrubs had been practically shot off him when he distracted Val’s special ops so you, Walker, Ava, and Yelena could escape the vault. But this–seeing him like this, lit in soft honey gold, the shadows of his body sloping into the hollow of his ribs and the rise of his chest—this was different.

He wasn’t chiseled. He wasn’t flawless. But God, he was real.

The kind of real that could wreck you again and again and you would say thank you.

His skin was flushed, warm from exertion, and his arms flexed where they framed you–long and lean, thick in the right places, his veins peeking just beneath the surface like scripture written under skin. His shoulders were broad, with scattered beauty marks kissing his skin, and all you could do was bite the inside of your cheek.

Your eyes drank in every inch.

And then your hand followed.

You reached for him–almost reverently–palm sliding flat against his stomach. The skin there was soft, but the muscle underneath twitched, hard and sudden, at your touch. His hips jolted the barest bit, a sharp inhale escaping through parted lips.

You let your fingers drift up.

Across the ridge of his abs, over the slight dip between his pecs, tracing a slow, steady line up the center of his chest.

“You look like a god,” You whispered.

And he hummed.

Low. From somewhere deep in his chest. Like the compliment vibrated straight through him and he couldn’t contain it.

His head dipped as he let out a breathless sound against your cheek–half a laugh, half a groan. “Th-That’s… That’s not true…”

You pressed your hand flat over his heart.

“It is,” You murmured, voice soft but insistent. “You’re the sun, Bob. You shine.”

And he hummed again–longer this time.

The sound of it curled between your legs like silk.

He shuddered a little, then kissed you again–harder this time, deeper, like he didn’t know what else to do with the feeling. You moaned into it and dragged your nails lightly down his ribs just to feel the way his body reacted to you–twitching and shifting a bit.

And when you whispered, “God, I could worship you like this,” His breath hitched so hard he nearly stumbled.

His breath was ragged now–hot and uneven where it puffed against your cheek, like every single thing you said was costing him control he barely knew how to hold onto in the first place.

“You…” He rasped, voice frayed and unsteady, like it was coming from somewhere much deeper than his throat, “You don’t… You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

You smiled against his jaw.

“Yes, I do.”

His hands gripped the blanket–white-knuckled, grounding himself in the cotton and not the way your voice made his muscles twitch beneath your touch.

“You don’t understand,” He whispered, eyes squeezed shut, like he couldn’t even look at you without giving something away. “I… I can’t keep–if you keep saying things like that–if you look at me like that–I don’t know if I’ll be able to—”

His voice broke off with a shuddering inhale. His whole body trembled slightly over yours, caught between restraint and desire, and God, it was glorious.

You lifted your hand again–slow, gentle–and brushed your knuckles along his cheek. The scruff there was warm and soft, velvet over steel. He turned his face toward the touch before he could stop himself.

“Look at me,” You whispered.

He hesitated.

But only for a second.

Then he opened his eyes.

And it confirmed everything.

That glow wasn’t just a metaphor. It wasn’t poetic. It was real. His irises shimmered like molten honey shot through with starfire–like something barely leashed beneath the surface had opened a single, trembling eye.

The Sentry.

You saw it flicker there. Just enough.

Not violent. Not threatening. But watching.

And you smiled.

“I was right,” You murmured. “You really are the sun.”He tried to look away again. His throat bobbed with another hard swallow, his arms trembling where he held himself over you.

“You’re playing a d-dangerous game,” He warned, voice hoarse. “I don’t think you…I-I don’t think you know what you’re asking for.”

“I know exactly what I’m asking for,” You breathed, sliding your hand down the curve of his ribs, across his waist, back to the firm plane of his abdomen. He flinched under your palm, hips jerking forward slightly before he caught himself. “I want all of it. I want both of you…And I know you can control it.”

Bob let out a sound then–something low and wrecked, somewhere between a moan and a growl, like the words had reached some part of him buried deep and sacred.

“Y-You don’t understand,” he whispered again, almost begging this time. “You don’t u-understand what you’re doing.”

You cupped his jaw and kissed him again, slow and hot and certain, your tongue sweeping into his mouth like a vow. His hands flew to your thighs, fingers gripping tight now, anchoring himself there as he kissed you back with everything he had. Desperate. Consuming.

And when you pulled back just enough to speak again, lips brushing his as you said it–

“I do understand.”

You leaned in and dragged your teeth lightly along his bottom lip, and his whole body shuddered.

“And I want it anyway.”

He groaned–loud this time. No holding back. No shame. Just the pure, guttural sound of a man unraveling.

And when he kissed you next, it wasn’t careful.

It was devotional. No longer the soft, trembling offering it had been moments prior. This one was hungry. A little rough around the edges. A gasp swallowed. A whimper chased. Bob’s hands slipped beneath the hem of your shirt like he couldn’t stop himself, and you arched up instinctively, giving him the space–giving him everything.

The fabric lifted slowly, dragged over your ribs, baring warm skin to cooler air. You raised your arms, and he pulled it over your head in one fluid motion. His breath caught when he saw you in the golden light, chest rising with something close to reverence.

Then his hand slid behind you, trembling but sure, fingers working the clasp of your bra. It came undone with a quiet snap, and he slipped the straps down your arms with a gentleness that made your throat tighten. He let it fall to the floor like something holy, something he would not dare to crumple.

And then you laid back.

Slow, easy.

Your shoulders met the mattress first, followed by the curve of your spine, the arch of your hips, and the duvet puffed beneath you, soft and sun-warmed from the light still pouring through the linen lamp shade. Your chest was bare now, rising and falling with anticipation, skin kissed in shadows and gold.

Bob just stared.

And for a second, he didn’t move.

Because you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

The way the light painted across your collarbones, soft and sloped. The subtle curve of your breasts, rising with every breath. The softness of your belly, the delicate line of your ribs. You looked like art. Like a myth. Like something that should’ve only existed in dreams.

He swallowed hard. His eyes shimmered.

And then, slowly, he sank to his knees between your thighs again.

His hands slid up your sides–warm, large, trembling just slightly. He mapped every inch of you like he needed to learn it by heart. His palms ghosted over your waist, up the softness of your ribs, and then…

He cupped your breasts carefully.

And let out a sound so low, so shattered, it made you ache.

“You’re…” He whispered, voice catching, “You’re s-so soft… So—God—beautiful.”

His thumbs brushed over your nipples, and the contact sent a ripple through you—sharp, electric. Your back arched slightly, and he leaned in without thinking, mouthing gently at the swell of one breast while his hand continued to cradle the other. His lips were warm. Open. His breath huffed against your skin as he kissed, sucked, nuzzled—like he couldn’t decide what to do first.

“You’re perfect,” He whispered again, voice rougher now–lower, tinged with something molten that flickered beneath the surface.

His mouth closed around your nipple–slow and hot–and you gasped aloud, your fingers threading into his curls as your thighs shifted on either side of him. He moaned into you. Soft. Almost desperate. His tongue flicked gently, again and again, drawing it into his mouth with a devotion that bordered on worship.

“You d-don’t know what you do to me,” he murmured between kisses, dragging his mouth across your chest to give equal attention to the other. “Y-You’re everything… Every fucking thing–”

His voice cracked again, and this time there was no mistaking it.

That tone.

Just slightly deeper. Not quite his. Not quite the Sentry either–but something born of both.

It vibrated through his chest, warm and unsteady, like two frequencies overlapping. He kissed you again–lower now–over your ribs, then your navel. Every press of his lips was filled with awe. His hands stayed at your waist, holding you like you were something precious, something irreplaceable.

“I c-could die right here,” He whispered, his voice still shaking, still fighting to stay human. “You…You’d be the last thing I see and I’d be okay with it. I swear, I—”

His mouth found your stomach, trailing down with the heat of his breath and the brush of his lips, his hands never stopping their gentle, grounding rhythm. Circling. Worshipping.

You reached down, fingers finding his jaw, guiding him up for another kiss. And when he kissed you again, it was with more hunger. More heat. But still careful–still Bob. Even when his hands roamed again–up, over your ribs, back to your breasts, where he cupped them and whispered broken praise between kisses.

“So soft… Fuck, you’re so soft…Please let me… Let me love you–let me remember all of this–”

His voice shook with restraint, with reverence, with want so deep it nearly broke you. Your fingers still cradled his jaw when you whispered it.

“I’m yours.”

You didn’t even realize the words were leaving your mouth until they’d already cracked the air between you open like a vow, and Bob stilled like you’d just spoken the incantation that undid him.

His breath caught, sharp and audible–like his lungs didn’t know whether to inhale or collapse. His eyes fluttered shut. And when they opened again, they glowed. Not bright. Not blinding. But deeper. Gold laced in blue. A quiet surrender written in starlight.

His hands clenched at your waist, and his voice came out low. Lower than before. The edges rasped with something rough, barely reined in. Like the Sentry had pressed just behind his teeth, watching from the shadows of his throat.

“Can I…” His voice broke. He swallowed hard. “Can I take these off?”

His fingertips brushed just beneath the waistband of your shorts–trembling, reverent, barely there.

“Yes,” You breathed, hips tilting upward in offering.

He let out a sound like a prayer and leaned forward to kiss your mouth again–deep, slow, aching–before pulling back and sliding down the bed. His hands rose to your hips, and with careful fingers, he began to peel your shorts and underwear down your thighs. Inch by inch. Like unwrapping something sacred.

He didn’t rush. Not for a second.

He took his time baring you to the honey-colored light. His gaze never left your skin–like he was memorizing every inch, every curve. Like this was the moment he’d waited his entire life for.

And then, when the cotton hit your knees, he paused.

He bent forward.

And kissed the top of your thigh.

Soft. Open-mouthed. Warm, and wet. Doing the same to the other.

His breath stuttered, and he sank lower–kneeling now. Fully. Both palms spread wide across your thighs, grounding himself there. And it made sense then, why he had stopped you from crawling back on the bed. Why he kept you on the edge like this.

Because it let him kneel. It let him worship. He kissed your thighs like they were holy. Lips brushing up toward where you ached for him most, the anticipation a silk-wrapped noose around your lungs. He looked up once, just once, and the heat in his gaze nearly burned you alive.

“I-I’ve wanted this,” He whispered, breath trembling against your skin. “I’ve dreamed of this–of you–just like this…”

He didn’t finish the thought.

He didn’t have to.

Because his mouth descended, slow and devastating.

A kiss–directly over your folds.

Tender. Lingering. His breath was warm. His lips parting against you in something deeper than intention.

You gasped–soft and sharp–as his tongue followed, slow and exploratory, dragging upward with a pressure that made your whole body seize. He moaned into you. Like the taste of you had broken something open inside him.

And then he did it again.

And again.

Until your hips were arching. Until your hands were in his hair. Until all you could hear was the wet, reverent sounds of him worshiping you like you were his only tether to the world.

He kissed every part of you like it mattered. Like he could feel your heartbeat in his mouth. His hands slid beneath your thighs, lifting, spreading, cradling you wider. His thumbs pressed into the crease where thigh met hip, holding you open for him, and he groaned–deep, low, wrecked–as his mouth found your clit.

He sucked gently, lips sealing around it, and your whole body jerked. A breathless cry ripped from your chest, and you felt his hands tighten, grounding you. His tongue circled, slow and sure, his lips sliding against you in worshipful rhythm.

“Bob–” You gasped, the name slipping out like a plea. “Oh, my God–”

He moaned again–vibrating against you–and the sensation made your head fall back. The edge of the mattress bit into your spine, your legs trembling where they hung over his shoulders, and still–he didn’t stop. He didn’t even falter.

His mouth moved like it was built for this.

Slow. Devoted. Intoxicating.

You felt the tension coil–tight and deep–in your belly, in your spine, in the backs of your knees. And Bob felt it too. You could tell by the way his hands gripped tighter. The way his tongue flicked just a little faster, more precise now, teasing and coaxing as he devoured you. He drank your sounds like nectar. Like every moan was oxygen. His own breath was ragged now, and still–he praised.

“You taste like heaven,” He whispered, lips brushing you wet and wanting, voice thick and torn in two. “So fucking sweet–so good–God, you’re everything–”

You were shaking.

You were unraveling.

Your thighs clenched around his shoulders, and still–he stayed locked in place, mouth relentless and full of worship. One hand slid up your belly to your chest, grounding you again, his fingers curling over your ribs while the other stayed hooked beneath your thigh.

And then–

He flattened his tongue and dragged it up the center of you, slow and hard, and sealed his mouth around your clit one last time–sucking, flicking, groaning into you with a desperation so tender it broke you wide open.

The orgasm hit like sunrise.

Warm. Blinding. Slow at first—and then fast and full, like light spilling over the edge of your bones. Your whole body arched into him. You cried out–his name, the stars, everything–and his arms locked around your hips, holding you steady as he worked you through it, mouth still worshipping, still licking, still kissing every quake of pleasure like it was a gift he’d been waiting a lifetime to receive.

And when you finally collapsed–boneless and glowing, chest heaving, eyes wet with aftershocks–Bob pulled back slowly, lips slick, face flushed, and looked up at you like a man reborn.

He was breathless.

Shaking.

But his eyes were molten gold.

“You’re…Everything,” He whispered again, voice reverent. “Everything.” The words melted into your skin like heat, and when he spoke next–his lips still brushing just above your knee—it wasn’t just Bob.

“I want to give you another one…”

His voice was wrecked. Darker. Threaded with something molten and greedy.

“I want to feel you fall apart again, just for me…”

Before you could speak–before you could even breathe–his hand slid up the inside of your thigh. His fingers were slow, wet from where he’d worshiped you moments ago, and when they reached your center, he groaned softly at the heat still there.

“So warm,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Still trembling for me.”

Then—you felt it.

The press of two fingers, thick and slow, gliding through your slick folds, parting you with devastating precision.

You gasped—legs twitching from the aftershocks still fluttering through your body. “B-Bob—wait—”

But he didn’t pull away.

He looked up at you, eyes glowing—lit with starlight and hunger—and smiled. Soft. But feral.

“I know, baby,” he whispered, fingers still dragging gently through your folds. “I know you’re sensitive. But I promise—I’ll be so gentle.”

And he was.

Even when he slipped the first finger in, and then the second—stretching you slow, curling inside you with aching care—his touch was worship. His breath shook with restraint, with reverence, with something barely caged beneath his ribs.

You cried out—half from pleasure, half from overstimulation—as his fingers began to move. A steady rhythm. In and out, in and out, curling at the top each time until sparks flared up your spine.

“You’re doing so good,” he rasped, eyes locked on yours. “So fucking good for me.”

The pace never quickened. But the pressure built. And built.

He pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to the inside of your thigh with every stroke, like he was timing his mouth to your unraveling. Your hands fisted in the duvet, your hips twitching every time his fingers brushed that devastating spot inside you—and still, he moved like a man being fed by your pleasure. Like this—wrecking you gently—was salvation.

“I can feel you,” he whispered, voice thick. “You’re clenching around me already, aren’t you? You’re so close…”

You whimpered, nodding, barely able to hold yourself up.

He pulled his fingers nearly all the way out—then pushed them back in, slow and deep, curling them harder this time. You choked on a sob.

“I want it,” he murmured. “Give it to me, sweetheart. Let go again—one more. Just one more for me.”

Your thighs shook. Your lips parted on a gasp as the pressure bloomed hard and fast this time—your body raw and exposed and aching for him.

He leaned in close, lips brushing your inner thigh as he worked you open on his fingers. “I want to see your soul when you come. Please, baby, show it to me.”

The second orgasm hit like a wave breaking against rock.

Rougher. Hungrier. You cried out again, back arching clean off the mattress, thighs locking around his wrist as you shattered all over him. The sound that tore from you wasn’t pretty–it was real. It was desperate. It was a gift.

Bob groaned–deep and guttural–as you pulsed around his fingers, your release soaking him, your voice ragged and broken as you whispered his name again and again.

He didn’t stop until your body finally slumped back against the sheets, spent and shaking, your skin glistening with sweat and devotion.

Only then did he slide his fingers free slowly, and lift them to his mouth.

He sucked them clean.

Eyes locked on yours.

And when he finally stood–shoulders heaving, sweat dripping down the curve of his throat–he looked like a god descending from whatever mythical place they belonged to

The Sentry was still there in the golden flicker of his eyes. Greedy. Glowing. Waiting.

“Now,” He said, voice low and reverent as he reached for his waistband, “I’m going to make love to you.” You were still gasping, chest rising in sharp, uneven waves, your limbs spread across the bed like they’d melted into the duvet. Your fingers twitched where they gripped the sheets. The light from the nightstand made everything feel golden and close, like time had slowed just for the two of you.

Bob moved carefully.

Softly.

You barely noticed at first–only the shift of pressure beneath your thigh, the way his hand skimmed under your back. But then he was there, lifting you just enough to guide you farther up the bed. His touch was trembling but sure, all Bob again–no flicker, no pulse of divinity. Just the man. The hands that had brushed paint onto your walls, the voice that had whispered to you in the dark when nightmares clawed through the silence.

“L-Lay back,” He murmured, eyes searching your face like he needed permission again. “J-Just wanna get you comfortable…”

You nodded, boneless and warm, your heart still fluttering in your chest.

He kissed your neck as he helped you settle, lips brushing right where your pulse fluttered. It wasn’t sexual, not yet. It was grounding. Anchoring. The kind of kiss that said you’re safe. That said I’ve got you.

You sighed against him.

And when he pulled back just enough to stand again, his hands went to his waistband.

He hesitated.

Only for a second.

But then–he slipped his thumbs beneath the edge of his sweatpants and boxers, and pushed them down slowly, hips rolling just slightly as the fabric slid over his thighs.

And there he was.

His erection stood proud and flushed, the head a soft blush red, glistening at the tip, his length thick and veined–aching and heavy with want. It wasn’t just beautiful–it was intimate. Unfiltered. Bob, exposed. Unhidden. And yet… utterly perfect.

You inhaled softly, lips parting around a soundless gasp. He looked vulnerable like this, not in shame, but in reverence. He wasn’t flaunting it. He wasn’t posing. He was present.

Breath stuttering slightly, Bob stepped out of the bunched fabric around his ankles and nudged it aside with his foot before crawling onto the bed, careful not to jostle you too fast. He kissed your knee first, then your hip, then the soft underside of your ribcage, working his way up your body with aching, deliberate slowness.

You reached for him without thinking, needing to touch all of him now. Your hands slid across his chest, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your fingers, the little tremors in his arms. He nestled between your thighs as he reached you fully, bracing himself on one forearm while the other arm hooked gently beneath your thigh, guiding it up and around his waist. Then–

He slipped one arm behind your neck.

Cradling you.

Like you were the most precious thing in the world.

His hips rested just above yours, the heat of him brushing your center, not yet aligned–but enough to make you both moan at the contact. His body blanketed yours, but not heavily. He held himself up with care, like every ounce of pressure he applied was measured, considered.

His lips found your throat again, this time pressing just below your jaw. “Y/N…” He whispered, voice cracking. “T-This is all I’ve e-ever wanted.”

You turned your head, your lips brushing his temple, then his cheek.

“Bob,” You breathed. “You’re so good. You’re so perfect…I want you so bad.”

He let out a shuddering sound. A whimper, almost. And when he kissed you again–open-mouthed, lips dragging along your collarbone–you felt him whisper something against your skin.

“I’m gonna go slow… I–I wanna feel all of you. I want you to feel me.”

His voice stuttered again, and that alone almost undid you. Because it was him.

Not the Sentry.

Not the glowing power that had shimmered behind his irises. Just Bob–soft, trembling, and wrecked with love, and holding you like you were divine.

Bob shifted just slightly–allowing his hand to slip between your bodies, low and slow, until he wrapped his fingers around himself. You could feel the tremble in his arm as he lined himself up, the heat of him pressing right where you were still soaked and aching for him.

“Okay?” he whispered, eyes searching your face.

You nodded–barely, breath caught in your throat–and lifted your hips just enough to meet him.

His hand slipped to your thigh, guiding it back up around his waist, and then–

He kissed you.

Slow. Deep. Tongue brushing yours like it was a prayer. And as your mouths moved together, slick and open and gasping, he began to press in.

The stretch stole your breath.

The head of him pushed into you, thick and hot and slow, and your lips parted with a gasp that he swallowed greedily. His whole body shuddered over you as he sank deeper–inch by inch–your walls fluttering around him, still trembling from the afterglow of the orgasms he’d already given you. Every nerve ending felt raw and alight, turned inside out by pleasure, by sensation, by him.

“Oh my God,” you whimpered, nails digging lightly into his back.

He moaned into your mouth–long and low and desperate–and pushed in further, your body yielding for him, stretching to accommodate the full length of him. His hips trembled with restraint, his hand never leaving your thigh, thumb brushing small circles into your skin to soothe you as he sank deeper and deeper.

You felt full.

You felt wrecked.

You felt like you were being split open in the most perfect, intimate way–and still, he didn’t stop. Not until he bottomed out completely, hips flush against yours, his chest heaving above you like he couldn’t believe it was real.

And then…

He stilled, breathless, inside you.

His forehead dropped to yours, and you could feel the sweat on his skin, the warmth of it, the shiver still running through him as he tried not to move. He kissed your cheek, then your jaw, then your temple–his lips brushing each place like a whispered offering.

“You feel…” He choked, “You feel so good–so warm–so soft–”

Your hands slid up his back, anchoring there, and he kissed the corner of your mouth again.

“I don’t ever wanna move,” He whispered, voice wrecked and thick and glowing at the edges. “I just wanna stay right here. Inside you. Forever.”

You whimpered, barely holding onto your breath, your hips twitching slightly beneath his.

”Bob…I’m all yours and…My god you’re amazing.” He groaned against your skin–low and needy–and kissed the tip of your nose, your eyelids, your throat.

Then, softer–

“Tell me when,” he whispered. “I won’t move until you’re ready.”

You breathed in slowly, body still adjusting to the stretch of him, to the heat and fullness and sheer beauty of having him this close. His thumb was still brushing lazy circles against your thigh, the other hand stroking your hair back from your temple.

And then you nodded.

You turned your face to his, kissed him slowly, and whispered:

“Now.”

He moved.

Just a little.

Just enough for you both to feel it–just enough for the glide to send a shudder through your spine. His hips drew back, slow and measured, and then pressed forward again with aching care. Your mouth dropped open around a moan—his name falling from your lips—and he echoed it with a broken sound of his own.

Every thrust was deliberate.

Every movement was a confession.

Every time he sank back into you, he gasped–like the sensation was too much, like he still couldn’t believe you were real beneath him, taking him in, holding him so tight and perfect and wet.

“You’re perfect,” He rasped, hips rocking into you slow and deep, his lips never straying far from your skin. His hips rolled into you slowly filling you with each deep, reverent thrust like he couldn’t bear to pull away too far. His lips trailed up your jaw, brushing your cheek, then your temple, and every time he bottomed out, he moaned like your body had answered a question he hadn’t dared to ask.

You gasped again–sharp, breathless–your back arching into him. The motion pressed your chest to his, and your nails curled slightly into his back. Just enough to drag. Just enough to leave a faint trace.

Bob shuddered. His breath hitched, and he groaned–low and ragged–into your skin.

“D-Do that again,” He begged, voice breaking, “God–please–do that again.”

You did. Fingertips digging a little deeper this time, dragging down his spine, and the reaction was immediate–his hips stuttered, rhythm faltering with a gasp that sounded possessed with pleasure.

His head dropped into the crook of your neck, his voice muffled against your skin.

“Fuck–you feel like heaven–you are heaven–” He breathed, hips beginning to move again. A little faster now. Still deep. Still careful. But urgent.

His hand cupped the side of your face, brushing hair from your cheek, and the other remained locked at your thigh, holding it high around his waist. You could feel every inch of him–the stretch, the heat, the connection–and God, it was unbearable how good it felt.

“I’m not hurting you a-am I?” he whispered, just barely audible. “T-Tell me if I am, tell me–”

“No,” You gasped. “No, Bob, it’s perfect–you’re perfect–please don’t stop–”

That made him whimper. His whole body shivered above you, and you felt the light from the lamp begin to shift. It had been warm and muted before–but now, it pulsed. Like a heartbeat. Like something responding to the heat in the room. Each time he thrust into you, it grew just a little brighter.

Neither of you noticed at first–too lost in each other, in the intimacy coiling tight between your bodies–but you felt it. That warmth. That power building in the air. The glow of something just beneath the surface.

Bob kissed you again–messy, deep, almost broken–and your hips rolled up to meet his. You were moving with him now, chasing the friction, your body writhing beneath his, needing it. Needing him.

“I-I can feel all of you,” He moaned, pulling back just enough to look down at where your bodies met, his voice wrecked. You keened at the words, thighs tightening around him, heels pressing into the backs of his legs. He was fully inside you now with every stroke, and you could feel another orgasm building, hotter and faster than before–simmering low in your belly, pulsing in time with the light around you.

His face hovered over yours, sweat clinging to his temple, lips trembling with restraint.

And his eyes–

They glowed.

Bright now.

The Sentry wasn’t gone.

But he wasn’t in control, either.

Just there. Watching. Letting Bob feel it all. Letting him worship you with everything he had—every thrust, every kiss, every broken praise.

His voice dropped, deeper than before. Still Bob. But laced with something else.

“Where do you want me?” He asked, his breath hot against your cheek. “Where do you want me to come, sweetheart?”

You met his eyes–gold and blue and glowing–and you moaned through clenched teeth, your whole body beginning to tremble again.

“Inside me,” You gasped. “Please, Bob–I want you to come inside–I want to feel it–want to feel you fill me up–”

He snapped.

His rhythm faltered. His hips ground against you harder now—still deep, but no longer controlled. There was hunger now. Desperation. He chased it with everything he had, every stroke punctuated by breathless moans and praise, his mouth dragging along your skin like he couldn’t stop kissing you, couldn’t stop telling you how perfect you were.

“Gonna give it to you,” He choked out. “Gonna give you all of it—fuck—you’re mine—”

The light in the room brightened to a crescendo–gold washing over every surface, turning the walls to fire and your skin to sun-kissed silk. And just as you felt your orgasm snap again–fast and hard and all-consuming, your body tightening and convulsing around him–

Bob let out a broken moan, that sounded like he was on the brink of crying. He was out of breath, and so hot it felt like he had fallen from the sun.

And then the lightbulb burst.

Glass popped with a sharp, cracking sound, shards raining harmlessly inside the shade as the room flickered and dimmed.

And he poured into you.

Thrusting deep one last time–hips locked against yours, arms shaking, his name echoing from your mouth as his pleasure hit–blinding and endless. He held you through it, his body shaking over yours, gasping your name like it was the only word he knew.

And somewhere–distant, muffled–you heard raised voices. Muffled arguing, like yelling.

But it was all far away.

Because your ears were ringing.

Like someone had struck a tuning fork behind your ribs and sent the vibration through your entire body. You could feel the aftershocks echoing in your spine, down your legs, across your fingertips still curled in his back.

Bob’s body trembled against yours, skin damp with sweat, chest heaving like he’d run miles through a sunstorm just to get to you. He didn’t move—not right away. He stayed buried inside you, arms wrapped tight around your waist, his forehead resting against the curve of your shoulder as he whispered your name again. Softer this time. Wrecked. Worshipful.

Your hands were still in his hair, fingers brushing through the damp curls at the base of his neck, your heartbeat thudding in your throat. Your whole body felt molten—boneless and glowing, like you’d been struck by lightning but kissed by it too. And the warmth between your legs, the slow throb where he still pulsed inside you, grounded it all in something sacred.

You shifted slightly—just enough to feel him twitch as he began to soften, still deep inside, your bodies tangled like ivy in the low light of the room.

He kissed your collarbone. Then your jaw. Then your lips—slow and trembling, a thank-you in every brush.

“I-I love th-that I get to call y-you mine…” He breathed, barely audible against your lips.

One of your hands cupped the side of his face, thumb stroking his flushed cheek, and he leaned into it, eyes fluttering shut.

But then…

The sound of shouting finally cut through the quiet.

Your eyes opened.

Bob’s head lifted slightly, brow furrowing. Somewhere down the hallway—muffled through the compound walls—came the unmistakable sound of bickering. Loud. Confused. Walker’s voice, sharp and irritated. Yelena’s voice following with something distinctly Russian and exasperated.

“…I’m telling you that wasn’t the oven–” Walker yelled.

“Then what was it, genius? Light bulbs don’t just explode like that!” Ava screamed.

“Maybe you sneeze too hard–” Alexei chimed in.

“Oh my God, shut up, all of you–there’s glass in the hallway–”Bucky interrupted.

Bob pulled back slowly, just enough to look at you. His eyes were still a little dazed, his hair curling at the temples from sweat, and his cheeks were flushed pink from effort and something more vulnerable, and then he glanced over at the remains of your lamp's lightbulb. The connection was immediate.

”Oh…O-Oh Jesus Christ…” He whispered, and you watched his face go a deeper red. “Oh god…T-They’re gonna know it’s me…W-What the hell is wrong w-with me?” You let out a soft and breathless laugh, before reaching out to caress his face.

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you.” You leaned in and gave him a gentle is on the lips, as he groaned.

”I just b-blew every lightbulb on this level…God o-only knows what e-else I did.” You snorted, now picturing every level of the Tower needing replacement light bulbs and tears of laughter began prickling at your eyes.

And Bob, still buried inside you, still flushed and glowing, started laughing too. Quietly at first. Then louder. The kind of laugh that shook through his chest and softened everything. Like the sound of guilt melting into joy. Like sunlight cracking through the last remnants of a storm.

”We’re definitely going to need a really good excuse.” You murmured, leaning forward to steal another kiss, earning a soft hum from Bob.

”I k-know…But that’s f-for future us t-to worry about I think…”

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ceramini · 30 days ago

Note

loser! jake BUT readers all of a sudden nice to him and jake is confused (and turned on ofc) maybe special occasion or smthn.surprise ne queen !!

⁺𝅄 𓊆 ❀ 𓊇 just so u guys know.. this will be my last jake fic/drabble before I retire him :(( i write for all of the members and I didn’t think people would request or even like my loser!jake stuff this much, so he WILL make a retrurn on my blog, I just want to share my work for other enha members as well <33 pls understand

pair loser!jake x hot!reader ͡ ͘◡ ꫶᳝᳜᳝᳜᳝᳜৯ tags reverse cowgirl, cockwarming ✿ scene jake forgot their third anniversary, again. He’s bracing for punishment, but instead, you’re suddenly super nice to him. Like, really nice. Confused, flustered, and lowkey turned on, Jake starts to wonder: is this mercy… or a horrible horrible setup? ────── library ⊹ ࣪ click to join taglist

like + reblog appreciated <3

Jake wakes up to the smell of bacon.

Which is weird, because he’s the one who usually forgets the pan and sets off the smoke alarm, and you usually sleep in on Sundays like it’s a constitutional right.

He blinks, dazed and warm and puffy-eyed, as your voice floats into the bedroom.

“Jakey,” you call softly. “Wake up baby. I made you breakfast.”

Jake sits up slowly. His hair’s a mess. His eyes are crusty. He’s half-hard under the blanket because of a dream he already forgot, and his first thought is:

Are you possessed?

“Baby?” you peek your head in, grinning.

Jake squints. “Wait. Did I die?”

You giggle. “No, dummy.”

“Did you die?”

“No.”

“Then why are you—” he looks down at the tray you’re carrying, eyes wide, “—bringing me pancakes?”

You sit beside him on the bed and brush a kiss to his cheek. “Because I love you.”

Jake flinches like you slapped him.

“You do?” he says, eyes watery.

You roll your eyes fondly. “Obviously.”

He leans against you, still confused but clinging like a koala.

Jake is an affectionate idiot, he clings without realizing, kisses without thinking, forgets his keys in your purse because “you’re the safe place.” But today, something about you is different.

You’re not just being kind, you’re being intentional.

You kiss him before he leaves the house.

You help him find his shoes even though they’re right where he always leaves them.

You pack his lunch. Write a little note.

And when he comes home after hanging with Sunghoon, there’s candles on the table.

Candles.

Jake stops in the doorway, staring.

“…Are we summoning something?”

You turn, wearing that adorable outfit, the one he kept staring at the day you tried it on in the store, too stunned to speak, until you went “should I not get it?” and he panic-yelled “NO GET IT GET IT.”

You wore it.

For him.

Jake gulps.

“Did I do something right?” he asks. “Or did I do something wrong and this is the part before you kill me?”

You walk over and wrap your arms around his waist, laying your cheek against his chest. “You did everything right.”

Jake stands frozen. His whole body is stiff, except for one very obvious part.

You notice.

Of course you do.

You giggle. “You’re so easy.”

Jake whines. “You’re being so nice to me. It’s turning me on. That feels unethical.”

Dinner is perfect.

You give him his favorite part of the steak.

You laugh at every one of his terrible jokes.

You even rub his knee under the table like you want him.

Jake’s not used to being the pretty one in the relationship. You’re hot. So hot. It makes no sense to anyone that you date a guy who once cried during an animal shelter ad and accidentally set his microwave on fire trying to make instant ramen.

And yet.

You treat him like he’s the prize.

Jake wants to cry.

And then…

You give him a gift.

Wrapped. Bow and all.

Jake tears it open, confused, and finds:

A framed photo of you two, from your beach trip where Jake got sunburned and you made fun of his farmer’s tan.

A pressed flower from the first bouquet he gave you. He thought you threw it out.

A tiny hand-written book titled: “101 Reasons Why I’m Glad You’re Mine”

Jake blinks down at the cover.

“I—I don’t—” he stammers.

And then, finally, his eyes flick to the calendar on the wall.

The date glows like a punch to the gut.

Anniversary. Three years.

Jake forgot.

You didn’t.

“Jake,” you say softly, sitting beside him on the bed. “You okay?”

He looks like you kicked his puppy.

“I’m the worst boyfriend ever.”

“No you’re not.”

“I am. You did all this. And I didn’t even get you, like— like a card. Or a rock I found outside. Or a dumb doodle or a weird TikTok link or, anything.”

You rest your hand on his.

Jake’s bottom lip wobbles. He sniffles.

“It’s okay,” you say gently. “You always forget dates. I kind of expected it.”

That only makes it worse.

“You knew I’d forget?” he says, heartbroken.

You give a small, sad smile. “It’s not about remembering. It’s about trying.”

Jake stares at you.

And then, without a word, he kneels.

He presses kisses to your thigh. Your knee. Your hip.

Your stomach.

“Let me make it up to you,” he murmurs. “Please.”

He worships you.

That’s the only word for it.

Jake moves with reverence. He kisses you like he’s trying to apologize with his mouth, long, wet kisses that leave you gasping.

When you slide his shirt off, he fumbles a little with yours.

“Can I see you?” he whispers. “Please?”

You nod.

Jake groans the second your top’s off. His hands are greedy, trembling, desperate. But still gentle.

He takes his time.

So much time.

“Turn around?” you ask softly, cheeks warm. “I wanna ride you. That way.”

Jake’s brain short-circuits.

“Reverse— um what is it— um?”

“Reverse cowgirl?.”

Jake whines, already tugging his pants off. “I don’t even know if my heart can take that.”

You straddle him, slow and teasing.

And when you sink down, his hands fly to your hips.

Then hesitate.

Then slowly, tentatively, cup your ass.

“Can I?” he whispers, voice wrecked.

You nod.

Jake lets out the dirtiest moan you’ve ever heard.

“Your ass is insane,” he babbles. “I’m—fuck—I’m gonna die. This is my punishment. You’re punishing me.”

He doesn’t even thrust.

He just holds you there, buried inside, cock so deep and warm that it feels like you’re melting together.

“P—please,” he breathes. “You’re so warm— n’so pretty. Like a goddess. Like an avenging angel with the softest—oh my god—you clenched.”

You giggle.

“I’m sorry,” he moans. “I know I forgot. I know I don’t deserve this. But I love you. I love you so much I feel it in my spine.”

You lean back slightly, rocking your hips once.

Jake chokes.

“I’ll never forget again,” he gasps. “Swear to god. I’ll tattoo it. I’ll set calendar alerts. I’ll carve it into my desk.”

You bounce once.

Jake screams.

You’re both laughing by the time he flips you over and kisses you breathless, trying to say everything with his hands and his mouth and his body that he forgot to say with words.

And after, when he’s soft inside you, buried to the hilt, and you’re both tangled and warm and sticky, Jake whispers:

“Next year I’m doing the most. Be ready.”

You hum, nuzzling into his chest. “Can’t wait.”

🪷 ─── @gxwesn @gyarumindd @somuchdard @ssanhwatto (join the taglist guys..)

1K notes · View notes

chuluoyi · 11 months ago

Text

𝐍𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

- zayne x reader

he is your husband and you are his wife. but of course you know the bitter truth—you will never be able to replace her.

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—angst, hurt/comfort, unrequited love, drunken sex, mentions of injury, blood, hunter!reader (not l&ds mc -> l&ds mc is zayne's late ex-girlfriend here), spoilers! from zayne’s bond story nostalgic sweetness

note: wc. 8k ! i've been having these bits and pieces scenarios for zayne in mind and then i thought what if i combined it all into one angst joyride? :)) tagging per request: @kissxcore @rjreins @i2s2m @tom-pls-fuck-me @yueyoonie @sanriosatoru

07.15 p.m

Zayne would be getting off work soon. He had just finished an emergency surgery, and it had been exhausting. Now it was quite late.

“Dr. Zayne! Great job today!” Greyson exclaimed, suddenly strolling into his consultation room with a grin. “Want to grab dinner with us?”

Honestly, he was starving too. “Where?”

“Oh, you know, that new place that just opened nearby! They have the tastiest tiramisu, or so I’ve heard. C’mon, we’re inviting the nurses too!”

He knew he needed to head home soon, but fatigue and hunger blurred his thoughts at the mention of dessert.

“Alright.”

. . .

08.25 p.m

Getting together with the hospital staff was always nice. They were rowdy, but it was definitely a great way to unwind after a hard day.

The tiramisu was as great as Greyson said. Speaking of his assistant, he and Yvonne were having a blast. Other doctors were getting drunk. Zayne could only shake his head, and it suddenly dawned on him that he had been here quite a while.

It was only when he turned on his phone and saw the time that he realized, with sinking heart that—

He was supposed to meet you at six.

If you were asked how you felt about your life now, you’d be hard-pressed to say you were completely content.

You were a stellar fighter in the Hunter Association, more than content with your job, and you had a good husband. To some, you had what they would call the perfect life.

The wife of the Dr. Zayne. True, it was a flattering title, yet unbeknownst to everyone, also a humbling one.

And the notion struck you once again when your husband of almost two years stood you up on your dinner date without so much as a notice.

“Miss... we’re about to close now...” The waitress approached your table for at least the third time, and you nodded sheepishly, finally finishing your meal.

You paid for it and left the restaurant. The chilly night air hit your skin, giving you goosebumps as you walked home. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Granted, Zayne had a packed schedule, and you figured he might've had an urgent matter to attend to that he forgot to let you know.

Still... it hurts. Knowing you were not a priority in your husband’s eyes wasn’t a fun feeling.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket the moment you arrived at your shared home. Your husband’s name flashed on your screen. The time now was 08.40 p.m.

“Hello, Zayne?”

“Y/N?” Your husband’s voice sounded frantic. “Are you still at the restaurant? I’m going—”

“Ah, no need to. I’m going home.”

“I’ll pick you up then. Stay there—”

“I’ve already arrived.”

An awkward silence settled between you, and you could clearly hear the noise on the other end. Greyson’s laughter was unmistakable.

You forced a laugh, still trying to sound cheerful for him even when realizing that he had completely forgotten about you. “It’s totally fine, Zayne! Are you heading back?”

“Yeah...”

“Take care then. See you at home.”

You ended the call with a sigh, trying to shake off the sting in your heart. As you made your way upstairs to your bedroom, you passed by a large portrait on the wall, and a bittersweet sensation washed over you.

Your wedding photo. Both of you were smiling on what was the most wonderful day of your life. Zayne’s smile was reserved, but yours was radiant.

It is the most wonderful thing that has happened to you... but is it the same for him?

At that time, despite everything, you were convinced a lifetime of happiness awaited you, yet now... it got harder to fool yourself into believing it.

Your marriage has always been lukewarm.

Zayne wasn’t an overly excited person, and you were his opposite—but try as you might, some things between you just didn’t work out. As a result, both of you tended to keep certain things to yourselves.

Most days, this didn't bother him. He valued his privacy, so the way things were suited him just fine. However, several days later, when Greyson approached him with a worried expression and a news, even Zayne had to draw the line.

“Dr. Zayne? Uh, how do I say this? I think I saw your wife being wheeled in earlier with the injured from the hunt zones raid…”

. . .

“Your husband is a doctor here. Why aren’t you calling him?”

Xavier, your fellow Deepspace Hunter who was partnered with you in this mission, questioned you with a hint of annoyance as he observed your pathetic state on the stretcher and crossed his arms. “Why do you have to bleed out in ER when you can get him?”

You winced, pressing the bloodied cloth against your stinging abdomen as you felt yourself growing faint. “He’s... a surgeon,” you panted. “He’s busy.”

Above all, you didn’t want Zayne to see you like this. You could already imagine his angry face, and that mental image alone made you recoil.

“What sort of husband is busy when his wife is injured?” Xavier raised an eyebrow. “Did you at least notify him?”

You shut your eyes, feeling a migraine coming.

“I will then.”

“No.”

“Y/N, you—”

“Shut up, Xavier—”

The curtain was suddenly pulled back, and you braced yourself for whoever had come to check on you next. To your surprise, the cloth in your hand was snatched away, and you felt your uniform being torn open with urgency.

When you opened your eyes, you barely made out your husband’s figure through your hazy vision. “…Zayne?”

His expression was stern, unforgiving even, as he started to disinfect your wound. Despite the tension, you couldn't deny the relief that washed over you. You knew you were in good hands, even if you had to face his fury later on.

Your consciousness slipped away not long after that.

. . .

The next time you woke up, you found yourself in a private room, with a nagging itch where you had been injured.

You groaned, your limbs stiff and heavy, and the room slowly came into focus—along with your husband's face.

"Zayne?" Your voice came out barely above a whisper. He stood pristine in his white coat and glasses, assessing you with a scrutinizing gaze.

"Your wound is, thankfully, shallow," he said flatly, his tone lacking any real concern. "You'll be discharged tonight. I'll take you home as soon as my shift is over."

"Ah..." You blinked several times to clear your head. "Good then. Sorry for showing up out of nowhere. Xavier and I were on a rescue mission, and I accidentally—"

He walked away before you could finish, the abruptness snapping you fully awake. He was furious, that much was clear.

"Ha ha..." You forced a laugh, fiddling with your fingers, trying to ease the awkward tension between you. "It doesn't hurt much, actually. You're right—I'm fine..."

Zayne shot you a sharp glance. "You passed out due to blood loss."

"This isn't the first time it has happened and nor will it be—"

"And it didn't even occur to you to inform me at all. I found out that my own wife was wounded because Greyson passed by the ER and saw you."

His words left you silent, caught red-handed, but your annoyance was reaching its limit. You had imagined how nice it would be if he panicked about you, showering you with care when he found out. But instead, Zayne chose to rebuke you the moment you woke up.

“I’m not a child,” you reasoned, keeping yourself calm. “I’m a hunter. This is nothing new, and you should understand that.”

“The least you could’ve done is to tell me—“

“Do you know why I didn’t? It’s because I know how you’ll react!”

“—and it would do you better to prioritize your safety and not rush headfirst into danger.”

“Believe me, I do but—!”

Suddenly, Zayne spun around to face you, his eyes blazing with fury as he raised his voice. “I’ve told you so many times already, you have to stay back, or you’ll end up—!”

He stopped abruptly, leaving his sentence hanging in the air, but right at that moment, you knew all too well who he meant, and what the implication was.

His, without a doubt, greatest love. His childhood friend, a hunter like yourself, someone he had vowed to save but succumbed to her illness before he could do so, died on arrival.

The irony was sharp. You had become everything she once was. You knew her well, too. When she passed, the entire Hunter Association mourned her loss. And more than that, on the night she died, you had been with him.

Looking back, you should have seen it coming. Still, it hit you like a splash of cold water. Your husband was still preoccupied with thoughts of his ex-girlfriend, and worse yet, he saw pieces of her in you.

And you suspected he had for a while—perhaps even, from the very beginning.

For a second there, not for the first time, you felt your heart shatter.

“I don’t have Protocore syndrome,” you stated, steeling yourself against the heartbreak. “My heart won't suddenly fail because I get injured. I’m not that weak.”

You turned away as Zayne refused to respond, missing his look of disdain as he stormed out of the room.

That was when your first tear fell.

Right from the start, you knew you had to brace yourself for this. You knew that eventually, this tragedy would overshadow your marriage. Because while Zayne might be your husband by law, deep down, his heart still belonged to someone else.

To her.

You two are too much alike.

It wasn’t the first time he had noticed it. And it wouldn’t be the last.

On bad mornings, when his eyes were bleary and he hadn't had a good sleep, he would see her instead of you in your shared bed. And with that mistaken sight came a fleeting sense of relief... until his vision cleared and he remembered she was truly gone and it was you.

Zayne knew how wrong this was on so many levels. It was terribly unfair to you.

Still, his concern for you was genuine. Seeing you lying still on the stretcher brought back that very same nightmare, and really, he truly never wanted you to be hurt.

After his outburst and your clipped response, the two of you barely exchanged any words for the rest of the week. To make matters worse, he was sent on a business trip the following week, and all in all, you went two weeks hardly speaking to each other.

And before he knew it, her death anniversary was only a couple of days away.

. . .

"How much is this?"

"Ah, the bow is 50,000 Gold, sir!"

Inside the airport's souvenir shop, Zayne examined the intricate light blue and white bow clip. Made of tweed and adorned with small pearls, it looked nice.

He thought it'd suit you well.

"I'll get this then."

"Right away!"

As the clerk went to wrap the trinket, Zayne reflected on these past two weeks. A nagging feeling twisted in his gut as he thought about how curt he had been with you in text messages and how often you had left him on read.

Husband and wife shouldn't be this way. He wanted the unbearable air between you to end. Determined to resolve things, he planned to talk to you when he returned. He was on his way to the airport taxi when—

"Zayne!" He stopped in his tracks, recognizing the familiar voice, and turned around.

There you were, waiting by his car with a smile.

It was never in you to stay angry for long. It was a blessing and a curse, really, because while you no longer wished to give your husband silent treatment, a part of you still felt conflicted.

"How was your trip?" you asked as you started the engine, pushing the events of the past two weeks to the back of your mind.

Zayne didn't immediately answer, and you felt his gaze on you as you drove the car. "It was okay."

You hummed in acknowledgement, and he followed up with, "How is your wound? Do you dress it daily?"

"Mm-hm. It's getting better."

"I'll have a look at it later."

"Sure."

Silence. Usually you would ramble to distract him, but now, even you weren’t sure if you should.

Then, he said, "You really didn’t have to pick me up. I could have made my way home on my own."

To that, you pasted on a smile. “You always pick me up whenever I have to go on business trips. It’s only fair I do the same for you, husband.”

Ah. Was it the wrong move? The word had slipped out so easily that you didn’t realize it until after you said it.

But to your surprise, Zayne let out a chuckle and played along. "Well, thank you then, wife. It certainly felt quite off without a certain someone the past week."

So, he actually likes having you around...? The thought made you almost giddy. Despite his usual taciturn and sarcastic demeanor, you knew he was genuine in his own way.

"Bet you missed me," you teased, grinning.

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Are you sure it's not the other way around?"

"Nope. But I did miss getting new snowmen."

"...why do you like them so much? I've made plenty for you already."

"No particular reason. Snowman just kinda reminds me of you somehow."

The tension between you had melted away, and you felt a sense of relief. Beside you, even Zayne couldn’t hide his smile. For the rest of the drive home, you chatted like you used to.

When you arrived back at your shared home, he suddenly stopped and presented you with a little box. "I got you something."

"Huh?" you paused, bewildered, as he took your hand and placed the box in it.

"Open it."

With curiosity, you lifted the lid, and were surprised at the sight of a pretty bow clip inside. "Whoa, how cute..."

Zayne eyed you expectantly. "Do you like it?"

Your eyes lit up with delight, and a smile spread across your lips.

"Yes!" you beamed at him with zero hesitation, and in that moment, something struck a chord within him. Zayne had always thought you were easy on the eyes—

—but when you smiled like that, you were truly charming.

"It's healing nicely."

You felt somewhat self-conscious as your husband examined your bare abdomen, where your injury was, as you lied on your bed. His hands, cool and practiced, tenderly removed your stitches.

It wasn't as if Zayne had never touched you. You two had been married for almost two years, and of course you had been intimate several times, but it wasn't as if you were a passionate couple to begin with—so you often found yourself flustered.

"Mm." Despite yourself, you squirmed. Noticing this, he looked up at you, his unfazed eyes meeting yours with a frown.

"Does it still hurt?"

"No, not really... It just feels as if you're tickling me."

He was positively unamused. "I'm not trying to tickle you."

"I know!"

Zayne wrapped your midsection securely with the bandage. When he was done, he let out a sigh and you felt like you had to show him your gratitude somehow.

“Thank you, Zayne…” you mumbled, avoiding eye contact. But in the next second, your heart skipped a beat as his hand rested gently on your head.

"You can thank me by being more careful next time." Your husband looked at you with the smallest of smile. "Your safety comes first, always remember that."

Without either of you realizing it, you both had tried to bury that argument from two weeks ago, yet it was still gnawing at you all the same. The thought that he too was bothered with it made you warm.

"Noted," you cheekily grinned. "If I'm not safe and sound, a certain iceman will get angry at me."

Zayne shot you an unimpressed look. “If you come to me injured again, I’ll start charging you fees.”

You let out a dramatic gasp. "How stingy! I'm your wife, not just some stranger!"

"A very uncooperative wife, you are."

You huffed, and he chuckled. You really thought all was well between you two now, until Zayne suddenly stood up and grabbed the car keys. “Well then, rest. I have to go.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to stop by the florist—”

And it hit you. In two days. The day everything ended three years ago.

Zayne seemed to realize it too, but you quickly masked your falling smile with a faux one. "O-oh, right..."

No matter how, it's still going to be an important day to him. You had nothing against it, really. Your husband's late girlfriend had once been your colleague too, and you mourned her just like everyone else did.

Still, even with that understanding, in your heart of hearts, it remains just as bitter.

You didn't want to, but you needed to find closure. You hoped that by doing this, it would finally put an end to all your insecurities.

"Let's go together, Zayne. I want to pay her a visit too."

Two days later, you and Zayne, a bouquet of flowers in hand, stood before the grave bearing many colorful flowers and postcards.

You supposed you knew already, but seeing it firsthand, you realized just how deeply she was loved still. The outpouring of respect from the Hunter Association was evident in the tribute left behind.

"It's been a while," Zayne, dressed in his most formal black suit, said solemnly, his gaze fixed on the name etched into the pristine stone.

You watched as he knelt to place his flowers and then brought his hands together in prayer. You followed his lead, placing your own bouquet beside his.

What should you even say to her? Your mind raced with countless thoughts, but none felt right to voice before the woman who had so deeply captured your husband's heart.

In the end, when you sensed that Zayne had finished with his prayer, you decided to remain silent and rose with him.

. . .

“Does it get easier?” you asked out of curiosity afterwards. “Three years has passed already.”

Although Zayne wasn’t one for drinking, even the need won today. He didn’t meet your eyes as he sipped his wine, humming thoughtfully. “Somewhat. As they say, time heals.”

You two stopped by a fine restaurant after visiting the grave. The cemetery had been a two-hour drive from Linkon City, and now it was already evening.

“She loved jasmines,” you remarked, recalling the pot of them you once saw on her desk and the flowers overflowing at the grave earlier.

“She did.” The alcohol seemed to loosen his tongue as he continued, “She loved old popsicles and macarons too.”

“And you like them as well.”

“To be honest, I started liking them back when we were kids…” Zayne had this pained, faraway look in his eyes as he had another sip. “She cried over her melted popsicle and it got me to wonder if it was really that tasty...”

The idea that you had to compete with a dead woman for your husband’s affection left a bitter taste in your mouth. You felt like you had failed thoroughly as a wife.

Despite hating yourself for asking, you needed to know. “Do I help you… in any way at all?”

Zayne was clearly taken aback by the question. His sharp, gray eyes locked onto you, mind whirred as he tried to grasp your meaning.

“Y/N, you...”

It was foolish, you knew. But you waited with bated breath for his response, even when one wrong word could shatter your heart beyond repair. You were ready for any sort of unfavorable answer, but then—

“I... am glad it is you.”

His words made you look up, and you found yourself caught in his gaze. Zayne’s ashen eyes were steady, piercing into you.

“You were there on the hardest days. And ever since, you’ve always stayed by my side.” He held your gaze firmly, voice was thick with emotion you couldn’t quite name. “I’m grateful for that.”

And then, with a sincerity that pierced through every uncertainty, he added, “What I want to say is... I’m glad I married you, Y/N.”

You have loved him for so long. Since the days when you know he isn’t yours to love, until now.

Your heart swelled with so much warmth that tears brimmed in your eyes. His acknowledgment of your presence filled you with a profound sense of belonging you never knew you needed before.

Was it the alcohol?

You suspected it might be, because in nearly two years of marriage, Zayne had never lost his control like this. As soon as the bedroom door was shut, he pushed you against the wall and devoured your lips hungrily.

“Mmph!” His hands gripped your arms while his lips and tongue pried yours open. The kiss was searing, almost forceful, with the faint bitterness of wine still lingering.

“Zay…ne…” you gasped between his kisses—teary, breathless, your voice trembling.

But your breathy grunts only seemed to spur him on. His dark eyes, clouded with lust, fixed on you as his hands slipped beneath your blouse, deftly unclasping your bra with a flick.

He is hot. Your husband was everything a woman desired in a man. Cool, handsome, blessed with hands that could do wonders—

In no time, he had you naked and wet before him, and with alarming speed, he too discarded his own suit and pants, throwing them away in flurry. And you could hardly believe what you were seeing next.

He spitted on his hand, ran it along his member—stroking himself with a practiced ease, never breaking eye contact with you. The next thing you knew, he yanked you into another burning kiss and made you topple on top of him—

“Ah!” his hands guided your hips with precision, positioning you and entering you. The instant he did, you whimpered at the sudden, sharp sting of pain.

“Does it hurt?” he asked almost in a growl when you clung to his shoulder with uneven breaths.

It was too sudden, and you hoped the discomfort would pass, so you timidly shook your head.

“If you don’t want this, tell me to stop.” Zayne tangled his fingers in your hair, turning your face to his. “Understand?”

There was always a distinct, almost commanding aura about him whenever the two of you were in your marital bed. Perhaps the way his voice sound lower, but it just hit different.

And you are a willing prey... whenever he becomes that beast.

He inched inside you slowly, making you moan with each instance. He was thick, warm, and taking him in was a challenge in itself. And when he finally sheathed himself fully, your nails had made its first scratch on his skin.

You felt full, and the way your womanhood stretched and clenched around him with each breathe you took made you dizzy. Panting, you finally met his gaze. Zayne’s gray-hazel eyes were still clouded with desire as he placed his hands firmly on your hips. Unable to resist, you reached out to caress his face.

"Hmm..." he subconsciously leaned into your touch, pressing his eyes shut together. "You smell nice," he huskily muttered.

Right this moment, all negative thoughts eluded you. It felt gratifying that your husband sought your touch like this as you towered over him.

And yet, despite that...

“Do you... finally see me now?” you asked, trailing your other hand down his toned chest and starting to grind against him. Zayne drew in a sharp breath and groaned, his fingers gripping your bum tighter.

Depending on his response, you would either find peace or face another heartbreak. You had placed your happiness on this pedestal more times than you could count, and it was a cross you had to bear.

But you never received your answer.

Your husband merely gazed up at you with a dangerous gleam. And oh, you could've sworn, this sight of Zayne eyeing you as if he were about to ruin you right then and there, would live-free in your mind for many days to come.

He then buried his face in your bosom, sucking on you with such fervor that your hands instinctively reached for his head to massage his scalp. The room was soon filled with your erotic groans and the squelching sounds from where your flesh were joined together— as he thrusted inside you over and over.

Right in this moment, you felt truly desired and wanted.

You are so happy. Incomparably so.

At the crack of dawn, Zayne woke with a start.

The first thing he noticed was how spent he felt, his limbs stiff and a throbbing headache pulsing at the back of his head.

Then he turned to his side, and the sight that met him twisted his gut in such a way that snapped him fully awake—

You were beside him, barely dressed and still deeply asleep. Your hair was a mess, and love bites were scattered across your skin, some on your chest looking almost like bruises.

It dawned on him that he, too, wasn’t decent. A sudden coldness gripped him, though it wasn’t just the morning air.

Him and you... last night...

Yesterday marked the third year. He meant everything he said to you, but the fact that he did this, with you, on the day of her death...

There was... nothing wrong with what he had done. You were his wife, no one could condone him for what he instigated. Yet, it still made him shiver.

And to make it worse, his thoughts from last night echoed back with vengeance, and—

He suddenly feels so immensely guilty.

. . .

It was the best sleep you’d had all week.

When you woke, sunlight had seeped through the window, and you discovered yourself already in pajamas, tucked snugly under a blanket. Still groggy with a dull ache in your lower belly, you relished the lingering afterglow, sighing in pure contentment, until you noticed Zayne wasn’t beside you.

Where did he go? You wondered amidst your haze. Sluggish, you stumbled out of the bed, flinching when your foot met the cold floor.

You eventually found him downstairs, sipping coffee at the dining table still with messy hair. "Zayne?"

He glanced up at you and nodded. There was something different about him, a subtle shift you couldn’t quite place. As you took a seat across from him, you hesitated, unsure of what to say.

Before you could find the right words though, he spoke first.

"I'm... sorry," he said, his tone laced with regret, causing a sharp pang of unease inside you.

"What?" you stared at him, feeling small and unsettled. "What are you sorry for?" you questioned as you gripped the hem of your shirt.

And then came the killing blow—

"Last night," Zayne muttered, avoiding your gaze. "I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. It was a mistake."

Mistake. The word echoed in your mind, but it was still hard to grasp its full weight.

"How was that—" you faltered, trembling, as the realization hit you like a truck and you gasped in disbelief. "Oh..."

Her. Again, and again, and again! Even when he was married to you, even when you were the one next to him each and everyday— even so!

Your husband considers that a night spent with you—his wife—a mistake!

The last of your patience snapped, as you broke down in sobs before him. "You're the worst!" you screamed at him amidst your mournful tears.

Zayne seemed taken aback at your outburst, his eyes wide. "Y/N, wait, you don't—"

"Screw you!" But you were beyond explanations at this point. You fled back to your bedroom. Zayne followed you suit, but you slammed the door in his face and locked it. As you collapsed onto the floor, the realization hit you with full force.

No matter what you did, you would always come second—or not at all.

The fracture in your marriage was undeniable.

Things had changed. Your home felt colder, and the tension was so stifling that you sometimes spent the night at the Hunter Association’s dorm just to escape it.

Zayne initially tried to reach out, but you were unwilling to listen, and eventually, he gave up. Before long, nearly a month had passed with this strain in the air.

You threw yourself into more rescue operations, using work as a distraction from the turmoil that lingered in your mind. Despite your best efforts to distract yourself, the unresolved thoughts and feelings clung to you.

"Xavier, am I lacking as a woman?"

Your frequent partner these days cracked open an eye despite his attempt to nap before today’s rescue mission. "What...?"

"No, forget it."

Things couldn't go like this forever. It was obvious by now—as long as he couldn’t let go of his past and you couldn’t accept him as he was, this marriage couldn't be saved.

Just as you headed towards the printer in the room, Xavier responded. "You talk a lot, eat a lot, and always bothering me when I'm about to sleep..."

You shot him an irked glance, disbelief evident on your face. "Hey!"

"But—" his clear voice cut through the air as he turned to you with half-lidded eyes. "You're exceptionally kind. If anyone can't appreciate that, then it's their loss."

At that moment, the ice inside your chest melted. To know that your own co-worker thought that kindly of you gave you a little boost of confidence.

But then Xavier added, "Sometimes you're stupid too. It's funny to watch."

"—?! You're so mean!"

A subtle smile curved on his lips as he turned to his side, ready to resume his nap. "Anyway, what are you printing?"

You feigned a huff as you gathered the papers and brought them to your desk. "Just something I need to submit when necessary."

A part of you wasn’t fully committed to it, of course—it was just that your emotions had no proper outlet even until now. As you pushed the drawer shut, a wave of bitterness washed over you as you reread the title on the blank form:

Petition for Divorce.

Zayne genuinely wanted to treat you well.

You were a nice girl. Too nice even. From the moment he laid his eyes on you some years ago, as a friend of a friend, he knew you were nothing but kind and cheery.

He still remembered that morning vividly: the hurt on your face, the tears welling up in your eyes, and then you breaking into inconsolable sobs. That sight inflicted something in him—it felt as though his own heart had been split in two.

Believe it or not, he cherished you too.

That night, even though he didn’t show it, he was still mourning her. When alcohol took over his mind and he saw you, you seemed like a perfect escape. He thought that even if he forced himself on you, there would be no consequences.

He hated that he had thought that way. He hated that how, in the end, you had become a means of relief for him.

Now you couldn't even look him in the eye, and Zayne didn't want to risk trying to coax you further. You were angry with him and rightly so, but when you ignored him and went home late more often, he was worried.

It was what drove him to volunteer for the rescue mission. When he saw your name on the hunter list, he felt compelled to make sure you were okay.

. . .

It was strange to see you on duty.

With your hunter uniform and your hair tied up, you were the picture of a very capable hunter. Zayne found himself unexpectedly following your movements as you came and went.

"Dr. Zayne, are you checking your wife out?" the EMT next to him teased with a grin. "Well, when you have a pretty wife such as Y/N, of course..."

He cleared his throat and the EMT giggled as he sauntered away.

So, you were also considered attractive here. Of course you were. Zayne knew it, but he just didn't expect that anyone here would blurt it out so openly.

But that wasn't the most surprising of all—

"Xavier, shush!" you playfully punched the blonde man next to you in the chest, your broad smile lighting up the moment. The two of you whispered closely, and Zayne found himself feeling uncomfortable, like being prickled by several needles.

He has never made you laugh so openly like that. The nagging feeling inside him grew stronger as he watched you—even if it was just in a platonic sense—with another man. It stirred something within him, making him want to pull that blonde aside, give him a word or two, and overthrow him altogether.

Amidst the growing storm inside him, you suddenly turned sideways and caught his eye, and Zayne could've sworn... he felt time stopped at that moment.

It was so candid that it took his breath away. The way your earnest, unclouded eyes met his. How natural you were while loading your gun...

Ah, they were right. His wife was exceptionally pretty.

But before he could fully appreciate it, you broke the eye contact and turned away, pretending as if you hadn’t seen him at all.

Zayne wondered then, why did he feel so hurt all of a sudden?

Battlefields were always a place of chaos, and Zayne was no stranger to it.

He was on standby at the makeshift hospital as patients surged in, continuously aiding first-aid. Some were hunters on duty, and his heart was in his throat the entire time, anxiously hoping you wouldn’t be among them.

"Doc... it still hurts," a little girl sniffled right after Zayne wrapped her injured arm with the gauze. Despite the anxiety, seeing this tearful girl softened his frown.

"It's just going to take a while, hmm?" he patted the kid in the head. "It's going to be better soon enough."

"My mom is still inside..." she said, her eyes welling up with tears. "Doc, will they get her out?"

Zayne hesitated, his thoughts briefly drifting to you. He managed a reassuring smile. "Don’t worry, they’ll—"

Crash! —all of a sudden, a loud explosion shook the hospital, the sound echoing through the chaos. The little girl clung to his coat in fear.

"Call for retreat!" someone suddenly shouted from outside. "Alert all personnel immediately!"

Retreat. The thought that you might be safe soon brought him a sense of relief. He turned to the girl, trying to keep his composure.

"Look, the hunters are retreating, it means most are already evacuated." Zayne managed a reassuring smile. "Stay here. I'll help you find her later, okay?"

He went to the survivors' camp outside, attending to the wounded and keeping a vigilant eye on each returning hunter. Even until 30 minutes later, he still hadn't seen you. Thinking to contact you, he reached out for his phone.

"Who hasn't gotten out?" Jenna, your team leader, demanded the receiver with a stern voice, standing tall several feet away from the camp, and Zayne overheard the snippets of her conversation.

A frantic voice responded, "Xavier is still inside! Y/N too!"

"Those two! They are always—!"

What?

Zayne almost dropped his phone when he heard your name. Terror gripped him instantly, and then suddenly, again, it was his greatest nightmare realized.

You are still inside. You could be hurt. It was possible you had no means to get out of there.

He didn’t register letting go of his coat or crossing the police line—all that mattered was getting to you. He sprinted away, ignoring the shouts of those trying to stop him.

No. Not again!

Debris flew everywhere, and the roars of Wanderers grew louder as he neared the building wreckage. As a splinter was about to hit him, ice shot through his palms, creating a barrier that shattered it.

"Y/N!" he shouted your name, his voice cracking with panic. "Where are you?!"

All he could think about was the memory of you bleeding out in the ER. Zayne never wanted to see that again. Should anything happen to you now...

He didn't want you to be hurt. He hated seeing you cry. For the past weeks, it had torn him apart to see you so unhappy. He wanted to be the one who made you smile, the one you looked at with love.

The realization washed over him like a tidal wave. Yet it wasn’t an epiphany but a simple truth he had always known but never fully grasped until now.

If he lost you now, it'd destroy him.

He continued screaming your name over and over. And then, after turning several turns, he finally saw you, standing alone in the middle of the wreckage—

You turned to him in surprise when you heard your name in his shout, and were rooted to the spot, in disbelief that your husband was right before you.

Zayne felt a wave of relief wash over him, until a hollow croak from above caught his attention. He squinted—

A glass panel had crumbled and was falling directly towards you.

A sense of dread so great overwhelmed him, a lump formed in his throat, and the smoke made it hard to breathe. He sprinted forward, and with everything he had, he pushed you out the way.

The next thing he knew, everything went pitch black.

"Zayne? Zayne!"

A memory flashed in his mind's eye. The one memory he wished he didn't have to relive ever again.

Sitting on the deserted hospital bench, his eyes were vacant. Utter hollowness choked him, leaving him motionless. It was over. There was no blood on his hands, yet it felt as if there were.

Your grip on his shoulder was tight, shaking him. "Zayne, snap out of it!" and only then he brought himself to meet your eyes.

"She died." That was the only thing he could mutter, pain woven in each word. "She really died."

Your eyes widened in horror, an inaudible gasp left your lips. "Oh..."

He didn't really know what happened next, but he remembered the warmth from when you pulled him to your arms, when sobs wracked his body as he thought the world was ending.

Since then, you have always been there.

And subconsciously, he may have regarded you as his lifeline.

. . .

Another memory.

"Are you awake...?"

His mind was hazy, but he recognized your voice. He blearily opened his eyes to find you placing a cool compress on his forehead.

"Who would have thought the great Dr. Zayne can get a fever?" you said with a soft laugh, patting his hair. "Don’t worry about me. Go back to sleep."

You came to see him. He remembered telling you not to. But you still did, and the fact thawed the ice in his heart.

Just as you were about to leave, his hand reached out and pulled you closer. "Don’t go."

"Are you trying to make me catch your cold too?" you teased with a soft laugh.

"Hmph. Who told you to come here...?"

"Ah, so you're whiny when you're not feeling well," you observed with a smile. "Okay, I'll stay! But only if you agree to nurse me if I catch your cold!"

You were noisy, but endearingly so.

. . .

"Don't pay her any mind," you fidgeted on your seat, a frown on your face. "My mom always does that."

There was never any talk about the nature your relationship between the two of you, but it was clear to everyone nevertheless. You were always around him, and he seemed to enjoy your company just as much.

And not for the first time, your mother pushed him towards marriage with you.

"People are always getting the wrong idea," you grumbled. "Sorry, Zayne..." you lowered your head, seemingly in regret.

He was puzzled, because to him, it wasn't necessarily false. All things you did together lead to this.

"What if it isn't a wrong idea at all?"

You looked at him with slight surprise. "Huh...?"

Your presence was a gift. That tragedy was devastating, but having you constantly by his side made it bearable. He was fond of you, and the thought that if it's you, then surely...

In this memory, he was more sure than ever. What he said then, it came from the truest place in his heart.

"What if I told you... as of right now, I can't imagine being with anyone but you?"

The side of his head was throbbing with pain. Everything hurt, the hard asphalt was bruising his face as the headache set in. He could smell the scent of blood and sweat, but more than that—

"Zayne! Ah, hah— Please, please! No!"

Your voice, choked with tears, blared in his ears as you desperately shook him. You sounded so heartbroken, so utterly panicked, and your voice gradually pulled him back to consciousness.

Opening his eyes took tremendous effort. At first, everything was a blur, but then it came into focus—the sight of you disheveled, smeared with soot, with tears streaming down your face. But still you— the woman he had married two years ago.

Yet his heart lurched. You're crying again... why is it that whenever with me, you're always crying?

"Are you... alright?" he rasped, lifting his hand to touch your face.

"Why did you—" You were startled by his question, your gaze fixed on the blood pooling on the side of his face. "Your head is bleeding!"

Ah, so you're fine. The sheer knowledge brought him relief, a faint smile forming at his lips. "I'm glad..."

"I'll help you get back! Hold onto me—" you said after brushing away your tears, lifting him up and draping his arm around your shoulder. "Can you walk?"

"I'm... fine..."

"You're not!" you refuted harshly, voice trembling. "You have to go back!"

You made him lean on you as you made your way back to the makeshift hospital, each step accompanied by your sniffles as you supported his waist.

Zayne glanced at you, feeling a warmth in his chest despite the migraine. "D-Don't cry... I'll be fine."

"You're an idiot!" you choked out, struggling to hold back your tears. "Why did you even come out here?"

"I... have to find you. They said you haven't returned."

"There are still civilians inside! I'll return eventually!"

"I can’t wait for that. I... have to know you're safe."

His response only fueled your frustration. "You don't have to—!"

"You are my wife—" he snapped, turning to you sharply, his eyes flashing with anger. "How can I not worry— for you?"

The forceful tone in his voice went straight to the most tender part of your heart. It really struck you at that moment that he had come out here for you, that his concern for you was that profound.

And that after all these weeks, he still keeps you in his thoughts.

He had pushed you out of the way, even at the cost of himself, barely missing the fallen billboard in that violent crash. If he was in the wrong position, he could've lost his life.

You stared at him, tears glossing your eyes.

"That's enough... Don't cry again." Zayne reached out to wipe your cheeks. His hands, however, were smeared with his own blood, leaving streaks on your face. "Ah... I got blood on you..."

But in that moment, you couldn’t care less. There was this indescribable sting of grief, but also paired with a sense of relief so great in your chest the very second you realize that now, he sees you.

You threw yourself into his arms, hugging him tightly as you sobbed, calling out to him in broken voice. “Z-Zayne...!”

“Why are you crying again...?” he let out a resigned sigh, but still embraced you regardless. “What a crybaby...”

You buried your face deeper into him, shaking uncontrollably. “You... saved me...” you managed to say amidst torrent of tears. “Y-You... got hurt...”

“I’ll be fine,” he retorted in your ear albeit in a hoarse voice, holding you close, even as blood trickled down the side of his face. “And I’d do it again. I refuse to see you hurt.”

You cried harder, and he pulled you tighter, his chest aching at the sight of you so inconsolable. And in that moment, he made the decision right then and there.

He will protect you so long as time will allow him to.

It was as if the invisible wall between you had crumbled to dust after that incident. You stayed by Zayne's side night and day, monitoring his condition.

And one night, several days later...

"Here, don't move..."

You carefully dressed the wound on Zayne's temple, sitting close beside him. He quietly observed your worried eyes and trembling fingers without a word.

"You even need stitches..." you lamented, biting your lip as you wrapped the bandage around his head. Tears pricked your eyes, overwhelmed by the concern you were pouring into the task.

"I'm telling you, I'm fine," he gruffly insisted in an attempt to erase your mournful expression. He felt the delicate, almost hesitant touch of your fingers on his face. "It'll heal with time."

Even as he said that, a part of you was still troubled at the sight of the wound on his head and cheekbone. No matter what he said, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was somehow your fault.

"I'm done. Now go rest," you said softly, your voice tinged with bitterness after tying the gauze. You rose to put the kit away, but even after you finished, Zayne remained upright on the bed, so you leveled a frown at him.

"What, why aren't you— Ah!"

Before you knew it, he pulled you by the arm, and you tumbled into his chest in surprise. "What are you doing?!" you yelled at him, clinging to his shoulder and looking up at him with ire. "You could've hit your head!"

He looked down at you with a flat expression, or is that a hint of amusement glinting in his eyes? “Can't a husband cuddle his wife?”

You blinked dumbly, caught off-guard. “Yes, you can, but...”

His arms then enveloped you, fitting you on his chest and he sighed against your hair. “Then there’s nothing wrong with it. Let’s just stay like this for now.”

And so, that was how he decided to sleep throughout the night—with you on top of him, held close. You felt self-conscious as Zayne had never initiated this closeness with you since that night.

"Are you sure you want to sleep this way?" you wriggled a bit in his grasp.

He draped an arm around your waist, pressing his eyes shut. "Mm-hm."

"You..." A part of you recoiled at the vulnerability but decided to ask anyway. "Won't this be… a mistake...?"

That caught his attention, as Zayne's eyes fluttered open. He looked down at you, who avoided his gaze with a pout and a torn expression, making yourself small in his embrace.

It dawned on him then that this persisting issue in your marriage was thoroughly his fault. His past was something he could never—and would never—trade for anything, but right now, you were that sense of peace that grounded him.

At one point, he has to let it go. These feelings inside him… they drive him to.

He softened, his gaze full of understanding as he gently brushed your hair back. "No," he said quietly, his voice tender. "We’ve come too far for it to be one."

Your clear, innocent eyes reluctantly met his, and at that moment something akin to clarity resonated within him.

He once thought nothing could ever mend the hollowness in his heart. And once, he indeed hoped that being with you would provide some form of relief or replace what he had lost.

But right now, feeling how vulnerable you were in his arms like this, he understood that you were not, and could never be, a replacement for anything else. Even before he realized it himself, what he felt for you was something entirely different— something dear that had grown and evolved into a genuine affection different from what he had felt for anyone else before.

Those times spent with you, wanting to protect you... Now that he reflected on it, it was never about filling a void, after all.

“I... want to treasure you better.”

Oh. Your heart thumped loudly as those words left his lips, warmth spreading through your entire being. Overwhelmed by the sincerity in his voice, you clung to his chest, feeling a surge of love and a profound sense of being freed from the chains of insecurity that had taken you hostage all these years.

Most precious. Zayne smiled at you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“This time for sure... I will.”

And at last... he could say it without any lingering guilt.

7K notes · View notes

cherry-leclerc · 3 months ago

Text

greed ☆ op81

genre: smut, affair, erotic literature, angst, forbidden romance, enemies to "lovers", a bit angst/yearning, established relationships, voyeurism

word count: 16.4k

greed (noun) — intense and selfish desire for something, especially wealth, power, or food.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+...pwp, unprotected sex, missionary, riding, fingering, f!receiving, deep throat, m!receiving, finger sucking

inspired by red sex (re-strung) [rakhi singh]

cherry here!...had fun writing this one teheee. it's a long one, so definitely take breaks in between and enjoy. missed you guys—welcome to the twisted world of greed mwah!

Twirling your tongue around the bright pink straw, you blink blankly, quietly taking in the conversation that occurs in front of you. You should probably talk a bit, you remember thinking. Smile, at least, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to lie—you didn't want to be here.

“I thought you hated pineapple?”

Turning, you shrug half-heartedly over at Lando. “It makes my mouth itch,” you mumble, not enjoying a single sip of the smoothie. Well, except for the whipped cream. Taking a lick, your eyes stay connected onto his blue ones as he shakes his head.

“Don’t drink it, then,” he tries, but you simply turn a blind eye, facing the complete opposite direction. From where you're sitting, you spot a group of kids playing jump rope. Even when one of them falls with a loud splat and starts to cry, you continue to stare.

“Oh no,” a soft voice gasps. As soon as you hear it, you grind your teeth, hearing a slight crack immediately. “Poor baby.”

You like to think of yourself as an even person. Everyone who enters your life deserves a fair chance. You’ll get to know them—befriend them, perhaps—and if it doesn’t work out, then it doesn’t work out, but no one can say you never tried.

But oh, how you hated Lily Zneimer.

The worst part of all is that there isn’t really a single reason for your sudden distaste towards her. On paper, you two should be the best of friends, but the one thing holding you back is sitting right in front of you.

Oscar clicks his tongue, a nice tick coming through as his sharp brows raise with surprise as he watches the scene unfold. He, too, sort of remains as stoic as you, but the one difference is that he has a bit more empathy. You lack a lot of that, you’ll be the first to admit.

The cries continue, the young boy's parents suddenly alert by now as they run towards their child. “I’m sure he’s fine,” he says, squinting his eyes due to the bright sun. “It builds character.”

“Getting hurt?” Lily asks, frowning as she gently shoves his shoulder. “You really do have a heart made of ice.”

This gets a snicker out of your boyfriend, making you sigh, instantly checking out, but Lando is as happy as can be. While he enjoys the moment, you lack interest in it, and if it weren’t for the fact that the Australian was the one that invited you both out for drinks, then you would have happily been tucked away in bed. Make good use of the hotel perks and whatnot.

The brown eyed driver swings a hand behind his girlfriend's chair, playfully tugging her hair, making her blush and making you recoil with disgust. Not that you ever show it, but you definitely feel it. “Maybe I do, but only you can make it melt.”

That’s enough to call it a day. Standing abruptly, the chair squeaks against the pavement as you share a tight lipped smile. All at once, their eyes look up at you as you force a yawn. “I think I’m going to head up now. Thanks for the invite,” you say.

Lily pouts subtly, blue eyes round and hazy. “So soon? It’s still early.”

You nod, sparing her small smile, but deep within, the sound of her sweet voice begins to irritate you to the point you think you might snap. “The sun’s got me tired. I just need to lay down a bit.” Leaning forward, you peck Lando’s cheek, warm and sandy. “But I'll see you later, yeah?”

“Sure,” she squeaks, waving numbly as they watch you walk away—practically fleeting, really. Humming sadly, the British girl looks down onto her lap, toying with her bracelets. “I don’t think she likes me much,” she mutters, wincing sheepishly.

Oscar frowns. “That’s not true…”

Lando frantically nods, feeling bad for Lily and her first encounter with you being a total bust. Come to think of it, ever since the blue eyed girl has been around, you’ve been quite distant. “She hasn’t been sleeping well.” Lie. “She just needs to recharge, that’s all.”

You end up spending the next few days locked up in yours and Lando’s room. You avoid the paddock at all costs because you’re really not in the mood to see anyone—especially her. The British driver tried his best to get you out from these four walls, but gave up shortly after you blamed it on a migraine. You haven’t had one of those in years, but he learns to respect your decision. You do promise to be there for his race, though.

And as expected, you see her. Sat perfectly with her legs crossed, the young girl beams, motioning for you to join her on the open chair. At first you act like you don’t see her, preferring to stay standing for the next few hours rather than being pushed up next to her, but when she calls your name, you curse beneath your breath before making your way.

“Hey,” you cheer, hugging her briefly before taking a seat.

A giggle. “Hey. I heard you’ve been feeling a bit under the weather.”

“Huh?”

Lily blinks. “Lando said—”

In one quick motion, you click your fingers, nodding along. Right—Lando had lied on your behalf. It completely slipped your mind. Letting out a muffled groan, you wince theatrically, hoping she buys it. She does, worry quickly taking over her gentle gaze. “I have, yeah, I have.” Cheer’s erupt as the camera pans over to the fan zone, then back to the drivers that line up for the National Anthem. “But I'm much better now!”

Her concern slowly melts away as she smiles. “That’s good to hear.”

You would have not traveled with Lando to this week's race if you had known she would be here. Usually, she’s not, but you almost feel as if you know everything about her from how much Oscar talks about her. It gets exhausting hearing the same stories being told over and over again, as if she was the best thing to come around. Was it really that hard to just not bring her up?

But alas, you are here, and so is she.

It feels like an eternity slowly goes by, so you’re quick to dart out the garage as you make your way towards the podium. The good thing is that she doesn’t need to because Oscar secured a lucky fourth place. Close, but not close enough.

Running towards you after a round of media, Lando pecks your lips. He smells like a mix of champagne and sweat, not a completely unpleasant scent. He wiggles his brows. “Proud?”

You grin, eyes crinkling just the same as his. “Super.” Another kiss. “You were great out there.”

A subtle shade of red burns his nose as he smiles widely, pulling you towards the direction of McLaren Hospitality, leaving you to follow him as you admire the way everyone looks at him the same way you do.

You like that he’s a winner. You like that you’re dating the winner. And that’s why you admire him, because he gives you the right to brag about him by simply being his girlfriend. The kind everyone wishes to be. Entering the familiar orange motorhome, you two are caught at a stop as soon as Zak calls out for Lando who turns curiously.

“My man!” he cheers, making you take a step back and letting them have their moment. You listen for the first few minutes, but when it looks like the congratulatory might run deep, you claim a seat on the nearby sofa, scrolling through your phone to kill time. At some point, you look up to see them bid goodbye, sighing tiredly as you make your way up. Zak grins from ear to ear, pointing at you with nothing but radiant energy. “See you there!”

With that, he walks away, leaving you two alone once again. Raising a sharp brow, you tap Lando’s shoulder with confusion. “What does he mean by that?”

“He’s rented a yacht for the team to celebrate today's win,” he explains, guiding you towards the privacy of his room with a large hand on your lower back. “You know him—he likes to go all out.”

You hum, still walking up in front of him. “I figured you would want to go clubbing…”

There’s a cloudy sigh behind you as he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I mean, yeah, I do, but we should probably skip that and do this instead.” Reaching to twist the knob, you pause, turning to face him with a surprised expression. “What?”

“Nothing,” you respond, shaking your head. “Look at you maturing. You see, my Lando would have never preferred a classy yacht party instead of a trashy club.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I’ve changed.”

“Right,” you tease, finally opening the door, but as soon as you do, the room next to you squeaks, indicating someone exiting. Oscar and Lily come to a halt as soon as they spot you both. Your lips open in the smallest of gaps as they smile politely.

“Congratulations,” the British girl is the first to break the silence as she goes in for a quick side hug, one that Lando accepts without missing a beat. “You must be over the moon.”

“I am,” your boyfriend lets out, still not used to the feeling of being first. A beat. “Hey, did Zak mention anything about—”

“The yacht party?” Oscar fills in with a loopy grin. Lando snickers, nodding at his guess. He shakes his head. “Yeah, but we can’t. I have to drive Lily to the airport.”

Intrigued by the fact, your brows dart up. “Ah, no way—you’re leaving already?”

“Yeah,” she says, smiling tiredly. “I have a few tests lined up for next week, and I can’t miss them.”

“Shame,” you hum, but the relief of not having her around anymore makes you feel a thousand times lighter. “I was going to suggest grabbing dinner next week…”

“Really?” Lando and Lily question in sync, both equally as surprised as one another. On the flipside, Oscar stands with an unrecognizable expression, making you avoid even looking at him because something about it somehow convinces you that he can see right past your lie.

Coughing awkwardly, you bob your head, catching the glimmer in her blue eyes as she holds her breath, almost. Something about it makes you feel bad, but just for a split second. “Yes, really, but it looks like we got a bit unlucky.”

Swiftly, Lily turns to face Oscar with a helpless expression, as if pleading for aid, but for him it was an easy decision. “You can’t skip out on exams,” he whispers lowly, but still clear enough for you to hear. “You know that.”

And sure—she does—but ever since she got here, she’s felt so out of place. Not with the team, not with two McLaren drivers as a duo, but rather with you. And now this? Any opportunity to have you as a friend is as good as gold in her eyes.

And to be quite honest, you didn’t expect for someone as truthful as Lily to lie to their professor in a lengthy email, claiming to be severely down with the flu in order to stay a couple extra days and catch that unpromising dinner you had made up as some way to get her to think you’d miss not having her around. This was your reality and you just had to deal with it.

But Oscar?

Watching you carefully as you hug Lily back when she leaps with excitement into your arms, he squints with subtle suspicion in your character. Something in your rigidness and mannequin smile makes him want to pull the British girl away from you, feeling the need to protect his girlfriend's innocence.

Smiling softly over her shoulder, you catch a glimpse of Oscar, making your stomach churn. His eyes remain on you for a second longer before sharing a smile of his own.

Yup, you think to yourself.

He knows.

A week goes by at a snail's place.

The four of you fly together to the next continent with nothing but fake enthusiasm. Well, fake from you, and unbeknownst, fake from Oscar, too.

He doesn’t know why he doesn’t trust you completely. In hindsight, you haven’t done anything wrong, but everytime you and Lily are together—which is most of the week—it feels like you have. Maybe it had something to do with the sinister glares you’d send her way when you thought no one was looking, or the fact that you’d have to take a heavy breath in preparation every time she’d greet you with a warm hug. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe he was seeing something that wasn’t there, but that doesn’t mean he’d be at ease for the rest of the week.

Hence, dinner.

You find yourself forced to make a reservation at one of the fanciest cuisine restaurants close to where you’re staying and that itself was annoying. You shouldn’t be doing any of this—she shouldn’t even be here.

Smiling gingerly, the British girl let out a small giggle at some joke Lando made. By the looks of it, it’s pretty funny, so you numbly follow her lead, though you have yet to know what it was. “You must be laughing all the time,” Lily notes, blue eyes focused on you with wonder. You hum, pursing your lips with uncertainty. She giggles harder. “Well because of how funny he is.”

Lando claps once, making you flinch in return. “Thank you! It’s about damn time someone appreciates my humor.”

“I do appreciate it,” you defend, slowly losing your patience. Licking your lips, you look back towards Lily who remains with a smile. “Don’t listen to him, he just likes the attention.”

“That I can agree on,” Oscar adds, cracking a grin of his own. Suddenly, you’re all into the discussion. The Australian sneers childishly. “You can’t seem to live a single moment without making things about yourself.”

“Oscar,” Lily warns, faint pink painting her pale skin. “Be nice.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Lando says, waving her off like it’s no big deal—which it’s not. He leans back against his chair, flipping his teammate off who scoffs lightheartedly. “This is how we talk. Right, Osc?”

“Right.”

Somewhere in between dessert, while you’re in the middle of licking your spoon clean, the invitation that came to ruin your life, comes up. Lily clears her throat nervously, suddenly worried by the thought of you turning her down. “I was meaning to ask…” Puzzled, you keep your eyes on her, awaiting her next words. She shrugs sheepishly. “Well, I graduate this summer, and Oscar is throwing me a party up in North Carolina…” She trails off, gathering her words. “I was wondering if you two would like to come?”

“Oh,” Lando's voice comes through like a muffle, mouth full of cheesecake. He swallows, blue eyes flickering between the couple and his girlfriend who remains with a blank expression, metal spoon still in place. “I mean—yeah. Right?”

Unfreezing, you place the utensil down onto your plate, smiling weakly. “Uh…yeah.” Lily grins, letting out a breath of relief, making Oscar frown over the realization that your response mattered so much to her. You nod robotically. “Sure, why not?”

“Great!” Lily cheers, beaming like a kid on Christmas Day. “And don’t worry about spending on a hotel—we’ve got you covered.”

You blink, bewildered. “You do?”

She nods. “Of course, we do! You’re our guests, you’ll be staying with us.”

Your boyfriend smiles faintly. “That’s kind of you, but it’s really no problem. We wouldn’t want to overcrowd.”

“Nonsense,” the Australian speaks up, shaking his head, brown strands of hair swinging in the slightest. “We have plenty of room. All of our family and friends are already staying in the hotel nearby—it’d be nice to have a bit of company.” His eyes soften, making your heart beat a little faster. “What do you say?”

It feels like he’s looking directly at you—chocolate orbs as sweet as can be. As if nothing else exists in this moment if it’s not you or him. But in reality, his attention is focused on your boyfriend, awaiting his response.

Not yours.

Flustered, you poke Lando’s leg beneath the table, hoping he takes the hint. Blue eyes flicker towards your direction for a millisecond before returning with a nod. “Looks like you have two roomies.”

Lily squeals, smiling brightly as Oscar’s lips remain in a thin line, his version of a smile.

And if he could turn back time…

He really fucking would.

Once the season ends, everyone is on a high. Lando for coming in second in the Driver’s Championship and for bringing in the Constructors Championship for the first time in years, and Oscar for the latter. Regardless, it was an outstanding season for the two of them.

You and the Brit end up flying in a few days later due to going back home to pack a few more necessities, but once you’ve got that all figured out, you find yourselves in the middle of a heatstroke, making you second guess all your life's choices all at once.

“It feels as if my skin’s melting off,” you groan, fanning yourself with the roadmap, because as it came, satellites are utter shit when it comes to where you’re staying. Lando tries to convince you that having no internet for a few weeks isn’t all that bad, but as soon as a twenty minute drive turns into a one hour drive due to getting lost without the guidance of a GPS, he regrets his words. You roll your eyes, narrating as he finally pulls up to the driveway of what appears to be the best looking house in all of North Carolina.

He whistles. “If it weren’t so hot during the summer, I’d definitely move here.”

Scoffing, you exit the car rental, looking up at the navy blue house where green ivy hangs. “We are not moving here. I’d rather die.”

“Fair,” he mumbles as he makes his way towards the front door, you right on his heels. Swinging the door open, you two are instantly hit with the fresh gust of air. “Thank God,” Lando moans, loving the fact that the AC is the only thing preventing him from fainting.

Pushing him in, you make sure to close the door behind you as you shut your eyes with sweet relief. Somewhere towards the end of the hall, you hear shoes squeak against the wooden tiles. Lily waves, hair up in a similar ponytail as yours, as she smiles as warm as the weather that nearly cost you your life. “You made it!”

“We sure did,” you respond, gritting your teeth in order to prevent yourself from letting out some snarky remark. Not that she deserves it, of course she doesn’t, but you couldn’t help it. Pointing back towards the wooden door, you wince apologetically. “Sorry to barge in. Someone didn’t bother knocking.”

Lando makes a face, then turns to the blue eyed girl with a playful smile. “You don’t mind, do you, Lily?”

She shakes her head, pursuing her lips with delight. “Not at all. We left it open knowing you two would show up. We’ve been fixing the guest bedroom for the past hour and we didn’t want to run the risk of not hearing you knock, so…I guess it all worked out just fine.”

“See? Lily says it worked out just fine,” your boyfriend says smugly as you roll your eyes, not at all impressed with his sudden cockines. “Where is Oscar, by the way?”

Lily signals upstairs, then blushes. “Do you mind helping me grab a few things from the car, Lando?” A shy chuckle. “It’s just we went out for some party essentials last night, but we were too tired to bring them in, and the box is too heavy, and Oscar is pretty busy, and I’d hate to bother him, and—”

“Sure,” Lando cuts off her rambling. “That way I can grab our suitcases, too.”

“Fantastic,” she hoots, dusting her hands against her shorts as she grabs a set of car keys from the kitchen table. Turning to you, she grimaces. “Do you mind checking up on Oscar?”

Your plump lips part, a line of dehydration hung upon them. “I would, but I should help Lando—”

“It’s okay,” your boyfriend fills in. “I’ve got it all under control.”

Lily pleads silently, brows drawn in together. “You’d really be doing me a favor. It’s just that he was in the middle of fixing the duvet and he tends to run out of patience if he doesn’t get it right away.” A chuckle. “Please?”

Which is how you find yourself in a room, alone with the one person you probably shouldn’t be alone with, but find yourself wishing that were always the case. Alone with one another, that is. Gently knocking on the already open door feels like the right thing to do, so you do just that. Alerted by the sound, the Australian’s head jerks up, brown eyes caught against yours.

You tilt your head slightly, like some greet. “Lily sent me,” you find yourself explaining as he sighs, resting on the unmade bed. Leaning against the doorframe, you bite the inside of your cheek, not knowing what to say next.

He huffs. “Of course she did.” A snort. “Sorry your room still isn’t ready. It's just that, I, uh…can't seem to get this right,” he admits, shyly scratching the back of his neck as he motions towards the unmade mess. “Lily always helps, but she’s a bit busy right now, and I'd hate to bother her, and—”

“I can help.”

A pause, then: “Oh, don't worry, you don't need to do that. You’re our guests.”

Chuckling, you shake your head, already making a move to grab the sheets. Taking hold of one corner, you signal for him to do the same, the Australian instantly catching on and taking hold of the opposite side. Aligning it, you look up at him, watching as he focuses on your hands and repeats the order. You smile, going for more and doing it all over again. Once it's perfectly laid out, you take a step back. “Not too shabby.”

“Huh,” he muttered, blinking with amazement. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” you say, fixing the mountain of pillows before taking it in with a gentle smile. “Lando’s excited to be here.”

Oscar looks up, neat brows raising. “Is he?”

“Mhm,” you hum, finally connecting your gaze to his. From this distance—close—you note the faint trace of cologne that hugs him, along with a thin layer of sweat. Grinding your molars, you fume silently within you as you catch it—her perfume. You wonder how close she had to have been in order for it to imprint on him, but as soon as you ponder for too long about it, you shake your head, acting as if you’re brushing away some invisible dust. “He’s looking forward to jet skiing.”

A deep chuckle. Pressing his back against the wall, he crosses his arm, giving you a clear view of his muscles that pulse like the world's biggest temptation. If you had the chance—just one—you’d kiss them the way you've fantasized for so long now.

He opens his mouth, about to say something that's going to change everything amongst you two, but bails at the last minute, shaking his head as if he barely caught himself. Intrigued, you raise a neat brow. “What's wrong?” you ask, feeling far too curious.

Oscar tsks. “No, uh, it's nothing.” A beat, then he looks up, squinting his eyes skeptically, as if you're a puzzle he can't quite figure out. He's looking at you the same way he did that day you lied about planning the dinner, and that itself makes your stomach dip. Suddenly, you're not as interested in finding out what he has to say anymore. “Lily loves you, you know that?”

Not what you were expecting. “She does?”

“Yeah…” he mumbles, orbs still trained on you. You want him to look away—you need him to look away. Pink lips curl into something of a scoff. The Australian’s eyes darken, making you freeze with trepidation. “She thinks you’re great.” Opening his arms like some grand gesture, he motions towards the lively room. “I mean, look at her. She’s trying her best to please you.”

Something about the way he says it makes you feel as if he’s not that fond of Lily’s behavior. As if you don’t deserve her kindness, even just a sprinkle of it. Pursing your lips, you rock against the heels of your feet. “And I appreciate that, I really do.” A hint of hesitation. “And I like Lily, as well—”

A raw chuckle. Blinking, you catch him shaking his head, brown eyes shut in disbelief, and when he opens them once again, it’s not that kind-hearted and easy-going Australian you’ve come to know—no. He’s broad, and cold, and guarded.

“No you don’t.”

You gulp, laughing awkwardly as you rub your forearm, feeling the heat of shame radiate off your body. “What are you talking about? She’s super sweet—”

“I never said she wasn’t,” he cuts you off again, this time a bit harsher. Enough to take a step back. Your heart races times a million at this point, palms moist with sweat. “I never said she wasn’t sweet—I don’t doubt that even for a second. But I know that you’re lying, and I know that you hate her.” A beat. “Why?”

“I do like her,” you continue to insist, feeling claustrophobic all of a sudden. “What makes you even think otherwise?”

“I’ve seen the way you look at her,” he says, accent sharper than usual. “Like you wish her the worst—I know what hate looks like.”

This time, you grab what’s left of your courage, and look at him straight in the eyes, not backing down. “Yeah? And what does hate look like?”

“You’re looking at it.”

It’s as if an ice cold bucket of water is thrown at you with no alert. His insinuation makes you want to recoil, but if you do, then he’d know he’s gotten to you, and if he gets to you, then he’ll figure the rest of it out.

“I’m sorry, that was rude.” He smiles tauntingly, inching close and tilting his head as he opens his mouth. “I just don’t like you, that’s all. I’m not cruel enough to hate.” Cruel. He’s calling you cruel. He knows, therefore, you’re cruel. The word itself shouldn’t affect you this much, but it does. Narrowing your eyes, you push him away, but he doesn't budge. Instead, he cocks his head in question with little to no surprise. “What? You don’t like hearing the truth of what you are? Did you really think you were a good person?”

“Look,” you finally speak, glaring. “I don’t know what you think you’ve seen, but I don’t hate Lily. For God sakes, I barely even know her!”

“Exactly!” he shouts back, breaking. “Which is why I’m more than confused! What has she done to you?”

Have possession over you, you think to yourself as you pant, blink with defeat. I hate her because what she’s done to me is have possession over you, and that’s not fair.

“I—”

“Hey,” a soft voice melts into the room, Lily coming into view, cheeks flushed. “Is everything alright in here? We thought we heard yelling.”

Standing behind her, frowning over her shoulder, Lando stares with a lost expression. Everything indicates that there had been some sort of altercation, but the smiles you two wear are enough to try and convince them otherwise. Walking towards her, Oscar wraps his arm around her waist, pecking her temple as she blinks, still worried. “What? That’s absurd. We were simply talking. Weren’t we?”

It takes you a minute to register that he’s talking to you, so when you do answer, it’s nothing but a whisper. “Yeah… just, yeah.” You shake your head, blinking hastily. “We were just talking.”

“Are you sure?” Lando asks, pushing past the couple as he rushes to you, large hand grabbing your wrist softly as he looks at you. His gaze flickers momentarily toward Oscar, as if accusing him for doing something, in return, making the Australian frown for his sudden distrust. As if he’s the bad guy.

You nod, plump lips formed into a thin line. “Yup,” you say, attention flickering down to where Oscar keeps Lily secure against his touch. As if you’re the bad guy. You chuckle, shrugging. “He was thanking me for helping him do something so easy as setting a bed.”

Oscar clenches his jaw. “Yeah. Thanking you.”

Anyone who knows you, knows that you’re a decent human being. There’s not much to contradict that. But no one will ever know you the way you know yourself. Because if they did?

They’d find out that there was no one greedier….

Than you.

Dinner that night is homemade pizza. Lily followed a recipe.

It’s quite delicious, sure, and you’re able to make that note due to that one small bite you had before you ditch it for your mimosa. Lando tries to get you to eat, but you gently promise him that you’re just not that hungry. You see the way Oscar stares, feeling bad for his girlfriend who spent hours making this for you. She excuses herself, rushing towards the kitchen as the Australian apologizes, following after her.

Turning abruptly, the British boy huffs, causing commotion. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?”

“This again?” you groan. “I already told you—nothing. Drop it.”

“What’d he say to you?” he questions, a layer of curiosity making an appearance. “Did he say something to offend you?”

“No,” you hum against your glass. “He did not.”

“Did you say something to offend him?” he switches the inquiry, making you glare.

“Are you seriously asking me that right now?”

Lando sighs, relaxing against his chair once again. He takes a bite, swallows, then takes another. “I get the sense that you’re keeping something from me—you’re not like that.”

Actually, you are. He just doesn’t know it. Placing a hand over his, you hum, calming him down as he connects his gaze onto yours, eyes as soft as jello. “He might’ve lost his temper on me a bit.”

“What?” he screeches, making you hush him.

“Let me finish,” you hiss. He nods, curls bouncing. “He couldn’t get the sheets to stay in place. Remember how Lily said he tends to lose patience because of that?” Another nod. You shrug. “Well, that was it. We just didn’t want you two to make a big deal out of nothing. Much like now,” you point out, spotting a subtle blush threatening his cheeks.

“Well, forgive me for looking out for you,” he sings. “I care, you know?”

“And I thank you for that, darling, but you can let go of it now, right?”

“Definitely.”

He doesn’t. Matter of fact, as soon as the couple makes their way back, it’s the first thing he brings up, teasing his teammate who blinks, confused, then: “Oh. Yeah. Right. I had a bit of a moment where I couldn’t get the…yeah. That was it.”

Lily rolls her blue eyes. “Didn’t I warn ya?”

You giggle. “You did, you really did.”

There isn’t much to do from that point on, the sun has set and the moon hangs as bright as headlights. Lando knocks out after a much needed shower, and while you can’t sleep with wet hair, you settle on fixing yourself up a tea now that it’s cooled down.

Walking barefoot towards the lake, you hum, finding peace with the way crickets sing. Blue, gentle waves sway back and forth as you look beyond, mind at peace. That is until you hear a small cough. Startled, you search for the culprit and you find him, laid down on the grass.

“Can’t sleep?”

Oscar sighs. “I’d rather not talk to you right now.”

“Or ever?” you offer, but he doesn’t find you humor all that entertaining. Making your way, you find a space next to him. “You can’t ignore me, you know that? We’re about to spend a month together. That, and you’re my boyfriend's teammate. I see you on track.”

He disregards the fact that you're right, sitting up instead, laying his arms over his bent knees. “What’s your game?”

“I don’t have one,” you say softly. “I’m just here to have fun—it’s summer.”

A scoff. “I’m serious—what do you want from us?”

There was a point in time when you first met the Australian where you remember thinking: this is a boy. His arms were twigs, his neck was small, and his fireproofs fit him loosely.

Fastword, a year later: everything has taken a turn. Oscar Piastri has matured, and now—now you want him.

“My parents had my sister three years after they had me.” Oscar cocks his head, puzzled as to why you’re telling him this. You continue, occasionally sipping on your tea. “And the months leading to her birth, they always told me how lucky I’d feel to have her once she was born. Then she was,” you say. “And you know what I felt?”

“Lucky?” he finds himself guessing quietly.

You shake your head, causing his brows to jump up with surprise. “I love her, I do, but I think that was the moment I realized I didn’t like to share. I wanted my parents to stay my parents, and not hers. I wanted my grandparents to stay my grandparents, and not hers. And…once we grew up and we were old enough to date—I wanted her boyfriends to like me more than they liked her.”

Quiet, his eyes linger with disgust. “I love knowing that I can get away with it—get what I want.” This time, you look at him, and it hits him all at once: you want him. You smile, like what you’re saying is funny and not fucked. A giggle. “You’re a smart individual, Oscar. Do you get what I’m saying?”

He does. And it makes his stomach knot.

“I’m in love with Lily,” he states, as if that will make you back off. “I’m. In. Love. With. Lily.”

But he can tell you don’t care. You never have, and you never will. And the fact that she has you is why you hate her. He sees that now.

Standing, your knees are at his eye level, forcing him to look away, forcing him to look up. You hold power in this stance, and he’s basically at your knees—worshiping you. He doesn’t like that. In one fast movement, he jumps up, towering over you, but that’s fine. It doesn’t matter. And he realizes he can never win when it comes to you because it seems you like that too.

He gulps. You grin.

“Doesn't matter.”

You’re playing a dangerous game.

It starts early in the morning and ends late at night. At times, he feels like a kid hiding behind his mum's skirt, practically sticking to Lily like superglue, and normally she loves that, but with how busy she is with graduation, she pushes him off most times now. It’s always: Oscar, no or Oscar, what now? He can’t seem to get it right.

“Why don’t you go jet skiing with Lando?” you speak up and he finds it weird that you’re helping him out. The British girl nods. Yeah! Why don’t you? He doesn’t need to be told twice.

They come back with fresh sunburns and a couple new freckles. Lando’s curls are hard from the sea salt, so he gives you a quick kiss, running up stairs for a quick shower. He’s been having lots of those. Not even a minute later, Oscar goes on to do the same.

Somewhere along the line, you hear your name, and you know what that means. Rolling your eyes, you look over at the blue eyed girl. “I bet you he forgot his towels—”

I forgot my towels!

Giggling, Lily shakes her head, muttering ‘boys’, then signals towards her room. “I just washed some, you can grab them from our cabinet.”

“Thanks,” you chirp, making your way. While yours and Lando’s room sits at the far right side of the hall, Oscar’s and Lily’s is on the left. And you never meant to walk in on him, not at all, but you did.

Swinging the door open, you’re caught face to face with a shirtless Oscar, dying his wet hair with a blue towel. He freezes. “W-what are you doing here?” he stutters.

You try not to stare, you really do, but you can’t help it. His body is solid, chiseled, even. His skin is moist from lathering lotion and that’s enough to make your head spin. And yet, you don’t let him see that. Pushing past him, you dig your hand deep into the cabinet, pulling two fresh towels, similar to his. He frowns.

“Just grabbing towels for my boyfriend.” Smile. “See you.”

Is this how you get people to fall for you? By not seeming desperate? Because while he knows that you want him, you sure don’t show it, and that definitely confuses him.

That same night, you four are watching a movie in the living room. Cherry Falls to be exact. The entire way through, you’re curled into Lando’s chest under a blanket. On the other side of the long couch, Lily and Oscar sit as straight as can be, but his arm remains over her shoulder, keeping her safe.

You’re not jealous over something like that, but when she flinches during certain scenes and he comforts her, that gets you. “Hey,” you start, whispering into the Brit’s ear. Green eyes are stuck on the screen, nodding robotically. Yeah? You kiss his warm skin, making him jump. “Why don’t you and I go to bed?”

“Bed?” he asks, slow and unsure where you’re headed. “Already? But…we’re halfway through.” You yawn, rubbing a hand along his thigh. He blushes, impressed with how cool you’re able to play it. Coughing, he nods excitedly. “I think we’re done for the day,” he announces, a bit too loud.

Lily pauses the movie, tilting her head curiously. “Aw, but we’re halfway through…”

“I know,” you add, smiling apologetically. “But I’m just so tired.”

“As am I!” Lando cuts you off, voice squeaky. He shakes his head, blinking hastily, then clears his throat. “But please, don’t let us stop you from finishing the movie.”

“Yeah,” you quip, getting up, about to walk away when Lando reaches for your hips, keeping you in front of him. It doesn’t take much to feel his bulge pressed against your ass. He laughs awkwardly. “We still have that picnic tomorrow, don’t we?”

“We do,” Lily cheers, smiling widely. “Oh, I’m so excited!” Turning to face the Australian, who hasn’t said much up until now, just stares blankly, she taps his knee. “We should probably go to sleep, too.”

“No!” Lando yelps, blushing bright red as the blue eyed girl frowns. “Keep on watching. Keep the telly on. In fact…” He reaches for the control. “Turn up the volume.”

“Great idea,” Lily says, pursing her lips as the numbers go up on the screen. “Alright then, you two go rest.”

“Thank you,” you reply, walking carefully in front of the British boy who still tries his best to hide behind you, waving sheepishly. “See you in the morning!”

Oscar really underestimated how naive Lily can be. While she was wide-eyed enough to believe that you two were ready to knock out, he knew the truth. Pecking her cheek, he makes a stand, making his girlfriend pout. “Where are you going? I thought we were gonna finish the movie?”

“We are,” he promises, smiling gently. “I’m just gonna run to the restroom real quick. Be right back.”

Running up the stairs, two steps at a time, he rushes to your side of the hall, quickly identifying small moans. He stops dead in his tracks, heart stuck in his throat, and he doesn’t know why.

Fuck, baby, he hears Lando groan. Oscar grimaces, shutting his eyes with discomfort. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn’t have his ear pressed against the door, intruding in your guys’ private sex life.

He shouldn't be bothered so much. Or at all.

Lando, you whine, surely writhing with pleasure. The sound makes him break a sweat, makes his brain go fuzzy. He can’t even think properly. And he knows this is wrong—on so many levels—but what’s worse is that he wishes Lando were dead.

Skin to skin contact makes his jaw clench with anger. The fact that he knows what you feel like makes him want to barge in and rip you two apart. And it dawns on him—why does he care so much?

“No,” he mutters, taking a step back as if the door were made out of lava. He blinks hastily, shaking his head harshly until he feels his brain jump from side to side. “God, no…”

It’s official—you have his attention.

Without even making a move.

You feel his gaze on you. You don’t even have to look and see to know that it’s him and not Lando. Lando’s gaze doesn’t burn, but his? His zaps. Looking up from where you rested on the red gingham blanket Lily rolled onto the fresh grass, you squinted behind your glasses, making eye contact with the Australian.

You know you have him.

Reaching into your bag, you grab your sunscreen, squirting it onto your legs, making sure to lather it on in a teasing manner. You rub up and down, slow and steady. Briskly, he looks away, paying attention to his teammate who continues to ramble on and on about nothing in particular.

Not as particular as you.

“I love having you two around,” Lily says, ripping your gaze away like one would their band aid. She hums, gingerly fixing her floppy hat and motioning towards your sunscreen. Go right ahead. “Thank you,” she replies sweetly. A beat. “I have a favor to ask.” This get’s your attention. Furrowing your brows, you nod, urging her to continue. “So, I’m in a bit of a predicament.”

“What is it?”

Lily blushes, as if she’s too embarrassed to admit. “Remember how I skipped a few exams in order to extend my stay the first time we met? In order to have that dinner with both you and Lando?”

“Yeah,” you say, still uncertain about where this might possibly lead. “I think I do.”

She cringes. “I never took them.”

“What?”

“I know! And now my advisor is telling me I won’t be able to graduate if I don’t find a way to take them, and I don’t know what to do!” She groans, bumping the edge of her palm against her forehead. “Oh God, Oscar is going to be so mad at me.”

“Okay, calm down,” you soothe her. “Have you tried reaching out to your professor?”

“Not yet,” she mumbles, tears pooling the corner of her eyes, making you feel just a dash of pity. “Should I?”

“Yes,” you respond quickly. “You should. Ask them if there’s any way to take those exams. Say you’re sorry—like really sorry. They have to be able to tell that you never meant to skip out in the first place.”

“I didn’t,” she squeaks, voice wavering. “I’m not usually like this, but…” Her blue eyes flicker down to her lap, fingers playing nervously with the hem of her shirt. “I just really want to fix this and graduate on time. Everyone is counting on that!”

“You’re going to walk that stage, Lily, alright? You just need to keep your eye on the prize.” Sighing, you unlock your phone, handing it to her. “E-mail them right now.”

“O-okay,” she sutter, eyes softening. “Thank you for being such a great friend.”

You blink. “Oh. Yeah—anytime.”

She finds privacy back in the parking lot, leaving you alone with the boys deep in the horizon. It’s peak golden-hour, so they look significantly tan. You smile, lying back down, glasses hugging the curve of your nose. You’re halfway asleep at one point, but as soon as you feel a droplet fall onto you, you peek an eye open.

“Where’s Lily?” Oscar questions, furrowing his dark brows.

You roll your eyes. “She went to get something from the car.” She probably wouldn’t like Oscar knowing the truth, and you’re not one to tell it. You wave your hand dismissively. “Now move—you’re blocking the sun.”

Grinding his teeth, the Australian scoots, but his eyes remain down on you. You lay tan now, white bikini standing out against your skin. Brown eyes trails down your legs, spotting an ankle bracelet. He hums. “What’s it say?”

You sigh. “Could you be more specific?”

He kicks your feet, making you lean against your elbows, staring at him coldly. Noticing what he was referring to, you lick your lips. “It's the number four.”

“Four?” he asks plainly. “Why four?”

“I’m really trying to relax,” you spit, taking your sunglasses off and glaring. “You’d be doing me a huge favor if you just left me alone.”

Aren’t you supposed to want him? Aren’t you the one who's supposed to be chasing after him?

The tips of his ears burn bright red, and not from the sun. Seeing as he wasn’t leaving, you let out a heavy breath. “He asked me out on April fourth—fourth month, fourth day. His racing number is four.” You make a face. “Do you get it or do you need further explanation?”

He ignores the dig. “Why an ankle bracelet, though? Why not a ring or a necklace?”

Your red lips part open, then close. His guts twist with jealousy once he comes to the realization. The reason it’s an ankle bracelet its so that anytime he fucks you, legs dangled over his shoulders, he could admire it. Seeing as he figured it out without having you respond makes you blush.

“Ankle bracelets are my favorite.”

His eyes darken. “You know what? Next time you two fuck, why don’t you moan a little less loud?”

Your neat brows lift up with surprise. “How are you so sure we already did?”

He pauses, clearly caught on spying. He swallows. “You sound like a pornstar.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?” You laugh. “Lando doesn’t seem to mind. In fact…” Biting down on your bottom lip, you blink innocently up at him as his breathing pattern becomes uneven. “He fucking loves it.”

God—what were you doing to him?

Just as he’s about to speak, Lando calls out for him and Lily calls out for you. Where are the beers, mate? The Australian spins back and lets out a lousy smile. “On it, give me a second!”

As he turns again, you’re already up on your feet, adjusting your bikini and throwing Lando’s shirt over your head. The sight alone irks Oscar more than he’d like to admit. “I should go see what Lily needs,” you sing teasingly. Spinning on your heels, you stop, cocking your head to the side and giving him one last glance. “Oh, and Oscar?”

You point down to his hard on imprinted on his short. Horrified, heat rushes to his cheeks.

“Don't get so excited over nothing.”

What appears to be the first time in her life, Lily lies to Oscar.

They need some last minute measurements for my cap and gown, she explains, puffing her cheeks as if the thought of flying back home is too much of a tassel, and not a necessity—she has to go back and take her exams. She had received an extension, but the only catch was that she had to take them in person, as originally planned. I’ll be back in a week.

The Australian tries to tag along with his girlfriend because the thought of being left alone to third wheel a couple who probably fucks 24/7 is too unbearble. But as expected, Lily declines, claiming it’d be rude for both hostesses to leave their guests behind. And all would’ve been fine if Lando’s father hadn't broken his clavicle playing rugby.

“Do you really have to leave?” you sigh, zipping his suitcase.

He nods. “Mum would kill me if I didn't show up.”

“I’ll miss you.”

A soft smile. Pecking your lips, his thumb rubs against your cheek lovingly. “I’ll be back before you know it. Time will fly by.”

Which is how you and Oscar find yourselves sharing a large house with a million desires. He's quick to note that you have a thing for summer dresses—and so does he, apparently. Jaw clenched, he carefully watches as you cut up a variety of fruit, humming as you prepare yourself a plate. You hum a soft melody, making him more and more intrigued to know what it was.

“Love in the Morning. Ennio Morricone,” he hears you say, munching on a slice of watermelon, walking towards the living room. There, on T.V., plays an unknown reality show, but he's not paying much attention, either way. No, his gaze is stuck on you, focused on the way you stretch your legs onto the coffee table, the rest of your upper body resting against the comfy couch. You swallow, reaching for a piece of mango. “One of my favorite instrumentals.”

It's one of his, too, and not because he knows it by heart, but because you do. Because you sound so beautiful, like a siren, when you hum it. He wonders if you're aware of the power you hold. Though, the way you ignore him lets him know that you do.

Against the sunlight, the one that peeks through the open window and summer skies, your ankle bracelet shines, blinding him, almost. He feels his chest grow tight—so much so, that it hurts to breathe regularly—and he has to remind himself that this isn’t normal—this isn’t normal.

Since when did you matter this much to him? Since when did you affect him this much?

Without a second thought, he claims a spot next to you on the couch, reaching for a berry and popping it in his mouth. You bite the inside of your cheek, somehow satisfied by this small action of his. “Tell me a bit about yourself.”

You blink, caught off guard. In all your time of knowing the Australian, he never once bothered to get to know you—really get to know you. He never cared, not even in the slightest. But now, in a turn of events, he does. Squinting suspiciously—teasingly—you shake your head, vanilla perfume radiating off your skin.

“No.”

His lips turn downwards. “No?”

“No,” you repeat, flipping through the channels, pretending he wasn’t even there. A click. “Why should I?”

Because suddenly, you’re the only one in my mind.

He bites down on his tongue, tasting a hint of blood. “I’m not into you, don’t flatter yourself.”

“I never said you were,” you say, a bored tone evident.

Oscar’s hands get clammy, thankful for having them pressed against his lap. Maybe he can still make a run for it. To his room. Back to Australia. He doesn’t even care where, exactly, but far, far, far from you. That way, he wouldn’t feel so grossed out in wanting to know more about his teammate's girlfriend. The one whom he never thought about once before this trip. And how can he even defend his honor?

You got into his head.

You don’t register what he’s doing—not instantly, at least—but before you know it, he’s pushing your legs off the coffee table, claiming a seat there, instead. Now, rather than having a clear view of the television, you have one of him. Large and desperate and perfect.

He narrows his eyes, sharp and threatening. “Are you glad that both Lily and Lando are gone?”

“Nope,” you respond, popping the p. “Why would I?”

Why would you? Geez, who really knows? Oh, maybe because now you have me all to yourself, and isn’t that what you wanted all along? Why don’t you want me anymore?

Slightly grinning, Oscar lets out a raw chuckle, making you want to jump onto his thick lap and lick up his neck. You bet it’d taste like salt and cologne, but the mere thought sounds like a dream. A wild, wild dream.

“I know you think about me.”

Zero reaction. Unimpressed, you push your bottom lip out, wagging your index finger at him before pressing it against his cheek, making him pause because that alone makes his skin burn. You push, forcing a dimple before doing the last thing he’d ever thought you’d do.

Slap him.

He thinks he’s imagining it, and you didn’t just do that, but the smug look on your face and the sting on his lets him know that he isn’t picturing it, and you did just do that. You smile sweetly, standing and ditching your place right in front of him, making your way towards the stairs.

“Get a life, Oscar. Not everything is about you.”

You like to mess with people’s sanity. That must be it because—what the fuck is wrong with you?

First, you insinuate lusting over him. Later, you put on a show for him every chance you get. And now? Now you toy with him, making him feel like the crazy one. And one thing’s for sure.

He is not crazy.

You barely have a foot up one stair when you’re pulled back, and before you know it, pushed down to sit on the step, the Australian kneeled down in front of you. You breath hitches, eyes as wide as cherry pies. His brows are drawn in softly, a pink tint dusting his ears like some shy teen.

“Maybe not—but everything is about you.”

You always knew you’d get him, and you knew exactly how you’d do it. You’d plant the seed and have him come running to you. It always works. I mean, it’s how you got Lando, after all.

But Lando was a want. Oscar is a need.

With his knees still glued onto the ground, the brunette leans down and kisses your ankle, laying his lips flat as you gasp softly, feeling the familiar bracelet dig into your skin.

“Tell me you think about me too,” he whispers pathetically—fragile. Another kiss, this time up your calf. “What do I have to do in order to get you to say it?”

“You’re insane,” you mumble, orbs stuck on the top of his head, shaggy hair hanging loosely before he looks up at you, past his lashes. Butterflies erupt.

Up your thigh, he licks you, tasting your lotion, but he doesn’t seem to mind the bitter taste. “Come on—I want you.” He sucks, forming a purple bruise. “Don’t you want me, too?”

You do. You fucking crave every piece of him. But you can’t let him know that. And you really do try your best to fight him off, but as soon as he starts curling his fist around your small dress, you’re just as good as gone.

A tiny moan rings through the air, then a pant follows. He’s barely even touched you and he’s already knocked the air straight from your lungs.

“I d-do, Oscar.” Whine. “I do want you.”

And just like that—he’s taken whatever power you were claiming onto—back.

Letting go of your dress, he chuckles, enjoying your out of breath state, and standing, making you feel small as you blink, confused as to why he stopped.

Dark eyes glint sinisterly as he kicks your open legs together, not too hard, but still enough to make you jolt with surprise, leaning your elbows up against the step, brows furrowed.

A beat. “You really are a pretty little thing.”

And with that, he walks away, leaving you to feel abandoned.

It’s a brutal game of tug-of-war. One where both of your guys’ hands are burning from trying not to be the first to let go.

The first to admit defeat.

Though, it seems like the days grow longer, your dresses fall shorter, and his mind is hazier. All of which is making it more difficult to keep a distance. That is, until Lily FaceTimes Oscar.

“I need you to buy some flowers.”

Mid-bite, his teeth push down on his apple, eyes glued on her. He pulls away, drying his mouth with the back of his hand. “Won’t they dry out before the party?”

She shakes her head, highlighting what looks to be a set of notes. “That's why you're going to get carnations. They last longer.”

“Is that so?” he entertains, smiling gently when she bites down on her marker, brows furrowed as she reads her piece of paper. Throwing away what's left of his fruit, he hums. “Alright, I’ll take care of it tomorrow, don't worry.”

“Oh no, tomorrow won’t work. You have to do it today.”

He frowns. “Why?”

“Because she's only available today. She's going dress shopping tomorrow.”

He doesn't even have to ask who she is because he already knows. Shaking his head adamantly, the Australian rejects her idea before it even has a chance to lift off the ground. “I could do it myself,” he snaps, his usually tranquilent voice coming out a bit harsher than intended. And it’s not like him. He never, ever, speaks to Lily this way. So, obviously, it surprises her, a wounded expression mapping out immediately.

And she could have been mad. She really could have been mad—but she wasn’t. “Is everything okay?” she asks carefully, as if walking on eggshells. It makes him feel like shit. “What's wrong, Oscar?”

“I…” His tongue goes numb. The vivid image of you looking at him, like you hold him in the palm of your hand, comes through. And he doesn’t completely hate it, not right away. But once the British girl hums softly through the phone, he’s ashamed. “I just wish you were here. I miss you.”

A beat, then: I love you.

You had not been the biggest fan of going floral shopping with Oscar, either. Quite frankly, you didn't think being with him for hours on end was a good idea. At least, here in the house, you could escape, but out in the open, your chances were ironically not that good. Where would you run off to if you depended on him for a ride back?

Yet, you found yourself saying yes, and you didn’t know why. You had no clue why you felt the need to help her out. You had no clue why you felt a certain way towards her all of sudden.

You had no clue when Lily Zneimer—the girl you're supposed to hate—was someone you saw as a friend.

It was a tough pill to swallow, because on one hand, you were still attracted to her boyfriend. But on the other hand, you suddenly had self-control. You didn't want to ruin their relationship anymore. You didn't want to lose her amity.

You were trying to be better.

“Ready?”

Looking up from your book, you nod. “Let me just go grab my sunglasses.”

As he watches you run upstairs, he feels something—different. From your end, that is. As if something has shifted. But he doesn’t have much time to dwell on it, because before he knows it, you’re back.

The car is quiet and his music can barely even be heard, but nothing is far more awkward than the tension between you two. It’s suffocating, so much so, you roll down the window. He makes a noise, making you tilt your head to look at him. He’s frowning. “It’s a hundred degree’s out, roll it back up. I can turn on the AC.”

You don’t utter a single word, just follow his instructions. He finds that weird. See, usually, you’d be doing something to get him hot and bothered, but these days you seem to be playing it safe. If anything, he should be thankful. He should be glad that you’ve left him alone for whatever reason.

But now he wants in on your game.

“How’d you meet Lando?”

“Don’t. We don’t have to talk.”

He ignores you. “I met Lily in school. She was in the class next to mine and I used to think she was the most beautiful girl in the world.” His mind panics as soon as he realizes what he’s just said, but you don’t seem to have done the same. A cough. “How’d you meet Lando?”

Seeing as he probably wasn’t going to let this go unless you answer his question, you sigh, twisting your body and adjusting yourself to have a good view of him. Like this, you can count every mole on his skin if you really wanted to, but you don’t. “I never really met Lando, per se. I just always…knew him, I guess.” His brows furrowed and you chuckle. “We grew up as neighbors.”

“You did?” he asks, brows jumping up with shock. “I had no idea.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, chewing on your bottom lip. “He was my sister’s boyfriend for two years.” This shouldn’t surprise him. Coming to a red light, he turns to look at you, fighting the urge to show any kind of reaction, he doesn’t want to scare you off. You look away, wincing. “I knew what I was ruining the moment he and I started talking behind her back, and I did it anyway.”

“So…they were still dating?”

Nod. “She caught us locked up in the bathroom. There really wasn’t any explanation to that.” Green flashes as you point numbly and he steps on the gas once again. “And you know what? I didn’t even feel all that bad, and you want to know why?”

“Why?”

“Because I got what I wanted.”

I love knowing that I can get away with it—get what I want, that is.

Your words from nights ago replay inside his overly crowded mind, making it pound like a sore thumb. His lips open, but he has nothing to say, and it appears you’re done talking, too. Or so he thought.

“Oscar…” you whisper. “I can’t taint another relationship.”

He keeps his eyes on the road, jaw slacked. You don’t want him anymore. You want nothing to do with him. Shouldn’t he be pleased? Shouldn’t he be ecstatic that your diabolical plan has expired? One you never admitted to, but still.

So then why does he feel let down?

“Lily is great,” you continue, eyes closed as you nod gingerly. “She’s the best, and she deserves the friend she thinks she has.”

“Except you two aren’t friends.”

You blink. “Wh-wha—yes we are. What are you talking about?”

He grits his teeth. “You two aren’t friends. You could never be.”

This gets a rise out of you. Straightening your back, your brows pinch together with offense. “And why not?”

“Because.”

“Because?” You scoff, not impressed by his bland response. “We can’t be friends simply ‘because’?”

Switching lanes, he huffs, spotting pink carnations in his rear view mirror. You had chosen those on Lily’s behalf. He didn’t really care at the moment, but now he wishes you had gone with white. What were you two arguing about again?

Spotting the familiar blue house, he lets out a breath, pulling into the driveway, quickly putting the car in park, and turning off the ignition. This almost makes you back down because suddenly his sole focus is on you, not the road.

“You’re on my mind.”

Oh. Biting down onto your bottom lip, you shake your head. “I’m n—”

“Yes,” he says, firmly, reaching for your hands and pulling them up to his mouth, kissing them over and over. “You are and you know it.”

“Oscar, no…” you let out, trying to pull away, but his grip tightens. A crazed look colors his irises as his chest rises fast, up and down, as if he’s close to hyperventilating. Bewildered, your lips turn to a downward spiral. “You don’t know what you’re saying—”

“Yes, I do!” he yelps, voice cracking as you stare with shock. “You did this to me, you got in my head on purpose!”

“I didn’t do anything!” you squeal, frightened by his tone. “Did I tell you that I wanted you?”

“You implied it,” he defends rapidly, pleading with eyes for you to show any signs of recollection. “What changed?”

“I already told you,” you snap, this time using all your power to yank your hands back. “I don’t want to be this way anymore. I can’t.”

Silence.

Slow breaths explore the car as he stares blankly. “That’s not fair.”

“What isn’t fair?” you hiss, aiming a glare.

Oscar shakes his head, flinging his door open and hopping out, leaving you dumbfounded as you watch him go. Unbuckling yourself, you make a beeline for him, barely even reaching him as you tug on his shirt, making him turn back with a dark look in his eyes. Your heart nearly flat lines from how scared you are of him from this point of view.

“What isn’t fair, huh?” you ask, trying to sound brave, but there’s a slight tremble in your voice.

Glowering down on you, the Australian’s lips form a slow smile, almost in a sinister way. Mocking, too. He chuckles to himself. “You like to have your own fun, don’t you?” Your shoulders drop, taking a clumsy step back, but he takes a dominating one forward. “Yeah…you do. You get to knead your fingers into someone’s brain until all they can think about is you, and once they do, you’re out.” Pause. “It’s no longer fun.”

“That’s not—” You let out a shaky breath, wincing at his accuracy. “Where are you going with this?”

Oscar shrugs, broad shoulders going up before falling sourly. “I’m gonna do the same.”

You freeze, stomach twisting with trepidation. “Huh?”

He nods, clicking his tongue. “How come you only get to have your fun?” He leans down, coming eye level with you, and narrowing his gaze until you see his iris dilate. Something about that sends a shiver down your spine. “Why can’t I do the same, too?”

Taking a step back, he makes sure to send a sly smile, the kind that lets you see he has a hidden dimple. He sighs as he steps into the house, forcing you to watch him go with a smug reaction and leaving you with a poor one. Last minute, he turns around, inclining against the doorframe, making him appear larger than the world.

Oscar squints teasingly.

“I’m going to have you begging me to fuck you.”

There was a moment in the past week where you nearly fell for it—almost.

It happened one morning, and all he had done was walk into the house, all big and sweaty. He had just come back from a run.

“Excuse me,” he says, reaching over to grab a glass from the cabinet, intending to pour himself a bit of water. A certain warmth radiates off him and you feel it cling onto you immediately, pushing you towards him. You physically have to stop yourself.

Pursing your lips, you move, allowing him to easily grab what he needs. Without a single thank you, he hums, the cool water tasting heavenly. The way his Adam’s Apple juts up and down makes you want to scream, looking away as rub your eyes fiercely. He smiles, setting the glass down. “I need your opinion on something.”

“What is it?” you ask, still not looking. Maybe you should leave to go buy your dress for the party. Time is running out, and you have nothing. Though, at this point, you didn't want to be here anymore.

“It's about Lily’s graduation gift. Should I get her a necklace with her birthstone, or—”

An ankle bracelet with my number on it?

Immediately, you turn to face him, cheekbones beet red and a slight twitch in your eyes, those that are now dark and looming. Satisfaction plays a role in his features as he stares innocently. “I was leaning towards the ankle bracelet. I really do think you and Lando are onto something.”

“What’s your game?” you ask, bitterness evident in your tone. Your question takes him back to when he was the one asking it. To you. Neat brows furrow with anticipation.

The brunette shrugs. “I don't have one. I'm just here to have fun.” He smirks. “It's summer—isn't it?”

This is all a bad case of deja vu, one you don't find appealing. How dare he ask you something like this with a dirty smile on his face? The look is just the right amount of disgusting, and the right amount of intriguing.

He was getting to you.

Clicking your tongue, you roll your eyes. “Whatever your plan is—stop it.” Pointing a finger, you shake your head firmly. “Because it's not going to work on me.”

“It’s not?” he asks, closing the gap and towering over you dangerously so. He sees the way your breathing becomes a tad bit irregular, letting him know that this was working, no matter how much you denied it. “Because you’re a better friend now? Because you got one taste of loyalty and now you've decided to be loyal to yourself?” A large hand reaches for your chin, forcing your head to tilt back and look up at him. And you hate how handsome he is in an infuriating moment like this. “People don't change overnight. I doubt you'd be the first.”

Old habits die hard, but over time, and he's right. You're still the same avaricious girl as yesterday.

Pushing his thumb against the corner of your lips, you instinctively open your mouth, making room. A soft smile tugs at his own lips as his eyes admire your lipstick coating his finger. Slowly, he eases the digit in, feeling your wet tongue hug it. And then, suck.

“Fuck,” he groans beneath his shaggy breath, brown orbs not wanting to miss a single second of this. Humming, your vibrations send a chill down his spine, finding it harder to not bend you over amd just fuck you into oblivion. But no—he had to hear you say it.

Pink tongue laps around his thumb, doe eyes blinking prettily, lashes fluttering like butterflies. Instant jealousy enters the room as his mind begins to race with the fact that Lando has probably had you like this millions of times. He pushes down on your tongue, making you whine and bite down. And he doesn't even flinch.

“Tell me you want me…” His brows knit with need. “The same way I want you. Please, just—say it.”

Without warning, you bite down hard, this time getting a reaction out of him as he grunts with pain, and you push him away harshly until his back pounds against the nearest wall, letting out a loud thud.

“Let me tell you one thing, Oscar,” you start, strolling over to him like a fallen angel. Today you wear a white dress, clung to your body like a glove, allowing him to see every curve of yours, in return, making his palms sweat. You grin, reaching him. “You won't ever see me begging for anyone—especially you.” His stomach drops. “No matter how much I want this to happen, too.”

Are you willing to get down on your knees and supplicate?

The answer is an obvious one for him: yes. He’d spend hours at your feet if that meant having you, for even just a second. Normally, he isn't this submissive, nor this desperate, but it seems like only you bring this side out of him. He doesn't entirely hate it.

“Ye—”

Ring! Ring!

Sighing, you walk up to your phone that sits on the nearest counter, and pick it up. “Hi, baby,” you greet sweetly. “How’s Adam?”

Ring! Ring!

Digging into his back pocket, he curses, picking up. “Hello, darling,” he says warmly, making you flicker your gaze over at him with accusation. “How’s everything going?”

Turns out, Adam’s bone wasn't actually broken and Lily had aced her exams. She ended up telling Oscar the truth, to which he was surprised she had kept it hidden from him for so long, but was far more surprised when she told him that you knew. Long story short, by some twist of fate, they’ll be back in the next couple of days. They land on the same day, so they’ll save the Australian the hassle and just drive in together.

“See you in a couple of days. Alright. Bye,” you say, rubbing your temples.

Oscar looks up, chewing the inside of his cheek before letting go. “I’ll see you, then. Fly safe.”

A moment passes by. “Did she tell you—”

“That they’re flying in together? Yeah. They were both in London, after all. It makes sense.”

“Sure,” you mumble, brushing a strand of hair away. “They land Wednesday, then?”

“Correct,” he says, nodding along. It��s already Monday, so that was…soon.

Too soon.

“I should probably start fixing up the arrangements,” you announce. “Lily asked me a couple of days ago, but I haven't gotten around to it. I just pray they haven't died yet.”

“They haven't,” he states, making you curl a brow. He smiles sheepishly. “Carnations last longer. Lily said so.”

“Of course,” you say, grinding your teeth. “Lily said so, so it must be true.”

Nothing more, nothing less. You just walk towards the flowers, and feel the irritation paint your silhouette, because as expected, Lily was right—like always.

Thing is, Oscar has come to learn your behavior. The way you tell a lie, the way you tell the truth. He's learned your body language, and right now, he can tell one thing for sure.

You never stopped hating Lily.

He smiles.

And that makes him happy. Because he knows this isn't over yet.

By Tuesday, the entire setup is ready. The flowers sit beautifully at every table, and the lights hang nicely around the trees. The sound of the lake singing is your only reminder that you could use a break. And apparently, it was also Oscar’s.

“The event decorators just left. But you did an excellent job with the florals,” he adds last minute.

A hum. “I tried my best.”

The dock creaks. The frog's ribbit. The crickets harmonize. And you two are too close to one another. Your shoulders brush, making you flinch and for him to cough awkwardly. “Despite everything, I had fun having you around. A summer well spent, don't you think?”

With a deadpan expression, you turn to look at him, making him laugh, and the corners of your lips fight back a smile. You haven't heard him laugh in so long, you come to realize. In all sincerity, that is. “It was alright,” you respond, shrugging it off as if nothing. “But yeah. I had fun, too.”

Fun teasing each other. Fun trying to get each other to crack. But fun, nonetheless.

And he thinks: if not now, when? You don't know at what moment he catches you off guard, but he does, because in a single second, he's kissing with urgency. Like he's never kissed anyone before and he was making sure to get it right. And it was more than right. Heat pools in between your legs as you try your best to keep up with him, but the taste of cheap beer makes you get high on life. Since when is he much of a drinker?

Since you.

The good thing is that the entrance back to the house isn't that far, so your guys’ tumble is pretty successful. Though, you don't make it to either’ bedroom, but rather the couch, where a bunch of disposables lay. Lily had them shipped a couple days ago. Says she wants as many pictures as possible, savor the memories for a lifetime.

Without any precaution, he wipes his arms across the cushion, sending the cameras to crash against the floor and throwing you onto the couch, smiling once you squeal with excitement. All except one camera—but neither of you notice that yet.

Your soft hair lays around you like a halo, making him wonder if he’s gone straight to heaven. You gesture him to come in closer, and he’s quick to obey, diving for your neck. You giggle, a lazy hand finding its way into his locks. “No marks,” you pant, squirming as he licks a line down your throat before going up towards your lips.

“No marks,” he confirms. “On your neck.”

You pause momentarily, disattaching your mouth from his. “No marks anywhere.” He grins, nodding just because. You frown. “I’m serious, Oscar.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles. “Sure.”

Then, he’s on his knees, kissing your ankle like that one time on the stairs, except now, he’s taking it nice and slow. Steady. Your mind grows dizzy as he grazes his fingers gently down your skin. It sends goosebumps, seeing him like this. So…submissive.

“I never wanted you,” he whispers as he presses his pink lips onto your left ankle this time. He hums. “You were just another girl to me. My teammate’s girlfriend—that’s it.” Another kiss. “You never crossed my mind, not even once.”

And now…

Making his way up, he kisses in between your thighs, nuzzling into your warmth. You let out a weak moan, chest rising raggedly. Playing with his earlobe, you massage it gently as you try your best not to ruin this moment. Though it seems like nothing could. Not when he’s devoted to it already. And so were you.

Feeling a slight burn, you furrow your brows as you spot him sucking gently against your inner thighs. You squirm, pushing his head away as he keeps his position. “I said no marks.”

And you actually feel his smile start to spread against your skin.

“He won’t see these, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Another suck, this time harder. “Well…unless you want him to. Then that’s your decision.” Looking past his lashes, he bites down on the flesh, making you flinch. “So what? Are you gonna let him see how someone else has fucked you while he was gone?”

Pulling your panties to the side, he dips his tongue into your pussy, making your hips fly off the couch, and for him to push them back down, holding you in place. Sloppily, he kisses it—practically making out—and groans like a madman with the way you taste. Your sweet nectar makes his cock grow hard instantaneously, and he can’t help but grind against the edge of the cushion where your legs hang.

“Holy.” Whine. “Fucking.” Moan. “Shit.” Groan.

Twisting with an obscene amount of pleasure, you tangle a shaky hand through his hair, ignoring how soft it feels. The need to run away and stay is a confusing pattern, but as soon as he adds a finger, curling it just the right amount, you let out a high pitched moan.

Just like that, Oscar, just like t-that.

Adding another digit, he picks up the pace of his tongue, drawing figure eights as the knot in your stomach burns brutally. You feel a white cloud surface over your eyes as they close, screwed shut as if that might help you last longer. But he knows what your body needs, and that itself was an alarming thing to realize.

With one last mewl, you finish all over his tongue as he licks you clean, not wasting a single drop. And the way you taste—makes him not want to go back to not knowing. With a smile filled with bliss, and that familiar afterglow, you giggle, nose scrunching like a bunny as your cheeks remain as red as a rose. The sight alone makes him struggle to comprehend that this is most likely a one time thing, and not something he’ll be able to relieve whenever he wants.

At the end of the day—you're not his.

But he can still reminisce about this moment from time to time.

Mid-giggle, a flash goes through as you come to a stop. Oscar grins, shaking the green disposable, showing it off. “Beautiful. You’re absolutely beautiful.”

Your breath hitches, his words tugging at your heart strings. You haven't experienced something like that in so long. Shaking your head, you push your dress down, climbing off the couch and pushing him to sit. “I like to play fair.” Sliding down to your wobbly knees, you shoot a gentle smirk, something that makes his cock grow painfully harder. “Let me take care of you, Oscar.”

Undoing his belt, you hurriedly unzip his jeans, fighting the urge to take him completely. You don’t, though. No, you first kiss the tip, making him groan, feeling as if pushing you head down is a good idea. Then, you suck at a comfortable speed, like a baby sucking their thumb, and watch past your lashes how his chest begins to rise slowly.

“You’re huge,” you hum, pecking it. “How am I gonna fit you into my small mouth?”

Moaning, the brunette drags a hand over his tired expression, faking a smile. “You’re saying you can’t?”

You suck harder, still treating it like a lollipop. Licking his tip like a kitten licks their bowl clean. It’s starting to cut his patience thin. “I can figure it out…”

I’ve done it with Lando. How much harder can this be?

That’s it. Pushing the back of your head, he forces you to deepthroat him, keeping you in place as you drool on either side of his lap, soft gurgles coming through. You try to push off him, but it seems like that makes him shove you down twice as hard.

“Something to say, baby?” he pants under his breath, raising a brow. “What was that?”

Slapping his thigh, tapping out, you find yourself being pulled off of him, dragged onto his lap as in one swift movement, he pushes your panties to the side once again and thrusts his thick cock deep inside of you. So much happens so fast that you barely have a chance to adjust to his girth.

“Does Lando make you feel half as much as I make you feel?”

He’s not talking about sex. It hasn’t been about sex for a while now.

Moaning, you bounce up and down, your hair hanging like a curtain as you give your best to keep up with him and his rhythm. But he practically controls you, snapping his hips up with anger. At least, that’s what it feels like.

“Does he make you feel good?”

“Yes,” you sigh against his ear as you clutch an arm around his shoulder, keeping as steady as possible. “He does.”

But you make me feel better.

The sound of your praise does something to him, something inexplicable. And while he can’t quite put a name to it, he does know that you’re telling the truth. You had to be.

Again, pulling you off his swollen cock, he flips you around, having you use him as a chair as he squeezes his girth into your tight pussy, strong arms looping under your legs and spreading them open as he abuses your cunt, feeling your head fall back as you gasp.

“F-fuck,” you shriek, head bopping with each thrust, and your throat growing dry. “Fuck me—fuck me.”

“I’m trying,” he chuckles, continuing as you try your best to understand how he was able to learn that he knew how to do all this. “Look at you. Just…look at you.”

There comes a time of life where someone is meant for you, and you’ll find your way to each other, no matter what. He’d like to think that it’s true. Sure. It is. But have you ever thought that maybe it’s not?

Maybe the person you think you’re supposed to be with is busy thinking the same thing as you? Living a full life with someone else who isn’t their soulmate? Romantically, that is.

Lando and Lily. They’re both place holders. They’re nice, yeah, and they’re amazing, too—but that’s about it.

You hold his entire destiny.

He just wants to live by it.

But the way he has you—it’s temporary. And nothing good ever lasts forever. But God, he really fucking wishes it did.

Close, he hears you whisper, followed by a squeal as he holds your legs up higher, still fucking you in the same position. So, so close.

“Not. Yet.”

Hauling you off, you’re quick to whine, feeling empty as he spreads you onto the couch, admiring your glistening lips. He presses a thumb down against your bud, feeling the pulse that enlightens him to smile. You copy him, toying with your dress.

“Should I—”

“Keep it,” he says firmly. A beat. “Please. Keep it.”

When you nod, your hair only gets tangled against the cushion, but that’s the least of your worries. You frown. “You haven’t cum yet…”

“I will, don’t worry.” Silence. Pushing this thumb inside, you squirm, wincing slightly as your eyes remain on him, waiting for his next move. “Open.”

Opening your legs wider, he chuckles, shaking his head. Your mouth. You gulp, then open wide as he hums, bringing his wet finger into your mouth, making you taste yourselves. And normally, you’d be grossed out. God, you don’t let Lando even do this, but something about Oscar makes you feel okay. That, and like a pathetic freak.

“Good, no?” It’s an awkward thing to ask, you can’t help but blush against his digit, lashes fluttering. The Australian tsks, pressing his large finger against your tongue as your eyes grow wide. “Right?”

In a heartbeat, you nod because it just felt like the right thing to do. Satisfied, he smiles, taking another photo of this beautiful sight. Your eyes are round and full of life, and slightly teary, and that’s what he likes to see.

Retracting his thumb, he smirks. He makes room for both of you on this small couch, towering over you and he starts raising both your legs over your shoulders. Your stomach twists.

“I wanna see it when I fuck you.”

With your dresses scrunched up, and his cock cutting you in half, you both moan in sync as the wet sounds echo through the hall of the empty house. And this wouldn’t have happened—probably ever—if you hadn’t accepted their invitation to spend the summer in North fucking Carolina.

The number four dangles, and not only is the sounder a reminder that it’s there, but he can spot it from his peripheral vision every time he pounds into you a little harder. And he should be jealous—God knows that’s true—but surprisingly, he’s not.

Because he’s heard the way Lando fucks you. And nothing—nothing—compares to now.

It feels as if he’s practiced moves like this for a lifetime. As if he were to promise you that this could all work out, then you’d believe him.

You really would.

A sloppy thrust. “I never wanted you to begin with,” he grunts, screwing his eyes shut as your body reacts to his harsh confession. “I saw you with Lando, and I felt absolutely nothing. I had Lily to focus on. But God—what have you done to me?”

His tip seems to find your g-spot as you cry out, withering around. “I was taught to respect others. To respect what’s theirs. Whether that be a journal, or a remote control car, it didn’t matter. But you do,” he confesses, watching as you continue to whimper, probably not catching any of this anymore. “You did this to me…”

You filled me with greed.

Grabbing your ankles, he lurches them over his left shoulder as he continues to pound into your tight cunt, hearing you gasp before erupting into a string of moans.

“Now, everything he has, I want.” You whine. “I’m going after his Championship.” You whine louder, eyes opening as you watch a bead of sweat roll down his nose. “I’m going after his team.”

Oscar chuckles darkly. “And I’d love to say that I’m going after you, but hey…looks like I already have you.”

And just like that, the pit in your stomach bursts as you two clash against one another, your orgasms riding out together as your legs finally fall, but not before he makes sure to press a gentle kiss.

A flash.

“Really?” you ask, glaring.

“Stick your tongue out.”

Without any questions, where you lay, you open your mouth, watching as he stands up to tower over you, jerking his cock one last time as his drops of cum fall against your tongue, white and thick.

Your eyes flicker with excitement as he makes sure to take a picture. If he can’t have you later, or probably ever again, then he’ll make sure that he gets an angle of you that only he could ever dream of years down the line.

Pulling his pants back up, he makes sure to clean you up before making you sit, him only a few inches away, but honestly, it feels like miles. All of a sudden, he’s distant, which shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it does.

Biting down onto your wobbly lip, you comb your fingers through your hair—you’re doing your own after care.

“I know things with us won't ever be the same, but…” You wince. “Please don’t treat Lando any differently. He sees you as a brother.”

He flinches because he knows it's true. Of course it is, everybody knows it. Oscar nods in agreement. “Only if you promise to stop hating Lily.”

You snort. “Sure. Sounds fair.”

The sound of tires is what ultimately gets your two to spring up, rushing towards the window as you look onto the driveway. Laughing, you first see Lily, then Lando, then you frantically twist your heels to face the Australian who remains with a blank expression, clearly not expecting them.

“They were supposed to be here tomorrow, you said!” you hiss, rubbing your temples. “What the fuck?”

“They must’ve upgraded their tickets to get here sooner,” he shoots back, running a hand through his sweaty hair. He grimaces. “Hurry! Help me pick up the disposables from the floor!”

“Right!” you screech, running toward the living room as you fall onto your knees, picking up the cameras and tossing them back onto the couch. Oscar does the same, but with his eyes stuck in the door, waiting for a knock.

Knock! Knock!

Freezing, you two look at each other, as if debating whether to make a run for it together or not. Though, as soon as you hear Lando call out for you, you’re sure you have no chance. Taking one last glance at the pile of cameras, you huff, skipping towards the door, fixing your knot up hair as best as possible.

“Hey!” you greet, nearly over exaggerating, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he beams, grinning from ear to ear. Lando pecks your lips, lingering for a moment, making your heart drop. Because he can’t know—can he? Distancing himself, he wears a subtle frown, sort of there, sort of not, so you’re quick to smile. “I’m so happy you’re back.” You turn to face Lily, who’s stayed in the background, letting you have your moment. “That you’re both back.”

“It's nice seeing you, too,” she says before her eyes wander to a place behind you. Suddenly, her eyes twinkle as she grins at Oscar who comes closer with lips drawn into a firm line. “Look who just woke up from a nap.” Kissing his cheek swiftly, she tippy toes, fixing his messy hair into a neat comb over. “You look as if you got into some kind of bar fight.”

“Yeah,” Lando hums, looking over at you with dark eyes. “It sort of does…”

“We were fixing the outside tables—”

“We were fixing the floral arrangements—”

Lily and Lando quirk a glance at each other, then back towards you and Oscar whose faces are flushed. Oscar coughs, scratching the back of his neck. “Why don’t you guys come and check it out?”

“Yes, please!” Lily squeals, already making her way out the door, the Australian not that far behind.

Sighing, you go on to follow as well, but there’s this hold on your wrist that just won’t let go. You spin, staring at Lando who clenches his jaw.

“Did you fuck him?”

You flinch. “No—I didn’t.”

Blue eyes fill with warning as he nods, silently thinking to himself before rubbing his chin harshly. “Don’t lie to me. I know what you’re capable of.”

This physically makes you feel sick, ashamed that he knows you for being a lying cheater. “You’re one to talk,” you shoot back, wishing to take it back as soon as it comes out. He raises a brow, clearly surprised. You gulp. “You’re capable of doing the same thing as me, aren’t you? Isn’t that why we’re together?”

“We’re together because I love you.”

“Yeah, well, I love you, too. I’ve literally given up the relationship I had with my sister—for you.” Taking his hands into yours, you knit your brows together softly, and just like that, he melts. “I love you, Lando. There's no need for anyone else.”

Looking past the clear window, Oscar stares at you and the Brit, who share a hug, taking occasional loving pecks as if nothing else matters.

As if his feelings aren't worth anything.

“I love it,” Lily says, ripping his gaze from getting hurt any further. Because that’s what this has all led to —him getting hurt. She grins happily, making her way closer. “I really appreciate you two working on this together, it all looks so wonderful.”

Guilt makes his tongue trip as he tries to say something, but when all fails, he settles with a warm smile, pulling her against his chest, kissing the top of her head. “I’d do anything for you, Lily Zneimer.”

With your head resting on Lando’s shoulders, you look out to where the couple stand, in the same embrace. This makes your eyes sting, which is silly because—why do you feel so invalidated?

Despite being so far apart, you and Oscar are still able to connect, looking at each other with a certain yearning. This is not what this was supposed to be. The Australian would have never dreamt of any other girl that wasn’t Lily, so what happened?

“I love you,” Lando mumbles, securing his hold on you.

“I love you,” Lily mumbles, face pressed against his heart, feeling it thump fiercely.

You spare Oscar a smile, and Oscar spares you the same. And neither of you two can bring yourselves to lie.

So, instead, neither of you say it back.

It all comes crashing down on you one Sunday morning.

By now, Lily has graduated, summer is over, and you’re back in Monaco. And for some reason, Lando offered to help get Lily’s picture’s developed. He knew a guy who’d get him a nice discount, apparently. Film is expensive as it is, so of course the British girl accepted.

You’re sitting outside on the balcony. It’s windy today, and you should probably go back inside, but the ocean looks particularly blue today, so you decide to stay.

Curling yourself tighter with your blanket, you sigh, staring numbly, mind racing. Because this is a daily occurrence now.

All. You. Think. About. Is. Him.

Him and his obnoxious smile. Him and his warm brown eyes. Him and his chuckle that sounds dry to everyone else, but lively to you.

Just…him.

And without a doubt, Lando has figured out that something was wrong with you, but he never asked questions.

Until now.

“Hey,” he says, plopping down next to you, pressing his lips against your temple quickly before smiling. “Have you been here all day?”

You blush, shivering by the sudden breeze. “If I say no, would you believe me?”

“Yes,” he admits, clicking his tongue. “Because apparently I believe almost everything you have to say.”

Including your lies.

You hear him, but his voice is muffled by now with all that you’re feeling. He handed you an envelope, and you first opened it with curiosity, then with dread and shame when you realized what was inside.

The film.

You’re laughing, eyes shut with delight.

Your lips are wrapped around his thumb.

Around his cock, too.

Drops of cum lay flat on your tongue.

One where his head is beneath your dress.

One of his hands wrapped around your ankles, a certain number four glimmering.

All of this, and more.

Licking your lips repeatedly, you sit up, staring at him with an open mouth. “Lando—”

“I’m not mad.”

You blink.

He shrugs, taking the pictures, making you want to snatch them back and figure out what to do with them yourself. How could you and Oscar forget to set this one aside?

He can tell that you’re mortified, so he sends a reassuring smile, but it does no good. “I’m not, alright? I’m just…disappointed.” His reaction is confusing, he can tell what you’re thinking. Why is he so okay with this? “I’m not the biggest fan of you lying to me, but whatever, it’s fine.”

“And sure, I should be furious that you two went behind my back, and maybe I am—but I’m willing to let it go because I love you.” The blue eyed boy pecks your lips, you still frozen with shock. He chuckles. “This is what I get, right? This is my karma? For sleeping with you while I was still dating your sister?”

When you still don’t say anything, he nods to himself, as if this is all making sense to him, and only him. “Must be.” A beat. “I forgive you.”

“What about him?” you squeak, scared of his response.

Lando clenches his jaw before breaking into a helpless smile. “He doesn’t have to know, I know. This will just remain between you and I—just like always. He doesn’t have to know. Lily doesn’t have to know.”

You hold yourself from crying because in a way, he’s right. Out of everyone, Lily Zneimer doesn’t deserve any of this. She has been nothing but good to you, and you’re embarrassed to notice now that you ruined a perfectly good friendship. And while she may have no clue, you do, and that’s enough for you to probably wince every time you look at her from now on.

“Just don’t do it again. M’kay?”

Rubbing his thumb against your lips, it’s almost like he’s waiting for something, but when you don’t seem to do whatever he was thinking, his eyes darken, and he gets up with a bitter smile.

He takes the pictures with him and you don’t know what for.

But you don’t dare ask a single question.

It’s just you. Your thoughts.

And Oscar.

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting @chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire @alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious @notkaryna @wanderingreigns @aykxz98 @ruti26-11 @esposamultifandom @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @r0nnsblog @aeriblu @inchidentofftrack @natashaklein @rutaceae-gelato @bowielovesyou @lilypat @folklaur21 @dustie-faerie @ajordan2020 @oscobabe @briefkittenearthquake @anayaverse

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quarterlifekitty · 4 months ago

Note

hiii!!! i love everything you do :)

can I ask for porn star/ erotic voice actor ghost x shy civilian reader? i LOVE that concept

ps. get as freaky and nasty as you want. idc what kinks you add. go crazy babes

So, I was trying to think of ideas for this, and I thought... CamStar!Ghost. Sorry, I didn't make this all that freaky lol

Your name doesn't come up a lot in the chat. You don't make the same thirsty, supposedly complimentary remarks as the others viewers. You don't demand to see more of his cock or tell him you wanna feel his balls pressed against your face while he fucks it. But you are consistent.

Just one very simple thank you, Ghost when he announces he's signing off.

You buy the boring shit off of his Throne wishlist. Things that aren't really sexy or fun. Not the pocket pussy shaped like a dragon's mouth. No, you get him the cast iron pot he asked for because he wanted to try making bœuf bourguignon. He has this bizarre feeling when he finally does, like he should be sharing it with you. You don't even know each other's names. He does a great job making it, by the way. Could make Julia Child cry.

He does a raffle. Call him a scam artist, but he rigs it. He doesn't generally give a fuck about most of the people who pay to see his cock. A video call, 30 minutes, completely private. You buy only one entry and win, even though some people bought more than fifty.

Of course you don't start it with your camera on, but he goads you. Tells you how he recognized you name, how nice it was to see you'd won, as opposed to one of those people that seem to have a parasocial obsession with him.

You're comfy, curled up in your chair. A big t-shirt on with some cracked, faded design. A hastily-pulled on facemask. Smart. Your hair looks a little damp, like you're freshly showered and ready for bed. He'd bet you smell clean.

You're very pretty. Not the kind of person he imagined as one of his viewers, considering you look like you could have any man you wanted. You clearly don't know that, though. You've made no effort to charm him, you hadn't even expected to show him what you look like.

"Wha' if I told you... You're jus' my type?"

The mask over your mouth can't hide the shock in your eyes. It fascinates him. He hides his own face on camera, and now he finds himself on the opposite end-- desperate to know what's beneath it all.

"You'd be smart to refuse, but... Would make my fuckin' day if you took your top off."

He's gotta start somewhere, right?

#writing #cod fanfic #cod #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader

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megapteraurelia · 5 months ago

Text

kuroo tetsurou and you did not have lots of interactions, usually.

so you were more than surprised when he turned to you during chemistry class and looked at you through the tuft of black hair falling into his eyes and let out a string of words that seemingly made no sense to you. his gaze cast away, a certain air of embarrassment hanging in the air when you didn’t answer, and he turned away, mumbling to himself.

“wait, did you just compare me to acid?”

“no, not acid— more like…the reaction is just so explosive, like us— i mean, just us as in people, or like—” he breathed out carefully, and then shook his head at himself, laughter stealing itself to his voice as he rubbed his jaw, “never mind. i already fucked it up.”

now, you were not the brightest person in this world, but you could smell a butchered pick up line from a mile away. and the way kuroo tetsurou rested his chin on the inside of his hand, fingers covering his temple, effectively shielding his face from you, with the faintest of pink covering his ears, told you just how secretly embarrassed he was.

kuroo was cute, you thought.

it didn’t take a miracle for you to come to the conclusion, especially not when you were used to hearing his loud voice boom through the class during the breaks. he was the one trying to keep some class-visiting friends in line, naturally assuming the leading role to hush them down, blissfully unaware at the same amount of loud energy he was returning. he also didn’t escape you when he tried coaxing his blonde friend to eat more, offering to share his food only to try to bait him into taking it instead, when he got rejected.

you didn’t interact often, but kuroo tetsurou’s presence was hard to miss and the tiny flutter of your heart in response to noticing him hard to ignore.

“so,” you leaned a little over to him, and subconsciously, he had already started to accommodate you, lowering his head to catch your voice, “if you had to guess and we were, say, a chemical compound, would we be stable or unstable?”

his eyes lit up, a sly little look overtaking the embarrassment despite the little blush on his cheeks, and you could see his mouth curving up into a little grin, entirely too comfortable to walk the line between smooth-talking and sounding like the biggest nerd you had the fortunate luck of sharing seats with, “good question. we’d probably be unstable.”

oh.

you already felt your blood rushing to cover your skin in an embarrassed hue of red because you thought you were slick with that one. unstable? humiliating— but then he continued talking.

“but in a good way, you know? like, when two elements are drawn together, even if it’s turbulent. a little bit of controlled chaos makes things exciting, right?”

he looked at you with what was supposed to be a lazy smirk, though it wobbled with slight nervosity. one finger of his tried to brush away his fringe of hair, but the black strands fell back onto his face almost effortlessly. he really was cute, and for a split second you wondered the type of kisser he would be.

“so, like sodium and water?”

“okay, hold,” he held up a hand, trying to keep his expression in check (and failing to do so), “maybe not that exciting. that’s a little too dangerous, though it’s nice to know you like me that much.”

you nudged his shoulder away from you at the cheesiness, body straightening up again and an eye roll escaped you though you were anything but annoyed. if anything, you were a little charmed by the cowlicked hair, his eyes trained on you and the slight smile that didn’t know whether it should make fun of you or flirt with you.

maybe he could do both.

you then decided to just try your luck because there was no way he tried to actually flirt with you using chemistry if he wasn’t at least the least bit interested, right?

“yeah, yeah. maybe you should teach me some of that.”

he stared for a little while, silent and stumped (because it worked? holy—), though when he turned back to look back to the front of the class, you noticed the small, secret movement of him fist pumping the air and the stifled smile threatening to overtake his features.

(after class, you definitely didn’t overhear kuroo tetsurou whisper-yelling that you didn’t deny liking him, only for him to act all cool about it in the same minute.

as if it was only natural for it to happen, he kept flexing his arms and striking ridiculous poses at the prospect that you supposedly were only one hair width away from being wooed by him.

his blonde-haired friend did not seem impressed. at all.)

#i rlly jus wanted to write nerdy loser kuroo #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x you #kuroo x reader #kuroo fluff #haikyuu imagines #hq #hq imagines #hq scenarios #haikyuu fluff #hq x reader #hq x you #jelly writes

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babyleostuff · 1 year ago

Text

boys and their toys

𝜗𝜚 THEME: angst (+ hints of fluff) 𝜗𝜚 PAIRING: idol!wonwoo x fem!reader, established relationship 𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT: 1.9k

SYNOPSIS: fighting with you has to be one of wonwoo’s biggest nightmares, so when you reset his game - will that be enough for him to finally lose his temper?

natalia’s note: i know you can’t technically pause a game, so this is probably going to be big highly inaccurate, forgive me gamer people ://

“did you touch my computer?”

uh-oh. no “darling”, no “love”, not even a “baby”. that couldn’t mean anything good.

you turned off the stove, and quickly wiped your hands. it was honestly amazing how the lack of your usual pet name made you spiral because why did your heart start beating so fast all of a sudden, but… did you touch your boyfriend’s computer today? you never had the reason to, it’s not like you shared his passion of gaming, so you never really touched it or did anything with it. even if you wanted to check something you always did it on your own computer or your phone.

“yes, wonwoo?” you asked slightly out of breath, peeking into your bedroom.

your boyfriend sat at his gaming chair with headphones covering one of his ears, his brows furrowed and lips pursed out, as he was typing something furiously on his new purple keyboard. “i paused the game before i left for practice today,” he said, and by his cold tone you figured you wouldn’t like what you were about to hear, “and now it’s gone.”

he finally turned his head to look at you, and to be honest, you’d rather he’d turn back to the computer screen. wonwoo was never the one to pick fights with you, he always insisted on cooling down and spending some time apart to gather your thoughts so no one would end up hurt, and even during the biggest fights you’ve had in your relationship, you’ve never seen him so outwardly furious.

suddenly self-conscious, you wrapped your arms around yourself. “i don’t know what happened. i didn’t touch anything.” because you didn’t, you were certain of that. “you know i never use it anyway.” sure, you cleaned today, you had your day off, and with wonwoo at work you didn’t have anything else to do, so you figured it’d be the perfect time to do some cleaning and dusting. but there’s no way you reset his game, right?

“my keyboard is clean, so you had to do something with it,” wonwoo said, his brows furrowing even more. you didn’t like the way his eyes seemed to darken, and you certainly didn’t like the tone of his voice. he wasn’t yelling at you, but then again he was always so soft spoken with you that you weren’t used to hearing him being so cold.

“i was cleaning, but i didn’t press anything,” you said quickly. “i swear.”

“you must’ve, because clearly the game had been reset,” he scoffed. “how many times have i told you not to touch my computer when a game is on? is it seriously so hard to understand?”

you couldn't believe what you were actually hearing. wonwoo, your wonwoo was calling you dumb? “it was an accident,” you straightened your spine, and walked further into the room. “i wanted to clean the keyboard for you since you have been complaining about it being dirty for days now. maybe if you weren’t so lazy you would've done that yourself,” you loved him with all your heart but you wouldn’t let him disrespect you over something as stupid as a video game. “i wanted to do something nice for you, and you know i’d never do anything to your game on purpose.”

for a second you thought he’d say something back, but instead he only shook his head, and covered his other ear with the headphone.

you couldn’t actually believe him.

like an idiot, you stood in the middle of the room in disbelief. you didn’t know why he was so pissed about it, sure - you knew how much time he spent to get to the level he was on, but it was still just a game. besides, his behaviour was so unlike him, and it made everything so much worse.

“have fun playing your games, wonwoo,” you said, though you weren’t sure if he heard you. not that you cared. you quickly gathered your things, and left his apartment. there was no way you'd stay there, and act as if nothing had happened.

after a couple of days of radio silence you weren’t sure what to do next.

it’s not like you would call him or text him or anything - it was his job to man up and apologise, but a part of you, the part that always cared for him no matter what, really wanted to check up on him, which you weren’t sure how you felt about. he was the one to make you feel like the smallest person on earth, he was the one to make you feel like you did something wrong, so why did you feel responsible for checking up on how he was doing?

you didn’t want to make any excuses for wonwoo, that didn’t feel right, but… you really wanted to talk this out. you had never gotten in a fight where you spent so much time apart - even when you fought when he was on tour you still managed to make up rather quickly.

and soon you started noticing the small things you were starting to miss. his glasses laying around the apartment, and him running around trying to find them before work. his arms wrapped around your waist as you’d be cooking dinner. his featherlight kisses he’d place on your forehead after coming home late thinking you were already asleep.

for someone who insisted that fighting with you had to be one of his biggest nightmares, he was being really stubborn.

you sighed and waddled over to your kitchen to make something to eat. after your fight you really lost your appetite, but you knew you shouldn’t treat yourself so harshly after what happened. to be honest you generally lost the motivation to do anything.

just when you managed to put the pan on the stove you heard a loud knock. the sun had already set, and you felt more than ready to call it an early night after dinner, nor did you expect anyone to come over. “yes?” you opened the door a bit hesitant. a small part of you was hoping it’d be the person you were really starting to miss at this point, but to your disappointment it was a delivery guy, the last person you’d expect to pop up at your front door.

“i didn’t order anything,” you said, frowning. your first thought was that it simply had to be a mistake, but then you noticed that the bag the guy was holding was from one of your favourite chinese places. well, whoever ordered it had a great taste.

“is this your address?” he asked and showed you his phone with yes - your exact address.

he did not just order you takeout.

“who was this ordered by?” you asked immediately.

“um, let me check,” he muttered, “jeon wonwoo.”

you thanked the guy, and took the bag from him.

and it didn’t stop there.

for the next couple of days you were greeted with a delivery guy at your door at the exact time you usually ate your dinner. you always thanked them and took the takeout because free food is free food, and if this was wonwoo’s way of being stubborn then so be it - you wouldn’t let the food go to waste just to be petty.

but you wouldn’t lie - anytime you were greeted by the amazing smell of your favourite food your heart beat a bit faster. wonwoo has always always been a man of silent acts of service, and it never failed to make you feel loved, even now when you were fighting.

the day after the city had been struck by a storm. it was bad, the rain was pouring for the whole day, and you could hear the thunder constantly rumbling in the distance. thankfully you didn’t have to go out that day, but it made you miss wonwoo even more. you always used to cuddle on days like these if he was fortunate enough to have some time off.

when you got the weverse notification you picked up your phone, and clicked on the app immediately, a reflex you picked up early in your relationship, and read the message your boyfriend posted.

make sure to bring an umbrella with you today. and if you’re going to drive, be careful

you didn’t have to think twice to know he wrote this thinking about you. anytime it rained, even if it was a drizzle, he turned into a worried mum, and nagged you about being careful and bringing an umbrella with you, as if he didn’t put it in your bag before leaving for the schedules for you.

after a week and a half after you stormed out of wonwoo’s apartment you were starting to settle into your little routine of coming back to an empty home, getting the takeout, and eating it alone in your bedroom, where you could feel your boyfriend’s presence more than anywhere else in the house. if you were feeling extra sappy that day you wore one of his hoodies to make yourself feel even more miserable.

but something changed that week.

you just closed the door with another takeout when you got the message you were waiting for all of those lonely nights.

can we talk? please

maybe you should’ve been more stubborn, and ignored his message. maybe you were wrong for typing out a “yes”, but you didn’t care. it didn’t mean you’d forgive him, you were still very much angry at him, but you needed to see him. needed to see if he was okay.

i’ll come by after work tomorrow eat well

you smiled at your phone with teary eyes as you noticed one more thing you were missing. his stupid “thumbs up” emoji he put in half of his texts.

you weren’t sure what to expect the next evening. you didn’t know if you’d start yelling at him or if you’d start bawling your eyes out after seeing him after what felt like an eternity. what you were sure of was that you were nervous as hell, which was kind of ironic because you didn’t even feel that way before your first date.

this time when you heard the knock on your door you knew it wouldn’t be the delivery guy.

sort of.

“i brought food,” wonwoo said, as if that was what mattered to you.

he looked bad. the dark purple circles under his eyes. the slumped wide shoulders. the cheekbones more prominent than ever. tearing your soul apart would hurt less than seeing him like this.

“will you…,” he took a shaky inhale, looking at you from behind his glasses. you had to resist the urge to grab his face and adjust them, as they were sitting crookedly on his nose as usual. “will you let me apologise?”

“that’s all i’ve been waiting for you dumbass,” you sighed, and grabbed his hand to pull him inside your apartment.

even though you didn't know how this night would end, whether you would be able to forgive him today, or if you would need more time for everything to go back to normal, you were glad to have wonwoo by your side. you were convinced that the fight happened for a reason, whatever it may have been, but despite everything, you were happy that you could go through it with him.

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @tomodachiii @veryfabday @lilmochiandsuga @asasilentreader @mrsnervous @bewoyewo @sharonxdevi @wondipity @gyuguys @raginghellfire @treehouse-mouse @waldau @wonootnoot @hellodefthings @dokyeomkyeom @sourkimchi @bbysnw @hoichi02 @aaa-sia @haneulparadx @minvrsev @zozojella @wonootnoot @kimingyuslover @wntrei @honglynights @jihoonsbbygirl @uhdrienne @bloodcanbehot

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novvabee · 6 months ago

Note

Idk if you’re taking requests but I’d love another poly! Jegulily x reader smut, maybe the boys walking in on reader and Lily 👀

so uh... idk if im good at writing smut but this one is for you love!!! also i am writing this from a hospital bed and my brain is only half working so

Caught

summary:James and Regulus catch you and Lily having some alone time

cw: MDNI. smut, this is kinda pwop, oral (f and m receiving) unprotected piv, cumplay?, swearing, idk this is literally just smut, lmk if anything needs to be added.

word count: 4.2k

Lily couldn’t be more perfect if she tried, her golden shining skin, her blazing emerald eyes, her ethereal copper hair. She was perfect in every sense of the word and you couldn’t believe she was yours.

How truly lucky you were. You got her all to yourself, yours to hold, to sleep next to, to feel. She was all yours, if only you didn’t share her.

You sometimes forgot that she wasn't only yours. You forgot that you had to share.

You loved your boyfriends, of course you did. And they loved you and Lily just as much. But there were days, moments that you just had to have her to yourself. You had to allow yourself to give into the pure greed you felt. She was yours, and you were hers.

That feeling, that greed, was especially present now, when she was pulling you upstairs into your bedroom. To be fair, you had been all over her all day, pulling her close and kissing every bit of skin you could reach. You could tell she tried to not let it affect her, but she had her limits. Limits you knew how to push and bend, knew exactly what to do or say to get exactly what you wanted.

Once she had finally snapped and gripped your wrist firmly, pulling you along behind her, you knew you had reached your goal. You got her to fold with a few whispered words and a coy look.

From pulling you behind her to pushing you into the room and onto the bed, every moment was heating up in the most delightful way. From her lips to her touch, you felt the flame of desire ignite and there was no extinguishing it now. Not as she climbed atop you, not when she lifted your shirt from your body, not when she kissed down your frame all the way to the flimsy material of your underwear that you were left in.

You could live in this moment forever. You could bask in the feeling of her gripping your thighs and pulling them apart, slotting herself nicely between them.

She slid her fingers into the waistband of said flimsy panties and slid them down your legs and threw them somewhere near the door. She made quick work of diving in, licking a stripe up your core. You groaned at the feeling, her tongue circling your clit over and over.

See, you all agreed that it was fine if two of you broke off every now and then for some quality one on one time. There was no rule against just you and Lily having some fun on your own, the other two didn’t have to be there. But, there was a sort of clause to this, just don’t get caught by the other two. More importantly, don’t get caught by Regulus.

At the beginning of your relationship, you often felt guilty, excluding the other two. That was, until Regulus had you in the shower all alone, growling that if he ever caught you like this with James or Lily, you would regret it. And that intrigued you.

Ever since then, you had yet to be caught, to see exactly what you would be regretting if you were. Now, there had of course been some close calls, but you took pride in yourself for the fact that you were incredibly sneaky and mischievous.

Today, you thought it was going to be one of those times, where you were able to sneak off and not be caught, just like every other time. That was until you heard the click of the door handle and looked just in time to see James and Regulus enter the room.

You saw James’s face spark with confusion then awe as he drank in the sight of Lily on her knees in front of you, lounging on the edge of the bed.

Regulus looked slightly different. You saw him look from you, to Lily, to the panties on the floor right in front of where he stood, then back to you. All with an unchanging expression. His eyes bore into yours, and you knew that you were fucked now.

“Lily,” you whined, trying to wiggle your hips out of her grasp, but she wouldn’t budge. You tried again, this time trying to push her away.

“I hear them,” she acknowledged. She didn’t halt her actions, if anything, it just encouraged her.

Your eyes were still locked on Regulus’s. His face still void of any shock, any emotion at all really. It was a strange contrast to James’s wide eyed stare and blushed cheeks, now the same deep pink color of his cock which was no doubt hardening beneath his jeans by the second.

With Lily’s continued ministrations, you couldn’t help the small moan that left your lips. You tipped your head back and allowed yourself to drink in the pleasure, whatever consequences be damned. Lily clearly wasn’t stopping, so why shouldn’t you continue to feel good?

You heard Regulus approach, his footsteps along with the wet sloppy noises that came from where you and Lily were attached being the only noises filling the room. He stopped just short of the side of the bed and reached to grasp your face in one of his hands, turning you to face him. You looked up at him and felt your heart rate rise in anticipation, wanting to finally find out what he had in store.

To your surprise, he just leaned down and kissed your lips. It was sweet, soft. He broke away and slid in behind you, helping to prop your body up so Lily could get better access. She took full advantage of this and flattened her tongue, adding pressure to your bud so nicely.

Regulus again turned your face to kiss you. You craned your neck to the side in an almost uncomfortable angle to reach him. He gave you a few soft kisses before licking along your bottom lip. You opened your mouth for him, allowing his tongue to explore yours. Your tongues danced together, there was no need for a battle of dominance when you both found a rhythm.

Lily seemed to be annoyed that the attention was off of her when she was the one working so hard, so she decided to bring a finger to your entrance and circle it, collecting your wetness before pushing in ever so slightly.

You forgot Regulus, snapping your attention back to her. You met her sultry gaze staring back at you as if tempting you to look away again. You saw her tongue start kitten licking you again and you moaned out, throwing your head back against Regulus’s shoulder. He stayed firm behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle to hold you in place for Lily.

Lily took Regulus’s help and added another finger to your entrance, pumping both in and out of you, curling upwards in the way only Lily did. You lost all your senses, letting out breathless moans and praises of Lily’s name. She felt so amazing. You were becoming undone for her, getting closer and closer to your orgasm.

“You just gonna stand there, pretty boy?,” you heard Regulus’s voice from behind you, "Or are you gonna come join us?”.

Lily halted her work on you and turned to look over her shoulder at where James still stood, your juices covering her mouth and chin. You whined, not wanting her to stop, but also looked to where your other boyfriend was.

He looked like he was in desperate need of some attention. You smirked, enjoying the fact that he could get this worked up by just watching you three. He stood, a little spacey and breathless.

You decided to help him out and smiled sweetly at him. “C’mere Jamie, I wanna play with you.” He nodded and moved quickly to be by your side.

Lily turned back to you and winked up at you before continuing. You fought the urge to roll your eyes back, you had to be somewhat coherent for James now. You turned your attention to where the boy was struggling to undo the button on his jeans, too busy watching what Lily was doing. You took pity on him and helped him.

His eyes flicked to you and gave you an appreciative look. He slid his jeans down his thighs leaving him in just his boxers. You reached up to wrap your hand behind his neck, pulling him into a kiss. His lips were needy against yours, eager for your touch at last. He shimmied out of his boxers and allowed his cock to be free of its restraints.

You took him in your hand, gathering his leaking precum to use as lubrication. You stroked him up and down with ease, pulling away from the kiss to allow his moans to ring through the air. Such sinful moans falling from his lips and you had only just begun touching him.

Regulus chuckled from behind you, amused with how needy James was. Regulus seemed to reward your actions by attaching his lips to the small space under your ear and sucking, biting. There was surely to be a bright purple bruise there the next time you looked at yourself in the mirror.

Everything was getting too much for you, every action, every noise, every touch, was blending together and you were falling fast. You felt the brink of orgasm approaching. You couldn’t help but moan out, throwing your head back onto Regulus’s strong shoulder.

Lily’s eyes shot up to yours, looking so sultry yet angelic between your legs, her tongue working her magic. She lapped you up in time with her fingers curling in just the right way, the way that only Lily understood. You were right on the edge, letting out breathless moans and chants of Lily’s name, before she suckled on your clit as her finishing move of her routine, and you were undone.

You felt every wave of pleasure as Lily worked you through your orgasm. “Good girl,” she drawled, giving you the praise she knew you wanted, Regulus doing the same by kissing your neck and shoulder sweetly. You relaxed for one moment, trying to catch your breath, before you heard a whimper beside you.

Your attention turned to the sad looking James at your side. You had forgotten his pleasure when seeking your own, and now he was pouting. You giggled, trying to compose yourself, and peeling yourself away from where Regulus and Lily had you, and crawled into James’s lap. Lily took your spot in Regulus’s lap, lounging lazily as both of them watched you and James.

Facing him, you took his face into your hands and pecked his lips. He tried to deepen the kiss again, wanting to continue where you had left off, but you cood, “Awe baby, I’m sorry. Did I forget about you?” James nodded fiercely, arms tugging you closer to him, trying to feel you everywhere. You could feel his dick so close to your bare cunt and groaned, grinding down on him to elicit the same reaction.

He whimpered and bucked his hips up into yours, dangerously close to entering you.

“Do you wanna be inside me baby? Would that make up for it?” you asked. James was almost shaking beneath you as he nodded and bucked up to meet your core again. You chuckled at his attempt to enter you, but looked to your other two lovers, just to make sure everything was alright.

Regulus had Lily in a similar position that you had just left. She was leaned up against his chest, legs spread for Regulus’s hands to work on her dripping cunt. You let out a short breathless moan at the sight. Regulus was whispering something into Lily’s ear that had her moaning and throwing her head back the same way you were just moments ago.

James must have had enough of your inattention, because he bucked up into you once again, this time finding his mark. James slipped into you easily due to the wet mess you had become on Lily’s tongue. You both groaned out at the familiar sensation, James stretching you out and you squeezing him in the way he loves.

Still facing him, you grabbed his face and pulled him into a fast and messy kiss. You both felt that needy desperation and melded together as you connected. James opened his mouth for you and you took advantage by licking into it. He moaned and pushed your hips down onto him even further. You threw your head back and let out a rather pornographic, attention seeking moan, putting on a performance for Regulus and Lily just as much as you were for James.

You started grinding down onto James, back and forth, as he let out soft whimpers. You moved your hips in a silent rhythm, getting James as close to his release as you could without bringing him to the edge. You moved your hips in time with his thrusts, the way you knew he liked, and let him think he was the one in control by allowing him to move your hips back and forth on his cock. He brought one hand up to cup your breast, pawing at it before taking your nipple into his mouth and suckling. You moaned and gripped his hair at the back of his head, tugging just slightly.

You snuck a look at Lily and Regulus where he had his ring and middle fingers pumping in and out of her at a rapid pace. Lily’s face was twisted with pleasure and ecstasy, eyes screwed shut and cheeks reddening to match the color of her lovely hair. She was going to come undone soon, and you couldn’t wait to hear the beautiful noises she would make. You know that watching you and James was tipping her closer and closer to the edge.

You rocked your hips on James at the same time as Regulus’s fingers sliding in and out of Lily. You cried out, gripping James’s shoulders and squeezing with your nails, no doubt leaving tiny crescent moons indented into his skin. You knew that sent a rush of pleasure down to James cock by the way he twitched inside of you and he let out a gargled moan.

You watch as Lily’s chest heaves up and down, moaning so seductively and making you want her between your thighs again. She let out moans in quick succession, squirming in Regulus’s grasp, legs flailing and hands gripping his thighs, anything to try and get away. But Regulus was all too used to this, and had her tightly against him as he continued his assault on her cunt. Fuck you werent going to last much longer.

In out, in out, in out. You could make out the sweat lining Lily’s chest. You started bouncing on James in time to Regulus now. James whimpered and nuzzled into the crook of your neck, giving you full control without pretending now. Bouncing, bouncing bouncing, closer and closer to the edge. Regulus added his thumb to brush Lily’s clit, and it had her screaming. You nuzzled back into James and slammed your hips down onto his, clenching his cock hard and feeling him spurt into you, moaning your name over and over, kissing your neck and holding you tight into him. You felt so good, wanting, needing to continue to rock your hips onto his, but you didn’t want to overstimulate him, especially when he had been such a good boy for you.

You didn’t have to wait for long, Regulus was pulling you off of James moments after James was completely coming down from his high. Both you and James whined at the feeling of the loss of each other. You felt the emptiness rush over you, but Regulus had a look in his eye that meant you wouldn’t have to go empty for long.

Regulus laid you down on the bed, smiling down at you. You became suddenly shy at his attention, remembering what he had said all that time ago about being caught, and now here you were, caught, and at his mercy. You were slightly scared, but you needed something, anything from Regulus. You would take the rough punishment, the unfair edging, the nerve-shattering overstimulation, anything.

“My turn baby,” He said, kissing your clavicle and taking your right thigh and pushing it down on the bed next to your body, giving him unrestricted access to your pussy, still dripping with James release. Regulus reached down between your two bodies and spread James’s cum up and down your cunt for lubrication. You could have cum from just that alone, but he then dipped two fingers into you, curling them upwards and making your back arch, before pulling them out and using James’s cum as lubrication for himself, tugging his cock once, twice, before lining up with you.

You looked over to where James was now between Lily’s thighs, eyes glazed over from pleasure. Lily’s fingers tangled in James’s locks as she used her leverage to grind on this tongue, meeting him lick for lick.

Regulus turned your face back to him, squishing your cheeks so that your lips pouted out. He chuckled at your expression. “Eyes on me now babygirl, yeah?” he said, more like demanded.

You nodded to him, eyes not leaving his, as you felt his tip line up with your entrance. He then pushed in, so slowly. Inch by inch he pushed in until he bottomed out. You had no breath to moan or cry out. He pulled out ever so slightly before thrusting in again. You arched your chest up to meet his and he took this as a sign to speed up a little more.

Still holding your right thigh in place, he thrust into you deeper. You felt every glorious inch of him and forgot about the whole ‘being caught’ scenario… Maybe he did as well. Maybe there was no reason to worry yourself. You let yourself relax and enjoy it all.

You finally got out a strangled moan, encouraging Regulus on. He was slipping in and out so easily, so quickly, that you barely had the right state of mind to notice that James and Lily were now 69ing.

Regulus gripped your thigh with one hand and brought his other to grip your throat, stabilizing himself as he thrust even harder into you. You whimpered, half at the way he was making you feel, and half due to the moans coming from both overstimulated James and Lily.

Regulus squeezed your throat in the most delicious way that made the sides of your vision go fuzzy and all the blood go straight to your pussy. Regulus pounded into you with vigor as he saw your eyes start to roll back into your skull. He was letting out breathless sounds, the only thing close to a moan he would ever let out, while you while you completely let go, moaning and cursing, chanting his name like a sinful prayer.

“Reggie, R-Reggie.” you cried out.

He smirked down at you. “What is it baby?” he asked with fake worry. You could hear the noises that James and Lily were making and you knew you were going to cum for Regulus embarrassingly fast.

“C-could we… switch positions. P-please?” you asked as he continued pounding into you.

Wordlessly he gripped your hips and turned you so that you were on your hands and knees. He pushed down on your middle back so that your tits met the bed and your ass was perfectly on display for him. From this position, you could watch James and Lily with ease. She was on top, riding his face, her juices running down his neck and chest, his cock a deep red, ready to be played with again.

You caught Lily’s eye and for the second time tonight, she winked at you. You turned into a shy mess again, hiding your face in the sheets before you felt Regulus slide his dick up and down your slit, recoating himself to push into you.

He lined himself up with your entrance yet again, but it was you who pushed back onto him. He let out a low groan and took your hips in his hands. He wasted no time, holding you in place as he pounded into you. You moaned so loudly that you were sure everyone down the block could hear you, but you didn’t care, his cock was too deep, he felt too good. And Lily and James sounded as if they were right there with you, feeling just as amazing.

“Fuck James,” Lily moaned out, lazily stroking his cock while still riding his face.

Regulus continued thrusting, bending one of his legs to the side of you for better leverage, reaching new depths. You cried out broken moans holding off your orgasm as long as possible, but you couldn’t hold it for much longer.

“I, Reggie, I’m s’close,” you moaned. “Please can I cum?” you still didn’t know for sure where you stood with him, if he was going to rip away your orgasm at the last second for getting caught.

Regulus just breathed out a “Cum whenever you want baby.”

He thrust into you faster now, knowing that you were on the brink. You couldn’t stop it, everything again came crashing down on you. You screamed out, but Regulus shoved your face into the bed to muffle the sound, still fucking into you to chase his own release.

You couldn’t catch your breath, listening to James come undone next, then Lily right along with him, her high pitched moans reverberating off the bedroom walls.

Regulus pounded into you for a good while after you had cum, James cuddled into Lily’s lap as they both just watched you take your pleasure.

Your body felt so lifeless as Regulus used it, pounding into you like a doll. You loved it. He was close, his thrusts becoming sloppy and not as coordinated as usual. You decided to finish your performance with an encore.

“Fuck Reggie,” you moaned out with a scratch in your voice from all the moaning and screaming. “You fill me up so good.”

You felt him twitch, gripping your hips and getting ready to spill into you.

“Merlin, you feel so good Reggie.” you coaxed, trying to get him to cross the finish line like all of you already had.

“You know how to make me feel so good, Y/N.” Regulus said, out of breath and sweat dripping down his temple as he chased his high.

You moaned once more before hitting the final nail on the coffin. “I love you Reggie.” you breathed out.

This completely broke him. He threw his head back, eyes tightly shut as he let out a whimper for you, coating your walls with his hot ropes of cum. You smiled and moaned with him, loving the fact that you got him to make such pretty noises, especially when he is the most reserved out of the four of you.

You confidently whipped around to face him, disconnecting from his cock to connect to his lips with a small peck. He smiled down at you yet again. “I love you too,” he replied softly.

You crawled to where James was laying on the bed, beat and ready to cuddle and sleep. Lily had gone to grab a few towels to wipe off with. You kissed James’s cheek and asked if he had enjoyed himself. He nodded sleepily and you giggled.

Lily took care of James while Regulus grabbed a cloth and wiped your core down for you. You told him you could do it yourself, but he insisted.

“I thought you were going to be mad at me.” you admitted to him, breaking the comfortable silence that had built throughout the room.

“Why would I ever be mad at you babygirl?” Regulus replied to you, wiping down your thighs where he and James’s cum had mixed and dripped out.

You shrugged but said “Well because of what you said about if you ever were to catch me… I thought that you’d be mad or jealous or something.” you tried to explain.

He chuckled, folding the small towel before throwing it somewhere near the laundry. “Oh baby,” he said, “As long as I am able to join, I’m never going to be mad or jealous.” He kissed the top of your head before slotting himself behind you, spooning you. “That is, as long as I am able to join…”

“I would never not want you to join.” you said to him quickly. “I like when we all have fun.”

“Oh baby,” Lily said, crawling in behind James to spoon him just as Regulus was spooning you. “You didn’t like when it was just me and you?” she teased.

“I did!” you tried to defend yourself. “I just… I don’t want anyone to ever feel left out.”

Regulus cooed at you and kissed your cheek, cuddling into you. “Aren’t you just the sweetest thing?” Regulus said.

“She certainly is.” Lily said, licking her lips and winking at you again.

oh gosh... i will check for spelling and grammar issues tomorrow whenI am slightly more aware of my surroundings but hey, first work of 2025 done!!! please let me know if there is like a glaring issue or anything lmao. please send in asks/requests case i am SO BORED in this hospital ❤️

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supernatural-bias · 1 year ago

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐲 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ includes: billy butcher, hughie campbell, frenchie, mothers milk, kimiko, and soldier boy

↳ warnings: canon type violence and happenstances. hinted to take place during season three at some points.

↳ notes: sorry butcher is in here so much. he's the kind of guy that can't shut the fuck up, so i feel like he's always getting in everyone business no matter what

↳ song: rock me like a hurricane—scorpions

masterlist | commissions | carrd

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫

• He has mixed feelings about you

• On one hand, you’re a great team player. Always making sure the job gets done, willing to put yourself on the line for the team, one of the most willing to kill a supe in a snap—second only to him—and always managing to make shit up on the fly whenever something inevitably goes wrong on a mission. Butcher has seen you fend off an entire team of armed Vought men before with nothing but a well timed lie and piece of pipe. That’s not something to scoff at, even if he does anyways

• But on the other hand, he has a feeling that you were just as much as an annoying shit as he acted sometimes

• “Sorry to say this guys—“ You said one night through the food in your mouth as Chinese takeout sat on a dirty table in front of you, curtesy of M.M and his pocketbook, “—but I think I’d betray you all for a fortune cookie. I’d betray my country for a fortune cookie.”

• "You say that like we ain’t already betrayin’ the cunts, sunshine.” Butcher eyed you from across the room as you nicked Frenchies own cookie from him while he was staring off at Kimiko for the tenth time that night

• “Too right, Butch.” You grinned like a shark at your idiotic nickname for him, and he ignored you as you did so; like he always did

• He definitely appreciates your enthusiasm behind his plans. Unlike Hughie or M.M, who despite working in the business of taking down supes seem to be hesitant about doing too much shit, you don’t seem to have a very strong moral code. That’s not necessarily a good thing in anyone’s eyes except for Butcher’s, who knows that he can always count on you to have his back in whatever situation he manages to squeeze himself into

• “Thanks for comin’.” He grunted at you while vomiting into a toilet, green bile spewing from his mouth. Butcher’s eyes burned with the urge to let out a laser beam, and he did so for a moment, splitting the porcelain throne we was leaning over in two

• “Want me to hold your hair back for you, honey?” You didn’t even miss a beat to start making fun of his situation, which made Butcher growl at you even from his current position. Despite your sarcastic demeanor in the moment, and the way he had just scorched an unexpected hole through the shitty bathroom, Butcher knew you’d help, no questions asked. And that’s exactly what you did, grabbing whatever he asked you to as he gave you a run down on the latest solo mission he had been attempting to get by with on his own

• “Jesus, poor Gunpowder huh?” You mused as you crossed your arms and leaned on the sink above him. For a moment Butcher thought you were granting the dead supe a bit of sympathy before he saw the glint in your eyes. “If the last thing I saw before I kicked it was your mug, I’d probably wanna get it over with yeah?”

• “Do me a favor. Go grab the toaster in the other room an’ take a nice bath with it, would ya?”

• “You first, Butcher.”

𝐇𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥

• The two of you are like peas in a pod. Two very weird, very cautious peas in a pod

• Even if Butcher is beside himself with annoyance at having another, as he put it, “soft cunt with a morality complex,” join the team, Hughie couldn’t be happier that someone seems to share his values on supes, on Vought; on the world, really

• In the first season or so, the two of you would probably spend a lot of time in between working with everyone else in the field to come up with a way to take Vought down the right way. Eventually,as we all know, that later falls apart, but it exhilarates Hughie to know that there’s people out there like him that want to try and put in the effort for things like that

• “Yeah, so if we can get one more witness about the Termite incident to come forward and testify—“ You bit your pen between your teeth and nodded as Hughie waved his hands over a stack of papers and talked at a million miles an hour, somehow understanding each and every word.

• “—then we could finally take a supe down legally. And that would make way for a whole round of others; Hughie you’re a genius.” You finished his sentence for him, slapping a hand down on the table with a grin as Hughie smiled. Somewhere in the distance someone snorted wryly, no doubt having heard the entire conversation. You had no doubt it was Butcher, but that didn’t matter to the either of you with how happy you were at the revelation. No matter how temporary it would turn out to be

• Hughie finds himself trusting you quite a bit. He can get attached pretty easily, so he finds himself willing to do anything to back you up—within reason of course. He still has some semblance of sanity left

• Listens to Billy Joel with you! Doesn’t matter if you all are coming back from a mission covered in blood—once it was whale guts—he will stick one earbud in and leave the other out for you as he presses play on a mix. More than once the others have found both of you passed out and snoring as the faint sound of Billy Joel plays through the headphones

• “Think we should wake them up, mon amie?” Frenchie tilts his head as he looks down on the both of you. Hughie chest rises and falls with a softness he couldn’t afford on the regular. You were positioned far away from him to have your back to him, somehow keeping your end of the earbud in as you drooled

• “Nah, let em sleep. God knows they need it.” M.M shook his head with crossed arms, the sight reminding him of better times

• “Oi! Stop ogling at the knackered sods and come help me with this, would ya?”

• “Fuck you, Butcher.” M.M said with a sigh, leaving the room to go and help anyway

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞

• He fucks with you so hard

• I mean, come on, someone that’s as excited about making bombs as he is? Someone that is willing to understand French? To shit talk everyone else to their face—especially Butcher?? He might have to marry you on the spot

• Please learn French. He will literally beg you to start. Conjugates, vocabulary, even a simple ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. Anything at all. Will absolutely not judge you for your horrific accent or pronunciation if you have any

• Bomb lessons on the side, too. If you already know the basics, or are a pro, it’ll be a lot more breezy, but he’s willing to start from scratch. It’ll be nice to have a partner to help him with his creations on the team for once, and even better since he likes you

• The two of you, and Kimiko obviously, are practically joined at the hip. What I said about the shit talking earlier was real, too. All of you use different languages or sign to voice whatever you’re thinking. It’s nice to be able to speak your mind freely, and there’s the added bonus of not having M.M give you that sharp look of his, or Butcher calling you names. Anymore than usual, that is

• “What do you reckon the three of ‘em are always on about?” Butcher took a swig from his drink. He was sitting next to Hughie with a beer on one of their down days as the younger man typed away on a computer. He was watching you Frenchie and Kimiko from across the room as you all signed at each other with giant smiles on your face. Frenchie would speak occasionally, but all that came out was his mother tongue, and your face would pause for a moment as you let your brain process what he was saying. Then all of you would break out into another round of grins, something that Butcher had to deadpan at

• “Probably planning a coup.” Hughie answered Butcher without even looking up from his screen. He knew who he was talking about anyways. It wasn’t hard to guess thanks, to the occasional loud exclamation from Frenchie as you signed something particularly risqué or funny

• Butcher flitted his eyes away in annoyance from you all after he recognized the word ‘cunt’ in the passing conversation, along with a sign that was clearly supposed to represent him

• “I think at this poin’ I’d prefer tha’.” He grumbled into his cup, and all of you laughed

• “Cheer up, Butcher. At least Frenchie isn’t teaching them how to make homemade cherry bombs again.”

• “Shut up.”

𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐤

• Finally. Someone other than him can be the voice of reason in the group

• It’s tiring being the one to hold everyone together all of the time. It might help if Butcher wasn’t so much of an ass, or if Hughie didn’t feel the need to derail every plan with thoughts of his own, but M.M knew that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. So he’d take any help he could get with reigning everyone in

• Definitely bonds with you over your shared habit of wearing band t-shirts to meetups or hideouts. I’d like to imagine that at one point the both of you show up wearing the exact same one, and it goes exactly how one would expect

• “Same shirt.” M.M notices one morning, pointing at your torso with the initials N.W.A written over it. He’s smiling, and so are you as what he’s wearing in turn dawns on you

• “Same shirt!! Hell yeah.”

• Fist bumps. Fist bumps galore, man. The two of you fist bump a lot. To punctuate sentences, drive a point home, agree on stuff—anything. It’s your own way of communicating with each other without having to bat an eye

• It’ll take M.M a while, but eventually he’ll start to really open up about missing his family to you. Beyond just showing you pictures of his daughter at soccer practice, I mean. If he trusts you enough to have his back in a shoot out, then he trusts you with this

• At one point, it goes farther than his (regrettably ex) wife and daughter, and eventually branches out into what he’s willing to tell about his dad and brothers. You feel like you know all of them by the time he’s done, and that only makes the typewriter story hit harder when he finally decides to reveal it

• Let’s just say you were pretty willing to jump Soldier Boy on M.M’s half the first time you were left in a room with them

• “Just one swing I swear—“

• “He will literally beat you into a pulp.” M.M deadpanned, doing his best to avoid looking at the other imposing figure in the room as he clasped two hands on either of your shoulders

• “Listen to your friend, sweetheart. Would hate to have to scrub my hands clean of any of your blood. Getting under the fingernails is always hard.”

• “See what I mean, just one punch that’s all—“

• “No.”

𝐊𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐨

• It’s honestly great for her to be able to hang around someone that feels the same way that she does. Maybe it’s how silent you are that really draws her attention at first, but Kimiko really grows to appreciate you as a member of the team

• Probably gets a lot of joy from having a friend like you. She constantly asks to do things like have you watch movies with her or to do ‘sleepovers,’ which are really just the two of you crashing on the main room couch together

• She never got a chance at a normal childhood or friends, so you and Frenchie are the closest she gets to a peace of mind

• Not even a question about it, she’s making you learn her sign language

• Will stare at you for days on end, saying nothing but everything at the same time until you agree to learn. Once you do, it’s all over. She gets the biggest most happiest look anyone ever seen, and there’s no turning back from that

• “Kimiko, what are you doing. It’s two in the morning.” You groan at her from under the thin covers of your bed, doing your best to ignore her hands as they fly about. It’s the childish equivalent of ‘if I can’t see you, you can’t see me’

• ‘No time to sleep. We have to go over stuff before the mission tomorrow. It will help us communicate.’ She was unnerved by your lack of enthusiasm. If anything it only spurred her on more, shaking your bed and pulling at your covers as you groaned. Even with the progress you had been making with signing over the past few weeks, your knowledge was still a bit shaky, and being half asleep didn’t help, so you only caught a few words. Enough to know what she wanted, however

• “Go away, Kimiko.” You whined. The shaking stopped, and for a moment you thought your request had worked. You were more than happy to fall back into whatever dream you had been having beforehand

• Then you heard the rushing of feet and a large weight slammed onto your legs

• “Goddamnit!—“

• Frenchie found the both of you the next morning; Kimiko looking bright eyed and bushy-tailed while you were practically falling asleep from where you sat. It was a teasing point for you over the next two weeks

• Between you, there’s moments like that where, despite Kimiko’s silence and your habit to keep your thoughts to yourself, nothing ever goes unseen or unsaid. The two of you know each other like the back of your hands, and sometimes you wonder if you’d even need her sign to communicate

𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬: 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐨𝐲

• If the saying ‘this town ain't big enough for the both of us’ could apply here, it absolutely would

• It’s almost ironic how bad Soldier Boy handles another version of himself. You’ve got just as much snark and anger as him, and it pisses him the hell off. Constantly.

• Maybe it’s because you didn’t fan boy over him as soon as he flashed a few cheesy lines that keeps his disdain for you boiling, or that you didn’t keep your distance when he threatened to eradicate your entire bloodline if you didn’t stop running your mouth at him

• “Need help with that?” He cocks a brow at you one day, watching with poorly hidden annoyance as you struggle to tie a knot in your shoes for the fifth time in a minute. The offer isn’t serious, and even if it was, he has no doubt you wouldn’t hesitate to kick him in the face if he bent down to tie your shoe for you

• “Need help taking my dick down your throat?” You parroted back at him while raising your voice in a false-happy tone. Finally you get the shoestrings to cooperate, completely missing the way Soldier Boy glows in a harsh warning at your attitude

• “Ladies, ladies, you’re both pretty.” Butcher calls from the room over, no doubt tired of the bickering between the two of you that had been nonstop for the past few days. “Let’s get a move on before one of you decides to claw the others bloody eyes out, yeah?”

• The fact that you’re not even a supe just ticks him off more. Only a few people have ever pushed his buttons like this, most of them being supes, and they always ended up being nothing but red paste in the next few minutes

• You make sure to point it out to him several times that you’re just acting like he always does, making sure to don a shit eating grin when he clenches his fist at your comment

• Please for the love of everything that’s holy tone it the fuck down. Some people may say that Soldier Boy has no self-control, but it sure is taking a whole lot of it not to kick you in the crotch as hard as possible

• “The feelings mutual.” You deadpan at him when he eventually shares that fantasy out loud. He knew full well that if you even so much as tried that, you’d end up with a broken ankle and your front pinned to the closest brick wall, but he had no doubts that you would go for it anyway

• Seriously. How has he not murdered you in your sleep yet

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w4ndal0ver · 7 months ago

Text

said i'm gonna play with myself (milf!wanda x tutor!reader)

W4NDALOVER'S KINKMAS | 2024

dec 7: said i'm gonna play with myself (milf!wanda x tutor!reader)

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

KINKMAS MASTERLIST | 2024

summary: While tutoring Wanda's children, she invites you to stay for dinner, before giving you a call that you'd never forget when you get home

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, mommy kink, phone sex

said i'm gonna play with myself.

“Let’s wrap up for today, Tommy. I think you’re well on your way to acing this unit,” you say, gathering your notes.

Tommy grins, newfound enthusiasm lighting his face. “Thanks! I might actually read the rest of it now.”

As you gather your things, you take one last glance at Wanda, who is arranging the table. A flutter of excitement stirs in your chest—this tutoring session is just a step into something deeper, something you can’t wait to explore.

Just as you finish packing up, Wanda glances at the clock, then back at you, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “You know, it’s still early, and Vision won’t be home for a while. Would you like to stay for dinner? It’d be nice to have some adult conversation.”

A rush of excitement mingles with nervousness at the invitation. You glance at Tommy, who looks equally surprised.

“Yeah, stay! My mom makes the best food,” Tommy adds, his grin wide and eager, clearly hoping for an excuse to avoid any homework.

Wanda laughs, a melodic sound that fills the kitchen. “It’s true! Plus, I could use some help keeping Tommy on track. We can talk about your studies too.”

You hesitate for a moment, considering the offer. “Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?” you ask, glancing between Wanda and Tommy.

Wanda shakes her head, her eyes sparkling with genuine enthusiasm. “Not at all! It’s always more fun to share a meal. And I’d love to hear more about your experiences at Yale, especially your English Literature classes.”

Your heart flutters at the thought of spending more time with Wanda, diving deeper into conversation and sharing stories. “That sounds wonderful. I’d love to stay.”

Wanda’s face lights up with happiness. “Great! Just make yourself comfortable. I’ll finish up here.” She moves back to the stove, and you take a seat at the kitchen island, feeling the warmth of her invitation settle around you

“Can I help you with anything?” You ask genuinely, wanting to show her your appreciation for letting you stay.

“Just sit there and look pretty for me.” She smirks, looking at you over her shoulder as she starts to dish up the food that she’d made. She starts to softly hum to herself as you perch on the side. “This smells amazing,” you say, leaning closer to inhale the rich scent.

“It’s a family recipe for beef stew,” she replies, her eyes lighting up. “Tommy and Billy love it, especially on chilly days like today.”

The kitchen feels warm and inviting, and you admire how effortlessly she creates an atmosphere that feels both homey and elegant. As she plates the stew, you can’t help but appreciate the care she puts into everything she does.

“Dinner is served!” she announces, setting down two bowls, each steaming and inviting. The sight alone makes your mouth water, and you grab a warm roll from the basket nearby, slathering it with butter.

As you dig into the meal, you find yourself drawn into Wanda’s world. She shares anecdotes from her life, her voice soothing and engaging, while Tommy and Billy interject with playful commentary. The laughter that fills the kitchen feels intimate, and you notice how Wanda’s eyes sparkle when she talks about her passions.

Between bites, you steal glances at Wanda, captivated by the way she moves about the kitchen, effortlessly transitioning between tasks. Each moment with her feels charged, as if you’re discovering more than just a talented cook but a woman who radiates warmth and kindness.

As dinner winds down, Wanda leans back in her chair, satisfaction evident on her face. “I’m glad you decided to stay,” she says, and her smile feels like an invitation, a promise of more moments like this.

“Me too,” You reply, a flutter of excitement stirring within you. This cosy kitchen, filled with lingering scents of dinner and the warmth of shared laughter, felt right.

As you sit there, enjoying the warmth of the kitchen and the fading light of the afternoon, your gaze drifts to Wanda. She moves with an effortless grace, her laughter mingling with the aroma of dinner, and you can’t help but admire the way her eyes light up when she engages in conversation. Each glance she steals in your direction feels laden with unspoken intentions, and you find yourself wondering what goes on in her mind. What motivates her to invite you into her home, to share this intimate moment with her family? There’s a softness to her demeanour, a hint of flirtation that suggests she sees more in you than just a tutor for Tommy. The warmth in her gaze ignites a mix of excitement and curiosity within you, making you contemplate the possibilities that lie ahead—possibilities that make your heart race with anticipation.

As Tommy and Billy finish their plates, they exchange playful glances before Tommy pushes his chair back. “Can I be excused? I need to go check something on my phone.”

“Me too! Can we play that new game?” Billy pipes up, bouncing in his seat.

“Alright, just keep it down,” Wanda replies with a smile, waving them off. The moment they scurry from the table, the atmosphere shifts, leaving just you and Wanda.

The air feels charged, almost electric. You lean back, savouring the lingering warmth of the meal and the soft glow of the kitchen light. Wanda glances toward the pantry and then looks back at you, a playful smile dancing on her lips. “How about a little wine to celebrate surviving our first tutoring session?”

You chuckle as she moves toward the cupboard, reaching for a bottle. She holds it up, tilting it slightly as if to gauge your reaction, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “What do you think? Care to share a glass?”

“Why not?” you reply, intrigued by her casual invitation. Wanda pours two glasses, her movements fluid and graceful. As she hands you a glass, her fingers brush against yours, sending a small thrill through you.

“It’s nice to unwind after a long day, don’t you think?” she says, leaning against the counter, her gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart flutter.

“It definitely is,” you agree, raising your glass in a mock toast. “To surviving tutoring sessions and small towns.”

She laughs, her eyes lighting up, and you can’t help but admire the way she carries herself, exuding both warmth and confidence. “And to new beginnings.”

You take a sip, enjoying the rich flavours as the conversation flows effortlessly between you. “It’s weird being back in Westview. This town can feel so stifling,” you admit, twirling your fork absently. “I didn’t realise how freeing it would be to go to Yale and finally be able to express myself.”

Wanda tilts her head, her gaze locking onto yours with a mix of curiosity and intrigue. “Have you found anyone in Connecticut?” she asks, her voice light but filled with genuine interest.

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Oh, there were plenty of people interested, but none that I could be bothered to get to know. Friends, sure, but not a girlfriend.”

“Really?” Wanda leans in slightly, her elbows resting on the table, interest evident in her expression. “Not even a little spark with anyone?”

Her question is playful, and you feel a rush of warmth. “I guess I just didn’t find anyone worth my time.”

Wanda’s smile widens, and she tilts her head slightly, her hair falling to one side. “You’re telling me a beautiful girl like you couldn’t find someone to take a chance on?” She leans closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “That’s hard to believe.”

The playful banter makes your heart race. “Believe it or not, I’m not exactly the most sought-after prize.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she replies, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I find you quite intriguing.”

Feeling emboldened by her flirtation, you decide to take a bolder step, though you tread lightly, your curiosity tinged with an eagerness to learn more about her. “So, I’ve been curious about something,” you say, hesitating just a moment to build anticipation.

“Hit me.” She says, her eyes twinkling as her finger traces the rim of her wine glass.

“Your affair with Agatha, what was that like?”

Wanda’s expression shifts, the playful sparkle in her eyes momentarily flickering with surprise. “You’re quite the inquisitive one, aren’t you?” she replies, a mix of intrigue and wariness in her voice, but there’s an underlying thrill in her tone. “How did you even - no it doesn’t even matter.” She laughs, knowing immediately that Agatha wasn’t exactly one for keeping her mouth shut.

You lean forward slightly, drawn in by her response. “I mean, it seems like it must have been complicated. You two have such a dynamic.” You let the words linger, allowing the weight of the question to settle between you.

Wanda tilts her head, contemplating her answer, her lips parting slightly as if to speak but then closing again. The silence hangs, thick with unspoken thoughts. “Complicated is one way to put it,” she finally admits, her voice softening. “It taught me a lot about myself, about what I wanted.”

“Did you ever think about what might have happened if things had gone differently?” you ask, your tone teasing but sincere, hoping to coax out more from her.

Wanda’s eyes meet yours, the intensity of her gaze making your heart race. “Sometimes,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper, her fingers brushing against yours on the table. “How come you’re so interested in my love life young lady?”

“You asked about mine first.” It was your turn to wink this time and the reaction that you got from Wanda was completely worth it. Finally her cheeks blushed pink, her lips rolling against each other and her tongue poked against her cheek, something you realised was her tell.

“You got me there sweetheart.” She hums, taking another sip of her wine, the sip turning into a glug, the wine matching the deep colour of her cheeks, highlighting the blonde highlights of her hair which she tucked behind her ear.

You watch her, captivated by the way she navigates the conversation with both grace and playful candour. Wanda’s demeanour radiates warmth, but there's an underlying intensity in her gaze that pulls you in even closer. She leans back slightly, her fingers swirling the wine glass, the deep red liquid catching the light in a way that mirrors the spark in her eyes.

“You know,” she starts, her voice light but teasing, “I didn’t expect such an insightful conversation over dinner. I usually just get ‘What’s your favourite colour?’ or ‘What’s your favourite drink?’” She laughs softly, a musical sound that echoes in the cosy kitchen, making you smile in response.

“Those questions have their charm, but I’d take a good chat about love lives any day,” you reply, letting your gaze linger on her lips as she speaks. “It’s way more interesting.”

Wanda’s smile widens, a glint of mischief dancing in her eyes. “Interesting, huh? So, you’re saying I’m interesting?” Her tone is playful, but there’s a subtle challenge behind it that makes your pulse quicken.

“Absolutely. You’re one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met,” you say, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in your stomach. You can’t help but feel drawn to her, a magnetic pull that’s both thrilling and intoxicating.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she responds with a smirk, leaning closer again, her elbow brushing against yours. “But seriously, I’m curious. If you had to pick, what’s your type?”

You pause, considering your answer, but the way she’s looking at you makes it difficult to think clearly. “Honestly? Someone confident, a bit witty, maybe a little mysterious.” Your eyes meet hers, and you see a flicker of intrigue dance across her features. “You know, like someone who can keep me on my toes.”

“Oh really?” Wanda arches an eyebrow, the corners of her lips curling into a sly grin. “I think I might know someone who fits that description.” Her gaze flickers to your lips and back to your eyes, a playful challenge lingering in the air between you.

“Do you now?” you tease, leaning closer, your heart racing as you embrace the flirtation. “Care to share?”

She chuckles softly, a soft sound that wraps around you like a warm blanket. “Maybe. But only if you promise to keep it a secret.”

“Cross my heart,” you reply, a playful seriousness in your tone, your heart thumping in anticipation.

“Alright,” she says, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Lets just say this person has a soft spot for pretty girls who can hold up their own in a conversation.” She bites her lip, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

You feel a rush of heat flood your cheeks, and for a moment, you’re both lost in each other's gaze, the air thick with unspoken tension. Just then, you notice the clock on the wall and blink in surprise, realising how much time has passed. “Wow, I really should get going. I can’t believe how late it’s gotten.”

Wanda’s expression shifts slightly, a hint of disappointment flickering across her face. “Oh, do you have to?”

“Yeah, I should” you begin, but she interrupts you, standing up and moving toward her purse.

“Wait, let me grab something for you,” she says, her tone light as she rummages through her bag. You take a moment to gather your things, but the atmosphere feels charged, and you can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t the end.

As you slip on your coat, she turns to you, a hundred-dollar bill in her hand. “Here, take this,” she says, extending it toward you.

You glance at the money, then back at her, unsure. “Wanda, this is way too much. I can’t just take this.”

“Just take it, please,” she insists, her tone soft but firm. “Consider it a thank you for making dinner so enjoyable.”

Her fingers brush against yours as she tries to push the bill into your palm, and you can’t help but notice the warmth of her touch, sending a jolt of electricity through you. “I really can’t”

“Just let me do this,” she interrupts, her eyes locking onto yours, an intensity behind them that leaves you breathless. “I want you to have it.”

With a sigh, you let her close your hand around the bill, the warmth of her touch lingering. “Alright, if you insist.” You grab your stuff and she follows you out towards the front door.

As you stand by the door, the weight of the moment settles around you, electrifying the air. Wanda moves closer, her gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that sends your heart racing. You feel a thrill as she reaches up, her fingers gently brushing against your cheek, and then she tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The soft caress sends a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help but lean into her touch, savouring the warmth of her hand lingering near your face.

“There,” she says, her voice low and sultry, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Much better.” The way her fingers linger near your ear feels almost intimate, and you find yourself holding your breath, caught in the moment.

Wanda’s eyes search yours, a spark of mischief dancing in their depths. “You always look beautiful,” she adds, her voice dropping just above a whisper, making your heart flutter. The compliment hangs in the air, thick with unspoken possibilities.

“Thanks,” you manage to reply, your voice softer than usual, the closeness between you two making the world outside fade away. You can feel the warmth radiating from her, a magnetism that draws you even closer. All you wanted was to tell her how beautiful you thought she was, pull yourself into a kiss as she slams you up against the door to her suburban house, but instead you can’t get the words out.

As she pulls her hand away, a slight blush creeps up her cheeks, and you notice the way her gaze flickers between your eyes and lips, an unspoken invitation that makes your pulse quicken. The chemistry between you crackles like electricity, and you can’t help but wonder what might happen next, the evening stretching before you with infinite possibilities.

“See you next Tuesday,” she says, a smile playing on her lips as she steps back, watching you with an expression that makes your heart race.

As you step outside, the cool air hits you, but the warmth of the moment lingers, not able to get it out of your head as you walk back home. Everything about her felt so wrong, but you couldn’t ignore the way her eyes gazing into yours made you feel, something so raw and exciting. She was magnetic, all you wanted to do was let your walls fall down and allow her to take you into her grasp, but you knew that you couldn’t, it was too risky.

.-.

As soon as you reach your house, your thoughts are still tangled in the evening’s events, the warmth of her touches still ghosting over your skin. The immediate heat of the house matches the flush in your cheeks despite the chill of the cool night air. It feels unusually quiet, especially after the buzzing tension you’d just left behind.

Kicking off your shoes, you move through the motions of getting ready for bed, but your mind keeps circling back to Wanda. The way her stare lingered on you, how she always leaned closer with each exchange, her fingers brushing yours. That last touch, the press of her hand around the money she forced into your palm, everything was making your skin burn uncontrollably.

You slip into bed, your phone resting on the nightstand, its screen dim but somehow tempting, as if you half expect a message. You close your eyes, but Wanda’s image is imprinted there, her teasing smile, the way she tucked that loose strand of hair behind her ear, the flash of something daring in her eyes every time she glanced at you. There was no more denying it, you’re drawn to her in a way that feels inescapable. The flirting, the touches, she reads your mind without saying a word.

Just as you’re about to drift off, your phone buzzes softly, the screen lighting up with a name that makes you jump up in excitement. Wanda.

You pick up without hesitation, “Hey Wanda,” you say, trying to keep your voice casual, as if you hadn’t been thinking about the way she’d look on top of you.

“Hi,” She replies, her voice warm, a little lower than usual, “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Not at all,” You assure her, shifting slightly under the covers, your thighs squeezing together at nothing but the sound of her voice, “What’s up, it’s late?”

“I was just thinking about our conversation earlier,” She says, her tone deepening with every word she spoke, “I wanted to check in, make sure you got home safe.”

You smiled, touched by her genuine thoughtfulness, “I did, I’m just getting ready for bed.”

“Good, good.” Wanda murmurs. There’s a slight pause, and you hear her inhale deeply, “I, uh, was also thinking about what you said, about finding someone,”

You couldn’t help but feel your breath hitch in the back of your throat, the tension rising over telephone lines. “Yeah? What about it?”

Her voice drops lower, and there's a subtle shift in the air. You can hear her breathing, soft but uneven, something about it was different. “I guess it’s just, surprising, you know?” She whispers, “That someone as pretty as you hasn’t found anyone worth your time.”

You shift the phone harder against your ear, suddenly hyper aware of the weight of her silence between every word. “Wanda?” You ask gently, her silence deafening.

“I’m here,” She responds, but there's a catch in her voice, a breathless quality that wasn’t there before, “It’s just that I’ve been thinking about you.”

Your breath catches, her words making your stomach flip and you could almost choke against her words, “About me?”

There's a soft sound on the other end of the line, a barely audible gasp. Wanda’s breathing hitches and you feel your pulse quicken as realisation dawns down on you. Her breaths are shallow, broken by quiet, restrained moans.

The sudden intimacy of it makes your skin tingle, Wanda was touching herself, while talking to you. The idea sends a rush of heat straight through you, your own breath panting as you process what’s happening. Your mind circling down on the thought of her blowing a blonde strand of hair out of her face as her back arched against the palm of her hand.

“I-” You don’t even know what to say.

“You have no idea how much you've been on my mind.” Wanda whispers, her voice thick with pleasure, each word punctuated by the sounds of her breath quickening, “God, I couldn’t stop thinking about you even after you left.”

Her words are laced with heat, and you feel the tension between you spike, your body responding to the quiet sounds of her gasps, to the way her voice curls around each breathless word.

“I can’t stop imagining” She trails off, another soft moan escaping her, and it feels like it’s all for you, every breath, every sound. “What it’d be like if you were here”

The room feels hotter suddenly, your pulse pounding in your ears. You can picture her now, in her own bed, hand sliding against her skin, her body arching with every wave of pleasure. It’s almost overwhelming, how close she feels despite the distance, how intimate this moment has become.

“Wanda” you murmur, your voice betraying your own excitement, your body reacting to the sultry edge in her voice, to the rawness of this unexpected moment.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she teases softly, her voice a delicate thread of desire. “I can tell, I can hear it in your voice.”

You can’t help the way your body responds, heat pooling low in your belly, the thrill of her words sending sparks through your veins. This connection, the electric pull between you and Wanda, feels impossible to ignore now. You could feel your arousal building between your legs, doing everything you could to not join her.

“Tell me what you’d do,” Wanda whispers, the soft, sensual command in her voice making you shiver. You swallow hard, the intimacy of her question hanging in the air, the weight of what she’s asking leaving you breathless.

Your breath catches at her words, the weight of Wanda’s request settling over you, igniting something deep within. There’s a moment of silence, thick and heavy, as you process the intimacy of what she’s asking. You can practically hear the soft rustle of sheets on her end, her breath laboured but controlled, a steady rhythm that mirrors your own quickened heartbeat.

You close your eyes, sinking further into your bed, the thought of her, so vulnerable and uninhibited—making your skin flush. “I…I don’t know,” you murmur, feeling your own voice falter with nervous excitement. But even as you say it, your mind spins with possibility. You know exactly what you’d want to do but you’d never been with a woman before, you’d never been with anyone like that before. You knew that nobody knew that you were still a virgin, but you weren't ready to admit that.

Wanda’s voice softens, her tone coaxing but still thick with desire. “Come on,” she whispers, and you can almost see the playful smirk on her lips, feeling the warmth of her breath against your skin. “Oh I see.” She chuckles through breathy gasps. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.” You gasp at her words, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Wanda, I-” You couldn’t help it, no words were coming out. The nerves of your inexperience coming through so obviously in the waver in your voice.

“It’s okay sweetheart, you don’t know what you’re doing do you?” Her soft moan echoes down the line, a breathless, sensual sound that sends a shiver through you, “You don’t know how to pleasure a woman like you pretend to, do you.” Wanda’s words drip with seductive authority, her voice threading through the phone like a secret. "You don’t have to pretend with me," she purrs, her breath quickening, sending shivers down your spine. "I’ll teach you. All you have to do is listen."

Your heart pounds in your chest, the sheer intimacy of her voice making your body react in ways you hadn’t expected. You shift under the covers, your skin burning with a mixture of desire and nervousness. "I’ve never—" you start, but your voice cracks, barely above a whisper. The admission hangs in the air, your vulnerability on full display.

"I know," Wanda murmurs softly, her tone teasing yet reassuring, as though she had known all along. "But I can show you, if you let me."

You can hear her breathing, now quicker, almost ragged, as if the very thought of guiding you through this is bringing her to the edge. "Do you want me to show you, darling?" she whispers, the question itself a caress. "Do you want me to tell you exactly how I’d fuck you?"

Your breath catches again, your pulse racing, the words sending heat coursing through you. “Yes,” you murmur, barely able to find your voice. "I want you to."

Wanda hums softly, pleased with your surrender, and you can hear the shift of her body, the subtle movements of fabric and skin. "Good girl," she whispers, her words laced with a satisfaction that makes your chest tighten with want. "I want you to close your eyes and imagine me there with you, my hand tracing up your thigh, slipping under your clothes, touching you exactly where you need me."

You can hear the faint sound of Wanda’s breath catching, her own pleasure mounting as she describes it to you. “Can you feel that? My fingers on you?” she asks, her voice breathy and low, pushing you to the edge of your self-control.

“Yes,” you whisper back, your voice shaky, lost in the heat of the moment.

“Tell me what you want,” she says, her voice deepening, the sensual command impossible to resist. "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

You’re trembling now, caught between desire and nervous excitement, but you push past the nerves, your need for her overtaking everything else. “I want you to touch me, to fuck me,” you confess, your voice barely a whisper, the words trembling on your lips.

Wanda’s breath hitches, and you hear the unmistakable sound of her pleasure, a soft gasp escaping her as she touches herself. "Say it again," she demands, her voice thick with lust, desperate to hear your desire.

“Wanda,” you moan softly, giving in to the pull of her words, the fantasy she’s woven around you. “I need you to fuck me. I want you to touch me, make me yours.”

The sound of her gasp on the other end of the phone sends a wave of heat through you, and you can hear her losing control, her breathing turning rugged and uneven. "Mmm, you’re such a good girl," she purrs between breaths, her voice dark with desire. "You’d let me take you, wouldn’t you? Let mommy fuck you until you can’t think straight."

There it was, you let out a moan at the way she titled herself. You knew you’d been into that for years now, but never daring to tell anybody, but of course she knew, she could read you so well. You nod, even though she can’t see you, your entire body aching for her touch. “Yes, please mommy, I want it so badly.”

Wanda moans softly, her pleasure evident, and you can almost picture her, the way her body must be arching under her own touch, lost in the same heat that’s consuming you. "I’d make you beg for it, sweetheart. I’d have you trembling beneath me, begging for more."

You bite your lip, your breath catching at the raw hunger in her voice, your own need reaching a fever pitch. "I’d beg," you admit, barely able to find your voice. "I’d beg for you mommy."

Her breath comes faster now, a soft, breathless moan escaping her lips. "That’s my girl," she whispers, her voice breaking with the weight of her own pleasure. "You’d be mine. All mine.”

Wanda's moan on the other end of the line grows louder, ragged with need, as if your words pushed her even closer to the edge. You can hear the soft rustle of sheets, the unmistakable wet sounds of her fingers moving faster, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. The image of her, undone and desperate for release, fills your mind, stoking the fire building within you.

“Say it again,” she demands, her voice thick with desire, trembling with the intensity of her pleasure. “Tell me what you want, tell me you’re mine.”

Your pulse races, each beat louder than the last, the heat between your legs growing unbearable. You grip the phone tighter, biting your lip, but you know she wants more than your silence. “I’m yours, Wanda,” you whisper, breathless, giving her exactly what she needs. “I’ll do anything. Just please, fuck me. Make me yours, mommy.”

The sound she makes in response is guttural, a low, throaty moan that sends shivers down your spine. “Oh, fuck.” she gasps, her control slipping further with every passing second. You can hear her fingers moving faster, the wetness of her arousal audible through the phone, and it’s intoxicating, pulling you under with her.

“Good girl,” Wanda breathes, her voice barely holding together as she edges closer to climax. “You’d be so good for me, wouldn’t you? Let me fuck you whenever I want, take you however I want.”

“Yes, yes,” you whimper, your own arousal becoming overwhelming, your body aching for her. “Please, Mommy, I’d be so good for you. I’d let you do anything to me.”

That’s all she needs.

With a sharp, shuddering breath, Wanda moans loud into the phone, the sound of her orgasm raw and uncontrolled. Her breath catches, breaking into uneven gasps, and you can hear the wet sound of her fingers as she rides out the wave of pleasure, her body clearly shaking from the force of it. Each sound she makes is laced with satisfaction, a deep, throaty hum of ecstasy as her release takes over completely.

You can barely breathe, your body reacting to the sheer intimacy of hearing her come undone, your own desire pooling low in your belly, desperate and needy. Wanda’s breathing gradually slows, her soft, contented sighs filling the air between you, and you close your eyes, imagining the flush on her cheeks, the way her body must be lying spent against the sheets.

“Such a good girl,” she whispers, her voice still heavy with satisfaction. “I can’t wait to hear you beg for real.”

“Wanda, I don’t know what to say.” You admit, your brain fuzzy and spaced out at the unexpected nature of her call. You’d only been back home for a few days and you had no idea how much of an impression you’d made on the older woman.

“You don’t have to know what to say honey, that’s my job.” She hums as you hear the click of heels against tiled flooring. You could almost choke on the sound, she wasn’t in her bedroom, she was in the kitchen, the echoing of her words now making sense as each moan had bounced around the emptiness of the room.

“Are you in the kitchen?” you ask breathlessly, biting your lip as you imagine her there, the scene playing out in your head like a movie. You envision her bending over the kitchen island, the soft glow of the lights casting a warm hue over her skin as she calls you, wanting you to picture every moment of her tantalising routine.

“Maybe,” Wanda teases, her voice dripping with mischief. “Will I see you next Tuesday?”

You feel a thrill rush through you at her question, the way she asks it, sending your heart racing. "You know I’ll be there," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, laced with eagerness.

“Good,” Wanda replies, a satisfied hum escaping her lips.

“Goodnight, Wanda,” you murmur, your heart fluttering with excitement as the call ends, leaving you with thoughts of her dancing through your mind. As soon as you heard the line end, you reached down to your underwear, the fabric completely soaked and you threw your head back in frustration. You wanted to touch yourself, but it felt wrong, you wanted to leave yourself in desperate heat, making you want Wanda even more.

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